Romance for Cynics (8 page)

‘I’m sorry.’ The trite apology tripped from her lips and she instantly wished she could take it back.

How many friends—in reality acquaintances—had offered the required ‘sorry’ when they’d learned of her divorce from Adrian? And she’d accepted each and every one with grace, not blurting the truth despite wanting to. Most of her friends back then had been Adrian’s friends and she’d wanted to leave that world behind without tarnishing what she’d once had.

Pity her ex-husband hadn’t had the same compunction.

‘Don’t be, I’m over it.’ Cash shrugged, as if his admission meant nothing. But she noticed the tension in his shoulders, in the fine lines fanning his eyes, and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘Fact of life, not everyone gets the fairy tale. End of story.’

‘Tell me about it,’ she said, the admission tripping from her lips in a moment of shared weakness. A moment she instantly regretted when he quirked an eyebrow.

‘Sounds like you have a story of your own to tell, Miss Grant.’

‘Not really.’

Last thing she felt like doing was sharing her disastrous marriage to Adrian with a virtual stranger.

His signature wicked grin was back, potent and persuasive. ‘I showed you mine. Least you can do is show me yours.’

Lucy looked into Cash’s deep blue eyes. Eyes without shadows or hurt. Eyes without secrets.

How did he do that? Forgive so easily? Move on from a past that sounded sad at best, heartbreaking at worst.

She might have moved on but she could never forgive Adrian.

‘How did you forgive your folks?’

Puzzled, he searched her face for clarity. ‘What do you mean?’

She plucked at a serviette, shredding it. ‘Sounds like you had it tough. Your mum rejected you. Your dad shut down emotionally. How do you move on from something like that?’

‘Focus on the stuff you can count on.’

‘Like?’

‘Money. Hard work. Success.’

She could identify with the hard work. The other two? Not so much.

‘So who can’t you forgive?’ He stilled her fiddling fingers and slid the serviette away, covering her hand with his. As their hands made contact she was warmed by a tiny flicker of comfort.

She tried to dismiss the sudden closeness. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to open herself up like that.

But his touch was firm and warm, his expression was understanding and empathic, and she found herself blabbing before she could stop.

‘I was married nine years ago. Blissfully happy for twelve months, before discovering the bastard cheated on me. Repeatedly. With more than one woman.’ Her forced laugh sounded slightly hysterical. ‘How cliché is that?’

He squeezed her hand and held on tighter. ‘I could say I’m sorry but I’d be lying. The way I see it? That prick did me a favour.’

He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles. ‘Because you wouldn’t be here with me now if you were still married to that moron, so screw him.’

Some of Lucy’s residual bitterness faded as the skin across her knuckles tingled from Cash’s kiss. ‘True. How lucky are we, indulging in a fake relationship for individual gain?’

He frowned at her sarcasm. ‘Hey, don’t do that.’ He cupped her cheek and for a crazy moment she wanted to lean into him. ‘We all do what we have to do to get by. And whatever the reason is that you’re putting up with me for a week? It must be important.’

Damn, if he didn’t stop being so understanding, Lucy would start bawling any second. And she never cried.

‘It is,’ she said, too abrupt if the shadows clouding his eyes were any indication. ‘Now can we get back to polishing off the rest of the baby quiche and smoked salmon tartlets before those deluded amorous couples come up for air and scoff the lot?’

He nodded and held out his hand to her as he stood. ‘Let’s skip the waiters in penguin suits and go raid the gourmet hamper then come back here and stuff our faces silly.’

‘Lead the way.’ She placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

In doing so, he tugged a little too hard and she stumbled against him. Deliciously close. Not close enough.

‘Oops. Sorry,’ he said, with a wink, a moment before he kissed her. A soft, teasing graze of his lips against hers. A wistful kiss that made her yearn for more.

‘I thought we agreed on no kissing,’ she said, trying to frown and failing miserably.

‘That wasn’t a kiss. It was a “let’s forget our crappy pasts and have a good time today” friendly gesture.’

