Rob felt an urge to pull out his tongue at her, which he manfully suppressed. He quickly rewound and took a stab in the dark. ‘So, have you kept in contact with your other mates from those days?’
‘Well, I talk to Luke my brother all the time. He was the resort manager.’
Amy sat up straighter and leaned forward. Hmm, Rob thought, interesting reaction to the mention of his name. Something churning there.
‘We barely talk nowadays, but I have all their e-mail addresses, and I’m friends with them on social media,’ Willa answered, her lips around a purple straw.
Rob, forcing the mental picture of what he’d really like to see those lips wrapped around from his mind, thought that there was no way he could go so long without connecting with his own tight circle of friends.
‘You all should get together some time—catch up.’
Amy clapped her hands together with delight. ‘That’s such a fantastic idea. We should do that, Wills. We can invite them for a barbie … it’ll be a Whitsundays reunion,’ Amy gushed.
‘Let’s do it! When?’ Willa asked, eyes sparkling.
‘The sooner the better … Tomorrow is Sunday! A perfect day for a barbie by the pool … beers, bikinis … We can have a seafood Barbie,’ Amy babbled. ‘Invite them, Willa! Now! I betcha they will all come.’
Willa reached for her bag, her enthusiasm elevated by those Screaming Orgasms. She pulled out the latest smartphone and Rob raised his eyes as her fingers flew over the touchscreen. ‘Okay, I’ve tagged Scott and Brodie and Chantal. Luke is in Singapore, the jerk. Who else?’
‘The bartenders—Matt and Phil. Invite them! They were fun … Tell them to bring booze for cocktails.’ Amy leaned forward. ‘And Jane and Gwen who were part of the entertainment crew.’ Amy looked at Rob. ‘We were quite sure that they provided extra “entertainment” to the guests, but they were such a riot.’
‘And the lifeguards—I hope they’re still hot! Tagged them … Come on, Ames, there were at least twenty of us who ran wild … I’ve tagged the girls who helped me entertain the rug rats.’
‘The rug rats?’ Rob asked.
‘I looked after the kids at the resort … I kept them entertained so that their parents could have a break. And afternoon sex,’ Willa explained without looking up from her smartphone. ‘Come on, Amy—think!’
Amy rattled off a few more names and Willa bobbed her head in excitement. ‘Okay, anyone else?’
‘Nah. I think that’s it.’
Amy leaned back in her chair and looked over to her flatmate. She let out a loud whistle that felt like an ice pick in Rob’s brain, but it had the desired effect and Jessica turned around.
‘Hey, Jess, want to go to a barbie with me and Willa?’
‘Sure,’ Jessica replied, turning to Willa. ‘When?’
‘Tomorrow. What time?’ Willa asked Amy.
‘Eleven. Bring your own bottle,’ Amy replied, and Rob watched, amused, as their impromptu party started to take shape.
Whether their guests would appreciate—or accept—an invitation at half-ten at night for a party the next day was another story, but it was fun watching their cocktail-induced excitement. That being said, he knew that they were so going to regret their impulsiveness in the morning, when their heads woke them up, screaming that they had had brain surgery without anaesthetic.
‘Okay, eleven … bring my own bottle … where?’ Jessica asked.
‘Yeah, where? Maybe I should add that.’ Willa squinted at her phone.
‘That would be helpful,’ Rob murmured, but no one heard him.
Amy pretended to think, her eyes dancing. ‘Oh, I don’t know … who do we know who has an empty Sydney waterfront property with a pool?’
Willa shrugged. ‘Who?’
Then the penny dropped with a clang and Willa bounced up and down in her chair like a first-grader.
‘Oooh, I do! Me! Me, me, me, me … me!’
‘Attagirl.’ Amy lifted her bottle in her direction.
Even Rob, stranger that he was to the city, knew that waterfront property in Sydney meant big bucks. Who was this waif? An heiress? A celebrity?
‘Hey, if I’m finally going to host a party of my own then I’m going to invite who I want to invite,’ Willa stated emphatically. ‘Like Kate!’
‘Who’s Kate?’ Amy asked.
Yeah, who is Kate, gorgeous?
‘My lawyer.’
Why would a woman in her mid to late twenties have her own lawyer? Interesting … Then again, the whole package was fascinating … Brains and beauty and those brilliant legs that were made to wrap around a man’s hips …
Okay, slow down there, Hanson.
Willa’s phone beeped and her face fell. ‘Poop. Kate can’t come. Oh, well.’ She looked around for a waiter. ‘I need another drink.’
Some liver pills, a litre of water and a few painkillers wouldn’t hurt either, Rob told her silently.
SHE WASN’T DRUNK, Willa told herself. Happy, relaxed … slightly buzzed, maybe, but not drunk. And she was having fun, she realised on a happy sigh. Fun … She rolled the word around her tongue. Well … hello, there, stranger.
She was twenty-six years old—jeez, nearly twenty-seven—and she’d played the part of young, gorgeous, thick trophy wife all her adult life because Wayne and what he’d wanted had been important … her, not so much.
She was a great example of why you shouldn’t be in charge of your own destiny when you were too young and too dumb to be making decisions more complicated than how to operate a teaspoon.
Willa pushed her heavy hair back from her face. She’d stopped loving Wayne years and years ago, and now she just wished she could finally be free of him—legally, mentally, comprehensively. And when she was she could fully enjoy men like … Rob.
Willa sneaked a look at that face and swallowed her lusty sigh. He was scruffy in all the right places, she thought. Sable-coloured curls that she longed to touch to see if they felt as soft as they looked, a four-day-old beard, a shirt that skimmed long muscles and tanned skin, giving hints of well-defined pecs, and an impressive six-pack.
Those grey piercing eyes seemed to be shockingly observant and yet basically unreadable.
Rough, rugged, and completely at ease in his skin. She couldn’t help but to compare him to the only other man she’d ever slept with—she was biggest of big girl’s blouses!—and it was like comparing instant coffee to Mountain Blue. Simply an exercise in stupidity.
Wayne was smart Italian suits and hair gel to cover the bald patch on the crown of his head. Cologne, cufflinks and designer labels. Rob was … not. He didn’t need to accessorise—he was excellent just as he was.
Sexy. Masculine. Nuclear-hot.
‘Honey, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to have to do something about it.’
Willa blinked as his drawling voice pulled her back into the moment and she noticed Amy leaving the table with a tall blond guy. They were heading towards the dance floor in the centre of the club. When had that happened? Maybe while she’d been spending the last five minutes drooling over Nuclear-Hot across the table.
She