More than a Fling?. Joss Wood

his strong neck. Even in the low light of the bar she could see the sun-kissed blond streaks and tips. Too natural to have come out of a salon, she decided, and he didn’t seem to be the type to fuss. He’d removed the two-day-old shadow off his face—sadly, in her opinion—and his cargo pants and vivid red tee had been replaced with a very nice fitted pair of dark jeans and a loose button-down black linen shirt, the cuffs of which he’d rolled up his tanned arms.

      Oh, yeah...he so had the X-factor and the Y-factor...and the make-her-hum-factor.

      ‘Ally?’

      The way he said her name, in his deep, quizzical voice, had her pulling herself together. ‘Wine... Hi... The wine is fine. Why do you ask?’

      ‘You were scowling into it.’ Ross slid onto the stool next to her and ordered a beer from the bartender. Then he turned back to her and made a big point of inspecting her from top to toe. ‘You surprise me, Jones. I was expecting another black and white combo. Nice.’

      So he’d noticed...good. Changing his perception about Bellechier—that it was snooty and snobby—was her first goal, and that was why she’d deliberately chosen a very different outfit for this evening. He needed to see that their new line was fun and casual and would suit his obviously casual approach to life and work.

      So as part of her strategy for the evening she wore the only dress she had brought with her: a short, flouncy cobalt number that was trimmed in black and cinched in at the waist with a funky silver belt. It also happened to come from the new line they were launching in a few months’ time.

      This morning she’d wanted to look professional, and had opted for one of her many easy to wear, smart but comfortable outfits that travelled well. But tonight Ross Bennett needed to get a sense of the line, an idea of what they wanted him to promote, so she’d slipped on the dress and teamed it with another pair of kick-butt shoes. She’d just forgotten how damn short it was.

      Now she resisted the urge to pull the skirt towards her knees. She was not comfortable in anything that only hit midthigh and felt particularly conscious of the amount of time Ross was spending looking at her legs.

      It made her feel squirmy and hot, unsettled. Dammit, she wanted him to think about the line, about business, not her legs.

      Ally flushed under his scrutiny. ‘Thank you. This dress is from the new line we’d like you to endorse.’

      ‘Okay, not what I expected.’ Ross smiled his thanks as his beer was placed in front of him. ‘And that’s a damn nice watch you’re wearing—very unusual. Is it also part of the line?

      ‘No.’ Ally looked down at the man’s watch that dangled on her wrist. Flipping it around, she touched the face with its very distinctive dial and ran her finger around the oyster-style band. ‘It was my dad’s—the first Bellechier watch he owned. He bought it before he even started working for Bellechier.’

      ‘Your real dad or foster dad?’

      From a flyaway comment of hers he’d remembered that she was fostered. That was impressive, she thought. ‘My real dad. He was CFO of Bellechier for ten years and Justin Smith’s best friend.’

      Ross frowned. ‘Justin Smith? Don’t know him. How does he fit into the picture?’

      Ally sipped her wine before she explained. ‘Quick Bellechier history lesson: Sabine Bellechier is my foster mum and her great-grandfather established Bellechier watches in the early twentieth century. Sabine was an only child and she inherited Bellechier. She fell in love with the Bellechier Sales Director—Justin Smith. Justin then took over the CEO position and together they expanded into apparel and accessories. Their sons, Luc and Patric, have a double-barrelled surname: Bellechier-Smith.’

      ‘Ah, okay. I get it.’ Ross nodded at her wrist. ‘So how did your dad die? And when?’

      Ally’s mouth dropped open. ‘God, you are so nosy!’

      ‘Then tell me to butt out.’

      ‘Butt out,’ Ally shot back, but she couldn’t help but like his straightforward attitude. After the fake politeness she endured day after day it was refreshing.

      She leaned back in her chair and played with her belt buckle. The words were out of her mouth before she could haul them back.

      ‘He died of a heart attack when I was fifteen.’

      In a foreign country halfway across the world. But Ross didn’t need to know that—and, besides, she never spoke about those dark weeks after his death. To anyone.

      ‘My mother left when I was a baby.’

      ‘That sucks,’ Ross said with no hint of morbidity, which she appreciated. After a little silence he sent her a mischievous look. ‘You can ask me about my family if you want to. I might not answer, but you can ask.’

      ‘Thank you, but I’m not nosy. And I’d really prefer it if we kept this conversation to the business at hand.’ Mostly because she wanted to ask him a whole bunch of personal questions...which was very, very out of character for her. She’d learnt a long time ago about the notion of quid pro quo.

      Ross slapped his hand on his chest. ‘Ouch. Touché.’ He rested his elbow on the bar and pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘So, no personal stuff. Damn, that’s boring. Are we going to talk about clothes now?’

      ‘No, the campaign.’

      ‘Ugh,’ Ross replied, taking a long swallow of his beer. ‘Let’s go back to talking about your clothes, then. Specifically these shoes of yours. How the hell do you keep them on your feet?’

      ‘You’re beginning to sound like you’re slightly obsessed with my clothes,’ Ally said, and made the mistake of slamming her eyes up to his. Green deepened to gold as she watched them heat and she could almost hear his words... I’m obsessed with getting you out of them.

      Oh, wait—maybe that was her silently saying, yelling, panting that phrase. But there was definitely heat in his gaze...something she was pretty sure she hadn’t imagined.

      Ross just looked at her as she fumbled around for something to say. She was so out of practice with this man-woman attraction thing, Lord, she hadn’t even been on a proper date since who could remember when.

      Blow her down with a feather... And that made her imagine Ross drifting a feather over her torso, lower, lower, and following its path with his wicked mouth.

      Feeling herself starting to ignite from the inside out, she fumbled for her wine glass, lifted it up to her lips and allowed the icy liquid to slip down her throat. She drained the glass and gestured to the bartender for a refill.

      ‘I would pay a lot of money to be on the road trip you just went on,’ Ross drawled in a husky voice...a bedroom voice.

      ‘Uh, yeah...sorry about that.’ Ally shook her head and held up her hand. ‘Would you excuse me for a minute? I need to...take a...Ladies’.’

      Ross stood up as she did and somewhere, in a part of her brain that still had some sort of cognitive thinking, she appreciated his manners. Pulling her bag over her shoulder, she quickly walked over to the Ladies’ restroom, slammed the door open and paced the small area in front of the basins.

      She wanted him in the worst take-me-now, stop-this-throbbing way. Every pore on her skin was prickling, and she was intensely aware of every breath he took, each flick of his eyelids, every movement of his strong thighs, each bob of his throat. His deep voice sneaked into places that had been so cold for so long and set her nerve-endings on fire...

      She wanted to ask him up to her room for a one-night stand and the thought terrified and shocked her. They hadn’t even discussed the launch of the new line, but at this moment it didn’t matter and she so didn’t care.

      Ally shoved her hands into her hair and pulled. She’d never not cared. Who was this stranger in her head?

      Ally looked at herself in the mirror above the sink and didn’t recognise