Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives--Willow (2 page)

He wanted it all, or they had nothing. How much longer could she hold one stupid juvenile mistake against him?

What horny twenty year old wouldn't have fucked the glamorous socialite, Amber Fairview, when she handed it to them on a gold leaf plate? For a week he'd met her after the rest of the tradies working on her bathroom remodelling had gone home. For a week he'd enjoyed seeing how the other half lived. And not once had he dreamed Amber, eighteen years his senior, had a grown daughter. The only photos of Willow around the palatial mansion had been of her as a child. He'd barely glanced at them.

And then he'd met her.

It had taken him six years before he'd found the nerve to contact her again.

“If you'd like to follow me, sir.” Mrs Duval appeared in the doorway and he grabbed his luggage and followed her up the stairs. He'd liked the house from the moment he'd helped Willow move in a couple of years ago. It wasn't a mansion but there was no mistaking the quiet affluence that permeated the sandstone walls; and the location and established grounds that led down to the reserve were priceless.

As he passed the open door to her office he glanced inside. Willow designed her exclusive jewellery from home and her handmade pieces were coveted by the rich and famous for red carpet events. Then again, Willow had contacts that other designers could only lust over. She'd spent half her childhood growing up in Hollywood until Amber and her movie star husband divorced.

His gaze snagged on the delicate gold phoenix figurine he'd given her for Christmas. It was on her desk, in pride of place. He knew she liked it. She'd been thrilled when she opened it. But despite tracing her finger all over the exquisite piece he had specially commissioned, she completely missed the significance of the curlicue swirls the phoenix stood on.

He tightened his grip on his holdall as he followed Mrs Duvall into the spare bedroom. For three years he had played by Willow's rules.

Now it was time she played by his.

***

It was almost an hour before Willow emerged from her bedroom at the other end of the balcony. Forearms leaning on the timber rail, he turned and watched her slowly make her way towards him.

Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail, enhancing her aristocratic cheekbones and big hazel eyes that had haunted him from the day they'd met. Her skin was flawless thanks to her genetic heritage, and if she was wearing any make-up he couldn't see it.

“All settled in?” She rested one hand on the railing next to his and her scent drifted in the warm air, a subtle hint of roses and jasmine. Her pale green dress clung in all the right places and her cleavage taunted him with promises of hedonistic delights.

His cock thickened and he battled the primitive urge to pull her into the bedroom and fuck her until she couldn't remember her own name, let alone Amber's.

Now wasn't the time. He had a plan, and he would execute it or die trying.

Willow stared up at him, her beautifully shaped eyebrows raised in enquiry.
What the fuck had she asked him?
He couldn't recall. Somehow he managed to locate his voice.

“You off out somewhere?” Shit, he sounded raspy, as though he had a sore throat. Instead of frowning at his random remark Willow's eyes darkened and the tip of her tongue slid along the seam of her lips. With any other woman he'd take that as an invitation to taste those pouty lips. But Willow wasn't any other woman. She stubbornly refused to act on the lust that simmered between them. If he kissed her now he could kiss goodbye to the steamy night he had in mind.

“No.” Was it his overheated imagination or was her voice husky? Stealthily he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but it did nothing to ease the pressure of his erection. “Henriette's coming over in ten minutes. It's my turn to host the girls' dinner this Thursday.”

Just his luck he'd picked the week she was hosting the dinner. She always got so stressed out about it. What did it matter if a flower was out of place or one course was a few minutes late?

And seriously, why did she give a fuck about being compared unfavourably with Amber? It was beyond his understanding how Willow could imagine anyone would think that in any case. But if there was one subject they never spoke about, it was her mother.

He wasn't looking forward to that particular talk this week, but if they didn't thrash out the whole Amber business he and Willow didn't stand a chance.

“You should throw them a barbie. I could man the grill for you.”

“Thanks but no. It's all arranged. Henriette and I are just double-checking the details.”

