Книга - Her Boss by Day…

Her Boss by Day...
Joss Wood


His accountant by day…After a devastating break-up, Willa Moore-Fisher is determined to prove herself. With an honours degree, she’s certainly got the talent. So when international fitness tycoon Rob Hanson needs a new accountant Willa can’t believe her luck. There’s just one problem: she already knows her new boss… intimately!His mistress by night!Brooding bachelor Rob doesn’t do long-term—watching his stepfather destroy his family sealed that fate. Willa might have a head for numbers, but she has a body made for sin. Soon Rob finds himself wondering if he should make his new temp a more permanent fixture in his life!The SYDNEY’S MOST ELIGIBLE…miniseriesThese sexy Sydney tycoons didn’t get to the top by taking the easy way—the only thing they love more than a challenge is a woman who knows her mind!Book 1: Her Boss by Day…by Joss WoodBook 2: The Millionaire’s Proposition by Avril TremayneBook 3: The Tycoon’s Stowaway by Stefanie LondonBook 4: The Hotel Magnate’s Demand by Jennifer RaePraise for Joss WoodCount Valieri’s Prisoner 4.5* TOP PICK RT Book ReviewWood’s tortured hero is believable and compelling, and the story takes readers on a passionate, emotional roller-coaster ride.












‘When I said that I wanted a list of what needed to be done I expected a page or two—not a doctoral thesis.’


Willa shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m an over-achiever and it was fun … putting my brain and my training to work.’

Rob tapped the folder and held her eyes. ‘Good job, Willa. I’m seriously impressed.’

Willa sucked in her breath, hope shining from her eyes. ‘Impressed enough to give me the job?’

Rob, hoping that he wasn’t making a huge mistake, slowly nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m handing the paperwork over to you.’

Willa shot up so fast that she skidded backwards over the polished wooden floor and did a crazy dance on the spot. ‘Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes!’

Rob tensed as a bundle of warm, fragrant flesh fell into his lap. She was going to complicate this … he could just tell.




SYDNEY’S MOST ELIGIBLE …


The men everyone is talking about!

Young, rich and gorgeous, Rob, Scott, Brodie and Luke have the world at their feet and women queuing to get between their sheets.

Find out how the past and the present collide for them in this stylish, sexy and glamorous new quartet!

These sexy Sydney tycoons didn’t get to the top by taking the easy way—the only thing they love more than a challenge is a woman who knows her mind!

So let the fireworks begin …!

HER BOSS BY DAY … by Joss Wood Available January 2015

THE MILLIONAIRE’S PROPOSITION by Avril Tremayne Available February 2015

THE TYCOON’S STOWAWAY by Stefanie London Available March 2015

THE HOTEL MAGNATE’S DEMAND by Jennifer Rae Available April 2015

You won’t want to miss any of the fabulous books in this sizzling mini-series!


JOSS WOOD wrote her first book at the age of eight and has never really stopped. Her passion for putting letters on a blank screen is matched only by her love of books and travelling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa—and possibly by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.

Fuelled by coffee, when she’s not writing or being a hands-on mum Joss, with her background in business and marketing, works for a non-profit organisation to promote the local economic development and collective business interests of the area where she resides. Happily and chaotically surrounded by books, family and friends, she lives in Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa, with her husband, children and their many pets.




Her Boss by Day…

Joss Wood







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


For my sister, Jen Seymour-Blight, who lives far too far away in Australia. Miss you.




Table of Contents


Cover (#u68de18fa-d9d6-5910-9cd0-45b2e64e24a0)

Excerpt (#ub082e56a-c80b-5b33-ae0d-17de199c1c1d)

About the Author (#uf4eb191f-15a3-54f2-8018-a8078cc29fa5)

Title Page (#u1b5d8de8-0d1b-50ca-bb62-ea30963b3707)

Dedication (#u1a8874f4-b02d-53ee-8a05-1ef27cd7d23e)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#uf1ab7f78-b156-5582-ad56-23420f88d4c9)


‘YOU WILL NOT get me into bed tonight. Tomorrow night isn’t looking good for you, either.’

In the huge bathroom mirror of the upmarket Saints restaurant in Surry Hills, Willa Moore-Fisher practised the phrase and shook her head in disgust. She was being too nice and her sleazy blind date didn’t deserve that much consideration. Obtuse to a fault, he might think that there was a chance of sleeping with her in the future. Which there wasn’t—ever. She’d rather gouge her eye out with a blunt twig.

‘I’d explain why I think you’re an arrogant jerk, but then your brain would explode from you trying to understand.’ Willa tested the words out loud.

And wasn’t that an image to make her smile? Ka-boom! She could just imagine that smirking, arrogant expression blown apart by the suitable application of high-impact explosives. There were, she decided, very few personal problems that couldn’t be solved by a little C4.

Willa imagined that the explosive would work really well on soon-to-be-ex-husbands too …

Maybe you should just go back in there and give him another chance, suggested nice Willa, doormat Willa. It might be that this disastrous date is your fault; if you were a little better at drawing him out, at asking the right questions, at being more interesting …

Wild Willa dropped doormat Willa with a snappy kick to her temple. That’s what you did for eight years, moron; you tried to bring the best out in Wayne, tried to change yourself so that he would change. And how did that work out for you?

‘Catch a freakin’ clue, dumbass.’ Willa pointed a finger at her reflection. ‘Find your balls, metaphorically speaking, tell him he’s wasting your time and get the hell out of here.’

Yeah, like you’d ever actually say that aloud, taunted wild Willa. You’re the world’s biggest wuss and you’d rather put up with someone’s crap than take the chance of making anyone mad at you.

Maybe some day she’d learn to stand up for herself.

Wild Willa just snorted her disbelief.

God, these voices in her head exhausted her.

‘So, is this talking to yourself something new or did you always do it and I didn’t notice?’

In the mirror Willa saw the slick blonde and admired her exquisitely cut and coloured short, smooth bob. Then she clocked the mischievous tawny-brown eyes and spun around in shock.

‘Amy? My God, Amy!’

‘Hey Willa.’

Amy walked towards her on spiked heels. Her shift dress showed off her curves and her make-up and salon-perfect hair were flawless. Willa scanned her face and there, in the tilt of her mouth and in the humour dancing in her eyes, she saw her best friend at eighteen—the mischievous flirt who, just by being Amy, had opened up a world of fun to her that summer so long ago.

‘Amy. My God … what are you doing here?’

Willa leaned in for a hug and was surprised by the fact that she didn’t want to let Amy go. Why had she ever let her go? Let her fade from her life? That summer in the Whitsundays, their core group of friends—Amy, Brodie, Scott, Chantal, her older brother Luke—had been her world and, like so much else, she’d given them up when she married Wayne.

Stupid girl.

‘Having dinner with my flatmate before we go clubbing,’ Amy replied, keeping hold of Willa’s hand. ‘But you—why are you talking to yourself?’

‘Short answer … an excruciatingly bad blind date that I am trying to get out of.’ Willa tipped her head to the bathroom window. ‘Do you think I’m skinny enough to slip through there?’

Amy looked her up and down. ‘Actually, you are far too skinny—and back up. What about Wayne? You married him, didn’t you?’

Willa lifted her ringless left hand. ‘About to be divorced. That was a … mistake.’

Hmm … a mistake. That was a major understatement, but she’d go with it.

Amy pursed her lips. ‘I’m sorry … God, Willa, so much time has passed. We need to catch up. Now.’

‘What about my date and your friend?’ Willa asked. She had already been in the bathroom for an inexcusably long time—she was being so rude.

So what? Wild Willa rolled her eyes.

‘Pfft … your date sounds like a moron and Jessica was exchanging hot looks with a guy across the room. She won’t miss me.’

Amy stalked to the door, yanked it open and let out one of her high-pitched, loud and distinctive whistles. Willa wasn’t surprised when she soon saw a Saints waiter outside the door.

‘Is the small function room empty?’ Amy asked.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Good. Tell Guido that I’m using it for a while, and ask him to please bring me a bottle of that Burnt Tree Chardonnay I like and put it on my tab,’ ordered Amy, and with a luscious smile sent him on his way.

The kid, drooling, whirled away to do the goddess’s bidding. It seemed that Amy, always a good flirt, now had a PhD in getting men to jump through her hoops.

