The Party Dare. Anne Oliver

he said with the devil in his voice.

      A half-laugh caught in her overheated throat and she had to clear it. ‘He’s not my type.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘No.’ Granted, conservative senior citizen George probably thought every man was her type since he’d probably never seen her turn into her driveway with the same guy twice.

      But he’d be wrong. She enjoyed men but she was discerning in her choice of partners. The arrogant guy next door with the mellow bedroom voice? No way.

      She shook off the double distraction of Leo Hamilton and her bedroom in the same image. Apart from finding out what his intentions were for East Wind—which she could do by talking with his architect if necessary—she couldn’t wait to ignore him the next time she saw him.

      * * *

      Leo leaned back against the prestige cab’s headrest as they headed for the airport. What the hell had happened back there? His whole body was still vibrating, as if he’d been blasted sideways by a sonic boom.

      The after-effects of the shockwave that was Breanna Black.

      His libido had jolted awake and demanded breakfast, an occurrence so unexpected and so irrational given his usual taste in women that he’d left Chris with the calculations he’d intended checking through alongside her.

      He barely noticed Hobart’s lights winking as he crossed the Tasman Bridge. A neighbour who could light his fire with just a look was a complication he didn’t need. Perhaps he could oversee what needed to be done via email? He dismissed that idea with an impatient snap of fingers against his thigh—this project was as personal as it was important.

      Whereas she wasn’t important. In any way. He refused to alter his plans on a woman’s account. Particularly one he’d just met.

      And now he was going to be at the airport half an hour earlier than planned where he’d no doubt spend that time digging her out from beneath his skin.

      He didn’t have time for the attraction. The distraction. Or whatever the hell Breanna Black was.

      Still, if he had to choose one word to describe her it would be stunning. Not in the usual way one called a woman stunning but in a stun-gun kind of way—and he was still feeling the burn.

      She was all about impact rather than beauty. There was nothing subtle about her. Her cheekbones were too wide and too sharp for her face. Then there was the eye-popping lime tasselled top that stretched taut over firm, round and very generous breasts. Her mouth...ripe and red and damned if he hadn’t wanted to move in and—

      He closed his eyes but the woman’s image blistered the back of his eyelids. Her hair a shiny river of blackberry silk flowing over her shoulders. Midnight eyes flashing with an inner fire, which made him wonder if that apparent passion for knowing other people’s business extended to her bedroom.

      Leo pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate the tension building between his brows. He wasn’t being entirely fair. Breanna had introduced herself at least, whereas he’d not exactly been Mr Congeniality.

      Nice work, Hamilton. Way to antagonise the new neighbour. His sister needed an ally in this new community—another woman she could rely on when he wasn’t around—not an adversary.

      So he wouldn’t be telling Sunny about bumping into Ms Black yet, he decided. If he happened to see Breanna next weekend—and he didn’t intend going out of his way to do so, but if he did—he’d make more of an effort. For Sunny’s sake.

      * * *

      Two hours later the Melbourne night wrapped its chill around his bones as he jogged up the shallow stone stairs of home. The evocative strains of violin drifted from within. Sunny was weaving her magic and he listened with brotherly pride. Little wonder she’d been accepted into Hope Strings, which performed as part of Tasmania’s prestigious Philharmonic Orchestra, and at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

      Rose and amber light spilled through the front door’s stained glass, and as he pushed it open the delicious aroma of Mrs Jackson’s slow-cooked bouillabaisse filled the air. His highly valued daytime housekeeper, and worth every cent he paid her.

      He shrugged out of his coat and paused, a feeling of warmth seeping through him. Unlike his childhood, these days coming home gave him a comforting sense of peace and achievement.

      But circumstances were about to change yet again. With Sunny’s exciting new career taking off, despite her physical challenges, his little sister had demanded her independence. In no time at all, she’d be in her own home, in a new state. Alone. She’d point-blank refused his offer to employ a live-in housekeeper but had agreed to a cleaner on the condition she paid the woman’s wages herself.

      He zoned out and let the violin’s sweet melancholy wash over him. Enjoy the moment while you can.

      The house fire had robbed Sunny of the use of her now withered right leg and deformed foot, but had that slowed her down? Not on your life. If anything it had made her stronger, more determined.

      She’d have that autonomy with his blessing—and some conditions. He’d arranged to install a personal emergency alarm system and insisted she wear a distress pendant at all times while in the house. And—yes, Ms Black—he had indeed checked out the feasibility of a pool.

      Tasmania’s climate didn’t favour an outdoor construction, so he’d been considering alternatives. Sunny loved swimming; she found the weightlessness liberating. But not when she was alone. Which was why, in the end, he’d decided against the pool. It wasn’t in keeping with the home and he didn’t trust her to stay away from a pool when he wasn’t there.

      His freelance environmental management consultancy business took him to Tasmania on a regular basis and he anticipated dropping by her place at every opportunity. He also intended purchasing a suitable apartment nearby for himself. She could yell control freak and uncompromising jerk as often and loudly as she liked—he was immune as far as her insults were concerned, and was more than comfortable with any label she threw at him so long as she was safe.

      ‘Why are you standing there all by yourself and looking like the world’s about to end?’

      ‘Hey, Suns.’ He realised he’d been lost in thought awhile. ‘I was listening to you play and thinking how quiet it’s going to be here.’

      ‘Doesn’t say much for my skills then; I stopped five minutes ago.’ She was leaning on her elbow crutch in a slant of light studying him with a half-smile on her lips, blonde hair curling in wisps around her face.

      He nodded, coming out of what felt like a daze. ‘I’ll want a CD of your music.’ He was going to miss her. Sunny by name, Sunny by nature.

      ‘Already working on it.’ She cocked her head. ‘Problem with the new house?’

      Why did her question immediately conjure a certain dark-haired dynamo rather than his latest property acquisition? ‘A few surprises, that’s all.’

      That famous Sunny mood dimmed. ‘So there is a problem.’

      ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ He walked to her, clasped her shoulders with both hands and smiled his reassurance. ‘I’m ravenous. Did you wait for me?’

      ‘Of course I did.’

      He squeezed her shoulders and released her, and she accompanied him down the passage, her crutch tapping lightly on the tiles. They both preferred the cosiness of the little kitchen alcove over the formal dining room. Because he knew she wanted him to, Leo sat down and let her ladle the fish stew into two bowls without assistance.

      She’d raided his wine stash. He poured two glasses of pinot noir from the bottle she’d set on the lace-cloth-covered table. ‘Celebrating again?’

      ‘Can’t seem to stop,’ she said with a laugh. The table was arranged flush against the bench to accommodate Sunny’s disability and she carried the bowls to the table one at a time.