First Time Lucky?

Yeah, he’d have to be blind not to see how she looked at him. It was a look he was used to and it didn’t usually affect him. Only he was working hard not to give her that same look back. That surprised, almost dazed look that had its roots in sensual appreciation and unexpected desire.

Maybe he’d inhaled some poisonous fumes too because he couldn’t be thinking this way. Her shorts were old and worn and not any season’s style. Her mouse-brown hair was in a bedraggled ponytail that emphasised that schoolgirl impression. And that damn thin white vest-top had gone transparent. He was trying very hard not to think about the pointed peaks jutting towards him. Because he wasn’t so out of control as to be turned on by almost visible nipples, by imagining cupping those mounds in his hands and bending before her to kiss the pointed tips, to press his face to the softly curved surrounds.

Okay, he was that out of control and his unruly imagination was making it worse. It’d been too, too long since he’d got laid. Too long he’d been stuck on the straight and narrow and boring. His heart hammered at an insane pace, ringing in his ears. The last thing he’d expected to find beyond that horrendous hedge was an architecturally amazing home complete with some Snow White or Sleeping Beauty or Rapunzel type impossibly pretty Disney princess inside. He couldn’t help wondering where the dwarves, beasts or wicked witches were …

Oh, he had to snap out of it. It was just frustration addling his reason. Going for a woman like this—one the same age if not younger than Diana—would be insane. She’d undoubtedly want more than he ever would. She’d be emotionally immature, a dreamer with that happy-ever-after fantasy that he was never buying into. It was when he’d been forced to reiterate that to Diana that her inner witch had appeared … intense, needy, a knife-edge to certifiable. Just the thought of that mess was enough to cool him off.

Almost.

Thank heavens this woebegone waif was heading overseas. It was only knowing she was leaving that he could take the place. No doubt she’d return from her trip all grown up and sophisticated and if serendipity saw their paths cross again, he’d dally with her then. Uh-huh, like in five years’ time. For now he’d get himself this hideaway and then hide, right away. In a couple of weeks the team had that game in Sydney and he was so hitting the club scene and having a couple of nights all-adult action. Having fought so long to gain independence from family expectation, he was letting no woman hamper his freedom. So he definitely wasn’t hot for Miss Skinny.

He turned back to face her and named a weekly rental price he figured should be almost on the money for the location.

‘Actually I’d been thinking a little more than that. My lawyer will send you the details to set up an automatic payment.’

So Sleeping Beauty wasn’t that sleepy. Good for her for knowing the high value of her property—and that he could afford it. Biting back all the flirt talk tingling on the tip of his tongue, he got his wallet and pulled out enough cash to cover the first two months. She took it from him with a steady hand and those wide, wide eyes.

‘Don’t you think you’d better tell me your name?’ he asked drily, trying to hide how he was dying of desire inside.

‘Roxanna Jones,’ she answered, head high and unblushing.

‘Good doing business with you, Roxanna.’ So not thinking about the pleasure of it—of her—at all.

‘When did you want to move in?’ Roxanna gripped the wad of notes tightly to stop herself from touching him and easing her insanely curious fingertips. Since when had her fingertips itched like this?

‘Tomorrow.’

She gaped. ‘You’re currently homeless?’

‘No, but you were right, I like the privacy of this place.’

‘I know.’ She smiled, suddenly filled with excitement about her future.

He jerked a nod, turning abruptly away. ‘Right, I’d better let you get on and finish.’

‘You don’t want to see the rest of the house?’

‘I’ll check it out tomorrow.’

‘Okay, once the lawyer thing is done, I’ll arrange access for you through the garage so you can get all your stuff in.’

‘I’d appreciate that,’ he said in a voice loaded with irony.

She tried to slow her out-of-control heartbeat with some sensible thought. The guy was now her tenant meaning she’d better put all her sizzle response in an ice-bucket. Not going to screw up this deal. Soon she’d be free to go overseas and discover all the way hotter guys out there … except she doubted there’d be a hotter male on the whole planet.

‘Do you want to go through the gate or back through the hedge?’ He hadn’t seen the back of the house or the garden, and she wanted to witness his surprise.

‘I’ll go through the hedge, try to push some of those branches back into place for you.’

‘You’re sure?’ She was disappointed; she’d been looking forward to a smug moment. It was likely to be her one and only with him.

