by Nancy Warren
“Thanks for teaching me,” she said, pulling him away when his lips started nudging aside her bathing suit.
“You’re welcome. I could teach you a lot more, you know,” he said, running his palms lightly over the nipple-sized bulges in her suit. “You’re freezing, let me warm you up.”
He must have been able to tell it was already working; warmth was stealing through her, from his body which was on top of hers, from his hands, his lips, and from the devil lights in his eyes. She felt like she was in the famous scene in From Here to Eternity. Any minute now the tide was going to wash over them, and that would be the end of her virtue.
“I’m going to marry Mark Forsythe,” she reminded them both.
His eyes glittered down at her. “Are you?”
Chapter Seven
“We did it!” Jen raised her glass in a toast to Bronwyn and Fiona, who’d helped her pull together a complete marketing plan and proposal in record time.
They clinked glasses and sipped champagne, though in truth Jen didn’t feel much like celebrating. Since the trip to Byron Bay, when she’d had to admit to herself that her feelings for her client were a lot warmer than was appropriate, she’d worked day and night—especially night, to avoid her host whenever possible. And the result was that she was very close to being ready to leave Australia. Ahead of schedule.
The three women shared a booth in a trendy Thai restaurant in Sydney, relaxing after another hard day. “I couldn’t have done it without you two. Thanks.”
“Does this mean you’ll be leaving soon?” Fiona asked.
“Yes. I’ve . . .” She thought of the way her body had responded when Cam touched her on the beach, thought of the sleepless night she’d endured after he’d surprised her by backing right off when she’d told him she was marrying Mark. That was the trouble with Cam; he wouldn’t stay in the mold she’d stuffed him into. He kept surprising her. “I’ve got to get back.”
“We’ll miss you,” Bron said. She hesitated, then looked straight at Jen. “Cam will be a bear when you go.”
Fiona nodded vigorously. “He’s dead-keen on you.”
“You can tell?” Jen asked, horrified.
“Yeah,” they said in unison. “His eyes follow you whenever you’re around,” Fiona added.
“He asks me how I like you and how you’re getting on every time I see him. He’s got it bad,” Bron added. “Of course, it’s good for him to lose once in a while. Usually the women are all over him.”
“Mmm,” Fiona agreed. “Sickening. They’re always gorgeous model types. You’re the first one who’s not—” She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth while Jen laughed.
“It’s okay. I’m not the model type. I’ve always been the girl next door.”
“The cute girl next door,” Bron said. “And Cam’s crazy about you.”
It was difficult to be completely frank with the woman who was his half-sister, but she needed to try. “I think he only wants me in his bed to prove he’s in control.”
Bron snorted with laughter. “I knew you’d see right through him. He’s such a dickhead sometimes,” she said with affection. “That was how it was when you first arrived. Not anymore. I’ve never seen him like this.”
“He’s used to getting his own way, that’s all,” said Jen.
“Maybe.”
She’d meant him to remember her as the woman who’d said no, but she’d never intended to hurt him, she thought as she drove home after the dinner, the printed proposal in her briefcase.
Could he be hurt? He was a man of the world. Of course he wanted an affair with her—he’d as good as told her so—but he’d never hinted at warmer feelings. No, she decided, Bron and Fiona were young romantics. He wasn’t serious about her.
Although there was a warmth in his eyes when he gazed at her that hadn’t been there in the beginning. Since he’d laid off the constant attempts to get her into bed, she’d assumed he’d come to respect her as a business equal, and like her as a friend.
She bit her lip as she pulled into his garage and noted with a tiny spurt of pleasure that his car was there, so presumably he was home.
If Bron and Fiona were right, then it was definitely time for her to leave the country. And what about her, she mused as she got out of the car and headed inside. Did she like him only as a friend?
From the way she felt jittery every time she imagined getting on the plane and leaving, she thought she couldn’t do it soon enough. Nothing but trouble could result if she let herself fall for Cameron Crane.
She could wait until tomorrow to give him the report, but Cam handled his paperwork at night here in the house. It was logical and sensible to take the proposal to him now.
When she got to his study, he was behind his desk, his computer on and papers spread around him, just like she’d seen him so many nights. For all his big reputation as a drinker, carouser, and womanizer, he hadn’t been doing a whole lot of that while she’d been here.
Sure, he had fun while he was out, but it was clear that he hadn’t built a multimillion-dollar empire in his thirties by being a playboy.
The man was a workaholic.
“How ya goin’?” he asked as she appeared in his doorway. The warmth leapt into his eyes, and she recalled what his sister had said. Was he “dead-keen” on her?
Since she felt her own warmth kindle, she had to ask herself the same question about him. “I’m all right,” she said. “And you?”
“Couldn’t be better. Is that what I think it is?”
“My preliminary marketing plan and proposal, yes.” She handed him the bound document. He put it beside him on the desk and raised his gaze back to her face. “I’ll read it later. Give me the highlights.”
She sank to the chair in front of his desk, thinking he looked like a kid playing at being a grown-up with his scruffy, tanned face, mop of sun-streaked unruly hair, and the surfing clothes.
