The Polly Principle by Davina Stone
Chapter 1
With her champagne flute poised, it flashed through Polly’s mind that she should be paid for delivering couples to the altar. Would a wedding planner hire her? Or a swanky venue? Her track record for pairing bridesmaids off with stray guests was impressive. She could single-handedly keep the bookings up for cakes, dresses, hire services… honestly, the list was endless.
“Please raise your glasses to the beautiful bride and the ugly groom.” The best man’s words cut through her brilliant career plans. Laughter, murmurs of “Jake and Lou”, and the clink of glasses filled the room. Jake kissed his bride, the couple wearing matching only-have-eyes-for-you smiles.
Usually Polly’s heart did a happy dance right about now, so why was there a stabbing sensation just above the waist of her Suzy Perette dress? It couldn’t be the food. She’d been super careful not to overdose on smoked salmon blinis and chocolate-drizzled profiteroles. She might as well be wearing a hair shirt instead of her Spanx, as far as self-denial was concerned.
She took a gulp of champagne. And then it struck her.
Polly Fletcher, you are jealous.
Which was patently ridiculous. Sure, she could get a PhD in matchmaking, but all this commitment crap was never going to be her gig.
“Piss off, I am not.”
“Excuseme?” The woman next to her said in a shocked tone. Polly grimaced. Clearly another of her brain-to-mouth malfunctions. More than three glasses of champagne and they became a regular occurrence.
“Sorry,” she hiss-whispered. “Emergency call from my brother. Amazing things, smart watches, aren’t they? I’ll take it outside.”
Wrist held to her ear, (it was actually a fake Patek Philippe she’d bought in Bali for two dollars, but who’d know at a distance?), Polly squeezed through the crowded room. Stumbling onto the hotel patio, she heaved a sigh of relief, downed the rest of her glass, and muttered, “Idiot.”
“Who’s an idiot?”
The voice was husky, male and very close to her ear.
Polly swung around. Luminous silver eyes fringed by black lashes stared back at her, crinkles of amusement fanning the tan skin at each corner. Quick as a flash she took in the rest of his face. Not exactly handsome. Short, dark hair, nose a little crooked; a lean jaw shadowed with stubble, but add in a mouth that looked like it was made for pleasuring a girl and Polly’s powers of speech sank to a spot well below her waist.
Hot. As. Hell.
The guy cocked an eyebrow, brought a cigarette to his lips, and took a slow drag.
Hot he might be, but a vice like that was too good to miss.
“You are, clearly.” She smirked.
Both eyebrows shot up this time. “Why?”
“For smoking, Mr Dinosaur.”
Hot-as-hell turned his cheek, and exhaled, which gave her time for a once-over of his bod. Polly’s mouth went dry at the vision of broad shoulders gift-wrapped in leather, long denim-clad legs, and dusty biker boots.
When she dragged her gaze back up he was pointing at her champagne. “Why’s that stuff any better?”
“Hel-lo. You don’t see smoke coming out of my glass, do you?” Polly wiggled her glass in his face.
He grinned. “Just a different choice of poison.”
Polly narrowed her eyes. “Meaning what, exactly? That we’re all stuffed up?”
“That’s an assumption that says more about you than me.”
“Oh, very clever.” Polly huffed.
“What?”
“The way you turned the tables so it looks like I’m the one with the problem.”
Hot-as-hell laughed and tapped ash off his cigarette. “You’re a guest at the wedding?”
“And clearly you’re not.”
His pupils dilated, black blotting out silver. “How do you know?”
She allowed herself another lightning-fast scan—purely for research purposes, of course. “You’ve got oil stains on your jeans, and filthy boots,” she said airily. “Not exactly hard to work out. Besides, I get paid to observe people.”
He dropped the cigarette butt and ground it under his heel. “Really? What do you do?”
“Why would I tell you?” That was snarkier than she’d meant; blame it on rampant lust.
“No reason. Except I asked.”
“If you want me to enter into a conversation, a name would help.”
“Solo.”
“Ha-ha, where’s R2D2?”
He dead-panned her. “Yeah, I get that a lot. More often Luke Skywalker, but that’s the name I go by.”
Polly propped her butt on the wall and crossed her arms. It was just too… arousing, standing facing him. He must have noticed her nipples like little bullets pointing at him from under the flimsy fabric of her dress. “Do you live up to it?”
He sat down next to her. “What do you mean?”
“Do you fly solo?” It was out of her mouth before her brain cells could engage.
He chuckled. “Are you hitting on me?”
Fuckity fuck. “God. No! I just meant, are you a loner?”
“That depends,” he said. “And you?”
“After that apology for an answer, I’m not telling.”
“Ah, right. So, if a woman wants to ask personal questions, that’s fine, but if the guy makes a move, he gets a bad rap.”
Holy shit, is he making a move?
A quick sideways glance snagged on a muscular thigh almost nudging hers and it took all her energy not to whimper.
