CHAPTER TEN
THE next day Bella left Owen’s arms again, using all her will power. ‘I have a party on this afternoon. I have to get ready.’
She showered quickly, towel-dried her hair and then slipped into her underwear. She plugged in her hair curler.
‘A fairy always needs her wand.’ She grinned at Owen, who was still lying in bed but watching through the open doorway. She took a length of her hair and wound it round the rod. A few seconds later she released it and there was a bouncy curl. She did a few more, and then tied long sparkly ribbons into it.
‘You really go the whole hog.’ He’d rolled to his side, rested his head on his hand and was watching her every move.
She tilted her head, frowning at her reflection. ‘I’m in character. I have to look the part, fulfil the fantasy for the child.’
‘The perfect party princess.’
‘Oh, no,’ she corrected. ‘I’m not the princess. The princess is the little girl whose birthday it is. I’m the fairy godmother, there to grant the wishes.’
She started work on her face. ‘That’s why I’m not in pink—that’s their colour. I’m in silver and blue. I have pink wings for the girls, pink wands, tiaras. They get a unicorn tattoo and some glitter gel and then become part of the fairy princess network. I’m just there to help them tap into their imaginations.’ She paused. ‘Most of them don’t even need me really.’ Smoothing the glitter down her cheekbone, she paused. ‘But there’s always one. The shy one, the self-conscious one, the one who feels like she doesn’t fit in.’
‘So how do you get her to fit in?’
‘That’s always the challenge.’ She smiled. ‘Take it easy, gently. It can be hard when, for the others, you need to be effervescent. But I want to try to do it because I just know that inside she really wants to be up there and part of it all.’
‘How do you know?’
She turned from the mirror. ‘Because that was me,’ she said simply. ‘I was the self-conscious one.’
His eyes said, Yeah, right. So did his voice. ‘I can’t believe you were ever self-conscious.’
She smiled in triumph then. ‘And that’s how I know I’ll make it as an actress.’ One day. ‘I’m good at pretending.’
She turned back to her pots of powder and paint. ‘At the end of the day you just want them to have fun.’
‘All I ever wanted was the food.’ He burrowed back down in the bed.
‘Figures.’ She concentrated on her eyes, worked in silence for several minutes.
‘Do you do boys’ parties?’ he asked.
At that she slanted him a look, saw the mischief in his face.
He tried to deny it, raising his hands all innocent-like. ‘I’m serious. You’re missing out on half your market.’
‘I do. But admittedly it’s more girls’ parties than boys’. But there are often boys there—especially the preschooler ones. I have a pirate queen routine that I do for them.’
‘You’re a pirate?’ He was back up on his elbows.
‘I make a really good balloon sword.’
‘You do?’
She giggled.
‘The depth of your talent never ceases to amaze me,’ he drawled, then watched her majestic nose wrinkle.
‘Yeah right.’
She stood in front of the mirror, clad only in bra and panties, and he was having a hard time concentrating on stringing more than two words together.
‘Where is the unicorn going today?’
‘Where do you think it should go?’ She grinned.
He knew exactly where it should go. On the slope of one of those creamy breasts, where it would peek out from the ruffles of the silver-and-blue dress, drawing the eye to the treasure beneath—not that his eyes needed any more pointers.
She glanced at the clock and gave a little squeal of horror. ‘Stop distracting me. Lie there and be quiet. I can’t be late.’
He didn’t stay lying down but he did stay quiet. He stood, wrapped a towel round his hips to try to be a little decent, and then came right up behind her to watch more closely while she finished her make-up. Silently he studied her as she fixed the tattoo with a damp flannel, as she smoothed glitter gel across her shoulders and chest.
Her eyes met his in the mirror for a moment, then they skittered away, then back once more. He felt his tension—his everything—rising. He needed to know it was the same for her, this crazy, unfettered lust. He drew a breath and blew lightly over her shoulder, down onto the spot below her collarbone where the unicorn tattoo was drying. She shivered. He watched her nipples poke harder against the lace of her bra and he was about to pounce. But speedily she turned, left his space, went into the wardrobe where her dress was hanging. All too soon it was on and zipped and she was walking away.
‘Right.’ Her voice was high-pitched. ‘See you later, then.’
He said nothing, just walked beside her all the way to the door, barely curbing his frustration.
As she reached to open it he reached for her—slid his hand round the nape of her neck, fingers wide so they caught in the curls of her hair. He pulled her to him for a hard, brief, melting kiss that didn’t relieve him one iota.
‘Later.’ He basically growled.
He prowled around the apartment like a caged animal. Wished like hell he’d had her before she went to the damn party. But she’d been insistent on getting there on time. Now, three hours later, he was at bursting point. He’d never known a passion as intense as this. Never known a woman who could take up so much of his brain space either. He thought of her all the damn time. Thought up things he could do for her. Crazy stuff, silly stuff, irresistible stuff. He didn’t much like it. Wanted to burn it out—blow it out with one big, hard puff.
