Книга - Pleasured in the Playboy’s Penthouse

Pleasured in the Playboy's Penthouse
Natalie Anderson


At the red-hot millionaire’s mercy! Bella has always felt like the ugly duckling in her family, but after one night with super-sexy Owen Hughes she feels like a beautiful swan. Until she realises Owen isn’t the ordinary guy she thought…This struggling waitress is daunted by his multi-millionaire status – he is exactly the kind of man she avoids! But Owen won’t let Bella shrink back into her shell.Two weeks of pleasure in his penthouse and he’ll have her begging for more…







‘An easy playboy lifestyle—sure, occasionally. But for the most part I work very long, very hard,’ Owen stated.

‘Why? When you’re wealthy enough to retire tomorrow?’ Bella asked.

‘Because I like it.’ Because he couldn’t not. Because he was driven. Because he was missing something that everyone else had—the compassion, the consideration, the plain awareness and empathy towards others. His relationship with Liz had made him feel claustrophobic. He wouldn’t allow that pressure to be put on him again. But he’d have Bella the way he wanted.

‘For all that success—’ Owen underlined the word, knowing the concept annoyed her ‘—I’m still the guy who made your legs so weak you couldn’t stand.’ He took a step back, determined to walk away now. He spoke softer. ‘I’m still the guy who made you alternately sigh then scream with pleasure.’ He paused. He’d leave her knowing exactly what his intentions were—plain and simple. He spoke softer still. ‘And I’m the guy who’s going to do it all again.’


Possibly the only librarian who got told off herself for talking too much, Natalie Anderson decided writing books might be more fun than shelving them—and boy, is it that. Especially writing romance—it’s the realisation of a lifetime dream, kick-started by many an afternoon spent devouring Grandma’s Mills & Boons®… She lives in New Zealand, with her husband and four gorgeous-but-exhausting children. Swing by her website any time—she’d love to hear from you: www.natalie-anderson.com

Recent titles by the same author:

BOUGHT: ONE NIGHT, ONE MARRIAGE

PLEASURED BY THE SECRET MILLIONAIRE

MISTRESS UNDER CONTRACT



Dear Reader

Have you ever been in that awful awkward social situation where you felt totally out of place and just wished someone would come along and rescue you? Especially someone tall, dark and handsome, say? Wouldn’t that make you look and feel like Miss Utterly Attractive herself?

Nice fantasy, isn’t it? And Bella, my poor Bella, thought it might have actually happened to her!

But things are never quite as they are in fairytales, are they? Not everything goes as smoothly as we wish it would. And what if you do find your wish fulfilled? How do you handle it if it doesn’t turn out to be all that you’d hoped?

Come and join Bella and Owen as they both discover that losing something they each thought precious might enable them to find something much, much better. Because there is nothing nicer than a happy ending and the beginning of a lifetime of love, is there?

I do hope you enjoy it!

Love

Natalie




PLEASURED IN THE PLAYBOY’S PENTHOUSE


BY

NATALIE ANDERSON




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


For Soraya—you are so generous and supportive,

always dropping everything to read in a rush and then

getting back to me so quickly and so helpfully—

and this one was some rush, wasn’t it? I am really

looking forward to repaying you in kind so very soon.


CHAPTER ONE

DID she want a ‘sex machine’ or a ‘slow comfortable screw’? Choices, choices…and tonight Bella was struggling with decisions. The names were all such appalling puns, she didn’t know if she’d be able to ask for one without blushing. Especially as she was sitting all alone in this bar—on a Friday night. The bartender would probably panic and think she was coming on to him. But as she looked at the gleaming glasses lined up behind the counter and the rows of bottles holding varying amounts of brightly coloured liquid, her taste buds were tickled. It had been a while since she’d had anything more indulgent than whatever was the cheapest red wine at the supermarket. Surely she was justified in having something fabulous to celebrate her day? And as this weekend had already burned one huge hole in her savings, she might as well make it a crater.

She looked back at the cocktail list, but barely read on. She’d waited all day for someone to say it. Someone. Anyone. It wasn’t as if she expected a party—a cake, candles or even a card. It was a frantic time getting everything organised for Vita’s wedding, Bella understood that. But surely even one of them could have remembered? Her father perhaps?

But no. She was just there, as usual, in the background, like the family cat. Present, accounted for, but blending in as if part of the furniture. It was only if she had some sort of catastrophe that they remembered her. And she was determined to avoid any catastrophes this weekend. This was Vita’s special time. As uncomfortable as Bella felt, she was determined to help make the weekend as wonderful as it could be for her sister.

Volunteering to oversee the decorating had been her best idea. It had meant she’d been able to avoid most of the others. And honestly, she’d felt more at home with the waitresses and staff of the exclusive resort than with her own family and their friends.

When she’d paused at lunchtime she’d looked up and seen them out walking along the beach. The island of Waiheke looked as if it had been taken over by an accountancy convention. In truth it basically had. They were like clones. All wearing corporate casual. The men in fawn trousers and open-collared pale blue shirts. Tomorrow they’d be in fawn again only with white shirts for the wedding. Afterwards, they’d saunter on the sand in three-quarter ‘casual’ trousers, overly colourful Hawaiian shirts, with their pale feet sliding in leather ‘mandals’. They all had crisp cut hair, and expensive sunglasses plastered across their faces. The women were using their even more expensive sunglasses to pin back their long, sleek hair. Her tall, glamorous cousins, her sister. They were all the same. All so incredibly successful—if you equated money, highflying jobs and incredibly suitable partners with success.

She’d tried it once—to play it their way. She’d dated a guy who was more approved of by her own family than she was herself. What a disaster that had been. They still didn’t believe that she’d been the one to end it. Of course, there were reasons for that. But none Bella felt like dwelling on now. Tomorrow was going to be bad enough.

After she’d finally hung all the ribbons on the white-shrouded chairs, she’d headed straight for the bar inside the main building of the hotel. She’d celebrate herself. Toast in another year. Raise a glass to the success of the last. Even if no one else was going to. Even if there wasn’t that much success to toast.

There had been talk of a family dinner, but the preparations had run too late—drinks maybe. She was glad. She didn’t want to face the all too inevitable questions about her career and her love-life, the looks of unwanted sympathy from her aunts. There’d be time enough for that the next day, when there was no way she could avoid them as much as she had today. For today was her day and she could spend the last of it however she wanted to.

Now, as she sat and waited to be served, she avoided looking around, pretending she was happy to be there alone. She pushed back the inadequacy with some mind games—she’d play a role and fake the confidence. She would do cosmopolitan woman—the woman who took on the world and played it her way. Who took no prisoners, had what she wanted and lived it to the max. It would be good practice for tomorrow when she’d be confronted by Rex and Celia. One of the fun things about being an actress—even a minor-league, bit-part player—was the pretending.

She read through the list again, muttering as she narrowed her choices. ‘Do I want “sex on the beach” or a “screaming orgasm”?’

‘Why do you have to choose?’

She turned her head sharply. There was a guy standing right beside her. One incredibly hot guy whom she knew she’d never seen before because she’d damn well remember if she had. Tall and dark and with the bluest of eyes capturing hers. While she was staring, he was talking some more.

‘I would have thought a woman like you would always have both.’

