First Time Lucky?

Her throat tightened, rendering her mute. So she nodded. But even that took effort. It was as if he’d some spell cast over her. Her heart wasn’t racing, it was thumping so slowly, and every beat was so huge it hurt. She thought her eardrums were going to burst with the pressure. Both his hands rested on her now, no longer rubbing the cream, but holding her thigh. He could tighten his grip any moment.

If he wanted.

His gaze dropped a couple of inches south of her eyes. She knew what he was thinking about. She was thinking about it too. Wanted it. Her lips tingled, dried, she was desperately trying not to lick them. Suddenly he was closer, so close that—

‘Hey, Gabe, how’s our new girl?’

Gabe moved so fast Roxie didn’t have time to blink before he was at the sink, running taps and scrubbing his hands.

‘You mean me?’ Roxie stared at the vivacious blonder than blonde who’d just burst into the room. Chelsea, the leader of the dance troupe.

‘Yeah, are you okay?’ Chelsea came up close to look at Roxie’s leg. ‘Looks ouch.’

‘It’s okay.’ Seriously, she’d forgotten it in that overpowering moment with his hands on her. ‘Really, I’m … just fine.’ Just breathless.

‘Great. Because up to the bee thing, you blew us away. We want you in.’

‘You do?’ Roxie gaped. ‘Really?’ She’d thought she’d blown it with the whole allergic-reaction-and-screams-of-agony routine.

‘Yeah, you’re classically trained, right?’

‘It was obvious?’ She was stunned; she hadn’t been to a ballet class since she was sixteen.

‘Not in a bad way, but I thought I could spot that underlying technique a couple of times. Your freestyle was amazing and I totally want to raid your moves. I’ve not seen a girl break the way you do. We need some edge and you definitely have it.’

Wow. No one had ever said she had ‘edge’ before. Then again, no one had seen her dance in years. She’d gone into that all but empty stadium today and just given it everything. And she’d done it.

Elation added to the excitement that had already been flooding her. She couldn’t resist glancing at the tall, dark torment now standing a few paces behind Chelsea. But in the split second she looked, she saw the naked emotion on his face.

Anger.

His thunderous expression momentarily crushed her mood. Why did he look so bothered?

‘I’ll leave these pills for you here.’ He brushed past Chelsea and brusquely put a small pill pack on the edge of the table. He left the room faster than a streaker ran the length of the pitch in an international match.

‘Hottest thing on two legs, isn’t he?’ said Chelsea a few seconds after he’d shut the door one decibel short of a slam.

‘I’m sorry?’ Roxie blinked, still absorbing his massive mood swing.

‘Gabe,’ Chelsea explained. ‘Hotter than any of those players. Fit plus brains plus wads of old money.’

‘Really?’ Roxie hoped her suddenly ravenous curiosity wasn’t too obvious.

‘Yeah but don’t bother looking. See how he shot out of here the second he could?’

Roxie just nodded.

Chelsea sighed almost sadly. ‘He used to be so outrageous, dated a different woman every night. Absolute slayer.’

Roxie carefully picked up the tube of cream he’d left on the narrow bed beside her and concentrated extra hard on screwing the cap back on. ‘What changed that?’

‘His ex Diana went crazy for him. Literally crazy.’ Chelsea stepped nearer, her bubbly voice dropping conspiratorially. ‘She was a dancer here, they didn’t even date all that long but she tried to move in on him. I mean, she really did move in one weekend when he was away. It almost got to restraining-order point, but she had a breakdown and her family got her some help.’ Chelsea looked awkward about sharing the info, but she talked on anyway. ‘It wasn’t his fault, she was delusional. Everyone knows he’s never going to put one of these on a girl’s finger.’ Chelsea waggled the fingers of her left hand, and the flash of her massive diamond engagement ring temporarily blinded Roxie. ‘Gabe’s a playboy to the grave. Or he was. Now he’s a repressed playboy.’ Chelsea frowned and fixed Roxie in place with a searching look. ‘When he smiles—too rare these days—all females instantly melt. There’s not a woman in the world who wouldn’t fancy him.’

Roxie knew denial would be too revealing and Chelsea was looking as if she could see straight through her anyway. ‘Well, he is very attractive.’

