Breaking the Bro Code (8 page)

So what if he wanted to use some of that success to help Elise out? What was so bad about that? Deep down he’d known that she couldn’t cure him of his public-speaking phobia. Hell, even the therapist hadn’t been able to totally fix that one. But being around Elise calmed him, it always had...and that was an improvement he needed right now.

‘I don’t want your charity.’ She didn’t look at him.

Emotion welled up inside him and he knew he had to do something before he blurted out words that couldn’t be taken back. He closed the space between them and grabbed her shoulders.

‘Look at me,’ he growled. ‘I care about you, Elise. I care about you more than I’ve cared about anyone in my whole life. I never forgot about you, and believe me I tried.’

‘Don’t do this, Col.’ She turned to him, grey eyes frosted over like ice on a windscreen—hard and opaque. ‘I want to make things right.’

‘And you think the way to make things right is by giving me my money back and pretending nothing ever happened between us?’

‘Isn’t it?’ Not one of her muscles moved under his hands. ‘We’re stuck in this weird, no-man’s-land. We family, but we’re not. We’re lovers, but we’re not.’

‘We could be.’ The words escaped his lips before he could even
think
about stopping them.

Why did he keep doing this? It was a situation that couldn’t possibly work and yet she was a girl who deserved long-lasting, grow-old-together love. They’d known each other for over two decades and they still couldn’t work one another out. It was doomed;
they
were doomed.

‘I’m not like other girls, Col.’ Her hands came up to his bare chest, the gentle press of her fingertips sending flames through him. ‘I can’t take something from you without giving something back. I don’t want this to be what I give back. I want to give you something real.’

Her long, curling lashes fluttered and the ice started to melt. Her cheeks coloured, her breathing came faster and when she looked up at him he thought he might drown in the sincerity of her.

‘I want to tell you something.’ She swallowed. ‘Something real.’

It was the best gift she could have given him, a glimpse of the truth that had been locked inside her head for so long that he’d thought he’d never be able to see behind her mask. His body swung the confusing distance between being incredibly turned on and totally sombre with the seriousness of what she was about to do. His body fired under her touch, every nerve-ending alight with the presence of her.

‘I want to tell you why I quit ballet.’

Okay, so it wasn’t quite what he was expecting but it was still a step in the right direction. He knew she’d quit her position with the Australian Ballet after her father died and assumed that was the reason.

‘You know I studied very hard growing up,’ she said, watching as he nodded. ‘My aim was to be the best technical dancer the Australian Ballet had ever seen. I wanted to nail the angle of every
arabesque
. I wanted to perfect every turn, every lift. I wanted to be perfect. I was pretty damn close to being a “perfect” dancer. I never got a step wrong.’

‘I’d call that perfect.’

‘But I realised one day that in my quest to be the perfect dancer I’d missed a very important element. Emotion.’

Her chest rose and fell, her small breasts grazing against him ever so slightly. He bit down on his lip and willed himself not to get hard; he would not ruin this moment.

‘I would watch other dancers like Missy and Jasmine and I could see this love, anguish and splendour pour out of them. Their faces would be like beacons. I even studied them so I could see if I could make my face do the same thing. But I realised then, as I was practising in front of a mirror, that I was forcing something which didn’t exist.

‘If I didn’t
feel
the emotion, I couldn’t fake it. There was something fundamentally missing and it meant I could never be as good as those other dancers. The teachers saw it—it’s why I was never able to move out of the
corps de ballet.
They knew there was something missing that no amount of technique could make up for.’

His chest ached, not so much for the story itself but for the fact that even now she told it without an ounce of emotion in her voice. He knew it was there, unreachable beneath the surface of her carefully managed exterior. He wanted so desperately to kiss her, to kiss all of that pain away.

‘The week before Dad died the director sat me down and told me that if I didn’t find some way to bring out the emotion in my dancing then I wouldn’t ever make it out of the
corps de ballet.
But I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t ever let go of the technique, the perfection. I couldn’t
feel
the way other dancers feel. So, after Dad died, I decided that it wasn’t worth continuing since I knew I’d never be able to get to the level I wanted.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes I wonder if that was the right thing to do, but I’m glad I opened the ballet school. It brings me a lot of joy to see these young dancers find the pleasure that I missed out on.’

