Читать книгу From Sydney With Love - Kelly Hunter - Страница 14

WAKING up to a sleeping man in her bed wasn’t a regular occurrence for Charlotte. She knew his name and she knew where his parents lived. She knew he had a doctorate in botany and that he’d just returned from a three-year research stint in PNG. She knew he made love like a fiend and that she ached in places she’d never ached before. That was about it for what she knew about Greyson Tyler.

It didn’t seem enough.

Not for her to have allowed him the liberties she’d allowed him to take with her last night. Not that she remembered a conscious decision to allow him anything once the touching had started.

Spontaneous, that was the word she was looking for. Last night’s spontaneous lovemaking had been a revelation. What a woman should do with this new information regarding lovemaking and her own hitherto unknown capacity for abandon remained something of a mystery.

She spared a glance for her bed partner. Still sleeping, thank you God, because she could feel a blush coming on just looking at him. He slept on his stomach, with one hand beneath his pillow and the other reaching towards the bed head. He had one knee bent, and he looked for all the world as if he were trying to scale a mountainside. He seemed to take up an inordinate amount of space in her bed.

Charlotte slipped from the bed and reached silently for her robe. Butt naked was not a regular state of being for her, though she might have to get used to it with this man around. She risked a glance back at him, he was still sleeping so she allowed her gaze to linger on those broad bronzed shoulders and the way the muscles fitted together across his back and tapered down towards his waist. White cotton sheets covered the rest of him, possibly the best of him, but she’d seen it last night and the memory was engraved on her brain.

‘Morning,’ said a deep and sleepy voice from further up the mountainside and Charlotte dragged her gaze upwards to meet his eyes.

‘You’re thinking,’ he said next.

‘No, no, not at all. I think you’ll find that I’m just looking.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

Charlotte raised a sceptical eyebrow.

‘Please.’

Much better. She crossed to the empty side of the bed and perched on it, grateful for her breakfast robe, a vivid red silk wrap with a golden dragon embroidered on the back. Kitschy and glorious, and very much her style.

Grey reached up and slid his hand around her neck and drew her down into a kiss that surprised her with its tenderness.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘Is this a regular morning-after question for you?’

‘Yes.’ Long and silky black lashes came down to curtain his eyes as he bussed her lips once more. ‘You could try answering it.’

‘I’m quite well,’ she murmured. ‘Possibly even invigorated. I’ll know more once I’ve showered.’

Greyson’s lashes came up and he regarded her warily. ‘I wasn’t always easy with you last night.’

‘No.’ Her turn to initiate the kissing this time. Her choice to linger. ‘You weren’t. Still … a woman might choose to be grateful for that fact.’

He didn’t look reassured. Charlotte stifled a sigh. Perhaps he wasn’t as confident in his size and sexuality as she expected him to be. Perhaps he hadn’t always … fitted in.

Perhaps a demonstration of her sincerity was in order.

She slid from the bed and headed for the bathroom suite, shedding her robe along the way. Bare butt and a tumble of waist-length tangled black curls—that was the view she afforded him. ‘Shower time.’ She glanced over her shoulder and offered up a siren’s smile. ‘It’s a big shower.’

She’d been under the spray for only a few minutes before he joined her. Long enough for her to get wet and soapy. Just long enough for her to start wondering if, when she stepped back out of the bathroom, she’d find him gone.

‘I’m not normally so careless,’ he said gruffly as she turned to face him.

‘By careless, do you mean passionate? Fevered? Lost?’

‘Yeah, that.’

A woman couldn’t help it if her smile turned somewhat smug.

‘I usually make a concerted effort to please,’ he said next.

‘Really?’ Now there was a pretty picture. ‘Do tell.’

‘Why don’t I just show you?’ he murmured.

Charlotte’s smile widened. ‘I want you to know that I really am doing my best to convey to you that last night was an intensely erotic and pleasurable experience for me, with absolutely no apology necessary on your part. Just so we’re clear on that point.’

‘Consider it clarified,’ he said. ‘Now turn around to face the tiles.’

‘Please.’

He smiled, but he didn’t say please. Just turned her gently around and then stepped in behind her and slid his hands down her arms and his fingers over hers before taking her hands and placing her palms against the tiles, shoulder height and body length apart. ‘Like this,’ he said.

‘Please.’

But he didn’t say please. Instead, he slid his hands down her body, down to where she was tender and swollen. He parted her legs, caressed her with knowing fingers. ‘You okay?’

Did a groan qualify as a yes?

He slid his hands around to her buttocks, filling his palms with them before sliding his hands up the length of her back in one long massaging caress. Arms next, out to her wrists, and then all the way back to where he started.

He kneed her legs open, she braced herself against the wall and stood on tiptoe, waiting for his entry. Expecting it.