‘The hedge is your security system, right?’

Okay, so he was astute as well as gorgeous. ‘I guess.’ She shrugged as if it didn’t matter so much.

‘Then I’ll cover up the stomping great path I just smashed through it. Wouldn’t want anyone else creeping up on you in there and giving you a fright.’

‘Good thing I didn’t strip off to do the shower, otherwise it might have been you who got the fright.’ She giggled, a high embarrassed sound that was embarrassing in itself.

To her surprise, his brief smile seemed as embarrassed and he moved quickly away from her and headed back into the prickly hedge.

Yeah, real clanger. Mortification cooled her right down as she was rudely reminded that Man of the Millennium didn’t see her as a woman at all. Shaking her head at her gaucheness, she went back to the bathroom to rinse away the last of the cleaner. She glanced in the mirror and O-M-freaking-G. While her red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes were bad enough, her transparent-when-wet vest-top meant all-out wince city. Somehow the effect seemed more revealing than straight nudity, yet Gabe-the-gorgeous hadn’t even blinked. Instead he’d been very particular to look at her face. She figured it had been born from courtesy or something. Or more like utter disinterest given her lack of spectacular in the boobs department. Yeah, that was it. Great. The first mindblowingly handsome man to cross her path and she hadn’t even been able to tempt him into a second look at her near-naked torso. She wondered what she needed to make someone like him do a double take.

She pulled her hair out of its dreary pony-tail and sighed at the straggly mess. No wonder he hadn’t blinked. She tousled it with her fingers, imagining a new cut and colour. Then she looked at her chest and mentally fastened a cleavage-creating booster bra. Yeah, it was beyond time to glam up. No doubt the sensible thing would be to put that wad of cash in the bank tomorrow but she’d been without for so long and, damn it, now she had the certainty of a monthly rental income she could splurge, right? Just for once? She’d save all she needed in no time and this way she’d look great for her audition. She’d buy some other things to celebrate with too.

Re-energised, she put her music on and rehearsed one last time—danced hard out until she could dance no more. She slithered to the floor, resting her back against the old tree, and almost immediately thought of him. She heard the amused, low voice in her ear, felt the firmness of his touch. Then she remembered his impassive expression and determination seized her anew. No more would she be that invisible.

Her work at the Treehouse was finally done; now she deserved some fun. It wasn’t just for the audition that she was going to look fabulous—the next time they met, she was so getting a second glance from her hot, built tenant.

Hell, make that a third.

CHAPTER TWO

GABE got to work mid-afternoon, having spent the morning boxing up the few personal possessions he cared enough about and managing the shift in only two trips. Now, as he got out of his car he heard the music blaring through the speakers into the stadium. Damn, he’d hoped they’d have finished by now. He strode along the corridors to his office and shut the door. He flicked on his computer and checked his email. Excellent, the test results he’d been waiting for had landed. He settled more comfortably in his chair and started to work through them. But his door was flung open less than ten minutes later.

‘Gabe, good you’re here, I need you to take a look at one of these girls.’ Dion, the stadium CEO. Dion who had no problem watching the wannabe dancers auditioning.

‘No.’ Gabe didn’t even glance up from his computer.

‘Seriously, I need you. Bee sting. Looks like she’s allergic.’

‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding. A bee sting?’ Gabe growled. ‘That would have to rank as the most pathetic attempt ever.’

‘But genuine. You really—’

‘Dion,’ Gabe interrupted, still staring at his screen, ‘I’ve seen sprained ankles, sore calves, strained wrists. All fake. But a bee sting is a first. Certainly more inventive … if it weren’t for the fact that there are no bees on that pitch. They’re banned from play with chemical spray.’

‘Gabe—’

‘Come on,’ Gabe sighed with weary sarcasm. ‘I don’t want to deal with another desperate-to-date dancer. Enough, okay?’

More than enough. After causing a cold war in his family for a few years over his refusal to conform to tradition, and the horror of an ex-lover psycho stalking him, Gabe had learned a couple of things. Firstly, he wasn’t limiting his life by getting married and therefore having to compromise on his own goals for the rest of his days. And to be sure of escaping that noose, he knew he had to make his intentions clear from the start, to only seek company from the equally sophisticated and never mess with a woman who had anything to do with his workplace. Especially this workplace where temptation, exacerbated by all the travel, was too much for most men anyway. He’d seen it so many times—embarrassingly short marriages, even more embarrassing scandals.

