Bad Boys Down Under (24 page)
Read Bad Boys Down Under Online
Authors: Nancy Warren
She was sweet, a little goofy, too gorgeous for words, and there was something about her that made him relax and have fun. He'd turned down all her offers yesterday to get outside and enjoy life, and forced himself to work. He'd spent more time wishing he'd said yes, than actually working, and since his reason for saying no was to keep his hands off the woman, it hadn't worked anyhow. Today, he was going to make up for lost time. He and Bron were going to have some fun.
“Have you seen the enormous bathtub in your bathroom?” Bron whispered in his ear, ending the question with a nibble on his earlobe. “It's a good size for two people.”
Oh, she was fun all right. And that creative mind of hers didn't stop at designing beach fashions.
He ran his hands up her back, still slightly damp with the sweat of their mutual morning workout, and said, “I am a big believer in conserving water. Let's go.”
Chapter Four
“Welcome to King's Cross,” said Bron with forced cheer. “Where anything can happen.”
She'd kept Mark as busy as she could manage today. They'd walked for miles, through the Botanical Gardens, around the Rocks, where they'd visited the market and she'd bought him a ridiculous sun hat with enormous koalas all over it, and he'd bought her a pair of earrings that only a half-blind Las Vegas showgirl could love.
Then they'd taken the ferry across the harbor to the seaside suburb of Manly and lolled around on the sand, gone for a swim, and eaten fish and chips on the beach.
They returned home and made love again, and she cursed Jennifer Talbot for taking one of the sweetest men she'd ever met and turning him into a cynic.
He wasn't a hardened cynic, though, and that gave her hope; he was more of a sweet, hurt darling with a cynical crust she was determined to break through.
After all the shopping and sightseeing, and some pretty athletic sex, she was certain he'd crash and put his party plan out of his head. But he was both tenacious, she discovered, and tireless.
She was cuddled against him, all but drifting into a nice early evening nap, his hand toying lazily with her breasts, when his hand suddenly stiffened as though he'd got a cramp and he said, “Where's a good place to go tonight where the singles hang out?”
So she'd pulled herself awake.
She could tell him to get stuffed, and then he'd probably go off on his own, make a fool of himself, and drag home some dreadful tart who wouldn't make him happy. Empty sex was never going to make him happy, she knew that already about him.
She
was going to make him happy. He was sweet, serious, decent, and she was already halfway in love with him. So, she'd chaperon him tonight and keep him out of trouble, and out of anyone's bed but hers.
was going to make him happy. He was sweet, serious, decent, and she was already halfway in love with him. So, she'd chaperon him tonight and keep him out of trouble, and out of anyone's bed but hers.
When Cam had told her to babysit the Yank, he couldn't have known how much Mark needed looking after, or that she was exactly the woman for the job.
“I'll take you with me to a party tonight.” A party she'd already decided to skip in favor of a night in with Mark. What else could she do? At least she'd kept him so busy that he hadn't mentioned anything about throwing her out of the house today.
“You'll never have a better tour guide to the singles scene,” she promised him cheerfully as she dressed. “These are my people. I can even give you the inside scoop on the ones you want to avoid.” That would be anyone with breasts, but she wasn't going to give her plan away.
So, instead of spending an evening in with a man she couldn't seem to get enough of, she dressed in a man-hunting red mini dress, heels that damn near crippled her, and the ridiculous earrings Mark had bought her. She'd probably be mistaken for one of the hookers who worked King's Cross, but at least Mark was going to notice her. He wanted a hot Aussie chick?
He'd never find a hotter one than the girl right under his nose.
And just to remind him that two could play the pick-up game, she shouted down the stairs to him, “Can you bring up my gold thong when you come upstairs?”
He muttered something that sounded very grumpy and she tossed her head. A little of his own medicine would do him good. “Oh, never mind, I'll get it myself,” she shouted back and headed downstairs. He stood at the bottom and waited for her, the thong a glittery wisp of gold in his hand.