“I’ve finished the initial research and I think you’re ready for the California market. I’m suggesting the product launch for next spring. It’s aggressive, but,” she stopped to smile at him, “aggressive seems to be your style.”
He grinned back. “Too right.”
“You’ve got a wonderful product, but you know that. However, the competition’s fierce in California. Frankly, I think the key will be the product spokesman and the advertising campaign.”
“You just said we’ve got great products.”
“That’s right. The ad campaign gets them on the boards and into the clothes in the first place. After that, the products have to do their job. And word of mouth.” She frowned as worry assailed her. This was the hard part of her job. Giving the green light or red light when all she had to go on was research and instinct. If she was wrong, the downside was heavy. “You’re taking a big risk, you have to know that.”
He grinned at her and leaned back from the heavy desk with his hands clasped behind his neck. “Taking risks, that’s where the fun is, darlin’.”
He looked at her long and steady and she heard the ticking of his bright red surfboard clock on the wall. “You might try it sometime.”
“I—” She was as much a risk-taker as anyone. Wasn’t she? So her fiancé was home putting together flow charts of their combined incomes and poring over amortization schedules for a thirty-year mortgage. That didn’t mean they couldn’t take risks. But her gaze faltered. “We’re here to talk about Crane Enterprises. Not me.”
“I’ve got a creative mind. I can think about two things at once. Three, even. Do you want to know what else I’m thinking about?”
His gaze wandered lazily from her face to her feet and she felt a swath of heat follow the same path. Oh, she knew what he was thinking all right. Damn him. If only she could stop herself thinking the same thoughts.
“A spokesman,” she said. “We need to focus on a spokesman.”
“Do you want a big name? An actor who’s known on your side of the world?”
She’d thoug
ht about it. Long and hard. She shook her head. “An established name will certainly get attention quickly, but the risk you run is that people will be more interested in them than the product.”
“That makes sense, I suppose.”
“I thought about you.” More than she should have. “You’ve got the kind of charisma and a certain animal magnetism that will score well with . . . women.”
He grinned at her. “I didn’t think you’d noticed. Animal magnetism, hmmm?”
And he knew it. She ignored the obvious opening to sidetrack the conversation from the professional to the personal. “But with your schedule, I’m not sure you’ve got the time. And you’ll be on camera a lot with the product launch. I think we need someone unknown outside Australia. Remember what Paul Hogan did for Foster’s beer sales in the States?”
He nodded vigorously.
“We need someone who can do that for your products. Could be a model, a surfer, an actor, someone without ties who can spend a significant amount of time in California.”
Cam nodded. “Everyone who works for Crane is surfing mad. They’re young, some of them good looking, I s’pose, and they do know their stuff. What about one of them?”
“I’ve been keeping my eyes open, but none of them has rung my bells.” Except the annoyingly sexy Crane himself, but she was doing her best to muffle those bells.
“What are we going to do?”
“If you approve the concept and budget, I’ll get agencies here and at home working on it.” She shrugged. “You never know. There may be an Australian waiting tables at this moment somewhere in Manhattan or Vail who’d be perfect.”
“They don’t have to be a trained actor then?”
“No. They need a certain look, the right build, and the right . . . attitude. I can’t explain it, but I’ll know him when I see him.” She rose. “Trust my instincts on this. It’s why you pay me the big bucks.”
He nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll read this tonight and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”
“Good night then.”
He stared at her and rose, too, stepping closer. She was aware that it was after midnight and they were alone in the house. There was nothing holding them back but her morals.
Cam might as well have read her mind. “You’ve only got a week left. Are you really going to go on home like a good girl? To your man and your predictable life?”
“Yes,” she said fiercely, hanging onto her sense of what was right. “I am.”
“You’ll always wonder, you know. You’ll always wonder what it would have been like.”
She knew. Even now, she was wondering. She tried to breathe calmly but her lungs were acting strangely, as though they’d forgotten their primary function. “I’m engaged,” she said softly, almost desperately. It was her last defense, and it seemed to be crumbling.
“That’s no-man’s land,” he scoffed. “You’re not hitched yet. I don’t mess with married women, but you’re not married, and if you’re looking at me the way you’re looking at me right now and kissing me back when I—”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t bother to deny it; we both know you do. Then you should at least take the trouble to find out what you’ll be missing for the rest of your life.”
“And for what? What’s the point? Maybe I haven’t spoken wedding vows, but I promised Mark I’d marry him. He deserves my loyalty.”
“He deserves better than a woman who doesn’t love him.”
“Who says I don’t—”
“If you loved him, would you seriously consider coming to bed with me?”
“Well, that just proves it, because I’m not considering going to bed with you. I’ll admit you’re attractive—or you could be if you shaved a little more often. And I like your mind and your . . . business acumen—”
His laughter cut through her tirade like a blowtorch through a snowbank. “It’s not my business acumen putting the dark circles under your eyes, love. You’re not sleeping. And I know why.” He reached out to touch her hair, to push a lock behind her ear, which sent shivers of reaction to her toes.
