Читать книгу The Dare Collection November 2019 - Anne Marsh - Страница 17

Orla

I DON’T RECOGNISE the hotel suite, although I’ve only been away for a morning, on the second day of meetings at my Zurich office. The bed is covered with shopping bags and parcels, the floor littered with stacks of shoeboxes, and there’s a clothing rack filled with garment bags. I shake off the fatigue I felt when I found Cam absent and open one, my curiosity burning out of control; I find a beaded ballgown the colour of peacock feathers, the iridescent hues catching the light and changing colour before my eyes.

My first instinct, to roll my eyes at Cam’s extravagance, fades, replaced by awe. My fingers trail along the exquisite fabric. It’s exactly what I would pick out for myself, and I can’t believe his thoughtfulness. He hasn’t just mindlessly bought a year’s worth of clothes. He’s personally selected these, and I know because yesterday he told me how pretty I looked in my favourite green silk blouse.

With jittery fingers I open one of the parcels on the bed, the delicate tissue paper parting to reveal a filmy wisp of lingerie—sexy but comfortable and the right size. With the shoes—my one weakness—I’m a little less restrained, flipping off the lids to reveal pair after pair of exquisite, barely practical heels from all the biggest fashion houses. Just how I like them.

I catch my wide smile in the mirror, Cam’s gifts, no matter how excessive, forcing an ache to my cheeks. Cam never does anything by half measures, whether it’s making me come or reserving the best suite money can buy—the suite we’re currently occupying at the M Club, which has views of Lake Zurich with the Alps in the distance.

My phone pings, drawing my attention from Cam’s gift, which is enough haute couture to make a supermodel weep. I scan the message and fire off a quick response to one of my assistants, my gaze returning to the outfits with longing. When will I even have the opportunity to wear most of these? We’ve been in town two days, and despite my assurances that I can play as hard as the next person I’ve had no time to explore.

I sit on the bed and kick off my shoes, my tired toes protesting. I’ve promised I’ll take tomorrow off to go skiing—Cam has planned a day on the slopes. I try to recall the last time I had an entire day off. It’s been at least a year.

I glance at the exquisite gowns with longing. Why have I allowed my life to become so…insular? And why has it taken meeting a sexy Aussie guy to bring me out of my self-imposed shell?

I text him my thanks and let him know I’ve arrived back at the hotel.

Thinking of Cam, I feel my pulse pick up, delicious fingers of anticipation curling around me.

Where is he?

I slip off my jacket and flop back on the bed, part of me wishing I’d been with Cam on his shopping spree—I rarely have time for visiting actual stores these days, preferring to purchase from my favourite designers online, but it’s not the same. I used to adore shopping, the thrill of finding something I loved, the reverence of bringing it home in a pristine bag.

The door clicks and in he walks, casually dressed, unlike me, in worn jeans and a black T-shirt. I sit up, hit with his delicious, freshly showered scent seconds before he leans over me on the bed, his mouth finding mine, and I’m lost in his now familiar, demanding kiss.

‘Good morning,’ he says, pulling away, his smile wide and warm and filling me with regret.

I laugh while I wrestle my heart-rate back under control. ‘It’s afternoon.’ I stand and wrap my arms around his neck, wanting to be closer.

He shrugs, holding my hips to his. ‘Well, you were gone when I woke, so I missed my good-morning kiss.’

I fight the urge to sweep the parcels from the bed and drag him back there so we can have a do-over—this morning was the only one since I met him that my day hasn’t begun with my waking to find him raising an eyebrow of enquiry before wedging himself between my thighs, coaxing my clit equally awake with his tongue.

‘Yes, I had a seven a.m. meeting.’ The only way I would be able to squeeze in what I needed to work on and spend tomorrow skiing the Zermatt with him before we leave the day after. ‘I see you’ve been shopping…’

He shrugs, one corner of his mouth kicking up at my gross understatement. ‘Just a couple of things. An extension of my apology for tearing your dress.’

‘A dress you already replaced. This is too much, Cam.’

His mouth twists in that sexy way of his, one usually preceding some sexy command or request. ‘I noticed that you travel light, so I thought you might need a few things, especially for the opera tonight.’

‘Cam, I’m a woman, a woman who loves shoes, but even I wouldn’t go this far.’ I look around the room, my financier’s brain totting up a dizzying sum.

‘That’s because you’re frugal. Indulge me,’ he says before I can take umbrage. ‘And remember the rules—you get to have your wicked way with me as often as you like, and I dictate the after-work itinerary and cover the costs.’

I nod, breathless because now I want to have my way with him once more. I could use a dose of Cam’s special magic after the morning of meetings, of hustling, of living up to my reputation as one of the industry’s global trailblazers.

