The Price of Fame (3 page)

Swinging away from her unsettling image, she gathered her things and tentatively opened the door. Hearing no movement—so Nic hadn’t returned yet—she walked into the bedroom.

Nic’s backpack sat next to hers on the luggage rack; his spicy scent lingered on his discarded clothes on the back of the chair. He wasn’t here yet he was all around her. She noticed some glossy brochures he’d left on the desk. She didn’t want to get personally involved with him, wasn’t ready for another relationship, but they were … just travel pamphlets. Nothing personal, nothing private. She couldn’t resist picking them up.

The Hawaiian Islands. Brochures on deep-sea fishing, golf, whale-watching expeditions. The best surfing spots. He’d marked off some, made notes she couldn’t decipher and crossed out others. He was on his way to Hawaii for what looked like a full-on guy vacation. No wonder he
looked so fit. Bronzed. Well … nourished. He obviously knew how to chill out and have
fun
.

The word conjured up all sorts of scenarios; not the outdoor kind, but the intimate indoor kind involving him and her and that big bed with its soft white pillows. Her whole body burned. It wanted to burn alongside his. It wanted to know what it was like to be made love to by a man with Nic’s expertise because one thing she was sure of was his ability to pleasure a woman. And then he’d be off to Hawaii and she’d be totally satisfied.

But it had to be her way. Her rules. No talking about themselves and their lives beyond what happened in this room. No swapping phone numbers and email addresses and promises to catch up. She didn’t
want
him catching up. She wanted one night to prove to herself that she wasn’t the girl Flynn thought she was.

Anticipation raced through her body. To calm herself, she made a cup of the complimentary coffee provided and slid the curtains back as the afternoon faded and the sky took on the early evening hues of orange and lavender. She sat on the only armchair and flicked through a women’s magazine she’d bought earlier but she soon tossed it onto the nearby desk, too frazzled to concentrate on some superstar’s private life exposed to the world.

And if it hadn’t been for Nic, her private break-up with the popular candidate for the upcoming state elections might have been public fodder too.

She really, really owed Nic. So she could have just bought him a bottle of wine or a meal to show her appreciation, couldn’t she? They were here until tomorrow morning at the earliest so it wasn’t too late to suggest catching a cab into the city and finding some cosy candlelit café …

Except then they’d come back to this room and that bed
with a few glasses of happy in their systems and it would still be here—the amazing attraction.

She tucked her bare feet up beneath her, pulled the pins out of her hair and teased her fingers through it, enjoying the new feeling of being feminine and free. Why eat out when you could feast on something much more pleasurable right here? Like hot masculine skin and lips and tongues and … Her mouth dried, her skin frizzled. She couldn’t help it; she giggled like a schoolgirl at the wicked thoughts running through her mind.

She was still giggling when he walked in.

N
IC
heard the feminine laughter as he pushed open the door. Husky with a hint of wicked. He grinned. Until he caught sight of her sitting on the chair, her face in profile as she stared out of the window, her dark hair aflame in the sun’s reddening light and his amusement shifted beyond a simple
Wow
to something approaching awe. Unbound and auburn, the glossy mass rejoiced around her shoulders like a celebration of freedom.

She’d turned the TV on to a radio channel. Something soothing and blue and jazzy and she obviously hadn’t heard him come in, so he absorbed the moment with all his senses. The fragrance of her recent shower, the delight in her laugh, her sheer and glorious abandonment.

And he realised he was witnessing something he doubted many people saw when they looked at Charlotte. The woman’s inner beauty. And an innate sexuality that he found irresistible. He had a feeling she didn’t show that side of herself often, much less share it.

He hoped she’d share it with him.

She’d swapped that seriously awful suit for the hotel’s robe. Was she naked underneath? His groin tightened. She still wore the pearls; their iridescence reflected the sun’s vermilion rays. He imagined lifting them, warm from her
body, and sliding his fingers beneath to explore her creamy throat.

