More Than a Fling

NINE


Ross walked out of his front door and watched Ally climb out of the small car she’d hired for while she was in Cape Town, her hair pulled back and her nerd glasses firmly perched on her nose. They’d hooked up twice already this week and he was trying not to push for more—that body! That face!—but, hell, it was the end of the working week.

Except for Ally... Frig, she was still in work mode and, judging by her tight mouth, she was not amused that he’d interrupted her at six-thirty on a Friday afternoon and told her to haul her ass up to his house.

Seeing him, Ally put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘I do not appreciate you summoning me here, disconnecting, and then not answering my return calls.’

Well, if she came willingly then he wouldn’t have to summon her, would he? ‘If I asked you to come for a meal, like I have the last couple of times, you’d just give me a song and dance about having work to do and brush me off.’

‘I do have work to do! You insisted that I come to Cape Town, but that doesn’t mean that the rest of my work has gone away. This isn’t all I have to concentrate on!’

Ross glared at her. ‘BS—you’re just looking for a way to avoid spending time with me. You’re okay with us sleeping together, having incredible sex, but talking is another story.’

Ally didn’t make a move to come to the door. ‘We don’t have to talk! That was the deal.’ She looked confused. ‘Wasn’t it?’

Ross massaged his forehead with his fingers. ‘God, Jones, stop being a pain in my ass and come and have some dinner.’

‘I don’t know, Ross...’

‘It’s lasagne, not a bloody marriage proposal. Wine, food, and hopefully—but I’m not holding my breath—conversation.’ Ross threw up his hands at her mutinous face. ‘You know what? Do what you want. I’m going inside.’


He was halfway to the kitchen when he heard footsteps on the wooden floor and he turned to see her in the doorway, the sunlight turning her hair to a deep shade of gold. When she stepped inside, he could see her troubled face, the tension in her shoulders as she crossed her arms across her chest.

‘I don’t talk so well.’

He made sure to keep his voice even. ‘I’ve heard you talk—you seem to string sentences together in a coherent way.’

Ally scrunched up her face. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I don’t, actually.’

She looked at the floor. ‘I don’t open up. I want to but I can’t. And if I do then we’ll go from being just a hook-up to something else.’

Ross stroked his chin. ‘We’d go from a hook-up to being friends, Alyssa. There is nothing wrong with us being friends.’

‘I don’t have many friends,’ Ally said.

From what I gather you don’t have any friends, and that’s not healthy, Ross thought. What had happened to make her so scared of opening up? To make her feel that it was important to be so emotionally independent? ‘Maybe it’s time to try.’

‘Maybe.’

Progress, Ross thought. ‘Just do me a favour, please?’

‘What?’ Ally looked wary.

‘Don’t keep fighting every move I make, okay? If it’s the end of a workday and I invite you out, say yes now and again—please. Begging for your time sucks.’

Ally was brave enough to meet his eyes and he saw the embarrassment and apology in them. ‘Sorry.’

‘Okay. Want something to drink?’

Ally nodded and he walked into the kitchen to pour them each a glass from the bottle he’d opened earlier.

‘I like your house,’ Ally said, taking the glass he held out to her.

‘Thanks,’ Ross replied, sipping the Merlot. He stood for a moment and tried to see the very familiar space with new eyes. If he looked straight ahead the passage past the stairs took him to the kitchen and a small TV lounge; to the left was the main lounge, its walls lined with glass-fronted bookcases and its ceiling a soaring double volume. The wooden doors at the far side of the room framed the sea view perfectly. Outside those doors was an outside living space and a heated lap pool that he tried to make use of most days.

With three bedrooms, and a study on the second floor, it was a ridiculous amount of space for one guy but he loved the openness, the flow, and the fact that he could more than swing a cat if he wanted to.

‘Where’s Pic?’

‘Guy took him for a run on the beach. He was going anyway so he stopped by to pick Pic up,’ Ross answered.

Unable to wait any longer to touch her, he settled his hands on Ally’s shoulders and pulled her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. She was so slight, so girly, so soft and fragrant, but so damn complicated.