A strange and unfamiliar restlessness infects me; it was there when I walked through the door. I probe the feeling so I can label it.

I’m jealous.

Jealous of the time he spends without me, even though I’m the one who’s leaving him to work. I’m jealous that he’s doing who knows what, while I have the same meeting over and over, only in different countries and different languages. And I’m jealous that living the high life seems to come naturally to him; wherever we are, he hunts out something fun to do. This is my sixth trip to Zurich, and I’ve never been to the opera.

I stroke Cam’s strong arms. He’s becoming an addiction—the more I have, the more I want. An edge of panic grips my throat. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way…

‘So what else have you been up to while I’ve been at work?’ I hadn’t thought about how he keeps himself busy when I’m not around—I guess I assumed he works out at the club gym or goes for a swim.

His expression turns shifty, pricking my curiosity. ‘You won’t approve.’

‘Why? Did you elbow an elderly lady out of the way to get to that ballgown?’

He laughs but his eyes stay wary. Then he sighs. ‘I visited a music store—I still play the drums.’

‘So that’s why you’re always tapping something?’

He pulls me in for another kiss and I sink into it, grateful he made the first move because the urge to kiss him is pretty constant. I’d practically zoned out during one of my meetings this morning, fantasising about him, what he might be doing, whether he was naked, in our bed, perhaps jerking off because he couldn’t wait for me to get back.

I’m drawn back to the present when he pulls away. ‘I bought a drum kit.’

I look around in confusion. ‘There’s no room here for a drum kit.’

He shakes his head. ‘More’s the pity. No, these weren’t for me.’ He turns serious and I hold my breath, certain he’ll show me a little piece of himself if only I’m patient.

‘There was a kid at the music shop. The sales assistant told me he comes in every week to pay off some money towards the kit he wants.’ He shrugs, his eyes taking on a faraway look. ‘I remember what that was like, how hard I saved for my first set—I worked surf lifesaving all summer.’

I smile and slide my fingers through his glorious hair. I can picture a teenaged Cam, all tanned, his hair bleached by the sun.

‘I couldn’t resist—I paid off the kid’s balance and had the kit delivered to his house.’ Suddenly he scoops me around the waist, hoists my feet from the floor and swings me in a circle. ‘You should have seen his face.’

I squeal and laugh, and then my feet touch down and I sober as I look hard into his eyes. ‘Cam, that was such a kind thing to do.’ I try to picture the man I know doing that, the one who tips everyone he meets and spends money with reckless abandon. It makes my stomach hurt.

He downplays his generosity with a shrug, but I can see that this means something to him, something more than purchasing exquisite gowns he thinks I’ll like. ‘Playing drums helped me through my teens. Music is a great hobby.’

He looks uncomfortable and I squeeze his biceps, because I’m still holding on to them as if I’m scared he’ll disappear. Were his teens difficult? Did he go through a rebellious phase? Butt horns with his father? My chest aches with questions but I bite my tongue, not only because it’s clearly a soft spot for him, but also because it’s personal. I know from the haunted look in his eyes that he once struggled and strived to buy things I would have taken for granted. I want to ask, to know this side of him, but it’s not what we’re about.

I take a shuddering breath as the restlessness returns, twice as fierce. I think about the meeting I have this afternoon with my Zurich chief financial officer and head of investments. I’d much rather spend time with Cam, break my own rules and get to know the drum-playing, sexy Santa side of him better.

‘Anyway,’ he says, releasing me and walking to the bed. ‘I see you haven’t had time to unwrap everything,’ he picks up a black box I hadn’t noticed and holds it out in my direction, ‘but I want to watch you open this one.’

I accept the change of subject, shelve my curiosity and take the box, which is heavier than it looks, black velvet, monogrammed with the M Club logo and slightly smaller than a shoebox.

‘What is it?’ I ask, the look of heated challenge in his eyes leaving me nervous and so turned on I’m hyperaware of every breath I take.

‘It’s for you—I couldn’t resist.’ His voice is deep, dark, and his eyes gleam, that sexy secret smile of his firing every pleasure centre in my brain so I want to abandon my own curiosity as to the box’s contents and jump him, to drag us both back to the safe place where we lose ourselves in each other, in pleasure.

‘Open it.’ It’s a husky demand, just like the ones he issues in bed.

I prise open the lid and gasp, and then laugh, locking eyes with his in time to see the excitement dancing there. Inside the box, nestled in deep maroon satin, is a matt-black vibrator, the base bearing an M Club logo encrusted with tiny diamonds.’ I finger the two rows of sparkling stones on top of the M.

