Just A Little Sex...
Miranda Lee
Just a little sex…? No.For vulnerable Zoe Simons it's a whole entire night of pure unadulterated sex. With the gorgeous stranger staying in the beach house next door. Zoe craves the comfort, the passion, the sexual healing that only Aiden Mitchell can deliver. Just a lot of sex…! Yes.Shockingly Aiden now wants a week of Zoe - and her beautiful body. He's determined to bind her to him - physically, emotionally, sexually. No taboos for seven days. To prove to her that lust - with the right man - does lead to love.
Just a Little Sex…
Miranda Lee
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
1
ZOE DIDN’T HAVE ONE hint of premonition as she stepped out of her office building and headed for her lunchtime meeting with Drake. Everything seemed wonderful in her world.
At long last.
Five years it had been since she’d come to Sydney from the country, a plump naive twenty-year-old with so many hopes and dreams. What a learning curve that first year had been! Hard to think about some of the things which had happened to her without wincing. Greg was the worst memory. What a louse he’d turned out to be!
Still, she’d survived, hadn’t she? And she’d come through it with even more determination than ever to make a success of her life, to become the woman she’d always wanted to be.
Okay, so it had taken her another four years of driving and depriving herself, of crummy day jobs and endless night schools; of diets and grueling workouts at the gym.
But it had been worth it, hadn’t it? she told herself as she strode down George Street in the direction of the harbor. She looked pretty darned good, even if she said so herself. She had a challenging job, a fab place to live, and best of all, she’d finally landed herself one fantastic boyfriend.
Drake was everything she’d ever dreamed about. Not only was he tall, dark and handsome, he was a success at his job and had money to burn. His most wonderful feature, however, was that he was mad about her.
Sometimes, she could hardly believe her luck.
They’d met four months ago when he’d been selling her boss a plush inner-city apartment. That was Drake’s job, selling apartments in the high-rise buildings which had been mushrooming up all over Sydney’s central business district, capitalizing on the growing number of professionals who wanted to live near the city and didn’t care what they paid for the privilege. Drake had literally made a fortune in commissions and had been able to afford to buy one of those same luxury apartments for himself.
He’d asked Zoe out the very first day they’d met, claiming later it was love at first sight. Zoe had been a little wary at first—once bitten, definitely twice shy—but it wasn’t long before Drake was the main focus of her life. Gone were the long lonely weekends. Gone, the depressing moments when she wondered what on earth she was doing with her life. Gone, the fear that she would never experience the sort of love and romance every girl dreamed of experiencing.
Gone. Gone. Gone!
Zoe glanced at her watch when the lights at the next intersection turned red. Twenty-three minutes past twelve.
She frowned.
It was normally only a ten-minute walk from her building down to the Rocks area and the restaurant where she regularly met Drake for lunch. The Rockery was his favorite harborside eating place, a trendy little bistro on the upper floor of a converted warehouse. He’d said to meet him there right on twelve-thirty today and not to be late, because he only had an hour.
Drake hated being kept waiting, even for a few minutes. Zoe supposed this impatience came from being a perfectionist. And a planner. She was a bit like that herself.
It seemed ages before the lights turned green again. Zoe hurried across the street, her heart racing for fear of being late. But she made it down to the restaurant with three minutes to spare.
Fortunately, Drake had not yet arrived so she made a dash to the ladies’ room for repairs, where her reflection in the mirror showed a perspiration-beaded forehead and wind-ruffled hair.
That was the trouble with walking. Still, it only took a few strokes of her brush and a fluff-up with her fingers to make her hair fall back into its chic auburn-tinted, shoulder-length, multi-layered, face-framing style. She’d had it cut and colored by one of Sydney’s top hairdressers, who charged a small fortune. But the end result was well worth the money.
Admittedly, she had to rise almost an hour earlier every morning to get ready for work these days. Blow-drying her willfully wavy hair straight was not a quick process. Neither was applying the sort of makeup which covered every flaw, looked almost natural and didn’t require constant touch-ups during the day.
Except when you sprinted down George Street on a warm summer’s day.
A swift dabbing of translucent powder over her slightly melted foundation, a refreshing of her lipstick, and she was ready.
Another glance at her watch showed she was now officially one minute late. When she emerged Zoe groaned to find Drake already sitting at their regular table by the window, tapping his fingers on the crisp white tablecloth.
Darn, darn and double darn!
Dredging up a bright smile, Zoe hurried toward him. His head swiveled her way, his dark eyes definitely displeased. Zoe couldn’t help some exasperation of her own. Truly, anyone would think he’d been waiting half an hour instead of a couple of minutes at best.
She mouthed an apology as she approached and his scowl metamorphed into a marvelous smile, his eyes full of admiration as they raked over her slender gym-honed body, encased that day in a chic black-and-white silk shift dress.
Zoe’s inner tension vanished in an instant. She loved it when he looked at her like that; like she was the most beautiful girl in the world.
Yet she knew she wasn’t. She’d simply worked very hard on her body and learned how to make the best of herself.
Drake, she realized with a sudden flash of insight, was of a similar ilk. Although attractive, he had several physical flaws which he’d learned to hide, or which you didn’t notice once he turned his charm on full wattage, as he was doing now. His dazzling smile and dancing black eyes distracted from the fact his nose was too large and his lips a bit on the thin side. The superbly tailored suits he always wore masked his less-than-perfect frame, providing broader shoulders than he actually possessed. Although he did weights in the gym and was very fit and toned, Drake did not have a great natural shape.
Not that Zoe cared. She would have been the last person on earth to judge anyone by their body alone.
“Now that’s a sight worth waiting for,” he complimented warmly, rising to go ‘round and pull out her chair for her.
“I really was here on time,” she said as she sat down. “But the wind had done dreadful things to my hair.”
“Looks perfect to me. There again,” he added on his return to his own chair, his gaze still appreciative, “you always look perfect to me.”
Zoe laughed. “You should see me first thing in the morning.”
One of his dark brows arched. “But I have, haven’t I? And I can testify you look even more beautiful then.”
Zoe smiled a little sheepishly at this particular compliment. That was because she always crept into the bathroom before he woke up and fixed her face and hair before slipping back into his bed.
Her fear of Drake seeing her at less than her physical best was deep, and probably irrational, given that he truly loved her. But she couldn’t help it. Goodness knew what she would do if he ever asked her to have a shower with him!
“They say love is blind,” she quipped.
“I don’t think so. Not with me, anyway. When I look at you, I know exactly what I see. The perfect woman. You’re beautiful. Smart. Sexy. But best of all, you know what you want in life and are prepared to work hard to get it. You’ve no idea how attractive I find that.” He reached over the table and picked up her left hand, stroking its perfectly manicured fingers. “I’m crazy about you, Zoe.”
Her heart melted as it always did when he told her things like that. “And I’m crazy about you,” she returned softly.
“Then why won’t you move in with me?”
Zoe smothered a sigh. This was the second time Drake had brought this subject up.
The offer was flattering, she supposed, but not what she wanted at this time in her life. Zoe had just discovered dating and romance, and she didn’t want to give it up just yet. She knew what happened when people started living together. Soon, they were taking each other for granted or arguing about the housework.
Alternatively, the girl did everything then resented her boyfriend like mad. Zoe had been an unpaid, unappreciated housekeeper for her father for several years, and once was enough!
But she could hardly tell Drake that. It would sound…selfish.
“Drake, look, I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I love you to death. And I love the time we spend together. But I’d rather leave things as they are for now. I mean…we haven’t known each other all that long, have we? And living with each other is a very big step.”
His lips pressed tightly together and Zoe felt a moment of panic. Was this it? Was he going to dump her, just because she wouldn’t live with him?
Drake eventually cocked his head on one side and smiled a wry smile. “Is this your way of playing hard to get again?”
Zoe blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it took me two months to get you into bed. That’s a record, believe me. I was beginning to think you were frigid.”
Zoe suspected her refusal to sleep with Drake had only made him keener, but she honestly hadn’t been playing a game. The truth was her relationship with the ghastly Greg had left her with a host of insecurities and an appalling self-body image. Despite now having a figure most women would envy, she’d still needed to be endlessly pursued and flattered by Drake before feeling confident enough to expose herself physically to him.
He’d finally succeeded in seducing her, courtesy of two bottles of wine over dinner, two hours of foreplay and umpteen declarations of devoted and undying love for her.