Ross kept himself from doing anything but rubbing her back—okay, he copped a quick feel of her ass, but that was it. If he started he wouldn’t be able to stop, and hauling her off to bed, to the couch, the floor, would undo all the good work he’d done earlier.

He stepped back, took her hand and led her to the kitchen. ‘Come and help me get the food on the table.’

Ally shot him a coy look. ‘I’d much rather help you with what’s happening in your pants.’

His hand tightened around hers as he considered her offer. ‘Oh, no, you’re not getting out of conversation that easily.’

* * *

At least she’d eaten some lasagne, Ross thought as Ally pushed her plate away and lifted her wine glass. And she’d promised not to give him a hard time about his invitations. That was a win...kind of.

On another point... Frig, she could rock a sundress, he thought. Today’s outfit was a tangerine number, warm against her olive skin, with a bare back and tied at her neck. One little tug...

Ross shifted as the fabric of his solid black board shorts tightened against the festival in his pants and rolled his eyes at himself. It was embarrassing to admit that around her he had the control of a fifteen-year-old.

While he was utterly relaxed—okay, except for down below—Ally was now acting as if she had ants in her pants. They’d taken a walk on the beach before supper and when they’d come back to the house she’d made a salad, and then they’d taken the food to the dining table on the veranda and tucked in.

Now she had her heels up on the chair, her arms wrapped around her bare legs and her fingers tapping against her arms. She was jittery as hell. Ross watched her out of the corner of his eye and wondered why she had such a hard time sitting still. Relaxing.

The only time he’d seen her truly relaxed was in his bed, after he’d given her a spectacular orgasm or two...or three or four.

Not to boast or anything.

‘I’ll just take the plates through,’ Ally muttered, starting to stand.

‘Sit down,’ he said mildly, and she sank back into her chair. ‘We’ll take them through later. Or tomorrow.’

Ally looked at him as if he’d suggested that he toss them over the balcony.

‘This is supposed to be fun, Jones,’ he commented idly. ‘Dinner, a spectacular sunset, wine...’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Ally admitted.

Ross contained his sad smile. ‘You’re not supposed to do anything. That’s the point.’

Ally gnawed her bottom lip. ‘I’m not so good at that.’

Really? He would never have guessed. Ever.

‘Want to know what I think?’ Ross asked, refilling their glasses.

Ally winced. ‘Will I like it?’

‘Probably not. You, Jones, are super-stressed, and I think that you have been for so long that you now consider this state of being to be normal.’

Ally started to protest but Ross spoke over her.

‘How do you sleep? And how long does it take you to get to sleep? I bet you toss and turn while your mind races.’ She always left his bed and he hated it... He had this little fantasy of waking up to Ally and rolling over and sliding home.

‘Maybe.’

Maybe, her stubborn ass.

‘So, not sleeping... We also know that you can be irritable and impatient.’ Ross grinned at the tongue she poked out at him.

‘You don’t enjoy food and you can’t relax. Look at you—sitting there, thinking of all the things you should be doing,’ he stated. ‘And we haven’t even touched on the fact that you frequently put your fist to your sternum, suggesting that something unpleasant is happening below.’


Ross reached out and patted her thigh.

‘But apart from those you have no symptoms of stress.’

Ross placed his glass on the table and rested his wrists on his bare knees, looking at her profile.

‘What’s pushing your need to work like a demon, Al? You work crazy hours, and I presume you make a pile of money that you probably don’t have time to spend, you have an unhealthy relationship with anti-acid medicine and no friends. This isn’t normal.’

Ally sighed, pulled her thick hair up into a rough ponytail and secured it with the band around her wrist. ‘Okay, maybe I’m a little stressed.’

And really good at avoiding the hard issues too.

‘Okay, maybe I am a lot stressed. And maybe you are right—maybe it’s become the new normal for me.’

‘Those demons are winning, Jones. Do you even know what they are?’

Ross saw her throat bob and caught the flash of panic in her eyes, the sheen of emotion. But then those curtains fell in her eyes and she half turned away from him, seemingly entranced by Pic, who lay at her feet.

