Australian Affairs: Taken. Miranda Lee

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       CHAPTER TEN

      ‘ARE YOU SURE you can do this, Jess?’ Ben said as Jess sped down the driveway. ‘I mean, altering a dress can’t be the same as making one from scratch.’

      ‘It won’t be any trouble. Gran did a lot of alterations and I used to help her. I earned my first pocket money that way.’

      ‘You are full of surprises, aren’t you?’ he said, smiling over at her. ‘A good person to have around, I would imagine. I dare say you can cook as well.’

      Jess shrugged. ‘I’m not bad. Mum’s better, though. Can you cook? Or is that a silly question?’

      ‘Not at all. I think all men should be able to cook a bit, especially ones who live alone. I can make a mean omelette, and my mushroom risotto has received several compliments.’

      Jess laughed. ‘I dare say it has.’ She could imagine Amber gushing over every single thing he did. She could hear her now: Oh, Ben, darling, you are so clever. And talented. And handsome. And rich.

      No, no, Amber wouldn’t actually say that last bit. She would not be as obvious as Leanne. Or as envious. Because Amber would have money of her own. Jess was sure of it.

      His sideways glance was sharp. ‘Do I detect some sarcasm in that remark?’

      Her returning glance was brilliantly po-faced. Or so she thought.

      ‘Not at all.’

      He chuckled. ‘You little liar, you. You enjoy taking the Mickey out of me.’

      ‘That’s a very Aussie saying. Maybe you’re not as American as you sound.’

      ‘What’s wrong with being American?’

      ‘Absolutely nothing.’ It was his being a filthy rich American that was the problem.

      ‘You’re not going to sleep the night at Catherine’s place, are you?’ he asked abruptly.

      Jess frowned at this question. ‘I wasn’t planning to, but what difference would it make if I did? You’re going out and from what I gather you’ll be home very late.’

      ‘I just want you to be there in the morning. I want to have breakfast with you and talk to you some more.’

      ‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘But do try to be quiet when you get in. I’m going to be tired after doing that dress. I don’t want to be woken by drunken revellers.’

      ‘I have no intention of getting drunk tonight,’ he surprised her by saying. ‘I don’t want to be hung-over tomorrow, thank you very much. I have plans for tomorrow night which require me to be fit and well.’

      ‘Oh,’ she said, and for the first time in her life Jess blushed. But it wasn’t the blush of embarrassment, it was the blush of heat. Sexual heat.

      ‘Don’t miss Andy’s place,’ he said.

      ‘What? Oh, God, I forgot where I was for a moment.’ She glanced in the rear-view mirror as she braked sharply before turning into Andy’s driveway.

      ‘Thinking of tomorrow night?’ he asked in a low, oh, so sexy voice.

      Jess refused to act rattled by him, even though she was. ‘But of course,’ she said, her cool tone a total contrast to the inferno raging inside her.

      Ben should not have been surprised by her bald honesty. Jess didn’t play games. But Ben had games very much in mind for tomorrow night. He didn’t want sex with her to be over quickly. He wanted to savour it. To savour her. He also wanted the love-making to last and last and last.

      ‘How many lovers have you had, Jess?’

      ‘Not as many as you’ve had, I’ll bet,’ she countered, thinking he had a hide to ask her that. ‘Now, could we stop talking about sex?’ She reefed the car to a ragged halt. ‘You sit here whilst I go get Andy, and I’ll explain things, then find out where this guest cottage is. And, before you object, you’re not fooling me by pretending you can get in and out of your seat without some pain in your shoulder because I know differently. So just be a good boy and sit still for a while.’

      She didn’t give him a chance to come back with some witty riposte because she was off in a flash, running up the side steps of the house, leaving Ben to ponder just how good a boy he was going to be tonight. And he wasn’t talking about at the stag party.

      The temptation to come home early was acute. He could easily make some excuse pertaining to his car accident—claim a crippling headache from the concussion, or an appallingly painful shoulder. It was sore, but nothing to write home about.

      No, he decided in the end. He would wait. Waiting often made the sex better. And Jess would be even more inclined to be thoroughly seduced.

      Tomorrow night would be a first for him in more ways than one. His first wedding. His first brunette. The first girl in a decade who didn’t seem overly impressed with his being Morgan De Silva’s son and heir.