Australian Escape. Amy Andrews

took his hand, lifted it, and kissed the palm till the heat of him sank into her like a brand. And then empty, like a vase just waiting to be filled, and wrapped up in layers of delicious afterglow, she fell deeply asleep.

      * * *

      Jonah woke slowly, dragging himself out of a deep sleep with the feeling that he’d been in the middle of a really good dream. When he shifted to find the sheets at his hips rather resembled a teepee, he knew; whatever he’d dreamt it would have been nothing on the very real delights of one Avery Shaw.

      With a groan that told of muscles well used he rolled over, only to find the other side of his bed wasn’t only empty, it was cold. Meaning she’d been up for a while.

      Jonah yawned, scratched his belly, then lifted onto his elbow and listened for sounds of her. Felt with his subconsciousness for a sense of her. That particular snapping heat that sizzled about her like an electric current. But there was nothing.

      “Avery!” he called, his voice husky, his legs not quite ready for dry land. “Come back to bed, woman!”

      When his voice echoed off the walls and he got no response, the warmth in his limbs started to dissipate.

      “Avery?”

      In the distance he heard a scratching. Hull at the front door. He’d locked the dog inside the night before, after the odd run for the hills that had worried Jonah something fierce. But that scratching was coming from outside.

      Avery. She’d let him out. When she’d left.

      Jonah lowered himself back to the bed, laid a forearm over his eyes, slid another to the aching bulge between his legs and swore.

      Of course she was gone. What had he expected—to be woken with coffee and bagels? That all it would take was one night to render his flinty little American all sweetness and light?

      No. He hadn’t. But he also hadn’t expected her to run for the hills.

      The myriad reasons why he’d managed to keep his hands off her till now had meant that instead of going at it like rabbits, they’d got to know one another in the past couple of weeks. While he wouldn’t say they were friends—the word was a little too beige for the kinds of feelings the woman engendered—they knew enough about one another he’d have expected a little respect.

      Jonah opened his eyes and stared at the first tinges of gold shifting across the ceiling. It had taken him months to realise Rach hadn’t respected him. That while he’d been imagining a future, she’d seen him as free board and great lay. A man suitable for a season, not forever.

      One night together and Avery had skulked out at God knew what time without having the grace to say Thank you and good night.

      “Dammit,” he swore, hauling himself upright to run two hands through his hair. And despite himself he couldn’t help going to that place inside himself he’d worked his ass off to leave behind. The part of him that would always be small town, a lobsterman’s son. That knew no matter how many boats he owned, how many homes, how many helicopters or tourism awards or dollars in the bank, to a city girl like Avery Shaw he’d never be enough.

      Rachel. A girl like Rachel. He’d lived with her for a year. He’d slept with Avery once. There was no comparison. None at all.

      Punching out enough oaths to make a boxer blush, Jonah hit the floor, tore the sheets off the bed, threw them down the hall to be washed. He didn’t want to hit his bed that night and catch her scent, even if it was all he deserved for letting her in. To his head and his home. Thankfully his heart was tough as an old boot.

      Still didn’t mean it wasn’t a smart idea to scrub her scent from his skin, her image from his head, and her presence from his heretofore perfectly fine life. If he saw Avery Shaw again in the weeks she spent in town it would be too soon.

      * * *

      When the cab dropped Avery at the Tropicana, the sun was barely threatening to spread its first golden streaks across the dawn sky.

      She slid her room card into the slot at the front of the resort, opened the door and padded across Reception, which, due to the hour, was even more quiet than usual.

      Except that Claudia was behind the reception desk.

      Before Avery could think up an alternative escape route, Claudia looked up with a start; slamming shut her laptop, and looking as guilty as Avery felt.

      “Hi!” said Claude.

      “Morning!” chirped Avery. “What are you doing down here so early?”

      “Oh, nothing. Just...bookings. So-o-o many bookings.”

      Claude’s hair was a little askew, her eyes a little pink. She had gone hard at the cocktails the night before and yet here she was pre-sunrise, hours before check in, and all decked out in her polyester Tropicana Nights finest.

      More importantly, though, she seemed distracted enough not to notice Avery’s walk of shame.

      “Okay, well, I’ll catch you later then—”

      “Wait.”

      Dammit. Avery turned to find Claudia looking anything but distracted, her eyes roving over Avery’s shimmery top, her swishy black dress pants, the ankle breakers dangling from her fingers.

      “Yo ho ho! Avery Shaw, you hot dog. You got yourself some Jonah!”

      “Shh.”

      “Who’s going to hear? The pot plants? Come,” said Claude, scooting from behind the desk to drag Avery over to a sumptuous leather couch where sunlight was starting to hit patches of once-plush rug. “So what happened? Why the pre-dawn crawl home? After all that sexy touching and tractor-beams eyes you two had going on last night I’d have thought you’d have set the bed ablaze. Was it terrible? All smoke no fire?”

      Avery sniffed out a laugh. Then laughed some more. Then laughed so hard she got a stitch. Clutching at her side, she bent from the waist and let her head fall between her knees. Nose an inch from an old wad of gum stuck on the underside of the couch, she sighed. “It was...spectacular. Claude, I can’t even begin to describe the things that man did to me. On a cellular level.”

      “Ha!” Claude clapped her hands so loud it echoed through the gargantuan space. “Awesome. But if it was so spectacular why aren’t you at Jonah’s shack doing the wild thing with that man right now?”

      Because it was only ever going to be a one-night thing? Because her itch for him had finally been scratched? Because she knew Jonah well enough to know he’d give his right pinky not to have to go through a talky-talky morning after?

      Avery heaved herself to sitting and stared into nothingness. “Because I am a common-or-garden-variety coward.”

      Claudia took Avery’s hand between hers, and waited till Avery’s eyes were on hers. “You, my friend, are generous and kind. To a fault. But even the best of us trip over ourselves once in a while. Find your feet again, and you’ll be fine.”

      Avery plucked a mint leaf—left over from some cocktail or other from the night before—from Claude’s hair. She just had to figure out which direction her feet ought to be going.

      She wondered if he was awake yet. If he knew she was gone. If the decision as to what her summer entailed was already out of her hands.

      “So it’s all over for you and Luke,” Claude said, “one would think.”

      Avery laughed, then cringed. “Do you think he had any idea that I had...intentions?” Vague, and reactionary, as they’d been.

      Claude’s mouth twisted in an effort not to smile. “If it makes you feel any better I had a huge case of the hero-worships for the guy when I was a kid.”

      “Re-e-eally?”

      Claudia slapped her on the arm at her saucy tone. “That was, of course, until I realised he was a robot. Thank goodness for Jonah or you might yet have married