She's So Over Him (Mills & Boon Modern Tempted) Page 5

  ‘Saved from my own stupidity,’ she muttered as she pulled back. Clambering off his lap, she pulled the cups of her bra back over her breasts.

  Cale—smart man—let his mobile ring to voice-mail. ‘Maddie? What the hell?’

  Maddie looked around for her shirt. ‘I’m late and you need to get out of here.’

  Cale grabbed the waistband of her pants and held her in place. ‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what flicked your “off” button.’

  ‘At least I have an “off” button! You don’t seem to!’

  More worrying was that he’d found her ‘on’ button so quickly. He’d liquefied her common sense in ten seconds flat.

  ‘Oh, God! Here you go again, judging my love-life.’ Cale rolled his eyes. ‘Trust me, you’re making something out of nothing, Mad.’

  ‘So you say.’ Maddie shrugged in mock insouciance. ‘But, just so we’re clear, I am never going to be a woman who hangs around waiting for your calls!’

  ‘Uh—I’ll never expect you to be.’

  Maddie, feeling his fingers warm against her stomach, walked around his knees and leaned across the bed. She grabbed his mobile and waved it in his face. ‘Like this poor woman!’

  ‘Who?’

  Maddie didn’t need to check the name. ‘Megan! Megan Adams!’

  Cale looked puzzled. ‘Megan Adams often calls. So?’

  Maddie jerked away, and the look she sent him was hot enough to burn a hole in sheet metal. ‘And she’s okay with you sleeping with other women?’

  Cale grinned. ‘She seems to be.’

  Maddie knew that he was mocking her and wasn’t quite sure why. It only ratcheted up her temper. Stomping away, she grabbed her shirt off the floor and pulled it on. ‘You’re not funny. Just go, Cale.’

  ‘You’ve really got the wrong end of the stick, Maddie.’

  ‘Cale, this is me—remember? I remember the incessant phone calls and the drooling girls with their flicky hair. I know. I was the girlfriend trying to compete for your attention with them!’ Maddie yanked a comb through her still-wet curls. ‘Megan’s just another poor sap desperate for you to take her calls. FYI, I’ve grown up and I will never, ever again be Miss Desperate or Miss Stupid or Miss Waiting-in-Anticipation for you to call!’

  Cale stood and picked up his mobile and keys from the bed. She caught his flinty eyes and his tight jaw. He walked into the dressing room, reappearing with his toolbox in hand. ‘No, you now have the title of Miss Closed Mind and Miss Stubborn. Maybe Miss Childish, too,’ he said coldly.

  ‘Whatever,’ Maddie snapped. ‘And Cale?’

  Cale stopped at the door, his fingers white as he clenched the frame of the door. ‘What now?’

  ‘I know that you were in my lingerie drawer! Where’s my candy-pink thong? Did you take it?’

  He found it where he’d dropped it—behind the bathroom door—and tossed the underwear towards her.

  ‘I’d be happy for you to add it to your collection, but it’s my favourite,’ she called as he stormed out and slammed her front door so hard that the earth tilted off its axis and, Maddie was quite certain, set off an earthquake somewhere in the South Pacific.

  BlackBerry Messaging: 16.15.

  Cale Grant: Just thought I’d let you know that you’re the first woman I’ve killed in 3 months.

  Maddie: What? Standing here watching my bride walk down the aisle. Pretty sure I’m still alive.

  Cale Grant: Kissed, not killed! Can’t get used to this new phone. Thought you should know that since you think I’m a man slut. Just clearing the air…

  Maddie: Seriously? So, if you haven’t kissed/killed anyone, then you haven’t…? How long since you… you know?

  Cale Grant: Not answering that.

  Maddie: Curious. Can I still call you Slick?

  Cale Grant: You’re laughing, aren’t you?

  Maddie: MAO. So… are you waiting for an apology?

  Cale Grant: Would you give me one? Anyway, just wanted to clear the air. Now going for a long, long run, followed by a cold, cold shower… unless you’re offering alternative entertainment?

  Maddie: Nope.

  Cale Grant: Damn.