Being frigid hadn’t been the issue at all.
Of course, Zoe had to concede she wasn’t crash-hot in bed. How could she be when her only other experience had been with a wham-bang-thank-you-ma’am kind of man? Drake’s well-practiced technique in bed had been a real eye-opener. When she’d even had an orgasm that first night, she’d been over the moon.
Unfortunately, once she returned to being stone-cold sober, having a climax during sex became as scarce as chocolate éclairs in her diet.
Not Drake’s fault of course. He was a wonderful lover. Attentive and tender and romantic, always doing and saying the right things. The blame lay entirely with her. Once naked, she always worried too much about what she looked like. Exercise and dieting might have gotten rid of the fat and the flab, but not those wretched old tapes playing in her head.
Thinking negative thoughts about herself was obviously a killer when it came to coming.
When her not having orgasms began to bother Drake, Zoe did the only thing a sensible girl in love could do. She started faking them. After all, why should Drake have to feel guilty or inadequate when the inadequacies were all hers?
And who knew? Maybe one day, when she felt really relaxed and not the result of an alcoholic coma; when all her old doubts and fears had been firmly routed, she would come like clockwork. ‘Til then, Zoe wasn’t going to stress over one small imperfection in their relationship which had nothing whatsoever to do with Drake and everything to do with her own personal physical hang-ups.
“Have you ordered?” she asked, deftly changing the subject away from moving in with him.
“First thing I did.”
The drinks waiter appeared on cue, with a glass of chilled Chardonnay for Zoe and Drake’s usual lunchtime liquid of mineral water. He never drank when he had to return to work.
“I’ve ordered the food, too,” he added when Zoe went to pick up the menu.
“Oh.” Zoe tried not to feel irritated, because once again, she only had herself to blame. During her first half dozen dinner dates with Drake, she’d always deferred to his greater knowledge of wine and food, and now, he often presumed to order for her.
“I couldn’t wait for you to arrive,” he said, perhaps seeing her slight annoyance. “I told you. I don’t have much time. I have to pick up a client at the Hyatt at one-thirty. Businessman from Hong Kong. Wants a penthouse smack-dab in the middle of Sydney. Money no object.”
“Wow. Sounds like a good prospect.”
“You can say that again. Sydney’s moved up a notch in popularity since the Olympics. And why not? It’s the best city in the world. And the most beautiful.”
“You don’t have to sell me on Sydney,” Zoe commented. “I love the place. Just look at that view.” From where she was sitting, Zoe could see the Opera House on her right and the bridge on her left. Straight ahead, a sleek white cruiser was slicing through the sparkling blue waters, its decks filled with photo-snapping tourists.
Zoe was sipping her wine and admiring the view herself when she heard Drake suck in sharply, as though in shock.
Her eyes snapped back to find him staring at something—or someone. She heard him mutter under his breath.
Zoe swiveled ‘round in her chair to see firsthand the object of Drake’s agitation.
She was blond, and she was heading their way.
Zoe didn’t recognize the woman and she would have, if they’d met before. Stunning six-foot blondes with double-D-cup breasts were hard to forget.
“Well, well, well,” the blond bombshell said with a saccharine smile as she stopped beside their table. It took a moment for her impressive cleavage to jiggle to a halt. “If it isn’t Drake Carson, the man of a thousand lines and even more broken promises. Sorry to interrupt, honey,” she directed at Zoe, “but Drake and I have some unfinished business. You did say you’d call, didn’t you, lover? I mean, I know it’s only been a couple of weeks since the conference, but I was beginning to think you hadn’t found me quite so special after all. Surely you aren’t one of those creeps who lie their teeth out to get a girl into bed, the type who thinks they can do what they like when they go away, without any consequences and without the little woman back home finding out?”
Drake glowered at her but said nothing.
Zoe felt like a big black pit had yawned underneath her chair and she was about to fall in. Drake had gone to a sales and marketing conference in Melbourne just two weeks earlier. He’d rung her every night of the three days he’d been away, saying how much he’d missed her.
She stared at him, wanting to believe this woman was some crazed jealous troublemaker intent on breaking them up for her own devious reasons. But the cornered guilt on Drake’s face simply could not be ignored. Or denied.
“Oh, so you are one of those creeps?” the blonde taunted. “Well, I never! Aren’t you lucky I’m not a vengeful bitch like that blond chick in that movie? What was it? Fatal Attraction? I mean, the way I see it, if a guy’s a liar and a cheat, I don’t really want any more to do with him.” She turned back to face Zoe. “Gee, honey, you’re looking a little pale. Don’t tell me you’re the little woman back home. What a shame. And you look real nice, too. Poor you. ‘Bye, ‘bye, Drake. Have a nice day.”
Zoe watched, dry-mouthed, as the blonde stalked back to where a tall, elderly man was waiting for her near reception. He was frowning like he didn’t now what was going on. The blonde whispered something to him, took his arm and they both left.
Drake still hadn’t said a single word, but his eyes told it all.
Zoe felt sick. And stunned. And shattered.
“You slept with her, didn’t you?” she choked out. “At the Melbourne conference.”
“It wasn’t like she said,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.
“Then how was it?” Zoe heard herself ask in a cold flat voice. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her again. She could have sworn that Drake was nothing like Greg; that he truly loved her; that their relationship was not just a cruel joke.
His eyes lifted from the tablecloth. Panicky, pleading eyes. “God, Zoe, don’t look at me like that. I love you, darling. Honest.”
She winced at the darling. “Then you have a funny way of showing it,” she bit out, “making love to another woman.”
“But I didn’t make love to her. You’re the only woman I make love to. It was just sex. It meant nothing. She meant nothing.”
Zoe despised men who said things like that. “She obviously thought she did,” she pointed out tartly, “or she wouldn’t have been so hurt.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he countered, his cheeks flushed with anger. “Some women are right bitches. Believe me, she knew the score. She knew it was just a one-night stand right from the start, and now, for her own warped reasons, she’s pretending it was something else.”
Zoe shook her head which was a bad move. It was already spinning. “How can you possibly be in love with me and go to bed with another woman? How?”
Drake began to look belligerent, as he did when someone expressed an opinion different to his own. “I told you. It was just sex. There’s a big difference. Love and sex don’t always have to go together, Zoe. I thought you’d know that by now. You’re not a baby. You’re twenty-five years old. Hey, Zoe, try to understand.” His hands lifted to rake through his thick black hair. They were actually trembling.
For the first time since that blonde dropped her bombshell, Zoe began to believe that Drake might love her, despite everything.
“I’m sorry,” he went on urgently. “More sorry than you can ever imagine. But it wasn’t like she said. I’m not some kind of serial sleazebag. I was just weak for a moment. You’re the one I love, Zoe. Too much perhaps. I was missing you terribly and wanting you like mad. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and it got me so darned horny. It happened on the last night of the conference. We’d all been drinking heavily.”
“You never drink at all when socializing at work,” she reminded him with a rush of anger, not wanting to be soothed by excuses and explanations. Didn’t he understand what he’d done? He could call it whatever he liked but he’d still been intimate with another woman. And whispered sweet nothings in her ear while he’d been doing it.
Perhaps that hurt even more than his actual physical betrayal. The things he must have said.
“The conference was virtually over,” he continued explaining. “I didn’t have to drive anywhere so I let my hair down for once. Look, she threw herself at me. Followed me into the elevator at the end of the night. Practically ravished me then and there. I hated myself afterward, but what can I say? I’m not a saint. I’m just a man. I made a mistake. I’m so terribly sorry, Zoe. I never meant to hurt you. I never thought you’d find out.”
“Obviously.” She could no longer look at him. All she could think about now was that blonde and him, doing it in an elevator of all places. How tacky!
“Don’t be like that, Zoe. Try to understand.”
“I don’t think I can,” she said wretchedly. Which meant there was nothing left to do but to split up with Drake. She’d vowed after Greg that she’d never put up with a man treating her badly ever again. Which was why she’d been manless and dateless for almost four long years.
Still, the thought of going back to a single lifestyle made her shudder. She didn’t want to be that lonely ever again. She’d thought she never would be. She thought she had Drake. She thought after a couple of years of their being girlfriend and boyfriend, they’d eventually get married and have kids and live happily ever after.
