Nice Girls Finish Last (11 page)

His challenge to answer, and heaven help him, he loved it.

The tone changed as the exquisite sensations neutralised anger and enhanced nothing but that sublime need. He told her exactly what he wanted and she purred right back at him—what she wanted, how she wanted,
now.
Their words slapped together as explicitly as their bodies were. Hot, rough, honest.

Her demands drove him harder, further inside her silken web. Fast, breathless, beautiful. Until finally Seth saw her down and made her scream as he savagely poured his whole strength into her—the woman who was as wild, as proud and as playful as he.

W
HEN
Lena woke she couldn't bear to turn and face Seth for a moment as she remembered all the things they'd said and done through the night. At his wicked insistence, she'd expressed every single one of her most secret, physical desires. Desires she'd never dared whisper aloud even to herself before. He'd met her need, matched it and made the reality so much better than fantasy. And now? Now there were even more fantasies.

But she was older, wiser, stronger than the naïve girl she'd been eighteen months ago. She now knew sex didn't equal love. And having sex wouldn't make someone fall in love with you. It didn't work that way. Seth was an extremely generous, adventurous lover but his determination to fulfil her every sensual desire meant nothing more. And while her non-exclusive offer might have been a mistake, he was still a sophisticate. He was not the let's-get-married long-term kind of guy. She had to hold on to that. She had to protect her heart. But, oh, she couldn't say no to this fling now.

 

For the next few days Seth steered clear of her as much as he could at the stadium. But the second that Andrew had loaded the boys back into the van and driven them off to their homes, he was in his car, impatiently waiting for her to
join him. He took her out to dinner—traded stories, jokes, and tried to break through the barriers that he knew were still there.

He might be back in her bed but it wasn't enough. An uneasy hunger remained. He decided the best way to deal with it was to be with her the entire weekend—the best way of getting to know her more, the best way to get rid of the desire that still crunched his bones at the mere thought of her. So on Friday night he took her to his apartment. The big space he liked to keep to himself. But this was necessary.

He scooped up the pile of guff that had been posted through the slot in the door over the past few days and that now blocked their access to the stairs leading to his loft. He'd only raced in each day to grab clean clothes and then headed to the stadium, gone to her house each night. But bringing her here now made him feel as if he could control the duration—he figured she couldn't kick him out of his own apartment.

‘You get the newspaper delivered?' She chuckled, watching him balance the fat rolls of newsprint and the advertising circulars and lead the way upstairs. ‘You don't read it online?'

‘You can't do the crossword online,' he answered with mock horror. ‘Not the same.'

The husky note in her laugh deepened.

Stupidly happy, he got to the top floor and dumped the armload of papers and circulars straight in the bin by his worktable. He wasn't going to have the time to go near any crossword in the next few hours.

‘Wait, there's a letter tucked in with that.' She reached down past him and pulled out the envelope.

Seth frowned. Most of his mail came electronically and what didn't went to his business address. He glanced at the writing. Damn. He took it from her, trying to keep casual.
It wasn't the first, but he'd hoped the woman would have got the message. Because he'd never opened her past notes and he wasn't going to now.

Lena was watching him. He realised he'd been quiet too long.

‘I get a lot of begging letters.' He dismissed it, tossed the thing back in the bin. And that was exactly what it would be. His father's wife wanting money. He saw Lena's gaze linger on it and he kicked the bin further under the table.

‘So.' He turned his back on old history to take advantage of a far more enjoyable moment. ‘Wanna see my bedroom?'

Her smile went wicked. ‘What, you've got no flatmates to introduce me to?'

Of course he damn well didn't. Looking at him, she laughed. Because of course she damn well knew it.

He hauled her into his arms and marched to his bedroom. Planned to keep her with him until he was bored. Surely it wouldn't take that long? He'd always got bored by spending too much time with one girl before. Pretty quickly, too. But despite seeing her every day and night for the best part of a week already, he was so very far from bored. He set her on her feet, watched her turn to face him with her head high and her eyes gleaming. Definitely not bored, he was right back to spellbound.

‘Lie down.' She stood proudly, seeming to size both the bed and him up.

