Praise for Natalie Anderson

‘This wonderful tale is a terrific mix of spark,

sizzle and passion.’

—RT Book Reviews on Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress

‘Sizzling chemistry in the boardroom and well-

developed characters make this a winner.’

—RT Book Reviews on Hot Boss, Boardroom Mistress

‘You can always rely on Natalie Anderson to deliver

a fun and feel-good read … The Millionaire’s Mistletoe Mistress is another fabulous read by this amazing rising star …!’ —PHS reviews on The Millionaire’s Mistletoe Mistress

About the Author

NATALIE ANDERSON adores a happy ending, which is why she always reads the back of a book first. Just to be sure. So you can be sure you’ve got a happy ending in your hands right now—because she promises nothing less. Along with happy endings, she loves peppermint-filled dark chocolate, pineapple juice and extremely long showers. Not to mention spending hours teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas. She tends to torment them before eventually relenting and offering—you guessed it—a happy ending. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her gorgeous husband and four fabulous children.

If, like her, you love a happy ending, be sure to come and say hi on facebook/authornataliea and on Twitter @authornataliea, or her website/blog: www.natalieanderson.com

Recent titles by the same author:

 WAKING UP IN THE WRONG BED

 FIRST TIME LUCKY?

 NICE GIRLS FINISH LAST

 DATING AND OTHER DANGERS

 THE END OF FAKING IT

 WALK ON THE WILD SIDE

 UNBUTTONED BY HER MAVERICK BOSS*

 CAUGHT ON CAMERA WITH THE CEO*

 TO LOVE, HONOUR AND DISOBEY

  Part of the Hot Under the Collar duet

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Blame it on
the Bikini
Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Dave, Dave and Gungy:

Thank you so much for giving up time in your precious weekends to help construct ‘The Plotting Shed’—without that wonderful room of my own I don’t think Brad and Mya’s story would ever have been finished!

I truly appreciate your kindness and generosity (and that of Bridge and Kat for kid duty!!!)

CHAPTER ONE

CAN I get away with it?

It was harder than you’d think to take a picture of yourself in a small, enclosed space wearing nothing but a bikini. Biting back the giggle, Mya Campbell peered at her latest effort. The flash had created a big white space over at least half the screen, obscuring most of her reflection, and what you could see was more dork than glam.

With a muffled snort—a combination of frustration and laughter—she deleted it and twisted in front of the mirror, trying for another. Her teeth pinched her lower lip as she glanced at the result—maybe the skinny-straps scarlet number was a step too far?

‘Is everything okay?’ the clearly suspicious sales assistant called through the curtain, her iced tone snootier than her brittle perfect appearance.

‘Fine, thanks.’ Mya fumbled, quickly taking another snap before the woman yanked back the curtain. She needed to get it away before being—ah—busted.

Both she and the assistant knew she couldn’t afford any of these astronomically priced designer swimsuits. But that long-suppressed imp inside her liked a dress-up and it had been so long and if she were to have such a thing as a summer holiday, then she’d really love one of these little, very little things …

Giggles erupted as she tried to send the text. Her fingertips slipped she shook so hard. She was such an idiot. Typos abounded and she tapped faster as she heard the assistant return.

‘Are you sure you don’t need any help?’

She needed help all right. Professional help from those people in white coats. Too late now, the soft whooshing sound confirmed her message had gone. And she couldn’t afford this scrap of spandex anyway.

‘Thanks, but no, I don’t think this style is really me.’ Of course it wasn’t. She tossed the phone into her open bag on the floor and began the contortions required to get out of the tiny bikini. She caught a glimpse of herself bent double and at that point she blushed. The bikini was basically indecent. Would she never learn that bodies like hers were not built for tiny two pieces? She’d bend to pull off her shoes at the beach and instantly fall out of a top like this. Not remotely useful for swimming. She’d have to lie still and pose, and that just wasn’t her. Mind you, a summer holiday wasn’t for her this year either.

And never in a million years would she send such a picture to anyone other than her best friend and all-around pain in the butt, Lauren Davenport. But Lauren would understand—and Mya didn’t need her answer now. It was a ‘no’ already.

Brad Davenport looked at his watch and stifled the growl of frustration. He’d had back-to-back cases in court all day, followed by this meeting that had gone on over an hour too long. He watched the bitterness between the parents, watched eleven-year-old Gage Simmons seated next to him shrivel into a smaller and smaller ball as accusations were hurled from either side of the room. The boy’s parents were more interested in taking pieces out of each other and blocking each other instead of thinking about what might be best for their son. And finally Brad’s legendary patience snapped.

‘I think we can leave this for now,’ he interrupted abruptly. ‘My client needs a break. We’ll reschedule for later in the week.’

He glanced around the room and the other lawyers nodded. Then he glanced at the kid, who was looking at the floor with a blank-slate expression. He’d seen it many times, had worn it himself many times—withdrawing, not showing anyone how much you hurt inside.

Yeah, it wasn’t only his client who needed a break. But Brad’s burden was his own fault. He’d taken on too many cases. Brad Davenport definitely had a problem saying no.

Twenty minutes later he carried the bag full of files out to his car and considered the evening ahead. He needed a blowout—some all-physical pleasure to help him relax, because right now the arguments still circled in his head. Questions he needed to ask and answer lit up like blindingly bright signs; every item on his to-do list shouted at him megaphone-style. Yeah, his head hurt. He reached for his phone and took it off mute, ready to find an energetic date for the night—someone willing, wild and happy to walk away when the fun was done.

There were a couple of voice messages, more emails, a collection of texts—including one with an attachment from a number he didn’t recognise. He tapped it.

Can I get away with it?

He absorbed that accompanying message by a weird kind of osmosis, because the picture itself consumed all his attention. He could see only the side of her face, only half her smile, but that didn’t matter—he was a man and there were curves in the centre of the screen. Creamy, plump breasts pushed up out of the do-me-now-or-die scarlet bra she’d squeezed into. Brad swore in amazement, his skin burning all over in immediate response. The picture cut off beneath her belly button—damn it—but he really couldn’t complain. Her breasts were outstanding—lush curves that made him think … think … Actually no, he’d lost all ability to think.

Can I get away with it?

This doll could get away with anything she wanted.

Startled, but happily so, he slid his fingers across the screen to zoom the picture, adjusting it so it was her partially exposed face he focused on now. She was smiling as if she was only just holding back the sexiest of laughs.

Brad stilled, his heart hiccupping as disbelief stole a beat. There was only one person in the world with a smile like that. Slowly he traced her lips. Her upper lip was sensual—widening, just as the bone structure of her face widened to those sharp, high cheekbones and wide-set green eyes while her lower lip was as full, but shorter; it had to be to fit with that narrow little chin. And between those slightly mismatched lips was that telltale gap between her two front teeth. It had never been fixed. Her whole body was untainted by cosmetic procedures, indeed any kind of cosmetics.

Mya Campbell. Best friend of his wayward sister, Lauren, and persona non grata at the Davenport residence.

