Irrepressible You (16 page)

‘Oh
God
. Amy, sweetheart, I’m not going to last if you do that,’ Ben ground out through gritted teeth, making an effort to slow down his pace, obviously intending to last until she came. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to feel this out of control. She wanted to feel him. This.
Now
.

Amy answered by slamming herself back against him. She was rewarded by a low, rasping groan as Ben’s body went rigid, muscles straining, his cock pulsing inside her before he collapsed, knocking the air out of her lungs as his breath rasped in her ear.

Squashed under Ben’s weight, Amy’s body felt like someone had plugged it into a light socket. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples were aching and a hot, hungry feeling roiled through her lower body but she did her best to ignore it, instead basking in what she and Ben had just shared. She’d never felt this close, this connected with a man before. Inexplicably, the thought brought tears to her eyes.

‘That was incredibly devious of you, pulling my trigger like that.’

‘Pardon?’

Ben withdrew and pushed himself off her. She rolled to face him, propping her head on her hand and giving him a tentative smile.

His harsh features were softer now, almost classically handsome, but his eyes were scanning her face intently. He seemed to come to a conclusion before he looked down her body. ‘Damn.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I didn’t even get you out of this dress. As sexy as it is, I really wanted to see you naked. Care to oblige?’ He raised his brows.

‘I don’t have any energy right now. You wore me out.’ Amy yawned massively to disguise her roiling emotions.

‘Of course I did. Lethargy is a known side effect of good dessert. Even if you didn’t finish all of it. Stubborn woman.’ Ben’s eyes lit with humour. ‘Where’s your bathroom?’

‘Do you mean my shower or my toilet?’ Amy asked, reaching out to stroke a finger down his chest.

‘Toilet.’ He looked puzzled.

Amy reluctantly sat up. ‘Just wait–I’ll get you a towel.’ She pushed herself off the edge of the bed, smoothed her dress down her trembling thighs and teetered off to the bathroom with Ben’s exclamation of confusion following her.

She returned moments later with a large pink towel, a flashlight and a cheeky grin.

‘Follow me.’

Chapter 8

‘No, I’m not sick, so give over. You’re being a total ball ache.’ Ben held the phone away from his ear, wincing as Ross’s booming guffaw of disbelief echoed around his study.

Only ten minutes before, Ben had filed not one, but
three
columns’ worth of copy, freeing him up from the onerous task of meeting his weekly deadline for nigh on a month. Not even the knowledge that Marcella’s tell-all interview was plastered on page three of the
Enquirer
today could put a dent in his mood. He was, quite frankly, on fire. However, Ross seemed to think he was, quite frankly, going potty.

He listened to Ross’s laughter for a couple more seconds before his patience expired. ‘And no, before you ask, I’m not delirious either. Just read the damn things and get your minions to edit them, and if Reg changes a word of my copy again without my consultation make sure you shoot him at point-blank range. Hurt and aggrieved by this attitude, Ross, hurt and aggrieved.’ He hung up, marginally offended by his friend’s incredulity but understanding it at the same time.

Over the length of Ben’s varied career, writing had always been something he’d had to torture himself and sweat over. He’d never been able to plan what he was going to put on a page in advance. His fickle friend–Inspiration–wasn’t that accommodating. In the past, he’d had to sit around twiddling his thumbs waiting for it to turn up and it was always,
always
, fashionably late. It seemed that had all changed now. Even though he’d gotten less than two hours’ sleep the night before, ideas were zinging through his mind, not even bothering to politely knock before they blazed across his brain. They’d turned up the minute he arrived home and hadn’t given him a moment’s rest.

There was something about being with Amy that set his imagination on fire. He couldn’t figure the woman out. Not one little bit. She confused him, intrigued him and left him feeling randier than a thirteen-year-old boy in the first thralls of internet porn-fuelled lust.

To make matters even more confounding, the devious wench had all but kicked him out last night after putting him through the indignity of traipsing out to her prehistoric outhouse in the rain, nether regions wrapped in a pink towel, bare feet slipping on mossy bricks.

When he’d returned from his ignominious excursion, she’d placated him with the most luxurious cup of hot chocolate he’d ever tasted, the flavour so intense it was close to a sexual experience. Then, when he’d been lulled into a near delirious post-chocolate, post-sex stupor, she’d politely mentioned that she had an early morning the next day and had given him the boot.