He had to keep himself in check; the protective urges that roared through him threatened to overtake his sensibilities. He wanted to bundle her up into his arms and never let her go. To some her story might have seemed insignificant, to him it was worth gold.

‘You were a beautiful dancer.’ He bent his head and cupped her face with his hands. ‘But you grew up with two very sensible people who had serious, hard, demanding jobs. You
learned
to suppress your emotions, but that doesn’t for a second mean they’re not there. Hiding your emotions is not the same as not having them.’

EIGHT

Elise knew it
wouldn’t be showing, but on the inside she was shaking. She’d never told another person the real reason she left the Australian Ballet. Everyone had assumed it was because of her father’s death, and she never bothered to correct them because it was easier than admitting such a fundamental flaw.

Now she’d blurted out the truth to Col and he wasn’t running. He didn’t think her vain or stupid or frivolous for the real reason. In fact, he was looking at her with such burning intensity that she wasn’t sure what to do next. She had assumed the story would put him off, make him see how broken she was. But it only increased the crackling energy between them.

Suddenly her palms felt scorched against his magnificent, muscled chest. Thinking about the past had taken her mind off his physical prowess, until now. He was fair but the summer had warmed his skin to a light tan shade, dark hair dusted the tops of his forearms, the rings around his nipples and paved the way from his belly button to the well-placed knot of his towel. Her breath hitched and she withdrew her hands.

‘So now you know.’

‘Now I know,’ he echoed. His hands dropped from her face to the tops of her arms. It was as if he wanted to give her space but wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. ‘I know something real.’

She’d never felt more exposed in her whole life, including the time that her leotard strap broke in the middle of dress rehearsal
and
the time Madame Bershov gave her a public dressing-down for being late to class. She felt even more exposed than when she stood at her father’s funeral and was the only person not crying.

He’d managed to get her to reveal more of herself than any other person, and he hadn’t even asked for it...not directly, at least.

‘You have nothing to be ashamed of, Elise. You’re a wonderful person, you’re caring, incredibly beautiful...’

His breath was coming heavy now, the muscles in his arms tensed. A droplet of water ran down the roped muscle of his neck and pooled at the base. Instinct took over and she leant forward, her tongue collecting the drop from his skin. He tasted fresh and clean, smelled of sandalwood soap. She pressed her lips against him, sucking on his skin before pulling back and looking up with her heart in her mouth.

‘Elise.’ Her name was a long, low growl on his lips.

‘Shut up, Col.’ She wound her hands around his neck and dragged his head down until their foreheads touched. ‘I think we’ve talked enough.’

He pulled her to him roughly, the knot of his towel and the erection beneath digging into her belly. His mouth found hers, hot and desperate and open. His hands thrust up into her hair and he tilted her head back, kissing her as deeply as he could. The world tilted around them, the view blurring until it was a haze of golden dots on an inky piece of velvet.

‘I want you, Ellie. I can’t stop it.’

‘Please,’ she breathed. ‘Don’t.’

Suddenly her back was against the suite’s dining table, though she’d scarcely been aware of them moving. He hoisted her up and placed her on the table, standing between her legs so the knot of his towel rubbed at her aching centre. It was at this point that she wished she’d worn a dress—her denim shorts were far too thick a barrier between them.

His mouth was at her neck, lips sucking and tongue flicking and teeth scraping. He kissed along her jaw and found her mouth again. He tasted of mint, fresh and slightly earthy. The stubble on his jaw scratched her cheek and she knew tomorrow there would be marks of him all over her.

His hand found the hem of her top and slipped underneath; she hadn’t worn a bra and he palmed her so slowly she thought she might explode from impatience. Her hand found the knot of his towel and struggled to loosen it.

‘Did you superglue this damn thing?’ she panted, gasping as his deft fingers found her nipple.

‘I’m a master towel tier.’ He chuckled. ‘Want a hand?’

She nodded and he stepped back, his hands dropping to the towel and slowly unravelling it. The towel dropped to the floor and all she could do was stare. He’d been amazing with the towel, but without he had a body worthy of a museum sculpture. Hard, muscular thighs extended out from narrow hips, far from the skinny boy’s legs she remembered him having. His erection jutted forward, swollen and heavy-looking.