Sex on the beach and a screaming orgasm? Looking up at him, she took a firmer grip on both the menu card and the sensation suddenly beating through her—the tantalising tempo of temptation.

He must be just about the only person here who wasn’t involved in the wedding. Or maybe he was. He was probably one of her cousins’ dates. For a split second disappointment washed through her. But then she looked him over again—he wasn’t wearing an Armani suit and if he was one of their dates he’d definitely be in Armani. And he’d be hanging on his date’s arm, not alone and possibly on the prowl in a bar. This guy was in jeans—the roughest fabric she’d seen in the place to date. They were wet around the ankles as if he’d been splashing in the water, and on his feet were a pair of ancient-looking boat shoes. A light grey long-sleeved tee shirt covered his top half. It had a slight vee at the neck, exposing the base of the tanned column that was his neck. It was such a relief to see someone doing truly casual—someone not flaunting evidence of their superb bank balance.

Those bright blue eyes smiled at her. Very brightly. And then they looked her up and down.

Suddenly she felt totally uncomfortable as she thought about her own appearance. Not for the first time she wished for the cool, glamorous gene that the rest of her family had inherited. Instead she was hot, mosquito bitten, with a stripe of cooked-lobster-red sunburn across one half of her chest where she’d missed with her 110 SPF sunscreen. Her white cotton blouse was more off-white than bright and the fire-engine-red ribbon of her floral skirt was starting to come loose—but that was what you got for wearing second-hand.

It was one of her more sedate outfits, an attempt to dress up a little, in deference to the ‘family’ and their expectations. She’d even used the hotel iron—a real concession given she usually got at least one burn when she went anywhere near the things. Today had been no different. There was a small, very red, very sore patch just below her elbow. And now, thanks to a day spent on her knees dressing chairs in white robes and yellow ribbons, she knew she looked a sight.

As she took in his beautifully chiselled jaw, she really wished she’d bothered to go to her room and check her face or something on the way. There’d been some mascara on her eyelashes this morning, a rub of lip balm. Both were undoubtedly long gone. She was hardly in a state to be drawing single guys to her across a bar. She darted a glance around. She was the only female in the room. And there were only a couple of other customers. Then she looked at her watch. It was early. He was just making small talk with the only woman about. He was probably a travelling salesman. Only he definitely didn’t look the salesman type. And despite the suggestion in his talk he didn’t come across as sleazy. There was a bit of a glint in those blue eyes—she’d like to think it was appreciation, but it was more of a dare. And there was more humour than anything. She could do with some humour.

The bartender came back down to where they were standing. And Bella took up the challenge. Cosmopolitan woman she would be. Summoning all her courage and telling her cheeks to remain free of excess colour, she ordered. ‘A “sex on the beach” and a “screaming orgasm” please.’

She refused to look at him but she could sense his smile of approval—could hear it in his voice as he ordered too.

‘I’ll have two “screaming orgasms” and “sex on the beach”.’

Bella studiously watched the bartender line up the five shot glasses. She didn’t want to turn and look in his eyes again, not entirely sure she wouldn’t be mesmerised completely. But peripheral vision was very handy. She was motionless, seemingly fixated on the bartender as he carefully poured in each ingredient, but in reality she was wholly focused on the guy next to her as he pulled out the bar stool next to hers and sat on it. His leg brushed against hers as he did. It was a very long leg, and it looked fine clad in the faded denim. She could feel the strength just from that one accidental touch.

Silently, shaking inside, she went to lift the first glass in the line-up. But then his hand covered hers, lightly pressing it down to the wood. Did he feel her fingers jerk beneath his? She snatched a moment to recover her self-possession before attempting to look at him with what she hoped was sophisticated query.

His bright blues were twinkling. ‘Have the orgasm first.’

She could feel the heat as her blood beat its way to her cheeks.

The twinkles in his eyes burned brighter. ‘After all, you can always have another one later.’

She stared at him as he released her. He’d turned on the widest, laziest, most sensual smile she’d ever seen. Spell-bound wasn’t the word. Almost without thinking, she moved her fingers, encircling the second shot.

‘What about you?’ Why had her voice suddenly gone whispery?

‘A gentleman always lets the lady go first.’

So she picked up the orgasm, kind of amazed her hand wasn’t visibly trembling. In a swift motion she knocked the contents back into her mouth and swallowed the lot. She took a moment before breathing—then it was a short, sharp breath as she absorbed the burning hit. Slowly she put the glass back down on the bar.

His smile was wicked now. He’d picked up the sex shot, pausing pointedly with it slightly raised, until she did the same. She met his eyes and lifted the glass to her lips. Simultaneously they tipped back and swallowed.

Slamming his on the bench, he picked up the next shot. Then he paused again, inclined his head towards the remaining orgasm.

‘You know it’s for you.’ That smile twisted his mouth as he spoke and its teasing warmth reached out to her.

There was no way she could refuse. She couldn’t actually speak for the fire in her throat. So she picked up the shot and again, eyes trained on him, drank. And he mirrored her, barely half a beat behind.

It was a long, deep breath she drew that time. And her recovery was much slower. She stared for a while at the five empty glasses in front of them. And then she looked back at him.

He wasn’t smiling any more. At least, his mouth wasn’t turned up. But his eyes searched hers while sending a message at the same time. And the warmth was all pervasive. The burning sensation rippled through her body, showing no sign of cooling. Instead her temperature was still rising. And she wasn’t at all sure if it was from the alcohol or the fire in his gaze.

Wow. She tried to take another deep breath. But the cool of the air made her tingling lips sizzle more. His gaze dropped to her mouth as if he knew of her sensitivity. The sizzle didn’t cease.

She blinked, pressed her lips together to try to stop the whisper of temptation they were screaming to her, resumed visual contemplation of the empty shot glasses. She should never have looked at him.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, studying him peripherally again.

He shrugged, mouth twitching, lightening the atmosphere and making her wonder if she’d overemphasised that supercharged moment. Of course there was no way he would be hitting on her. Now his eyes said it was all just a joke. As if he knew that if she thought he was really after her, she’d be running a mile. City slicker vixen-in-a-bar was so not her style. But she’d decided anything could be possible tonight. Anything she wanted could be hers. She was pretending, remember?

‘So are we celebrating, or drowning sorrows?’ He flashed that easy smile again. And it gave her the confidence that up until now she’d been faking.

‘Celebrating.’ She turned to face him.

His brows raised. She could understand his surprise. People didn’t usually celebrate in a bar drinking all by themselves. So she elaborated.

‘It’s my birthday.’

‘Oh? Which one?’

Did the man not know it was rude to ask? She nearly giggled. But he was so gorgeous she decided to forgive him immediately. Besides, she had the feeling his boldness was innate. It was simply him. It gave her another charge. ‘My flirtieth.’

‘I’m sorry?’ She could see the corners of his mouth twitching again.

‘My flirtieth.’ So she was making an idiot of herself. What did she care? This night was hers and she could do as she wanted with it—and that might just include flirting with strangers.

‘You’re either lying or lisping. I think maybe both.’ His lips quirked again. And the thing was, she didn’t find it offensive. So he was laughing at her. It was worth it just to see the way that smile reached right into his eyes.

‘How many have you had?’ he asked. ‘You seem to be slurring.’