‘Don’t move,’ he whispered.

‘Don’t move, please. Alternatively, you could say please don’t move. Do you have no manners at all?’

‘Sometimes, I do,’ he countered and there was laughter in that dark, delicious voice. ‘I’m very impressed by yours. But just in case you feel obliged to interrupt me any time soon, you can thank me later.’

And then he was kneeling down and wedging broad water-slicked shoulders between her legs and twisting his torso, one strong powerful hand at the small of her back, tilting her pelvis forward, his other hand high on her thigh, as he set his mouth to her centre and feasted.

Charlotte managed to keep her hands to the tiles.

She managed to keep all curses, pleas, and oaths to a minimum.

Later, much later, she remembered to thank him.

Breakfast wasn’t a leisurely affair. Charlotte ate grapes from one hand while setting the espresso machine to brewing with the other. She’d dressed for work in her usual working attire—smart trousers, plain shirt, boring shoes—and she’d kept the make-up light, aiming for elegant minimalism. Greyson had shrugged into his clothes of yesterday and followed the creation of Associate Professor Charlotte Greenstone with some bemusement.

‘Why the disguise?’ he asked finally as she set his coffee in front of him, finished her grapes, and began smoothing back her wayward hair in readiness for a hairclip.

‘Who says it’s a disguise?’ she murmured.

‘Seems a little Plain Jane for you,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong.’

‘I’m a relatively youthful female giving undergraduate lectures and gunning for tenure within an antiquated and patriarchal employment system,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Respect comes a little easier to some if I look the part.’

‘What do you do about the ones who don’t respect your abilities, no matter how you dress?’

‘They get to learn the hard way.’

Now she’d amused him.

‘What?’ she snapped. ‘Over twenty years of hands-on fieldwork and analysis not enough? Get back in the field, Charlotte, before your godmother’s contacts forget you,’ she mimicked grimly. ‘We wouldn’t want you to lose those, now, would we? Or the goodwill that comes with your family name. You are aware, Charlotte, that your ability to pull more funding than the rest of us put together has nothing to do with any actual talent for bringing particular projects and interested parties together? You have a brand name that implies excellent connections, inspired thinking, quality work, and exceptional results, that’s all. Don’t you be thinking that your success has anything to do with you.’

Greyson said nothing.

‘You want to know the sad thing about it all?’ she said with a frustrated sigh. ‘They’re not entirely wrong. And now that Aurora’s dead, the naysayers are just waiting to see how much goodwill towards me died with her.’

‘How much goodwill towards you do you think died with her?’

‘I don’t know.’ Charlotte wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘A lot of these people have known me since I was a baby. They knew my parents. Many of them tutored me in their various areas of expertise. They’ve followed my career, smoothed the way for me many times over. Because of the brand or because of me or because Aurora called in favours, who knows? I certainly don’t. And you really don’t need to hear any of this,’ she finished with a grimace. ‘Sorry. Touchy subject.’

‘So who do you run all this stuff by?’ he asked mildly.

‘Well … Gil happened to be a very good listener,’ she offered, which earned her one of those looks.

‘Would you like some advice?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said warily. ‘I might.’

‘Don’t let anyone tell you that your success is due to your birthright or a brand you have no influence over. Yes, you had a head start, your upbringing saw to that. But your parents have been dead for, what, twenty years or so? And your godmother was retired for the last five?’

‘Something like that,’ she murmured.

‘And the funding for the projects just keeps coming?’

Charlotte nodded.

‘Figured as much.’ He sipped his coffee. He kept her waiting. Charlotte hated waiting. She had a sneaking suspicion that Greyson knew it. ‘The way I see it, Professor, you are the brand and have been for some time,’ he said at last. ‘Your godmother knew it. I dare say she traded on it, added her own to it, taught you how to build it. And you have. Get back out in the field if you want to—if that’s where you want to keep your brand based. If you’d rather stay put, all you need do is continue to grow your brand at the management and funding level. It’s your brand, Charlotte, your life, and you’re in the enviable position of being able to choose exactly how you live it. Tell your naysayers to look to their own effectiveness, not yours.’

‘You want to know something?’ said Charlotte as his words put another chink in her carefully constructed armour.

‘I’m not sure,’ he offered dryly. ‘I might.’

‘You’re much better at giving advice than Gil.’ She glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘And I have to get to work. You want to let yourself out? There’s a spare set of driveway keys around here somewhere.’

But to that, he shook his head. ‘I’ll follow you out.’

‘Will you call me?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Or are we done here?’

