Her Playboy Crush Page 5

  When he’d eventually wandered home his gran hadn’t even noticed he’d been gone for hours. But at least she’d stocked the fridge so he’d made himself a ham and cheese sandwich, washed it down with a glass of chocolate milk and explored the house.

  He’d liked its simplicity and its compactness. It hadn’t been hard figuring out which room was his. The door had been left open and his stuff had been dumped in there. At least his bed had been made and as he flopped on top of the covers he’d replayed every moment with his new friends next door and whispered a soft prayer of gratitude that Pop had died, enabling his new life.

  He’d immediately felt guilty, before remembering all the rotten ways his grandfather had made him feel inadequate, and was glad all over again.

  That had been almost nineteen years ago and now he had to tell his best mate he’d screwed his sister.

  Not that he’d couch it in those terms exactly, but he wanted to tell Archie some semblance of the truth. He liked Polly. He wanted to date her. If Archie decked him, so be it.

  That was why he’d taken the coward’s way out and asked to meet at the trendy pub on Circular Quay. He hadn’t been home in five years but the pristine white sails of the Opera House never failed to soothe him. This part of bustling Sydney had always been his go-to place. However, as his glance flicked between his favourite icon and the door, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing the right thing.

  After the wild up-against-the-wall sex back at her place last night, Polly had virtually bundled him out the door. She hadn’t met his eyes and a blazing blush had stained her cheeks so he hadn’t forced the issue. He’d wanted to. He’d wanted to tell her how incredible she was and how she’d surpassed his fantasies. But she’d been awkward and embarrassed and he hadn’t wanted to push his luck.

  So while he wanted more of that scorching sex, he had no idea if she felt the same. Polly was all about facts and he knew she’d be analysing every detail, weighing up the pros and cons—and probably find him lacking.

  Fact: he moved frequently so whatever happened between them could only be a short-term fling.

  Fact: they were opposites in every way.

  Fact: Archie would probably kill both of them.

  Fact: he didn’t give a shit about any of it because he wanted Polly, always had, and after the way she’d reciprocated last night he had every intention of exploring their connection while he was in town.

  But first he had to tell Archie.

  His best mate strolled through the door and Ryder raised a hand in greeting. Archie nodded and wended his way through the tables to reach him.

  ‘Hey, bozo.’ Archie slapped him on the back before taking a seat opposite. ‘You know this window table is wasted on me because this isn’t a date?’

  ‘Who’d want to date your ugly mug?’ Ryder pointed at his barely touched lager. ‘Beer?’

  ‘Make it a light. I’m driving.’ He screwed up his nose. ‘That DIY project I’ve got going on at home is a major pain in the ass and I’m about to drop another exorbitant four-figure sum at the hardware store after we’ve finished here.’

  ‘In that case, lunch is on me.’

  ‘You’ll get no complaints from this side of the table.’ Archie didn’t look at the menu. ‘Chicken Parma for me.’

  Ryder grinned. His mate had been ordering the same pub grub for as long as he could remember.

  ‘Coming right up.’ Ryder made his way to the bar, placed their order and grabbed a light beer for Archie before heading back to the table.

  The smart thing to do was wait until they’d eaten before broaching the tough stuff, but he knew Archie. He’d go ballistic if he found out Ryder had made small talk while they’d eaten without revealing the real reason he’d invited him to lunch today.

  Archie rested his forearms on the table and eyeballed him. ‘So Polly tells me you’re helping her out with a fundraiser she’s organising.’

  Ryder’s sip of beer caught in his throat and he cleared it, searching Archie’s face for any clue he knew. But his friend wore the same goofy expression he always did and Ryder hated that what he had to say would wipe it.

  ‘Yeah. Her boss is a real bitch and it seemed the right thing to do when I popped in to see her yesterday and the cow was giving her grief over it.’

  ‘You’re a good guy.’ Archie raised his beer in a toast. ‘Some of the time.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Archie laughed and shook his head. ‘Man, you’ve been away too long. I remember the way we used to tear up the nightclub and pub scene while you were living in Sydney.’ He wiggled his eyebrows. ‘You had the girls lining up, and the way you loved ’em and left ’em made you the bad guy in their eyes, while I always thought you were a legend.’

  Shit, this wasn’t good. Having Archie remember how he used to chase skirt wasn’t conducive to revealing his attention was now solely focussed on his sister.

  ‘That was a long time ago, mate.’ He chugged his beer, taking three big gulps before being somewhat ready to tell Archie the rest. ‘These days I’m only interested in one woman.’

  Archie rolled his eyes. ‘Who’s the lucky lady?’

  Here went nothing.

  ‘Polly.’

  Archie guffawed and thumped the table. ‘Good one. You two have been doing that dance for so long it’s inevitable you’d eventually go nuts and imagine something actually happening between you two.’

  Archie made circles at his temple with his finger. ‘You’re crazy if you think Polly would go for someone like you.’

  An unexpected hurt lodged in his gut, swift and deep. But before he could ask what he meant, Archie continued. ‘You know what she’s like, all facts and figures, carefully weighing every decision. She’d never date someone impulsive and transient.’