Not only that, she was still staring fixedly at him. She forced herself to blink again. It was so hard not to look at him. His was a face that captured attention and held it for ever. ‘These were my first.’

‘And last.’ He called the bartender over and ordered. ‘Sedate white wine spritzer, please.’

‘Who wants sedate?’ she argued, ignoring his further instructions to the waiter. ‘The last thing I want is wine.’ The urge for something stronger gripped her—something even more powerful, something to really take her breath away. She wanted the taste of fire to take away the lonely bitterness of disappointment.

‘Not true. Come on, whine away. Why are you here, celebrating alone?’

He’d do. The blue in his eyes was all fire.

‘I’m not alone. My family is here too—my sister is getting married tomorrow in the resort.’

His brows flashed upwards again. ‘So why aren’t they here now celebrating your birthday with you?’

She paused. A chink in her act was about to be revealed, but she answered honestly. ‘They’ve forgotten.’

‘Ah.’ He looked at her, only a half-smile now. ‘So the birthday girl has missed out on her party.’

She shrugged. ‘Everyone’s been busy with the wedding.’

The spritzer arrived, together with a bottle of wine for him and two tall glasses of water.

‘Tell me about this wedding.’ He said wedding as if it were a bad word.

‘What’s to tell? She’s gorgeous. He’s gorgeous. A successful, wealthy, nice guy.’

He inclined his head towards her. ‘And you’re a little jealous?’

‘No!’ She shook her head, but a little hurt stabbed inside. She wasn’t jealous of Vita, surely she wasn’t. She was truly pleased for her. And no way on this earth would she want Hamish. ‘He’s solid and dependable.’ The truth came out. ‘Square.’

‘You don’t like square?’

She thought about it. Hamish was a nice person. And he thought the world of Vita—you could see it in the way he looked at her. He adored her. That little hurt stabbed again. She toughed it out. ‘I like a guy who can make me laugh.’

‘Do you, now?’ But he was the one who laughed. A low chuckle that made her want to smile too—if she weren’t having a self-piteous moment. He sobered. ‘What’s your role in the wedding?’

‘Chief bridesmaid,’ she said mournfully.

His warm laughter rumbled again.

‘It’s all right for you,’ she said indignantly. ‘You’ve never been a bridesmaid.’

‘And you have?’

She nodded. It was all too hideous. ‘I know all about it. This is my fourth outing.’

And, yes, she knew what they said. Three times a bridesmaid and all that. Her aunts would be reminding her tomorrow. The only one of her siblings not perfectly paired off.

‘What’s the best man like?’

She couldn’t hide the wince. Rex. How unfortunate that Hamish’s best friend was the guy Bella had once picked in her weak moment of trying to be all that the family wanted.

‘That bad, huh?’

‘Worse.’ Because after she’d broken up with him—and it had been her—he’d started dating her most perfect cousin of them all, Celia. And no one in the family could believe that Bella would dump such a catch as Rex and so it was that she earned even more sympathy—more shakes of the head. Not only could she not hold down a decent job, she couldn’t hold onto a decent man. No wonder her father treated her like a child. She supposed, despite her Masters degree and her array of part-time jobs, she was. She still hadn’t left home, was still dependent on the old man for the basics—like food.

‘So.’ Her charming companion at the bar speared her attention again with a laser-like look. ‘Invite me.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You’re the chief bridesmaid, aren’t you? You’ve got to have a date for the wedding.’

‘I’m not going to invite a total stranger to my sister’s wedding.’

‘Why not? It’ll make it interesting.’

‘How so?’ she asked. ‘Because you’re really a psycho out to create mayhem?’

He laughed at that. ‘Look, it’s pretty clear you’re not looking forward to it. They’ve forgotten your birthday. This isn’t about them. This is about you doing something you want to. Do something you think is tempting.’

‘You think you’re tempting?’ OK, so he was. He sure was. But he didn’t need to be so sure about it.

He leaned forward. ‘I think what tempts you is the thought of doing something unexpected.’

He was daring her. She very nearly smiled then. It would be too—totally unexpected. And the idea really appealed to her. It had been her motivation all evening—for most of her life, in fact. To be utterly unlike the staid, conservative perfectionists in her bean-counter family. And how wonderful it would be to turn up on the arm of the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Pure fantasy. Especially when she was the only one of the younger generation not to be in a happy couple and have a high-powered career.

And then, for once, she had a flash of her father’s conservatism—of realism. ‘I can’t ask you. I barely know you.’

He leaned forward another inch. ‘But you have all night to get to know me.’


CHAPTER TWO

ALL night? Now it was Bella’s lips twitching.

His smile was wicked. ‘Come on. Ask me anything.’

Holding his gaze was something she wasn’t capable of any more. She ducked it, sat back and concentrated on the conversation.

‘All right. Are you married?’ She’d better establish the basics.

‘Never have, never will.’

Uh-huh. ‘Live-in lover?’

‘Heaven forbid.’

She paused. He was letting her know exactly where he stood on the commitment front. Devilry danced in his eyes. She knew he meant every word, but she also knew he was challenging her to pull him up on it.

‘Gay?’ she asked blithely.

He looked smugly amused. ‘Will you take my word for it or do you want proof?’

Now there was a challenge. And not one she was up for just yet.

‘Diseases?’ Tart this time.

His amusement deepened. ‘I think there’s diabetes on my father’s side, but that doesn’t seem to manifest until old age.’

She refused to smile, was determined to find some flaw. To get the better of him somehow. ‘What do you do for a living?’

‘I work with computers.’

Gee, she nearly snorted, that could mean anything. ‘Computers? As in programming?’

His head angled and for the first time his gaze slid from hers. ‘Sort of.’

‘Ah-h-h.’ She nodded, as if it all made perfect sense. Then she wrinkled her nose.

‘Ah, what?’ He sat up straighter. ‘Why the disapproval?’

She hit him then, with everything she could think of. ‘Did you know the people most likely to download porn are single, male computer nerds aged between twenty-five and thirty-five? You’ve probably got some warped perception of the female body now, right? And I bet you’re into games—with those female characters with boobs bigger than bazookas and skinny hips and who can knockout five hit men in three seconds.’ She stopped for breath, dared him to meet her challenge.

‘Ah.’ His smile widened while his eyes promised retribution. ‘Well, actually, no, that’s not me.’

‘You think?’ she asked innocently.

‘I’m single, I’m male, I’m into computers and I’m aged between twenty-five and thirty-five. But I don’t need porn because…’ he leaned closer and whispered ‘…I’m not a nerd.’

She leaned a little closer, whispered right back. ‘That’s what you think.’ Admittedly he didn’t look much like one, but she could bluff.

But then he called her on it. Laughing aloud, he asked, ‘Should I be wearing glasses and have long, lank, greasy hair?’

His hair was short and wind-spiked and his eyes were bright, perceptive and unadorned—and suddenly they flashed with glee.

‘Do nerds have muscles like these?’ He slapped his bicep with his hand. ‘Go on, feel them.’

She could hardly refuse when she’d been the one to throw the insult. Tentatively she reached out a hand and poked gingerly at his upper arm with her finger. It was rock hard. Intrigued, she took a second shot. Spread her fingers wide, pressing down on the grey sleeve. Underneath was big, solid muscle. Really big. And she could feel the definition, was totally tempted to feel further…

But she pulled back, because there was a sudden fire streaming through her. She must be blushing something awful. She took a much-needed sip of her watered-down wine.

