More Than a Fling? (12 page)

‘Lead the way. I am, literally, in your hands.’

* * *

Later—a lot later—Ally lifted Ross’s hand off her bare
bottom and peered at the expensive watch on his wrist. A quarter to six. In the
evening. Jeez, Louise.

Sighing with regret, she slid her leg up as her hand drifted
over his flat stomach.

‘Jones...’ he groaned, and his eyes remained closed. ‘I
honestly can’t. Hell, we haven’t moved from this bed since lunchtime.’

Ally moaned as his thumb rasped her nipple. ‘Can’t handle it,
huh? Simply no stamina!’

Within a second Ross had rolled her onto her back and was
laughing down at her. ‘Lack of stamina, my ass.’

‘You have a very nice ass, but I’ll save you from proving it
because I have to get back to my hotel. I still have work to do tonight.’

Ross lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘It’s nearly six, Jones.
Most people are about to call it quits for the day or already have.’

‘Most people didn’t waste the entire afternoon having sex.’

Ross placed a hand on his heart and looked wounded. ‘Waste?
That’s harsh. An afternoon having sex is never wasted. In fact I think it’s a
damn good use of one’s time. Half the population of the world would agree with
me.’

‘The male half,’ Ally replied. ‘Before your ego drops to the
floor and starts crying, I’ll admit that it was the best time I’ve ever
wasted.’

‘Nice save. Where are you staying?’ Ross asked, his hand
exploring the curve of her butt. ‘Not the Riebeek? That’s on the other side of
the mountain in Hout Bay.’

‘Just for tonight.’ Ally pushed at his shoulders and Ross moved
off her. ‘Luc has a friend who owns a flat in Camps Bay. I’m staying there for
the next couple of weeks. I’ll pick up the keys tomorrow and move in.’

‘Camps Bay, huh? We’re practically neighbours. This is Bantry
Bay, then there’s Clifton, then Camps Bay. Straight down Chappies.’

‘Chappies?’

‘Chapman’s Peak Drive. As I said—a perfect commute.’

A perfect commute for a booty
call.

Why did she feel irritated by the words that she knew he
thought but didn’t speak? Ally asked herself as she walked into his large
en-suite bathroom, carrying her very crumpled dress and underwear in her hand.
Sex, a booty call, a pleasure run...whatever they wanted to call it, it was
exactly what they were indulging in, what they’d agreed to, what she wanted.

Wasn’t it?

Ally splashed some cold water over her face in an effort to
wake up her dozy brain cells. Of course it was... She was having a no-strings
affair with a man who seemed to enjoy her and her body—a lot! He was successful,
good-looking, had a rockin’ body and knew what he was doing in bed.

It was all good. She wasn’t here for conversation or cuddling.
She was here primarily to get this campaign filmed and wrapped up, and ‘doing’
Ross was just a very nice side benefit.

Don’t confuse good sex with affection,
Jones. You don’t have the time, the energy or the inclination for a
relationship. You stand on the outside and look in...that’s what you
do...it’s your thing.

Ross pounded his fist on the closed bathroom door. ‘Hey, it
looks like it might be quite a sunset. Do you want to take a walk to the beach
and watch the sun go down? We could take a bottle of red and some glasses. I’ll
drive you back to your hotel afterwards.’

A sunset, red wine and a good-looking man? People got to know
each other over red wine and sunsets; confessions were made and secrets were
revealed. Ally, knowing that she was more susceptible than most to the
ambience—having never been romanced in her life—knew that she had to refuse. She
simply couldn’t trust herself to keep her distance.

And whose fault is it that you’ve never
been romanced?
Ally heard Sabine’s spiky voice in her head.
Yours, you imbecile! You’ve never allowed anyone to romance
you—never opened yourself up enough to be romanced.

Ally tossed back her head, put a polite smile on her face and
opened the door. She managed to send Ross an impersonal smile. ‘Thanks, but no.
I think I should get going. I’m kind of tired.’

Ross, who’d pulled on a pair of jeans, nodded once before
reaching for a shirt. Muttering a curse, he walked over to her, lifted her chin
and kissed her nose. ‘You are the most stubborn, contrary woman I’ve ever met.
Just because we’ve had sex it doesn’t mean that we can’t be friends, Ally.’

Ally pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She stared at the
black and white photograph of sand dunes on the wall behind his shoulder. ‘I
think it’s just...better—safer—if we don’t.’

