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  He blinked, remembering Vix’s Mercedes outside. His shoulders stiffened. “It belongs to a friend.”

  “Who?” She glanced towards the bedroom.

  He suppressed the urge to guard the door. If these two women ever met, the last place should be in his bedroom. Knowing women, he would be the one attacked for a situation not of his making. “No one you know. What’s the time?”

  “About eight. I’m on my way home. Late night. I thought I’d stop by and tell you I won’t be going today. You don’t mind, do you?” She took another big bite of the pizza.

  “No. That’s okay.”

  Her focus again on the bedroom, she nodded. “See you later, then. Thanks for the breakfast.” She snatched up the remains of the pizza slice and, with her high heels clattering across the floorboards, she left by the back door for which she had a key.

  One day he would ask for his key back, but he couldn’t abandon her yet. She needed him, if only for champagne and pizza breakfasts, and while she was free to drop by whenever she chose, he knew she was okay.

  Now he had to make his explanations in the bedroom, which he approached cautiously, wondering why. He’d slept with Vix, yes, but that was all. The crisp underwear she’d arrived in had barely been disturbed, unfortunately. He found, despite his body having other ideas, that he couldn’t casually screw a woman who was afraid of sex. This said nothing for her ex-husband. Nor did her lack of confidence, which he’d spent his waking time last night trying not to erode further, and he also wondered why.

  “Keep looking,” he said, cheered by the way her big blue eyes skimmed over him as he walked through the doorway of the bedroom. “I don’t mind being admired.”

  “So who admires you?”

  “Too bad about that condom.”

  “Too bad about your mother.”

  “Who?”

  “No doubt that was your mother in the kitchen?” She gave him a faked smile.

  “Nope.” He moved towards her, knowing she’d been married to an unfaithful prick who clearly hadn’t treated her well in the bedroom. Jay was a sucker for a woman in distress. Vix also had body issues, which she hadn’t changed by making her figure into one of the shapeliest he had ever seen. Although her most noticeable attributes were physical, in all the subjects they had covered at the party while tentatively assessing each other as bedmates, not once had she talked about herself.

  He knew her opinion on the weather, musicals versus plays, comedies versus tragedies, the last musical to hit town, the university drama course, and the benefits of volunteering to get a job. And nothing about herself, other than hearsay from Ilona, in that she hadn’t deserved her rich, brilliant husband, Tim Nolan.

  As she had last night, she pulled the covers to her chin. Her hair looked messy but glossed with health, and her eyes shone with suspicion. “Are you going to tell me who she is?”

  He stared at her, contemplating a morning of exploratory sex now that they knew more about each other. A one-night stand with her would have been doomed to fail. She thought she wanted a hard dick and nothing more. Apparently, that was all she’d ever had. He could give her much more. He could give her pleasure. If he had taken her last night, she would have been shocked by his speed, and so would he. A quick screw wasn’t for him, nor for a woman who needed much more, though at this stage, he didn’t quite know what she needed. He only knew he didn’t perform to order, though of course he could have. The moment he had seen her, he had wanted her but he wanted her to relax and enjoy sex the way he did. He wanted her to enjoy him.

  “I’ll have the first shower,” he said, breathing through his teeth. He was the master of self-punishment. “She’s just a friend, no one you need worry about.”

  “Nothing worries me,” said the woman who was afraid of him looking at her naked body in the light. “I just wanted to be sure that I’m not the wrong part of a threesome.”

  He gave her a light kiss on the lips and went to his wardrobe, snatching out a few articles of clothing. She had been the wrong part of a threesome while she was married. Lonny, the other participant, had just walked out his door.

  During the next couple of months, if his attraction to this surprisingly appealing woman didn’t fade, his balancing act would be a tad shaky.

