11
Laurelyn Prescott
During our girls’ day shopping spree, Addison and I visit a lingerie shop at a plaza of boutiques near Ben’s apartment. They have everything from naughty to nice, including a wide variety of sex toys.
Addison couldn’t be happier as she admires a Santa-themed bra with matching panties and garter belt complete with the red and white candy cane-striped thigh-highs. She stands in front of a mirror and holds it up to herself. “Damn, Zac would have a very merry Christmas if I were wearing this.”
“Speaking of Christmas, what are the plans? Are we cooking at the apartment?”
She twists so I can’t see her face and it’s my first clue that something is going on. “Umm, about that.”
There’s my second clue. When she stutters and stalls, it’s never good. “What exactly does ‘umm, about that’ mean?”
She has this please don’t be pissed off look on her face. So, what do I do? I get pissed off. “Don’t freak out, but Zac wants to take me home with him for Christmas so I can meet his family.”
Worst. Friend. Ever. “Addison! You’re not leaving me by myself with Ben. You know how he’s been with me since I met Lachlan.”
“I wouldn’t leave you alone with him. Both of you are invited to Zac’s.”
No freakin’ way. “You and Ben can go without me. I’d rather spend Christmas by myself than be uncomfortable around a bunch of people I don’t know.” She knows I hate feeling like I’m imposing. I can’t believe she’s asked me to do this.
“You don’t think Lachlan will invite you home with him?” This is Addison’s way of trying to feel better about ditching me.
That would be a negative. “Definitely not. We just met.”
She puts her hands on her hips as though I’ve offended her. “Why do you say it like that?”
Maybe because I don’t even know his real name—that would be my first reason. “We don’t know each other well enough to spend the holidays together.”
“I haven’t known Zac much longer than you’ve known Lachlan.”
Maybe not, but she’d been banging him since the day we arrived. Okay, it was day three. “You and Zac are different. You’ve spent almost every minute together since we got here. I’ve only been out with Lachlan on a couple of dates. It’s apples and oranges.”
She holds the sexy Santa lingerie out for me. “Wear this for him and I guarantee you’ll get an invite to his family’s for the holidays. Maybe even a marriage proposal.”
I’ve gotten all the proposals I need from Mr. Lachlan Henry. I’m still debating the one currently on the table. “I’m not looking to get an invite to his family’s house. Or a marriage proposal.” I take the red and white furry lingerie from her and admire it in the mirror. “He’s asked me to spend the next few days with him. And nights. Maybe I need this. What do you think?”
“You didn’t tell me you’d be staying over at his place. That sounds more serious than a couple of dates.”
I hang up the Santa outfit and pull a naughty-elf set from the rack. “I don’t know. He asked, but I haven’t decided yet.” That’s another lie. I know I’m staying with him, but I don’t want to sound like a ho, so I pretend I’m unsure. And I pretend like I don’t know if I’ll buy this lingerie. But that’s a lie too.
I hear fear is a gift. In the event that it’s true, I’m very gifted today. I’m almost shaking as I wait for Lachlan to arrive.
My phone starts singing “Talk Dirty to Me,” so I answer and try to sound like I’m not a bundle of nerves. “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you. I’m almost at your place. Do I need to come to the door to challenge lover boy for your hand?”
That might be the case if Ben were here, but he’s not. Thank goodness. “I’m the only one here. I’m ready so I’ll come down and meet you.” I hang up and slip my Lachlan issued cell into my purse next to my own. I grab my floral duffle and lock up.
As I come out of the apartment building, Lachlan steps out of a fancy-ass convertible wearing faded jeans and a khaki button-up. It’s not dressy; it’s rugged, more like what I’d expect someone to wear in the outback. And I’ll be damned if he’s not wearing an Indiana Jones hat. Even out of a suit, he’s hotter than the devil’s ass.
This is going to be a great couple of days.
He meets me halfway on the sidewalk. “No suit today, I see.”
“As promised.”
One promise kept. We’ll see if he keeps his other.
“I see you have a bag.” He grins and kisses my cheek as he reaches to take my bag from me.