His told-you-so gaze teased her.

She sniffed. ‘You’re probably wearing a body suit under that shirt.’ Completely clutching at straws.

‘OK,’ he said calmly, ‘feel them now.’ He took her hand, lifted the hem of his shirt and before she knew it her palm was pressed to his bare abs.

OK? Hell, yes, OK!

She froze. Her mind froze. Her whole body froze. But her hand didn’t. The skin on his stomach was warm and beneath her fingers she could feel the light scratchiness of hair and then the rock-hard indents of muscles. This was no weedy-boy-who-spent-hours-in-front-of-a-computer physique. And this wasn’t just big, strong male. This was fit. Superfit.

Her fingers badly wanted to stretch out some more and explore. If she moved her thumb a fraction she’d be able to stroke below his navel. She whipped her hand out while she still had it under control.

His smile was wicked as the heat in her cheeks became unbearable. ‘And what about this tan, hmm?’ He pushed up a sleeve and displayed a bronzed forearm as if it were some treasured museum exhibit. She stared at the length of it, lightly hair-dusted, muscle flexing, she could see the clear outline of a thick vein running down to the back of a very broad palm. Very real, very much alive—and strong. She was taken with his hand for some time.

Finally she got back the ability to speak. ‘Is the tan all-over-body?’

‘If you’re lucky you might get to find out.’

The guy had some nerve. But he was laughing as he said it.

‘So why are you single, then?’ she said, trying to adopt an acidic tone. ‘I mean, if you’re such a catch, why haven’t you been caught already?’

‘You misunderstand the game, sweetheart,’ he answered softly. ‘I’m not the prey. I’m the predator.’

And if she could bring herself to admit it, she wanted him to pounce on her right now. But she was still working on defence and denial. ‘Well, you’re not that good, then, are you? Where’s your catch tonight?’

The only answer was a quick lift of his brows and a wink.

She pressed her lips together, but couldn’t quite stop them quirking upwards. ‘You hunt often?’

He laughed outright at that, shaking his head. She wasn’t sure if it was a negative to her question or simple disbelief at the conversation in general. ‘I’m like a big-game animal—one hunt will last me some time.’ His eyes caught hers again. ‘And I only hunt when I see something really, really juicy.’

Juicy, huh? Her juices were running now and that voice in her head saying ‘eat me’ really should be shot.

His laughter resurfaced, though not as loud, and she knew he’d twigged her thoughts.

Still she refused to join in. ‘But you don’t keep your catches.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Catch and release. That’s the rule.’

Hmm. Bella wasn’t so sure about the strategy. ‘What if she doesn’t want to be released?’

‘Ah, but she does,’ he corrected. ‘Because she understands the rules of the game. And even if she doesn’t, it won’t take long until she wants out.’

Her mouth dropped. She couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to get away from this guy’s net. Flirting outrageously was too much fun—especially when the flirt had a body like this and eyes like those.

His smile sharpened round the edges. ‘I have it on good authority that I’m very selfish.’

‘Ah-h-h.’ She was intrigued. That smacked of bitter-ex-girlfriend speak. Was he playing the field on the rebound? ‘You’ve never wanted to catch and keep?’

He grimaced. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

For the first time he looked serious. ‘Nothing keeps. Things don’t ever stay the same.’ He paused, the glint resurfaced. ‘The answer is to go for what you want, when you want it.’

‘And after that?’

He didn’t reply, merely shrugged his shoulders.

Bella took another sip of the spritzer and contemplated what she knew to be the ultimate temptation before her—defence and denial crumbling. ‘After that’ didn’t matter really, did it? He had a beautiful body and a sense of humour—what more would a confident, cosmopolitan woman want for an evening? And wasn’t that what she was—for tonight?

‘So, now that you know something about me,’ he said, ‘tell me, what do you do?’

He might have told her some things, but strangely she felt as if she knew even less. But what she really wanted to know, he didn’t need words for. She wanted to know if that tan was all-over-body, she wanted to know the heat and strength of those muscles—the feel of them. Everything of him. Cosmo woman here she was.

‘I’m an actor,’ she declared, chin high.

There was a pause. ‘Ah-h-h.’

‘Ah, what?’ She didn’t like the look of his exaggerated, knowing nod.

‘I bet you’re a very good one,’ he sidestepped.

Her cosmo confidence ebbed. ‘I could be.’ Given the opportunity.

‘Could?’

‘Sure.’ She just needed that lucky break.

Now he was looking way too amused. ‘What else do you do?’

‘What do you mean what else?’ she snapped. ‘I’m an actor.’

‘I don’t know of many actors who don’t have some sort of day job.’

She sighed—totally theatrically, and then capitulated. ‘I make really good coffee.’

He laughed again. ‘Of course you do.’

Of course. She was the walking cliché. The family joke. The wannabe. And no way in hell was she telling him what else she did. Children’s birthday party entertainer ranked as one of the lowest, most laughable occupations on the earth—her family gave her no end of grief about it. She didn’t need to give him more reason to as well.

‘And how is the life of a jobbing actor these days?’ He was still looking a tad too cynically amused for her liking.

She sighed again—doubly theatrical. ‘I have “the nose”.’

‘“The nose”?’

She turned her head, offered him a profile shot.

He studied it seriously for several seconds. Then, ‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘A little long, a little straight.’

‘I’d say it’s majestic.’

She jumped when he ran his finger down it. The tip tingled as he tapped it.

‘Quite,’ she acknowledged, sitting back out of reach. ‘It gives me character and that’s what I am—a character actress.’

‘I’m not convinced it’s the nose that makes you so full of character,’ he drawled.

‘Quite.’ She almost laughed—it was taking everything to ignore his irony. ‘I’ve not the looks for the heroine. I’m the sidekick.’

She didn’t mention it, but there was also the fact she was on the rounder side of skinny. A little short, a little curvy for anything like Hollywood. But Wellywood—more formally known as Wellington, New Zealand’s own movie town? Maybe. She just needed to get the guts to move there.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say—’

‘Don’t.’ She raised her hand, stopped him mid-sentence. ‘It’s true. No leading-lady looks here, but it doesn’t matter because the smart-ass sidekick gets all the best lines anyway.’

‘But not the guy.’

She frowned. So true. And half the time she didn’t get the sidekick part either. She got the walk-on-here, quick-exit-there parts. The no-name ones that never earned any money, fame or even notoriety.

She figured it was because she hadn’t done the posh drama academy thing. Her father had put his foot down. She wasn’t to waste her brain on that piffle—a hobby sure, but never a career. So she’d been packed off to university—like all her siblings. Only instead of brain-addling accountancy or law, she’d read English. And, to her father’s horror, film studies. After a while he’d ‘supposed she might go into teaching’. He’d supposed wrong. She’d done evening classes in acting at the local high school. Read every method book in the library. Watched the classic films a million kazillion times. Only at all those agencies and casting calls it was almost always the same talent turning up and she couldn’t help but be psyched out by the pros, by the natural talents who’d been onstage from the age of three and who had all the confidence and self-belief in the world.