Greyson got to his feet. Charlotte adjusted her gaze skywards. He looked even bigger than he had last night and a whole lot more lethal. Maybe it was because he hadn’t shaved. Maybe she was simply applying her newfound knowledge of how this man thought and what made him tick. What he was capable of giving to a woman by way of encouragement and support. And pleasure.

A shudder ripped through her and it felt like a warning. Just how was she supposed to keep this liaison carefree and temporary when every move he made and word he spoke brought him closer?

‘We’re not done yet, Charlotte.’ Greyson eyed her a little too grimly for comfort. Call it a hunch, but he didn’t seem to be embracing their temporary liaison with a whole lot of lightness and joy either. ‘You can expect me to call.’

He probably hadn’t meant to make it sound like a warning.

Or maybe he had.

‘I tried calling you yesterday afternoon to see if you wanted to go to the movies,’ said Millie at morning tea time as they raided the biscuit tin for biscuits that weren’t a hundred years old. ‘Couldn’t get through to you though.’

‘What did you go and see?’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ said Millie. ‘The offer’s still open for tomorrow night.’

‘Done,’ said Charlotte, never mind what films might be playing.

‘It’s fine if you want to bring someone else along too,’ said Millie.

Charlotte shook her head and smiled.

Millie sighed heavily.

‘Subtlety will get you nowhere,’ said Charlotte archly. ‘Ask.’

‘Thank you,’ said the long suffering Millie. ‘What’s going on with you and Gil?’

‘He’s hoping to go and work in Borneo soon. We’ve ended our engagement. It was a mutual decision based on many factors.’

‘Fool,’ muttered Millie. ‘Have you seen him lately?’

‘I have.’

‘Sexy as ever?’

‘Alas, yes.’

‘Attentive?’

Charlotte felt her face start to heat.

‘Feel free to enlighten me,’ said Millie. ‘Really. I mean it.’

Charlotte smiled again; it was that kind of day. Blue skies above, body sated, mind still trying to work its way through the sensual haze Greyson’s lovemaking had left her with. Hard to concentrate on the bigger picture, namely Greyson’s—no, Gil’s—impending exit from her life and from her co-workers’ consciousnesses. ‘He’ll be gone again soon, and that’ll be the end of it. Really. It’s for the best.’

‘What’s Borneo got that you haven’t?’ said Millie.

‘Novelty value. Research possibilities. The call of the wild.’ Charlotte reeled off the attractions. ‘Rainforests. Temples. Orangutangs.’

‘Trifles,’ said Mille. ‘Though I will confess a fondness for orangutangs. Have you considered going with him?’

‘No,’ said Charlotte, and a little bit of brightness went out of her day. ‘That’s really not an option.’

‘Why not? There are opportunities for archaeologists in Borneo. You’re wasted here, Charlotte. You know you are. The Mead dangles tenureship in front of you and turns you into his lackey. Carlysle and Steadfellow mine your knowledge and then try and take the credit for it. You could do such brilliant work but you don’t. You could tie yourself so lightly to this place and go anywhere. Everywhere.’

‘Everywhere’s overrated,’ said Charlotte lightly, and suffered Millie’s puzzled glance.

‘I thought it was your godmother’s failing health that kept you here,’ said Millie. ‘But that wasn’t it, was it? There’s something else. Something bigger than Gil, bigger than love, only I don’t know what it is.’

‘It’s hard to explain,’ said Charlotte.

‘Try.’

So Charlotte tried. ‘I like stability. I like the connections I’ve made here. I feel like I’m part of something, even when I’m being used up.’

‘I still don’t get it,’ said Millie. Millie, with her big and loving family all around her, brothers and sisters, and parents and cousins, all scattered across a city she knew and loved. Millie didn’t know how lucky she was to have that safety net of people who cared for her, people who’d be there for each other in times of need.

‘Millie—’ Charlotte searched for just the right words. Not wanting pity, she’d never wanted that. ‘It takes time to get to know a place, to make friends, but I’ve done that now. Here. And I won’t give that up lightly. I feel—I feel that for the first time in my life, I’m starting to belong.’

Grey left it until Friday morning before phoning Charlotte. Never mind that he’d wanted to call her earlier … He hadn’t. Self-control had been applied. Restraint. The restraint required of a man embarking on a casual, no-strings affair.

The presence of one Charlotte Greenstone in his life should have made his time between jobs very pleasant. A smart and sensual woman of independent means and a gratifyingly strong sexual appetite wanted to spend a little time with him. Riveting to look at, and with a voice fully capable of coaxing angels downstairs to play in the pit a while—what more could a man want from a short-term sexual partner?

A little less perfection of form wouldn’t have gone astray, he decided bleakly. She could have at least given the women who were to come after her a fighting chance to measure up.

A little less abandon in the bedroom wouldn’t have hurt either, for exactly the same reason.

