The Party Dare
Anne Oliver
The after-party… for two!Breanna Black has turned throwing parties into an art form – raising the roof is the best way to banish the shadows of her past, and she’s not interested in anyone spoiling her fun. Especially her infuriatingly uptight, sinfully sexy new neighbour, Leo Hamilton! Still, Brie doesn’t scare easily… and she dares brooding businessman Leo to abandon his spreadsheets for just one evening!But Leo has his own reasons for accepting his smoking-hot neighbour’s invitation! He’s hoping he’ll be the only guest at the after-party… and he doesn’t intend to leave until morning!
‘What changed your mind? Party for one not satisfying, huh?’
‘The party hasn’t started yet.’
His voice took on a persuasive tone that brushed over her skin like velvet. He seemed to draw something from her that she’d never known she had. Was she out of her depth with this one?
‘Do you think I’m going to abandon my hostess responsibilities for a frolic across the sheets with you?’
He raised a dark brow. ‘Are you?’
The scary thing was she had a feeling that was exactly what was going to happen.
He closed the door, muting the sound of the party below.
She clutched the edge of the dressing table on either side of her hips. If she touched him she might not be responsible for her actions, and with him she very much needed to be responsible.
His head dipped … his mouth hovered. ‘I’ll admit to a little curiosity of my own,’ he murmured, and touched his lips to hers.
Dear Reader (#ulink_da37866e-d65a-5a08-951b-7a7268cac41d)
Brie’s story hadn’t fully formed in my mind when I began writing my last book, MISTLETOE NOT REQUIRED, where Brie makes her first appearance. Brie supported her friend Olivia when she had to make some heart-wrenching decisions. Likewise, Olivia was there for Brie as Brie struggled to improve her relationship with her long-lost brother, Jett.
Because that’s what friends are for.
From the start, Olivia’s party-loving friend was demanding to be noticed—so much so that I had to promise her a book of her own, and here it is.
Digging into Brie’s past to find out why she’s such an attention-seeker was the fun part—giving her a worthy opponent even more so.
Leo Hamilton is a short-term, casual kind of guy when it comes to women and relationships. His brutal past and consequent responsibilities have made him a bit of a control freak, and this aspect of his personality immediately clashes with Brie’s sassy independence.
He’s also a man of integrity—as Brie is about to find out for herself …
Anne
The Party Dare
Anne Oliver
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ANNE OLIVER lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and with its perfect location and relaxed lifestyle why would she want to leave?
In another life Anne was an early childhood teacher, but not long after she began writing paranormal and time travel adventures as a weekend escape she knew it was more than a hobby. Eventually preferring the fun of writing contemporary romance, she dreamed of swapping yard duties for the life of a published author.
It happened in December 2005, when she was accepted by Mills & Boon
for their Modern Heat™ series. The dream continued when her first two published novels won the Romance Writers of Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year in 2007 and 2008. She considers herself very lucky to have been a finalist for the same award in 2012 and 2013.
Other interests include animal welfare and conservation, quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook.
Visit Anne at her website: www.anne-oliver.com (http://www.anne-oliver.com)
DEDICATION (#ulink_8adc27ea-6b83-563c-b685-63d70dc3a093)
To make a friend you first have to be one.
With thanks to my critique partners:
Kathy, Linda, Lynn and Suzie.
Thanks also to my editor, Meg Lewis, who read the story and asked the right questions.
Contents
Cover (#u167f2c45-c1d9-55bf-b910-04fa0cf47a8d)
Introduction (#u398cd17f-79c9-50e8-bca4-b9f2948e8c95)
Dear Reader (#ucb378ef4-6174-539c-824e-9b4fd892a51f)
Title Page (#u8e754e43-929d-589b-8077-277b17efc84f)
About the Author (#u2ceaab64-c4c0-5b11-a665-be0e16d2e321)
DEDICATION (#ud15c2ef3-2b69-5602-b8a5-fd46b1d51c45)
ONE (#u70c5661f-861c-5d31-9998-73316576c604)
TWO (#ua867a6aa-b4b2-51a8-993b-57e1a307df98)
THREE (#u3be791e8-3fb1-53bc-9bb8-255f8f6ce5ba)
FOUR (#u98ebed60-5af1-5ed3-a6c6-78281202e8c9)
FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE (#ulink_b3c48ee7-58fb-50db-83db-012a081dc29f)
‘I should forewarn you the purchaser intends to renovate. Big time.’
‘Renovate? Big time?’ Breanna Black blinked at her soon-to-be departing next-door neighbour, Carol. ‘Do you know what that involves, exactly?’
‘I overheard elevator and wall demolition to make way for indoor pool mentioned. Amongst other things.’
The words were still echoing in Brie’s head at Carol and George’s farewell dinner more than twenty-four hours later. She shook her head as she rinsed her hands in Carol’s upstairs bathroom. The Reece-Bartons had sold their beautiful mansion, East Wind, to a moron. East Wind was a mirror image of Brie’s West Wind next door, built by brothers in the late nineteenth century. Obviously Leo Hamilton—her new clueless neighbour—didn’t appreciate historical structures or their significance. She swiped up the hand towel, rubbing away at the excess energy she didn’t know what to do with. An indoor pool? For heaven’s sake. If he wanted—
‘Apologies for the interruption, George.’ An unfamiliar voice drifted up the stairs. ‘I didn’t realise you had company.’
Deep and rich and silky, the timbre seemed to harmonise with the foyer’s warm wood-panelled walls where she imagined the recent arrival standing. Pushing the bathroom door wider, she cocked an ear in the direction of the stairwell and listened.
The actual words were muffled by the flautist’s rendition of “Greensleeves” and the disorder of mingled conversations from the twenty or so guests, but it was the tone that hooked her attention. Would he look as scrumptious as he sounded? she wondered. A shiver of lust shimmied down her spine. Would he sound the same in bed?
Then George and his visitor moved from the foyer, their voices merging with those at the dinner party.
Wow. Brie straightened away from the wall she’d been leaning against and moved to the mirror. She hoped he’d stay for a drink at least so she could get a gander at him but she took her time repairing her make-up, determined not to give in to temptation and rush downstairs merely to satisfy her curiosity. Whoever he was.
Finally, she slid her lip-gloss into her purse and exited the bathroom. He was probably married with six kids. Except he didn’t sound married. ‘And what exactly does married sound like?’ she scoffed out loud. He had to be short, then—being six foot tall herself had its disadvantages. Except she couldn’t imagine anyone with a voice like that being anything but...
Perfect.
He appeared on the top stair as if she’d conjured him up, and her normally forthright and confident ‘Hi’ turned into a breathless schoolgirl sound of awe and appreciation.
He gave a brief half-nod. Said, ‘Evening,’ in that sexy as sin voice. One hand on the newel post, he stepped onto the upstairs landing. Thirtyish. Tall. Taller than her. Close-cropped dark hair, steel-grey eyes. Whipcord lean and tanned—her idea of a perfect man in one succinct package from his clean-shaven jaw to his crisp white business shirt and twilight-blue tie to his perfectly pressed charcoal trousers...with security pass clipped to his belt.
Leo Hamilton.
She almost groaned aloud. Perfect to look at but sadly that was where it ended.
Her smile remained frozen in half bloom on her lips. She refused to be seduced by his better than gorgeous looks. Beauty was only skin deep after all. Wasn’t it great timing that she’d just fixed her lip-gloss? She frowned at the ridiculous thought that popped up from nowhere. No. It wasn’t great at all.
What she really wanted to do was tell him exactly where to stick his renovation ideas. But she straightened slowly, drew in air tinged with the faint scent of skin-warmed cotton and reminded herself there was nothing to be gained by rudeness. Pull yourself together, Brie. Smile. Forget those pesky little renovations he’s planning and try the neighbourly, welcoming approach.
To start with at least.
‘Mr Hamilton. I couldn’t help but notice your name.’ Oh... Wrong place to look. She gave a little shrug—wrong place to wear it—and dragged her eyes from his crotch and up to meet his grey impenetrable ones. ‘I’m Breanna Black.’ She stepped forward, stuck out her hand. ‘Your next-door neighbour.’
He nodded, all unsmiling and enigmatic. ‘Breanna.’ He took so long to extend his own, Brie wondered for a moment if he intended responding at all.
When he did, at last, take her hand in a decisive grip, she didn’t reciprocate like some weak-willed female meeting her teenage idol but with the same strength and intensity as he. He looked startled. His eyes widened and his jaw tightened and she got an impression of hard, wide, slightly roughened palm before he released her. Or had she pulled free first?
