Hot Stuff

by Various

  Contents

  Six-star Weekend: Carla Caruso

  The Bluff: Maria Lewis

  Song of the Sea: Alli Sinclair

  Destiny in a Day: Tess Woods

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  Six-star Weekend

  Carla Caruso

  Sex.

  That was the only thing on Sage Carlisle’s mind as she peered over her flat-top shades at the surfer emerging from the water at the resort’s private beach. She shifted on her Missoni beach towel, feeling clammy in places that had nothing to do with the late afternoon sun.

  No strings attached, down-and-dirty hanky-panky. That was why she was paying a thousand dollars a night for her island stay. Okay, that and maximum pampering. Even her mum had encouraged her to go; Sage was that hard-up. It had been a while between, ahem, cock tales.

  Ever since Aaron.

  Not that she was meant to be thinking about him right now. This weekend was all about her needs and hers alone. So, instead, she let her mind wander to how the hunky surfer might be described by a beauty brand if he were a mascara. Makeup was how she made her living, after all.

  Sage began with ‘amazingly waterproof’. The water seemed to bead off the guy’s chin-length tousle of sun-bleached hair, his deeply tanned face, and the skin-tight black wetsuit, like he was some kind of merman.

  An extremely chiselled, handsome merman.

  She threw in ‘sweat- and humidity-resistant’ for good measure. He looked like he could handle whatever weather extremes the Great Barrier Reef location threw at him. Unlike her. It had taken a gallon of hair serum to settle her black mane.

  ‘Intense gaze.’ His eyes looked dark from this angle. Puppy-dog brown possibly. A nice contrast to all the blond hair and bronzed skin. Sea-green would have been too obvious.

  ‘Infinite length.’ And she wasn’t referring to the wood-look surfboard tucked under his arm . . . no, siree. Yes, her mind was heading for the gutter now, but at least it was a six-star gutter, as went with her locale.

  ‘Long-long-lasting.’ Judging by his youthful looks — he had to be seven years younger than her at a minimum — she was sure he could go all night without wearing out. But then, when you were thirty-five, as she was, any guy in your line of vision without a woman hanging off their arm tended to be a juvenile. He never would have had the shocking discovery of a white hair in his eyebrow.

  Hmm. Maybe he was a pro surfer, and a surf-brand sponsor had helped fund his luxury accommodation.

  She dreamt up some more words. ‘Ability to extend (her) from roots through to tips and beyond. Stretchable. Magnetic. Lush. Daring.’

  Yep, he could dip his wand into her formula any day of her overpriced vaccie. Sage looked down to rummage in her beach bag for her powder compact. This time she couldn’t blame the sun’s rays for her perspiration.

  ‘Do I know you?’ a gravelly voice cut through her thoughts.

  Fuck.

  It was an ironic curse word to spring to mind, considering that’s just what she’d been thinking about doing with him. It could only be him. She peeked up through the dark strands of her fringe to find the surfer, as expected, towering over her, water gliding off him onto the white sand. She should have known that the sun wouldn’t go behind the clouds out here, that the temporary shadow would have to be human.

  And, hot daddy, he was even more arresting up-close. Forget a pro surfer, he could well be a model with his square jaw and luscious lips. Total ‘blue steel’ appeal to reference Zoolander, which perhaps showed her age. She’d also been right about the puppy-dog brown eyes. And happily, there was no wedding band on his finger. Unless he was just worried about losing it in the surf . . .

  ‘Sorry?’ was her rather gormless response to what could have been a classic pickup line from him — or she was still wandering about in fantasyland?

  He cleared his throat. ‘Uh, you were staring. Like maybe we knew one another.’

  Busted!

  Humiliation flashed through her, leaving a hot trail. Though surely she couldn’t have been the only sunworshipper ogling the guy. He was like the Hawaiian surfer version of Ken doll. Or maybe Barbie’s boogie board-toting, Aussie toy boy, Blaine.

  ‘Oh,’ Sage attempted to recover herself, ‘actually I was just admiring the fact that anyone can ride a big thing like that.’

  Sheesh. That came out a little . . . suggestive.

  ‘My surfboard?’ The guy grinned. Of course, he had a dimple to boot. Of course! He cocked a fair eyebrow. ‘Fancy a lesson?’