Bella thought she had self-belief. But it fought a hard battle against the disbelief of her family. ‘When are you going to settle into a real job?’ they constantly asked. ‘This drama thing is just a hobby. You don’t want to be standing on your feet making coffee, or blowing up balloons for spoilt toddlers for the rest of your days…’ And on and on and on.

‘Well, who wants the guy anyway?’ she asked grumpily. ‘I don’t want the saccharine love story. Give me adventure and snappy repartee any day.’

‘Really?’ he asked in total disbelief. ‘You sure you don’t want the big, fluffy princess part?’

‘No, Prince Charming is boring.’ And Prince Charming, the guy her family had adored, wouldn’t let her be herself.

He leaned forward, took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. ‘I don’t believe you’re always this cynical.’

The comment struck another little stab into her. It twisted a little sharper when she saw he was totally serious.

‘No,’ she admitted honestly. ‘Only when it’s my birthday and no one has remembered and I’m stuck in wedding-of-the-century hell.’

‘All weddings are hell.’ His fingers left her face but his focus didn’t.

Well, this one sure was. ‘Here was me thinking it was going to be a barefoot-on-the-beach number with hardly anyone in attendance, but it’s massive—ninety-nine per cent of the resort is booked out with all the guests!’

‘Hmm.’ He was silent a moment. Then he flicked her a sideways glance. ‘How lucky for you that I’m in that remaining one per cent.’

Wordless, she stared at him, taking a second to believe the lazy arrogance in the comment he’d so dryly delivered. Then she saw the teasing, over-the-top wink.

Her face broke and the amusement burst forth.

‘Finally!’ He spoke above her giggles. ‘She laughs. And when she laughs…’

The laughter passed between them, light and fresh, low and sweet. And her mood totally lifted.

‘I am so sorry,’ she apologised, shaking her head.

‘That’s OK. You’re clearly having a trying day.’

‘Something like that.’ The thought of tomorrow hadn’t made it any easier and she’d felt guilty for feeling so me-me-me that it had all compounded into a serious case of the grumps.

‘Shall we start over?’ His eyes were twinkling again and this time she didn’t try to stop her answering smile.

‘Please, that would be good.’ And it would be good. Because it was quite clear that under his super-flirt exterior there was actually a nice guy. Not to mention, damn attractive.

‘I’m Owen Hughes. Disease-free, single and straight.’

Owen. A player to be sure—but one that she knew would be a lot of fun.

‘I’m Bella Cotton. Also disease-free, single and straight.’

‘Bella,’ he repeated, but didn’t make the obvious ‘beautiful’ translation. He didn’t need to—simply the way he said it made her feel its meaning. Then he made her smile some more. ‘Any chance you’re in need of a laugh?’

She nodded. ‘Desperately. Light relief is what I need.’

‘I can do that.’ He grinned again and she found herself feeling happier than she had all day—all week even. He leaned towards her. ‘Look, I’ve got an empty pit instead of a stomach right now. Have dinner with me—unless you’ve got some full-on rehearsal dinner to go to or something?’

She shook her head. ‘Amazingly that’s not the plan. I think some of the younger guests are just supposed to meet up later for drinks. The olds are doing their own thing.’

‘Maybe they’ve organised a surprise birthday party for you.’

‘As nice as that idea sounds—’ and it did sound really nice ‘—they haven’t. You can trust me on that.’

‘OK. Then let’s go find a table.’

She found herself standing and walking with him to the adjoining restaurant just like that. No hesitation, no second thought, just simplicity.

He grinned as they sat down. ‘I really am starving.’

‘So you haven’t caught anything much lately, you big tiger, you,’ she mocked.

He laughed. ‘I’m confident I can make up for it.’

Bella met the message in his eyes. And was quite sure he could.


CHAPTER THREE

OWEN felt a ridiculous surge of pleasure at finally having made Bella see the funny side. And, just as he’d suspected, she had a killer of a smile and a deadly sweet giggle. Her full lips invited and her eyes crinkled at the corners. He couldn’t decide if they were pale blue or grey, but he liked looking a lot while trying to work it out and he liked watching them widen the more he looked.

He’d been bluffing—if he really were some tiger in the jungle, he’d have died of starvation months ago. Sex was a recreational hobby for him, very recreational. But it had been a while. Way too much of a while. Maybe that was why he’d felt the irresistible pull of attraction when she’d walked into the bar. He’d been sitting at a table in the corner and almost without will had walked up to stand beside her at the bar. Just to get a closer look at her little hourglass figure. In the shirt and skirt he could see shapely legs and frankly bountiful breasts that had called to the most base of elements in him.

Then he’d noticed the droop to her lip that she’d been determinedly trying to lift as she’d read that menu. And he’d just had to make her smile.

The table he’d led her to was in the most isolated corner of the restaurant he could find. He didn’t want her family interrupting any sooner than necessary. Wanted to keep jousting and joking with her. Wanted a whole lot more than that too and needed the time to make it happen.

‘So,’ she asked, suddenly perky, ‘what sort of computers? You work for some software giant?’

‘I work for myself.’ For the last ten years he’d done nothing much other than work—pulling it together, thinking it through, organising the team and getting it done.

‘Programming what—games? Banking software?’

‘I work in security.’

‘Oh, my.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I bet you’re one of them whiz-kids who broke into the FBI’s files when you were fourteen, or created some nasty virus. Bad-boy hacker now crossed over to the good side or something—am I right?’

‘No.’ He chuckled. Truth was the actual programming stuff wasn’t him—he had bona fide computer nerds working for him. He was the ideas guy—who’d thought up a way to make online payments more secure, and now to protect identity. ‘I’ve never been in trouble with the law.’

‘Oh. So…’ She paused, clearly trying to think up the next big assault. ‘Business good?’

‘You could say that.’ Inwardly he smiled. He now had employees scattered around the world. A truly international operation, but one that he preferred to direct from his inner-city bolt hole in Wellington. But he didn’t want to talk about work—it was all consuming, even keeping his mind racing when he should be asleep. That was why he was on Waiheke, staying at his holiday home a few yards down the beach from the hotel. He was due for some R & R, a little distraction. And the ideal distraction seemed to have stepped right in front of him.

His banter before hadn’t all been a lie, though. He did believe in going for what he wanted and then moving right on. This little poppet was the perfect pastime for his weekend of unwind time. So he’d made sure she understood the way he played it. Spelt the rules out loud and clear. She’d got them, as he’d intended, and she was tempted. Now he just had to give her that extra little nudge.

She was studying the menu intently. And he studied her, taken by the stripe of sunburn that disappeared under her shirt. It seemed to be riding along to the crest of her breast and his fingers itched to follow its path.

When the waiter came she ordered with an almost reckless abandonment and he joined in. He was hungry. He’d splashed up the beach over an hour ago now. He hadn’t been able to be bothered fixing something for himself, figured he’d get a meal to take away from the restaurant. Only now he’d found something better to take back with him.

‘Oh, no.’ The look on her face was comical.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Some of my family has arrived.’

‘It’s time for drinks, then, huh?’ He turned his head in the direction she was staring. Inwardly cursing. Just when she was getting warmed up.

He saw the tall blonde looking over at them speculatively. When she saw them notice her, she strode over, long legs making short work of the distance.

‘Bella. So sorry,’ she clipped. ‘It’s your birthday and you’re here all alone.’

What? thought Owen. Was he suddenly invisible?