Whatever, that first contact was as brief as it was disconcerting so she followed up quickly with, ‘Call me Brie. I’ve heard you’re moving here from Melbourne?’ And a few other not so good things besides.
‘It’s more of an investment, but yes. You heard correctly.’ The way he said that last, almost accusatory, made it sound as if she were the town busybody when he was the ignoramus with no appreciation for history or architecture. And okay, she was interested only because he was going to be living next door—and renovating—which might affect the property value of her own home.
‘Bad week at the office?’ she murmured. ‘Thank God it’s Friday?’ When he simply stared at her and made no attempt to reply, Brie continued, ‘Carol told me. That you’re from the mainland.’ She defended what she considered her reasonable query, even if he did not. ‘She and George are more friends than neighbours. So, you’ve big plans for this place?’ The words shot out before she could stop them. ‘An indoor pool, I hear?’
‘Do you believe everything you hear?’
His cool stare matched his barely veiled criticism then he glanced down the stairwell, giving her time to check out his profile. The neat shape of his ear, the pinprick of evening stubble along the sharp jawline. Her trained therapist’s eye couldn’t help but notice his suntanned skin would benefit from one of her men’s all-fruit facials, and her mouth tingled at the errant thought of licking it off— Stop.
She pressed her lips together. Unlike the Reece-Bartons, this man was not her friend. In any way. If she could just convince her woman’s body of that fact. ‘Not at all, but I believe Carol. Are you aware that this home is a signific—?’
‘Chris, up here.’ He raised a hand to some unseen body below, effectively cutting Brie off.
The lifelong sense of powerlessness she’d always felt at being repeatedly ignored bristled along her spine. ‘Excuse me?’
His focus turned sharply and wholly back to Brie. She wasn’t being ignored now and the words she’d been about to say melted off her tongue. They stood almost eye to eye. Mouth to mouth. Breast to chest. Her nipples tightened. So did her belly. Somehow he made her feel dainty and petite, an achievement no man had ever accomplished. His gaze seemed to check her out from the roots of her hair to her low-heeled boots and every place between.
‘My architect,’ he said, finally.
Architect. Chris. Right. Now she had his attention back, she struggled to regather the thread of their conversation. ‘What does he think of your plans?’
But she was suddenly speaking to empty space because, without a second glance, he was headed back the way he’d come, his masculine scent drifting on the air behind him.
Rude. Inexcusably, unjustifiably rude. Brie saw a blonde clutching a tablet device to her ample bosom, which was plumped over an inappropriately low neckline. She watched the woman move to meet him at the foot of the stairs. His architect. Female. Of course. He actually smiled at the woman and Brie fought a stab of pique. He wasn’t ignoring Chris.
She watched them compare notes, converse a moment, then George appeared and both men walked towards the front door while Chris and her tablet headed towards the kitchen. The guys shook hands but just when Brie thought he’d forgotten she’d ever existed, Leo Hamilton turned his head and that enigmatic silver gaze found her, skimming her entire body again.
Her skin prickled, as if he’d given her an all-over body scrub with one of her salon’s best exfoliating mitts. She shivered and resisted the urge to soothe her arms.
A corner of his mouth lifted. A smile? Or a smirk... As if he knew the effect he’d had on her. She narrowed her eyes. Damn. She was a confident woman when it came to any man, hunky or otherwise, so why this particular man wielded that power she had no idea—he was irritating and arrogant and dismissive. And a bunch of other things she refused to waste her time thinking about.
If he began to raise his hand in some sort of belated farewell, she didn’t see it. Eyes averted and head high, she started downstairs. She heard the front door close and aimed a smile George’s way. ‘I hope I didn’t scare him off.’
‘I’d venture your new neighbour’s not a man who scares easily,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘He had a plane to catch.’ George fell into step beside her as they headed back to the dinner table. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted,’ he said with the devil in his voice.
A half-laugh caught in her overheated throat and she had to clear it. ‘He’s not my type.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ Granted, conservative senior citizen George probably thought every man was her type since he’d probably never seen her turn into her driveway with the same guy twice.
But he’d be wrong. She enjoyed men but she was discerning in her choice of partners. The arrogant guy next door with the mellow bedroom voice? No way.
She shook off the double distraction of Leo Hamilton and her bedroom in the same image. Apart from finding out what his intentions were for East Wind—which she could do by talking with his architect if necessary—she couldn’t wait to ignore him the next time she saw him.
* * *
Leo leaned back against the prestige cab’s headrest as they headed for the airport. What the hell had happened back there? His whole body was still vibrating, as if he’d been blasted sideways by a sonic boom.
The after-effects of the shockwave that was Breanna Black.
His libido had jolted awake and demanded breakfast, an occurrence so unexpected and so irrational given his usual taste in women that he’d left Chris with the calculations he’d intended checking through alongside her.
He barely noticed Hobart’s lights winking as he crossed the Tasman Bridge. A neighbour who could light his fire with just a look was a complication he didn’t need. Perhaps he could oversee what needed to be done via email? He dismissed that idea with an impatient snap of fingers against his thigh—this project was as personal as it was important.
Whereas she wasn’t important. In any way. He refused to alter his plans on a woman’s account. Particularly one he’d just met.
And now he was going to be at the airport half an hour earlier than planned where he’d no doubt spend that time digging her out from beneath his skin.
He didn’t have time for the attraction. The distraction. Or whatever the hell Breanna Black was.
Still, if he had to choose one word to describe her it would be stunning. Not in the usual way one called a woman stunning but in a stun-gun kind of way—and he was still feeling the burn.
She was all about impact rather than beauty. There was nothing subtle about her. Her cheekbones were too wide and too sharp for her face. Then there was the eye-popping lime tasselled top that stretched taut over firm, round and very generous breasts. Her mouth...ripe and red and damned if he hadn’t wanted to move in and—
He closed his eyes but the woman’s image blistered the back of his eyelids. Her hair a shiny river of blackberry silk flowing over her shoulders. Midnight eyes flashing with an inner fire, which made him wonder if that apparent passion for knowing other people’s business extended to her bedroom.
Leo pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate the tension building between his brows. He wasn’t being entirely fair. Breanna had introduced herself at least, whereas he’d not exactly been Mr Congeniality.
Nice work, Hamilton. Way to antagonise the new neighbour. His sister needed an ally in this new community—another woman she could rely on when he wasn’t around—not an adversary.
So he wouldn’t be telling Sunny about bumping into Ms Black yet, he decided. If he happened to see Breanna next weekend—and he didn’t intend going out of his way to do so, but if he did—he’d make more of an effort. For Sunny’s sake.
* * *
Two hours later the Melbourne night wrapped its chill around his bones as he jogged up the shallow stone stairs of home. The evocative strains of violin drifted from within. Sunny was weaving her magic and he listened with brotherly pride. Little wonder she’d been accepted into Hope Strings, which performed as part of Tasmania’s prestigious Philharmonic Orchestra, and at the ripe old age of twenty-four.
Rose and amber light spilled through the front door’s stained glass, and as he pushed it open the delicious aroma of Mrs Jackson’s slow-cooked bouillabaisse filled the air. His highly valued daytime housekeeper, and worth every cent he paid her.
He shrugged out of his coat and paused, a feeling of warmth seeping through him. Unlike his childhood, these days coming home gave him a comforting sense of peace and achievement.
But circumstances were about to change yet again. With Sunny’s exciting new career taking off, despite her physical challenges, his little sister had demanded her independence. In no time at all, she’d be in her own home, in a new state. Alone. She’d point-blank refused his offer to employ a live-in housekeeper but had agreed to a cleaner on the condition she paid the woman’s wages herself.
He zoned out and let the violin’s sweet melancholy wash over him. Enjoy the moment while you can.
The house fire had robbed Sunny of the use of her now withered right leg and deformed foot, but had that slowed her down? Not on your life. If anything it had made her stronger, more determined.
She’d have that autonomy with his blessing—and some conditions. He’d arranged to install a personal emergency alarm system and insisted she wear a distress pendant at all times while in the house. And—yes, Ms Black—he had indeed checked out the feasibility of a pool.
Tasmania’s climate didn’t favour an outdoor construction, so he’d been considering alternatives. Sunny loved swimming; she found the weightlessness liberating. But not when she was alone. Which was why, in the end, he’d decided against the pool. It wasn’t in keeping with the home and he didn’t trust her to stay away from a pool when he wasn’t there.
