Книга - Under His Skin

Under His Skin
Nicola Marsh


She’s getting under his skin. And it feels so good… Aussie construction king Logan Holmes never sleeps with clients. Especially not hoity-toity English girls wearing kaftans and ordering soy chai lattes. But when Hope McWilliams hires him, he discovers they have one thing in common – chemistry hotter than the Australian sun! Soon all Logan can think about is every sinful way he can pleasure her. Making him want to stay when he should walk away…







Opposites attract! Logan and Hope are fire and ice but can’t resist their off-the-charts chemistry. Will they both get burned? Find out in USA TODAY bestselling author Nicola Marsh’s latest sizzling romance down under...

Aussie construction king Logan Holmes never sleeps with clients. Especially not hoity-toity English girls wearing caftans and ordering soy chai lattes. But when Hope McWilliams hires him, he discovers they have one thing in common—chemistry hotter than the Australian sun!

Soon all Logan can think about is every sinful way he can pleasure her. And she’s offering and demanding more than he ever imagined. Exploring each other in the bedroom is one thing, but venturing into her café-culture, vintage-fashion world is more than he signed on for. What’s wrong with sports bars, anyway? Still, he has to admit spending time with the gorgeous music teacher is anything but dull!

Logan always moves on before things get serious, though. And he’s already planned his getaway. But suddenly he’s not so eager to hit the road. He knows he’s getting in too deep, and his heart is in serious danger, but something about Hope makes him want to stay when he should walk away...

Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.


NICOLA MARSH is a USA TODAY bestselling and multi-award-winning author who loves nothing better than losing herself in a story. A physiotherapist in a previous life, she now divides her time between raising two dashing heroes, whipping up delish meals, cheering on her footy team and writing—her dream job. And she chats on social media. A lot. Come say hi! Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—she’s there! Also find her at nicolamarsh.com (http://www.nicolamarsh.com).


Under His Skin

Nicola Marsh






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08690-5

UNDER HIS SKIN

© 2019 Nicola Marsh

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my very own tradesman, Martin,

who brings a smile to my face every day. Muah!


Contents

Cover (#uf4a94691-5d89-5b3e-b0b4-e256ee260c56)

Back Cover Text (#u5687032b-b423-5f42-8cca-e8fa560a117d)

About the Author (#u61e466ec-02ec-52b4-878e-3b634d2f3035)

Title Page (#u7bcf2d20-e256-5200-83d7-a60d4d218161)

Copyright (#u59132ed9-c445-51af-8ebc-be7430b6b949)

Dedication (#uba68bcab-0907-5975-a021-23cddfae2b0b)

CHAPTER ONE (#u21633231-376c-57ab-881c-09be9e4adb9e)

CHAPTER TWO (#ub49d5a2d-e4aa-5535-a8e8-766241e8a006)

CHAPTER THREE (#u78a0066f-d4a8-577a-8cfb-ba78f4b52177)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u855f0662-5c5c-53d6-8a51-eaf456f63b34)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ubd98307e-cef4-5add-9660-7f28a52835bd)

CHAPTER SIX (#u1a985f7f-589f-5d79-a74d-ea738636cef0)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ue5e959bc-d824-5b70-9930-425d616ee5ac)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#u9d69f867-0858-551b-b6b6-933f716a1e89)


LOGAN SHOULDERED OPEN the heavy glass door to the trendy café in inner Melbourne and froze.

He didn’t belong in this artsy-fartsy place.

Hipsters with wispy beards, rimmed glasses and tight clothes jostled for position alongside whip-smart professionals in designer suits, studying their mobile phones with the usual self-absorption. Garish art reminiscent of a kindergartener’s finger-painting dotted the walls, while muted jazz added to the cacophony of the baristas’ raised voices shouting out names for take-out double decaf soy lattes and spicy chais with extra cream.

His skin prickled with discomfort as he pushed up his rolled shirt sleeves and stepped inside. The comforting aromas of coffee, cinnamon and toasted sandwiches did little to ease his wariness as he scanned the packed tables.

He couldn’t see her.

It didn’t surprise him that Hope McWilliams would be late. She’d sounded hoity-toity on the phone and it had nothing to do with her posh British accent. An annoying mix of aloof and condescending, she’d insisted he be the one to quote the renovations to her music studio and not one of his subordinates. He could’ve blown her off. He should’ve. But his foreman had injured his back last week, meaning Logan needed to stick around town for another month before Rick was back on deck.

It pissed him off, being confined to this city when he’d rather be on the road. He’d built his construction company into one of the best in Australia and he’d done it by travelling the length and breadth of the country, ensuring his clients were happy with his sub-contractors. He trusted his team but he’d learned through sheer hard work and determination that being the boss didn’t entail delegation; he needed to take full responsibility for every job too.

A woman standing in the far corner of the café caught his attention; more precisely, her exaggerated arm-wave, making her look like a seaman waving in a fighter jet on a carrier. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed she must be beckoning him and he strode towards her through the ridiculously tiny tables. The closer he got, the more he could see: tall, slim, blonde, pretty. But it was the goofy kaftan thingy she wore that captured his attention most: pale pink, covered in music notes. Bizarre.

He stopped short of her table and stuck out his hand. ‘Logan Holmes.’

‘Hope McWilliams.’ She shook his hand tentatively, as if she didn’t want to get dirty.

That irked. It had been a few years since he’d been on the tools alongside his workers and he hated how narrow-minded people labelled men who worked with their hands as ignorant, grubby tradies. They took one look at steel-capped boots, shorts and a fluorescent work vest and immediately thought ‘Neanderthal’.

He didn’t like her supercilious stare either so he responded with a smirk. ‘Taking the music theme to extremes, huh?’

Her tight smile slipped as she sat and gestured at the seat opposite, a stupid, tiny wrought-iron thing that barely held his weight. ‘I’m a music teacher. It pays to advertise.’

Okay, so the ice princess had a sense of humour. He liked that. He could work with that.

‘From your email and our discussion on the phone, you’re looking to expand your current space into a custom-built recording studio?’

One imperious eyebrow rose, instantly adding to her air of superiority. ‘You don’t waste any time, do you?’

‘I’m here to give you a quote.’

‘We could have a coffee first?’

This time when she smiled, he almost reeled back. When she relaxed, her heart-shaped face transformed from severe to breath-taking. He’d tried not to notice her beauty when he’d first seen her, because that was another assumption some people made: that all tradesmen were lecherous creeps who wolf-whistled at any woman walking past a work site. So he’d practised showing no reaction other than politeness with women from the time he’d first picked up a hammer as an eager eighteen-year-old apprentice.

But with Hope staring at him with those wide green-grey eyes and her full lips parted in a genuine smile, his famed poker face slipped and he couldn’t help but gawk.

‘Coffee to go would be great.’ He stood, eager to get away from the disarming blonde. ‘I’ll get it.’

He’d taken a step before belatedly realising he hadn’t asked her what she wanted. ‘What would you like?’

‘A soy chai decaf, regular.’

Figured. He hated fancy fake coffee blends almost as much as pretentious cafés like this.

‘I’ll meet you out the front,’ she said, reaching for her wallet on the table.

‘This one’s on me.’ He held up his hand and walked away before she could argue.

