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She’d landed her dream opportunity at Sizzle, Sydney’s hippest fashion house. Now all she had to do was kick ass with the upcoming fundraiser she’d been placed in charge of and she could climb the corporate ladder to where she wanted to be: number crunching in the glam fashion world to which she’d been drawn her entire life.
A long, low wolf whistle interrupted her musings. ‘Looking good, Pollyanna.’
Polly stiffened, the muscles in her neck tightening so fast they hurt. That voice. Deep. Taunting, with a hint of huskiness that never failed to send a shiver of longing through her. She turned slowly, reluctantly, to find Ryder leaning in the doorway from the kitchen to the lounge, grinning at her like he’d just spied his favourite dessert.
‘That’s not my name,’ she said, sounding cool and collected, feeling anything but.
There was something about the way Ryder looked at her, had always looked at her, that made her want to apply lashings of mascara, slick crimson gloss on her lips and slip into something a lot less comfortable.
‘It should be, considering your altruistic view of the world.’ He straightened and strode towards her, making her hormones do a weird little jive. ‘Still seeing everything in black and white?’
‘Nothing wrong with cold, hard facts,’ she said, her fingers digging into the wood of the armoire to anchor her in a world suddenly off kilter.
Her pulse raced and her palms grew clammy, physical signs of a purely visceral response whenever this guy got too close. She should be over this, over him. Not that there was anything to get over beyond a lot of fanciful notions in her own head. But she’d spent too many teen years secretly lusting after him to pretend he didn’t affect her, because this grown-up version of Ryder was even sexier than his younger counterpart.
‘No room for grey, huh?’ He stopped two feet in front of her. Close enough to smell his designer aftershave with a hint of spice. Close enough to see the green flecks in his hazel eyes. Close enough to want to touch that broad chest and lean waist and...lower.
She’d seen him bare-chested before, when he’d kick the soccer ball around with Archie in their backyard, and over the years when she’d give in to the temptation of searching his name online and find pictures of him standing on top of a cliff face he’d just scaled or diving with sharks. In both those instances his glorious bronze chest had been on full display and she’d ended up having a restless sleep because of it.
It was stupid to still be fantasising over him all these years later, but those naughty notions in the middle of the night were nothing on having him this close.
Would his chest be as hard as it looked?
Would her hands fit in the dip of his waist?
Would the clearly delineated lines of his abs be traceable with her fingertips as she dipped beneath his waistband?
How big would he be...?
Polly swallowed and a fine sheen of perspiration broke out on her forehead.
‘You’re blushing.’ The tip of his thumb grazed her cheek, sending a jolt of longing so strong through her body that she almost swayed towards him. ‘What’s got you all hot and bothered?’
If he only knew. But Polly could never let on how he made her feel. She’d had enough mortification in her life when it came to guys to let the uber-confident Ryder Beale figure out her pathetic crush and how many times she’d imagined riding him until he made her scream.
‘I’m not blushing; I’ve just been working too hard being Archie’s slave.’
She fanned her face regardless because her cheeks were flaming. Like that would help. She needed a dunk in an ice bath to cool off.
‘Don’t let him push you around.’ His mouth quirked into a sexy smile as he reached out and tugged the ends of her shoulder-length hair. ‘This is new.’
Damn, she wished he’d stop touching her—or at least make it count.
‘I lost the pigtails about ten years ago, and you’ve seen me since then,’ she said, hating how her breathlessness at his proximity made her voice squeaky.
‘You didn’t have this layered look last time I saw you,’ he said. ‘I like it.’ He wound a few strands around his fingers until they reached her hairline. ‘I like it a lot.’
What the hell was he doing? He never touched her, ever, and she’d wondered whether to be grateful or insulted. She’d seen the way he’d been with other girls all those years ago, playful and flirtatious, charming the pants off them—probably literally. She’d been jealous and yearning, hiding her envy behind cutting quips. But he’d never flirted with her; instead he’d tease her the same way Archie did. She’d hated being treated like his younger sister too.
So what had changed now? Had he grown tired of his playthings around the world and wanted a new challenge?
Because that’s the only reason he’d be toying with her like this. He knew she was off limits and disinterested—she’d faked it well in the past—so was this some kind of warped game to him, to see how far he could push the geeky younger sister of his best friend?
His fingers wound her hair tighter slowly, gentle tugs that had her biting back a groan at the sensuality of it. When his fingertips grazed her scalp, Polly’s knees buckled a little so she reacted how she always did when Ryder disarmed her.
‘Back off, bozo, or I’ll make you.’
He laughed and leaned closer, his breath fanning her cheek and setting off all kinds of reactions, most of them between her legs. She throbbed with wanting him.