‘I can’t believe you didn’t remind us,’ the blonde continued, still ignoring him.

‘I didn’t want to say anything.’ For a second he saw the pain in Bella’s eyes. A surge of anger hit him.

He realised what she’d done. She’d tested them. And they’d failed.

‘Don’t worry.’ He spoke up. ‘She’s not alone. It’s just that we wanted to have our own private celebration.’

The blonde looked at him then, frosty faced. ‘And you are?’

‘Owen,’ he answered, as if that explained it all.

‘Owen.’ She glanced to Bella and then back to give him the once-over. He watched her coldness thaw to a sugary smile as she checked out his watch and his shoes. He knew she recognised the brands. Yes, darling, he thought, I’m loaded. And it was one thing Bella hadn’t noticed. He found it refreshing.

‘It seems you’ve been keeping a few things to yourself lately, Isabella.’

Owen looked at Bella. There was a plea in her eyes he couldn’t ignore.

The silence deepened, becoming more awkward as he kept his focus on her. And a tinge of amusement tugged when finally the willowy blonde spoke, sounding disconcerted. ‘I’ll leave you to your meal, then.’

‘Thank you,’ Owen answered, not taking his gaze off Bella. He was never normally so rude, but he could do arrogance when necessary. And when he’d seen the hurt in Bella’s eyes he’d known it was necessary. The irrational need to help her, to support her, had bitten him. Stupid. Because Owen wasn’t the sort to do support. Ordinarily he did all he could to avoid any show of interest or involvement other than the purely physical, purely fun. He’d made that mistake before and been pushed too close to commitment as a result. His ex-girlfriend had wanted the ring, the ceremony, the works. He hadn’t. But then she’d tried to force it in a way he totally resented her for. The experience had been so bad he was determined to make damn sure it didn’t happen again. He no longer had relationships. He had flings.

But now he simply hoped that his brush-off would be reported back to the rest of the family and they’d all stay away for a bit.

The waiter arrived with the first plates, breaking the moment. Bella was busy picking up her fork, but he could see her struggling to hold back her smile.

He waited until she’d swallowed her first bite. ‘Am I invited now?’

‘If I do, your job is to entertain me, right?’ Her smile was freed. ‘No eyeing up my beautiful cousins.’

He didn’t need anyone else to eye up. And he’d entertain her all night and then some if she wanted. But he played the tease some more. ‘How beautiful are they?’

She stared down her majestic nose at him. ‘You just met one of them.’

‘Her?’ he asked, putting on surprise. ‘She’s not beautiful.’

Her expression of disbelief was magic.

He laughed. ‘She’s not. So she’s tall and blonde. So what? They’re a dime a dozen. I’d far rather spend time with someone interesting.’ He’d done tall and blonde many times over in his past. These days he was searching for something a little different.

She ignored him. ‘No getting wildly drunk and embarrassing me. That isn’t why you want to go, is it? The free booze?’

‘No.’

‘Then why?’

The truth slipped out. ‘I want to see you have a really good time. A really, really good time.’

He did too. And he knew he could give it to her, and how. There was a baseline sizzle between them that was intense and undeniable. He’d seen the recognition, the jolt of awareness in her expression the moment their gazes had first locked. It was what she needed; it was what he needed. And he’d happily spend the weekend at her dull family wedding to get it. He’d put up with a lot more to get it if he had to.

On top of that primary, physical attraction, she was funny. Smart. Definitely a little bitter. And he liked her smile. He liked to make her smile.

As their dinner progressed it was nice to forget about everything for a moment as he concentrated wholly on her. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and flicked it to Vibrate, pushing work from his mind. He was supposed to be having a couple of hours off after all. Like forty-eight.

He saw her glance into the main body of the restaurant as it filled. Saw her attention turn from him to whatever the deal was about tomorrow.

‘It’s going to be a massive wedding,’ she said gloomily. ‘The whole family and extended family and friends and everyone.’

‘All that fuss for nothing.’ He just couldn’t see the point of it. Nor could he see why it was such a problem for her.

‘All that money for just one day.’ She shook her head. Her hair feathered out; shoulder length, it was a light wavy brown. He wanted to lean over and feel it fly over his face.

‘Do you know how much she’s spent on the dress?’

So money was some of it. ‘I hate to think.’ His drollery seemed to pass her by.

‘And I’ve got the most hideous bridesmaid’s dress. Hideous.’

‘You’ll look gorgeous.’ She was such a cute package she could wear anything and look good.

‘You don’t understand,’ she said mournfully. ‘It’s a cast of thousands. Celia—the gorgeous cousin—is one too. And there are others.’ The little frown was back.

Her every emotion seemed to play out on her face—she was highly readable. If she could control it, learn to manipulate it, then she’d make a very good actress.

‘The dress suits all of them, of course.’

‘Of course.’ And she was worried about what she looked like—what woman wasn’t? He’d be happy to reassure her, spend some time emphasising her most favourable assets.

She looked up at him balefully. ‘They’re all five-seven or more and svelte.’

Whereas she was maybe five-four and all curves. He’d have her over ten tall blonde Celias any day.

‘Did they go with a gift list?’ He played along.

‘Yes.’ She ground out the answer. ‘The cheapest item was just under a hundred bucks—and you had to buy a pair.’

Money was definitely an issue. He supposed it must be—fledgling actresses and café staff didn’t exactly earn lots. And this resort was one of the most exclusive and expensive in the country. To be having a wedding here meant someone had some serious dosh. Was she worried about not keeping up with the family success?

He laughed, wanting to keep the mood light. ‘Lists are such a waste of time. They’d be better off leaving it to chance and getting two coffee plungers. That way when they split up they can have one each.’

Surprise flashed on her face. ‘Oh, and you call me cynical.’

‘Marriage isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.’ He’d been witness to that one all right—hit on the head with a sledgehammer. It was all a sham.

‘You think?’

‘Come on, how many people make it to ten years these days, seven even? What’s the point?’ Because at some point, always, it ended. Owen figured it was better to walk before the boredom or the bitterness set in—and it would set in. The feelings never lasted—he’d seen that, he’d felt it himself. Now he knew it was better not to get tied into something you didn’t want—and certainly not to drag the lives of innocents into it either. He wasn’t running the risk of that happening ever again. No live-in lover, no wife, no kids.

Bella sat back and thought. She had to give him that—one of her older cousins had separated only last month, a marriage of three and a half years over already. But other marriages worked out, didn’t they? She had high hopes for Vita and Hamish. She had faint hopes for herself—if she was lucky.

She frowned at him. ‘Yes, we already know it’s not on your agenda.’ He couldn’t commit to marriage—the monogamy bit would get him. He was too buff to be limited to one woman. Smorgasbord was his style. Well, that was fine. She was hardly at a ‘settle down’ point in life. She was still working on the ‘get’ a life bit.

‘That’s right.’ He grinned. ‘But I’m not averse to helping others celebrate their folly.’

‘So you can flirt with all the bridesmaids?’ A little dig.

‘Not all of them. Just one.’

The shorter, darker-haired, dumpier one with the long straight nose? He was just being nice because he hadn’t actually seen all the others yet. When he did, it would be all over. She looked up from her cleared plate and encountered his stare again. The glint was back and notch by notch making her smoulder.

His stare didn’t waver. And the message grew stronger.

