Mistress: At What Price?. Anne Oliver

wanted to look her best when she saw him again. Show him what he’d missed out on all those years ago, when she’d been a naïve seventeen-year-old who’d thought the young Dane Huntington was her sun and moon and everything in between.

      Well, she wasn’t so naïve now, even if it had taken every one of those ten years. Seconds ticked by, but they felt like minutes. His cool grey gaze remained fused with hers, no hint of a smile on those beautiful lips. Lifting her chin, she sucked in her stomach and eyeballed him boldly as he drew nearer.

      Dark hair with glints of auburn covered his ears and carelessly kissed the back of his neck. Some things hadn’t changed, she thought with attempted disdain. And he still scorned traditional dress code. He was tieless. His black collarless shirt with white stitching along the seams was undone at the neck and revealed tanned skin and a smattering of dark hair.

      The fashion designer inside her winced. Black jeans, to one of Adelaide’s Society Weddings of the Year, for heaven’s sake? But, to her chagrin, the wholly inappropriate image made her thighs melt and her pulse do a strange little blip.

      She straightened, clutching her glass tighter to hide the fact that her fingers were trembling, and said, ‘Hello, there,’ before he opened his mouth. ‘Happy New Year.’

      She did not lean in for a kiss.

      ‘Mariel. Happy New Year to you, too. How long have you been back?’

      ‘I flew in yesterday morning.’

      ‘Just in time for Carl and Amy’s big day.’

      His whisky-on-velvet voice flowed over her and he smiled—finally—and her pulse did another of those little blips. With her height she didn’t often experience men looking down at her and it made her feel delicate. And feminine.

      She stiffened. She didn’t want to feel delicate and feminine with Dane Huntington. Ever again. But—and how crazy was this?—she wanted him to see her that way.

      To remember…Did he remember?

       How could he forget?

      ‘Coincidentally Dane mentioned you just the other day,’ Justin said, and Mariel saw the familiar little tic in Dane’s jaw.

      ‘Oh?’ Dane had been talking about her? ‘Why was that?’

      ‘My wife, Cass, and I are thinking about going to Europe in October, and since you live in Paris he thought maybe you could give us the guided tour.’

      ‘Did he?’ She speared Dane with the pointy end of her gaze. ‘He didn’t try to look me up when he was there. When was it—five years ago, Dane? Mum mentioned it in an e-mail.’

      ‘It was business, Mariel,’ he said. ‘There wasn’t time for sightseeing. Or anything else. It was in and out. What brings you home?’

      ‘Family. I needed a break.’

      ‘One would think if you wanted to be with family you’d have come a week earlier and celebrated Christmas with them.’

      Oh. ‘I’m ashamed to say I left it too late and the airlines were fully booked.’ She refused to look away beneath his close scrutiny. Look away and he’d know she was lying.

      ‘That’s too bad.’

      ‘I’m here now.’

      ‘So you are,’ he said lazily, eyes still locked on hers.

      Justin, obviously feeling the weird tension, switched topics. ‘Our Dane won Babe’s Bachelor of the Year contest.’

      ‘Is that so?’ Mariel lifted her glass and took a sip to soothe her throat, noting the dark look Dane flashed at the other man.

      ‘You remember the one,’ Justin went on. ‘Babe magazine runs it every year.’

      ‘Ah, yes, that magazine,’ she drawled, infusing her tone with a large dollop of sarcasm, and was rewarded with a flare of colour on Dane’s cheekbones.

      And what do you know? Dane Huntington, master of cool, actually looked hot. The hot-and-bothered kind of hot. Amused, she watched his head tilt as he stretched his neck, as if easing the tension there. The smile that touched her lips was more of a smirk.

      ‘The side benefits: dates with ten different babes.’ Justin grinned, with the devil’s glint in his eyes.

      Mariel’s stomach clenched around the image Justin provoked, but she held on to that smirk for all she was worth.

      ‘Uh-oh, my wife’s giving me the eye,’ Justin said. ‘I’ll leave you two to catch up. Great seeing you again, Mariel.’

      ‘You, too.’ Mariel smiled at an attractive brunette watching them as Justin threaded his way in her direction, then turned back to Dane. ‘So…Babe’s Bachelor of the Year, huh? How does it work again?’

      ‘Like Jus told you,’ he clipped. ‘A bit of fun. And it’s for a good cause. Charity fund-raiser. I need a refill—how about you?’ Jutting his chin, he motioned her away from several interested onlookers towards a punchbowl in the middle of a table.

      He ladled orange liquid into two crystal cups, offered her one. ‘Thank you,’ she said, careful to avoid contact with his fingers.

      ‘You mean these babes—’ Mariel drew the word out with sarcastic relish ‘—wherever they come from, they rate the contestants and the highest score wins? What are they scoring you on, I wonder?’ She couldn’t help the wicked smile…but inside, somewhere deep and almost forgotten, something hurt. ‘I can’t wait to see you on the cover of the magazine.’

      He shook his head. ‘It’s not as bad as you think.’

      ‘How bad am I thinking?’

      ‘The date ends at the front door.’

      Biting back resentment that she thought she’d got over years ago, she said, ‘That’ll be a novelty for you, then. I’ve heard you’re a regular Casanova these days.’

      His lips stretched into an indolent grin that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear.’

      The back of her throat tickled at the sound of that lazy tone. She glanced down, flicking her eyes to his again before they had time to indulge in the snug fit of his jeans and the way his exclusive hand-made casual shirt clung to his chest, even if the seam was too narrow for his broad shoulders. ‘If you’re going to look the part you’ll really have to update your wardrobe, or acquire a new tailor.’

      ‘Ah, ever the fashion designer. And looking a million bucks tonight,’ he said, his gaze skimming her body, just a tad longer than might be considered polite in company. ‘One of your designs?’

      She met his eyes, paused, smiling inwardly, then sipped her drink. ‘No.’ Hah. He obviously knew nothing about her designs.

      ‘That’s right—you’re a photographer’s model these days. I saw your picture in a magazine here a couple of months back. Phoebe showed us. Very nice.’

      His gaze swept over her once more. Was he comparing her to his girlfriends? According to Phoebe’s regular newsy e-mails from home, Dane enjoyed more than his fair share.

      It no longer bothered her. After all, she’d put Dane in her past where he belonged years ago. Hadn’t she? Standing here, within his all-too-compelling aura, she wondered if she was as certain about that as she’d thought.

      ‘Not any more.’ She took another long gulp to wash the sudden bitter taste of Luc’s betrayal from her mouth.

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘There you are, Mari,’ Phoebe interrupted with breathless haste, clutching her mobile to her breasts and saving Mariel from having to discuss her ruined career.

      ‘Hi, Dane.’ She barely spared him a glance, and Mariel had the fleeting