And would it have killed her to have led a normal life instead of some fascinating life of money, privilege, and discovery? How was a man supposed to do his own work while continually wondering how hers was going? The Internet was for instant access to research papers, not for Googling Charlotte’s family name to see if he could get a better feel for this brand she’d inherited. A glamorous brand, by all accounts. The Greenstones were to archaeology what the Kennedys had been to government. Dazzling, immensely successful and supremely ill-fated. And the only one left was Charlotte.

Who hadn’t called.

Or texted.

Or emailed.

Not that he was obsessing. Not that it would do him much good if he were.

He placed the call. Confidence was key. That, and knowing exactly what he wanted from this woman. Right now, he wanted her on his turf and he wanted it with an intensity he usually reserved for his work.

‘I’m moored at the marina at Hawkesbury River,’ he said without preamble when she answered. ‘I can offer fresh seafood, cold beer, and a berth on my boat if you’ve a mind to stay over.’

‘Hello, Greyson,’ she said, and there was rich amusement in that whisky voice. ‘I’d almost given up on hearing from you.’

‘I said I’d call.’

‘So you did,’ she murmured. ‘I was hoping you might have managed it a little earlier.’

‘You have my number,’ he reminded her. ‘You could have called me.’

‘Ah, but a lady wouldn’t,’ she murmured. ‘Not before you renewed contact and initiated another meeting. Now I can.’

‘What particular book of etiquette are you working from?’ he said.

‘Mine.’

‘Don’t suppose you have a spare?’

‘It’s all in my head.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of. If it’s any consolation, I wanted to call you on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and I almost caved and called you yesterday. There was the small matter of proving to myself that I could wait and work in the interim, not to mention letting you get your own work done.’

‘You’re very kind.’

‘I know. And now it’s Friday and the work is done and I’m done with waiting. I want to see you again.’

‘Have you heard from Sarah lately?’

‘Yes, we’ve spoken on the phone.’ Not a topic he felt inclined to discuss with a woman he wanted in his bed tonight. Even if Charlotte had been part of his efforts to deter his former fiancée. ‘I’ve made it brutally clear to both Sarah and my mother that I can’t give Sarah what she wants. I’ve also made it clear to my mother that I was disappointed in her treatment of you.’

‘I bet that went down well.’

‘It needed to be said. Even with you attending that barbecue with no emotional attachment to me whatsoever, they managed to hurt you. Imagine how much damage they could have done if you had had feelings for me.’

‘Hence our discussion afterwards about introducing a new partner to Sarah and your family,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’m glad you took those thoughts on board, Greyson,’ she said softly. ‘To be honest, I didn’t expect you to take them on board on my account. They were intended for the women who came after me.’

‘What? You don’t think you deserve to be treated with respect or given a fair go?’

Grey waited for some wry and clever comeback but Charlotte stayed strangely silent.

‘My mother wants to know my intentions towards you.’

‘What did you tell her?’ Wariness in Charlotte’s beautiful velvet voice now. A reserve he didn’t want to hear.

‘I told her I’d never met a more fascinating woman.’ Truth. Bare and unvarnished and Charlotte could make of it what she would. ‘I wasn’t lying, Charlotte. I want to see you again. Have dinner with me tonight. Stay over if you like or head home afterwards but come. Come spend some time with me.’

‘Okay.’ Nothing cool about Charlotte now. Her voice had gone husky, bringing with it memories of whispered entreaties and outrageous sexual pleasure. ‘I figure I can be there around seven. And Greyson?’

‘What?’

‘Thank you for championing me, and, yes. I’m of a mind to stay over.’

Charlotte’s commute home from work took time. The drive down to the Hawkesbury involved getting across the bridge and through the city during Friday night rush hour, and took considerably longer. She’d called Greyson to inform him of her delay in case it affected the dinner plans. He’d assured her it wouldn’t. He’d told her to take her time. She’d told him he’d better be worth it. Not his decision to make, he’d told her, and hung up.

One slow and crooked smile of welcome from Greyson as he took her overnight bag from her and held out his hand to help her up the stairs of his gleaming catamaran went some way towards making Charlotte glad she’d said yes to his plans. The way he filled out his grey canvas long shorts and had left his white shirt unbuttoned went further.

‘In my defence, I’d forgotten all about the traffic,’ he said, and mollified her some more.

‘So had I,’ she said as she slipped off her shoes to go barefoot on his deck. A very high deck, she decided as she straightened and glanced over the side of the catamaran. ‘Nice boat. I should have realised you’d be a sailor, what with your folks’ holiday house on the water and your water-weed work.’

‘I was five when I got my first catamaran,’ he said affably as he guided her along the craft towards an enclosed area that spanned the twin hulls. ‘It was love at first sight. I wanted to sleep on it. My mother said I could when I got a bit older.’

