One Wicked Week Read online

  ‘I’m not drunk, if that’s what you think,’ she flung at him in defiance, tilting her chin as if daring him to disagree.

  ‘I don’t think anything, other than your date had better not take a dip in Port Phillip Bay because with all that grease in his hair he’d cause an oil slick.’

  The corners of her mouth twitched and her eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘Ky’s a good guy—’

  ‘Ky’s an asshole who wanted to get into your panties.’ His response came out a growl but rather than chastise him as he expected, she surprised him by nodding.

  ‘Why do guys always disappoint me?’

  Considering he was one of those guys, he felt like the biggest bastard in the world. So he settled for saying, ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’ve known him since we were kids and we always had fun hanging out.’ She sighed, and wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘My folks and his were besties, and we moved in posh circles, but Ky and I weren’t into all that fake BS. So we had that in common too. Anyway, he lives in Sydney so when he asked me to have dinner I thought it was a chance to catch up.’

  The barman placed her mineral water in front of her and she smiled her thanks before turning her attention back to him. ‘I’ve never felt a flirty vibe off him and he’s been in a three-year relationship with a woman who looks like a Swedish supermodel, but tonight...’ The crinkle on the bridge of her nose deepened. ‘They broke up and he asked me for a nightcap in his hotel room—’

  ‘Sleazy prick.’

  Her eyes flashed fire. ‘I handled it. But it sucks that we’ll never be able to go back to that old friendship because I’ll always wonder if he has an ulterior motive.’

  Brock wanted to say that most guys had an ulterior motive and when it came to a gorgeous woman with a rocking bod like Jayda, that motive was getting pussy. But he settled for, ‘At least the guy has great taste.’

  Her lips compressed again but this time he could tell she stifled a laugh.

  ‘And for the record, I would’ve beaten him to a pulp if he tried anything beyond a hug.’

  ‘I don’t need your protection,’ she said, eyeballing him with a direct stare that dared him to disagree. ‘I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.’

  He had too and that was how he knew that beneath her bravado lurked that same uncertain girl who’d learned to hide her vulnerabilities well. He knew because he did the same every damn day.

  Having more than six zeroes tacked onto the end of his bank balance, a fancy penthouse, designer clothes and the latest high-tech equipment to make any geek drool didn’t account for much when he lay awake at night, hating the inherent loneliness that plagued him and cursing his parents for instilling in him a complete lack of faith in anything lasting.

  ‘You’re a fraud, just like me.’

  The truth tumbled from his lips and he muttered, ‘Fuck,’ as she reared back as if he’d poked her.

  He needed to remedy this situation, and change the subject fast. ‘While I’m wrestling the glitch in your software under control, I need your help with a function organised by my dad, some annual car sales award thing. Because he’s laid up in bed he needs me to do some last-minute finagling, party planning mostly, and I remember you mentioning you’ve done stuff like that for your folks?’

  Her eyebrows rose in blatant scepticism, as if she didn’t buy his change of subject at all, so he quickly continued. ‘If it were up to me I wouldn’t go, let alone help organise the bloody thing, but he’s never asked me for a favour before and I couldn’t say no.’

  When she continued to eyeball him, her lips compressed into a thin line, he said, ‘Will you help me put the finishing touches on this function and save my ass in the process?’

  After a long, drawn-out silence that made sweat bead on his upper lip, she nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll do it. When is it?’

  ‘Next Friday night.’

  He waited while she swiped up the calendar on her mobile and when her lips eased into a soft smile, he didn’t know whether to curse or feel relieved that he’d have her helping him with what promised to be an awful event.

  ‘I’m free, and I can slot in some time during the week to make phone calls and check on florists, caterers, that kind of thing.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve done it many times before.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, resisting the urge to squirm as she pinned him with that astute stare again. ‘I’ll get all the details and email them to you. I’ll be the main contact person so if there’s any problems let me know.’

  ‘Fine.’ She sipped her drink, continuing to appraise him with blatant curiosity. ‘What’s the problem with my software?’

  Relieved she hadn’t delved further into his ‘fraud’ comment, he launched into a basic explanation of some of the flaws he’d detected and the fixes he intended on installing. She listened with rapt attention and he found himself relaxing as he waxed lyrical about the one thing in this world he had complete control over.

  She asked all the right questions and as he reassured her he’d have everything fixed his mobile pinged with a message from another client.

  ‘Sorry, I have to go. There’s a malware threat to one of my biggest software clients.’

  ‘No worries.’

  They stood simultaneously and an awkward silence descended. Brock didn’t know whether to kiss her goodbye or hug her or offer to drop by her place later.

  Thankfully, she took the decision out of his hands by touching him on the arm, her hand lingering on his biceps. ‘Send me through the details for the function and I’ll take care of everything.’

  When she released him and stepped away, he instantly wished he weren’t such a fuck-up when it came to this special woman.

  She’d taken a few steps away before she paused, and turned to glance over her shoulder at him. ‘For what it’s worth, it’s not fraud if the feelings are real.’

