Walk on the Wild Side (5 page)

He got out of her car, trying to ignore the horrible tightening inside. He didn't much like drawn-out goodbyes. But she moved so she was right in front of him, standing on
her tiptoes in her bare feet, her fingers lightly cupping his jaw so she ensured she had his attention.

‘You were right, you know,' she said simply. ‘Thanks so much, Jack.'

He swallowed and nodded and simply couldn't give her a kiss. Oddly hurt that she so readily accepted that there wasn't going to be anything more between them. Not really wanting to be thanked as if it were some kind of service he'd provided—as if he'd just been her intimate masseuse or something.

Hell, maybe she was tougher than she looked. Maybe he should just go in there with her and explore the comfort of her bed. Except she was walking. Away. As if she didn't care at all—and that was for the best, right?

‘Good luck with your training,' she called.

He stood on the footpath and watched her open the big wooden door. Not moving until it had closed again behind her—because he was too tempted to storm in there after her and kiss her 'til she begged him to be inside her again. But she'd disappeared now, so he walked, trying to make his tense muscles relax—reminding himself that he'd just had a fun time on a beach with a cute girl. That was all. Nothing more. Nothing serious.

But he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that he'd just left a part of himself behind.

T
HERE
was always a pin to burst a bubble. And it didn't take long for Kelsi to find one. All she'd had to do was enter ‘Jack' and ‘professional snowboarder' and ‘New Zealand' into her computer.

Jack Greene was featured on a zillion webpages. And no wonder he looked as if he'd stepped out of a catalogue—he really had, modelling for the snow'n'skate chain of stores he'd got her the hat and wrap from. For their exclusive New Zealand designed snowboard gear range—he was the celebrity endorsement.

Worse still, he was Jack Greene of the Pure Greene Trust that owned Karearea—the Maori name for the New Zealand falcon—and a private ski field. A couple of hours' drive from Christchurch, it was the favourite winter playground of New Zealand's sporting elite and showbiz celebrities and snobby super-rich people. Home to the exclusive, green-powered, luxury lodge where visiting Hollywood actors stayed when they were on a break from their location shoots and wanted to soak up the splendour of the Southern Alps. Kelsi's jaw dropped as she went on the virtual tour of it on the website. The man was loaded.

Then there were the video clips—and they totally diverted her. She watched some, barely peeping between her fingers as he defied gravity, reality and plain common
sense by jumping off sheer edges of mountains, spinning round thirty times mid-air and then landing on the snow upright and coasting fast on a board that surely should have broken.
He
should have broken—and would have if he'd misjudged by even a millimetre.

And then there were the women. He had no less than five different fan pages on Facebook—featuring the modelling pictures from years ago, the stills taken when he was midair in some jump. People tweeted with sightings of him and had pictures of them smiling standing next to him by the T-bar or chairlift.

She'd had no idea there was such a scene with snowboarding. As rock stars had their groupies, snowboarders seemed to have their bunnies—beautiful women who were all long limbs and athletically capable. Some of them did those hair-raising jumps, too, some of them wore
bikinis
on the slopes—and all of them were clearly willing to do whatever with him.

So why on
earth
had Jack Greene ever bothered with her?

He must have been bored and caught by an impulse. Entertaining himself for a few hours before a mind-numbing plane ride. It was the only explanation. She cringed—it must have been so average for him. And she was so glad she'd managed a cool and sophisticated goodbye. Even though on the inside she'd been hoping he'd ask to spend the rest of the afternoon with her.

She'd never had such spontaneous, sensual sex. Never outdoors. Never a one-night—or mid-morning—stand. Sex had always been under the covers in the dark in one of her total of two relationships. Never so wild and free and reckless. Frankly, there was a lot to be said for it. But she'd never admit it to anyone—especially not now she knew she was one of a zillion to be slayed by him.

Next morning, heavy-hearted and unwilling to crawl out from hiding under her covers, she tried to tell herself it had all been a dream. If it weren't for the few marks on her body, the sweet aches in her muscles, maybe she could convince herself totally. But there were those marks, those aches and that yearning feeling that just wouldn't go away.

More.
She'd always wanted more—from life, from lovers, most of all from herself. She sighed and flung back the covers. How was she going to be able to look her workmates in the eyes? How did she tell them she hadn't made it to that wretched appointment?

‘Wow, you look amazing,' said Tom, who was on the other side of her partition in the office. ‘You're glowing.'