He couldn’t be certain she’d changed into the robe as an invitation or prelude to sex. It made sense that she’d wear it since their luggage was checked in at the airport. But that was about the only thing that made sense right now because for the life of him he couldn’t remember ever being this captivated by a woman before.

Again the sense that this was different—
she
was different—slid through him like a ripple on a millpond. He shook off the shivery silvery sensation and discreetly cleared his throat to announce his presence. ‘Anyone for soggy gourmet pizza?’

She swung to face him and a thousand different emotions flitted over her expression before she settled for happy-to-see-him. ‘Yes, please.’ She uncurled herself and stretched out a pair of long shapely legs in front of her. ‘Where did you find pizza?’

‘The airport’s café. The last one. Or the last half of one. I had to fight off the hungry hordes.’ After setting the box on the desk, he switched on the lamp, then reached for the bottle of wine on the shelf above the bar fridge.

She rose, smiling and shrugging the lapels of the robe closer. ‘My hero.’

His hand jerked a bit at that as he upended two glasses. ‘You want wine?’

‘Thanks.’ She lifted the lid on the cardboard container. ‘Yum, I love artichokes.’ She peered closer. ‘It
is
artichoke, isn’t it?’

He grinned. ‘I think so.’

She reached for her handbag on the coffee table, pulled out a linen napkin embroidered with her name, then proceeded to polish up the motel’s cutlery.

Swallowing his surprise, he opened the bottle, then set
a couple of paper plates next to the pizza box. ‘You like Italian?’

‘I do, but seafood’s my favourite.’ She scooped up the slices with a knife, set them on the plates. ‘There’s a fabulous seafood place at Glenelg, on the Marina Pier. Their King George whiting is to die for.’

‘I know the one.’ He didn’t tell her his apartment overlooked said pier as he splashed a generous amount of the ruby liquid into the glasses. ‘And I agree with your review. It’s one of my favourite food haunts when I’m in Adelaide.’

‘Mine too.’ A little hitch in her breath as she stared up at him. ‘Seems we have something in common.’

‘I’m hoping that’s not all we have in common.’ He couldn’t resist stroking his knuckles lightly down the side of her face. Testing her, tormenting himself. Her skin was smooth as silk and smelled like flowers.

Her eyes turned glassy, like a still ocean on an overcast summer’s day, and she pressed her lips together, then said, ‘We weren’t going to talk about ourselves.’

‘Who said anything about talking?’

Their gazes clashed, but he didn’t act on the hot fist of anticipation gripping the lower half of his body and the impulse to show her the alternative option. Plenty of time. A girl like Charlotte definitely needed slow. And he’d already made up his mind to give her a chance to decide whether she still wanted to act on that hot look he’d glimpsed earlier.

So he only lifted the glasses, offered her one and said, ‘Let’s eat before this sloppy offering gets any colder. Cheers.’

‘Thanks. And cheers.’ Taking her plate, Charlotte returned to the armchair while Nic sat at the desk. She took a sip, then set her glass on the coffee table in front of her. Her cheek was still tingly and warm from his touch. Other
parts were tingling too, with a wickedly wanton need like she’d never experienced.

But he was giving her space and she appreciated that. Even if she was having a full-on fantasy around him and what they could get up to on that office chair …

‘Hawaii’s nice this time of year,’ she said to take her mind off her fantasies, determined to keep the conversation on neutral topics.

He glanced at his pamphlets then at her, his gaze thoughtful. Unreadable.

‘I know we agreed on nothing personal but they were just there …’

He smiled, all trace of whatever she’d seen in his eyes gone in one mischievous twinkle. ‘All good, Charlotte, it’s not personal. And yeah, it’s the best time of year. Get away from the cold.’ He bit off half his slice in one go and chewed, then washed it down with a mouthful of wine.

She sliced a corner off her own piece, watching the man’s enthusiasm over the very ordinary food. He had a strong tanned neck and prominent Adam’s apple, which moved as he swallowed. Oil from the pizza glistened on his upper lip … She wanted to jump up, lean down and lick it off. She really needed to slow her thoughts down to warp speed.

