Pleasured in the Playboy's Penthouse

‘Ah.’ His smile widened while his eyes promised retribution. ‘Well, actually, no, that’s not me.’

‘You think?’ she asked innocently.

‘I’m single, I’m male, I’m into computers and I’m aged between twenty-five and thirty-five. But I don’t need porn because…’ he leaned closer and whispered ‘…I’m not a nerd.’

She leaned a little closer, whispered right back. ‘That’s what you think.’ Admittedly he didn’t look much like one, but she could bluff.

But then he called her on it. Laughing aloud, he asked, ‘Should I be wearing glasses and have long, lank, greasy hair?’

His hair was short and wind-spiked and his eyes were bright, perceptive and unadorned—and suddenly they flashed with glee.

‘Do nerds have muscles like these?’ He slapped his bicep with his hand. ‘Go on, feel them.’

She could hardly refuse when she’d been the one to throw the insult. Tentatively she reached out a hand and poked gingerly at his upper arm with her finger. It was rock hard. Intrigued, she took a second shot. Spread her fingers wide, pressing down on the grey sleeve. Underneath was big, solid muscle. Really big. And she could feel the definition, was totally tempted to feel further…

But she pulled back, because there was a sudden fire streaming through her. She must be blushing something awful. She took a much-needed sip of her watered-down wine.

His told-you-so gaze teased her.

She sniffed. ‘You’re probably wearing a body suit under that shirt.’ Completely clutching at straws.

‘OK,’ he said calmly, ‘feel them now.’ He took her hand, lifted the hem of his shirt and before she knew it her palm was pressed to his bare abs.

OK? Hell, yes, OK!

She froze. Her mind froze. Her whole body froze. But her hand didn’t. The skin on his stomach was warm and beneath her fingers she could feel the light scratchiness of hair and then the rock-hard indents of muscles. This was no weedy-boy-who-spent-hours-in-front-of-a-computer physique. And this wasn’t just big, strong male. This was fit. Superfit.

Her fingers badly wanted to stretch out some more and explore. If she moved her thumb a fraction she’d be able to stroke below his navel. She whipped her hand out while she still had it under control.

His smile was wicked as the heat in her cheeks became unbearable. ‘And what about this tan, hmm?’ He pushed up a sleeve and displayed a bronzed forearm as if it were some treasured museum exhibit. She stared at the length of it, lightly hair-dusted, muscle flexing, she could see the clear outline of a thick vein running down to the back of a very broad palm. Very real, very much alive—and strong. She was taken with his hand for some time.

Finally she got back the ability to speak. ‘Is the tan all-over-body?’

‘If you’re lucky you might get to find out.’

The guy had some nerve. But he was laughing as he said it.

‘So why are you single, then?’ she said, trying to adopt an acidic tone. ‘I mean, if you’re such a catch, why haven’t you been caught already?’

‘You misunderstand the game, sweetheart,’ he answered softly. ‘I’m not the prey. I’m the predator.’

And if she could bring herself to admit it, she wanted him to pounce on her right now. But she was still working on defence and denial. ‘Well, you’re not that good, then, are you? Where’s your catch tonight?’

The only answer was a quick lift of his brows and a wink.

She pressed her lips together, but couldn’t quite stop them quirking upwards. ‘You hunt often?’

He laughed outright at that, shaking his head. She wasn’t sure if it was a negative to her question or simple disbelief at the conversation in general. ‘I’m like a big-game animal—one hunt will last me some time.’ His eyes caught hers again. ‘And I only hunt when I see something really, really juicy.’

Juicy, huh? Her juices were running now and that voice in her head saying ‘eat me’ really should be shot.

His laughter resurfaced, though not as loud, and she knew he’d twigged her thoughts.

Still she refused to join in. ‘But you don’t keep your catches.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Catch and release. That’s the rule.’

Hmm. Bella wasn’t so sure about the strategy. ‘What if she doesn’t want to be released?’

‘Ah, but she does,’ he corrected. ‘Because she understands the rules of the game. And even if she doesn’t, it won’t take long until she wants out.’

Her mouth dropped. She couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to get away from this guy’s net. Flirting outrageously was too much fun—especially when the flirt had a body like this and eyes like those.

His smile sharpened round the edges. ‘I have it on good authority that I’m very selfish.’