His flaky father might not have given him much growing up but he’d instilled in him old-fashioned values about how to treat a woman, such as paying for meals or beverages, being respectful and active listening. Pity his old man hadn’t practised what he preached after he’d married.

It took a surprisingly quick five minutes for the barista to make their coffees and as he wound his way through the tables towards the door he spotted Hope waiting for him outside. It gave him time to study her and this time he reacted to more than her pretty face. His cock hardened as he realised that ugly kaftan ended mid-thigh, exposing glorious long legs, which were surprisingly tanned given her pale English skin. Smooth. Lean, with a hint of muscle, testament to a subtle strength, perfect for wrapping around him...

Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t ogle prospective clients, especially ones who made him feel inferior with a single glance.

Scowling, he bumped the door with his hip and backed out, carefully balancing the takeout cups. He didn’t think she’d be impressed if one drop of chai froth bubbled up onto the rim. He could smell the awful spicy blend and it tickled his nose.

‘Here you go.’ He sounded gruff and cleared his throat when she turned and flashed him another one of those smiles that made him stare.

‘Thanks.’ She took a sip, followed by a soft appreciative moan that made him want to shove her up against the nearest wall and see if he could coax a few more out of her.

Instead, he took a gulp of his straight black and burned his throat.

‘My place isn’t far from here. Shall we go look at it now?’

What the fuck? Why had she insisted they meet here and not at her studio if it wasn’t far?

Another thing he hated alongside frou-frou coffees, artsy cafés and glitzy inner cities: game-playing.

‘If you’re wondering why we didn’t meet there, it’s because I wanted to get a feel for you first.’ She laughed, a little self-consciously. ‘Not literally, of course, but websites and recommendations can be misleading and I wanted to see if you were the right man for the job before I showed you what I want done.’

He refrained from pointing out the obvious—they hadn’t really talked much yet so how did she know he was right for the job?—because her tone had taken on a husky edge and for an irrational moment he wondered what she really wanted done.

It wouldn’t be the first time horny women had confronted him on jobs before. First as a naïve nineteen-year-old, when he’d rocked up to a new house to check the kitchen cupboard installation and the home owner’s new girlfriend had greeted him at the door in a loosely belted robe which she’d proceeded to undo when he stepped inside. He’d bolted.

The second time he’d been a fully qualified carpenter on his first job, building a pergola for a rich couple in South Yarra. He’d been on a ladder in the back yard when the wife had stepped out of the pool house, naked, and invited him to take a swim. He’d been deferent and polite, but building that pergola had been the hardest job ever because she’d been a stunner with a body to match. Thankfully, he’d never forgotten his first boss’s advice—‘Don’t screw where you glue’—and it had served him well.

So what was it about this woman that had him forgetting liquid nails and contemplating nailing her?

‘It would’ve been easier to meet at your place,’ he said, sounding rude as he fell into step beside her. He tempered it with ‘So what is it you want done exactly?’

Her startled gaze flew to his and he bit back a chuckle. He hadn’t meant to sound remotely flirtatious but he needed to regain the upper hand, to show her that he jumped to nobody’s tune, so he’d lowered his voice, knowing she could misinterpret it. The fact she had meant one of two things: she was smart or she felt the unexpected buzz of sexual attraction too.

When he returned her stare, deliberately guileless, she tilted her nose in the air and picked up the pace. ‘I’ll show you when we get there.’

‘I’ll bet,’ he muttered, so softly she couldn’t hear, unable to stop a smug grin breaking through.

Not many women challenged him. Because he moved around a lot he dated sporadically, but never longer than a few weeks.

He never, ever, wanted to leave a woman waiting for him to come back, the way his mother had constantly, tragically, waited for his father.

‘Don’t you love Melbourne?’ She reverted to distant and cool as she gestured at the graffiti-covered walls they strolled past. ‘So many hidden gems like this.’

Personally, he didn’t get the appeal of the laneways that criss-crossed the city. Some Einstein had thought spraying a bunch of ugly murals and opening up dive bars, hole-in-the-wall cafés and boutiques with crazy clothes would spruce up the place.

‘It’s messy,’ he said, taking another gulp of coffee and ignoring her glare that read ‘you’re a Philistine’.

She didn’t speak after that so he filled the silence by whistling his football club’s song. That was one thing he did love about this city: Aussie Rules, and the North Melbourne Football Club in particular. He attended every game he could because for those all too brief few hours when the elite athletes kicked an oval ball around the field he remembered the one and only thing he had ever bonded over with his dad.

Stupid, he knew, but he didn’t hate easily. It was a wasted emotion. So he preferred to remember the good times rather than the bad. Eating pies and drinking soda while cheering for a long fifty-metre goal on the run rather than sitting at the kitchen window in their shitty two-bedroom weatherboard in the middle of outback Victoria, waiting for his dad to come home. Something Stephen Holmes had rarely done.

‘My place is just around the corner.’

He stopped whistling as they rounded the final block, wishing he hadn’t been thinking about his dad. It always made him tetchy and he needed to focus on giving the princess a quote then heading over the West Gate Bridge to Williamstown to oversee a new project.

‘Here we are.’ She threw her arms wide and he found himself glancing at a hint of cleavage before dragging his gaze towards the glass-fronted shop, the window filled with music memorabilia and an ornately scrolled Hope and Harmony etched across the top.

‘I take it the harmony angle refers to your music and not a twin?’

‘I’m an only child,’ she snapped, her curt response belied by a hint of sadness.

Great, he’d touched a nerve. This got better and better.

‘This is prime real estate.’ He pointed to the park opposite, flanked by apartments. ‘Inner city with the feel of suburbia.’

‘I like it.’ She shrugged, as though the fact a twenty-something woman could afford to teach music from an expensive place like this meant nothing. The fact that she wanted a quote on renovations meant she didn’t rent, she owned it, making it all the more startling.

Yeah, Hope McWilliams intrigued him, so the sooner he focussed on the job at hand the better.

‘The quote will work better if you show me around.’

He expected her to bristle again so her chuckle disarmed him. ‘The renovations I want done are out the back.’

She unlocked the door and punched in an alarm code before locking the door behind them. ‘Follow me.’

As they moved further into the shop, he couldn’t help but stare. The regular, square shop front opened into a hexagonal room that housed a grand piano, a cello and a drum kit. The wooden floorboards glowed, the walls were covered in framed sheet music and light poured into the room via an expansive skylight. His immediate impression was one of peace, and not many places made him feel peaceful these days.

‘You teach those instruments?’

‘No, I like the way they look in the room.’ She rolled her eyes and he barked out a laugh. Sarcasm. He liked that.

Her nose crinkled. ‘Sorry. It’s just that I’m tired of teaching and I want to do something more, hence the need for renovations.’

She opened the double wooden doors at the back, revealing darkness. ‘What I need you to build is through here.’

When she flicked a light switch, Logan gaped. If the hexagonal room was unique, this one was truly odd. Sandstone floor, three roughly concreted walls and one brick, scattered with mediaeval light sconces and a glass-domed ceiling with more cracks than a plumber’s convention.

‘I need this converted into a soundproof recording studio.’ She faced him, hands on hips, a worried frown slashing her perfectly shaped brows. ‘Is it doable?’

