Her Playboy Crush - Nicola Marsh Page 0,1

in the guest bedroom and I make a quick trip to the hardware store?’

‘Fine,’ she muttered, agreeing to the physical labour. Pondering anything remotely to do with Ryder? No way in hell.

‘Back in ten,’ he said, unbuckling his tool belt, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

Leaving Polly doing exactly as he’d instructed: pondering working alongside Ryder to plan Archie’s party. As if.

She may not have spent much time with Ryder in five years, but he’d been the bane of her existence for fourteen years before that. She’d been eight, Archie ten, when the Beales had moved in next door and Ryder and Archie had been besties ever since.

While she’d struggled socially, he’d been the most popular boy in school. While she’d sucked at sports, he’d excelled at football, cricket, soccer and hockey. While she had still been trying to break into her coveted field of statistics, he’d managed to build a stellar career in life coaching, completing his psychology degree and becoming a revered speaker.

Ryder had appeared in countless online magazines, had been interviewed by the talk show elite and had cut a swathe through gorgeous women from Rome to New York. He’d led a charmed life. Hers was finally kicking off at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.

She’d landed her dream opportunity at Sizzle, Sydney’s hippest fashion house. Now all she had to do was kick ass with the upcoming fundraiser she’d been placed in charge of and she could climb the corporate ladder to where she wanted to be: number crunching in the glam fashion world to which she’d been drawn her entire life.

A long, low wolf whistle interrupted her musings. ‘Looking good, Pollyanna.’

Polly stiffened, the muscles in her neck tightening so fast they hurt. That voice. Deep. Taunting, with a hint of huskiness that never failed to send a shiver of longing through her. She turned slowly, reluctantly, to find Ryder leaning in the doorway from the kitchen to the lounge, grinning at her like he’d just spied his favourite dessert.

‘That’s not my name,’ she said, sounding cool and collected, feeling anything but.

There was something about the way Ryder looked at her, had always looked at her, that made her want to apply lashings of mascara, slick crimson gloss on her lips and slip into something a lot less comfortable.

‘It should be, considering your altruistic view of the world.’ He straightened and strode towards her, making her hormones do a weird little jive. ‘Still seeing everything in black and white?’

‘Nothing wrong with cold, hard facts,’ she said, her fingers digging into the wood of the armoire to anchor her in a world suddenly off kilter.

Her pulse raced and her palms grew clammy, physical signs of a purely visceral response whenever this guy got too close. She should be over this, over him. Not that there was anything to get over beyond a lot of fanciful notions in her own head. But she’d spent too many teen years secretly lusting after him to pretend he didn’t affect her, because this grown-up version of Ryder was even sexier than his younger counterpart.

‘No room for grey, huh?’ He stopped two feet in front of her. Close enough to smell his designer aftershave with a hint of spice. Close enough to see the green flecks in his hazel eyes. Close enough to want to touch that broad chest and lean waist and...lower.

She’d seen him bare-chested before, when he’d kick the soccer ball around with Archie in their backyard, and over the years when she’d give in to the temptation of searching his name online and find pictures of him standing on top of a cliff face he’d just scaled or diving with sharks. In both those instances his glorious bronze chest had been on full display and she’d ended up having a restless sleep because of it.

It was stupid to still be fantasising over him all these years later, but those naughty notions in the middle of the night were nothing on having him this close.

Would his chest be as hard as it looked?

Would her hands fit in the dip of his waist?

Would the clearly delineated lines of his abs be traceable with her fingertips as she dipped beneath his waistband?

How big would he be...?

Polly swallowed and a fine sheen of perspiration broke out on her forehead.

‘You’re blushing.’ The tip of his thumb grazed her cheek, sending a jolt of longing so strong through her body that she almost swayed towards him. ‘What’s got you all hot and bothered?’

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