‘Are these real?’ Pressure builds in my chest, as if I’m oxygen-deprived. Only Cam would buy such an extravagant and intimate gift.

He nods, slow, confident, sexy, and then he watches my tracing finger.

With a breathy shudder I can’t hold inside, I slide my fingertip up the length of the sex toy as slowly and sensually as I can, tracing the realistic ridges to the very tip, and then meet his stare with a challenging one of my own. ‘It’s not as big as you.’

His eyes darken with sexy promise and that hint of challenge he seems to love where I’m concerned, one I’m only too happy to meet head on. Can’t have him thinking he’s besting me in our little arrangement.

‘No, but it’s big enough. I thought you needed a sex toy for when I’m no longer around.’

Lust is a tangible aura around us, impossible after the amount of sex we’ve had this week, but there all the same. Lust and something else. Perhaps trust. A deeper awareness. I focus on the lust because that’s the only feeling I’ll allow myself, although Cam’s reminder that this is temporary dampens some of my excitement.

Because you want it to be temporary.

I latch on to Cam’s eyes to stop my head spinning with what-ifs. I see my own desire reflected. He too is turned on.

We’re both fully clothed, no longer touching, but his need is there in the husk of his deep voice and the avid way he’s watching my every move, like a predator about to strike.

And now I’m desperate to reschedule my afternoon and break in my new toy with Cam. Mmm… Perhaps I could make time for that.

I know exactly what I’m doing to us both when I abandon the vibrator and lift the second item from the box, holding it up between us with a questioning brow, because all I want to do is laugh, kiss the self-satisfied delight from Cam’s handsome face, and then drag him to bed and force him to introduce me to these gifts.

‘What’s this?’ I say, my voice low. ‘A butt plug?’

He nods again. ‘You wanted to experiment.’ He steps closer, grasping my hips and grinding his erection between our bodies as he kisses me with his trademark thoroughness.

My hands are occupied with his over-the-top provocative gifts—who even knew diamond-encrusted sex toys were a thing?—but I embrace the kiss as always, my pulse galloping to keep up with my filthy mind. When I’m panting, the tops of my thighs slick with arousal, I pull away, now determined to reschedule my meeting and forget. Forget that my life is so work-focused and that it no longer feels like enough. Forget that I’m sleeping with a man I hardly know but I’m too scared to change the status quo. Forget everything apart from the way he makes me feel invincible.

‘Show me,’ I whisper against his mouth. Everything else fades, as if nothing is as important as losing myself in my addiction to Cam.

I hear the sharp intake of his breath.

His pupils are so big I can no longer see the grey of his eyes. His hands fist in the fabric of my skirt over my hips, and he hisses between his teeth, leaning down to rest his forehead against mine and scrunch his eyes closed with obvious regret.

‘I will—hell, I will.’ He breathes hard, his sincerity pouring from him in waves of intensity I’ve only seen when he’s turned on, battling his control to push me into that final, exhausted orgasm before he allows himself to follow. Cam takes my pleasure incredibly seriously, perhaps as if he sees me as some sort of challenge beyond the challenges he sets for me, the ones my competitive nature demands I embrace.

He grips my hips tighter before pushing me away and groans, clearly getting himself under control. ‘But, for now, we have a delivery to make. Are you done for the day?’

My high plummets, the expectations of being immediately gratified and chasing off this edgy feeling hitting a brick wall.

‘No.’ I pout, my disappointment as effective as a cold shower, to be replaced with a flush of shame at the deflated look on his face. Whatever he had planned means something to him, perhaps as much as purchasing a drum kit for a stranger, and it’s clearly more important than getting naked and trying out his newest extravagant purchase.

I fight the heat rising in my face; I was willing to cancel my meeting for sex, but not for whatever Cam has planned? My priorities confirm we’re still very much on different wavelengths where the pursuit of pleasure is concerned. But I can give him time after everything he’s given me.

I mentally reshuffle my schedule so I can spend the afternoon with him, in or out of bed, because I want to see more of the look he wore when he told me about the drums. I want to see more of the real Cam.

‘But I can be free—I’ll just need to make a few phone calls. What did you have in mind?’

Cam smiles and my decision feels right. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ He takes the butt plug from my hand and places it back in the box, snapping the lid closed with a frustrating finality. ‘Want to go on an adventure?’

His excitement infects me with a feeling of lightness, of possibility, of freedom. It’s heady and terrifying all at once. ‘What kind of adventure? I thought you’d planned skiing for tomorrow?’ I breathe through the feeling that I’m escaping my comfort zone emotionally, because I just don’t do this—cancel work commitments, play hooky for the afternoon, do something just because I’m overcome with the heady urge.

‘I have. Heli-skiing—it’s the best way to ski.’