In that minute that Brad thought about her—the longest stretch of time he’d ever thought about her—a few images from the past decade haphazardly flashed through his head. Glimpses of a girl who’d been around the house often enough, but who’d hidden away whenever he or his parents were home. Who could blame her? His parents had been unwelcoming and patronising. Which of course had made Lauren push the friendship all the more. And Mya had come across as less than impressed with those in authority and less than interested in abiding by any of the normal social rules. The two of them had looked like absolute terrors. And the irony was that Mya was the most academically brilliant student in the school. An uber-geek beneath the attitude and the outrageous outfits. That was why she was at the school; she was the scholarship kid.

He’d only ever seen her dressed up ‘properly’ the once. She’d still looked sullen, exuding a kind of ‘cooler-than-you’ arrogance, and frankly at the time he’d been otherwise distracted by a far friendlier girl. But now he saw the all-grown-up sensuality. Now he saw the humour that he’d heard often enough but never been privy to—never been interested enough to want to be privy to. Now he saw what she’d been hiding all this time. Now the heat shot to his groin in a stab so severe he flinched. And she’d sent him …?

No. He laughed aloud at the ridiculous thought. Mya Campbell had not just sent him a sexy summons. She didn’t even know he existed—other than as her best friend’s big, distant brother. Hell, he hadn’t seen her in, what, at least three years? He tapped the screen to bring it back to normal—correction, completely amazing—view. No, this playful pose wasn’t for him. Which meant that certified genius Mya Campbell had actually made a mistake for once in her life. What was he going to do about it? Crucially, where was Mya now?

Questions pounded his head again, but this time they caused anticipation rather than a headache. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat of his convertible, ignoring every other message. He put his sunglasses on, stress gone, and fired the engine. Now the night beckoned with a very amusing intrigue to unravel.

Can I get away with it?

Not this time.

The music was so loud Mya could feel the vibrations through her feet—which was saying something given her shoes had two and a half inches of sole. But she was used to the volume and she had enough experience to lip-read the orders well enough now. Shifts six days a week in one of the hottest bars in town had her able to work fast and efficient. The way she always worked. No matter what she was doing, Mya Campbell was driven to be the best.

Her phone sat snug against her thigh in the side pocket of her skinny jeans, switched to mute so it didn’t interrupt her shift. The duty manager, Drew, frowned on them texting or taking calls behind the bar. Fair enough. They were too busy anyway. So she had no idea whether Lauren had got the pic or what she’d thought of it. Though, given Lauren was welded to her mobile, Mya figured there’d be an answer when she got a spare second to check. She grinned as she lined twelve shiny new shot glasses on the polished bar, thinking of Lauren’s face when she saw it. She’d be appalled—she’d always shrieked over Mya’s more outrageous ‘statement’ outfits.

‘Come on, gorgeous, show us your stuff!’

Mya glanced up at the bunch of guys crowded round her end of the bar. A stag party, they’d insisted she pour the trick shots for them, not her sidekick, Jonny, down the other end of the bar. She didn’t get big-headed about it—truth was Jonny had taught her the tricks and she was still working towards acing him on them. It was just these guys wanted the female factor.

She’d mixed three for them already and now was onto the finale. She enjoyed it—nothing like lighting up a dozen flaming sambucas for a bunch of wild boys who were megaphone loud in their appreciation. She flicked her wrist and poured the liquid—a running stream into each glass. Then she met the eyes of the groom and flashed him a smile.

‘Are you ready?’ she teased lightly.

The guys nodded and cheered in unison.

She held the lighter to the first shot glass and gently blew, igniting the rest of the line of glasses down the bar. The cheers erupted. She glanced at Jonny and winked. She’d only recently mastered that one, and she knew he was standing right where one of the fire extinguishers was kept.

Grinning, she watched them knock the shots back and slam the glasses onto the bar. Some barracked for more but she already knew the best man had other ideas. Her part in their debauched night was over; they were onto their next destination—she didn’t really want to know where or how much further downhill they were going to slide.

‘A thank-you kiss!’ one of the guys called. ‘Kiss! Kiss!’

They all chanted.

Mya just held up the lighter and flicked it so the flame shot up. She waved it slowly back and forth in front of her face. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get hurt,’ she said with a teasing tilt of her head.

They howled and hissed like water hitting a burning element. Laughing—mostly in relief now—she watched them mobilise and work their way to the door. And that was when she saw him.

Brad High-School-Crush Davenport.

For a second, shock slackened every muscle and she dropped the lighter. Grasping at the last moment to stop it slipping, she accidentally caught the hot end. Damn. She tossed it onto the shelf below the bar and rubbed the palm of her hand on the half-apron tied round her waist. The sharp sting of that small patch of skin didn’t stop her from staring spellbound schoolgirl-fashion at her former HSC. But that was because he was staring right at her as if she were the one and only reason he’d walked into the bar.

Good grief. She tried to stop the burn spreading to her belly because it wasn’t right that one look could ignite such a reaction in her.

Back in the days when she’d believed in fairy tales, she’d also believed Brad would have been her perfect prince. Now she knew so much better: a) there were no princes, b) even if there were, she had no need for a prince and c) Brad Davenport was nowhere near perfect.

Although to be fair, he certainly looked it. Now—impossible though it might be—he looked more perfect than ever. All six feet three and a half inches of him. She knew about the half because it was written in pencil on the door-jamb in the kitchen leading to the butler’s sink, along with Lauren’s height and those of their mum and dad—one of the displays of Happy Familydom his mother had cultivated.

Topping the modelicious height, his dark brown hair was neatly trimmed, giving him a clean-cut, good-boy look. He was anything but good. Then there were the eyes—light brown maple-syrup eyes, with that irresistible golden tinge to them. With a single look that he’d perfected at an eyebrow-raising young age, he could get any woman to beg him to pour it all over her.

And Brad obliged. The guy had had more girlfriends than Mya had worked overtime hours. And Mya had done nothing but work since she’d badgered the local shop owner into letting her do deliveries when she was nine years old.

She tried to move but some trickster had concreted her feet to the floor. She kept staring as he walked through the bar, and with every step he came closer, her temperature lifted another degree. This despite the air-conditioning unit blasting just above the bar.

He was one of those people for whom the crowds parted, as if an invisible bulldozer were clearing the space just ahead of him. It wasn’t just his height, not just his conventionally handsome face with its perfect symmetry and toothpaste-advertisement teeth, but his demeanour. He had the presence thing down pat. No wonder he won every case he took on. People paid attention to him whether they wanted to or not. Right now Mya wasn’t the only person staring. Peripheral vision told her every woman in the bar was; so were most of the men.

She needed to pull it together. She wasn’t going to be yet another woman who rolled over and begged for Brad Davenport—even if he was giving her that look. But why was he giving her that look? He’d never looked at her like that before; in fact he’d never really looked at her at all.

Her heart raced the way it did before an exam when she was in mid ‘OMG I’ve forgotten everything’ panic. Had she entered a parallel universe and somehow turned sixteen all over again?

‘Hi, Brad.’ She forced a normal greeting as he stepped up to the space the stag boys had left at the bar.

‘Hi, Mya.’ He mirrored her casual tone—only his was genuine whereas hers was breathless fakery.