Amy turned back to Willa and shrugged at her astounded expression. ‘I hold a lot of work functions here. Guido owes me.’

Amy led Willa out of the bathroom, down a decorated passage and into a small function room that held a boardroom table at one end and a cluster of chairs at the other. She pulled Willa to the set of wingback chairs and gestured to her to sit.

‘It’s so good to see you, Willa,’ Amy said, taking the seat opposite her. ‘You look so … different. Classy … rich.’

Willa knew what she saw: it was the same face and body she looked at every day. She was still the same height, taller than most woman but skinnier than she’d been at eighteen. Thick, mocha and auburn shoulder-length hair, with a heavy fringe surrounding a pixie face dominated by silver-green eyes.

‘That’s because I am classy … and my husband—ex—whatever—is rich,’ Willa said, making a conscious effort to keep the bitterness from her voice but doubting that she’d succeeded. ‘Gym, designer clothes, best hairdresser in Sydney.’

Amy lightly touched her knee. ‘Was it awful … being married to him?’

Willa considered lying, thought about glossing over the truth, but then she saw the understanding and sympathy in Amy’s eyes and realised that while she wouldn’t tell Amy—tell anyone—the whole truth, she didn’t have to blatantly lie. She and Amy had been through too much for her to lie.

‘Not awful, no. Boring—absolutely. Wayne wanted a young, gorgeous trophy wife, and that’s what I’ve been for the past eight years.’

An eight-year marriage condensed into two sentences …

‘God, a trophy wife.’ Amy winced. ‘But you’re so damn bright … you always wanted to study accountancy, economics, business.’

‘Yeah, well, Wayne wanted beauty and acquiescence, not brains. I kept up with the markets, trends, but he’d didn’t like his wife talking business. I was supposed to be seen and not heard.’

‘I always thought that he was waste of space.’

At the knock on the door Amy got up to accept a bottle and glasses, thanked the waiter profusely and adeptly poured them both a glass.

Amy took a sip of her wine and took her seat again. ‘Why do I get the feeling that I’m getting the sanitised version here?’

Because she wasn’t a fool. ‘My dead marriage is a very boring topic, Amy.’

‘You were never boring, Willa. Quiet, maybe—intense, shy. Not boring. And I know that you probably gave Wayne-the-Pain a hundred and fifty per cent because the Willa I knew bent over backwards to make everyone happy. When you make a promise or a decision it takes a nuclear bomb to dislodge you.’

‘I’m not that bad,’ Willa protested, though she knew she was. She didn’t give up—or in—easily.

‘You hate going against your word.’ Amy sent her a strange, sad smile. ‘You were distraught that you had to ask Luke for help that night in the Whitsundays because I’d begged you not to.’

Willa bit her lip, still seeing Amy, battered and bloody, tears and crimson sand on her face. Her black and blue eye and her split cheek from fighting off Justin’s unwelcome advances on the beach. Sometimes she still saw her face in her dreams and woke up in a cold sweat.

‘I’m sorry, but I needed Luke to help me to help you.’

Amy looked into her wine glass. ‘I know … it’s okay. It was all a long time ago. How is Luke?’

There was an odd tremor in her voice which Willa instantly picked up. Amy and Luke had always had some sort of love-hate, weird reaction to each other that Willa could never quite put her finger on.

‘He’s fine … still single, still driven. He’s working on a massive hotel development in Singapore—the biggest of his career.’

Amy eventually raised her eyes to meet Willa’s. ‘Are you still in contact with the others from the resort? Brodie, Chantal, Scott?’

Willa shrugged. ‘Loosely, via social media and the very occasional e-mail. Chantal is still dancing, Scott is one of the city’s most brilliant young architects, and Brodie is the heart and soul of a company that runs luxury yacht tours down the Gold Coast. I haven’t seen them or socialised with them…. nothing has been the same since the week you and Brodie left.’

Happy to be off the subject of her dysfunctional marriage, Willa cast her mind back to that summer they’d spent in the Whitsundays, when a group of strangers had arrived at the very fancy Weeping Reef resort, ready and rocking to start a holiday season of working all day and having fun all night.

It still amazed her that the five of them—six if she included Luke—had clicked so well. They were such a mixed bag of personalities.

They’d laughed and loved and drunk and partied, and then laughed and loved and partied some more. They’d been really good at it, and the first two months of their summer holiday had flown past. Then their idyll had been shattered when two dreadful incidents had dumped a bucket of angst and recrimination and guilt over their magical interlude and ripped their clique apart.

And set Willa on a path that she now deeply regretted.

‘To go back a whole bunch of steps—we were talking about you and Wayne and what caused the split,’ Amy said, pulling her back to their conversation. She refilled their glasses and lifted an eyebrow.

‘Oh … that.’

‘Yes, that.’

How strange it was that after so long she and Amy could just fall into conversation as if it was yesterday … how strange and how right.

In the natural order of things they shouldn’t have been friends … Amy was bright and flirty and outgoing, and Willa was quiet and naïve and a lot less boisterous than her friend. She couldn’t just spill all the beans about her less than happy marriage—not even with Amy, so successful, confident, sophisticated. With Amy those qualities went deeper than her looks and clothes right into her psyche. Unlike Willa, whose confidence and sophistication was just a fabric layer deep.

‘I wanted to be something other than his pretty arm decoration. He didn’t see why being that wasn’t enough for me.’

‘It got ugly. I called him a balding, ageing git and he called me a shallow bimbo. The words “separation” and “divorce” emerged and we were both very happy with the idea.’

Amy closed her eyes in sympathy. ‘Sorry, Wills.’

Willa shrugged. ‘Eight months ago he booted me out of our apartment and into a waterfront mansion in Vaucluse—’

Amy whistled at the mention of the very upmarket Sydney suburb. ‘Why didn’t he move into the waterfront property?’

Willa smiled. ‘He hates water and open spaces. Anyway, he moved Young and Dumb into the apartment the afternoon I moved out. Now the divorce just needs its court date and I’ll be free!’

‘What are you going to do then?’

Willa shrugged. ‘Still working that out … I have a degree, but no experience, and—worse—no contacts. Money is not a problem, but time is. I battle to fill my day, and rattling around on my own in that mausoleum doesn’t help.’

She glanced at the Rolex on her wrist, a twenty-first birthday present from Wayne. It was boring enough living her life, she didn’t need to dissect it as well, so she attempted to change the subject.

‘We’ve been in here for about twenty minutes. Do you think my date from hell has got the hint?’

‘I told Guido to tell him that you weren’t interested.’

Amy shrugged at Willa’s quick, questioning look.

‘Hey, you wanted to make his brain explode. I thought I’d save you a prison sentence.’

‘True,’ Willa admitted as she stood up. ‘Okay, well … it was great seeing you but I suppose I should get home.’

‘To do more rattling?’ Amy shook her head. ‘Oh, hell, no. If I ever saw someone in need of a party it’s you. I’ve just signed a huge PR deal—’

‘You’re in PR? You’re far too self-effacing, modest and shy for PR, Ames,’ Willa said, her voice deceptively gentle.

Amy just laughed, and instantly catapulted Willa back the best part of a decade. It was a killer laugh—dirty as mud.

‘There’s that sarcastic mouth I used to love. Anyway, I’ve just signed a huge deal to launch a new franchise of sports shops selling clothes and equipment—my client is also setting up some hardcore men-only gyms—and a couple of my workmates and I are going out to celebrate. We’re taking my new client clubbing. And you are going to join us!’

‘Uh, I don’t think so …’

‘I do! My client’s name is Rob, he’s gorgeous and gruff—but not my type, unfortunately.’ Amy led her out of the pretty function room and back towards the main dining area. ‘He might be yours.’

Willa scoffed. ‘If he’s like any of the men I’ve recently come into contact with he’ll need a hug … around the neck … with a rope.’

‘Am really loving this whole bloodthirsty serial killer vibe you’ve got going.’ Amy shot her a grin. ‘I sense sexual frustration.’

Willa grinned at her. ‘I sense that I am going to kick you soon.’

Amy tucked her arm into Willa’s as they walked towards the exit. ‘Oh, yeah … the girls are back in town. And it seems like I am going to have to teach you how to party … to cut loose.’

