Attraction: (A Temptation Series Stand-alone) (The Temptation Series Book 4) (15 page)

Just thinking about it has my dick dancing against the denim
of my jeans.
What the hell do I do? I don’t normally chase. I never have.
I’ve never seen the point of it. Chasing means they are either too high
maintenance, or just not that into you. Is Carly not that into me? No, she
fucking is, I can tell. Is she high maintenance? Hell, yes.

I chuckled to myself, thinking of Carly and her impeccable
physique. She looks high maintenance, but she’s not. Not deep down. It didn’t
bother her one iota that we went to TGI Friday’s and to the local cinema; she
didn’t complain. She was also down to earth and fragile when Sasha was sick.
No, Carly is not high maintenance. She might pretend to be, but she’s not.

That’s it! She’s blooding bluffing. Well ... I call her
bluff. I call her pretence to be hard, unfazed, controlled and dominant. It was
obvious she used those attributes as a shield of protection from hurt and
betrayal. But I could tell that underneath her hard exterior, there was a
fragile woman in need of a man to take the place of that shield. A man who
would protect her whether she wanted him to or not. A man who would step up and
prove to her that she actually needed him.
Do I want to be that man?
‘Shit!’ I mumbled as I shoved my clothes into my bag and pulled my runners on.
I think I did. She had a vulnerability that I wanted to protect. Not to mention
I could not get her out of my mind. The way she smiled so easily, even when trying
not to. Her surrender when I push all the right buttons. She had a pull; a
lure, hooking and towing me along. I wanted her like I’d never wanted a woman
before. And that’s just it ... she made me want. Really want.

Looking at my phone, I debated whether or not to call her
back. I wanted to make it right again and explain who Layla was and what she
meant to me, but then thought better of it.
No, Brad is right. I need to
leave it go for a few days and clear my head.
Too much was at stake where
the next few weeks were concerned.

Putting my phone in my pocket, I walked out through the
garage and waved to the guys, before pulling my helmet over my head and
starting my girl with a roar. As her engine purred invitingly, I kicked up the
stand and took off. I needed air ... the open road. I needed a fucking
breather.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Standing in my kitchen with flour smeared upon my nose, I
glanced around me and took in what could be described as my fridge and pantry
having thrown up everywhere. The place was a mess; an abomination to say the
least. Then again, it was a result of my hard work and effort where baking was
concerned, so it pleased me all the same.

Happily applying that thinking in order to ignore the
obvious disaster zone before me, I satisfactorily nudged the oven door shut
with my hip. Tash, Lil, Jade, Steph, Jen and I were due to head over to Bryce’s
apartment later in the evening to surprise Alexis. He had called me during the
week, explaining that Lexi had been a little sulky because she was sick of
feeling useless. He’d also informed me that she didn’t want to go out anywhere,
because apparently her moon boot made her feel as though she should audition
for a part in
Iron Man
. Personally, I thought she was being a sooky sooky
la la and could totally rock a sexy superheroine, moon boot and all.

As I was cleaning away the leftover ingredients from the
best lemon-lime meringue cake to ever be produced — because I knew it was her
absolute favourite cake — my thoughts drifted to Derek.

Just the idea that I could bump into him in mere hours had
me a little on edge. I hadn’t seen him since our first and, as it so happened,
last date. I also hadn’t spoken to him after verbally biting his head off
during our last phone call.

It had been six weeks since then. SIX WEEKS! And during
those six weeks, I’d sulked, gotten angry and swept our entire fling under the
rug. I’d even tried to take out my sexual frustration on a cute
twenty-something-year-old who I’d met at the local pub. Fortunately — and for
the first time in my life — I’d abandoned that rebound fuck for lack of
enthusiasm, in the end just not having been up to it.

A few days after that last horrid phone conversation with
Derek, he had sent a text, saying sorry. He’d also explained that he was due to
participate in some form of training program for a few weeks which would
inevitably keep him tied up, but that I could call him. I didn’t ... call him
that is. I wanted to, but I didn’t. In the end, I chose not to for fear that I
had already grown far too attached to him. When all was said and done, I was
too scared to deal with those particular feelings, but more so, what they obviously
meant.

I’d been on one date with him,
one
date, and had
almost turned into some kind of green-eyed monster. That just wasn’t me. Carly
Henkley was no Hulk.