Solo gave an exaggerated sigh. “Anyway, when I said and you, I meant what’s your name? Only fair—I told you mine.”
She hesitated. “Polly.”
“Nice.”
She gave a snort.
“I mean it. I like your name. Come on, you’ve just ridiculed mine and I’m being genuinely complimentary about yours. Why are you so tetchy?”
He had a point. She was being a prize cow. Too much alcohol because her fuck buddy had got married when she’d come to the erroneous conclusion he’d always be single, and now her complete mess-up of an introduction to the sexiest guy she’d encountered in months, possibly years, wasn’t something to be particularly proud of.
Pushing off the wall, she shoved a curl off her forehead and gifted him her best apologetic smile. “Okay, I admit it. Champagne makes my tongue muscle misbehave. Let’s start again. My name’s Polly and I’m here at my friend Jake’s wedding, and when I’m not being a complete bitch to men I’ve just met, I work as a social worker.”
She thought a brief shadow passed over his face, then his lips tipped into a grin. “Nice to meet you, Polly. Passing through on my way to take up a three-month contract in Perth. No offence taken. I quite enjoyed sparring with your bitchy alter-ego.”
“Thanks, I aim to please. What are you doing in Perth?”
Again that misting of his features. “Working on a building project.”
“Designing?”
“No, labouring.”
Polly frowned. Somehow it didn’t add up. Sure, he looked fit enough to do all kinds of manual work but… the way he spoke… he sounded as if he was more, what…? Educated…? Hell, she was grossly stereotyping, wasn’t she? A sudden vision of Solo naked to the waist and glistening in sweat as he heaved girders over his shoulder sent her into another near-meltdown.
On second thoughts, manual work it most definitely was.
Flustered, she turned and leaned her elbows on the wall. Beyond the hotel’s reticulated gardens, great swathes of wheat spread out towards the red ball of the setting sun.
“It’s still freakin’ hot, isn’t it?” she said. Pathetic. Surely she could do better than the weather. “So, if I’m allowed to ask, where are you from, Solo?”
“Sydney.”
“Sydney.” She couldn’t help a surprised glance. “How did you end up in Western Australia?”
“I rode over.”
“Oh, yeah? Where’s your faithful steed?”
“Parked out the front. The red Ducati.”
An image of those thighs draped around a big shiny bike made her mouth dry up again. She feigned interest in the sunset. “Yeah? How long did that take?”
“Two weeks. I camped on the road.”
“One more day and you’ll be there, then.”
“Yep, decided to go luxury for my last night. Only to realise I was gatecrashing a wedding. I was surprised the hotel had a room spare.”
“Most people are staying at the bride’s place. Her dad owns a zillion hectares of wheat out here.”
He leaned his hip against the wall, studying her. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you staying at their property?”
Polly kept her eyes on the sun as it slid lower. “Um, no.”
“Why not?”
“I—um…”
“Too awkward, maybe?”
God the guy was astute.
“No, not at all.” There was no need to explain how her long-term friends with benefits arrangement had ended abruptly six months ago when she’d introduced Jake to Lou. And that while she was ecstatically happy for them, she wasn’t staying in the same building while they got on with their wedding night bonk.
“Here you are, I’ve been looking everywhere-—they’re about to cut the cake.”
Polly suppressed a huff, not sure whether to be annoyed or relieved at her friend Judith’s appearance.
Judith beckoned. “Come on, quick.”
Polly started to back away; realised she had a ninny grin on her face and gave herself a mental slap. “Mustn’t miss the cake being cut. Nice to meet you, Solo.”
“Likewise.” Did his gaze darken, or was that just the fading light? “Catch you later, maybe.”
Polly’s heart did a little rap, the kind with really inappropriate lyrics. “Maybe.” And with that she almost scampered after Judith.
“He is gorgeous. Who is he?” Judith said as they headed into the reception.
“Some random.”
“Oh, really? You seemed to be having a very cosy chat. I wondered if he might be your new love interest.”
“You know I don’t do love, Jude.”
Spotting a waiter nearby, Polly made a dive for his tray of drinks.
“You may not.” Judith grinned, following her. “But there’s a battlefield of Polly Fletcher slain hearts out there.”
“And here’s to the one that got away,” Polly said, raising her glass as Lou and Jake’s hands joined over the knife to slice the cake.
“You didn’t want Jake that way,” Judith hissed in her ear over the cheers. “And you know it.”
Polly sculled her champagne. True enough, she supposed. All she’d ever asked of Jake was a warm, cuddly friendship with some pretty good benefits tagged on the end. But… it was just, well… where was she going to get regular sex with no strings attached, now that Jake was off in married-la-la land?
A pair of beautiful silver eyes danced into her head, along with a sensual mouth that she’d bet was capable of getting up to all sorts of wickedness.
Polly placed her glass back on a passing tray and smiled sweetly at the waiter as she grabbed another.
How, she wondered, did you find out the room number of another guest without looking like some sex-starved stalker?