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

He switched off the ignition, sensed her instant panic. ‘Mariel…’

‘No.’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘Not tonight.’

His hands tightened on the steering wheel momentarily. But tension showed in the lines around her mouth, the smudges beneath her eyes. ‘I’ll walk you to the door.’

‘It’s okay; this isn’t the city,’ she said, swinging the car door open.

‘I’ll walk you to the door,’ he repeated, and pulled his key out of the ignition. Some things hadn’t changed—still as stubborn as she’d always been.

And as fast—she was already halfway up the path before he’d climbed out. The aftermath of the day’s heat still blanketed the earth, thick and smelling of dried eucalypt and pine.

Metal tinkled as she fumbled with house keys, holding them aloft and squinting at them under the porch light.

‘Allow me.’ Dane took the keys from her hands. The brush of skin against skin sent a tingle through every nerve-ending in his fingers, up his arm and straight to his groin.

The flash of awareness when their eyes met was a stark reminder that they could never go back to the easy camaraderie they’d once had.

He wasn’t sure he even wanted that with her any more. Less than an hour in her company and his wants, his desires, were fanning to life inside him like a bushfire sweeping up from the valley floor.

She broke eye contact first, and a breathlessness caught at her throat when she said, ‘Phoebe gave them to me, but I didn’t ask her which one opened the front door…’

He fitted a key into the lock but the door opened without it. ‘Not locked,’ he said.

‘Oh…that’s probably my fault. I assumed the door automatically locked once closed.’ Someone who didn’t know her as well as he did wouldn’t have noticed the slight sag in her posture.

Dane stepped past her and through the doorway, located the light switch. A warm glow from the antique foyer lights gleamed on polished wood and brass fittings, and brought a rich luxury to the burgundy carpet runner.

She glanced at the discreet panel on the wall as she followed him inside. ‘Damn. I didn’t even remember to set the alarm. Dad’ll throw a fit if he finds out.’

‘Only if you tell him.’ Without looking at her, he started down the hall. ‘I’ll check the place before I leave.’

‘That’s not necessary,’ she assured him quickly. A sudden nervous energy spiked her voice.

‘Yes. It is. Anyone could have come in.’

‘I look after myself these days.’

‘I’m sure you do.’

A few moments later, ground floor covered, he started up the stairs, switching on lights as he checked the rooms. Mariel followed, muttering protests. He paused at the last door on the left.

Mariel’s room.

So he left the light off. But as soon as he’d stepped inside he realised he’d made a mistake. Moonlight flooded the room, spilling over an open suitcase, a dressing table strewn with tubes and bottles. He breathed in the mix of feminine potions, powder and perfume like a man who’d gone too long without.

He’d never denied himself the pleasures to be found in a woman’s bedroom, but at this moment he couldn’t remember a single one that had ever compared to that one all-too-short time in Mariel’s arms.

Dangerous thoughts. He dragged his attention back to the task he’d set himself. ‘Everything seems to be okay, so—’

‘Of course it is,’ she snipped. ‘I told you it was. But did you ever listen to me? No. Oh…Why did you have to come in and…? Be you.’ She punctuated those final agonised words with a long slow breath.

The old guilt rolled nastily through his gut. In the pregnant silence that followed he heard the wind sigh through the trees, an echo of his own feelings. ‘I thought that was what was so good about us,’he said, his eyes fixed on the moon but not seeing it. ‘We could be ourselves.’

‘Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away. Maybe.’ Mariel switched on the light. He didn’t know why, except that maybe the moonlit scene reminded her, too. He turned to face her. She’d folded her arms across her chest and was watching him with unnerving calm. Either that or she was a damn good actress.

‘It’s been a while, Queen Bee.’

He felt rather than saw her little hitch of breath at the use of her old nickname, then she pulled herself up straighter, lifted her chin. ‘I’m not that inexperienced, trusting little girl any more.’

‘Dane…’ Mariel said, reaching for him with passion-drenched eyes that hinted at vulnerability.

The kiss.

Their first fully-fledged kiss.

A goodbye kiss, because she was leaving and for who knew how long?

He met her eyes squarely, ready to admit the pain he’d inflicted on her young pride an hour later. ‘I was eighteen and an insensitive jerk.’

But that was then. This was now. And now was full of possibilities. She wasn’t an innocent; she was an international sensation. A modern woman who’d no doubt had her share of men over the years—a thought he didn’t particularly want to dwell on.

Her mouth twisted with grim humour. ‘Has anything changed?’

A grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Nope. Still that same insensitive jerk.’ He couldn’t help himself—he stepped closer, so their bodies almost touched, and brushed a finger down her cheek.

She shook her head. ‘We’re not those kids now. It’s in the past. Leave it there.’

But Dane couldn’t leave it there, whatever the hell it was, because his brain had ceased to compute anything so complicated as reason or words or sentence structure. All it recognised was the fragile face he suddenly found himself holding between his palms, emerald eyes swimmingly close, the seductive scent of her perfume, her hands against his chest and her indrawn breath as he leaned in to touch his lips to hers.

He tasted heat and sun-warmed honey, and he slid his hands through silky hair then down over smooth shoulders and chiffon to haul her closer, so he could absorb the fuller, richer flavour as her mouth opened for him.

He closed his eyes as her body grew pliant, melting against his. Fingertips scraping against his shirt. Soft throaty murmurs. Fast, warm breaths against his cheek—

Hard, flat palms pushing at his chest—

Heaving a breath, she reared back, eyes dark and wary. ‘Why did you do that?’ She touched the fingers of one hand to her lips then spun away.

Good question. Damn good question. He noticed the wisps of hair he’d dislodged from the clasp at the back of her head floating about her temples and around her neck. ‘Perhaps I wanted to see if it was the same as I remember.’

She turned, eyes flashing with residual passion…or desire or anger—he couldn’t tell through the sexual haze still blurring his vision. To give himself a moment he paced to the dressing table, picked up a bottle of perfume, set it down.

‘And was it?’ She closed her eyes, as if regretting the question, then shook her head. More silken hair tumbled over her shoulders. ‘Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.’

‘Or maybe I just wanted to kiss you for old times’ sake.’

He leaned nonchalantly against the dressing table as if his blood wasn’t thudding through his body like a big bass drum. As if his jeans didn’t feel as if they’d shrunk two sizes in the crotch. ‘You kissed me back, Queen Bee.’

The shared knowledge singed the air between them, and she drew a shaky breath but didn’t reply.