Exotic Nights

‘I haven’t forgiven you for leaving that night,’ she confessed.

‘I know you haven’t.’

‘But do you know why?’

‘You didn’t want to be alone at the wedding.’

‘No,’ she whispered, able to admit now that that wasn’t it at all. ‘There were things I had planned for you.’

‘Yes,’ his matching whisper mocked. ‘We still have unfinished business, don’t we?’ His hands teased. ‘Now wouldn’t it have been so much easier for me to find you if you had a website? I could have typed in your name and discovered you’re a sexy children’s party fairy—booked up all your weekends.’

She rolled her eyes. The fairy thing wasn’t something she was that proud of. She didn’t want all those old school friends knowing that was all her ambition had amounted to.

‘I’m going to build you one,’ he murmured just before pressing a kiss to her neck.

‘Hmm?’ Fast losing track of the conversation as his mouth took a path downwards.

‘A website. For your party business. It’ll take a couple of hours max.’

She stopped tufting his hair with her fingers. ‘Owen, you’ve already done enough for me.’

‘Bella, please, let me indulge my geek side.’ He chuckled, his breath warming her skin. ‘More to the point, let me indulge my trainee’s geek side.’

But at that she chilled completely. ‘You can’t get your employees to build me a website.’

He lifted his head and looked unconcerned. ‘Why not?’

‘I can’t afford to pay you.’ She couldn’t take more things from him.

He placed his forehead on hers, literally closely watching her. ‘It would be a good practice job for the student placement kid. I need something to occupy his time when the team is busy on strategic stuff.’

Owen really enjoyed the challenge of getting her to agree to his help. She was always so determined to say no and he liked nothing more than hearing ‘yes’ from her—although more often than not it was a soft ‘OK’. Pricking his finger and staining the fairy dress had been a masterstroke in solving that problem. Building her a website was more of a difficult one. He could see the argument in her eyes. But it was really no biggie and it might be a bit of a confidence boost—make her see herself as the small businesswoman she was. If she took herself seriously, others might too.

‘You’d be doing me a favour.’ He knew she didn’t really believe him. She knew, as well as he, it was a weak argument. But Owen liked to win, it didn’t matter how minor the game—and this was minor, wasn’t it? Maybe not, because he decided the end justified the means in this case. So he used his best weapon. And as he kissed her the hint of her refusal drowned beneath the rising desire.

The week slipped by. He refused to let her cook—saying he knew what she did to eggs and he wasn’t letting her do that kind of damage to anything else. Instead he cooked, enjoying the creativity. He never normally bothered. But night after night he had it ready for when she got home. They ate and then snuggled on the sofa while she gave him a crash course in the great movie classics, starting with Casablanca. He hadn’t spent so much time quietly relaxing in ages. And then, through the night, they hardly relaxed at all. Voracious—the more he had, the more he wanted. The passion ran unabated and it only seemed to get better every time.

The question of her staying with him had caused a fleeting awkwardness, but he thought he’d got through it smoothly. This was still a purely temporary situation, right? But he’d suffered a sharp twinge when she’d asked about them stopping sleeping together—he definitely wasn’t ready for that yet. A few more days—several more nights. It wasn’t done between them.

When he went for his run one morning she went with him—riding his bike. She didn’t talk too much. Just a word here and there, and he found it companionable. When he walked into the bathroom after, the scent of her shampoo hung in the steam and disappointment surged when he saw she’d finished already. By the time he got out she was dressed and heading to the door.

‘What’s the hurry? I thought you were on late shift again.’

‘I have an audition.’ Her hair hung in a wet rope down her back.

He looked her over. ‘You want me to iron that shirt for you?’

‘Do you iron, Owen?’

‘Not usually.’ He ignored her chill. ‘I have a service. But I can do it for you if you want.’

Her cool look grew even frostier. ‘The only thing I iron is my hair.’

Right, yet she hadn’t even bothered with that.

‘It wouldn’t take a second.’ It was a lovely shirt, but the crease down one side didn’t exactly give her the professional look.

‘I’m running late as it is.’