In protest, he’d done the necessary thing and kissed her senseless, trying his damnedest to get her out of that dress but only succeeded in getting himself so fucking frustrated he was still brooding over the reasons why she’d stopped herself from coming–twice. It was bloody insulting. Or at least it would be if he was the kind of fellow to be insulted by that kind of thing. Which he wasn’t. Much.

He frowned pensively at the thought, pushing himself away from his desk and stalking into his kitchen.

He’d called her on it and would have said a whole lot more but her expression had been so tender and so completely vulnerable when she’d looked at him afterwards that he simply hadn’t been able to do it. Instead, he’d decided that the next time he got her underneath him, he’d bloody well keep her there until she screamed for Jesus Christ and his heavenly horde.

Contemplating that happy future event, he poured himself a coffee and ventured outside. It was a clear day; the air was tinged with the sea, salt and the faint ozone of last night’s rain evaporating on warm tarmac. Although it was winter, there was a huge blue sky overhead and the sun was shining through a number of luxurious, fluffy white clouds only marred at the edges by a hint of grey.

The dark green-blue sea in front of him was choppy, but not enough to bring out the hordes of surfers that turned up when there was anything resembling a decent swell. Ben breathed in deeply and looked up at a seagull flying leisurely circles in the sky. Damn, but he liked this place. He’d like it a hell of a lot more if he could work a certain lady out. He had a sneaking suspicion that the more he tried to learn about her, the less he’d know.

Amy’s revelation that her penchant for pinup clothing came from a desire to recreate the comfort of childhood escapism had truly surprised him, as had the other snippets of her past she’d unintentionally shared.

He’d found himself touched and feeling a completely uncharacteristic sense of anger on her behalf over the injustice she’d experienced at the hands of her incompetent parents. He’d wanted to demand she tell him more but had stopped himself in time. As impatient as he was to get to know her better, he now realised a subtler approach was required. He just had to work out what that approach was. If he pursued her now after her polite post-sex brush-off, he ran the risk of running straight back into the wall he’d encountered last night, but if he backed off too far . . .

A thought occurred to him and he grinned. Maybe playing a little hard to get was the way to go. Couldn’t be too easy now, could he? Oh, he’d do the right thing and call this afternoon, but it was time for his Kewpie doll to make the next move. If he was lucky, she’d make it wearing nothing more than an Agent Provocateur negligee and a sweet dimpled smile.

Amy inspected the Amazon package that had just been delivered to her salon with a furrowed brow.

‘You gonna open that or just stare at it like a stunned guppy?’ Jo asked. She was stretched out in a pink chair, her bare toes splayed apart with foam while her nails dried. It was just past closing time on a Friday and Jo had dropped by to get a haircut and be prettied up before she and Amy went to their favourite Italian restaurant for a girl’s night out. Myf was supposed to be joining them but only minutes before, her housemate, Gavin, had called to warn Amy that Myf was caught up with a painting she’d just started, which meant that it was just going to be the Blaine girls this evening. When Myf was focused on her work she could go missing for days, sometimes weeks, at a time.

Amy didn’t mind. She rarely got Jo to herself and Myf’s absence had provided them with a chance to catch up. Not that they’d talked about much. Mostly Jo had gently teased Amy about her latest pair of shoes, a pair of lime-green pumps she’d picked up on discount from the mid-year sales. Jo had nicknamed them ‘squashed frog’ shoes. In retaliation, Amy had threatened to paint Jo’s toenails baby poo-brown. The words had turned Jo’s complexion a waxy grey colour.

She was still puzzling over that when Jo’s voice broke through her thoughts.

‘Ames, if you don’t open it, I’m going to.’

Amy shook the package again. She hadn’t ordered an Amazon parcel. Using one of the cutthroat razors she kept tucked into the pocket of her apron, she sliced the box open.

‘Oh!’

‘What?’ Jo craned her neck to see.

She stared down at the shiny new boxed set of Marilyn Monroe DVDs nestled in the packaging and felt her eyes begin to sting.

‘Amy?’ Jo barked. She was hobbled by her drying toes and getting impatient.

