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

He retrieved his sunglasses, slid them on, and sat on the other lounger, enjoying the sun’s heat on his water-cooled body while he watched Mariel reclasp her hair on top of her head. The action pulled her blouse tight across her breasts.

He turned to study the sparkles dancing on the water’s surface. She didn’t know the outline of her filmy bra and two aroused nipples showed clearly through her damped-down blouse. He could smell her—a blend of make-up, perfume and sun-warmed skin. He also sensed her need for space right now. Closing his eyes, he made an effort to unwind.

‘Dane?’

‘Hmm?’ His eyes snapped open to see a camera shoved near his face.

‘Smile and look sexy.’

‘What is it with you and photography nowadays?’

‘It helps in my line of work.’ She squinted up at the sun, then moved in, slid his sunglasses off his face, set them aside. ‘Okay, go ahead and be surly. It only adds to the appeal. Women adore that look. You have perfect male model potential. If you’d just polish the rough edges a little.’

‘I happen to like my rough edges. On second thought…’ His gaze snagged hers and his attempts to unwind came to an abrupt halt. ‘Depends on who’s doing the polishing.’

‘That would be me. Maybe a facial…’ Leaning over, she caressed the side of his face with cool, slender fingers.

‘A facial? Not in a million years.’ But it felt so damn good he allowed her to continue. Maybe she didn’t need as much breathing space as he’d thought.

She pushed his pool-damp hair off his brow, her lacquered nails doing incredible things to the front of his scalp. ‘Definitely a haircut.’ She aimed the camera again.

‘I’m missing something here,’ he muttered as she snapped off a few more pictures.

‘Okay, I’ll let you in on a little secret.’ She checked the camera’s images. ‘I want some publicity shots for my work and I’d like to use you.’

‘Me?’ Incredulous, he slid upright. ‘Me in a fashion catalogue, posing as some woman’s accessory? That’ll be the day hell freezes over. Make that the day after hell freezes over.’

‘No women. Just you.’

‘Just me.’ He squinted at her smile, frowned. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Okay. One of the reasons I wanted to work alone today was because I didn’t want you to see my designs until I told you. I switched to designing men’s fashion before I got involved in modelling.’

‘Men’s fashion? Why would a woman like you want to design men’s clothing?’

‘What do you mean, a woman like me?’ Setting the camera aside, she sat down and looked at him with a kind of luminous excitement that made her eyes come alive. ‘I happen to be very good at it. And I love the challenge. The preciseness, the detail, the perfection.’

Green eyes studied him, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised as she cast a disconcerting gaze from head to toe. ‘Texture and style. I’m thinking of you in a steelgrey cashmere V-neck jumper. Something to show your shoulders to advantage.’ She leaned forward. ‘Will you?’

‘Be your model? Not on your life.’ He flopped back again to digest the new information.

She laughed lightly—an amused, tinkling sound. ‘Sure you won’t change your mind, Mr Eligible Bachelor of the Year?’

He slung an arm across his eyes because he didn’t want to see the smirk playing around her mouth. ‘I’m getting very weary of that line.’

‘Why? Most guys would find it a hoot.’

‘I’m not most guys. Frankly, I prefer to date women with more than half a brain in their head.’

‘That’s a sweepingly generalised statement. Not all the babes are blonde bimbos, surely?’

He raised his arm briefly, so he could see the smirk and give it back. ‘You don’t read the magazine. Obviously.’ He paused. ‘Besides, blondes are on hold for now.’

The atmosphere changed. He felt the sexual zing hum across the space between them.

‘Okay,’ he muttered. He might as well get it out of the way, because Mariel wasn’t one to give up. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘We’ll take the formal shots here, then drive to Victor Harbor and do some more casual shots. Relax. It’ll be fun.’

Fun? He could think of a lot better ways they could have enjoyed themselves this afternoon.

Chapter Eight

‘I WANT your honest opinion.’ Mariel selected a charcoal deep V-necked sweater from the pile of garments spread across his living room and held it up for Dane’s inspection.

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling as out of place as a microchip in a blancmange. ‘Nice?’

She shook her head in disbelief, her eyes twinkling with mirth. ‘Too right it is. It’s the finest quality cashmere. Feel it.’

She lifted it to his face, stroked it over his cheek. ‘Light, yet warm.’

He’d never felt a more sensuous fabric. His imagination ran along the lines of how it would feel to lie with her on a rug made of the stuff and make love. ‘And you want me to put it on. In thirty-five-degree heat.’

‘Without a murmur of complaint.’

He scowled at the disarray. ‘What else have you got lined up?’

‘Relax, every piece here’s casual. Except one.’ She moved to a plastic suit bag, unzipped it to reveal a classic dinner suit.

‘There’s always got to be one,’ he murmured, eyeing it with malice.

‘Wait till you see the shirt…’ She opened another bag, pulled it out.

‘Let’s get it over with it, then.’

Moments later he was staring at his reflection in a full-length mirror. He studied himself for several long seconds. It looked like an ordinary formal shirt, but…‘The front’s transparent.’

‘The bib’s transparent,’ she corrected. ‘It’s sheer, but not too sheer. Just enough to hint at all that gorgeous skin underneath…’ Her gaze stroked down his torso like a hot silk glove. ‘We’ll set up in the front garden.’

Instant heat flooded his groin and he shifted his stance. ‘If you look at me that way for much longer the picture will be unusable.’

She smiled, her luscious glossed lips full and inviting. ‘Maybe I’m thinking I’ll keep the picture for myself. As a memento.’

Smiling back and catching her hands in his, he leaned in, brushed his mouth over hers and murmured, ‘Why keep a memento when you can have the real deal?’

As soon as the words were out, he realised why. She was one step ahead. Anticipating the day they’d go their separate ways. He fought the sensation that she was tearing him up on the inside. Permanence wasn’t part of the deal. He liked his life fine the way it was. Had been. Would be again.

Backing up, he eased the tension in his fingers so he could let go of hers and cruise his hands up the slender columns of her arms.