He sent her a long look letting her know that whatever he did would be his decision, not her order. But he now understood that she had a real need to feel as if she was in charge of their affair. He just wished she'd trust him enough to tell him why. Then he might admit to her that he didn't think it was within either of their control any more. But she already had a condom in her hand, so he figured that conversation could wait a few minutes yet.

He let her ride him slow, smoothed down her back with the heels of his hands and watched her arch to meet his touch. He adored her lush enjoyment. She was fearless of their physical passion at least. She muttered his name again and again, her rhythm lifting. He cupped her breasts, coasted a caress down to her narrow waist, dying inside as she rocked and twisted. Oh, she knew how to squeeze and tease him. He couldn't think, couldn't resist a fierce thrust up, taking her hips in a tight grip and urging her faster and harder.

‘Oh.' She complied with his guidance—so much faster and harder than he'd dreamed. ‘Seth!'

He really needed to silence her because every time her husky voice sounded he was shoved another metre to the edge. But in a heartbeat and a hiss he was submerged in hot, wet flames of ecstasy. It was for ever before he realised that the long groan of delight was his.

As he blinked he felt her shaking. He pulled her close and breathed heartfelt thanks she'd come the second after he had. Only, in that actual second, he'd been too out of it to know and he didn't want to miss out on seeing and feeling her that way.

He flipped her over and spread her legs, sliding down and sucking so the sensations within her wouldn't stop. He reached up to cup her breasts again, palming her tightly budded nipples while he ate her hot, wet sweetness. He teased with his lips and tongue, couldn't get enough. He wanted it to go on and on—this tension that put her at his mercy.

She twisted, screaming his name, shuddering as she gave in. Her shoulders lifted, her hands clawing air, as he wrung her passion free. He loved her ability to slide from one orgasm to the next. He loved to see just how far he
could push her. But he still couldn't seem to get as close as he wanted.

In the morning Lena pulled herself out of his bed and went in search of food. She found bread and toasted some. Seth wandered out and snagged a piece from her plate and refilled the toaster as he ate. Munching, she walked around the giant open-plan room. She liked his apartment. It was in the old industrial side of the inner city—a number of bars and boutique fashion shops had opened post-earthquake, fairy lights strung through the narrow lanes that had once been back entrances to big, dirty warehouses, art installations filled spaces between reconstruction. She knew he was responsible for much of the redevelopment. His personal space was very hip, very big and very sparse. Other than the sofa and a big table and some chairs, there wasn't other furniture. And while he did have the obligatory boy toys of stereo and computer, games console, there was one obvious gadget missing.

‘No telly?' she asked as he fiddled with the coffee machine.

‘Don't need one, never watch it.'

‘What about sport?' She knew he was an enthusiast.

‘Prefer to participate than spectate.' He winked.

‘Oh, come on, what about the big games?'

‘There's always a pub or mate's place.' He shrugged.

Somehow she doubted he went to either much. It was obvious from the table that he put in huge hours of work here—the walls were covered with plans, with notes written in a masculine scrawl all over them. In the far corner of the room a boxing bag hung and gloves were tossed on the floor. She turned her back on that. At one point along the wall a collection of books lay in a messy heap on the floor—clearly once a tower of serious-looking tomes that had been toppled. The only things on the walls were some
building plans tacked up near the computer table. There were no clues to his past but perhaps the lack of photos and personal items was the biggest clue of all.

‘Where does your mum live?' she couldn't resist asking as he poured the coffee thick and black.

‘In sunny Nelson.'

‘That where you grew up?'

He shook his head. ‘She moved there a few years ago.'

‘Does she work?'

He took a big sip of what had to be burning-hot coffee. ‘Yeah.' He inhaled sharply. ‘I can't stop her.'

‘What does she do?'

‘She's a cleaner,' he answered, carefully neutral.

Lena said nothing, and in less than three seconds he was answering her unasked question anyway.

‘I hate it.' Gruff, low, rough. ‘I paid off her mortgage but she refuses to take more money from me and cleaning is what she's always done. Dad left her with nothing and even before he left he just did jack all in his shed all day. She always worked a zillion jobs and as soon as I was old enough I worked, too, to help her out. But now she insists on working even though she doesn't have to.'

