Kate Hardy - Hotbed of Scandal

She thought about the article while she took her shower. Being seen with Dane had cast her in a spotlight when she absolutely didn’t need it. It wouldn’t take much digging for someone keen enough to unearth the dirt on Paris and Luc and fling the mud at her. She’d never be able to set up a successful business here with that negative publicity. Hopefully the attention would fade when they realised there was nothing going on.

DANE found coffee, a plunger and mugs, switched on the kettle and studied the business pages while he waited for Mariel to take a shower. He could hear the water running and schooled himself not to think about all that gorgeous flesh and warm soapy water.

Safer, much safer, to think about making that date he’d promised the robust blonde surfer chick he’d met in the bar last week. The fact that he’d had no intention of following up was irrelevant.

He looked up when Mariel appeared, and his gaze drifted over her of its own accord. She wore a navy mini sundress with a bright floral pattern and a white lace trim. It hugged that sensational figure and left miles of bare leg. Heaven help him.

‘That feels much better,’ she said, taking a seat opposite, her enticing still-damp fragrance wafting across the table.

He didn’t agree. Ignoring his body’s wayward but inevitable response, he poured them both a coffee, then, remembering, he withdrew a small plastic self-sealing bag from his pocket. ‘I was cleaning out my car the other day and found Phoebe’s diamond earring.’

‘She lost her earring? In your car?’

He noticed Mariel’s complexion fade, her green eyes taking on the hue of winter’s frost-covered paddocks. Interesting.

‘A couple of weeks ago, yes.’

She stared at him. ‘You and Phoebe…?’

‘Me and four women, actually. Drunk as skunks, talking dirty to me and giggling themselves silly.’

‘Yeah, right.’ She picked up her mug, but there was a smidgeon of uncertainty beneath the scorn.

‘Ever tried to ferry a gaggle of women home from a hen night?’

‘Hen night?’

‘Amy’s do. Drunk on Mai Tais, Screaming Orgasms and a male stripper. Well-endowed, too…Their words, not mine. The bride-to-be appointed me chauffeur for the evening.’

Mariel’s expression didn’t alter, but he saw something flicker in her eyes. She reached for a croissant, broke it open. ‘I bet that put a dent in your social calendar.’

‘Not at all.’ He took a croissant himself. ‘I’d do it for you if you asked.’

‘Strip and ply me with Screaming Orgasms? No thanks.’ She raised her mug, took a gulp, then set it down with a chink. Her crisp retort made him smile on the inside. But only for a pulse-beat, because the image she conjured with her sharp retort hit him right between the thighs.

He lifted his mug to his suddenly parched throat and took a long, slow swallow. ‘I meant chauffeur duty. You don’t have a car yet, do you?’

‘Actually, I do. A pretty yellow hatchback. I’m picking it up today.’

He watched her eat in silence a moment, considering his words before speaking again, but he had to know for sure. ‘What’s the deal with your business partner?’ He rolled his mug between his fingers. ‘He isn’t only your business partner, is he?’

‘No. He—’ She shook her head, pressed her lips together as if she was afraid of saying too much. ‘And the word’s was . He’s history. Leave it at that.’

She drank her coffee greedily, then finished off her croissant in three quick, careless bites. ‘It’s handy you’re here; you can put those chauffeuring skills to work and drive me to the car dealer. If you’re not busy with any other…ah…commitments, that is.’ Without looking at him she rose, carried the dishes to the sink.

‘Clear schedule today.’ And wasn’t that handy? ‘When do you want to leave?’

She rinsed the dishes, put them away. ‘I’ll be ready in a few moments.’

‘That’s what they all say.’

While he waited he finished off the business section of his newspaper. Twenty minutes later he folded it and wandered over to the window. What had happened between Mariel and her lover? He told himself it was none of his business. He was still pondering when he heard her footsteps cross the tiles.

She’d accessorised the sundress with hot-pink sandals and matching beads.

She looked fresh. Fun. Gorgeous.

His fists tightened in the pockets of his shorts. Once he’d have told her, but now, with this current friction like a live wire between them, it was probably wiser to keep the verbal admiration to a minimum lest it be misinterpreted.

She stared at him a moment, a small frown marring her forehead, as if disappointed to find him lacking in the compliments he’d have once voiced without thought.

Then she spotted his car keys on the kitchen table. Their eyes met and duelled in the familiar battle he’d all but forgotten. ‘Uh-uh, I’m driving.’ She got to them first, swept them up with a laugh and jingled them above her head. ‘Your Porsche. All the way to town.’

‘You think so?’ He was behind her in a second, fingers tangling with hers, wrestling for possession.

Mariel’s laugh snagged in her chest as his familiar deep voice vibrated against her ear and between her shoulderblades. The smell of healthy male sweat and Dane’s own brand of scent seemed to wrap around her. She leaned back…or did he shuffle forward?…and his body bumped against hers and her grip on the keys faltered.

All movement ceased. Even her heart seemed to stop for one long breathless moment. His T-shirt shifted lightly against her bare back so that she was oh-so-aware of the hard abdominal ridges beneath. Over the whisper of the air-conditioning she heard the grandfather clock ticking in the hall. Felt Dane’s hand locked over hers. The rough edge of a fingernail. His breath on her hair. The power he could wield over her, both body and mind…If she let him…

She hesitated a beat too long. She sucked in a breath, but it whooshed out again as he spun her round. She glimpsed the molten steel in his gaze before his lips clashed with hers. Hard, impatient. If she’d been able, she’d have used her hands to push him away but they were trapped between them. His heart pounded heavily against one palm; his car keys dug into her chest in the other.

She had no time to think as sensations battered at her. The heat of his hands on her bare back, her breasts flattened against his rock-solid chest, the sound of her pulse thundering in her ears.

As if he commanded it, her lips opened beneath his, softening and allowing his tongue entry, duelling with hers in an erotic battle of wills. His taste swirled through her mouth, the after-taste of coffee, and something darker, richer, smoother.

There was nothing gentle about it; this assault on the senses was nothing like last night’s getting-reacquainted-and-see-how-we-like-it kiss.

It thrilled her. It terrified her. It gave her the strength she needed to push him away for the second time in as many days. She glared up at him, at the sharp angles of his face, harsh with a desire that had nothing to do with tenderness. Colour slashed his cheeks, his lips. She sucked in air, found it rich with his scent.

His eyes…she couldn’t read them behind the storm she saw there. ‘Who do you think you are, manhandling me that way?’ she demanded, and was appalled at the breathy, needy sound of her voice.

‘You’re over him or you wouldn’t have let me kiss you. Not last night. Not now. And definitely not like that.’

Like he really meant it.

Rather than tingly, her lips felt swollen and numb. She ran an experimental finger over them to check that they were still there. He’d told her last night that he’d enjoyed it, and that she had, too.