His freelance environmental management consultancy business took him to Tasmania on a regular basis and he anticipated dropping by her place at every opportunity. He also intended purchasing a suitable apartment nearby for himself. She could yell control freak and uncompromising jerk as often and loudly as she liked—he was immune as far as her insults were concerned, and was more than comfortable with any label she threw at him so long as she was safe.
‘Why are you standing there all by yourself and looking like the world’s about to end?’
‘Hey, Suns.’ He realised he’d been lost in thought awhile. ‘I was listening to you play and thinking how quiet it’s going to be here.’
‘Doesn’t say much for my skills then; I stopped five minutes ago.’ She was leaning on her elbow crutch in a slant of light studying him with a half-smile on her lips, blonde hair curling in wisps around her face.
He nodded, coming out of what felt like a daze. ‘I’ll want a CD of your music.’ He was going to miss her. Sunny by name, Sunny by nature.
‘Already working on it.’ She cocked her head. ‘Problem with the new house?’
Why did her question immediately conjure a certain dark-haired dynamo rather than his latest property acquisition? ‘A few surprises, that’s all.’
That famous Sunny mood dimmed. ‘So there is a problem.’
‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ He walked to her, clasped her shoulders with both hands and smiled his reassurance. ‘I’m ravenous. Did you wait for me?’
‘Of course I did.’
He squeezed her shoulders and released her, and she accompanied him down the passage, her crutch tapping lightly on the tiles. They both preferred the cosiness of the little kitchen alcove over the formal dining room. Because he knew she wanted him to, Leo sat down and let her ladle the fish stew into two bowls without assistance.
She’d raided his wine stash. He poured two glasses of pinot noir from the bottle she’d set on the lace-cloth-covered table. ‘Celebrating again?’
‘Can’t seem to stop,’ she said with a laugh. The table was arranged flush against the bench to accommodate Sunny’s disability and she carried the bowls to the table one at a time. When she was seated, she raised her glass. ‘To the next adventure.’
Crystal chimed against crystal. ‘Wherever it is you’ll find it, Suns.’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of your next adventure.’ Her blue-eyed matchmaking gaze winked back at him.
He leaned back and studied his glass. ‘We seem to be talking at cross purposes again.’
‘What happened with that pretty little brunette you sent fifty red roses to then escorted to the theatre last month? Aisha, wasn’t it?’
Ah, Aisha. Perfectly lovely, perfectly amenable. Or so he’d thought until she’d expected him to pay the cancellation fees for the overseas honeymoon she’d booked in anticipation of his marriage proposal.
Sunny and his love interests were very separate aspects of his life, except that she’d caught him ordering the roses. ‘You know me.’ He broke open his bread roll. ‘Short-term casual all the way.’
‘You’re right, I do know you. And it’s just sad.’ She pointed an accusatory finger at him then shrugged and sighed rather dramatically. ‘Okay, so you’re looking for ways to make your next million.’
‘Accumulating wealth.’ He drank deeply then tilted his glass towards her. ‘I thrive on the challenge.’
She grinned, picked up her spoon. ‘I love a challenge too. Swimming in the Australia Day Big Swim on Sydney Harbour, for instance.’
Leo set his glass down and blinked at her while she tucked into her meal. ‘Are you serious?’
‘I’ve put my name on the list for swimmers with disabilities,’ she said around a mouthful of fish. ‘January’s nine months away. Plenty of time for you to agree to be my swim buddy.’
‘We’ll need to have that conversation at some point,’ he growled and got stuck into his own meal. But of course he’d agree—what was more, she knew it.
She tolerated her scars and deformity without a whisper of complaint or self-pity. Her wish to live independently was her choice, not his.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, reading his mind.
‘Mum would’ve been proud of you.’
‘She’d have been proud of us.’ Spoon halfway to her mouth, Sunny eyeballed him. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Don’t.’
Sunny’s pain was physical and would last a lifetime. Leo’s anguish was deep and every bit as enduring. Guilt. Regret. His memories of the night twelve years ago when their lives had changed forever was as stark and real and terrifying as if it had happened yesterday.
He’d saved his sister but had been too late to pull their bruised and battered mother from their burning home. If his father hadn’t goaded him into swinging that punch earlier in the evening, maybe the monster wouldn’t have come back later and torched the place. The only justice was that he’d also died in the blaze.
‘I wish she could have been here to see me perform in Sydney,’ Sunny was saying. ‘She’d always wanted to attend a concert at the Opera House.’
‘I’ll be there,’ he said, pushing the past away and raising his glass to her.
‘I’m counting on it. It’s my last gig with the gang before I join Hope Strings. Three weeks, don’t forget.’
‘I won’t,’ he promised.
How could he forget? He only had to oversee the renovations, secure his own rental accommodation in Hobart and check out the environmental practices of a new client on the east coast of Tasmania in addition to his existing workload.
And to top it off there was the nosy neighbour with the attitude.
He tossed back the last drop of wine and set his glass on the table with a decisive plunk. He absolutely, positively, without a doubt, didn’t have time for a distraction like Breanna Black.
TWO (#ulink_28e31d8c-59a3-5c74-8b70-713785b1e775)
One week later on Saturday afternoon, with Eve’s Naturally closed for the rest of weekend, Brie made her way to East Wind’s back door trailing her small plant trolley. She and Carol had exchanged keys years ago for those times when either of them were away. Before she handed her key to the agent Monday morning, she’d made arrangements to reclaim several dozen
potted herbs and flowers she’d given Carol over the years. She’d intended collecting them during the week but had been working insane hours and they’d slipped her mind.
Taking a last look down the driveway to make sure Mr Hamilton of the husky voice hadn’t decided to turn up in the last two minutes, she deactivated the alarm and let herself in. Not that she expected him—apparently he wasn’t able to collect the keys until Tuesday. Carol hadn’t elaborated and Brie was thrilled with herself for not asking for more details.
The glass-walled atrium formed a semicircular structure at the back of the home; soothing and familiar scents greeted her as she crossed its old brick floor. The sun’s warmth on nutrient-rich, damp soil. Basil. Oregano, mint and lemongrass. ‘Hello, my little treasures.’ She trailed her fingers over a variegated thyme. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’
Positioning the trolley near the workbench, she collected the smaller pots, and to keep the more delicate plants going until she had time to deal with them tomorrow, she filled a spray bottle and began misting them.
She caressed the thick leaves of a large aloe vera in an elegant waist-high blue pot. ‘You’re going to be a challenge to lift, aren’t you, my pretty? Maybe I should ask our friendly as a frozen fish neighbour for help.’
Huffing out a breath, she plugged her ear buds into the smartphone in the hip pocket of her jeans, switched on her favourite playlist. ‘He’d have to acknowledge I’m alive first.’ In time with her music, she shot off three hard squirts at a struggling coriander. ‘And I sure as heck am not going to be first to acknowledge him.’
He’d barely given her the time of day. As if she’d been invisible.
Story of her life.
Well, not quite. She knew she stood out in a crowd now, thanks to her late growth spurt at the age of fifteen. She’d had years to practise how to garner attention—and she’d learned well. Even if it hadn’t always been attention garnered for the right reasons and had landed her in trouble more often than she cared to remember. Her rebellious years.
These days she didn’t have to work hard for that attention. Except from people like Leo Hamilton. And why did that irk her?
‘I’m very much alive, Mr Big, Bad and Built,’ she told an overgrown cactus with delusions of its own importance. ‘And I’m going to make it my business to show you I do exist.’
Aiming her bottle at it, she squeezed the trigger. Hard. Seemed she wasn’t done with rebellion yet.
* * *
Arms crossed beside a potted kumquat tree, Leo leaned a shoulder against the door jamb and watched with some amusement while his new neighbour drowned the arid-loving cactus and his reputation as a usually well-mannered guy. With those bits of plastic in her ears, he wondered if she even knew she was voicing her opinions aloud. Yeah—she existed all too clearly and, despite his best efforts to the contrary, his body responded, the tension tightening with every squeeze of her slender fingers on that trigger bottle.
He wasn’t hiding but he was counting on her not seeing him just yet—he hadn’t witnessed anything as fascinating as Breanna Black making herself at home in his atrium since his pubescent self had ogled the naked female form for the first time.
He’d wandered around the back of the house with some landscaping ideas on paper to find the door open. He was ticked off that she still had the key George had mentioned and, worse, she was still using it. Obviously she had the security code as well. He intended familiarising her with the concept of privacy...soon. Right now he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had the sexiest backside, especially when she wiggled it as she was doing now in time to music only she could hear.