A sob broke from her throat, tears stinging her eyes.
Drake groaned. “Don’t cry, darling. Please don’t cry. If you forgive me,” he urged, reaching over the table and grabbing her hands, “it won’t ever happen again. I promise.”
A sudden and overwhelming wave of bitterness had Zoe yanking her hands away from his. “And what happens the next time you’re at a conference, and some sexy-looking blonde with big boobs throws herself at you?”
“I’ll know what I’m risking if I go with her, so I won’t.”
Zoe stared at him with pained confusion in her eyes. “But you’d still want to?”
He groaned again. “For pity’s sake, Zoe. I’m only thirty years old. I’m a normal red-blooded male in his sexual prime. Loving you doesn’t mean I won’t ever be physically attracted to another woman ever again. That’s unrealistic and unnatural. But I give you my word, I will never act on any such attraction ever again.”
Zoe stared at him. She wanted to believe him. She really did.
But then she thought of that blonde and what she had said in parting.
Poor you.
“I think,” she said tautly, “that I’ll skip lunch and go for a walk. I need some fresh air. And time to think.”
“Please don’t do that, Zoe. Stay and talk to me.”
Zoe shook her head then bent to pick up her handbag. Staying and talking to Drake was the last thing she should do. He was too good a talker. Too good a salesman. Perhaps too good a liar.
“We can work this out, Zoe,” he insisted. “Truly we can. I don’t want to lose you, darling. I love you. And I know you love me.”
She glared at him. “Yes, but your idea of love and my idea of love are poles apart. I know I would never have done what you did. Never, no matter what the circumstances.”
“Isn’t there anything I can say to make you understand?”
“Not right now.”
“What about later?”
“Leave it for today, Drake.”
“I can’t. I’ll call ‘round tonight after you get home from work.”
“If you must.”
“I must. I won’t let you go, Zoe. I mean it.”
“I know you do,” she said. Which was another reason why she needed to get away from him. Because she feared Drake would talk her into forgiving him without her ever understanding what had happened, and why? Love was a very weakening emotion. In a woman, anyway.
She stood up just as the waiter arrived with their meals. For a split second, Zoe was tempted to stay and shovel every morsel of the delicious-looking food down her throat.
Misery always made her hungry.
But being overweight had made her even more miserable, so she knew there would be no comfort for her there. No comfort in Drake’s presence, either. She wanted to strangle him for doing this to her, for spoiling everything, for being a typical male.
She’d thought he was different. Deeper.
But he wasn’t.
“I have to go,” she said raggedly, and fled.
2
ZOE DIDN’T GO for a walk. When she felt more tears threatening, she headed straight back for the office, making it to the downstairs lobby of the multi-storyed building in six minutes flat. She kept a tight grip on herself in the ride up in the elevator, since she wasn’t alone, but could feel her control slipping by the time the doors whooshed back on the twelfth floor.
Unfortunately, the rooms which housed Phillips & Cox, Attorneys at Law, were right down the end of a corridor along which more people were coming and going. It was lunchtime, after all.
Crying was not an option ‘til she had total privacy.
Clenching her jaw to keep her chin from quivering, Zoe launched herself down the gray-carpeted hallway, delivering a plastic smile whenever she passed an acquaintance.
Finally, she made it, only to find that June, their receptionist, was eating lunch at her desk, instead of in the café downstairs, as she usually did.
“What are you doing back so early?” June probed when Zoe walked back in. “Weren’t you supposed to be having lunch with the boyfriend down at the Rockery?”
Zoe’s teeth clenched even harder in her jaw.
“He was called back to work early,” she managed with feigned nonchalance, “so I thought I’d come back and have my coffee here.”
“Silly you. I’d have stayed down there. The coffee here is just instant muck. You could have had the real McCoy at the Rockery.”
“Oh, well…” Zoe shrugged, smiled an indifferent smile, then sped down to the tearoom, hoping it would be blessedly deserted and she could have a good quiet cry. But as luck would have it, her boss was there, making coffee and muttering away to herself. ‘Til she saw Zoe.
“What on earth are you doing back so early?” Fran asked. “I thought you were having lunch with Drake?”
It was too much for Zoe.
Fran literally gaped when Zoe burst into tears. In the six months Zoe had worked for her, the girl had never cried once. Or even seemed flustered. She was so cool and competent that sometimes Fran forgot she was only twenty-five.
Fran was not by nature a soft or sympathetic person, but she’d had considerable experience in handling weeping females. Considerable experience in the cause of such weeping as well. Her part of the practice specialized in divorce cases.
Fran didn’t have to be told that a man was behind Zoe’s tears. And there was only one man in Zoe’s life. The very charming and successful Drake Carson.
Plucking a handful of tissues from the box sitting on the counter, Fran pressed them into her assistant’s hands, then led the weeping girl back to her office. Fortunately, this didn’t require going past June, who was the office gossip.
“Sit,” she ordered, pushing Zoe down into one of the large comfy chairs facing her desk before returning to her own black office chair. There, she waited patiently ‘til the worst of the weeping was over.
Zoe’s sobbing eventually subsided to a sniffle.
“Can I get you something?” Fran asked at that point, her tone matter-of-fact. “Coffee? Brandy? A hit man?”
Zoe’s head jerked up and she laughed a rueful laugh.
“Want to tell me about it?” Fran said.
Zoe looked at her boss and suddenly saw, not just the smart-as-a-whip lawyer, but the woman. Thirty-eight and still very attractive, with jet-black hair—cut into a short chic bob—piercing gray eyes, a pale unlined skin and an hourglass figure which looked good in the severe black suits she favoured. Highly respected by her colleagues and clients, she was married to Angus Phillips, the senior partner in the firm.
But what about before that? She must have had other men, a woman like her. Plenty of them. She’d seen so much more of life than Zoe. She might be able to explain what had happened between Drake and that blonde so that Zoe could forgive him and go on as before.
Because that was what she really wanted to do. Now that she’d had time to think about it, breaking up with Drake was just too horrendous to contemplate.
So she told her boss what had happened. Fran listened without interruption, her face not giving away a thing. But Zoe suspected she wasn’t shocked. Which shocked Zoe.
“Aren’t you surprised?” she said at last.
Fran smiled a dry smile. “Nothing men do ever surprises me, Zoe. The more attractive the man, the less I’m surprised. So no, I’m not surprised. I think it’s a shame, however, that you found out about Drake’s little indiscretion. If you hadn’t, you’d still be perfectly happy with him.”
“But…but…it wasn’t just a little indiscretion. He was unfaithful. And more than once, I suspect. I don’t believe for a moment he only slept with that woman on just the last night.”
“Why? Was she so very beautiful?”
“She was stunning, with the biggest boobs I’ve ever seen outside of one of those magazines.”
“Maybe he has a secret boob fetish. Or maybe she gave him something you don’t. Forgive me for prying, Zoe, but I can’t advise you without knowing all the facts. Are you sure you satisfy Drake in bed?”
Zoe floundered at this point. “I…I thought I did.”
“Why? Because you have sex a lot?”
“Well…isn’t that the main criterion?” Zoe had always been under the impression that most men complained that they weren’t getting enough.
“Not necessarily. Some men are more interested in quality rather than quantity. They like different positions. Different places. You’re not one of those silly girls who insist on always doing it in bed with the lights out, do you?”
“Of course not,” she denied hotly. And in truth, she didn’t.
It was Drake’s idea that they always do it in bed. He was big on creating a romantic atmosphere with satin sheets and scented candles and soft dreamy music.
Not that she wasn’t happy with the arrangement. Zoe liked comfort. And candlelight was so very flattering. As for different positions… Zoe was more than grateful that Drake didn’t want to do it doggie-style on the floor, or up against the wall in the shower or with her on top. Even thinking of the physical exposure such positions would inflict on her made her cringe.
Now she wondered if Drake had secretly craved doing it in just those ways all along, but hadn’t wanted to ask. It had taken a brazen blonde in an elevator to fulfil his sexual fantasies.
“What about oral sex?” Fran persisted, and Zoe could feel herself blushing. But it did seem odd having this very frank conversation with her boss when up ‘til today, their relationship had been strictly professional.
“It’s…er…not my favorite form of foreplay,” she confessed. She’d done it once. Sort of. For about twenty seconds. But thankfully, Drake stopped her before the unthinkable happened. He’d never asked for it again, or steered her that way a second time, and she certainly wasn’t going to do it off her own bat.