“It doesn’t mean I’m staying.” That’s such a lie. I wonder if he can tell by looking at me.
He cocks his head. “An overnight bag doesn’t mean the same thing in the US as it does in Australia?”
“This one means I like to be prepared just in case.”
“It feels heavy to me, like you’re prepared to stay a couple of nights.” He reaches for my hand and holds it as we walk to the car. This is him getting an early start on ridding us of our stranger anxiety.
“We’ll see how things go.”
He pops the trunk and puts my things inside the sporty, and very expensive, black convertible. “I’ve never seen a car like this before. What kind is it?”
“A Fisker Karma Sunset.”
“I’ve never heard of that before. It’s … stunning.”
“I know.” He opens the door for me. I get in and watch his beautiful form walk around to the driver’s side. Let’s be honest. Who wouldn’t agree to a three-month fling with this man?
I know I’m going to agree. And he knows it too. He’s said as much, but I can’t let him think I’m giving in so easily.
He starts the car. It has a deep roar. “Top up or down?”
“Down, but let me grab a ponytail holder out of my purse.”
“There’s some in the glove compartment.”
It’s only a ponytail holder, but there’s no way I’m wearing anything belonging to number one through twelve. He reaches over to open it and notices my expression. “I didn’t ask you to wear another woman’s undies. My little sister has long hair and she likes to ride with the top down. She keeps a stash in there.”
Nice recovery.
I take the holder from him and pull my hair up, wondering if he’s bullshitting me about his sister. “Ready.”
The drive to the vineyard outside Wagga Wagga is beautiful. We pass mile after mile of grapes on the way to the house and as we get closer, I see a traditional old-world-style mansion in the distance. It looks Italian, not Australian, but then I’m not really sure what I think constitutes Australian architecture. “Miss Beckett, this is Avalon Vineyard.”
Wow. It’s incredible. “Your boss must think a lot of you if he puts you up in a place this nice.”
“You could say that.”
When we get out of the car, Lachlan walks around to the trunk. He lifts his brow as he asks, “Since you don’t know if you’re staying, does your bag go inside or remain in the trunk?”
He is dying to hear my confirmation, but I’m not finished having fun with this little game. “Umm … I think it’s fine to take it inside to one of the guest rooms.”
“I don’t know why you’re pretending you might say no.”
Because this is your game. These are your rules. I need to feel like I have control over some aspect of it, even if it’s only for a little while.
Our first stop is the kitchen. It’s beautiful and fitting for the house, like one of those grand Italian kitchens from a luxury home magazine. At least, that’s the only time I’ve ever seen anything like it.
There’s a basket of goodies on the counter, so I walk over and peek inside. It’s filled with an assortment of food, and of course, a bottle of wine. “Very nice.”
“I can’t take the credit. Mrs. Porcelli packed the lunch for us.”
“Who’s Mrs. Porcelli?”
“She does my cooking and housekeeping.”
How odd. His employer pays him enough to employ someone to do his cooking and cleaning. “Will I meet her or does she fall into the friend/family/identifying information category?”
“I haven’t decided, but it won’t be today because she’s already gone.”
“Because of me?”
“No. She’s gone home for the holidays.”
That’s right. Christmas is only a few days away. “So she doesn’t live in Wagga Wagga, either?”
“No. I employ her the same way I do Daniel. They go where I go.”
They go everywhere with him. How much does it cost to have employees like that? I can’t imagine it being cheap. “Daniel is on holiday as well?”
“Yes. All the vineyard employees are gone until Monday, so it’s just the two of us. Alone.”
Was that supposed to scare me? “So, no one’s around to hear my screams?”
“Now you’re catching on. Come with me and I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
We enter the living room and there is a beautiful black baby grand in the corner. I’m in love. “You play?”
He laughs at my assumption. “Not a note.”
I walk over and stroke the ivory keys. “It’s beautiful.”
“The interior designer thought it would be a pretty piece to take up some of the void since the room is so big.”
I toy with the keys, playing the chorus of a song I’d been working on before I left home. Its tune is perfect.