It was so unfair that the guy had been blessed with such gorgeousness. In the attractiveness exam of life, Brad scored in the top point five per cent. But it—and other blessings from birth—had utterly spoilt him. Despite her knowing this, the maple-syrup glow in those eyes continued to cook her brain to mush. She ran both hands down the front of her apron, trying to get her muscles to snap out of the spellbound lethargy. But her body had gone treacly soft inside while on the outside her skin was sizzling hot. What was she waiting for? ‘What can I get you?’

He smiled, the full-bore Brad Davenport charming smile. ‘A beer, please.’

‘Just the one?’ She flicked her hair out of her eyes with a businesslike flip of her fingers. That was better—the sooner she got moving, the more control she’d regain. And she could put herself half in the fridge while she got his beer; that would be a very good thing.

‘And whatever you’re having. Are you due a break soon?’ He stood straight up at the bar, not leaning on it as most of the other customers did. In his dark jacket and white open-neck shirt, he looked the epitome of the ‘hotshot lawyer who’d worked late’.

Mya blinked rapidly. She was due for her break, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to have it with him around. She felt as if she was missing something about this. It was almost as if he thought she’d been expecting him. ‘It’s pretty busy.’

‘But that stag party has left so now’s a good time, right? Let me get you a drink.’

‘I don’t dri—’

‘Water, soda, juice,’ he listed effortlessly. ‘There are other options.’ He countered her no-drinking-on-the-job argument before she’d even got it out.

Good grief. Surely he wasn’t hitting on her? No way—the guy had never noticed her before.

These days Mya was used to being hit on—she worked in a bar after all. The guys there were usually drinking alcohol, so inevitably their minds turned to sex after a time. Any woman would do; it wasn’t that she was anything that special. Naturally they tried it on, and naturally she knew how to put them off. She deliberately dressed in a way that wouldn’t invite attention; her plain vee-neck black tee minimised her boobs and the apron tucked round her hips covered most of her thighs in her black jeans. She did wear the platforms, but the extra couple of inches helped her ability to look customers in the eye.

She still had to look up to Brad. And right now he was looking into her eyes as if there were nothing and no one else in the room to bother with. Yeah, he was good at making a woman feel as if she were everything in his world. Very good.

‘I’ll have some water,’ she muttered. There was zero alcohol in her system but she really needed to sober up. Not to mention cool down. She swallowed, determined to employ some easy bartender-to-customer-type conversation. ‘Been a while since I’ve seen you. What have you been up to?’

‘I’ve been busy with work.’

Of course, he was reputedly amazing in the courtroom, but she bet his work wasn’t all he’d been busy with. The guy was legendary even at school. She and Lauren had been there a full five years after him and there’d been talk of his slayer skills. Lauren had been mega popular with all the older girls because they wanted to get to him through her.

‘You need to get away from the bar to have a break,’ he said once she’d set his drink in front of him.

Actually she quite liked that giant block of wood between them. She’d thought herself well over that teen crush, but all it had taken was that one look from him and she was all saucy inside. But there was a compelling glint in his eyes, and somehow she didn’t manage to refuse.

As he shepherded her through the crowd, she steeled herself against the light brush of his hand on her back. She was not feeling remotely feminine next to his tall, muscled frame. She was not enjoying the bulldozer effect and seeing everyone clear out of his path and him guiding her through as if she were some princess to be protected. Surely she couldn’t be that pathetic?

The balcony was darker and quieter. Of course he’d know where to find the most intimate place in an overcrowded venue. She pressed her back against the cold wall. She preferred to be able to keep an eye on the punters, and it gave her unreliable muscles some support. But in a second she realised it was a bad idea because Brad now towered in front of her. Yeah, he was all she could see and there was no way of getting around him easily.

The loud rhythm of the music was nothing on the frantic beat of her pulse in her ears. But he must be used to it—women blushing and going breathless in his company. She hoped he didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary.

‘Will you excuse me a sec?’ she said briskly. ‘I just need to check a couple of messages.’

‘Sure.’

She slipped her hand into her pocket, needing to fill in a few of her fifteen minutes and catch her breath. Besides, the imp in her wanted to know Lauren’s reaction to the photo she’d sent. But there were no messages at all—which was odd given Lauren’s tech-addiction. She frowned at the phone.

‘Did you need to make a call?’ he asked quietly.

‘Do you mind? It won’t take a second.’ And it would fill in a few more of the fifteen minutes.

‘Go for it.’ Brad lifted his glass and sipped.

Mya turned slightly towards the wall and made the call.

‘What did you think?’ she quietly asked as soon as Lauren answered.

‘Think of what?’

‘The pic,’ Mya mumbled into the phone, turning further away so Lauren’s big, bad brother couldn’t hear. ‘I sent it a couple of hours ago.’

‘What picture?’

‘The pic.’ Mya’s heart drummed faster. She glanced at Brad. Standing straight in front of her—a little too close. His eyes flicked up from her body to her face. She didn’t want him listening, but now she’d looked at him, she couldn’t look away. Not when she’d seen that look in his eyes. It wasn’t just maple syrup now. It was alight with something else.

‘I haven’t received any pic. What was it of?’ Lauren laughed.

‘But I sent it,’ Mya said in confusion. She’d heard that whooshing sound when the message had gone. ‘You must have got it.’

‘Nup, nada.’

Mya’s blood pounded round her body. Sweltering, she tried to think. Because if that message hadn’t gone to Lauren, then to whom had it gone?

She stared up at the guy standing closer than he ought and gradually became aware of a change in him. His eyes weren’t just alive with the maple-syrup effect; no, now they were lit with unholy amusement. Why—?

Impossible.

The heat of anticipation within Mya transformed to horror in less than a heartbeat. And to make it worse, Brad suddenly smiled, hell, his shoulders actually shook—was the guy laughing at her?

‘I definitely haven’t got it,’ Lauren warbled on. ‘But I’m glad you rang because I haven’t seen you in …’

Mya zoned out from Lauren, remembering the rush in the change room, the way she’d been giggling and not concentrating, the way her fingers had slipped over the screen …

No. Please no.

Lauren’s voice and the noise from the bar all but disappeared, as if she’d dived into a swimming pool and could hear only muted, warped sound. Her stunned brain slowly cranked through the facts while the rest of her remained locked in the heat of his gaze.

Her contacts list automatically defaulted to alphabetical order. She’d never deleted all the contacts already on it either—and it was an old phone of Lauren’s. No doubt her brother’s number had been programmed in a long, long time ago. And B came before L. So first in the phone list?

Davenport. Brad Davenport.

CHAPTER TWO

MYA ignored the fact that Lauren was still babbling in her ear and jabbed the phone, shutting it down. She shoved it back in her pocket and tossed her head to get her fringe out of her eyes. ‘It seems my phone’s died,’ she said with exaggerated effervescence. ‘Can I borrow yours?’

Brad’s silent chuckle became a quick, audible burst before he summoned the control to answer. ‘Really?’

She nodded vehemently, pretending she couldn’t feel the rhythmic vibrating against her thigh.

‘But your phone is ringing.’

Yeah, there was no pretending she couldn’t hear the shrill squawks over the beat of the bar music.

