Blame It on the Bikini (8 page)

‘Why do you live here?’ It was nothing like the exclusive suburb in which he’d grown up with the massive modern houses and immaculate lawns.

‘I like the mix in the neighbourhood.’ He shrugged. ‘Lots of good restaurants nearby and it’s central.’

‘You don’t cook?’

‘Not often,’ he admitted with a flash of a smile.

She waited by the potted rosebush on the wooden veranda while he unlocked the villa and put in the code for the security system. And she knew he was wrong. She couldn’t possibly concentrate here, not with him around.

‘Let me give you the tour,’ he said as he led her the length of the wooden-floored hallway.

‘I don’t need to see your private things.’ She regretted this now. She’d have been better off winging the assignment by cobbling together an average essay with reference to just the few textbooks she had in her flat.

‘Yes, you do. Otherwise you’ll be curious, and if you’re curious you won’t be able to concentrate.’

She managed a smile. ‘Because all women are curious about seeing your room?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Kitchen and lounge are this way.’

They faced out to the back of the house, the garden not visible this time of night. For a guy who didn’t cook, he still had all the mod cons in the kitchen. She stayed in the doorway, really not wanting to take in the atmosphere of being in his personal space.

‘Guest bathroom this way.’ He brushed past her as he stepped back out to the hall and opened a door on the other side of it. ‘Then there are a couple of spare bedrooms. One is my office. The other is a library and workroom for my assistant.’ He opened the door opposite.

She didn’t go into his office but into the one he’d said was the library. She wouldn’t have guessed he’d have a library—certainly not such a varied one.

‘You have a whole bookcase of children’s books.’ She read the spines. She recognised so many she’d read in her hanging-out-at-the-library days when she’d avoided all the other students. Avoided the teasing. That was where she’d met Lauren—who’d been ripping a page out of a book she could have afforded a million times over.

‘I work for children,’ he answered briefly. ‘I got a bulk lot from a second-hand store.’

Internally she laughed at the way everything was shelved in the ‘right’ place. Clearly he hadn’t been kidding about his library-assistant job. She pulled one from the ‘teen-read’ shelf and flicked it open. Inside the front cover a name had been written in boyish scrawl—Brad Davenport. Second-hand store, huh?

She smiled. ‘That was my favourite for years. I read it so many times.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He took the book off her.

‘Did you cry at the end?’ she asked.

He smiled but didn’t confess.

‘I did every time,’ she admitted with a whisper.

Still he didn’t give it up.

‘You don’t want me to know that you’re a marshmallow inside?’

‘I’m no marshmallow,’ he answered. ‘I have them here for the look of it. Generally the kids only come here to meet and talk with me so they’re not so nervous in court. I’m not their counsellor or anything. I’m merely their legal representative.’

‘But they’re your books.’ And the kids he was supposedly not that close to drew pictures for him that he put on his walls?

His reluctant smile came with a small sigh. ‘I like to read.’

‘And you like kids?

‘Sometimes.’ He drew the word out, his voice ringing with caveats. ‘But I have no interest in having any myself.’ He put the book back. ‘There are enough out there who’ve been done over by their dipstick parents.’

‘You think you’d be a dipstick parent?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

She smiled.

‘I think parenting is one of those things you learn from the example you had,’ he said lightly. ‘I didn’t have a great example.’

‘So you know what not to do.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s never that simple. I see the cycle of dysfunctional families in my office every day. Now—’ he moved back out of the room ‘—the last room is my bedroom.’

Mya hovered in the doorway, really not wanting to intrude as the sense of intimacy built between them.

He turned and saw her hesitating and rolled his eyes. ‘I promise not to pounce.’

She stepped right into the room. He had the biggest bed she’d ever seen, smothered in white coverings. It would be like resting in a bowl of whipped cream. Definitely not a bed for pyjamas; there should be nothing but bare skin in that.

‘Why is it so high?’ she asked, then quickly cleared her throat of the embarrassing rasp that had roughened her voice.

‘I’m tall.’

‘You wouldn’t want to fall out of it, would you?’ If she sat on the edge of it, her feet couldn’t touch the floor. ‘It’s like Mount Olympus or something.’

There was no giant TV screen on a table at the foot of the bed. No chest of drawers for clothing. No bookshelf. No, it was just that massive bed with the billowing white covering demanding her attention.

