by Miranda Lee
It came to her that he would grow bored with her even more quickly if she became a yes girl. And she didn’t want him to grow bored with her. Not yet.
‘I think,’ she said into the silence of the room, ‘that I should go home now.’
He laughed. He actually laughed. ‘Not quite yet, my darling,’ he said, the endearment making her wince. Because she wasn’t his darling. Not really. ‘Cinderella doesn’t go home until after midnight. And it’s only just past eleven.’
She gasped when he withdrew abruptly, then again when he scooped her up into his arms.
‘If I recall rightly, I said three times, not two,’ he said with a wicked twinkle in his eyes as he carried her into the hugest bathroom she’d ever seen.
Somehow, she found her tongue as he lowered her onto the marble-tiled floor.
‘You really are a naughty boy, aren’t you?’ she said, determined not to be wishy-washy or blindly besotted. If she was going to do this, then she wasn’t about to fall into the same submissive role she’d played with Martin.
His lopsided smile was very sexy. ‘I’m hardly a boy. But I will confess to some naughtiness on occasion.’
‘Please don’t assume that I will say yes to everything you want,’ she told him firmly, an ironic statement considering she was standing, stark naked, before him.
Still, she liked the admiring light that glittered in his beautiful blue eyes. ‘I would never assume anything where you are concerned, Cleo. Now, could we get back to business?’
Her eyebrows arched. ‘Business, Byron?’
‘It’s just a figure of speech. Don’t take offence.’
‘I’ll try not to.’
He frowned. ‘You can be very difficult when you want to be, can’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘So be warned.’
His frown changed into a disarming smile. ‘Consider me warned. So, do you want to have a shower with me, or not?’
Silly question.
‘I suppose I might suffer through it.’
His eyes narrowed until he realised she was being sarcastic.
‘You are a naughty girl sometimes, aren’t you?’
‘I’m hardly a girl,’ she said, echoing his earlier riposte. ‘And until I met you, I was never ever naughty.’
‘Thank goodness you met me, then, sweetheart. Because if that’s the case, you were in danger of becoming boring.’
She speared him with a droll look. ‘There are worse things in life than boring.’
* * *
Byron heard the bitter note in her voice and wondered what she was referring to.
But he didn’t wonder for long. Impossible to think much once she wound seductive arms up around his neck and pulled his head down onto hers.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CLEO SLEPT IN the next morning for the first time in years. She could not believe it when she picked up her phone from her bedside table and saw that it was nearly noon.
Not wanting to dwell on the reasons behind her blissful exhaustion, she sat up abruptly then swung her feet onto the rug beside her bed. Shaking her head lest she start thinking and worrying, Cleo shoved her feet into her pink slippers, levered herself upright, drew on her cosy pink dressing gown then made her way with feigned bravado out to face her mother-in-law.
Doreen was in the kitchen, making coffee. Mungo was sprawled on the tiles nearby, but he rose when Cleo made an appearance in the doorway, limping over to her with his big brown tail wagging happily but his dark eyes as doleful as ever.
‘And how are you this morning, big boy?’ she said as she gave him a scratch behind his ears. Doreen immediately swung around from where she’d been facing the electric kettle, her eyes registering immediate curiosity.
Cleo suppressed a sigh. She wasn’t looking forward to answering Doreen’s questions. And there would be questions. Lots of them.
To lie or not to lie. That was Cleo’s question.
‘Coffee?’ Doreen offered.
‘Please.’
Cleo pulled out a chair and sat down, this time forgetting to hide her sigh.
‘You sound tired,’ Doreen said as she carried two mugs over to the table.
‘I guess I’m not used to being a social butterfly,’ was Cleo’s misleading answer.
‘You must have had a good time to stay out so late. And no, I wasn’t deliberately spying. You know I have to get up at least once a night to go to the toilet. But yes, I did look out of the front window and yes, I saw Byron Maddox kiss you goodnight.
Oh-oh, Cleo thought ruefully.
