by Anne Oliver
She frowned, censure in her eyes. ‘I know it was bad for you as a kid. But he’s old—he must be in his late seventies now. How does he manage on his own?’
‘You know my father—he has a fit and healthy forty-year-old woman drop by to help him manage.’ He chewed more vigorously, making his jaw ache.
‘Oh.’
‘Exactly.’
Mariel knew his circumstances. How both his parents had indulged in extra-marital relationships. How his mother had left to live interstate with a new guy when Dane was seven. And how his father had paid for his only son to board at the exclusive school he and Mariel had attended because he didn’t want the inconvenience of a son underfoot.
‘I’ve done okay without his support,’ he said into the silence. He’d worked his way through uni like any regular guy, waiting tables to pay his own way until he and Justin had set up their own business. It had exploded—way beyond their expectations. Five years, and financially he’d achieved what some would take a lifetime to do.
He didn’t need family. Didn’t need anyone. The women who flitted into his life either flitted right out again when they realised he wasn’t there for the long haul, or understood where he was coming from and were happy with a temporary arrangement.
Wealth was happiness.
Strange, but tonight he didn’t feel as happy about that as he’d thought. He set down his cutlery with a rattle of silver on china, reached for his wine, took a long, slow swallow.
‘So I take it you’ve never changed your mind about settling down and having kids?’
Had she read his thoughts? His fingers tightened on his glass. ‘You know me: terminal bachelor. As for kids—never in a million years. No way. No how.’
‘That’s sad, Dane. You’re letting your own childhood rule who you are now. There’s nothing more precious than family. If you do want to talk about anything, at any time…’ Mariel set her own cutlery to one side of the plate and met his eyes in the intimate lighting.
He nodded once. Mariel. Sincere, honest, caring. Soothing his mood the way she’d always done. The one person he’d always been able to count on. Unfortunately, right now he wanted her to soothe a lot more than his current mood. And with a lot more than words.
Forget it, Huntington.
Reining in his runaway libido, he straightened, flipping his linen napkin onto the table. ‘I’ve got some fresh peaches, or a frozen—’
‘Nothing more for me, thanks.’ Patting her mouth on her own napkin, she rose. ‘I’m going to be lazy and not help you with the clearing up. I haven’t finished exploring yet.’
‘Do you want coffee?’
‘I’d rather have ice water, thanks.’
When he’d cleared the dishes, he found her in the adjoining family room, where she’d discovered his photographic equipment and was fiddling with his camera. She snapped his picture a few times in rapid succession, checked the results in the little screen. ‘Definitely male model material. I didn’t think so earlier, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll borrow this for a while,’ she went on. ‘Upload these pictures on your computer. Do you have a website?’
‘No.’ He set their glasses on the coffee table and began walking towards her.
‘Not even for your business?’
He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You would not want to put those pictures on my business website.’
‘You must be on a networking site?’
‘Don’t have time for gossip.’
‘For socialising and sharing,’ she corrected. She snapped him again, studied the image. ‘There was a time when you used to share everything with me.’ Her eyes met his, then cooled. ‘Well, almost everything.’
Shadows of their youth swirled in those green depths, and for a moment he was lost in another time, another world. Shared hot fudge sundaes at the movies. Beach towels and barbecued sausages. The time she’d cheated on a test. The day he got his driver’s licence and taken her for a spin in his father’s BMW without his knowledge and put a ding in the passenger door…
He reached for the camera but she’d already whipped it behind her back. ‘Getting slow in your old age,’ she taunted.
‘Or you’re getting sneakier.’ He closed the gap till their bodies were a handspan apart. Breathed in the scent of her honeysuckle shampoo.
‘How do you mean?’ She blinked up at him, all innocence.
He set his hands on her shoulders, felt the fragile bones beneath the smooth firm flesh. ‘You know exactly what I mean. Using your eyes and the you-used-to-share-everything-with-me line as a distraction.’