‘You grew up,’ she breathed, hands itching to wrap around him.

‘The passage of time tends to have that effect.’ His grin was sly, predatory. ‘Your turn.’

She lay back against the table, her hands sliding down to find the zipper of her denim shorts. She undid them and started to slide them down her hips.

‘A little help here?’

His hands tucked under the waistband and tugged; the denim slipped off and fell to the floor with a soft thud. She wriggled out of her pink and yellow cotton underwear, relishing the cool air against her burning skin.

‘Touch yourself,’ he demanded.

Elise bit down on her lip—she’d never masturbated in front of someone before. In fact, the only time she’d ever been able to orgasm from anything but a man’s mouth had been at the hands of Col the first time around. Oral was fine—with a man’s head buried between her legs they couldn’t see her face, couldn’t watch for the right expressions. That always made her so self-conscious.

‘It’s okay, Ellie. It’s just me. Show me what you like.’

She’d told him why she quit ballet and he hadn’t run. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Stalling, she ran flat palms over her smooth belly, skimming her hip bones and sweeping down the outside of her thighs. She drew a very slow line back up the inside, feeling her muscles clench as her fingertips brushed her sex. A jolt of pleasure shot through her and she gasped, her teeth clamping down on her lower lip.

‘That’s it.’ He came closer, his clear blue eyes almost completely absorbed by the black of his pupils. ‘Show me.’

She dipped her hand lower, tracing the line of her centre until she reached the tight bundle of nerves at her apex. Her back arched and a cry escaped her lips. Closing her eyes, she continued to explore herself, something she’d only ever done in the complete dark when totally alone. His lips pressed against the inside of her knee, while his hands slid under her thighs.

He kissed the line up to her, replacing her hand with his tongue. He started slowly, with maddening flicks that stoked her fire and nudged her slowly towards the edge of sanity. Her fingers tangled in his short hair and held him in place. Each movement pried her apart, the chasm within her opening until she felt as though she were about to explode.

‘Please, Col. I’m so close.’

‘Slowly, Ellie. I’ve been waiting half a decade for this,’ he murmured against her, the vibrations of his voice sending ripples of pleasure through her.

She squirmed against him, the need for a too-long-absent release building steadily within her. He increased the pressure of his lips, his tongue working her perfectly. The quaking started low in her belly and flared out suddenly as she tipped over the edge, orgasm dazzling and blinding her.

She tried to sit up and look at him, but her limbs were heavy and pleasure sounds continued to emanate from the back of her throat. He stood, sliding his hands under her back and lifting her into his arms. Her hands wound around his neck and she pressed her face against his chest.

‘That was...’ She trailed off into a murmur.

‘Amazing is the word you were looking for.’

‘Cocky, aren’t you?’ She grinned into his chest, feeling gloriously protected and weightless.

‘Hard not to be with a beautiful woman screaming your name.’

Her head snapped up. ‘I didn’t!’

‘Yes, you did.’

The slight burning in her throat suggested he was right. She swallowed and stared wordlessly into his eyes. They were light blue, like faded denim, but ringed with a thin strip of navy. From a distance you probably wouldn’t notice it, but she had these eyes permanently printed into her memory.

‘You probably woke the neighbours.’

She tried to thump a fist against his chest but he dropped her onto the bed, laughing. She pulled the grey silk top she was still wearing over her head and dropped it on the floor.

‘That’s more like it.’ He came down over her, the large expanse of his chest covering her easily.

She ran both palms up his chest, brushing his small flat nipples until she reached his shoulders. Sliding an arm under her lower back, he rolled so that she landed on top of him, straddling his hips with her thighs.

Her shoulders bunched up under her ears; she hated being on top. In fact, she was sure a previous relationship ended because she refused to be on top...or maybe it was because she insisted on having the lights off. She tried to climb down but Col’s large hands held her in place.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

She squirmed, wriggling her hips against his in an attempt to break free of his grip but all she did was rub herself against his erection, making him groan and press his head back against the pillow.

‘I’m going to turn the light off.’

He released her and she switched off the light, frowning when she realised the glow of the city view meant real darkness would not eventuate.

‘What’s wrong, Ellie?’