“I don’t think it’s Drake’s, either,” she added, a touch defensively.
“Really? That’s unusual. Most men are pretty keen. But I guess it takes all types and you’d know your boyfriend best.”
“I thought I did,” Zoe said wretchedly. “Maybe I don’t know him at all. Maybe our whole relationship is a sham. Maybe he’s having affairs right, left and center.”
“I don’t think so, Zoe. If he was, I’d know about it.”
“Huh?”
Fran gave her a droll look. “Angus and I have been living in the same building as Drake since the time you started dating him. We share the same garage, the same elevators, the same swimming pool and gym. I’ve never seen him with another girl except you. Not once. Clearly, he’s not in the habit of two-timing you, or I’d have caught him at it by now.”
Zoe brightened a bit at this news. “But what does Drake mean when he says it was just sex with that blonde, and that she meant nothing to him? I got the impression he didn’t even like her. I can’t seem to get my mind ‘round that concept. How can you have sex with someone you don’t even like, or really know? Is it just a male thing? Is that why I can’t understand it?”
Fran gave her an incredulous look. “Haven’t you ever fantasized about having sex with a stranger, or met a man and been struck with instant lust for him? All you want is to get laid, right then and there. No getting-to-know-you stuff. No prelims. No niceties. Just down-and-dirty sex.”
“Good Lord, no,” Zoe denied, her face hotting up again. “I can’t think of anything worse. I have to at least like a man before I can go to bed with him.” She’d even liked the ghastly Greg, ‘til he’d shown his true colors. “I haven’t even looked at another man since going out with Drake, let alone want to get laid by one.”
“You’ve never had a one-night stand?”
“No. Never.”
“My, my, you are an original, Zoe. Maybe that’s why Drake is so crazy about you, and doesn’t want to lose you. Such romantic idealism and tunnel-vision loyalty is rare in this day and age. He could trust you anywhere, anytime. Which brings us back to the point. Can you ever trust him again? Should you or should you not break up with him? Should you believe him when he says he’s sorry, and give him another chance?”
“That’s exactly my problem,” Zoe said unhappily. “I honestly don’t know what to do.”
“And I honestly can’t tell you what to do. It has to be your decision. All I can say is I’d like a dollar for every woman I’ve represented who’s later regretted breaking up her marriage over a spot of adultery. She ends up miserable and lonely whilst the husband simply moves on to the other woman.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Zoe mumbled. “Being miserable and lonely.”
“Then give him another chance. What have you got to lose?”
“My pride and self-respect?”
Fran laughed. “Most of the divorced women I know don’t find pride and self-respect much solace in their beds at night.”
But it wasn’t the sex Zoe was going to miss so much. It was the company. And the sense of purpose. The promise of a happy future together.
She sighed. “I suppose I will take him back. In the end. But I hate the thought of his being forgiven so easily and so quickly. Drake’s coming over after work tonight and I just know he’ll talk me ‘round in no time flat.”
“You’d rather him suffer a while longer, is that it?”
“Yes, I guess so. Then he might understand how much he hurt me by what he did.”
“You know, that’s not such a bad idea,” Fran said, twisting back and forth on her swivel chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Why don’t you go away somewhere for the weekend and not tell him? Let him sweat for a while. Let him worry and wonder over where you are, and who you might be with. I guarantee, when you finally get back, he won’t take you for granted ever again.”
The idea did appeal.
“Why not go home for the weekend?” Fran suggested.
“That’d be the first place Drake would think of. He’d ring there for sure.”
“Haven’t you heard of little white lies, Zoe? Just don’t answer the phone yourself and get whoever does to say they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you.”
“Yes, I could do that, but the trouble is Betty would ask all sorts of awkward questions.”
“Who’s Betty? I thought you were an only child and your dad, a widower.”
“I am and he is. Betty’s his housekeeper. She’s a lovely lady, but she’s far too intuitive and too darned good at worming things out of me. I honestly don’t want to tell her about this. Drake came home with me at Christmas and he wasn’t on his best behavior. He never is when he’s bored stiff. I don’t want to blot his copybook any further, not if I aim to forgive him.”
“Okay, so home’s out…” Fran started chewing the end of a biro as she did when working out some legal strategy. Finally, she snapped forward on her chair and stood up. “I have it! I’ll ask Nigel if you can use his weekender. He’s not going up there this weekend, because he’s off to the opening of some play tomorrow night, starring his latest love. Wait here.”
Fran was gone before Zoe could say yeah or nay.
Nigel was Nigel Cox, the third partner in the firm. Fortyish and openly gay, he represented several highly paid clients in the entertainment and sporting world. Zoe didn’t really have much to do with him. He had his own assistant, as did Angus. She’d heard of the weekender, though. From June, who called it Nigel’s little love nest.
Apparently, it overlooked a small beach up near Port Stephens, just far enough off the main tourist route for privacy, but close enough to civilization for essential supplies and services, which meant a good selection of five-star restaurants. Nigel’s second favorite hobby in life—according to the ever-knowledgeable June—was gourmet food.
Fran swept back in eventually, carrying a set of keys and two hand-drawn maps.
“Mission accomplished,” she said, dumping everything in Zoe’s lap then perching up on the edge of her desk. She looked very satisfied with herself. “Nigel, the dear, generous boy, never asks any awkward questions. Just handed these over and said he hoped everything would work out for you. Actually, you’re not the first female in crisis I’ve sent up there and they all spoke highly of the place afterward.”
“What’s it like?” Zoe asked.
“Never been myself. It isn’t called Hideaway Beach for nothing, and peace and quiet is not my bag. Neither is the sun, sea and surf. I can’t swim, for starters, and I burn like mad. Anyway, Nigel said to tell you the kitchen cupboards, freezer and wine rack are all stocked up and to help yourself. There’s also a gas station and general store half a mile down the road which fortunately has a liquor license. It has practically everything you might need. Fresh bread every day, milk, cigarettes, chocolates, condoms.”
“Very funny, Fran,” Zoe said dryly. “I don’t think condoms are going to be high on my shopping list.”
“Well, you never know. His only warning is for you to leave before three this afternoon as after that the traffic heading north on a Friday afternoon would give blood pressure to a corpse. And he suggests you get up very very early on the Monday morning rather than try to drive back on the Sunday evening, for the same reason. You do still have your car, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, of course I do, but…”
“I know exactly what you’re going to say. You don’t finish here ‘til six at the earliest on a Friday afternoon, since you have a slave driver of a boss who never knows when to quit. But just this once, I’m going to give you an early mark, starting right now. After all, we females should stick together. Can’t have the males of the species thinking they have us taped, can we?”
Zoe didn’t know what to say.
“No need to thank me,” Fran said, laughing at her girl Friday’s dumbfoundedness. “I’ll work your butt off next week to make up for it.”
Zoe smiled wryly. She didn’t doubt it. Her boss was a workaholic if ever there was one. “If Drake rings here or contacts you, you won’t tell him where I am, will you?”
“I’ll just say you asked for the afternoon off, you’ve gone away for the weekend but I don’t know where. Now don’t forget to turn your cell phone off as well. Or better yet, don’t take it with you.”
“I always take it in the car with me for safety reasons and emergencies. But I’ll definitely leave it turned off all weekend.”
“Excellent.”
When Zoe stood up with the map and the keys in hand, she was struck with a moment’s doubt. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Maybe Drake will get angry and dump me.”
“If he does, then he doesn’t really love you, does he?”
“You’re right.”
“Off you go now. And have fun.”
Zoe didn’t think that was likely. But she smiled. “Thanks again, Fran.”
Fran smiled back. “My pleasure.”
3
MELINDA WAS HOME WHEN Zoe let herself into the apartment. Not an unusual occurrence, even at two on a Friday afternoon.
Melinda was what was often cattily termed a rich bitch. But that wasn’t strictly true. Sure, her father had given her this fully furnished two-bedroom apartment for her twenty-first birthday a couple of years back, but it was no palace, or penthouse.
It was, however, near new, with plush gray carpet, white walls and the sort of sleek modern clean-lined furniture which Zoe loved, so different from the clunky heavy wooden furniture filling the farmhouse back home.
