The Price of Fame (7 page)

‘I live in the Barossa Valley, but the mall’s a favourite haunt, yes.’

‘You’re not related to Lance Dumont by any chance?’ He was a society big name in South Australia and royalty in the wine industry. Dumont owned the award-winning Three Cockatoos Winery. The man was worth a fortune.

She nodded and her gaze dropped to the table. ‘He was my father.’

‘So you
are
a princess after all.’ Then he remembered that Lance and his wife had died in an aviation accident some time back, and his casual grin vanished. ‘Hell, Charlotte, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.’

‘It’s okay.’ She looked up again with a watery sheen in her eyes and a determined brightness to her voice. ‘It’s been a couple of years now. But I do miss them. And Travers.’

‘Travers?’ A boyfriend? A
husband
?

‘My brother. I lost my whole family in one crazy afternoon and my safe little world crashed as surely as that helicopter. It’s never been the same since.’

‘That’s tough,’ he murmured, and meant it. He didn’t know how it felt to have a family—at least not a family where people loved and cared for each other—but he could empathise with those who did when he saw the pain of loss in their eyes. Even though he didn’t need or want that connection himself. ‘Do the authorities know what happened?’

‘Dad had a heart attack at the controls. We had no idea he had heart problems; he was always so fit and full of life. Dad loved to play up to the media.’ She smiled a small private and poignant smile that tugged at his heart. ‘He’d have been chuffed that he made the front page of the newspapers in three states.’

Their platter came. Charlotte set her linen napkin beside her plate and they ate for a few moments while they enjoyed the flavours of the food.

‘You must be used to the press, then,’ Nic said, choosing a coconut-covered melon ball.

‘I’ve always avoided it whenever possible.’

‘Why was that idiot reporter giving you a hard time?’

‘I …’ She trailed off on a sigh, and studied her wine glass as she twirled its stem between her fingers.

‘You should tell me about it. That way if it happens again—’

‘If it happens again, you won’t be there to rescue me.’ She met his eyes with a fierce finality and he knew it was the simple truth. She was leaving in two weeks. He wasn’t.

‘My fiancé and I broke up six weeks ago. He’s in the public eye. The guy was chasing the story behind it. I thought, stupidly, if I denied my identity he’d leave me alone.’

‘Did you love him? The fiancé.’ His question surprised him. The reason behind it and the knot that tightened around his heart in response surprised him more.

Of course she’d loved the man, he thought. He was beginning to understand Charlotte’s close ties to family. And he comprehended something very clearly: when she committed to people—whether it was her family or a man—it would be for keeps. So he figured she hadn’t broken it off; her ex had.

In any case, she sidestepped his question, asking one of her own. ‘What about your family, Nic?’

He never talked about his background. And with someone like Charlotte Dumont, society princess? He might as well be from the other side of the universe. She’d planned to marry and no doubt start her own family; he was a confirmed bachelor who lived for his work. Lived
in
his work; in a world where he ruled absolutely. They’d never find common ground.

Except in bed.

And wasn’t that all that really mattered here? ‘No siblings,’ he said. ‘I never knew my dad. My mother died twelve years ago.’ He set his fork down carefully and reached for his glass. ‘That’s about it.’

‘No.’ She hesitated before placing her hand over his, and her eyes filled with compassion. ‘That’s the short, sharp and shiny version you give to anyone who asks. But I’m not anyone and I’m here and I have all night … if you want to talk?’

‘I don’t want to talk.’ He turned her hand over, linked it with his. Slid his fingers slowly between hers, letting the tension build, watching her eyes change from sympathetic to wide and aware. Taking the focus away from his past. ‘Are you still hungry?’

Shaking her head, she slipped her napkin in her bag. ‘If I was, you just made me forget.’

With any other woman, he’d have smiled at the ease with which she’d surrendered, but the feelings Charlotte invoked were suddenly too strong for such trivialities. He rose and pulled her up, saw an answering flash in her eyes and tightened his grip. ‘What I
really
want to do is unwrap you, lie you down and make you forget you ever had a fiancé.’

L
EAVING
the lights and music and chatter behind, Charlotte half walked, half ran, her hand in Nic’s, urgency rushing through her veins like a waterfall after rain. They headed for soft sand and cool shadows and the eternal shoosh of the sea. As soon as they reached the shoreline she kicked off her sandals, swiped them up, laughing like a crazy woman.

Maybe it had something to do with near hysteria and never having experienced such urgency with a man. Flynn had been her only lover and it had been nothing like this.

Nic glanced down at her but didn’t loosen his hold. ‘What’s funny?’

‘This.’ She waved her sandals in the air. ‘Not so much funny as unexpected. I feel like a different person, I keep expecting to wake up and …’

Her laughter died and she trailed off and looked at him as he slowed his steps. His jaw was clenched, eyes fierce. A strange tight feeling clenched around her heart. ‘What?’

