Cross My Hart. Clare Connelly
a deep, husky promise in the words that makes my pulse quiver.
Shit.
I bite down on my lip and his eyes drop to my mouth, and desire is sparking around the room once more.
‘Running is a habit, and one that gets easier the more you practice it,’ he says, the words incongruous in the heat of our lust.
I swallow, trying to tamp down on my sexual heat, to keep my feelings at bay for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘It’s not my thing.’
‘What is your “thing”?’ he asks seriously.
My eyes skim his face, noting now that he has a slight bump in the middle of his nose, suggesting it has been broken at some point. ‘For exercise?’
‘Yeah. Or letting your hair down. Blowing off steam. You know, that kind of thing.’
I hesitate for only a moment and then speak with confidence and defiance. ‘Pole dancing.’ That defiance is hard fought for. My parents, my then boyfriend, everyone was askance when Penny and I took up the disreputable hobby. It’s amazing for your fitness, Penny cooed and, as always, she was right.
He regards me cynically, as though I might be lying.
‘Really?’
‘Yep.’
I can feel his curiosity and turned-on-ness pulsing towards me. He moves to the narrow wooden desk and props his hips against it. ‘Care to give me a demonstration?’
I eye the room and shake my head. ‘I don’t think anything in here would be strong enough.’
His disappointment is palpable. ‘You can’t pretend?’
I laugh. ‘Not easily.’ The robe is soft around me. I cinch the belt at the waist and move to sit on the edge of the bed, watching him.
‘How’d you get into it?’
‘The same way I get into most unorthodox parts of my life.’
‘Penny?’ he prompts, smiling.
I nod. ‘Oh, yeah, you betcha. I suggested we join a ballroom dancing club—I wanted a hobby, and to move my body, to feel limber and flexible.’ I smile distractedly. ‘I work really long hours and even though I get to be out and about a lot of the time, I still feel more...sedentary...than I’d like. So dancing felt like a health kick, or a kick-start to a health kick...’
‘Naturally.’ He nods, his eyes skating over my body, which must look like a fluffy duck in this robe.
‘She picked me up on the allotted night and we talked the whole way there. It was only when she pulled into some dodgy car park out in the western suburbs that I realised we weren’t at Miss Clarence’s Ballroom Blitz.’ I smile at the memory. ‘Penny said she presumed that because ballroom dancing was for senior citizens, I must have meant pole dancing and just got mixed up.’
He arches a brow. ‘You weren’t keen?’
‘I wasn’t not keen; it just hadn’t occurred to me before. But that’s me—and that’s so very Penny.’ I shake my head. ‘If I hadn’t met her, I suspect I’d be running my life on a very narrow, very straight line.’
He nods thoughtfully, and his silence encourages me to continue.
‘I guess I’m born with more than my fair share of the conservative in my blood.’ His expression flickers with something I recognise: curiosity.
‘Is that a bad thing?’
I’m confused for a moment—the curiosity or the conservative tendencies?
‘Being conservative,’ he prompts, as though he’s read my mind.
I shake my head, compressing my lips. ‘It’s almost a prerequisite in my family,’ I say simply. ‘Mum and Dad have had the same jobs all their lives—good, reliable government jobs. Civil servant salaries and pensions, guaranteed security. My brother and sister followed suit.’
‘It wasn’t for you?’
I shake my head. ‘Nope.’ I look towards the window, my eyes sweeping over the high-rises beyond the small window of his hotel room. ‘I always wanted to come down here. Growing up in a small town is—I guess I see it differently now, but, as a kid and a teenager, I hated it. I just wanted to travel and see the world, and not to have everyone I bump into know everything about me.’ I pull a face of distaste. ‘Sydney seemed like some shimmering oasis on my horizon. I couldn’t believe it when I got accepted to uni here.’
‘So you’re conservative in a different way,’ he hedges, and again I feel like he’s weighing me up, analysing me cell by cell.
‘Yes and no. My ex and I started our business from scratch. We were broke as a joke for the first six months, and my parents thought I’d lost the plot. There’s no job security when you’re running the show.’ I shrug. ‘But the rewards are also potentially so much greater.’
‘You went into business with your ex?’
‘He wasn’t my ex at the time,’ I say with a droll shake of my head. ‘My crystal ball wasn’t working the day we signed the papers.’
He opens his mouth to say something, but I shake my head, my eyes sparking when they meet his. ‘I don’t really want to think about him right now,’ I say honestly. ‘Tomorrow will be for that, him, the real world out there. Tonight’s just this...’
I WAKE WITH a start.
Where am I? My phone is buzzing. And there’s a body beside me. A warm, powerful, tanned body with tattoos on his hips and chest.
I lift a hand to my forehead as the events of last night—no!—I check the time—it’s just before midnight—the last few hours—come rushing back to me.
Jagger.
I sigh his name in my mind, my eyes devouring him in this unobserved moment. For he sleeps deeply, exhausted by all the sex.
And I mean all the sex. We ate together, a mountain of food, and then one thing led to another and we were in bed again, and somewhere after that we must have drifted off to sleep. The lights are still on.
I grab my phone off the table, my eyes bleary, and squint at the screen.
Penny’s face smiles back at me.
Frowning, I push my feet out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. I push the toilet lid down gently then sit on top of it, swiping my phone to answer at the same time.
‘Penny?’ My voice is a hoarse whisper.
‘Gracie?’ She imitates it.
‘Why are you calling so late?’
‘I promised I’d get you home by midnight, didn’t I?’
I smile slowly, her dependability never in doubt. ‘That you did, lady.’
‘So? Where are you?’
My smile is self-conscious. ‘Not home yet.’
‘Oh my god,’ she squeaks. ‘You went back to his place?’
I nod, then, because it’s a phone conversation and nodding is pointless, clear my throat and say, ‘Yes.’
‘Gracie! I’m so proud of you! And? Was he everything those abs promised he would be?’
‘And more.’ A smile tickles my lips. ‘But I can’t talk now. I’m going to turn into a pumpkin unless I get out of here...’
Regret spirals inside of me. I