The Party Dare. Anne Oliver

she was nothing like the type of women he enjoyed—soft, cuddly, organised women willing and happy to let him take control. Women who were aroused by dominant men.

      So why the blazes would he want to start anything with Breanna Black?

      He already had.

      And why not? With a body like hers? Pushing up, he paced to the door, craned his neck to see if she was on her way. He couldn’t wait to get her naked and beneath him and find out what really turned her on. Then set about driving her slowly mad with wanting it. Taking her to the brink of ecstasy with his hands and mouth, watching her eyes plead and burn with passion as he dragged her over the edge at last screaming his name—

      Clenching his jaw, he checked the time. Where the hell was she? She’d all but dared him to come to this bash and he’d played right into her hands. With Breanna he couldn’t seem to think rationally. He was still playing into her hands, waiting in her room like an obsessed fool until she condescended to return. He shook his head to clear it.

      She might have others fooled into playing her games, but not Leo Hamilton.

      * * *

      It took a tall tumbler of iced water under bright kitchen lights to clear Brie’s cotton-wool head and remember that she had a duty to all her guests, not just the man waiting for her in her bedroom who did crazy things to her internal organs and just wanted sex.

      ‘Hey, party babe.’ Samantha popped her head around the door. ‘A guy was looking for you.’ She gave the thumbs up as she crossed the room. ‘Did I forget to mention he was pretty damn cute?’

      Cute? ‘He found me. Thanks. Would you take this to the table, please?’ Brie slid a plate of crackers with smoked salmon pâté and dill out of the fridge. ‘I’ll be right back.’

      ‘Take your time,’ Sam told her, reaching for the platter with a conspiratorial twinkle.

      ‘I’ll be right back,’ Brie repeated firmly. There was a party happening. Her party. Her friends. Her priority.

      ‘Brie?’

      She was halfway down the hall to invite the cute Mr Hamilton downstairs to join the fun when the distressed voice had her turning back. Megan swayed in front of her, brow creased, lips white.

      Brie gripped her friend’s arms. ‘What’s wrong, honey?’

      ‘I’m fighting a vicious migraine and the migraine’s winning. I’ve been looking for you.’

      ‘Oh, Megs, I’m so sorry.’ Guilt crawled through her as she propelled Megan to an unoccupied room off the hall, pushed her gently onto the nearest armchair. Leaving the light off, she squatted down in front of her. ‘I’d invite you to sleep it off here, except the noise...’

      Megan closed her eyes. ‘Thanks but I need to go home before I throw up. Can you find Denis?’

      ‘Sure.’

      It took a few minutes to locate Megan’s boyfriend having a smoke on the front veranda and a few more to help Megan to the car and see them off safely.

      She was at the bottom of the stairs when Leo appeared at the top with that stern and uncompromising expression she’d seen him wearing last week. ‘Hey, there. I—’

      ‘We can make arrangements tomorrow,’ he said as he descended. ‘To work out the rental agreement.’

      Had he added that last bit in case she thought he was referring to something more explicitly sexual when it clearly wasn’t? Prepared to cut him some slack because she’d left him alone for longer than she’d meant to, she smiled, tried again. ‘I’m sor—’

      ‘Not too early, right?’ he added, his eyes cool, shuttered. ‘So you can party into the wee hours. Enjoy yourself.’

      He hadn’t given her a chance to explain. Hadn’t bothered to hear her reasons, and he was leaving. Just like that. She clenched her fists against her sides. Let him think what he would—after a childhood of being a social outcast, she was done letting other people’s assumptions and prejudices hurt her. ‘Is this a bad habit of yours?’

      ‘Is what?’

      ‘Forget it, it’s a waste of time.’ She was doubly angry he could affect her to such an extent. Why him? she wanted to scream. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, she stepped in front of him and poked his chest with a finger. ‘You know something? I will enjoy myself. They don’t call me Party Babe Brie for nothing.’

      Twisting away, she marched across the foyer, glared at him as she slipped off her shoes beneath the graceful arch leading to the entertainment area. She ran her hands down the sides of her dress in a deliberately provocative manner that had the cool in his eyes turning molten, the cobalt flecks darkening. So satisfying to watch that handsome jaw clench, as if he hated himself for responding.

      She grinned. His fingers flexed at his sides. Ooh, yeah, baby. Gotcha. Still watching him, she picked up her strappy stilettos, spun them above her head. ‘Hey, everyone, time to get this party swinging.’

       FOUR

      At five a.m. Sunday, with the last guest gone, Brie dragged her dance-weary feet upstairs to bed. A couple of hours’ sleep... She blinked at Bron’s DVD forgotten on the dressing table next to the half-empty bottle of shiraz. Leo Hamilton’s fault.

      She crossed to her en-suite bathroom and grimaced at what she saw in the mirror. Her make-up had worn off, leaving her skin pale and revealing darker than usual smudges beneath her eyes. ‘One too many drinks, Party Babe Brie,’ she told her reflection.

      Her nightly cleansing ritual completed, she applied her own pre-mixed moisturiser then climbed into bed. She stared at the ceiling, wide awake, body still buzzing despite the fatigue. Her mind refused to shut down. Leo was no different from any other male in that he liked to look at the female form. Boys had started looking at her when she’d rivalled them in height during her fifteenth year and grown a pretty decent pair of boobs.

      Which had hurt at the time because, in their twisted little adolescent minds, boys automatically thought she slept around. An easy lay, she’d heard Billy Swanson snigger before she’d decked him with her backpack. She still hated that men could enjoy a fling and were considered playboys or studs whereas women who enjoyed the same were gossiped about in less than flattering terms, but nowadays she didn’t let it get to her.

      And nowadays mature men saw her as more than boobs and legs—mostly. And if they didn’t...did it matter? It wasn’t as if it was long term. And she enjoyed being in the company of a nice-looking man. She enjoyed being swept off her feet and wined and dined and danced. Most of all she enjoyed how they made her feel at the end of the night.

      She knew without any doubt at all that Leo could make her feel really, really good. But unlike other men she’d enjoyed spending time with, even hours after he’d gone, Leo’s potent energy lingered in her room and she dragged the covers up over her face as if to shield herself against its force and gritted her teeth.

      Men. They filled a basic human need but, like parties and new experiences, they were to be enjoyed and appreciated before moving on to the next. She was careful to choose a partner on the same wavelength and with the same expectations and moral code as herself. Cheating was out. She never lied because she knew bitterly how it felt to be lied to. She expected—no, she demanded—honesty in return.

      Unstructured, temporary relationships were her thing. Since Elliot. Eight years ago she’d been so dazzled by the rich young executive she’d seen nothing but the stars he hung in the sky exclusively for her pleasure. When he’d started sending floral apologies for missed dates, she’d made exceptions for him, and excuses. Until the stars had faded and she’d seen him clearly for the lying, cheating rat he was.

      Leo’s sudden arrival in her room had both surprised and excited her, transporting her to another place with his unexpected