Real Men Don't Break Hearts(12)

“Uh-huh. I’m sure we’ve got nothing better to do than chase up Rolex watches and Mont Blanc pens stolen from a Maserati.”

“We’ll let you know if anything turns up. In the meantime I’m sure you have insurance. Have a good night, sir.”

Nate scowled after the two cops as they ambled back to their vehicle. “Now he knows what it’s like to be on the other side,” he heard one of them mutter.

Crud. Why had he wasted his time calling the police? History was coming back to bite him one more time. He got into his car and shoved his fingers through his hair, too wound up to stay at home. Too irritated by all the people lining up against him. First that cocky teenager giving him the finger, then Mrs. Bennett, then the punk who’d broken into his car, and finally the cops who were only too happy to see him get a taste of his own medicine.

He gunned the engine and took off with a roar, tires squealing. That’d get Mrs. Bennett grumbling. But he didn’t care. He’d had enough of being nice.



The Duck Inn was about ten kilometers out of Burronga on the Old Hume Highway. The historic pub had been done up to the rafters and attracted a well-heeled crowd. Not exactly the kind of place to suit Nate’s belligerent mood, but he had enough sense to avoid the rowdier pubs. In his current frame of mind he knew he’d just attract trouble.

He shouldered his way through the packed main bar and bought himself a beer. A couple of glammed-up women in short skirts and high heels gave him encouraging glances as he cast around for an empty seat. From the way they were eyeing him, he was sure he’d have no problem approaching them for a chat. He knew the routine. Problem was, he was tired of the same old act.

Cradling his beer, he headed for a corner of the bar counter. The music blaring from the sound system was a song he disliked, and the conversation around him was too raucous. A few people were dancing in the center of the room. He took a mouthful of beer, already regretting stopping here. He’d finish his drink and then head back home. At least there he wouldn’t have to put up with other people’s bad musical taste.

The music swapped over to a slow song, and the dancing changed. Great. Just what he needed, a crooning number and amorous couples feeling each other up. He downed another gulp of beer and almost choked as he spotted Ally dancing with some strange guy. They were on the edge of the crowd, and to Nate everything about them shouted “first date.” He could tell just by the way they were holding each other: Ally stiff, her fingers tentative on the man’s shoulders, while the guy had his arm loose around her waist, a good few inches of space separating their bodies. Through the haze he didn’t have a good view of Ally’s expression, but the guy seemed eager. Nate narrowed his gaze on Ally. He could see why.

Ally looked incredible. She’d done something to her hair so it was all shiny and loose as it tumbled around her shoulders. Her soft, pale blue dress clung to her curves and floated over her thighs at least two inches above her knees, and the stilettos on her feet did amazing things to her legs. Damn, she had great legs. Lithe, toned, touchable. Why had he never noticed them before? In fact, why had he never noticed how outright sexy she was? The question rocked through his brain, altering all his thought patterns.

Ally spun around in her partner’s arms, and now her rear was toward Nate. Her swaying butt had him mesmerized. His fingers itched to touch the silky material, to glide over her soft skin and caress the little hollow at the back of her knees. Who would have thought Ally Griffin would get his motor racing this hot? He’d never thought of her like this, never visually undressed her so blatantly. At first he’d just known her as Seth’s girlfriend who didn’t approve of him, and then he’d thought of her as Seth’s ex-fiancée who hated his guts. He’d never thought of her as a woman who might attract him. She wasn’t his type. Too rigid, too determined to keep Seth away from his bad influence. The kind of woman who would smother a man. Anathema to Nate.

But now? Now he couldn’t just dismiss her as a stuffy prude, not when his body was telling him the opposite. The spark had been struck in his mind, and it couldn’t be unstruck, no matter how he tried. The more he gazed at Ally, the more intrigued he became. He used to think he had her all sussed out, but he was wrong. He recalled the bars of soap she’d flung at him and, six years ago, the two stinging slaps she’d delivered across his face. Ally might seem like a pussycat, but back her into a corner and she could be quite the spitfire. She had spirit, he had to admit, and tonight she looked like dynamite.