  ‘Maddie? Are you there?”

  Maddie, perched on a ladder helping her crew drape a tent, mobile to her ear, mentally shook herself and concentrated on the low drawl. Finally putting a name to the voice, her lips curved in pleasure as she recognised a rival co-ordinator.

  ‘Dennis King, what do you need? An ice sculptor? A Roman set? Some advice?’

  Although they were officially competitors, they both recognised the value of maintaining a cordial, friendly relationship. Who else but another event co-ordinator would know the name of an ice sculptor at two in the morning? Who else would understand? From who else could you borrow a cream tent, supplement chair covers, or get a new source of blue roses?

  ‘Hey, sweetie, you’re good, but I doubt that even you can express a Roman set to the Big Apple.’

  ‘You’re in New York? What are you doing there?’

  ‘Got a job at Bower & Co.’

  Maddie nearly swallowed a pin. How on earth had he landed a job with one of the most respected PR and eventing firms in the world? And why hadn’t she heard about it?

  ‘That’s actually why I’m calling you.’

  Maddie removed the pins from her mouth.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘They’ve got an opening for an events co-ordi-nator and I thought of you.’

  ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘Because I could use a friendly face here, we get along well and you already work the long hours that are standard over here. What do you think?’

  Maddie sat down on the ladder and rubbed her eyes. ‘Wow, Dennis. Wow. I’m not sure what to say.’

  ‘Say you’ll think about it. I’ve been dropping your name at every opportunity I get. In the meantime, e-mail me your CV.’

  ‘I’ll think about it. New York?’

  ‘Manhattan, baby. Big money. Big kudos,’ Dennis replied. ‘E-mail me your CV. Later.’

  Maddie looked down at her dead mobile and pinched the bridge of her nose. She carefully sat down and rested her head on her knees. New York City.

  This was so exciting—a career move of stratospheric proportions. Bower & Co tendered for opening ceremonies at sporting events, Hollywood première parties and political balls. They were solidly big league…

  She couldn’t wait to tell… Cale?

  Maddie huffed a breath. Why did her thoughts instinctively veer to him? He’d just dropped back into her life, she wasn’t even sleeping with him, and they’d shared no more than a couple of conversations. You ‘re being an idiot, she told herself. He shouldn’t even be a blip on her radar.

  But he was, and he was blipping far too often for her physical and, more frightening, her emotional comfort. You ‘re just out of practice, Maddie assured herself. Allowing your imagination to run away with you. You’re—eek!—sexually frustrated and easily confused.

  She didn’t like being either.

  Focus, Madison.

  Maddie stood up and pushed her shoulders back. She’d send off her CV and see what happened.

  New York, baby! Wooo-hoo!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HE NEEDED her.

  Okay, he needed to rephrase that. He needed to sleep with her. Better. He didn’t need anyone. He was entirely self-sufficient and he liked it that way.

  Cale leaned back in his office chair and propped his feet onto the corner of his desk, idly threading a pencil through his fingers as he waited for his next patient. He was exhausted, and the combination of insomnia and sexual frustration added an edge to his temper that he didn’t need.

  He wished it was just general sexual frustration… If it was that simple he could find meaningless sex. He could pick up the phone right now and call at least five women and know that at the end of the evening he’d get lucky. The thought left him with a sour taste in his mouth. It was his crappy luck t
hat it seemed only sex with Maddie would do the trick.

  Why only her and why now, God only knew—because he sure as hell hadn’t the faintest clue. But hers was the body he currently craved…

  He didn’t mind her company either, he admitted. She had a quick mind and a smart mouth and he enjoyed talking to her—but then he always had.

  Oliver had liked her—a lot—but he’d always been wary of her, Cale remembered. Maybe it was because Maddie was one of only a couple of women who’d looked past Oliver’s handsome face and charming manner to try and find the core of the person beneath the façade he’d presented to the world. She hadn’t succeeded. Very few people had known the real Oliver. Sometimes Cale wasn’t even sure if he was one of them.