‘Anything’s doable.’

And there it was, the unmistakable flare of excitement in her eyes.

He hadn’t imagined it earlier.

She was into him.

Considering he hadn’t got laid since he’d arrived in Melbourne three weeks ago, ruffling the princess to the point of unravelling could be fun.




CHAPTER TWO (#u9d69f867-0858-551b-b6b6-933f716a1e89)


HOPE SILENTLY CURSED her fair English skin as heat surged to her cheeks.

Damn this man for making her feel more flustered than she had in years.

No man rattled her, not any more. She’d only been foolish enough to fall for a guy once before and the lessons learned seven years ago courtesy of her first—and only—love ensured she didn’t sweat the small stuff. What she’d endured with Willem, and the resultant fallout, had hardened her to the point of complete and utter cynicism.

Sure, she dated. She hadn’t completely given up hope of finding a genuine guy. But her in-built self-protective mechanism ensured that whenever a guy got too close she found herself picking faults, picking fights or being picky in general, doing whatever it took to sabotage the relationship. Not a great trait for finding any kind of lasting happiness; then again, Willem’s deliberate destruction of her naïve love meant she didn’t believe in anything long-term so it didn’t fuss her.

No man perturbed her; she didn’t let them get close enough. Yet Logan bloody Holmes, with his broad shoulders, smouldering blue eyes and cheeky grin, had made her discombobulated since the moment he’d strode into her favourite café as if he owned the place.

She’d first learned the phrase ‘sex on legs’ when she’d been fourteen, after smuggling a bag of illicit romance novels into her room. Nothing got past Mrs Folsod, the housekeeper, a woman who Hope assumed to have been an off-the-books operative for MI6 because the battle-axe had been that good at snooping and ferreting out secrets. But those fabulously eye-opening books had made it past the old bat and Hope had devoured them, savouring every saucy page. She’d learned a lot from those glorious books: the art of self-pleasuring, how raunchy sex could be beyond the boring sex-ed classes at the snobby private school she had attended and many intriguing terms, including the one that described Logan perfectly—sex on legs.

Muscly legs too, from what she’d glimpsed beneath his denim. The fabric outlined a sensational butt too. As for those forearms...corded with muscle, tanned, with a fine dusting of dark-blond hair the same colour as that on his head.

It looked as though he hadn’t had a haircut in a while, the shaggy surfer style suiting him, drawing attention to those cut cheekbones and jaw, accentuating the unique blue of his eyes. They reminded her of a Yorkshire sky on a perfect summer’s day, which was crazy, considering she hadn’t been home in five years.

‘Hope?’ He snapped his fingers in front of her face and she wrenched her attention back to him.

He’d said ‘anything’s doable’ in a tone so loaded with innuendo she’d clenched her thighs, like she had thirteen years earlier reading that first racy novel.

Sure her cheeks must be a fiery beacon to her embarrassment, she mustered a disinterested expression. ‘I want to know if you can turn this space into a state-of-the-art recording studio.’

When he grinned, she knew she hadn’t succeeded in fooling him and she almost sagged in relief when he stopped staring at her with those too-knowing eyes and glanced around the room.

‘This is one quirky space.’ He pointed to the cracked glass ceiling. ‘Looks like a few birds ended up with a headache up there.’

‘It was like that when I bought it.’

‘How long ago was that?’

‘About a month after I arrived in Australia, five years ago.’

‘Yet you still sound like the Queen.’

She laughed at his lame impression of a British accent. ‘I love living here but I can’t quite manage a “no worries, mate” yet.’

‘Takes practice.’ He winked and that heat in her cheeks spread to every inch of her yearning body.

God, it was embarrassing how long since she’d last had sex. One year? Two? She’d given up counting around the time she’d had her third putrid date via an online app one of her students swore by.

Her unintentional celibacy had to be the reason she wanted to push this rugged, sexy Aussie down onto the floor and mount him.

‘Are you okay?’

To make matters worse, he took a step closer, bringing him within touching distance. He smelled good too, like cut grass on a rainy day. Earthy. Wholesome. It made her wonder what he would taste like...

Crap. Thinking about those old novels wasn’t good.

‘I’m fine, it’s a tad hot in here.’ She refrained from fanning her cheeks, just.

‘Really?’ His gaze locked on hers and she knew without a doubt he was toying with her. ‘I guess it’s better than the initial chill.’

The corners of his mouth quirked into a cute smirk; he wasn’t talking about the ambient temperature.

‘I’m reserved when I first meet people,’ she said, annoyed by the compulsion to justify herself but needing to get this guy onside because he was the best for her needs. The needs of her studio, that was, and the first step to really proving herself in the music industry. Her story, and she was sticking to it. ‘I can come across a little cold.’

‘Brr...try freezing.’ He mimicked a shiver and rubbed his arms, drawing her attention to his fine biceps and pecs straining beneath the simple white cotton of a button-down shirt.

Seriously rattled by the urge to keep ogling him, she gritted her teeth. ‘Do you want this job or not, Mr Holmes?’

‘Uh-oh, the thermostat got turned down again.’ His teeth fake-chattered and she bit back a laugh. ‘And for what it’s worth I don’t give a fuck about this job. I run one of the top specialised construction companies in the country. I don’t advertise because word of mouth recommendations will keep me busy with potential business for the next few decades.’

He took another step closer and she held her breath. ‘So let’s get one thing straight. The real question here is whether I choose to do your job and whether you can afford me.’

Nobody spoke to Hope like this, ever. From the moment she’d been born into the illustrious McWilliams family, everyone around her had kissed her aristocratic ass. She’d thought it the norm until she’d grown older and wiser, around the age of seven, when one of the maids’ daughters had called her a stuck-up prig. She’d been shocked to be disliked for the first time in her life and hadn’t liked it. Her parents had deferred to her and the domestic staff had too; even her teachers had been politely fawning.

The problem with everyone pandering to her meant she could never fully trust when someone liked her for herself. And she’d made a monumental mistake in her personal life because of it.

She couldn’t tell the difference between suck-ups and sincerity. So she really admired those who didn’t kowtow to her. Like Logan.

‘Sorry if I offended you.’ She offered the same smile she’d used to great effect over the years when wheedling exactly what she wanted out of her parents. ‘I revert to my English roots all too quickly when I’m bamboozled.’

‘I have that effect on you?’

Damn, in her efforts to calm him she’d slipped up and said too much. ‘I meant the upcoming renovations and my eagerness to get them done quickly.’

She gestured at the walls to emphasise her point but by the glint in his eyes he knew her excuse was BS.

‘Right, the renovations,’ he drawled, sticking his hands into his pockets and following her line of vision around the room. ‘Here’s what I see. You’ll need a complete revamp of the space. New roofing for a start. If you want to keep the glass dome, it’ll need to be double-glazed. But if you want this to be completely soundproof I’d ditch the glass. The flooring will be an easy fix and the walls not too hard either.’

She could listen to him talk all day, his deep voice with the broad Australian accent as intoxicating as the rest of him. His eyes lit up as he explained the renovations, demonstrating true passion for his work.

How would he look indulging in other passions?

When she caught him staring at her oddly again, she quickly cleared her throat. ‘How much?’

