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He switched off the ignition, sensed her instant panic. ‘Mariel…’
‘No.’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘Not tonight.’
His hands tightened on the steering wheel momentarily. But tension showed in the lines around her mouth, the smudges beneath her eyes. ‘I’ll walk you to the door.’
‘It’s okay; this isn’t the city,’ she said, swinging the car door open.
‘I’ll walk you to the door,’ he repeated, and pulled his key out of the ignition. Some things hadn’t changed—still as stubborn as she’d always been.
And as fast—she was already halfway up the path before he’d climbed out. The aftermath of the day’s heat still blanketed the earth, thick and smelling of dried eucalypt and pine.
Metal tinkled as she fumbled with house keys, holding them aloft and squinting at them under the porch light.
‘Allow me.’ Dane took the keys from her hands. The brush of skin against skin sent a tingle through every nerve-ending in his fingers, up his arm and straight to his groin.
The flash of awareness when their eyes met was a stark reminder that they could never go back to the easy camaraderie they’d once had.
He wasn’t sure he even wanted that with her any more. Less than an hour in her company and his wants, his desires, were fanning to life inside him like a bushfire sweeping up from the valley floor.
She broke eye contact first, and a breathlessness caught at her throat when she said, ‘Phoebe gave them to me, but I didn’t ask her which one opened the front door…’
He fitted a key into the lock but the door opened without it. ‘Not locked,’ he said.
‘Oh…that’s probably my fault. I assumed the door automatically locked once closed.’ Someone who didn’t know her as well as he did wouldn’t have noticed the slight sag in her posture.
Dane stepped past her and through the doorway, located the light switch. A warm glow from the antique foyer lights gleamed on polished wood and brass fittings, and brought a rich luxury to the burgundy carpet runner.
She glanced at the discreet panel on the wall as she followed him inside. ‘Damn. I didn’t even remember to set the alarm. Dad’ll throw a fit if he finds out.’
‘Only if you tell him.’ Without looking at her, he started down the hall. ‘I’ll check the place before I leave.’
‘That’s not necessary,’ she assured him quickly. A sudden nervous energy spiked her voice.
‘Yes. It is. Anyone could have come in.’
‘I look after myself these days.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
A few moments later, ground floor covered, he started up the stairs, switching on lights as he checked the rooms. Mariel followed, muttering protests. He paused at the last door on the left.
Mariel’s room.
So he left the light off. But as soon as he’d stepped inside he realised he’d made a mistake. Moonlight flooded the room, spilling over an open suitcase, a dressing table strewn with tubes and bottles. He breathed in the mix of feminine potions, powder and perfume like a man who’d gone too long without.
He’d never denied himself the pleasures to be found in a woman’s bedroom, but at this moment he couldn’t remember a single one that had ever compared to that one all-too-short time in Mariel’s arms.
Dangerous thoughts. He dragged his attention back to the task he’d set himself. ‘Everything seems to be okay, so—’
‘Of course it is,’ she snipped. ‘I told you it was. But did you ever listen to me? No. Oh…Why did you have to come in and…? Be you.’ She punctuated those final agonised words with a long slow breath.
The old guilt rolled nastily through his gut. In the pregnant silence that followed he heard the wind sigh through the trees, an echo of his own feelings. ‘I thought that was what was so good about us,’he said, his eyes fixed on the moon but not seeing it. ‘We could be ourselves.’
‘Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away. Maybe.’ Mariel switched on the light. He didn’t know why, except that maybe the moonlit scene reminded her, too. He turned to face her. She’d folded her arms across her chest and was watching him with unnerving calm. Either that or she was a damn good actress.
‘It’s been a while, Queen Bee.’
He felt rather than saw her little hitch of breath at the use of her old nickname, then she pulled herself up straighter, lifted her chin. ‘I’m not that inexperienced, trusting little girl any more.’
‘Dane…’ Mariel said, reaching for him with passion-drenched eyes that hinted at vulnerability.
The kiss.
Their first fully-fledged kiss.
A goodbye kiss, because she was leaving and for who knew how long?
He met her eyes squarely, ready to admit the pain he’d inflicted on her young pride an hour later. ‘I was eighteen and an insensitive jerk.’
But that was then. This was now. And now was full of possibilities. She wasn’t an innocent; she was an international sensation. A modern woman who’d no doubt had her share of men over the years—a thought he didn’t particularly want to dwell on.
Her mouth twisted with grim humour. ‘Has anything changed?’
A grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Nope. Still that same insensitive jerk.’ He couldn’t help himself—he stepped closer, so their bodies almost touched, and brushed a finger down her cheek.
She shook her head. ‘We’re not those kids now. It’s in the past. Leave it there.’
But Dane couldn’t leave it there, whatever the hell it was, because his brain had ceased to compute anything so complicated as reason or words or sentence structure. All it recognised was the fragile face he suddenly found himself holding between his palms, emerald eyes swimmingly close, the seductive scent of her perfume, her hands against his chest and her indrawn breath as he leaned in to touch his lips to hers.
He tasted heat and sun-warmed honey, and he slid his hands through silky hair then down over smooth shoulders and chiffon to haul her closer, so he could absorb the fuller, richer flavour as her mouth opened for him.
He closed his eyes as her body grew pliant, melting against his. Fingertips scraping against his shirt. Soft throaty murmurs. Fast, warm breaths against his cheek—
Hard, flat palms pushing at his chest—
Heaving a breath, she reared back, eyes dark and wary. ‘Why did you do that?’ She touched the fingers of one hand to her lips then spun away.
Good question. Damn good question. He noticed the wisps of hair he’d dislodged from the clasp at the back of her head floating about her temples and around her neck. ‘Perhaps I wanted to see if it was the same as I remember.’
She turned, eyes flashing with residual passion…or desire or anger—he couldn’t tell through the sexual haze still blurring his vision. To give himself a moment he paced to the dressing table, picked up a bottle of perfume, set it down.
‘And was it?’ She closed her eyes, as if regretting the question, then shook her head. More silken hair tumbled over her shoulders. ‘Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.’
‘Or maybe I just wanted to kiss you for old times’ sake.’
He leaned nonchalantly against the dressing table as if his blood wasn’t thudding through his body like a big bass drum. As if his jeans didn’t feel as if they’d shrunk two sizes in the crotch. ‘You kissed me back, Queen Bee.’
The shared knowledge singed the air between them, and she drew a shaky breath but didn’t reply.
‘And it felt good. You thought so, too.’
She let out a stream of air through her nostrils. ‘Isn’t that just a typically arrogant male response?’
‘Am I not a typically arrogant male?’
She glared back, unsmiling, or was that a hint of humour at the corner of her mouth?
‘Good,’ he said, taking it as a yes and venturing a grin of sorts. ‘Now we’ve got that sorted, I’ll check outside.’
Mariel shot a hand up, palm out. Oh, no, she wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. ‘Not sorted, Dane. Why don’t we just get it out in the open now, then never speak of it again?’
His smile faded. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘Why did you come to see me that night? We’d said our goodbyes at your place.’
‘That kiss. It meant something to me. It meant everything to me.’ Her heart twisted, remembering.
‘It was a goodbye kiss,’ he murmured.
‘I thought—stupidly and naïvely, I realise now—that I was in love with you. And when you kissed me…like that…I thought…’ She waved it away. ‘Well, I went looking for you because I wanted to ask you…to tell you I was coming back…that we…’
That evening was still as clear as day in her mind. After The Kiss, she’d driven to his house. She’d seen his car lights on in the garage…
‘I heard a noise,’ she said. ‘I was so pathetically dumb I thought you were in pain. Imagine my shock-horror when I saw Isobel on the bonnet of your car and you going at it like…well.’
She recalled that she must have made some sort of sound, because they’d both turned and seen her. Then bizarre fascination had held her in thrall for those few agonising seconds while her gaze swept the two of them and her heart shattered.
‘I hate you, Dane Huntington, I never want to see you again!’
She didn’t remember how she’d made it to the sanctuary of her car—it was the feminine giggle and the ‘Poor Mariel’ that stuck in her mind, and the sound of Dane’s footsteps behind her, his calls for her to wait up. Wait?
Dane shook his head and she knew he, too, was remembering. ‘Thing is, Mariel, as close as we were, as much as I cared for you, the one thing we never discussed was our sex lives.’
‘Or lack of.’ She held his gaze unapologetically.
‘We should have. It would have saved any misunderstanding. I came by the next day to apologise, but you’d already left. So I’ll apologise now. For hurting you.’
She nodded. ‘Accepted. But you didn’t have any reason to apologise. I realise that now. You didn’t see me the way I saw you.’
Maybe not then. She read the message in his eyes and something fluttered inside her. Or perhaps it was something else that had stopped him.
‘I tried contacting you several times,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t take my calls. You won’t know I was in Paris a couple of years later. I dropped by to see you, but your landlady told me you were in London for the weekend with your boyfriend.’
