By Request Collection 1. Jackie Braun

      She opened the other box. It was full of new lingerie. All different colours. Sexy as sin. She sifted through the silky bras and panties, her cheeks blooming with heat. She found two nightgowns. A teal blue and a deep gold.

      ‘I noticed you didn’t buy enough stuff yesterday,’ he said, his voice oddly gruff.

      The heat intensified. ‘How did you know my size?’

      ‘I checked the ones you bought. If you’ll forgive me for looking.’

      ‘Oh, yes … and they’re beautiful.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

      ‘Your smile’s enough.’ He reached out a hand, lifted her chin up. ‘You should smile more often—with those eyes, like you’re doing now.’ For a fleeting moment his gaze turned almost reverent.

      And she felt her heart melt.

      Then he pushed up, as if uncomfortable with the moment. ‘Let’s go eat.’

       CHAPTER NINE

      FOR this evening, at least, it was enough to simply share pizza and enjoy each other’s company while the waves thumped on the beach. To see the ocean change from aqua to indigo to black and to watch Blake finally relax as they listened to the jazz quartet.

      It gave Lissa time to think about what Blake had told her about his father. No wonder he was obsessed with order and tidiness. She resolved to make more of an effort while she was staying in his house.

      When the band packed up, they drove home and went their separate ways to bed. The ever-present hum between them was still there, but also a feeling that barriers had been lowered a little. As if a bridge had been crossed.

      Lissa spent the following day working on the living room and plans for Gilda’s nursery. Blake offered to be at the shop in the morning to receive the office supplies she’d ordered. He refused her suggestion to accompany her shopping in the afternoon and went surfing instead.

      The last item on her list was what to wear to Gilda’s party.

      He should have insisted on going shopping with her, Blake decided that evening as he stood at the bottom of the staircase looking up.

      He resisted the urge to loosen the gold bow tie that threatened to strangle him as he stared at the woman descending the stairs.

      No way he’d have agreed to the skinny tube of shimmering gold lamé and its row upon row of bright coins that jingled and winked in the light as she moved. What there was of it. Her ‘find’ was strapless and covered precious little of those sun-kissed thighs that he’d thought about constantly since that first night on the houseboat.

      His brow wrinkled. Except now she was coming closer he could see that those thighs seemed to be dusted with something like … gold dust. She’d threaded gold ribbons through her hair and piled it on top of her head and he noticed her shoulders gleamed with the same fine gold glitter as her thighs. Strappy gold stilettos completed the look.

      An uncomfortable heat burst into flame below the surface of his skin and spread all over his body like a rash. How was he going to get through the evening without thinking about what other priceless treasures she had hidden beneath that slinky scrap of fabric that looked as if she’d simply wound it around her? He was going to spend the whole night wondering if it came off as easily.

      ‘What do you think?’ she said, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

      ‘It’s … certainly eye-catching.’ Not to mention snagging on a few other sensitive body parts.

      ‘That’s the idea.’ She shimmied like a belly-dancer and the whole thing glittered and jingled. ‘Not bad for a few moments’ work and a couple of quick threads, huh?’

      Quick threads? He swallowed. It was held together with a few threads? ‘You. constructed it yourself?’

      ‘I’m not wasting money when I don’t have to. I found it in an off-cut bin at a belly-dance studio.’ She held up a hand and thin gold bangles danced along her arm. ‘No, don’t ask how it holds together. And no, it’s not going to unravel. At least I hope not.’

      By God, so did he.

      ‘But just in case …’ She flicked at a string of tiny gold safety pins tucked discreetly into the top.

      Music, voices and a tinkle of feminine laughter drifted from next door as she reached down to adjust a strap on her sandal then straightened. ‘Still, I hardly think I’ll be noticed among the Beautiful People.’

      Blake gave his head a mental shake. It was she who was beautiful, and, going on his memory of these charity dos, the majority of party-goers were generally over fifty. She was going to give some old geezer a heart attack.

      If he wasn’t careful she was going to give him a heart attack.

      ‘Nice look.’ Her gaze slid over his dark suit rather too slowly for his comfort. ‘Do you get a lot of wear out of that attire in the navy? Lots of military functions to attend, admirals to salute? Wives and daughters to charm?’

      He didn’t miss the glimmer of dark in those clear eyes at her pointed mention of the last.

      ‘But of course,’ she ran on before he could get a word in. She shook her head and a single auburn curl beside her ear bobbled. ‘You’d wear one of those gorgeous naval dress uniforms, wouldn’t you? All blinding white with gold buttons.’ Her gaze clouded momentarily as if she saw him dressed so.

      And if they didn’t get going, he was going to have to reach out and smooth that curl behind her ear … and then … his stomach tightened. they’d be in a world of trouble. He turned away, towards the door. ‘Shall we go?’

      Lissa tried not to look impressed but Gilda and Stefan’s magnificent mansion had been transformed into a Grecian paradise. In the balmy air, multicoloured lanterns hung overhead and reflected like fireworks in the sapphire pool while guests wearing the latest in gold designer fashion feasted on a multitude of delicacies and drank champagne from sparkling crystal glasses.

      The patio doors had been flung open and, inside, tall orchid spikes speared from gilt-edged vases set on ornate polished mahogany or marble pedestals, their exotic scents mingling with expensive French perfume. Somewhere a blues singer accompanied a clarinet, crooning come-hither World War Two songs.

      She didn’t have time to absorb it all because as soon as they arrived they were handed drinks and Lissa was whisked away by her hostess to meet a trio of women who’d known Blake’s mother, wealthy middle-aged matrons dripping with diamonds. And gold. It was like being in the house of Midas.

      Blake was still watching her as she cast him a backward glance. He raised his glass. Enjoy the evening, he seemed to say. I intend to. From the corner of her eye she saw why: tall, blonde and busty heading his way.

      So there was Lissa, hearing all about Muriel someone’s latest fashion disaster while waiting for a lull in the conversation so she could get a word in about her business—their business—while he indulged in … whatever it was he was doing behind her back.

      ‘Oh, and did you hear that the Bakers from Surfers heard Rochelle’s son was coming and cancelled at the last minute?’

      Lissa’s ears pricked up.

      But at sharp glances from her friends, the woman who’d delivered the news found a sudden interest in the bottom of her crystal flute. ‘Oops. Sorry.’

      The words, obviously aimed Lissa’s way and tossed out with malicious amusement, stunned her. Then filled her with anger. A red-hot ball in her chest. She felt it build and build until she felt as if she might explode.

      This was Blake they were maligning. Who’d risked his life for fourteen years and suffered God only knew what horrors to keep their country safe. A man she’d