‘Ah-h-h.’ She was intrigued. That smacked of bitter-ex-girlfriend speak. Was he playing the field on the rebound? ‘You’ve never wanted to catch and keep?’

He grimaced. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

For the first time he looked serious. ‘Nothing keeps. Things don’t ever stay the same.’ He paused, the glint resurfaced. ‘The answer is to go for what you want, when you want it.’

‘And after that?’

He didn’t reply, merely shrugged his shoulders.

Bella took another sip of the spritzer and contemplated what she knew to be the ultimate temptation before her—defence and denial crumbling. ‘After that’ didn’t matter really, did it? He had a beautiful body and a sense of humour—what more would a confident, cosmopolitan woman want for an evening? And wasn’t that what she was—for tonight?

‘So, now that you know something about me,’ he said, ‘tell me, what do you do?’

He might have told her some things, but strangely she felt as if she knew even less. But what she really wanted to know, he didn’t need words for. She wanted to know if that tan was all-over-body, she wanted to know the heat and strength of those muscles—the feel of them. Everything of him. Cosmo woman here she was.

‘I’m an actor,’ she declared, chin high.

There was a pause. ‘Ah-h-h.’

‘Ah, what?’ She didn’t like the look of his exaggerated, knowing nod.

‘I bet you’re a very good one,’ he sidestepped.

Her cosmo confidence ebbed. ‘I could be.’ Given the opportunity.

‘Could?’

‘Sure.’ She just needed that lucky break.

Now he was looking way too amused. ‘What else do you do?’

‘What do you mean what else?’ she snapped. ‘I’m an actor.’

‘I don’t know of many actors who don’t have some sort of day job.’

She sighed—totally theatrically, and then capitulated. ‘I make really good coffee.’

He laughed again. ‘Of course you do.’

Of course. She was the walking cliché. The family joke. The wannabe. And no way in hell was she telling him what else she did. Children’s birthday party entertainer ranked as one of the lowest, most laughable occupations on the earth—her family gave her no end of grief about it. She didn’t need to give him more reason to as well.

‘And how is the life of a jobbing actor these days?’ He was still looking a tad too cynically amused for her liking.

She sighed again—doubly theatrical. ‘I have “the nose”.’

‘“The nose”?’

She turned her head, offered him a profile shot.

He studied it seriously for several seconds. Then, ‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘A little long, a little straight.’

‘I’d say it’s majestic.’

She jumped when he ran his finger down it. The tip tingled as he tapped it.

‘Quite,’ she acknowledged, sitting back out of reach. ‘It gives me character and that’s what I am—a character actress.’

‘I’m not convinced it’s the nose that makes you so full of character,’ he drawled.

‘Quite.’ She almost laughed—it was taking everything to ignore his irony. ‘I’ve not the looks for the heroine. I’m the sidekick.’

She didn’t mention it, but there was also the fact she was on the rounder side of skinny. A little short, a little curvy for anything like Hollywood. But Wellywood—more formally known as Wellington, New Zealand’s own movie town? Maybe. She just needed to get the guts to move there.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say—’

‘Don’t.’ She raised her hand, stopped him mid-sentence. ‘It’s true. No leading-lady looks here, but it doesn’t matter because the smart-ass sidekick gets all the best lines anyway.’

‘But not the guy.’

She frowned. So true. And half the time she didn’t get the sidekick part either. She got the walk-on-here, quick-exit-there parts. The no-name ones that never earned any money, fame or even notoriety.

She figured it was because she hadn’t done the posh drama academy thing. Her father had put his foot down. She wasn’t to waste her brain on that piffle—a hobby sure, but never a career. So she’d been packed off to university—like all her siblings. Only instead of brain-addling accountancy or law, she’d read English. And, to her father’s horror, film studies. After a while he’d ‘supposed she might go into teaching’. He’d supposed wrong. She’d done evening classes in acting at the local high school. Read every method book in the library. Watched the classic films a million kazillion times. Only at all those agencies and casting calls it was almost always the same talent turning up and she couldn’t help but be psyched out by the pros, by the natural talents who’d been onstage from the age of three and who had all the confidence and self-belief in the world.

Bella thought she had self-belief. But it fought a hard battle against the disbelief of her family. ‘When are you going to settle into a real job?’ they constantly asked. ‘This drama thing is just a hobby. You don’t want to be standing on your feet making coffee, or blowing up balloons for spoilt toddlers for the rest of your days…’ And on and on and on.

