Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (89 page)

She knew all that. She did. And she wasn’t stupid. She knew what he was offering, and that it wouldn’t be enough for her. She’d only end up feeling used, because she couldn’t do casual sex. She just wasn’t built that way. And she especially couldn’t do it with Will. The exact thing that made it so hard to say no—that was the reason she had to say it. Because he made her laugh. Because he had been so sweet about Mrs. Ferguson. Because his hand had felt so good around hers, and when he’d asked her to be his friend, had smiled at her like that, she’d melted a little. 

She’d checked him out online that same evening, of course, once she’d seen his passport and found out his real name. She didn’t know anything about rugby. She didn’t even know anybody who knew anything about rugby. But it was easy to see that he was a star—and not just in New Zealand. He was, in fact, the brand-new starting “Number 10” for a New Zealand rugby team, and before that, he’d been the starter on a top Australian team. A little more research had told her that the 10 was the director of the offense. The quarterback, in other words, although not the captain.

Will Tawera—because that was his real name—was, in fact, a very big deal back home, and in some other parts of the world, too. And for some odd reason, he was modeling for what must be peanuts to him, and living in Mrs. Ferguson’s apartment. She’d love to think that had something to do with her, but it seemed awfully unlikely. And anyway, she wasn’t going to be some incognito star athlete’s Part-Time Good Time. She had more self-respect than that.

Well, once he met her mother, she probably wouldn’t have to worry about him trying again, because Bella Goodwin had a tendency to come on strong.

“I want to meet him,” her mother had said when Faith had called her with the news that she’d rented the apartment, and her mom, of course, had pried out all the details. “A hot model? From New Zealand? Bring him over.”

“Mom,” Faith had sighed. “He isn’t going to want to come to dinner with my mother. I’ve known him for one day.”

“You could be in over your head,” her mother had insisted. “I’m getting a vibe, and you know I trust my vibes. If I’m wrong, he’ll say no to the invitation, and I’ll be satisfied. If I’m right—and honey, if he’s renting Mrs. Ferguson’s apartment, he’s doing it for a reason—I think he’ll say yes. And then, we’ll see.”

And her mother had been right. He’d said yes.

“Your mum wants me to come for dinner?” he’d repeated with what sounded like astonishment the day before, when she’d stopped by to ask him.

He’d invited her to sit on the flowered couch, had sat down beside her, and had looked so incongruous there, so big and strong. A couple of feet away, and still far too close for her peace of mind. Somehow, it was more intimate to sit with him here than to crawl at his feet in the studio. Because there, he was a model. Here, he was a…man.

A man who was looking at her now with just a suggestion of a smile, his liquid brown eyes glinting a little, that tattoo outlining the dips and bulges of bicep and triceps beneath the edge of white T-shirt, continuing on down like another sleeve to cover the ridged muscle of his forearm. His thighs so solid in his jeans, his shoulders so broad, and his waist so…not. All of him hard, and solid, and everything she wanted to touch.

Sure, he was good-looking, but he was so much more than that. He was
masculine,
and no matter what she told herself about self-control, just sitting beside him, so aware of his heat, the relaxed energy emanating from him—it made her breath come shorter, her cheeks flush a little, and she had all she could do to keep from showing it.

Her mom. They were talking about her mom. “She’s your landlady,” she said, getting a grip. “I’m just the manager. I called her to let her know I’d rented the place out, and she asked me to bring you by. She likes to meet her tenants. But you don’t have to,” she hastened to add. “The contract’s signed. Not like she can kick you out because you didn’t eat her eggplant casserole.”

He made a little face at that, which made her smile. “You didn’t tell her who I was, did you? That is, if you know.”

“I know. That you’re a rugby player? Yeah. I looked it up.”

“Ah. Figured as much. I’d rather not spread it around, about the site and all, if you don’t mind. Feeling a big niggly about it now, tell you the truth.”

She thought about saying that if he didn’t want half-nude photos of himself on the Internet, it might be better not to pose for them. But he was going to be dynamite. He was going to launch the site, and she wanted to see the site take off. So she didn’t say it.

“I didn’t tell her,” she said instead. “And I won’t tell anybody, if you don’t want me to. As far as my mother’s concerned, you’ll be a good-looking guy with a cute accent who’s modeling for Calvin and renting one of her apartments. But I warn you, she’ll like that part, and she’ll tell you so.”