  * * * *

  With a smile on her face, Vix stepped into JD’s slippery bath to take a shower. JD was clearly attracted to her, which was pretty darned fantastic, but he and she weren’t meant to be. The condom had proved that. He’d made her feel sexy, but nothing had happened. She could leave this morning without any regrets and without feeling cheap. And never, ever, would she drink too much again.

  She wondered how his face had looked before the scar. Probably not quite as tough. He had regular features with a good strong nose and jaw. His skin was clear and tanned and his stubble held a glint of gold. The old white line of his scar was only a slight disfiguration. Before he’d asked, she hadn’t concentrated on his eye color, just the appealing gleam of interest, but after he had questioned her, she had noted the unusual khaki green.

  She washed her hair with his man-shampoo, knowing that with squeaky-clean hair she wouldn’t feel so bad about not putting on fresh underwear. Maybe she could send him a big box of chocolates to thank him for his consideration last night. She would mention the doubtful state of her sobriety, which would excuse her slutty behavior. Though, his tousled, bristled look this morning was still a turn on. She blew out a breath, awed by the over-activity of her hormones.

  After rinsing off, she stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a thin blue towel. Looking for a hair dryer, she searched his bathroom cabinet, but she didn’t find one. However, she did find a box of condoms big enough to give the impression he could service the whole of the state’s sexually active females without having to buy extra supplies.

  She sucked in her bottom lip, even more ashamed of herself. The woman in the kitchen this morning must have been his girlfriend. For some reason, she hadn’t attended the production party with him last night and today she had cancelled a date. He hadn’t taken this amiss. Clearly, he and she trusted each other, and with good reason. Last night, he had faked the condom mishap with Vix because he didn’t know how else to get himself off the hook with a prospective workmate who had practically ordered him to service her, as if she had the right.

  Her face flared red and hot. Champagne was clearly far more insidious than she thought. She tried to remember if he had been drinking, but although he had filled her glass, he hadn’t been holding one of his own.

  However, despite not being even slightly intoxicated, he had wanted her. Even someone inexperienced with men could see that. At the party, his gaze had lingered on her face and his eyes had gleamed with interest. Without a hint from her, he suggested the ride home, and when he said coffee, his voice had purred with innuendo. In bed, his physical reaction was blatant and quite exciting. Although she didn’t know too much about men, she knew an aroused male when she saw one. Given the opportunity to be unfaithful…he couldn’t, unlike her ex-husband.

  She toweled her hair as dry as she could and dressed quickly. Preparing to be as casual about the awkward morning-after as he was, she re-entered the bedroom, gathered up her handbag, retraced her steps to the bathroom, and applied her makeup. Without a hair dryer, her hair behaved unfashionably. Sighing, she swirled a knot on the top of her head and, holding the bun in place, she padded into the kitchen, knowing her blond hair looked fake and her skirt was too short and tight.

  He stood over an ancient electric stove, which over the years had been chipped of white enamel on the corners, watching a pan full of sizzling calories. He smiled at her.

  Her hormones overreacted with a perceptible thud. “Do you have a pencil I can borrow?” she asked in a voice that came out husky. She evaded his gaze.

  He reached into an overhead cupboard and pulled one out. “Will this do?”

  She wriggled the HB through her h
air. “I hope you’re not cooking break—”

  “You look nice.”

  She angled her head on the side. “You don’t need to fake interest.”

  “Okay. I’ll file that. How many eggs do you want?”

  “One.”

  “Should I flip over your egg?”

  “No. Oh, glory. I haven’t had a fried egg in a year.” She sat at the gray-painted table that matched the gray-painted chairs that screamed to be stripped along with the lovely, uncovered Baltic pine floor.

  “I hope you’re not allergic.”

  “Only to calories.” She cleared her throat. If she tried for a normal conversation, she could get through this awkwardness. “They’re gorgeous old chairs, those clunky ones. I suspect you would find satinwood beneath that gray paint. They’re art deco, I think.”

  “Like this table and the chairs. They all starred in Noel and Gertie and they’ve been heavily repaired by me, which is how I got them as a job lot for forty dollars after the production.”

