Playing it Cool (Sydney Smoke Rugby) (4 page)

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Dex grinned. He wasn’t so sure about that. She looked pretty damned chuffed with his subject matter. “Your turn. I showed you mine. Time to show me yours.”

She blinked at her canvas as if she was seeing it for the first time. “I’m not sure what it is,” she said after long moments. “It started out as a rainforest but…” She trailed off as she turned the painting around.

Dex took in the visual feast. Rich green leaves of varying size and hue framed the painting. Water droplets sparkled and glistened off some of the leaves, tiny faces and eyes peered out from the foliage. The greenery encroached on the centrepiece that looked very much like the
H
of a goalpost.

But there was nothing
rugby
about it.

It looked more maypole than goalpost, with vines of green and gold twisting around the uprights and bright tropical flowers blooming intermittently. A dozen tiny ring-tailed possums hung off the crossbar in varying poses, all clearly enjoying themselves.

It was stunningly detailed. Dex’s gaze scanned the canvas relentlessly, left to right, up and down. Each time, a pair of eyes he hadn’t seen before became obvious, or the bright splash of a flower revealed itself. It was utterly enthralling.

Most definitely
lush
. The kind of place where he could picture Adam and Eve. Or Tarzan and Jane. Steamy. Primal.

“Is that a goalpost?” he asked when he eventually dragged his eyes off her canvas.

“Yeah. Not sure where that came from.”

Dex chuckled at her obvious confusion. “I think Freud might have a field day with that.”

“You think it’s phallic?” She inspected the painting again before shaking her head at him. “Of course, you’re a man. You think everything’s phallic.”

Dex smiled, unabashed. “Can I keep it?”

“Oh.” Her mouth formed a surprised, lush
O
, drawing Dex’s gaze. “Sure, if you want.”

“This is the part where you exclaim that you simply must have my work of art, too,” he teased.

Harper laughed. “But of course.”

“Here, I’ll even sign it,” he said, dipping a fine paintbrush in the pot of black. “You sign yours, too.”

He quickly scrawled
Dex the Stud
in the bottom right hand corner before presenting it to her. She’d just gone with plain
Harper
but she’d painted a little heart where the
A
should have been.

“Oh boy.” She pressed her hand to her breast in faux excitement. “Now I have a signed Dexter Blake original. It’ll be worth a fortune in a few years.”

“Yeah,” Dex snorted. “I’m sure someone will buy it for ten bucks on eBay. Maybe a hundred if we win the premiership.”

“Sell it?
Never,
” she decried, keeping up her act. “I definitely need a mouth like that in my life.”

Dex’s gaze once again zeroed in on her mouth. “Don’t we all.”

Their eyes locked for a beat or two, and he swore he could hear her breath thicken before the chiming of her phone interrupted them. Harper tensed as she glanced at it like it was a boa constrictor slithering out of her canvas. “Is that her?” Dex asked.

“Yes.”

“Don’t look at it.”

“I’m not,” she said, picking up her wineglass and taking a mouthful.

He held out his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll delete it.”

She shook her head as she placed her glass on the table and picked up her phone. “No need.” She tapped her screen a few times then put her phone down. “Gone.”

Gone, yes. But not forgotten. The lightness of the mood had evaporated. It was hard to believe that they’d been talking about spank banks mere minutes ago.

The coals of anger stirred in Dex’s chest. Harper was gorgeous. She may not fit the screwed-up societal notion of what constituted beauty these days, but to him, she was a fucking
goddess
. Hell, if he thought he could sleep with her and not want more, he’d be dragging her out of the restaurant right now.
By her hair, if necessary
.

A primal surge of possessiveness grabbed him by the balls.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that crap,” he growled.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

She was putting on a brave face, but the texts had obviously gotten to her. She shouldn’t have to be
used to it
. On impulse he said, “Let’s do this again.”

Damned if he was going to sit here and watch her crumple when she should be sitting tall, working her assets like a fucking boss.

“Paint?”

He shook his head. “Date.”

“Dex.” Her voice was low and husky, her imminent rejection obvious. “That’s very sweet of you but I’m a big girl—clearly.” She laughed, but there was a brittle edge to it. “I don’t need any more pity dates. I’m fine.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “
Really
.”

The conviction in her voice was solid, and he believed her. She certainly didn’t seem like she was about to fall apart.

But,
screw that
, he was committed now.

It wasn’t as if dating her—even for show—would be any kind of hardship.

“Don’t you want to get up their noses? Chuck and your stepmother. Just a little bit?”

She smiled and her entire face lit up. “Only for the last thirteen years.”

Dex lit up on the inside. He shouldn’t be doing this. She was the very definition of playing with fire. But Chuck Nugent and the horse he rode in on could go and screw himself. “So let’s do this. Let’s date. Let’s give them something to really get their panties in a wad about.”