  Exhausted, he kneaded the back of his neck, hoping to release some of the tension there. There was no point in looking back… you just had to live with what had happened. You couldn’t change the past but you could learn from it.

  But if he could he’d avoid the chaos that life loved to throw at him. Admittedly when Oliver had died seven-eighths of the chaos factor in his life had died, too, but he’d take every thing life could throw at him to have his brother back.

  That wasn’t going to happen so he had limited the turmoil; he’d learnt to recognise the people and situations that brought it into his life.

  Emotional relationships were high on turmoil, so he avoided those. Woman in general came with a host of problems, so he never allowed any of them to stick around long enough to form any sort of emotional attachment. He worked alone—mostly—and he was paid to dive into his patients’ heads. They stayed out of his. Win-win.

  Cale knew that Maddie’s chaos factor was sky high but he simply wanted her. And if he could keep it light and on a sexual level he could handle it. Handle her. He’d have to handle it… What was the alternative? Not seeing her and having this constant circus in his pants? No, thank you.

  Cale placed his arms on his desk and scowled into his empty coffee cup. This raised a point… how was he going to get her into his bed? He could just suggest that they sleep together, but he suspected that she’d shoot him down in flames. And it felt vaguely hypocritical to do the bringing her flowers and dating thing…

  With what they had cooking he just needed to get her on her own and let nature take its course…

  Cale glanced down at the pile of messages next to his elbow and idly picked them up, flipping through them as he mulled over his problem.

  Speaking engagement… cancellation of an appointment… reminder of a meeting. His mother asking whether he’d had any more thoughts on doing something in memory of Oliver…

  Cale stared at the pink slip as an idea started to take shape in his brain.

  He could kill two birds with one stone…

  ‘What are you working on?’ Maddie asked her colleague Thandi the following morning.

  ‘International Piano Festival.’ Thandi rolled her shoulders, the powder-blue silk of her floaty top whispering over her smooth deep brown shoulders. ‘Are you still neck-deep in fish?’

  AKA the Tight Lines Fishing Contest. Maddie took a sip of cold coffee and managed not to grimace.

  __________________________________________ ‘For my sins. Harriet hates me,’ Maddie replied, referring to their managing director and issuer of event assignments.

  Thandi, Maddie noted, didn’t bother arguing.

  As Thandi sauntered out of the office on a wave and a promise to bring back something ‘deeee-vine’ for afternoon tea, Maddie wished she wouldn’t. Unlike her colleague, she didn’t have Naomi Campbell’s figure, or her ability to incinerate fat. If she kept eating chocolate éclairs every day from Bruno’s—the specialist bakery down the street—as Thandi did, she’d be the size of Table Mountain in a month.

  Depressed, and feeling the waistband of her tan tailored pants biting into her waist, Maddie rolled her chair closer to her desk and filed a quote for white roses, making a quick note in her diary to call the suppliers and accuse them of highway robbery. They were roses, she’d remind them, not solid gold ingots.

  A discreet beep from her laptop alerted her to an incoming e-mail. Dropping the spreadsheet she was working on, she pulled up her e-mail program and frowned at the address.

  To: Madison Shaw (mshaw@mayhewwalsh.com)

  From: Cale Grant (Cale@calegrant.com)

  Subject: Triathlon Charity Race

  Dear Ms Shaw

  In memory of my brother, Oliver Grant, I am embarking on organising a triathlon race to raise funds for blood-related cancers. (Please see attached document.) The race will take place in August, on the Peninsula.

  The one-day race comprises a four-mile surf-ski, an eighteen-mile mountain bike trail, a twenty-mile forest run and a two-mile beach run.

  In your position as a promotions and events co-ordinator, I hope you can assist me with some pro bono work to help raise corporate sponsorship and publicity for the race. I’m sure a few letters and a couple of calls would do the trick.

  For further information on triathlon racing, please visit my racing website: www.sportshuntracing.com Thank you for your anticipated response. Caleb Grant

  A second e-mail followed five seconds later with a brief message.

  I thought I’d try the formal approach. Did it work?

