An Australian Surrender. Maisey Yates

any—sexual experience in order to play the part.

      Ethan caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up so that she had to meet his liquid black gaze. “I have no doubt about that. In fact, I have a feeling I’ll be requiring very little in the way of hotel room service.”

      Her pulse was pounding in her temples now, but she ignored it. Instead of shrinking away from him, as her body was screaming at her to do, she curled herself into him, putting her palm flat on his chest.

      It was solid, well-muscled. She could feel the definition of his body beneath the layers of his crisp dress shirt and suit jacket. He didn’t have the body of a man who spent all his time behind a desk.

      He had the body of a man who worked out. Shirtless. Maybe he swam? Water sluicing over all that enticing, golden skin, muscles shifting and bunching, tensing and relaxing as he moved …

      She chastised her imagination big-time for that unnecessary foray into fantasy.

      Understandably, their little sex farce brought sex to mind, but that didn’t mean she was allowed to indulge in thoughts like that.

      No, she was allowed to. If she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Because this thing with Ethan was a business transaction. And that meant sex and fantasy had no place in it. She had to remember that.

      She pressed her palm more firmly against him, proving to herself that he was just a man. A person. A body. Nothing to get excited about. “I’ll make sure you have whatever you need,” she said, fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice.

      Thomas, the nosy employee, forced a smile. “Excellent, sir, then if everything is to your liking …?”

      “Yes, we’re fine for now.”

      “I’ll leave you then.”

      When he turned and left, Noelle let out a gust of breath and tried to extricate herself from Ethan’s hold without flailing.

      “I think the show is over,” she said, gritting her teeth when he continued to hold onto her.

      “Is it?” he released her. “Too bad. I enjoyed that very much.”

      “It was beyond thrilling,” she said, her smile false, very purposefully false so he would know just how fake the sentiment was. She had a feeling he wasn’t being sincere. Just trying to see if he could agitate her.

      “You surprise me sometimes.”

      “Do I?” she asked, her teeth locked tightly together.

      “The day we met you seemed very … pale.”

      “I was about to lose my home, and you were scoping it out and making changes before my rear end had even hit the gutter.”

      “True enough.”

      Pale. What a strange way to describe her. Or maybe not. Pale sounded weak, washed-out. As if something had more potential and yet wasn’t reaching it. Her stomach sank a bit. That was her. She couldn’t even argue.

      She was beginning to find that lost potential now though. She just had to get her life back on track. Get some resources so that she had a square one to start from. Maybe she could play again. Maybe the music would come back to her. If she played this opportunity right, she would have a chance.

      Without it, she would lose the only asset she possessed. She would be on her own again, with nothing. No job experience, and not a whole lot of real-life experience.

      “A year ago I never would have had the courage to do this,” she said. “But, way back then, I didn’t recognize a very important truth.”

      “What’s that, beautiful?”

      Her stomach tightened when he said that. Beautiful. She used to feel beautiful sometimes. She wanted to feel beautiful again.

       It’s up to you to feel beautiful though. Everyone else could just be lying.

      Yes, it was up to her.

      “I learned that you can’t count on anyone. The only person I can trust to hold my best interests in high regard is me. If I want to change things, I have to do it, because no one else will do it for me.”

      “A hard lesson to learn, but an important one,” he said.

      “Very. So I’m taking care of me. Of my best interests.”

      “Don’t forget my best interests. Don’t forget your end of the deal.”

      “I won’t.”

      “Good.” He leaned in, his scent teasing her sense. The only man she’d had any exposure to was her piano teacher, and he had smelled of hair grease and heavy cologne. Ethan smelled like soap, clean skin and a little bit of something unique that was simply … him. A smell that made her want to lean in to him, to lean on his strength.

      No. The only strength she could trust was her own.

      Of course, it would be better if she could find a decent amount of strength.

      She swallowed heavily and took a step back. He took a step toward her and she stopped, rooted to the spot on the plush carpet.

      “I’m glad you’re intent on playing your part, Noelle. Because tonight,” he lifted his hand and skimmed her cheek with his thumb, brushing a lock of her pale gold hair from her shoulder, “I’m going to show the world that you’re mine.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

       I’M not yours. I’m not anyone’s.

      Her words echoed in her head as she contorted her arm in order to pull the zipper up on the tiny black cocktail dress that Ethan had had sent to her room an hour earlier.

      Her words were feeble because hey, power, he had it. But she didn’t belong to him. That was how her mother had seen her, too. A thing she could own. A thing she could sell. It was a good thing she’d had musical abilities or there was no telling what her mother would have used her for.

      She shuddered and bent over, lifting a foot up and tugging on one of the glittering, beaded high heels, also provided by Ethan. Or Ethan’s personal shopper or assistant. He didn’t exactly seem the type to go and pick up a pair of gorgeous, sparkly shoes.

      She bent and started pulling on the other shoe, lost her balance and wobbled sideways, catching herself on the couch but still tumbling to the floor. She let a curse slip through her lips and then laughed.

      “Not quite ready yet?”

      She turned sharply at the sound of that rich, oh-so-sexy voice. “You didn’t knock. Did you knock?”

      “It’s my hotel,” he said, shrugging broad shoulders and walking over to the bar. From her vantage point on the ground he looked even taller, and slightly more infuriating than normal since he’d just caught her at a disadvantage.

      “It’s my room,” she said.

      A half grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m paying for it.” He picked up a bottle of Scotch and poured himself just enough to fill the bottom portion of the glass. “Drink?”

      “Soda?” she asked.

      He raised his eyebrows. “Soda?”

      “I have a one-drink limit if I’m going out in public. My mother’s rule, but in cases like this, I’ve always found it to be a good one.”

      “Have you?” he opened the fridge that was set into the bar and produced a little glass bottle of lemon-lime soda.

      “I’ve seen too many starlets sprawled out on the floor at a big party after too much heavy drinking.”

      He looked down at her, his lips curving upward.