Finally he heard the slam of the door downstairs. He went to the top of the stairs and waited. She was trotting up them, the silver fairy dress floating up towards him. His body tightened harder with her every step closer. He was filled with the urge to reach out and grab, to hold onto her in complete caveman style. He wanted to possess. He wanted to brand.
She got to the top and raised her brows as she saw him standing there. He watched the smokiness enter her eyes as she got his unspoken message. He watched as her breathing didn’t ease at all—accelerated, in fact.
He took her arm and pulled her inside. The door shut behind them but he hardly heard it because by then he’d got his mouth on hers and he was asking for everything. She opened for him immediately and the rush of need overwhelmed him. He had to have her right now; he couldn’t reclaim anything until he did.
He got them as far as the big table, pushed her against it, kissing her deeply while yanking up her dress. He pulled her panties out of the way while with his other hand he undid his jeans.
Her hands were in his hair and she leaned back, kissing him, taking him with her. He broke the seal of their lips briefly, to breathe and to thrust and then he was there and she was wet and hot and moving beneath him, full of life and heat and making him so welcome with a sigh and a murmur of delight. And then there was nothing because he kissed her again—hard and long and fierce while he possessed her with his body, pressing her against the hard wood. Trapping her, claiming her as the passion he had for her trapped and claimed him. He wanted to fight it, but pushed harder against her, into her. Harder and harder until suddenly there was everything bursting through him—colour and light and heat and the taste of her pleasure.
And then there was nothing.
He lifted his head, looked down at her and felt the tinge of embarrassment and guilt as he saw her bruised lips and the dazed look in her eyes. He’d just taken her rough and ready on his table, she still had her dress on, they were still joined and already he was tightening with anticipation about their next encounter.
He still wanted her. How he wanted her. He couldn’t get enough.
Irritation, self-disgust, flared. Just sex. That was all this could be.
But just now had been more intense than anything. And here he was doing things, wanting things, thinking things … and it was madness because he knew, ultimately, he couldn’t see this through. He didn’t want complicated. He didn’t want to be committed.
Her gaze ducked from his. She pushed gently at his shoulders. He left the warm embrace and instantly felt cold.
‘The party was good, thanks.’ She’d pulled up her knickers and was walking to the kitchen.
He grunted then, unable to stop the spurt of laughter bubbling through his annoyance.
‘I think I’ve got another booking.’
He leaned on the table and tried to get his breath back, watching her as she moved around, completely at home in his kitchen. He needed to back out of this, but instead he walked over to her, ran a gentle hand down her arm. Quelled the urge to pull her back into his embrace. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. Self-conscious wasn’t really him. But it was flushing through, heating his cheeks now.
She looked surprised.
‘I’m sorry, that was a little—’
‘Barbarian?’ she suggested.
He smiled again, still a little uncertain.
She put her glass down and a naughty twinkle lit her face. ‘You can ravish me any time, Owen, you know that.’
He did know it. She welcomed him any time, every time. That didn’t mean he should take advantage of her. Not any more. Guilt ripped through him. It trebled when he saw the tinge of vulnerability suddenly shadow her eyes. He’d got himself into a mess.
This was why he didn’t do live-in anything. This was why he was better off alone. He just didn’t have it in him to be the kind of guy a woman like Bella needed—any woman needed. He couldn’t promise that he’d be there through thick and thin, or that he’d even see the thin patches. He sure as hell hadn’t with his parents.
He didn’t want to become bored and careless, as he had with Liz. He didn’t want to wake one day and see the lust in Bella’s eyes had been replaced with disappointment and bitterness. And he definitely didn’t want to be there to see her turn from his arms to someone else’s.
His whole body clenched. It was time to push away. It was way beyond time, because it’d hurt—until now he hadn’t realised it would. But better now than further along when it would only hurt more.
Then he thought of something else. Something so painful it twisted inside, becoming bitter anger. ‘Bella, I didn’t use anything just then. I didn’t have a condom on.’
He’d just lost it. Seen her. Kissed her. Taken her as fast as possible. And now—what if? He could hardly bear to look at her. He already knew he’d make a lousy father.
Bella carefully kept her weight back against the bench; her legs still weren’t working properly and at the expression in his eyes they were going even weaker. But it wasn’t from lust. It was from fear. Because it was fear she could read in his eyes. Fear and regret.
‘I know.’ She’d had the thought in her head for a split second, but it had gone as she’d been swept away in the chaos and bliss of the moment.
‘You didn’t stop me.’ His eyes had narrowed.