  Maddie tapped her index finger on her desk, scowled at her laptop, and out of curiosity hit the link to the website Cale mentioned and leaned back in her chair as the pages filled her screen. She skimmed through the site, deliberately ignoring the articles around fitness, and skipped onto the photo gallery. And there he was, much as she remembered him, arms around the broad shoulders of his twin and another very sweaty man, laughing into the camera, navy eyes squinting in late-afternoon sun. His torso and face glowed with perspiration. His expression radiated confidence and pride at their obvious win.

  Resting her head in her hand, she stared at his image as she gnawed her lip. Who could blame her at eighteen for falling for him? He’d been good looking and smart and, despite his being a player, she’d genuinely liked him…

  So how was she supposed to have been sensible and said no when he’d talked her into bed? Her hormones had been on a low simmer for months and she’d been so tired of being a virgin. He’d been—was still—gorgeous, and since Mature Maddie couldn’t keep her hands off him she couldn’t blame her younger self for wanting to walk on the wild side.

  Boy, she’d been stupid—and so insecure. How many times had he crawled back to her with another apology, another lame excuse for breaking a date or being late or forgetting to call? And she’d also lived in a state of simmering fear, constantly badgering him about the girls who openly chased him and demanding to know whether he was cheating on her.

  Her eight weeks with Cale had been one big drama.

  Having lived with drama her whole life—a byproduct of one of history’s most dysfunctional marriages—after two months she’d had enough. She’d been thinking of getting out when the thought had occurred to her that, despite having a regular monthly cycle all her life, she was a week overdue. It was a measure of the knots that Cale had tied her up in that she hadn’t noticed earlier. Thinking of the implications of being pregnant had kept her awake for two nights straight.

  The test, thank God and all his archangels, had been negative, and she’d kicked Cale’s unsupportive and selfish backside into touch.

  But when her world had fallen apart she’d wanted him. Needed him. She had never considered that he wouldn’t listen to her messages, hadn’t known of Red’s death. Any way she looked at it, and however hard she tried to understand, he’d still let her down when she had needed him the most.

  She’d moved on, but it had taken her a few more years—a couple of disastrous relationships—to realise that she wasn’t relationship material. And, really, how often did she to need to be shown that it was better to avoid the drama than to keep trying—and failing? Maybe her best friend Kate’s theory that she was ‘romantically retarded’ h
ad some merit.

  She knew that her career was where she should concentrate her energy. Work never let her down; it returned exactly what she put in. It was a very simple equation. The fewer distractions she had—especially those of an emotional nature—the harder she worked, the better she did and the further she went. Possibly as far as New York. No fuss, no drama. Drama and relationships seemed to go hand in hand, and failure always seemed to be the inevitable outcome.

  Work was where she excelled. It was her refuge, her passion, her fulfilment. If there was drama—and there frequently was with crazy brides—she got to stand back from the emotion and find a solution.

  As for sex? She could take it or leave it… and she did leave it. She was far from being a contender for tart of the decade and she was okay with that. Three lovers in ten years. Including His Hotness.

  Except that Cale—blast him!—just had to kiss her a couple of times for her to remember how exciting sex and men could be…

  A few hours in his company also made her recall that it was fun to flirt with a man, thrilling to see your lust echoed in his eyes, to be attracted and to be found attractive.

  Maddie yanked at the collar of her shirt and fanned her hand in front of her face. Why did the air suddenly seem thinner, the room hotter? And why did she only seem to have this extreme reaction when she allowed herself to think about Cale Grant?

  She tapped her keyboard so that Cale’s picture disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. She wasn’t sure what made her more agitated: his assumption that he could just waltz back into her life and plant himself back in it, or the cellular, chemical, blistering reaction they seemed to have re-ignited, which now burned a thousand degrees hotter.

  Switching back to her e-mail, she furiously typed her reply.

  Cale

  Apart from the fact that I think working together would be a VERY bad idea, contrary to popular opinion, one doesn’t just raise corporate sponsorship with a few letters and a couple of calls. I’d have to meet with marketing people and spend hours persuading them that your race would increase their brand’s impact, their exposure, and would increase their market penetration.