The obvious signs that I had been losing control of my sense
of independence, and the ability to live my life with my feelings undamaged,
had been right in front of me. But because I was as stubborn as they come — and
had sensed I felt something different where Derek was concerned — I chose to
ignore those signs and ended up getting hurt anyway. When I thought back on the
situation, I couldn’t help but ask myself this: was what Derek and I shared
solely attraction or quite possibly something more? Regardless, it didn’t
really matter. Derek and I are nothing, and six weeks without so much as a word
to one another was a clear indication of that.

‘Okay, whip four egg whites together, gradually adding one cup
of caster sugar until thick, stiff and glossy,’ I said to myself as I read the
recipe out loud. You’d think that I’d know how to bake this cake with my eyes
closed after the excessive number of times Lex and I have made it. But, like
I’ve said before, cooking is not my forte; neither was paying attention while
Lex did the actual baking.

‘Carly! What did you do, have a food fight with yourself?’
Libby screeched as she walked into the room.

Rolling my eyes at her over-dramatic assessment of the sight
before her, I switched on the handheld mixer to whip the egg whites — and to
drown out any further whining from her.

‘Oh, please,’ I shouted over the loud hum, ‘it’s not that
bad.’

‘Not that bad?’ she questioned, her face expressing
disbelief. ‘Do you have cake batter in your eyes? Surely you have cake batter
in your eyes?’

Wiping the back of my hand across said eyes, I gave her an
enthusiastic smile. ‘Nope.’

‘I’m not cleaning up this mess,’ she stated emphatically,
while placing her bag down.

‘I didn’t ask you to,’ I retorted.

Continuing to beat the mixture for a few minutes longer, I
watched the clear gooey egg whites transform into white fluffy meringue and,
still raising my voice loud enough for her to hear, I asked Libby what her
plans were for the evening. ‘So ... what ya doin’ tonight? Want to come to
Lexi’s cheer-the-fuck-up party?’

‘Her what?’ Lib shouted.

I turned off the mixer, unplugged the detachable whisk
beaters and offered one to Lib. She happily accepted and both of us stood there
licking the meringue mixture as if we were a couple of kids.

‘Her cheer-the-fuck-up party,’ I mumbled as my tongue
twisted in between the metal prongs. ‘She’s still hobbling around in her moon
boot and needs some cheering up. She refuses to go out anywhere so we are bringing
the party to her.’

‘Ah ... good idea,’ Lib mumbled back. ‘I’d love to come, but
it’s Mum’s birthday dinner tonight.’

‘Bugger,’ I slurred as my tongue twisted and turned.

Lib glanced around, visibly cringing at my mess. ‘So what
are you making?’

‘Lemon-lime meringue cake, Lexi’s favourite. It’s that one
food item that always makes her feel better.’

‘Sounds yum,’ Lib said with a smile, before indicating I
hand over my well-licked beater. I obliged and passed it to her so that she
could place them both in the sink. She then picked up the sponge and began to
wipe the benchtop.
Whaa? Does she not realise she is doing what she said she
wouldn’t — cleaning up?
I decided not to make her aware of this particular
fault in her genetic make-up.

‘Lib,’ I questioned hesitantly, but wanting the conversation
to remain flowing in the hope that it would continue to distract her from
thinking about her cleaning efforts, ‘when was the last time you and I went out
for drinks somewhere?’

She stopped her circular wiping motion and looked up at me.
Damn
it. Don’t stop cleaning.
‘Um ... I don’t know. Why?’

‘Because it’s been a while,’ I said quickly, hoping she
would return to her wiping unawares. ‘And, anyway, I think both you and I need
to scope out some local talent.’

Libby turned around and rested her arse against the kitchen
counter. ‘You know what? I think you are right. I think I need to get out, get
in amongst the crowd again.’

Okay, who is this person and what has she done with Lib?

Putting my hands into the oven gloves, I proceeded to pull
the cake out from the oven.

‘Mm ... smells good,’ Lib purred.

It did smell good —
thank fuck
— but it didn’t look
good.
Shit! It has a dip. It’s not supposed to have a fucking dip.

Placing it down on the wire rack which sat atop the bench, I
sighed with frustration. ‘Why the change of heart? I thought you didn’t like
fishing for men.’

