Another thing he’d learned about this woman was that it was her who had been spreading rumours to the tabloids that he had proposed to her and that they were getting married in eight months’ time. His best mate, Dane, had showed him one of the cheesy headlines: Anita Donovan is the formula that tamed the womanising Formula One driver Connor McKenzie.
He would never fully understand women. He knew how to make them crave him. He knew how to make them lose themselves and come like crazy but without losing control of himself – he would never give a woman that much power over him. What he didn’t know, and would possibly never know, was how to make them understand that if he fucked them it did not mean that he cared about them. That sex and love were two different things and it was possible to have one without the other.
It was well-known that he’d never had a committed relationship and didn’t want one. It didn’t seem to matter that he was honest with every woman from the start. For some unknown reason they all got this daft idea that they would be the one to change him. Hence, why there was a very disappointed American woman behind him who was trying to pluck at heartstrings that he didn’t have to manipulate him into giving her what she wanted.
“Connor,” she intoned. “Don’t you think we owe it to ourselves, after everything we’ve shared, to give it another shot?”
Owe it to themselves? Everything they’d shared? They had only being seeing each other on-and-off for a few months for nothing more than shagging. Where did she come up with this dramatic tripe? It sounded like something right out of a corny romantic film. It probably was, actually; she’d starred in enough of them.
“Connor, talk to me.” Anita was close to snapping; she felt helpless for the first time in her life. Since the day she was born she was granted practically whatever she wanted. Having famous parents, both actors, meant that her acting career was given a huge jumpstart and things had always come easy to her. Connor was the only thing she had ever had to truly work for. He hadn’t fawned all over her or been anything like the respectful guys that she was used to who showered her with affection and gifts – which was why she had wanted him so badly. What she hadn’t banked on was that once she had him she would have to work to keep him. Three months she had lasted…and now she was about to lose him. She was about to know the feeling of failure.
She had to make him realise how good they looked together. They were so different that it was laughable, but that was what made them fit. She had had the sheltered, silver spoon lifestyle whereas Connor had spent his childhood in foster care in London. Yet two years ago, at just the age of twenty-two, he had become the youngest Formula One driver in the world.
Where she was blonde and pale and blue-eyed, he had coal-black hair and the darkest eyes. The tabloids had long ago dubbed her ‘angel face’ due to her innocent features and small, delicate build. Nothing angelic about Connor; he wore either a frown or a cocky smirk and was anything but delicate with his athletic build and those muscles that were so defined they rippled beneath his clothing as he moved. The tabloids loved her ‘sweet disposition’ and her apparent vulnerability and that unworldly smile she was a master at showing the cameras. Connor, on the other hand, had a raw, animal magnetism about him. He oozed power, strength and danger; making him just as intimidating as he was sensual. It was as though he had been created purposely to seduce. And seduce he did, though he didn’t have to invest much effort into it. How many women had she had to fight off during the last few months? God they even flirted with him in front of her as though she wasn’t even there.
It was those contrasts between them that made them perfect for each other: they balanced each other out. Why couldn’t he see that? Okay so they might not love each other, but he didn’t want love anyway. Maybe he had a point when he said that he wasn’t a fashion accessory for her to hang off her arm, but lots of famous people married to keep the tabloids talking about them. “Okay, Connor, if you need some more time before we get married then we’ll wait.”
“Anita, Anita, Anita.” He swerved to face her. “I need you to listen very carefully because repeating myself over and over isn’t something I enjoy. Are you listening? I. Have. No. Intention. Of. Ever. Getting. Married. Ever. Did you hear that? Let the words settle in your brain. Absorb the information. Accept it. Go home.”
“Maybe in time you’ll change your -”
“Oh for Christ’s sake.”
She shook her head, panicking now. “Connor, honey, listen: I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve been pushing you, it’s just that I love you -”
“Leave, Anita.”
“- but if marriage really isn’t what you want it doesn’t mean we have to split up, we can still be together.” And then I can wear you down with time.
“Anita...” It was a warning.
Desperation flooded her veins. She was not only going to lose him, but her pride. Everyone expected them to get married after the rumours she’d spread; her parents, the media, her fans. She had even been in touch with the personal assistant of fashion designer Donna Karan about a dress and chosen her Maid of Honour who had excitedly accepted the position. God how embarrassing was it going to be when everyone heard about this! She didn’t even have time to buy; Connor would still go to that stupid charity event in a week’s time and he wouldn’t go alone. Once the paparazzi saw him with another woman the whole world would know about their separation. Why couldn’t he see how good they looked beside each other?
Seeing her magazine on the table next to her bag, she quickly snatched it and opened it on a particular page then slapped him in the chest with it. “Look.”
Humouring her, Connor glanced down to see a photograph of the two of them together outside a restaurant. “And the significance of this is…?”
“We look perfect together! Everybody says so!”
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” With that he flung the magazine at her feet and gave her his back as he began to walk away.
Then he froze, his body having caught up with his brain. Slowly he turned and looked down at the magazine on the floor, convinced that he couldn’t have seen what he thought he saw. He was aware that Anita was still rambling on but her words didn’t register. Tentatively he picked up the magazine and flipped it over to look again at the front cover that only seconds ago he’d had a fleeting glimpse of.
And there she was. Looking back at him with an intensity that reached out and plucked at his soul. Those eyes, they had always gotten to him. They had a way of entrancing you, imploring you, making you a willing captive.
Jaxx.
His chest tightened and his lungs burnt. Suddenly the magazine felt like an extension of his hand. He honestly didn’t know how he was going to put it down. He found himself rubbing those lips of hers with his thumb, remembering the one time he’d kissed her. How her mouth had tasted. How he had wanted to do so much more to her but had stopped himself because of her age. She might not have looked or behaved or thought anything like a fourteen year old girl, but that was what she’d been, and he’d been sixteen.
A barrage of random memories hit him. Her burying her face in his chest to hide how hard she was laughing when their drunken foster father slipped on the ice chasing after the dog that had snatched his last beer. Her trying to convince him not to hotwire another car and then purposely triggering the alarm when he ‘wouldn’t see reason’. Him teaching her self-defence moves after that gang of boys cornered her in the girls’ toilets at school – the same gang of boys he had later beat the crap out of. Her yelling at him to stop feeling sorry for himself or she’d squish his balls with her foot. Him sitting playing with that head of chocolate-brown ringlets while listening to her defend Leah for the umpteenth time instead of seeing the lying, attention-seeking bitch for what she was. He remembered exactly how her hair had felt between his fingers.