Her top was a yellow-raincoat yellow, and, from what he could see in profile as she moved, cling wrapped to those abundant breasts. The short hem flared over black leggings that clung to long, long legs. She looked like the sunflower she was standing next to.
She continued squirting, flicked her long black plait back over her shoulder. His fingers itched to free it from the confines of its elastic band, to watch it shimmer the way it had that moment at the top of the stairs last week, to feel its silky texture against his palms. To bring it to his nose and inhale. Slowly. Deeply.
Pull yourself together.
She was a neighbour, and, right now, a damn nuisance. He’d worked past midnight every evening this week so he could be in Hobart over the weekend to check out some nearby short-term accommodation for himself while the electrician ripped out the guts of this place and installed new wiring throughout. The plumbers were going to be here, and the kitchen renovation crew.
He did not want this woman in his space. Nor did he need her sensual perfume wafting his way and clogging up his sinuses with scents better appreciated in the bedroom.
She plunked the sunflower on the trolley, gave it a drenching. ‘He’d better not be planning any external changes that will affect the value of my home. An elevator, for crying out loud? And if he even thinks about getting rid of that foyer chandelier...’ Her rant trailed off—presumably she was contemplating what she’d do to him in the event.
Wearing skin-tight leather and brandishing a whip.
The image of the two of them engaged in bodily combat flashed before him. The slippery slide of that black leather against his flesh. His teeth finding the vulnerable place under her chin while she screamed in pleasure. He clenched his jaw—he could literally feel his blood pressure spike.
He’d heard enough. He wanted her out of here, now. Before he said, or did, something detrimental to his state of solitary well-being.
Uncrossing his arms, he pushed off the door frame.
* * *
‘Now why would I want to do that?’
The low murmur near her ear at the same instant someone removed her ear buds had Brie practically leaping out of her skin. ‘What the...?’ Fists raised, she spun around. ‘You.’ Her fists uncurled and she lowered her arms to the workbench. ‘You startled me.’
She was still startled, but in an electrifying, breath-stealing way, and her strength seemed to drain out of her under the force of his steely eyed gaze.
He wore casual today—faded denim and a matching soft-looking jumper, and he smelled of warm wool and that indefinable masculine scent she recognised from the last time she’d seen him.
‘Then again, if I did want to do that...’ He didn’t appear concerned that he’d scared ten years off her life and looked her up and down in a manner that wiped whatever she had been talking about from her mind.
‘Do...what? And...and what are you doing here?’
‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?’ His voice was all reason and calm. Not to mention husky and low and seductive.
‘I thought George told you about the key,’ she went on, since she did owe him an explanation. ‘And the plants.’ She began picking up pots at random, setting them on the trolley. ‘I apologise, I meant to get around to it during the week but I was busy.’
One dark brow rose, his expression clear. Doing what?
‘You’re not the only one who works, Mr Hamilton.’
He slouched casually against the workbench. ‘You can rest easy—I have no intention of removing the chandelier. The elevator’s not happening and there’ll be no exterior changes—I love the house’s old-world charm and I appreciate that the two buildings share a history, which I believe should be retained. Apart from some electrical and plumbing work, I’m doing some kitchen renovations, which involve shifting a wall about fifty centimetres, but they won’t compromise the integrity of the place. You okay with that?’
She breathed a sigh of relief and slapped a hand to her chest. ‘Thank goodness. I’ve been thinking about you—about it—about your renovations all week.’ Busted. ‘And I’ve been thinking other stuff out loud too, haven’t I?’
No reply as his gaze stroked over her again.
Her blood rushed through her body and heat bloomed beneath her skin. ‘I’ll, um, get out of your way.’ She tossed the rest of the pots onto the trolley willy-nilly. When had she ever been so scatter-brained talking to a man?
‘You wanted me to give you a hand with this one, right?’ He indicated the aloe vera.
He gave no outward hint that he’d heard her ‘friendly as a frozen fish neighbour’ comment, but she knew he had, and cringed inwardly. ‘That’d be great,’ she muttered. ‘Thanks.’
‘Reckon you’ll need to keep it steady,’ he said, lifting it on board the trolley as if it weighed no more than an empty bucket. Which drew her attention to the movement of the muscles beneath his jumper. The way they stretched the wool tight across his chest and bunched beneath the sleeves.
He glanced her way. ‘Your back yard, I presume?’
She shifted her focus to his eyes. Only his eyes. ‘No need for you to bother. I can manage, thank you.’
‘Wouldn’t want that pot to shatter.’
Wouldn’t want her self-control to shatter either. She wanted to be away from him asap. Away from his warm man smell that made her want to burrow against his chest and breathe deep. She didn’t want to like her new neighbour but her body had a mind of its own.
Best to let him play Mr Macho then and get it over with. Get him over with and she could go back to whatever she’d been doing before. If she could just remember. ‘Okay. Thanks.’
They proceeded outside with rattling pots and trailing greenery as he manoeuvred the trolley towards the driveway.
Probably not wise to tell him she’d entered his property this way but, ‘There’s a gap between our fences.’ Brie lifted a chin in the general direction, holding the pot steady with both hands. ‘Carol and I used it to save time. I was going to close it after I got the plants,’ she told him.
When he said nothing, she continued, ‘We looked out for each other. As neighbours should. Don’t you agree?’
‘I’d say it depends on the neighbour.’ They reached the gap and he stopped to inspect it. ‘I’ll organise a tradesman.’
‘Fine. Thanks.’ He seemed so keen to take charge, she’d let him. This time.
‘Which reminds me.’ He held out his hand, palm up. ‘You have my key.’
Brie glimpsed scarring on the inside of his forearm as she retrieved the key from inside an empty ceramic pot and dropped it in his palm. ‘Thanks, it’ll save me a trip to the agent.’ Flipping her hand, she grinned at him. ‘And while you’re at it, you might want to change the security code.’
‘Yes. I will.’
Then he smiled back. Kind of. As if he hadn’t meant to and it was a surprise to him too, generous lips quirking at the corners. She glimpsed a twinkle of humour in his eyes.
Her stomach fizzed, her limbs went soft and her fingers tightened on the rim of the pot as her inner flirt demanded she come out and play. No, Brie told her.
He looked away, resumed pushing the trolley again. ‘So, Ms Black. Breanna—’
‘Brie.’
‘Brie. How do you earn a living?’
‘I’m a beauty therapist. You?’
‘Environmental management consulting.’
Her brows lifted. ‘And what does an environmental management consultant do, exactly?’
‘I freelance to businesses who want advice on their environmental practices.’
‘You must charge a fortune for your services.’ She gestured towards her garden shed as they crossed the square of lawn bordered by recycled pink bricks. ‘You might as well know I’m a tell-it-as-it-is kind of girl—I know how much you paid for the place.’
He cleared his throat. ‘My clients seek me out, not the other way around.’
‘Really? With those interpersonal skills I witnessed last week?’
‘I was in a hurry.’
‘Because of me?’
He made a strangled sound, cleared his throat again. ‘No excuses. I apologise.’
Hmm, uncomfortable. How charmingly appealing. She loved having that effect on a man. Her resolve to keep her distance was weakening by the second. ‘Accepted. You had a plane to catch, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘And a date waiting?’
‘Not precisely. Are you always this...?’ He seemed to struggle for the word.
‘Straightforward?’ Not the word he’d have used, she’d wager, and his ‘not precisely’ answer clarified nothing. ‘Pretty much. You mentioned this was an investment, so will you be here often?’
They stopped at the shed and unloaded the pots.
‘I’ll be stopping by to check on the progress. And I’ve just taken on some new clients in Tasmania so I’ll be on the island most of the time. Where do you want the aloe vera?’
‘Inside the conservatory. Thanks.’
She watched him push the trolley to the rear of the house, then, once inside, she helped him unload the pot where she wanted it. ‘Would you like something to drink? I have a chilled fruit tisane in the fridge.’
He regarded her blankly. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’
‘Sure? It’s a very refreshing beverage.’
‘I’m a coffee man, myself. And I’m due to check out some rental accommodation in the Arcade Apartments.’ He checked his watch, displaying a thick wrist dusted with dark hair. ‘Twenty minutes ago.’ Grimacing, he yanked out his phone, sent a voice message apologising and advising he’d make a time later this afternoon.
Millionaire’s accommodation, the Arcade. ‘Where are you staying at the moment?’
‘A bed and breakfast two minutes away.’
She nodded. ‘That’ll be Hannah’s Hideaway. How much are you paying for an apartment at the Arcade?’
‘More than it’s worth.’ He spoke briskly, pocketed his phone with a similar movement. ‘Proximity’s important.’
