“Tash, what were you doing there?” His voice has gone soft, cajoling.
I look at the ground in embarrassment. “We were there to spy on Bridget’s boyfriend, never in a million years did I think I would see you.” He nods as he listens. I stay silent, trying to gather in my head what to say next.
“Natasha, I’m single,” he murmurs.
“I know.” I’m starting to feel emotional. Cut it out, crybaby. “Would you have gone up the stairs if you had known I was there?”
“You know I wouldn’t have,” he says gently.
“Josh, I can’t handle you being so aggressive towards me.”
He nods. “Me neither. I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a prick.”
I smile and he smirks back in return.
“You have. You can take me out to breakfast to apologise if you want.”
He frowns as he looks me up and down. “I might just take you pyjama shopping too.”
“What’s wrong with my pyjamas?” I smirk.
“Nothing if you live in a nursing home.” He does wide eyes to accentuate his point.
“Give me ten minutes,” I smile. He nods and flops onto the couch.
Ten minutes later I am showered and in my room hyperventilating about what I am going to wear. Alluring and sexy without trying hard is a fine line, one that I have to execute to perfection. Shit, where are my favourite jeans? Damn it, in the dirty washing basket. It doesn’t pay to be lazy. I settle on a pair of faded worn blue jeans, a slouchy white T–shirt that hangs off one shoulder, white thongs and a wad of chunky gold bangles. My chocolate–brown layered hair that is midway between my shoulders and elbows is loose and my makeup is natural.
“Ready?” I ask as I head into the lounge room where he is waiting. He smiles and nods. His eyes scan me up and down, his jaw ticks and he gently cracks his neck. Hmm. As he stands my heart jumps a beat. Dear god, he really is divine. He is wearing dark green army–style cargo pants and a black slimfit plain T–shirt with a V–neck. I can see every damn muscle in his arms. His big blue eyes lock onto mine and I feel it impossible to look away. The sexual energy beaming from his body is demanding attention from mine. His dark tanned skin and square jaw only highlight his big beestung lips. Everything about him is silently screaming sex to my body. My stomach flutters with nerves. How in the hell am I going to get through breakfast without jumping him? Bridget is right—he does smell fucking awesome. I made myself a promise years ago, that if I ever had a chance to spend time with Joshua again, I would be nothing but totally honest. Can I really do this? Never again in my life am I going through the disappointment in myself for lying to him. I couldn’t bear it. He smiles.
“Let’s go then.”
“I’m nervous, Josh.”
He stops and turns to me. “Nervous,” he repeats on a frown. I nod again. “What about?” he gently asks.
“Do you think we still have anything in common?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I think it’s pretty obvious we both have hot tempers.”
I smile. “Yes.”
“And I’m hungry and tired because I didn’t sleep much last night,” he smiles.
“Me too,” I whisper.
He holds up his arm for me to take.“I think that’s a good start don’t you?”
I nod and link my arm with his.
“Let’s go.” I smile. I feel better already. His eyes twinkle as he gives me a warm smile, one that could melt the whole of Antarctica, and I instantly feel at ease. The unseen tension has immediately disappeared and we have both noticeably relaxed. Honesty. He wants honesty. As soon as I told him I was nervous the tension disappeared. I need to remember this for future reference. We head down the stairs.
“How long have you owned the apartment?”
“Um, about six months I guess,” I answer.
“It’s a nice place.” His eyes wander around the cream room with high ceilings. The large taupe lounge wraps around in a horseshoe shape. A huge cane pendant light hangs low over the industrial coffee table and thick pile rug. “You have good taste.”
“Thanks,” I smile nervously at him.
Half an hour later we are arriving at my favourite café, waiting to be seated by one of the waitresses. I can’t help but notice the amount of attention Joshua gets from the female population. Every woman is taking a double look at him but he doesn’t even seem to notice. I’m sure he is used to this. I, however, am finding it a little annoying. I suppose it’s not every day you see a six foot four muscled–up man whose chiselled jaw, olive skin and chocolate buzz–cut hair screams Do Me. A pretty redhead shows us to our seat.
“Would you like to order some drinks?” She looks from me to him and back again.
“Yes I’ll have a tall latte, double shot,” he smiles.
“I’ll have a skim cap please.” She scribbles on her pad and leaves us alone.
He rests his elbows on the table and links his hands together under his chin, waiting for me to speak first. His eyes have a mischievous glow to them.