As if the shoestring straps beneath his fingers weren’t distraction enough. Not bra straps, he noted. Just dress straps…
Barely touching her, he slid his fingertips down her arms and felt tiny hairs on her skin rise as a shiver trembled through her. Imprisoning her against his body with one hand, he reached over her shoulders for the camera with the other, and down…
The reason for the clinch was forgotten. Everything was wiped clean from his mind except the sensation of her breasts snug against his chest and the fragrance of her skin. His free hand slid over the smooth flesh of her naked back, each vertebra in turn, as he slipped beneath the edge of her dress and the crisp fabric.
Her head tipped back and her lips were right there, smack bang against his throat. Warm, soft. Mind-numbing.
Anticipation tingled on his lips, danced on his tongue…
Damn.
This wasn’t some nameless woman in a dark unfamiliar room where the slaking of lust was the only thing they had in common. He swore silently. Hell of a moment for his better self to show up. He wanted to throw back his head and howl.
Unlike last night or this afternoon, he knew he’d not stop this time until he had her writhing in pleasure beneath him. And she wasn’t ready for that. Nor was he willing to take the risk with the ball happening tomorrow night.
So this time it was he who took a step back, kissed her lightly on those waiting lips with their sweet promise of passion and said, ‘I’ve got some last-minute details to go over for tomorrow night; I’d best be getting on with them.’
She blinked at him as if she’d just woken up. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’ Her husky voice dragged like barbs across his over-aroused senses.
‘You might want to turn in early. Tomorrow night will be a long one.’ He let the suggestion hang.
She nodded. Didn’t say a word.
He turned away before he could change his mind, and climbed the stairs to his study. A man of his experience with the opposite sex knew when it was better to wait.
When Mariel came downstairs next morning Dane was already dressed. A suitcase and a suit bag sat by the kitchen table. He was standing at the breakfast bar, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee.
‘Good morning.’
He looked up at her greeting, his brow puckering as if he was uncomfortable seeing her there. ‘Good morning.’
He resumed skimming his paper, but she could feel the tension emanating from him like vibrating wire. ‘Did I break a house rule or something?’
He flicked to the next page. ‘No. Of course not.’
‘What, then?’
He looked up again, met her gaze. ‘I’ve never shared breakfast with a woman in this house; it caught me off guard.’
‘You’re kidding me. Dane Casanova Huntington has never had a sleepover?’
He studied the paper once more. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘So, what—they’re the Cinderella kind?’
‘I have a penthouse apartment in the city.’ He tossed back his coffee, set his mug on the counter with a snap. ‘I’m going to be busy all day, organising for this evening.’ He stared through the window at the pool. ‘I’ve booked a suite for us at the hotel, so I’ll arrange a car to pick you up when you’re ready to leave here.’
She was still processing the first bit. ‘You keep a city apartment for sex?’
He exhaled slowly. ‘I want to keep my
private life exactly that. Private. I’ve also made appointments for a massage, spa treatment, hair and make-up,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t interrupted him with a question he obviously wasn’t comfortable answering. ‘Did I forget anything?’
She was still catching up. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said slowly. ‘I could do with a little pampering. Do all your partners get the star treatment?’
She saw nothing in his gaze, as if he’d deliberately blanked it. ‘Tonight’s important, Mariel.’
‘I know that.’
‘We’ll be staying overnight, so if there’s anything else you might need…’
Like her contraceptive pills? ‘Overnight?’
‘We want to give them something to speculate about. Isn’t that what we agreed?’
Oh. ‘Of course. The press.’ The reason for this charade.
The press hadn’t been the reason he’d kissed her yesterday.
Picking up his bag, he headed for the door, jingling his car keys. Impatiently or edgily? ‘I’ll join you in our suite at six-thirty.’
Mariel’s entire afternoon session in the hotel’s spa and beauty rooms were pure bliss. Courtesy of Dane, she was massaged and exfoliated, buffed and polished until her skin tingled, her complexion glowed, her hair shone and her nails sparkled. She had The Best in facial and hair treatments.