Brie, always on the lookout for extra funds for Pink Snowflake, came up with an instant light-bulb idea. ‘How long are you looking at?’
‘Few weeks.’ A tiny frown dug between his brows. ‘Why?’
‘What would you say to living right next door?’
‘I’m not interested in a room.’ Penetrating eyes considered hers and he took his time answering. ‘If that’s what you’re offering.’
‘I’m not offering you a room.’ She matched his gaze. ‘My brother, Jett, and my best friend, Olivia, are on their honeymoon and I’m house-sitting their new health retreat from next week for a couple of months or thereabouts. It’s totally flexible. So, you could stay here, have the entire place to yourself and the rent money could go to the Pink Snowflake Foundation instead of the Arcade owner’s over-inflated bank account.’ She grinned at her own ingenuity. ‘It’s win-win.’
‘Hmm.’ He squatted in front of the blue pot, tested its stability on the uneven green tiles recycled from the sixties and laid with her own fair hands. ‘What’s the Pink Snowflake Foundation?’
‘Jett and Olivia are opening a luxury holistic retreat for cancer patients to recuperate after their treatment and Pink Snowflake is Olivia’s project of love that made the whole thing possible. It’s ahead of schedule but the happy couple are overseas. They asked me if I’d like to spend a few nights a week there. Soak in the spa, enjoy the pool and solarium. Use the gym. Explore their private cellar. Naturally I couldn’t refuse.’
‘Naturally.’ The tone was dry. Rising, he hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and looked about. ‘You own this place? You live here alone?’
She nodded. ‘I inherited it when my parents died and, yes, I live alone.’
‘So I’d have the entire place to myself? No unexpected interruptions. Until the job’s done?’
‘All yours. Although I may need to come by and collect the odd outfit or whatever. But you’d have all the keys and I’d ring first. I wouldn’t just drop in.’ Unless you invited me.
As if he’d heard her private thought, his eyes dropped to her mouth. He looked away fast, checked his watch again and she pounced before he could refuse. ‘When would you want it by?’
His eyes flicked back to hers. This time they held. ‘Next weekend.’
Was it her imagination or was there something in the way he said that? A glint rapidly masked behind that quicksilver gaze?
‘Sold,’ she told him before she could think of all the reasons why inviting a man she knew nothing about—except that he turned her on—into her private sanctuary might be a bad idea. ‘The Pink Snowflake Foundation thanks you.’
‘Okay, we’ll give it a try,’ he said finally. ‘I’m all for a good cause.’ He pulled out his mobile, cancelled his appointment with the Arcade rep.
‘“We” as in you and a partner?’ Brie spoke more sharply than she meant to.
‘“We” as in you and me.’ The way he linked them together in that low, husky voice while he held her gaze prisoner made her pulse race with excitement. ‘I want to see it,’ he said, sliding his mobile back into his pocket. ‘If it’s not an inconvenience.’
‘Not at all.’ She gestured him towards the far side of the conservatory while she got herself under control. ‘Family area’s through here. Layout’s the same as yours,’ she said, whisking a basket of washing off the sofa as she passed. ‘Have a seat and I’ll get you a drink. I have fourteen kinds of tea, hot or cold— Oops, you’re a coffee m—’
‘Thanks, but there’s no need,’ she heard him say. ‘I’m meeting my architect in ten.’
The busy blonde with the over-exposed boobs. ‘Chris.’ She raised a brow. ‘Thought you weren’t planning any major changes?’
‘Just that kitchen wall I told you a...bout...’ Leo’s voice trailed off as he took in the visuals. He’d walked into chaos.
What appeared to be an entire wardrobe of party dresses was strewn across an armchair. As he entered the kitchen, a variety of foodstuffs covered every available surface but he had no idea what she intended cooking. He gave a mental shudder, comparing it with his own ordered world, from his computer files to his DVD collection to the way he arranged his ties.
Had she thought this idea through? He doubted it. By all appearances, it seemed she was one of those impulsive people who never stood still, gravitating from one interest to the next as the whim took her.
‘Excuse the mess. I’ve been experimenting with some nature-based facial masks and steams.’
Which explained the bowl of pink mash that smelled like strawberries and peppermint. But not the fifty or so plastic beer and wine glasses stacked alongside a large box of Moroccan lanterns. ‘I’ll come back later,’ he told her. When he’d reconsidered.
‘Hey, if you’re in a hurry now, why don’t you come by this evening? I’m having a party—ten o’clock on—you could check out the place then.’
Fine for some. He had a Saturday night date with his laptop. To ease the pain, he was planning to help the evening along with a nice Tasmanian Cabernet Shiraz. He intended stopping at the trendy upmarket bottle shop he’d seen nearby. But that wasn’t the only reason. An evening with Breanna Black in party mode was a bad idea. ‘No can do. I’ve got work to finish.’
‘Don’t we all? But on a Saturday night?’ She clucked her tongue. ‘That’s just sad.’
‘Some might say so.’ But he was proud of his consultancy business. His alone. He’d built it from the ground up, with nothing but determination and hard work and it was the first and only part of his life he’d ever had absolute control over. It was worth a few sacrifices.
‘I’ll leave you my contact number.’ He placed his business card next to a row of a dozen or so unusual teapots on a distressed wood sideboard then turned to her. ‘If you’ll tell me your details, I’ll come by tomorrow. I’m presuming afternoon’ll be best?’
She smiled. A naughty smile that seemed to make him an accomplice in whatever racy plans she had for the evening, and almost had him wishing he’d accepted her invitation, bad idea or not.
Temptation beckoned with the luscious curve of those full lips. ‘Give me your phone.’
Holding out her hand, she stepped close. Too close, and into his personal space. Feminine scent enveloped him; the tips of her extended fingers brushed his jumper.
He stepped back. She wasn’t getting her hands near his contacts list—or anywhere else for that matter. His groin tightened at the erotic thought. ‘Just tell me, I’ll remember.’ He had an exceptional memory for numbers and facts—except right now he was having trouble remembering his own name.
She rattled off a series of numbers as he walked to the door.
‘We’ll work out the details tomorrow,’ he muttered.
He didn’t stop till he reached the new SUV he’d picked up only hours ago. Sliding onto the caramel-soft seat, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, lust and frustration building a fire below his belt.
Hadn’t he stayed away from her? Minded his own business?
Had it made a scrap of difference?
The woman wasn’t merely a nuisance, she should come with a warning label. Approach at your own peril.
So much for working without being disturbed. Brie didn’t have to be physically present to mess with his head.
Tonight was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.
THREE (#ulink_b8eae16f-4f08-546a-87a4-3456618598d7)
Brie, an experienced hostess, was running late for her own party. Her plant rescue expedition had taken longer than she’d anticipated. The reason for that was an enormously sexy man and he was still centre stage in her thoughts. And didn’t she love the fact that here was a man who more than matched her height? She set out nibbles, arranged tea-lights and lanterns for lighting later while she thought about her impulsive offer to rent her home to him.
She doubted he’d expect the use of the entire house but it was going to be a race against time to have the place tidy and the stuff she wanted to take to the retreat packed by next weekend. On top of that, the thought of Leo Hamilton sleeping in her bed, on her sheets, sent a shiver through her, along with the question: did he sleep naked? There was no alternative. It was the only room with a bed long enough and wide enough to accommodate a man his size.
Two hours before her guests were due to arrive, she drove to the liquor shop. She’d paid for her order, the cartons already stacked in her car with a friendly staff member’s assistance, when she remembered she’d intended to buy a bottle of sparkly to enjoy after work in the retreat’s spa later in the week.
And there he was, the most recent object of her private fantasies perusing the classiest labels in the red wine section. Labels so out of her price range, she could only imagine the smooth, rich flavour. No doubt the two of them had vastly different tastes. And not only in wine.
Come on, Brie, when has that stopped you?
It might be fun at that.
She picked up the nearest bottle of sparkling white while she watched him from the corner of her eye. She’d glimpsed a sense of humour this afternoon. Even traded flirty looks with him. Whether he acknowledged it or not, Brie knew when a guy was interested.
She also knew that the moment the renovations were done, he’d leave the property in his agent’s hands and move on to his next million-dollar investment. He was that kind of guy. She smiled to herself. And that made him the perfect kind of guy—perfectly constructed, perfectly casual, perfectly short-term.
When Brie set her sights on a man, he didn’t stand a chance. But their fun times never lasted long—these days she made sure of it. Since Elliot, her motto was no heart, no hurt. Worked for her every time.
