Blame It on the Bikini (13 page)

The
yes
.

She was in that dress. That damn beautiful pink prom dress, with her breasts cupped high and ribbons trailing down her bare back. His attempt to hold back his body’s reaction began to falter. When she looked at him like that? His muscles bunched, rigid with the urge to push her three steps back to the wall and screw her ‘til she screamed. Nothing sophisticated, nothing smooth. Just a wild-animal moment to assuage the white-hot lust consuming him.

But they were in a roomful of people and that wasn’t the show he had planned for them. And it wasn’t what she truly wanted either. She had her other priorities and he could respect them, right?

The only way he’d get through the night alive was to stay away from her and focus on his host duties. He’d been crazy taking this on, on top of his overfull caseload.
He’d challenge Mya for her ‘world’s most busy’ title. But he’d done it. And that look on her face had been worth it. Now he could only hope she appreciated the other things he had planned for the evening. But jumping her wasn’t on that list.

Mya was aware of Lauren watching her so she forced her gaze off Brad’s tall frame as he disappeared back into the throng. ‘This is unbelievable.’ She smiled at her best friend.

‘So good.’ Lauren grabbed her hand. ‘Come on, I heard a rumour about crazy cocktails.’

They were there—listed on a chalk-board with Jonny standing behind the bar rolling his eyes over the contents. Mya grinned and ordered the only alcohol-free option—she needed to keep her wits about her.

A crowd formed around her—friends she hadn’t seen or been able to have fun with in ages, workmates with whom she’d never been able to just hang out. Conversation was fast and snatched and fun, and she tried so hard not to keep watch for Brad. She was determined to enjoy this—the first party ever thrown for her.

But an hour or so into it, the lights suddenly dimmed dramatically.

‘What’s happening?’ Mya leaned close to Lauren as the music switched so suddenly nothing but fierce drumming hit max volume.

‘I have no idea.’

Mya stared transfixed as about twenty black-clad figures swooped in, suddenly clearing a path through the crowds and pushing giant black boxes around the floor. The drums continued while the shadows put some kind of construction together.

Brad, looking sexier than a man had any right to be,
was suddenly lit up from an overhead spotlight and appeared taller than ever. She realised those black-clad figures had created a small stage of sorts that extended down the middle of the room. Mya, like everyone else in the place, was stunned into immobility.

‘If you don’t mind, everyone, there’s something we need to do tonight.’ Brad’s voice boomed out. He had a microphone?

The black cloths that had been covering the windows behind him dropped, revealing two giant screens. The spotlight went off Brad while on screen an old-style countdown reel played. The guests joined in counting down. As they got to one the entire bar went pitch-black.

In the pregnant pause, Mya leaned in to Lauren. ‘When did he set this up?’

‘You’re asking me?’ Lauren giggled. ‘He didn’t let me in on this bit. I just had to get you here.’

‘You know we’re here to celebrate Mya’s birthday tonight. But the thing that you and I all know, but that Mya doesn’t quite believe yet, is that not only is she an amazing academic and gifted cocktail creator, she’s also an artist. And so for tonight, we’re turning this place into an art gallery and seeing what other marvellous things Mya has done.’

‘He’s
what
?’ Mya asked, clapping her hand over her mouth to hold back the shriek.

Now she understood what the stage really was—a runway. And walking along the runway now were models. Slim, gorgeous girls in black bikinis and boots, modelling her hats, her accessories, her dresses that she’d created in her teen years and in the first couple of years at university. Where the hell had he got them all from?

She turned to Lauren, who held her hands up in
the classic ‘don’t shoot’ pose and shook her head at the same time.

She glanced at Brad and couldn’t contain the crow of delighted laughter.
Naturally
he’d found a way to get bikini-clad women on the scene. The crowd cheered and clapped, and she couldn’t blame them as the leggy beauties strutted the length and Brad gave a running commentary on each item.

‘There was a time in Mya’s life when we all looked forward to seeing what it was she was wearing—the accessories, the clothes, sometimes the shoes.’

Everybody laughed as a picture of silver-marker-decorated gumboots flashed up on the screens.

