He straightened and spun, unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat with a wicked grin on his face as he unwound the window to talk to her. ‘I’ve always wanted to drive one of these. Can I drive home?’
She glared at him looking so at home in her 1954 Mark 1 Zephyr with its powder-blue base and gleaming chrome. No way was he driving her baby. ‘What about your own car?’ It was one of those sporty convertible things that cost an absolute fortune. Parked only a few spots away from hers, it was too flash for daylight.
He reached into his pocket and threw his keys at her. ‘You drive it.’
She was so shocked she failed to catch them. ‘No way.’ She picked the keys from the ground, balled her fists and stuck them on her hips.
‘Why not?’ He laughed, annoyingly. And, yes, reheating those parts that always leapt to life in his presence. The melt was almost impossible to prevent now.
‘Because it’s worth eighty times what mine is,’ she fumed, trying to stay mad with him, trying not to like him all the more for teasing her so hard. ‘I drive that and you’re not insured. I can’t afford any bill to fix a dent in your baby.’
He leaned back in the seat, a smug expression all over. ‘Goody Two-Shoes.’
‘Fine, so what if I am?’
‘You stay that way.’ His eyes flashed as he got out of the car and handed her keys back to her. ‘You know, you really should get your licence,’ he said condescendingly. ‘You’re not covered by insurance without it. One day you’ll get caught and then you’ll get done. You don’t want a conviction to ruin your chances of getting an entry visa into the US or wherever it is you want to go travelling to, do you?’
She frowned, not pleased by that idea. ‘Could that happen?’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Maybe.’ He held the door for her, way too close again as she took up position in the driver’s seat. ‘Guess you’d better drive carefully …’ He trailed off and then dipped down to murmur slyly, ‘Unless you want me to drive you?’
Oh, now there was no holding back on the flirt of it. Not when he couldn’t help himself either. She turned her head and peered up at him, fluttering her lashes. ‘Gabe, you know I want you to drive,’ she cooed. ‘Just not my car.’
He chuckled as he shut the door, then reached through the window to gently brush her jaw with his knuckles. ‘Keep working on the sass, I’m sure one day you’ll graduate to fully frisky vixen.’
She glared at him and started the engine. ‘Better stand back, the steering on this beast can be tricky sometimes, wouldn’t want to run over your toes.’
He followed her home, making her so hot and bothered she missed a couple of gear changes. A glance in her rear-view mirror showed the flash of his smile in the car too close behind hers. She turned into her place, got out to drag open the heavy old garage door, then parked her car inside.
He’d parked on the street, so she left the garage door open for him. He walked in and shut it with annoying ease. Then he walked to where she was trying to straighten the blue tarpaulin that barely covered the towers of cardboard boxes she’d stacked along the back wall.
‘You have so much stuff,’ he commented as she turned towards him.
‘Yeah, but at least it’s all sorted now.’ She glanced back at the boxes with displeasure. ‘I’m not sure what to do with it.’
‘You don’t want to keep it?’
‘Not all of it. But if I let it go, then it’s gone for good.’ All the memories, the stories, their lives. She’d been through every inch and not found the answers she wanted. ‘Same with the furniture.’ She sighed and walked to the small door that led out to the garden. ‘I got rid of a few things, but you’ve seen the rest all jammed in up there.’ And she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.
‘There’s no one else who might want some of it?’ he asked as he followed her.
‘No. My mother was an only child. So was I.’ No aunts and uncles, no cousins. She was the only one left in her little family.
‘What about your father?’
Roxie hardened her heart enough to be able to answer lightly. ‘I don’t know anything about him.’
‘Not even his name?’ he joked.
But she couldn’t do more than answer baldly then. ‘No.’
‘Oh.’ He cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at her. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ Now she felt sorry for making him feel awkward. She shouldn’t have said anything but she felt as if she had to explain more now—to ease over the moment. ‘There aren’t any records. No clues in any of those boxes. Naturally no bureaucratic department is able to help either.’ She forced a smile. They never seemed to be able to help her.
He met her eyes and half smiled back. ‘So this was your mum’s house?’
‘No, she lived in the UK. I was raised by my grandparents. This is their house.’
‘And they left it to you?’
