Blame it on the Bikini Read online

  She gaped—how did he turn that one around? ‘No. I’m only thinking of Lauren.’ She vehemently denied that tendril of excitement curling through her innards at the thought of spending time with him. He had an outsize ego that needed stripping. ‘You think you’re irresistible, don’t you?’

  ‘Experience has led me to believe that’s often the case.’

  His eyes were glinting. He might be laughing, but she suspected part of him meant it. Outrageous wasn’t the word. The guy needed taking down a peg or forty. ‘Not in this case.’

  ‘No?’ He chuckled, radiating good humour. ‘So that blush is pure annoyance? Then you’ve nothing to worry about, right? We can organise Lauren’s party together because you can resist me no problem.’

  Could she resist him? For a second Mya wondered and then her fighting spirit came to the fore. Of course she could. ‘No problem at all.’

  He leaned closer. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t seen much of you in recent years.’

  ‘Maybe you should have turned up to a couple of Lauren’s birthday parties.’

  He winced, hand to his chest. ‘I was overseas.’

  She knew he’d studied further overseas before coming back and setting up his own practice. ‘So convenient. For work, was it? You learned well from your father.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Doesn’t he use work for emotional avoidance too? Earns millions to buy the things to make up for it.’ Lauren had been given so many things and none of them what she’d truly yearned for.

  The laughing glint vanished from Brad’s eyes. ‘Formed a few judgments over the years, haven’t you?’

  Mya realised she might have gone more than a little far. ‘I’m sorry, that was out of line. I’ll always be grateful for the kindness your parents showed me,’ she said stiltedly, embarrassed at her rudeness.

  But he laughed again, the devil dancing back in his eyes. ‘Their kindness?’

  Okay, maybe he did remember the ultra-frosty welcome she’d got for the first year or three that she and Lauren hung out. ‘They didn’t ban me from their home.’ Even though she knew they’d wanted to. Now they realised they owed Mya something.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I know even better than you what a mess it was.’

  He’d certainly left home the second he could. Mya had been the one who’d spent every afternoon after school with Lauren in that house. She and Lauren hid up in Lauren’s suite, laughing and ignoring the frozen misery downstairs. The false image of the perfect family. ‘But Lauren’s the one who’s made the conscious effort to be different from how she was raised.’

  ‘You’re saying I’ve not?’

  Mya shrugged. ‘You’re the mini-me lawyer.’

  ‘You do know my father and I practise vastly different types of law. I’m not in his firm.’

  Blandly she picked up a glass and polished it. That didn’t mean anything.

  ‘What, all lawyers are the same?’ He snorted. ‘I don’t do anything he does. I work with kids.’

  She knew this, and at this precise moment she point-blank refused to be impressed by it. ‘You think your save-the-children heroic-lawyer act somehow ameliorates your womanising ways?’ Because Brad was a womaniser. Just like his father.

  ‘Doesn’t it?’

  See, he didn’t even deny the charge. ‘You think? Yeah, that’s probably why you do child advocacy,’ she mused. ‘To score the chicks by showing your sensitive side.’

  He laughed, a loud burst of genuine humour that had her smiling back in automatic response.

  ‘That’s an interesting take. I’ve never really thought about it that way.’ He shrugged. ‘But even if it does give me some chick-points, at least I’ve done something with my life that’s useful. Is igniting alcohol for party boys useful?’

  She shifted uncomfortably. Serving drinks was a means to an end. But she managed a smooth reply. ‘Helping people relax is a skill.’

  His brows shot up. ‘I’m not sure you’re that good at helping guys relax.’

  She met his gaze and felt the intensity pull between them again.

  ‘Are you still at university or are you finished now?’ He broke the silence, looking down and toying with the pile of postcards on the edge of the bar.

  ‘I’m there part-time this year.’

  ‘Studying what?’

  ‘A double degree. Law and commerce.’

  ‘Law and commerce?’ he repeated. ‘So you’re going to become a greedy capitalist like my evil father and me?’ He laughed. She didn’t blame him, given her stabbing disapproval mere seconds ago. ‘You’re enjoying it?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘And the plan?’