Even as she spoke he could detect the slight tensing of her muscles. By the time Thursday rolled around she'd be wound up tighter than a spring.

Come to think of it, this could work to his advantage. It definitely gave him an added weapon in his arsenal tonight and he had no compunction in using it.

He turned away from her so she couldn't see his grin and picked up a bag he'd left on a chair. “Here.” He handed it to her. “My latest masterpiece.”

Her face lit up. “Thanks. I've been looking forward to reading it.” She took the complimentary copy of his latest book from the bag and flicked through it. He saw her take a moment to read the dedication, and even though the sane part of him knew she wouldn't connect any dots, disappointment stabbed through him when she didn't comment.

He had the mad urge to grab the book from her and spell it out, but what good was that? It would make him look like a fucking try-hard. He could only hope one day she'd open up her eyes enough to see what he'd been telling her for years.

“Your fans are very lucky you dedicate all your books to them.” She cast him a mocking smile, and since he had no answer to that he once again leaned his forearms on the rail and stared down the hill towards the river.

When his second book was released just over two years ago the media had pounced on his cryptic dedication. Since he'd never clarified what he meant, they had started the myth that he dedicated his books to his legions of fans. They didn't appear to attach any importance to the fact his first book, with a similar dedication, had been written before anyone had heard of him.

“Well, I have to dash.” Willow patted his arm as though he was a puppy, although the way her fingers lingered before finally breaking contact only reinforced the sultry undercurrents that seethed between them and which she was so determined to ignore.

“Sure. Have fun.” He watched her stroll back to the French doors that led to her bedroom, her dress moulding the outline of her waist and arse with provocative intent.

He gripped the rail before pushing himself upright. It was time to set his strategy in motion.

***

Willow stretched on the massive circular daybed on the lawn and stole a sideways glance at Seb. He was sprawled on the nearby sun bed and in the evening shadows looked dark, dangerous and highly fuckable.

Instead of instantly squashing the thought she savoured it, along with another sip of her cognac. Whether it was his presence, the brandy or both she didn't know, but she was feeling happily mellow about life in general and tonight in particular.

Would he take it the wrong way if she invited him to snuggle up on the daybed? Could she be trusted to keep her hands to herself if he accepted her invitation?

Since that was debatable she consoled herself with another sip of amber heaven.

Seb stirred; all long limbs and lithe body. “Have the Duvals knocked off for the night yet?”

“Mm.” They had their own flat above the detached garage block. “Why?”

He sat on the edge of the daybed and loomed over her. His black hair brushed his collar and the heat from his body enveloped her. She tipped the final drop of brandy down her throat in an effort to distract her libido from his overwhelming aura of raw sexuality. And failed with spectacular honours.

“There's something I want to try tonight. I need your help and I don't want any interruptions.”

“Sounds like fun.” Filthy images filled her mind. Thank God it was too dark for Seb to see how hot her face was. Whatever he had in mind she was sure it didn't involve sweaty sex. They might enjoy casual flirting, but they'd reached the unspoken agreement three years ago that friends with benefits wasn't for them.

And what a relief that was. She'd rather die a thousand deaths than confess how she really felt about him. Because it was all far too complicated.

“I'll be back in a minute. Don't move.” He stood up and she waved her glass at him.

“Bring me another one when you come out, will you?”

He took her glass and his teeth flashed in a surprisingly predatory smile. “Not likely, Willow. You won't be any good to me tonight if you're pissed.”

She scowled in mock outrage at his retreating back. “It takes more than a couple of cognacs to get me pissed, Wallis.” She didn't often use his surname only, which was weird when she thought about it. All his mates from before he became rich and famous still called him Wallis. Even her mother had referred to him by that name.

Willow sometimes wondered why he'd introduced himself to her as Seb, when it obviously wasn't the name he went by at the age of twenty. It wasn't even the name he went by now, most of the time.