‘How old were you before you got your way?’

‘Eight.’ No sign of the formidable Dr Greyson Tyler in the grin he shot her; he was all boy and finally living his dream. ‘Longest three years of my life.’

Greyson opened a sliding glass door into a spacious living area, compact galley with plenty of bench space and sitting areas to one side, a lounge area to the other and more seats and a table to the fore. ‘I usually eat in here,’ he said. ‘Sleeping quarters are down in the hulls.’ He set Charlotte’s bag at her feet and his smile turned wry. ‘Guest hull is to your left, mine’s to your right, and I’ve no idea what etiquette demands. You choose.’

‘Where do your women friends usually sleep?’

‘Not here,’ he said gruffly and continued with the tour. ‘Bridge is above us and there’s a little cove where we can anchor for the night about fifteen minutes away. Your call which comes first, food or more travel. There’s a plate of seafood starters in the fridge. We can take it up to the bridge if you’re inclined to multitask.’

‘You eat on the bridge?’

‘I do when it’s past dinner time and I want to appease a beautiful woman,’ he murmured. ‘I can be flexible.’

‘And I can be grateful,’ she said. ‘I’m for getting under way and I’ll bring the feast to you.’

Greyson nodded and headed back along the cat, casting off and heading for the bridge. They weren’t under sail and moments later an engine purred to life. Charlotte made herself at home in the little galley, opening the fridge and pulling out a high-lipped flat-bottomed bowl crammed with shelled king prawns, oysters, and various types of dipping sauce.

Not a dish that required hours of fiddly preparation, but effort had been made nonetheless. Point for Greyson.

Dish in hand, Charlotte headed out of the cabin and climbed the stairs to the bridge as Greyson eased the craft slowly away from the dock. Once clear of the marina and other craft, he throttled up and the cat responded with surprising alacrity. Plenty of horsepower at Greyson’s fingertips, and as for the catamaran itself, a great deal more luxury than Charlotte had expected. This wasn’t just a pleasure craft; it was a home, and one that reflected the wanderlust of its owner.

Charlotte reached Greyson’s side and smiled at the dark eyed devil who greeted her with a swift and potent smile of his own.

Terrible fiancé material, this man—as the patient, still-smitten Sarah had discovered.

But on a night like this, for an outing of this nature, he was damn near perfect.

They motored past the small township of Hawkesbury River, past tree clad ridges rising up from the riverbanks. They motored under an old railway bridge and on to where solitude and natural beauty held sway.

The catamaran rode high in the water, and looking out over the wide expanse of glassy river held plenty of appeal. Leaning back against the instrument panel and watching Greyson’s eyes darken as she fed him a prawn held more. From her hand to his lips, and if feeding him took on a savagely sensual edge, well, it was only to be expected in such a setting and with such a man.

‘Tell me about your work,’ she said.

‘What would you like to know?’

‘What inspires you the most. What a regular day is like for you. Where you think your research will lead. Just the usual.’

He took an oyster on the half shell from her outstretched hand. ‘That’s not the usual.’

‘It’s not?’ Charlotte briefly wondered what was the usual, and what type of woman Greyson would normally choose to spend time with. Sarah hadn’t been a shallow woman by any stretch of the imagination and Greyson’s mother had been downright formidable. Perhaps his taste ran more to sweetly obliging types these days. ‘Sorry.’

Greyson devoured the oyster and set the shell to the side of the plate where Charlotte had been neatly stacking them. ‘I like the element of discovery that comes with the research,’ he said at last. ‘I like exploring the applications that stem from such a discovery.’

‘Ever think of being an archaeologist?’ she asked dryly.

‘I prefer the living world,’ he murmured. ‘Ancient cities can be dazzling but they aren’t my passion. Plant interactions are.’

‘And then there’s the travel,’ she said.

‘Exactly. As for a regular day, it varies. At the moment I’m here on the boat, sitting in front of a laptop for most of the day, running the stats on experimental results. It’s data entry at its most pedestrian—until you find something. And I never know what I’ll find until I find it, or where it will lead until I get there. That’s the beauty of it.’

‘A man who savours the journey.’

‘Don’t you?’ he countered.

‘I used to.’ Charlotte stared past him, out over the water and the increasingly dusky sky. ‘And then somewhere in my mid twenties I started wondering what it might be like to stay in one place for a while. So instead of scraping away at how other people lived, I took the Sydney uni job and tried to put something of what all those ancient civilisations had taught me into practice.’

‘What did they teach you?’

‘That sooner or later everyone needs a home. An environment they can control. A place to retreat to. Somewhere that brings them peace.’

‘And does your apartment by the bridge feel like a home?’ he asked quietly.