‘Of course it is. And the most expensive, no doubt.’ I smile, because I know by now that Cam lives to the max. And how do I live? I love to ski. Despite all my visits to Zurich, I’ve never taken the time out for one of my favourite pastimes.

My earlier shame intensifies. I don’t have time for pastimes. All I do is work. Mark was right. Not only was I emotionally distant, but I was also absent most of the time.

What is Cam doing to me, and why does it feel both naughty and liberating? ‘So where are we going?’

He must sense my residual petulance, that I’m not entirely happy about postponing my orgasm, because he kisses me, his lips firm and coaxing and his smile both hot and indulgent, as if he’s already thinking about what we’ll do when we return from our fully clothed adventure. ‘It’s another surprise.’

‘I hate surprises.’ I exaggerate the pout that earned me one of his delicious kisses.

‘Because you’re a control freak.’ He softens his reprimand, giving me the kiss I wanted. ‘Trust me, you’ll love this surprise.’

Still, I wheedle. ‘As much as I love the sex toys?’ I lick my lips and watch the flare of heat in his eyes with satisfaction.

Such a low blow…

He laughs and looks down at my outfit: a sharp business skirt and a silk blouse. ‘I can’t promise that. But you might want to change into something more casual.’

Defeated for now, I change, choosing my favourite pair of soft denim jeans and a simple white T-shirt for any eventuality, trying to embrace the surprise Cam has arranged.

With my phone calls made, my meeting rescheduled for seven the following morning, we leave the hotel hand in hand. I’m eager to get whatever this is over with so I can persuade Cam out of his clothes, and Cam is just plain eager, because he knows where we’re going and, to him, life seems to be one big adventure.

When we approach a covered truck instead of the sleek sports car I’d been expecting, I skid to a halt. ‘We’re going in this?’

He said we had a delivery to make, but I was expecting…well, I don’t know what I expected. Nothing Cam does is expected.

Cam nods, climbing up on the footrests to open the passenger door for me.

‘Can you drive this?’ I hide the scepticism from my face, certain he’ll surprise me with his answer.

‘Of course. I’m a jack-of-all-trades.’ He winks. ‘Come on, up you go.’ He guides me up into the cab, his hands helpfully shoving me in by the backside so my core clenches and I can’t wait to get whatever diversion Cam has planned out of the way and head back to the hotel so he can make it up to me, as he promised.

When he’s sitting beside me, his big hands expertly wielding the power-assisted steering to direct us on our way, I ask, ‘So where are we going?’ It’s certainly not lunch on the shores of Lake Zurich or a boat cruise, otherwise why would we need the delivery truck?

‘I want to make a donation. A personal delivery to some very deserving recipients. I thought you might enjoy helping.’ He looks over to gauge my reaction. ‘Don’t worry, I promise I’ll make it up to you later—those toys won’t be staying in the box.’ He chuckles at my obvious exasperation, so I shove him in the shoulder and then slide my hand over his thigh, grinning. His excitement is palpable, infectious, so I almost don’t mind that we’re not back in the hotel room trying out his gifts, and now I get my wish to play Santa with him. I can be his naughty elf…

I’m still none the wiser as to our destination, but I’ve learned that Cam can be bull-headed, so I let it drop—I’ll find out soon enough.

‘You know the M Club organises many charitable events throughout the year, right?’ I say. ‘There are plenty of opportunities to make sizeable donations. That’s one of the beauties of membership, and it’s what I do.’ His extravagance shows no signs of letting up; in fact, he seems to go out of his way to best himself day by day. He said his inheritance was obscene, and, short of giving it all away, he seems at a loss to know what to do with his newfound wealth.

He nods, his mouth tight, which tells me it’s something of a touchy subject. ‘I know. I already give as much as I can, but this donation is a little more personal—you’ll see.’

We pass the rest of the journey in companionable silence, which is laced with curiosity on my part and what looks like knowing glee on Cam’s. My mind wanders back to my cancelled meeting with my Zurich team. I have hordes of people I delegate the small things to, but I’ve never fully let go of the reins and simply watched the profits come rolling in. I’m not built that way. I’m too much of a control freak, as Cam pointed out.

I check my phone, pulling up my itinerary for my time in Dubai, which is where Cam and I are heading after Zurich. It’s a packed week—after London, Dubai is my second largest office, my clients among some of the wealthiest people on the planet, but even so, Cam’s filled all the gaps with ‘must do’ activities—dinner in the tallest building in the world, an Arabian Desert safari, our own private yacht tour of Dubai Creek.

My head spins, already exhausted. But I promised him. Perhaps this is his first world trip.

‘Have you ever been to Zurich before?’ I brush a speck of lint off my jeans, keeping my tone light and conversational rather than nosy and intrusive.