  ‘A job in one of the top-five firms, of course.’

  ‘Speciality?’

  ‘Corporate.’

  ‘You mean like banking? Counting beans? Helping companies raid others and earning yourself wads of cash in the process?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with wanting to earn a decent wage in a job where you can sit down.’ She walked away to serve the customers she’d been ignoring too long. Her need to achieve wasn’t something trust-fund-son over there could understand. She needed money—not for a giant flat-screen TV and a house with a lap-pool and overseas jaunts. She needed a new house, yes, but not for herself. For her parents.

  She was conscious of his gaze still on her as he sat now nursing something non-alcoholic and taking in the scene. As she glanced over, she saw his eyes held a hint of bleak strain. Was it possible that behind the playboy façade, the guy was actually tired?

  But he didn’t leave. Even when the bar got quieter and they’d turned the music down a notch. In another ten minutes the lights would brighten to encourage the stragglers out of the dark corners. Mya felt him watching her, felt her fingers go butter-slippery. She kept thinking about the kiss; heat came in waves—when memory swept over control. She couldn’t stay away when he signalled her over to his end of the bar.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about the drinks for Lauren’s party,’ he said easily. ‘It would be good to offer something different, right? Not just the usual.’

  So that was why he was still sitting there? He was party planning? Not surreptitiously watching her at all?

  ‘There you go, see?’ Mya said brightly, masking how deflated she suddenly felt. ‘You’ll organise a brilliant party. You don’t need me.’

  ‘I need your expertise,’ he countered blandly. ‘I don’t think I can ignite alcohol.’

  No, but he could ignite other things with a mere look. Mya pulled her head together and focused on the task at hand. ‘You want me to come up with a couple of Lauren-inspired cocktails?’

  ‘They’re the house speciality, right? So, yeah, make up some new ones, give them a cute name, we’ll put them up on the blackboard.’ He chuckled. ‘Something that’ll be good fun to watch the bartender make. Definitely use a bit of fire.’

  ‘And ice,’ she answered, then turned away to scoop crushed ice into a glass and wished she could put herself in with it. How could she be this hot? Maybe it was a bug?

  ‘What would you use to make her cocktail?’ he asked idly. ‘What kind of spirit is Lauren?’

  She took the question seriously. ‘Classic bones, quirky overtones. A combination that you wouldn’t expect.’

  She turned her back to him and looked at the rows and rows of gleaming bottles. Reached up and grabbed a few and put them on the bar beside Brad. Then she poured. ‘Her cocktail would need to be layered.’ Carefully she bent and made sure each layer sat properly on the next. ‘Unexpected but delicious.’ She smiled to herself as she added a few drops of another few things. Then she straightened and looked at him expectantly.

  He just held her gaze.

  Finally she broke the silence. ‘You don’t want to try it?’

  He studied the vivid blue, orange and green liquid in the glass in front of him. ‘Not unless you try it first. It looks like poison to me. Too many ingredients.’

 
; ‘I don’t drink on the job.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Are you too scared?’

  ‘Don’t think you can goad me into doing what you want,’ he said softly. But he picked up the glass and took a small sip. He inhaled deeply after swallowing the liquid fire. ‘That’s surprisingly good.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mya said smugly. ‘Just like Lauren.’

  He grinned his appreciation. ‘All right, clever clogs, what cocktail would you put together for me?’

  Oh, that was easy. She picked up a bottle and put it on the bar.

  He stared at it, aghast. ‘You’re calling me a boring old malt?’

  ‘It needs nothing else. Overpowering enough on its own.’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong. There’s another like that that’s more me than a single malt.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Tequila. Lethal, best with a little salt and a twist of something tart like one of your lemons.’

  She rolled her eyes.

  ‘And what are you?’ He laughed. ‘Brandy? Vodka? Maudlin gin?’

  ‘None. I don’t have time.’

  ‘You should make time. You shouldn’t work so hard.’

  ‘Needs must.’ She shrugged it off lightly. ‘And you have to leave now so I can close up the bar.’