‘I should have told you I’d brought her with me.’ With a wicked grin Dion stepped further in and too late Gabe saw the smaller figure behind him. ‘And for the record, I had to drag her here. She reckons she’s fine but I don’t agree.’

Oh, great. Gabe winced. The girl had to have heard every word. Still, that was probably good—dispelling any ideas she might have had. He pushed out from behind his desk and shot the departing Dion a foul look. Dion merely winked.

Gabe looked at his new patient. Her head was bent so he couldn’t see her face. Naturally she was blonde. And naturally the blonde wasn’t natural at all. He could see the myriad colours streaked through the long length that fell in gentle curves past her shoulders. She had the long, slim limbs of the dancer. And the extremely brief attire. Then she looked up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed but challenging. Her cheeks flushed. Her mouth full but firm. All instantly recognisable.

Good grief.

Gabe just stared, his brain fuzzy, a humming in his ears. He had to be mistaken on this. But he wasn’t. This was his under-age landlady? Sleeping Beauty from the wilderness?

‘Hello, Gabe.’ Despite the colour in her cheeks, the rest of her face was deathly pale.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘You mean you haven’t worked it out already?’ Her wildly blue eyes glittered. But not from tears. No, it was all defiance.

His gaze narrowed. No, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The mouse-brown hair was now shot through with gold. And there was so much polish. She was wearing marginally more than she had been yesterday. Actually the shorts were even shorter—micro shorts, the exact colour of her eyes. And instead of a see-through old vest-top, she had a pink leotard on. The whole outfit too skin-clinging for comfort.

‘I thought you said you were going overseas,’ he said stupidly.

‘I am.’ She looked at him through lashes perfectly—but heavily—mascaraed.

‘Then why are you trying out for the Blades?’ He swallowed. Was this high-gloss vision truly the same sodden waif he’d met less than twenty-four hours before? Helplessly he glanced down her leotard-clad torso again. Not the slim waif at all. Curves had mushroomed magically. He bit his lip to stop the smile and the comment he so badly wanted to make.

‘I’m going overseas at the end of the season,’ she said. ‘I want to dance first.’

‘The end of the season?’ He was appalled; his amusement fled. That wasn’t soon. He’d thought she was shipping out in a week or so. How was he supposed to live in that house with her a stone’s throw away for the best part of six months? Especially if she was going to be glammed up something gorgeous like this?

‘Yeah, except that stupid bee just ruined my chances. And, no, I didn’t stab myself with it just so I could get your face up close to my inner thigh.’

Oh, my. Gabe snapped his mouth shut, worked hard to bite back both the smile and the chuckle. His landlady had more fire than he’d given her credit for. He walked closer, watched even closer. Her transformation was something else, but he saw the hint of uncertainty in her expression as he deliberately breached her personal space. The girl was acting the grown-up. But some kind of madness raced in his blood when she lifted her chin and refused to break eye contact with him. Her audacious grit got to him. If she wanted to sharpen her kitten claws, well, hell, he’d play up to her—a very little. Frankly he couldn’t resist seeing how far she’d go until she melted in a flush, until she got tongue-tied and lost her cool completely. He suspected it wouldn’t be too far at all.

‘Do some of the dancers really fake injuries to come and see you?’ she asked outright.

Her obvious disbelief threw him instead. He cleared his throat, knew he’d sounded like the most arrogant a-hole ever. ‘It’s happened a couple of times.’ More than a couple. But still.

Roxie giggled, suddenly delighted as she saw her tenant steal another quick look at her outfit—at least she’d achieved one objective today. Maybe it was the bee poison running through her system, or she was intoxicated by his proximity, but she couldn’t resist baiting him—his arrogance was incredible. ‘But you’re not a rugby star. Surely the dancers have bigger fish to fry in this place? You know, all those fit young rugby players?’

He met her gaze with his dark one and a spark flickered in the depths. ‘Maybe some of them prefer my qualifications.’

Heart racing, she breathed carefully to keep her answer cool. ‘I’m sure more prefer the status and short-term income of the real stars.’

His smile was all shark. ‘Maybe I have some other factors in my favour too.’

