Hotbed of Scandal: Mistress: At What Price? / Red Wine and Her Sexy Ex / Bedded by Blackmail

She didn’t notice him move until the warmth of his hand touched hers. He slid his thumb over the inside of her wrist. ‘So we’ll make our own.’

The way he said that—as if he wasn’t talking about pies, but something much more pleasurable. Her gaze darted to his and she found herself drawn unwillingly into the sensuous promise she saw there.

The guy watching her wasn’t that teenager she’d known. Dane, the man, wouldn’t hesitate to take what he wanted, be it in business or pleasure, and the knowledge shivered down her spine. She tried to tug her arm away, but his grip tightened.

‘Don’t,’ he said, and lifted it to his lips, laying a line of kisses from the middle of her palm to her elbow, watching her with that heated gaze as he did so.

Sensation sparkled along her skin—much too brightly.

Her pulse beat a tattoo beneath his lips—much too loudly.

‘We’re meant to be lovers, remember?’ The low timbre of his voice vibrated against her flesh.

Drawing a breath, she shook her head, as much to clear it as to negate his words. ‘No one’s watching. You don’t have to…do that.’

‘Not true—you never know who’s watching, and you should be as aware of that as I. Let’s go home.’

‘Dinner is served, mademoiselle.’ Dane set the steaming, aromatic plates down on the French-polished dining room table. Two pies floated in a sea of pea-green, looking incongruous amidst the room’s old-world elegance.

‘Ah, merci, garçon, c’est très magnifique.’ She smiled at him, a smile that reminded him of long-ago days, and said, ‘But it’s traditional to eat it standing.’

‘To hell with tradition,’ he said, pulling out a chair for her. He passed her a half-empty bottle of tomato sauce with the instruction to, ‘Leave some for me.’

‘You’ll be lucky.’

Dane watched her up-end the bottle over her meal, then pass it to him. Only Mariel Davenport could eat a soggy pie dripping with red and green and maintain some modicum of elegance.

She sipped at her glass of wine. ‘So your dad hasn’t moved to the city?’

‘No.’ He stabbed his fork into the pie, hacked off a corner.

She frowned, censure in her eyes. ‘I know it was bad for you as a kid. But he’s old—he must be in his late seventies now. How does he manage on his own?’

‘You know my father—he has a fit and healthy forty-year-old woman drop by to help him manage.’ He chewed more vigorously, making his jaw ache.

‘Oh.’

‘Exactly.’

Mariel knew his circumstances. How both his parents had indulged in extra-marital relationships. How his mother had left to live interstate with a new guy when Dane was seven. And how his father had paid for his only son to board at the exclusive school he and Mariel had attended because he didn’t want the inconvenience of a son underfoot.

‘I’ve done okay without his support,’ he said into the silence. He’d worked his way through uni like any regular guy, waiting tables to pay his own way until he and Justin had set up their own business. It had exploded—way beyond their expectations. Five years, and financially he’d achieved what some would take a lifetime to do.

He didn’t need family. Didn’t need anyone. The women who flitted into his life either flitted right out again when they realised he wasn’t there for the long haul, or understood where he was coming from and were happy with a temporary arrangement.

Wealth was happiness.

Strange, but tonight he didn’t feel as happy about that as he’d thought. He set down his cutlery with a rattle of silver on china, reached for his wine, took a long, slow swallow.

‘So I take it you’ve never changed your mind about settling down and having kids?’

Had she read his thoughts? His fingers tightened on his glass. ‘You know me: terminal bachelor. As for kids—never in a million years. No way. No how.’

‘That’s sad, Dane. You’re letting your own childhood rule who you are now. There’s nothing more precious than family. If you do want to talk about anything, at any time…’ Mariel set her own cutlery to one side of the plate and met his eyes in the intimate lighting.

He nodded once. Mariel. Sincere, honest, caring. Soothing his mood the way she’d always done. The one person he’d always been able to count on. Unfortunately, right now he wanted her to soothe a lot more than his current mood. And with a lot more than words.

Forget it, Huntington.

Reining in his runaway libido, he straightened, flipping his linen napkin onto the table. ‘I’ve got some fresh peaches, or a frozen—’

‘Nothing more for me, thanks.’ Patting her mouth on her own napkin, she rose. ‘I’m going to be lazy and not help you with the clearing up. I haven’t finished exploring yet.’

‘Do you want coffee?’

‘I’d rather have ice water, thanks.’

When he’d cleared the dishes, he found her in the adjoining family room, where she’d discovered his photographic equipment and was fiddling with his camera. She snapped his picture a few times in rapid succession, checked the results in the little screen. ‘Definitely male model material. I didn’t think so earlier, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll borrow this for a while,’ she went on. ‘Upload these pictures on your computer. Do you have a website?’

‘No.’ He set their glasses on the coffee table and began walking towards her.

‘Not even for your business?’

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You would not want to put those pictures on my business website.’

‘You must be on a networking site?’

‘Don’t have time for gossip.’

‘For socialising and sharing,’ she corrected. She snapped him again, studied the image. ‘There was a time when you used to share everything with me.’ Her eyes met his, then cooled. ‘Well, almost everything.’

Shadows of their youth swirled in those green depths, and for a moment he was lost in another time, another world. Shared hot fudge sundaes at the movies. Beach towels and barbecued sausages. The time she’d cheated on a test. The day he got his driver’s licence and taken her for a spin in his father’s BMW without his knowledge and put a ding in the passenger door…

He reached for the camera but she’d already whipped it behind her back. ‘Getting slow in your old age,’ she taunted.

‘Or you’re getting sneakier.’ He closed the gap till their bodies were a handspan apart. Breathed in the scent of her honeysuckle shampoo.

‘How do you mean?’ She blinked up at him, all innocence.

He set his hands on her shoulders, felt the fragile bones beneath the smooth firm flesh. ‘You know exactly what I mean. Using your eyes and the you-used-to-share-everything-with-me line as a distraction.’

As if the shoestring straps beneath his fingers weren’t distraction enough. Not bra straps, he noted. Just dress straps…

Barely touching her, he slid his fingertips down her arms and felt tiny hairs on her skin rise as a shiver trembled through her. Imprisoning her against his body with one hand, he reached over her shoulders for the camera with the other, and down…

The reason for the clinch was forgotten. Everything was wiped clean from his mind except the sensation of her breasts snug against his chest and the fragrance of her skin. His free hand slid over the smooth flesh of her naked back, each vertebra in turn, as he slipped beneath the edge of her dress and the crisp fabric.

Her head tipped back and her lips were right there, smack bang against his throat. Warm, soft. Mind-numbing.