‘She moved into this world of recycled clothing, making new from the old, turning someone else’s rubbish into art for herself. Maximalist, statement clothing. More than clothing. It was wearable art.’

Mya gazed at both stage and screen, her heart swelling. He’d created a multimedia display—a live modelling show interspersed with images from the past flashing up on those giant screens and a soundtrack made up of her fave teen beats. She pressed her freezing palm to her hot forehead. All those DJ picks he’d texted her. The really cheesy ones she’d sent back. He’d made a music mashup and photo montage, and it was all so embarrassing and wonderful at the same time.

‘Of course, she designed for men as well,’ Brad said as the tempo of music changed.

Oh, my. Mya’s jaw dropped and she gripped Lauren’s hand, giggling now. Because she’d
never
designed anything for a guy. But there was an extremely buff guy up there now in nothing but black boxers and some sort of butchered baseball cap. She hadn’t designed it for a man, though one could wear it, of course, but it had just been
for the fun of it. And the tie that was now being displayed by another guy with very little else on, that had been her school tie that she’d redecorated in a rebellious fit one day. But that mega-buff guy in nothing but black boxers really knew how to show it off.

‘So come on, everyone, give it up for Multifaceted Mya.’

Oh, no, someone had switched the lights on her. Literally shone the light on her, and some gorgeous thing came down to where she sat with Lauren. It was the buff guy with the cap. Nothing but the boxers and the cap. Mya looked over at Brad and saw his mouth twitching with amusement as he spoke.

‘While Mya makes her way to the runway, here are a couple of stills from the collection where we can see her talent at her best.’

Mya froze on her seat. He couldn’t be serious—she had to walk up there? And OMG there were huge photos of her up on those screens?

The black-clad male model extended his hand to her. She had no choice but to take her turn down the damn runway with the hot stuff at her side.

‘Let’s face it,’ Brad concluded. ‘The lady has an abundance of talent.’

Everyone in the place was on their feet and cheering.

Mya looked at Brad and saw his smile. Tender, a little mocking—self-mocking perhaps—but genuine. It pierced straight through the last thin layer of defence she had left and exposed her to the full glare of his attraction. In every cell, all the way to her toes it hit—how gorgeous he was.

He wasn’t just sexy and funny and handsome. He was nice, thoughtful and caring. It was a side of him she’d never wanted to acknowledge. She’d preferred to keep
him in the slutski spoilt-man stereotype. Mr Superficial Playboy. That was the easy way out. But the truth was he was utterly outrageous, utterly unashamed and yet utterly kind.

The lights came back on, and Lauren came up as the bar music resumed.

‘It was all her idea.’ Brad curved his arm around Lauren’s shoulders and drew her close.

‘That’s not true.’ Lauren shook her head firmly.

‘Lauren found everything.’ Brad gave his sister a sharp look.

‘He came up with it when we were playing tennis at the club the other week.’

‘It was supposed to be a party for you,’ Mya said, too shaky inside to look at Brad at this moment.

‘I don’t need a party.’ Lauren shrugged. ‘I go to parties all the time.’

‘I’m getting you back for your birthday,’ Mya promised.

Lauren just laughed as one of her boys claimed her for the dance floor.

‘How did you do all this?’ Mya asked Brad, her mouth dry and still not looking at him.

‘I had help,’ he confessed. ‘With the catwalk and the lighting and the music and stuff.’

Mya shook her head and looked across the room. ‘Where did you find all of it?’

‘My mother’s itemised storage system. Lauren had kept them all.’

Well, it had mainly been Lauren’s clothes Mya had messed with. The only thing Mya had kept was the dress she was now wearing.

‘And you called on all your girlfriends to model for you.’ She felt overwhelmed. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘I found some of the pictures of you,’ he said softly.

‘You and your pictures.’ She stole a quick glance at him.

His mouth had twisted into a wry smile and that soft expression was in his eyes. ‘None as good as the one you sent me, but ones Lauren took when you guys were mucking around a few years ago. You were so bold and so creative. Why have you given all that up? You have real talent.’

‘No,’ she scoffed, totally downplaying it.

‘Didn’t you just see that standing ovation?’

