Walk on the Wild Side by Natalie Anderson Page B

made herself look past him again, but it was pointless—she could feel the magnetism anyway.
    â€˜No, I’m sick of hotels. Don’t worry.’ He bent; his words came as a whisper tipped with a suggestion of sin. ‘You won’t even notice I’m here.’
    As if that were possible. He was six feet of raw, rippled man. And, oh, yes, there was that bit of her that liked the idea of him being so close. Masochistic. That was what she was. She pushed past him and raced up the stairs, unlocking her own little flat and locking it behind her again. Shesank onto her sofa, her head in her hands—trying to stop the pounding.
    This was all just happening too fast. In less than twenty-four hours her life had been tipped upside down—as if it were a brown paper bag and Jack was the one shaking it to be sure everything had tumbled out and landed all jumbled.
    The voices out in the stairwell lingered for a while; she tried to listen, tried not to listen. Then she heard the big door shut and silence returned.
    Finally, she could relax. She stretched out on the soft cushions, hoping the churning chaos in her head would slow down enough for her to have a snooze. She was shattered and couldn’t be bothered finding anything to eat, too wobbly to talk to anyone—certainly not her mum—and too tired to even cry. She closed her eyes and tried to let it all go, willing the blackness to come swallow her.
    The knock on her door chased it away as adrenaline surged. It could be only one person. Only one other person now had a key to get into the building.
    She opened the door a fraction, hiding her body behind the heavy wood. He had a way-too-sheepish smile on.
    â€˜The oven in my flat isn’t working and the power isn’t on in the flats downstairs. Do you mind if I use yours?’
    â€˜You want to use my oven?’
    â€˜I missed lunch.’ He lifted the grocery bag in his hand. ‘I’m keen for an early dinner.’
    â€˜You’re going to cook?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    She was too tired to argue, just opened the door wide and shuffled back to flop on the sofa. He shut the door and gave her a keen look. She closed her eyes.
    â€˜You haven’t had any coffee, have you?’ he said.
    None all day. She had the headache to prove it. Shedidn’t think caffeine was all that good for the baby. But the first-day withdrawal? It was as if she’d just come down with narcolepsy. ‘I just need a rest for a minute.’
    He could do what he liked in the kitchen. For a while she listened to the sounds as he did. For a while she tried not to fixate. Impossible. And the dreams were nice—why block them? Why shouldn’t she let her mind think on that beautiful body and that beautiful smile, just for a few minutes?
    â€˜Kelsi.’
    She opened her eyes—stared straight into Jack’s. His bronzed, charming face hovered inches from hers—just like in her dreams.
    â€˜I have enough to share if you’re interested,’ he said, all warm, easy encouragement.
    If she was interested? Oh, she was so interested—what was he offering, exactly? She gazed at him—the slightly unruly hair that hung over his forehead, the angular jaw that had faint, late afternoon stubble, the creases at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. But then the smile faded.
    â€˜Kelsi.’ Firmer that time, almost brusque.
    She blinked. Slowly the fog in her mind cleared and the rest of her senses switched on. Her mouth watered. ‘Something smells good.’ She inhaled deep and sat up. ‘Something smells really good.’
    â€˜Come and see.’
    She shook the swimming sensation from her head and followed him to the dining table where the cutlery was set and two plates already in position.
    She stared at their contents.
    A beautifully cooked prime cut of steak. New potatoes on the side, and in the centre of the table, a bowl of fresh salad with all those extra