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“Oh you don’t think I’m nice, Ant.” She breathed on him, heat and desire. “Tell me what you really think?”
Where was this coming from? This wasn’t Bree who wore conservative suits and tried to stay out of his way. This was some other girl, reckless and ruthless, who looked like Bree, but had made it her ambition to twist him in knots and leave him strung out and dying on the uncomfortable furniture of a trendy drinking spot for want of a freaking lip lock.
“You’re a tease and a bitch, and if you don’t follow through with that kiss things could get ugly.”
“Oh yeah. What are you going to do about it?”
He wasn’t going to trade quips. He palmed the back of her head and crashed his lips into hers. Shock made her body jerk and she resisted, stiffening, flattening her lips. He let go of her head, cursing himself for rushing this, ruining this, and she sighed, her mouth suddenly softening. Her hands came up to his shoulders, then twisted around his neck and she hauled herself closer to him. Now they were really kissing and she was a sweet drugging sensation on his lips and fresh starched cotton in his nose. She went from soft to liquid, her fingers dug into his neck and he pulled her the rest of the way into his body.
The only sound in the room was the whimper she made, need and want melded into a thrilling purr that made him search for her repeat button. He put his hand back to her head, tunnelled his fingers through strands of glossy gold and silk and shook the clip holding it free so her hair fell about her neck and shoulders. His other hand was low on her back, pressing the twist in her spine so their thighs were flush and her breast grazed his ribs. He fought the notion of climbing over her, pressing her back into the cushions so he’d have her trapped against him. He didn’t fight the one that made him drag her across his lap. She murmured a protest but it was easily silence by another mind swamping kiss.
The dress had no openings, no buttons, no zipper, though his hands sought access, shaping across her back, ribs, hips. Only the vaguest memory they were somewhere public and this was Bree kept him from running his hand under the hem and between her legs. All the while their conversation was wordless, tangled and wet, sucking and searching, probing and chasing, mining the possibilities for what they could do if that dress came off and they got horizontal.
She stopped him when he rolled a knuckle across her nipple. She pushed against his arms and he let her shift back, her hair wild, her eyes huge. They’d done about as much as they’d get away with without being thrown out and there was a whole weekend and clean sheets for this. A hard shove to his chest and he dropped his hands from her. “Let’s get out of here?”
She put her feet to the floor and stood, hands to her hair, trying to tame it. “No. No.” She looked panicked. He got it. They’d shifted from hate to passion with the suddenness of a freak wave and he felt the rip of it too, low in his gut, wide across his chest and deep in his senses. This was the kind of thing that happened to other blokes; had happened to Dan.
“No. No. We can’t. That, that. I shouldn’t have. No.”
He stood, reaching for her, but she stepped back and put the table between them. “No one here cares, Bree.”
She looked around, shaking her head. “This is wrong. We can’t. I can’t.” She had a hand over forehead, like she was holding onto her thoughts.
“We just did, baby.”
She dead eyed him. “I am not your baby.” It felt like a slap, sharp and hard and undeserved. “What the hell’s wrong?” He had to tuck his shirt in, it’s not like she hadn’t wanted to play.
She bent to pick up her hairclip and bag. She wouldn’t look at him. “This is not happening.”
He caught her arm. “Hey, talk to me. You have to talk to me. You can’t just walk out I’ll be in your face on Monday.” Was that it, was that what was freaking her out, the whole colleagues thing? “I get we have to keep this out of the office. I’m good with it.”
She put her hand down over his. “We have to keep this out of everywhere.”
“Are you saying this was a mistake?”
“Of course it is. You don’t even know me.”
“And you have no interest in letting me get there.” It wasn’t a question. He could see by looking at her. The Bree who’d teased him, come on to him, then followed him into that flashflood of lust was gone. The cold bitch was back. He’d gotten it all so fucking wrong. “Fine. Whatever. Let me put you in a taxi.”
She nodded to that and he escorted her back to the street where he got lucky whistling up a passing cab. He walked the couple of blocks to where the Alfa was parked, paid the ransom money to get her under the boom gate and back on the street and peeled the top down for the ride out of the city. At least his old girl was faithful. He drove to the beach, parked her under a street light and walked a couple of blocks back to Son of a Beach Bar. The plan was to get smashed, walk home and come back for the car in the morning after a surf. The plan was to forget Bree bitch Robinson existed, hook up to some equal opportunity with a random who wouldn’t mind positive discrimination in Ant’s favour. As plans go it was foolproof, battle tested, honed and perfected over years, so the outcome was predictable. What was shocking, bone jarringly awful, was how it made him feel.
Empty.
11: Suicide Zone
Bree eyed the penalty box. It was only a bench seat positioned at the side of the track, but it was where roller girls who’d pulled something illegal got sent for a minute. Perhaps if she looked at it hard enough she could avoid going there during the bout, because her mood could best be described as savage. She felt like pushing, punching, elbowing, head-butting. She felt like ignoring safe contact zones and doing some damage.
Last night with Ant had been out of bounds, off the track, and she only had herself to blame. She’d acted like fresh meat who didn’t know her arse from her elbow in a jam. She knew better. She’d known players like Ant all her adult life. They were heart crushers. They were sanity wreckers. They were a plague of bad skin and hideous weight swings. They were the stain of regret that never quite washed off. They were a good reason to skate alone, because they’d whip you into a brick wall soon as a better option showed up, or you challenged their notion of the world.
She did not need a man like Ant in her life. A colleague. A competitor. A stickyfoot. He made Tom, with his demands and his assumptions, look like a safe option, a reasonable person.
But she’d wanted him. She’d wanted his big sticky paws all over her. And now she wanted some violence with a capital Vee.
She arrived at the track way too early, but she’d been so restless there’d been no point sitting around at home. She sat in the stands and watched an intake of newbies in a fresh meat tryout. They were running an obstacle course relay around thick ropes, chairs, scuffed witches hats and tatty boxes. Each participant had to use a variety of skills from sidestepping and tip toeing to jumping and manoeuvring at speed. If she’d have been in the mood there were plenty of laughs as skaters who thought they knew a thing or two found their expectations and skills levels challenged and discovered how much harder being a roller girl was than it looked.
The league needed all of these girls for their fees and all of their friends and family to fill the stadium. And it needed sponsors for teams and for bouts. Knowing that only made Bree feel guilty on top of cranky. She’d promised to help find a new sponsor for the Tricks, but had done nothing about it. Partly because she didn’t know how long she could keep up the double life of weekday financial market analyst and weekend derby doll without coming unstuck, but mostly because she had no idea where to start to find the money they needed to keep competing.
The newbies moved on to learning how to take the knee and fall small, keeping their hands in close to their bodies so not to get run over and getting to their feet quickly without using their hands to avoid causing a bigger stack. Bree knew these skills like she knew how to blink and swallow, but not last night. She’d fallen big last night in an ugly way, e
