Walk on the Wild Side (2 page)

Limply she sagged back against the seat. Man, she needed to get a grip. But in the thin summer dress she was wearing, her body had gone all goose-bumpy.

He started the engine and after a moment she peeled her gaze from his big hands on the wheel to watch where they were going. He turned right when she would have gone straight ahead. But it didn't matter.

‘Miss?'

Miss? She'd never been called ‘miss' by anyone. ‘Kelsi.' She finally clued in to what he'd been asking.

‘Kelsi, I'm Jack.'

‘Hi,' she said vaguely, her brain going AWOL again as she looked at him. Ruthlessly she tried to drag it back to full-attention mode. Kelsi loved surrealist art, but she wasn't sure she was ready for her life to go totally surreal. And having a guy like this driving her who knew where, was definitely surreal.

He laughed again and a dimple creased his jaw giving him a very cheeky look. ‘I think you need some recovery time.'

‘I'm so sorry.' She sighed and made herself look just slightly to the left of him—so she could try to keep her thoughts on track. He was right. She did need to recover, but not over the accident. It was his gorgeousness and his proximity that were screwing up her thought processes now. ‘Are you sure you're OK?'

He lifted one hand from the wheel, holding it up in the ‘stop' sign. ‘Don't start that again. Please.'

‘Right.' She nodded. Yeah. She'd hardly been cool, calm and collected. Not at all the kind of person you'd want to be in an emergency. She'd been a jibbering mess.

‘I know a café that does fantastic coffee,' he said. ‘Let's get some, OK?'

Coffee
. That was her problem. She hadn't had her hit this morning. That was why she was feeling both so wired and wobbly now—not the accident, not him.

He pulled into a car park and killed the engine.

‘You can't park here, it's reserved.' Customer only spaces for the snow'n'skate-wear store—the signs were everywhere.

He didn't even glance at them. ‘They won't mind.'

He was Mr Laid-back wasn't he? Did he take everything in his stride—literally in his stride—like being hit by however many tonnes of metal car? He grinned and pocketed her keys as he limped onto the footpath beside her. She
tried not to stare but the guilt seized her. Then his hand seized her upper arm even more firmly and he swung her round, walking her into the doorway of the cool café.

‘Sit.' He stopped at the closest table. ‘I'm getting you a coffee.'

Kelsi plopped into the chair and put her elbow on the table, closing her eyes as she rested her head in her hand. ‘A black coffee would be fantastic.' Coffee would kick her back together—because this brainless behaviour could no longer be her.

 

Jack paused and looked at the paler-than-pale petite woman in front of him. You'd think she'd been the one hit by the car, not him. Truth be told he'd hardly been touched, had thumped his fist on the bonnet and dodged to avoid it. But doing that had wrenched his weak knee—hence the worsening of the limp. The surgery had been a couple of weeks ago, but right now it felt as if it had been yesterday.

He walked to the counter, trying to stretch out the soreness the sudden movement had caused, hoping it wasn't going to set his progress back. He was desperate to get training again.

He ordered from Viv, the barista, but she had his half made already and it took nothing for her to make another. So in seconds he was heading back to the dangerous driver, two steaming cups in hand. Beneath his breath he chuckled as he looked at her slim back and the wild mess that was her hair—she had no idea, did she?

He put the drinks on the table, ripped open three sachets of sugar and tipped them into the first cup. He stirred the liquid round a bit with a spoon and then pushed the cup towards her.

‘I don't take sugar.' A weak smile as she slumped against the back of the seat.

‘You do today.' Strong, hot and sweet. It was exactly what she needed.

He watched while she took a sip—one, then a much bigger gulp. Then she exhaled.

‘Better?' He couldn't help laughing.

‘Much.'

Yeah, her crazy-coloured eyes were focused now, and she sat up straight. That was also good because when she'd been flopped back like that, the thin strap of her dress had slipped. He'd seen the lacy edging of a pretty black bra and he shouldn't be thinking about sex this second. But he was—and had been the last six hundred seconds, or so. Ever since he'd first laid eyes on her.