“I thought you didn’t date?”

“I don’t.”

“But you’re prepared to”—she smiled—“make the sacrifice for me?”

Dex dropped his gaze to her boobs, lingering deliberately before lifting again. “It’s a tough job.”

Her smile slipped as she eyed him dubiously. “What does dating entail, exactly?”

“We meet socially on a few occasions. Hang out. Have some fun while pissing off Chuck.”

She regarded him for long moments. “That it?”

“You want more?” Dex tried desperately
not
to think about more. About how addictive
more
could be with Harper Nugent.

“It’s
your
plan.” She shrugged. “I just think we need to set the parameters before we decide to go for it. Or not.”

As far as Dex was concerned, he wanted everything. All of her. Spread out on his bed. Plastered against the tiles in his shower. Bent over his dining room table. He wanted her hot and wet and needy. He wanted his name on her lips and the smell of their sex on her skin.

And if this were five years from now, then it’d be perfect.

But it wasn’t.

She was right. He needed to keep his head. If they did this, they needed to establish some ground rules. For himself more than anyone else.

“I think we should keep it platonic.”

Said no sane man in the presence of a goddess ever. Except him, apparently
.
Jesus, Linc would kick his ass if he could hear Dex now.

“Okay.” She nodded. “So it’s just an evil plan to make Chuck and Anthea spit nails for a little bit?”

“Yep.” Dex grinned. “You got it one.”

“No fucking?”

The question stroked along his dick with all the potency of a physical caress. Why was hearing a dirty word from a pretty mouth such a frickin’ turn-on?

Dex swallowed as he shook his head. “
Definitely
no fucking. Not that I don’t want to,” he hastened to assure her, in case the words of her evil stepmother were still holding some kind of sway. “Trust me, there’s nothing I want more right now then to strip you out of your clothes, lay you on this table, upend that glass of wine over you and lick it out of every nook and cranny, and to hell with everyone here watching.”

It was gratifying to see her swallow. To see the slight widening of her eyes and the brisk dilation of her pupils. To hear the husky tremble in her voice as she said, “Okay.”

“I just can’t afford the distraction of sex with you, Harper, because…man…” He stared at her mouth. “I have a very bad feeling that I might not want to stop. But…hanging out? That I can do.”

Of course he could. He may still want to relieve her of her clothes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t control himself. Especially when he’d gone to all the trouble of setting the ground rules.

She nodded. “Okay.”

Her voice was still husky, and Dex wanted to beat his chest like fucking Tarzan because he’d managed to turn Harper on just by describing how he wanted to do her on the table in front of everyone.

“Whaddya reckon?” He grinned, raising his almost empty beer bottle. “Want to screw with Chuckie?”

She lifted her almost empty wineglass and tapped it against the bottle. “Fucking A.”

Dex grinned. Now all he had to do was keep his hands—and his tongue—to himself.

Chapter Four

I have a very bad feeling I might not want to stop.

Harper was still thinking about those words two days later as she painted the scales on a mermaid’s tail. The under-the-sea mural dominated the expanse of wall just inside the doors of the ward. Public bathrooms interrupted the flow of the wall, but Harper had framed the doorways with sparkly seaweed, curious starfish and luminescent seashells, making them part of the watery landscape.

The mural was her best yet. Even if she did say so herself.

Octopus’s Garden
and
Rock Lobster
were playing on repeat via her ear buds because there was nothing like mood music when she was painting. It also blocked out the eerie silence of the empty ward, devoid of patients and the hustle bustle of hospital life while she completed the mural. This area would be done early next week, and the ward was scheduled to reopen by week’s end.

So she was alone. With her thoughts. Her very
indecent
thoughts. Unfortunately, no amount of Beatles or eighties pop could drown out her memories, or the conversation that had played on a loop in her head since Wednesday night.

I have a very bad feeling I might not want to stop.

Christ, the man had almost made her come from that phrase alone. He certainly had when she’d gotten home from the restaurant and she’d collapsed on her bed, reaching into her bedside drawer for some relief from the tingling pressure between her legs. She’d shut her eyes and imagined him saying it over and over as she’d touched herself.

Imagined
him
lying on
his
bed, touching
himself
with those long, slow strokes.

Just as well they were being platonic because if he ever actually touched her with any sexual intent, she’d probably go off like a bloody firework. Just thinking about him now had her body tingling deliciously.

But no. Their dates were fake. For show only.

Absolutely, under no circumstances, did they involve fucking.

God.
Harper still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to date Dexter Blake. Even fake dating as they were, it was hard to get her head around it. She just hoped she could
keep
her head and remember that there was a purpose to their strange little arrangement—messing with Chuck and her stepmum.

Harper smiled just thinking about it. Every time she thought they were crazy, she thought of Chuck’s face when he found out his stepsister was dating one of the stars of the Sydney Smoke rugby team, and a shot of pure evil glee lit up her system like the splashes of glitter paint she’d added to the mural to make the yellow sand of the ocean floor sparkle.