She wriggled back into the plump cushions and crossed her ankles. The brandy caused a warm glow to slide through her blood and pool between her thighs. She sighed and shifted, but if anything that just made things worse.

She stretched her arms over her head and linked her fingers together before she was tempted to do anything else with them. She'd save that for later, when she was alone in her own bed and she could fantasise about Seb without fear of him catching her.

The hum of cicadas drifted on the warm breeze and Willow closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of lemon from the nearby eucalypts. She didn't know how long she lay there before a warning prickle of awareness skated over her bare arms. She looked up and Seb stood at the foot of the daybed, watching her.

Her fingers froze in the process of stroking her erect nipple through her dress. How long had he been watching her? When had her hands moved? How long had she been playing with herself? She waited for a wave of mortification to crash through her, but instead scorching lust quivered through her wet pussy.

Shit. She was in trouble. “You perv,” she accused but her voice sounded smoky, as though she was inviting him to join in. Double shit. Brandy had never affected her good sense like this before.

He crawled onto the daybed, his thighs cradling her hips, and planted his fists either side of her shoulders. He was going to kiss her. She
wanted
him to kiss her. Her lips parted and breath stalled. It was a bad idea, the worst in the world, but she didn't care.

His dark eyes hypnotised her. His subtle cologne intoxicated her. Her tummy fluttered and nipples ached and then he spoke.

“I need you upstairs.”

They didn't need to go upstairs. No one would see them out here in the dark. And then she remembered. He wanted her help with something.

“Sure.” She shoved at his shoulder before he could guess how tempted she was to spear her fingers through his hair and wrap her legs around his waist. What the hell was the matter with her tonight? She had to pull herself together before they went inside. Otherwise Seb would have to be dead not to notice how horribly turned on she was.

She smothered a groan and then gasped as Seb gripped her hand and pulled her off the daybed and onto the lawn.

And into his arms. But before she could enjoy the illicit encounter he stepped back, still holding her hand, and she caught the wicked grin he aimed her way.

She ignored it. “What do you need help with tonight?” She sauntered up to the house, Seb by her side, so he couldn't guess the dirty thoughts currently inhabiting her sexually deprived mind. She was throwing out that cognac first thing in the morning. And maybe she'd invest in a vibrator. According to Sienna, although they were nothing like the real thing, they were definitely better than no orgasm at all.

“Getting in the zone.”

She waited for a few moments, but after he locked up behind them and appeared no closer to elaborating, she prodded his chest.

“What zone?”

He tugged her towards the stairs and then followed her, his hands on her shoulders. It was a light touch and completely non-sexual. Except the warmth from his palms branded her flesh and caused myriad whirlpools between her thighs.

First thing in the morning she was calling Sienna for a shopping trip.

“For my book launch.”

She tripped on a step and his hands instantly tightened around her. His
book launch
? What did he want to do, read passages to her?

Then she remembered some of the chapter headings when she'd flicked through his book earlier that day. It looked like half of them were dedicated to embracing Tantra and the connection and intimacy of tantric sex.

Tantra she could deal with. Tantric sex, on the other hand, was something she'd never quite got around to with any of the guys she'd dated.

Seb was a different matter.
She wasn't dating Seb.
Her hormones didn't care.

It had been a bad move to let him stay the night. And she had another two nights after this one. She wasn't sure her self-control was up for the task.

“What do you want to do, act out some of the scenes?” She tossed him what she hoped was a mocking smile and he didn't answer until they were outside his bedroom door.

“Not exactly,” he said, and before she could respond to that he pushed the door open.

The room was illuminated by dozens of candles. Rose petals were scattered across the carpet and an elusive scent of jasmine perfumed the air. Willow stared, seeing but not quite believing. Seb's room looked like a decadent den of seduction.

“After you.” His sinfully sexy whisper heightened the sense of unreality thudding through her mind. She licked her dry lips and tried to come up with a witty response but her voice had vanished in shock.