‘Again.’

Rob Hanson looked at the sharply dressed partygoers dutifully lining up outside Fox, waiting in anxious anticipation to get into the popular club, and shook his head. Pulling on a pair of Levi’s and a button-down white shirt with its sleeves rolled up was about as dressed up as he got … besides, it wasn’t what you looked like that got you into a club—unless you were female and had a great cleavage, blonde hair down to your waist and legs up to your neck—it was attitude …

And he had lots of it.

Rob caught the eye of a bouncer, jerked his head and received a quick nod to go in, bypassing the queue. He slipped a bill into the guy’s hand in a slick movement as the rope was lifted and cursed when his mobile vibrated in his pocket. Stepping back from the door, he shoved his finger in his ear and answered the call.

‘Rob, it’s Gail.’

‘Hey, Snail.’ At twenty-two, his sister was ten years younger than him and the best thing in his life. ‘What’s up?’

‘Not much—just checking in,’ Gail replied. ‘Whatcha doing?’

‘About to go into a club.’

‘Have you met anyone yet?’ Gail demanded.

‘I haven’t even been here two days!’ he protested.

‘My man-about-town bachelor brother is slacking,’ Gail teased and he rolled his eyes.

‘I won’t have the time in Sydney and I don’t have the inclination,’ Rob retorted.

Gail’s laugh tickled his ear. ‘Did the screaming match with Saskia put you off? Judging by the way she flounced out of here, she obviously didn’t take it well when you told her that she’d hit her expiry date?’

‘Jeez, Gail! Her expiry date?’

‘I call it like I see it. You never go over the three-month-fling mark and she was due.’

Not as obsessed with the time-frames of his dates as his sister, Rob counted back. Yeah, it was nearly dead on three months. He’d started getting twitchy as Saskia started making noises about ‘formalising’ their relationship, dropping comments about needing cupboard space in his bedroom. She had left a box of tampons in his bathroom cabinet and he’d realised that it was time to bail. She wasn’t someone he wanted around long-term …

He’d never met anyone he wanted around long-term.

‘One day you’re going to meet someone who blows your socks off,’ Gail warned him.

He doubted it. Remembering that the best way to get Gail off the subject of his love-life was to comment on hers, he said: ‘Are you still dating the tattoo artist? Does he make enough money to take you to the movies occasionally?’

Gail sighed. ‘Well-played. Deflect and distract.’

‘I try. Don’t do anything stupid with this one, okay, honey?’

After witnessing the best and worst of love, he and Gail approached relationships from opposite directions. She thought that true love and happily-ever-after was just around the corner, and he knew that there was only one person he could ever fully depend on and that was himself.

He and Gail adored each other, but they didn’t understand the other’s choices when it came to the opposite sex.

‘How long are you going to be in Sydney?’ Gail asked. ‘This house is like a morgue without you.’

‘A month … six weeks,’ Rob replied. ‘Do not let Mr Body Art move in while I’m gone.’

Gail laughed again. ‘I’ll just move into his place … Bye—love you!’

Rob looked at his dead phone and shook his head. He was convinced that Gail only called him to wind him up and raise his blood pressure. That, he supposed, was a younger sister’s job.

Rob looked at his watch … ten p.m. here, and that meant it would be around two in the afternoon back home. Snail was home from her morning classes at uni and she was bored—and a great way to relieve that boredom was to take pot-shots at his love-life.

Revenge, Rob decided as he stepped into the heaving club, would be sweet and designed to embarrass her to the max. Because that was what his job as her older brother was.

Slapped in the face with the noise and smell of the club—alcohol and perfume and sweat mixed together in an almost palpable fug—he immediately asked himself what he was doing. Apart from the fact that he was still exhausted from the long flight from Johannesburg the day before yesterday—he really had to learn to sleep on planes—and the fact that he’d been working sixteen-hour days for months, he also hated clubs and clubbing.

Too loud, too packed, girls too obvious and generally far too young and too eager. Call him old-fashioned but he liked to do a little work before a piece of tail fell into his lap. And, really, at thirty-two, dating kids his sister’s age or younger made him feel like a dirty old man.

Rob brushed off a hand on his behind and ignored a proposition from his left as he scanned the bar. He’d find his new firecracker of a PR person, make his excuses and then head back to the flat he’d rented and fall face-down onto the bed.

Rob ran a hand over his short dark brown curls and squinted into the low light of the club. Finding Amy in this madhouse was going to be a nightmare, he thought as his mobile vibrated in his pocket. Or not, he thought, looking at the text message.

At the entrance, hook a left and head towards the back of the club. Table in the back corner.

God bless technology. Rob smiled, shoved his mobile back into the pocket of his jeans and took her directions.

Ah, a table full of women … not too young, thank God, but obviously, judging by the bottles and glasses on the table, well on their way to being cabbaged. Shoot me now, he thought. Half an hour, one beer, and he was out of there.

At least they were gorgeous women, admittedly. Amy, confident and glossy, led the pack. There was her colleague—he couldn’t remember her name—and her assistant. Couldn’t remember her name either. The other two women he didn’t recognise at all. He dismissed the tomboy blonde who, he saw when he looked over his shoulder, was swapping some major eye contact with some dude at the bar, and focussed on the woman with mahogany hair tucked into the corner of the table, a cocktail glass in her hand. She had a wide-eyed, Audrey Hepburn waif look to her that instantly made a man regress to being a caveman.

You woman, I protect you. Lie down and I make you happy. Grunt. Grunt.

He’d known a lot of women—sue him … he was in his thirties and had been consistently single all his life—so he was old enough and wise enough to realise that waifs and strays, romantics and women who seemed helpless and hopeless, normally ended up tearing strips off him.

Women, as he’d learnt, were seldom what they portrayed themselves to be. Scrap that. People mostly weren’t who they said they were.

Amy sprang to her feet. ‘Rob—yay, you’re here!’

Yeah. Yay.

‘You know Bella and Kara, my colleagues—’ their names went in one ear and out of the other ‘—the creature ignoring you for the rock star wannabe at the bar is my flatmate Jessica—oi! Jessica! This is Rob.’

The blonde whipped her head around, flashed him a smile. ‘Hey, Rob.’

Quick eye contact and a super-fast scan to determine whether she found him attractive. She hesitated, suggesting that she did, but then her eyes slid back to the bar. Rob smiled inwardly. Someone, if he played his cards right, was getting lucky tonight.

Amy touched his wrist to get his attention. ‘And this is my old, old friend Willa. Willa, this is Rob Hanson.’

‘You make me sound like a crone with all the olds, Ames,’ Willa complained good-naturedly, before lifting amazing silver-shot-with-green eyes to his. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi back.’

Rob took the open seat next to her and eyed the full beer bottle on the table, icy cold. It was his favourite brand.

He cocked an eyebrow at Amy. ‘That for me?’

‘Sure.’ Amy pushed the bottle and glass across the table. Ignoring the glass and picking up the bottle, he lifted it to his lips and allowed the liquid to slide down his throat. One beer, half an hour and he’d leave …

‘Rob owns a chain of sports equipment and clothing stores in South Africa, Willa. And some gyms. He’s looking for franchisees to open branches of the stores everywhere, and the gyms will be here in Sydney, Perth and Melbourne initially.’

‘Brave …’ Willa murmured. ‘Especially the gym part, since the marketplace is dominated by Just Fit. And Just Fit has gone on an acquisition drive to buy up the rats and mice gyms that aren’t allowing them marketplace domination.’

Rob lowered his bottle and sent her a long look. Then he lifted his eyebrows at Amy, who just laughed.

‘She’s not just a pretty face,’ she said.

Intriguing …

And she wasn’t done. ‘It takes a set of brass balls to take on two competitors, firmly established and synonymous with Australian health and fitness, one of which is about to list on the ASX. I intend to buy some of their shares when they go public in …’ Smarty-Pants squinted at her watch ‘… six weeks’ time.’

Rob just stared at her as she rested her chin in the palm of her hand and gave Amy a puppy-dog look. ‘I want a set of brass balls, Ames. How do I acquire my own?’

Amy threw back her head and laughed. ‘Wills, how many of those Screaming Orgasms have you had?’