She nodded.
‘When?’
Oh, man, hadn’t they covered enough already? He didn’t know it but he was dragging the conversation to even boggier ground. But she maintained her smile and quickly recited the facts. ‘My grandmother died when I was sixteen. My grandfather died just over a year ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He turned slightly away and looked at the beautiful house, which was good because holding her smile was causing mouth ache. ‘Where’s your mum now?’
Roxie closed her eyes for a split second. ‘She died when I was eight.’
‘Man,’ he muttered softly. ‘That’s rough.’
Roxie shrugged and downplayed it. ‘She lived overseas. I grew up with my grandparents so I didn’t know her that well. I’ve lived here all my life.’
Long ago she had mourned for what could have been, as a kid she’d been filled with the idealistic hope that her mother would one day return to her and would answer all her deep-held questions. But that hadn’t happened and any chance of getting those answers had been buried with the last of her family. She’d spent the year sorting through papers, sorting through those feelings. Now she’d put them all into boxes and sealed them away.
She glanced at him and saw the one thing she’d never seen from anyone else. The one thing she didn’t want to see from him.
‘I don’t need sympathy, Gabe,’ she said, annoyed by it. ‘A year or so ago, it would have been nice.’ And she couldn’t help throwing him the challenge that one last time. ‘What I need now is some fun and adventure. It’s been a long time coming.’ There was no soft coo, or coy look this time, she spoke with hard, raw honesty.
‘I don’t think diving off the deep end is the way to go,’ he answered with clipped finality.
Roxie couldn’t believe it—so the flirt of mere minutes ago had just been that? He was still denying this? So much for him being the ultimate slayer. He’d come over all old-school gallant because of that one stupid word—virgin. She had no idea how he’d got that playboy reputation; it truly was misplaced. And she was mortified because she’d thrown herself so hard at him.
‘You don’t think I can handle it? I’ve handled more than you can ever imagine.’ But she sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the fine details of her sob story to gain points like some try-hard on a reality TV talent show. She was mad with herself for saying the bit she had already. Sympathy really wasn’t what she wanted.
He looked at her too intently for another too long moment, his stance rigid. ‘I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.’ His parting words came over his shoulder as he strode away. ‘Dance hard.?
??
CHAPTER FIVE
ROXIE pulled on her costume, engulfed by embarrassment. Gabe was avoiding her. She’d seen him duck his head back from the window when she’d been out in the garden this morning and he’d immediately zipped the other way when he’d seen her down the corridor at the stadium as she’d arrived half an hour before. So, yeah, she’d made a huge mistake. He wasn’t interested at all—had merely been flirting for amusement. And now he knew some of her history he was probably afraid she was all fragile and about to go crazy like his ex.
‘Almost ready?’ Chelsea asked with a bouncy flick of her hair.
Roxie nodded and bent to smooth her outfit so she could hide her face. Yep, she should have paid closer attention to Chelsea’s warning. If it weren’t for the fact that she didn’t have her funds together yet, she’d be on the next plane.
And now there was this. Her first night dancing as a Silver Blade. She stared at her reflection, trying to tell herself that if she didn’t recognise herself, no one else would, and therefore it wouldn’t matter if she made a total dork of herself on the pitch. Only she was terrified—all her confidence and self-belief sucked away. What did she think she was doing? She was going to make a total fool of herself. She didn’t have the experience or the training for this. And as she frowned at the mirror she realised she couldn’t remember the start of their first routine. She’d gone totally blank. She tried to breathe but she needed fresh air—not the clouds of hairspray in the Blades’ change room. The fumes were stinging her eyes.
Gabe was almost ready for the game. He’d strapped a couple of players’ knees for extra support, had his kit ready for sideline duty. But his head was somewhere else altogether—repeatedly banging on the brick wall of desire. He was out of his mind for that provocative, beautiful woman so out of bounds. He went for a walk, determined to claw back the necessary focus. Striding along the corridor, he almost missed the shadow lurking at the back of a remote stairwell. He did a double take, but his body recognised her immediately. ‘Roxie? What are you doing here?’
‘Nothing. Having a moment. Go away.’ The last of her breathless comments rose. Kind of like a question but more like hysteria.