  ‘No, no, I’d rather just watch.’ Him. Could she make it any more plain? She desperately tried to dislodge her foot from her mouth. ‘Surfing is . . . such . . . such an art.’

  There was that grin again. ‘You’re a woman after my own heart.’

  She didn’t miss his speedy once-over of her frame, certain he wasn’t just admiring her emerald-green tankini. Stress, rushing around, and the odd late-night gym visit, when she could squeeze it in, had served her physique well. With the child-bearing hips and ‘outie’ belly-button there was only so much she could do.

  Clocking his interest — however fleeting — she decided to take the plunge. She wasn’t here for a long time, just a sizzling-hot time. Besides, it would be sacrilegious to let the one-thousand thread-count sheets in her villa go to waste. All he could do was turn her down. And if he did, she wouldn’t have to hide behind too many palm trees to avoid him; her budget only stretched to another day.

  ‘Well . . . maybe I’ll catch you for a drink in the bar later on?’

  Wow. Sage was never normally so brazen. In fact, that sort of talk usually made her cringe. But her holiday self was in command. She was bringing sexy back, like Justin Timberlake warbled. Or at least she hoped she was.

  He gave her a steady look. ‘I’d like that.’

  Warmth trickled down from her scalp to her magenta-painted toes, and her insides did the (rather ’nineties) Macarena. Stella Got Her Groove Back? Well, she wasn’t the only one. Perhaps Sage should be forward more often. If only she had the room in her everyday life for where it could lead . . .

  ‘So, how much later on?’ the surfer pressed.

  Huh. Clearly he was here for a good time, too. Who knew it would be so easy? He probably had an obsession with frog figurines or something odd. She hadn’t had the best of luck with men. But this time she didn’t need to know the finer details. This was just about sex, sex, sex. The resort reeked of it. Though, of course, she would be careful. Any sign of something awry with him later on and she’d be off her barstool faster than beach lightning.

  She reached for her turquoise beach bag, which her mum reckoned matched her eyes, and jumped to her feet. Yep, he hadn’t missed the jiggle of her breasts, even if they weren’t as perky as they had once been. ‘Well, I have an appointment I’ve got to get ready for right now, so, I don’t know, how about eight-ish? Unless you have other plans . . .’

  ‘I don’t. Eight’s perfect.’

  Who would have known that, despite Sage’s age, she wasn’t an old hand at this? She smiled, praying that her long-lasting lip gloss hadn’t detoured onto her teeth despite the makeup brand’s promise. ‘Then I’ll see you later on.’

  There was only one bar in the place. It wouldn’t be hard to find one another.

  Only once she’d slung her towel over her shoulder and sauntered a few metres up the beach did he call out to her. ‘Wait! I don’t even know your name.’

  She supposed first names were okay. Pausing, she swung around, feeling the curious gazes of other beach-dwellers upon her. From the way the surfer’s gaze moved upwards, it was obvious he’d been checking out her derrière. ‘The name’s Sage.’

  ‘Pretty,’ he said with a nod. ‘I’m Harley.’

&nb
sp; It suited him — young and playful-sounding.

  Feeling like she was reeling in a prize catch, she smiled again and continued on her way, ploughing through the sand. Her mum would be oh so proud.

  ***

  Sage tightened the belt of her fluffy white robe and padded out of the day-spa’s change room in the slippers provided. Her booked treatment hadn’t even begun yet, but her skin already felt tingly and aglow. If that was what a little flirtation could do for her, imagine the full Monty!

  The mango-scented waiting room was empty, so she distractedly picked up a seashell from a shelf and put it to her ear. Having hours to squander, alone time, was a luxury in itself. It was all so far removed from her day-to-day. A reminder of who she once was.

  ‘Can you hear the ocean?’ a familiar voice sliced through the relaxing spa music, making Sage suddenly feel anything but calm.

  Harley again! It was too, too soon. Perhaps she’d already discovered his evil habit: stalking.

  She spun around, unnerved to find him also clad in a white fluffy robe. Just a coincidence then. She knew the place was well-booked in advance. Still, what were the chances?