She bent down to rub his enormous head. ‘God, he’s so sweet.’

Ross felt the familiar burn of irritation as she shut down and avoided the question. Instead of just letting it slide, he was annoyed enough to shuffle his chair so that he was directly in her line of sight. ‘Don’t do that, okay? Don’t shut down. We can’t communicate if you shut down. And it pisses me off.’

‘I don’t want to talk about this,’ Ally hissed. ‘It’s not relaxing me.’

‘Nice try, sweetheart, but that’s not going to work,’ Ross retorted. ‘Dammit, talk to me.’

Ally closed her eyes. ‘Please don’t do this to me. Don’t push. I’m having so much fun with you and I don’t want to lose you...yet.’

Ross frowned. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Ally rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. ‘No, but I’ll push you away. It’s what I do, Ross. As soon as a guy starts to push for more...emotion, not sex...I freak out and I find a way to destroy it. I don’t want to do that to you.’

Ross felt unbelievably sad at her fear-saturated words. He leaned across the table and held her jaw within his big hand. ‘Well, here’s a suggestion, Jones.’

‘What?’

‘Do something different: talk to me and don’t kick me into touch.’

Ally held his eyes before shaking her head. ‘What’s the point, Ross? I’m here for a couple more weeks and then we’ll be living our lives on two different continents. And—not meaning to be rude or to insult you—if I can’t emotionally connect with my own family, why would I be able to with you? I want to...I do...but I can’t.’

Ross felt stupid and ridiculous as if she’d shoved a red-hot poker through his heart. Why did that one statement have the power to suck the bones out of his spine, the blood out of his system?

He sat back and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Jones, you are a friggin’ basket case.’

Ally swallowed and nodded. ‘I know. So can I please take the plates to the kitchen now?’

* * *

There didn’t seem to be much more to say, Ally thought as she headed for her car to go back to her apartment a little while later. She’d refused dessert and coffee, and Ross had instinctively known that she wasn’t up for sex fun tonight and hadn’t pushed. Instead he’d hugged her and suggested that she get a good night’s sleep.

She’d felt his hand on her back and felt the unfamiliar burn of tears in her eyes. This was why she wasn’t worthy of a relationship, she thought. She always managed to muck it up. It was better not to start anything because she knew that once Ross started really getting to know her—hell, once anyone started really getting to know her—then he would eventually reject her. She’d learnt that at her father’s knee. And if he hadn’t been able to love her, was she worthy of being loved?

Because—and nobody knew this—deep down somewhere inside she was an emotional person. Hadn’t her father told her that all the time?

‘You’re too emotional—get a grip!’

‘Waterworks again? God help me.’

‘Can you at least try to cultivate some logic and reason? Think with your head and not your heart!’

Life with her father had been an emotion-free zone. She hadn’t been allowed to express anger, sadness, fear. By the time she was fifteen she had come to believe that her feelings were wrong—so much so that she’d even battled to allow herself to grieve for her father, to feel scared at a lifetime to be faced without him.

She’d become stoic. And when she’d been yanked into the Bellechier household she’d kept up the habit of repressing her feelings. She didn’t want to cause the Bellechiers the same trouble she’d caused her father by being emotionally unstable because, unlike her father, they didn’t have to keep her.

And there was an even better reason for keeping her distance: if she didn’t get emotionally involved she couldn’t get hurt. Yep, that works for me, she thought as she got into her car and started it up.

In many ways she was still fifteen, still scared, still feeling unlovable, still expecting rejection. But there was a piece of her that wanted to let Ross in, that wanted to share her inner thoughts and fears with him.

She sent him an apologetic smile before lifting her hand and accelerating down the driveway.

But that was such an impossible, impossible dream because it would mean destroying that Kevlar bubble she had constructed around her heart.





To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Arrangements for Thursday’s shoot

Hi Ross

With regard to Thursday’s shoot...





In his office at RBM Ross skimmed through Ally’s e-mail, quickly realised that it was a rehash of everything she’d told him at least six times before and that it contained nothing personal—you are a sex god would have been nice—and deleted the message.