‘Well, who wants the guy anyway?’ she asked grumpily. ‘I don’t want the saccharine love story. Give me adventure and snappy repartee any day.’

‘Really?’ he asked in total disbelief. ‘You sure you don’t want the big, fluffy princess part?’

‘No, Prince Charming is boring.’ And Prince Charming, the guy her family had adored, wouldn’t let her be herself.

He leaned forward, took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. ‘I don’t believe you’re always this cynical.’

The comment struck another little stab into her. It twisted a little sharper when she saw he was totally serious.

‘No,’ she admitted honestly. ‘Only when it’s my birthday and no one has remembered and I’m stuck in wedding-of-the-century hell.’

‘All weddings are hell.’ His fingers left her face but his focus didn’t.

Well, this one sure was. ‘Here was me thinking it was going to be a barefoot-on-the-beach number with hardly anyone in attendance, but it’s massive—ninety-nine per cent of the resort is booked out with all the guests!’

‘Hmm.’ He was silent a moment. Then he flicked her a sideways glance. ‘How lucky for you that I’m in that remaining one per cent.’

Wordless, she stared at him, taking a second to believe the lazy arrogance in the comment he’d so dryly delivered. Then she saw the teasing, over-the-top wink.

Her face broke and the amusement burst forth.

‘Finally!’ He spoke above her giggles. ‘She laughs. And when she laughs…’

The laughter passed between them, light and fresh, low and sweet. And her mood totally lifted.

‘I am so sorry,’ she apologised, shaking her head.

‘That’s OK. You’re clearly having a trying day.’

‘Something like that.’ The thought of tomorrow hadn’t made it any easier and she’d felt guilty for feeling so me-me-me that it had all compounded into a serious case of the grumps.

‘Shall we start over?’ His eyes were twinkling again and this time she didn’t try to stop her answering smile.

‘Please, that would be good.’ And it would be good. Because it was quite clear that under his super-flirt exterior there was actually a nice guy. Not to mention, damn attractive.

‘I’m Owen Hughes. Disease-free, single and straight.’

Owen. A player to be sure—but one that she knew would be a lot of fun.

‘I’m Bella Cotton. Also disease-free, single and straight.’

‘Bella,’ he repeated, but didn’t make the obvious ‘beautiful’ translation. He didn’t need to—simply the way he said it made her feel its meaning. Then he made her smile some more. ‘Any chance you’re in need of a laugh?’

She nodded. ‘Desperately. Light relief is what I need.’

‘I can do that.’ He grinned again and she found herself feeling happier than she had all day—all week even. He leaned towards her. ‘Look, I’ve got an empty pit instead of a stomach right now. Have dinner with me—unless you’ve got some full-on rehearsal dinner to go to or something?’

She shook her head. ‘Amazingly that’s not the plan. I think some of the younger guests are just supposed to meet up later for drinks. The olds are doing their own thing.’

‘Maybe they’ve organised a surprise birthday party for you.’

‘As nice as that idea sounds—’ and it did sound really nice ‘—they haven’t. You can trust me on that.’

‘OK. Then let’s go find a table.’

She found herself standing and walking with him to the adjoining restaurant just like that. No hesitation, no second thought, just simplicity.

He grinned as they sat down. ‘I really am starving.’

‘So you haven’t caught anything much lately, you big tiger, you,’ she mocked.

He laughed. ‘I’m confident I can make up for it.’

Bella met the message in his eyes. And was quite sure he could.

CHAPTER THREE

OWEN felt a ridiculous surge of pleasure at finally having made Bella see the funny side. And, just as he’d suspected, she had a killer of a smile and a deadly sweet giggle. Her full lips invited and her eyes crinkled at the corners. He couldn’t decide if they were pale blue or grey, but he liked looking a lot while trying to work it out and he liked watching them widen the more he looked.

He’d been bluffing—if he really were some tiger in the jungle, he’d have died of starvation months ago. Sex was a recreational hobby for him, very recreational. But it had been a while. Way too much of a while. Maybe that was why he’d felt the irresistible pull of attraction when she’d walked into the bar. He’d been sitting at a table in the corner and almost without will had walked up to stand beside her at the bar. Just to get a closer look at her little hourglass figure. In the shirt and skirt he could see shapely legs and frankly bountiful breasts that had called to the most base of elements in him.