‘It...um...didn’t look like a platonic goodnight peck,’ Doreen added.
Oh, dear. No lying, then. It would only make things worse.
She decided it was best to be totally honest—up to a point—especially considering Byron had asked her out to dinner tonight, and she’d already said yes.
‘He’s very nice,’ she said, somewhat defensively.
‘I agree. I liked him enormously. More than I thought I would. I already knew you liked him but I imagined a man of his wealth would be too arrogant. Yet he isn’t. I should have trusted your judgment. You wouldn’t have liked any man these days who wasn’t genuinely nice.’
Cleo heard the secret message behind Doreen’s words. Of course, she must have known what Martin had been like. Like father, like son. But they’d never discussed his failings as a husband. Not whilst he’d been alive. And certainly not now that he was dead.
‘But what about his mother?’ Doreen asked. ‘Was she nice to you?’
‘Very nice. I was surprised, I can tell you.’
‘You shouldn’t have been surprised. You looked utterly gorgeous. Clearly, your makeover made Byron Maddox stand up and take notice too. I’ll bet he asked you out again, didn’t he?’
‘He did, actually,’ Cleo said, doing her best to sound nonchalant as she picked up her coffee for a sip. She took it black so it was still very hot.
‘When?’
‘Tonight. For dinner.’ But she knew they wouldn’t be lingering over a five-course meal. He’d have her back at that corrupting penthouse of his like a shot.
Cleo’s mouth dried as she thought of all they had done in the shower last night, then afterwards, back in bed, where she’d been bolder than she had ever imagined being with a man!
Cleo didn’t regret any of it. What she regretted this morning was her inability to prevent herself from becoming totally bewitched by the man. Of course, her claim that she only wanted a strictly sexual relationship was a bald-faced lie. Any normal woman would want more from Byron than that. She was just protecting herself from future heartbreak by covering up her feelings inside a false shell.
Impossible to blame herself for that. But it was a pity that she had to lie, to pretend. If only she’d been of a different ilk. One of those cold-blooded creatures who could use a man for sex and not care a whit for him. But she wasn’t like that. Underneath her cool, sometimes distant façade lay a very responsive heart. It sang when she was with him. Quivered when he was inside her. Thudded when her mouth made love to him.
Still, she did find some personal satisfaction in having taken a firm stand over what she wanted, even if it encompassed a little white lie. She’d come a long way since Martin’s death and wasn’t about to allow herself to fall victim to another dominating man. And Byron was dominating. Not in the same way Martin was—there was no cruelty in Byron. But Cleo had no doubt that he liked everything his way.
‘He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?’ Doreen mused as she sipped her coffee.
Cleo nodded. That was putting it mildly. Byron was exceptionally good-looking.
‘They say clothes maketh the man,’ Doreen went on, ‘but I suspect Byron would look just as good in his birthday suit.’
Cleo coughed, trying to sound very casual but somehow failing.
Doreen shot her a narrow-eyed glance.
‘As much as I like to see you dating, Cleo, I wouldn’t want you to start thinking Byron Mad
dox is looking for anything serious with you. Men like that end up with supermodels and socialites, not working-class girls.’
‘I do know that, Doreen,’ Cleo bit out. It was one thing to privately admit that this was true. Quite another to hear someone else say it. Because it made it more real. And more painful to acknowledge.
‘You will be careful, won’t you, dear? I’d hate to see you hurt. Have some fun with the man but don’t take him seriously.’
Their landline phone rang and Doreen rose to collect the receiver off the kitchen wall.
‘Hello,’ she said as she carried it back to the table with her.
Her face lit up before she’d sat down. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Harvey,’ she gushed.
Cleo’s eyebrows arched and Doreen actually blushed. Good heavens! What was going on here? Harvey was a lot of things but not sweet. As for Doreen, she was definitely not a gusher. Or a blusher.
‘No, no, it’ll just be me and Mungo tonight,’ Doreen informed her surprising caller. ‘Cleo’s going out. With Byron Maddox,’ she added before Cleo could warn her not to say anything. She wished she could hear Harvey’s reaction.