He held a hand out and she crawled back onto the bed, snuggling against him as though it were the place she slept every night. His large arms engulfed her, and she sighed. Her heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm.

‘Are you nervous?’

‘I thought we were done talking for tonight.’

He bent down and kissed her. She opened to him with terrifying ease, her tongue seeking him out instinctively.

‘I need to know you’re not going to go crazy in the morning.’

‘Who says I’m going to make it to morning?’ she teased, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertip.

‘If you think I’m letting you out of my bed before the sun comes up you’ve got another thing coming.’ His kiss deepened, his hand finding her breasts once more.

She melted into his touch, forcing aside her insecurities and letting him play her like an instrument. He clasped his fingers around her wrist and pressed her hand to his chest.

‘You can touch me, you know. I won’t bite.’

‘I somehow doubt that.’

She slid her hand lower, smoothing her palm along the lines of his muscles, over the bones in his hip and down to the silken strength of him. He gasped as she wrapped her hand around him, stroking the length slowly. She flicked her thumb over the tip and he growled.

His hand reached out to the side table, blindly patting around for something. His wallet. A foil packet was produced and soon he was covered and ready.

Before he had the chance to pull her on top of him, she took matters into her own hand. She tugged his arm hard and he got the hint. His thigh nudged her legs apart and he entered her in one long, careful stroke.

‘Ellie.’ His face burrowed into her neck, his breath hot and delicious against her skin. ‘My perfect Ellie.’

Bucking her hips against him, she gave in to the haze of arousal and heard her own cries before she realised any sound had escaped her lips. A delicious and guttural sound came from the back of Col’s throat as her fingernails dug into his buttocks.

He increased the tempo, his control slipping away like satin from skin. For a moment she forgot to worry about what her own face was showing, and she lost herself in the pleasure painted clearly over his. His eyes locked onto hers and his lips mouthed her name over and over.

The bubble of excitement swelled within her, ready to burst. When his lips found hers again their bodies were fused from end to end. She chased release, writhing under him as he pushed them both to ecstasy.

It wasn’t until he slumped over her that she noticed the sound of her own voice ringing in her ears. She had indeed been crying out his name.

* * *

In that moment after he’d come, Col thought that the world might actually be perfect. Perhaps as a reward for all the pain he’d packed into his young life he now got to experience unadulterated happiness. Doubt niggled at him; the sensible, logical mind he’d used to dominate the technology industry told him that pure happiness was a fallacy. That life was varying in levels of imperfection, but no matter how small there was always something waiting to fail.

Elise had wriggled out from under him and was now on her side, facing the window as he spooned her. He pressed his face into her golden hair, the blinking lights from the cityscape reflecting in their golden strands. He smoothed a hand over her head, down her arm until it cupped the curve of her hip.

‘I’m going to start answering the door in my towel all the time.’

She laughed, the low throaty sound making him grin in the semi-darkness. ‘You might get into some interesting situations doing that. Do you get many random visitors at home?’

She rolled over to face him. In the darkness her expression was obscured by shadows and the way she ducked her head ever so slightly. Once the lights were off she was a different person. She felt more comfortable...comfortable enough to ask about his personal life at least.

‘Sadly not a lot...well, not a lot who visit only to see me.’

‘What do you mean?’ She traced the curve of his nipple with her fingertip.

‘I get a lot of up-and-coming techies wanting to pitch their latest app or game, sometimes it’s a reporter wanting an interview...’ He let out a sharp laugh, the humourless sound echoing in the quiet room. ‘It’s not often people come to visit me who aren’t there because I’ve employed them or they were after something.’

‘You always were a bit of a hermit.’ She snuggled closer to him. ‘Now you’re a sexy hermit.’

‘Is that right?’ He leant down to kiss the centre of her forehead but she surprised him by tilting her face up and catching his kiss with her open mouth.

‘The hermit part or the sexy part?’

‘The sexy part.’

‘Yes,’ she purred. ‘Sex on a very large stick...in my humble opinion.’

‘You’re not so bad yourself, Queen Bun Head.’ He reached behind her and cupped her bare arse in his hands.

‘I’m not really queen of the bun heads anymore.’ She sighed. ‘I couldn’t even save my own business without help. I don’t think that makes me queen of anything.’