She figured he meant his looks. Yeah, so good-looking her toes were curling. All kinds of muscles clamped down—mostly in her nether regions. As if they were trying to dampen the inferno blazing there. ‘Well, you don’t need to worry about me, you’re not my type,’ she lied, feeling sassy and amused and surprisingly in control.

‘No?’

She froze. She hadn’t expected that direct challenge—his tone as loaded with tease as hers had been. She narrowed her gaze. ‘Definitely not. You’re too arrogant.’

Way too arrogant.

He leaned closer, his smile even more wicked. ‘Lots of girls like arrogance. Confidence.’

‘Lots of girls like bad boys too. I’m not like lots of girls.’

‘That’s true.’ All of a sudden he frowned. ‘Roxanna, what are you doing here?’

‘Auditioning,’ she cooed, to maintain the tease. ‘And it’s Roxie.’

Yeah, it was fun flexing flirt muscles that had been dormant so long. Really, it was easy. Because she could see the reaction—the glint in his eyes. And she could feel that pull between them; it was out-of-this-world strong.

‘You told me Roxanna yesterday.’ He stepped that little bit closer, his voice dropping.

‘You caught me by surprise yesterday,’ she breathed softly, holding eye contact. Nerves squeezed down tighter in her lower belly.

His gaze travelled across her face—eyes, lips, then dipped to her chest. ‘So now you’re Roxie.’

‘Yes.’ She tossed her hair defiantly and lifted her chin at him. ‘I’ve always been Roxie.’ Inside she had anyway. And ‘Roxie’ was certainly having an effect on him. She wasn’t a total innocent. She’d had a boyfriend—one who had let her down in her hour of need, for sure, but she knew the look—and there was no disguising the look Gabe was giving her now. Oh, it had been worth every cent, every never-ending minute in the salon this morning. Poor Roxanna had never stood a chance, but add a little blonde, a little oomph to her assets? It was a different story. She couldn’t believe men could be so shallow. But right now she didn’t care, she was just basking in the heat in those eyes. The novelty was heady.

He shook his head very slowly. ‘Well, Roxie, we’d better take a look at it.’

Look at what? Oh, her bee sting. She looked down at it and sighed; seemed as if the fun moment was over.

‘I want you on the bed.’

Roxie almost gasped at that instruction, until she quickly looked up and caught his too-bland expression. He was baiting her right back.

But he frowned when he glimpsed the circle of red, swollen skin on the inside of her thigh when she moved and sat up on the narrow bed against the wall. ‘You weren’t kidding.’

‘Of course not,’ she grumbled. As if she’d make up a bee sting just to get within cooee of the team doctor. He had such an inflated opinion of himself. ‘Hurts like hell.’

He bent to look more closely. ‘You can see the mark, but it looks like the actual sting is out. You’ve always been allergic?’

She nodded. ‘But I haven’t been stung in years. I thought I might have outgrown it.’

‘Shame,’ he murmured with evil intent, his breath a warm cloud brushing her thigh. ‘When you’ve gone to such effort to grow up in other ways.’

She felt a very un-grown-up urge to throw something at him and his patronising attitude.

‘Never mind, Roxie.’ His bedside manner came out more like a taunt. ‘Maybe you’ll get to dance overseas.’

‘Maybe.’ She shrugged like as if she didn’t mind, as if it wasn’t the disappointment of the year.

‘Spread your legs wider,’ he instructed casually, but with that dangerous glint back in his eye.

Externally she froze, internally she melted. ‘How wide?’ she managed to ask.

‘Wide enough for me, of course.’ His expression was now pure challenge, purely expectant of … what?

She saw the barely suppressed smirk. He was amusing himself at her expense? Well, two could play at that game. Roxie determinedly imagined diving into Antarctic waters, cool—freezing—waters. Anything to keep her blush at bay. She was not going to go all girly embarrassed here, even though she felt it. Instead, she leaned back on her hands, tossed her head so her hair flicked out of her eyes. And she—who’d never spread her legs for any man—spread them as wide as they’d go. Which, given she could do the splits three ways, was actually quite wide. ‘This okay?’ she asked huskily.

He looked. Down then back up. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed as he looked down again. ‘Just about,’ he murmured and stepped right into place—mere inches separating them.

