When He Was Bad.... Anne Oliver

saw Sasha making off into the knot of dancers, hips swaying. The rat. This little dinghy was doomed.

      ‘Looks like your friend knows how to have a good time,’ he said, his gaze following Ellie’s briefly before turning back to her. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’

      ‘Because I haven’t been here before. I’m not a regular clubber.’ Sasha had dragged her along despite her protests, insisting Ellie needed more fun in her life.

      ‘Let’s make you one.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Dance with me.’ A tingling sensation zipped all the way up her arm and settled low in her abdomen. His hand was warm, hard, firm. The way she imagined the rest of his body would feel. She recalled her sheet fantasy—and the brunette. Tension gripped tight in her lower belly.

      ‘What about your friend?’ She slipped her hand from his. Smoothed the tingly palm over her little black dress. Hitched her miniscule embroidered bag higher on her shoulder.

      Uh-oh. Big mistake, voicing that observation, because now he knew she’d been checking him out. But he couldn’t know what she’d been thinking…

      Or perhaps he did, because he grinned—the way a man like him would grin if he knew—and Ellie wished she’d never given him the satisfaction.

      ‘Yasmine’s a colleague,’ he said, that sexy confident grin still in place. ‘I haven’t seen her for a while. I’ve been working in Sydney.’

      Hence, the up close and personal, Ellie supposed. She darted a quick glance behind him. She saw a well-endowed blonde in a white halter neck watching him with avaricious intent, but she could no longer see Yasmine. Or maybe her name wasn’t Yasmine at all; maybe she’d just given this guy the flick and he’d moved on to his next target—Ellie. She didn’t know him; he could be lying, looking for an easy lay.

      And when it came right down to it, who here wasn’t?

      She wasn’t.

      Her body wanted, desperately, to refute that claim—with him—but she injected the zap of excess hormonal energy into her spine instead, straightened and stuck to something inanely neutral. ‘You’re from Melbourne originally?’

      He nodded. ‘I work on multiple projects, so I commute between the two cities on occasion.’

      And he obviously took the high road to town, whereas she lived on the low road.

      ‘The name’s Matt, by the way.’

      No surname, Ellie noted. Obviously not interested in more than a passing flirtation. Fine. Long-term relationships and becoming attached to people always ended in disaster. At least, it did for her. She lifted the bottle to her lips and drained the contents to soothe her throat which felt as if it were coated in sand. ‘I’m Ellie.’

      ‘How about that dance, then, Ellie?’

      A ribbon of heat shimmied through her as the music changed to a slow, thrumming love song.

      Body contact.

      Perspiration broke out between her breasts, on her upper lip. She tugged at the neckline of her dress a couple of times to create a draught. It didn’t help. ‘I’d rather not at the moment, if you don’t mind…’ Except that the bosomy blonde was sure to pounce…and Ellie found herself smiling up at him. ‘It’s so airless and loud in here, I—’

      ‘Outside, then?’ he suggested. ‘I could do with some fresh air myself.’

      Even better, Matt thought as, with a light hand at her back, he guided her around the sway of dancers toward the club’s secured outdoor area. The sensation of skin-warmed fabric was a tantalising heat against his palm. Anticipation—a different kind of heat—nipped at his skin.

      But she stopped midstride and swivelled to face him, looking for all the world like a bunny frozen in headlights, and for a moment there he thought she’d changed her mind. He was prepared to do whatever it took to change it back again, but she gestured to the cloakroom.

      ‘I…I’ll want my jacket. It might be hot in here, but it’s bitterly cold outside.’

      He watched her walk towards the cloak check. He hadn’t intended picking up a woman tonight. He’d come to get away from the pressures of work for an hour or two, but the petite woman with the short flyaway bob had captivated him. Perhaps it was because she was nothing like the women he usually dated.

      He liked his women the way he designed his million-dollar constructions—tall, clean-cut lines, elegant sophistication and a sense of style. This girl was tiny, delicately boned but curvaceous. Moreover, every curve looked real. She reminded him of fairy floss—pretty and sweet and fragile.

      That warm nip of anticipation struck anew. Harder, hotter. He ran a finger around the collar of his shirt. His suggestion to step outside had been inspired because suddenly he couldn’t wait to find out if she tasted as sweet as she looked. And then…then he wanted to take his time to enjoy, something not easily achieved on a crowded dance floor.

      He watched her hand over her ticket to the attendant, her spiky stilettos drawing attention to the smooth, well-turned ankles, her short hem riding up her thighs as she reached over the countertop to collect her coat.

      ‘Hi,’ a sultry feminine voice said beside him. ‘I couldn’t help noticing your friend leaving.’

      He barely glanced at the woman who’d materialised beside him. Blonde. Big…teeth. ‘She’s not leaving,’ he said, his gaze finding Ellie again.

      Ellie turned and wide wary eyes met his. She looked away, then looked back, nibbling on her lower lip, and for the second time in as many moments he thought she might bolt to the exit.

      To forestall that possibility, he stepped forward quickly to meet her, cupping her elbow as he drew her towards the outdoor area. ‘Everything okay?’

      ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

      ‘You looked a little edgy for a moment there.’

      ‘Did I?’ A tentative sound between a laugh and a cough escaped her as she accompanied him outside.

      An almost solid wall of cold air laden with cigarette smoke met them. Bright lanterns swung overhead, reflecting pools of colour on aluminium tables and overflowing ashtrays. Clubbers huddled in groups around tall gas heaters, smoking, drinking and laughing while couples smooched in shadowy spots around the high-fenced perimeter. And by an amazing stroke of luck one of those spots appeared to be reserved for them.

      ‘This is better.’ He took her jacket from her hands—a little black number with embroidery on the pockets—and settled it around her shoulders. Her bobbed hair, cut just below chin length, brushed silkily against his fingers.

      Her fragrance teased his nostrils. Not perfume, but something that smelled like spiced raspberries. ‘Now we can talk without risk to our vocal chords.’ Her eyes intrigued him. Beneath their placid reserve he glimpsed the promise of passion. ‘So, Ellie, if you’re not into the club scene, what do you do for fun on a regular Saturday night?’

      ‘I read. Science fiction and fantasy mostly.’ Shrugging deeper beneath her jacket, she said, ‘I know…that probably sounds pathetically solitary and boring to someone like yourself.’ She rolled her eyes to the star-studded sky. ‘But haven’t you ever wondered what’s out there?’

      ‘Sure.’ He shifted his gaze—not skyward but to the tempting column of her throat. ‘For now, though, I’m perfectly satisfied with what’s right here in front of me.’

      ‘Oh…’

      He blinked. Oh? That was it? Most women would respond with a smile or a giggle or a flutter of lashes—some hint that this game was definitely going somewhere.

      Not Ellie. And yet there was no mistaking the latent heat behind her gaze. She tugged the edges of her jacket together with tightly curled fingers and switched topics. ‘What’s been happening in Sydney?’