Table for Two-epub (4 page)

“That’s okay,” James assured her. “I’m liking you more than ever, so it all evens out.” He pushed the plate over to her.

She glared at him.

“Tuck in. You know you want another bite.”

She pursed her lips, refusing to comment. Or eat.

“I can feed you, if you’d prefer?” He leaned over to take the knife and fork.

She shoved his hands away. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”

“Prove it.”

She did, sawing through the waffle and shoving another forkful into her mouth.

“And again.”

“Jeez. When did you get so bossy?”

“When you stopped eating.”

She took another bite, pausing to lick a drop of sauce off her lips.

His stomach heated, and he had to remind himself that any feelings he had for her tonight were all bullshit.

The next bite he didn’t have to coax into her mouth. She helped herself without him saying a word. Same story with the bite after that. Only this time she ate slowly, and her eyes closed as she chewed.

Because he refused to look away for even a second, he noticed the exact moment she lost her reluctance and began to enjoy the food. Appreciation was written all over her face. “It’s good?”

“Delicious.”

“Can I have some?”

She glared at him from one eye. “Get your own waffle.”

“I did.” He gestured to the plate.

“Back off, buddy.”

“Oi, it’s mine. I ordered it.”

She didn’t answer immediately, choosing to savor another bite of dessert first. “Possession—” she waved her fork at him, “—is nine-tenths of the law.”

“That’s a bullshit figure, and you know it.”

“Maybe so, but you gave the waffle to me, so it’s mine now.”

“And you’re not prepared to let me have a little taste?”

She dug the fork into the ice cream and took her sweet time licking it off.

Flames flared in his groin.

“Not even a teeny, tiny little bite.” 

He went for reverse psychology. “Lucky for me I’m full and don’t really want a bite, isn’t it?”

“Shhh.” She wrapped her mouth around another large bit. “I’m eating.”

James suppressed his smile. Mission accomplished. She’d need another five of those—every day for a month—to make up for the weight she’d lost, but this was a good start.

After dinner, Theo, Zoey, Ava and Greg decided to extend their evening out by hitting a cozy wine bar a few shops down from Chelsea’s. Levi and Spencer stayed on to spend more time with the lovely restaurant owner, and Liv pleaded exhaustion and chose to go home, which suited James.

He was up with the sun six mornings a week in order to fit in weight training at the gym before work, so late nights out were never his preference. Training was his drug, and missing a session unfailingly left him in a bad mood.

Greg, Theo and Zoey promised to drop Ava at home, so James had no qualms about climbing into his ute with Liv. He was only too happy to finally get her alone.

“Right, pretty one, it’s just you and me. No one else is around to hear us. You have two seconds to tell me what’s bothering you.”

She stared out of her window as he reversed from the parking space. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I call bullshit. You know exactly.”

“Then I’m pleading the fifth.”

“We live in Australia. There isn’t a fifth. We’re going to talk, whether you like it or not.”

“Ooh, I know,” she said, suddenly animated. “Let’s not, and say we did.”

“Are you sick?”

“What? No.”

“You’re stressed and losing weight. It’s not such a big jump.”

“My health is perfect.”

“One of your parents sick then?”

“My parents are fine.”

“Are you missing them? Is that what’s worrying you?”

At this, Liv laughed, genuine amusement in the sound. “No, Jimmy. My parents aren’t an issue at all. So long as they continue to live in Perth and have no say in how I run my life, it’s all good with them. I promise.”

Liv had moved to Sydney when she’d started uni in an effort to get away from her folks. Much as she loved them, she always complained about how controlling they were. Her life had changed the day she’d stepped off the plane and begun to live independently. She’d flourished as an individual making her own choices.

“Did Anton call again?” Anton, the ex she’d dumped a few months ago. Or, as the Dinner Club liked to call him, Fix-it Felix.