What was it with these corporate types that they had to check and double-check every last detail? It was as if the rest of the world couldn’t function without their continuous input. It drove him nuts...

Ross lifted his head as a sharp rap sounded on his door and gestured for his CFO to enter. Gavin out-nerded even his nerdiest computer geeks, but behind the Coke-bottle-thick glasses and crappy clothes was a first-class brain.

Ross rather liked first-class brains—especially when they were working for him. ‘You’re looking serious,’ he said, gesturing Gavin to a chair on the other side of his messy desk. ‘What’s up?’


‘As you are well aware, due to the success of Win! you’ve had quite a few offers to buy out RBM.’

Ross shrugged; as with the branding issue, people wanted a piece of the hot action. ‘Yeah? So? I don’t want to sell.’

‘Most people back off when they hear that...except for a company called Benrope. They won’t hear any of the “not interested” messages I’ve sent and have continued to send offers to purchase. That piqued my curiosity and I did some digging.’

Ross raised his eyebrows and Gavin continued. ‘Benrope is a subsidiary of Bennett Inc. Your dad wants to buy your company. I thought you should know.’

Ross closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then to twenty. When he opened them again he saw Gavin shutting his office door behind him. Benrope: Bennett, Ross, Hope. Grateful to be alone, he dialled a number he knew by heart, and realised that his father was expecting his call when he was put through almost immediately.

‘Why do you want my company, Jonas?’

‘I need you back here, and if buying out your company is the way to do it then that’s what I’ll do,’ Jonas replied, his voice gravelly from a lifetime of smoking. ‘I need to pass the baton.’

‘I’d rather swallow cut glass.’ Ross gripped the bridge of his nose with his free fingers, pushed back his chair and stared at the floor beneath his feet. No I’m sorry. No Come back into the family. Just business. All business. Always business.

Frick.

‘What will it take to make you change your mind?’

Jonas used the same line Ally had, and Ross wondered if he’d missed Learn to Speak Corporate at uni or whether it was an advanced class you only got to attend when you became a bona-fide workaholic. He felt his temper bubble and pop and fought the urge to throw his phone across the room.

‘I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need anything from you.’

‘You belong here—with me,’ Jonas insisted.

Like hell. ‘The days when I take orders from you, or anybody, are long over.’

‘You’re a Bennett. I built this for you.’

‘And you’re still lying to yourself. You built it for yourself—to satisfy your need to be the king of the hill. Everything else was sacrificed for Bennett Inc. Mum, Hope, me.’ Ross swallowed down his bile. ‘When are you going to understand that I don’t want your life?’

Jonas was silent for a long time. A minute? Two?

Ross was about to hang up when he spoke again, his voice low, old and frustrated. ‘This is all I have to give you. I don’t know what else you want.’

This was the frankest, most open conversation they’d ever had and Ross took the opportunity to say the things he’d left too long unsaid.

‘I think it’s too late for what I want. I wanted your time, your attention, to feel that I was more important than a business. I wanted a dad I could watch sports with, have a beer with, shoot the breeze with. Except I got you: inattentive and uninterested unless I was as involved with and as consumed by Bennett Inc. as you. It was too high a price to pay. It will always be too high a price.’

‘I don’t know what to say to that.’

‘There is nothing to say, Jonas. Tell your minions at Benrope to stop annoying my CFO with buy-out offers. It’s never going to happen.’

Ross very gently and very deliberately placed the receiver into its cradle—he was not going to allow his father to make him lose his temper!—and jumped to his feet. Moving over to his window, he opened it wide, allowing the air-conditioned air to rush out while he sucked in fresh, clean air.

Jonas... Talking with him was always such a pleasure.

Ross heard his phone beep the arrival of a text message and pulled it out of his pocket. Ally.





It’s nearly three o’clock. Time to leave. Don’t be late. We’re on a tight schedule.





Irritation welled again, hard and true. Another work-obsessed, stubborn-ass, anal corporate drone. Sexy as hell, though. Unfortunately.