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

‘Okay.’ He took their cups, set them on the tray. ‘I’ll let you in on a secret. That makes two of us.’

‘Really?’

She felt insecure. He heard it in her tone, saw it in her eyes as she darted a glance at him. ‘Yes, really.’ He tucked a finger under her chin. ‘And don’t look so surprised. I think the best thing now is to finish our breakfast, take a shower and head home. Maybe we both need some breathing space.’

‘Good idea.’ She took a token nibble of toast, then dusted off her fingers in quick jerky movements. ‘I think I’ll just go and have that shower now.’

‘Slow down.’ He reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to the pulse racing at her wrist. ‘Just slow down. You haven’t tried your eggs. You were always crazy about cooked breakfast, if I remember correctly.’

She seemed to relax some, and managed a smile. ‘And I remember you had an appetite big enough for both of us.’

He lowered her hand to the sheet. ‘Still have.’

There was something dark, almost primal, in his gaze, and it had Mariel wondering whether he was still talking about food. A night’s worth of stubble shadowed his jaw, and his untamed hair fell over his brow. Her heart started up the irregular beat that had become almost familiar over the past couple of days.

Clutching the sheet to her, she slid to the side of the bed. ‘Good. Okay…’ Her limbs went to water. She simply couldn’t do sophisticated this morning—not with Dane watching her with those eyes. Eyes that soothed, yet excited. She even struggled with casual. Dane had seen every exposed inch of her last night, but in the light of day…

‘I think I’ll take this out onto the balcony,’ he said, hefting the tray without giving her so much as a glance. Giving her privacy. Allowing her to keep her dignity. ‘Nice view of the river from up here.’

She could have kissed him. No. Erase that thought. Before he changed his mind, she dashed naked to the wardrobe, grabbed her change of clothes and high-tailed it to the bathroom. Closed the door. Let out a ragged breath.

So much for her woman-of-the-world reputation.

She was immediately faced with her own reflection in the large mirror above the vanity. Sweet Lord, was that tousled woman with the thoroughly loved look really her? She stepped closer, staring at the wide eyes smudged with last night’s mascara. The rest of her make-up had rubbed off hours ago. She explored her cheeks with her fingertips. Was that afterglow or whisker burn? Emotion or lust?

She whirled away and turned on the shower, waited for the room to steam up. Why couldn’t she be as casual about last night as Dane? No mention of whether he’d enjoyed what they’d done—he’d been more interested in breakfast.

Not that she’d expected pretty words or a tender declaration of feelings. Not from a man like Dane. The truth was she didn’t know what to expect from a serial playboy. After one short-lived relationship with a fellow Aussie she’d met while on a weekend in London, she’d only ever slept with Luc.

Dane’s lifestyle was light-years from anything she’d ever experienced. She might have a glamorous career and international exposure, but he was still way out of her league. Nor did she believe for one moment his confession moments ago that he was still coming to terms with their altered relationship. He’d just said that to soothe her pride.

It hadn’t, but it had been thoughtful of him to try.

She stepped into the black-tiled cubicle with its gold fittings and double showerhead to see if the soft spray could do the job instead. If she felt confused and somehow hollow and…dissatisfied, that was her problem, not his. She didn’t know what he expected of her today or tonight. Tomorrow or even next week. Whether whatever he felt for her had changed in the past few hours.

Her head fell back against the tiles as the water caressed breasts still tender and tingly from last night. She only knew how he’d made her feel when he’d been inside her. Like nothing she’d ever felt before. Strong, fragile—a contradiction. It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

Desire—even overwhelming desire—could never be compared to love. And what Dane felt for her was desire.

But love…Love could make a fool of the most rational of people. It could tempt one to throw away every belief, every plan, every dream, and swallow you whole.

She should know.

She stepped out of the shower with renewed resolve. Love would never make a fool of her again. From now on it was logic and reason.

From the beginning of this arrangement it had been a tacit acknowledgement that they’d end up becoming lovers. It had been inevitable.