Anton had an almost obsessive need to fix problems in Liv’s life. Light bulb blown? He’d replace it. Milk finished? No problem to race down to the shops. A fight with Telstra over an incorrect phone bill? Anton hadn’t let it rest until senior management sorted it out for Liv. A minor tiff between Liv and Ava? Leave it to Fix-it Felix to negotiate a peace treaty.

Anton had not been happy when Liv ended their relationship. He’d made endless attempts to get back together.

“No. Oh, wait, yes. A couple weeks back. With a solution to our problems, I might add.” Liv clicked her tongue in irritation.

“Want me to talk to him? Explain things in a way he’ll understand?”

She gave a very unladylike snort. “Are you threatening to beat him up on my behalf?”

James sniffed.

Liv turned to look at him. He felt her measured gaze on his cheek.

“Let me state for the record that you are not allowed to beat anyone up on my behalf. Ever. In fact, you’re not allowed to beat anyone up, full stop. Are we clear?”

“Oi. I offered to talk to him. I meant talk.” James’s policy was to keep violence confined to the rugby field. And even then, it wasn’t so much violence as a passionate need to annihilate his opposition—in a sociable, sporty kind of way.

“Thank you for offering, but as I told him, I don’t need anyone sorting out my issues. I’m quite capable of sorting them out myself. Anton and I are fine. I made it very clear we were over.”

“So you’re going to make me guess until I work out what’s bothering you?”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“Work?”

She didn’t answer.

“Is that it? Problems at work?”

Liv shifted in her seat and faced the window again.

Yep, that was it.

Stymied, James pulled up at a red traffic light and stared at her. What possible problem could she have at Beautiful Homes? Liv was an interior designer. She’d been with the same company for the last six years, investing her heart and soul in her work, creating beautiful homes for her clients.

James would know. Having spent his adult life in the construction and renovation business, he’d referred countless clients to Beautiful Homes—or, more specifically, to Liv. He was blown away each and every time he saw her finished product.

She was comfortable working within varying price ranges, took absolute pride in her job and had the ability to turn a house into a home. A stunning, comfortable masterpiece any owner would be proud to live in.

James could conceptualize buildings and work out how rooms should connect together for easiest flow and access. He understood the ins and outs of technical drawing, could build a house from scratch with his own two hands and had the instinctive knack of visualizing how to make an existing house better.

What he couldn’t do was furnish the sucker once it was complete. Yeah, he had an eye for structure and a head for construction, but putting pretty things in the right places after the house was built? Perplexing.

Liv was a genius with that shit. She worked at a successful company with a great reputation and was never short of clients. So what could be causing her so much stress the weight was falling off?

“So, problems at work.” He left the comment open-ended so Liv could fill him in on the details.

She didn’t.

“Difficult client?” She’d had a few. Clients who weren’t happy, no matter how much effort and time Liv put in. But didn’t everyone have to deal with tough clients at some point?

“Not a single one.”

James mentally crossed clientele off the list of possible stressors. “Too many jobs at one time?” That made sense. It would mean Liv was overworked, had no time to herself and no time to eat either.

She kept staring out her window. “I never take on more than I can handle.”

“Problem with Marion?” Her boss, and the owner of Beautiful Homes.

“Jimmy?” She put her hand on his arm. “I know you’re asking out of concern, and I appreciate it. But can you please let it go for now?”

“You’re really not up for talking?”

“I’m really not.”

Fair enough. He disliked being pushed on an issue he wasn’t ready to discuss. Made sense that Liv would feel the same. “No worries, pretty one. I won’t push. Just promise one thing.”

She sighed. “And that is?”

“You’ll talk to me if you change your mind. I’m here if you need me.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

Miss Independent. Of course she didn’t. “I’m not offering to solve your problems. I’m just offering a friendly ear.”

“Well, in that case, thank you.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

“Right, if we’re not going to talk about work, we might as well discuss how our relationship’s changed.”

“How our relationship’s
what
-ed?” she spluttered

“It happened quickly,” he went on, unperturbed. “Never expected it. This afternoon, we’re just friends. Tonight we’re not. A couple of hours, and everything’s different.”