Not appropriate. That wasn't why he'd insisted on getting her a coffee. No, he'd done that because he wanted to let her know she hadn't done any damage. He'd seen the guilt on her face as he'd walked towards her—she thought she'd done that to his knee. He needed to relieve her of that burden because, despite her alternative, all-black, all-attitude couture, she was the type to have nightmares about it for weeks. A little bit of sweetness wrapped up in ‘wannabe different' city slicker sophistication.

But first, there was something else he had to tend to. He stood, barely resisting the urge to laugh again, and walked round the table. She stiffened as he touched her.

‘Easy,' he murmured. ‘You'll make it worse.'

The comb was well and truly caught—knotted in the mass of curls at the back of her head. She hadn't realised, of course, and he heard her gasp as she did now. Amusement washed over him and he wanted to make her laugh about it, too. Except she was too busy blushing. Seeing the colour in her cheeks was good, hearing her breathing quicken was even better. So he affected her?

Excellent. Because he was still suffering from a severe
lust attack. He tried to concentrate on the tangled bit of plastic but up this close he found out her hair was extremely curly and shockingly blonde and also soft and smelt flower sweet. Like her eyes, the colour was fake, but her natural shade must be reasonably light because there wasn't any darkness showing at the roots. Or maybe she'd just had it done. Jack was used to blondes and their high-maintenance hair, but he'd never seen blonde as snow white as this. Or as messy.

He swallowed, his mouth dry, as he bent closer to free her hair from the comb without hurting her. Her scent was all he could taste. She turned him on as if he hadn't been turned on in a long while—and Jack was no stranger to sex.

Well, not usually. The knee op had put paid to any and all kinds of fun for a while—both on the snow and in the bedroom. That must be the reason for this intense reaction to this woman, right? Because petite pieces of fragility like her didn't usually do it for him. He was into strong, athletic women who could match his needs, not slim things who looked as if they'd blow over in a light wind.

And he definitely wasn't into overly emotional women. No to neediness, thanks very much—his lifestyle didn't let him offer much to anyone, certainly not much in the way of emotional support. But when he'd seen the softness of her soul in those moments when she'd thought she'd hurt him, that womanly sweetness had been achingly tempting—the blinking back of the tears and the trembling lips. Yeah, her lips. Their crushed-rose colour—unlike so much else of her—was natural. Neither a glossy nor matte finish adorned them. They were full and deep and inviting all on their own.

He'd badly wanted to kiss her feelings better.

He wanted to do more than kiss her now. He was
imagining scooping her up in his arms—it'd be so easy, and so delightful to nibble on the delicacies hidden under that to-the-floor, funeral-march-style dress.

He was in for an even longer spell of abstinence. That was the problem. Knowing he had another four weeks ahead of him with no chance of getting any had put sex at the forefront of his brain. That was why he was struggling to control his body in the middle of a busy café. That was why he was attracted to a woman as wrong a playmate for him as a piranha was as wrong a tank buddy for an angelfish.

Carefully he worked the comb free. It took longer than he'd thought it would but he didn't mind. He hadn't known he had a touch of the masochist in him. That he'd
like
the torture of his fingers brushing accidentally against her and not touching how he really wanted to. He throbbed with the temptation to run his fingers right through and muss up her hair even more. Yeah, the upcoming physical rehab session was making him wild-dog horny. He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on the job, not on the urges thudding through his blood.

Impossible. Pale, soft, striking, she sat like a statue before him, her embarrassment radiating out. But there was more to the heat, wasn't there?

Jack was used to being wanted. He enjoyed being wanted—to be pleased and to please. So he knew the signs. Sometimes he ignored them, sometimes he didn't.

But now his knee had stopped its death-pain throbbing, he knew he was going to succumb to the most debilitating bout of temptation he'd ever experienced. Even though it was probably inappropriate, he couldn't resist. He liked the unexpected. He liked a challenge. He liked to live on the edge.

So what if he had less than twenty-four hours? So what
if he should be in some boring meeting? That made it all the more delicious. Jack Greene knew how to make the most of every minute.