‘I’ve been asking myself the same question for a while now.’ Charlotte shrugged and looked out over the water. ‘Sooner or later I’m going to have to decide what to do about Aurora’s house. I really don’t need two.’

‘Which one’s closer to your workplace?’

‘The apartment. But Aurora’s has more sentimental value. It’s the closest thing to a childhood home that I’ve got. We used to make a point of going back there at least once a year.’

‘For how long?’

‘A couple of weeks,’ said Charlotte. ‘A month if I was lucky.’

‘What about school?’ asked Greyson.

‘We used the New South Wales distance education system,’ said Charlotte. ‘Tailored for children who travelled, children who roamed. Aurora supplemented it, of course. She had a knack for making the past come alive so the histories fast became our passion. I studied the Battle of Waterloo by walking the battlefield. I sat in the Colosseum and dreamed of gladiators and the roar of a Roman crowd.’

‘It sounds idyllic.’

‘It was richly rewarding,’ said Charlotte quietly. ‘And sometimes it was incredibly lonely. It’s why I resist the notion of taking the archaeology road again. At least here I have friends and a place that’s mine.’

‘Two places, in fact,’ murmured Greyson dryly.

‘Exactly.’ Charlotte fed him another prawn. ‘I like your home, by the way. It’s very you.’

‘Thank you. We’re almost at the cove.’

And then they were at the cove and Greyson was cutting the engine and dropping anchor as the last shards of light from a long gone sun surrendered to the night.

Charlotte smiled and let Greyson take the near empty food tray and lead her inside. He fetched some drinks—a white wine for her, beer for himself. He took two cheese-sauce-covered lobster halves from the fridge and shoved them in the oven. He looked comfortable in the kitchen. At home.

Charlotte had never once pictured Gil in the kitchen. Certainly not in a ship’s galley. Nor had Gil ever been quite so delectably dressed.

‘You’re smiling,’ Grey murmured.

‘I know.’ She set her wine on the bench and flowed into Greyson’s arms, burrowing beneath his open shirt in search of warm skin over rippling muscle. She touched the tip of her tongue to his collarbone and tasted salt. He put his hand to her head and held her there for a moment, breathing in deep, before tilting her head back and covering her lips with his own in a kiss that spoke of welcome, and wanting, and a man who intended to savour every moment of this particular journey.

‘Miss me?’ he whispered, between kisses.

‘It’s really not part of the plan,’ she countered and kissed him again. She didn’t tell him that sinking into his kisses felt a lot like coming home. She didn’t say that she’d thought about him far more than she’d wanted to this past week. That she’d envied him his overprotective mother and his lovely ex-fiancée, the work that was his passion, and the surety with which he moved through life. A smart and sexy man who knew exactly what he wanted was a very attractive proposition for a woman who did not.

He filled a gap, as Gil had filled a gap. He fed a need Charlotte hadn’t known existed.

‘I think I’m using you,’ she murmured.

‘That’s okay.’ He kissed her again. This time she moaned her approval. ‘Blame it on the endorphins.’

‘You don’t recommend that I take at least some responsibility for my behaviour?’

‘We have a short-term liaison agreement, remember? Your behaviour is entirely appropriate. You could even—just a suggestion—increase your enthusiasm for my company.’

‘You called, I came,’ she countered, stepping out of his embrace and retrieving her wine. ‘Undress me, make love to me, and I guarantee I’ll come some more. How much more enthusiasm do you want?’

‘Maybe enthusiasm wasn’t quite the right word,’ Greyson said smoothly. ‘Never mind.’

He reached for his beer, leaned back against the tiny galley sink, and studied her intently. ‘My mother phoned this evening to ask me what I was doing this weekend. I told her I was spending it with you. She wants you over for dinner again, some time. Just the four of us, my father included.’

‘Why?’ asked Charlotte warily.

‘Perhaps she feels that she didn’t give you a chance.’

‘She doesn’t have to.’

‘Alas, she doesn’t know that.’ Grey studied her some more. ‘I’ll tell her you’re busy.’

Charlotte lowered her gaze. Had she really been involved with Greyson, she’d have grasped the olive branch extended. As it was … he could tell his mother whatever he liked.

‘It’s one of the drawbacks of having a nosey family,’ he said next. ‘My mother’s been after grandchildren for years.’

‘Grandchildren?’

‘What’s your position on that?’ he asked and Charlotte glanced back towards him to find his gaze more intent than ever.

‘On grandchildren?’ she said lightly. ‘I can see the appeal.’

‘On children,’ he said. ‘And you having them.’

‘Yours?’

‘Anyone’s.’

‘Again, I can see the appeal,’ she said. ‘And were I in a loving and stable relationship, I might consider children an option.’