He shifted his attention to Ally’s date. Roughly the same age as him, medium build, short brown hair, clean-cut looks, neat khaki trousers, nice shirt but nothing fancy. A dime a dozen. Mr. Average. Why was she out with him? What could she possibly see in a guy like that? Nate frowned into his beer. Crap, he couldn’t mistake the first stirrings of envy. Over Ally. Not good.

Mercifully the song ended, and the crowd milled about, obscuring his view of Ally. He lost sight of her, but then a second later she was right in front of him, looking blankly startled, her mouth slightly agape. As they were just inches apart, there was no way she could avoid him.

“Hey there.” He lifted his glass in salute.

She pressed her lips shut. He noticed the cherry red lipstick she was wearing and the mascara around her baby blue eyes—eyes with a tight, wary line between them. “How long have you been here?” she asked abruptly.

“Not long.” He watched her work her lips, as if she wasn’t used to wearing so much lipstick. Her lower lip was full and lush. He felt like wiping the lipstick off with a swipe of his thumb, and a tingle ran through his veins. He glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t see Mr. Average. “So how’s the date going?”

Her shoulders stiffened and the gauzy dress tightened around her breasts, drawing his attention to the shadowed cleft revealed by the low-cut neckline. His fingers cramped around the cold beer glass. Wasn’t that a lot of cleavage to be flashing on a first date?

“It’s fine.” Her voice was about as warm as the polar ice caps.

“First dates can be a bit awkward.”

“How do you know it’s a first date?”

He lifted a quizzical eyebrow. Who was she trying to kid? “It’s not?”

She lowered her gaze, her eyelashes spreading dense fans across her creamy skin. “Okay, you got me there.”

“So what’s his name?”

Her chin went up. “What’s it to you?”

Still so prickly. But it didn’t irritate him. “Just making conversation here.”

She sucked in her lips, suspicion still lurking. “His name’s Paul.”

A group of people brushed past, making her shuffle closer. He didn’t mind one bit. It occurred to him that for a woman who hated his guts she didn’t seem in a tearing hurry to get away from him. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Dud date, huh? Is that why you’re making a run for it?”

“I—I’m not making a run for it,” she spluttered. “I’m just on my way to the ladies’.” She waved in the direction past him.

“Ri-ight, so it is a dud date then, and you’re just soldiering on bravely instead of cutting and running.” He grinned at her indignant expression. When he’d arrived at this pub he’d been seething with frustration, but now he wasn’t. It was kind of fun sparring with Ally, and he didn’t want her to go. “Don’t you girls have a backup plan for a first date? You know, you get your friend to ring you halfway through the evening, and if the date’s a disaster you pretend there’s some big emergency you have to attend to. Right?”

She rested a hand on her hip, her eyes flashing. “I suppose that’s the kind of stunt you pull on your dud dates?”

He smiled. “I make it a policy of mine never to have dud dates.”

“Oh, so where’s tonight’s bimbo?” She made a show of peering around her, pretending to search the crowd. “Ditched her already?”

He felt his smile fading. He didn’t know why her sarcasm nicked him. Maybe it was because of her assumption that he was only interested in bimbos.

“No bimbo tonight,” he said. “I came on my own.”

“Oh.”

The music started again, and Ally stepped backward. “Okay, then. See you,” she mouthed at him. He nodded, and a moment later she disappeared.

Nate swallowed the last dregs of his beer. The alcohol was sour on his tongue, the blaring music starting to hammer at the insides of his temples. He pushed his way out of the bar and headed for the pool room in the back. He’d been meaning to go home, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Ally and Mr. Average, and he needed a distraction. He played pool for an hour, drank Coke instead of beer, and focused on winning his games. Eventually he called it a night and left the Duck Inn.

Turning up his collar against the crisp night air, he almost bumped into a woman standing in the shadows of the building.

“Ally?” She had on a thin black coat over her skimpy dress, and her arms were wrapped around herself. He looked about for Mr. Average but couldn’t see him. “Where’s your date?”