He did not look pleased.
She took her time coming down those stairs in her killer dress and do-me baby heels. If he didn't know she was pantiless under the ridiculous dress, it wasn't from lack of giving him a peep show.
His mouth did open and close a few times as he watched her descend in her best imitation of a runway model, doing that pushed-forward thing with her hips. His desire for her was pulsing from him, but he never got any words out. His fingers clamped on her thong.
Standing on the lowest stair put her eye to eye with him.
“Am I going to have to break your fingers to get my underwear?” she asked softly, tossing her hair back and then teasing him further by licking her glossy red lips.
“You're going out like that?” he asked, sounding like a cross between a strict fifties dad and a man choking on his own lust.
“Unless you have a better idea,” she said, giving him another chance to prove to them both that she was the woman he really wanted.
“I just think you're being a little obvious.”
“I don't waste my time on subtle. I take what I want, Mark.” She reached out and took the glittery thong from his fingers, and, while he watched, she stepped into the thong and pulled it slowly up her legs.
As she wiggled it in place she thought he was either going to start shouting at her or throw her down on the stairs and take her there. She really hoped for the latter, but after a struggle that had him turning an interesting shade of red and gripping his hands into tight fists, he turned away.
Not only was she disappointed, but she'd forgotten that she'd sworn never to wear the gold thong again. It was horribly uncomfortableâthe thong version of a hair shirt.
“Now, before we go . . .” Mark gestured to the room where she'd been sleeping.
“Oh, no worries. I've got that sorted.”
“You have? But we've been together all day.”
She smiled. Since he thought she was so disposable, she'd let him see she had plenty of options, too. “Like I said. I live the singles life. I've got friends I can stay with.”
Mark's eyes narrowed fractionally and she watched a flash of possessiveness cross his face.
Yes! She hadn't missed her guess. He was no womanizer. He was essentially a one-woman man. Bron intended, at least in the short term, to be that woman. He might think he was in control, but he'd soon find he was wrong.
She did the ditching in relationships. She set the boundaries and decided when it was over. She and Mark were just beginning. She hadn't nearly finished with him yet.
Mark seemed to struggle for another minute.
“You're not jealous are you?” she asked him.
“No.” He leaned against the wall and shoved his hands in the pockets of perfectly creased khakis. This time he'd gone all the way to the sartorial wild side with a striped shirt. Yep, there really were two tones of blue in his shirt. The man needed her desperately, how could he not see that?
“Look, Bronwyn. I'm going to tell you the truth. I'm having a hard time with this. I want you, and it's killing me to think of you with other men.” He shrugged, and looked a bit lost. “It's been a long time since I was on my own. I'm relearning how to be a single wild man, I guess.”
If he'd ever been a wild man, she'd been raised by dingoes.
“We slept together.” He glanced at her and she saw the banked passion glow like blue flame. Everything inside her quivered.
“And it was fantastic.”
“Yes.” He stepped closer. “It was.”
“We don't have to go out,” she said, soft and sultry, feeling her body start to tingle with arousal.
He stopped mid-stride, like he'd been bashed in the middle by a cricket bat. “No. I want to go out. I feel jealous. I admit it, but I've got to get over my middle-class American morals. You sleep with other men. I sleep with other women. That's the way it is these days, right?”
“That depends on the man. And on the woman,” she said tightly. She wouldn't feel hurt. She wouldn't allow herself that weakness. He was struggling, trying to be something that wasn't in his nature. She understood that just as she understood it was up to her to keep him true to the man he was. One day he'd thank her.
For herself, she took lovers when they appealed to her, and the relationships lasted until they were over. But she'd never been a one-night girl, or indiscriminate in her choices. She might have made a mistake with Mark, but she didn't think so.
They caught a cab to the Cross and walked around a bit. She got sly enjoyment out of Mark's reaction. “It's quite something, isn't it?” she said after one of the bouncers at a strip club had done his best to entice them inside for a “fantastic show, mate.” The neon lights made the whole area feel like a stage. A prostitute gave them a friendly greeting, two drunks leaned on each other as they staggered down the street, and a crowd of boisterous young men ambled pastânot at the staggering stage yet, but the night was young.