K
ELSI
just couldn't look Jack in the eye as he waved the comb in front of her before placing it on the table. She barely mumbled her thanks as he sat back down in the chair opposite her.

So she was too late for her appointment at the super spa. So she'd had a lime-green comb caught in the back of her hair. So she'd run over a prime piece of male. So she'd nearly hyperventilated when that prime piece had stood so close and so carefully got that comb out and all she'd been able to think about was how tall he was and how gentle, despite the way he was
built
…

So now she really wanted to leave. Except she had almost run him over, and, instead of her making it up to him,
he'd
driven her to a nice café, bought her coffee and encouraged her to relax. So she couldn't skip out on him. She had to stay—just to be polite, right? Her internal debate was pointless anyway—he still had her car keys.

She looked at him and fell apart inside again. The gleam in his eyes was even brighter now and he definitely gave her the complete once-over, and did he linger on her lips? Kelsi fought against her immediate instinct to run her tongue over them—she was
not
going to be so obvious. Not, not, not.
Especially
because he was so gorgeous. Without doubt he was used to having some kind
of mesmerising effect on females because that confident, cheeky smile was spreading over his face.

Instead of licking her lips she took another sip of coffee. The warmth braced her and sent the last of the cold, sick feeling from the accident packing. As she swallowed, her brain clicked back to fully functioning—
finally
.

She figured if she didn't look him in the eye she could maybe keep her brain working. But looking at his body wasn't that much better. Mentally she tried to box him up so she could put him away—but he needed one that she didn't have in the ‘overwhelming male' compartment of her brain. He was a bit too big and fit and breathtaking…

She inhaled deeply, determined to make a polite, hopefully sane, effort. She totally owed him that. He flashed the ultracharm smile again but she was smart and looked at her coffee cup instead. Only another mouthful and it'd be finished. Then she could go.

‘So, what were you late for?' he asked as she lifted the cup.

She lowered it, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘Nothing.'

His brows lifted. ‘Not nothing. Tell me.'

OK, so now he was going to think she was a total sad ditz. ‘A spa treatment.'

‘A what?' he asked, sounding a little too confused.

Kelsi was sure he'd heard but he was just making her say it again because she was so flushed. Pointlessly, she tried to smooth her hair behind her ear.

‘A spa,' she said, determined to speak clearly. ‘You know, a day treatment at a beauty parlour.' Not just any parlour, the most exclusive salon in town. They obviously thought she really needed it—this guy probably did, too.

‘And what were you having done?'

‘Facial, massage, hair.' She shrugged and lifted the cup to her mouth.

‘Cut or wax?'

She nearly choked on the coffee. ‘Cut.' She tried to lie like a pro but she knew her colour had risen higher. The nerve of him.

He was grinning wildly now. Openly laughing at her plans for the day and stupidly she felt the need to justify it—even when it hadn't been her idea. ‘I haven't had a day off in four months. My boss said I needed to recharge my batteries.'

‘A beauty salon wouldn't be the place to do that.'

No. She'd have picked an art gallery. Preferably one in Paris. One day she'd get to do the travel thing—once she had her career established.

‘What about some fresh air? A walk somewhere nice? Wouldn't that be more of a boost?'

Of course he would be the outdoor sports guy—the sport billy, with a practically-kill-yourself-climbing-a-mountain-to-feel-good approach to life. She couldn't think of anything worse. She just wanted to relax—and rest. ‘Fresh air isn't good for my skin,' she said with a helpless gesture.

‘No?'

Was the man blind? She was practically albino. Well, not really—the hundreds of freckles proved her pigment worked all right. She felt her flush deepen. ‘I burn really easily.'

‘You could wear a hat,' he drawled.

She opened her eyes ingénue wide and batted her lashes as she drawled right back at him, ‘And ruin my hair?'

His gaze rested on the tangle and then sliced into hers again. A split second of solemnity froze them both.

And then they laughed—simultaneously, genuinely. She
shook her head at her lame little joke. But the amusement warmed her veins better than the energising coffee she'd just swallowed.