‘I’ll outline all the proposed changes and costing in a formal quote I’ll email to you later, but from what I can see, including materials and labour, you’re looking at a ballpark figure of around sixty grand.’

Hope tried to hide her surprise and failed. She wasn’t a complete novice and had obtained quotes from two other companies, both coming in at about half of Logan’s. But a fellow music teacher who also played violin in a major touring orchestra had recommended him to her. Apparently Logan’s company had constructed their rehearsal spaces to a standard higher than that of anything in which her friend had practised around the world and Hope had known then that she had to have him. Renovate, that was. That clarification was important for her howling libido that hadn’t quit since she’d first laid eyes on him.

‘Done.’

His eyebrows shot up and his lips thinned, as if he was clamping them together with all his might to prevent from blurting that she was crazy for accepting his first offer.

‘I’ll settle for nothing less than the best and I know what I want.’ She stepped into his personal space, almost toe to toe, done with him toying with her. Time to regain the upper hand. ‘And I want you.’




CHAPTER THREE (#u9d69f867-0858-551b-b6b6-933f716a1e89)


LOGAN KNEW HOPE was referring to him doing her precious bloody renovations when she said ‘I want you’ but it took a second or two for his eager cock to catch up with his logic.

He’d been rock-hard since he’d set foot in this room and she’d become animated, like one of those wind-up ballerinas in his mum’s old jewellery box that whirled when wound up.

He’d tried to get a rise out of her several times, to tease her into lightening up, to see what was beneath that frosty exterior.

He hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him.

She stood too close, some exotic flowery fragrance reminiscent of newly budded roses teasing him to bury his nose in her neck and inhale. Close enough he could feel the heat radiating off her, as if she’d been standing next to a radiator too long. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and tiny jade flecks glowed in her eyes.

For a second he almost lost it. He imagined backing her up against the nearest wall, flipping up that short kaftan, tearing off her panties and burying himself in deep. Or having her kneel before him, that prim and proper mouth wrapped around him, sucking him off...

‘I accept your offer. When can you start?’

Logan blinked, his X-rated fantasy instantly obliterated by her coolly polite question.

Of course he had to accept the job now, even after throwing out that ludicrously inflated price. He’d done it to see her baulk and had looked forward to bargaining with her. She had a hidden fire beneath the frost and it had come out several times already when she’d returned his quips. He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to agree to it so fast.

But he couldn’t recant now, not without appearing unprofessional, so he nodded. ‘I’ll do the preliminaries and get my team set. We can start Monday if that suits?’

She grimaced. ‘Monday is my busiest teaching day and I don’t want my students disrupted. Can you start Tuesday?’

Usually he called the shots on where and when his crew worked but residual guilt over the exorbitant quote for a fairly routine job made Logan nod. ‘Sure, but you’ll need to reschedule the following Monday, because a job of this magnitude may require two weeks to complete. Plus we need to factor in unforeseen hold-ups like bad weather.’

‘Understood.’ She twisted a strand of hair that had come loose from her elaborate topknot, gnawing on her lip absentmindedly. ‘I knew there’d be some disruption but maybe I’m better off closing and changing all my appointments for the next fortnight.’

He nodded. ‘It would make life easier on us. We take occupational health and safety very seriously and having people around during renovations is a hazard we’d rather avoid.’

‘Okay.’

He eyed her suspiciously, wondering why she sounded so meek, as though the ice princess had melted into a submissive little snowman.

‘I really need this to work,’ she murmured as she headed back towards the room with the instruments, winding that strand of hair tighter around her finger. ‘It has to.’

Intrigued by her glimpse of vulnerability, he followed, stopping only to turn out the lights and close the double doors. He found her slumped on the piano stool, eyeing him with open speculation.

‘I have it on good authority you’re the best at what you do.’

While he didn’t need the validation these days, it was always nice to get praise. ‘My company only takes on a limited number of boutique jobs, meaning we focus on one at a time per city, ensuring quality and attention to detail.’ He shrugged. ‘When you’re the best, word gets around.’

‘So I heard.’ She pinned him with an astute stare. ‘And you charge accordingly, so it seems.’

‘That’s right. Supply and demand.’

Though in this case he was quadrupling his profit margins because he’d been a smart-ass trying to get a rise out of her and it didn’t sit well with him. Too late to back down now.

When she continued to stare at him as if she could see right through his BS, he distracted her by pointing at the instruments. ‘You play and teach all these?’

‘Yes. Viola and double bass too.’

‘Wow, talented.’ The only thing he played was the fool. ‘My music tastes extend to good old country and western, that’s it.’

‘I’m an indie girl myself, hence the recording studio dream.’ She pointed at the closed doors, managing to surprise him once again with her eclectic taste in music.

‘I picked you for classical.’

The corners of her mouth drooped. ‘I’m not some cliché. The indie scene is huge in Melbourne, which is why I want to record my own songs and then branch out into recording other artists.’

Damn, he’d trod on a minefield without meaning to. ‘Sounds admirable.’

‘Are you mocking me?’

Fuck, she really was testy about her music. ‘Not at all.’ He held up his hands. ‘Hey, the only musical talent I have is playing the washboard back in Rally-Doo and even then I was only ever mediocre.’

Her forehead crinkled in confusion. ‘Washboard? Rally-Doo?’

‘It’s a tiny town near Swan Hill, in the middle of nowhere, really, where I grew up.’

Even saying the name made him clear his throat like he’d done as a kid when the summer dust grew so thick it clogged in his nose and the back of his mouth. ‘As for the washboard, how can you call yourself a musician if you don’t know the finer points of dragging a metal brush against a piece of corrugated iron, redolent of the old washboards used in years gone by?’

Her forehead cleared and a small smile played about her mouth. Good. He much preferred her like this rather than in the maudlin mood that had been hanging over her the last few minutes. ‘You Aussies are inventive, I’ll give you that.’

‘That we are.’

They locked gazes and in that moment something in the air between them shifted and shimmered, a hint of the forbidden, straining to drag them together.

Logan should resist. He never got involved with clients. But there was something about this woman that begged to see how far he could delve into this subtle attraction.

‘Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll play you some time?’

Her eyes widened at his innuendo as he mock-slapped his head. ‘Sorry, play for you some time.’

She continued to stare at him with those big, expressive eyes and he waited to see if she’d change the subject or spar for the sheer hell of it.

‘Playing any kind of instrument takes concentration, you know.’ She patted the space on the stool next to her and he found his feet moving towards her. ‘Precision. Timing. Talent.’

He sat and her smile was pure devilry. ‘But the most important is practice. Hours and hours of practice. Listening to your instrument. Feeling your instrument. Stroking your instrument. Caressing your instrument—’

He kissed her. He couldn’t fucking help it. All that talk of feeling and stroking and caressing had got to him.

Her mouth opened to him and her tongue sought his, teasing his, taunting, demanding to give whatever he could. And fuck, did he want to give her everything and then some.

She clutched at him, her hands pawing his chest, and when her fingers slid between the buttons of his shirt and grazed his chest he felt as if he’d stuck a sander into a tub full of water.

She moaned as he palmed her ass and dragged her onto his lap, grinding her against the fly of his jeans, leaving her in no doubt how far he wanted this to go.