‘Nice to know I inspire you to think of Greek gods.’

She sent him a baleful look. It was unfair of him to start with the teasing again when she had a whole night of work ahead of her. She was tense enough with unwanted yearning. But she couldn’t resist pulling his string a touch—wishing she really could. ‘What do I inspire you to think of?’

His gaze shifted to the left of her—to that bed. ‘Better not say.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re shy?’ She laughed.

‘I don’t want to embarrass you.’

Oh, it was way too late for that. ‘I mistakenly sent you a picture of myself in a half-see-through bikini. I don’t think I could be more embarrassed.’

‘That was just an image. I couldn’t touch you.’

Her breathing faltered, her pulse skipped quicker at
the thought of where and how he was thinking of touching her. And when. Now? Mere words banished the chill she’d felt before as heat crept up her cheeks and across her entire body.

A half-smile curved his lips. ‘You like a little talk, don’t you? For a woman who’s planning to spend the rest of her life counting beans, you have to get your thrills somewhere, huh?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with chasing financial security.’ She chose to ignore the suggestion she might like a little sauce talk.

‘Strikes me you chase all-over safety. Which isn’t something I can give you,’ he warned, leaning close. ‘You’re not entirely safe with me.’

‘Now you tell me, when you’ve got me alone in your house.’ Her insides were melting—that part of her had no desire to be safe right now. It was a dangerous game and one that was so irresistible.

‘In the middle of the night.’

She turned and looked at the pretty design on the lower part of the wallpaper. Not just normal wallpaper, but almost a mural. Good diversion. ‘The room came like this?’

‘No, I chose it.’ He let her pull back from the brink.

‘You did?’ It made the room like a grotto—with that big bed in the middle and the soft-looking white pillows and duvet. ‘Okay, you chose it with women in mind.’

‘No, I liked my tree house when I was a kid. Remember that?’

She did remember the old hut up high in one of the ancient trees at his parents’ house. She and Lauren had been banned from it. It had been padlocked and everything. His escape from the magazine-spread-perfect
house. Lauren had got her escape by banning her mother from her room.

‘This gives me the same feeling of peace.’ He walked towards her. ‘And women don’t sleep in here.’

Yeah, right. ‘Because you have a separate bedroom for your seduction routine? One with boxes of condoms and sex toys?’

‘I don’t need sex toys,’ he boasted with a self-mocking smile. ‘And you’ve already seen the spare rooms. One’s my office, one’s my library.’

‘So what, you’re celibate?’ She let her eyebrows seek the sky.

‘I prefer to sleep-over at their houses. It makes the morning-after escape easier.’

She shook her head but couldn’t help the laugh. ‘You’re bad.’

‘No, I’m good. It’s easier for both of us. Women tend to be more relaxed in their own environment.’

‘Do you even make it to the morning, or do you sneak out while she’s still asleep?’

‘I never
sneak
out.’ He walked a step closer still. ‘There’s nothing like starting the day with sex. I leave her recovering in bed after that.’

‘And dreaming of another encounter that will never happen.’ Mya desperately clung to some kind of mockery but all she could think about was kissing him, about starting the day with sex—with him.

‘Why ruin a beautiful memory?’ He smiled. ‘One perfect night is all that’s required. More just gets messy.’

She suspected just the one with him would get messy for her. Her one and only one night had been hideous the next day.

‘Now,’ he said softly, so close in her personal space now her pulse was frantic. ‘You can either work in my
office or the library. You’ve got your laptop.’ He glanced at the dinosaur beast in her bag. It weighed a ton but still had a word-processing program that worked. That was all that mattered. ‘Let’s go with my office.’ He made the decision for her. ‘I’ll pull up the cases you need while you get reading. And my computer is faster in there than the one in the office. You can type up your assignment on that—be better for you ergonomically.’

Mya dragged in a shaky breath, determinedly so
not
disappointed he hadn’t kissed her, and followed him to the office.

There was really only one reason why Brad had offered to help Mya. One carnal, driving reason. But now she was in his house he fully regretted it. Her scent tormented him. The light sweetness overlaid with the tart lemon from the bar. Yeah, that was Mya. He switched on the computer with deliberately calm movements. In truth, he wanted to spin in his seat and grab her, have her over his desk in a second and kiss every inch of her skin. Here, in his bed, the kitchen, everywhere. He had the sinking feeling she’d haunt his house for ever if he didn’t get her out of his system.