“Probably a buck's night,” she said.
“Buck's night?”
“A party for a bloke getting married.”
As they strolled past the bars and the peep shows, she tried to see it through his eyes. The area was cheesy and dilapidated, but in a cheerful sort of way.
“Here we are,” she said as they reached the club where they were meeting some of her friends.
“What do you want to drink?” Mark asked as they entered the crowded club.
“A cosmopolitan, please.”
He grinned at her. “Now that makes me feel right at home,” he said and headed for the bar.
“Hey Ronnie, who's the hunk?” Keili asked. Keili wasn't usually one to run right up to her the minute she arrived. The woman was acquaintance rather than friend, more enemy than ally. She had a nose for weakness sharper than a shark scenting blood, and an unfailing appetite for men. Especially men that Bron liked.
Her handling of Keili would be critical in her campaign to keep Mark to herself. Not only for her own satisfaction, but for Mark's protection. He could so easily be fooled. Keili was like a bluebottle, an attractive jellyfish floating by, seeming decorative and benign. But let her get skin to skin, and a man would endure brief but almost unendurable agony that could leave him marked for life.
Keili was adjusting her push-up bra and tossing her hair aroundâthe bluebottle getting ready to sting. Bron reached for the only weapon she could think of that would instantly annihilate Keili's interest.
“Isn't he cute?” She glanced over at Mark with what she hoped was a casual motherliness. “He's American. He's doing some boring accounting job for Crane. I'm babysitting him over the weekend.”
“Lucky you.” Keili licked her lips glossy.
“Not really.” She groaned theatrically and leaned in to whisper, woman to woman. “Why is it always the best-looking ones?”
A sharp glance her way. “You don't mean he's . . . ?”
“Well-groomed,” she said significantly. “He irons his jeans. And he's from
San Francisco.”
San Francisco.”
“Well, that doesn'tâ”
“I know. I didn't want to believe it either,” she said. “It's a tragedy for womankind.”
Keili did not appear convinced, probably because lying about a man's sexual orientation in order to keep him to herself was exactly the sort of stunt she'd pull. Bron needed to convince her, and fast.
“I think I'll go over and introduce myself anyway,” Keili said after a moment. “It's nice to be friendly.”
“Sure. He's a super guy. Ask him about his tropical fish collection and he'll go on for hours.”
“Tropical fish. Right.”
“Oh, before you meet him, you might want to remove the greenery from between your teeth.”
Keili shoved a hand in front of her mouth. “Why didn't you tell me before?” she squeaked and hustled off to the bathroom. Once there, she'd have a meaningful love affair with the mirror, so Bron had a good few minutes' grace. But she still had to move fast.
She wandered over to Bill Freemantle, who was also eyeing her date for the evening. “I'm jealous,” he said.
“You should go and introduce yourself. You two have a lot in common.”
“You don't mean?”
“He's not out yet, but . . . I'm getting the vibes, if you know what I mean.”
“Bron, darling,” Bill said, putting a friendly arm around her shoulders. “Every man who doesn't want to sleep with you isn't gay.”
“He's from San Francisco. He irons his jeans.”
Bill glanced over. “Not entirely proof-positive, love. Although he's certainly giving me the once-over.”
“He is?” She followed Bill's gaze and sure enough, Mark was staring at them like a dog watching over a meaty bone. Although she sensed it was her he was interested in, not Bill.
“You're gorgeous,” Bill said softly, kissing her lightly on the cheek, “but he's better. See you around.” And he sauntered over to Mark. She watched them shake hands and then Bill sat down and next thing they were chatting like old friends. She made her way over to get her drink, and then left them to it.
She'd feel a lot guiltier if she didn't think they would have a lot in common. Except, of course, for their sexual preferences.
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