do you always suspect an ulterior motive?’
‘Because men usually have one.’ She pronounced it like the fact she knew it to be, at least in her experience.
‘I’m not like all men.’
Well, he’d got that right. ‘Appearances can be deceiving.’
If anyone should know, she should.
‘What you see is what you get with me.’
Her gaze flickered over him, taking in his relaxed posture, one leg crooked over the other, his hands braced at his back. He was propped against the sink, looking sinfully handsome in denim which hugged his hips and a black polo shirt that moulded his torso as if it had been made for him.
If what she saw was what she’d get, she’d be a lucky girl indeed.
‘And what’s that?’
Though she wasn’t in the mood for word games, she had a feeling that the developing tension between them needed to be addressed before she did something crazy, like fling herself at him.
Or, worse yet, sleepwalk right into his bed.
‘Apparently, I’m Mr Perfect.’ He smiled, though she noticed the way he shifted, as if uncomfortable with the tag. ‘Or so you tell me.’
She sighed, wishing she’d never told him that.
‘I might’ve mentioned something along those lines in a moment of weakness, but don’t hold me to it.’
He shrugged, drawing her attention to the breadth of his shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Living up to a title like that would be hell.’
No, hell would be taking a chance on a guy like you.
Trying to ignore her racing pulse, she crossed the kitchen and stood in front of him, torn between wanting to melt into his arms or walking straight past him—and temptation—and out the back door.
‘As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, I’m beat. I think I’ll go to bed.’
She didn’t move a muscle as he leaned towards her, her heart hammering against her ribs. Though she hadn’t meant it as an invitation, she realised her declaration had sounded like one, and her body quivered with anticipation, every fibre alert to a possible incoming sensual assault.
‘Pleasant dreams,’ he murmured, brushing a soft, lingering kiss across her lips, a kiss that left her breathless and yearning.
However, before she could blink, he ran a hand lightly over her hair, cupped her cheek for an instant and walked away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Most men I know are like mascara. They run at the first sign of emotion.’
Tahlia Moran, best friend and cynic.
‘HOW was the weekend?’
Keely plopped on the couch next to Tahlia and hugged a cushion to her chest. ‘Good.’
Tahlia quirked an eyebrow. ‘And I thought Librans were supposed to be well-balanced, eloquent individuals.’
‘What can I say? He lived up to his perfect reputation.’ Worse luck.
‘In and out of the bedroom?’ Tahlia leaned forward, her eyes gleaming at the promise of gossip.
‘I can only vouch for outside of it.’
Her friend’s eyes almost popped out of her head. ‘You mean he didn’t make a move?’
Keely shook her head, mentally kicking herself for being disappointed.
‘Let me get this straight. This guy goes to all the trouble to get you out to his love-nest by the ocean, practically strips naked in front of you, cooks you dinner and then nothing?’
Keely reached for her wine and took a sip before answering. ‘Nice twist, but in actual fact it was his beach house, he had to change after surfing, we shared cooking duties and—’
‘Nothing, right?’
Keely sighed and nodded. ‘Yeah, nothing.’
‘I don’t get it.’ Tahlia flicked her strawberry-streaked fringe out of her eyes and popped several chocolate-coated peanuts into her mouth before continuing. ‘The guy oozes sex appeal, he definitely has the hots for you, you’re keen on him and you’re two consenting adults. You do the math!’
‘By my calculations, I scored a big fat zero.’
Keely had relived that sequence in the kitchen after dinner a thousand times in her mind. She’d been torn at the time between wanting to shrug off her reservations and get physical with Lachlan and holding him at arm’s length. He’d annoyed the heck out of her with his cracks about bikinis and watching her weight, yet when he’d followed up with a compliment she’d been putty in his hands again.
When she’d crossed the kitchen and told him she was going to bed it had almost been a challenge, and his reaction hadn’t been what she’d expected.
A chaste goodnight kiss, albeit on the lips, hadn’t satisfied her. Not by a long shot. And what had she done about it?
Nothing.
She’d muttered something about being exhausted and rushed out of the room before she—or he—could change their minds.
His behaviour puzzled her. Despite the vibes she kept getting from him, he hadn’t laid a finger on her. The guys she’d dated in the past would’ve taken advantage of the situation in a second. However, Lachlan Brant was living up to his reputation as Mr Perfect more and more every day, a fact that wasn’t good for her peace of mind.
‘Are you sure he’s not gay?’
Keely glared at Tahlia. ‘What do you think?’
An impish grin spread across her friend’s face. ‘Nah.’ She dipped into the bowl again, managing to throw several nuts in the air, tilt her head back and catch them in her mouth. ‘So, where to from here?’
Keely laughed. ‘Nice to see our Director of Sales hasn’t lost her touch. Where do you learn those tricks anyway? Another one of your courses?’
As if her friend wasn’t busy enough, she also frequented business courses in her spare time, always pushing herself in all facets of her life, as if making up for a lack of something.
Tahlia sniffed and repeated the performance, this time managing to capture two peanuts in her mouth at once. ‘They don’t teach you this in Business Etiquette 101.’
‘Does the college run courses in How To Read Men 101? And, if so, where do I sign up?’
Tahlia munched on the peanuts for a moment, her brow furrowed. ‘Maybe he thinks you’re not all that keen. After all, you’ve been sending him mixed messages.’
‘Flirting is one thing, sleeping with him another. Besides, I thought he had a right to know up front so there’d be no misunderstandings later.’
‘But I thought you wanted more?’
‘Yes … no … I don’t know! Stop confusing me!’
Tahlia chuckled. ‘I think you’re doing enough of that for the both of us. Why don’t you just go for it? Don’t forget, that’s what your horoscope said.’
‘They’re called that for a reason. In my case, it’s a horror-scope.’
‘Don’t mess with the stars.’
‘Don’t mess with my head.’
‘Hey, that’s the Doc’s job, not mine.’
Keely stood and crossed the room, staring out at the stunning bay view. She loved watching the world go by from her sixth-floor apartment, particularly at