‘You’ve been there before?’ she asked, keeping to the script.

‘I try to make it every couple of years. Hanalei Bay on Kauai. The surf’s great there. How about you—have you ever been?’

‘Once. To Maui. It was a family holiday to celebr …’ She trailed off as the memory of her parents’ tenth wedding anniversary surfaced. The little twinge in her heart had her rubbing her hand once over the area and caressing the pearls at her throat. ‘But that’s against the rules.’

‘Sure—if you say so.’ His eyes probed hers and his voice gentled. ‘You okay?’

‘Fine.’ Her smile relaxed as she finished the last bite, patted her mouth then popped the fancy napkin back in her bag. ‘You know, you’re a very nice man.’

‘Nice?’
His brows rose. ‘That’s a bit of a worry.’

‘I mean honest. Considerate …’ Totally gorgeous.

He chuckled and popped the remainder of his pizza into his mouth. ‘You sure you’re not a rebellious princess on the run from some minor European nation somewhere?’

‘What? Oh, the napkin?’ She grinned back. ‘I’d carry my own cutlery if the airlines allowed it. I have personalised soap too. Somewhere …’ She searched the bottom of her bag unsuccessfully, then shrugged. ‘Call me eccentric.’ Or a product of a privileged and traditional upbringing. If her folks could see her now and knew what she was thinking …

She bet Nic had a string of women in his life. She wondered how old he was. Around thirty? She reminded herself she didn’t want to know because then she’d want to know more. Like where he lived and what his work was and … how he liked to make love.

‘“Sex Fact or Fiction”.’

She almost spluttered into her wine. ‘Pardon?’

‘The quiz.’ He was looking at the cover of the magazine she’d left on the desk. ‘You haven’t read it yet?’

‘I must’ve missed it. Obviously you didn’t.’

‘I’m a guy. I saw the word sex,’ he said, amusement in his voice as he flicked through the pages. ‘Okay, test your knowledge. Sales of condoms decrease when a recession hits—fact or fiction?’

She took a moment to compose herself and consider. ‘Fiction. Definitely. Too expensive to go out and too expensive to have kids.’

He nodded. ‘Correct. How about this? Humans are the only species to have sex for pleasure.’

The way he said ‘pleasure’, all virile and velvet and promising, made her skin rupture with heat. She took another sip of wine. ‘Yes.’

‘Not so.’ He studied her with inscrutable eyes. ‘Apparently we’re not the only creatures on the planet wanting to get it on.’

‘Oh?’ But was she the only one in this room right now wanting to get it on? He was as relaxed as if he was discussing the weather, one arm slung over the back of the chair, whereas she was as tense as strung piano wire.

‘How about this, then? Men’s sexual organs are designed for more pleasure than women’s.’

‘Um …’ She trailed off at the hot promise of that pleasure. Her own feminine places dampened and she had to resist squirming on the chair. ‘Fiction.’

‘Yep. Women have it all over men in this department. According to the quiz, the clitoris is the only known organ that exists for the sole purpose of pleasure.’

Oh. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. Had she ever had such a bizarrely intimate conversation with a guy before? ‘Um … sexual organs aside …’ she bit down on her bottom lip ‘… surely it would depend on who’s giving the pleasure?’

His head came up and he looked at her through lazy-lidded eyes. ‘You’re a woman—you tell me.’

‘For me …’ She struggled for composure and sophistication. ‘It definitely depends on the partner.’

‘Wouldn’t this partner’s expertise have something to do with it? Besides liking the guy.’

‘Ah …’

‘I mean, you could be totally hot for him but if he doesn’t know how to do it for you … Ever had a guy like
that? You really like him, the connection’s there, the spark, the desire, but then you’re left hanging. So to speak.’