  ‘But what if I want to date her?’

  Archie’s grin faded as the importance of what Ryder was saying slammed into him like a slug to the gut.

  ‘What the fuck, man?’

  ‘It’s none of your goddamn business who I date but I’m telling you because we’ve been mates a long time and I don’t want to screw it up.’

  Archie glared at him through narrowed eyes, his lips thinning into an unimpressed line. ‘You’re a selfish prick for doing this.’ He thumped his chest. ‘She’s my sister, man. This is fucked up.’

  Knowing this would be hard but determined to be upfront, he said, ‘You know I’d never hurt her, but for however long I’m in Sydney I want to hang out with Pol.’

  Archie made a disparaging sound, half snort, half growl. ‘I should punch your lights out, you dickhead.’

  ‘You could, but you’re the closest thing to a brother that I’ve got and I wanted to be upfront with you and not sneak around like a dog behind your back.’

  Archie glared at him across the table, a frown marring his brow. An awkward silence stretched between them, until he finally relaxed a tad and sat back.

  ‘I respect that.’ A glint of admiration lit Archie’s steady gaze. ‘But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to.’ Ryder held up his hands like he had nothing to hide. ‘But know this. I respect Polly. I care about her—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, okay, I get it.’ Archie tipped half his beer down his throat in one gulp. ‘I have to admit, I’ve always wondered if the animosity between you two meant you’d already hooked up.’ Archie’s eyes narrowed, his glare speculative. ‘And as much as we’re bros, if you hurt her, man, I’ll have to kill you.’

  ‘Understood,’ Ryder said, glad the conversation had gone better than expected, and determinedly ignoring the niggle of worry that all the words in the world would mean nothing if his relationship with Polly ended badly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  POLLY LOVED FASHION but she hated shopping.

  Retail
therapy was more like torture for her, but as she entered the air-conditioned mall she knew she couldn’t leave without ticking a few items off her checklist.

  Entering the first boutique she saw, she slipped the piece of paper out of her bag and unfolded it.

  She wanted an outfit like the one she’d torn from a magazine, desperate to prove to Ryder she didn’t need his help.

  Because he’d done more of a makeover on her last night than any stylist could. And she still had tiny finger-mark bruises where he’d grabbed her butt tight to prove it.

  Last night... She may have made an ass of herself by bundling him out the door after he’d made her come, twice, but she didn’t regret what had preceded his hasty exit one bit.

  The sex had been phenomenal.

  Better than her countless fantasies.

  But what she didn’t understand was why he’d done it. He dated gorgeous women worldwide. Why would he want a nerdy statistician who gave him nothing but grief whenever they saw each other?

  Maybe that was it. He saw her as a challenge. He’d flirted his way around the world, according to the tabloids. What had changed last night?

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Polly blinked and focussed on the stick-thin, immaculately dressed blonde staring at her with an imperiously raised eyebrow. With her flawless make-up and sleek hair, the sales assistant was everything Polly wasn’t. Yet surprisingly she didn’t feel intimidated as she usually would entering a boutique like this...because she’d screwed Ryder Beale last night and it had been stupendous.

  Struggling to hide a smug grin, Polly held out the magazine page. ‘Do you have something like this?’

  The assistant glanced at the page, then ran a critical eye over Polly. Surprisingly, she didn’t screw up her nose like Polly half expected.

  ‘Not exactly, but we have a similar outfit that would look great on you.’ She pointed to the back of the store. ‘Go on through to the dressing rooms and I’ll bring it in.’

  ‘Great, thanks.’

  As the assistant moved away to riffle through racks, Polly wended her way through the store, admiring crisp linens in warm autumnal colours, the lightest silks in classic navy, white and black, and a dazzling array of sparkly and shimmery evening wear in vibrant emeralds and turquoises that made her want to touch them all.

  Lush fabrics in bold colours reminded her of her mum and the only thing that had ever bound them. Nobody had understood why the geeky girl loved fashion magazines so much, but Sunday afternoons spent poring over those glossy pages with her mum was the closest thing to happiness she’d felt as a kid.

  She’d never liked playing second best to golden boy Archie but for those few hours, flipping pages with her mum, she’d felt special.

  She’d barely made it to the dressing room when the assistant entered. ‘Let me know how you get on with sizing.’

  After hanging the clothes on hooks, the assistant left and Polly tugged the heavy satin curtain across to give herself some privacy. After quickly stripping down to her underwear she reached for the first item, an ebony pencil skirt that took a bit of wriggling to get into. The dove-grey silk shirt slid over her skin like a sensual caress and she slipped a fire-engine-red fitted jacket, nipped in at the waist, over it.

  When she’d tucked the shirt in, zipped up the skirt and adjusted the jacket, she turned to face the mirror.

  Her reflection shocked her. Even in her ballet flats, no make-up and her hair snagged in a low ponytail, she looked different. Smarter. Almost pretty.

  She loved it.

  Half turning away from the mirror, she admired the cut of the clothes that gave the illusion of an hourglass figure even from the back.

  These clothes had to be magical.