Libby looked down at her hands which were fiddling in front
of her. ‘Because I’m sick of waiting for Prince Charming to come find me. He’s
not doing a very good job of it.’

I tilted my head to the side and gave her a pouty
sympathetic smile. ‘Maybe he just needs a GPS.’

‘Pfft, maybe, but either way, I’m sick of waiting. I’m going
to be my own Prince Charm—’

‘You’re what? Are you turning lezzie?’ I asked with amused
playfulness.

‘No! I’m going to find my own man. Where does it say that he
has to find me? Oh, I know where ... in those stupid fairytale books I’ve been
reading all my life. That’s where.’

Libby was one of
those
girls. You know, the ones who
love Disney princesses and the whole concept of being swept off your feet by a
knight in shining armour and blah, blah, blah-bibbity blah. That notion always
made me gag and shake my head with annoyance.

‘Okay, tell me what’s happened and where my room-mate formerly
known as The Libby Mermaid is?’

‘She’s gone,’ she said resolutely as she rinsed the sponge
in the sink ready to use for another wipe down.

‘This has something to do with that self-help book you’re
reading, doesn’t it?’ I asked as I closely inspected my dippy cake.

Quickly turning her back to me, she opened the dishwasher
door. ‘It’s not the book, Carls. I’ve just come to realise that life is not a
fairytale, and that the man of my dreams is not out there searching for me.’

‘Hmm ...’ I contemplated, having known this concept all
along. But hearing it from Lib was a little unnerving. I couldn’t help but feel
saddened for her, as though she had lost faith in the magic of life’s
possibilities, yet I didn’t have that faith to begin with.
God, I’m such a
hypocrite.

‘Hmm ... what?’ she asked, as she started packing my dirty
dishes away.

Feeling guilty, I just couldn’t let her clean up any longer.
She was clearly having one of those my-head-is-so-fucked-up days. ‘Lib,
sweetie, you’re cleaning up my mess. Here, I’ll do that,’ I said with a smile
as I took the dirty mixing bowl from her hands.

She snatched it back and smiled in return as if she was
aware she had been cleaning up all along. ‘I always clean your mess, Carly.
What are friends for?’

Shaking my head at her, I reached into the drawer, found the
spatula and began to spread the meringue mixture onto my depressed cake. ‘We
are going to find our men, Lib,’ I told her with as much assurance as possible.
‘And when we do, we will be in control.’ I stood upright, as if to prepare for
the speech of a lifetime and continued. ‘Do you want to know why?’

She shrugged her shoulders and held back an unsure grin.

Pointing the spatula at her, I enlightened Lib with the most
valuable piece of information a woman could be privy to. ‘Because vaginas rule
the world.’

***

Bryce had arranged for Danny — his chauffeur — to collect me
and the other girls and drive us to the apartment in his limousine. All six of
us were armed with a cheer-the-fuck-up item for Lexi: Tash, a copy of
Dirty
Dancing
on DVD; Lil, a big bunch of brightly coloured roses; Jade, the
board game Celebrity Head; Steph, her pedicure set; Jen, her Michael Jackson
Thriller
CD; and me with the best-disguised cake in the world.

‘Oh no,’ Steph gasped right before I pushed the buzzer to
the apartment.

Jade touched her shoulder. ‘What?’

‘We forgot balloons.’

‘Thank Christ for that,’ Tash pointed out, a disgusted look
upon her face.

Steph glared at her. ‘We should have bought balloons. Every
party needs balloons.’

‘No, it fucking doesn’t,’ Tash reaffirmed as I pressed the
button and stood back.

Moments later, Bryce opened the door, smiled and ushered us
in. ‘Ladies.’

‘Nobody puts Alexis in the corner,’ Tash dramatically stated
as she presented Lex with the DVD and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Wha—’ Lexi stuttered, her mouth agape and eyes open wide.

Giggling, I approached my best friend of thirty-plus years,
the look upon her face a beautiful sight. I loved moments like these when she
was stunned stupid.

Wanting to quickly offload my cake-atastrophe, I plonked it
in her hands and kissed her forehead before heading straight for Bryce, this
little action now being one of my new favourite moves.

‘Mr Clark, as always, it is a pleasure to see you,’ I said
before giving him a tight squeeze. My forwardness never seemed to bother him,
or Lexi, for that matter.