Willa slid her eyes to the row of cocktail glasses in front of her and counted them off. ‘Not enough real ones and four fake ones.’

Willa and Amy exchanged a long look before they both bellowed with laughter.

Oh, jeez—drunk girl humour. About orgasms. Shoot him now. But he had to admit it wasn’t fake girl laughter but a real, joyous exchange of humour between two friends who understood each other’s subtext. Their laughter made him smile.

‘So how long have you been friends?’ he asked, picking at the corner of his beer label with a short, blunt fingernail.

He hoped that his question would distract them from further Screaming Orgasm humour—especially since, A. He hadn’t had one recently, and B. He’d just decided to stay for another beer, another half-hour.

‘Eight, nearly nine years—with far too many lost years in between,’ Willa replied.

Seeing the confusion on his face, she placed her hand on his bare forearm and—whoa! What the hell …? Lust and attraction shot up his arm and exploded in his brain. He went stock-still and tried to work through his reaction. He’d never, since the time he’d found out that girls had fun things he liked to play with, had such a rocketing blood from his head reaction to the simple touch of fingers on his skin.

He looked at her again and realised that she wasn’t just pretty—she was damn sexy. High cheekbones, a pouty mouth and those amazing siren eyes. He allowed his own eyes the pleasure of skimming over smooth shoulders, smallish breasts and that too thin but utterly feminine body.

He tipped his head slightly to the side and saw that her sage-green sleeveless dress disappeared under the table. He needed to see more. On the pretext of bending sideways to scratch his foot, he looked under the table. The dress ended mid-thigh and, holy Moses, those legs were long and toned. Since one nude heel had dropped off a slim foot, he saw that her toes were tipped in tropical orange polish.

Hot, hot.

‘… and then Amy left the Whitsundays—’

Rob blinked as he lifted his head and came back to the conversation. He was both amused and irritated with himself. He never went on mental walkabouts—and especially not over women.

‘You’re going to have to back up, Wills. Rob didn’t hear a damn thing,’ Amy drawled, lifting her beer bottle to her lips and raising a knowing eyebrow in his direction.

Rob felt an urge to pull out his tongue at her, which he manfully suppressed. He quickly rewound and took a stab in the dark. ‘So, have you kept in contact with your other mates from those days?’

‘Well, I talk to Luke my brother all the time. He was the resort manager.’

Amy sat up straighter and leaned forward. Hmm, Rob thought, interesting reaction to the mention of his name. Something churning there.

‘We barely talk nowadays, but I have all their e-mail addresses, and I’m friends with them on social media,’ Willa answered, her lips around a purple straw.

Rob, forcing the mental picture of what he’d really like to see those lips wrapped around from his mind, thought that there was no way he could go so long without connecting with his own tight circle of friends.

‘You all should get together some time—catch up.’

Amy clapped her hands together with delight. ‘That’s such a fantastic idea. We should do that, Wills. We can invite them for a barbie … it’ll be a Whitsundays reunion,’ Amy gushed.

‘Let’s do it! When?’ Willa asked, eyes sparkling.

‘The sooner the better … Tomorrow is Sunday! A perfect day for a barbie by the pool … beers, bikinis … We can have a seafood Barbie,’ Amy babbled. ‘Invite them, Willa! Now! I betcha they will all come.’

Willa reached for her bag, her enthusiasm elevated by those Screaming Orgasms. She pulled out the latest smartphone and Rob raised his eyes as her fingers flew over the touchscreen. ‘Okay, I’ve tagged Scott and Brodie and Chantal. Luke is in Singapore, the jerk. Who else?’

‘The bartenders—Matt and Phil. Invite them! They were fun … Tell them to bring booze for cocktails.’ Amy leaned forward. ‘And Jane and Gwen who were part of the entertainment crew.’ Amy looked at Rob. ‘We were quite sure that they provided extra “entertainment” to the guests, but they were such a riot.’

‘And the lifeguards—I hope they’re still hot! Tagged them … Come on, Ames, there were at least twenty of us who ran wild … I’ve tagged the girls who helped me entertain the rug rats.’

‘The rug rats?’ Rob asked.

‘I looked after the kids at the resort … I kept them entertained so that their parents could have a break. And afternoon sex,’ Willa explained without looking up from her smartphone. ‘Come on, Amy—think!’

Amy rattled off a few more names and Willa bobbed her head in excitement. ‘Okay, anyone else?’

‘Nah. I think that’s it.’

Amy leaned back in her chair and looked over to her flatmate. She let out a loud whistle that felt like an ice pick in Rob’s brain, but it had the desired effect and Jessica turned around.

‘Hey, Jess, want to go to a barbie with me and Willa?’

‘Sure,’ Jessica replied, turning to Willa. ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow. What time?’ Willa asked Amy.

‘Eleven. Bring your own bottle,’ Amy replied, and Rob watched, amused, as their impromptu party started to take shape.

Whether their guests would appreciate—or accept—an invitation at half-ten at night for a party the next day was another story, but it was fun watching their cocktail-induced excitement. That being said, he knew that they were so going to regret their impulsiveness in the morning, when their heads woke them up, screaming that they had had brain surgery without anaesthetic.

‘Okay, eleven … bring my own bottle … where?’ Jessica asked.

‘Yeah, where? Maybe I should add that.’ Willa squinted at her phone.

‘That would be helpful,’ Rob murmured, but no one heard him.

Amy pretended to think, her eyes dancing. ‘Oh, I don’t know … who do we know who has an empty Sydney waterfront property with a pool?’

Willa shrugged. ‘Who?’

Then the penny dropped with a clang and Willa bounced up and down in her chair like a first-grader.

‘Oooh, I do! Me! Me, me, me, me … me!’

‘Attagirl.’ Amy lifted her bottle in her direction.

Even Rob, stranger that he was to the city, knew that waterfront property in Sydney meant big bucks. Who was this waif? An heiress? A celebrity?

‘Hey, if I’m finally going to host a party of my own then I’m going to invite who I want to invite,’ Willa stated emphatically. ‘Like Kate!’

‘Who’s Kate?’ Amy asked.

Yeah, who is Kate, gorgeous?

‘My lawyer.’

Why would a woman in her mid to late twenties have her own lawyer? Interesting … Then again, the whole package was fascinating … Brains and beauty and those brilliant legs that were made to wrap around a man’s hips …

Okay, slow down there, Hanson.

Willa’s phone beeped and her face fell. ‘Poop. Kate can’t come. Oh, well.’ She looked around for a waiter. ‘I need another drink.’

Some liver pills, a litre of water and a few painkillers wouldn’t hurt either, Rob told her silently.




CHAPTER TWO (#uf1ab7f78-b156-5582-ad56-23420f88d4c9)


SHE WASN’T DRUNK, Willa told herself. Happy, relaxed … slightly buzzed, maybe, but not drunk. And she was having fun, she realised on a happy sigh. Fun … She rolled the word around her tongue. Well … hello, there, stranger.

She was twenty-six years old—jeez, nearly twenty-seven—and she’d played the part of young, gorgeous, thick trophy wife all her adult life because Wayne and what he’d wanted had been important … her, not so much.

She was a great example of why you shouldn’t be in charge of your own destiny when you were too young and too dumb to be making decisions more complicated than how to operate a teaspoon.

Willa pushed her heavy hair back from her face. She’d stopped loving Wayne years and years ago, and now she just wished she could finally be free of him—legally, mentally, comprehensively. And when she was she could fully enjoy men like … Rob.

Willa sneaked a look at that face and swallowed her lusty sigh. He was scruffy in all the right places, she thought. Sable-coloured curls that she longed to touch to see if they felt as soft as they looked, a four-day-old beard, a shirt that skimmed long muscles and tanned skin, giving hints of well-defined pecs, and an impressive six-pack.

Those grey piercing eyes seemed to be shockingly observant and yet basically unreadable.

Rough, rugged, and completely at ease in his skin. She couldn’t help but to compare him to the only other man she’d ever slept with—she was biggest of big girl’s blouses!—and it was like comparing instant coffee to Mountain Blue. Simply an exercise in stupidity.

Wayne was smart Italian suits and hair gel to cover the bald patch on the crown of his head. Cologne, cufflinks and designer labels. Rob was … not. He didn’t need to accessorise—he was excellent just as he was.