He laughed. “Well, since I haven’t been able to get any kind of flattering response out of you, I have to get my ego stroked somehow, don’t I. Now you’ve got me all curious. Can’t wait.”

***

It didn’t take long for things to get out of hand. In fact, it took about five seconds.

Her mother came to the door of the modest ranch house at Faith’s knock, preceded by a cascade of yapping—Montclair, her little poodle, on the job.

“Hi, Mom.” Faith gave her mother a hug that was returned with interest. “This is Will.”

“Bella Goodwin,” her mother said. She was looking as neat and pretty as always in a pale-blue sweater and cream pants, both of which showed off her still-excellent figure. She cocked her head of neatly bobbed platinum hair at an angle, took his hand, and smiled up at him. “Now, aren’t you just the nicest surprise?”

Which sounded pleasant enough, but Faith wasn’t relaxing. Her mother’s ways were devious.

Will laughed, the easy, rich sound filling the little hallway, an influx of testosterone into Bella’s feminine surroundings. The half-circle of mahogany table was set with a vase of calla lilies tonight, the crystal chandelier sparkled overhead, and Will stood, big and brown, in the center of it all, flashing a smile that competed with any chandelier.

“Didn’t think I was a surprise, but we’ll hope it’s nice. I’ll do my best. And who’s this wee fella?” He crouched on the oriental hallway rug to give Montclair’s fluffy gray head a rub, sending the little dog into a frenzy of tail-wagging ecstasy.

“That’s Montclair. Oh, my, the accent,” Bella said. “That’s just the cherry on top of the ice-cream sundae. I do like some decoration at my dinner table.”

“Mom,” Faith said, “you’ll embarrass Will.”

“Oh, I don’t think Will’s easily embarrassed,” Bella said. “I think Will’s heard it all before.” And there she went, X-ray vision at work.

“Now, that’d be telling.” He rose to stand with another grin. “And I’m thinking you’ve heard it all before yourself, because if I’m decorative, I’m not the only one here. I’ve been trying to get Faith out with me for days, and now I get a double dose of Goodwin girls? My mum always did say I was born under a lucky star.”

“You have not been trying to get me out with you for days,” Faith said, feeling the treacherous color rise in her cheeks. Her mother never blushed, and Faith never failed to. And now they were
both
embarrassing her.

“No?” he asked. “Who asked you out for coffee yesterday? And who said no?”

“Ah…” she said. “I had work to do.”

His smile was all for her now, those eyes gleaming. “Yeh. I remember. Work. But I’m here now, because I
am
a lucky man.”

“Oh, boy,” Bella said. “Come have dinner. It’s getting too warm in here for me.”

A break, then, that Faith sorely needed, while she helped her mother dish up, and then they were sitting around her round oak dining table, set with pretty lace placemats, having dinner. Dinner, and that was it.

“You know, I can’t believe it,” Bella said, taking a dainty forkful of, yes, eggplant casserole. Which Will was eating, too, because he was polite. “Here’s Calvin getting back into the skin trade again, after going respectable for so many years, just like me. Makes me think that I should see if I’ve still got it.” She gave her hair a little pat. “Nah. I know I’ve still got it. But maybe not with my clothes off.”

Faith concentrated on her chicken medallions. “My mother was a showgirl,” she told Will with resignation. How long had that taken? Fifteen minutes?

“Seriously?” Will asked. “Awesome. With the…” He gestured towards his own head. “The feathers on your head and all?”

“That was me. And those headdresses weighed a ton, I’ll tell you. Calvin started out as a photographer for the casinos himself. That’s how we met. He’s known Faith since she was a little girl. And the two of us—we had a good time together, back in the day.” She sighed. “We both had our share of adventures, but we were each others’ go-to, when we needed a friend. He’s never been a smooth talker, but that’s overrated. Always good for a nice, comforting—”

“Too much information, Mom,” Faith put in hurriedly. “Will does not need to know that.”

“Well, it’s all a good twenty years ago anyway.” Bella shrugged and took another ladylike bite. “And if I’ve shocked Will, let’s say I’m surprised. He’s a model himself. He’s been around the block.”