  ‘Could only hear the music amplified actually.’ She rested the shell back down with a small smile. ‘I didn’t take you for the day-spa type.’

  He shoved his hands in his robe’s pockets. Surprisingly hardworking sorts of hands. Maybe it was all that waxing his surfboard . . .

  ‘Neither did I. Funny the things you’ll try on holidays.’

  For some reason her eyes were drawn down towards his bare feet. His extra-large bare feet. Perhaps the regulation slippers didn’t come in his size. She forced her gaze back up with a tiny cough. ‘I know what you mean.’

  She was saved from any more chitchat by a ginger-haired therapist wandering into the room and clasping her hands together. ‘Ah, you two must be here for our lovers’ package!’

  Great Barrier Reef!

  Sage felt a blush sweeping her entire body, painting her skin red. Praise the sun the robe was covering most of her. Which only reminded her of how very naked she was beneath its fluffy fabric. As would be Harley. Dear Lord.

  Harley spoke up first. ‘Actually, I’m just here for a sports massage.’

  ‘And I’m here for the pampered princess treatment,’ Sage added. Which sounded rather ridiculous when said out loud.

  A giggling couple fell through the change-room door, as if on cue. The male change room. Honeymooners! Sage was sick of the sight of them, but they were to be expected at this type of resort. Cashed-up singles looking to mingle and honeymooners. The pair were obviously who she and Harley had been mistaken for. Was the chemistry zinging between them that obvious?

  ‘My apologies,’ the redhead said, looking decidedly pink-cheeked herself. ‘Your therapists should be with you in a moment.’ Then she headed for the honeymooners, ushering them into the couples’ room.

  Almost as quickly, Sage’s therapist arrived — a petite Thai woman. Before Sage was whisked away, she was pleased to see Harley’s therapist was a balding male. Not that she could lay any sort of claim to Harley.

  Unfortunately, the walls separating them didn’t quieten Sage’s imagination. As she shed her robe in the candle-light and lay face-first on the treatment bed, all she could think of was him. Especially knowing he was so near. Then again, usually hers was a one-track mind, tuned only to Station Aaron, so perhaps it was the respite she needed.

  While the therapist sloughed at her skin with an exfoliating scrub, Sage imagined she was tussling in the sand with Harley, like in that famous From Here to Eternity clinch. The vichy shower, pummelling her sensitive parts with steamy water, had her envisioning them skinny-dipping in the ocean’s swell. And the coconut-scented cream, massaged in circles all over her body, had her picturing his hands, not the therapist’s, on her skin.

  At the end of the hour-and-a-half treatment, the therapist gently asked how Sage was feeling.

  ‘Fantastic,’ she breathed.

  It had been like foreplay.

  Now she just needed to flee the spa, without Harley seeing her, or she’d be in danger of jumping him right then and there. And indecent exposure wasn’t really something she wanted on her record.

  ***

  Harley Hutchence only had eyes for Sage as she sashayed across the bar, her hips swaying in time to The Beach Boys’ tune. ‘California Girls’, if anybody was asking. She was sophistication personified. The light sea breeze, coming through the open windows, ruffled her long, raven-black locks, which his fingers itched to get tangled up in. He climbed off his barstool, unable to help himself from grinning as she approached.

  Even though the resort buzzed with glamazons who wouldn’t have looked out of place on an Entourage episode, Sage stood out a mile. They might have only briefly spoken, but already Sage had got under his skin. It felt good. A welcome distraction. He hadn’t thought about another girl this way in eons.

  She was also on time, something Lacy never would have been.

  When Harley had first approached Sage, he’d thought from the way she was staring that she was maybe even a friend of Lacy’s. But then he’d just got lost in Sage’s hypnotic gaze, as greenish-blue as the Coral Sea in the view from the bar. Her figure-hugging mauve sundress, complemented by silver sandals, was also a reminder of the luscious body that lay beneath.

  ‘So you didn’t stand me up,’ she greeted him, when at last she reached him.

  ‘I didn’t think I’d have much luck hiding in a place as exclusive as this,’ he teased in return. ‘Feeling relaxed after your spa visit?’