‘Whatever you choose will be fine by me,’ Doreen went on. ‘I’m not fussy where food is concerned. As for the wine, I do prefer white. But not too dry.’
After another minute or so of slightly flirtatious conversation, Doreen said goodbye and hung up.
Cleo sent her a questioning look over the rim of the coffee mug.
‘Harvey’s bringing Chinese over tonight,’ Doreen said, looking both delighted and somewhat sheepish. ‘He wanted to see how Mungo was doing. He adores dogs, you see, and was worried about him.’
Cleo smothered a laugh. ‘You honestly believe that’s why he’s coming?’
Doreen’s kind face did its best to look haughty but failed dismally. ‘That’s what he said.’
Cleo had to smile. ‘If Harvey adored dogs he wouldn’t live in a high-rise apartment which doesn’t allow pets. He can afford to buy a house, with the salary Scott pays him. A house with a yard. A yard which would accommodate even the biggest dog. The man is coming to see you, Doreen, not Mungo.’ The dog’s head lifted to the sound of his name, then lowered to the tiles again. ‘Harvey obviously fancies you,’ Cleo finished up.
‘Oh,’ Doreen said, looking delighted again.
Cleo shook her head then stood up to go have her shower. Life, she thought, was truly weird. Weird but also wonderful at times. Who would have imagined that Harvey would be smitten by Doreen? Not that she wasn’t an attractive woman still. And yes, Harvey did have a certain macho appeal. It was funny how things worked out sometimes, she thought.
Cleo lifted her face into the warm stream of the shower and smoothed her hair back from her head. He’d done that to her last night. Smoothed her hair back from her head and held it tight so it couldn’t fall across her face and hide what she was doing.
Her stomach clenched down hard at the decadent image of her kneeling before him in that shower.
He hadn’t let her go all the way. Not then. But he hadn’t stopped her later, when they were stretched out on top of the bed and she had access to his whole body. Oh, how she’d loved hearing the sounds he made as she made love to him. With her hands first, and then her mouth. Cleo still could not believe how much she’d enjoyed doing that. There’d been no sense of distaste, let alone disgust. Nothing but the joy of pleasing him, and the heady sense of power that came from listening to him losing control.
But was this really love? she asked herself. Or just infatuation, accompanied by her libido gone mad? She’d read that women peaked sexually in their thirties.
Well, she was coming up for thirty...
Her eyes closed against the confusion that threatened to overwhelm her. She’d been so sure last night that she was in love with Byron. But did she really know what being in love felt like? All she knew was that her feelings for Byron were different from what she’d felt for her husband. Of course, she’d believed herself madly in love with Martin when she agreed to marry him, but she knew now that her feelings back then had been a mirage. She’d been in love with being loved. And yes, Martin had been very good—initially—at making her feel loved. He’d been very good at making her feel good all round at first, his flattery and his compliments never-ending. But once their honeymoon was over and he had her firmly under his thumb with her family all gone and her life totally in his hands, he’d changed. Suddenly, their lives together had been reduced to endless restrictions and rules. Compliments had given way to criticisms, flattery to the finding of, oh, so many flaws.
‘Don’t you know how to make a bed at least?’ she recalled him throwing at her one morning not long after they were married. ‘You’re no damn good in it so you can at least learn how to make it.’
After which he’d proceeded to show her how to do hospital corners. And Lord help her if she didn’t follow his instructions exactly.
In the beginning, she’d tried to please him, determined to be a good wife. But in the end, she’d realised that it was impossible to please Martin.
At least Byron wasn’t impossible to please...
She’d pleased him last night and she aimed to please him again tonight.
Don’t think about love, Cleo, she told herself sternly as she snapped off the taps and stepped out of the shower. Think of making love. And of making Byron lose control again.