He shakes his head. ‘Until I left Sydney for Monaco, the furthest I’d been was New Zealand.’

‘So you’ve never been to Dubai either?’ No wonder he wants to cram in as many tourist attractions as he can, although surely he can return any time he wants.

‘No. Construction isn’t the best paid work in the world, but I had a comfortable life.’

‘Why not go back to your job, if you love it so much?’ My scalp crawls—if someone told me I couldn’t do my job, I’d be lost. Perhaps that’s why he’s struggling with his inheritance. But just because he never needs to work again, it doesn’t mean he can’t do what he loves. I do.

‘My boss looked relieved when I told him I wanted to take some unpaid leave. I think the company is struggling. And in theory, I no longer need the work.’

‘In theory?’ My probing is hesitant because I’m in the same position. I choose to work, because I love it. It’s my life. It’s what I’m good at.

‘It’s complicated.’ He keeps his eyes on the road, but his jaw is bunched, telling me he doesn’t want to elaborate. I’ve already suggested financial advice, so I don’t repeat the offer. But I want to help him.

The questions I want to ask clog my throat, because he’s hinted that he hasn’t always known modest or even comfortable wealth. That perhaps he has more in common with the boy at the music store than he does with me or any other M Club member; that none of this, the luxury, the charitable donations, the escapist hedonism comes naturally to him.

After ten minutes, he pulls the truck to a halt. I look out but all I can see is what appears to be an animal-welfare facility—not that my German is very good, but the logo of a cat and dog give it away. I’m even more confused, but Cam’s already hopped out of the vehicle to open my door. I slide from my seat in the cab and he helps me down, his lips still tight. At least the haunted look has disappeared from his eyes.

I follow him to the back of the truck. ‘Where are we?’

He opens the rear doors and I get my first glimpse of our cargo—sack after sack of dog biscuits. ‘Dog food?’

Cam nods with a smile, tossing one giant bag up onto his shoulder. ‘Yep—enough to last them at least a year.’ With his free hand he grasps mine and tugs me towards the entrance as if he can’t wait to get inside.

I want to tell him he’s the only billionaire I know to be this hands-on, that if he loves dogs this much he could buy the pound or become a lifetime sponsor, but since that first day in Monaco I’ve learned that the quickest way to shut Cam down is to mention his wealth.

‘What about the rest? We’re not emptying the entire truck ourselves, are we?’

He shoots me that indulgent smile, the one that tells me he thinks I’m a bit of a princess. ‘No need—I’m donating the truck too. Come on.’

‘Wait.’ I can’t have him thinking I’m too precious to get my hands dirty or break a nail. I hoist a bag of dog food from the back of the truck and lift it onto one shoulder, as he did.

He stares, his eyes full of something that looks like respect and the smouldering heat I’m used to seeing. ‘Let’s go.’ I walk ahead of him towards the shelter, my back burning with the knowledge of how easy it is to impress Cam North.

We’re greeted by the manager, a man named Klaus, who speaks perfect English as he thanks us for the generous donation. Cam places his sack of dog food down on the counter in the small foyer and I follow suit.

‘Is it okay if we look around?’ asks Cam, addressing Klaus.

‘Of course,’ says the manager, all smiles for his generous new benefactor. ‘This way.’

We’re led to the rear of the facility, following the sound of barking.

‘All of the dogs here are up for adoption,’ Klaus tells us. ‘We usually rehome around ninety-five per cent of our dogs, but sadly, there are always one or two we find it impossible to place.’

Unease grips me, drying my mouth. Does Cam expect me to walk away from here with a new pet? Is that why he brought me here? I know I told him I had a soft spot for dogs, but that doesn’t mean I want to own one. Panic settles in the pit of my stomach like a rock, even as my pulse flutters at the extreme sweetness of Cam’s gesture. Once the door is open and I see those expectant canine eyes, it will be harder to stay strong.

I tug Cam to a standstill and speak to him in a hushed whisper. ‘What are you doing? I can’t adopt a dog. I told you my life is completely unsuitable for pet ownership.’ My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it. It’s important Cam understands me, that my resolve is rock solid before Klaus opens that door and we’re greeted with a hundred pairs of puppy eyes, including Cam’s. This is why he’s so irresistible, why I can never say no to him. He’s full of contradictions—big and sexy and manly on the outside with a heart of gold and a massive soft spot for the underdog, human or four-legged.

He takes both my hands and squeezes my fingers. ‘I know. I don’t expect you to adopt one, although how awesome would that be?’

At my stunned silence he continues. ‘You just said you liked dogs, so I thought it might be nice to hang out with a few for the afternoon. Pets are the perfect stress reliever.’ He looks down at my pocket, where my phone is happily buzzing again.

