Bad Boys Down Under

by Nancy Warren

  “Really?”

  He took one of her hands in his and she liked the warm current that passed between them. He kissed her knuckles, and she liked the soft brush of his lips and the tiny scrape of whisker as his chin hit.

  “You were right. I think deep in my head I thought I wanted Jen back, but when I saw her today, all I could think about was you. I can see that she’s happy. No idea why. What she sees in that hairy brute is a mystery to me.”

  A giggle from beside him reminded him this was her brother he was talking about. “Me, too,” she agreed. “So you’re saying you don’t love her anymore?”

  “I’ll tell you what I told Jen. A little part of me will always love her. She’s terrific. But she’s not for me, and I’m not for her. I guess we were together so long we stopped realizing that we were friends more than lovers and destined to be better colleagues than spouses.”

  “Crikey. You worked all that out today?”

  “I think I’ve known it for a while. I didn’t want to face it.”

  “So now what?”

  “I think your brother’s an ass, you think your brother’s an ass, let’s say to hell with him, and take a holiday. I want some time to enjoy you and get to know you.”

  “You’re not going to try and score with other women when you’re with me?”

  He winced. “How could I have acted like such a jerk? No. I promise.”

  “Well, okay. Then I won’t have to tell my friends you’re gay.”

  He stiffened alarmingly. “I thought I heard something about deficient equipment.”

  “That was at the office.”

  “I see. So you told your friends I was gay and your colleagues I was sexually deficient. Anything else?”

  “I might have mentioned Viagra.”

  “Okay, that’s it.”

  He hauled her to her feet so fast she squeaked. “What are you doing?”

  “Obviously, I have to remind you that I’m not gay, all my impressive parts work, and medication will not be required.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  He shoved a shoulder into her belly so fast the air oofed out of her and hoisted her over his shoulder. “I am extremely mad. And you are about to be punished.”

  She sighed with pleasure, hanging on upside down to his waist as he walked her to his bedroom.

  “The Whitsunday Islands are near the Great Barrier Reef,” she said to his swaying butt. Nice butt. “We can go snorkeling and diving and see all sorts of things.”

  “The only thing you’re likely to see is the ceiling of our hotel room,” he warned her as he tossed her to the bed.

  Chapter Nine

  After he’d treated her like a disposable toothbrush for the first couple of weeks of their acquaintance, and she’d still fallen for him, Bron was helpless to resist Mark when he treated her like the most important woman in the world.

  They flew to Brisbane and then changed to a smaller plane which took them to Hamilton Island, where a motor yacht ferried them to their island. She’d been to the reef once on a scuba trip, but she’d never been to the scatter of tropical islands that edged the Great Barrier Reef.

  While uniformed waiters served them champagne and hors d’oeuvres, the sea sparkled around them and ahead she spied a half-moon of the whitest sand she’d ever seen.

  The resort was populated with young, well-to-do couples, and there were few children. The entire place was geared to romance and hedonism. She’d never stayed at a resort as swish and dreamy as this one.

  Perfect. Except that they seemed to be the only pair who weren’t newlyweds.

  “Are you honeymooners, love?” asked the woman handing out towels by the pool.

  “Not yet,” Bron said bitchily. “We’re still practicing.”

  And practice they did, but still it seemed they couldn’t get enough of each other.

  Funny, tender, uncomfortably contorted or slow and easy, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t get enough of him and Mark, it seemed, couldn’t get enough of her.

  He’d said nothing about going out to the reef, so she decided to surprise him with tickets.

  After a dinner of fresh seafood they’d sat out and listened to the waves for hours, talking about everything from the politics of their two countries to first boyfriends and girlfriends to sports they’d excelled in and trophies they’d won, should have won, or lost ignominiously.

  “Hey,” she said when there was a lull, “I bought us a present today.”

  He glanced at her with a gleam in his eye she knew well. “Did it come from the sex shop?”

  There was a well-stocked one in the main building, but so far they hadn’t felt the need for any extra excitement.

  “No,” she said, and handed him the envelope.

  The excited gleam in his eyes died when he read the tickets and the brochure she’d included. “Great,” he said with enthusiasm so false she wished she’d discussed it with him first and hadn’t surprised him.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Did you once have a near-death experience with a sea turtle?”

  “No.”

  “Allergic to coral?”

  “No. But it’s nice to know you’re still using your gifted imagination to make me look foolish.”

  “Scared of sharks.”

  “N—” His eyes widened. “There are sharks out there? People pay to snorkel in shark-infested waters?”

  She snickered. “If you worried about everything in our waters that can kill you, you’d never dip a toe in.”

  “I get seasick,” he admitted as though it were a shameful secret.

  “Oh, that’s nothing to worry about. They hand out Dramamine and sick bags when you get on the boat.”

  He swallowed. “This is not inspiring me with greater confidence.”

  “Come on,” she coaxed. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “So was my appendectomy.”

  Of course, he went in the end. And while he didn’t get sick, he did snore for most of the way after liberally dosing himself with Dramamine. Bron stuck with a ginger pill, since she had a strong stomach anyway.

