The Price of Fame. Anne Oliver

thinking those thoughts?

      Swinging away from her unsettling image, she gathered her things and tentatively opened the door. Hearing no movement—so Nic hadn’t returned yet—she walked into the bedroom.

      Nic’s backpack sat next to hers on the luggage rack; his spicy scent lingered on his discarded clothes on the back of the chair. He wasn’t here yet he was all around her. She noticed some glossy brochures he’d left on the desk. She didn’t want to get personally involved with him, wasn’t ready for another relationship, but they were … just travel pamphlets. Nothing personal, nothing private. She couldn’t resist picking them up.

      The Hawaiian Islands. Brochures on deep-sea fishing, golf, whale-watching expeditions. The best surfing spots. He’d marked off some, made notes she couldn’t decipher and crossed out others. He was on his way to Hawaii for what looked like a full-on guy vacation. No wonder he looked so fit. Bronzed. Well … nourished. He obviously knew how to chill out and have fun.

      The word conjured up all sorts of scenarios; not the outdoor kind, but the intimate indoor kind involving him and her and that big bed with its soft white pillows. Her whole body burned. It wanted to burn alongside his. It wanted to know what it was like to be made love to by a man with Nic’s expertise because one thing she was sure of was his ability to pleasure a woman. And then he’d be off to Hawaii and she’d be totally satisfied.

      But it had to be her way. Her rules. No talking about themselves and their lives beyond what happened in this room. No swapping phone numbers and email addresses and promises to catch up. She didn’t want him catching up. She wanted one night to prove to herself that she wasn’t the girl Flynn thought she was.

      Anticipation raced through her body. To calm herself, she made a cup of the complimentary coffee provided and slid the curtains back as the afternoon faded and the sky took on the early evening hues of orange and lavender. She sat on the only armchair and flicked through a women’s magazine she’d bought earlier but she soon tossed it onto the nearby desk, too frazzled to concentrate on some superstar’s private life exposed to the world.

      And if it hadn’t been for Nic, her private break-up with the popular candidate for the upcoming state elections might have been public fodder too.

      She really, really owed Nic. So she could have just bought him a bottle of wine or a meal to show her appreciation, couldn’t she? They were here until tomorrow morning at the earliest so it wasn’t too late to suggest catching a cab into the city and finding some cosy candlelit café …

      Except then they’d come back to this room and that bed with a few glasses of happy in their systems and it would still be here—the amazing attraction.

      She tucked her bare feet up beneath her, pulled the pins out of her hair and teased her fingers through it, enjoying the new feeling of being feminine and free. Why eat out when you could feast on something much more pleasurable right here? Like hot masculine skin and lips and tongues and … Her mouth dried, her skin frizzled. She couldn’t help it; she giggled like a schoolgirl at the wicked thoughts running through her mind.

      She was still giggling when he walked in.

      CHAPTER THREE

      NIC heard the feminine laughter as he pushed open the door. Husky with a hint of wicked. He grinned. Until he caught sight of her sitting on the chair, her face in profile as she stared out of the window, her dark hair aflame in the sun’s reddening light and his amusement shifted beyond a simple Wow to something approaching awe. Unbound and auburn, the glossy mass rejoiced around her shoulders like a celebration of freedom.

      She’d turned the TV on to a radio channel. Something soothing and blue and jazzy and she obviously hadn’t heard him come in, so he absorbed the moment with all his senses. The fragrance of her recent shower, the delight in her laugh, her sheer and glorious abandonment.

      And he realised he was witnessing something he doubted many people saw when they looked at Charlotte. The woman’s inner beauty. And an innate sexuality that he found irresistible. He had a feeling she didn’t show that side of herself often, much less share it.

      He hoped she’d share it with him.

      She’d swapped that seriously awful suit for the hotel’s robe. Was she naked underneath? His groin tightened. She still wore the pearls; their iridescence reflected the sun’s vermilion rays. He imagined lifting them, warm from her body, and sliding his fingers beneath to explore her creamy throat.

      He couldn’t be certain she’d changed into the robe as an invitation or prelude to sex. It made sense that she’d wear it since their luggage was checked in at the airport. But that was about the only thing that made sense right now because for the life of him he couldn’t remember ever being this captivated by a woman before.

      Again the sense that this was different—she was different—slid through him like a ripple on a millpond. He shook off the shivery silvery sensation and discreetly cleared his throat to announce his presence. ‘Anyone for soggy gourmet pizza?’

      She swung to face him and a thousand different emotions flitted over her expression before she settled for happy-to-see-him. ‘Yes, please.’ She uncurled herself and stretched out a pair of long shapely legs in front of her. ‘Where did you find pizza?’

      ‘The airport’s café. The last one. Or the last half of one. I had to fight off the hungry hordes.’ After setting the box on the desk, he switched on the lamp, then reached for the bottle of wine on the shelf above the bar fridge.

      She rose, smiling and shrugging the lapels of the robe closer. ‘My hero.’

      His hand jerked a bit at that as he upended two glasses. ‘You want wine?’

      ‘Thanks.’ She lifted the lid on the cardboard container. ‘Yum, I love artichokes.’ She peered closer. ‘It is artichoke, isn’t it?’

      He grinned. ‘I think so.’

      She reached for her handbag on the coffee table, pulled out a linen napkin embroidered with her name, then proceeded to polish up the motel’s cutlery.

      Swallowing his surprise, he opened the bottle, then set a couple of paper plates next to the pizza box. ‘You like Italian?’

      ‘I do, but seafood’s my favourite.’ She scooped up the slices with a knife, set them on the plates. ‘There’s a fabulous seafood place at Glenelg, on the Marina Pier. Their King George whiting is to die for.’

      ‘I know the one.’ He didn’t tell her his apartment overlooked said pier as he splashed a generous amount of the ruby liquid into the glasses. ‘And I agree with your review. It’s one of my favourite food haunts when I’m in Adelaide.’

      ‘Mine too.’ A little hitch in her breath as she stared up at him. ‘Seems we have something in common.’

      ‘I’m hoping that’s not all we have in common.’ He couldn’t resist stroking his knuckles lightly down the side of her face. Testing her, tormenting himself. Her skin was smooth as silk and smelled like flowers.

      Her eyes turned glassy, like a still ocean on an overcast summer’s day, and she pressed her lips together, then said, ‘We weren’t going to talk about ourselves.’

      ‘Who said anything about talking?’

      Their gazes clashed, but he didn’t act on the hot fist of anticipation gripping the lower half of his body and the impulse to show her the alternative option. Plenty of time. A girl like Charlotte definitely needed slow. And he’d already made up his mind to give her a chance to decide whether she still wanted to act on that hot look he’d glimpsed earlier.

      So he only lifted the glasses, offered her one and said, ‘Let’s eat before this sloppy offering gets any colder. Cheers.’

      ‘Thanks. And cheers.’ Taking her plate, Charlotte returned to the armchair while Nic sat at the desk. She took a sip, then set her glass on the coffee table in front of her. Her cheek was still tingly