Her Favorite Rival (27 page)

He suited words to actions, rolling to the edge of the bed and pushing himself to his feet. She leaned across to get the light and watched as he gathered his clothes together.

It was like watching Michelangelo’s
David
come to life, his body lean and powerful in equal measure. She admired the play of light over the long muscles of his thighs, the mysterious shadowy indentations on the sides of his glutes.

“What’s your day looking like?” he asked as he pulled his polo shirt over his head.

“I’ve got a meeting in the afternoon, but otherwise I’ll be in the office.”

Thinking about Makers, about the day ahead, burst the bubble of contentment rising inside her. She sat and tugged the duvet up to cover her breasts.

“We should probably talk about work,” she said. “Don’t you think?”

He glanced at her, then sat on the bed to pull on his socks. “You think we need ground rules?”

“No. But maybe we should make sure we’re on the same page.”

He twisted to face her. “Okay. You show me your page and I’ll show you mine.”

“All right. I think we should keep work work and this private.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I think it’s the smart thing to do. Especially with things the way they are at the moment.”

“That’s what I thought.” She felt uncomfortable, though. As though they’d both agreed to something neither of them really wanted.

It wasn’t exactly an auspicious way to start a relationship—covertly, carefully, warily. But there was no getting around the fact that people would talk if they were open about what was going on between them. Makers was a hotbed of gossip and rumor at the best of times. Aside from the added pressure created by Whitman’s staff cuts, there were unofficial factions—warehouse versus admin, marketing versus finance—and plenty of political game-playing. So far in her career, she had made a point of never drawing attention to the fact that she was a woman in a male-dominated industry—not by being one of the boys, but by doing her job very, very well. The moment it became known she was seeing Zach, people would look at her differently. It was a given.

And if things didn’t work out between her and Zach... Well, a whole new can of worms would be breached. And she would have compromised her professional life at what could only be described as a precarious time for nothing.

“If we didn’t work together...” she said, because she didn’t want him to think that her preference for privacy was a vote of no confidence in them. In the potential them, anyway. She was simply being practical. Conservative.

“It’s okay.” He stood and rounded the bed, leaning down to kiss her. “There’s a reason we didn’t jump each other’s bones six months ago. Apart from the fact that you thought I was a trust-funded asshat. We both know work’s not exactly a barrel of giggles at the moment.”

She brushed the hair away from his eyes, something she’d been dying to do since the day she met him.

“You didn’t want to jump my bones when you first met me. You were too busy deciding if I was a threat or not.”

“Want to bet?” He cocked an eyebrow, then kissed her one last time before straightening. “I’d better get going. Can we do dinner tonight?”

Probably she should pretend to have a very busy schedule, but who was she kidding?

“Yes, please.”

“I need to take care of something after work, so it might not be till eight, if that’s okay?”

“Eight is great. Where do you want to go?”

“Where is your favorite place?”

She laughed. “The frozen food section of the supermarket?”

He smiled. “Leave it to me. I’ll come up with something.”

She sank back onto the pillow once he’d left the room, holding her breath until she heard the front door click shut behind him. Then she grabbed his pillow and pressed it over her face and indulged herself with a jubilant teenage squeal into its muffling feathers, complete with horizontal dancing in the bed.

She had a boyfriend. Not just any boyfriend, either. She had Zach Black in her bed, and he wanted to take her out for dinner tonight, and afterward they would no doubt come back here or go to his place and he would do insanely good, needful, delicious things to her body....

It might be complicated. It might even be genuinely risky, career-wise. But she was still glad it was happening. Then and there she made a promise to herself: no matter what happened, she wouldn’t forget this moment. She would hang on to the happiness and pleasure he’d brought her, and she would enjoy the ride for as long as she could. For both their sakes.

* * *

Z
ACH
SPENT
A
good half hour of his lunch break trying to decide where to take Audrey for dinner. He finally settled on a modern Chinese place in Camberwell he’d always loved and made a booking for eight-thirty.

