Blame It on the Bikini - By Natalie Anderson Page 0,28

teased right back, but she looked away from him, drawing a veil over that spark.

The devil in him urged to press her for a date, but he already knew her answer. She was either working or studying, every waking minute. So he let her go and drove home in the darkness. But once there he remained wide-awake and restless and hot. Nothing was going to happen between them, but that hadn’t diminished the ache and the hunger. Lust. He’d get over it. But as he sat in front of his computer, the sky lightened and he got to wondering whether she’d finished her assignment. Whether she was working her shift. Whether she was okay. And then he realised he wasn’t going to be able to rest until he knew for sure that she was.

Mya knew that if she could survive tonight, she could survive anything. She showered to refresh her system but it was a bad idea. The warm water made muscles melt and her mind wander into dangerous territory. She flicked the jets to cold. Then she dragged herself to her desk and pulled out the piles of paper and opened her ancient laptop. She had four hours. She didn’t have time to lust after anyone.

Finally she got in the zone. She read—fortunately she was fast at it—assimilated, analysed and wrote, fingers thumping the keyboard. Her phone alarm beeped at seven forty-five just as she was finalising the formatting. She packed up and sprinted to the café. There was Internet access there. She grabbed a coffee and hit Send on the email. Her assignment was safely en route to her lecturer’s inbox. She straightened and stretched out the kinks in her back from hunching over her keyboard. Exhaustion hit her like a freight train. Only now she had to put on an apron and start making everyone else’s coffees.

Two hours later she switched her phone to mute and put it in the cubby so she’d no longer be bothered by the zillion messages she was receiving. Brad had sent the invites to everyone about the same time she’d sent the assignment to her lecturer. She’d never expected he’d follow through so quickly or with such impact. She should have known better. Brad Davenport was all about impact.

She’d been impressed by the slick black-and-white mysterious message that had spread over the screen of her phone when she’d clicked on it. Yeah, she’d been fielding texts and calls all morning with people wanting the inside deal on what the plans were for the party—all excitement and conjecture. Because the Davenports were the ultimate in cool. Stylish, unique and rolling in it, and anyone who was anyone, or who wanted to be someone, wanted this invite. She’d answered honestly that she hadn’t a clue what was planned but that they’d better be smart enough to keep it secret from Lauren. Mya had threatened them with a prolonged and agonising social-death sentence should anyone spoil the surprise.

Her shift crawled to its end. She was almost in tears with relief and at the same time ready to drag herself across town. She’d doze in the bus on the way. The last person she expected to see just outside the café door was Brad.

‘What are you doing here?’ Was she so tired she was hallucinating?

‘I thought I’d give you a lift home. You must be exhausted.’

Not a hallucination, he was real. Looking so strong and smiling, and she wished she didn’t have any stupid scruples.

‘I’m okay.’ She was so tired, it was harder to control her reaction to his proximity and the urges he inspired.

‘You got it done?’

She nodded, glad he’d reminded her of her work. ‘Thanks for coming in but I’m not going home. I’m having lunch with my parents.’ She was due there this minute.

‘I’ll give you a ride.’

‘No, it’s fine,’ she hurriedly refused. ‘I take the bus.’

He looked at her. ‘I can give you a ride.’

‘Shouldn’t you be working?’ She really didn’t want him taking her there.

‘I’m due a lunch break too.’

‘But—’

‘Can you stop saying no to me in everything?’ he asked. ‘I’m offering as a friend, Mya. Nothing more.’

She opened her mouth and then shut it again as she registered the ragged thread of frustration in his voice. He must be tired too—that invitation would have taken some time on the computer. Had he not slept a wink either?

‘You don’t have to do this,’ she said softly ten minutes later as they headed towards the motorway that would take them right