‘What if your partner had a vocation that required travel? Would you consider joining him on his travels? You and the children?’

‘Are we talking about a partner much like yourself?’

‘Let’s assume yes,’ he said.

‘It’s not a question I’ve given much thought to,’ she said. ‘Mainly because the plan is to avoid becoming involved with such a man. I’ve a lot of experience when it comes to unorthodox childhoods, Greyson. I know what worked for me, and what didn’t. I’ll not be repeating what didn’t.’

‘Wouldn’t that make you the perfect partner for such a man?’ he said silkily.

‘That would depend on his ability to forfeit his needs and desires for the greater good of his family when the time came for him to do so,’ she said, equally silkily. ‘Could you?’

‘Good question,’ he said blandly and peeked into the oven. ‘I think they’re done.’

They ate on deck, bypassing the perfectly prepared table in favour of a starry sky, a playful breeze, and balancing their plates on their knees. It fed Greyson’s need for freedom and Charlotte’s need for escape from difficult questions and impossible compromises. When they were done with the food she relaxed back against the moulded bench seating and stared at the sky. You couldn’t see the stars from where she was in Sydney. Not many, at any rate, and not often. ‘I’m not against travel,’ she murmured. ‘I’m very fond of new horizons and experiences.’

‘I see that,’ he murmured.

‘Just not as an ongoing way of life.’

‘Have you ever made love beneath the stars?’ he murmured.

‘Are you changing the subject?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ve had enough of the old subject. I’m hunting a new one. Have you ever made love outside, under the stars?’

‘No.’

‘Want to?’

She rose and straddled him, pushing his shirt from his shoulders as she’d wanted to do all evening, glorying in his size and his strength and the lazy intensity he could bring to a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’

He didn’t mean to devour her. He hadn’t meant to bring up his mother’s dinner invitation or the subject of children either. Hadn’t meant to make love to her half the night and then again come sunrise because he couldn’t get enough of her. But he did all those things to Charlotte Greenstone and she matched him, passion for passion, and warned him that last time, before her eyes had fluttered closed, that if he didn’t want her committing mutiny, her breakfast had better be bountiful and could he please serve it some time after ten.

‘What did your last Sherpa die of?’ he’d muttered.

‘Boredom,’ she’d mumbled and promptly fallen asleep.

Greyson wasn’t bored.

Exasperated, at times. Astonished by the sexual pleasure he found in Charlotte’s embrace. But not bored.

He had a plan, formulated last night in between one bout of lovemaking and the next. A stupid plan, half baked and wholly crazy and one he wasn’t at all sure he’d be able to sell to Charlotte as a viable option, given her soul deep aversion to traipsing around the globe according to someone else’s whim. Still, he did have a habit of getting what he wanted. Eventually.

Grey waited until ten-thirty to wake Charlotte from her slumber. He used a mug of the finest highland coffee PNG had to offer to rouse her. He told her the pancakes would be ready by eleven, and that there were fresh towels and toiletries in the bathroom. He thought he heard the words slave driver mumbled by way of reply, along with a few other odd words like incubus, sadist, and dead man.

Perhaps she’d been comparing him favourably to Gil.

‘I have a plan,’ he said when Charlotte was wholly awake and halfway through her pancakes and coffee. ‘Will you hear me out?’

‘Does it involve your mother?’

‘No, although I dare say she’ll have something to say about the matter. It involves me going to Borneo next week to scout locations for the new project. And you coming with me.’

Charlotte chewed slowly and swallowed hard. She reached for her coffee, deliberately stalling for time. Grey kept his mouth shut and let her stall. Press her and he’d lose her. Rush her and she’d bolt. Challenge her and he might just be able to persuade her around to his way of thinking.

‘Why would I do that?’ she said finally.

‘Because it’d give you an opportunity to test your feelings about travel,’ he offered. ‘You’ll get all the vagaries of working a remote location without having to involve your own work. Then if the lifestyle still holds no appeal for you, your work will be exactly how and where you left it. Face it, Charlotte. You’re a little hazy right now when it comes to the direction you want your career to take. A trip like this can’t hurt and might even help clarify your thoughts on the matter.’

She didn’t deny it. ‘What’s in it for you?’ she asked warily.

‘You mean apart from the insanely good sex?’

He won a tiny smile from her. ‘You have a one-track mind.’

‘So I’ve been told. Usually by people who fail to comprehend the bigger picture.’ He sent her his most reassuring smile, not particularly wanting to discuss his big-picture plans with her at the moment. ‘I’ll pay your way, of course.’

Just like that, her smile disappeared. ‘Don’t be daft.’

‘Why is that daft? My invite, my expense. Your rules, remember?’

‘Those rules aren’t applicable to this situation.’