He liked thinking about what might please her. He liked thinking about her, full stop. Her soft, pale skin. Her luscious mouth. The golden warmth of her eyes. The sound of her laughter.

She’d been troubled this morning when they talked about work. He understood her concerns and shared them to a degree, but for the first time in his life he found himself wanting to argue against work being the number one priority. He’d put his career first for so many years, he didn’t want to do that with Audrey. And not only because he knew it would be a sure way to kill what was happening between them before it was even off the ground. He wanted things to work between them for him, too. Because when he was with her, the world felt right.

Normally, his head was full of a million things at once. Projections for various product lines, proposals he needed to assess, displays he needed to finesse with suppliers. His mother, what needed to happen with the house next, what was happening in the broader economy.

But when he was with Audrey, the world stopped. He breathed. He listened. He watched. He enjoyed. He laughed. He savored. She made him want to relish each moment, not rush on to the next thing, and the next. She made him want to live his life, rather than view each day as a challenge to be overcome or endured.

It was a foreign concept to him, but one he was surprised he was only too ready to embrace. He’d been driving himself hard, driving himself ragged, for so many years. Surely he deserved to stop and smell the roses? Surely he could allow himself a few moments of respite?

Once he’d settled the matter of the restaurant, he rang the hospital. He’d already called that morning to see how his mother had coped overnight, and now he was told that she was still in recovery after her surgery but would be more than likely up to a quick visit that evening. Accordingly, he left work at six and went straight to the hospital, only stopping to buy some craft magazines from the gift shop.

Once, a long time ago, his mother had enjoyed making things with her hands. He had no idea if that remained true today, but he couldn’t think of anything else to take her.

She was drowsy but pleased to see him and he tried not to show how worried he was by her pallid complexion. Maybe it was the brutal lighting in the hospital, or perhaps he was seeing her clearly for the first time in a long time, but she looked old and sick and incredibly frail. He was overcome by a painful rush of emotion as he tried to make conversation with her. He’d spent years shepherding her away from danger, had wearied of his guardianship long ago, but the realization that perhaps they were nearing the end of the road made it hard for him to breathe.

As messed up and damaged and damaging as she was, he wasn’t ready to let her go. Which probably meant he was messed up, too, but she was his mum. He could still remember enough good times to hang on to some remnant of his childish affection for her.

“Do you remember the time we went berry-picking down near the beach?” he asked suddenly. “I think I was eight or nine. We spent the day down there, came back with buckets of fruit?”

His mother turned her head toward him, her eyes blinking owlishly. He thought she was going to blank him, deny the memory, but suddenly she smiled, the movement carving deep lines in her face.

“You were covered in juice. Kept pretending you’d cut off a body part and it was blood.”

He grinned. “Yeah. And you made jam, but didn’t put enough pectin in so we called it sauce.”

“Never could cook worth a damn. It’s a wonder you didn’t die of malnutrition.” She closed her eyes, clearly exhausted.

“I’ll go. Let you get some rest,” he said.

He started to rise, but her hand slid across the sheet and caught his. Her grip was surprisingly strong as she tightened her hand around his. She didn’t say a word, and neither did he, but he settled into his seat.

After a few minutes, her grip grew slack as she slipped into true sleep. He untangled their hands and tidied the sheets and left the room. A nurse was at the ward desk and he stopped to talk to her.

“I’m Judy Black’s son, Zach.”

“Hi, Zach. What can I do for you?” The nurse’s gaze was bright, assessing him in one quick glance.

“She seems really fragile. When was the last time the doctors came by?”

“As you know, Zach, your mother is very underweight. Pretty typical for someone with her problems, but it means she doesn’t have a lot of resources to deal with something like this. We’ll do our best to get calories into her, keep her hydrated, but she’s going to be slow to heal. We’re talking about a pretty compromised immune system here.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“She’s tough, though. And we’re keeping a close eye on her. I’ll make sure to let you know if anything changes.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He handed over one of his business cards so she would know how to contact him and headed for the car. He made a deliberate attempt to slough off the experience as he drove to Audrey’s place. He didn’t want the bad part of his life infecting the good.

