Blame It On The Bikini. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
minutes later he carried the bag full of files out to his car and considered the evening ahead. He needed a blowout—some all-physical pleasure to help him relax, because right now the arguments still circled in his head. Questions he needed to ask and answer lit up like blindingly bright signs; every item on his to-do list shouted at him megaphone-style. Yeah, his head hurt. He reached for his phone and took it off mute, ready to find an energetic date for the night—someone willing, wild and happy to walk away when the fun was done.
There were a couple of voice messages, more emails, a collection of texts—including one with an attachment from a number he didn’t recognise. He tapped it.
Can I get away with it?
He absorbed that accompanying message by a weird kind of osmosis, because the picture itself consumed all his attention. He could see only the side of her face, only half her smile, but that didn’t matter—he was a man and there were curves in the centre of the screen. Creamy, plump breasts pushed up out of the do-me-now-or-die scarlet bra she’d squeezed into. Brad swore in amazement, his skin burning all over in immediate response. The picture cut off beneath her belly button—damn it—but he really couldn’t complain. Her breasts were outstanding—lush curves that made him think … think … Actually no, he’d lost all ability to think.
Can I get away with it?
This doll could get away with anything she wanted.
Startled, but happily so, he slid his fingers across the screen to zoom the picture, adjusting it so it was her partially exposed face he focused on now. She was smiling as if she was only just holding back the sexiest of laughs.
Brad stilled, his heart hiccupping as disbelief stole a beat. There was only one person in the world with a smile like that. Slowly he traced her lips. Her upper lip was sensual—widening, just as the bone structure of her face widened to those sharp, high cheekbones and wide-set green eyes while her lower lip was as full, but shorter; it had to be to fit with that narrow little chin. And between those slightly mismatched lips was that telltale gap between her two front teeth. It had never been fixed. Her whole body was untainted by cosmetic procedures, indeed any kind of cosmetics.
Mya Campbell. Best friend of his wayward sister, Lauren, and persona non grata at the Davenport residence.
In that minute that Brad thought about her—the longest stretch of time he’d ever thought about her—a few images from the past decade haphazardly flashed through his head. Glimpses of a girl who’d been around the house often enough, but who’d hidden away whenever he or his parents were home. Who could blame her? His parents had been unwelcoming and patronising. Which of course had made Lauren push the friendship all the more. And Mya had come across as less than impressed with those in authority and less than interested in abiding by any of the normal social rules. The two of them had looked like absolute terrors. And the irony was that Mya was the most academically brilliant student in the school. An uber-geek beneath the attitude and the outrageous outfits. That was why she was at the school; she was the scholarship kid.
He’d only ever seen her dressed up ‘properly’ the once. She’d still looked sullen, exuding a kind of ‘cooler-than-you’ arrogance, and frankly at the time he’d been otherwise distracted by a far friendlier girl. But now he saw the all-grown-up sensuality. Now he saw the humour that he’d heard often enough but never been privy to—never been interested enough to want to be privy to. Now he saw what she’d been hiding all this time. Now the heat shot to his groin in a stab so severe he flinched. And she’d sent him …?
No. He laughed aloud at the ridiculous thought. Mya Campbell had not just sent him a sexy summons. She didn’t even know he existed—other than as her best friend’s big, distant brother. Hell, he hadn’t seen her in, what, at least three years? He tapped the screen to bring it back to normal—correction, completely amazing—view. No, this playful pose wasn’t for him. Which meant that certified genius Mya Campbell had actually made a mistake for once in her life. What was he going to do about it? Crucially, where was Mya now?
Questions pounded his head again, but this time they caused anticipation rather than a headache. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat of his convertible, ignoring every other message. He put his sunglasses on, stress gone, and fired the engine. Now the night beckoned with a very amusing intrigue to unravel.
Can I get away with it?
Not this time.
The music was so loud Mya could feel the vibrations through her feet—which was saying something given her shoes had two and a half inches of sole. But she was used to the volume and she had enough experience to lip-read the orders well enough now. Shifts six days a week in one of the hottest bars in town had her able to work fast and efficient. The way she always worked. No matter what she was doing, Mya Campbell was driven to be the best.
Her phone sat snug against her thigh in the side pocket of her skinny jeans, switched to mute so it didn’t interrupt her shift. The duty manager, Drew, frowned on them texting or taking calls behind the bar. Fair enough. They were too busy anyway. So she had no idea whether Lauren had got the pic or what she’d thought of it. Though, given Lauren was welded to her mobile, Mya figured there’d be an answer when she got a spare second to check. She grinned as she lined twelve shiny new shot glasses on the polished bar, thinking of Lauren’s face when she saw it. She’d be appalled—she’d always shrieked over Mya’s more outrageous ‘statement’ outfits.
‘Come on, gorgeous, show us your stuff!’
Mya glanced up at the bunch of guys crowded round her end of the bar. A stag party, they’d insisted she pour the trick shots for them, not her sidekick, Jonny, down the other end of the bar. She didn’t get big-headed about it—truth was Jonny had taught her the tricks and she was still working towards acing him on them. It was just these guys wanted the female factor.
She’d mixed three for them already and now was onto the finale. She enjoyed it—nothing like lighting up a dozen flaming sambucas for a bunch of wild boys who were megaphone loud in their appreciation. She flicked her wrist and poured the liquid—a running stream into each glass. Then she met the eyes of the groom and flashed him a smile.
‘Are you ready?’ she teased lightly.
The guys nodded and cheered in unison.
She held the lighter to the first shot glass and gently blew, igniting the rest of the line of glasses down the bar. The cheers erupted. She glanced at Jonny and winked. She’d only recently mastered that one, and she knew he was standing right where one of the fire extinguishers was kept.
Grinning, she watched them knock the shots back and slam the glasses onto the bar. Some barracked for more but she already knew the best man had other ideas. Her part in their debauched night was over; they were onto their next destination—she didn’t really want to know where or how much further downhill they were going to slide.
‘A thank-you kiss!’ one of the guys called. ‘Kiss! Kiss!’
They all chanted.
Mya just held up the lighter and flicked it so the flame shot up. She waved it slowly back and forth in front of her face. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get hurt,’ she said with a teasing tilt of her head.
They howled and hissed like water hitting a burning element. Laughing—mostly in relief now—she watched them mobilise and work their way to the door. And that was when she saw him.
Brad High-School-Crush Davenport.
For a second, shock slackened every muscle and she dropped the lighter. Grasping at the last moment to stop it slipping, she accidentally caught the hot end. Damn. She tossed it onto the shelf below the bar and rubbed the palm of her hand on the half-apron tied round her waist. The sharp sting of that small patch of skin didn’t stop her from staring spellbound schoolgirl-fashion at her former HSC. But that was because he was staring right at her as if she were the one and only reason he’d walked into the bar.
Good grief. She tried to stop