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

‘Easy for you to say.’ Dane scowled, his gaze unerringly finding Mariel again. ‘You dobbed me in.’

As if he needed more women hounding him. Since he’d won the title he’d grown very weary of the relentless parade of would-be starlets clamouring for his attention.

‘Think of it as doing your bit for charity,’ Justin said.

‘There are better ways to raise funds,’ Dane muttered. ‘And the press is having a field-day.’

‘What did you expect? Millionaire businessman, founder of OzRemote and eligible bachelor. Hey…it’s Mariel Davenport.’

Dane felt Justin’s voice switch from jovial to slightly breathless like a prickle between his shoulderblades. He shrugged the feeling off. ‘So it appears.’

‘Jee-ee-z. Looking good, Mariel,’ Justin murmured. ‘Even better than that photo spread Phoebe showed us. She hasn’t been back in…how long? What’s she doing at Carl and Amy’s wedding?’

‘Ten years.’ And five months. ‘And your guess is as good as mine,’ he muttered, frowning into his amber liquid.

‘Wasn’t she living with some French guy?’

‘Yep.’

‘You spoken to her yet?’

‘Nope.’ Sweat trickled down Dane’s back, making his shirt stick. He tossed back the remainder of his beer and thought about stepping outside for some fresh air. The atmosphere was stifling in here, even with the aircon working overtime.

‘Why not?’ Justin queried. ‘You two were pretty close. I remember—’

‘That was a long time ago.’

A lifetime ago…The night before she’d left for overseas. In her bedroom, the full moon filtering through the open window, its silver light bathing her milk-white skin, her eyes black pools of wonder, gazing up at him…

Dane shifted his stance, cleared his throat as every hot-blooded cell south of his larynx mobilised. ‘You right for a drink?’

‘We’re leaving in a moment, Cass has an early start tomorrow. I’m going to say hi to Mariel before we go; want to join me?’

Dane shook his head. ‘I’ll catch up with her later.’ He turned and pointed himself in the direction of the nearest drinks waiter.

But, damn, he couldn’t let it go. His head swivelled in time to see Justin plant a kiss full on Mariel’s smiling lips. He knew it meant nothing more than what it was—a welcome home—but a sudden tension locked Dane’s jaw, making his teeth clench. His fingers tightened around his glass.

He watched his mate whisper something close to her ear and Mariel turned slowly to look Dane’s way. So slowly—or maybe it was just that the moment seemed to crawl to a stop—that he had time to experience, in graphic detail, the full effect of that face, that attention, focused wholly on him.

The way the high cheekbones flushed with colour, the flutter of long black lashes as she blinked those emerald eyes at him, just once. The way her glossy lips parted slightly—in surprise or dismay?—then lifted infinitesimally at the corners, resembling something approaching warmth.

Whatever—it faded like a rose in winter, no doubt as she took in his rigid jaw and neutral stare. Because, frankly, he couldn’t seem to drum up anything else. She lifted a hand, let it hover a moment before she smoothed a non-existent strand of hair behind her ear.

Her eyes were still locked with his. Until her gaze lifted to his hair. And, yeah, some might say it needed a trim. Her nostrils flared slightly as her gaze shifted to his open-necked shirt. His throat prickled; his Adam’s apple bobbed. Hell. He was glad he didn’t have a woman, particularly an ex-fashion designer, telling him how he should dress.

And thanks to Justin’s intervention he had no alternative—manners dictated he at least speak to her. Forcibly unclenching his teeth and loosening his grip on the glass, he started forward.

Mariel watched Dane Huntington saunter towards her, his casual, almost arrogant manner all too familiar. Whatever Justin was saying—if he was saying anything at all—faded. Her stomach juddered once, as if she’d hit more of that air turbulence she’d experienced on the final approach into Adelaide.

Phoebe, where are you? Get me out of here, she pleaded silently. She should have known she’d bump into him sooner or later, but Dane was the last man she wanted to face right now, with her body clock out of sync and her digestive system doing nasty things to her insides.

She’d wanted to look her best when she saw him again. Show him what he’d missed out on all those years ago, when she’d been a naïve seventeen-year-old who’d thought the young Dane Huntington was her sun and moon and everything in between.

Well, she wasn’t so naïve now, even if it had taken every one of those ten years. Seconds ticked by, but they felt like minutes. His cool grey gaze remained fused with hers, no hint of a smile on those beautiful lips. Lifting her chin, she sucked in her stomach and eyeballed him boldly as he drew nearer.

Dark hair with glints of auburn covered his ears and carelessly kissed the back of his neck. Some things hadn’t changed, she thought with attempted disdain. And he still scorned traditional dress code. He was tieless. His black collarless shirt with white stitching along the seams was undone at the neck and revealed tanned skin and a smattering of dark hair.

The fashion designer inside her winced. Black jeans, to one of Adelaide’s Society Weddings of the Year, for heaven’s sake? But, to her chagrin, the wholly inappropriate image made her thighs melt and her pulse do a strange little blip.

She straightened, clutching her glass tighter to hide the fact that her fingers were trembling, and said, ‘Hello, there,’ before he opened his mouth. ‘Happy New Year.’

She did not lean in for a kiss.

‘Mariel. Happy New Year to you, too. How long have you been back?’

‘I flew in yesterday morning.’

‘Just in time for Carl and Amy’s big day.’

His whisky-on-velvet voice flowed over her and he smiled—finally—and her pulse did another of those little blips. With her height she didn’t often experience men looking down at her and it made her feel delicate. And feminine.

She stiffened. She didn’t want to feel delicate and feminine with Dane Huntington. Ever again. But—and how crazy was this?—she wanted him to see her that way.

To remember…Did he remember?

How could he forget?

‘Coincidentally Dane mentioned you just the other day,’ Justin said, and Mariel saw the familiar little tic in Dane’s jaw.

‘Oh?’ Dane had been talking about her? ‘Why was that?’

‘My wife, Cass, and I are thinking about going to Europe in October, and since you live in Paris he thought maybe you could give us the guided tour.’

‘Did he?’ She speared Dane with the pointy end of her gaze. ‘He didn’t try to look me up when he was there. When was it—five years ago, Dane? Mum mentioned it in an e-mail.’

‘It was business, Mariel,’ he said. ‘There wasn’t time for sightseeing. Or anything else. It was in and out. What brings you home?’

‘Family. I needed a break.’

‘One would think if you wanted to be with family you’d have come a week earlier and celebrated Christmas with them.’

Oh. ‘I’m ashamed to say I left it too late and the airlines were fully booked.’ She refused to look away beneath his close scrutiny. Look away and he’d know she was lying.

‘That’s too bad.’

‘I’m here now.’

‘So you are,’ he said lazily, eyes still locked on hers.