When she started to writhe against him, as if she wanted to get closer, he slid his hands under her kaftan, encountering the soft, smooth skin of her thighs, then slid higher to her...bare ass.

Hot damn. The prim princess went commando.

‘Fuck, you’re full of surprises,’ he said, squeezing the perfect handful of ass.

‘I’m not who you think I am,’ she murmured, nipping his ear with a sharp bite that bordered on pain, until her tongue darted out and licked it all better. The touch of her tongue lapping at his earlobe sent a jolt straight to his rock-hard cock.

Eager to feel her wetness, he slipped a hand over her hip and between their bodies, when the blast of a trumpet made him jump.

‘Shit, that’s the entry bell, which means my next student is here,’ she said, scrambling off him and tugging down her kaftan. ‘You have to go.’

He stared at her standing in front of him, wild-eyed, flushed and dishevelled, and thought he’d never seen anything sexier.

‘Hey, calm down—’

‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do.’ Her lips pursed in disapproval as he watched the woman who’d been willing and wanton on his lap a moment ago morph from warmth to cold disdain.

‘Fine.’

But it wasn’t, and as he stood and readjusted himself so he could actually walk out he shot her a curious glance. How could someone change like that so quickly? He was an open book. Upfront to the point of bluntness, people knew what to expect from him. It pissed him off when people said one thing and did another, or vice versa.

When she turned her back on him and started flipping through a music book, he said, ‘For the record, you came onto me.’

She spun around to face him, that spark back in her eyes. ‘Go. Please.’

She almost whimpered the last word and rather than push the issue he took pity on her. She had a student waiting and, by the way she vacillated between poised and uncertain, she needed time to pull herself together.

‘I’ll email you the formalised quote.’ He headed for the door leading to the front of the shop and paused. ‘And I’ll be here Tuesday morning to get the boys set up.’

She gave a brief nod, her gaze riveted to his mouth. Yeah, this one was full of contradictions. Fire and ice. Unexpectedly scorching one minute, frigidly chilling the next. The contrast only served to pique his interest further.

‘Unless you want to see me sooner?’

He could’ve sworn the corners of her mouth twitched before she shooed him away. ‘Go.’




CHAPTER FOUR (#u9d69f867-0858-551b-b6b6-933f716a1e89)


HOPE WENT THROUGH the motions of teaching piano to an uninterested, average student. The reluctant teen hadn’t practised since their last session so it made the forty-five minutes even more torturous than usual. Parents who pushed their kids into learning instruments when they’d rather be skateboarding had a lot to answer for.

She should know. Her parents had pushed her into horse riding and polo and chess when she would’ve much rather been jamming with the local kids in the village. Sure, they’d encouraged her interest in piano and violin but had been horrified when she’d mentioned the D-word. Apparently drums weren’t the preferred instrument for an aristocratic McWilliams’ child.

So she’d learned in secret, using some of her generous allowance to pay a teacher in the village, an ageing rocker who still toured on occasion. Harry Remme had been more attentive to her music career than her folks and posh music teachers put together. He’d introduced her to a world beyond Mozart and Chopin, to a world filled with guitar riffs, drum solos and the deep bass rhythms that she felt all the way down to her soul.

She’d been hooked.

From that moment she’d known what she wanted to do: create the kind of music that changed people’s lives, the way Harry’s music had changed hers.

Harry’s band hadn’t conformed. They hadn’t done covers. They’d written original material, recorded it in a tiny studio outside of London and distributed it online to whoever was lucky enough to hear it. She’d spent countless hours listening to their quirky songs and loving every minute of it. Harry had fostered her love of unusual music while teaching her everything he could about the drums. She’d been thrilled to be accepted into a premier international music college in Paris once she finished school but what she’d learned at that prestigious place hadn’t come close to fuelling her creativity the way Harry’s music had.

It broke her heart that eventually he’d betrayed her like everyone else in her life.

She’d never recovered from his deception so close on the heels of Willem breaking her heart but she’d always be indebted to him for encouraging her to break free of her parents’ expectations and choose her own path. If she’d done what her mother and father had wanted she’d be married to some uppity earl named Charles Butterworth with a brood of kids by now, a nanny, housekeeper and chauffeur, living down the road from her parents in a palatial country house.

They’d humoured her love of music by accepting she’d attend the college in Paris, never imagining she’d follow her dream all the way to Australia. They’d threatened to disown her, to cut her off. She hadn’t cared.

They’d lied to her like everyone else.

She benefited from her granny’s trust fund, meaning she never had financial worries. Sure, things might be different if she didn’t have that safety net, but she doubted it. Nothing would stop her from pursuing her dream.

Not even some six-four gorgeous guy who kissed like a pro and who’d almost made her come by groping her ass.

Heat flushed her cheeks at the memory of how turned on she’d been. If that student hadn’t arrived she would’ve screwed him on the piano stool.

Never in a million years would she have expected him to discover her dirty little secret: that she didn’t wear underwear most days.

Being so daring was her one concession whilst living a well-ordered life. It made her feel a little bad when her entire life she’d been so very good. A way of cutting free from the constraints of her past. A way to prove, albeit to herself, that she held all the power and was in control of her own destiny.

The more refined guys she usually dated had been repulsed by her lack of constraint. Logan had been turned on big time, the focus being on big.

He’d felt huge through his jeans and she’d been so close to riding that bad boy. She needed the release so badly...

The throb between her legs became insistent so Hope did the only thing possible: she locked up, picked up her mobile and headed for the bathroom.

It didn’t take her long to find what she needed: the picture of Logan on his company’s website.

The photo didn’t do him justice. Neither did the suit. She preferred how he’d looked today: a little rough around the edges with his scruffy dark-blond hair skimming his collar, his shirt sleeves rolled up, that denim hugging his ass and those eyes so penetratingly blue she could’ve sworn he could see right through her.

She leaned against the hand basin and stared into those eyes, remembering how he’d looked at her the moment before he’d kissed her. As if he wanted to ravage her.

She’d enjoyed taunting him, had liked how he stood up to her and gave as good as he got.

Her gaze drifted to his mouth as her hand drifted lower, her fingers seeking her clit. She was so wet, thanks to him.

She stared at his lips and remembered the feel of his tongue in her mouth, skilled and sure, and imagined what it could do where her middle finger zeroed in on now. Her pulse raced, the lightness in her chest making her feel as if she were floating as she circled her clit over and over, her excitement escalating too quickly. She didn’t care. She needed a release and, with the man who’d wound her up gone, she needed it now.

Breathless, she started panting a little. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment as she imagined Logan’s fingers touching her, Logan’s tongue licking her, Logan’s dick inside her... She tensed and came on a soft moan, sagging against the basin.

When she opened her eyes, he was still there, staring at her from that photo, looking way too smug and self-controlled.

He’d got her so wound up that she’d just masturbated away from home for the first time.

Time to ruffle him as much as he’d ruffled her.




CHAPTER FIVE (#u9d69f867-0858-551b-b6b6-933f716a1e89)


LOGAN HAD DOUBLE-CHECKED the quote twice before firing it off to Hope an hour ago.

Considering he’d already fucked up by kissing her, he didn’t want there to be any potential problems with this job.

Not that he expected any, as she’d been as into that unexpected make-out session as he had, but it still didn’t sit right that he’d crossed the line with a client.