But beneath the pampering she couldn’t stop thinking about this public affair she was rushing headlong into. She considered herself worldly enough to understand that mutual desire sometimes came without strings.
Except when it involved Dane.
She considered herself sensible enough to accept that it was possible to enjoy sexual intimacy without falling in love.
Except when it involved Dane.
And when a high-profile celebrity like Dane and she went their separate ways, as they inevitably would, she was going to have to live with the media attention for a long time.
She would not think about the other bad stuff she might have to learn to live with. Bad emotional stuff. Maybe she should make an advance booking for meditation or psychotherapy? She was likely to need it.
At six o’clock, in one of the suite’s bedrooms, she stepped into her dress. A one-off European designer gown, it fitted so snugly it took a few moments to shimmy the silky white fabric up her body. As she tugged the zipper in the side seam closed the final wrinkles smoothed out.
But her nerves didn’t. They tied knots in her stomach as she stepped into her sparkly stilettos, added a final touch to her upswept hairstyle and make-up. A delicate necklace of black diamonds flashed at her throat; a matching bracelet adorned her right arm. Her long platinum earrings swung as she studied her reflection side on.
Satisfied, she sorted her bag, then paced to the window to watch the late sunlight turn the River Torrens primrose.
She turned at the sound of the keycard being swiped in the door. Ridiculous to feel her heart pounding as if she was on her first date. She knew she looked fine, that this was exactly the type of gown his partners wore. Anyway, what did it matter what Dane—the king of dressing down—thought?
It mattered.
Taking a steadying breath, she turned. How did he manage to snatch her breath away every time? He wore black trousers and a made-to-measure white silk shirt that once again emphasised his shoulders and clung to his broad chest. His hair was still slightly damp and curled over the collar.
She fought the temptation to walk right on over there and smooth it with her fingers. To lean in and press her lips to that distracting V of tanned skin at his throat. Instead she kept her cool. ‘No tie to a formal function—why do you ignore your own rules, Dane?’
‘Because I can.’
Dane’s answer was vague as his eyes swept down Mariel’s body. God help him. How was he going to function tonight with that siren’s temptation beside him? Because he suddenly seemed to have momentarily lost the power of speech, he motioned her to turn around with his fingers.
White. Floor-length. Skinny. Backless—below backless, in fact, revealing the lower indentation of her spine. Low scooped neckline that dipped…and kept on dipping. Which made him wonder how she kept the whole thing from sliding off her shoulders. A slit up one side that looked as if it had been created by an overzealous pirate’s sword. He had to wonder if she wore panties at all…
‘You want to talk rules?’ he murmured, unable—unwilling—to tear his hungry eyes away. ‘That dress is a rule-breaker. In fact, it should be illegal. One of your creations?’
Dismissing his suggestion with, ‘I don’t wear my own designs,’ she whirled to face him again, the split in the fabric parting to show the long length of one leg. ‘You think it’s too much?’
‘More like not enough.’ He frowned, perplexed at his own reaction. He’d never been a conservative man, and enjoyed a good-looking woman as much as the next man.
‘It’s the latest Veronique design—Sophisticated Style. What’s your problem?’
Problem? He’d always been more than happy to have the object of every man’s desire on his arm. But was he sophisticated enough to make it through the evening knowing every guy would be falling over themselves to catch another eyeful of all that exposed skin? Because it was Mariel’s skin. His own flesh tightened, tingled as heat simmered beneath its surface.
Weird. He didn’t understand himself. On any other woman the gown would have looked stunning. Did look stunning. If tonight hadn’t been so important, if he hadn’t been the one who’d organised the event, he’d have called the whole thing off and suggested a night in. Just the two of them.
Fact was, he didn’t want everyone ogling what he suddenly realised he wanted to ogle himself in the privacy of their own suite. What the hell was happening to him?
‘Don’t you have something…more? A wrap, perhaps?’ Blimey, just listen to yourself. He needed to change his attitude fast if he wanted this evening to go smoothly.
