The Dare Collection: March 2018. Nicola Marsh

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      But Abby seemed different. She hadn’t been mooning around all day. She’d been nonchalant. All business. Like she didn’t give a shit I’d been a grouchy ogre determined to keep her at bay.

      So maybe she meant it when she said a no-strings fling. I should be ecstatic. Instead, I couldn’t help but feel like yet again I’d come up short somehow. A hollow, empty feeling I’d spent years trying to conquer courtesy of dear old Dad’s shabby treatment.

      ‘So I’d be your walk on the wild side? Slumming it before you head back to the real world?’

      Guilt shifted in her gaze before she shook her head. ‘We’re very different, so, yeah, part of the appeal is that bad-boy edge you’ve got going on. But I like you.’ Her blush was back, staining her cheeks a vivid pink. ‘I never knew sex could be that good, so call me greedy but I want more.’

      Defiant, she took a step towards me and placed her hand on my chest. ‘A lot more.’

      I gritted my teeth against the urge to bend her over the table again. ‘Just sex. No muss, no fuss?’

      ‘I’m not a muss, fuss kind of girl.’ She lowered her hand, using it to gesture around the storeroom. ‘This place is my life. I want to complete my apprenticeship, become fully qualified, gain as much experience as I can with your brother, save like the devil and hopefully have my own patisserie one day. So you and me? A side benefit I’d never anticipated, but no way would I let it interfere with my dream.’

      ‘Fair enough.’

      She’d said all the right things. Talked the talk. But when it came to ending things, would she walk the walk?

      ‘What about Remy?’

      Confusion creased her brow. ‘What about him?’

      ‘My brother will bust my balls for tangling with you.’

      ‘Does he have to know?’

      ‘We don’t bullshit each other. He’s always had my back and I owe him.’

      Damn, why had I spilled that? I should keep my distance. Sex, I could handle, but there was something about Abby that snuck beneath my defences and made me want to confide. Disconcerting when I’d never told anyone the truth, not even Remy.

      Another side effect of putting up with Dad’s shit for so long: I was ashamed. Ashamed of who I was around him, ashamed of the years I’d tolerated his crap, ashamed at the possibility of anyone ever finding out how much of a goddamn coward I’d been.

      ‘I admire your loyalty.’ She tilted her head, studying me with that penetrating stare that made me squirm a little. ‘Family should stick together.’

      The slight quiver in her voice, underlined with a healthy dose of vulnerability, slayed me. ‘What about you? Any siblings?’

      ‘No.’

      One syllable laced with unspoken pain.

      ‘Hence my parents’ high expectations of me. Which also explains why they cut me off the first and only time I went against their wishes.’ Her harsh laugh was devoid of amusement. ‘Didn’t matter that I didn’t want a princess party as a ten-year-old. Or a formal ball for my sixteenth. Or to do a business degree.’ Her breath hitched. ‘Or to marry a guy more a friend at twenty-one. I always did the right thing. The expected thing. Until I walked away.’

      She cleared her throat. ‘I envy you your bond with Remy.’

      ‘Don’t ever envy me,’ I said, sounding gruff. ‘Remy and I are close from necessity.’

      Curiosity sparked her eyes. ‘What does that mean?’

      Shit. There I went again, giving away too much.

      ‘Nothing.’ I made a big show of glancing at my watch. ‘We need to get back out there.’

      Other women would’ve badgered me for answers. Thankfully, Abby had more class. Or she really was serious about keeping things between us strictly physical.

      ‘You’re right.’ She hesitated, a shy smile making something in my chest twang. ‘After we finish work, do you want to come up to my apartment? I make a mean fettuccini carbonara.’

      I should say no. Because Abby wasn’t just inviting me up for pasta and we both knew it. But she’d been honest in asking for what she wanted, blunt in outlining the terms. Considering how much of a jackass I’d been today, dealing with my rampaging lust for her and not being able to have her, I’d be better off agreeing to her very adult arrangement than having another few frustration-filled weeks.

      ‘I am partial to pasta.’ I stepped in close and rested my hand on her waist, my thumb strumming the sliver of bare skin beneath her pants and shirt. ‘And you.’

      ‘Good. Glad that’s settled.’ She kissed me on the cheek, a surprisingly sweet gesture that made my chest tighten again.

      But as I unlocked the door and followed her back to the kitchen, I knew deep down that things between us were far from settled.

      It scared the crap out of me.

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      Abby

      THIS WAS CRAZY.

      I wanted this.

      I asked for it.

      But as I flitted around the kitchen, ensuring the pasta had cooked al dente, grating Parmesan into a bowl and uncorking a Riesling, I knew that no matter how nonchalant I acted about inviting a gorgeous guy up to my apartment, inside I was a hot mess.

      Tanner had agreed to a fling.

      My ovaries were still leaping at the thought two hours later. Then he’d gone and revealed snippets of his past and I’d moved from viewing him as a fine piece of ass to a guy with a soul.

      Okay, so that sounded shallow. I’d already known he had deeper layers behind that tattooed front, but when he’d told me about him and Remy being close out of necessity...the pain lacing his voice had slain me.

      I’d wanted to wrap my arms around him, to offer comfort I had no right giving. But I’d seen the inner war he waged reflected in his eyes, a kind of personal agony I had no hope of understanding. So I’d changed the subject. Gone back to work. And begged off thirty minutes early to shower and get dinner prepped.

      I hadn’t dated as a teen. Bardley had been my first in every way: first boyfriend, first lover, first partner I’d lived with. He hadn’t appreciated my cooking, had always mocked my ‘homebody tendencies’. He’d preferred to eat out at Sydney’s finest restaurants, or get high-end catering in. So after the first week of married life I’d given up in the kitchen and grown increasingly despondent because of it.

      Whenever I’d been unable to stay away from the kitchen and indulged my penchant for baking, he’d made snide comments and warned me not to eat СКАЧАТЬ