Walk on the Wild Side - Page 17

Alice shut hers and opened it again, as if she were going to speak—but nothing came out.

‘Fireman’s pole?’ Kelsi’s voice was a little high, but her scarlet-tinted eyes sliced through him—and suddenly narrowed. ‘Great, you’ll be able to invite some of your dancing girls over.’

Nice hit. ‘Yeah, and I was thinking of red in the library,’ he said, loving the bloody look.

‘There’s going to be a library?’ Kelsi sounded amazed.

‘Why not? You seem to like books.’ He did, too. He might not keep them once he’d read them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy or remember them. Whereas it seemed important to her to keep all her things near.

Her eyes widened but she shut her mouth. He heard her teeth snap together.

‘A library would be fantastic,’ Alice gushed, showing both her clear preference for that over the fireman’s pole, and her eagerness to agree on something with him. ‘Very now.’

Jack grinned as Kelsi stiffened—Kelsi who was so damn determined not to agree on anything with him. ‘I thought so, too.’

‘Will you excuse me, please?’ Kelsi mumbled. ‘Nice to meet you, Alice.’

Jack excused himself, too, leaving Alice to continue on her mission of absorbing the ‘bones’ of the house. He followed Kelsi up the stairs, trying not to trip on the eighteenth-century-length skirt she had on—complete with underskirt and overskirt. The assortment of clothes she wore to cover up her body was amazing. At least five layers, maybe eight if he counted the long, lace, fingerless glove things—and he dreamed about peeling every item, oh, so slowly from her. ‘I think she’ll have some great ideas.’ He tried to steer his mind back on course.

‘Oh, I’m sure she will.’ She viciously flicked through the stuff in the flimsy handbag that hung off her wrist, clearly trying to find her keys.

‘Maybe you should show her your place.’

Her handbag and teeth snapped simultaneously. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘You’re worried your styles might clash?’ As if he hadn’t planned it that way. ‘Maybe you’d better do downstairs yourself.’

Her chin lifted and she held the key as if it was a dagger, turning to stab it into the lock. ‘She’ll do a great job.’

Damn, she was on to him. Too obvious.

He leaned on the doorjamb and watched as she fought with the stiff ancient lock. Too obviously close but he couldn’t resist. Yeah, he still had the weakness—the unbearable ache to touch.

But now he could see her pulse thudding and her cheeks had gone as scarlet as her eyes. And now, despite the fact the door had just clicked open, she hadn’t moved through. What was she waiting for?

Him?

Pure masculine satisfaction heated him as the electricity arced. He could feel her awareness—yeah, the spark was not one-sided. He’d known it, but it was nice to see some more evidence. And how he had the urge to take advantage of it and torment her, because he was sick of being the one on the rack, of wanting, hearing, seeing—but not having her. If she felt even a quarter of the raw ache he felt for her, then he was going to rub some salt in it and make her suffer something of the way he was.

She deserved it—after all she was the one with the off-base judgement. And while he was bursting out of his skin to kiss her and strip her and do a zillion other things, he couldn’t.

Unless she caved. Unless she wanted. Unless she asked.

He seized on the idea. Oh, yes, he longed to hear her ask. But if she did, he’d have to be gentle. So slow and gentle and careful. In a single moment he saw it all in his head—how he’d hold her, how he’d touch her, how he’d stroke…

His body was so hard and tight he could barely speak for the pain. He burned to do it now.

But no. He clamped down. No complications—physical or emotional—remember? This was bigger than base needs now. This was a mess that needed sorting as soon as possible—he shouldn’t even be here. He had sponsors depending on him, other athletes relying on him and his own ambitions to realise. And he’d already ignored three calls from his coach, who no doubt was desperate to know what the hell he was doing.

He had to get himself under control.

He curled his fingers into fists, trying to direct the tension away from his groin. ‘You know I’m going to have to borrow your kitchen again tonight. They couldn’t fix my oven yet,’ he said gruffly.

‘No?’ she over-the-top exclaimed as bad as he’d screeched before. ‘You didn’t get that done first thing?’

‘Not a priority,’ he parried. ‘That kitchen is only getting ripped out anyway.’

She finally walked through her door, hesitating a half-second to look back at him before shutting it. ‘OK, but make enough for me again.’

He walked back downstairs, smiling grimly. At least he’d got an immediate result in tempting one type of appetite. And he’d make sure she stayed healthy—even if it killed him in the process

Kelsi kicked off her shoes and hit the sofa—end-of-day exhausted again and needing to redraw some strength to handle another hour of Jack.

Playing the happy couple building their dream home together was so not happening. Kelsi knew what he was doing—trying to trick her into giving an opinion, trying to tease her interest. But she was determined. She was not falling for his practised charm. Nor was she going to get used to him being around. Because he wasn’t going to be there for long and they both knew it. His knee would get better, he’d be off to some event. She’d be left holding the baby—literally.

And there was no getting past the fact that he wouldn’t be here at all if she weren’t pregnant. Not good for her ego.

She heard him saying goodbye to Alice out in the yard. Kelsi was sure she was lovely and all, but there was no way they’d agree on anything when it came to decorating this old beauty. Alice would want to put in all the mod things when really w

hat the building needed was to have its original features unearthed and highlighted. Kelsi didn’t want to witness what little character was left of the old house being neutralised. Still, she was sure she could rely on Alice to put the kybosh on the fireman’s pole idea.

She closed her mind on the X-rated images that popped in thanks to the ‘pole’, trying really hard to get over the lust thing. Jack obviously had. He hadn’t made even a hint of a move since the night they found out about the baby. Not touched her, not looked at her once the way he had that day in the sun. He’d been entertaining himself that day—that was fine. But once had obviously been enough for him.

Shame it hadn’t for her. Shame she was burning up.

For some reason she’d thought pregnancy killed a woman’s sex drive. Showed how little she knew. It only made hers rampant. Every other thought involved Jack naked and on the beach.

He knocked on her door only twenty minutes later—not nearly long enough for her to put the fantasies in the deep freeze. She opened the door and stood back; even so, he was too close and walked past. His gaze skittered over her, seeming to linger on the little skin she’d bared—her neck, her arms, her hands.

But he strode straight to the kitchen and started prepping–with loud, quick knife skills. His fierce concentration on his Master Chef mission was enthralling.

‘Are you always like this?’ She pulled a light cardigan around her body to hide but couldn’t resist sitting on a nearby stool to watch him.

‘Like what?’ He didn’t look up.

‘Like, so focused on whatever it is, making up your mind just like that and going for it full steam ahead, no diversions. No taking it easy.’

‘Sure. If a job needs doing you get it done, move on.’

Move on. And she was just another job, wasn’t she? Fabulous.

Tags: Natalie Anderson Billionaire Romance
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