Getting Dirty. Rachael Stewart

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      I’m wired and it’s driving me crazy.

      Usually I can lose myself in this place. Forget the trappings of my life on the outside and have fun. It takes the edge off—just enough to go back to it and do it all again. Smile, perform, play the part to perfection.

      But not now. Not with Granny so sick.

      She’s the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever known, and since losing my father two years ago she’s been my world.

      Nothing can bury the pain. I aim for distraction, pure and simple. But not even distraction is enough tonight.

      Caitlin murmurs something in my ear, her dainty tongue tracing its delicate ridge, and I watch as the eyes of the up-and-coming footballer opposite—what was his name? Ryan? Reece? Ricky? I don’t know, he’s new—turn to saucers. He’s out of luck, though. I’m not in the mood, and no amount of Cait’s expert attentions are going to do it for me. Not tonight.

      I push out of my seat to rise. I take pity on him and give him a view as I lean in to make my excuses to her and kiss her full on the mouth. She tastes of strawberry, the remnants of the daiquiri she’s been sipping, and I linger a second longer, urging my body to obey, to want, to overtake this pain with the numbing heat of desire. But…nothing.

      With a smothered sigh, I head to the bathroom, triggering a text to my driver to collect me in ten. I’ll hit the hard stuff when I get home, knock myself out in my own private domain. I’m not even fearing the hangover that’s bound to ensue. Anything to beat off the impending pain of loss that’s hanging over me.

      A quick pit stop, a sweep of red across the lips and I re-enter the room. Caitlin’s chatting to Jackson at the bar and the footballer’s long gone. The fact that I’m not struck with the slightest hint of disappointment tells me I’ve done the right thing.

      The sigh comes full force now and I move off—just as a wall appears in front of me and I smack right into it. A wall of hard, lean muscle that smells oceanic and male, all fresh and inviting, not like the expensive cloying cologne most guys here favour. No this is more natural, more… Just more…

      My eyes trail upwards from where our bodies are still pressed up against one another. A black shirt, open at the collar, an honest hint of hair… How unusual. A square-set jaw, ample stubble… Nice. A full mouth, firm yet sensual, very nice. A strong nose, not too big, not too small. And eyes—

       Oh, my God.

      I start to lower my lashes, but I’ve never stood down in my life and force my eyes open. Wide.

      Fierce blues pierce me, the coloured rims almost drowned out by glittering pupils. I swallow. At least I think I do. But my throat’s still closed tight as my cheeks start to heat. Part of me is aware I should step back. The other part is more than aware that he hasn’t made any attempt to either.

      I wet my lips and manage, ‘Hi,’ feeling glad when it’s not the squeak I feared.

      His eyes rake over my face and then he seems to come alive on a breath. ‘Apologies.’

      Stepping away, he rubs a hand over the back of his head and my palm tickles like it’s mine that’s grazing over the dark buzz cut. And then he moves off and the connection is gone, the spell with it.

      What was that?

      Distraction, that’s what.

      ‘Wait.’ I reach out to touch his arm and feel heat permeate my fingertips, solid muscle flexing beneath the shirt. ‘I’m Coco.’

      He hesitates as he looks back to me, his eyes still piercing, still ablaze. It’s like there’s a war raging in his head—he looks angry, even. But instead of being scared I’m drawn in. My body is well aware that this is what I need right now and I can’t let it go.

      ‘I know who you are.’

      It’s a simple statement, but there’s an edge to it. I almost want to say it’s contempt, and curiosity toughens my spine as I retract my hand and smile. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

      ‘Look, princess, you’re just not my type.’

      I laugh. The sound tinkles, high and easy. I’m already having fun. More fun than I’ve had in a long time. ‘Really…?’

      ‘Really.’

      He makes no attempt to leave, though. Interesting.

      I cock my head to the side, let my gaze travel over him slowly, more brazen this time.

      ‘I hardly think I’m yours either,’ he adds, his tone rough and teasing at the electricity already thrumming in my veins.

      I lift my eyes to his as I say, ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

      A pulse dances in his jaw and I wet my lips as I step closer, reaching out to toy with the first fastened button of his shirt. His chest stills beneath my fingers but his face is set hard. If not for the slight flare to his nose and that tripping pulse point I’d think the chest thing was a figment of my imagination.

      ‘You going to tell me your name, or am I to guess?’

      His throat bobs and I can sense his need to clear it. I’m not naive when it comes to sex. Sex and attraction. His body is giving me all the signs, even if he doesn’t want me to see it.

      ‘It’s like that, is it? Hmm… Let me see…’ I smile as I ponder and watch his eyes flicker back at me. Am I amusing him? I want to amuse him… ‘What about… Reginald? Penfold? Archibald…?’ I mock pout at his flat expression and catch the slightest twitch to his lips. Definitely amused. ‘No? What about Terrence? Bert? Ernie—no, Arnie…? Ooh, yes… Arnie… I can definitely see a bit of Schwarzenegger in you…the whole I’ll be back thing?’

      I tuck my chin in as I deliver my best Terminator impression and my ridiculous comedic act—which, to be fair, makes me look like I sport a double chin—is totally worth it as he rewards me with a grin he clearly doesn’t want to give.

      ‘It’s Ash.’

      He takes firm hold of my fingers, which have just made tantalising contact with the exposed hairs of his chest, and my moment of triumph dampens as I sense the rejection coming.

      ‘And I have to go.’

      ‘Don’t be a party pooper, Ash. We were just getting to know one another.’ I take another step forward and my breasts brush against his chest as I breathe, my fingers still trapped in his warm, firm grasp.

      ‘And as I said, you’re hardly my type.’

      He looks away and I follow his line of sight. He’s looking towards Caitlin at the bar and I realise what he means.

      ‘She’s a friend of mine…a close friend.’

      He turns back to me. ‘So I saw.’

      I frown just a little. СКАЧАТЬ