First Time Lucky?. Natalie Anderson

that she was going to look fabulous—the next time they met, she was so getting a second glance from her hot, built tenant.

      Hell, make that a third.

      CHAPTER TWO

      GABE got to work mid-afternoon, having spent the morning boxing up the few personal possessions he cared enough about and managing the shift in only two trips. Now, as he got out of his car he heard the music blaring through the speakers into the stadium. Damn, he’d hoped they’d have finished by now. He strode along the corridors to his office and shut the door. He flicked on his computer and checked his email. Excellent, the test results he’d been waiting for had landed. He settled more comfortably in his chair and started to work through them. But his door was flung open less than ten minutes later.

      ‘Gabe, good you’re here, I need you to take a look at one of these girls.’ Dion, the stadium CEO. Dion who had no problem watching the wannabe dancers auditioning.

      ‘No.’ Gabe didn’t even glance up from his computer.

      ‘Seriously, I need you. Bee sting. Looks like she’s allergic.’

      ‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding. A bee sting?’ Gabe growled. ‘That would have to rank as the most pathetic attempt ever.’

      ‘But genuine. You really—’

      ‘Dion,’ Gabe interrupted, still staring at his screen, ‘I’ve seen sprained ankles, sore calves, strained wrists. All fake. But a bee sting is a first. Certainly more inventive … if it weren’t for the fact that there are no bees on that pitch. They’re banned from play with chemical spray.’

      ‘Gabe—’

      ‘Come on,’ Gabe sighed with weary sarcasm. ‘I don’t want to deal with another desperate-to-date dancer. Enough, okay?’

      More than enough. After causing a cold war in his family for a few years over his refusal to conform to tradition, and the horror of an ex-lover psycho stalking him, Gabe had learned a couple of things. Firstly, he wasn’t limiting his life by getting married and therefore having to compromise on his own goals for the rest of his days. And to be sure of escaping that noose, he knew he had to make his intentions clear from the start, to only seek company from the equally sophisticated and never mess with a woman who had anything to do with his workplace. Especially this workplace where temptation, exacerbated by all the travel, was too much for most men anyway. He’d seen it so many times—embarrassingly short marriages, even more embarrassing scandals.

      ‘I should have told you I’d brought her with me.’ With a wicked grin Dion stepped further in and too late Gabe saw the smaller figure behind him. ‘And for the record, I had to drag her here. She reckons she’s fine but I don’t agree.’

      Oh, great. Gabe winced. The girl had to have heard every word. Still, that was probably good—dispelling any ideas she might have had. He pushed out from behind his desk and shot the departing Dion a foul look. Dion merely winked.

      Gabe looked at his new patient. Her head was bent so he couldn’t see her face. Naturally she was blonde. And naturally the blonde wasn’t natural at all. He could see the myriad colours streaked through the long length that fell in gentle curves past her shoulders. She had the long, slim limbs of the dancer. And the extremely brief attire. Then she looked up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed but challenging. Her cheeks flushed. Her mouth full but firm. All instantly recognisable.

      Good grief.

      Gabe just stared, his brain fuzzy, a humming in his ears. He had to be mistaken on this. But he wasn’t. This was his under-age landlady? Sleeping Beauty from the wilderness?

      ‘Hello, Gabe.’ Despite the colour in her cheeks, the rest of her face was deathly pale.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

      ‘You mean you haven’t worked it out already?’ Her wildly blue eyes glittered. But not from tears. No, it was all defiance.

      His gaze narrowed. No, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The mouse-brown hair was now shot through with gold. And there was so much polish. She was wearing marginally more than she had been yesterday. Actually the shorts were even shorter—micro shorts, the exact colour of her eyes. And instead of a see-through old vest-top, she had a pink leotard on. The whole outfit too skin-clinging for comfort.

      ‘I thought you said you were going overseas,’ he said stupidly.

      ‘I am.’ She looked at him through lashes perfectly—but heavily—mascaraed.

      ‘Then why are you trying out for the Blades?’ He swallowed. Was this high-gloss vision truly the same sodden waif he’d met less than twenty-four hours before? Helplessly he glanced down her leotard-clad torso again. Not the slim waif at all. Curves had mushroomed magically. He bit his lip to stop the smile and the comment he so badly wanted to make.

      ‘I’m going overseas at the end of the season,’ she said. ‘I want to dance first.’

      ‘The end of the season?’ He was appalled; his amusement fled. That wasn’t soon. He’d thought she was shipping out in a week or so. How was he supposed to live in that house with her a stone’s throw away for the best part of six months? Especially if she was going to be glammed up something gorgeous like this?

      ‘Yeah, except that stupid bee just ruined my chances. And, no, I didn’t stab myself with it just so I could get your face up close to my inner thigh.’

      Oh, my. Gabe snapped his mouth shut, worked hard to bite back both the smile and the chuckle. His landlady had more fire than he’d given her credit for. He walked closer, watched even closer. Her transformation was something else, but he saw the hint of uncertainty in her expression as he deliberately breached her personal space. The girl was acting the grown-up. But some kind of madness raced in his blood when she lifted her chin and refused to break eye contact with him. Her audacious grit got to him. If she wanted to sharpen her kitten claws, well, hell, he’d play up to her—a very little. Frankly he couldn’t resist seeing how far she’d go until she melted in a flush, until she got tongue-tied and lost her cool completely. He suspected it wouldn’t be too far at all.

      ‘Do some of the dancers really fake injuries to come and see you?’ she asked outright.

      Her obvious disbelief threw him instead. He cleared his throat, knew he’d sounded like the most arrogant a-hole ever. ‘It’s happened a couple of times.’ More than a couple. But still.

      Roxie giggled, suddenly delighted as she saw her tenant steal another quick look at her outfit—at least she’d achieved one objective today. Maybe it was the bee poison running through her system, or she was intoxicated by his proximity, but she couldn’t resist baiting him—his arrogance was incredible. ‘But you’re not a rugby star. Surely the dancers have bigger fish to fry in this place? You know, all those fit young rugby players?’

      He met her gaze with his dark one and a spark flickered in the depths. ‘Maybe some of them prefer my qualifications.’

      Heart racing, she breathed carefully to keep her answer cool. ‘I’m sure more prefer the status and short-term income of the real stars.’

      His smile was all shark. ‘Maybe I have some other factors in my favour too.’

      She figured he meant his looks. Yeah, so good-looking her toes were curling. All kinds of muscles clamped down—mostly in her nether regions. As if they were trying to dampen the inferno blazing there. ‘Well, you don’t need to worry about me, you’re not my type,’ she lied, feeling sassy and amused and surprisingly in control.

      ‘No?’

      She froze. She hadn’t expected that direct challenge—his tone as loaded with tease as hers had been. She narrowed her gaze. ‘Definitely not. You’re too arrogant.’

      Way too arrogant.

      He leaned closer, his smile even more wicked. ‘Lots of girls like arrogance.