  ‘Have lunch with me tomorrow. We can brainstorm ideas.’

  She should have said yes to organising the party on her own. Why had she thought he ought to have active involvement? ‘I’m at class tomorrow. I’m doing summer school.’ She’d be in summer school for the next three years.

  ‘Okay, breakfast, then.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m working.’

  ‘This place is open all night?’ His brows lifted.

  ‘I work in a café in the mornings and some other shifts that fit around my classes and the bar work.’

  ‘And you work here every night?’

  ‘Not on Sundays.’

  ‘Where do you work on a Sunday—the café?’

  She nodded, looking up in time to see his quick frown. She rolled her eyes. Yes, she worked hard; that was what people did when they had to. Eating was essential after all.

  ‘Why didn’t you take a summer internship?’

  She turned and put all the bottles back in their places on the shelves. The summer internships at prestigious law firms in the city were sought after. Often they led to permanent job offers once degrees were completed. But she wasn’t going there again, not until her final year of study and she’d recovered her grade average. Not to mention her dignity. ‘I need to keep going with my studies and, believe it or not, I earn more in the bar.’

  ‘You get good tips?’

  ‘Really good.’ She rinsed her hands again and wiped down the bench.

  ‘You might get more if you let some more of that red lace stuff show.’ He glanced down the bar. ‘One thing we are going to do for the party is have better bartender outfits. You’d never guess what you wear beneath the undertaker’s uniform you’ve got going on in here.’

  Heat scorched her cheeks again. Once again, why had she picked that wretched scarlet bikini? He was never going to let her forget it. ‘This is what we all wear in the bar. It’s simple, efficient and looks smart.’

  ‘It’s deadly dull and doesn’t make the most of your assets. Not like that red underneath it.’

  ‘It’s not underneath it.’

  ‘You took it off?’ He looked appalled. ‘Why on earth did you take it off?’

  ‘It was a bikini,’ she said, goaded. She closed her eyes and breathed deep to stop herself laughing. His wicked smile suggested he knew she was close to it anyway. She looked at him. Not at all sorry he had to shell out however many tens of thousands to hire the most popular bar in town outright for a night during the busiest time of the year.

  ‘Why do men get so fixated on lacy underwear?’ she asked aloud. ‘Don’t you know sexy underwear is no indicator of how far a woman is prepared to go?’

  ‘You’re saying you’ll go further than what your boring day-bra might indicate?’ he said mildly.

  ‘No!’ she snapped.

  ‘So you do wear boring day-bras?’

  Oh, the guy was incorrigible. But, heaven help her, she couldn’t help but laugh. So she’d see him some saucy talk, and raise him some flirt. She nodded with a secret smile. ‘No lace.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ The corner of his beautiful mouth lifted.

  ‘No boyfriend to buy me some,’ she flipped tartly and stalked away, letting the clip of her high heels underline her reply.

  ‘You wouldn’t let some guy buy you frills,’ he called after her. ‘You’re too independent for that.’

  Very true. Interesting he understood that. But she swung back to face him because she didn’t want him thinking he knew it all. ‘Actually it’s just that they’re uncomfortable.’

  ‘They are?’ His gaze lowered again.

  ‘No woman can wear those things for more than five minutes.’

  ‘No woman in my presence would need to.’

  She ignored the comeback and cooed instead. ‘I’m very sensitive. Lace hurts.’ She watched his expression with amazement. Was he actually blushing? She smirked, pleased she’d finally managed to push him off his self-assured pedestal.

  ‘How sensitive?’ He walked down the side of the bar so he was close to her again. ‘Can they cope with touch?’

  That was when she realised his flush wasn’t from embarrassment but arousal. Her body clenched, drenched in fire. ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ he asked, surprised. The flush on his skin deepened.

  She was burning up with a blush to match.

  ‘Hmm. That sensitive, huh?’ He looked thoughtful. ‘What other bits are too sensitive?’