Amy tilted the box sideways. ‘It’s a present,’ she said breathlessly. ‘A replacement box set. This one’s even a limited edition. He must have ordered it the minute he got home for it to have arrived within the space of a week.’

‘Who’s
he
?’ Jo asked, brows raised, curious.

‘Ben.’ She tensed, waiting for Jo to say something. Much to her surprise, Jo averted her eyes to her drying toenails and kept quiet.

Amy relaxed, turning back to her gift. ‘Oh, this is so lovely.’ She stroked the picture of Marilyn Monroe in her iconic white dress from
The Seven Year Itch
. ‘I’ve gotta call him.’ Placing the box down on the chair next to Jo, she called Ben’s number and waited for him to pick up. They’d talked a lot on the phone this past week, but had yet to see each other since the night he’d come to dinner. He’d called the next day and had left her laughing uproariously when he described exactly how much he deserved her apology for kicking him out so early after she’d inflicted Harvey on him.

Amy regretted pushing him out the door. At the time she’d been worried he’d want to further discuss why she’d held back in bed, or worse, joke about it. Thankfully, he’d been lovely and her worries now looked more than a little silly. She was beginning to wonder why she’d been so worried about being out of control around him in the first place. If he was sweet enough to do something like this . . .

‘Don’t think he’s there, Ames,’ Jo spoke while absent-mindedly flicking through a magazine, bringing Amy’s attention to the fact she’d let Ben’s call ring out.

‘Oh well.’ She looked back at her gift.

A goofy grin was still plastered across her features when the shop doorbell rang.

‘Hey stranger, long time no see!’

She looked up just as Jo called out to the newcomer and felt her smile solidify and her heart rate triple.

‘G’day, Jo. Lookin’ good.’ Liam strutted through the door as if he owned the place, his bullish body dressed to impress in tan chinos, a pale pink polo shirt and enough cologne to kill a rat at fifty paces.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Jo’s expression was so ridiculously pleased, Amy felt ill. She wished she’d brought Gerald in to the salon today. Maybe he’d dislike Liam as much as she did and take a chunk out of him, or trip him over at the very least.

‘Thought I’d check in on the little lady here,’ Liam said, sounding for all intents and purposes like he was the white knight riding to the rescue.

Bile coated Amy’s tongue, burning her throat as she swallowed it back down.

Jo’s grinned widened, hope clearly written all over her features. ‘Yeah? Ames didn’t mention you two were still seeing each other.’

‘We’re not,’ Amy interjected flatly.

‘You know, I’d like that a lot, Jo, but Amy here’s playin’ hard to get.’ Liam advanced on Amy, knowing full well she wouldn’t push him away with her sister watching.

For Jo’s sake, Amy suffered through the attention, holding her breath and clenching her fists at her sides as his lips connected with her cheek. Her stomach heaved as his peppermint-tinged breath assaulted her nostrils. ‘Liam, we’re going out now. You’re gonna have to go.’

Jo immediately protested. ‘No. No. It’s alright. We can spare a few minutes, can’t we, Ames? Take a seat, mate.’ She moved Ben’s gift from the chair next to her, sitting it on the floor by her feet.

‘Great.’ With a triumphant look at Amy, Liam settled himself down next to Jo, tapping his palm on the chair arm. ‘Hey, Amy, while I’m catching up with Jo here, why don’t you get us a beer from that little fridge you keep down the back?’

Amy froze. All she wanted to do was scream at Liam to get out of her salon and out of her life, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Jo would want an explanation.

Jo broke the solidifying silence. ‘So which rig you on now, mate?’

‘
Sunrise
 . . .’

Liam began a long, self-important monologue about his job that Jo interrupted to ask the odd question, nodding knowingly. To Amy, he was speaking a foreign language she didn’t want to learn.

She let the conversation go on for five excruciating minutes before she cut in, wrapping her arms tight around her waist. ‘Liam, we’ve got stuff to do and we’re going out. You really have to go.’ She gave him a tight smile for Jo’s benefit. ‘Now.’

‘Aw, listen to it. Does she always order you around like this?’ Liam simultaneously gestured to Amy and dismissed her with an arrogant wave of his hand.

‘Always,’ Jo replied, no doubt thinking he was teasing. ‘You gonna be in town for a bit? Maybe we could all catch up. I’d love to introduce you to my fiancé.’