  “Noel and Gertie? I saw that.”

  “What did you think?”

  “The set was shades of gray, although only four, and Noel and Gertie wore black and white throughout the show. The old film look was effective, and I would have been impressed if I hadn’t known it was a copy of the Broadway set.”

  “Did you see the Broadway show?”

  She nodded. “Before I was married, when I wanted to see every set I could.”

  “I didn’t know it was a copy.” He rubbed his chin. “I built that set from…er, the designer’s drawings.”

  “You don’t have to name names. He always copies his sets. It’s a shame there’s no copyright. I don’t understand people who don’t want to experiment with ideas of their own.”

  “Nor do I. Speaking of which, you heard me stood up this morning. I don’t need a date, but you might be interested in coming, anyway.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Because?”

  “We’ll be in the warehouse we use for set-building. It’s where you’ll be painting, too. You might want to look the place over while we’re playing indoor volleyball.”

  “Who is we?”

  “The construction team. We like to keep fit.”

  “So do I. How did you plan to get there?”

  “My date would have driven me.” With wide-eyed mock innocence, he pressed his lips together and leaned back, watching her face, having finished at least half his full plate of bacon and eggs.

  Trying not to smile, she gave him a cool, so-that’s-why-you-want-me glance, which she wished she had given to Tim. “Do you only ask women who own cars to be your dates?”

  “It’s cheaper than getting taxis.” He lowered his chin and gazed at her. And he gave her that creased, almost dimpled, smile again.

  She laughed. If she checked the paints and brushes today, she would know what she needed tomorrow when she planned to buy her supplies.

  Since nothing had happened last night, she could put aside the episode. Today she and JD could be the workmates they should be. Probably.

  Chapter 3

  Rustic and picturesque, the massive old corrugated iron shed was sited in one of the small streets on the perimeter of the city of Adelaide. Because of Vix’s insistence on stopping at her own house to change her clothes, and consequently being late, Jay gave a regal wave through the car’s window to the construction team, who sat propped against a wall rusty with copper streaks.

  For twenty minutes, he had sprawled in her car, which she had driven to Walkerville, a small, exclusive suburb between his not-so-classy suburb, Port Adelaide, and the city. After she had parked on a street with wide green verges and big shady street trees, she had disappeared behind the brushwood fence that hid her house. His wait was not unrewarded. She looked as delicious in her tight designer jeans and yellow loafers as she did in her red suit last night, though perhaps a little less self-conscious.

  She pulled up her luxurious Mercedes sedan in the designated car park, surfaced with cracked concrete and plastered with dried mud from the rain last week.

  “Was your girlfriend going to play volleyball?” she asked after a quick glance at the four-man, three-woman team, who needed Jay’s key to get inside the building.

  “Careful. Too much more questioning and I’ll suspect you want more than a one condom fling.” Seeing he had embarrassed her, he relented. “Lonny’s not my girlfriend. She and I have known each other since we were five.”

  “And she is also part of your construction team?”

  “No. I just take her out when she has nothing else to do.” The waiting look on her face wanted him to continue, but he didn’t have anything else to say.

  She opened her door after a wry little twist of her lips. “I’ll look at the paint supplies first. The production budget is generous and I can buy whatever I need, but I don’t know what I need until I see what’s here.”

  He nodded, opened his door, and stepped out. The guys had casual, noncommittal expressions on their faces, which meant they would put him through a bit of hard-line questioning about Vix.

  “This is Vix, guys,” he said, hoping he could preempt a grilling as he strode past everyone to the door. He shoved the key in the lock. “She’s the set painter.”

  “Hi, Vix,” Sherry, his brother Luke’s wife, said, trying not to look too interested. “I’ll introduce you to everyone, since JD seems to have forgotten our names.”