Then he’d noticed the droop to her lip that she’d been determinedly trying to lift as she’d read that menu. And he’d just had to make her smile.

The table he’d led her to was in the most isolated corner of the restaurant he could find. He didn’t want her family interrupting any sooner than necessary. Wanted to keep jousting and joking with her. Wanted a whole lot more than that too and needed the time to make it happen.

‘So,’ she asked, suddenly perky, ‘what sort of computers? You work for some software giant?’

‘I work for myself.’ For the last ten years he’d done nothing much other than work—pulling it together, thinking it through, organising the team and getting it done.

‘Programming what—games? Banking software?’

‘I work in security.’

‘Oh, my.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I bet you’re one of them whiz-kids who broke into the FBI’s files when you were fourteen, or created some nasty virus. Bad-boy hacker now crossed over to the good side or something—am I right?’

‘No.’ He chuckled. Truth was the actual programming stuff wasn’t him—he had bona fide computer nerds working for him. He was the ideas guy—who’d thought up a way to make online payments more secure, and now to protect identity. ‘I’ve never been in trouble with the law.’

‘Oh. So…’ She paused, clearly trying to think up the next big assault. ‘Business good?’

‘You could say that.’ Inwardly he smiled. He now had employees scattered around the world. A truly international operation, but one that he preferred to direct from his inner-city bolt hole in Wellington. But he didn’t want to talk about work—it was all consuming, even keeping his mind racing when he should be asleep. That was why he was on Waiheke, staying at his holiday home a few yards down the beach from the hotel. He was due for some R & R, a little distraction. And the ideal distraction seemed to have stepped right in front of him.

His banter before hadn’t all been a lie, though. He did believe in going for what he wanted and then moving right on. This little poppet was the perfect pastime for his weekend of unwind time. So he’d made sure she understood the way he played it. Spelt the rules out loud and clear. She’d got them, as he’d intended, and she was tempted. Now he just had to give her that extra little nudge.

She was studying the menu intently. And he studied her, taken by the stripe of sunburn that disappeared under her shirt. It seemed to be riding along to the crest of her breast and his fingers itched to follow its path.

When the waiter came she ordered with an almost reckless abandonment and he joined in. He was hungry. He’d splashed up the beach over an hour ago now. He hadn’t been able to be bothered fixing something for himself, figured he’d get a meal to take away from the restaurant. Only now he’d found something better to take back with him.

‘Oh, no.’ The look on her face was comical.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Some of my family has arrived.’

‘It’s time for drinks, then, huh?’ He turned his head in the direction she was staring. Inwardly cursing. Just when she was getting warmed up.

He saw the tall blonde looking over at them speculatively. When she saw them notice her, she strode over, long legs making short work of the distance.

‘Bella. So sorry,’ she clipped. ‘It’s your birthday and you’re here all alone.’

What? thought Owen. Was he suddenly invisible?

‘I can’t believe you didn’t remind us,’ the blonde continued, still ignoring him.

‘I didn’t want to say anything.’ For a second he saw the pain in Bella’s eyes. A surge of anger hit him.

He realised what she’d done. She’d tested them. And they’d failed.

‘Don’t worry.’ He spoke up. ‘She’s not alone. It’s just that we wanted to have our own private celebration.’

The blonde looked at him then, frosty faced. ‘And you are?’

‘Owen,’ he answered, as if that explained it all.

‘Owen.’ She glanced to Bella and then back to give him the once-over. He watched her coldness thaw to a sugary smile as she checked out his watch and his shoes. He knew she recognised the brands. Yes, darling, he thought, I’m loaded. And it was one thing Bella hadn’t noticed. He found it refreshing.

‘It seems you’ve been keeping a few things to yourself lately, Isabella.’

Owen looked at Bella. There was a plea in her eyes he couldn’t ignore.

The silence deepened, becoming more awkward as he kept his focus on her. And a tinge of amusement tugged when finally the willowy blonde spoke, sounding disconcerted. ‘I’ll leave you to your meal, then.’

