Walk on the Wild Side (9 page)

‘Thanks for letting me use the kitchen,' he said roughly.

She nodded and stared hard at her orange juice. She didn't want to look at him any more—not with those long legs or the tee that skimmed those abs or the relaxed attitude that tormented her. And with the adventurous streak that all of a sudden she was jealous of.

‘Get some sleep.' He all but sprinted to the door.

Her hand tightened on the glass. Great. Nothing but paternal concern—when she was so wired with want she was about to burst.

A
WHOLE
ton of people arrived way too early in the morning making chainsaw-next-door noise—literally. Less than thrilled, Kelsi staggered out of bed. Despite her early evening exhaustion she'd only fallen asleep just as the bird's dawn chorus had begun. She put in blood-red contacts—to reflect her murderous mood—and stomped down the stairs, slamming the door after her. She'd get to work and lose herself in the creation of something very, very cool and esoteric and new and totally not sport billy.

When she got home from work she saw the old wooden fence had been pulled down and six-foot construction-site fencing was up in its place. Hanging on the temporary entrance gate was a huge chain with an even more massive padlock. Jack was now talking with a man from a permanent fencing company, and a security systems man who had toolbelt on and screwdriver in hand.

She glanced at the house. Yeah, there was a little box with a flashing light near the front door. An alarm system had just been installed. Unbelievable. Had she really thought Jack was laid-back? He seemed to have developed overprotective tendencies overnight.

He strolled over to where she stood glaring at all the upheaval. He still walked as if he hadn't a care in the world, his lithe muscles giving him a look of ease—but
she just knew he could leap faster than a tiger, despite the knee. She was not going to let her bones keep wishing he would.

‘Am I going to need to memorise some twenty-digit pin number and provide a blood sample just to get in the gate?' She jerked a thumb towards the towering fence.

‘Retina scan actually. You're going to have to ditch the contacts.'

She turned her glare on him as he laughed.

‘Oh, no!' He mock-horror screeched. ‘Couldn't let anyone see what goes on in your head, could you?'

Kelsi pressed her lips firmly together. She was not going to see the funny side.

He walked up the path with her. ‘You want to know what I've got planned so far?'

‘Not particularly.'

Jack's muscles twitched, keen to haul her close and call her on it. No, Kelsi wasn't going to show a shred of interest in the whole process. He'd never met a woman who wasn't curious about anything and everything. And he'd thought of a way to tease it out of her. One that tickled him.

‘I wanted you to meet Alice,' he said as he let her go through the front door ahead of him. ‘She's over to talk through some ideas. She's an interior designer.'

Kelsi's features sharpened and Jack swallowed back the smile. Yes, darling, a designer—challenging Kelsi's role head-on. If she was that into personalising her space, then it was time for her to get interested in the rebuilding project—and take hold of the damn olive branch.

Alice walked from where she'd been frowning through the open doorway of one of the downstairs flats. She was one of those glossy-magazine-type designers: all minimalist, neutral colours and nothing but the best in fittings and coverings—awfully nice. A bit boring, if Jack was honest,
but in person at least she exemplified the absolute opposite of Kelsi's crazy, maximalist, frankly weird, style. She'd hate this yes-woman. Yeah, he watched as they nodded coolly at each other, doing that quick sum-up-in-a-second look that only women could do. Jack had the irresistible urge to tease them both.

‘I was thinking about having a fireman's pole put in so we can get from the top floor to the bottom super quick. I thought it would be a good temporary fix while the stairs are rebuilt but maybe we might keep it,' Jack said, gesturing vaguely up to the top floor. ‘You know we're gutting the interior completely so this would be useful, don't you think?'

Both women turned to stare at him, mouths ajar.

Alice shut hers and opened it again, as if she were going to speak—but nothing came out.

‘Fireman's pole?' Kelsi's voice was a little high, but her scarlet-tinted eyes sliced through him—and suddenly narrowed. ‘Great, you'll be able to invite some of your dancing girls over.'

Nice hit. ‘Yeah, and I was thinking of red in the library,' he said, loving the bloody look.

‘There's going to be a library?' Kelsi sounded amazed.