‘What is that?’

‘It’s a recording of dolphins talking to each other,’ she answered brightly before hitting him with a bald-faced lie. ‘But while my ringer is working, the person on the other end can’t hear me.’

‘Maybe you hit mute.’

‘Look, can I use it?’ She dropped all pretence at perky and spoke flatly. Oh, she wanted to curl into a ball and roll behind a rock. Now. This was why he was here tonight. What had he thought? Surely he hadn’t thought the picture was meant for him and he’d come to her? As if she’d called him?

Mya bit back hysterical laughter. Teen Mya would have loved Brad Davenport to hunt her down for a hookup. Adult Mya had learned to avoid sharks. And of all the people she had to mistakenly send a picture to, it had to be her best friend’s brother? Her best friend’s completely gorgeous, speed-through-a-million-sexual-partners brother?

Brad held her gaze captive with his warm, amused one. ‘But my phone cost a lot of money and I don’t like the way you’re holding that glass of water. I don’t think my phone can survive the depths.’

Was the guy a mind-reader? Of course she wanted to drown the thing—she’d drown Brad himself if she could. Or better still, herself.

How could she have made such a mistake? This ranked as the most mortifying moment of her life. Why had she gone with the scarlet bikini with the see-through sides?

‘How come you have my number anyway?’ he asked lazily, confirming the worst.

‘This was an old phone of Lauren’s.’ Mya groaned. ‘She passed it on to me.’

‘One of the ones she lost and made Dad replace?’

Hell, that would be right. For a while there Lauren had made her father pay—literally. ‘She told me he’d given her a new one and she didn’t need this one any more.’ She didn’t like the frown in Brad’s eyes.

Yeah, she was the bad influence, wasn’t she? The one who came from the wrong side of the tracks to lead Lauren astray. Did he think she abused her relationship with Lauren to get things? Lauren’s parents had thought that. Indeed, Lauren had tried to give Mya things. Mya had refused to take most of them. The little she had, she’d hidden from her own parents. She didn’t want them feeling bad that they couldn’t afford those kinds of gifts—indeed any. Even then Lauren had tricked her into taking this phone and she’d taken nothing since.

And now? Now there was no dignity left in this situation. ‘Would you please delete it?’ she asked. Yeah, begging already.

‘Never.’

Incredibly, his instant laughing response melted her but she couldn’t be flattered by this. She just couldn’t. ‘It wasn’t meant for you.’

‘More’s the pity,’ he said softly. ‘Do you often text pictures of yourself in underwear to your friends?’

‘It wasn’t underwear,’ she said indignantly.

His chin lifted and the sound of his laughter rang out, crashing and curling over her like a wave of warmth. ‘It’s a bra.’

But Mya couldn’t float in that tempting sea. ‘It’s a bikini.’

He shook his head, his brown eyes teasing. ‘Sorry, Mya. It’s a bra.’

She was still too mortified to be teased. ‘I was in a swimwear store. I wanted Lauren’s opinion on it. It was a bikini.’

‘There were see-though bits.’ He gestured widely and half shrugged. ‘There was underwire. Looked like a bra to me.’

‘You’d know because you’ve seen so many?’ She tried to bite, but felt her blush rise higher.

‘Sure,’ he chuckled. ‘And for the record, yes, you can definitely get away with it.’

Brad watched Mya closely and couldn’t bring himself to take the polite step back despite knowing the doll was embarrassed beyond belief. But no way in hell was he ever deleting that image. She was gorgeous—far more gorgeous than he’d realised. The picture had been the teaser, but seeing her like this now? All flushed and snappy, pocket-sized but bright-eyed—he was beyond intrigued.

Her hair was swept into a ponytail. Now he remembered the colour had frequently changed. She and Lauren had spent for ever in Lauren’s room, giggles emanating as they did outrageous things to their hair. Though right now, instead of hot pink and purple, Mya’s hair colour looked almost natural—a light brown with slightly blonde streaks round the front. Her wickedly high cheekbones created sharp planes sloping down to that narrow little chin. Those teeth and that impish smile broke the perfection, yet were perfect themselves. The all-black ensemble was unusual for her but it didn’t hide her body. Despite her slender limbs and pixie face, she wasn’t boyishly slim. Her jeans were painted on, and the apron around her hips didn’t wholly hide her curvy butt. As for those breasts … Plumped up by the bikini/bra in the picture, they’d been so bountiful they’d spilled over the edges. Now, disguised under that plain black tee, their silhouette was minimised. But no simple cotton covering could fully hide the softness that seemed sinfully generous in proportion to her small stature.

His heart drummed a triumphant beat. Blood pulsed, priming muscles. Because he’d seen the way she’d looked at him—the flash she hadn’t been able to hide when he’d first walked into the bar. There’d been that pull, that instinctive reaction. He knew the signs—the second glances, small smiles, the heightened colour. The sparkle in the eyes, the parting of the lips. Brad Davenport also knew his worth. He knew he had a body that attracted a second glance—oh, and the cynic in him knew most women would never forget his trust fund. So he was used to being wanted and he knew when a woman wanted him.

Now the tip of her tongue briefly touched that too-wide top lip and then she bit back her smile. Yeah, she still had that gap between her two front teeth.

With just a look she’d had those stag-party guys competing to catch her close and hold her. Only she’d held them off with a few words and a hint of fire. And he wasn’t thinking of the lighter flame.

Brad’s entire body was on fire, and for the second time that night he gave in to impulse. He took her glass from her and put it on the table next to his.

‘What are you doing?’ A breathless squeak.

‘We’re old friends,’ he said softly. ‘We should greet each other properly.’

‘I wouldn’t have said we were friends.’ Her voice wobbled.

He smiled at the sound. He’d stirred a small response from her, but he wanted more. And he was used to winning what he wanted. Before she could say anything more, he stepped close and caught her mouth with his.

She instantly tensed, but he kept it light. When the stiff surprise ebbed from her body—pleasingly quickly—he lifted his head a fraction and stepped closer at the same time. He flicked his tongue to feel her soft lips, tracing their uneven length, and then sealing his to hers again and tasting the delight inside her mouth. And then she kissed him back and that fire exploded. Man, Mya Campbell was a hell of a lot hotter than he’d ever thought possible.

For a split second Mya wondered if she were dreaming. Then the heat blasted into her and she knew not even her imagination could come up with this. She held her head up without even realising—no thought of pushing him away. Because the guy did wicked things with his tongue—sweeping it between her lips. Deeper and deeper again. Caressing her mouth as if it were the most delicious pleasure. She softened, opening more. And he stepped closer, taking more, giving so much more.

His chest pressed into hers. She could feel how broad and strong he was. It was a damn good thing she had the wall behind her—she was sandwiched between two solid forces and it was utterly exquisite. His mouth was rapacious now. His body insistent. Like yin and yang—hard versus the soft. And yet there was tension in her body too, that fierce need for physical fulfilment unfurling inside.

She slid her hand over his abs, the heat of him blazing through the white cotton shirt. She could feel those taut muscles and shivered at the thought of them working hard above her, beneath her—every way towards pleasure.