‘You didn’t stop yourself,’ she reminded him. She’d wanted it as much as he had—and he had wanted it. She’d never seen that expression on his face before—that naked need. The desire that he could scarcely seem to control. It had turned her on—for a moment she’d felt nothing but power and then she too had been totally lost. But he still wasn’t willing to recognise the strength of it. Right now he looked as if he wanted to run.
‘Is there a chance you might.’ He didn’t even seem able to say it.
‘Have a baby?’ She wanted to use the b-word. Not just say pregnant. She wanted to see how he’d react to the mental image of a tiny little life—real. A child that shared their blood, that breathed because of them.
The loss of colour in his cheeks was almost imperceptible, but she was watching closely.
His ‘Yeah’ was drawn out and low.
‘There’s a chance.’ It was a slim chance, very slim as her period was due in only a day or two. But she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook just yet. She was hurt from that look, the dread and fear in it. And she wanted to know what it was he was going to say.
He exhaled. ‘Whatever happens, you know I’ll support you.’ His gaze slid from hers. ‘Whatever you decide.’
Whatever she decided? So it would be her choice and hers alone. He wanted no part in anything that might be? She squeezed her fingers hard on the bench behind her. Still said nothing, but only because her heart was ripping.
‘Whatever you want to do,’ he was mumbling now. ‘I don’t …’
What, he didn’t—mind? Care?
She’d known, hadn’t she? He’d told her that very first night. And, no matter what she fantasised, the reality was exactly as he’d told it. She’d been warned.
But she hadn’t paid attention—had just had the bit between her teeth and gone along for the ride. And the consequences were going to be more serious than she’d ever thought possible.
She’d never had her heart broken before.
So much for independence. She’d gone and got herself totally dependent on someone who could never offer her anything like all that she wanted. She wished he’d go away and she could lick her wounds in private. Regroup. Gather up her shredded pride. But at that her pride came racing back, fully armed.
She crossed the room, picked up the little bag she’d dropped by the door and thanked the heavens that the family today had paid her in cash. She opened the envelope and flung the dollar notes down on the bench next to Owen.
‘What’s that for?’ He looked at it, distaste all over his face.
‘That’s the money for rent, for the four new tyres that Bubbles has—don’t think I haven’t noticed them—for the petrol, for the groceries, for all the dinners, the wine, for the website and for the hotel bill in Waiheke.’ She stopped for breath. It wasn’t nearly enough to cover all that, but it sure felt good to say it.
‘I don’t want it,’ he said flatly.
‘I won’t have you paying for things for me.’ She tossed her head. ‘It makes me feel like a who—’
‘Don’t you dare!’ he shouted then, his step closer shutting her up. Anger flushed his cheeks and flashed in his eyes. ‘I have never paid for sex, Bella, and I don’t intend to start now.’
‘Really?’ she said scornfully, sounding a whole lot braver than she felt. ‘But isn’t that what’s happening here?’
‘You know damn well it isn’t.’ He spoke through his teeth. ‘It’s just money. It’s meaningless.’
Like the sex? Not to her, it wasn’t.
He seemed to read her face and growled. ‘Why are you so damn keen to label everything?’
‘Why are you so keen to deny everything?’ The attraction between them wasn’t anything ordinary—surely he could sense that?
‘This is just sex, Bella.’ His words came like the cracks of a whip. ‘I like it. You like it. That’s all there is to it.’
Bella blinked. Bit the inside of her cheek as she absorbed the shock of what he’d said and the depth of his scowl. Humiliation started to seep into her very core.
‘Why did you pay for that night in the hotel?’ She winced. Did he hear that slight cry in her voice?
‘I don’t know,’ he answered irritably, stepping away. ‘It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. I knew you were tight for money. I just wanted to help you out.’
‘Well, I don’t want your help.’ She spoke quickly, marched to the bedroom, unzipping her dress and walking right out of it, leaving it on the floor. She’d never be able to wear it again without thinking of this moment—the time when he’d taken her so passionately and then turned on her.
‘Don’t you?’ He was right behind her. ‘Well, you’re certainly not helping yourself.’
‘What does that mean?’ Furious with the way she felt tears close by, she picked a skirt and pulled on the nearest top she could find.
‘You won’t let me help you. You won’t let anyone help you.’
‘That’s right, Owen. I won’t.’ She grabbed a flannel and scrubbed her face hard, blocking the sight and sound of him with water from the tap, stopping any stupid tears from even starting.
When her face was bare and reddened, but masked once more, she turned and headed for the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have an audition.’
‘Now?’
She sent him a glare while slipping into her sandals. ‘Yes, now.’
‘And you’re going like that?’
‘Yes.’ She walked.
He swore. ‘You deliberately sabotage yourself.’
After a minuscule pause she kept walking.