Actually, on the market today, Melinda’s place would have sold for close to half a million. No doubt about that. Even the grottiest apartment in Milson’s Point was worth a packet.
Melinda was a very lucky girl to have received such an expensive present. Unfortunately, despite her darling daddy being a racehorse-owning billionaire, the day Melinda received the keys to the apartment, her allowance had been cut off.
“I’ve given you a roof over your head and that’s all I’m going to do from now on,” her father had bluntly announced at the time. “If you want to feed and clothe yourself in future you’ll have to get a job. Your brother had to make good on his own after twenty-one. I see no reason why you shouldn’t do the same, just because you’re female. You girls wanted equality. Well, now you’ve got it!”
Despite not having any practice at the art of supporting herself—she had done absolutely nothing since leaving school except socialize and shop—Melinda had risen to the challenge with gusto. First, she’d rented out the other bedroom in the apartment—Zoe was not Melinda’s first roommate—then set about finding work as a model. She wasn’t really qualified for anything else, and had no intention of serving in a store or working as a waitress. She wasn’t tall enough for catwalk modeling at only five-eight, but her long blond hair, sultry face and cup-C breasts gave her plenty of work doing photographic modeling for fashion catalogs, especially those of the lingerie variety.
Modeling, however, was just a stopgap. Her ultimate ambition was to marry someone far richer than her father.
But not for some years yet. At twenty-three, Melinda was concentrating on having fun.
And have fun Melinda did! Although Melinda had a steady boyfriend named Ron, she also went out a lot without him. Parties. Premieres. Gallery openings. The races. You name it, if she was asked, Melinda went. And with her looks and social contacts, she received a lot of invitations.
Zoe found her a delightful roommate. Always bright and cheery, and not at all lazy around the place. Which was a surprise, since Melinda had obviously been spoiled rotten as a child. But she liked and valued beautiful things and treated her own little home and her possessions with great respect. Open her closet or drawers any day, and all her lovely things would not only be beautifully arranged, but spotlessly clean. As was the apartment. She never dropped her clothes on the floor, or left dirty crockery around.
Best of all, Melinda didn’t smoke. A rare breed, Zoe had found after sharing places with various other girls over the last few years. Most of them smoked like chimneys. It was so pleasant to come home to nice-smelling rooms, even when all the windows had been shut all day.
When Zoe walked in, Melinda was perched up on one of the white kitchen stools, carefully painting her fingernails at the black granite breakfast bar. She was dressed in traffic-stopping short-shorts and a cropped top, both blue. Melinda just loved blue in clothes. And why not? The color suited her blond hair and blue eyes.
“Good grief!” she exclaimed when she saw Zoe. “Have I lost track of time? Don’t tell me it’s gone six. Ron’s picking me up at seven and I’ve only just started getting ready!”
“Don’t panic. It’s only twenty past two.”
“Thank God. But that’s silly daylight-saving time for you! You never know what time it is by looking out the window. So what are you doing home? You can’t be sick. You never get sick. You’re not sick, are you?” she asked, peering more closely at Zoe whilst she flicked her nails dry. “You do look a bit stressed.”
“No. I’m not sick. Fran gave me an early mark.”
“You’re kidding me. Commandante Phillips let you come home early and you’re not even sick!”
“Nope.” Zoe walked over, dumped her bag on the counter and switched on the electric jug.
Melinda eyed her warily. “This is very strange. So what’s up? Was there a bomb scare at the office? Some disgruntled husband whom your boss screwed over in court?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Then what? The mind boggles over what earth-shattering catastrophe could have led to such an unlikely occurrence.”
“Come now, Mel, Fran’s not that bad. She’s just a hard worker.”
“She works you hard. That I know.”
“But she appreciates the job I do, and she pays me well.”
“Huh.”
“You just don’t like her, do you? Yet you’ve only met her once.”
“Once was enough. That woman is tough as an old boot. Maybe that’s what’s needed to be a top divorce lawyer these days, but I sure as heck wouldn’t want to be married to her.”
Although Zoe thought Melinda was being a bit harsh, her comments brought home the fact that perhaps Fran hadn’t been the best person to go to for advice over her dilemma with Drake. Fran was pretty cynical when it came to her views on life, men and sex. She’d accused Zoe of being a romantic idealist, but Zoe didn’t think it was unreasonable to expect the man you loved and who said he loved you, to be faithful.
“For pity’s sake, are you going to tell me why you’re home early,” Melinda burst out impatiently, “or are you just going to stand there for the rest of the day, staring into space?”
“I don’t have much time,” Zoe said, popping two slices of bread into the toaster. “I have to be packed and gone by three and I’m in desperate need of some food first.”
“Packed? Gone by three? This is getting curiouser and curiouser.”
“If you want to know all the grisly details, then don’t interrupt,” Zoe warned, already sensing that Melinda wasn’t the right person to ask for advice, either. She just didn’t take life and love seriously enough.
Melinda’s big blue eyes rounded with even more gleeful curiosity. “Grisly details! Oooh. Do tell. Sorry,” she said swiftly when Zoe threw her a baleful glance. “I won’t say another word.”
And she made a zipping gesture across her mouth.
Zoe rolled her eyes at her friend’s pitiful attempt at a chastened face. This was going to be a total waste of time, but Melinda wouldn’t give her any peace ‘til she knew the ins and outs of everything. Just like June at work. And Betty back home.
Zoe supposed most women had a natural affinity for talking and gossiping. But she didn’t. She’d always been more of a thinker than a talker. An introvert, as opposed to Melinda’s extrovert nature. The good communication and social skills she now possessed hadn’t come naturally. They’d been acquired. With a lot of practice and hard work. By nature, she was quite shy. And private. And particularly possessive about her inner most feelings.
Sometimes, Zoe felt that the person she now projected wasn’t the real Zoe at all. Occasionally, when she looked in the mirror, she still saw the fat, shy tongue-tied teenager she’d once been.
“Zoe, for pity’s sake!”
“Yes, yes, I’m just wondering where to start.”
“Anywhere will do. Just start!”
Telling Melinda all the gory details took Zoe less time than it had to tell Fran, possibly because she wasn’t sobbing hysterically anymore. Frankly, her overriding emotion now was just plain anger.
“I don’t believe it,” Melinda blurted out when Zoe had finally finished the sordid tale. “Drake cheated on you with some blond piece, just because she had a ‘Bay-watch’ bustline? That doesn’t make sense. I mean, not once, in all the times he’s come here, has he ever given me the eye. And I’m a crash-hot-looking blonde with very nice boobs.”
Zoe smiled a wry smile. Melinda never let modesty get in the way of self-praise.
“Let’s not forget Drake has actually confessed here, Mel,” Zoe reminded her ruefully. “But of course, it was only just sex,” she added with extra tartness. “And the woman threw herself at him. Practically tore off the poor darling’s clothes. He was feeling like a bit of action and he couldn’t help himself. She meant nothing to him at all.”
“Well, I could have told you that. Drake’s crazy about you.”
“So he keeps telling me. But explain it to me, Mel. I mean, have you ever met some guy when you were crazy about someone else, but fancied this new guy so much that you just had to go to bed with him right away?”
“But of course! When I met Ron I was going out with Wayne who was a right hunk, I can tell you. But once I met Ron, I dropped Wayne like a shot.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “Yes, but you weren’t in love with this Wayne, were you?”
Melinda shrugged. “I guess not. Which is just as well,” she added with a wicked grin. “Because Ron’s much better in the sack.”
“Oh, you’re hopeless. You never take anything seriously.”
“And you, Zoe Simons, take life much too seriously. Look, for what it’s worth, I agree with your boss for once. I think you should forgive Drake. Give him another chance. It’s not as though he kept on with the blonde after he came back from the conference, did he? And she must live in Sydney to show up at the Rockery.”
Zoe took a bite of her toast, munching it thoughtfully before swallowing. “No, I don’t think she comes from Sydney. Drake was far too shocked at seeing her. I think she might have just been here for a visit. That old chap she was with could have been her father.”
“Okay, dump him then. Whatever makes you happy.”
“But that won’t make me happy, will it? I’m going to be utterly wretched and lonely without him.”
“Rubbish! You’re one hot-looking babe. You’ll find another guy in no time, especially if you start coming places with me. You’ll have so many gorgeous men hitting on you, you won’t know which one to date first.”