Her rational mind spun off into the distance while her senses took centre stage, demanding all her attention. She all but oozed into him, utterly malleable, his to twist and tease. And he did—grinding against her, kissing her mouth, her jaw, her neck and back to her mouth. She threaded her fingers through his hair, opening yet more for him.

His hand slid to the curve of her hip, lower still to her butt. He spread his fingers, pulling her hips closer to the heat of his—so she could feel his response even more. A moan escaped as she felt his thick erection pressing against her belly. So hot, so soon, this was just so crazy.

But all thought vanished as his other hand slid up from her waist, cupping her breast. She momentarily tensed, anticipating the pain—she was too sensitive for touch there. But his fingers stilled, not following through on their upward sweep; a half-second later he moved again to cup her soft flesh, avoiding her nipple. Good thing, as both were overloading already just with the pressure of his chest against hers. She relaxed against him again as she realised he somehow understood. Instead he pressed deeper—his tongue laying claim to her mouth, his body almost imprinting on hers.

And despite this oh-so-thorough kiss, she wanted so much more than this.

She moved restlessly—tiny rocking motions of her hips. It was all she could manage given how hard he was pinning her to the wall. But with every small movement she drew closer and closer to the hit of ecstasy that she suddenly needed more than anything else in the world.

It wasn’t a kiss; it was a siege—he’d encircled her and demanded her surrender. It hadn’t taken her long to cave at all. Her fingers curled instinctively into his cotton shirt as wicked tension gripped her. Almost at breaking point—the convulsions of ecstasy were a mere breath away.

‘Excuse me!’

Mya froze and she felt Brad’s arms go equally rigid. She pulled back and met his eyes—he looked as startled as she felt.

‘Mya, you’re way over your break time.’ Drew, her boss, snapped right beside her. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

All but stupefied, Mya turned and stared at her boss. She literally didn’t know. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t answer. She was still trying to process the chemical reaction that had ignited every cell while in Brad’s embrace. But as she looked at the extreme irritation on Drew’s face, reality rushed back. Her boss was furious. Panic slammed the door shut on the remaining good vibes—she couldn’t afford to lose this job. What on earth had she been thinking?

‘Drew, I’m so sorry,’ she said in a breathless rush, stepping further away from Brad. ‘I wasn’t aware of the time. I didn’t—’

‘No kidding,’ Drew interrupted rudely, her scrambled apology having no effect on his temper. ‘This is—’

‘My fault.’ To Mya’s horror, Brad coolly interrupted Drew. ‘I distracted her.’

Drew turned his glower on Brad. But within a second his expression eased a fraction as he got a good look at the man now stepping up in front of him.

Mya watched the two men square off. All of a sudden Brad seemed both taller and broader as he moved to put himself partly between her and Drew. Oh, this wasn’t good—she really didn’t need Brad interfering; she was on the line as it was. She could handle Drew herself without any macho-male stuff.

Brad sent her a quick glance but seemed oblivious to her wordless plea to shut the heck up and back off. Instead he turned back to Drew.

Mya held her breath but then Brad smiled—that big, easy smile, with just a hint of the ‘born-to-it-all’ arrogance. ‘My name’s Brad Davenport.’ He extended his hand as if it were not in the least embarrassing that he’d just been caught kissing the brains out of Drew’s employee when she should have been working. ‘I want to hire out your bar.’

‘Drew.’ Mya’s manager paused a moment and then shook Brad’s hand. ‘This is a popular place. I’m not sure you’ll need the whole bar for one small party.’

‘It’s not going to be a small party. I want the whole bar,’ Brad answered calmly. ‘Obviously we’ll pay to secure absolute privacy for the night.’

Mya watched the change come over Drew as he assessed Brad’s worth. It didn’t take much to know the clothes were designer, the watch gold, the self-assurance in-built …

‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’ Drew’s demeanour changed to sycophantic in a heartbeat.

‘I’m sure we can.’ Brad smiled his killer smile once again. ‘It should be good. This place has an atmosphere I like.’

Mya watched the Davenport charm in action as he arranged a meeting time with Drew. He got everything his own way so easily. Utterly used to doors swinging open—and women’s legs parting on sight of that smile too. And while she was totally relieved he’d just saved her neck from the block, she was also irritated with the ease with which he’d done it. The man had everything. Money, looks, brains, charm. Had he ever known what it was to have to fight for something? To really have to work for something? Mya knew what it was to work, hard.

‘You have two minutes,’ Drew said to Mya, as if he were an emperor granting a favour to a lowly serf. ‘Then back behind that bar.’

‘Of course.’ Mya nodded as he disappeared into the crowd. Then she turned back to Brad. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to follow through on that meeting.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’ Brad didn’t look at all bothered. ‘I think a night here could be fun.’

Mya chose to ignore the hint of entendre in his expression. ‘Have you got a reason to party?’

‘Who needs a reason?’ Brad shrugged.

‘Because life’s just one big party?’

He merely chuckled and then stepped closer. ‘I’m sorry we were interrupted. Things were getting interesting there.’

But that close call had firmly grounded Mya. ‘Things were getting out of hand,’ she corrected, opting not to look any higher than his collar. ‘I’m sorry about that. You took me by surprise.’

‘Wow,’ Brad said after a pause. ‘I’m intrigued to think what it’ll be like when I give you fair warning.’

Mya shook her head and stepped away. ‘You’re not getting another chance.’

She felt his hand on her elbow turning her back towards him. His hand slipped down her arm to take her fingers in his.

The touch made her look up before she thought better of it. His surprisingly intense expression incinerated her but she hauled herself from the ashes of easiness. Mya liked sex, but she preferred it within the context of some kind of relationship, not the one-night-stand scene Brad was champion of. And she was steering well clear of any kind of entanglement for the foreseeable future. Long-term future. She had too much else to do—like work, study and occasionally eat and sleep.

Also, this man had always had everything too easy. She’d just seen him in action—twice already tonight. He wasn’t having her that way again. She truly had just been caught by surprise, and her response to him was simply a reflection of his expertise and her lack of any physical release in the last while, right?

The swirling frustration and embarrassment inside her coalesced and came out as temper. ‘You thought that picture was a booty call, didn’t you?’ She called him out with sarcasm-coated words. ‘From a woman that you haven’t spoken to in at least five years?’

‘Have we ever spoken?’ He laughed off her accusation. ‘I thought you and Lauren just paraded around fake-Goth-style and giggled behind closed doors. Interesting to think what was really going on behind those doors given the pictures you send each other. Thinking about it, you two went to prom together, didn’t you?’

‘With her boyfriend,’ Mya answered.

‘Oh, a threesome.’ Brad laughed harder.

‘If you remember, she tried to get you to take me.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ His eyes widened as he thought about it. ‘That’s right.’

Unlike him, Mya had never forgotten what for her had been the most mortifying moment of that night. He’d been home from university. He’d had some silvery-blonde girlfriend with him. Tall and sleek, she’d had the obligatory blue eyes and the label clothes and the ‘born to it all’ attitude. Mya had hated her on sight. The girlfriend had spent most of the time spread on a sofa being kissed to glory by Brad.

