women. A guy seeing her as a challenge. A guy assuming their proximity over the next week would naturally lead to intimacy.
Except for one thing.
The genuine sincerity in his eyes and the complete lack of guile.
Cash wasn’t doing a number on her.
He was being upfront and telling her exactly how he felt. Considering his confusion matched hers, she should be thankful for his honesty.
Instead, it only served to increase her trepidation.
She didn’t need to feel empathy for Cash.
She needed to keep reminding herself that getting up close and personal with her fake boyfriend could only end badly. Especially when she’d be spending a month or two after this ended at his house, remodelling his garden.
With a soft sigh of regret, she slipped from his arms. ‘Blurred lines will only complicate things.’
‘True, but it might be kinda fun?’
Lucy almost capitulated right there and then, his cute, little-boy expression making her heart melt.
But she couldn’t shirk her intrinsic insecurities so easily.
Was Cash only coming after her because of how she looked? Had her makeover impressed him that much that he now saw her as yet another attractive adjunct in his pretty world?
Deep down, she didn’t think so. But she’d developed a hefty amount of self-preservation over the years and she couldn’t let some articulate, intelligent guy who said all the right things and who happened to be drop-dead-gorgeous sway her.
‘Thanks for the rose.’ She unlocked her car before he said anything else to undermine her resolve.
‘You’re welcome.’ He hesitated, as if about to say something else, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’
‘You too.’
Lucy fumbled the keys twice before inserting them and starting the car. Yeah, her steely resolve to keep Cash at arm’s length was working a treat. Not.
He waved as she drove away, struggling not to watch the lone figure in her rear-vision mirror, and resisting the insane impulse to turn around.
SEVEN
Lucy hovered in the doorway of Melbourne’s premier hotel’s function room, wishing she’d taken Cash up on his offer of a lift.
She hadn’t socialised in a long while and rocking up to this kitschy eighties disco had the potential to unnerve her.
She’d told Cash she’d meet him here but one glance into the crowded room and she knew she’d made a mistake.
Everyone was paired off. Most were fellow competition couples but the dance floor was packed with other bodies, writhing and flinging their arms around and swaying to the beat.
Like her, they were dressed in eighties gear. Ludicrous. But the longer she stood there, watching a few Boy George and Prince wannabes doing their own version of a dance-off, the more she started to relax.
She loved eighties music and often played it on full blast while gardening.
Her favourites were Wham, Tears for Fears and Blondie, and she’d lost track of the number of times Gram had asked her to turn her iPod down when she’d been a kid.
She might have been born at the tail end of the eighties but the music seemed to have seeped into her regardless.
‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Madonna.’ Cash’s warm breath fanned her ear and a surprising shiver of longing made her rub her bare arms.
She turned slowly, willing her stupid heart to stop racing. Her costume had seemed okay at home, but with Cash standing close behind her the midriff-baring lace top, denim mini and fishnet stockings made her feel naked.
Then she caught sight of him and some of her nerves eased. She laughed.
‘Hey, I’m not supposed to be funny.’ His hand slicked against his greased hair. ‘I’m cool.’
‘John Travolta was cool in Grease . You, on the other hand...’ She stared at the skin-tight black leather pants moulding his legs to perfection, and the torso-hugging black T-shirt delineating every tempting ripple, and decided Cash was hot.
‘What about me?’ He squared his shoulders and darn if
Except for one thing.
The genuine sincerity in his eyes and the complete lack of guile.
Cash wasn’t doing a number on her.
He was being upfront and telling her exactly how he felt. Considering his confusion matched hers, she should be thankful for his honesty.
Instead, it only served to increase her trepidation.
She didn’t need to feel empathy for Cash.
She needed to keep reminding herself that getting up close and personal with her fake boyfriend could only end badly. Especially when she’d be spending a month or two after this ended at his house, remodelling his garden.
With a soft sigh of regret, she slipped from his arms. ‘Blurred lines will only complicate things.’
‘True, but it might be kinda fun?’
Lucy almost capitulated right there and then, his cute, little-boy expression making her heart melt.
But she couldn’t shirk her intrinsic insecurities so easily.
Was Cash only coming after her because of how she looked? Had her makeover impressed him that much that he now saw her as yet another attractive adjunct in his pretty world?
Deep down, she didn’t think so. But she’d developed a hefty amount of self-preservation over the years and she couldn’t let some articulate, intelligent guy who said all the right things and who happened to be drop-dead-gorgeous sway her.
‘Thanks for the rose.’ She unlocked her car before he said anything else to undermine her resolve.
‘You’re welcome.’ He hesitated, as if about to say something else, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’
‘You too.’
Lucy fumbled the keys twice before inserting them and starting the car. Yeah, her steely resolve to keep Cash at arm’s length was working a treat. Not.
He waved as she drove away, struggling not to watch the lone figure in her rear-vision mirror, and resisting the insane impulse to turn around.
SEVEN
Lucy hovered in the doorway of Melbourne’s premier hotel’s function room, wishing she’d taken Cash up on his offer of a lift.
She hadn’t socialised in a long while and rocking up to this kitschy eighties disco had the potential to unnerve her.
She’d told Cash she’d meet him here but one glance into the crowded room and she knew she’d made a mistake.
Everyone was paired off. Most were fellow competition couples but the dance floor was packed with other bodies, writhing and flinging their arms around and swaying to the beat.
Like her, they were dressed in eighties gear. Ludicrous. But the longer she stood there, watching a few Boy George and Prince wannabes doing their own version of a dance-off, the more she started to relax.
She loved eighties music and often played it on full blast while gardening.
Her favourites were Wham, Tears for Fears and Blondie, and she’d lost track of the number of times Gram had asked her to turn her iPod down when she’d been a kid.
She might have been born at the tail end of the eighties but the music seemed to have seeped into her regardless.
‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Madonna.’ Cash’s warm breath fanned her ear and a surprising shiver of longing made her rub her bare arms.
She turned slowly, willing her stupid heart to stop racing. Her costume had seemed okay at home, but with Cash standing close behind her the midriff-baring lace top, denim mini and fishnet stockings made her feel naked.
Then she caught sight of him and some of her nerves eased. She laughed.
‘Hey, I’m not supposed to be funny.’ His hand slicked against his greased hair. ‘I’m cool.’
‘John Travolta was cool in Grease . You, on the other hand...’ She stared at the skin-tight black leather pants moulding his legs to perfection, and the torso-hugging black T-shirt delineating every tempting ripple, and decided Cash was hot.
‘What about me?’ He squared his shoulders and darn if
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