After the game—which naturally the Knights won—she wriggled out of her costume and into her new dress.
The kind of thing she’d never have worn when her grandfather was around to see it. Not that it was low cut, but it clung in all the right places—to the curves that she’d let go back to almost normal in just a booster bra rather than all-out padded. False advertising wasn’t necessary for Gabe, he already knew what was on offer and, to her great pleasure, he still wanted. There was an after-match function within the stadium and then most of the players and dancers went to a particular club in town. Her first time to attend. But she’d happily skip it. She couldn’t wait to be alone with Gabe—to finally get the kiss she’d been waiting for for ever. And then everything else.
She walked into the crowded room with a couple of the other dancers, her smile impossible to contain. She searched, her eyes flickering from one tall man to the next. Her heart beat louder, drowning the noise of talk and laughter and clinking glasses. Icy awareness slithered down her spine. She was certain before she’d even finished her sweep of the room.
Gabe had gone.
SIX
Roxie ran up the stairsto her tiny bedsit above the garage, too defiant to bother about being quiet. There was no light on in the house so maybe he was still out. Maybe she’d missed him somehow and he was still at the bar waiting for her.
But she knew he wasn’t. She’d stayed for the drinks, gone on to the club and danced her heart out in the crowd, pretending she didn’t care that the coward had chickened out of following through with her. He was still treating her like someone not old enough or cool enough or sophisticated enough to be with him.
So now, nearly two in the morning, she unwound the wire cage on the P-for-performance bottle of Bolly. Stood in her open doorway and fired the cork towards his house. Then was crass enough to drink straight from the bottle.
It tasted good.
She was hot and thirsty, both angered and excited, sleep was utterly impossible. So standing on the landing out in the warm night air, swigging from a bottle that was emptying surprisingly quickly, seemed like a damn fine idea. She glared over at his house, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say to him as soon as she saw him again. With every sip she grew more riled, more defiant, more confident.
Damn the man.
She had a key to his house. After all, it washerhouse. And he was so going to get a piece of her mind. He owed her. Why shouldn’t she go in now and let him know all about it?
She ditched the drained bottle and grabbed her keys, kicking off her shoes before skipping down the stairs and along the path that led to his back door. She unlocked it and stepped inside. Realized then that she didn’t know which room he’d taken. No matter, the house was hardly huge.
She walked into the master bedroom downstairs. The one with the ensuite where he’d washed out her eyes. Nothing.
Which left only the bedroom upstairs on the mezzanine floor—her old room. The door was ajar; she nudged it open. He hadn’t drawn the curtains and living in the central city meant there was a lot of light pollution, so she could see quite well—especially with the full moonlight streaming in as well.
She stared at the bed. The bastard was sound asleep. How the hell could he be sound asleep when she was being eaten alive by fantasies of everything she wanted to do to him—and for him to do to her?
Without thinking she walked closer, because it was a hot night and he was sleeping with just a sheet covering him. No pjs or tee shirt or vest or anything. Just a sheet that was currently resting low round his hips. She drank in the sight of his bare chest, breathed deep as she scoped his ripped abs.
He stirred and opened his eyes. Took a glimpse of her and groaned, closing his eyes tight. ‘F... in’ dreamin’... Rox...’
Enthralled, she watched as he groaned her name again, watched his hand slide below that sheet to where it was seriously rucked up. He sighed then, frustration seeking satisfaction.
O-o-okay-yay-yay-yay.
She smiled broadly, thrilled to know she wasn’t alone in dealing with explicit dreams. She reached forward and traileda finger down his sternum towards his belly button. ‘I’m right here.’
‘What the...!’ He sat bolt upright, his hand slamming on top of hers, squashing it against his chest so she could feel his heart thumping right through her fingers.
Roxie?’ His eyes horrified wide. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
She tried to tug her hand free but he didn’t let it go. He glared, his chest rising and falling as if he’d been sprinting.
She glared back. ‘You ran out on me.’
‘Roxie...’ He flung her hand from him. ‘You can’t just break into someone’s house.’
‘For the record, this ismyhouse. But don’t panic,’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘I’m not here to attack you or move in on you. I just want to give you a piece of my mind.’
He puffed out a big breath. ‘It couldn’t wait ’til morning?’
‘No, because you acted like a jerk.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ he snapped back. ‘I was very nice and helped calm your nerves.’