  And oh, wasn’t it worth every minute on the open ocean to share that experience with him. The boat docked to a metal platform that floated in what appeared to be the middle of the ocean. There was no land visible anywhere, only a chop of waves at the reef.

  Once she had Mark awake, he seemed quite eager so they suited up with face masks, snorkels, and flippers, and from the first moment they dipped their faces in, it was as though they’d been transported to another world.

  Giant clams, their gaping mouths proudly displaying vivid red, green, and purple centers, giant sea turtles, quietly going about their business, mostly oblivious to those watching them, and fish of every color and description.

  They held hands as they darted here and there pointing sights out to each other, pulling in this direction then that.

  After hours of snorkeling, they took a break for the lunch the crew put together on the pontooned raft, and then reboarded the launch back to their island resort.

  Mark, she couldn’t help but note, was too busy reliving their adventure to remember his Dramamine pill, and since the return ride was fairly smooth, he made it home fine.

  “Snorkeling makes me horny,” he told her as he pushed her into the room on their return.

  Since she’d been thinking more of a hot shower and dinner, she rolled her gaze. “Everything makes you horny.”

  “Only when you’re around.”

  “I can’t believe it’s our last day,” she said. Her wail was supposed to be theatrical, but underneath it was the knowledge that when this holiday was over, so was the best affair she’d ever had.

  Mark would be going back across the world to San Francisco. Sure, she consoled herself, she’d see him the odd time. He’d still consult for Crane. Maybe she could convince Cam to send her over on a research mission. They could snatch a few weekends together.

  But it wo
uldn’t be the same.

  Refusing to hurt, or at least to let him see how much she hurt, she said brightly, “What do you want to do for our last day?”

  “Make love to you.”

  She giggled, but it had a wistful sound. “That’s what we did yesterday.”

  “And the day before.”

  “And the day before that.”

  “Is there something you’d rather do?” he asked politely.

  She gazed across at him, with a dab of shaving cream still sticking to his chin, a towel wrapped around his tropically tanned shoulders, and a pair of plaid boxer shorts. The whole package made her liquid. She grabbed the hem of her cotton sundress and stripped. It was all the answer he needed.

  “We’ve only got an hour until the boat leaves,” she said sometime later.

  “Mmmm.” And he nuzzled her belly and nibbled his way to her hipbone.

  “Mark,” she said later, waking from a deep and comforting sleep. “Mark!”

  “What?” he mumbled.

  “That’s the boat whistle. We aren’t even packed.” She began pushing at limbs that seemed to twine about her like enormous choking vines.

  “Coming in or going out?” he said with maddening calm.

  “I don’t know. Wake up.”

  “We’re probably too late,” he said, using precious remaining seconds to kiss her breast. “I love your breasts,” he murmured.

  “Do you have sunstroke or something? The boat is going to go without us.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “It is.”

  The man was beyond sunstroke. He was certifiably insane. “Don’t you even care?”

  “Not particularly. I like it here.”

  She felt his forehead for fever, but he pulled it away and kissed her palm.

  “You can come here again,” she assured him, wondering if maybe it was something he’d eaten.

  “I want to spend my honeymoon here,” he added, going back to her breasts.

  “Well, you wouldn’t be alone.”

  “I want to spend my honeymoon here next week,” he explained further, moving from her left breast to her right. “You know, I’m sure each of your nipples tastes slightly different, but I can never work out why.”

  “What?” she shrieked.

  “Your breasts. I think they taste different.”

  She smacked his shoulder. “Not that part, the other part.”

  He raised his head, and the expression in his eyes caused her heart to stutter. “They have a chaplain on call, and the wedding chapel’s got some openings. We can get married today.”

  “Why would you want to marry me?” she asked, trying so hard not to sound like she was about to bawl her eyes out.

  “Because I love you.”

  “But I’m completely hopeless. I’m terrible with money, and I get chucked out of flats, and make fools of people at the office, I’m not smart and smooth like Jennifer Talbot.”

  “You’re funny, and sexy, and wildly creative, and I love you.”

  “Oh.” She sniffed. She did not cry over men, she reminded herself. Okay, she could be catching a cold. One sniff did not a sob make.

  “What about me?”

  “You’re funny too, kind of. And definitely sexy. But I don’t know about the creative part. I think not.” She paused for a minute. “Bloody brilliant with a calculator, though.”

  “That’s why we’re perfect for each other. You make my life crazy and exciting, and I can probably straighten out your bank account and keep you on track.”

  Maybe it wasn’t romantic, but the idea of someone who could take care of all that stuff she was so hopeless about was definitely appealing. He was right about her, too. He could be plenty fun and creative with her around. Without her, he could end up a stick in the mud. She was almost willing to marry him just to get a crack at livening up his wardrobe.

  “So will you marry me?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, honey, I’ve never been so sure of anything.”