“But I don’t want to date some other guy,” Zoe said frustratedly. “And I don’t care how gorgeous he is! I just want things the way they were. With Drake.”
Melinda sighed an exasperated sigh. “Okay, give him another chance, then. But if you’re going to do that, then what’s the point of going away all by yourself up to some remote beach for the weekend? You might as well stay here, tell Loverboy you forgive him when he shows up tonight, then spend all weekend in the sack making up.”
Zoe cringed at the thought. How could she possibly go to bed with Drake with the image of him and that blonde doing it in an elevator still so clear in her head? “I can’t do that,” she said, shuddering. “Not this soon. Besides, Drake doesn’t deserve to be forgiven that quickly. He deserves to suffer.”
Melinda frowned at her. “That doesn’t sound like you, Zoe. That sounds more like your boss. She’d be right into suffering. Bet she and her lawyer hubbie are into S & M in private. You know, bondage and black leather and stuff. But he’d be the one tied up and she’d have the whip. You could count on that.”
Zoe stared at her roommate, shocked. “Don’t be silly. Normal people don’t do things like that.”
“Don’t you believe it. Lots of normal-looking people are right into S & M. Or some form of it. Hasn’t Drake ever wanted to tie you up?”
“Of course not!” The very idea! She’d had enough trouble just getting naked with him. The prospect of being naked and tied up sent a shudder of revulsion all through her, especially the thought of Drake looking at places she couldn’t bear the thought of him looking at without her being able to move or cover herself up.
“Ron’s always wanting to tie me up,” Melinda confided blithely. “I might let him one day.”
“Are you crazy? What if he…you know…did things you didn’t want him to do?”
Melinda pulled a face. “Yeah, you’re right. You’d have to trust a guy a hell of a lot to let him tie you up. And I’m not sure I trust Ron enough for that yet. I think I’ll tie him up instead,” she said, grinning. “Now that would be almost as much fun.”
Zoe shook her head. “You’re mad.”
“Mad and bad,” Melinda joked. “You should take lessons. Now, if it was me going away for the weekend after my boyfriend screwed some other female, I wouldn’t be going to some lonely old beach shack. I’d be heading for some swinging resort and looking for a bit of action myself. Yep, I’d be giving ole Drakey boy a bit of his own medicine. That’s what I’d be doing.”
“But I’m not you, am I?” Zoe said, almost wishing that she was. It must be great not to feel things so deeply for once.
“Which is just as well,” Melinda countered, “or I wouldn’t like you as much as I do. Look, don’t take any notice of me, Zoe,” she went on, her smile fading abruptly. “I can be a vicious bitch sometimes. Why do you think I want to marry a man richer than my father? Because I want to show that old tightwad a thing or two. I’ll never forgive him for tossing me to the wolves like he did. If he’d wanted me to be a career girl from the word go, then why ever didn’t he say so when I was still at school? Then I could have made something of myself while I had the chance. I wouldn’t have to make a living being a clotheshorse and putting up with men’s preconceptions of me, simply because I’m an underwear model!”
Zoe stared at her friend, amazed by the wealth of very real feeling behind her outburst. She hadn’t realized Melinda’s father had hurt her so much over what he did.
“Sorry,” Melinda muttered. “You have enough problems of your own without my going off.”
“I…I didn’t realize you felt that way about your job. And I didn’t know men treated you badly because you were a model.”
Melinda shrugged. “Mostly they don’t. But I met this pathetic example of the opposite sex today when I was on a shoot and he ignored me. Treated me like I was a nobody. Yet I was standing in front of him in the sexiest black lace underwear you’ve ever seen.”
“Who was he?”
“Some self-made upstart of a millionaire who’s buying the fashion magazine I was doing the shoot for. Brother, did he think he was somebody. But my father could buy him ten times over!”
“Good-looking?”
“Yeah, I guess he was. He has the blackest of eyes and the longest eyelashes. And a great body for someone over thirty. But he was so arrogant.”
Zoe smiled. “You were attracted to him.”
“I was not!”
“Yes, you were. And your nose was put out of joint because he didn’t seem to want you.”
“Well…maybe a bit…”
“Will you be seeing him again?”
“I doubt it.”
“Will you be doing any more shoots for that magazine in the near future?”
“Next week. My agent rang me about it today. Some other girl was supposed to do it but she rang in sick and the magazine asked for me to replace her.”
“What a coincidence.”
Melinda frowned at Zoe’s tone. “You don’t think…”
“It’s possible, isn’t it?” Zoe said with a shrug. “Let’s face it, most men would at least look at you, Mel. Especially half-naked. The fact this chap ignored you says one of two things to me. He’s either gay, or he does secretly fancy you, but he doesn’t want to be obvious.”
“Good grief!” Melinda exclaimed. “Do you always think this deviously?”
“I didn’t once,” Zoe said dryly. “But my experience with men is beginning to make me think outside the envelope. Now I really must get going or I’ll hit the traffic. If and when Drake calls, tell him I’ve gone away for the weekend but you don’t know where.”
“He’s not going to be happy.”
“Too bad. I wasn’t happy today.”
“Oooh. Them’s fightin’ words.”
“I’m in a fightin’ mood. Which is why I’m going away. I need time to think. And time to calm down. Maybe by Monday, I’ll see things a little clearer.”
“Nothing in relationships with men is ever clear, Zoe,” Melinda said. “They’re a breed unto themselves. Impossible to really understand what makes their peculiar male minds tick. It’s a case of can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”
“Oh, I can live without them,” Zoe said. “I’ve done it before and I can do it again. I just have to work out if I want to.”
4
ZOE DIDN’T HAVE to consult Nigel’s map for the first part of her drive north. She knew the way to Port Stephens. When she’d first bought her much-loved car a year ago, she’d spent every weekend going for long drives and investigating all the seaside towns within a half-day distance of Sydney.
Zoe had a secret passion for trips to the beach, perhaps because she’d rarely gone to the seaside during her growing-up years. The children of dairy farmers learned young that you can never go far from home, or for long. Having to milk the cows morning and afternoon tied you to the place, good and proper.
Unfortunately, Zoe soon found that going away by yourself for the weekend wasn’t all that much fun. It was reasonably pleasurable during the day, sight-seeing or strolling along a beach, but when the day ended and she returned to her motel room all alone, her mood would change.
Eating alone in restaurants was the worst. And watching other couples, holding hands across candle-lit tables. She discovered there was nothing worse than not having anyone to talk to and share your experiences with. When her solitary excursions began to seriously depress her, she stopped.
Which made her wonder why on earth she’d agreed to this silly idea of going away for the weekend on her own this time. She would have far too much time to think and brood. She would have been better off staying home and sorting things out with Drake, one way or another.
Zoe sighed in disgruntlement. It was too late now. She was almost at Port Stephens. Which meant it was time to pull over to the side of the highway and consult Nigel’s map in more detail before she missed the turning to Hideaway Beach.
Five minutes later she was safely on the side road leading to her destination. It was narrow and winding, with nothing on either side but the kind of low trees and rather unattractive scrub one found when you were this close to the sea. The soil was mostly sand and just didn’t grow lush green grass or nice tall trees. There were no houses, either, which meant it was probably a state reserve.
Zoe felt she’d been driving for ages by the time the gas station came into view on her left. It was ancient, as was the general store attached, but surprisingly well stocked, with a cheerful old guy behind the counter who liked to chat.
It was just after six by the time Zoe was on her way again with her passenger seat carrying a bag full of fresh bread, milk, eggs, two wickedly fattening bars of chocolate and a couple of her favorite magazines. She hadn’t thought to throw in a book to read before leaving home and didn’t trust the likes of Nigel Cox to have anything on his bookshelves she might enjoy.
Frankly, she hadn’t thought about this trip enough at all, she now conceded. She hadn’t even bothered to change clothes before leaving. Just chucked a few items in an overnight bag and got going.
It wasn’t like her to act so hastily. The drama with Drake had tipped her world upside down, and her with it.
Zoe rounded a long sweeping curve and there, straight ahead, lay the horizon of the Pacific Ocean, big and vast and blue. Her heart lifted at the sight, and she was suddenly glad she’d come, if for nothing else than this moment.