  ‘As relaxed as a Hindu cow. Too relaxed, in fact.’ With that, she turned towards the barman, who was busy wiping down the shiny wooden counter. ‘Two Sex on the Beach shots, please.’ The barman nodded and Sage turned back to Harley with a mischievous grin. ‘Hope it’s okay I ordered for you. It’s on me.’

  Harley was still feeling the after-effects down below from the name of the shots she’d chosen, but instead of making an inappropriate joke about it, he said it was fine. ‘I had been thinking maybe beer or wine, but there’s plenty of time for that. And they can be on me.’

  Not that Sage seemed keen to hang about, despite saying how breezy she was feeling. As soon as the barman had set down their shot glasses, she reached for one, necking the peach-coloured liquid in a nanosecond. He figured the gentlemanly thing to do was follow suit, so he did, the sweet taste of pineapple lingering on his tongue. She threw a twenty-dollar note on the counter and reached for his hand. Hers felt petite and warm.

  ‘Let’s go. The outdoor dance floor already looks packed.’

  ‘We’re going dancing?’ he asked, but his words were lost to the music and the waves as she pulled him out onto the sand and down towards a billowy white canopy, strung with fairy lights. It was almost like she was trying to expel nervous energy. He understood that feeling.

  The moon was full, leaving a silvery path on the water, and the air was balmy and tropical-scented. Sage was right about the dance floor being chockfull, although the rest of the crowd could have been turtles or seahorses for all he noticed.

  It was sweet agony as Sage wound her arms around his neck and began grinding against him. He was glad he’d gone with sturdy denim on his bottom half rather than flimsy board shorts. All he could do was copy her movements. He wasn’t used to everything being so fast-forward, showing just how long it had been since he’d been in the dating scene. But weren’t his mates always saying he needed to dive back into things, so he could move on? Still, was it so bad to want a little conversation first?

  He couldn’t help breathing in the scent of her scalp. ‘You smell like a Bounty bar.’

  She peered up at him with those turquoise eyes, which seemed to send an electronic current direct to his loins. ‘Must be the pamper package.’

  Then, all of a sudden, she stood on her tippy-toes and planted a kiss on his mouth. Whoa. His head spun as her cushiony lips pressed into his and her sweet
breath mingled with his own. As he’d done all evening, he chose, there and then, to respond in kind. So he fervently kissed her back, exploring her mouth with his tongue and tangling his hands in her hair as he’d longed to do. Her breasts squashed against his chest, ripe and firm, and he let his hands wander down to skim her pert behind.

  As Will Smith’s old rap song, ‘Summertime’, started up, Sage suddenly pulled back. ‘So . . . no frog figurine obsessions, then?’

  ‘What? Frog figurines . . . ? Uh, no.’

  It was a weird sort of question, but he kind of liked her craziness.

  ‘Then how about we take this back to my room?’

  Harley swallowed. Wow, Tinder really had changed everything since he’d last been on the scene. ‘O-kay.’

  Once more, he allowed himself to be propelled forwards, this time in the direction of the villas. Perhaps they’d talk later. When in Far North Queensland and all . . .

  ***

  Sage sat in the plunge pool on her villa’s back deck, enjoying the show — Harley undressing in the pool lighting, in other words. She’d surprised him by slipping off her sundress as soon as they’d arrived, revealing her white bandeau bikini underneath, then diving straight into the pool. Okay, she’d paused to throw her hair into a ponytail first.

  Harley was still playing catch-up, but she was certain he was glad she’d skipped the inane small talk first. What guy wouldn’t? It wasn’t like they were ever going to see one another again. And finding out the reality of his life — whether he was secretly married, bitterly divorced or otherwise — would only ruin the fantasy. The sex fantasy. The less she knew about him, the better. Just down below, seawater lapped against the shore and surf music from the dance floor drifted upwards.

  Holy smoke. Harley had just pulled his charcoal tee over his head to reveal a tanned, chiselled six-pack beneath, leading to V-lines as pointy and defined as the end of a surfboard. Kelly Slater, eat your heart out. Kelly Slater back in his Baywatch days. It was a good thing she was already in the water or else it might be obvious just how exciting she was finding the view. Gawd, it had been a long time. Despite her assured act, she was humming with nerves. And now he was unzipping his jeans . . .