  With that she sauntered away, leaving him reeling and resisting the urge to run after her to discover what she meant by that cryptic comment.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JAYDA WAITED BY the floor-to-ceiling window in Brock’s ultra-modern office while he finished up a conference call. He’d beckoned her in ten minutes ago, citing that he’d be off in two. But she didn’t begrudge him making her wait. It gave her time to study him in his element.

  He sat behind a glass-topped desk sporting five different computer screens, and a complicated keyboard that looked as if it could control satellites in space. The desk dominated the massive room that took up half a floor in one of Melbourne’s premier office suites in upmarket Collins Street, not far from his penthouse. All sleek chrome furniture and black stone floors, the office exuded professionalism and success. And the owner of this IT giant sat in the middle, incredibly delectable in a suit.

  She’d stopped by to pick up her ticket for the awards ceremony tonight and to give him a last-minute rundown of everything she’d done to ensure the event went smoothly. Not that she’d had a lot to do over the last week, mainly follow up calls and chase down elusive caterers, but Brock had asked this favour of her and she’d wanted to ensure she did a stellar job.

  There’d been a downside to her agreeing to help him. She hadn’t seen him at all, what with getting her own business off the ground and overseeing the planning for the awards night. They’d talked several times, brief, business-focussed calls that had left her wondering if she’d imagined that night he’d finally opened up and told her about his family.

  As for their proposed two-week fling, getting physical with the sexy geek had fallen by the wayside too, courtesy of their manic workloads. She’d initially resented it and wondered if he’d asked her to help with the awards night as a way of pushing her away. But during those calls where they’d discussed their respective progress, she’d heard a hint of something in his tone, the odd flyaway comment that had alerted her to the fact he was
just as frustrated as her with their lack of physical intimacy.

  She had grand plans to remedy that tonight after the formalities were over.

  ‘Sorry about that, the call went longer than anticipated.’ He grimaced and stood, interlocking fingers and stretching overhead, making his shirt ride up and gape, revealing a tantalising sliver of tanned abs she’d explored in great detail with her mouth.

  ‘No worries.’ Heat suffused her cheeks and she forced a smile, hoping they weren’t a giveaway to her licentious thoughts. ‘I wanted to let you know everything is set for tonight, down to the last detail.’

  The dent between his brows that had been present during the phone conference disappeared as he rounded his desk and advanced upon her. ‘I can’t thank you enough for doing this.’

  ‘It was nothing...’ Her breath ended on a hitch as he stepped in close, slid his arms around her waist and brushed a kiss across her lips.

  ‘What was that for?’ she whispered, swaying towards him involuntarily.

  ‘For being you.’

  He pressed his lips against her again, more demanding this time, and the greedy yearning that had built over the last week from their non-contact exploded into a storm of fire and heat.

  Her fingers scrabbled at his shirt for purchase as he deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth with precision and familiarity. Possessive. Taking control. Showing her exactly how much he’d missed her too.

  She didn’t care about the make-up that had taken an hour to apply. She didn’t care about the artfully arranged up-do that had taken as long. She cared about tearing that suit off his body, hiking up her cocktail dress and straddling him on the desk.

  As his mouth trailed from her mouth to her neck, she became aware of an odd beeping, insistent and relentless.

  ‘Fuck,’ Brock muttered, straightening but holding onto her waist, giving her time to regain her wits. ‘I have to go.’

  Disappointment crashed over her like a bucket of iced water, sending a chill sweeping through her. Of course he’d instigate a stupendous kiss then withdraw completely.

  Cursing under his breath, he strode to his desk and picked up his mobile, stabbing at the screen to silence the alarm. ‘I need to pop in to the hospital to pick up the tickets for tonight.’

  His scowl did little to detract from his good looks. ‘Mum was supposed to courier them over but she forgot and she’s visiting Dad tonight so asked me to swing by.’

  Annoyed he hadn’t told her this earlier so she needn’t have stopped in and could’ve gone directly to the function centre, she struggled not to hide her frown. It baffled her why she needed a ticket in the first place considering she’d been the primary organiser of this event for the last week, but Brock had insisted that the best way to keep an eye on proceedings was as a guest, not just standing in the foyer.

  ‘Shall I meet you at the venue after you pick up the tickets?’

  Panic flared in his eyes before he blinked, making her wonder if she’d imagined it. ‘No. Now that you’re here we can go together.’

  His audible reluctance made it sound as if she’d be accompanying him to a full body wax session.

  ‘Okay.’

  He hesitated, as if second-guessing the wisdom of asking her to accompany him, but she wouldn’t make it easy for him.

  ‘Ready to go?’

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ he muttered, sliding a finger between his collar and his neck. ‘Seriously, Jayda, thanks for helping me out with this. It’s bad enough I agreed to attend as Dad’s proxy but being asked to help organise it threw me, and you really came through in a big way.’

  She flushed under his admiration. ‘It was nothing. I’ve organised countless events like this for my folks.’

  At least for this one the attendees wouldn’t be fleeced for personal gain.

  ‘Shall we go?’ He held out his hand and she slid hers into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  He interlaced his fingers through hers and squeezed, ducking down to murmur in her ear, ‘You look beautiful and I’m sorry it took me this long to say it.’