But the moment was gone all too quickly, cold, hard reality returning to darken her own personal horizon. This weekend escape was not going to solve anything. She was just delaying the difficult decision over what she should do. Forgive and forget? Or dump Drake and try to move on…
The car slowed to a crawl as Zoe’s mind drifted once more. It was all very well for Mel to say she’d find someone else in no time. Zoe had never been the sort of girl to pick up men easily, even now, when her looks were no longer a drawback. Men often found her standoffish. Some had even called her stuck-up.
But she wasn’t. Not at all. She was just reserved. And naturally wary. She didn’t warm to strangers easily. She was slow to give affection and friendship, and even slower to accept it from others. Which made her instant liking of Melinda, for instance, most unusual. She hadn’t even really liked Drake at first meeting. He’d impressed her, yes. But liked? No…not exactly. She’d thought him a little pushy. But she’d found his dogged pursuit of her very flattering, and very seductive. There’d been the flowers twice a week. Phone calls every day. Presents. Poetry, even.
How could she help falling in love with him in the end? Or going to bed with him? Or being devastated by his cheating on her? He’d made her think she was his entire world, and vice versa.
The sound of a horn honking loudly made Zoe jump in her seat, her eyes flying to the rear-vision mirror. A bright yellow truck was right behind her, several surf boards strapped to the roof. The male driver was making an impatient left-handed motion with his hand.
Zoe hadn’t realized she’d been stopped, smack-dab in the middle of the road. Embarrassed, she smiled an apology at the driver in the rear-vision mirror. After a moment’s hesitation he smiled back, and the oddest little quiver ran through Zoe from top to toe.
It shocked her so much that she stared at his reflection for a few seconds before moving her car over to the left, carrying with her the image of the bronze-skinned, blond-haired, broad-shouldered hunk wearing wraparound sunglasses and the brightest orange T-shirt she’d ever seen. His sun-streaked hair was short and spiked, and his face had that chiseled structure which you saw a lot on male models, his lantern jawline covered with a few days’ stubble. Naturally, in those sunglasses, she couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but she guessed they would be blue.
This last train of thought startled Zoe. What on earth was she doing, speculating over what color eyes he had? But even as she reprimanded herself for such silly nonsense, he was driving by and peering at her through their respective side windows. Her heart began to race and she started wondering if he was speculating on the color of her eyes, which were similarly masked by sunglasses. Her hand lifted and she almost took them off, wanting him to see that her own were big and brown and long-lashed.
They were her best feature, her eyes.
But she caught herself just in time and the moment of madness passed, as did the truck. Thank goodness.
What had she thought she was doing?
A minute before she’d been agonizing over how devastated she was by Drake’s cheating on her. Then the next moment, there she was, almost flirting with some stranger.
There was absolutely no excuse for such behavior, no matter how sexy the guy in the truck was.
Sexy?
How could she possibly tell if he was sexy from a couple of brief passing glances? She hadn’t even seen all of him. For all she knew, he could have beady little eyes, a big blubbery butt and the personality of a store mannequin.
Oh, yeah, scorned some new inner voice which Zoe had never been tuned into before. Who do you think you’re kidding, honey? He’s going to have beautiful blue eyes, tight buns, and the charm of the devil.
Zoe groaned. This was crazy and so unlike herself. There again, today hadn’t exactly been like any other day. She’d been brought face-to-face with her boyfriend’s raunchy new friend; quizzed by her boss on intimate sexual matters; then been told by her roommate that she shouldn’t be slinking off by herself. She should be throwing herself into a fun fling out of revenge.
Was that what this was? Her subconscious wanting to punish Drake by flirting with another man? Her own shaky self-esteem, perhaps, looking for reassurance that she was attractive?
She sincerely hoped so. She didn’t want it to be that other sordid scenario Fran had described of being struck by instant lust for some good-looking stranger and wanting nothing from him but down-and-dirty sex.
No, no, it couldn’t be that. She didn’t want to even consider the possibility. But even as she dismissed the idea, Zoe sincerely hoped she wouldn’t run into the man in the truck again.
When she looked up, his yellow vehicle had reached the end of the road and was turning right. Within seconds, it had disappeared from view.
Zoe sat up straight, her stomach crunching down hard.
Right. He’d turned right.
She snatched up Nigel’s second map and studied its very detailed drawing of Hideaway Beach’s layout.
Her heart rate accelerated as her eyes confirmed what she’d remembered from her earlier perusal. The beach was U-shaped, with rugged peninsulas stretching out into the ocean at each end. Sand dunes rose behind the main stretch of beach, on top of which sat a long, face-the-ocean visitors’ car lot. The half dozen or so weekenders which Hideaway Beach boasted were grouped together down the southerly end, their fronts facing northeast. A short dead-end road led ‘round to the back of them, a road which required a right-hand turn at the end of this road.
If you were a surfer just come for the waves, you would go straight ahead and park in the visitors’ car lot, not turn right as the truck had done.
There was only one logical conclusion. The hunk in the truck either lived here, or was staying here on vacation. If that was the case, she was likely to run into him again at some stage this weekend.
Zoe groaned her frustration. She’d come up here to sort out her feelings about men and sex, not have them confused further.
Irritated beyond words, she switched on the engine, checked there was no car coming, then drove down to the end of the road where she stopped for a few seconds and scanned the vehicles in the visitors’ car lot.
The yellow truck wasn’t among them.
Zoe hadn’t expected it to be.
Sighing her resignation to the fact Mr. Orange T-shirt wasn’t a visitor, she steered her small silver sedan onto the dirt track on her right and drove slowly along its pot-holed surface, glancing over to her left every now and then.
Hideaway Beach was certainly very beautiful. But very quiet. Only half a dozen people on the sand. A couple more swimming in the almost-flat waters. There wasn’t a single board rider out in the water, which was understandable considering the absence of decent waves. There was no sign of Mr. Orange T-shirt anywhere.
Zoe was annoyed with herself for even looking.
Resolving to banish him from her mind once and for all, she swung her eyes back onto the road ahead and concentrated on finding Nigel’s place, which, according to his map, was the second house she’d come to on her left, a white weatherboard cottage with a gray colorbond roof.
Actually, from the road, all Zoe could see of the weekenders were the roofs below her. The first one had an unusual-colored roof. Royal-blue. Zoe had never seen a roof that color before, but she rather liked it.
The gray colorbond roof of Nigel’s place came into view a short way after the bright blue, and Zoe began looking for the driveway.
There was a small, white-painted mailbox on the side of the road, but no sign of a driveway. Zoe parked on the grass verge just beyond the mailbox then climbed out to check out what was what.
Nigel’s weekender looked very cute and cozy down below her, its back steps tucked in to the hillside, with the beach less than fifty feet from the front porch. There was a footpath of sorts leading from the mailbox down to the back door, but absolutely no way of getting her car any closer than where she was. The intervening ground was too steep and too rough.
There was nothing for it but to carry everything down that hazardous-looking path. Zoe glanced over at the weekenders on her left and right, telling herself she wasn’t looking for a sign of Mr. Orange T-shirt, even though she was.
The place on her right looked deserted, with no vehicle anywhere. The one on her left with the bright-blue roof was lucky enough to have a driveway leading to what looked like a carport on the other side of the house, but she couldn’t see enough of it to make out any vehicles parked there.
Still, it would be just like Mr. Orange T-shirt to live in a house with a royal-blue roof, sky-blue walls and wraparound porches painted a dark rich red. And it would be just like her luck today to have him as a neighbor for the whole weekend.
Shaking her head, Zoe returned to the car, collected her various bags and set off down the pathway. She was halfway down the roughly hewn steps when something orange caught the corner of her left eye and her head jerked in that direction.
Big mistake. She should have kept watching where she was going, especially since she was wearing high heels. The second she took her eyes off the uneven steps, she misjudged a distance, one of her high heels caught against something and she lurched forward. In joggers or bare feet Zoe might have been able to regain her balance. As it was, she whirled with the bags in her hands in the air, and for one adrenaline-charged moment, she thought she could save herself.
But her center of gravity could not be righted and all was finally lost, Zoe tipping full front-forward. With a loud yelp she instinctively brought her hands up to save her face, and the bags came with her.
Just as well. For they cushioned her fall and possibly prevented her breaking an arm, or a leg. She still landed heavily, her knees getting the worst of it as she slid down a couple of steps further before coming to an ungainly halt.
She was still sprawled on the ground, totally winded, when a pair of strong arms slid around her waist.