‘You were wearing one of Lauren’s dresses,’ he said slowly.

‘Yes.’ She was amazed he’d now remembered that detail. Mya had butchered one of Lauren’s many formal dresses. A soft, pretty pink dress—never a colour she’d normally wear. She’d taken to it with a pair of scissors and completely cut away the back and secured it with long, trailing ribbons. She’d been aiming for a soft romantic look.

It was the dress that she’d hoped might garner her the attention she’d thought she’d wanted. All she’d wanted to do was fit in—to be popular and accepted. To be just like the rest of them and not different for once. She’d wanted it to all be easy. But it was never as easy as a change of clothes. Make-overs didn’t change the person underneath. She hadn’t just been sixteen and never been kissed. She’d made it all the way to eighteen and first-year uni before that honour had fallen to a fellow student who’d seemed sweet enough until he’d had what he wanted.

But back at that night of the dance, she’d had the whole prom fantasy. What wallflower schoolgirl didn’t? The one where the hottest guy in school asked her to dance and it was all perfect and ended with a kiss. Or the super-hot brother of the best friend asked her? Yeah, she’d been such a cliché. And she’d felt like a princess for all of five minutes, until Brad had ignored her. She’d been pretty and dressed up and hadn’t even been able to turn the head of the most sexually hungry male she knew back then.

‘You were too busy wearing that blonde to answer at the time,’ Mya said dryly.

The dimple in his cheek deepened. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

He hadn’t appreciated his younger sister’s interruption. Mya had seen the raw lust in him, the tease, the firmness with which he pulled the girl onto his lap—his strong arm wrapped around her waist, his confident hand close to her breast. And for a few minutes, she’d wanted to be that girl. Now for five minutes she had been. And it was better than any fantasy.

Mya sucked up her stupidity and turned her self-scorn towards him instead. ‘That’s all irrelevant anyway. What’s really the issue here is how pathetically horn dog you are. You get a look at a woman in her bikini and you’re suddenly hot for her? When you’ve never so much as looked at her in the last decade?’

Amusement still burned in his eyes. ‘You were a child a decade ago.’

‘It’s still pathetic.’ And frankly, insulting.

‘Maybe that prom night isn’t so irrelevant at all.’ His smile widened. ‘Did you have a crush on me back in high school? Your best friend’s older brother?’

She gaped.

‘Because,’ he leaned closer and drawled outrageously, ‘you wouldn’t have been the only one.’

Hell, the guy had an ego. Unfortunately what he’d said was true. There were several girls who’d done the faux-friendship thing to Lauren just to get close to her brother. Mya shook her head and denied him anyway. ‘Girls that age are at the mercy of hormones just as boys are and they fixate on the nearest object. Their fixating on you was probably more a matter of locality than your attractiveness.’

He grinned wolfishly. ‘So if it wasn’t me your hormones fixed on, then who?’

‘I didn’t have the time.’

‘Everybody has the time.’ He moved closer as his voice dropped to an intimate whisper. ‘Who did you used to dream of?’

‘No one.’

‘So rebellious on the outside, such a square inside.’ He shook his head.

Mya gritted her teeth.

‘No wonder you erupted with one touch—you’ve been repressed too long.’

Mya couldn’t answer because that was actually true. She’d been without too long; that was the reason she’d inhaled his touch like an attention-starved animal.

‘Did you wish I’d said yes to Lauren and taken you to the ball? Is that why you’re trying to cut me down now? Did I burst your love-struck teen bubble?’

He was so close to the mark it was mortifying. But she’d never, ever admit it. ‘I’m sure you’ve burst many poor girls’ bubbles, but you never burst mine.’ Mya willed a languid tone. ‘Fact is I’ve always seen through your charm to what you really are.’

‘And what am I?’

‘Selfish, spoilt, arrogant. Insufferable.’

‘Is that all?’ He paused a moment. ‘You don’t want to add some more about how unattractive you find me?’

Very funny. ‘You’re so up yourself it’s unbelievable.’

‘But you still want me.’ He breathed out and then laughed. ‘You’re never going to be able to deny it. Not when you kissed me like that.’

‘You were the one who kissed me.’ Cross, she licked her extremely dry lips.

‘It started that way but within two seconds you were clawing my shirt off.’

‘I was trying to push you away.’

The rogue laughed harder. Mya pulled her hand free of his grip and strode back through to the bar. She got behind it and found he was right there in front of her, waiting to be served—and still annoyingly amused.

‘You have to go now,’ she told him firmly, determined not to let that smile affect her. ‘I have work to do.’ She pulled out a chopping board, some lemons and a knife to prove it.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I need you more than ever now.’

Yeah, right. He’d never needed her before. And while she didn’t want to think he’d kissed her on a whim, the fact was he had. He’d never wanted to kiss her before, remember? The guy who had his pick of every woman in every room in the world hadn’t noticed her until she was hardly dressed. It really didn’t do much for her ego. And even less for his character. It showed he was simply attracted to the lowest common denominator—bared flesh.

He shook his head in mock despair. ‘You suspect my motivation.’

‘Your reputation does precede you.’ She maintained her cool. ‘And all you’ve said and done so far tonight merely confirms the worst.’

‘Actually, Mya, I really do need you.’ His expression went serious. ‘I’m not just going to hire out the bar. I’m going to hire you.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I’M NOT interested.’ Mya was telling herself that over and over but her body wasn’t listening. Her pulse still pounded, her ears still attuned to every nuance in his words. But her ego was piqued. He’d kissed her only after seeing her breasts in a skimpy bikini—and now he wanted to hire her? For what exactly?

‘Sure you are.’ He winked. ‘I have to have a party now and you’re the perfect person to organise it for poor helpless me.’

She shook her head. ‘Poor and helpless are the antithesis of what you are. You don’t need anyone, let alone me.’

He grinned, obviously appreciating the unvarnished truth, but behind the smiling eyes she sensed his brain was whizzing. Yeah, the guy was wickedly calculating. And far too together already after the kiss that had shattered her. She needed to keep her guard well up.

‘Lauren’s finished her degree,’ he said.

Momentarily thrown by the change in topic, Mya blinked. Then she nodded, but said nothing. If she hadn’t been such an idiot, she’d have been a lot nearer to finishing her degree too.

‘For a while there it didn’t seem likely she’d even finish high school let alone a university degree,’ he added.

He was right. When Mya had started at that school, Lauren’s wild streak had been on the verge of going septic and that hadn’t been in the perfect Davenport family plan at all. They were all graduates with successful careers—and expected Lauren to achieve the same. Whereas Mya was the only one in her family to have finished school. She was supposed to be the first in the family to finish a degree too. Honours no less, having won a prestigious scholarship. Except she’d screwed it up, and now she doubted that she’d ever deserved it. But she’d finish her degree all on her own account—independence was now everything to her. This time she was taking the lead from Lauren. So she nodded. ‘She defied everyone’s expectations and did it. Brilliantly too.’

There was a pause and she couldn’t help glancing at him. And then they both laughed at that one unbelievable aspect of Lauren’s success.

‘It’s more than a little ironic, don’t you think?’ he said, his face lightening completely. ‘That she almost dropped out and now she’s going to be a teacher?’