‘Hey, bozo, what’s happening?’ Rick, his foreman, slapped him on the back as he slid onto a bar stool opposite. ‘You know I can’t drink when I’m on pain meds so why the hell did you ask me to meet you at a pub?’

‘To torture you, of course.’ Logan raised his schooner in a cheer. ‘What are you having? Lemonade? Cola? Soda water?’

‘Fuck you.’ Rick flipped him the bird. ‘Get me a light beer. That way I’ll only get half-pissed when it mixes with the meds.’

‘Dickhead.’ Logan headed for the bar and ordered Rick a lemon, lime and bitters, glad he’d invited his old mate here tonight. He needed the distraction. Sitting here rehashing what he’d done with Hope wouldn’t help anybody, least of all himself.

When he placed the drink in front of Rick on the small round table between them, his friend groaned. ‘You’re not my mother. Get me a real drink.’

‘No can do, mate. You’re the best foreman in the country and I need you on deck sooner rather than later, so let the meds do their work and that means sticking to soda for you.’

Rick grunted, took a sip and wrinkled his nose. ‘Fucking lolly water.’

‘Bottoms up.’ Logan took a gulp of his beer and ignored Rick’s woebegone expression.

‘So what do you think of the new job I emailed you?’

Rick gave a thumbs-up. ‘Looks good. We’ve done a few of those recording studios now. You must be getting a reputation.’

A bad one, if Hope ever blabbed to anyone about that kiss.

‘They’re lucrative, that’s for sure.’ Rick took another sip and made a gagging sound. ‘Though the quote seemed high. Is there a problem?’

Logan shook his head. ‘The owner was being a bit of a smart-ass so I upped the ante, expecting she’d cave. She didn’t, so now we’re going to make a healthy profit.’

‘Uh-oh.’ Rick’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve got the hots for her.’

‘Don’t be a dumb-ass,’ Logan said, unable to meet his mate’s eyes and opting for looking into his beer glass instead.

‘You do like her!’ Rick made an odd triumphant, crowing sound. ‘You always like the ones with the smart mouths because they challenge you, so if you charged her that much she must’ve really got to you.’

‘Maybe a little,’ he admitted begrudgingly, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. ‘She’s a firecracker all right. Ice princess one minute, fiery the next.’

Rick imitated playing a violin. ‘Look at you, all smitten kitten.’

‘Bullshit.’ Logan downed the rest of his beer. ‘Don’t mind me while I go get another alcoholic beverage.’

Rick flipped him the bird again and Logan laughed. He liked the company’s Melbourne jobs for this reason: he got to hang out with his best mate. They’d known each other for twelve years, after he’d met Rick on the first day of his apprenticeship in the city. He’d been a naïve eighteen-year-old who loved building stuff; Rick had been a thirty-year-old electrician on the same job. They’d been mates ever since. Logan trusted Rick when he didn’t trust many people in this world.

When his construction company had started taking off, he’d offered Rick the job of head foreman on all jobs in Melbourne. It gave him peace of mind, knowing Rick had his back when Logan travelled the country doing quotes. He had a good, reliable work team in each major city but Rick was the only guy who would never screw him over.

‘Seriously, mate, how’s the back?’

Rick screwed up his nose, held up his hand and wavered it side to side. ‘The anti-inflammatories did the trick in the first week and I’m weaning myself off the pain meds now. I’m seeing Madame Lash, the torturous physio, three times a week, and Doc wants to review at the end of the week.’

‘Cut the cookie-cutter medical spiel.’ Logan rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Shitty from being cooped up at home and not on the job site but otherwise okay. The back really is improving.’

Logan nodded. ‘Good to hear.’

‘So tell me more about this client.’ Rick slipped his mobile out of his pocket and scrolled through his emails. ‘Hope McWilliams. Fancy-schmancy name.’

For a fancy-schmancy woman. Logan had never met anyone like her. Sure, he mingled with the rich on occasion. Being a successful CEO of a major construction company ensured he got invited to all the right parties, particularly when he had so many satisfied customers. People talked and he hadn’t been bullshitting Hope when he had said he didn’t have to advertise. But even the refined women he met in those circles weren’t like Hope. Those women looked at him as if he was a curiosity, as if he was a wild pet they needed to tame. Hope hadn’t looked at him like that. When she’d dropped her frosty exterior and thawed, Hope had looked at him as though she’d wanted to devour him whole.

‘She owns a piece of prime real estate on the outskirts of inner-city Melbourne, so she’s loaded. Didn’t baulk at my asking price either.’

‘I’m not interested in her bank balance, doofus.’ Rick rolled his eyes. ‘What’s she like?’

Logan searched for the right word to describe Hope, coming up with a lame ‘Interesting.’

‘You’re pathetic.’ Rick took another sip of his drink and mock-barfed. ‘I can’t drink this shit, it’s too sweet. I’m going home to have a beer.’

‘Hey, you can’t—’

‘Take a chill pill, dude. I’m messing with you.’ Rick stood slowly, unkinked his back and winced. ‘But I am heading home. I’m just as keen to get back to work as you are to have me there, so it’s exercise time for me. Keep me posted on the McWilliams job, okay?’

‘Sure. I’ll email you updates—’

‘And for fuck’s sake, don’t screw the crew.’ Rick made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and shot him.

‘She doesn’t work for me.’

‘But she’s a client so close enough.’ Rick slapped him on the back. ‘I’m serious, bro. Tread carefully, okay?’

‘Yes, Mum,’ Logan muttered, knowing he had no intention of adhering to his friend’s advice.

As Rick shuffled towards the door, the screen of Logan’s phone lit up with a text from Hope.

Need 2 C U 2nite 2 discuss quote. Please.

‘That’s weird,’ Logan muttered, staring at the message. It looked as though she’d added ‘please’ as an afterthought, as if she doubted he’d want to see her.

He knew what he should do. Make an excuse. Blow her off. Because seeing her tonight, hot on the heels of their unexpected make-out session earlier, could be playing with fire.

Then again, since when had he backed away from a challenge?

I’m at Golden Treble, Nth Melb. Can U come now?

As his thumb hit the send button he realised how that last sentence read. He hadn’t meant it as an innuendo but, considering how they’d bantered earlier, she might mistake it for such.

Her response pinged.

I’m coming.

And she really would be, in the not too distant future, if he had any say in it.




CHAPTER SIX (#u9d69f867-0858-551b-b6b6-933f716a1e89)


HOPE LOVED THE vibe of inner Melbourne and its surrounding suburbs: Carlton, with its lush parks and Little Italy on Lygon Street; Albert Park, with its lake and accompanying restaurants; and Brunswick, the bohemian capital of the city jam-packed with alternative boutiques, bars and comedy clubs. But she rarely ventured into North Melbourne and discovered she’d been missing out. Trendy eateries lined Curzon Street but as she followed the instructions of her trusty satnav she found herself in the back streets where a small, grungy pub sat on a corner.

It figured Logan would ask her to meet him here.

He had a thing for throwing her off-guard. Maybe he wanted her to feel out of place. Maybe he’d already labelled her as some rich bitch wanting to slum it. Neither could be further from the truth because as she found a parking spot not far from the front door and entered the pub an immediate sense of coming home enveloped her.

