An Australian Surrender. Maisey Yates

slowly until both of his hands were rested on the indent in her spine, just above her bottom. He moved his thumb slightly, slowly, his touch edging near intimate territory.

      She stiffened, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid she was going to pass out. She swallowed, barely able to finish the job thanks to her suddenly dry throat.

      “Relax,” he whispered. “Lean into me.”

      She did her best to relax but her muscles were locked up, tense. Not with fear, but with anticipation. She didn’t know what he might do next. Where he would touch her. It made her hot and shivery all over. Like having a fever, one that burned from deep inside her core.

      “How’s this?” she asked, her voice a little bit thin, shaky.

      “Better,” he whispered, his lips brushing her temple, the slightly intimate caress making her stomach tighten with raw, sexual need. It was different like this. In the arms of a real man, instead of just the hazy fantasy of a dream lover’s caress. Her ideas of desire were all viewed through a Vaseline-smeared lens in her mind’s eye. But this wasn’t obscured or blurred, it was sharp and clear. Almost painful in its intensity.

      And he hadn’t even kissed her.

      Would he? Eventually. He would have to eventually because he would have to do the kiss-the-bride thing at the wedding. And now her palms were sweaty. She tightened her grip on his shoulders.

      He angled his head and his lips skimmed the line of her jaw. She blew out a shocked breath and dug her fingernails into his shoulders, just to get that extra hold, because she felt as if she might melt into a puddle of Noelle at his feet. Wouldn’t that be a good picture for the society pages?

      He pressed his lips more firmly to her skin, just beneath her ear. She shuddered when he brushed the tip of his tongue over the tender skin. She’d never even known to fantasize about such a simple, sensual thing. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have known the effect it would have on her.

      “You taste like vanilla,” he said, his voice soft and husky, his breath touching her neck, making goosebumps spread over her.

      She pulled her head back so she could look at him, at his dark eyes, so intent on hers. Was he going to kiss her now? Like, really kiss her?

      He looked away from her, back in the direction of Anita. “I think we’ve caught her attention,” he said.

      The shroud of arousal that had cocooned them just a moment before broke and Noelle became conscious again of the noise in the room. The buzz of conversation, the music, the fact that there were other people there, in the ballroom, in the world.

      “Oh,” she cleared her throat, “yes.”

      “Ready to go and be social?”

      No. She was ready to go and crawl under a rock and hide for ten years, thank you very much, because she’d made an idiot of herself over the brief brush of his lips on her skin. The worst thing was, she was still wishing he’d done more.

      “Of course,” she said, her voice brittle.

      “Come on then, sweetheart, let’s spread the good news of our new-found love.”

       CHAPTER FIVE

      TOTAL bliss. She was warm. And comfy. Happy even. Cocooned in the thousand-thread-count sheets in a luxury hotel. And room service was on its way up with coffee.

      Noelle snuggled down deeper into the bedding and sighed. For a few moments her mind was blank, and then last night came rushing through it. Not just her mind, her body. She could feel him again, his large, warm hands on her hips, his lips against her jaw.

      She flung her arm over her eyes and growled into the empty room. She didn’t want to be dealing with this at the moment. And definitely not with him. She had to keep it in the realm of business transaction or it was just … wrong.

      There was a heavy knock on the door and she tugged the covers up to her throat. “Come in.”

      “Morning.” He brought coffee, but he wasn’t room service. Ethan strode in, looking amazing and not at all like they’d stayed at a party until the early hours of the morning.

      He was wearing a dark suit and a white shirt that was open at the collar. She could see just a hint of dark chest hair when he moved and the shirt gaped a bit … and she was staring. And it was probably obvious. She looked out the window.

      “So you aren’t … I was expecting room service.”

      “I intercepted them. Said I wanted to wish my darling Noelle a good morning in a way only I could.”

      She felt her face get hot. “You do have a flair for drama.”

      He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that. But I do want this to work. And in order for that to happen, everyone around me has to believe that you’ve done a real number on me.”

      “Do they?” She couldn’t really imagine doing a number on a man. Not when his presence made her feel hot and sort of uncomfortable. But not in a bad way, really. Actually, it was the most pleasant discomfort she’d ever felt before.

      “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” He looked surprised by her question. “What?” She shrugged. “I’m sort of … working for you now. Kind of my job to be at your beck and call.”

      His facial expression shifted, a subtle change, his lips parting slightly, a dark and dangerous light illuminating his brown eyes. The intensity of his focus only made that discomfort spread through her a little more, from her tightened stomach and pounding heart down to her limbs, to the apex of her thighs.

      “Now that is a very interesting and tempting thought, Noelle.”

      Noelle felt heat creep from her breasts up her throat and into her face. She knew she was pink everywhere. She was usually so pale, her skin always gave her away.

      Because she knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing she was thinking. Her mind was back on last night, on what it had felt like to be in his arms. And now here she was, in bed, and it all seemed easy … as if everything might be simpler if she just scooted over and made room for him next to her.

      She gulped a too-hot mouthful of coffee and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The briefness of her nightie was now the least of her worries.

      “Not what I meant, Ethan.”

      “I don’t have designs on your womanly virtue,” he said, his tone heavy with sarcasm. “Promise. Much too complicated at this stage in the game.”

      “Agreed,” she said, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. Womanly virtue. Good grief. If only that wasn’t so close to the truth—not that she counted it as a virtue. More like a somewhat telling commentary on just how thoroughly her life had been managed from moment one.

      No boyfriends. Not even a hint of teenage rebellion. She’d been too busy. And she’d believed so strongly in everything her mother had asked of her, had wanted to repay her for the years of travel and lessons by doing well.

      By doing what she’d been asked, or rather ordered, to do. And now she was paying for it, since she didn’t know the first thing about real life. She knew about glitz and glamour, but not how to make the money to achieve it for herself. She knew about air kisses and fake praise, but not about real relationships. Real kisses. Ethan had come the closest.

      She shivered at the memory.

      “Come to work with me?”

      “Um … sure.” It wasn’t at all what she’d had in mind, but then, she wasn’t really certain what she’d had in mind. “I’m not going to be spending every waking minute with you, am I?”

      “I don’t know, what would you do if you were head over heels in love? In love enough to get engaged only a