  This outfit would be the perfect thing to wear when she convinced Ryder she didn’t need his help. Not that she’d renege on her offer to collate his book research, but having him arrange some weird makeover with his experts seemed too...intimate. Which was crazy, because he’d been inside her last night and that connection had been the most intimate of them all.

  But he’d never understand that having sex with him had ripped away the flimsy barriers she’d erected over the years and left her feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

  Swapping banter with Ryder was one thing, swapping bodily fluids another entirely.

  She’d opened herself to him and while she wasn’t stupid enough to expect a repeat, she knew their interactions moving forward would be tainted with the memory of how damn combustible they’d been for an all-too-brief moment in time.

  ‘How are you going in there?’

  ‘Everything’s fine, thanks,’ Polly said. ‘I’ll be out in a sec.’

  ‘Okay.’

  As the click of the assistant’s heels faded, Polly stared at her reflection again, knowing no amount of designer clothing could hide the truth blazing from her eyes.

  After sizzling sex with Ryder, her crush wasn’t going away any time soon.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  RYDER DIDN’T KNOW the first thing about lingerie, other than how fast to take it off.

  But he would fake knowledge if it got him some one-on-one time with Polly. Besides, she didn’t need some stylist telling her what made her look good beneath her clothes.

  That was his only regret about last night, that he hadn’t got to see her naked. They’d been so hot and heavy for each other they hadn’t even stripped.

  He planned on rectifying that the next time they got together in the privacy of his place, or hers, because the damnedest thing had happened.

  He’d expected sex with Polly to take the edge off his curiosity. Fantasising about her and finally having her should’ve had him moving on to the next challenge. It had happened before. A one-night stand that exceeded expectations but wouldn’t be repeated. How fast she’d shoved him out the door afterwards proved it.

  But that one scorching encounter with Polly hadn’t assuaged his curiosity. He wanted more; he wanted to know the sounds she made when he went down on her, wanted to know if she preferred to be on top or underneath him, wanted to know if prim, proper Polly liked dirty talk.

  There were so many enticing scenarios he could explore with her for however long he was in town...if she was up for it.

  Though she was still avoiding him. He’d texted twice and she hadn’t responded. That wouldn’t deter him. He knew Pol; she’d be embarrassed or floundering or both. They needed to confront what had happened last night, deal with it and move on. To more sex, if he had his way.

  In his many motivational talks over the last few years, he’d lectured about being assertive to get what you want.

  Right now, he wanted more of Polly.

  He didn’t believe in fate or coincidence, but when the stylist texted him saying Polly couldn’t keep her appointment they’d scheduled at a particular store and had to cancel, he’d taken it as the perfect opportunity to confront the woman who was avoiding him. A surprise confrontation. Perfect.

  He strode into the lingerie shop and spotted her instantly, riffling through a rack of granny bras. Beige and white, neutral colours she’d never wear if he had his way.

  A rich burgundy or peacock blue would look stunning against her skin and he spotted just the thing a few feet away. The sheer burgundy bodysuit would accentuate every curve while providing a feast for the senses, while the satin blue knickers and bra set had naughty peepholes scattered throughout the fabric. Perfect.

  Guessing her size, he snaffled the two sets and made his way towards her. She hadn’t caught sight of him yet but as she half turned and he glimpsed her profile, teeth worrying her bottom lip, something kicked in his chest, hard.

  She was pretty rather than classically beautiful with her straight nose, thick chocolate-coloured hair hanging past her shoulders, slightly olive skin and rich brown eye
s that reflected every emotion she ever had. He knew she underplayed her features, rarely wearing make-up, but it didn’t matter because to him she’d always been beautiful.

  ‘These will suit you much better,’ he said, biting back a grin as she jumped and whirled on him, one hand pressed to her heart.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘You cancelled the stylist.’ He shrugged, mustering up his best bashful expression. ‘So being the stand-up guy I am, I stepped into the breach to help a friend out.’

  Her eyes narrowed but he glimpsed the corners of her mouth twitch. ‘Was that list of stylists you gave me yesterday even real? Because it seems to me it’s mighty convenient she agrees to meet me here, at a lingerie shop of all places, then you show up instead.’

  It was his turn to clutch his chest in mock indignation. ‘You wound me with your mistrust.’

  ‘Considering you’ve got a hide like a rhino, I seriously doubt that.’

  Her gaze dropped to the lingerie in his other hand and the faintest blush stole into her cheeks. ‘And if you think I’m taking underwear advice from you, you are wrong on so many levels.’

  ‘I happen to be an expert on underwear.’

  ‘I bet.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Seriously, I can do this myself.’

  ‘Yet you agreed to be contacted by the stylist? Interesting.’ He tapped his bottom lip, pretending to think. ‘Is there some lucky guy you’re hoping to impress?’

  The blush intensified and he yearned to lean down and press his lips to her blazing cheeks. ‘I’ve read that wearing this frivolous stuff underneath clothes can make a woman feel sexy and powerful, so that’s why I’m here.’

  He stepped closer to murmur in her ear. ‘Trust me, babe, you don’t need any help in the sexy department. You’ve got it covered.’