“Well, I’m not quite a model,” Will said. “But I’m not too shocked, no.”

“Mm-hmm.” Bella nodded. “Just breaking into the business, are you?”

Will seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face. “You could say that.”

“Then you should know that Faith’s the one who really gave you your big break,” Bella said. “And that she’s got more power there than you probably realize. Assistant? Maybe so and maybe not.”

“Mom—” Faith said again.

“Oh, shush, honey. I’m proud of you. Calvin was just thinking about taking some stock photos,” she explained to Will. “Dime a dozen. The rest of it—that was all Faith.”

“Ah,” he said. “The website. And the writing contest.”

“Well, yes.” Faith needed to change the subject. She’d known bringing him to dinner would be a bad idea. If her mother pulled out the album with her publicity photos, Faith didn’t care, she was hauling Will off pronto. Bella was trying to get a rise out of Will, or expose him, or warn him off, or something. Faith couldn’t tell
what
she was trying to do, but it was making her more than a little nervous. “I thought, if Calvin was going to be taking pictures for stock photo sites anyway, we’d try something new with it, hopefully something more lucrative. Especially for me, since I’ll be managing it. If it works, I could get a full-time job out of it. That’s the point. And it’s not the skin trade. Really, Mom. The skin trade?”

“I’m beginning to see what you meant about being very busy,” Will said. “What with the erotica management and all. Nightmare, thinking all that up, eh.”

“Would you stop—” she began, and broke off.

“What? Teasing you? Nah. Sorry. Can’t. Too easy.” His smile was slow, and now she was nervous for more reasons than one, because that smile was sending tingles down her spine.

“Oh, honey, the whole thing was her idea,” Bella assured him. “My hard-working, proper daughter. My naughty side is coming out in her at last, but in a whole lot smarter kind of way. She’ll never let it get the better of her. The erotica contest, the special website, even the idea of the big Polynesian warrior and the little blonde girl? Beauty and the Beast, because she knows that never gets old. That was all Faith. You’re just part of the plan.”

Will was still looking at Faith. “Beauty and the Beast.”

“Of course not.” Faith tried to ignore the warmth that she could feel creeping up from the all-too-wide boat neck of her sweater. Her chest was heating, and her cheeks were glowing, too, and he was watching it happen. “That sounds terrible. I was just trying to think of something more interesting, something that would make it…work. Which, yes, was out of self-interest. My job with Calvin’s only half-time, but if this takes off, with me handling the marketing end, I could drop my other job.”

“Oh, no,” Will said. “And me getting so attached to my apartment manager. What if I have a power failure in the night? Who am I going to call?”

“I told you.” She was trying not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. He was smooth, yes, but he was so obvious about it, he was pretty funny, too. “I’m very busy. I wasn’t talking about the apartment management. I also work in marketing communications for the Roundup. The casino. Very, very busy.”

“Well, then,” Will said, “I’d better do my bit, I guess, to help you on your way. Be the very best Beast I can be, inspire as many dirty stories as I possibly can. As it’s for such a good cause.”

***

He sat, watched the tide of pink creep up the porcelain skin of her chest, her throat, into her cheeks, and felt the heat rising in himself right along with it. Even as she tried to be matter-of-fact, tried to pretend that all those dirty thoughts, that entire shot list hadn’t been hers, when he knew they had been. He was looking at her, and she was looking straight back at him, her blue eyes caught in his gaze, and she seemed to have forgotten that she was holding her fork. He was ready to lay her right down on this table, and she could see it. Never mind what he’d told Solomon. Never mind what he’d told Faith. He couldn’t help himself.

“You know,” Bella said after a minute, “I’m the last to be prejudiced because somebody’s in the business. How could I be?”

“Looks like you still could be in that business, too, whatever you say.” Will tore his gaze from Faith and concentrated on Bella. “Easy to see where Faith gets her good looks. Although,” he added with his best smile, “I won’t go any further with that. Such a thing as dinner table conversation, at least that’s what my own mum tells me.”

Faith passed him a dish. “More green beans?”

“What, nobody’s ever told you that you’re as pretty as your mum?” He took it from her and served himself up a few more vegetables. At least it wasn’t eggplant—which had sounded terrible, and turned out to be aubergine. But then, he didn’t care for aubergine, either. “Hard to believe.”