Sexy. Masculine. Nuclear-hot.

‘Honey, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to have to do something about it.’

Willa blinked as his drawling voice pulled her back into the moment and she noticed Amy leaving the table with a tall blond guy. They were heading towards the dance floor in the centre of the club. When had that happened? Maybe while she’d been spending the last five minutes drooling over Nuclear-Hot across the table.

She turned back to Rob and blinked like an owl. ‘Hi …’ she whispered.

‘Hi back. You okay?’

‘Mmm. I’m having fun. I haven’t had fun for a long, long time.’ Willa tapped her fingers on the table in time to the music. ‘Do you dance?’

Rob’s mobile mouth kicked up. ‘If I have to.’

Willa looked from the dance floor to him and nibbled on the bottom of her lip. The last time she’d danced—really danced, with feeling and heart and soul—had been in the Whitsundays at that dive bar where all the staff employed at the hotels in the area had congregated to hook up, break up, kiss and make up.

She wanted to feel young again—eighteen again—when the nights had been long and had held a myriad of possibilities.

She wanted to dance with Rob …

Maybe it was the cocktails making her feel brave. If it was she’d have another three or four Screaming Os, thank you very much. Then you’d be face-down on the floor, commented doormat Willa.

Willa took a breath and blurted out her question. ‘Will you dance … with me?’

Rob immediately rose to his feet and held out his hand.

Willa took a moment to find her shoe before standing up and placing her hand in his much bigger one. She followed in his wake as he pushed through the packed crowds to the edge of the dance floor. Instead of finding a spot on the edge, Rob pulled her into the centre of the floor, flashed her a grin and started to move.

Willa stared at him in shock as he immediately picked up the beat and moved his hips in a sinuous rhythm that dried up all the moisture in her mouth. Dear Lord, those hips … If he took the same skill to the bedroom he would be declared a lethal sexual weapon in several countries.

‘I thought you said you don’t dance!’ Willa shouted.

Rob flashed her a smile as his shoulders lifted and rolled. ‘I said that I dance if I have to.’

Willa stepped closer to him so that she could speak directly in his ear. ‘You’re pretty good.’

‘Just one of my talents.’

Rob placed his hands on her hips and before she knew it her thigh was between his and they were rocking together. Willa swallowed the lump in her throat as Rob’s hand lifted to encircle her neck, using his thumb to push her jaw up so that their eyes met. Willa wasn’t that out of practice that she couldn’t recognise the attraction in his eyes, the accelerated pulse under the wrists she loosely held.

‘Man … you are seriously gorgeous. And to think that I nearly blew this off,’ Rob muttered, mostly to himself, as his other hand slid around her back and yanked her towards him so that their bodies were pressed flush against each other.

His chest was wider and bigger and harder than hers, Willa thought as she dropped her nose to the V of skin his shirt revealed and inhaled his man smell, his heat. Lust boiled and roiled and her happy place throbbed, echoing the beat of the music. His surprisingly soft chest hair tickled her nose and she felt rather than heard the rumble of a moan in his chest, his throat. One hand splayed across her back, between her shoulder blades, and the other dropped lower onto her ass, holding her firmly in place against him. And that, she could feel, made him very happy indeed.

Somehow he kept them swaying to the beat, pretending to dance.

‘So, twenty questions time?’

Rob’s deep voice in her ear did nothing to assuage the heat between her legs—in fact it sped up her sluggish blood.

Questions? Was he mad? Between him and the cocktails she’d didn’t have an operational brain cell left.

‘Yes … no … I don’t know,’ Willa murmured back.

‘Wrong, wrong and wrong,’ Rob responded with an appreciative grin. ‘Let’s try that again. Why do you have a lawyer?’

She didn’t feel like explaining about Wayne and her imminent divorce. She wasn’t going to see Rob again after tonight, but she still thought it would be tacky to explain about her ex while she was pressed up very close and very personal against him. Besides, she didn’t want memories of Wayne to taint this experience of her first fun night out in for ever. Her ex and her old life were in the past.

Rob was here—now.

Carpe diem, Willa.

‘Pass.’

‘Okay … next one. What do you do that you’re such an expert on the health and fitness market? Stockbroker? Financial analyst?’

She wished—she really, really wished.

‘I read. A lot.’ Even she, novice that she was at this flirting and seduction stuff, knew that he didn’t need to know that reading finance and business magazines was one of her favourite ways to pass some time. Willa squinted at him and pulled a face. ‘These are very boring questions …’

Rob laughed. ‘Okay, then—you hit me with one.’

Willa sucked in her cheeks. There were a million things she wanted to know about him, but the least important flew out of her mouth.

‘Boxers or briefs?’

Bad girl, Willa.

Rob’s laugh brushed over her skin.

‘Why don’t you drop your hands and find out?’ Rob suggested, and her face immediately pinked up. Taking one of her hands from his neck, he guided it around his hips and slapped it on his butt. ‘Feel free to explore.’

Oh, that was a mighty fine ass, she thought as she took him up on his offer. Hard, muscular … male.

‘What do you sleep in?’ he asked, his breath teasing her ear.

A pair of sleep shorts and a ratty T-shirt. That wasn’t sexy, Willa thought. She tossed back her hair and widened her eyes as she prepared to lie. ‘I sleep naked. All … the … time.’

His eyes dilated and Willa remembered how much fun it was to flirt, to tease, how thrilling it was to get a hard-eyed and hard man—in every way that counted—all flustered. Sometimes being a girl was such a kick.

‘Bet you look damn good naked.’

‘I do. As, I suspect …’ Willa gave his butt a squeeze ‘… do you.’

In her head wild Willa tried to high-five doormat Willa, but she was banging her head against an imaginary wall.

Rob let out a muffled groan and rested his forehead on hers. ‘How hot is it, exactly, in here?’

‘It’s cookin’,’ Willa agreed, surprised at their effortless banter, her ability to flirt so easily.

Maybe it was the Screaming Os, the obvious appreciation and attraction in Rob’s eyes, his hot hands sliding over her arms, back, hips, that made her feel bolder and brighter—the best version of herself. Confident, slightly crazy, prepared to take a risk.

One night, she told herself. Didn’t she deserve one night of uncomplicated pleasure with a hot man who looked as if he wanted to gobble her up in one big bite? Hell, yes! shouted wild Willa, thoroughly over-excited. Didn’t she deserve a night of stupendous sex after more than eight months of sexual drought? Her house was empty, her bed was empty … she was all but free.

You betcha, sister!

Doormat Willa groaned and slapped her hand over her eyes.

Before she could lose her courage and change her mind, Willa tipped her head back and nailed him with her silver-green eyes. ‘Got condoms?’

‘Yes. Why?’ Rob replied carefully as his hands tightened on her hips. ‘You offering to let me use a couple?’

‘Yeah … you interested?’

Rob sucked in a breath. ‘Yeah—to the max. I’ve been thinking about it …’

‘Since when?’

‘I’ve been having X-rated fantasies about your fabulous legs encircling my hips since I first clocked them.’ He stepped back and looked at her legs. When he lifted his eyes again they’d turned sombre and serious. ‘You sure about this, Willa? Why do I have the feeling that this isn’t the way you normally operate?’

It isn’t—we don’t know what we’re doing here! Doormat Willa wrung her hands, whimpering.

Well, she wasn’t in charge tonight. Wild Willa was going to have some fun. ‘I’m very sure.’

Relief flashed across Rob’s face. ‘Where would you feel more comfortable? My place or yours?’

Oh, her place—absolutely. And if she was silently raising her middle finger to her ex by sleeping with someone else in a bed that he’d paid for, then nobody had to know but her.

Oh, dear God, she was sleeping with someone else … someone other than her forty-something husband who didn’t exactly encourage creativity in bed. Mr Missionary Position, she’d privately called him. Wham, bam … skip the thank-you, ma’am.

Rob’s thumb brushing her cheekbone pulled her back to reality. ‘Hey, where did you go?’

Willa grabbed his wrist. It was only fair to give him a heads-up so that he didn’t feel cheated when he realised that she was more below par than porn star. ‘Look, you should know that I don’t do this … often.’ Try never. ‘And I’m not …’

‘Not what?’