‘You do,’ he said, seemingly just getting into the swing of getting at her. ‘You spend over an hour getting ready for one of your parties and less than five minutes getting ready for an audition that could change your life. It’s like you don’t really want it.’
She whirled to face him. ‘Of course I want it.’
‘No, you don’t! You’re never late to work at the café and yet you’re late almost every time to a casting call. Tell me,’ he said snidely. ‘What do you believe in, Bella? Fairies?’ He bent to pick up her dress from the floor, his acidity eating an even bigger hole in her heart. ‘Do you really think you’ve got some fairy godmother who’s going to make it all happen for you?’
‘Of course not.’ She turned back and started walking to the door again.
‘Then what do you believe in?’
She said nothing, kept walking. It didn’t seem like the moment to mention luck.
‘Why don’t you try believing in yourself?’ he called after her. ‘If you don’t believe in your abilities, why should anyone else?’
She couldn’t not face that. He was in the middle of the room, shaking his head at her. ‘Instead you blame anything you can. Your family isn’t supportive, you haven’t had formal acting training, you haven’t had that “lucky” break. But it’s not about luck, it’s about making the decision to do it and then persevering, putting in that hard work.’
Her anger rose another notch. ‘I work damn hard.’
‘I know, but not at—’
‘But nothing,’ she snapped. ‘You don’t know the first thing about acting, about going to casting call after casting call. It’s not about learning the lines and spouting them automaton fashion. There is luck involved. Who’s your competition? What look are they after? You have to be in the right place at the right time with the right product. I haven’t yet.’
‘Then you keep going,’ he lectured, her dress hanging from his hands. ‘You research. You find out what they want and you give it to them as professionally as you can. You believe and work and eventually it’ll happen.’
‘You make it all sound so easy,’ she said bitterly. ‘Like it’s some computer program.’
‘I know it’s not easy. But you have to believe in yourself. You have to have the passion for it.’
‘I do have the passion!’ She was yelling now. ‘God, Owen, what do you want?’
‘This isn’t about what I want!’ he yelled back. ‘This is about you and you’re not the person you can be yet. You’re floating along the edges too scared to dive right in. I don’t think you even know what it is you do want. It’s much easier to skate along and blame it all on everyone or anything else.’
‘Well, what about you?’ The viciousness of his attack forced her into fight mode. Red-hot anger ran through her veins, releasing the words from her. ‘You’re not exactly living life to the full either, are you, Mr Workaholic? And as for this Mr Don’t-Get-Near-Me-Because-I’m-Selfish routine … What sort of a rubbish excuse is that, Owen? You’re not selfish. Doling out money proves you’re not selfish,’ she shouted, losing her grip entirely. ‘What you are is scared!’
His face whitened, his jaw locked, but she hardly noticed. She was on way too much of a roll now.
‘You say you don’t want labels, but you’re the one trying to squeeze us into the smallest compartment possible. Sex is all it is, huh? Well, how convenient for you. You can just keep your distance and don’t have to invest anything remotely risky like emotion or take responsibility. What is it you’re afraid of, Owen?’ Scathing, she flung him the answer. ‘Failing at something for once in your life? Hell, I fail at things all the time, but at least I have the guts to get back up and give it another go.’
She spat her fury and hurt. ‘So don’t you dare lecture me about hovering on life’s edges. You’re the one not facing up to what’s really going on here. You’re the coward!’
Breathless, she stopped, realising what she’d said and all she’d revealed—the degree to which she was involved, how much she wanted more, how she wanted him to accept that there was more … but, oh, my Lord, maybe there really wasn’t anything more in this for him? Of course there wasn’t—she wasn’t anything like the kind of woman he’d really want. She turned, more desperate to get out of there than ever before.
‘Who’s the coward now?’ he roared after her. ‘Who’s the one throwing the accusations and then walking out without giving me a chance to respond?’
She whirled back, bleeding inside. ‘Well, what’s the point in my staying just to hear you deny everything and say nothing?’ Bitterly, she glared at him.
His hands were fisted in her dress, rumpling it so bad it would have to go back to the dry-cleaners again. His face was still pale and a picture of savage tension. He met her glare with one of his own—just as bitter, just as furious. But his jaw was clamped and as she stared she could see his muscles flex down tighter.
He had no answer to that and she didn’t want to hear it anyway. She stalked out of the apartment and slammed the door as hard as she could. It was all so easy for him. He was nothing but killer instinct. Nothing but what he wanted now, now, now. All ‘I want that, I’m going to do that …’ and off he went and had and did with no regard to consequences. It would serve him right to suffer the consequences for once.
Because she was. She couldn’t compartmentalise this the way he wanted to—this thing was all too big, for her anyway.
She fumed all the way to the audition and barely noticed the competition. She was too busy stewing over the argument. Too busy trying to stay mad and not recognise the extent of the break in her heart.
They had to call her name twice.