‘Uh … hmm.’
Flynn
. The earth hadn’t exactly moved with him. Ever. She’d told herself that was okay because she’d loved him, and love and affection and common goals were more important than physical fulfilment.

Maybe she’d been wrong, because there’d been a shifting of tectonic plates happening beneath her feet since she’d kissed Nic. She knew instinctively that he wouldn’t be the type to leave any woman unsatisfied.

‘What’s this non-committal “hmm”?’

‘It’s a yes, okay?’ she snapped out, hating to admit it. Hating that he knew already. ‘I’ve had guys like that.’

A slow and sexy, won’t-happen-if-you’re-with-me look drifted across his expression.

If he ever decided to make a move.

And why was this all about her? His focus was entirely too … focused. She deflected with, ‘But a guy can enjoy sex with anyone because it’s all about basic drive or need, right?’

His gaze drifted over her like slow-moving lava. ‘Personally speaking, I like to connect with the woman I’m with. Enjoyment has to be about more than satisfying a basic urge. I feel a connection with you, Charlotte. I’m pretty sure you feel that connection too. I’d like to see where it takes us.’

To heaven and beyond?

His eyes had darkened as he spoke and she felt a shifting and thickening of anticipation in the air. But he didn’t move. Not so much as the flicker of an eyelash.

Ah. ‘Are you waiting for me to give you the green light?’

‘Your call.’ He remained ostensibly at ease, legs sprawled in front of him, arm still relaxed on the back of the chair. Only a muscle tic in his jaw betrayed his tension. ‘You
need to be sure this is what you want. But for pity’s sake, make it soon.’ His voice thickened and he looked down at his crotch. ‘Because you’re damn near killing me.’

She’d deliberately kept her eyes above his waist, but now she followed his gaze to the impressive bulge in his shorts. And swallowed. Her whole body went weak, except for her galloping pulse. She also noticed his thighs were as tanned as his neck, sprinkled with dark hair and heavy with muscle as if he worked out. A lot.

She wanted to touch. She wanted to feel those thighs rub against hers. She wanted that magnificent masculine part of him inside her.

But she didn’t want entanglements. No morning after, no getting to know each other beyond the physical. ‘Only tonight.’

‘Fine. Should I take a shower first?’

‘No.’ She smiled. ‘Told you you’re considerate.’ She liked the way he smelled: warm and slightly sweaty but not unpleasant. A primal masculine smell that beckoned and aroused her feminine instincts. ‘I want it—I want you—as you are. I want to feel your sweat on my skin. Now.’

He smiled back. ‘First move’s all yours.’

‘Mine?’ Her trembling fingers tightened a little on the soft terry lapels. She knew how to initiate sex … but with a man like Nic? Except she didn’t know Nic, not really. So what did she mean: ‘a man like Nic’? What did Nic-who-she-didn’t-know want or expect?

‘You could start by taking off that robe,’ he suggested after a few seconds of silence ticked by. ‘Or you could come over here and let me do the honours.’ Still he didn’t move. ‘I’ll leave that decision to you.’

Eyes fastened on him, she pushed up off the chair. The few steps she took seemed like miles while her blood drained to her legs. She was glad of the background music
because it covered the sound of her heart thumping its way out of her chest. Not with fear but with the illicit, dizzying prospect of having sex with a man who was, by anyone’s standards, a stranger.

She was the one in control—because Nic had given it to her. She was the one with the choice. And she wanted this night with this man.

Coming to a stop in front of him, she loosened the looped tie just enough so that the robe’s front edges parted slightly. As she was standing, his head was tilted back a little, eyes focused on hers, and it was her first chance to look down at him. She reached out and smoothed a strand of his hair off his brow. ‘Decisions, decisions …’

He slid his fingers behind the loop in her belt and drew her closer, between hot, hard thighs, and she had to drop her hands onto the chair’s metal arms either side of him to keep her balance and stop herself from collapsing onto him.

His breath, his scent and his heat mingled with hers as they continued to stare at each other. ‘You like being on top, then.’