Blame It on the Bikini(21)

‘While Mya makes her way to the runway, here are a couple of stills from the collection where we can see her talent at her best.’

Mya froze on her seat. He couldn’t be serious—she had to walk up there? And OMG there were huge photos of her up on those screens?

The black-clad male model extended his hand to her. She had no choice but to take her turn down the damn runway with the hot stuff at her side.

‘Let’s face it,’ Brad concluded. ‘The lady has an abundance of talent.’

Everyone in the place was on their feet and cheering.

Mya looked at Brad and saw his smile. Tender, a little mocking—self-mocking perhaps—but genuine. It pierced straight through the last thin layer of defence she had left and exposed her to the full glare of his attraction. In every cell, all the way to her toes it hit—how gorgeous he was.

He wasn’t just sexy and funny and handsome. He was nice, thoughtful and caring. It was a side of him she’d never wanted to acknowledge. She’d preferred to keep him in the slutski spoilt-man stereotype. Mr Superficial Playboy. That was the easy way out. But the truth was he was utterly outrageous, utterly unashamed and yet utterly kind.

The lights came back on, and Lauren came up as the bar music resumed.

‘It was all her idea.’ Brad curved his arm around Lauren’s shoulders and drew her close.

‘That’s not true.’ Lauren shook her head firmly.

‘Lauren found everything.’ Brad gave his sister a sharp look.

‘He came up with it when we were playing tennis at the club the other week.’

‘It was supposed to be a party for you,’ Mya said, too shaky inside to look at Brad at this moment.

‘I don’t need a party.’ Lauren shrugged. ‘I go to parties all the time.’

‘I’m getting you back for your birthday,’ Mya promised.

Lauren just laughed as one of her boys claimed her for the dance floor.

‘How did you do all this?’ Mya asked Brad, her mouth dry and still not looking at him.

‘I had help,’ he confessed. ‘With the catwalk and the lighting and the music and stuff.’

Mya shook her head and looked across the room. ‘Where did you find all of it?’

‘My mother’s itemised storage system. Lauren had kept them all.’

Well, it had mainly been Lauren’s clothes Mya had messed with. The only thing Mya had kept was the dress she was now wearing.

‘And you called on all your girlfriends to model for you.’ She felt overwhelmed. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘I found some of the pictures of you,’ he said softly.

‘You and your pictures.’ She stole a quick glance at him.

His mouth had twisted into a wry smile and that soft expression was in his eyes. ‘None as good as the one you sent me, but ones Lauren took when you guys were mucking around a few years ago. You were so bold and so creative. Why have you given all that up? You have real talent.’

‘No,’ she scoffed, totally downplaying it.

‘Didn’t you just see that standing ovation?’

‘You set it up.’ She couldn’t resist the urge to lean closer to tease him. ‘All those beautiful models and all their glorious skin?’

Her words drew a reluctant smile to his lips. ‘All that aside, you really do have talent,’ he insisted.

‘I appreciate this, so much,’ she said softly, her throat aching because it was such a kind thing he’d done for her. ‘But I don’t have time to do that any more. It was a hobby. Life has moved on from that stuff.’

She blinked as bleak frustration dimmed his eyes. ‘Mya, you don’t have a life.’

‘I do,’ she argued, quiet but firm. ‘And I’m lucky enough to have friends.’ Ones who cared. She might even dare put him in that category after tonight. Except, grateful as she was for this night, she didn’t want to lock him away in that neat and tidy box.

Something flashed in his eyes and was almost immediately blanked out. All that remained was resignation—she felt it too.

He smiled as another guest walked up to talk to them. It was that charismatic smile of his, yet strangely devoid of depth. Despite the excessive heat of a crowded club-floor on a hot summer’s night, Mya’s skin cooled as if the first spears of winter had bitten their way through the hot warehouse bricks. His walls were back up; that automatic charming gleam hid the honesty in his eyes. It felt as if she’d lost something precious.

Brad watched her mingle, the gnawing feeling inside worsening with each minute that she laughed and interacted and clearly had fun. She was having a great time, but it wasn’t enough. He was used to getting what he wanted—easily. Giving up what he wanted wasn’t nearly so easy. Especially when she looked at him with that expression in her eyes—the one that told him he could have what he’d wanted more than anything these past couple of weeks.

But successful though it may be to a point, this night was also a failure. She’d appreciated his effort, but she hadn’t understood it. He wanted her to understand she had so much more to offer the world if she’d just give herself a chance, if she just let go of all the burden she took on and let herself be free. She should be doing the things she loved, not just doing things for those she loved.

The realisation hurt and with that came the worse hit—he cared too much about where she was at and what she was doing. When he looked at her now, there wasn’t just that stirring in his groin—there was an ache in his chest.

He liked her—too much to mess around with her. Things don’t end all that well for your women. While he wasn’t sure he agreed with Lauren’s statement, he wasn’t taking the risk with Mya. He could get her to say yes, but she wasn’t cut out for a fling, and he didn’t want more than just that. Even if he did, she wasn’t ready for that in her life. She had her other priorities and that was fine. The only thing to do, right now, was walk away.

So he did.





CHAPTER EIGHT



IT MIGHT have been one of the best nights of her life, but Mya wanted the fireworks to finish it off. She didn’t want to be the wallflower walking home alone tonight as she had all those years ago at that miserable prom.

She glanced around. Lauren was flirting with yet another guy—she’d been collecting them throughout the night. Several other friends were propping up the bar getting outrageously hammered with her lethal cocktail mix. Others were up on the catwalk having a dance-off to the hits of their teen years. It was a crazy-fun night.

But Brad had quietly slipped off into the dark—alone. He hadn’t said goodbye to her or anyone. He’d flipped a wave at Lauren but he hadn’t even looked at Mya.

That wasn’t good enough.

Did he think he could do this for her—send her insides into such a spin—and then walk away?

Tonight had been her one night off in months. And didn’t she deserve pleasure in it—pleasure for all the night? Didn’t she deserve a treat? It wouldn’t be like that mess-up last year when she’d thought she could handle a night of nothing but physical fun and had failed. This time she knew what she was doing—and she knew Brad. She even liked him. But not enough to cause confusion. She’d read the rulebook, was certain she could handle herself on the field. This time she already knew the score. And while there was that hint of insecurity about her performance, she figured Brad wouldn’t be all that bothered. Ultimately all she’d be was another notch to him, right? But she would have the best sexual experience of her life. He’d teased that it would be, but she knew to her bones he’d follow through. She simply couldn’t resist—not for one night.

So she blew Lauren a kiss and waved.

Her feet moved of their own accord, fast, determined, sure. She was stone-cold sober but in a blink she was there already—standing at his front door. Before she could take a breath and think better of it, she hammered the door so hard her knuckles hurt.

He opened it sooner than she expected. He’d lost the jacket but was still in the black shirt and trousers and, oddly, a cleaning cloth in his hand. He stared at her—saying it all with just that wild-eyed look—surprise to desire in a heartbeat. Only then he closed his eyes and bent his head. Sudden nerves paralysed her. Insecurity drowned her moment of boldness.

‘Are you going to let me in?’ she asked, her voice pathetically breathy even to her own ears. So much for chutzpah.

He looked up and she saw nothing but raw emotion in his eyes—not just desire, but torment. It was reflected in his stance too as he blocked her entry, his hand gripping the door. ‘You know what will happen if I do.’

Relief shot into her belly, bursting into flame on impact. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘But—’

‘I don’t want a relationship, and I don’t want a fling. But I’ve changed my mind about the one-night thing.’