This place reminded her exactly of the small pubs Harry used to play in.

Dark wood panelling adorned the walls roughly three quarters of the way up, with a deep crimson paint finishing the walls to the roof. A small elevated stage was tucked into one corner, a cluster of tiny tables in another, with the mahogany bar dominating the back wall. A few tall tables and bar stools were tucked away behind the stage and that was where she spotted Logan nursing a beer and fending off a buxom bar girl. Not that she blamed the woman. If she had DDs like that she’d be deliberately resting them on Logan’s arm as she cleared the table too.

Unfortunately, her average Bs would barely make a dent in his biceps so she’d have to settle for wowing him with her scintillating wit.

That, and the fact he already knew she didn’t wear underwear.

A tingling swept up the back of her neck at the memory of his hands on her, the slight rasp of his fingers against her bare ass... She’d been so turned on it wouldn’t have taken much more rubbing against his crotch for her to come. It was why she’d had to take the edge off in the studio’s bathroom. But it hadn’t been enough, not nearly enough, and she’d asked to meet him for the simple fact she wanted to have sex tonight.

She’d never done this before, so brazenly approach a guy with the sole intention of screwing him. She didn’t care that he was a direct adjunct to achieving her dream. She didn’t care it might muddy their semi-working relationship. All she cared about was getting off with him tonight.

As she wound her way towards him, her soles stuck to the navy carpeted floor. Yeah, pubs like this were the same the world over. Despite regular cleaning, the spillage of many pints of beer over the years took its toll. She inhaled, savouring the smell of bar snacks predominantly featuring fried onions, and the yeasty aroma of beer.

Harry had been a stout man. She’d tried the stuff once and almost vomited. She’d stuck to her G and Ts after that. He’d never baulked at her under-age drinking; not that she’d had more than one drink and only after she’d turned seventeen. He hadn’t lectured. He’d supported her, nurtured her talent and had been the father she’d never had.

Until he too had betrayed her trust.

He’d died during her final year at the music college in the middle of her exams. She would’ve attended his funeral if he hadn’t shattered their relationship a year earlier.

She’d never forget the day she had discovered the one person she’d thought she could trust was just as duplicitous as the rest of the people in her life.

Harry had been her go-to person when her first love had gone pear-shaped. She’d cried buckets over Willem, had poured her heart out to Harry, confiding in him in a way she’d never felt comfortable doing with her emotionally repressed parents. Yet a scant month later he’d crapped all over her regardless. He’d stolen more than her songs from her. He’d taken her ability to trust and turned her into a hardened cynic.

Everybody lied. It was a fact of life, a human frailty. She should’ve been immune to it, growing up with parents who stretched the truth whenever it suited them; with so-called friends at boarding school who only told her what she wanted to hear in order to suck up; with her only serious boyfriend, Willem.

But she’d expected better of Harry. He’d been her idol, her friend, her confidante and he’d screwed her over regardless.

Hope blinked several times to dispel the moisture from her eyes and continued traversing the pub. A few old men sat at the bar, locals probably, from the way they bantered with the barman. Logan caught sight of her and stood. He didn’t wave. He didn’t smile. He just stared at her, jaw set, gaze steady, and she felt that damn jolt again arrowing between her legs.

She’d made the right decision in coming here.

She needed one night.

One night of fast and furious sex to dispel this weird fascination for him.

Then she could return to furthering her goal in setting up the best indie record label this city had ever heard.

She strode towards him, intent on appearing poised, when in fact the closer she got the more her confidence fled and her legs wobbled like just-set jelly. The empty sensation in her stomach intensified when she reached him and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face, as if he could see into her horny soul.

‘You wanted to see me?’ He pulled out a bar stool for her and she slid onto it, relieved to have it holding her up rather than her traitorous legs.

‘Yes, thank you for agreeing to meet me.’ She sounded so stilted, so formal, his grin widened.

‘Every time you open your mouth I feel like I’m being addressed by royalty,’ he said, leaning in to murmur in her ear. ‘Except when you kissed me, of course.’

‘You kissed me,’ she said, intent on reprimanding him when in fact her voice came out breathy.

‘So I did.’ He chuckled and straightened, and she immediately wished he’d return to whispering in her ear. ‘Got to say, Princess, you surprised me.’

‘The underwear thing?’

‘Yeah. That.’ His eyes darkened to indigo as his jaw clenched. ‘Pretty fucking hot.’

His husky tone rippled over her like a caress and she squeezed her thighs together. It did little for the ache only he could assuage.

Here went nothing. ‘That’s actually why I wanted to see you.’

His eyebrows shot up but he remained silent, meaning she’d have to spell it out.

‘I...um... I want to finish what we started in the studio.’

The words tumbled out in a rush and she held her breath. Mortification tightened her stomach and a tingling swept up the back of her neck. Fantasising about riding him was one thing, articulating it quite another.

His lips curved with amusement—he knew exactly how uncomfortable she was—and she clamped down on the urge to bolt.

‘You mean the quote?’

He was being deliberately obtuse. She could see it in the teasing glint in his eyes, and hear it in his taunting drawl.

‘I’ve approved the quote and already wired a deposit so, no, I don’t mean the quote and you damn well know it,’ she said, ending on a huff. ‘Do you need me to spell it out for you?’

‘Yeah.’ He stepped in close again and trailed a fingertip down her forearm. ‘I want to hear you say it.’

Her breath hitched when he reached her wrist and circled her pulse point, over and over, slow and concentric, before moving on to her palm and doing the same thing. Her skin prickled all over, like tiny zapping stings from touching one of those weird static electricity balls.

He lifted her palm to his mouth and pressed an open-mouthed kissed to it. ‘You want me to fuck you.’

She nodded and mimicked him, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘I want you to fuck me,’ she said, and bit her bottom lip to stop from moaning as his tongue darted out to give her palm a little lick before he released her hand.

‘Good, because I can’t stop thinking about it either,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘I like a woman who speaks her mind. Game-playing gives me the shits.’

She laughed at his typically blunt Aussie response. ‘So you’re up for it?’

He shot a glance at his groin and she did the same, delighted to see that sizeable bulge. ‘I’ve been up since I felt you up.’

Laughter burst from her lips again. It was rare for a guy to amuse her this much. She usually found the half-assed flirting guys used as foreplay rather tedious. With Logan, his words were getting her as hot as his touch. ‘So how do we do this?’

‘The polite way would be for us to have a drink, talk a little, before going back to my place or yours.’

‘And the impolite way?’

He took a moment to answer, his smouldering gaze dropping to her mouth. ‘I take you out the back and fuck you up against one of those artistic alley walls you love so much.’

Hope’s mother had lectured her from a young age that gaping wasn’t ladylike but she couldn’t help it. No man had ever spoken to her like this—and she liked it, a lot.

Apart from her habit of going commando, she’d never done anything remotely adventurous sexually. She liked the act itself and if she got off with the guy she considered it a bonus. Willem had been a considerate lover but bland. He’d never gone down on her but expected she blow him regularly. His selfishness right there should’ve alerted her to his asshole ways. And the six guys she’d screwed since had been vanilla all the way. None of them had wanted her so badly they did it up against a wall, let alone in public.