‘Experienced.’

Rob looked at her for a long time without saying anything. Before he spoke, he brushed her lips with a kiss and Willa quivered. ‘Feel that?’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘Feel the electricity between us?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

‘I’m old enough and experienced enough to know that doesn’t happen often, and when it does you don’t need anything else but to give yourself over to it. But, since you were honest enough to tell me that you aren’t a pro at this, let me remind you of the rules.’

There are rules? God! Seriously? Her lower lip pushed out. Wild Willa didn’t like rules.

‘Okay,’ Willa agreed, although she’d really much prefer Rob just to kiss her again.

‘This is a one-night thing, so no thinking about hearts and flowers.’

Willa felt the power of his honest statement.

‘I’m attracted to you, and the little I’ve seen of you, I like. I don’t sleep with women I don’t like, but tonight is it … there will be nothing more than a couple of laughs and some good sex.’

‘Good sex is the minimum I require,’ Willa said, making herself sound innocent.

Rob’s lips twitched. ‘Why do I suspect that when you widen those eyes and sound naïve you are at your most sarcastic?’

Because he wasn’t a fool, Willa realised, but she didn’t confirm or deny his statement.

‘And if you change your mind at any point—any point at all!—you say so and I back off. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be happy about it, but I’ll back off. You don’t like anything I do, you say so and I don’t do it again.’

Willa blinked. ‘My God, you are direct.’

‘No point in being anything else,’ Rob retorted. ‘I’m uncomfortably honest, or so I’ve frequently been told. It’s the only way I know how to be. Can you handle that?’

After the last eight years, honesty was a brilliant change of pace. ‘Since you’re only going to be around for the rest of the night, I think I can cope.’

Rob grinned at her jibe. ‘There’s that gentle sarcasm again … I love it. So, let’s go—so that I can get you naked sooner rather than later.’

Willa felt his hand wrap around hers—solid, masculine and sure—and she allowed him to tug her off the dance floor and towards the exit of the club.

We’re gonna get laid, Wild Willa shouted, thoroughly thrilled. Whooo-hooo!

Willa didn’t bother to switch on any lights as she entered the double-volume hallway of her Vaucluse waterfront property—she just kicked the door closed behind Rob and immediately reached for him.

They’d found a taxi as they’d left the club and a heated silence had filled the interior of the vehicle. Yet she hadn’t needed words to know that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. His warm hand had started off on her bare knee and slowly worked its way up her thigh, so that when the taxi had pulled up in front of the massive mansion her dress had been skimming her crotch line and his fingers had been not too far from her happy place.

Now she was damp and hot and horny, and if she didn’t get him touching her soon she was going to cry like a little girl.

Rob, finding her plastered against his chest, didn’t need any encouragement and immediately yanked her dress up and palmed her butt with his masterful hand. He shoved his other hand into her heavy mass of hair, clasped her head and angled her face to receive his no-holds-barred kiss. Tongues danced as he devoured her mouth, learning her, tasting her, pushing her for more.

Emboldened by his passion and his groans of appreciation, Willa pulled his shirt up so that she could touch his hot body. So hard, she thought. Muscular, but not over the top … just pure masculine strength. Her fingers traced the rows of his six-pack and the long muscles that covered his hips, brushed over the hard erection that tented his jeans.

Ooh, she liked that, so she traced his long length with the tip of her finger. Yeah, she liked that. A lot.

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ Rob muttered against her mouth, pulling her dress up and over her hips, revealing her tiny black thong to his hungry gaze.

His hands gripped and released her hips as he looked down at her, past her flat stomach to her long legs. She was still in her heels.

‘Perfect,’ he breathed. ‘Is the rest of you as pretty, Willa?’

‘Maybe,’ Willa replied, undoing his belt buckle.

Rob slid his hand between her legs and cupped her, his thumb immediately finding and brushing her clitoris through her thong, causing her to yelp into her mouth.

‘So good … so good,’ Willa moaned against his lips. ‘More … more.’

Rob’s hand stilled and his breath was hot and laboured. ‘If we don’t stop now I’m going to yank these off and take you right here, right now. Against the front door or on this Persian carpet under our feet.’

Willa tipped her head back to look up into his fabulous passion-soaked steel-coloured eyes. ‘Yeah …. either. Both. Just do it now.’

Rob smiled and reached for the foil strip of condoms he’d shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. He ripped a packet off with his teeth and allowed the rest to drop to the floor. He placed it in her hand with a wicked grin.

‘Put it on me while I get rid of your panties.’

Willa popped open the first button of his jeans, then the second, and when they were loose around his hips she shoved her hands inside his briefs and pushed both his underwear and jeans down. His erection stood tall and proud, and Willa sighed at how big he was … It seemed that Wayne wasn’t nearly as well-endowed as he’d claimed. Well, he’d lied about everything else so she wasn’t particularly surprised.

But Rob was long and thick, and she knew that taking him inside her meant she would have to stretch and … She licked her lips … She couldn’t wait. She wanted to be pushed, filled, taken to the limit. She wanted to feel like a woman being possessed by a man … in the best way possible.

Willa ripped the packet open with her teeth, pulled out the condom and swiftly rolled it over his penis, sucking in her breath as he hardened even further.

Above her head, Rob swore. ‘Honey, this is going to be hectic … we’ll keep slow and sexy for later.’

With those words, he hooked his big hands under her thighs and lifted her up, spreading her legs so that the head of his penis probed her wet and moist feminine core. It was only then that Willa realised he’d magicked her panties away without her even realizing …

Rob pressed her against the massive wooden front door and pinned her there with his body, sliding into her with one long, sure stroke. Willa felt herself dissolving from the inside out as her world narrowed to what was happening between them. Her surroundings faded away and there were only Rob’s hands on her thighs, his tongue in her mouth mimicking his thrust of his hips, the sure strokes as he lifted her higher and higher.

‘You need to come, honey, ‘cos I’m not going to be able to hang on,’ Rob muttered, his forehead against hers.

‘Don’t you dare stop!’ Willa shot back, grinding down on him as lightning bugs danced along her skin.

Rob dropped his head to talk in her ear. ‘That’s it, Willa, take all of me. Yeah, move … use me … higher, dammit!’

‘Harder …’ Willa demanded, reaching for her release.

Rob slammed her against the door and she shouted as stars exploded behind her eyeballs and her body splintered into a million billion pieces. She vaguely heard Rob’s roar in her ear, felt his orgasm deep inside her, but didn’t particularly care. She’d come and it had been magnificent …

Rob moved his hips again and, still mostly hard, touched something inside her. She rocketed up again, harder and faster than before. She slammed her eyes shut and screamed his name before she fractured again in a big bang of cosmic proportions.

Minutes, hours or years might have passed before she came back down to earth, her head on his shoulder, pinned to the door by Rob’s strength.

‘I really don’t think you hit the mark, Willa. We might have to do that again.’

She heard Rob’s smile in his words, felt the curve of his lips against her temple.

‘Slow and sexy this time?’ Willa agreed on a happy smile, sliding to the floor.

Early the next morning, after another round of blow-her-head-off morning sex, Willa, her head on Rob’s shoulder, felt well satisfied with herself. She thought that she’d feel dirty and guilty, going to bed with a complete stranger, but all she felt was … satisfied—and strangely safe.

Sure, he was good-looking—what was the point of having a one-night stand with an ugly man?—and he had a body that spoke of a lifetime of physical fitness. He smelt good, and he had treated her with care and made sure that that she was fully satisfied—every single time—before climaxing himself.

He was as close to a perfect lover as she’d ever encountered—okay, that didn’t mean anything at all!—and she idly wondered whether it was his skill in the sack or her previous lack of satisfactory sex that had had her coming over and over again.

She suspected that it was mostly Rob. He was an amazing lover. She’d felt safe enough to allow herself to lose control—to touch, to explore, to taste—and she had lost all her inhibitions in her quest to explore those long, lean muscles. That had never happened to her before.

With Wayne … No. No comparisons—no thinking about him.

Suffice to say that with Rob she felt energised. Sleep had been forgotten in the delight of his body. She remembered thinking that she hadn’t wanted the feast of touch and textures and taste and masculinity to end.