“Are you all right?” a male voice asked as he hoisted her up onto her feet.
Zoe saw the orange T-shirt first and groaned silently. It would be him, wouldn’t it? Fate was being very cruel to her today.
“Yes, I…I think so,” she said, delaying looking up at him by dusting down her dress. But good manners finally forced her to glance up at her gallant Good Samaritan and say a proper thank-you.
She had to look up a good way, he was so tall. Taller than she’d imagined. And even more handsome, with a strong straight nose, a cute dimple in his squared chin and a perfectly gorgeous mouth.
But it was his eyes which captivated her the most. They were blue, as blue and as deep as the ocean. Eyes to drown in.
Eyes to watch your own wide-eyed reflection in while he rocks back and forth above you, his beautiful body buried deep inside yours.
Did she gasp out loud in shocked horror?
She hoped not.
“You’ve gone very pale,” he said, frowning. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’re not going to faint, are you?”
“No,” she choked out. “No, I don’t think so.” Though it was possible.
“Perhaps you’d better sit down for a few seconds, put your head down between your knees.”
Another erotic scenario exploded into her mind, one in which it wasn’t her head down between her knees.
Zoe swallowed a couple more times.
“No, no, I’m fine,” she said at last in strangled tones, desperately trying to pull herself together. “But I’ve lost my sunglasses. Can you see my sunglasses? Oh, there they are.” She swooped on them, and jammed them back on, hoping they hid her escalating panic.
“You’ve ruined your panty hose,” he pointed out.
Her eyes dropped to her legs, then shifted over to his legs, which were well on display, his colorful board shorts not covering up much.
They were the best-shaped legs on a man she’d ever seen. Totally tanned, long and very strong, with great thighs.
Well able to support you when he hikes you up onto his hips and then…
“Serves me right for being silly enough to be wearing high heels,” she blurted out. “It’s just that I drove straight up here from work. Didn’t really have time to change. I just threw a few things together and jumped in the car. My main concern was missing the Friday traffic heading north out of Sydney. But not to worry. I doubt I’ll be needing panty hose up here this weekend anyway.”
She was prattling on like a fool. But anything was better than conjuring up more appalling scenarios involving them both.
“I think your eggs might have seen better days as well,” he said dryly, and Zoe looked blank.
“Eggs,” he repeated, indicating her groceries which had scattered all over the place. The half-dozen eggs, which had been carefully placed at the top of the bag, had spilled from their carton, all of them broken.
“Oh, dear…” Zoe sighed, suddenly feeling very tired.
“I could go buy you some more, if you like,” he offered.
She stared at him. When guys started offering to go out of their way for you, it usually meant they fancied you. The thought that Mr. Orange T-shirt might be as attracted to her as she was to him, produced a mad mixture of guilty pleasure and even more outrageous thoughts.
Yes, go get me some more eggs, you gorgeous darling sexy man. And a dozen condoms whilst you’re at it.
Zoe was infinitely relieved she was wearing sunglasses, for surely the wickedness of her thoughts must be reflected in her eyes.
“Thank you but no,” she said stiffly. “I can manage without the eggs. But it was very nice of you to offer.”
“No sweat.” He immediately hunkered down and began putting her groceries back into the bag.
Impossible not to notice in that position that he didn’t have a big blubbery butt. His buns were as trim and taut as she’d feared they would be.
Afraid that any further ogling of his perfect butt would conjure up yet another wicked fantasy, Zoe wrenched her eyes away and hurried to pick up her handbag. But when she moved toward where her overnight bag had fallen, her gallant knight to the rescue was there before her, scooping it up first.
“I think I’d better carry these the rest of the way down for you. You’re still wearing those very nice but potentially lethal high heels,” he added with a wry little smile.
“Please don’t bother.”
“It’s no bother. I presume you’re staying at Nigel’s place down there?”
“Well…yes. You know Nigel, do you?”
“Pretty well.”
“Oh? How well?” She didn’t realize ‘til the words were out of her mouth how they might sound. The thought that this fellow might be gay hadn’t even crossed her mind.
He laughed, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine good humor. “Not that well. But we have a drink together sometimes when he’s up here. I live over there.” And he nodded toward the house with the royal-blue roof. “For the moment, that is,” he added. “The owner’s letting me stay while I do some renovating work for him.”
“It’s a very colorful house.”
“Yes. He likes bright colors. So what about you? Are you a friend of our esteemed big-city lawyer? Or a client?”
Zoe felt she had to terminate this getting-to-know-you conversation fairly quickly, or risk giving her far too attractive neighbor the wrong idea. She could not even begin to speculate what she might do if he started coming on to her. The thought was far too perversely thrilling for words.
“No, I hardly know Mr. Cox at all, to be honest. But I…uh…” She hesitated over revealing specific details of her life to a virtual stranger. “I know one of his partners,” she said, instead of saying she worked for Fran. “She asked Nigel if I could borrow his place for the weekend. I…um…I needed to get away from Sydney for a couple of days.”
“Ah…life in the fast lane getting too much for you, was it?”
“Something like that.”
He nodded sagely and Zoe realized he was older than she’d first thought. Late twenties, perhaps. Maybe even thirty. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said ruefully. “But a weekend away won’t be much of a cure. You need longer than that.”
“Well, I have to be back at work on Monday, so one weekend is all I’ve got. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m terribly hot and tired and in desperate need of a shower. If you’d just drop those things next to Nigel’s back door, that would be great.”
“Okay,” he agreed, but Zoe thought he looked a bit disappointed. Maybe he’d been hoping she’d invite him in for a drink, or something.
Or something morphed in her mind to a scene from a recent movie where the leading man and leading lady—within a few minutes of meeting—pounced on each other like wild beasts. Clothes were ripped off in seconds and absolutely nothing was left to the imagination as the hero, for want of a better word, proceeded to ravish the heroine up against a wall.
At the time, Zoe had thought the whole thing quite incredible, as well as supremely tacky.
She still thought such behavior tacky, but not quite so incredible.
She tried to imagine, as she followed her far too sexy neighbor down to the back door, what would happen if she did invite him in. Would he make a pass? And if he did, what would she do?
He placed her bags by the step, then turned to face her, his own expression thoughtful.
“The name’s Aiden, by the way,” he said. “And yours?”
“Zoe.”
“Nice name. Well, Zoe, if you need anything over the next two days, just whistle. I’m always hereabouts. When I’m not off surfing somewhere, that is. I presume you know how to whistle?” he added, throwing a provocative little smile over his shoulder as he started to walk away. “Just put your very pretty lips together and blow.”
He didn’t look back again as his long legs carried him swiftly away. Which was just as well, because what Zoe’s sexually charged mind was doing to his parting words made her face go a brighter red than his porch.
5
WITHIN A MINUTE OF returning to his place, Aiden was stretched out in a chair on the front porch, drinking a beer and doing his best not to think about the girl in the house next door having a shower.
A futile exercise. He’d been thinking about her non-stop since she’d smiled at him in her rear-vision mirror and charged up every testosterone-based cell he owned.
Playing knight to the rescue just now had only confirmed what he already knew. That she was big trouble, both to his peace of mind and body.
Aiden gulped another mouthful of beer, then sighed.
Six months he’d lasted here at Hideaway Beach without so much as a single bad night’s sleep. Six months of wonderfully uncomplicated celibacy.
His life was blessedly simple. He surfed first thing in the morning, and again, late in the afternoon, spending the hours in between doing up the once-ramshackle beachhouse he’d bought a few months earlier. After dinner—which he usually cooked himself—his evenings were spent reading, or listening to music. He didn’t have a television and never bought newspapers. If he felt the need for human conversation, he chatted to other surfers, or the local fishermen, or to his mom over the phone. Occasionally, when Nigel was up for the weekend, he went over to his place for dinner and a bottle of good wine.
But he rarely stayed long. He didn’t want to be contaminated by listening to Nigel’s complaints about his clients and his lovers. He certainly never wanted to reminisce on the time he’d been a client.
Aiden was well aware his sabbatical from real life would come to an end one day, but only when he decided and not before. He wanted to keep the world outside at a distance for a while longer. He certainly didn’t want to be attracted to some mixed-up, auburn-haired city chick who was obviously in the middle of a personal crisis which had necessitated her coming up here to Hideaway Beach for a break.
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