* * *
Heat stroked Leo’s left cheek like a glove and the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to move antenna-like in the same direction.
He knew why before he looked up.
He’d seen Breanna and her puppy-dog assistant stacking up her car with booze and thought she’d left. But no, she was walking towards him, holding a bottle of bubbly and wielding her flirtatious smile like a challenge. His fingers tightened on his two-hundred-dollar bottle of Barossa shiraz cabernet and, with a vague nod towards her, he moved to the refrigerator section.
Like an inevitability, she kept coming. He selected a black olive pâté and his favourite cheese—a Tasmanian Brie—before he realised the irony of his choice.
Too late to swap for a Camembert. Was this some kind of cosmic conspiracy?
She’d loosened her hair and it slid over her shoulders, straight and thick and glorious. She stopped in front of him, noted his product choices and wielded that smile some more. ‘Party for one?’
‘Might as well get some enjoyment out of the evening while I work.’
She flicked her hair back in an artful, well-practised feminine move. ‘Why do tonight what you can put off till tomorrow? I have some crackers at home that would go nicely with that Brie.’ Her eyes seemed to say the type of cracker that goes off with a bang.
‘I’m sure you do. Brie.’ He refused to be seduced by her smoky-voiced invitation with its barely subtle innuendo. To prove it, he maintained his nonchalant gaze towards her as he drew out his wallet. He was all in favour of seduction, but he wanted to be the one doing the seducing. Wherever and whenever he was good and ready. He ignored the fire in his chinos insisting that time was fast approaching. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. As arranged.’
‘Fine,’ she said, not looking away. ‘However you want to play.’
Hard and fast. The unspoken words singed the air between them.
He waited for Breanna to break the searing eye contact first. The tension stretched out for several long seconds. Only when she finally glanced at her watch then delved into her bag for her purse did he turn towards the cash register at the end of the aisle.
‘Afraid you might enjoy yourself, Mr Hamilton?’ she teased behind him. ‘Or is it me you’re afraid of.’ It wasn’t a question.
He turned, caught her teasing, tossed it back. ‘Not at all. Parties aren’t my scene. Too many people.’ He intentionally lowered his tone. ‘But a party for two...’ He watched the teasing light in her eyes flare to frank awareness and a distinct attraction before she looked away. Score two to him.
I’m as eager to find out as you are, baby doll. But he had no intention of acting on it. Yet. He’d decide the if and when and it wouldn’t be tonight. Still, he couldn’t help grinning as he walked to the counter and set his platinum card down.
She followed, stood a good arm’s distance along the counter from him, considering the bottle in her hands. ‘I think I’m going to need two or more of these,’ she murmured to herself.
‘Best to be prepared, I say.’
That startled a laugh out of her. ‘You’re not what I expected, Mr Hamilton.’
‘Should I interpret that as a good thing?’
‘I’ll let you know. Later.’ She dared him with a hot glint in her midnight eyes, a quick curve of those glossy lips.
Which had him wondering how those eyes would look dazed with passion, how her lips would feel pressed against his own. How they’d feel against other body parts...
He gritted his teeth as his body responded to that tempting glimpse of paradise. He refused to be dictated to by his hormones. Or Ms Black. Swinging away, he raised his bottle in farewell as he moved to the door. ‘Enjoy your party.’
Yanking open his car door, he shook his head. Unbelievable. He was walking away from an opportunity to share the evening with a hot woman who obviously wanted the same thing he did.
He slid inside, sat a moment, staring through the windscreen. His next-door neighbour. Correction: Sunny’s neighbour. She and his sister looked about the same age, had the same feisty personalities—they’d probably get on well, even long-term.
Whereas he and Breanna? It would be hot and temporary, like that firecracker she’d made him think of. A whizz-bang, short-term fling.
But unlike the easy-going, casual women he hooked up with, this one would clash plenty with him. Give him a whole lot of drama he didn’t need.
He’d endured more than his share of emotional trauma. As a kid hearing his mother’s broken pleas when her violent husband exercised his conjugal rights and slapped her around while doing it, her sobs in the dark after he’d gone.
For more than half his lifetime he’d been powerless to change the situation. And every time his young self had tried, his mother had copped the beatings and the bruises.
Then there was the fire. Sunny’s arduous recovery and rehab. The relentless questions that nagged at him: what could he have done differently? What should he have done to change the outcome?
His breath fogged up the windscreen and he swiped a hand over the glass, switched on the ignition. High drama? Not him. No way. He’d planned his evening—a meal in one of the city’s upmarket restaurants overlooking Sullivans Cove, a few hours of work in the cosy sitting room accompanied by his favourite shiraz. Nothing and, more specifically, no one was going to interfere with those plans.
* * *
At ten-thirty, Leo powered off his laptop and stretched cramped muscles. The decision to postpone opening his wine had given him a clear head to work. His latest client was a new six-star eco lodge on Tasmania’s east coast with the beguiling name of Heaven. He’d finished reading their initial commentary and had noted his suggested changes and added his in-depth report an hour earlier than he’d anticipated.
It left him at a loose end for the rest of the evening.
Was that why he’d subconsciously postponed opening the bottle in the first place? Frowning, he dismissed it. He never felt the need to self-analyse. Until tonight. Until Breanna had burst into his life.
Her name alone brought her to sparkling life behind his eyes in a thousand different images, like seeing her through a kaleidoscope. Each one bright and sassy and unique.
Unsettling.
He paced to the window, stared past the rain pattering lightly on the night-darkened glass, in the direction of their homes, a two-minute drive away. He’d seen a substantial amount of liquor ferried to her car this afternoon. Was that a regular thing? He drummed his fingers on the pane. She was obviously a girl who enjoyed fun times. Were her parties noisy and boozy and out of control?
Tonight was an ideal opportunity to check things out and ensure his latest and most important acquisition was in Sunny’s best interests. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been invited, he reminded himself, and, picking up his bottle, he grabbed his car’s remote.
The unmistakable sounds of revelry greeted his ears when Leo strode up Breanna’s rain-slicked path with his bottle of wine a short time later. Bass thumped. Loud, but not loud enough to intrude on her neighbours’ peace. It scored Breanna a conditional nod of approval, even if her taste in music did nothing for him.
It appeared to be an open-door policy so he let himself in, crossed the foyer lit by a chandelier that matched his own. As he stepped into the formal lounge room, the atmosphere, overly warm with too many bodies packed into one place, enveloped him. Glow from the Moroccan lanterns splashed the shadowy room with splotches of orange and watermelon pink.
He waited for his eyes to adjust, expecting to see Breanna standing tall amongst the crowd wearing some eye-popping creation. Guests were gyrating in time to the pounding beat, others were loading plates at the spicy-smelling buffet in the corner.
But he didn’t see Breanna. He exhaled on an impatient breath. Where was she?
An attractive redhead in a slinky purple number found her way through the dancers and bobbed up in front of him. ‘Hi.’
Her smile was friendly interest. He was surprised to find it did nothing for him. ‘Hi there,’ he said, only half listening while he continued to search out the only reason he was here.
‘I’m Samantha. We haven’t met, have we?’
‘No, we haven’t. I’m Leo.’ He nodded towards the empty wine glass she was caressing. ‘Where can I get a couple of those?’
‘Drinks? I’d love—’
‘Glasses.’ He held up his bottle. ‘You don’t know where Breanna is, do you?’
‘She’s not far—I saw her a few moments ago talking with Bronwyn.’ Her smile evaporated and she waved towards the kitchen. ‘Glasses are that way.’
‘Thanks.’
On the lookout for the hostess, he made his way through the crowd, grabbing two clean long-stemmed wine glasses from the kitchen. The room looked marginally tidier than it had this afternoon. He spied a gaggle of girls in the family area where clothes had been scattered earlier, but saw neither Breanna nor her clothes. He checked the atrium where guests talked over booze and chips. The downstairs loo.
With the rest of the rooms in darkness, their doors shut, he presumed they were off-limits. Which left the next floor.
Familiar with the layout of his own place, he walked straight towards the master bedroom. He knew Breanna must be there since it was the only room with a light on. The sensual fragrance he’d come to associate with her—the one he’d taken to calling midnight temptation—drifted in the air. Anticipation swarmed through him and his pulse quickened.
He could hear movement and tapped on the semi-open door. ‘Breanna.’ When there was no reply, only a fast rustling sound, he tapped again. He was impatient to see her now he was here. ‘Breanna. Are you decent in there?’ In that instant it occurred to him that she might not be alone. Something hooked in his gut. Was that what he’d heard—two desperate would-be lovers trying to cover up fast? The thought of some other man touching her the way he’d been thinking of touching her shocked him into movement and he walked in without further preamble.