‘He wasn’t my boyfriend; he was a fellow student.’
‘Student, boyfriend—it makes no difference now.’ He needed air. ‘I’ll go check the garden.’
It took a good ten minutes to scour the perimeter of the extensive grounds. Not that it was absolutely necessary. But it gave them both some time.
As he returned to the house light from the kitchen’s stained glass windows flowed into the adjacent atrium, turning the abundant greenery within to the colours of amber and ripe plums.
From the other side of the glass he saw Mariel, sitting on the edge of the raised pond beside a stone maiden pouring sparkling water from her jug. A moth, distracted by the light, fluttered above her head. Shards of crimson and gold light sliced through the fronds of a potted palm, danced on the water and reflected over the face he hadn’t had the pleasure of looking at up close and personally in a long time.
She’d needed to chase her dreams overseas, he reflected. And she’d excelled. He’d been right in not taking their relationship to the next logical step. Thinking herself in love with him would have brought her nothing but grief. She might never have left, and he hadn’t wanted to be responsible for that.
Marriage had never been on his agenda.
He focused on her once more. She’d braced her forearms on her thighs and held an open can of beer between her palms. Her posture drooped and he was hard pressed to remember any occasion when Mariel had allowed herself that indulgence since early high school. She probably hadn’t noticed that her dress gaped at the front, revealing more creamy cleavage. Another tinny sat on the ledge beside her.
He took that as an invitation.
Chapter Three
MARIEL tilted the can to her lips and rolled the familiar bitter Aussie brew around her tongue. So much for tonight’s decision to avoid alcohol. The night seemed to call for it after all. She stiffened when she heard Dane’s footfall on the marble tiles, then made a conscious effort to appear relaxed. Rolled her shoulders. Stretched her neck. Unclenched her fingers on the can. No way would she allow him to see the effect he’d had on her tonight.
‘I didn’t take you for a beer kind of girl,’ he said, appearing from behind the foliage.
‘When in Oz…’ She tossed him the other can. ‘Happy New Year, again.’
He caught it one-handed, popped the top, but remained standing a few steps away. It gave her another moment to take in the whole man. And what a man. He’d always had a well-toned body, but he was no longer the eighteen-year-old she remembered. He was twenty-eight and in his prime. His face had weathered somewhat under the harsh Australian sun, but it only increased his rugged appeal. Harsher jaw. Darker stubble. Eyes that saw more, knew more.
She forced away the shiver of disquiet that rippled down her spine and looked further. Beneath his shirt he was all hard muscle. She knew because when she’d pushed him away earlier he’d been as unyielding as concrete.
Model looks? No, not smooth enough, not conventional enough, with that careless hair. Scowling, she tipped another mouthful of beer down her throat. He was more the dark heroic type.
Not hers.
‘So what are your plans while you’re here?’ he asked, sitting beside her. He assumed the same sitting position as her on the edge of the circular pool, not quite touching her. But she could feel his body heat across the tiny space. Her skin prickled with the awareness that if either of them moved a millimetre she’d feel the hair on his arm brush against her skin.
She sat perfectly still and said, ‘At the moment I’m not thinking beyond chilling out and surfing the sofa for a few days—after I’ve thoroughly reacquainted myself with my bed.’
And, yes, in the charged hiatus that followed she knew he’d caught the image she’d unthinkingly tossed out there. Damn.
He cleared his throat and said, ‘You’re staying a while, then?’ into the charged stillness.
‘Yes.’ She had no choice. But she wasn’t telling him that. He might still be Dane, but he was a man…The fiasco in Paris was still so raw and recent it brought a chill to her bones. Her shoulder muscles tensed and tightened.
‘Mariel.’
She turned at his simple touch on her shoulder, ready to flee. Or fight. Or mash her mouth against his. Sheesh.
‘I can feel the tension in your body from here.’ He set his beer aside and reached up, took a pin from her hair. ‘For goodness’ sake, woman, loosen up.’
She sucked in a breath. ‘What are you doing?’
‘When in Oz…’ He took out another. ‘I always liked your hair down,’ he murmured. ‘It’ll relax you.’
‘Relax…?’ Her thoughts disintegrated. Mesmerised, she gazed at him, his eyes focused on the task as he concentrated on removing the clasp on top of her head.
‘Yes…’ Then his fingers were in her hair, and she was turning towards him while he loosened it, so that it tumbled down over her shoulders and released the pressure, massaging her scalp in slow circles on either side…