‘I suggest for the rest of the afternoon you keep those
friendly gestures
to yourself.’ She bumped him with her hip, enjoying his comical mock outrage. ‘Agreed?’

‘We’ll see,’ he said, casually slinging his arm across her shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world as they headed for the gourmet picnic goodies laid out in individual hampers.

Cash was incorrigible. But thanks to the revelations they’d shared, he was also fast becoming incredibly appealing on more than just a physical level.

Lucy really hoped the organisers had stocked loads of chocolate in that basket, because she was in dire need of a major sugar fix.

Anything to take her mind off how utterly, incredibly gorgeous her fake boyfriend was, and how he’d somehow managed to get her talking about her past.

She needed to be extra careful around Cash for the rest of the week. Because she had a feeling the more confidences shared, the more
friendly gestures
, the higher the risk to her insulated heart.

* * *

Asking Lucy back to his place after the picnic had been a dumb idea. Sure, Cash had couched it in terms of going over the plans for his garden, but he knew deep down it had much more to do with her company than her plans for his flowerbeds.

They’d connected at the picnic, on a far deeper level than he’d anticipated or wanted.

Why the hell had he blurted all that stuff about his past? He’d never told anyone about his folks, especially not women he dated.

Though technically he wasn’t dating Lucy. And she was a good listener, with an uncanny knack of delving beneath his cocky façade. It wasn’t something he deliberately did, presenting a confident front, but something he’d acquired over the years; a natural extension of himself.

He’d learned it young, when he had to pretend his dad’s callous indifference and mood swings didn’t matter. And later, when the only time Dad could crack a smile was when he handed over his pay cheque.

Cash had hated those crappy part-time jobs. While the rest of his teenage mates had been skylarking in the city or hanging out at the local games arcade or chasing girls, he’d been busting his ass working three jobs: newspaper deliveries before school, butcher’s assistant after school and waiter at a local restaurant most nights.

Thankfully he’d had a knack for figures too, and had completed an accelerated maths programme that had carried over into university.

Cash had liked making money, had liked seeing his father happy when he’d brought it home. He never knew his mum, and never wanted to, though he guessed he owed her for inadvertently launching his career in the entertainment business.

He’d seen her at a theatre premiere once, not long after he’d graduated uni, recognising her from the sole picture his dad kept hidden in a sock drawer.

She’d been hanging off some wealthy guy, the glitter of her diamonds matching the glint from his gold Rolex. With the foyer full, bouncers started turning people away, and that was when she glanced over her shoulder, saw him and froze.

Cash never knew what alerted her to the fact he was her son—probably because he was the spitting image of his dad—but something must’ve given away his lineage because she strutted up to the bouncer, whispered something in his ear and the next thing Cash knew he was being ushered in.

She disappeared into the crowd and Cash searched for her out of curiosity more than a will to thank her. What kind of a woman booted her own child out and left him with no money when she had enough to burn?

He’d often wondered if she’d offered them money and his father’s wounded pride had prevented him from taking it, but hadn’t wanted to stir up his dad’s anger by asking.

Not that it mattered. His mother hadn’t wanted him. A fact he’d accepted a long time ago. And by her one small action that night, he’d met a few B-list celebrities, had given some free financial advice over cocktails, and his career as an advisor to the stars had been born.

On the odd occasion, usually around Mother’s Day, when colleagues were buying exorbitant flower bouquets and perfume for their mums, he’d experience a pang. A twinge that maybe he should’ve been proactive in establishing a bond between them and getting to know her.

Then he’d remember his dad’s drinking binges and irrational fury and lifelong bitterness, and the urge would dissipate.

Cash was happy with his life. Easy. Comfortable. Uncomplicated.

Until Lucy padded back into the lounge room, her purple-painted toenails sparkling in the down lights, and he realised just how complicated his life was becoming.

‘Here you go.’ She placed a glass of water next to her plans spread on the coffee table and sat on the floor, cross-legged. ‘So what do you think of your new garden?’

‘It’s brilliant,’ he said, meaning it. Her plans to transform his garden were nothing short of inspired. Then again, she could’ve sketched a bunch of stick-figure trees and he wouldn’t have cared.