‘My mistake,’ he said smoothly. ‘You presented your position on the matter of who pays for what strongly enough that I naturally assumed there was no room for movement. You present your position on careers that require extensive travel with equal conviction, but again, I sense uncertainty as to why you consider them not to your liking. I leave on Wednesday. Sydney to mainland Malaysia, then a couple of regional flights to get to a little river city called Banjarmasin.’

‘I know it,’ she said flatly.

‘I’ve an interest in the conservation forests there.’

Charlotte picked up her fork and cut into her pancake with the edge of it, deftly liberating a chunk before stabbing it with the end of her fork. She put it to her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and smiled. ‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty there to interest you.’

‘And to interest you?’

‘Well, the monkeys are very sweet,’ she murmured. ‘When do you need my answer by?’

‘No rush. Although some time before Wednesday, obviously.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Anywhere you need to be today?’

‘Not really. I often spend Sunday afternoon at Aurora’s house. It appeases the neighbours.’

‘If I dropped you back at the marina tomorrow morning, you could be there by lunchtime. Would that work?’

‘I didn’t bring two days’ worth of clothes.’

‘Wear mine.’

‘Are you asking me to sleep over again tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you can convince me to come traipsing with you?’

‘Because I’m enjoying your company and I’m not quite ready to let you go.’ He gave her the truth of his thoughts in that he gave her what he thought she would bear. ‘A short term affair doesn’t by nature have to lack intensity.’

‘So I’m discovering,’ she murmured.

‘Will you stay on another night?’

‘Will you try and convince me to come travelling with you next week if I do?’

‘No.’ Greyson shook his head. ‘My offer stands but I’ll not badger you into accepting it. That’s not my way. I’m quite happy to leave the question hanging there if you are.’

‘The old elephant in the living room,’ she said with a wry smile.

‘Exactly.’

‘So what would we do with the day if I stayed on?’ she said at last, and watched Greyson’s eyes lighten and brighten with possibilities.

‘Wind’s picking up,’ he said. ‘Have you ever raced a cat under sail?’

They raced the day away and made the most of the night.

Greyson kept his word. He never once mentioned his offer. Instead he made love to her with a focus no other man had ever matched. Passion ruled him, ruled them both, along with greedy abandon in Charlotte’s case, liberally laced with desperation at the thought that this night might be their last.

Morning came too soon for Charlotte but she savoured it regardless, delighting in being wooed awake by wicked promises and exceptionally good coffee. A woman could get used to such treatment, but only a foolish woman would allow herself to depend on it.

She’d thought about joining Greyson in Borneo for the week. One week, what harm could it do? She had holiday time owing. Time her boss had urged her to take. She had no commitments to pets or to people—no responsibilities at all in that regard. She was a free agent and why shouldn’t she follow her heart—or at least her libido for a time—and see where it led?

Tempting, so tempting, this man’s kisses, as she and Greyson stood on dry land later in the day, saying their farewells beside her baking hot car, and stealing kisses where they could. Charlotte stole a lot of them, a woman bent on gorging herself before a famine.

‘Safe travels, Greyson Tyler,’ she murmured, and if her heart felt as if it was breaking, well, perhaps it was. She stood back and took one last look at him, storing up the memories for later. A big beautiful man with tousled black hair, intelligent brown eyes, more charm than was good for him, and an air of command and purpose that clung to him like skin. ‘I’ll think of you with pleasure and I’ll think of you with regret, but I’ll not be going with you to Borneo.’

‘Why not?’ His turn to move forward, to reach for her and coax every last drop of pleasure from a kiss. ‘We’re good together, Charlotte. Better than good.’

‘I know. And maybe in another lifetime, one shaped by a different upbringing, I’d have followed you and never looked back.’ She stepped back, out of his arms and the solace she found there and regarded him pensively. ‘You think I don’t know my own mind or that you can change it. Somewhere along the way, I’ve given you the impression that I don’t know what I want from a partner or from this life, and maybe I don’t. Not fully, not with certainty. Thing is, no matter how often I examine the notion of travel or of being with a partner who travels, there’s a resistance there that runs soul deep.’

‘Call me,’ he said gruffly. ‘When I get back.’

‘Greyson.’ She looked away, down at the suddenly blurry steering wheel of her car, anywhere but at him. How had she come to care for him so much in such a short time? Two weeks. Less than half a dozen meetings, and already he was tearing her in two. ‘I can’t.’ Nothing more than a ragged plea for mercy, for he seemed bent on making this farewell so much harder than it should have been. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered again.

‘Then I’ll call you.’

‘Greyson, please …’ She pressed her lips to his, one final farewell. She stepped back and smiled through her tears. Time to go before she begged him to stay. ‘Don’t.’