  “She met Trent and Steve last night.” Jay leaned on the double-height door, which creaked open. The space inside was light-filled, courtesy of a large, dusty glass panel in the roof. Sparkling motes floated from there to the floor. The flats and cutouts of old sets covered the walls, some hung high, most left around for recycling.

  “Of course,” Vix said, apparently recognizing the two grinning guys he’d been with before she’d arrived at the party and been whisked away by Jay. “I didn’t realize you were set builders, too.”

  “And this is Luke, my man and JD’s brother.” Sherry wrinkled her little snub nose at Jay. She was pretty, dark haired, and dark eyed, a contrast to Luke, who was stocky, red haired, and freckled. “So is Kellen, who brought two dates today, in case JD needed one. Lonny doesn’t always turn up.”

  Jay’s middle brother, Kellen, dark and dangerous, had a groupie addiction and chose his girls in batches, though how he decided which one he would keep for the night Jay never quite understood. Perhaps The Killer kept both. They looked the same, willing and able, with long straight hair, and he might not realize he had two instead of one. Jay nodded and smiled generally, trying to not look possessive of classy Vix, while he suppressed the urge to smack the calculation off Steve’s and Trent’s faces.

  Dropping a guiding hand onto her hip, he turned her in the direction of the shed within a shed, where the paint supplies were kept by the company who owned the warehouse and employed Jay to make various sets for various stage shows. “You can look over your stuff away from these prying eyes.”

  For a moment, she watched Steve and Trent as they found the posts for the net. “How many do you have on a volleyball team?”

  “Two, minimum, but it depends on how many turn up to play.”

  A couple of years ago, he had needed to use the volleyball game to warm up and relax the guys. These days, now expecting work from them, he used the volleyball game for mere enjoyment. After the game finished, they would pull apart old flats and reclaim whatever wood or composite sheeting was reclaimable. Most of the backing lengths had been used three or four times. With his job pricing, the lower the costs, the higher the wages.

  He opened the paint-room door and steered Vix inside a space stacked with cans, dirty, paint-dried brushes, old tins, a plastic bucket, empty ice cream containers, rope, and a broken chair. “Sorry about the mess.”

  She lifted a can from on top of an unsettling pile of four. “Someone seems to have been trying to save money. This is house paint, probably found
in the cheap bins, and the colors have been premixed.” If a nose could curl, hers did. “They’re no use other than to the painter who bought them.”

  “Put them in a pile and I’ll get rid of them. I’ll leave you to it.” Determined to keep his working relationship with her professional, he went to help tie the net to the poles.

  “Lonny always said you were a cocksman,” Steve said in an undertone, shifting a couple of flats to make more room for the game. A little shorter than Jay, he was solid muscle. Every month or so, he added another tattoo to his sleeves of ink. “I’m beginning to believe it.”

  “She never said you were.” Trent, tall and bony, with his fair hair shaved at the sides, punched the face of the grinning woman inked onto Steve’s tricep.

  Steve considered his reply. “She said you didn’t have one.”

  Jay sighed. “Give it a rest.”

  Both men, part of his old gang from school days, had left dead-end construction work to help him start his set-building business, and from there, they’d moved ahead in leaps and bounds. Each had branched out into more specialized building jobs, Trent recently qualifying as a bricklayer and Steve as a plasterer, but both rejoined him as extra labor whenever he needed them.

  Luke, his youngest brother, normally a plumber, helped out when his employers went into recess over summer, needing steady money to support his ever-growing family. At the age of twenty-six, he had three kids and had only started being responsible after the birth of the first. Kellen, Jay’s uneven-tempered middle brother, was a cabinetmaker.

  And neither Jay, nor Kellen, nor Luke, had ever had sex with Ilona, the first two being too young for her, and Jay more interested in being a protector than a predator, unlike every other guy who had taken advantage of Ilona’s need to prove how attractive she was.

  “Did you order the wood for the frames?” Steve kicked a few short lengths out of the way.

  “What do you think?”