Exotic Nights

He turned away from her and headed towards the checkout. She paused, staring after him, panic rising. More humiliation was imminent. She’d chopped up her credit card—not wanting to get into debt—so all she had was that fifteen dollars in her pocket. While she had the cheque from the birthday party she’d just done, it was Sunday and she couldn’t cash it.

And no way was she letting him pay her bill—not again.

But he put both lots of shopping on the conveyor belt. His was all connoisseur—prime beef steak, a bag of baby spinach, two bottles of hellishly expensive red wine. She couldn’t help wondering if he was cooking for a date. Then, as she helplessly watched, he paid for it all—hers as well as his—with a couple of crisp hundred-dollar bills.

Cash. Of course. But as he put the change back in his wallet, she saw the array of cards in there too—exclusive, private banking ones—and she really started to seethe.

Owen didn’t glance her way once during the transaction. He tried to focus on getting the shopping sorted, but all the while his mind was screening the sight of her spilling out of that unbelievable dress.

Bella Cotton. The woman who’d haunted his dreams every night for the last three weeks. He was mad with her. Madder with himself for not being able to shake her from his head.

And now here she was—real and in the beautifully round flesh he couldn’t help but remember. She didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see him. In fact she looked extremely uncomfortable. Well, so she should, after fobbing him off with a false number like that.

But her embarrassment only made him that bit madder. Made him feel perverse enough to drag out their bumping into each other even longer. Made him all the more determined to interfere and help her out because she so clearly didn’t want him to. How awful for her to have to suffer his company for a few more minutes. He very nearly ground his teeth.

Well, he hadn’t wanted her to take up as much of his brain space as she had these last few weeks either. Night after night, restless, he’d thought of her—suffered cold showers because of her. During the day too—at those quiet moments when he should have been thinking of important things. He’d even got so distracted one day he’d actually searched for her on the Internet like some sad jilted lover.

So he’d known she was in Wellington, but he hadn’t known where or why or for how long. He certainly hadn’t expected to see her in his local supermarket. And he sure as hell hadn’t expected her to be wearing the most ridiculous get-up—or half wearing it. And he most definitely hadn’t expected to feel that rush of desire again—because he was mad with her, wasn’t he? He was that jilted lover. He really wanted to know why she’d done it—why when even now, for a few moments, he’d seen that passionate rush reflected in her eyes.

So while the rational part of him was telling him to hand over her shopping and walk away asap, the wounded-male-pride bit was making him hold onto it. The flick of desire was making sure his grip was tight.

He was walking out of the supermarket already. Hadn’t looked at her once while at the checkout—not even to ask whether it was OK with her. He’d just paid for the lot, ensured their goods were separately bagged and then picked them up. Now he was carrying both sets of shopping out to the car park. She had no option but to follow behind him—her temper spiking higher with every step. And seeing him still looking so hot, casual in jeans and tee again, made every ‘take me’ hormone start jiggling inside. She stopped them with an iron-hard clench of her teeth and her tummy muscles. She was angry with him. He’d done a runner and insulted her with his payment choices.

But she could hardly wrench the bag off him. Not in front of everyone—she was already causing a big enough scene.

Her car was parked in the first row. She stopped beside it and sent a quick look in his direction to assess his reaction. He was looking at it with his bland-man expression. It only made her even more defensive.

‘She’s called Bubbles. The kids like it.’

‘Kids?’

‘I’m a children’s party entertainer. The fairy.’ People usually laughed. It wasn’t exactly seen as the ultimate work and as a result her credibility—especially with her family—was low. They thought it was the biggest waste of her time ever.

He nodded slowly. ‘Hence the wings.’

‘And the frock.’

There was a silence. ‘Do you do adult parties?’

‘That’s the third time I’ve been asked that today,’ she snapped. ‘You’re about to get the non-polite answer.’

His grin flashed for the first time. And she was almost floored once more. Or she would have been if she weren’t feeling so cross with him—Mr I’ll-Pay-For-Everything-Including-You.

Her ancient Bambini was painted baby-blue and had bright-coloured spots all over it. She quickly unlocked it, glancing pointedly at the bag he was carrying, not looking higher than his hand.

Silently he handed it over. ‘Thanks.’ She aimed for blitheness over bitterness but wasn’t entirely sure of her success. ‘Nice to see you again.’ Saccharine all over. She got in the car before she lost it, ending the conversation, and hitting the ignition.

Nothing.

She tried again. Willed the car to start. Start before she made even more of an idiot of herself.

The engine choked. Her heart sank. Had the long drive down from Auckland finally done the old darling in? She tried the ignition once more. It choked again.

He knocked on the window. Reluctantly she wound it down.

‘Having trouble?’

She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the fuel gauge. The arrow was on the wrong side of E. Totally on the wrong side. It was beyond the red bit and into the nothing. As in NOTHING. No petrol. Nada. Zip.