It was hard to believe now how desperate she’d been to like Chuck in the beginning. To have him like her. And she’d been so sure that he did. But then she’d overheard him telling his friend that Harper would squash him if she sat on him.

It had hurt. And crushed all her hopes for having a big brother to look out for her.

A tap on Harper’s shoulder coincided with a flicker in her peripheral vision, scaring her witless. She leaped back, ripping her ear buds out. It was a couple of seconds before the mist of fright cleared enough that she realised who it was.

“Hey.”

“Shit, Dex,” she gasped, clutching her chest, her heart thumping like a bongo drum. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”

“Sorry.” He held his hands up in surrender, but the laughter in his gaze belied the apology.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Had her horny vibes conjured him up? God knew they were pretty damn powerful, if the constant electric hum of her body was anything to go by. She wanted to touch him to see if he was real, but damn if the man didn’t look good enough to eat. She wasn’t going to risk touching him in case she grabbed him and took a bloody great bite.

He was in casual shorts and his silver and blue Smoke jersey, tight in the shoulders and snug against his chest. It was clean and smelled of sunshine and laundry detergent, unlike the night he’d
rescued
her from Chuck, when it had been covered in grass and dirt and smelled like sweat and muscle liniment.

Smokin’ hot—the team’s catchphrase—didn’t even begin to describe him.

She, on the other hand, looked a wreck. She was wearing her baggy overalls, which zipped up at the front and left
everything
to the imagination. Her hair was scraped back into a high, messy ponytail, and there was, no doubt, paint in it somewhere.

There was
always
paint in her hair.

“Just finishing up a scheduled visit to some of the wards. The different teams in the comp do it regularly.”

“That’s very cool,” she said.

“Yeah. It’s good fun. Except for the media that follow us around asking dumb questions and taking a zillion pictures, which makes it feel fake. I was kind of over them, so I thought I’d slip away and see if I could find you.”

“Oh.” Harper didn’t know what to say. They’d agreed to do something on Sunday afternoon. The Smoke played on Saturday night, and he was going to text her the next day with some plans. She hadn’t figured she’d see him until then.

Except in her dirty, dirty mind.

The fact that he was here, seeking her out, was… interesting. Also, just a little bit thrilling.

“Man…” His gaze wandered over her from head to toe. “You look
good
.”

Harper glanced down at herself. “I…do?”

He nodded as his gaze zeroed in on the front zipper. “You do.”

“I’m in tatty, baggy old overalls and have paint on my hands and in my hair. I smell like I’ve taken a bath in turpentine.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze slowly returning to her face. “Who knew that was such a sexy combination?”

His lopsided smile caused her heart to skip a beat. Heat crept up her chest and neck, and she was thankful for the thick material of her overalls as her nipples tightened in blatant response.

He dragged in a breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, come on, woman, tell me about the damn mural before I do something impulsive.”

Impulsive? Like what?

The low growl twirled and twined itself around internal muscles with a gossamer touch, sparking to life all the pent-up lust she’d been trying to control the last couple of days.

Harper wiped the scenarios from her mind’s eye with a quick clearing of her throat. “This is my…under-the-sea mural,” she said, jerking into action. She wandered down to where it started, sucking in some much needed air as she fought to control her reaction to his nearness.

It was insanity of the highest order how easily Dexter Blake could affect her body. No man had ever left her panting with his presence alone.

Determined to keep this aboveboard and professional in her
workplace,
she explained succinctly and methodically what she was trying to achieve. She pretended he was one of her school-age art students and not a fully-grown man who was emitting so much testosterone she was almost faint with it.

She discussed colour and technique and where she was going with the bare sketches on the unfinished section as her pulse fluttered madly. Some would have called it babbling. But she had to engage her mouth in something useful lest it develop a mind of its own.

She was too aware of him to relax. Too aware of his hands jammed in his pockets, his gaze on her mouth as she talked…his heated interest in her zipper.

His cursory questions and complete disinterest in the answers seemed merely an excuse to let his gaze wander freely over her. He didn’t touch her, but she felt the hot, sticky fingerprints of his attention mark every part of her body.

Christ. He was turning her on just by
looking
at her.

“Okay,” she said, her voice tremulous with desire as she ran out of scintillating factoids about the mural. He needed to stop or
she
was going to do something impulsive. “I think it’s time you left now.”

To his credit he didn’t protest, or pretend he didn’t know why she was kicking him out. He nodded. “I really did come down here just to say hi but…
Jesus
.” His gaze dropped again to her zipper. “Are you wearing anything under that?”

A twinge, like the low, sexy notes of a saxophone, undulated across her pelvic floor. Dex was looking at her like he wanted to peel her out of her overalls as if she were a ripe banana. God knew he could do it easily. He was only an arm’s length away. He could just reached out and yank if he wanted.