Ross looked at her for a long minute and Ally tried not to
flinch under his scrutiny. Eventually he dropped his head in a curt nod and
gestured her to walk out of the room first. ‘I’ll take you back to your hotel
now.’

‘Thank you.’

* * *

Ross drove her in his Jeep, leaving the top off so that
the balmy spring air could blow through their hair. He loved Cape Town in
spring, with the smell of the jasmine creeper that covered the wall at the
bottom of his property filling the air with its sweet scent. His neighbours were
starting to barbecue again after the cold, wet winter, and the lawns and gardens
were lush and verdant. Spring was flower season in the Western Cape, and soon
the countryside would erupt in colour.

He hoped that Ally stopped working long enough to take it all
in. To appreciate the beauty. To stop and literally smell the flowers.

Ross thought that a drive along Chapman’s Peak Drive at sunset
was nearly as good as sitting on the beach watching the sun going down. The road
was magnificent, and it was his favourite route to drive his Ducati. He stole a
glance at Ally, who was looking down the sheer drop to the sea below, switching
her gaze between the sea and the mountains looming above them. Ross kept one
hand on the wheel of the car, easily negotiating the twists and turns in the
road as the orange sun tossed sunbeams like petals on the green-blue-aqua-purple
sea.

Ross pushed a button on the steering wheel and flipped through
a playlist until Macy Gray’s husky voice drifted over them. They didn’t need to
talk, Ross thought, but he’d like to. He wouldn’t mind knowing what drove her
incessant need to work—why she found it so difficult to make friends, be a
friend, and why, when she’d been sick in Geneva, she wouldn’t ask her family for
help.

She was a tightly wound ball of contradictions, he thought, his
finger tapping to the beat against the edge of the steering wheel. Wild,
passionate, giving with her body, but the exact opposite with her mind. He’d
meant what he said about being friends—he’d always managed to be and stay
friends with his previous lovers, and friendship added an element of fun to
sex...a lightness that stopped it from being mechanical.

Sex with Ally had been anything but mechanical, Ross admitted,
conscious of the party still wanting to happen in his pants. It had been a long
time since he’d had sex that was that explosive. And once hadn’t been enough.
He’d reached for her again and again and she’d responded, each time getting
bolder and braver.

He really had to fight the temptation to turn the car around
and take her back to bed.

Ally thought that she was emotionally self-sufficient, but he’d
never seen anyone more in need of a mate—someone to make her take a deep breath,
drink some wine on a beach at sunset, make her look at the flowers.

He’d be that mate—he was good at it—and when they weren’t being
friends he’d shag her senseless because he was good at that too. He wouldn’t
become attached—what was the point?—and he would make sure that she didn’t
either.

Ross pulled up in front of the imposing entrance of The Riebeek
and a red-liveried doorman stepped forward to open her door. Before she undid
her seatbelt Ross grabbed the back of her neck and gently pulled her head so
that he could look into her face.

‘I had a great afternoon.’

Ally darted a look at the doorman, blushed, and Ross shook his
head. If the man hadn’t already realised that they’d spent the afternoon in bed,
Ally’s blush and embarrassment flashed it in six-foot-high neon. The doorman, to
his credit, kept his face impassive. Good man.

Ally pulled her seatbelt off and reached for the bag that she’d
placed at her feet. She shoved her hand into her windblown, messy hair and
pushed it off her face. ‘It’ll take a week or so before we have everything in
place for the campaign.’

‘Why so long?’ Ross asked, unhappily reminded that he’d
committed himself to being on the wrong side of a camera for the Bellechier
campaign.

‘The creative director and I need to scout locations, hire
extras, models, et cetera. I have to get the collection you’re wearing out of
Customs. Things to do...busy, busy.’ Ally pulled her bag over her shoulder.
‘I’ll try and give you a date for when we need you as soon as possible.’

Ally climbed out of the Jeep and stood there, looking a little
nonplussed and trying hard to be businesslike. Not so easy when they both knew
that he’d had his head between her thighs just hours before.

Ally tapped the edge of the door. ‘I’ll see you.’

‘Yeah, you will.’ Ross looked at her mouth before his eyes
clashed with hers. ‘Sooner than you think.’

And he’d make damn sure that it was a lot sooner than she felt
comfortable with. Jones, he decided as he drove off, needed to be kept off
balance to keep that busy mind of hers from thinking too much.

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.