* * *
Leo was here? Brie scrambled up, tugged the hem of her new vermilion dress down, her heart jack-hammering. She swiped at a lock of hair that had fallen over her brow. He was the last person she wanted to catch her on her hands and knees searching under the bed for a DVD she’d borrowed from Bron and forgotten about.
She’d almost composed herself in front of the mirror when he entered without waiting for her invitation. Still, she could hardly hurl accusations—the door was open and he had asked permission. She’d just chosen not to answer until she was ready.
She still wasn’t ready and her heart was still thumping but she dragged her eyes to his reflection and locked gazes with him in the mirror while her fingers fumbled with the dress’s neckline. She could almost see the heat haze shimmering on the glass. Still watching his reflection, she saw him set his mega-expensive bottle of wine and two glasses on her bedside table.
He wore black casual and oh...my. She didn’t know what possessed her but to demonstrate just how cool and unruffled she was, not, she whirled around, sashayed over to him and planted a firm kiss on his mouth. Then she whirled back to the mirror.
Her lips were on fire. Her whole body was burning. She felt like a teenage rookie and glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Think cool, think cool.
He hadn’t moved. He shook his head. ‘What was that?’
She shrugged, the laugh catching in her throat. ‘A whim. I was curious.’
Now she was even more curious. What would a full-on sensual assault be like? Trying for casual, she picked up her brush, ran it through her hair. Her arm felt strangely weak, as if she were coming down with a fever. ‘What changed your mind?’
‘I finished sooner than I expected.’
‘Ah.’ She nodded wisely. ‘Party for one not satisfying, huh?’
‘The party hasn’t started yet.’ His voice took on a persuasive tone that brushed over her skin like velvet. ‘Nice.’
He meant her slinky dress—at least she thought he did—except his gaze seemed to skim only the bare thighs its short hem didn’t cover, sending goosebumps over her flesh.
‘Nice of you to notice.’
Setting her brush down, she turned from his reflection to look at the real man. And reminded herself to breathe. He seemed to draw something from her that she’d never known she had. Was she out of her depth with this one? ‘Do you think I’m going to abandon my hostess responsibilities for a frolic across the sheets with you?’
He raised a dark brow. ‘Are you?’
The scary thing was she had a feeling that was exactly what was going to happen. She loved playing the catch-me-if-you-can game almost as much as reaching the winning post but this time she seemed to be tied to the starting gate. ‘You’ve got a high opinion of yourself, haven’t you?’ She wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
He nodded. ‘I’m comfortable with who I am. How about you?’
‘At the moment I’m feeling pretty relaxed.’ Not exactly answering his question. She smiled to hide the fact she was strung out like wet washing in the wind.
He closed the door, muting the sound of the party below. Taking his time, he peeled the foil off the top of the bottle, unscrewed the cap and splashed some wine into the bottom of the glasses. ‘Do you like a good shiraz?’
‘I do. I should—’
‘This one’s my favourite. I didn’t expect to find it here.’
‘Me either,’ she murmured. She could delay her hostess duties a moment. Or possibly the rest of her life.
She leaned her backside against her dressing table for support as he stopped in front of her, both glasses in one large hand. The other he wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her skull in such a way so she was looking right at him. Up close his eyes were pewter flecked with cobalt. He smelled of fresh rain on cotton, shampoo and soap. She clutched the edge of the dressing table on either side of her hips. If she touched him, she might not be responsible for her actions, and, with him, she very much needed to be responsible.
His head dipped, his mouth hovered. ‘I’ll admit to a little curiosity of my own,’ he murmured and touched his lips to hers.
Firm and warm. They moved gently; testing, teasing, tasting. Taking his time, showing her how devastating one long, drawn-out kiss could be. How a woman could be seduced into forgetting her own identity. Her fingers tightened on the wood behind her. She could feel his body heat radiating between them and her fingers itched to explore but still she didn’t touch him.
She’d never been one for slow. This leisurely pace was new. Mesmerising. As her body melted against his her blood grew sluggish and flowed like clotted cream through her veins.
Even the sound of the rain on her window faded and all she was aware of were his fingers massaging the back of her scalp, his lips on hers, and the rich, dark promise of more. She yearned. When he raised his head, she bit back a sigh.
He lifted his hand from the back of her skull to trace a path just once down the side of her face, fingertips leaving a trail of tingling nerve endings. ‘Breanna.’ He slid his thumb over her bottom lip then took a step back.
He looked bemused, she thought. The way she felt right now. ‘That was...that’s a lot of curiosity.’
He reached out, flicked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Unlike your “whim”, I enjoy taking my time.’
‘I noticed,’ she said, feeling as if she were floating a few centimetres off the floor. She struggled to rein in her far-flung thoughts and ground herself. ‘There are at least fifty people downstairs who’ll be wondering where I am.’
‘They seem a pretty self-sufficient lot. Try this.’ He handed her a glass.
She took it with nerveless fingers and sipped, letting the rich mellowness caress the inside of her mouth. ‘Mmm.’
He drank too. ‘I doubt they’ll notice you’re missing for a little while.’
She sipped again. ‘Someone could turn up here at any moment.’ Bron, for instance.
‘Does that bother you?’
‘No.’ It should, it really should but right now she couldn’t bring herself to care. ‘You’re bad.’
He grinned, as if seducing women at their own parties was a regular pastime, and raised his glass. ‘Your opinion?’
‘Of the wine? Or the kiss?’
He watched her over the rim. ‘We both know we enjoyed the kiss.’
He had that right and the knowledge shimmered through her. ‘The wine’s beautiful—smooth and rich.’ Like you. Worth every cent he’d paid? Probably not. Still, she wasn’t complaining and sipped some more.
But she’d not eaten since lunch and the wine’s potency on an empty stomach spread through her limbs like an approaching anaesthetic. Her senses were filled with him, her mind reeling and already cloudy. Intoxication was a definite possibility and one she couldn’t afford.
She set her glass on the dressing table. ‘I’ll just slip downstairs to check everything’s okay and get us a dip and some of those crackers I promised you.’
* * *
Leo watched her slick a new layer of gloss over those luscious-tasting lips. He couldn’t wait to muss her up some more. He wanted to see the real Brie first thing in the morning with no make-up and satisfied with a long, slow night of sex.
As if reading his thoughts, she grinned at him in the mirror. ‘I’ll be right back.’
As she crossed the plush sage carpet his eyes followed the sway of orange silk-clad hips and he imagined how those barely covered, shapely long legs would feel entwined with his.
Man, oh, man, he needed to sit down. He sank into a cream wicker rocking chair in the corner to wait for his body’s response to partially subside—as if that were remotely possible. Not with Brie’s midnight temptation fragrance permeating every corner of the room. The tantalising taste of her lips on his own. The girl knew how to kiss and no doubt a good deal more.
Taking a long, slow swallow of his drink, he focused on the way it slid warm and satisfying down his throat rather than the unsatisfying ache in his groin.
For his next distraction, he turned his attention to her bedroom. He’d expected something bold and out there like the woman herself but her room was feminine and whimsically romantic—if you ignored the shamble of clothes, paperbacks and boxes scattered every which way. Deep green walls showcased John Waterhouse prints—The Lady of Shalott, Narcissus and The Awakening of Adonis.
On the queen-size bed lay a heap of flamboyant outfits that looked as if they’d been tried on then hastily discarded. Beneath, he glimpsed a rose-coloured floral quilt. He stared in growing consternation. Was this the room she expected him to sleep in while he stayed here? This bed? Surely she had other rooms and other beds?
He ran a perplexed hand over his hair. He hadn’t come here tonight with the intention of starting something with Breanna—his temporary landlady and Sunny’s future friend.
His observations so far confirmed she was nothing like the type of women he enjoyed—soft, cuddly, organised women willing and happy to let him take control. Women who were aroused by dominant men.
So why the blazes would he want to start anything with Breanna Black?
He already had.
And why not? With a body like hers? Pushing up, he paced to the door, craned his neck to see if she was on her way. He couldn’t wait to get her naked and beneath him and find out what really turned her on. Then set about driving her slowly mad with wanting it. Taking her to the brink of ecstasy with his hands and mouth, watching her eyes plead and burn with passion as he dragged her over the edge at last screaming his name—
Clenching his jaw, he checked the time. Where the hell was she? She’d all but dared him to come to this bash and he’d played right into her hands. With Breanna he couldn’t seem to think rationally. He was still playing into her hands, waiting in her room like an obsessed fool until she condescended to return. He shook his head to clear it.