‘Yeah, but he’s unattainable,’ Chelsea warned. ‘Which makes him all the more attractive to so many women.’ She half laughed and then instantly sobered. ‘But don’t waste your time. He’s signed off from the game. Look, I’ve been with my man so long the others call me matron, but I still know how it works in this place—you get a bunch of fit guys together with a bunch of fit girls and it’s all going to happen. There are twenty-odd gorgeous young things on that team who’d love to play. So if you want, go for it with one of them, just be sure to play safe.’

Roxie swallowed and stood up from the bed, letting her hair fall forward so the blush in her cheeks wouldn’t be so obvious. Now probably wasn’t the time to admit she’d never played at all—well, not all the way through a game. And she hadn’t looked twice at any of the players—but their doctor? She stepped to get the pills so Chelsea couldn’t see her face as she asked, ‘Why did that girl go so crazy for Gabe?’

‘You’ve got eyes, right?’

‘Yeah, but sometimes good-lookers don’t think they have to make any effort.’ She’d read that in a magazine. She turned to get Chelsea’s answer.

‘Rumour has it his technique is even better than his body. I don’t know the truth of that myself but I’d believe it.’ Chelsea looked worried. ‘Look, so many girls have tried it with him and failed in the last few months since Diana. Save yourself the humiliation—I’ve seen them fall but he rejects harshly and then they resign. I don’t want to lose another dancer, especially one as interesting as you, so please don’t go after him.’

Roxie laughed—she’d never gone after a guy in her life; she wouldn’t know where to start. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

And she didn’t want to jeopardise her spot on the Blades—she’d wanted that for too long. But a part deep inside her flamed because Gabe had wanted to kiss her. She might not be all that experienced but she’d known that. Which meant he wasn’t entirely unattainable. Oh, yes, temptation whispered—tantalising her with the fantasy. She wanted that experience—to finally take a lover and a damn good one. If Gabe was that great, couldn’t he be the one to do it all with? Clearly he didn’t want commitment—none of that lovelorn, clinging stuff. But nor did she. She had no intention of being pulled into a relationship. Her freedom had been a long time in coming and she wasn’t giving it up for anyone.

Hours later, as he drove to his new home Gabe rationalised. It didn’t matter, the Blades only rehearsed on site once a week and he was well used to avoiding them at that time anyway. She’d be there during the games, but he was busy with the boys for all that time. He didn’t attend the after-match functions at the home stadium as a rule now. So while he might glimpse her every now and then, that would be it. He could live with that for just this season. Sure he could.

But when he got to the Treehouse he couldn’t help looking at the window above the garage. The curtain wasn’t drawn; there was no sign of life. The garage was locked but a wall of boxes blocked the back window so he couldn’t see if a car was parked in there. He had no way of knowing whether she was home or not. Unless he knocked on her door.

The tablets he’d given her could cause drowsiness. He sighed. So what? That was no reason to bother. She’d be fine. Only there were probably druggies and vagrants in that park in the dark of the night. And she was on the edge of it, alone. In a room above a rickety garage that had to be the size of a postage stamp. Yeah, the niggle turned into a nag and then into a frankly disturbing level of worry. The only way to get rid of it was to see her for himself and thus be sure she was okay. And that was the only reason he wanted to see her. Medical—a professional capacity. But he wasn’t her doctor or anything. He was determined not to be that. A concerned acquaintance?

Oh, bugger it. He thumped up the stairs, hoping to make enough noise to ensure she’d hear his arrival. He rapped hard on the door. Rapped harder. Shouted out her name. It was at the point when he was considering smashing the lock that he heard a grumbling response.

Finally the door swung open.

At first all he saw was the tee shirt. Less than a second later realised that all she wore was the tee shirt. Cute, cotton, white thing. Maybe there were knickers, but maybe not. His tongue gummed to the roof of his mouth.

‘Is everything okay?’ Drowsily she tucked her hair back behind her ears.

‘That’s what I was coming to ask you,’ he muttered, barely more intelligible than a grunting Neanderthal. Even sleepy her eyes sparkled. He then made the massive mistake of glancing down. Thighs, calves, ankles. Her long, tanned legs that were slender but also hinted at strength. Yeah, supple muscles were shown off under the gorgeous stretch of golden skin and he wanted to reach out and run his fingers down their warm length. Wanted them to spread again for him.

‘I think it’s okay,’ she said huskily. ‘It doesn’t seem to be any worse.’