‘Why not? You seem to like books.' He did, too. He might not keep them once he'd read them, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy or remember them. Whereas it seemed important to her to keep all her things near.

Her eyes widened but she shut her mouth. He heard her teeth snap together.

‘A library would be fantastic,' Alice gushed, showing both her clear preference for that over the fireman's pole, and her eagerness to agree on something with him. ‘Very now.'

Jack grinned as Kelsi stiffened—Kelsi who was so
damn determined not to agree on anything with him. ‘I thought so, too.'

‘Will you excuse me, please?' Kelsi mumbled. ‘Nice to meet you, Alice.'

Jack excused himself, too, leaving Alice to continue on her mission of absorbing the ‘bones' of the house. He followed Kelsi up the stairs, trying not to trip on the eighteenth-century-length skirt she had on—complete with underskirt and overskirt. The assortment of clothes she wore to cover up her body was amazing. At least five layers, maybe eight if he counted the long, lace, fingerless glove things—and he dreamed about peeling every item, oh, so slowly from her. ‘I think she'll have some great ideas.' He tried to steer his mind back on course.

‘Oh, I'm sure she will.' She viciously flicked through the stuff in the flimsy handbag that hung off her wrist, clearly trying to find her keys.

‘Maybe you should show her your place.'

Her handbag and teeth snapped simultaneously. ‘I don't think so.'

‘You're worried your styles might clash?' As if he hadn't planned it that way. ‘Maybe you'd better do downstairs yourself.'

Her chin lifted and she held the key as if it was a dagger, turning to stab it into the lock. ‘She'll do a great job.'

Damn, she was on to him. Too obvious.

He leaned on the doorjamb and watched as she fought with the stiff ancient lock. Too obviously close but he couldn't resist. Yeah, he still had the weakness—the unbearable ache to touch.

But now he could see her pulse thudding and her cheeks had gone as scarlet as her eyes. And now, despite the fact the door had just clicked open, she hadn't moved through. What was she waiting for?

Him?

Pure masculine satisfaction heated him as the electricity arced. He could feel her awareness—yeah, the spark was not one-sided. He'd known it, but it was nice to see some more evidence. And how he had the urge to take advantage of it and torment her, because he was sick of being the one on the rack, of wanting, hearing, seeing—but not having her. If she felt even a quarter of the raw ache he felt for her, then he was going to rub some salt in it and make her suffer something of the way he was.

She deserved it—after all she was the one with the off-base judgement. And while he was bursting out of his skin to kiss her and strip her and do a zillion other things, he couldn't.

Unless she caved. Unless she wanted. Unless she asked.

He seized on the idea. Oh, yes, he longed to hear her ask. But if she did, he'd have to be gentle. So slow and gentle and careful. In a single moment he saw it all in his head—how he'd hold her, how he'd touch her, how he'd stroke…

His body was so hard and tight he could barely speak for the pain. He burned to do it now.

But no. He clamped down. No complications—physical or emotional—remember? This was bigger than base needs now. This was a mess that needed sorting as soon as possible—he shouldn't even
be
here. He had sponsors depending on him, other athletes relying on him and his own ambitions to realise. And he'd already ignored three calls from his coach, who no doubt was desperate to know what the hell he was doing.

He had to get himself under control.

He curled his fingers into fists, trying to direct the tension away from his groin. ‘You know I'm going to have to
borrow your kitchen again tonight. They couldn't fix my oven yet,' he said gruffly.

‘No?' she over-the-top exclaimed as bad as he'd screeched before. ‘You didn't get that done first thing?'

‘Not a priority,' he parried. ‘That kitchen is only getting ripped out anyway.'

She finally walked through her door, hesitating a half-second to look back at him before shutting it. ‘OK, but make enough for me again.'

He walked back downstairs, smiling grimly. At least he'd got an immediate result in tempting one type of appetite. And he'd make sure she stayed healthy—even if it killed him in the process

Kelsi kicked off her shoes and hit the sofa—end-of-day exhausted again and needing to redraw some strength to handle another hour of Jack.