‘Thank you,’ Owen answered, not taking his gaze off Bella. He was never normally so rude, but he could do arrogance when necessary. And when he’d seen the hurt in Bella’s eyes he’d known it was necessary. The irrational need to help her, to support her, had bitten him. Stupid. Because Owen wasn’t the sort to do support. Ordinarily he did all he could to avoid any show of interest or involvement other than the purely physical, purely fun. He’d made that mistake before and been pushed too close to commitment as a result. His ex-girlfriend had wanted the ring, the ceremony, the works. He hadn’t. But then she’d tried to force it in a way he totally resented her for. The experience had been so bad he was determined to make damn sure it didn’t happen again. He no longer had relationships. He had flings.

But now he simply hoped that his brush-off would be reported back to the rest of the family and they’d all stay away for a bit.

The waiter arrived with the first plates, breaking the moment. Bella was busy picking up her fork, but he could see her struggling to hold back her smile.

He waited until she’d swallowed her first bite. ‘Am I invited now?’

‘If I do, your job is to entertain me, right?’ Her smile was freed. ‘No eyeing up my beautiful cousins.’

He didn’t need anyone else to eye up. And he’d entertain her all night and then some if she wanted. But he played the tease some more. ‘How beautiful are they?’

She stared down her majestic nose at him. ‘You just met one of them.’

‘Her?’ he asked, putting on surprise. ‘She’s not beautiful.’

Her expression of disbelief was magic.

He laughed. ‘She’s not. So she’s tall and blonde. So what? They’re a dime a dozen. I’d far rather spend time with someone interesting.’ He’d done tall and blonde many times over in his past. These days he was searching for something a little different.

She ignored him. ‘No getting wildly drunk and embarrassing me. That isn’t why you want to go, is it? The free booze?’

‘No.’

‘Then why?’

The truth slipped out. ‘I want to see you have a really good time. A really, really good time.’

He did too. And he knew he could give it to her, and how. There was a baseline sizzle between them that was intense and undeniable. He’d seen the recognition, the jolt of awareness in her expression the moment their gazes had first locked. It was what she needed; it was what he needed. And he’d happily spend the weekend at her dull family wedding to get it. He’d put up with a lot more to get it if he had to.

On top of that primary, physical attraction, she was funny. Smart. Definitely a little bitter. And he liked her smile. He liked to make her smile.

As their dinner progressed it was nice to forget about everything for a moment as he concentrated wholly on her. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and flicked it to Vibrate, pushing work from his mind. He was supposed to be having a couple of hours off after all. Like forty-eight.

He saw her glance into the main body of the restaurant as it filled. Saw her attention turn from him to whatever the deal was about tomorrow.

‘It’s going to be a massive wedding,’ she said gloomily. ‘The whole family and extended family and friends and everyone.’

‘All that fuss for nothing.’ He just couldn’t see the point of it. Nor could he see why it was such a problem for her.

‘All that money for just one day.’ She shook her head. Her hair feathered out; shoulder length, it was a light wavy brown. He wanted to lean over and feel it fly over his face.

‘Do you know how much she’s spent on the dress?’

So money was some of it. ‘I hate to think.’ His drollery seemed to pass her by.

‘And I’ve got the most hideous bridesmaid’s dress. Hideous.’

‘You’ll look gorgeous.’ She was such a cute package she could wear anything and look good.

‘You don’t understand,’ she said mournfully. ‘It’s a cast of thousands. Celia—the gorgeous cousin—is one too. And there are others.’ The little frown was back.

Her every emotion seemed to play out on her face—she was highly readable. If she could control it, learn to manipulate it, then she’d make a very good actress.

‘The dress suits all of them, of course.’

‘Of course.’ And she was worried about what she looked like—what woman wasn’t? He’d be happy to reassure her, spend some time emphasising her most favourable assets.

She looked up at him balefully. ‘They’re all five-seven or more and svelte.’

Whereas she was maybe five-four and all curves. He’d have her over ten tall blonde Celias any day.

‘Did they go with a gift list?’ He played along.

‘Yes.’ She ground out the answer. ‘The cheapest item was just under a hundred bucks—and you had to buy a pair.’

Money was definitely an issue. He supposed it must be—fledgling actresses and café staff didn’t exactly earn lots. And this resort was one of the most exclusive and expensive in the country. To be having a wedding here meant someone had some serious dosh. Was she worried about not keeping up with the family success?