‘She’ll be a dragon too, I bet.’ Mya bit her lip but couldn’t quite hold back the chuckle. ‘Super-strict. She won’t put up with any illegal nail polish.’ Back in the day, Mya and Lauren had broken more than the nail-polish rules. Their favourite look had been purple splatter.

‘So we’ll have the party for her. It’s as good an excuse as any,’ Brad said confidently. ‘Exam results are out. It’s not long until Christmas. Many of her friends are going overseas and won’t be back for her graduation ceremony next year. She’s worked hard for a long while.’ He faced her square on again. ‘So we’ll surprise her.’

‘You’re going to have it as a surprise?’ Mya asked. ‘You want me to distract her?’ She’d be happy to sneak Lauren out and be there for the big surprise moment.

But he was shaking his head. ‘I want you to organise it.’

Mya’s enthusiasm burst like a kid’s balloon encountering the prick of a needle. Of course he did. He had to have this party but she’d be the one copping all the extra work to get it ready? Her ego suffered another blow—and more importantly she just didn’t have the time to do it. ‘Isn’t partying your area of expertise?’

‘Darling, I’ve never planned a party. I am the party.’ He mimicked her emphasis.

‘Oh, please.’

‘Who better to arrange it than my sister’s best friend? I said I’ll hire you. You’ll be paid.’

She bridled. ‘I’m not taking money from you. I’m her friend.’ The thought of him paying for her services irked her. She’d always put in an honest day’s work but the thought of Brad owning her time spiked her hackles.

‘I’ll get in a planner instead.’ He shrugged.

Now she was even more ticked. He was too used to getting everything his own way. ‘You think you can just throw some money on the table and have some flash event happen? Lauren wouldn’t want some impersonal, chic party put together by cutesy PR girls she doesn’t even know.’ Mya shook her head. ‘Wouldn’t it mean more to her if you put in some personal effort? She doesn’t like cookie-cutter perfection.’ Lauren had had so many things bought for her—by impersonal secretaries. She liked the individual—that was part of what had drawn her and Mya so close.

He looked sceptical. ‘You think I should choose the colour scheme and the canapés?’

‘Why not?’ she asked blandly.

‘You’re not tempted by an unlimited budget and licence to do anything? Most women would love that, right?’

‘I’m not like most women. Nor is Lauren. You should organise it—it’s your idea.’ She sent him a cutting glance. ‘Or are you too selfish to spend time on her?’

He laughed. ‘Sweetheart, every human on this planet is selfish,’ he said. ‘We all do what’s ultimately best for ourselves. I am doing this for very selfish reasons and not many of them to do with Lauren herself. It’s mainly so I don’t have to deal with my mother’s hand-wringing and a frozen dinner out with my parents to celebrate Lauren’s graduation. And so you don’t get in trouble with your boss and take it out on me. Does that make me a bad person?’

Heat ricocheted round her body like a jet of boiling oil as she saw the intense look in his eye. He didn’t want her to think badly of him? And he was doing this to prevent her from getting in trouble. ‘No,’ she conceded.

‘You have to help me,’ he said softly.

That was one step too far. ‘We wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t kissed me.’ She tried to argue back but felt herself slipping. ‘You created this problem. You don’t need me.’

‘Do I have the names and numbers of half her friends? No. I don’t know all her university mates the way you do. Of course I need your help.’

Silent, she looked at him.

‘I’m thinking of Lauren. Are you?’ he jeered.

She sighed. ‘For Lauren’s sake, I’ll help. But you’re not paying me.’

‘What a good friend you are,’ he teased.

‘I am, actually,’ she declared.

‘We all do what is best for ourselves,’ he murmured with a shake of his head. ‘Wasn’t insisting I be actively involved in the planning really because you wanted to spend more time with me?’

She gaped—how did he turn that one around? ‘No. I’m only thinking of Lauren.’ She vehemently denied that tendril of excitement curling through her innards at the thought of spending time with him. He had an outsize ego that needed stripping. ‘You think you’re irresistible, don’t you?’

‘Experience has led me to believe that’s often the case.’

His eyes were glinting. He might be laughing, but she suspected part of him meant it. Outrageous wasn’t the word. The guy needed taking down a peg or forty. ‘Not in this case.’

‘No?’ He chuckled, radiating good humour. ‘So that blush is pure annoyance? Then you’ve nothing to worry about, right? We can organise Lauren’s party together because you can resist me no problem.’

Could she resist him? For a second Mya wondered and then her fighting spirit came to the fore. Of course she could. ‘No problem at all.’

He leaned closer. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t seen much of you in recent years.’

‘Maybe you should have turned up to a couple of Lauren’s birthday parties.’

He winced, hand to his chest. ‘I was overseas.’

She knew he’d studied further overseas before coming back and setting up his own practice. ‘So convenient. For work, was it? You learned well from your father.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Doesn’t he use work for emotional avoidance too? Earns millions to buy the things to make up for it.’ Lauren had been given so many things and none of them what she’d truly yearned for.

The laughing glint vanished from Brad’s eyes. ‘Formed a few judgments over the years, haven’t you?’

Mya realised she might have gone more than a little far. ‘I’m sorry, that was out of line. I’ll always be grateful for the kindness your parents showed me,’ she said stiltedly, embarrassed at her rudeness.

But he laughed again, the devil dancing back in his eyes. ‘Their kindness?’

Okay, maybe he did remember the ultra-frosty welcome she’d got for the first year or three that she and Lauren hung out. ‘They didn’t ban me from their home.’ Even though she knew they’d wanted to. Now they realised they owed Mya something.

‘Don’t worry about it. I know even better than you what a mess it was.’

He’d certainly left home the second he could. Mya had been the one who’d spent every afternoon after school with Lauren in that house. She and Lauren hid up in Lauren’s suite, laughing and ignoring the frozen misery downstairs. The false image of the perfect family. ‘But Lauren’s the one who’s made the conscious effort to be different from how she was raised.’

‘You’re saying I’ve not?’

Mya shrugged. ‘You’re the mini-me lawyer.’

‘You do know my father and I practise vastly different types of law. I’m not in his firm.’

Blandly she picked up a glass and polished it. That didn’t mean anything.

‘What, all lawyers are the same?’ He snorted. ‘I don’t do anything he does. I work with kids.’

She knew this, and at this precise moment she point-blank refused to be impressed by it. ‘You think your save-the-children heroic-lawyer act somehow ameliorates your womanising ways?’ Because Brad was a womaniser. Just like his father.

‘Doesn’t it?’

See, he didn’t even deny the charge. ‘You think? Yeah, that’s probably why you do child advocacy,’ she mused. ‘To score the chicks by showing your sensitive side.’

He laughed, a loud burst of genuine humour that had her smiling back in automatic response.

‘That’s an interesting take. I’ve never really thought about it that way.’ He shrugged. ‘But even if it does give me some chick-points, at least I’ve done something with my life that’s useful. Is igniting alcohol for party boys useful?’

She shifted uncomfortably. Serving drinks was a means to an end. But she managed a smooth reply. ‘Helping people relax is a skill.’