“You want me. I want you.” He was close enough that she could feel his warmth, count every individual whisker that shadowed his jaw, smell him—the warm male, soap, and T-shirt smell of him.
“I don’t,” she groaned.
“You do.” And he pulled her gently toward him and kissed her. How could a pair of lips undo her like this, she wondered as she kissed him back, feeling the fever pound in her blood.
Maybe he was right. If she was contemplating making love with another man, her future with Mark was shaky at best. But to be here, kissing him, knowing that tonight she’d take this wild attraction to its logical conclusion, made her acknowledge that she wasn’t the woman she’d believed herself to be. And for some reason, Cameron Crane was the man to help her find her true self.
So she wrapped herself around him, leaning up to kiss him deeply, running her hands up and down the muscles and bones of his back, happy to finally be doing what she’d longed to from the start.
“I want to make love with you,” she admitted, rubbing herself against him, wanting him so badly she could barely stand still.
“Mmm.” He pushed her back against the wall and took her mouth as though he owned it, letting his hands roam quick and hot over her.
As she let herself go, she refused to think about how much she might regret this. What was happening seemed too important to ignore. His hands weren’t entirely steady as they slipped the buttons from her cotton shirt, unsnapping her bra and pushing the cups out of the way so he could get to her breasts. Chills and fever chased each other across her skin as he palmed her breasts, rubbing and kneading them lightly.
She heard the quiet hum of the computer, the ticking of that foolish surfboard clock, and the murmured words of pleasure from her companion.
He reached for the zipper on her navy capris and she realized dimly they were going to end up making love in his study, because she wanted him too much to waste time going upstairs. Already she was tugging at his T-shirt, anxious to feel his chest naked against hers.
He helped her yank his shirt off and then he tossed it so it landed who knew where? He pulled her against him and she loved the heat of him, and the roughness of hair on his chest, the pounding of his heart, the pounding of hers. She reached up eagerly to kiss him again.
“We’ll see in the morning about having your flight moved back,” he said.
A strange noise came out of her mouth as she pulled away and stepped back, grabbing her shirt and shoving buttons through holes. “Oh, what am I thinking?” she said in fury. “All you want to do, all you’ve ever wanted to do since I got here, is control me.”
His eyes narrowed, and she saw the passion head to anger. “I want some time with you. You think a week’s enough? Not for what I’ve got in mind, it isn’t.”
“I am not some company ripe for takeover. If I sleep with you, I’ll sleep with you because I want to. If I leave in a week, I leave in a week.”
His eyes had grown hard. “I don’t think I’m the only one who likes control. Face it, darl, you like to call the shots. What’s your plan? Shag me for a week and then run home to your tame boyfriend whose idea of an intimate gift is a bloody pen?”
“He doesn’t own me. And neither do you. Forget it,” she said. “Just forget it.”
“Fine.”
Chapter Eight
All the millions in the bank, his photo on the cover of Business Review Weekly—even an honorary degree from Macquarie University—and Cam couldn’t figure out how to bring one stubborn woman to her senses.
After downing one beer, he cracked open another.
She was probably packing right now. Running home scared, to the man she could control and the life that would bore her senseless.
And because he couldn’t keep his bloody great mouth shut, she’d bolted. The morning would have been the time to mention about putting off her flight. Yeah. H
e saw that now. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. He’d all but had her and then made her bolt.
“God damn it,” he said to himself.
Well, it wasn’t in his nature to give up easily, not give up something he really wanted, and he wanted Jennifer Bloody Talbot more than he’d ever wanted anything. What he needed was a plan of attack.
He tapped the bottle lightly against his teeth, thinking. Bron, he decided, was the next person he needed to enlist in his campaign. He’d seen her and Jen hanging about together. She might have some ideas.
So the next day, when Bron wandered in late as usual, he was waiting for her in her office.
“Don’t start,” she said, raising her hands. “I’ve been working like a maniac on swimwear all week. I can’t get the right fabric, and the right color, and the right price. You do not want to give me any aggro.”
“Partying late again, I see. You’ve still got some of that sparkly makeup stuff on your shoulders.” But he said it mildly. He needed her help.
Since she’d known him all her life, she put her hands on her hips and stared down at him. “All right. What do you want?”
“Jennifer Talbot.”
Bron’s impish grin dawned and she threw herself onto the bright pink sofa she kept in her office. “I knew it. You’re mad for her, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “And now she’s pissed off with me.”
Once more she threw her hands in the air. “I’m not acting as a go-between.” She shuffled among the piles of paper on the long counter behind the sofa which, in theory, was her work area. In reality, it was where she stored all her rubbish. How she produced anything in such chaos he could never work out. “But while you’re here, I’ll show you the color samples for the new wet suits. If I can bloody find them.”
“I don’t want you for a go-between,” he said, fairly certain, given the mess, that he wasn’t going to be looking at color samples any time soon. “I want your advice.”
She stopped mid-pile. “You do?”
“Yeah. What does she like? How can I make her stay?”