She was ready to go when he arrived, dressed in slim black pants and a soft-looking black velvet top that made him want to run his hands all over her.

“You smell good,” he murmured as he kissed her hello.

She took his hand and placed it on her breast and held it there. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Me, too.”

“About this.” She squeezed his hand so that he, in turn, squeezed her breast. “And this.” She slid her hand onto his hard-on, stroking him through the wool of his pants.

“This is the part where I ask how hungry you are,” he said, hands already delving beneath her top.

“Starving. But I can wait.”

It was tempting, but he really wanted her to experience the mushroom-stuffed gar fish and basil-leaf chicken at Choi’s. Every cell protesting, he pulled back.

“Come on. Torture me some more over dinner,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the door.

She pouted. “Really? You really want to go?”

“No. I really want to show you a good time.”

“Well...”

He grinned at the sly look on her face. “Come on.”

She allowed him to lead her to the car, and they talked about the day’s battles on the way to the restaurant. Audrey announced herself at his mercy in terms of menu selection and he ordered all his favorites and enjoyed watching her ooh and ah over them.

It was good being out in public with her, good watching her enjoy something he’d made happen. If he could, he’d take her out and spoil her every night. And then he’d take her home and spoil her some more.

“That was so good,” she said in the car.

“Worth the sacrifice?”

“I was under the impression it was more a case of delayed gratification than actual self-denial.”

“That’s a good point.”

“I thought so. By the way, if you take the freeway from here we can save ten minutes’ travel time.”

He did, and they did, and the moment they arrived at her place he pushed her onto the couch and followed her down onto the cushions.

They kissed slowly, lazily, enjoying the fact that they had all the time in the world. He undressed her by slow degrees, unwrapping her like a present.

“I haven’t made out on the couch since I was sixteen,” he said as they maneuvered into position so he could tug her pants down her legs. “I’m remembering why now.”

“Lucky you, I never got to make out on the couch.”

He pulled back so he could see her face and check if she was serious. “Really?”

Her cheeks were flushed, her hair mussed. She shrugged, the movement making her bra strap slip down her shoulder. “My parents were pretty vigilant. They didn’t approve of boyfriends. I didn’t have my first kiss till I was sixteen, and he was
not
allowed in the house.”

“Those are some strict parents you had there.”

“They wanted the best.” She shrugged again, but there was sadness behind her eyes.

He brushed a thumb along her flushed cheekbone. “What did you want?”

“Too many things,” she said, pulling him down for another kiss.

It was a make-do answer, a side step, but he didn’t push. He was hard, and she was wet and willing, and now was not the time for a heart-to-heart. Instead, he filed the moment away and continued the important work of getting her naked.

He entered her as slowly as he’d undressed her, easing in, biting her plump lower lip as he slid all the way home.

“Zach,” she said, already breathless. “I need...”

“I know.”

He gave her what she needed, but he did it his way, slowly, savoring each stroke. She was silky and tight, her nipples firmly puckered as they brushed his chest with every pump of his hips. He watched her face and read the tension in her body and knew when to reach between her legs and give her the final push she needed.

She came with her knees clenched around his hips, her body trembling beneath his, and somehow he managed to hold on to his self-control long enough to bring her to the same place again a few minutes later before finally letting himself go.

When he tried to take his weight off her afterward, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and held him close.

“Not yet.”

He let himself relax into her warmth, resting his head on her shoulder and closing his eyes. It was the first time he’d truly let his guard down all day, and he was aware of a tightness in his chest and throat as the rest of him relaxed. An image of his mother’s pale, worn face flickered across his mind’s eye, and he remembered the feel of her cool fingers gripping tightly to his own.