Hotbed of Scandal: Mistress: At What Price? / Red Wine and Her Sexy Ex / Bedded by Blackmail. Kate Hardy

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СКАЧАТЬ his brow puckering as if he was uncomfortable seeing her there. ‘Good morning.’

      He resumed skimming his paper, but she could feel the tension emanating from him like vibrating wire. ‘Did I break a house rule or something?’

      He flicked to the next page. ‘No. Of course not.’

      ‘What, then?’

      He looked up again, met her gaze. ‘I’ve never shared breakfast with a woman in this house; it caught me off guard.’

      ‘You’re kidding me. Dane Casanova Huntington has never had a sleepover?’

      He studied the paper once more. ‘I didn’t say that.’

      ‘So, what—they’re the Cinderella kind?’

      ‘I have a penthouse apartment in the city.’ He tossed back his coffee, set his mug on the counter with a snap. ‘I’m going to be busy all day, organising for this evening.’ He stared through the window at the pool. ‘I’ve booked a suite for us at the hotel, so I’ll arrange a car to pick you up when you’re ready to leave here.’

      She was still processing the first bit. ‘You keep a city apartment for sex?’

      He exhaled slowly. ‘I want to keep my private life exactly that. Private. I’ve also made appointments for a massage, spa treatment, hair and make-up,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t interrupted him with a question he obviously wasn’t comfortable answering. ‘Did I forget anything?’

      She was still catching up. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said slowly. ‘I could do with a little pampering. Do all your partners get the star treatment?’

      She saw nothing in his gaze, as if he’d deliberately blanked it. ‘Tonight’s important, Mariel.’

      ‘I know that.’

      ‘We’ll be staying overnight, so if there’s anything else you might need…’

      Like her contraceptive pills? ‘Overnight?’

      ‘We want to give them something to speculate about. Isn’t that what we agreed?’

      Oh. ‘Of course. The press.’ The reason for this charade.

      The press hadn’t been the reason he’d kissed her yesterday.

      Picking up his bag, he headed for the door, jingling his car keys. Impatiently or edgily? ‘I’ll join you in our suite at six-thirty.’

      Mariel’s entire afternoon session in the hotel’s spa and beauty rooms were pure bliss. Courtesy of Dane, she was massaged and exfoliated, buffed and polished until her skin tingled, her complexion glowed, her hair shone and her nails sparkled. She had The Best in facial and hair treatments.

      But beneath the pampering she couldn’t stop thinking about this public affair she was rushing headlong into. She considered herself worldly enough to understand that mutual desire sometimes came without strings.

      Except when it involved Dane.

      She considered herself sensible enough to accept that it was possible to enjoy sexual intimacy without falling in love.

      Except when it involved Dane.

      And when a high-profile celebrity like Dane and she went their separate ways, as they inevitably would, she was going to have to live with the media attention for a long time.

      She would not think about the other bad stuff she might have to learn to live with. Bad emotional stuff. Maybe she should make an advance booking for meditation or psychotherapy? She was likely to need it.

      At six o’clock, in one of the suite’s bedrooms, she stepped into her dress. A one-off European designer gown, it fitted so snugly it took a few moments to shimmy the silky white fabric up her body. As she tugged the zipper in the side seam closed the final wrinkles smoothed out.

      But her nerves didn’t. They tied knots in her stomach as she stepped into her sparkly stilettos, added a final touch to her upswept hairstyle and make-up. A delicate necklace of black diamonds flashed at her throat; a matching bracelet adorned her right arm. Her long platinum earrings swung as she studied her reflection side on.

      Satisfied, she sorted her bag, then paced to the window to watch the late sunlight turn the River Torrens primrose.

      She turned at the sound of the keycard being swiped in the door. Ridiculous to feel her heart pounding as if she was on her first date. She knew she looked fine, that this was exactly the type of gown his partners wore. Anyway, what did it matter what Dane—the king of dressing down—thought?

      It mattered.

      Taking a steadying breath, she turned. How did he manage to snatch her breath away every time? He wore black trousers and a made-to-measure white silk shirt that once again emphasised his shoulders and clung to his broad chest. His hair was still slightly damp and curled over the collar.

      She fought the temptation to walk right on over there and smooth it with her fingers. To lean in and press her lips to that distracting V of tanned skin at his throat. Instead she kept her cool. ‘No tie to a formal function—why do you ignore your own rules, Dane?’

      ‘Because I can.’

      Dane’s answer was vague as his eyes swept down Mariel’s body. God help him. How was he going to function tonight with that siren’s temptation beside him? Because he suddenly seemed to have momentarily lost the power of speech, he motioned her to turn around with his fingers.

      White. Floor-length. Skinny. Backless—below backless, in fact, revealing the lower indentation of her spine. Low scooped neckline that dipped…and kept on dipping. Which made him wonder how she kept the whole thing from sliding off her shoulders. A slit up one side that looked as if it had been created by an overzealous pirate’s sword. He had to wonder if she wore panties at all…

      ‘You want to talk rules?’ he murmured, unable—unwilling—to tear his hungry eyes away. ‘That dress is a rule-breaker. In fact, it should be illegal. One of your creations?’

      Dismissing his suggestion with, ‘I don’t wear my own designs,’ she whirled to face him again, the split in the fabric parting to show the long length of one leg. ‘You think it’s too much?’

      ‘More like not enough.’ He frowned, perplexed at his own reaction. He’d never been a conservative man, and enjoyed a good-looking woman as much as the next man.

      ‘It’s the latest Veronique design—Sophisticated Style. What’s your problem?’

      Problem? He’d always been more than happy to have the object of every man’s desire on his arm. But was he sophisticated enough to make it through the evening knowing every guy would be falling over themselves to catch another eyeful of all that exposed skin? Because it was Mariel’s skin. His own flesh tightened, tingled as heat simmered beneath its surface.

      Weird. He didn’t understand himself. On any other woman the gown would have looked stunning. Did look stunning. If tonight hadn’t been so important, if he hadn’t been the one who’d organised the event, he’d have called the whole thing СКАЧАТЬ