From Sydney With Love. Kelly Hunter

Sarah had discovered.

      But on a night like this, for an outing of this nature, he was damn near perfect.

      They motored past the small township of Hawkesbury River, past tree clad ridges rising up from the riverbanks. They motored under an old railway bridge and on to where solitude and natural beauty held sway.

      The catamaran rode high in the water, and looking out over the wide expanse of glassy river held plenty of appeal. Leaning back against the instrument panel and watching Greyson’s eyes darken as she fed him a prawn held more. From her hand to his lips, and if feeding him took on a savagely sensual edge, well, it was only to be expected in such a setting and with such a man.

      ‘Tell me about your work,’ she said.

      ‘What would you like to know?’

      ‘What inspires you the most. What a regular day is like for you. Where you think your research will lead. Just the usual.’

      He took an oyster on the half shell from her outstretched hand. ‘That’s not the usual.’

      ‘It’s not?’ Charlotte briefly wondered what was the usual, and what type of woman Greyson would normally choose to spend time with. Sarah hadn’t been a shallow woman by any stretch of the imagination and Greyson’s mother had been downright formidable. Perhaps his taste ran more to sweetly obliging types these days. ‘Sorry.’

      Greyson devoured the oyster and set the shell to the side of the plate where Charlotte had been neatly stacking them. ‘I like the element of discovery that comes with the research,’ he said at last. ‘I like exploring the applications that stem from such a discovery.’

      ‘Ever think of being an archaeologist?’ she asked dryly.

      ‘I prefer the living world,’ he murmured. ‘Ancient cities can be dazzling but they aren’t my passion. Plant interactions are.’

      ‘And then there’s the travel,’ she said.

      ‘Exactly. As for a regular day, it varies. At the moment I’m here on the boat, sitting in front of a laptop for most of the day, running the stats on experimental results. It’s data entry at its most pedestrian—until you find something. And I never know what I’ll find until I find it, or where it will lead until I get there. That’s the beauty of it.’

      ‘A man who savours the journey.’

      ‘Don’t you?’ he countered.

      ‘I used to.’ Charlotte stared past him, out over the water and the increasingly dusky sky. ‘And then somewhere in my mid twenties I started wondering what it might be like to stay in one place for a while. So instead of scraping away at how other people lived, I took the Sydney uni job and tried to put something of what all those ancient civilisations had taught me into practice.’

      ‘What did they teach you?’

      ‘That sooner or later everyone needs a home. An environment they can control. A place to retreat to. Somewhere that brings them peace.’

      ‘And does your apartment by the bridge feel like a home?’ he asked quietly.

      ‘I’ve been asking myself the same question for a while now.’ Charlotte shrugged and looked out over the water. ‘Sooner or later I’m going to have to decide what to do about Aurora’s house. I really don’t need two.’

      ‘Which one’s closer to your workplace?’

      ‘The apartment. But Aurora’s has more sentimental value. It’s the closest thing to a childhood home that I’ve got. We used to make a point of going back there at least once a year.’

      ‘For how long?’

      ‘A couple of weeks,’ said Charlotte. ‘A month if I was lucky.’

      ‘What about school?’ asked Greyson.

      ‘We used the New South Wales distance education system,’ said Charlotte. ‘Tailored for children who travelled, children who roamed. Aurora supplemented it, of course. She had a knack for making the past come alive so the histories fast became our passion. I studied the Battle of Waterloo by walking the battlefield. I sat in the Colosseum and dreamed of gladiators and the roar of a Roman crowd.’

      ‘It sounds idyllic.’

      ‘It was richly rewarding,’ said Charlotte quietly. ‘And sometimes it was incredibly lonely. It’s why I resist the notion of taking the archaeology road again. At least here I have friends and a place that’s mine.’

      ‘Two places, in fact,’ murmured Greyson dryly.

      ‘Exactly.’ Charlotte fed him another prawn. ‘I like your home, by the way. It’s very you.’

      ‘Thank you. We’re almost at the cove.’

      And then they were at the cove and Greyson was cutting the engine and dropping anchor as the last shards of light from a long gone sun surrendered to the night.

      Charlotte smiled and let Greyson take the near empty food tray and lead her inside. He fetched some drinks—a white wine for her, beer for himself. He took two cheese-sauce-covered lobster halves from the fridge and shoved them in the oven. He looked comfortable in the kitchen. At home.

      Charlotte had never once pictured Gil in the kitchen. Certainly not in a ship’s galley. Nor had Gil ever been quite so delectably dressed.

      ‘You’re smiling,’ Grey murmured.

      ‘I know.’ She set her wine on the bench and flowed into Greyson’s arms, burrowing beneath his open shirt in search of warm skin over rippling muscle. She touched the tip of her tongue to his collarbone and tasted salt. He put his hand to her head and held her there for a moment, breathing in deep, before tilting her head back and covering her lips with his own in a kiss that spoke of welcome, and wanting, and a man who intended to savour every moment of this particular journey.

      ‘Miss me?’ he whispered, between kisses.

      ‘It’s really not part of the plan,’ she countered and kissed him again. She didn’t tell him that sinking into his kisses felt a lot like coming home. She didn’t say that she’d thought about him far more than she’d wanted to this past week. That she’d envied him his overprotective mother and his lovely ex-fiancée, the work that was his passion, and the surety with which he moved through life. A smart and sexy man who knew exactly what he wanted was a very attractive proposition for a woman who did not.

      He filled a gap, as Gil had filled a gap. He fed a need Charlotte hadn’t known existed.

      ‘I think I’m using you,’ she murmured.

      ‘That’s okay.’ He kissed her again. This time she moaned her approval. ‘Blame it on the endorphins.’

      ‘You don’t recommend that I take at least some responsibility for my behaviour?’

      ‘We have a short-term liaison agreement, remember? Your behaviour is entirely appropriate. You could even—just a suggestion—increase your enthusiasm for my company.’

      ‘You called, I came,’ she countered, stepping out of his embrace and retrieving her wine. ‘Undress me, make love to me, and I guarantee I’ll come some more. How much more enthusiasm do you want?’

      ‘Maybe enthusiasm wasn’t quite the right word,’ Greyson said smoothly. ‘Never mind.’

      He reached for his beer, leaned back against the tiny galley sink, and studied her intently. ‘My mother phoned this evening to ask me what I was doing this weekend. I told her I was spending it with you. She wants you over for dinner again, some time. Just the four of us, my father included.’

      ‘Why?’ asked Charlotte warily.

      ‘Perhaps she feels that she didn’t give you a chance.’

      ‘She doesn’t have to.’

      ‘Alas,