Pure want.

She curled her fingers around her chilled wine glass. She felt flushed all over and had the almost desperate thought that she needed to cool down. Her fingers tightened. Then his hand covered hers, holding the glass to the table.

‘I think you’ve had enough.’

She narrowed her eyes, unsure of his meaning.

He lifted his hands, spread his fingers as he shrugged loosely. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re drunk. Far from it.’ His smile flashed, and it was all wicked. ‘But the more you drink, the duller your senses become and I wouldn’t want you to lose any sensation. Not tonight.’

‘I’m going to need my senses?’ She was mesmerised.

‘All of them.’

OK.

He inclined his head to the large bi-folding doors that opened out to the deck. A small jazz ensemble was playing. She hadn’t even noticed them set up. Too focused on her companion—the most casual customer in the place yet the one who commanded all her attention.

‘Dance with me.’ He stood. ‘We can see how well we move together. Make sure we’ve got it right for the big day tomorrow.’

Why did she take everything he said and think he was really meaning something else?

He grinned, seeming to understand her problem exactly, and silently telling her that she was absolutely right. He held out his hand.

For a split second she looked at it. The broad palm, the long fingers, the invitation. The instant she placed her hand on top, he locked it into his. There was no going back now.

They walked out the doors together, to the part of the deck by the band where people were dancing. The waves were gently washing the beach. The evening was warm and for Bella the night seemed to exude magic.

‘I like this old music,’ he muttered, curling one arm around her waist while holding her hand to his chest with the other. ‘Made for my kind of dancing.’

‘Your kind?’

‘Where you actually touch.’ His hand was wide and firm across the small of her back as he pulled her towards him, and she went to him because she couldn’t not. Because in reality she wanted to get closer still. Her head barely reached above his shoulders, but it didn’t matter because she couldn’t focus much further than on the material right in front of her anyway, and on the inviting, warm strength beneath it.

His fingers feathered over her back, skin to skin. She trembled at the sensation, nearly stumbled with the need that rose deep within her. She masked the craziness of her response with some sarcasm. ‘I said yes to dancing, not having your hands up my shirt.’

‘I thought up your shirt might be quite good.’ His low reply in her ear made her need heighten to almost painful intensity.

Good was an understatement. He pressed her that little bit closer, so her breasts were only a millimetre from the hard wall that was his chest. Not quite close enough to touch, but she could almost, almost feel him and her nipples were tight.

She dragged in a burning breath. ‘Owen, I—’

‘Shh,’ he said. ‘Your family is watching.’

He danced her away from the others and into the farthest corner of the deck, where the darkness of night lurked, encroaching on the lights and loud conviviality of the restaurant. Gently he swayed them both to the languid music, talking to her in low tones, telling her just to dance with him. Was it one song, was it three, or five? Time seemed suspended. He muttered her name, his breath stirring her hair, then nothing. And as she moved to his lead she fell deeper into his web.

When the band took a break, she took a moment in the bathroom to try to recover her aplomb—cooling her wrists under the rush of water from the cold tap. She shouldn’t have had those shots. She’d barely drunk a drop since, but she felt giddy. And as she looked at her reflection—at her large eyes, and the heightened colour in her cheeks and lips—she knew she didn’t want to recover her aplomb at all. She wanted to follow this madness to its natural conclusion. Nothing else seemed to matter any more—nothing but being with Owen. Just for while she was on this fantasy island.

She stepped out of the bathroom and saw him straighten from where he’d been leaning against the wall, eyes trained on her door. She walked over to meet him, but her path was intercepted by Vita, her sister.

‘Bella, where have you been all night? More to the point, who is that guy you’re dancing with?’ Vita looked astounded.

‘Owen is an old friend.’

‘How old?’ The disbelief on her sister’s face was mortifying.

‘Well, not that old.’ Bella looked up to where he stood now looming large and close, right behind Vita, his eyes keen. She just kept slim control of her voice and the hysterical giggle out of it. ‘You were born what, about thirty years ago, weren’t you?’

‘Somewhere thereabouts.’ He took the last couple of steps so he stood beside her, circling his arm around her waist as naturally as if he’d done it a thousand times.

Then he smiled at her, a glowing, deeply intimate smile that had Bella blinking as much as Vita. His fingers pressed her slightly closer to him and inside she shook. He held her even more firmly.

When he turned his head to Vita, the smile lost its intimacy but was no less potent. ‘You must be Bella’s sister, the beautiful bride. Congratulations.’

Vita blinked and took more than a second to recover her manners. ‘Thank you…er…Owen. Will we be seeing you tomorrow? You’re more than welcome.’

‘Well…’ he glanced back to Bella and she saw the laughter dancing in his eyes ‘…I’d love to be there, but Bella wasn’t sure…’

‘Oh, if you’re a friend of Bella’s, of course you’re welcome.’

Bella turned sharply, narrowed her gaze on Vita. Did she stress the ‘if’?

‘Thank you.’ Owen closed off the conversation smoothly. And with a nod drew Bella back outside and threaded them through the dancing couples.

Bella went into his arms hardly thinking about what she was doing. Melancholy had struck. Vita had seemed stunned that Bella might actually have a gorgeous guy wanting to be with her. They were probably all watching agog—amazed at the development. Oh, why did she have to be here with her perfect sister and her perfect family—when she was so obviously the odd one out?

He must have read her thoughts because he pulled her close and looked right in her eyes. ‘She’s not that perfect.’

She didn’t believe him. Her little sister, by a year, had always been the one to do things how they were supposed to—the way her father wanted.

‘She didn’t wish you a happy birthday,’ he said softly.

Bella sighed. ‘She’s preoccupied.’ And she was. This wedding was a mammoth operation.

Owen frowned, clearly thinking that it wasn’t a good enough excuse. Warmth flooded her. He was so damn attractive.

‘So how many candles should you be blowing out tonight, Bella?’

‘Twenty-four.’ She hadn’t the energy for joking any more—she was too focused on her feelings for him. And all of a sudden the giddiness took over—she couldn’t slow the speed of her heartbeat; her breath was knocked from her lungs. She stumbled.

His hands tightened on her arms. ‘You’re tired.’

Tired was the last thing she was feeling.

But he stepped back, breaking their physical contact. ‘I’ll walk you to your room.’

Disappointment flooded her. She’d been having a wonderful night and she didn’t want it to come to an end. But it had—with Vita’s interruption the fantasy had been shattered. And Owen was already moving them across the deck, towards the stairs that led to the sandy beach.

She glanced up into his face, hoping for a sign of that glint, only to find it shuttered. Blandly unreadable. The sense of disappointment swelled.

As they reached the steps, Celia stepped in front of them.

‘You’re not leaving already?’ she asked, full of vivaciousness.

‘It’s a big day tomorrow. Bella needs to turn in now,’ Owen answered before she had the chance.

Celia turned her stunning gaze from him to Bella and the glance became stabbing. ‘You’d better put some cream on that sunburn or you’ll look like a zebra tomorrow.’

Oh, she just had to get that jibe in, didn’t she? Bella smarted.

