Page 39 of Just One Look
Irresistible
He gotto the restaurant early this time, too. If a regular woman could get uncomfortable waiting, how would Elizabeth feel? She’d bolt faster than Webster, that was what.
If she turned up at all. He wouldn’t have bet his pay packet on it.
He could have texted Mona, the ginger from last week, if he’d wanted company. He had a feeling she’d say yes, last-minute or not. When he’d walked her to her car after their dinner, which had featured heaps of sidelong glances, touches of his arm, and general suggestions of sexual chemistry, she’d stepped right into him, pulled his head down, kissed him in a way that said that he might have ten years on her, but she knew what she was doing and what she wanted, smiled up at him, as slow and sultry as a ginger would ever manage, and asked, “Sure you want to say goodnight?”
“No.” He’d laughed, possibly at himself. She was hot, she was willing, and she was here, and yet, instead of saying, “Come back to mine for a drink?” he was saying, “But I’ve got a munted disc at the moment, and I need to ease the pressure on it for a day or two.”
She’d put her palm against his chest, which he appreciated, trailed her other hand over the back of his neck, and said, “You need to lie still? That could be arranged.”
“Tempting,” he’d said, “but probably a bad idea.” And kissed her goodbye.
Was he getting old? Was that it? That was the point, though—notto feel old. And yet, walking away from her, that was how he’d felt. Maybe that was why he’d made the date with Elizabeth. He knew this one wasn’t going to end up in bed. No pressure there.
He headed into the restaurant and asked Cameron, one of the regular servers, for a beer. Cameron nodded, pulled it from the tap, and said, “Hard luck last night. It may have turned out different if you’d been out there for eighty minutes like usual.”
“Nice to think so,” Luka said, “but probably not true. Just a cog in the machine, mate.”
Cameron laughed. “What d’you reckon for next week? Looks like three easy ones coming up, with the Stormers next, then the Waratahs and Brumbies over in Aussie. None of them burning their way up the ladder, eh.”
“It’s never easy,” Luka said. “Winning’s harder on the road, and the South Africans come to play.” He wondered what part of a rugby game, no matter how lopsided the score, looked “easy,” but he didn’t say it. No point. He also didn’t say,Not likely to be any easier without Marko Sendoa, either,even though he was fairly sure Marko was going to be missing for a while. If Marko hadn’t been planning a spot of paternity leave before today, he’d be planning it now. But you didn’t announce anything to the general public—or the other team—before the coach did. No point giving anybody extra time to prepare their game plan.
Also, if you couldn’t win without a player—any player—you were stretched too thin. Nobody was indispensable, including him. Which was why he’d get up tomorrow and go to training and fight for his starting spot the same way he always did. One day at a time.
“Reckon it’s best to say that, anyway,” Cameron said. “In case you lose.” He passed Luka’s beer across the bar and asked, “This it for you, or will you be wanting to run a tab?”
“Running a tab,” Luka said. “Meeting a lady, if she turns up. Dinner, probably.”
Cameron said, “No worries. I’m guessing she’ll turn up,” and nothing more, because a comment on Luka’s love life was out of bounds, unlike giving his opinion on rugby or his local team’s performance therein. On that issue, Cameron, like every other rugby supporter in New Zealand, felt more than free to offer his thoughts.
Why had he told Cameron that, though, about Elizabeth turning up? What kind of bizarre insecurity was this?
The kind you got, maybe, when seven o’clock came and went, and shedidn’tturn up. If he was irresistible and a star, she hadn’t got the message.
* * *
Do your hair first,Elizabeth told herself, and took herself into the teeny-tiny bathroom to do it, banging her elbow against the wall as she worked the magic.
She might not be the best at dressing herself, but at least she knew how to do her hair. Yes, that was thanks to Jordan and the magical hairdresser he’d recommended, who’d cut her unruly mane in some sort of mysterious way so it actually looked good and fell right, and then had given her some coaching on how to get it that way again, but at least she’d learned, more or less. And if it took about half a jar of expensive hair product to do it—well, she didn’t do it that often, did she? Also, shewasvery well compensated.
She used the Bluetooth speaker to blast a sexy playlist while she did it, something else Jordan had recommended, “to put you in the mood before a hot date, help you shift gears.” Not that it had worked all that well, because judging by Kristoff’s reactions, she didn’t exactly have a sultry side, but this was her reboot. Time to try again. Maybe even time to do some clothes shopping in her newly free time, because she hadn’t brought the right things. Or didn’townthe right things.
Oh, wait. No. Luka had said it wasn’t romantic. Well, of course not. But still, there was her pride. Also, it was her first time out post-Kristoff. Her first time out in New Zealand. It was astart.She might not be irresistible, but she could get better.
She got the hair right at last and didnotlook at her phone, because she knew how much time she had left. Five minutes before she had to meet him, because ten songs had played, and most songs were about three minutes long.
She was going to be late. That wasn’t a good reason to get breathless and flustered, though. Ten minutes late, fifteen … it was all right. Women did that all the time, rumor had it, although again, judging by Kristoff’s response, it wasn’t sexy whenshedid it.
Clothes. She could do makeup in four minutes. She had to be wearing something remotely suitable when she walked out the door, though, and right now, she was in her robe. Never mind which outfit was best anymore. She needed to pick one and go for it.
Her bedroom was still in a state of disarray from her outfit-shopping, which never happened, but then, she’d always had room to hang things up while she considered them, and now, she didn’t. Half the contents of her suitcase, in fact, lay scattered on the bed.
Scattered with Webster on top of them, because there he was, lolling on top of most of her wardrobe, shedding thick black hair onto every decent piece of clothing she owned, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth in self-satisfaction.
Wait. That wasn’t his tongue. It was her pink lace Cosabellaunderwear.
She was always calm in a crisis. Always collected. Always in control. Now, she was shrieking, then scrambling onto the bed and grabbing for him.