  She sniffed again and blinked a few times. “I am not wearing one of those over-the-top white wedding gowns they sell in the clothes shop.” There was a wonderful sky-blue silk, though, cocktail length and backless, she’d had her eye on. That would be perfect.

  “You can wear anything you want if you’ll marry me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “How about you love me?” he asked with a gleam of challenge in his eye and as much love as any woman could ask for.

  “How about I do,” she said and rolled on top of him, naked and eager to get on with a whole life together.

  Here’s a hilarious sneak peek at

  “WICKED” WOMEN 101

  by Susanna Carr.

  Coming in September 2005

  from Kensington . . .

  She looked good in his lair.

  Marc propped his elbow on the battered rolltop desk and covered his smile with his hand. He knew better than to stretch and relax like a smug tiger. He had just started the hunt, and if Amy knew what he was thinking, she would bolt like frightened prey.

  He supported his chin with his hand and studied his quarry. Amy sat primly on the tattered burgundy settee, erasing madly on the questionnaire.

  She didn’t exactly blend in, he decided as he cast a look around the turmeric-yellow room. The weakening sunlight seeped through the window. Fat leafy plants bumped against the vivid watercolors scattered across the walls and trailed down the glassed-in legal bookcases.

  Marc had been acutely aware of every move Amy made since she stepped into his small office half an hour ago. They agreed to meet in the evening after everyone went home, but now they were alone in the building and Marc wished he had a distraction before he did something stupid.

  Amy wasn’t a disruptive force of nature, but she possessed a quiet power that drew him in. She held his attention while giving his office the peace he had tried hard to achieve in the eclectic design.

  Amy leaned back against the soft suede and glared at the survey. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I’m done.”

  He reached for the pages that she offered. His fingers grazed hers. Every muscle in his body twanged like the soft sitar music in the background as his large fingers crimped the paper.

  Marc drew away with great precision and studiously ignored the tension arcing over them. He swiped his eyeglasses off his desk and jammed them on his nose, hoping the wire rims wouldn’t bend under his grip.

  “Sit back and relax,” he suggested to Amy, wondering if he could practice what he preached. He leaned back in his wooden office chair, which creaked incessantly. “Once I review this, we’ll get started.”

  “Wait!” Her eyes bulged as her hand went up like a traffic cop. “You’re going to go over that now? While I’m sitting here?”

  “Yes.” She looked stunned. Horrified. Any minute now she was going to curl up in a ball and hide. If she felt that way after answering questions, he didn’t want to know how she was going to handle practical applications. “It will only take a moment,” he promised.

  She folded her arms across her chest and hunched her shoulders. “Don’t you have a machine to take the score and spit out an analysis?”

  “No.” Why would she prefer a machine’s opinion over his? He wondered about that as he scanned the questionnaire. Did she still feel that shy around him? He was determined that by the end of this sensuality project, she would find it no longer necessary to be wary of him.

  She tapped her foot against the worn Persian carpet. “Nice office you have here. It’s very . . . exotic.”

  He didn’t glance up from the paper. “I spent a lot of time on the subcontinent researching polygamist marriages,” he murmured as he skimmed through the biographical information that he already knew.

  “Ah.”

  Her voice sounded faint to Marc as he reread the sensory section. Amy enjoyed public displays of affection and indulged in them often? Marc frowned at the box she checked. Since when? In the three y
ears he had known her, he couldn’t remember anyone touching her. And that included her ex-boyfriend.

  Maybe she didn’t know herself. He tugged off his eyeglasses and considered the possibility. Amy might think she indulged in public displays. Although how could someone make a mistake about that?

  He glanced at her and watched the hectic color flush her cheeks. Her gaze skittered away. Amy nibbled the corner of her bottom lip.

  Hmm . . . Marc bit the tip of his eyewear. Curious.

  He flipped the page and reviewed the section designed to see how she chose her clothing through style, color and fabric. She checked the “bright eye-catching colors” box.

  Marc blinked and read it again. He looked up and noted her gray T-shirt under her jumper.

  Uh-huh. Okay. He continued reading.

  Fabric? Slinky.

  His forehead pleated into a deeper frown. Since when was durable cotton slinky?

  Style? Body conscious.

  His eyes flicked to the faded blue jumper that threatened to swallow her small form completely.

  The only thing her body was conscious of was his suspicious looks. The pen she tapped at rapid speed was going to snap in half.

  His annoyance blossomed as he scanned the remaining questions. “Interesting.”

  The pen stopped in midair. “It is?” Amy asked hesitantly.

  “Yes.” His clipped tone muzzled his irritation. “I had no idea I had a budding nudist in my midst. According to this”—he gave the paper a crisp snap—“you sleep in the nude year round, skinny-dip if there is so much as a puddle in the vicinity and would rip off your shirt at the first sis boom bah.”

  Amy swallowed as her face grew pink. She opened her mouth and closed it again. “I, uh . . .” She shrugged. “I must have misunderstood the questions.”

  “Did you also misunderstand the food section? It says here,” he read directly off the survey, “you frequently consume ice cream, cheese and chocolate for its thick, luscious texture.”