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

‘And it felt good. You thought so, too.’

She let out a stream of air through her nostrils. ‘Isn’t that just a typically arrogant male response?’

‘Am I not a typically arrogant male?’

She glared back, unsmiling, or was that a hint of humour at the corner of her mouth?

‘Good,’ he said, taking it as a yes and venturing a grin of sorts. ‘Now we’ve got that sorted, I’ll check outside.’

Mariel shot a hand up, palm out. Oh, no, she wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. ‘Not sorted, Dane. Why don’t we just get it out in the open now, then never speak of it again?’

His smile faded. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘Why did you come to see me that night? We’d said our goodbyes at your place.’

‘That kiss. It meant something to me. It meant everything to me.’ Her heart twisted, remembering.

‘It was a goodbye kiss,’ he murmured.

‘I thought—stupidly and naïvely, I realise now—that I was in love with you. And when you kissed me…like that…I thought…’ She waved it away. ‘Well, I went looking for you because I wanted to ask you…to tell you I was coming back…that we…’

That evening was still as clear as day in her mind. After The Kiss, she’d driven to his house. She’d seen his car lights on in the garage…

‘I heard a noise,’ she said. ‘I was so pathetically dumb I thought you were in pain. Imagine my shock-horror when I saw Isobel on the bonnet of your car and you going at it like…well.’

She recalled that she must have made some sort of sound, because they’d both turned and seen her. Then bizarre fascination had held her in thrall for those few agonising seconds while her gaze swept the two of them and her heart shattered.

‘I hate you, Dane Huntington, I never want to see you again!’

She didn’t remember how she’d made it to the sanctuary of her car—it was the feminine giggle and the ‘Poor Mariel’ that stuck in her mind, and the sound of Dane’s footsteps behind her, his calls for her to wait up. Wait?

Dane shook his head and she knew he, too, was remembering. ‘Thing is, Mariel, as close as we were, as much as I cared for you, the one thing we never discussed was our sex lives.’

‘Or lack of.’ She held his gaze unapologetically.

‘We should have. It would have saved any misunderstanding. I came by the next day to apologise, but you’d already left. So I’ll apologise now. For hurting you.’

She nodded. ‘Accepted. But you didn’t have any reason to apologise. I realise that now. You didn’t see me the way I saw you.’

Maybe not then. She read the message in his eyes and something fluttered inside her. Or perhaps it was something else that had stopped him.

‘I tried contacting you several times,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t take my calls. You won’t know I was in Paris a couple of years later. I dropped by to see you, but your landlady told me you were in London for the weekend with your boyfriend.’

‘He wasn’t my boyfriend; he was a fellow student.’

‘Student, boyfriend—it makes no difference now.’ He needed air. ‘I’ll go check the garden.’

It took a good ten minutes to scour the perimeter of the extensive grounds. Not that it was absolutely necessary. But it gave them both some time.

As he returned to the house light from the kitchen’s stained glass windows flowed into the adjacent atrium, turning the abundant greenery within to the colours of amber and ripe plums.

From the other side of the glass he saw Mariel, sitting on the edge of the raised pond beside a stone maiden pouring sparkling water from her jug. A moth, distracted by the light, fluttered above her head. Shards of crimson and gold light sliced through the fronds of a potted palm, danced on the water and reflected over the face he hadn’t had the pleasure of looking at up close and personally in a long time.

She’d needed to chase her dreams overseas, he reflected. And she’d excelled. He’d been right in not taking their relationship to the next logical step. Thinking herself in love with him would have brought her nothing but grief. She might never have left, and he hadn’t wanted to be responsible for that.

Marriage had never been on his agenda.

He focused on her once more. She’d braced her forearms on her thighs and held an open can of beer between her palms. Her posture drooped and he was hard pressed to remember any occasion when Mariel had allowed herself that indulgence since early high school. She probably hadn’t noticed that her dress gaped at the front, revealing more creamy cleavage. Another tinny sat on the ledge beside her.

He took that as an invitation.

Chapter Three

MARIEL tilted the can to her lips and rolled the familiar bitter Aussie brew around her tongue. So much for tonight’s decision to avoid alcohol. The night seemed to call for it after all. She stiffened when she heard Dane’s footfall on the marble tiles, then made a conscious effort to appear relaxed. Rolled her shoulders. Stretched her neck. Unclenched her fingers on the can. No way would she allow him to see the effect he’d had on her tonight.

‘I didn’t take you for a beer kind of girl,’ he said, appearing from behind the foliage.

‘When in Oz…’ She tossed him the other can. ‘Happy New Year, again.’

He caught it one-handed, popped the top, but remained standing a few steps away. It gave her another moment to take in the whole man. And what a man. He’d always had a well-toned body, but he was no longer the eighteen-year-old she remembered. He was twenty-eight and in his prime. His face had weathered somewhat under the harsh Australian sun, but it only increased his rugged appeal. Harsher jaw. Darker stubble. Eyes that saw more, knew more.

She forced away the shiver of disquiet that rippled down her spine and looked further. Beneath his shirt he was all hard muscle. She knew because when she’d pushed him away earlier he’d been as unyielding as concrete.

Model looks? No, not smooth enough, not conventional enough, with that careless hair. Scowling, she tipped another mouthful of beer down her throat. He was more the dark heroic type.

Not hers.

‘So what are your plans while you’re here?’ he asked, sitting beside her. He assumed the same sitting position as her on the edge of the circular pool, not quite touching her. But she could feel his body heat across the tiny space. Her skin prickled with the awareness that if either of them moved a millimetre she’d feel the hair on his arm brush against her skin.

She sat perfectly still and said, ‘At the moment I’m not thinking beyond chilling out and surfing the sofa for a few days—after I’ve thoroughly reacquainted myself with my bed.’

And, yes, in the charged hiatus that followed she knew he’d caught the image she’d unthinkingly tossed out there. Damn.

He cleared his throat and said, ‘You’re staying a while, then?’ into the charged stillness.

‘Yes.’ She had no choice. But she wasn’t telling him that. He might still be Dane, but he was a man…The fiasco in Paris was still so raw and recent it brought a chill to her bones. Her shoulder muscles tensed and tightened.

‘Mariel.’

She turned at his simple touch on her shoulder, ready to flee. Or fight. Or mash her mouth against his. Sheesh.

‘I can feel the tension in your body from here.’ He set his beer aside and reached up, took a pin from her hair. ‘For goodness’ sake, woman, loosen up.’

She sucked in a breath. ‘What are you doing?’

‘When in Oz…’ He took out another. ‘I always liked your hair down,’ he murmured. ‘It’ll relax you.’

‘Relax…?’ Her thoughts disintegrated. Mesmerised, she gazed at him, his eyes focused on the task as he concentrated on removing the clasp on top of her head.

‘Yes…’ Then his fingers were in her hair, and she was turning towards him while he loosened it, so that it tumbled down over her shoulders and released the pressure, massaging her scalp in slow circles on either side…