Um, well, that would be the slight all-over-body sunburn. But she'd covered up in a filmy black ensemble that clung from her neck down.

‘What treatments did you go for?' Tom was still staring.

Kelsi flushed and mumbled, ‘A new sort of sand scrub.'

‘Sand? Like from the Dead Sea or something?'

‘Something like that.' Lying by omission wasn't as bad as a complete fabrication, was it?

‘Awesome.' Tom's brows were almost to his hairline. ‘I'm going to have to book my girlfriend in for one of those. It's done wonders for you.' He stepped closer and looked at Kelsi's eyes. ‘What colour?'

‘Rose.' She badly needed that tint on the world today.

She got her moisturiser from her drawer and smoothed it over her hands as she read through her emails. Then she forced her brain to concentrate on work. But she kept slipping. She'd been played so beautifully. Maybe falling for womanisers was a genetic thing because her mum had made that mistake, too. Kelsi's own dad had been the local
Lothario. Impossible as she found it to believe. But the red in his hair was more strawberry blonde, his skin tanned more easily, making his eyes less weird and more attractive. But he'd been so charming, so full of it. Her mother had forgiven him, taken him back three times before he left for good. That time he'd found another woman to make the perfect family with. She'd had the pretty daughter that his blood daughter wasn't ever going to be. And Kelsi had been sucked in, too—believed his lines only to be let down too many times.

But her dad wasn't anywhere near the level of Jack Greene. Jack was a conqueror—now she knew. She wasn't surprised either. She'd guessed he had success and experience with women. And she bet that once he'd conquered, he moved on to new challenges—a.s.a.p. That was the kind of adrenaline-fuelled lifestyle he'd lead.

And that was OK. She didn't hold it against him. It wasn't as if he'd made her any promises. He hadn't lied and pretended there'd be anything more to them—in fact, he'd been careful to make sure she understood.

But of course he'd known just how to look at her, how to hold her to make her feel so special—so that saying no was an impossibility. He was a master of passion. The ultimate playboy. While that didn't mean she couldn't still enjoy the memory, she'd probably be better off if she just forgot about it. It hadn't been that special at all—certainly not for him.

But no matter how many times she vacuumed her car she couldn't get all the sand out. In the end she handed over the money for a professional full-service valet. The car came back smelling of chemicals strong enough to burn her nostrils. But it was better than the hint of sun and surf and sex that had lingered for days. Every time she got
into the damn thing she saw a mirage of him—his broad shoulders leaning across with his head in her lap as he'd removed her shoe. Yeah, in her mind she saw his head in her lap way too often.

Maybe she'd discovered her penchant for anonymous mid-morning stands. Maybe she should try for another. But the idea of any other man repulsed her. None looked even remotely attractive—none could compare. She couldn't shake him from her head. She dreamed of him, she thought she saw him in the distance on the street. And she sat in the office and stared out at the hills way too much. Stupid to imagine herself back out there—she'd much rather be indoors looking at beautiful art and design.

Trouble was, Jack Greene had the most beautifully designed body she'd ever seen. Memories flooded her and she struggled to keep on top of them—and on her body's continual slow burn. So she worked even harder than usual, taking on several more projects. Working so hard and so long that by the end of each day she was so exhausted she slept—at least for some of the night.

Weeks later, even more swamped and exhausted by her workload, she parked her car outside her flat. The old house still hadn't sold, and she was glad, despite being the only tenant left in the big building. She locked the car and went to find a packet of instant food.

But someone was sitting on the deck. Her footsteps slowed as she walked nearer. Not sure she could trust her eyes. She knew that hair, that face, most definitely that body. He'd been in her dreams for the last month.

She couldn't believe he was here. Or that he was wearing jeans and shirt quite like that. She remembered the strength in those thighs. The tight butt. Not to mention the hard, flat abs, the broad chest and the sleek curves of his shoulders as he'd arched above her. No fat, just long, lean
muscle and smooth burnished skin. And the smattering of hair that arrowed to…

Yes. She stood transfixed at the bottom of the steps—because she knew that beneath the designer casual and the fancy watch the raw body was even better.

‘Hey, Kelsi.' With his athletic grace he rose to his feet and smiled.

‘Jack,' she swallowed. ‘This is a surprise.'

‘Yeah,' he agreed. ‘I wanted to see you.'