She still didn’t.

‘I need sustenance,’ Willa said on a long yawn. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Half-eight.’

Rob patted her butt to get her to move. He slid out of bed and walked across the ridiculously enormous bedroom to the balcony doors. He gripped the top of the doorframe and Willa rolled over on her stomach to look at his beautiful back, tight ass and long, muscular legs.

Hot damn, the man was sexy. Willa licked her lips and was suddenly conscious of her pounding head and the fact that her mouth felt as if a herd of llamas had bedded down in it during the night.

‘This is a hell of place you have here, Willa. Yours?’

‘Yeah.’ Well, it would be in a few weeks’ time.

This massive house she’d moved into eight months ago still didn’t feel like her home. But the exclusive property would form part of her divorce settlement—along with her Mercedes and a hefty donation to her bank account. She’d wanted to walk away with nothing, just to get rid of Wayne, but Kate, her lawyer and now a good friend, had refused to allow her even to go there.

‘He cheats, he pays,’ Kate had told her, over and over again.

‘Where exactly are we?’ Rob asked. ‘Is that Sydney harbour bridge?’

‘Yep.’

Willa stood up, wrapped a sheet around her torso and ducked under his arm to move onto the veranda off the bedroom.

She leaned against the railing and pointed down to the jetty that kissed the crystal-clear water below. ‘At the end of the garden is a gate that leads onto that path, and via that jetty I have direct access to Parsley Bay. I can swim, snorkel, kayak, or picnic in the beautiful neighbouring parkland.’

Willa turned her back to the bay and looked at him.

‘It’s a big house on a big plot of land—six bedrooms, four bathrooms, lots of living space and decks. Double garage. Private.’

‘And you live here all alone?’ Rob asked, sceptical.

‘Ridiculous, isn’t it?’ Willa replied lightly, not wanting to go into details about her failed marriage. ‘The house is cold and empty and it should have kids running around in it, pets, people visiting and loud parties …’

‘Well, it will today.’

Willa looked at him blankly.

Rob grinned and she caught a flash of white teeth and the glint of the sun in his stubble. ‘Honey, you have a bunch of people arriving for a barbecue …’ he looked at his watch ‘… later this morning.’

It took a moment for her to remember that she’d invited the entire Whitsundays gang—not just her old friends—for a barbecue this morning.

Grabbing Rob’s wrist, she looked at the dial of his watch and let out a low wail of panic. She had nothing in her house to eat, no booze, and the fact that she had to entertain people she hadn’t seen in years—not to mention dealing with this very sexy souvenir from the night below—had panic crawling up her throat.

She couldn’t do this,—she really couldn’t. Maybe she could hustle Rob out through the front door and she could escape out the back—hightail it to her canoe and belt her way up the bay.

Opening her mouth like a fish desperate for oxygen, she stared at Rob in horror.

‘Take a breath, Willa,’ Rob suggested on a slow grin.

Willa slapped her hands against her cheeks and gasped as the sheet dropped and fell over the lounger. Rob’s eyes darkened with passion and his penis started to swell. Willa saw what was happening, lifted her hand and tried to step away from him—she really did. But her legs weren’t doing much listening. In fact they were taking her to him!

‘No! No! No, no, no, no, no, no! I don’t have time, Rob!’

Rob’s thumb drifted over her nipple and Willa felt her resolve weaken. How could she just look at him and feel prickly and horny and … wet? Get a grip, Willa. But one more time her body whispered its demand. One more thrilling, amazing orgasm or … four.

‘I want to take you here, on this lounger, in the morning sun.’

‘God, Rob … It’s out in the open. The neighbours….’

Why was she even thinking about doing this? Was she mad?

‘Nobody can see us, Willa. This balcony was built for privacy,’ Rob said, sliding his hand between her thighs.

Willa instantly melted.

‘Here … in the sun, Wills. Say yes.’

‘Yes.’ Willa sighed, looping her hands around his neck and slapping her naked body against his. As if she’d ever had any chance of saying no.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

Willa’s eyes shot open and she bolted upright in bed. Fudge, was that the doorbell? That couldn’t be the doorbell, there was no way that it was eleven already …

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Dammit, it was the doorbell, and the doorbell meant guests. Arrrggghhhhh. She was in such trouble …

Rob groaned and opened one eye. Willa glared down at him. ‘This is your fault!’ she hissed.

‘Huh? Why?’

Willa shot out of bed and ran to her walk-in closet, reaching for clean underwear and a pair of shorts. Grabbing a denim pair that were more holes than fabric, she yanked them on.

‘“I want to take you here, on this lounger, in the morning sun …’” Willa growled, imitating his deep voice. ‘“Just come back to bed for a little while,” you said. “we have time,” you said!’

‘We must have dozed off.’ Rob rolled over, taking the sheets with him, and squinted at his watch. ‘Huh—ten-forty. Someone is early. Either way, it seems we’re out of time.’

‘You think, Einstein?’ Willa barked, yanking on a tank top and pulling her hair up into a haphazard tail. ‘I need a shower, to brush my teeth …’

‘Slow down, gorgeous …’ Rob suggested, standing up and stretching.

Willa glared at him as the doorbell chimed again. ‘Keep your pants on,’ she muttered, and then pointed to Rob. ‘You too, hotshot.’

Rob grinned at her. ‘I’m going to have a shower first …’

‘I hate you!’ Willa barked, before rushing out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Through the stained glass windows of the door she could see two people on the other side. Yanking it open, she was relieved to see Amy and Jessica on her front steps.

‘Thank God it’s you!’ she stated, holding her hand to her head, hoping to keep it from exploding. God, she had the headache from hell. What had been in those cocktails? Liquid mercury?

‘Are you okay, Wills? You look … frazzled,’ Amy said.

‘I am frazzled,’ Willa admitted. ‘God, can I cancel this?’

Amy stepped into the double volume hall and whistled her appreciation as she turned in a circle. ‘Hell, no, you’re not cancelling a damn thing—and … wow, Wills, this house is a hell of a divorce settlement.’

‘Kate’s a hell of a divorce lawyer.’

And she wasn’t letting Willa settle for just a house. She was, as she frequently told Willa, better and meaner than that.

Willa took a seat on the bottom step of the floating staircase. ‘She’s the sharpest tool in the shed; you’d like her, Amy.’

‘If she’s helping you bury Wayne-the-Pain then I like her already,’ Amy agreed.

The Pain. Such an apt moniker.

‘Anyway … can we concentrate, here? I have a cracking headache from those cocktails, I have God knows how many people arriving at any minute, and I have nothing—repeat, nothing!—in this house to feed or lubricate them.’

Amy frowned. ‘Did you forget you invited us?’

‘Sorta … kinda…. yeah.’ She couldn’t tell her friend that she’d been having too much fun playing with Rob to think about her guests. ‘What am I going to doooooo?’

‘You are going to go and have a shower. Jessica will greet anyone who arrives and Amy will shoot to the shops and grab food and drink.’

The deep, masculine, made-for-sin voice floated down the stairs.

Willa watched as Jessica and Amy’s heads shot up and quickly turned to see Rob, his hair wet from his ultra-quick shower, dressed in his clothes from the night before, walking down the stairs, bare feet sticking out from the ragged hem of his jeans. Their surprise turned to feminine approval and she groaned as two sets of perfectly arched eyebrows lifted in a silent question.

‘Way to go, Wills.’

Willa threw her hands up in defeat at Amy’s mischievous murmur. ‘Ah … Rob. Rob stayed over …’

‘I can see that,’ Amy stated with a grin.

Willa caught Amy’s eye and saw the glint of sisterly pride in her eye. So, didja have fun? she could imagine her asking, if Jessica and Rob hadn’t been there.

So much fun.

Thought you would. He looks the type who knows what he’s doing.

You have no idea, old friend.

‘You two done with your telepathic conversation?’ Jessica demanded as she put out her hand and hauled Willa to her feet. ‘Go shower, Willa. Amy, let’s take a look and see what Willa has so that you know what to buy.’

‘Nothing,’ Willa said mournfully. ‘I have nothing.’

‘Why do I have to get the food?’ Amy wailed.

‘Because it was your idea to do this,’ Willa retorted, hand still on her head. ‘There’s a deli down the road. They have everything … Just buy them out and I’ll pay you back.’