But there was no doubt she was waiting for him to make his move. His playboy reputation had all her barriers up, and though he knew he could eventually get her to say yes, he didn’t want to be that predictable. He didn’t want her thinking she knew all there was to know about him. Because she didn’t. He wasn’t
that
out of control. He didn’t
want
to be that out of control. And he wasn’t that shallow—at least he hoped not. So he bit back the raging lust and concentrated on the case searches instead.

He quickly read the list she pulled out. It wouldn’t take him that long.

She had her textbook out and was making notes already. He smiled as he watched her discreetly while logging in to the online databases. She was so natural with her hair tied back and her pen in hand, ready to take notes as she read—fast. She’d eased right into it, looking more relaxed and at home than he’d ever seen her in the bar, for all the effort that she put in there. And that was the difference, he figured: there it was a big effort, whereas this—reading, studying, thinking—was effortless for her. And natural.

‘You really like corporate law, or is it about the earning potential?’ he couldn’t resist asking when he was about halfway through the list.

She lifted her head and met his eyes for a too-short moment. ‘I really do like it.’ She looked at the pages. ‘Does that surprise you? I like the challenge. I like figuring out the rules. I like the power in negotiation.’

He nodded but couldn’t help thinking she was holding something back. Her drive was so strong.

‘You think I’m shallow?’ She looked up again and this time he saw the flicker of insecurity in her eyes. It mattered to her what he thought of her?

‘No,’ he answered honestly. ‘Different people enjoy different things. Different people have different things driving them.’

She nodded, but to his disappointment didn’t open up more.

‘Why are you doing summer school?’ He couldn’t help asking. ‘Why do you work so many shifts? Aren’t you on scholarship?’

‘Not any more.’

‘Why not?’

Mya took in a deep breath. She never usually discussed
this—but telling Brad might be a darn good idea. It might help keep her focused around him. ‘I failed.’

His fingers stopped on the keyboard and he swivelled in the chair to face her. ‘You finally flunked an exam? Don’t worry about it—everyone does sometime.’

Somehow she didn’t think he had. ‘I didn’t flunk one. I flunked them all. Finals last year I completely crashed.’

‘What happened?’ His eyes widened.

Yeah, it had been a shock to her too. She’d always been the super-bright one. The rebellious but diligent student who was there on sufferance because she dragged the school’s academic rankings up single-handedly.

‘What happened?’ he asked again when she said nothing. ‘Your family? Is everyone okay?’

‘It was nothing catastrophic.’ She turned away and began underlining random sentences with pencil. ‘It was embarrassing.’

‘So what happened?’

She really didn’t want to go into it but going into it would put the ice on any hot thoughts—hers and his—and she wanted to get through this night without being tempted. ‘I met a guy. I thought he was, you know, the
one
.’ Now she was blushing with embarrassment, because she’d been so naïve. ‘But he totally wasn’t. He broke up with me two days out from exams and I … handled it badly.’ It was mortifying now to look back on, but she’d been hurt. She’d finally thought she’d found a place to fit in, and she couldn’t have been more wrong.

‘What a jerk breaking up at exam time.’

She nodded. ‘He was. But I was an idiot. A big idiot.’ Because she’d gone out and made everything worse.

‘How big?’

‘I went out and got really drunk.’

‘Oh.’ He was silent a moment. ‘Did something bad happen?’

‘Not bad. But not that great either.’ She glanced at him. ‘My own mistake and I’ve learned from it.’ The responsibility lay with her. She was the one who’d lain in bed crying her eyes out. She was the one who’d gone out and got drunk to try to forget about him and ease the pain. She was the one who’d brought home some random guy and slept with him just to feel wanted. She’d woken up the morning of her first exam with a dry mouth and a sick stomach and an inability to remember the name of the man in her bed. She’d been mortified and ashamed and sick. Hung-over and bleary-eyed, she’d not even made it past the first hour of the exam. The one that afternoon she’d turned up, signed her name and walked out again. The last exam she’d actually tried to do something on but had panicked halfway through and walked out. Her supervisor had called her in when the results came out. Had asked what had happened, had wanted her to get a doctor’s note or something because her performance was so shockingly below her usual standard. Below anyone’s standards. But she could never have done that. It was her fault, her responsibility.