Of course she looked lovely. Gorgeous. He’d be the envy of every man, and possibly every woman, in the room. And he intended to make sure everyone knew it was him she’d be with at the end of the evening.
Mariel stared at the grim-faced man before her. She knew she looked good, the dress wasn’t vulgar, just sexy, so she refused to feel hurt or embarrassed or any of those vulnerable emotions. Temper was preferable, but it wouldn’t be wise moments before they were due downstairs. ‘No, I don’t have a wrap. I don’t need one.’ She barely restrained herself from raising her voice. ‘And, to use your own words, I’m going to wear this dress because I can. And I can—very well.’ She snatched up her bag.
She had to pass him to get to the door, but a light hand on her arm stopped her.
‘I apologise,’ he said stiffly. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s all. You look sensational.’
Too little, too late, she thought, but she could try to be gracious—they had an entire evening in the public eye to get through. ‘All right.’ She let him curl her hand around his arm. ‘We’ll put it behind us and try to enjoy the evening.’
But how would the evening end, when the ball was over and an annoyed Cinderella retired to her suite with her suddenly stuffy prince?
CHAPTER SIX
MARIEL watched the floor numbers blink as the elevator descended. They stood apart, but their respective fragrances mingled, their breathing the only sound in a stilted silence until the doors opened and Dane took her hand and wrapped it around his arm once more.
The hotel lobby was alive with light and movement. Airline staff checking in, tourists heading out for the city’s nightspots. Photographers snapping their arrival and that of other important guests, interviewing Dane about this evening’s event and, as expected, their renewed acquaintance.
‘What are your plans now, Ms Davenport?’ asked a journalist, shoving a microphone in her face.
‘I intend to start my own fashion label.’
‘And your relationship with Mr Huntington?’
She met Dane’s eyes and
smiled coyly, allowed him to pull her a little closer and encircle her waist. For the publicity. ‘We’re just good friends.’ Let the press put whatever slant on that they chose.
They passed a glorious Chihuly glass sculpture on their way down the pink marble staircase to the ballroom, where black mirrors on the ceiling reflected the glitter from crystal chandeliers, candlelight and a fortune in jewellery. An orchestra was playing light classical, and the scents of fresh flowers mingled with the latest French perfumes while several prominent politicians, including those holding the youth and education portfolios, mingled with society’s elite.
Their table was the closest to the podium and filled with The Important People. She didn’t feel up to any in-depth conversation tonight, and to Mariel’s relief Justin’s wife, Cass, was seated beside her, looking chic in a simple black halterneck gown, her chestnut-brown hair curling softly about her face.
‘I’ve seen your photo in magazines, but it’s exciting to finally meet you in person,’ Cass said when Dane introduced them. ‘And that’s the most stunning dress I’ve ever seen.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I wish I could get into something like that.’
‘Thank you,’ Mariel replied, unable to resist tossing a glance over her shoulder at Dane, who was standing behind her chair with Justin.
Leaning close, he ran his hand lightly over the nape of her neck and halfway down her spine and murmured, ‘I think the challenge will be in the getting out of it.’
‘I heard that, Dane Huntington,’ Cass said, her eyes twinkling up at him.
As she was supposed to, Mariel knew. ‘Indeed it will be,’ she murmured back, then turned to Cass with a smile. ‘So, you and Justin are recently married? I love weddings; tell me about yours.’
As Mariel had predicted, Dane moved away at the mention of nuptials and began conversing with a distinguished elderly man at their table. Justin sat down beside his wife and slung an arm around her shoulders, happy to join their conversation.
The food began arriving. Dane was busy between courses, introducing Mariel to people at the thirty or so tables skirting the dance floor. They ranged from colleagues in IT to contacts that might be useful to her in the fashion business. Everywhere he escorted her he made some sort of physical contact. A brush of his knuckles against her cheek, a finger-to-finger caress, a meaningful glance, a whispered word.