My fingers, nestled in his, twitch to answer the phone, even as I acknowledge the thoughtfulness of his surprise and that it means for him we’re not just having sex. He’s listened to me. He remembers my favourite colour and the fact I miss owning a dog.

My throat grows tight at his show of consideration. When was the last time someone, anyone, did something like this for me? Something simple. Just because.

‘I’m not stressed.’ I flush hot with guilt. I sound ungrateful, but I’m too busy to be stressed. I think of the stack of work requiring my attention back at the hotel, my crack-of-dawn meeting tomorrow and the next month of travel, all to ensure my firm is the biggest, the best, and ticking along like clockwork.

Because I need to be the best? Because work is all I have?

I sigh—how can I be such a mess? A week ago I had everything sorted, my life engineered exactly the way I want it. What has changed?

Cam.

I know an afternoon off won’t do me any harm. In fact, I know I’ll feel refreshed and energised by his infectious energy. But at what cost? I shake my head, trying to assess why I’m overthinking this so endlessly, another new trait I seem to have acquired.

Cam clearly feels I need a little more persuading. ‘Look, you work hard, and you said you can play hard, too. Isn’t that why I’m here? Why you invited me along? So we could have a good time along the way? Will one afternoon off really make that much difference? I find it hard to believe your empire will crumble that easily—you’re too good to allow that to happen.’ His argument is a recurring one and he doesn’t really need to coax me. He’s right. This is what I wanted when I propositioned him. A distraction, a way to unleash my playful side. To find some balance. I’m worrying needlessly.

‘We’ll just stay an hour, and then I’ll take you back to the hotel and run you a bath before the opera. What do you say? Will you come meet some Swiss dogs?’

My mouth twists as I attempt to hide my smile, my lips drawn back to his for another kiss I can’t deny myself. He’s so open, so generous, not just with money, but also with his time, his enthusiasm and the easy way he sucks every scrap of enjoyment from any activity, simple or grandiose. How can I refuse him?

‘Okay.’

He blasts me with his dazzling smile, and we follow a patient Klaus to the kennels. The inhabitants of the shelter are so excited to see us, I’m immediately overcome with feel-good emotions, all thoughts of work forgotten.

We’re taken to a large garden behind the shelter where we can throw balls for the dogs, who without exception seem to want nothing more than to be close to us. I know how they feel; I’m developing quite an attachment to Cam myself. I watch him use his superior athleticism and strength to toss the ball to the far corners of the garden, his T-shirt riding up as he throws to reveal a tantalising strip of skin that snares my attention.

There’s a beagle cross that seems to feel a particular affinity for me, returning time after time to my side and obediently dropping the ball and sitting, patiently waiting for me to throw it again. I stroke the dog’s silky head, an uninhibited giggle bubbling up. Funny how you don’t realise the toll something takes until you’re forced to stop and pay attention. Perhaps I am stressed. Perhaps the burn-out feeling I had in Monaco wasn’t temporary. Perhaps that’s why the triumph over my father doesn’t taste quite as sweet as I’d expected.

I glance over at Cam, who is with Klaus examining some partially constructed storage sheds along the far wall. He gestures to the other man, pointing at the roofline and indicating for a hammer left on the ground by the builders.

Before I know what’s happening, he’s knocked out some sort of upright and is repositioning the wood with the absolute authority of a man who knows what he’s talking about. I take a seat at a rickety table and chairs and relax back to watch the Cam show. He wields the tools with proficiency, but what did I expect? He tackles everything that way. Confident, taking control, but with enough humility he’s in no way arrogant. I watch the way his back, shoulder and arm muscles move and bulge while he works, my eyes glued to his spectacular physique.

In some ways he’s a conundrum, in others an uncomplicated man—no agenda, what you see is what you get.

What am I doing with him and why do I feel as if I’m in over my head when this was my idea?

My phone pings for the umpteenth time and I pull it from my pocket with a sigh of regret that I have to look away from Cam’s sexy show-and-tell.

It’s from my number two back in Sydney. I quickly scan the message, my equilibrium returning at the good news. The lawyers have finished with the paperwork, and the Jensen’s deal snatched from under the nose of my father has hit the international financial headlines, the ripple effect so predictable, I can almost see the zeroes at the end of my net worth multiplying. The kick of satisfaction I always feel at a job well done is there, but today it’s muted, its potency somehow diminished, as if making money, being the best, proving I, a mere woman, can do anything my brother and father can, no longer holds the same all-consuming appeal.

