‘Well, I really think you should try the tassles.’ His voice deepened with laughter as she wriggled against him. ‘Not many women could, you know. That’s a real compliment.’
She muttered an adjective so colourful he instantly reared up and took her hard.
She had no idea how much later it was when he lifted her back with her head resting on his shoulder. All she knew was that she was utterly relaxed and bone-deep exhausted. She closed her eyes, her own breathing falling into sync with the deep, regular rise and fall of his broad chest. So very vaguely the thought pinched—she really ought to go back to her own place. But she was so tired. And so warm. And she’d never been held like this by anyone … so finding the energy to leave this haven was going to take a few minutes.
‘You miss your grandparents?’ he asked softly, gently rubbing her shoulders with the tips of his fingers in light, slow circles.
The question was so out of the blue she answered without even thinking about it. ‘Every day.’
‘And you’ve never tried to track down your father?’
That brought her back from the brink of sleep, but his fingers kept up the rhythmic kneading. She sighed—so damn tired and, while he was soothing, he was also holding her in an embrace she’d have to push hard to break free of. So she just gave in and told the truth. ‘No information to go on,’ she murmured, her eyelids drooping.
Time drifted and she floated deeper into the warm, velvety darkness. She felt so comfortable it had to be a dream … and, yeah, she wasn’t sure if she really heard the next question or not.
‘You really know nothing?’
‘There’s no one left to ask, nothing in the papers.’ As she slipped into that half-sleep state the futility was the last thing she remembered. ‘Day after I was born she left for the UK and never came back. Asked Grandies a couple of times but I didn’t want to hurt them. They were my parents.’ For years she hadn’t pushed it because she’d known it had distressed them. ‘They always told me the same story—Mum was young and hadn’t wanted to be tied down. She’d had an affair but didn’t want an abortion, but didn’t want to be an involved mother either. They wanted to keep me in the family. So I never went off the straight and narrow ‘cos I knew how much Mum’s mess hurt them. And me. So I was a total good-girl. Almost. Dated Jake. But did nothing that would devastate them if they ever found out. But he didn’t understand why I never went out for a drink or clubbing. Never stayed out late, never swore. Never did any normal teenage rebel things. Grandma got sick and needed me.’
She burrowed deeper into the warmth, seeking to escape. But her mind skittered through the memories relentlessly. She’d grown up in ways her more experienced friends hadn’t. And those friends had been too busy with their own parties and teen issues to deal with her own sombre ones. She’d learned not to talk about her life at home—too much of a downer. Too unrelatable. And it was easier not to talk because she could hardly bear to face it herself—the inevitable loss that had loomed. First one, then the other. Until she was left alone.
‘They were older parents when they had Mum and she’d been headstrong and wilful. I couldn’t do that to them too. But now they’re gone and I can do whatever.’ She was answerable only to herself—free. While she didn’t resent a minute of her life up to now, now was her time. Maybe that was what she’d inherited from her mother—that need never to be tied down. ‘I always wonder why she didn’t want me. Why did she leave me and go overseas if there wasn’t something that hurt her to even look at me?’
The high-pitched, harsh question woke Roxie. She swallowed and felt the roughness in her throat. That was when she realised it had been her talking. And she was being held in a tighter-than-tight embrace. She was awake—and, even worse, he was awake and she’d just been spilling all this stuff aloud and she’d never said it to anyone. Eyes flashing wide open, she froze in position, her skin goosebumping, her heart hardening. Oh, hell, this had been dumb. She couldn’t let the happy-after-orgasm hormones confuse her into thinking there was intimacy here. And she most certainly didn’t want him feeling sorry for her or thinking she was some kind of stuffed-up, incapable, needy person. She was totally capable—and totally embarrassed. All her internal alarms clanged—way past time to go back to the garage and get this non-relationship back to its clearly delineated fun-only status.
But she had to make her exit smooth and unpanicked-like. As if she hadn’t just confessed some of her innermost turmoil or anything. She pressed a couple of kisses to his shoulder and slipped out when his hold eased the tiniest amount. Then desperately tried to think of something completely safe to discuss. Glancing out of the window at the dark shadows of the garden outside, she landed on it.
‘Do you mind if I use your kitchen to make some things with the tomato glut?’ she asked as she felt on the floor for her clothes. Because the last thing she wanted him thinking was that she was trying to move in on his space by stealth. ‘I’ll do it when you’re at work.’