Willa looked at Jessica and pointed to her left.

‘Kitchen that way. Through the French doors of the kitchen—and off all the rooms on that side of the house—is a covered patio and the pool. Chairs, tables—all outside. Outside kitchen … grill. Go wild.’

Amy whistled her appreciation. ‘As I said, Wills, it’s a helluva settlement.’

Yeah, Willa thought as she climbed the stairs to the second floor and her bedroom. All I had to do was put up with crap and be an aimless, thick trophy wife for eight years.




CHAPTER THREE (#uf1ab7f78-b156-5582-ad56-23420f88d4c9)


ROB TOOK A call on his mobile and thought that if he didn’t get coffee into his system in the next few minutes he’d find himself face-down on Willa’s expensive floor, whimpering like a little girl.

He’d thought he had stamina—he regularly took part in triathlons, ran eight miles five days out of seven, and hit the gym several times a week. Yet rolling around in the sheets with Willa had sucked every last atom of energy from him …

Rob grinned. Best fun he’d had—in or out of bed—for ages.

But now coffee … stat. He’d grab a cup, kiss Willa goodbye and move on out. It was what he did and he did it well … He should—he’d had a hell of lot of practice at it.

Shoving his mobile into the back pocket of his jeans, he walked across the hall towards the feminine voices drifting down the passage from what he presumed was the kitchen.

‘So, did you ever meet Willa’s husband?’

Rob slammed to a stop and cursed … She was married?

Crap, crap, crap. He didn’t do married women—it was one of his hell, no! rules. She didn’t wear a ring but … crap!

‘About to be ex-husband,’ Amy corrected, and he resumed breathing again. ‘They’ve been separated for about eight months.’

Good—that was good. Not perfect, but a helluva lot better than married.

‘What’s he like?’

Rob leaned his shoulder into the wall a couple of metres away from the kitchen door, knowing that if he went in Willa’s friends would stop talking. Girls tended not to dish the dirt on about-to-be-exes when the guy one of them had had a one-night stand with was in the room.

But he was curious.

He wanted more information on Willa, who interested him far more than she should for a one-night stand. That was something he needed to think about … but only when he’d had coffee and a solid eight hours’ sleep.

‘Wayne … Yeah, I was with Willa when they met for the first time.’ Amy’s voice had a faraway quality that suggested she was recalling memories from long ago.

‘And?’ Jessica’s voice sounded impatient.

Amy took a while to answer and Rob mentally urged her to get a move on.

‘Slick,’ Amy said eventually. ‘Slick as snot. A lot older than Willa—I think he was in his mid-thirties when they first met …’

‘You didn’t like him,’ Jessica stated.

‘Yeah, instinctively didn’t like him,’ Amy agreed. ‘I was just frustrated, I guess. Willa was a kid so desperately in need of fun, a good time, letting her hair down, and I was showing her how to do that … God, we were having a blast! Partying up a storm, flirting up a bigger storm … we ruled the resort.’

‘You mean you ruled and Willa was your sidekick,’ Jessica said, dryly.

Rob grinned at that.

‘Then she met Wayne and she … How do I explain this? She shrank in on herself and became the perfect girlfriend—cool, calm, collected. With him she was eighteen going on eighty. Crazy Willa left the building.’

‘Since she was slamming down those cocktails last night, I think crazy Willa is back,’ Jessica said, and Rob could hear the grin in her voice.

‘Not by a long shot. And she wasn’t anywhere near being drunk, trust me, that girl can hold her booze. When she’s really drunk she ends up singing eighties ballads and taking her clothes off.’

Rob’s eyebrows lifted with surprise. He’d like to see that.

‘She can be a wild woman,’ Amy added.

Rob had the nail-marks on his butt to prove that point.

‘But with Wayne she stopped having fun. I suspect that last night was the first time she’s had some real fun—proper fun—since she got married. She’s a little sad, scared, and a lot lonely. I feel sort of protective of her …’

So did he.

Huh?

Rob looked down at his bare feet and instead of heading for the kitchen—caffeine, shockingly, could now wait—he walked through the sun room and headed for the sunlight-dappled deck: expensive outdoor furniture, a pizza oven built into the wall and an island holding a gas stove and a fridge. A ten-seater wooden dining table with benches on either side dominated the kitchen end of the deck, and cane couches and chairs with blue and white striped cushions filled the rest of the space. The large, rectangular pool looked cool and inviting and he wished he could dive into its clear depths.

He loved to swim—did some of his best thinking in the water.

So Willa had been married … was still, technically, married … to a guy who was a lot older than her and obviously rich. Her eyes held shadows within them that suggested long-term unhappiness; he recognised those shadows—he’d seen them in his mum’s eyes every day she’d been married to Stefan.

Which was all on him. Because when she’d told him that Stefan had proposed, wondering what he thought, he’d said that she should take the plunge. Stefan had been his dad’s best friend—her friend. Their second dad. She’d liked him, they’d liked him … what could go wrong? He’d just wanted her to be happy again, and—he had to be honest here—he’d known he would feel a lot more comfortable going off to uni across the country if he knew that Stefan was looking after Mum and Gail.

That hadn’t worked out the way he’d thought it would.

When he’d finally got to the root of the problem—when his family had disintegrated around him for the second time—he’d felt his heart rip apart. It had been like losing his father all over again, and along with that he’d waved goodbye to his innocence and his faith in people.

And he’d kicked trust over a cliff.

Rob ran his hand along his scruffy jaw. Where was this coming from? He’d been thinking about Willa’s sad eyes and then he’d started thinking of his past and his failure in the interpersonal relationships department.

Huh …

But the fact remained that he didn’t like the idea of Willa feeling sad …

He’d slept with her once and he was already giving her more thought than he’d given all his past flings put together. Something was very wrong with this picture …

Because he didn’t play games with other people—and especially with himself. He had to admit that he kind of liked the fact that Willa was still married, if only legally. It was a minor barrier, but a barrier nonetheless—something to help him keep his emotional distance, to remind him not to become any more involved than he should be. Than he liked to be, wanted to be, could afford to be …

One friggin’ night and she’s turning your head upside down. Get a grip, Hanson! You just want to sleep with her again, his sensible side argued. There’s no need to go all dark and broody and—what was the word Gail had used the other day?—’emo’ about this. It’s just sex. You know that after a couple of days you’ll get bored and want to move on. So ask for another night, or two, or three, but just stop bloody brooding already. And get it into your thick block that she’s no different from the others …

Except that she is, he thought.

Very different … She had to be if he was thinking about her like this.

Rob dropped his long frame into the nearest chair and groaned loudly.

Get the hell out of her house and her life, moron, he told himself. Now. You’re looking for trouble—inviting complications in through the door. The night is over, the sun is high in the sky and if you’re thinking that she is remotely special then your ass should be on fire, trying to get the hell away. Be smart about her, dude. Get your cup of coffee, say your goodbyes, and get the hell out of Dodge. You never stay this long—you rarely spend the night.

Yet despite running through his long list of why he shouldn’t be contemplating another night, a fling, a short-term affair with her, he was unable to walk away.

Rob placed his head on the back on the chair and groaned again. You are utterly and completely screwed, man.

Even that thought wasn’t enough to pull himself out of the chair and out of her house.

Screwed to the max. And still caffeine-deprived.

Rob tapped on the frame of the open bathroom door and grinned when Willa, standing in front of the huge bathroom mirror above the double basins in a pale yellow bra and thong, reached for a dressing gown to cover up.

‘Bit late for that, seeing as I’ve seen and kissed most of you.’

Fighting her blush, Willa dropped the gown. He had seen—stroked, tasted—everything, so it was a silly, pointless gesture. Willa picked up a square black box and, flipping it open, brushed a pale pink blush over her cheekbones. Rob placed a cup of coffee on the counter and went back to lean his shoulder into the doorframe and cross his legs at the ankles, holding his cup in his hand.

‘Thanks,’ Willa said.

‘That was the last of the milk, and there’s nothing but a half-tub of cottage cheese and some yoghurt in your fridge … what do you eat?’

‘Not much,’ she admitted in a jerky voice. ‘I hate cooking for myself.’





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