She ignored the flush she knew just had to be covering every inch of her skin and smiled the smile of total success. ‘I didn’t know you promised to flirt with your patients when you took the Hippocratic oath.’

‘You’re not a patient.’ His gaze snapped up to her face.

‘No? Aren’t you tending to me, Mr Physician?’

‘No. Not as a medical professional. I’m just going to hand you some cream and you can rub it on that sting yourself.’

She didn’t know what had come over her, but the need to tease more was impossible to ignore. For the first time in her life she was flooded with confidence. She could say anything and not give a damn—the more provocative, the better, because his rapid response—desire mixed with defence—fuelled her wicked excitement. ‘You’re not going to rub it on for me?’ she purred.

‘No.’ He stepped back. ‘I am not.’

‘Oh.’ She looked down innocently. ‘Do you only like rubbing cream on those big rugby boys?’

‘Roxie.’ He came back close, too close, his expression goaded. He studied her silently, ensuring he had her attention, then deliberately looked down her body in a blatantly sexual appraisal. ‘Your hair isn’t the only thing about you that’s changed.’

He was looking at her chest. And, yes, he knew the truth for sure.

She lifted her chin, refusing to let embarrassment rise. ‘It’s amazing what supportive underwear can do for a girl.’

‘Quite amazing,’ he agreed drily. Suddenly he chuckled, that wholly amused sound that stirred that instinctive response in her to draw closer—and the temptation to tease further.

Yeah, she couldn’t help but giggle back, despite the tension that still threaded through her. If anything the shared amusement pulled that thread tighter. ‘You don’t think my rack’s real?’

‘We both know it’s not.’

Yeah, they did both know that. She angled her head down but peeped back up at him, batting her lashes to totally ham it up. ‘But you have to admit, if you didn’t know better, you’d be completely fooled.’

He took a moment to study her again, slow, deliberate consideration. ‘Completely.’

She decided to push for more. ‘And even though you know the truth, you like the effect anyway?’

The deep breath he drew in seemed to be painful, because he grimaced at the same time. Then he shook his head. ‘It’s false advertising. What happens if you pull one of those rugby boys—how you going to cope when he finds out the truth? Or are you going to offer to cook the chicken fillets for supper after?’

She wrinkled her nose but appreciated the attempt to shoot her down. ‘Not chicken fillets. They’d stink something awful.’

‘What’s in there, then, cotton wool?’

‘Gel pads. Much more comfortable. Natural feeling.’

‘They feel natural?’

She shot a look into the deep, dark eyes that were only a few inches from her own. ‘You want to find out for yourself?’

Oh, the challenge was out now. She could see him thinking, deciding …

‘Roxie …’ He cleared his throat and turned away quickly, went to a cupboard and pushed packets around in it with fierce concentration.

Disappointment burst her fantasy bubble. She looked down at her leg, suddenly the pain that had been muted screamed. She saw how the red was spreading, the swelling thickening.

‘The reaction is getting worse,’ she muttered, biting her lip because her thigh was hot, itchy and sore.

‘It certainly is,’ he answered abruptly, returning from the cupboard, still not looking at her directly. He pierced the seal on the small tube, squeezed some of the white cream onto the tips of his fingers. ‘I’ll give you a couple of antihistamine tablets as well. Have them when you get home—they might make you drowsy.’

She nodded, not able to speak any more. He’d gently spread her legs wider again and with fingers was smoothing the cream across the hot, tight skin. Seemed he’d forgotten he was going to make her do that herself. She looked at him as he watched what he was doing. Now she knew exactly why all those dancers faked injuries to get him to tend them—he was fun. And he truly was gorgeous with his perfect features and height. So very male. So very close. Touching her in a way that suggested other kinds of touch might be even more moving. Her lashes lowered as the tips of his fingers circled carefully, narrowing in on the sting site. She shouldn’t be feeling it so sensually, but she was. She shouldn’t be imagining those fingers gliding higher, but she was. She shouldn’t be heating, melting, wanting—but she was. And she couldn’t help the small shudder as he stroked in that smooth, regular rhythm.

He looked up; his eyes bored into hers. All tease gone and nothing but banked fire in the black eyes. ‘You need to do this yourself.’ Honest, raw—faint sheen sparkled on his skin as if he too felt a fever.