Harper swallowed. Her breath hitched. “Well, I’m not naked, if that’s what you mean.”

His low groan rubbed against her skin like the finest grade sandpaper, her nipples beading painfully against the fabric of her bra. “Damn.”

The word rumbled out of him, arrowing heat from her breasts directly to the bullseye between her legs. She should send him on his way for both their sanities—push him out the door and tell him she’d see him on Sunday—but the desire darkening his usually light green eyes was a heady thing.

“I’m wearing underwear,” she clarified quickly, as if it might give some protection from the incendiary gaze threatening to melt her overalls right off.

“Christ,” he muttered, his gaze once more zeroing in on the tab of her zipper as he reefed a hand out of his pocket and jammed it through his hair. “All I can think about is yanking that damn zip down.”

It was all she could think about, too.

Harper’s breath was thick as fog in her throat, her pulse slowing. He took a step toward her.

“Tell me to go,” he murmured, his gaze, almost feral now, on her mouth.

Harper couldn’t. She was virtually paralysed with lust. How she was managing to stay upright under his thorough eye-fucking she had no idea.

“No.”

She should. But she couldn’t.

It was like an invisible string pulled them inexorably together, and she didn’t have the power or the will to break it. He was going to have to man up if he wanted out of here unmolested.

“
Jesus, Harper
,” he whispered, looking at her for long moments, looking into her eyes this time as if he was searching for some kind of lifeline.

She clocked the exact second he stopped searching.

“Goddamn it,” he swore, taking the one pace necessary to cover the distance between them, his hands grasping her upper arms, yanking her toward him as his mouth closed on hers.

After days and days of sexual fantasies, the touch of his mouth was like petrol on a fire, and she blazed with need. Harper had heard other women talking about hearing the Hallelujah Chorus when the right guy kissed you. Choirs of angels and all that jazz. But that wasn’t what she was hearing. There was music all right, but it was no glorious benediction. It was rock-and-freaking-roll.

It was the bourbon-gravelly tones of Nickleback singing about pants around her feet and dirt on her knees.

She was vaguely aware of him walking her backward toward the wall, her legs moving automatically at the insistent push of his powerful thighs, and she had just enough sense in her rapidly devolving thought processes to protest.

“No, no,” she muttered, tearing her mouth from his. “The paint’s wet.”

The harsh suck of his breath was loud in her ears for the moment or two his glazed eyes raked her face before he growled in frustration and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the nearest bathroom. Harper was only vaguely aware of their surroundings, of being spun and planted firmly against a strip of wall between the doorway and a washbasin, of the disinfectant foam pump not far from her head, of the two open toilet doors over Dex’s shoulder.

She was much more aware of the heaving of his chest, the rich glitter in his eyes as his gaze raked down her body, and the exciting perfume of hot, hard man. The familiar chemical smells of paint and turps were drowned out by the enthralling waft of more natural chemicals.

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” he murmured, his gaze fixing on her zipper again.

Harper’s head spun at the admission. It was an intoxicating statement, and she bunched the hand she didn’t know was resting on his bicep into the fabric of his jersey. Her breath rasped as his hand stroked down the open collar of her overalls into her cleavage to toy with the tab of the zip. His fingertips brushed against the rise of her breasts as he played with it. Her nipples tightened into painfully hard points in response.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he said. “This
tab
is driving me crazy.”

Harper knew exactly how he felt. Thoughts of Dex had occupied a stupid amount of her time. Thoughts of him soothing the painful ache of her nipples with his tongue were
all
she could think about now.

The give of the first tooth was louder than the husky saw of their breathing and the jitterbug of her pulse through her ears. Harper’s gaze fell on the cheekbones of his bowed head as he tugged some more, tracking the progress, watching his handiwork—watching the zipper cede to his insistent downward tug, and the slow reveal of her underwear.

Somewhere in the sludge that was now her brain, she was thankful she’d chosen to wear a matching set today.

Her overalls slowly parted to reveal all of her, and Harper moaned as he anchored the zipper at its southernmost point, his fingers brushing softly against her crotch.

“Oh yes,” Dex whispered, his voice reverential, his head still bowed. “God
yes.
”

He slid his hands inside her overalls. Her breath hitched. Nerve endings beneath her skin twitched at his touch. “I knew you’d look like this,” he said, his hands sliding north, gliding over the cups of her bra and squeezing.

She gasped this time, her back arching involuntarily, her shoulder blades still anchored to the wall as her hips, the same height as his, ground against him. He ground back, the hard ridge of his cock hitting her in just the right spot.

“
Fuck
,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck.

“
Mmhgnh
,” she muttered unintelligibly, grinding again, finding some relief for the pressure building to fever pitch between her legs.