‘Maybe she likes her independence,' said Lena, frankly full of admiration for the woman. No prizes for guessing where Seth had got his fighting spirit from, either. ‘Not many people would actually enjoy a life with nothing to do but shop or do lunch anyway.'

He looked sceptical. ‘You reckon?'

‘Seriously,' Lena said, fully meaning it. ‘Getting up for work gives you a kind of dignity. A purpose.
You
couldn't live a life of leisure, could you?'

He shook his head.

‘So why think she would?'

‘Because she's worked hard enough,' he said crossly. ‘If
she wants to be busy, she could work for a charity or something. She doesn't have to be on her hands and knees.' His hands lifted in a frustrated movement. ‘I've never been able to—'

She watched him sharply turn away. ‘To what?'

‘Give her what she needs.'

Lena was touched. And troubled. Because was that his responsibility? With every child and parent there were expectations—Lena well knew that. There were burdens, too—on both sides—but maybe they were greater for an only child and for a solo parent. She felt frustration within him, sensed the hurt there. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, giving him a cuddle more of companionship than carnal thrill. ‘Maybe she doesn't want to burden you. She had an unhappy time with the divorce, right? Maybe she needs to feel like she can manage on her own now.' Lena could so relate to that. ‘She's
your
mother, Seth. And you love nothing more than your independence.'

He slowly turned, his arms lifting to return her hug, and she felt his reluctant smile. ‘I just want her to be happy.'

‘Do you think she isn't?' she asked softly.

‘No, she always says she's great.'

‘Then maybe you should relax and let her do what she needs to do.' Lena snuggled into his tightening embrace. ‘She's her own person, Seth. Like you. And no one can take on the total responsibility of another person's happiness. It's a balance, you know? Team effort.'

She felt him sigh and shake his head a fraction. ‘Lena in sweetheart, supportive mode. No wonder all those boys want you to oil their chests.'

She rolled her eyes, refusing to take his light joke any more seriously than he intended.

They hung out on the sofa, with the coffee and toast and his iPad—surfing the news, checking out the social network
sites. She had all day and all night to talk with him—about the team or any other sport, music, buildings, construction, food, travel tales, to laugh at random stories about stars behaving badly. There was no guilt, no pressure. And despite knowing she was going to regret it, she dived into the bliss headfirst.

She'd put one of his tee shirts on. Seth didn't mind. He probably should have warned her he was keeping her captive for the weekend, then she could have brought some clothes. Still, her not having them did have its benefits.

He caught her eyeing the punchbag swinging from a hook in the corner with disfavour.

‘You really hate boxing?' He laughed as he watched her nose wrinkle.

‘I like most sports, probably more than many people do. But boxing is just a step too far for me. It's not really a sport, is it?'

‘Hmm.' He walked over to pick up his gloves. ‘You've never got so angry you felt like hitting something?'

She frowned. ‘I don't see how boxing can help with anger issues. Doesn't it just teach troubled kids how to hurt people?'

‘No,' he said patiently. ‘It teaches discipline, control and builds confidence.'

‘So does yoga.'

He ran his palm down the punchbag and sighed. ‘Okay, it's also a fantastic physical and mental release. One-to-one combat, the ultimate individual challenge. No team-mate to back you up, no one else to blame if you crash out. Just you against your opponent. So you have to learn self-reliance, self-discipline and have self-belief.' He held out the gloves. ‘Dare you. You might find you like it.'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Go up against the bag, just once.'

She grimaced but wriggled the gloves on. They were too big but it didn't matter. She took aim and the frankly pathetic punch didn't make it swing even a millimetre.

She giggled. ‘Nope, not doing it for me.'

He moved in behind her, showed her the way to move her arm. ‘Focus. Visualise. Go for it.'

He stood back again and watched her second effort—even worse. ‘Okay.' He changed tack. ‘Turn around and try to hit me.'

She turned but didn't follow through. ‘Never in a million years.'

‘Go on, I'm sure I'll have taken worse.'