“Our relationship has not changed.”

He couldn’t see her, but James could imagine Liv rolling her eyes—to match the indignation in her voice. “You think everything’s still the same between us?”

“I know.”

“Well then, explain this to me.”

“What?”

“The mystery of your hand on my arm.” She hadn’t moved it away. If anything, she’d curled her fingers around his biceps and was currently holding onto it.

Not that James was complaining. He liked the weight of her hand and the familiarity of the contact.

She laughed. “It’s called an affectionate touch. You’re a good friend, and this is my way of saying thank you.”

“Nah. You’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.”

“About this you are. Your hand is curled around my arm because you can’t help yourself. You
want
to touch me.”

“Of course I want to touch you. That’s what friends do.” She squeezed his bicep, and he flexed it in response. Her fingers loosened instantly. “What are you growing in there anyway? Rocks?”

James caught her hand with his and placed it on his thigh.

“Okay, now
that
crosses the boundaries of an affectionate touch.” She huffed and tried to pull away.

He held her hand in place. “Leave it there, Liv. It feels good.”

She
tut-tutt
ed, but stopped struggling. “This is not a friendly touch.”

“That’s okay, ’cause I’m not feeling so friendly tonight.” He wasn’t feeling the friend thing at all. Not with her hand on his thigh and his pulse thudding in his neck.

“James, please don’t read anything into my not covering up earlier. I didn’t stay naked so you could look. I just thought you’d get out of my room faster than you did.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.”

“Well then, what’s not to believe?”

“Good. I’m glad we’ve sorted that out. I’d hate for you to think I was interested in more than friendship between us.”

James wasn’t doing much thinking. How could he, when Liv’s thumb was trailing soft, slow circles over his thigh?

He wondered if she was even aware of her movements. Somehow, he suspected not. It was a careless kind of caress. Careless as in unintentional, not careless as in sloppy or hasty. And yet it blew his mind. Shot his concentration right out the window. It was as if his entire being was focused on the small area where she rubbed. His jeans offered no protection from the potency of her touch, and his skin burned as though she’d touched him with a live flame.

They drove the rest of the way home in comfortable silence. At least James hoped it was comfortable. He was coiled way too tight to know one way or the other. Liv may be determined to pretend nothing had changed between them, but his raging hard-on said otherwise—just like it had the whole damn night.

Five hours ago, James may have thought of Liv as one of his closest mates. Now, he couldn’t think much further than placing his mouth on those full lips of hers, and maybe, just maybe, getting a taste of that dessert—on her tongue.

Parking, always an issue in Belleview Hill, was scarce once again, and James was forced to grab a space a good hundred meters from their art-deco block. That suited him fine, as he dropped an arm around Liv’s shoulders and kept it there as they walked home. Liv didn’t react in kind, but she made no move to shrug it off.

He liked how she felt, tucked against him like this. She fit perfectly against his side, and was just the right height for him to sling his arm around her shoulders.

Yeah, they may have walked like this before, but James was aware of Liv in a whole new way, and that made the walk that much more enjoyable.

Their building was older than the neighboring blocks of flats—and smaller, with eight units in total—but it was loaded with character. The renovator inside him should have whispered of ways to fix it up, but James loved it the way it was. Dark brick, high, pressed ceilings, wooden floors and airy rooms. The eight creaking staircases leading up to his unit on the fourth floor only added to the character. And the view from his unit was unbeatable. A sweeping outlook all the way through to Bondi Beach. James slept with his blinds open so he could wake up to the sun glinting off the ocean in the distance.

The pathway into the building was too narrow to walk side by side, so a reluctant James stepped back, allowing Liv to go first. But he couldn’t force himself to let go of her altogether. He placed his hand on the small of her back and left it there as they stepped into the building.

Okay, he didn’t leave it there. He let it inch down so he palmed the curve of her ass. And palming her ass aroused him further, which in turn made walking just that little bit more difficult. But it was all worth it in the long run, because Liv had a great ass. A bit skinny, but great nevertheless.