She wasn’t aware of anyone watching her, the crowd a distant blur, and inside her mind she saw only him, his breathlessness, his dark eyes gleaming beneath half-closed lashes. She danced thinking of nothing and no one but him, of his expression as he’d moved closer, of the way he’d seemed to savour every touch of her skin. Being that desired was incredibly intoxicating. And the heady pleasure released her from any anxiety, any self-consciousness. She danced only for him and for herself.
During the game she knelt on the sideline with the other dancers. For this part they held pompoms, which they were to shake and shimmy at high points in the game—i.e. when the boys scored. Which they frequently did. She was loving it now—looking forward to dancing more at half-time. All nerves eviscerated.
She knew exactly where Gabe was—impossible to miss him with his neon green vest over his jeans and DOCTOR printed in large lettering across the back. Far sexier than the numbers on the rugby pitch. He ran on a couple of times to deal with blood injuries. She saw him moving to ice a couple of boys’ knees and ankles when fresh players were subbed on in the second half. She was so aware of him, felt such a connection, it was a wonder the world couldn’t see the string attached from her eyes to him.
After the game—which naturally the Knights won—she wriggled out of her costume and into her new dress. The kind of thing she’d never have worn when her grandfather was around to see it. Not that it was low cut, but it clung in all the right places—to the curves that she’d let go back to almost normal in just a booster bra rather than all-out padded. False advertising wasn’t necessary for Gabe, he already knew what was on offer and, to her great pleasure, he still wanted. There was an after-match function within the stadium and then most of the players and dancers went to a particular club in town. Her first time to attend. But she’d happily skip it. She couldn’t wait to be alone with Gabe—to finally get the kiss she’d been waiting for for ever. And then everything else.
She walked into the crowded room with a couple of the other dancers, her smile impossible to contain. She searched, her eyes flickering from one tall man to the next. Her heart beat louder, drowning the noise of talk and laughter and clinking glasses. Icy awareness slithered down her spine. She was certain before she’d even finished her sweep of the room.
Gabe had gone.
CHAPTER SIX
ROXIE ran up the stairs to her tiny bedsit above the garage, too defiant to bother about being quiet. There was no light on in the house so maybe he was still out. Maybe she’d missed him somehow and he was still at the bar waiting for her.
But she knew he wasn’t. She’d stayed for the drinks, gone on to the club and danced her heart out in the crowd, pretending she didn’t care that the coward had chickened out of following through with her. He was still treating her like someone not old enough or cool enough or sophisticated enough to be with him.
So now, nearly two in the morning, she unwound the wire cage on the P-for-performance bottle of Bolly. Stood in her open doorway and fired the cork towards his house. Then was crass enough to drink straight from the bottle.
It tasted good.
She was hot and thirsty, both angered and excited, sleep was utterly impossible. So standing on the landing out in the warm night air, swigging from a bottle that was emptying surprisingly quickly, seemed like a damn fine idea. She glared over at his house, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say to him as soon as she saw him again. With every sip she grew more riled, more defiant, more confident.
Damn the man.
She had a key to his house. After all, it was her house. And he was so going to get a piece of her mind. He owed her. Why shouldn’t she go in now and let him know all about it?
She ditched the drained bottle and grabbed her keys, kicking off her shoes before skipping down the stairs and along the path that led to his back door. She unlocked it and stepped inside. Realised then that she didn’t know which room he’d taken. No matter, the house was hardly huge.
She walked into the master bedroom downstairs. The one with the en suite where he’d washed out her eyes. Nothing.
Which left only the bedroom upstairs on the mezzanine floor—her old room. The door was ajar; she nudged it open. He hadn’t drawn the curtains and living in the central city meant there was a lot of light pollution, so she could see quite well—especially with the full moonlight streaming in as well.
She stared at the bed. The bastard was sound asleep. How the hell could he be sound asleep when she was being eaten alive by fantasies of everything she wanted to do to him—and for him to do to her?
Without thinking she walked closer, because it was a hot night and he was sleeping with just a sheet covering him. No pjs or tee shirt or vest or anything. Just a sheet that was currently resting low round his hips. She drank in the sight of his bare chest, breathed deep as she scoped his ripped abs.
He stirred and opened his eyes. Took a glimpse of her and groaned, closing his eyes tight. ‘F … in’ dreamin’ … Rox …’
Enthralled, she watched as he groaned her name again, watched his hand slide below that sheet to where it was seriously rucked up. He sighed then, frustration seeking satisfaction.
O-o-okay-yay-yay-yay.
She smiled broadly, thrilled to know she wasn’t alone in dealing with explicit dreams. She reached forward and trailed a finger down his sternum towards his belly button. ‘I’m right here.’
‘What the …!’ He sat bolt upright, his hand slamming on top of hers, squashing it against his chest so she could feel his heart thumping right through her fingers.
‘Roxie?’ His eyes horrified wide. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
She tried to tug her hand free but he didn’t let it go. He glared, his chest rising and falling as if he’d been sprinting.
She glared back. ‘You ran out on me.’
‘Roxie …’ He flung her hand from him. ‘You can’t just break into someone’s house.’
‘For the record, this is my house. But don’t panic,’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘I’m not here to attack you or move in on you. I just want to give you a piece of my mind.’
He puffed out a big breath. ‘It couldn’t wait ‘til morning?’
‘No, because you acted like a jerk.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ he snapped back. ‘I was very nice and helped calm your nerves.’
‘Oh, like they taught you that in med school? Don’t try to act like it wasn’t something you instigated. And don’t try to pretend it wasn’t something you’ve wanted for days. And don’t you dare try to pretend nothing more personal isn’t going to happen.’
He shifted. The sheet slipped. He hastily pulled it back.
Yeah, his ‘personal’ reaction was only getting bigger. And she was beyond sure of him now. Anticipation licked her nerves and made her laugh. ‘Did you know there’s over two hundred and fifty million bubbles in a bottle of champagne? Which means there are about a hundred and twenty-five
million bubbles zinging through my veins now.’
Gabe leaned back and rested his head back on the headboard, his pulse still settling from the shock of waking to find her in his room. But this reality was no nightmare, just pure fantasy—a too-pretty girl laughing at him, daring him, tempting him. ‘Someone bothered to count?’ he drawled, trying to feign some cool—some control.
‘Apparently so.’
‘You’ve had your bottle, then?’
‘All by myself.’ She sniffed. ‘You should have had some with me.’
He shook his head slowly, ruefully smiling. He’d lick the last drops from her lips given half the chance. But the trouble was he liked her. And that was where the complications arose. He sensed hurt beneath her determinedly sunny exterior, was certain she was denying loneliness and who knew what other needs. But he couldn’t ever be the guy to give security. His lifestyle would never accommodate a serious relationship and he didn’t want emotional hassle. It had taken him too long to feel
his own freedom. And he couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t think she wanted more if they became fully intimate.
‘No matter.’ She sashayed closer. ‘You promised me something.’
Oh, the temptation was extreme now. ‘I didn’t promise,’ he muttered weakly.
‘After the show.’ She ignored his denial. ‘I danced how you said to. Did you see?’
His gaze dropped to the sheet as he tried so hard to expunge the image that had sprung to mind. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you like it?’ Her voice went husky.
He swallowed. This was torture. Utter torture.
‘You’re afraid to answer that?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You won’t. So long as I’m warmed up—and I do believe I am.’ She chuckled. ‘It shouldn’t hurt that much at all, should it? I always figured the pain thing was a way of trying to put a girl off. Trying to keep us “good”,’ She gurgled with laughter.
‘Roxie.’ He felt strangled as heat consumed him. ‘I didn’t mean physically.’