All he could think about was how good he felt when she was around. And how he’d like to prolong the feeling.

Crazy, considering he didn’t even know her.

Yet he’d shared a very private piece of his life with her today and she’d reciprocated. Stood to reason they’d grow a little closer over the week. But this strange, out-of-control feeling whenever she was around?

Not good.

‘You really like it?’ The hint of vulnerability begged him to place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze.

‘I’m not usually in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.’ He slipped off the couch and sat next to her on the floor, his hand skating across the back of her neck so that his arm ended up draped across her shoulders. ‘You’re extremely talented. This garden will be worth every cent you extort out of me when it’s done.’

She elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Hey! I’m worth it.’

‘Yes, you are,’ he said, his smile fading as she glanced up, their faces temptingly close.

Cash had no idea how long they sat there, staring at each other. His heart pounded so hard he thought it’d leap out of his chest, that was how much he wanted her.

He wanted to kiss her.

Hell, he wanted to do a lot more than kiss.

He waited for Lucy to shrug off his arm, leap up and put an end to this ridiculously tension-fraught moment while the air practically sizzled between them.

His fingers grazed her bare upper arm, the soft skin warm and inviting.

She didn’t flinch or pull away.

He traced lazy circles, his fingertips snagging on the armhole of her tank top.

She didn’t move.

His hand drifted towards her neck, slowly rubbing, an impromptu massage that bordered on erotic.

Lucy’s eyelids fluttered shut at the same time her lips parted, allowing a soft, wistful moan to escape.

It was all the invitation he needed.

He kissed her.

Ravaged her mouth with the pent-up frustration making him want to tear her clothes off.

Taunted her with his tongue. His turn to groan when she matched him.

She surged upward. Straddled him. Made him go a little nuts when she devoured him right back.

He strummed her back, and lower, to cup her ass.

She tore her mouth from his, staring at him in wide-eyed wonder. ‘What the hell are we doing?’

‘About to have mind-blowing sex because we like each other?’

‘I don’t like you,’ she said, her coy smile making a mockery of her feisty declaration.

‘Too bad. Because I really like you.’ He ground his pelvis against her to prove it. ‘And I intend to show you how much all night long.’

‘Is that more of your usual overconfidence talking?’

‘Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.’ He nuzzled her neck, inhaling the subtle, sweet fragrance that was pure Lucy.

When she didn’t respond, he raised his head to look her in the eye. Last thing he needed was to complicate their weeklong arrangement. He knew the score about tonight. No-holds-barred sex. Did Lucy?

‘Last chance, Luce.’ He searched her beautiful brown eyes for a hint of regret, relieved when he only saw excitement and passion and heat. ‘If you stay, I’m going to ravish you all night. If you leave, nothing changes. Up to you.’

She clambered off his lap and he silently cursed giving her an out.

‘Decisions, decisions,’ she said, with her back turned to him.

Cash didn’t show vulnerability to anyone but in that moment he had to say what was in his heart. ‘I want you to stay.’

Lucy didn’t speak, the silence taut with frustration and unfulfilled desire.

Then she slowly turned back. Extended her hand to him. Her lips curved in a teasing smile. Her eyes bright. ‘Then I’ll stay,’ she said as he placed his hand in hers and she pulled him to his feet.

The simplicity of her acceptance caught him off guard and he hugged her tight, wondering where the weird emotional stuff burning his chest was coming from and wishing it would go the hell away.

Lucy slid her hands between their bodies and rested her palms on his chest, gently easing them apart. ‘You’re not getting all sentimental on me, are you?’

Stupidly, he was, and he had no idea why. Something about this woman—her inherent goodness, her guilelessness, her honesty—got to him.

So he did the one thing guaranteed to re-establish control.

Wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisted her up, and backed her up against the nearest wall.

She laughed. She actually laughed, a genuinely happy sound that made him feel like a god.

‘Just for the record? I love hearing you laugh, but when it’s right before we’re going to...you know...my manhood could take offence.’

She laughed harder and he found himself grinning right back.