  She couldn’t look away from the teasing intimacy in his eyes. The intense drive of his words melted her. She hadn’t meant this to get so personal. She’d been out to tease him. Only her too-sensitive bits were shrieking right now, liquefying in the heat he was conjuring—his words locking her in a lit crucible.

  ‘Must make it difficult for you,’ he said softly. ‘I bet you pull away. You can’t just go with it.’ He looked at her speculatively. ‘Just the way you pulled back from me before.’

  She was so hot, her soul singed by words alone. She couldn’t even answer. Because in truth? He was right.

  ‘Seems to me you need some practice coping.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not inexperienced.’ And she definitely didn’t need to get any more experience by playing with him.

  His mouth curved in disbelief. ‘Aren’t you?’

  Well, okay, she wasn’t as experienced as him. She lifted her head proudly. ‘I’ve had boyfriends.’ Jerks, the pair of them.

  ‘Yeah, but you’ve never been with me.’

  ‘And you’re that amazing?’ she asked, managing a tone of utter skepticism, which was quite something given her wayward hormones were shrieking that yes, he was that amazing!

  His expression was pure intent. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘You’re so obnoxious.’ She recovered her sass, more determined than ever to shoot him down. ‘Why would I want to have sex with a guy who’s been with every other girl in the city?’

  ‘Not every other girl,’ he protested. ‘But I don’t see anything wrong with sharing the love,’ he added. ‘If you have too much sex with one woman, she starts to get funny ideas. Better to have sex with too many women. Safer.’

  ‘Oh, real safe.’ She rolled her eyes. But he wasn’t denying it. Brad Davenport wasn’t a commitment kind of guy. He was a playboy.

  He reached across the bar and ran a finger down her arm. Electricity sparked every millimetre of the way. She saw it. He saw it. There was no denying it. So she didn’t.

  ‘This isn’t anything more than lust.’ She turned and literally burrowed out more ice from the freezer.

  ‘So what?’ he calmly said behind her. ‘It’s still worth exploring.’

  ‘Even if I agree there’s
chemistry, I’m not sure I can bear to feed your over-bloated ego by saying yes.’ But the feeling the guy could inspire with just a look?

  ‘You’ll always regret it if you don’t,’ he insisted.

  ‘And probably regret it if I do.’

  ‘Damned either way, then,’ he said with a laugh. ‘You might as well have the good moment and enjoy it.’

  ‘Moment?’ She suppressed the squeeze her muscles had in response to his laugh. ‘As in singular? What are you going for here, some orgasmic snuffle?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of you.’

  ‘I don’t need anybody to take care of me,’ she denied, affronted.

  ‘Really?’

  Narrow-eyed, she watched him draw closer. It seemed to her there might be an imbalance of attraction here. Was it all about her wanting him? Or was the chemistry as insane for him as it was for her?

  ‘Maybe you don’t. But you keep thinking about that kiss,’ he said. ‘I can tell.’

  She was shaking her head already but when she went to deny it he put his finger back on her mouth.

  ‘You can’t hide it. I see it in your eyes. It’s the same for me,’ he said simply. ‘I want to kiss you again.’

  ‘Brad—’

  He straightened. ‘I accept that you’re saying no, for now, but don’t deny that the desire is there.’

  ‘I haven’t kissed anyone in a while.’ She shrugged. ‘What happened before was merely a reaction to that.’

  He shook his head. ‘You were every bit as into it as I was. You’re as “all or nothing” in your approach to life. It’s just that you go for nothing and I go for all.’

  ‘Have you ever managed nothing?’

  ‘I am right now.’

  ‘Really.’ Not a question, more an expression of disbelief. ‘Almost two hours with nothing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, as if it wasn’t an experience he was enjoying. ‘Not so much as an eyelash flutter since you.’

  Mya chuckled and this time she reached across, clasping his wrist as if she feared he was about to have a heart attack. ‘How are you coping?’

  ‘Moment by moment.’ He clapped his hand over hers. ‘But I’m quietly confident.’

  ‘Quietly?’ she mocked. She leaned across the bar again and gave him some advice. ‘You shouldn’t hype yourself up so much. It’ll end up a disappointment.’