It was a heady thought, one that she hugged to herself for the rest of the day.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BYRON PULLED IN to Cleo’s street right on seven, pleased to find a parking spot again. He backed into the angular space, turned off the engine and just sat there, being early in his eagerness to see Cleo again.
He’d rung her earlier in the afternoon, unable to go a whole day without at least hearing her voice.
You’ve got it bad, man, Jack would have said. Jack was his best friend when he’d lived in America. But they’d lost touch after Byron came back to Australia. Not a real friend, then, Byron acknowledged. He didn’t have many real friends. Just acquaintances and business associates. He’d had heaps of friends at school and university but had left all of them behind when he’d left the country.
There again, seriously rich men found it hard to find real friends, Byron conceded. People who genuinely cared about you and not because of what you could do for them. The same problem arose with finding the right woman to marry.
Cleo couldn’t be that right woman, could she? It was a sobering thought. After denying it to himself for so long, he began to wonder if she was perhaps exactly what he’d been looking for. The problem was, he couldn’t trust himself—after all, he’d thought the same about Eva and Simone and then just as quickly realised it hadn’t been real love, just infatuation. How would he ever know for sure?
As his father had advised, Cleo had a career of her own, and she certainly didn’t have a gold-digging bone in her body. He also liked her a lot. Liked her intelligence and her honesty and, yes, her lack of worldliness.
Unfortunately, Byron wasn’t sure if he was actually in love with her, which was a worry. He was damned sure, however, that she wasn’t in love with him. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t want to get married again, either.
Two rather huge hurdles, ones which Byron had no control over. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all.
Feeling both exasperated and frustrated, he climbed out from behind the wheel and made his way down the side path of the narrow wooden house. A strange knot of nerves gathered in his stomach as his hand lifted to press the doorbell. The ring echoed through the house, followed by a deep woof from Mungo.
The dog stood guard next to Cleo when she opened the door, eyeing Byron with his usual wariness.
Cleo didn’t look wary, however. She looked wickedly sexy. When he’d spoken to her earlier on the phone she’d asked what kind of restaurant he was taking her to so that she knew how to dress. He’d told her to dress casually, and in sensib
le shoes, since he intended to take the car back to his place first then walk down to a small Asian restaurant he often frequented, which had a casual ambience and served delicious food very quickly.
She’d laughed at that and said good thinking in a knowing tone, which had given him an instant erection, and which was still there, hiding beneath the brown suede jacket he was wearing over his favourite fawn chinos.
Nothing much was hidden with Cleo’s outfit, however. The jeans she was wearing were not the awful ones she’d worn the other day. These were black and tight and expensive-looking, teamed with black ankle boots and a low-cut black silk top over which she sported a soft, red leather, crew-necked jacket, which only just reached her waist and which had a zipper instead of a lapel or buttons. Not done up. Just hanging loose, possibly so that he could smell the exotic perfume wafting from her sexily dressed body. Her hair was up, but in one of those loose just-got-out-of-her-lover’s-bed styles. Her face wasn’t overly made up, but her eyelids had a smoky look and her lips were glossed in the same colour as her jacket. Blood red.
Byron’s own blood boiled as his eyes raked over her.
‘Love the rock-chick outfit,’ he said, and her eyes immediately widened.
‘I was aiming for casual, like you said.’
‘Sweetheart, there’s nothing casual about the way you look tonight. Hope you’re ready to eat quickly.’
The answering glitter in her eyes hit him below the belt with more force than a physical blow. Lust, not love, he decided ruefully, was still his priority here. Hers, too. It was a perversely disappointing realisation. His body, however, wasn’t listening to his emotions. It was already on the burn.
‘I’ve always been a quick eater,’ she murmured, then more loudly, ‘Ah, here’s Harvey come to keep Doreen and Mungo company for the evening. Hi there, Harvey. Come and meet Byron.’
* * *
‘Are you sure that Harvey chap’s not a bikie?’
Cleo glanced up from where she was happily running her hands over Byron’s naked body. They’d already made love once. And had another highly erotic shower after which they’d retired to bed for another round.
