As if she hadn’t heard that one before. Then he’d touched her, an attempt at playfulness. He’d run his fingers down her arm and they’d felt reptilian. She’d made a quick exit—smiling politely at the hosts. Once out the door she’d bolted, because she’d seen him coming down the hall after her. She’d been in such a hurry to get into the car and away she’d pulled hard on her dress as she’d sat and one of the cute capped sleeves had just ripped right off, meaning that side of the top was in imminent danger of slipping south too. Well, the dress had been slightly tight. She’d been eating a little more chocolate than usual these last three weeks. Like a couple of king-size cakes a day to get her through the move. Now she needed to top up on essential supplies. And so it was that she pulled into the supermarket car park—fully costumed up and half falling out of it.
Ordinarily she’d never stop and shop while in character, but this wasn’t an ordinary day. She was tired and ever so slightly depressed. She picked up a basket on her way in and ignored the looks from the other customers. Didn’t they often see fully grown women wearing silver fairy dresses and wings, an eyeload of make-up and an entire tube of glitter gel?
She’d blow her last fifteen dollars on some serious comfort food. She loaded in her favourite chocolate. The best ice cream—she could just afford the two-litre pack so long as she could find a five-dollar bottle of wine. In this, one of the posher supermarkets, she might be pushing her luck. As it was her luck was always limited.
She headed to the wine aisle and searched for the bright yellow ‘on special’ tags. She’d just selected one particularly dodgy-looking one when the voice in her ear startled her.
‘And you told me you didn’t want the fluffy princess part.’
Her fingers were around the wine, taking the weight, but at the sound of that smooth drawl they instinctively flexed.
The bottle smashed all over the floor—wine splattered everywhere, punctuated by large shards of green glass.
Oh, great. It would have to happen to her. Right this very second. She looked hard at the rapidly spreading red puddle on the floor so she wouldn’t have to face the stares of the gazillion other customers, especially not … Was it really him?
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a fright.’
She couldn’t avoid it any longer. She looked up at—yes, it was him. Right there. Right in front of her. And utterly devastating.
‘Oh, no.’ The words were out before she thought better of it. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you lived in—’ She broke off. Actually she had no idea where he lived. She’d thought Auckland, but there was no real reason for her to have done so. They hadn’t really talked details much—not about anything that really mattered.
After a disturbingly stern appraisal, he bent, picked up the fragment of wine bottle and read the smeared label. It reminded her where they were and the mess she’d just made. She glanced down the aisle and saw a uniform-clad spotty teenager headed their way with a bucket and mop.
‘No, no, no and no again.’ Owen, if that indeed was his name, was shaking his head.
‘It’s for cooking. A casserole.’ Ultra defensive, she invented wildly.
He drew back up to full height and looked in her basket. Both brows flipped. ‘Some casserole.’
‘It is actually,’ she breezed,
determined to ignore the heat in her cheeks. ‘Pretty extraordinary.’
‘Ultra extraordinary,’ he said, still looking at her with a sharpness that was making her feel guilty somehow. It maddened her—he was the one who’d skipped out that crazy night. Don’t think about it. Do not think about it!
But suddenly it was all back in a rush—all she could see was him naked, her body remembering the warmth of his, the thrill. And all she could hear was his low laughter and how seductive it had been.
The heat in her cheeks went from merely hot to scorching. And he stood still and watched its progression—degree, by slow degree.
Then his gaze dropped, flared and only then did she remember the state of her dress. Quickly she tugged the low sagging neckline up and kept her fist curled round the material just below her shoulder.
His eyes seemed to stroke her skin. ‘Your sunburn has faded.’
It didn’t feel as if it had now—it felt more on fire than it had weeks ago when it had been almost raw.
‘I’m sorry about this.’ He gestured to the mess. ‘I’ll pay for it.’
And then she remembered how he’d left her.
‘No, thanks,’ she said briskly. ‘You don’t have to—’
He wasn’t listening. He’d turned, studying the shelves of wine. After a moment he picked one out and put it in her basket. ‘I think this one will serve you better.’
She caught a glimpse of a white tag—not a yellow ‘on special’ one—and winced. No way could she afford that bottle of wine. But she couldn’t put it back in front of him.
Then he took her basket off her. ‘Is that everything you need for your casserole?’ he asked blandly.
‘Oh, er, sure.’