Resisting the urge to squirm, she eyeballed him. ‘I’m not thirsty and I think we’re all talked out.’

His eyes widened in surprise, with a healthy dose of respect for her brazenness thrown in. ‘Are you saying...?’

‘Time for you to show me exactly how impolite you can be.’ She stood and grabbed his hand before she could second-guess this crazy impulse. Her heart jackhammered at the thought of having sex in public, a potent mix of excitement and panic at the thought of being discovered. But she couldn’t walk away from him now, not when she craved him so badly she almost trembled.

He scrambled to his feet so fast they collided and she would’ve stumbled if he hadn’t steadied her, bringing her flush against that gloriously muscular chest. She rested her palm against it, over his heart, feeling the racing thud matching hers.

His eyes blazed a scorching indigo. ‘You strike me as a hearts and flowers kind of girl. You sure you want this?’

Her palm slid up to rest on his shoulder, an anchor for the out-of-control lust slamming through her. ‘I thank you for being a gentleman and giving me an out, but I’ve never been surer of anything. I want you. Inside me. Touching me. I want...it all.’

Saying it made her want to writhe against him and she gritted her teeth against the urge to squirm.

Doubt clouded his eyes as he gave a little shake of his head. ‘You deserve satin sheets, not a graffiti-covered wall at your back.’

‘I deserve...this.’ She slid her free hand beneath their bodies and cupped him, vindicated when he groaned.

No one told her what she wanted, not any more. Taking back control of her life involved more than moving a million miles from home five years ago. Her independence stretched to knowing exactly what she wanted.

Right now, she wanted Logan.

After what seemed like an eternity he nodded and tightened his grip on her hand. ‘Let’s go.’




CHAPTER SEVEN (#u9d69f867-0858-551b-b6b6-933f716a1e89)


LOGAN DIDN’T BREAK stride as he wound his way through the pub towards the back exit.

He should stop this madness, despite her bold assertion. But he had as much hope of reining in his rampant libido as he did of staying put in one city: absolutely none.

He’d had his fair share of women, some who’d worn their sexuality more overtly than Hope. But he’d never had any of them articulate so precisely what they wanted.

‘I want you. Inside me. Touching me. I want...it all.’

Fuck, her cultured voice reverberated through his head.

She wanted it all? He’d give it to her.

He understood. She wanted one fast fuck with a guy who was opposite to her. The princess slumming it with the fabled bad boy. Her walk on the wild side. Opposites attracting and all that crap.

He’d been intent on shocking her, throwing out that comment about alley sex as a challenge.

He’d never expected her to accept.

When they reached the door that opened out into the alley, he gave her one last chance to back out.

‘Once we go out there, it’s game on,’ he said, tugging her flush against him and grinding himself into her pelvis.

Defiant, she tilted her head back and their gazes locked. Her eyes glowed in the dim light cast from a single globe hanging from the ceiling and he saw her desire matched his.

‘Bring it on,’ she said, pushing him at the same time so that his butt hit the door and he backed through it.

Having her take control was a huge fucking turn-on and he grinned for the hell of it when she shoved him a tad hard against the wall and the back of his head clunked.

‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ she said, her stricken expression making him laugh.

‘Babe, I’m fine.’ He knocked on the top of his head. ‘This one’s as hard as the one in my pants.’

Her face cleared and she managed a rueful chuckle. ‘I’m so bad at this.’

‘No you’re not. You’re refined and cultured and not used to being corrupted by a horny tradesman with one thing on his mind.’

Her eyebrow arched. ‘And what’s that?’

‘Fucking you.’

She slammed her mouth against his and his head clunked the wall again. He didn’t care. The pain barely registered when she had her tongue in his mouth and her hand on his zipper.

‘Not here. More private,’ he said against the corner of her mouth, guiding her towards a sheltered nook he’d first discovered as a horny teen during his first year in Melbourne.

‘You’ve done this before,’ she said flatly, some of the fire draining out of her eyes.

‘I’ve made out with a girl here once, when I was nineteen.’

She took a moment to respond and when she did he knew it’d be a zinger by the quirk of her lips. ‘Practice for the real thing now.’

He laughed. ‘Something like that.’

Her smile faded as she slid her hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. ‘I have no idea what’s gotten into me but I need this, you, so badly.’

There was a hint of wistful forlornness in her voice, as if wanting him confused her.

Join the club, lady. No woman had ever got under his skin so fast.

Taking her hand, he did a quick visual check of the area. Empty, apart from used kegs stacked neatly at the alley’s dead-end, creating the perfect nook he remembered. Back then, he’d wanted to go all the way with his date but she’d been a reluctant virgin. This time, he had a confident woman in his arms who had demanded what she wanted.

He tugged on her hand and eased her into the nook. As soon as they were shielded from the possibility of prying eyes from a late-night stroller at the other end of the alley, she was on him. Hands pawing, mouth devouring, leg hooked around his waist as if she wanted to climb him.

He grabbed her ass and lifted her, pinning her against the wall while her legs wrapped around him. She whimpered as he kneaded her ass and kissed his way down her neck, nipping at the tender skin and following it with a lap of his tongue. With every bite and lick she rocked against him, her breathing short and choppy.

‘Oh, yeah, so good,’ she murmured as he found her nipple through the thin material of her kaftan and playfully bit it.

She arched, her head flung back against the wall, eyes closed, the column of her neck smooth and pale in the wan moonlight. He’d never seen anything so beautiful, so erotic.

Gently easing one of her legs down, he backed away slightly. Her eyes flew open. Clouded and dazed, she stared at him, disoriented.

‘Why did you stop?’

‘Because I want to be inside you when you come.’

Approval glittered in her eyes as he lowered her to her feet, unzipped and made fast work of a condom from his wallet.

‘I knew you’d be big,’ she murmured, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her lower lip as she stared at his cock. ‘You felt huge back at the studio.’

‘Wait til you feel me inside you,’ he said, taking his cock in his hand and rubbing the tip against her clit.

‘Ooh...’ she sighed when he prised her thighs apart and slid his cock through her wet folds.

‘So good,’ she whispered, biting her bottom lip as he angled his pelvis to align with hers and nudged her entrance.

‘You’re so fucking wet.’ He slid in slowly, using every ounce of his shredded willpower to take this slowly when he wanted to pound into her.

As if reading his mind, she said, ‘I need to come. Now.’

Logan didn’t have to be asked twice. He lifted her thigh so she hooked a leg around his waist, opening her wider as he slid in to the hilt. She gasped as he slid out and did it again, savouring the feel of her tight pussy squeezing him.

‘More,’ she demanded, soft and breathy, so he obliged. Sliding out and driving in, over and over, knowing this wasn’t the place to prolong things but wishing he could.

She started panting and writhing so he slipped a hand between them and pressed his thumb to her clit.

‘Yes. Now. Please...’ Her head started rolling side to side as he circled her clit, the beginnings of his own orgasm clawing at him, tightening his balls, pooling in his lower spine.

‘Yes, yes, yes...’

He covered her mouth as she came apart, swallowing her cry of release as he thrust one last time and followed her into an orgasm that rocked him to his core.

Logan had no idea how long it took his mind and muscles to work in sync again but as he eased away to look Hope in the eyes he knew one thing.





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