She might have others fooled into playing her games, but not Leo Hamilton.
* * *
It took a tall tumbler of iced water under bright kitchen lights to clear Brie’s cotton-wool head and remember that she had a duty to all her guests, not just the man waiting for her in her bedroom who did crazy things to her internal organs and just wanted sex.
‘Hey, party babe.’ Samantha popped her head around the door. ‘A guy was looking for you.’ She gave the thumbs up as she crossed the room. ‘Did I forget to mention he was pretty damn cute?’
Cute? ‘He found me. Thanks. Would you take this to the table, please?’ Brie slid a plate of crackers with smoked salmon pâté and dill out of the fridge. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Take your time,’ Sam told her, reaching for the platter with a conspiratorial twinkle.
‘I’ll be right back,’ Brie repeated firmly. There was a party happening. Her party. Her friends. Her priority.
‘Brie?’
She was halfway down the hall to invite the cute Mr Hamilton downstairs to join the fun when the distressed voice had her turning back. Megan swayed in front of her, brow creased, lips white.
Brie gripped her friend’s arms. ‘What’s wrong, honey?’
‘I’m fighting a vicious migraine and the migraine’s winning. I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Oh, Megs, I’m so sorry.’ Guilt crawled through her as she propelled Megan to an unoccupied room off the hall, pushed her gently onto the nearest armchair. Leaving the light off, she squatted down in front of her. ‘I’d invite you to sleep it off here, except the noise...’
Megan closed her eyes. ‘Thanks but I need to go home before I throw up. Can you find Denis?’
‘Sure.’
It took a few minutes to locate Megan’s boyfriend having a smoke on the front veranda and a few more to help Megan to the car and see them off safely.
She was at the bottom of the stairs when Leo appeared at the top with that stern and uncompromising expression she’d seen him wearing last week. ‘Hey, there. I—’
‘We can make arrangements tomorrow,’ he said as he descended. ‘To work out the rental agreement.’
Had he added that last bit in case she thought he was referring to something more explicitly sexual when it clearly wasn’t? Prepared to cut him some slack because she’d left him alone for longer than she’d meant to, she smiled, tried again. ‘I’m sor—’
‘Not too early, right?’ he added, his eyes cool, shuttered. ‘So you can party into the wee hours. Enjoy yourself.’
He hadn’t given her a chance to explain. Hadn’t bothered to hear her reasons, and he was leaving. Just like that. She clenched her fists against her sides. Let him think what he would—after a childhood of being a social outcast, she was done letting other people’s assumptions and prejudices hurt her. ‘Is this a bad habit of yours?’
‘Is what?’
‘Forget it, it’s a waste of time.’ She was doubly angry he could affect her to such an extent. Why him? she wanted to scream. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, she stepped in front of him and poked his chest with a finger. ‘You know something? I will enjoy myself. They don’t call me Party Babe Brie for nothing.’
Twisting away, she marched across the foyer, glared at him as she slipped off her shoes beneath the graceful arch leading to the entertainment area. She ran her hands down the sides of her dress in a deliberately provocative manner that had the cool in his eyes turning molten, the cobalt flecks darkening. So satisfying to watch that handsome jaw clench, as if he hated himself for responding.
She grinned. His fingers flexed at his sides. Ooh, yeah, baby. Gotcha. Still watching him, she picked up her strappy stilettos, spun them above her head. ‘Hey, everyone, time to get this party swinging.’
FOUR (#ulink_496e714c-0d2f-5587-9808-0bab904d0f70)
At five a.m. Sunday, with the last guest gone, Brie dragged her dance-weary feet upstairs to bed. A couple of hours’ sleep... She blinked at Bron’s DVD forgotten on the dressing table next to the half-empty bottle of shiraz. Leo Hamilton’s fault.
She crossed to her en-suite bathroom and grimaced at what she saw in the mirror. Her make-up had worn off, leaving her skin pale and revealing darker than usual smudges beneath her eyes. ‘One too many drinks, Party Babe Brie,’ she told her reflection.
Her nightly cleansing ritual completed, she applied her own pre-mixed moisturiser then climbed into bed. She stared at the ceiling, wide awake, body still buzzing despite the fatigue. Her mind refused to shut down. Leo was no different from any other male in that he liked to look at the female form. Boys had started looking at her when she’d rivalled them in height during her fifteenth year and grown a pretty decent pair of boobs.
Which had hurt at the time because, in their twisted little adolescent minds, boys automatically thought she slept around. An easy lay, she’d heard Billy Swanson snigger before she’d decked him with her backpack. She still hated that men could enjoy a fling and were considered playboys or studs whereas women who enjoyed the same were gossiped about in less than flattering terms, but nowadays she didn’t let it get to her.
And nowadays mature men saw her as more than boobs and legs—mostly. And if they didn’t...did it matter? It wasn’t as if it was long term. And she enjoyed being in the company of a nice-looking man. She enjoyed being swept off her feet and wined and dined and danced. Most of all she enjoyed how they made her feel at the end of the night.
She knew without any doubt at all that Leo could make her feel really, really good. But unlike other men she’d enjoyed spending time with, even hours after he’d gone, Leo’s potent energy lingered in her room and she dragged the covers up over her face as if to shield herself against its force and gritted her teeth.
Men. They filled a basic human need but, like parties and new experiences, they were to be enjoyed and appreciated before moving on to the next. She was careful to choose a partner on the same wavelength and with the same expectations and moral code as herself. Cheating was out. She never lied because she knew bitterly how it felt to be lied to. She expected—no, she demanded—honesty in return.
Unstructured, temporary relationships were her thing. Since Elliot. Eight years ago she’d been so dazzled by the rich young executive she’d seen nothing but the stars he hung in the sky exclusively for her pleasure. When he’d started sending floral apologies for missed dates, she’d made exceptions for him, and excuses. Until the stars had faded and she’d seen him clearly for the lying, cheating rat he was.
Leo’s sudden arrival in her room had both surprised and excited her, transporting her to another place with his unexpected but fun spontaneity and slow-burning kiss.
Until it had ended in disaster less than fifteen minutes later. How did he get away with his appalling lack of social skills? Yeah, looks and sex appeal—they worked every time. No, not every time and not with her. He had some major grovelling to do before she’d let him anywhere near her person again.
But she smiled into the darkness remembering his reaction on the stairs. Pure molten lust and powerless to act on it. Because, in that situation, Brie had held the power. For her, that power had been the only thing that had saved the moment. She fell asleep at last with the smile still on her lips.
* * *
While her raspberry mint tea steeped, Brie plodded outside with a carton of cans and bottles destined for recycling. She winced at the glare—nine a.m. on a Sunday morning was unspeakably early to be up after an all-nighter. But preferable to being assaulted with dreams of a man she didn’t want to think about and whether he tasted as good in the morning as he had last night.
She emptied her recycling into the bin with a loud clanking of glass and metal.
‘Good morning.’
The familiar voice resonated crisply in the chilly air. She swivelled to see the man himself watching her from the gap in the fence a few metres away. How dared he look so refreshed? So together? So attractive? Unlike the way she knew she looked without a scrap of make-up and less than three hours’ sleep. ‘We aren’t meeting until this afternoon,’ she said, turning her back to him. She gathered bottles from a patio table, tossed them in the bin.
‘I was outside and heard you busy there. We could meet this morning if you prefer to get it out of the way.’
To avoid looking at him she wiped the table top with a rag and wished he’d go away so he wouldn’t see her. ‘This morning doesn’t suit.’
He paused, obviously unused to people not falling in with his plans. ‘Okay. I’ve drawn up a schedule. Shouldn’t take long. We can grab a coffee in town somewhere and work it out. Say one o’clock? I’m on the three-fifteen flight out.’
She rose, not avoiding his gaze now but looking him straight in those silvery eyes. ‘I don’t drink coffee. Work it out?’ She said each word as if she were talking to a dim-witted child—which wasn’t much of a stretch, considering last night’s behaviour. ‘Work what out, exactly?’
Genuine surprise crossed his expression. ‘The details of the agreement you persuaded me was a win-win for both of us. Or have you forgotten already?’
‘Ah. That agreement.’ Temper seethed hot through her veins but she kept her cool. ‘I thought you might be going to work on your apology for walking out last night without waiting for me to tell you that I was detained by a guest who’d been taken ill.’ Brie waited a beat for that piece of information to sink in. ‘This might be hard for a guy like you to comprehend but she took priority over anything you and I might have had going.’
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