Owen turned slightly. Slowly, carefully, he gave Bella such an intense once-over that she could feel the impact as if he were really touching her, a bold caress. But it was his eyes that kissed—from the tip of her nose all the way to her toes. And then he did touch her. Lifting his hand, with a firm finger, he stroked the red stripe on her chest—from the top of it near her collarbone, down the angled line to where it disappeared into her blouse. His eyes followed the path, and then went lower, seeming to be able to see everything, regardless of the material.

‘Don’t worry.’ He spoke slowly. ‘I’ll make sure she takes care of it.’

Bella stared up at him, fascinated by the flare in his eyes. The flare that had been there from that moment when she’d turned her head to his voice as she’d sat at the bar. It had flashed now and then as they’d talked and laughed their way through dinner. But now it was back and bigger than before and she couldn’t help her response. Every muscle, every fibre, every cell tightened within her. As he looked at her like that, his hunger was obvious to anyone. She’d never felt more wanted than she did in that moment and she was utterly seduced. The whole of his attention was on her and the whole of her responded. But she wasn’t just willing, she was wanting.

She dimly heard a cough, but when she finally managed to tear her gaze from his, Celia had already walked off. Bella managed a vague smile after her general direction, but then, compelled by the pull between them, she walked with Owen—barely aware of her cousin’s and her sister’s gazes following her. She no longer cared. She was too focused on the burn of her skin where his finger had touched, and the excitement burgeoning now as he held her hand and matched her step for step.


CHAPTER FOUR

DOWN on the sand the breeze lifted and the drop in temperature checked Bella.

‘Where are you staying?’ Owen asked, his voice oddly gentle.

‘One of the studios round the back.’ She wasn’t in one of the luxury villas, but a tiny unit in a building with several other tiny units. It was still nice. It didn’t quite have the view and door opening directly onto the beach that the villas did, but it didn’t have the price tag either.

‘Show me.’ Still gentle.

But her mind teased her with what it was that he wanted her to show him. It took only a minute or so to wind around the back of the building, to where the units were. At her door she stopped. She gazed at the frame of it, suddenly shy of wanting to look him in the eye. ‘Thank you for seeing me through that.’

‘No problem.’ He loomed beside her. ‘It was fun.’

Fun. Disappointment wafted over her again. Stupid, when he’d given her a victory she’d mentally relive time and time again, but there was something else she wanted now. Something she sensed would be much, much better.

He gestured towards the door. ‘Are you alone in there? Not twin sharing with your great-aunt Amelia or anyone awful?’

‘All alone. Just me.’ She chanced a look up at him then, saw the hint of the smile, the gleam of teeth flashing white in the darkness.

‘Want me to come in and make sure there are no monsters in the wardrobe?’

Confidence trickled back through her. She stepped a little closer. ‘Quite the gentleman, aren’t you? Are you going to turn down my sheet as well?’

‘If you like.’ He matched her move, stepped closer still. ‘Would you like, Bella?’

Such a simple question. It needed only the simplest of answers. And she already knew what he was asking and what her answer would be. There was no way she could ever say no to him. Probably no one had ever said no to him and she didn’t blame any of them.

‘Yes.’

His head bent. His smile was no wider, but somehow stronger. ‘Good.’

His first kiss was soft, just a gentle press of lips on lips. No other contact. Then he pulled away—just a fraction, for just a moment. Then he was back. Another butterfly-light kiss that had her reaching after him when he pulled back again. And as she moved forward he swept her into his arms. Strong and tight they held her and the next kiss changed completely. Deep, then deeper again. The awareness that had sizzled between them all night was unleashed. Her hands threaded through his hair, his hands moulded over her curves. Together they strained closer, lips hungry, tongues tasting. Bella was lost. He felt better than she’d imagined—broad, lean, hard. Her eyes closed as his lips left hers, roving down to her jaw, down her throat, hot and hungry. The fire in her belly roared.

And then he was kissing her sunburn stripe, undoing the top few buttons on her blouse, pulling it open so he could follow the path of reddened skin with lush wet kisses that did anything but soothe. The red stopped on the curve of her breast—where her bikini cup had been. But he didn’t stop. He pulled the lace of her bra down until her nipple popped up over it. And then he took that in his mouth too.

She arched back as sensations spasmed deep inside. His other arm took her weight, pulling her pelvis into the heat of his hips, and she could feel his hardness through his jeans. She gasped at the impact—and at the pleasure ricocheting through her system. He lifted his head, his hunger showing in the strain on his face and in his body. The air was cool on her bared skin but she was still steaming up.

Breathless, she pulled back, her blouse hanging half open, breast spilling over her bra. ‘I think I better get the door unlocked now.’

‘I think you better had,’ he teased, but her confidence surged higher when she heard his equal breathlessness. ‘Because the thing about sex on the beach,’ he added, ‘is the sand.’

Giggling, she slipped her hand in her pocket, closed her fingers around the key. Turning, she fumbled to get it into the lock. He stood behind her, ran his hands over her hips and then pressed so close she could feel everything he had to offer. Her hand lurched off course completely. He put his fingers over hers and guided the key safely home.

Pressing even harder against her, he spoke in her ear, hot and full of sexy humour. ‘We are having screaming orgasms though, OK?’

‘OK.’ She just got the door open and the answer out before he spun her around and his mouth came down on hers again. He backed her in, kicking the door shut behind them with his foot. He kept backing her, but angled her direction so after only a couple of paces she was up against the wall. Relief flooded her as she felt it behind her and she half sagged against it. She didn’t think her legs were strong enough to hold her up all on their own any more. When the man kissed, all she could think of was a bed, and her desperation to be on it and exploring and feeling and being kissed like that everywhere.

His hands held her face up to his, warm fingers stroked down her neck, but he stood back so his body didn’t touch hers. She wanted it to touch again—all of it against her. The kisses grew deeper as she opened more to him—inviting him in with the sighs of pleasure she let escape and the way she sought him with her tongue.

But her confidence came in waves—ebbing again as his caresses became more intimate, as he undid the last buttons and hooks. Shyness overcame her as her blouse and her bra slipped away completely.

He looked down at her, sensing her stillness. ‘You’re sure?’

She nodded, but explained. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘Me too.’

She didn’t believe that for a second. But it was nice of him to say it.

Then her shyness melted as he whisked his shirt over his head and she saw the beauty of his body beneath.

Her hands lifted instinctively, and she spread her fingers on his shoulder, slowly letting them trace down the impressive breadth of his chest and then lower, over the taut upper abs down to where his jeans were fastened. He lifted his head at that, grinning wickedly. ‘Stop that, sweetness. It’ll all be over all too soon. As it is it’s going to be a close one.’

‘Very close,’ she agreed, letting her fingers walk some more.

‘Stop that.’ His smile only widened.

‘I can’t. You feel fantastic. You really do have muscles.’ She marvelled at it. How the hell did a computer geek grow muscles like these?

But then her own actions slowed as she became acutely aware of his—of the kisses dulling her sense of initiative. He was taking the lead and increasingly all she could do was follow. Slowly, so slowly, he was stripping the skirt off her. Dropping to his knees, he eased it down, pressing kisses to her thighs and legs.

Then he stood again, him still clad in jeans, her in nothing but knickers. Their shoes had been kicked off somewhere outside the door. He took her face in his hands again, searching her eyes and then smiling. Then kissing. And with every moment of the kiss her need grew. Until, pressing her shoulders against the wall for support, she pushed her hips forward towards him—aching for closeness.





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