“It’s a shame it never gets played. I’m hoping it will get some use over the next few months.” The piano isn’t the only thing he hopes will get some action. “I’d love to hear you play.”
“We’ll see,” I say as I run my hand down the keys and walk away, even though I’m dying to sit down and put it to use. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Three months to be exact.
“The bedrooms are this way.” I follow him down the hall and he uses the tour to inform me that the previous owner, who died in a freak accident, now haunts the room I will be sleeping in.
Nice one. He wishes he could pull one over on me like that.
“I usually get along with ghosts and poltergeists pretty well, so I should be fine.”
He takes me across the hall. “If you decide to stay in the guest room and get scared in that big lonely bed all by yourself, this is where you’ll find me.”
His bedroom is gender neutral and contemporary. The bedding is a modern geometric pattern of mostly gray and white with yellow and black accents. Everything from the flooring to the ceiling coordinates. The bedroom is aesthetically appealing, but there’s nothing romantic about it, so it matches our relationship perfectly.
Every room in the house is spotless, and I wonder if it is Mrs. Porcelli’s doing or if he likes things orderly because he is some kind of neat freak.
I think we are finished with the tour of the house, but he takes me to one more room we haven’t visited. “Last stop.”
He opens the door to a room with wall-to-wall mirrors. The floor is covered with different kinds of exercise equipment, some I’ve never seen before. “Gee, someone likes to see himself while he works out.”
“The previous owner had a ballerina in the family and this was her studio.”
“Okay. That’s a little more acceptable.”
“You’re welcome to use this gym any time you want. It has surround sound for music or you can watch the idiot box.” He points to a cabinet against the wall. “The flat screen and receiver are in there. It has Bluetooth so you can play your own music or you can stream anything you like.”
There he goes assuming again. “You think I’m going to stay long enough to need a workout?”
“Since you’ve not given me an answer, that still remains to be seen.”
I walk over to an elliptical and step up. I make a few strides. “I exercise at home, but this isn’t what I do. Exercise equipment bores me.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “So what is your kind of workout?”
I slow the speed of my stride on the machine. “If you’re going to be like that, I don’t think I’m gonna tell you.”
“Please.”
I think for a minute, trying to decide if I want to tell him. “I dance.”
“Dancing is great exercise.”
I pick up speed again and stare straight ahead. I don’t want to see his face when I tell him. “I pole dance.”
Yep. That got his attention. “Pole dance? You mean, like a stripper?”
“Yes, but I don’t do it the way you’re imagining. It’s a beautiful art form when it’s done tastefully. I do it because I like it, and it’s a hell of a workout. Very strenuous. You use muscles you didn’t know you had. You’d be surprised what’s sore the next day.” I didn’t look at him, but I knew he was smirking.
He walks around to stand in front of me and I look down at him from the elliptical. “You only do it for exercise?”
I nod. “Yeah. No one knows I take lessons except my instructor and classmates. And now you.”
He licks his lips and rubs them together. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any hotter, you go and tell me something like this and prove me wrong.”
I lift a brow at him. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“How long have you done it?”
Hmm, I started my first year of college. “I guess it’s been about … four years.”
“You must be pretty good if you’ve done it for that long.”
I shrug because I’ve never been one to brag, but I’m damn good at it. “I guess. My background in gymnastics doesn’t hurt, either.”
“Gymnastics too,” he laughs. “So you’ve never danced on a stage in f*ck-me pumps for a bunch of horny bastards?”
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. “You say that like you’re pretty familiar with the scene.”
He holds up his hand. “I’m pleading the Fifth.”
“That’s an American amendment. It doesn’t work for Australians.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Neither did you.”
He has a huge grin. “I may have seen a stripper on a pole once. Maybe twice.”
Damn liar.
I stop the elliptical and sigh loudly, as though he is wearing me down. “Yes and no.”
“Yes to what and no to what?”
“No, I’ve never danced on stage for horny bastards. But yes, I wear f*ck-me pumps when I dance on the pole.”
“Now, you’re bloody hot in my book. What am I going to do with you?”
“I believe the answer to that question still remains to be seen, now doesn’t it?”