Wild Thing

‘Of course.’ A soft smile of remembrance played about her mouth. ‘But Mum was too smart to mix business with pleasure.’

She eyeballed him as she said it, a clear warning he should heed. But damned if keeping his hands off her wouldn’t be the hardest thing he’d done in a long time.

‘Smart woman, your mum,’ he said, taking a slug of his bourbon. ‘You must miss her.’

‘Every single day.’ She downed two thirds of her vodka in one gulp. ‘That’s what I hated most after you weren’t around any more because I’d just lost Mum. And not having my best friend there to bounce ideas and feelings off, the kind of friend who moved in the same circles, the friend who knew me almost better than I knew myself...’

She trailed off and for a horrifying moment he thought she might burst into tears.

Before he could say anything remotely comforting, she tossed back another gulp of vodka. ‘Don’t mind me. It’s the alcohol loosening my tongue and making me maudlin.’

‘I missed us too,’ he blurted, wishing he hadn’t said anything when she stared at him in hope as she used to.

Back then he’d known he couldn’t be Mak’s hero, no matter how much he wanted to. He wasn’t built that way. He’d learned from a young age to take care of number one and that was him.

He hadn’t fostered anything beyond friendship between them because of it, even after Mak had turned eighteen. It would’ve been so easy to slip into a relationship with her, especially considering how much he’d wanted her.

But he’d known he wasn’t the kind of guy Mak deserved, not the kind of guy she wanted. Not really. Mak craved stability and he could never give that to her. Not after what he’d been through. Pushing her away that night he’d seen her strip had almost been a relief in some ways.

Now she was back. Tugging at his heartstrings all over again. Making him want to slay a goddamn arena full of dragons in order to protect her from bad stuff.

Not good.

He was a different man now. He’d moved on from that guy who’d felt unworthy. But he still couldn’t be her guy. He had too many demons, most of them linked to that night he’d seen her strip, a night he might never get past no matter how close they became.

‘Here’s to us,’ she said, raising her almost empty glass. ‘To friendship.’

Friendship he could do. Contemplating anything else would be beyond madness.

‘To friendship.’ He clinked his glass against hers but when he took a slug of bourbon it burned all the way down his throat, testament to the lie he’d just uttered.

He didn’t just want friendship with Mak. He wanted her. He always had.

In his arms. In his bed. Wrapped around him.

It was going to be one hell of a tough time ahead.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)

MAKAYLA DIDN’T BELIEVE in magic. Not since she’d watched a show backstage as a ten-year-old and discovered the magician was merely good at fooling people into believing what they wanted to believe.

But someone had sure sprinkled a handful of fairy dust over her today because she’d never danced so well. Rehearsal had started at five p.m. Monday and she’d been at it for two hours. Feet flying, legs kicking, arms spinning. Nailing every single move. The dancers around her were good—it looked as if Hudson only hired the best—but today, she was better.

She didn’t get it. Usually when she landed a new role it took her a day or two to pick up the rhythms, to trial the steps, until it clicked. Today, from the moment she’d stepped onto the studio stage at Embue and the choreographer had outlined the major moves, she’d been on fire.

Now, with sweat pouring off her and her damp leotard clinging to her skin, she slumped onto the nearest bench and reached for her drink bottle. Maybe it was something in the water. Or maybe it was dancing for the man heading towards her, admiration making his eyes glow indigo.

‘Wow, that was impressive.’ Hudson sat beside her, his thigh almost brushing hers, and she forced herself to relax. ‘You’re good.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ she said, raising her water bottle to him in a mock toast before downing half of it.

He chuckled. ‘What do you think of the show?’

She was paid to dance, not give an opinion, but she liked the fact he’d asked. ‘It’s great. High energy, good tempos, catchy songs.’

‘I’ve been working part-time in local theatre, behind the scenes mostly, for a while. It’s something of a hobby.’ Concern pinched his mouth, at odds with his usual confidence. Even as a guy in his early twenties doing whatever it took to survive he’d had a cockiness about him, a self-assurance that she’d wished she could emulate. ‘Tanner’s never done anything like this at Embue before. He took a chance on my idea. I need it to rock.’