He flinched. He’d totally forgotten about the sting, he’d just been checking her out and wondering about the undies. And now she held her leg slightly outstretched meaning he caught the glimpse of lace-edged silk covering her crotch. His tongue actually tingled as the urge to drop to his knees hit him. He wanted to lick her there. Oh, hell, everywhere.

Cotton tee shirt. He frowned, forced himself to think on the cotton. Not the lace knickers. Sweet not sexy. Not sophisticated. Not appropriate. She was his landlady. This would be mess-up central if he followed the path his body was determinedly dragging him towards. He swallowed, furious with his rapid descent into peeping Tom territory. ‘Make sure you reapply the cream.’ He snapped more than he meant to.

Her sleepy blue eyes widened. ‘Why are you so grumpy?’

He glowered. ‘I’m not.’

‘Oh, you so are.’ She grinned, undaunted. ‘But I think it’s still there, buried beneath the frown.’

‘What’s still there?’ He couldn’t resist asking.

‘The ability to have fun.’

The tiny tot was back at flirting? ‘Oh, I have fun,’ he said deliberately slowly. ‘But I’m selective about who I have fun with.’

‘That’s very wise.’ She nodded guilelessly. ‘I’m very selective myself.’

Oh, really? His muscles sharpened. ‘How much fun have you had?’

Her lashes drooped; she almost pouted. ‘Not enough.’

He determinedly looked past her so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch those full lips. ‘Looks like you’ve been having a bit.’ He nodded towards the empty bottle in the middle of the dining table.

She turned to see what he meant. ‘Oh, that …’ she swung back, her smile impish ‘… was good.’

He took the opportunity of her movement to step past her into the room. And was dead unimpressed with what he could see. Furniture from one corner to the other. Furniture on top of furniture, boxes above and below. A tiny single stretcher crammed under the window was her bed? He winced at its obvious discomfort—hard and definitely too short for him. How could she stand it?

‘You can’t be serious about living here,’ he said, all grump again.

‘Why not?’ she answered coldly.

‘There’s no room.’ There wasn’t an inch of spare floor space. A half metre square in which to get in from the door and then, bam, stuff.

‘There’s more than enough room for me.’

He looked down at her—too close—in the too small space. Quickly he looked back to the table, anything to stop himself taking rampant advantage of the lack of space. He noticed an ‘H’ written in permanent marker in the top corner of the wine label. ‘What’s the H for?’

She glanced at the table and her expression turned guilty.

Why? ‘Got any more?’ he couldn’t help teasing.

He glanced round; behind him was a fridge. He shot her a look and reached out a hand. It was literally a bar fridge—and, yes, filled with alcohol. He hadn’t actually expected that. The only other item was an oversized container of hummus. ‘How many bottles you got in here?’ He held the door open, amazed.

‘Five,’ she said defensively. ‘And they’re only half bottles.’

He drew one out, saw the single capital letter on the label, bent and saw they each had different letters. ‘What do they stand for?’

Roxie folded her arms, never going to admit that she’d blown his rent advance on getting her hair done, some new underwear and half a dozen half-bottles of champagne. ‘None of your business.’

‘No, go on, they obviously mean something.’ Relentlessly he waited.

‘All right, H was for getting my hair done.’ She defiantly ran her fingers through her hair, flicking it so it fell over her shoulder, almost long enough to cover her breast. Almost. ‘I’d waited ages for that.’ And she’d drunk it early—to celebrate getting her tenant and the money for the haircut. She watched him drag his gaze from the ends of her hair back to the bottles in the fridge.

‘What about the P?’ he asked.

‘For my first public performance.’ She stepped forward, quickly trying to explain them all so he’d leave. Trying to think up something for the one whose purpose was flashing neon-sign style in her head. ‘T is for when I book my ticket overseas. D is for when I get my driver’s licence.’ She winced when she said that one—now he’d really think she was a kid. ‘A was for the audition—getting through to the Blades. I’m going to have it later.’

‘Who are you going to have it with?’ he asked.

You? Roxie slammed her mouth shut on the instant-response answer and took a half-second to come up with something sassier. ‘It’s only a half-bottle. I’m going to have it all by myself.’

His brows lifted. ‘Did you have the first all by yourself?’

‘Absolutely.’ She smiled, pleased with her ability to keep talking in the face of his gorgeousness.

