Surprisingly, the bedroom appeared untouched, without a heart or flower in sight. Modern white furniture—bed, dresser, wardrobe—clean lines, minimal clutter. The ash polished boards gleamed in the downlights, a crimson shag rug at the foot of the bed adding a dash of colour.
He spied a basket of goodies on the dresser with a card attached,
Romance Packagein calligraphic purple scrawl.
Curious, and keen to get this evening started, he rummaged through the basket: edible massage oil, ylang-ylang-scented tea lights, Swiss chocolate, two punnets of strawberries, a box of rose petals, and a dozen condoms.
He'd start with the candles and work his way up to the condoms.
He placed the tea lights in strategic positions around the room, cursing as he dropped a match twice before striking it hard enough to light. He shouldn’t be this nervous. If their kisses had been any indication, they'd burn up the sheets. With the bonus of no awkward morning-after small talk or coming up with a half-decent excuse to extricate himself from the woman's bed.
With a little luck, they'd be having sex for the next few months on a regular basis.
This time, he dropped the whole damn box of matches.
How on earth did they expect to share a bed, share a marriage, share a life, for any length of time, then walk away at the end as if nothing had happened? He'd done it before, turning his back on Melbourne without a backward glance. Could Ruby?
Her behaviour after seeing her sister, the conflicting emotions he glimpsed before she tried to hide them, spoke volumes. Ruby cared. Cared about her sister, cared about her business, cared full stop.
Would she be so bold and brazen in a few months when their pretend marriage ended and he headed back to Western Australia?
He shoved the matches back into the box with force, breaking three before slowing down and lighting the rest of the tea lights. He snaffled the box of rose petals and the condoms, sprinkling the former on the bed, stashing the latter in both bedside drawers. And an extra few in the bathroom.
Best to be prepared.
He needed to eradicate this uncertainty suffusing him and wild, no-holds-barred sex would do it.
Desperate to shake the jitters and lose himself in her, he headed for the living room, only to pause in the doorway.
His sexy wife lay curled up on the sofa, asleep.
Her head lolled on an armrest, her fancy up-do a rumpled mess, cascading curls everywhere. Her mouth hung open, tiny puffs of air escaping as she exhaled. The faintest dark circles ringed her eyes where she'd rubbed them in fatigue, and his earlier funk intensified tenfold.
He didn't do tenderness.
He didn't do caring.
But at that moment, staring at his exhausted, slumbering wife, he came close to both.
Chapter 17
Ruby woke as she did every morning, in the wee small hours, savouring the darkness and peace when she produced her best work.
She loved slipping into her fluffy pink dressing-gown and worn leopard-print slippers, snagging her hair into a messy ponytail with elastic, and padding downstairs to her workshop.
There was something almost furtive about it, like stealing a few extra hours in the day by sneaking around in the darkness. Her mother had bestowed the apartment over the showroom to her because of it. Both her mum and Sapphire had been light sleepers, but they'd quit complaining about her nocturnal wanderings when they saw the pieces she produced.
When Ruby turned twenty-one, they moved out, her mother to a modern apartment in Toorak, Sapphire to a Californian bungalow not far from their showroom on High Street. She'd missed them initially, but found comfort in her creations as she always did. Her work had sustained her through bad dates, break-ups, losing her mum, and then Sapphire’s ill nessa year later.
Ruby’s fingers tingled and she stretched, eager to head downstairs, pick up her pliers,and start creating magic.
However, when she stretched, her foot encountered another.
Her eyes flew open and the first thing she saw was Jax Maroney's handsome face inches from hers.
In that moment ,it all came flooding back.
Seabornon the skids.