‘Course I don’t mind.’ Gabe minded that she felt she had to ask. Damn, for a few minutes there he’d thought he’d been busting through her reserve—which was more prickly than that damn hedge outside. But obviously not, given she was now asking permission for the simplest of things, given she’d suddenly stiffened as if she hadn’t realised what she’d been saying, given her voice had gone from sleepy-slurred to shrill and given how quickly she was escaping from him now.
‘It’s just that my kitchen’s not big enough.’
He made a deal of pulling up the duvet to stop himself glaring at her. She even felt as if she had to explain?
‘You don’t have a kitchen.’ He couldn’t resist the dig. She had a gas ring, a microwave and a fridge half full of champagne.
She merely smiled and waved as she left.
Gabe slumped lower in bed and tried to kick away the disappointment and dissatisfaction. He had absolutely no fear of Roxie walking in and taking over his home à la Diana. If it weren’t for the scent of her lingering on his sheets, there’d be no clue that she’d been there with him at all. And now, not for the first time, he wished she’d stay in the house with him. He’d even had the mad thought of doing something to the garage so she’d have to move in. Because those rickety stairs made him shudder. So did her isolation.
When he got back from the stadium one afternoon a few days later, it was to find the windows open and the relentless beat of dance music vibrating through the hedge. He rubbed his knuckles over his chest—first time in his life he felt his heart literally lift.
The Knights had had another home game. Roxie had danced, he’d doctored. They hadn’t attended the after-match celebrations. They’d gone home and had one of their own. Every night since they’d had separate dinners together on the deck. He’d engaged her in more—easy—conversation, even managed to get her to watch movies with him. The first night he’d had to surrender to her choice of those awful dance flicks—but it had been worth it when she gave him her own demo of the theme moves. Now they alternated—dance flicks, then thrillers. Gabe was pleased about it. He didn’t like to think of her being in that tiny studio alone—no reason why they couldn’t hang out together a bit. Still easy, right?
She was in his kitchen—looking more Roxanna than Roxie with her hair pulled back into a plait, not a skerrick of make-up, and swamped in an apron. But then she saw him—and there was a flutter of eyelids and a flash of blue that was pure Roxie.
He strode over—it smelt good. ‘Let me try it.’
She pulled a spoon from the drawer and dipped it into the oversized pot that scarily resembled a witch’s cauldron.
‘Mmm.’ Impossibly, it tasted better than it smelt.
‘No salt, no egg, no dairy, no oil, no gluten, no meat—’
‘No fun,’ he inserted.
‘You liked it before you knew all that.’ She turned a cold eye on him.
‘True.’
‘And all organic, no GM ingredients.’
‘I am truly impressed.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘Honest,’ he surrendered with a laugh. ‘It’s amazing.’
She nodded, satisfied. ‘I make a mean salsa.’
He hadn’t been talking about the sauce. But he leaned back and watched her work, listened, more interested than he’d thought he’d be as she went on about the nutritional value of the ingredients. ‘How do you know all this?’ he finally interrupted the never-ending flow of facts as she poured ladlefuls into the masses of sterilised jars that waited on the table.
‘I did lots of research about cancer-fighting superfoods and stuff. Tomatoes are up there.’
‘Was your grandfather sick for a while?’ Gabe held his breath as he waited for her answer. It was the first directly personal question he’d asked since that night when she’d sleepily muttered too few secrets.
She nodded briefly, her mouth closing, and she got very busy filling the jars. Totally shutting that topic of conversation down again. He tried not to frown, went for the obvious distraction instead.
‘What do you want?’ That flash of blue again from under the fluttering lashes.
‘Payment for letting you use the kitchen,’ he said in his worst lecherous-landlord tone.
‘What kind of payment?’ She smiled but he also saw the spark.
It was so easy to excite her. But so damn hard to open her up in other ways.
‘Three bottles of that sauce.’ He watched, his body helplessly winching harder when he saw the hint of disappointment in her eyes. He just couldn’t resist. ‘And …’
‘And?’ Her mouth tilted.
Gabe slapped a booklet on the table in front of her after dinner. ‘Ever seen this?’
Roxie read the title. And frowned.
‘It’s the road code,’ he drawled. ‘And you need to study it, because you’re going for your theory test tomorrow.’