‘Didn’t it have a bit of a kick?’

‘Fantastic.’ She nodded.

He finally grinned back. ‘No headache?’

‘That’s why I got the good stuff.’ And she was feeling far more of a kick from the way he was smiling. She was positively giddy and she certainly hadn’t been giddy from the champagne last night.

‘Have enough of it and you’ll still get a hangover.’ He actually laughed then. ‘You should share them with someone.’ His voice dropped.

‘Never,’ she dismissed him instantly. Dismissing the outrageous invite on the tip of her tongue too. ‘Do you know the price of each one of those bottles? It’s mine, all mine.’

He chuckled and looked back at the fridge. ‘And V, what’s that one for?’

Damn, she’d hoped he might have forgotten about that last one. She swallowed, wished her addled brain would come up with something—anything to get her out of this embarrassment.

‘Victory?’ he asked.

‘Yeah.’ She nodded enthusiastically. So not going to admit to this guy that the last bottle of Bollinger was for when she finally lost the virginity she’d been dragging round for far too long. ‘For when the Knights win the trophy.’

‘You drink champagne all the time?’

Uh, try never before last night. ‘On special occasions.’

He closed the fridge and eyed her, looking serious now. ‘Mind if I ask you a personal question?’

‘Go right ahead.’ She waited, wondered.

‘How old are you?’

She hadn’t expected that. ‘Twenty-two.’

His mouth thinned.

‘That surprises you?’ Unpleasantly? Why was he looking so unimpressed?

‘I thought you were younger.’ He swallowed.

Uh-huh. ‘How young?’

‘Eighteen or so.’

At the most, she reckoned. What was with the putting her in a child’s box? ‘Well, how old are you?’

‘Thirty-one.’

‘There’s less than a decade between us,’ she pointed out with extreme pleasure.

‘I’m still a lot older than you.’ He seemed determined to labour that one.

‘Yeah, but you’re hardly old enough to be my father. Unless, of course, you were very advanced for your age,’ she taunted softy, pleased to see him wince in horror.

‘I was very advanced for my age in some areas,’ he said, quickly reverting back to his blunt arrogance. ‘But, no, I was nice and normal and didn’t start fooling around ‘til my teens.’

She gritted her teeth. A nice, normal teen life. She hadn’t had that. She didn’t resent the reasons why she hadn’t, she had loved caring for her grandparents, but it was time now for her to have the freedom and fun she’d missed out on as an eighteen-year-old. Not to mention the fooling around. Better late than never and she was damn well determined it wouldn’t be never. Maybe it could be soon. ‘Well, as you now know, I’m more than old enough to be living on my own, in any way I like, drinking whatever I want.’ And she’d do whatever she wanted too.

There was a moment’s silence. He glanced at the fridge again. ‘Do you eat anything?’

She knew he’d noticed the lack of oven. But there was the microwave and a single gas ring. Okay, she was pretty much camping. But it wasn’t for ever and it was worth it. ‘I usually make a salad or something.’

‘From the garden big enough to feed a small island nation?’ He turned away, his smile twisting. ‘Well, make sure you eat a load tonight and don’t have the champagne, given you’ve had those pills.’

She followed him to the door and leaned against the jamb, well aware that as she lifted her hand her tee shirt rose higher. Sure enough, she saw his eyes dart down. Her thighs burned, not because of the bee. She brushed her hair back from her face with her other hand and watched his gaze flicker first to her hair, then to her chest where her tee shirt had tightened across her braless breasts. Emboldened she answered him softly, full of feminine taunt. ‘Gabe, I thought we’d just established that I’m not a child.’

His gaze shot to her eyes, intensified—the black pupils expanding to obliterate any hint of the molten colour. The muscles in his jaw were delineated as he clamped his mouth shut. Then he suddenly drew breath. ‘You might not be a child, Roxie, but you are a bit too much of a babe for comfort.’

Roxie froze, her body so hot she was on the brink of incineration.

His gaze swept over her one last time before he turned away. ‘So I think it’s best we steer clear of each other.’

She watched him take the stairs three at a time as if he was escaping some terrible threat. She went back into her studio and smiled. In so many ways Gabe Hollingsworth was a challenge. And Roxie, for all her inexperience, had never backed down from a challenge.

Not even the most impossible.

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