Perhaps the news would taste sweeter if shared. Perhaps the shine of my success would return if I had some of Cam’s balance. Perhaps he’s right about me, after all—I don’t know how to have fun…

My head jerks up from the screen of my phone in search of him, my good-luck charm. He’s striding my way with a Jack Russell in tow. The dog has abandoned the ball and seems content to simply follow him to the ends of the earth.

I swallow hard. I know that feeling. It’s the same feeling—dangerous and terrifying—that I get when I open my eyes and find him asleep next to me in the morning.

Cam sits opposite me at the rough wooden table and the dog settles at his feet. ‘I’m sorry I’m neglecting you. I got carried away. Some cowboy builder has left the sheds half built and they’re not sure if he’s going to come back to finish them.’ He spots my phone. ‘Is it work? Do you need me to take you back into the city?’

I shove my phone away and try not to focus on the attention Cam lavishes on the delighted Jack Russell’s ear rub.

Nice one, Orla. Jealous of a dog.

‘No, I’m sorry—breaking news in the financial world—money never sleeps.’ My attempt at humour, designed to cover my embarrassment that I can’t even enjoy half an hour off to be in the moment, falls flat and a chasm opens up between us across the scarred and weathered tabletop.

His quiet scrutiny makes me wince, not that he’s judging, but I see acute awareness in his intelligent eyes. He sees me all too thoroughly. And even before he asks, I know his question is coming.

‘Can I ask you a personal question? I know we’ve avoided too many details up to now, but I’m…curious.’

As if sensing the tension radiating from us, my own new doggy friend curls up against my foot and promptly closes her eyes, as if all she’s needed this whole time was a warm leg to lean up against while she sleeps.

‘Sure, although I reserve the right to not answer.’ I keep my voice light-hearted, although my tummy is tight with nerves for what he might ask and, worse, for what I might expose.

One of his big hands stretches across the table and covers my hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth over my knuckles, and I want to curl into him and admit that, just like these dogs, I’m a little lost and in need of a new direction.

But he’s not my rock. I don’t need a rock. He’s not even my boyfriend. I’m just using him for sex.

I shudder inside—I can almost see the grins on the faces of my married girlfriends, hear the cackles of excitement over cocktails and the names they would bandy about if they could see me now—toy boy, man toy, cougar. A protective streak slices through me, even as the words it’s not like that ring hollow in my head. Because it is like that—that’s what I wanted. Sex on tap. No feelings. No personal details. No consequences.

Was I naive, or just deluding myself, because sex, even sex as hot and liberating as the sex I share with Cam, is bound to come with consequences? And they’ve already begun. I feel it. He’s changing me. Just by knowing him I’m different, more open to new experiences, wanting to challenge myself and emulate the person I’m beginning to admire.

‘I just wondered why.’ Cam’s voice is low, gentle, as if he doesn’t want to spook the slumbering dogs. Or perhaps he’s worried about spooking me.

‘Why what?’

‘Why you work so hard. Why you put in the hours you do. The travel, the lack of sleep. I…’ He looks down at the table as if embarrassed. ‘I looked you up on the internet. I wanted to know more about you without prying into personal stuff.’

‘And what did you discover?’ I’ve been tempted to do the same myself and research him, only every time I open my laptop, work snatches my attention.

‘That you’re worth a fortune. That you probably don’t need to work ever again,’ he says.

‘Just like you, then.’ I wince, scrunch my eyes closed for a second to block out the wounded look on his face, because I already know that was a low blow. He told me it was complicated. He told me his inheritance came with conditions and I know he’s come from a very different background.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that.’ I try to lift the atmosphere I’ve created with levity. ‘I was kind of hoping you hadn’t noticed that I get up in the early hours to work.’ I stroke the dog’s silky head as I formulate my answer, because for once it doesn’t come easily. Cam wants the real answer, not the throwaway flippant version that rolls off the tongue.

No, it’s not a crime to be driven. But that’s not what he’s asking. He wants to know the motivation behind my success beyond wealth and status and security, and that’s harder to define or admit, especially when examining too closely what pushes me to be where I am brings up painful emotions.

‘I’ve always worked hard, just like you.’ I turn his hand over and rub at the calluses across his palm. He looks up from our hands, answering my smile with a watery one of his own.

He wants more. And, while it’s not what we’re about, I can’t help but give him a piece of myself I don’t normally share. With anyone. He’s given me so much—his time, his generosity, his joie de vivre. It’s as if his energy is contagious.

‘When I joined my father’s firm after university I felt like I’d found my niche. The work was exciting and everything I wanted in a career, but it was never about the money. I was lucky. I’ve always had a privileged life. But my father is old school. When he talked about succession planning I felt confident I’d be the next CEO. I’m the eldest. I worked hard for him for five years.’