His brows shot up. ‘I’m not sure you’re that good at helping guys relax.’

She met his gaze and felt the intensity pull between them again.

‘Are you still at university or are you finished now?’ He broke the silence, looking down and toying with the pile of postcards on the edge of the bar.

‘I’m there part-time this year.’

‘Studying what?’

‘A double degree. Law and commerce.’

‘Law and commerce?’ he repeated. ‘So you’re going to become a greedy capitalist like my evil father and me?’ He laughed. She didn’t blame him, given her stabbing disapproval mere seconds ago. ‘You’re enjoying it?’

‘Of course,’ she said stiffly.

‘And the plan?’

‘A job in one of the top-five firms, of course.’

‘Speciality?’

‘Corporate.’

‘You mean like banking? Counting beans? Helping companies raid others and earning yourself wads of cash in the process?’

‘Nothing wrong with wanting to earn a decent wage in a job where you can sit down.’ She walked away to serve the customers she’d been ignoring too long. Her need to achieve wasn’t something trust-fund-son over there could understand. She needed money—not for a giant flat-screen TV and a house with a lap-pool and overseas jaunts. She needed a new house, yes, but not for herself. For her parents.

She was conscious of his gaze still on her as he sat now nursing something non-alcoholic and taking in the scene. As she glanced over, she saw his eyes held a hint of bleak strain. Was it possible that behind the playboy façade, the guy was actually tired?

But he didn’t leave. Even when the bar got quieter and they’d turned the music down a notch. In another ten minutes the lights would brighten to encourage the stragglers out of the dark corners. Mya felt him watching her, felt her fingers go butter-slippery. She kept thinking about the kiss; heat came in waves—when memory swept over control. She couldn’t stay away when he signalled her over to his end of the bar.

‘I’ve been thinking about the drinks for Lauren’s party,’ he said easily. ‘It would be good to offer something different, right? Not just the usual.’

So that was why he was still sitting there? He was party planning? Not surreptitiously watching her at all?

‘There you go, see?’ Mya said brightly, masking how deflated she suddenly felt. ‘You’ll organise a brilliant party. You don’t need me.’

‘I need your expertise,’ he countered blandly. ‘I don’t think I can ignite alcohol.’

No, but he could ignite other things with a mere look. Mya pulled her head together and focused on the task at hand. ‘You want me to come up with a couple of Lauren-inspired cocktails?’

‘They’re the house speciality, right? So, yeah, make up some new ones, give them a cute name, we’ll put them up on the blackboard.’ He chuckled. ‘Something that’ll be good fun to watch the bartender make. Definitely use a bit of fire.’

‘And ice,’ she answered, then turned away to scoop crushed ice into a glass and wished she could put herself in with it. How could she be this hot? Maybe it was a bug?

‘What would you use to make her cocktail?’ he asked idly. ‘What kind of spirit is Lauren?’

She took the question seriously. ‘Classic bones, quirky overtones. A combination that you wouldn’t expect.’

She turned her back to him and looked at the rows and rows of gleaming bottles. Reached up and grabbed a few and put them on the bar beside Brad. Then she poured. ‘Her cocktail would need to be layered.’ Carefully she bent and made sure each layer sat properly on the next. ‘Unexpected but delicious.’ She smiled to herself as she added a few drops of another few things. Then she straightened and looked at him expectantly.

He just held her gaze.

Finally she broke the silence. ‘You don’t want to try it?’

He studied the vivid blue, orange and green liquid in the glass in front of him. ‘Not unless you try it first. It looks like poison to me. Too many ingredients.’

‘I don’t drink on the job.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Are you too scared?’

‘Don’t think you can goad me into doing what you want,’ he said softly. But he picked up the glass and took a small sip. He inhaled deeply after swallowing the liquid fire. ‘That’s surprisingly good.’

‘Yes,’ Mya said smugly. ‘Just like Lauren.’

He grinned his appreciation. ‘All right, clever clogs, what cocktail would you put together for me?’

Oh, that was easy. She picked up a bottle and put it on the bar.

He stared at it, aghast. ‘You’re calling me a boring old malt?’

‘It needs nothing else. Overpowering enough on its own.’

‘Well, you’re wrong. There’s another like that that’s more me than a single malt.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Tequila. Lethal, best with a little salt and a twist of something tart like one of your lemons.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘And what are you?’ He laughed. ‘Brandy? Vodka? Maudlin gin?’

‘None. I don’t have time.’

‘You should make time. You shouldn’t work so hard.’

‘Needs must.’ She shrugged it off lightly. ‘And you have to leave now so I can close up the bar.’

‘Have lunch with me tomorrow. We can brainstorm ideas.’

She should have said yes to organising the party on her own. Why had she thought he ought to have active involvement? ‘I’m at class tomorrow. I’m doing summer school.’ She’d be in summer school for the next three years.

‘Okay, breakfast, then.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m working.’

‘This place is open all night?’ His brows lifted.

‘I work in a café in the mornings and some other shifts that fit around my classes and the bar work.’

‘And you work here every night?’

‘Not on Sundays.’

‘Where do you work on a Sunday—the café?’

She nodded, looking up in time to see his quick frown. She rolled her eyes. Yes, she worked hard; that was what people did when they had to. Eating was essential after all.

‘Why didn’t you take a summer internship?’

She turned and put all the bottles back in their places on the shelves. The summer internships at prestigious law firms in the city were sought after. Often they led to permanent job offers once degrees were completed. But she wasn’t going there again, not until her final year of study and she’d recovered her grade average. Not to mention her dignity. ‘I need to keep going with my studies and, believe it or not, I earn more in the bar.’

‘You get good tips?’

‘Really good.’ She rinsed her hands again and wiped down the bench.

‘You might get more if you let some more of that red lace stuff show.’ He glanced down the bar. ‘One thing we are going to do for the party is have better bartender outfits. You’d never guess what you wear beneath the undertaker’s uniform you’ve got going on in here.’

Heat scorched her cheeks again. Once again, why had she picked that wretched scarlet bikini? He was never going to let her forget it. ‘This is what we all wear in the bar. It’s simple, efficient and looks smart.’

‘It’s deadly dull and doesn’t make the most of your assets. Not like that red underneath it.’

‘It’s not underneath it.’

‘You took it off?’ He looked appalled. ‘Why on earth did you take it off?’

‘It was a bikini,’ she said, goaded. She closed her eyes and breathed deep to stop herself laughing. His wicked smile suggested he knew she was close to it anyway. She looked at him. Not at all sorry he had to shell out however many tens of thousands to hire the most popular bar in town outright for a night during the busiest time of the year.

‘Why do men get so fixated on lacy underwear?’ she asked aloud. ‘Don’t you know sexy underwear is no indicator of how far a woman is prepared to go?’

‘You’re saying you’ll go further than what your boring day-bra might indicate?’ he said mildly.

‘No!’ she snapped.

‘So you do wear boring day-bras?’

Oh, the guy was incorrigible. But, heaven help her, she couldn’t help but laugh. So she’d see him some saucy talk, and raise him some flirt. She nodded with a secret smile. ‘No lace.’