Just as it was inevitable that they’d end up going their separate ways.

They returned home together, then Mariel spent the next couple of hours at her new business premises a few moments’ drive away. Not to avoid him, she told herself, but because it was vital to make a start.

The little room was bland, cramped and would need extensive renovations if she intended to use it for retail purposes. For now she concentrated on arranging the meagre furniture Dane had supplied, sorting through stock she’d brought with her from Paris and setting up her sketching easel. Since it was Sunday, she opened her laptop and made a list of potential suppliers and tailors to contact in the coming week.

Mid-afternoon, unable to concentrate, she gave up trying to work on her latest design and headed home again. She wanted to talk Dane into some photos of her work for advertising and display purposes. And it was time he was fully informed about her work.

She found him in the pool. He was stretched out on an inflatable raft, wearing brief black bathers and apparently asleep behind those sunglasses, because the only movement coming from the pool was the gentle lilt of the raft in the light swirl of air.

And, oh, my…She might have seen him naked last night, but it had been shadowed and frantic. She hadn’t seen him like this, in full daylight. He was long and lean and liberally sprinkled with black masculine hair. The sun gods had hammered his skin to a burning bronze and spun streaks of fine gold through his unruly dark mane. Broad shoulders, six-pack abs, firm, flat abdomen…

She breathed in a lungful of searing heat and he must have heard it, because his head swivelled in her direction.

‘Hi.’ His deep voice rippled across the water. She still couldn’t see his eyes, and wondered if he’d been awake and watching her the entire time she’d been staring like some infatuated schoolgirl.

She shifted inside her sticky blouse, laid her tote bag on a nearby lounger. ‘Hi.’

Tossing his glasses onto the side of the pool, he rolled off the raft and disappeared into the blue depths, then popped up again at the edge, hauled himself out.

Water sluiced off his practically naked body, leaving rivulets in the dips and hollows. Droplets snagged on his chest hair. She noticed because he was walking towards her, his shadow looming ahead of him on the cement. She took another breath and lifted her gaze.

Perhaps it was the sun’s glare behind his head, but she saw nothing except that wicked grin. She recognised that look. She’d seen it too many times as a teenager to dismiss it. It stunned her that he could change from lover to friend just that casually.

‘No.’ She took a step back.

He grinned, revealing even white teeth. The crease in his right cheek. A black sense of humour.

She backed up another step. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not kids…’

Grabbing her around the waist, he rubbed his wet body against hers and shook his hair, scattering drops.

She screamed, wriggling out of his grasp, her breasts grazing hard, muscled body. ‘Not fair!’ She glared down at her wet-splotched blouse, then at him, and grinned despite herself. For a moment—deliberately, she thought—he’d made her forget the morning’s awkwardness. It calmed her, settled her. Almost. To her surprise, she found herself playing his game. ‘You idiot—just look at me.’

‘I am.’ His voice dropped a notch, and his eyes turned from mischievous to molten, but he reached for a towel and rubbed it over his chest. The rasping sound reminded her of how that crisp masculine hair had felt last night, rubbing against her breasts. Her nipples tightened against her bra.

To divert his attention from her wet blouse, and to give herself a moment to steady, she yanked the towel from his hands and used it to swipe at her linen trousers. Then hunted a tissue from her pocket and dabbed moisture from her face and neck.

‘Just for that, you can pour me a drink.’ She sank onto the nearest recliner under a large green umbrella. A moment later ice chinked as he poured lemonade into tall glasses and set the pitcher back on the little ceramic table beside her.

He handed her the tumbler. ‘How did you go?’

‘Good. Thanks.’

He leaned down and moved in to touch his lips to hers, lingering. ‘You should have let me come and help you.’

‘You already helped, letting me have the room. And I didn’t want the distraction,’ she murmured against his mouth, while the fingers of one hand grazed the side of her face.

Dane was tempted to let his fingers drift lower. To unbutton her blouse. To unzip her trousers and make love to her here in the sunlight. Instead he drew back, planted a kiss on her nose and straightened.