I look away, watch the dogs roam and sniff, the remembered betrayal tightening my throat. ‘When he overlooked me in favour of my younger brother I realised I had no choice but to leave and start my own firm from scratch. Ever since then, I’ve put in the hours, but the difference is I’m doing it for myself.’

It sounds so shallow, so single-minded, that a new wave of defensiveness courses though me, although he’s in no way attacking, just asking in his gentle, insightful way. But I rear back from the vulnerable place I’ve exposed with my confession, bringing my motivations back to general rather than personal drivers. ‘And it’s a competitive field—I didn’t get to the top without working harder and longer than anyone else.’ I shrug. ‘Some sacrifices are inevitable.’

He nods, his mouth a flat line, and even though he’s still I sense the tension coiling in him. His thumb resumes its hypnotic swiping. ‘You mentioned you’re divorced. Was your marriage one of those sacrifices?’ There’s no censure in his expression, but his eyes are hard and the reminder of my failure forces heat to my face.

‘For my part, I rushed into that marriage without loving Mark. For his part, Mark thought he was fully evolved, but at the end of the day he didn’t want a wife who worked as much as he did, and I can’t say I blame him. I guess he expected I’d change after the honeymoon. Perhaps he wanted his shirts laundered and a prop on his arm to make him look good.’

‘Don’t you know? Didn’t you ask?’

I swallow hard, admitting, not for the first time, that my emotional distance, a trait I learned from a lifetime of trying to meet my father’s standards, likely contributed to the breakdown of my marriage. ‘No, I guess I wasn’t any good at being the kind of wife he needed.’

Cam’s fingers flex into mine in silent support. ‘Couldn’t he launder his own shirts?’

I shrug and laugh at the image of my ex working a washing machine or an iron. ‘He’s happily remarried now.’ I swallow hard, old bitterness foul-tasting. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so caught up in proving my worth to my father, in trying to project an image of having it all, I might have evaluated my relationship with Mark more thoroughly. ‘I’m happy with my decision. He’s happier married to someone else. And I learned a valuable lesson—I’m good at what I do. That’s nothing to be apologetic for.’

‘Absolutely not. Mark sounds like an asshole who didn’t know what he had, if you don’t mind my saying.’ He smiles that secret smile he uses in the bedroom, the one that makes me forget I’m older than him.

‘Thanks, but I played my part. I’m sure I wasn’t easy to be married to. You said yourself, I’m always working.’

He shakes his head. ‘You’re not working now, and it sounds like he had expectations you had no desire to fulfil—good on you. You’re a person, not a puppet. No one likes to feel they’re being controlled.’ He’s more animated now, his eyes ablaze with defiance, as if my confession has pricked some wound inside him. Easygoing, carefree Cam has his own demons.

Who doesn’t?

‘You were probably that way when he met you, right?’

I nod.

‘So he was arrogant enough to want to change you, to squeeze you into some mould, to try to make you perform to his expectations.’

‘I guess, although I have to take my share of the responsibility—I’m pretty stubborn. As you’ve witnessed, I push myself hard, without compromise, something I learned from my upbringing. And at the end of the day, marriages—the ones that last—are about compromise. I guess Mark and I both failed. If you know anything about me already, it’s that failure doesn’t sit well with me, which is why I’m single. That’s why what we’re doing suits me perfectly—we get all the good bits of a relationship like spending time together, having fun, amazing sex, without all the heavy stuff.’

‘Lucky me,’ he says with a wink, and I know he’s letting me off the hook. That my confession is enough to satisfy his curiosity about the woman he’s sharing a bed with, for now.

‘Lucky me, too.’ I look down at our hands, moved by his solid, refreshing presence in my life, albeit temporarily. I want him to know that I appreciate him and everything he does to enrich our time together, even if I’m not always present in the moment.

‘Thanks for this. The dogs. For taking the time to organise everything—the clothes, the opera, the skiing.’

‘Wait until you see what I have planned for Dubai.’ He winks.

‘I’m serious, Cam—thanks for bringing me here. You were right. It was just what I needed.’ I bend down to stroke the coat of the sleeping beagle cross, wishing I could take her home, to a home I’m hardly ever at myself.

‘Want to go back to the hotel and remind ourselves how clever we are to have come up with such a perfect situation?’ I ask, shying away from pressing him for his own secrets, telling myself that, despite my confession, this is still about sex.

‘Absolutely. Sounds like the next best plan short of adopting all these dogs and transporting them home to Sydney in the jet.’ He grins and tugs me to my feet, slipping his hand into the pocket over my ass as we head inside, a trail of dogs in pursuit.

I laugh nervously. Knowing Cam, he just might do something that awesome.