‘Tell you what, Ms Spa Treatment, seeing you've lost your day at the salon, let me take you out instead. We'll see how much better you feel after some fresh air.'

She met the inviting blue pools that were his eyes and couldn't ignore the tingling sensation spreading over her skin. Had she bumped her head in that accident and not realised? Because she was thinking all kinds of weird thoughts now—such as that this guy might actually be hitting on her. And that just couldn't be possible. ‘Um…'

‘Come on, come and have some fun.'

‘It isn't fun outdoors.'

‘You're afraid.' The smallest hint of provocation sharpened his gaze.

‘No,' she denied, ‘I'm just not…' Believing this guy had just asked her out. ‘Interested.'

‘Really?' His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Not even a little bit?'

She swallowed. He knew he was gorgeous, didn't he? But before she could think up even a vaguely suitable reply, he tweaked her nerves that bit harder.

‘You don't like a challenge?'

‘You're seriously suggesting that a day outdoors would be better than a day at a spa.' She finally managed to answer, amazed her voice didn't break like a teen boy's.

‘A million times better.'

‘That's quite some promise.' She sipped the last drop of her coffee and wrinkled her nose as she got the bitter bits.

‘You're going to take me up on it?'

She avoided his eyes as she thought about it. Really, it was a no-brainer. She couldn't bear the thought of going
to the spa and apologising for her tardiness now. And she couldn't go to work. As the only female designer, Kelsi felt a certain pressure to do better than the boys, but working extreme hours on a deadline had left her jaded and in need of a break—something her boss had noticed, hence the spa thing. She couldn't let them know she hadn't showed up.

And what else would she do? She'd been working so hard since moving here she hadn't had time to build a huge social life out of work. Honestly, she hadn't built much of a social life at work either—her new computer-boy colleagues were all into gaming and she wasn't. That pretty much ended it. But she was quite sure Jack didn't have social life issues. He was in a whole other league altogether—handsome, charming, bound to be a player. ‘You don't have anything better to do?'

‘Not right now. No.'

Her body was the ice cream, temptation the raspberry ripple—churning right through and flavouring every bit of herself. ‘What's in it for you?'

‘The pleasure of seeing you cross over to the light side.'

‘The outdoor appreciation society, you mean?'

‘We might need to get something better for you to wear, though.' His gaze narrowed.

She stiffened—was he about to tell her what she should wear?

‘I thought girls were over the Goth phase by the time they hit their twenties.' He smiled, skewering her on two fronts—with his gleaming expression and teasing words.

But Kelsi's swift flash of anger got doused by that expression. If her instincts were on track, he didn't think her outfit was all that ugly.

‘I'm not Goth,' she said, feeling his eyes burning
through her—making her body respond in a far too physical way.

‘Emo then. The whole vampire thing, isn't it?' he asked softly. ‘Pale skin and weird-coloured eyes and loose dark clothes.'

Kelsi clasped her hands together in front of her body, hiding the tightness of her nerves—and nipples. ‘I am not on the vampire bandwagon. I change my hair and eye colour all the time. And the pale skin I can't help.' The loose dark clothing accusation she had to admit to—but she had reason. ‘Covering up protects it from the sun.'

She watched him look her over once more and half wished she were wearing her usual ten layers or so instead of just the one long dress. In fact, its spaghetti straps and thin, clinging fabric meant she was far more exposed than usual.

‘See, you are a vampire.' He grinned suddenly, wickedly. ‘Concealing yourself.'

‘I'm
re
vealing myself.' She laughed at his ridiculousness. ‘It's self-expression. I work in a creative industry.'

‘What, so you have to look as way out as possible? With dyed hair and unnatural eyes?' He leant forward, penetrating. ‘What's their real colour anyway?'

She flexed her fingers, moving to disperse some energy. ‘Nothing exciting.'

‘No?'

‘Some people accessorise with handbags or shoes or both. I accessorise with eye colour or pattern.'

‘Pattern?' His brows shot up. ‘Patterns on your eyes?'