Why?
All kinds of crazy reasons raced through her brain but none of the good options could be possible. It had to be bad, or maybe he was just passing and stopped to say hi or something. It couldn't be that she'd made any kind of impact on him.

She didn't have the courage to ask, didn't have the courage to look into those blinding eyes again because one of the best things about her time with Jack was that it had been rejection-free—so she didn't want to ask for it now. She settled on a safe question instead. ‘You want to come in for a coffee or something?'

A self-serving invite anyway. Coffee would clear her head—wake her up enough to work out whether this was just one of those hot dreams or not.

‘Thanks.'

 

Jack couldn't wrench his gaze from her as he followed her up the stairs. Some sort of skull cap covered most of her hair, only a few blonde tufts appeared around the edges. Her face was as pale as ever but her eyes were really something—silver irises—almost as reflective as a mirror. They went perfectly with the shimmering silver dress that hung as the top layer over the black fabric swamping every inch of her skin. She looked like an ethereal nymph of the night. And she turned him on to an almost uncontrollable
degree. He wanted to push the shiny thin fabric to the ground so he could see the perfect, petite treasure beneath. He wanted to slide the contacts from her eyes so he could see the true colour she so determinedly hid—and her true expression. Her entire outfit was a cover. So was her cool response to him now—or so he hoped anyway, because she hadn't exactly been all immediate warmth and touch like the occasional reunions he'd had with other lovers. But then Kelsi wasn't anything like those other lovers, was she? That was the problem—she was the only one to haunt him.

He watched her unlock her door. He could see the acceleration of her breathing, the faint colour deepening in her cheeks and he felt his own response deepen—horrific in its intensity. For weeks now all he'd been able to think about was the heat of her on that mad day by the beach. The sweetness, the wildness, the total sexiness.

It was a nightmare distraction. He needed his focus back—because his training was a mess. But it was an attitude problem, not his knee. He had to clear his head and to do that he needed to get Kelsi out of it. Never had a woman interfered with his goals before. Never had he allowed another person to influence his schedule the way Kelsi had. Not that she knew it—or was going to know it. No, this was all about him getting rid of the fantasy for good because he was furious with himself for being this pathetic. He had not got as far as he had by letting personal needs or wants get in the way of competition prep—he wasn't going to derail now. That gold medal was going to be his.

He just hoped this would do it. He'd see her again and realise it hadn't been that spectacular—that memory had somehow magnified how amazing they'd been together.

But now he was here and now it was worse—all he
wanted was to have her again, to know her, to make her laugh. She was every bit as cute as he remembered, every bit as crazy, every bit as breathtaking. She had the towering platform shoes on again that were probably killing her toes with narrowness and still he was burning up worse than a meteor in the atmosphere.

But he forced the rampaging lust down, needing to check her reaction some more. She was reserved and not looking him in the eyes and keeping her distance. A new thing for him.

Still, what had he expected? He hadn't, of course—he'd been indulging in the wicked side of fantasy, not the realistic. To buy time he stared around her little flat. There was a lot to take in—it was completely crammed with stuff. Books were a main feature, all lined up along a wall. He skimmed the spines. Many he'd read but he didn't keep them as she did. He passed them on, left them somewhere. But Kelsi was definitely a ‘keeper' kind of person. Every inch of her apartment was filled—reflecting eclectic tastes and a very busy mind. There was enough confusion to cause a headache. The walls closed in on him—he didn't keep ‘things', he liked to travel so he could move fast and free.

He blinked at the visual cacophony, but slowly began to see some order in the chaos. Things weren't tossed wherever, they were placed. And there was also the completely crazy. Like the Lilliputian-sized curling staircase in one corner of the lounge leading up to—the wall. Painted on the wall was not a doorway, as you'd expect, but a Japanese fan spread open.

‘Why?' He pointed at it and looked at her.

She glanced at the mini-stairs. ‘Why not?'

OK, he grinned. He should have known. And, oh, man, her coolness was a temptation. He turned away from her,
needing to get distracted again, else he'd just haul her to him caveman style and he really wanted to know he could be more controlled than a caveman. And her lack of super-obvious signals maybe meant she had some regrets. He hoped not—all he regretted was that he'd left. He should have taken her to his hotel until he'd blown her from his system completely.

So now he stopped by the wall where there was a giant picture frame hanging. A huge gilt number—it would be the focal point if he were sitting on the sofa. But it was empty—not even a blank canvas inside it, just the bare white wall. ‘Tell me about this.'