‘You set it up.’ She couldn’t resist the urge to lean closer to tease him. ‘All those beautiful models and all their glorious skin?’

Her words drew a reluctant smile to his lips. ‘All that aside, you really do have talent,’ he insisted.

‘I appreciate this, so much,’ she said softly, her throat aching because it was such a kind thing he’d done for her. ‘But I don’t have time to do that any more. It was a hobby. Life has moved on from that stuff.’

She blinked as bleak frustration dimmed his eyes. ‘Mya, you don’t
have
a life.’

‘I do,’ she argued, quiet but firm. ‘And I’m lucky enough to have friends.’ Ones who cared. She might even dare put him in that category after tonight. Except, grateful as she was for this night, she didn’t want to lock him away in that neat and tidy box.

Something flashed in his eyes and was almost immediately blanked out. All that remained was resignation—she felt it too.

He smiled as another guest walked up to talk to them. It was that charismatic smile of his, yet strangely devoid of depth. Despite the excessive heat of a crowded club-floor on a hot summer’s night, Mya’s skin cooled as if
the first spears of winter had bitten their way through the hot warehouse bricks. His walls were back up; that automatic charming gleam hid the honesty in his eyes. It felt as if she’d lost something precious.

Brad watched her mingle, the gnawing feeling inside worsening with each minute that she laughed and interacted and clearly had fun. She was having a great time, but it wasn’t enough. He was used to getting what he wanted—easily. Giving up what he wanted wasn’t nearly so easy. Especially when she looked at him with that expression in her eyes—the one that told him he could have what he’d wanted more than anything these past couple of weeks.

But successful though it may be to a point, this night was also a failure. She’d appreciated his effort, but she hadn’t understood it. He wanted her to understand she had so much more to offer the world if she’d just give herself a chance, if she just let go of all the burden she took on and let herself be free. She should be doing the things she loved, not just doing things
for
those she loved.

The realisation hurt and with that came the worse hit—he cared too much about where she was at and what she was doing. When he looked at her now, there wasn’t just that stirring in his groin—there was an ache in his chest.

He liked her—too much to mess around with her.
Things don’t end all that well for your women
. While he wasn’t sure he agreed with Lauren’s statement, he wasn’t taking the risk with Mya. He could get her to say yes, but she wasn’t cut out for a fling, and he didn’t want more than just that. Even if he did, she wasn’t ready for
that in her life. She had her other priorities and that was fine. The only thing to do, right now, was walk away.

So he did.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I
T MIGHT
have been one of the best nights of her life, but Mya wanted the fireworks to finish it off. She didn’t want to be the wallflower walking home alone tonight as she had all those years ago at that miserable prom.

She glanced around. Lauren was flirting with yet another guy—she’d been collecting them throughout the night. Several other friends were propping up the bar getting outrageously hammered with her lethal cocktail mix. Others were up on the catwalk having a dance-off to the hits of their teen years. It was a crazy-fun night.

But Brad had quietly slipped off into the dark—alone. He hadn’t said goodbye to her or anyone. He’d flipped a wave at Lauren but he hadn’t even looked at Mya.

That wasn’t good enough.

Did he think he could do this for her—send her insides into such a spin—and then walk away?

Tonight had been her one night off in months. And didn’t she deserve pleasure in it—pleasure for
all
the night? Didn’t she deserve a treat? It wouldn’t be like that mess-up last year when she’d thought she could handle a night of nothing but physical fun and had failed. This time she knew what she was doing—and she
knew
Brad. She even liked him. But not enough to cause confusion. She’d read the rulebook, was certain she could
handle herself on the field. This time she already knew the score. And while there was that hint of insecurity about her performance, she figured Brad wouldn’t be all that bothered. Ultimately all she’d be was another notch to him, right? But
she
would have the best sexual experience of her life. He’d teased that it would be, but she knew to her bones he’d follow through. She simply couldn’t resist—not for one night.

So she blew Lauren a kiss and waved.

Her feet moved of their own accord, fast, determined, sure. She was stone-cold sober but in a blink she was there already—standing at his front door. Before she could take a breath and think better of it, she hammered the door so hard her knuckles hurt.