Playing the happy couple building their dream home together was so not happening. Kelsi knew what he was doing—trying to trick her into giving an opinion, trying to tease her interest. But she was determined. She was not falling for his practised charm. Nor was she going to get used to him being around. Because he wasn't going to be there for long and they both knew it. His knee would get better, he'd be off to some event. She'd be left holding the baby—literally.

And there was no getting past the fact that he wouldn't be here at all if she weren't pregnant. Not good for her ego.

She heard him saying goodbye to Alice out in the yard. Kelsi was sure she was lovely and all, but there was no way they'd agree on anything when it came to decorating this old beauty. Alice would want to put in all the mod things when really what the building needed was to have its original features unearthed and highlighted. Kelsi didn't
want to witness what little character was left of the old house being neutralised. Still, she was sure she could rely on Alice to put the kybosh on the fireman's pole idea.

She closed her mind on the X-rated images that popped in thanks to the ‘pole', trying really hard to get over the lust thing. Jack obviously had. He hadn't made even a hint of a move since the night they found out about the baby. Not touched her, not looked at her once the way he had that day in the sun. He'd been entertaining himself that day—that was fine. But once had obviously been enough for him.

Shame it hadn't for her. Shame she was burning up.

For some reason she'd thought pregnancy killed a woman's sex drive. Showed how little she knew. It only made hers rampant. Every other thought involved Jack naked and on the beach.

He knocked on her door only twenty minutes later—not nearly long enough for her to put the fantasies in the deep freeze. She opened the door and stood back; even so, he was too close and walked past. His gaze skittered over her, seeming to linger on the little skin she'd bared—her neck, her arms, her hands.

But he strode straight to the kitchen and started prepping–with loud, quick knife skills. His fierce concentration on his Master Chef mission was enthralling.

‘Are you always like this?' She pulled a light cardigan around her body to hide but couldn't resist sitting on a nearby stool to watch him.

‘Like what?' He didn't look up.

‘Like, so focused on whatever it is, making up your mind just like that and going for it full steam ahead, no diversions. No taking it easy.'

‘Sure. If a job needs doing you get it done, move on.'

Move on. And she was just another job, wasn't she? Fabulous.

‘No point in dragging anything out and struggling over decisions for ages. You've just got to go for it, don't you think?' He tossed something into a pan and it sizzled. ‘If you can get the work bit done as soon as possible, then you have more time for the fun.'

Clearly cooking was in the work camp—he was obviously trying to get it done a.s.a.p. ‘Fun is everything to you, isn't it?'

‘Isn't it for everyone? Isn't that how we should arrange our lives? So we can maximise time for the best bits?' He glanced over to her—his gaze so filled with fire it stole her breath. ‘Life is for enjoying, isn't it?'

She didn't disagree completely. ‘But isn't there more than just “fun” thrills to enjoy?'

His brows lifted.

‘I mean, once you've achieved one thrill, you have to reach higher, harder for another to beat it,' she argued. ‘So where does it end? When are you satisfied?'

She understood the drive to create—she had it herself in her own work. But what about creating intimacy, like relationships, or like a home—like life itself? Wasn't that an even deeper way of leaving a mark on the world?

He stopped cooking and stared at her. ‘I'm never satisfied.' He turned back to the pan and stirred it viciously. ‘Not for long.'

She thought back to that day on the beach—how intense it had been. But how soon they'd both ached for more. No, that satisfaction didn't last.

‘There's always another challenge,' he said curtly.

Oh, she bet.

He turned and read her expression. ‘Judging me again?'

‘Admit it, women are a challenge to you.'

He piled steaming vegetables into a bowl. ‘Yeah, I like women,' he said boldly. ‘But I like getting to know a lover. I don't just sleep with a woman and then sprint off.'

‘Don't you?' Anger swamped her. ‘Isn't that exactly what you did that day on the beach? You slept with me and then said goodbye as fast as you could.'

‘That was different—'

‘It's only different because I'm carrying your baby.'

‘Hell, Kelsi.' He tossed down the pan and turned to face her. ‘Yes, you're having my baby. I want this to work out—'

‘OK, but we don't need to be in each other's pockets to do that. You don't need to be here like this.' She couldn't cope with the way she wanted him—and wanted more from him. ‘We don't have to be
friends
.'