‘Sure.' She had the most fabulous collection of freaky contacts. Shopping on the internet was a temptation to which she frequently succumbed.

‘Why?'

‘Why not?' It was different. It wasn't the typical beau
tiful babe thing—she wasn't ever going to be pretty or beautiful. She couldn't compete with that—but she could do quirky. She could do defence.

‘You're like an inverse chameleon. You hope people won't see past the surface?' He nailed her just like that. He finished his coffee and stood. ‘Come on, then, so long as you're sure you're not going to eviscerate if you go into the sunshine, let's get out of here.'

It wasn't the sun that threatened to eviscerate her. It was his burning focus.

On the footpath outside he tossed the car keys at her. ‘I just need to get something. Be a minute.'

She caught the keys and watched him walk unevenly across the road into the snow'n'skate store.

This was her opportunity to escape him—to get in the car and put her foot on the accelerator to the spa and apologise for lateness. But as if she was going to do that—she hadn't wanted to go there anyway. And as if she was going to pass up an opportunity to spend some time with a good-humoured guy who looked as if he'd just stepped out of a sportswear catalogue?

She might be different, but she wasn't crazy.

She got into the car and scooted the driver's seat forward again so her feet could reach the pedals. He was back in a minute as he'd said, clutching an uber-hip recyclable shopping bag with the store's logo.

‘You have friends in there?'

He just winked, chucking the bag on the back seat and fixing the legroom in the passenger seat. ‘You sure you're OK to drive?'

With a flourish she curled her fingers round the steering wheel. ‘I'm fine.'

He leaned close. ‘No more urgent grooming matters to attend to?' His voice was the auditory equivalent of
chocolate sauce—warm and smooth and ready for a berry to be dipped in it.

‘I think the pedestrian population is safe now,' she muttered, trying to get her pulse to stop its rapid acceleration.

‘Great. Then take the first left.'

She did exactly that and in only a hundred metres or so had to stop—a red light. Naturally. But as she paused he leaned across her seat, reaching his long arm down between her legs.

‘What are you doing?' she gasped. ‘I'm trying to drive.' She lifted both hands from the wheel, undecided if she should throttle him—his head was basically in her lap!

‘Stop it.' Actually she didn't mean that. She was thinking all kinds of things she shouldn't be, what with seeing his dark head hovering just above her thigh like that…

Not wriggling was really difficult. So was not crashing the car. ‘We're at a red light. I'm trying to concentrate.'

And that was so impossible right now. He moved his hand, his shoulder rubbed against her thigh as he jerked on the handbrake between them. Then he went south again—deep south. His hand encircled her ankle, lifted it for a half second as he slipped her shoe off.

‘Jack!' Another totally girly gasp.

He sat back, a smile of success creasing every feature, as her shoe sat in the palm of his hand. ‘You can't drive safely wearing these. You can't do anything safely wearing these.'

‘I can and do,' she said breathlessly. ‘If you were as short as me, and plainly you're not, then you'd understand. As it is, you can't possibly get it.'

‘I just want to get there in one piece.'

She blew out a big shot of air and finally realised she had to take the brake off as the car behind tooted impatiently.

Irritatingly, it was easier to drive barefoot—but she wasn't going to admit it to him. ‘That was really dangerous.'

‘No more dangerous than you combing your hair at a red light. At least this time you had your handbrake on.'

‘Where are we going anyway?' She chose to change the subject.

‘Straight ahead for now.' He gave her a sideways look that was full of a charming smile. ‘Are you OK driving on the hills?'

‘Stop trying to get into the driver's seat. I'm fine with hills.' She bit the inside of her cheek. OK, so she wasn't that fine with them, but damned if she was going to let him know that.

‘There are a few hairpin corners. I can take over if you want.'

In response she trod harder on the accelerator. In only a few minutes they were heading up the hill out of town towards the peninsula that curved out from the mainland. The hills were barren and brown—no trees or scrub covering them, just tussock that leaned away from the wind. Against the bright blue sky the hills were majestic. She liked their stark smoothness and the contrast against the clear sky and blue water. But then came one of those hairpin turns.