  Hating the lump of emotion that swelled in her throat, she swallowed and aimed for flippant. ‘I’ll make you pay later by insisting you dance with me.’

  ‘Like hell,’ he said, his laughter warming her.

  Tonight would be okay. She would get through this and later, the two of them could get back to having fun under their original agreement: a short-term fling with no complications.

  * * *

  Jayda’s initial irritation at Brock not giving her a heads-up about having to pick up the tickets faded when they reached the hospital and she realised she had a golden opportunity to learn more about this enigmatic man.

  She could meet his parents.

  ‘If I could avoid this, I would,’ he muttered, his expression tortured as they paused outside his father’s hospital door. ‘You didn’t have to come in—’

  She laid a fingertip to his lips. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘But I do,’ he said, anger lighting his eyes. ‘You should’ve waited in the car like I suggested.’

  ‘And miss the opportunity of watching you squirm?’ She cocked a hip in provocation. ‘Are you crazy?’

  The tension lines bracketing his mouth eased. ‘This isn’t funny. You don’t know what they’re like.’

  ‘Yet I’m about to find out.’ She slipped her hand into his, surprised to find his sweaty. ‘Considering what my folks have been up to, yours can’t be any worse.’

  She heard his murmured, ‘Want to make a bet?’ before he knocked twice and opened the door.

  Resisting the urge to smooth her black satin cocktail dress, she squeezed Brock’s hand in silent support and entered the room a step behind him.

  ‘Mum, Dad, this is Jayda. She helped me out by putting the finishing touches on the awards night and arranging everything.’

  A sliver of hurt lodged beneath her bright smile. Of course he didn’t introduce her as his girlfriend, because she wasn’t, and he certainly couldn’t label her his short-term fuck buddy. Being introduced should be enough because regardless of what happened when this fling petered out she hoped they would remain friends.

  He tugged her hand gently, bringing her to stand by his side, where she caught her first glimpse of the people who had brought this inscrutable man into the world. They were surprisingly young, late forties or early fifties at the most, but with the haggard expressions of people who’d done it tough their entire lives. His father had a grey receding hairline and a plethora of lines on his face, and his mum had faded blonde hair, a stack of wrinkles that no amount of moisturiser could fix and eyes that had seen too much.

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She stepped forward and held out her free hand, surprised when Brock didn’t release the other.

  ‘Call me George,’ his father said, shaking her hand firmly. ‘And this is Bette.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’ Bette waved, her smile friendly.

  Brock took another step into the room. ‘How’s everything going here?’

  ‘Bloody awful.’ George grimaced and pointed at his hip. ‘I can’t wait to get out of this prison.’

  ‘You’ll be in rehab before you know it,’ Bette said, rolling her eyes. ‘Stop your bellyaching.’

  George screwed up his nose. ‘It’s the food I hate the most. Tasteless slop.’ He shot a fond glance at Bette. ‘Nothing like your meatloaf and gravy, or your pasta carbonara.’

  Bette practically preened under her husband’s praise. ‘If you think flattery will get me to bring you in another serve, you better keep it up, old man.’

  ‘Who are you calling old, chook?’

  They chuckled together and only then did Jayda realise Brock was squeezing her hand so tight it hurt. She glanced up at him to see him staring at his parents in amazem
ent, as if he’d never seen them talk to each other. Weird. She wiggled her fingers so he’d ease off the pressure; he released her hand completely and stepped forward as if in a daze.

  ‘Do you have those tickets, Mum? We need to get going.’

  ‘Always in a hurry,’ Bette said, fishing in her handbag before pulling out two gaudy silver tickets losing glitter at a rate of knots. ‘I hope you don’t rush your lovely girlfriend everywhere you go.’

  Girlfriend? Jayda bit back a grin. If Brock’s shoulders were any more rigid she could rest an entire quarry of boulders on them.

  ‘Stop trying to embarrass me, Mum.’ His admonishment held no rancour as he took the tickets.

  ‘I’m not.’ Bette shifted her gaze to Jayda. ‘If I wanted to embarrass you I’d tell Jayda about that time you ran around the car yard naked after falling into the giant wash bucket. Or the time you got chickenpox and thought you’d caught—’

  ‘We get the general idea.’ Brock winced as his father guffawed and pointed at her.

  ‘Jayda, if you want to hear any more of those stories, you know where to find us.’

  She smiled. ‘Thanks, George, I’ll keep that in mind—’

  ‘We’re going.’ Brock’s interruption sounded abrupt and loud, sucking some of the light-heartedness out of the room, but it didn’t stop his father from laughing louder.

  ‘Jayda, you’re a good match for my rude son,’ George said, exchanging a look with Bette, who nodded vigorously.

  ‘I second that.’ Bette stared at them both in blatant speculation. ‘Hang onto this one, Brock. She’s a keeper.’

  ‘You two are unbelievable,’ he muttered, dropping a quick kiss on his mum’s cheek and patting his dad on the shoulder. ‘See you later.’

  Jayda raised her hand in farewell, stunned to see the glint of tears in Bette’s eyes. What the hell was going on here? Exactly how many women had Brock introduced to them over the years that they spent five minutes in her company and decided she’d be good for him?