He didn’t answer, just pulled her further along the beach. The instant they were hidden from public view, he stopped and yanked her to him with both arms, so that she was pressed flat against his chest. ‘Charlotte, what you make me want to do to you,’ he muttered. He loosened his hold but only so that he could mould his hands around
her skull. His fingers twisted in her hair as he crashed his mouth down on hers.

Demanding, desperate. She tasted the richness of his lips and tongue, the darker flavour of his desire. His grinding need against her belly. He was not the casually suave and charming man to let a woman take the lead tonight. He was that dangerous animal she’d warned herself about.

And she abandoned her caution absolutely. Gave herself up to him without reservation or hesitation. Her senses were so attuned, she felt every tremor: his and hers. The soft skitter of night air over her arms, the cool sand squishing between her toes. The heat flowing between their tightly pressed bodies.

She heard the mutter of appreciation as he kissed her, his groan of reluctance as he pulled away. He dragged his fingers down through the length of her hair, then let it fall softly to her shoulders. ‘You were made for the night, Charlotte. That hint of the mysterious about you that makes me want to discover your deepest secrets.’ He looked down at her, eyes as dark as the ocean. ‘Do you still want to be alone?’

She knew it couldn’t last, but right now she felt as if she never wanted to be alone again. ‘I’d rather be with you,’ she said, and reached out her hand for his.

‘Come on,’ he said, tugging her forward again. They followed the curve of the beach in silence, starlight guiding them, creating silvery streaks across the shallow pools between the thin ribbons of sand. No words were necessary, both knew where they were headed.

His home came into view, blocking out a slab of the night sky; she recognised the louvred windows and the scrawny pines spearing skywards behind the stone wall.

But instead of heading towards it, he led her further along the beach and up where the sand was soft, and coastal
bushes provided protection. The air was pungent with marine life and rotting leaves.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘No one’ll find us.’ He sounded out of breath, as if he’d been running a marathon.

‘You sure?’ They were both breathless and it wasn’t only the rush to get here.

‘Sure I’m sure.’ A thread of that familiar teasing tone wound through the urgency. ‘The bushes are adequate cover.’

His fingers fumbled a bit as he untied the knot between her breasts and she plain forgot about whether they could be seen. The silky material slithered away, leaving her naked but for a pair of sheer black lace panties threaded with red satin ribbon … and two red bows covering her nipples.

‘Man, you are something else.’ Appreciation darkened his gaze, molten chocolate desire as it skimmed over her body. ‘Wow.’ He fingered the bows, peeled them off with care, exposing her taut nipples to the cool air.

‘These are designed for moments like this,’ she told him and took his hands, placed them on her hips where the side seams were held together with matching bows.

Humour touched his mouth. ‘You’re a clever girl.’ He tugged on the ends of the ribbon, watched the panties fall apart. ‘And a little bit wicked.’

She knew she surprised him, that he’d prejudged her, and took pleasure in the fact as she unbuttoned his shirt with quick fingers, then reached for the snap on his jeans. ‘I’m not what you expected, am I?’ she said between breaths, sliding her fingers between the denim band and hard masculine abdomen. ‘I’m not what I expected either—not with you. You turn me into someone I hardly know.’

His seductive hands were busy too, and a moan caught
in her throat as he flicked his thumbs over her nipples, the electric charge zapping straight to her womb. ‘I think it’s you who’s wicked, Dominic Russo.’

‘I think you talk too much,’ he muttered, and shut her up with a long, drugging kiss that turned her blood to quicksilver and left both of them speechless.

Her head spun with his taste and the hot, arousing scent of his skin. He’d reduced her body to a quivering mess of need. Any moment her knees would give way. She gave up on trying to undress him and lifted her now useless hands to clutch at the sides of his open shirt. ‘Hurry.’

A glint of a smile in those dark, dark eyes, and the sharpness, the intensity, the confidence of a man who knew his own sexual power. ‘You’ll need to let go of my shirt.’

Ah. Her arms fell limply as he shrugged it off. Grabbing a condom from his pocket, he shoved his jeans down long powerful legs, kicked the denim out of the way.

And then they were both naked, the night’s soft light bathing them in silver and black. The stars seemed to spin closer as he spread her sarong on the sand and tumbled her down with him.

He was hard as steel and inside her in seconds, mouth and hands greedy, devouring her demands as if they were his own. Just what she needed, fast and frantic and so, so hot.

Clever man. He knew just what she wanted. What she craved. Dizzy delight, unimaginable pleasure—they pounded through her system the way a storm surge crashed onto the beach, bringing her to peak and leaving her swamped and stunned and ravaged. Not in pain, but in breathless, glorious delirium.

No time to recover, he took her up again, driving her to the crest of the highest wave and over, then dragging her
under with him to some deep airless place where sanity vanished and passion ruled.

Finally spent, she coasted with him into calmer, shallower waters where touches grew languorous and kisses turned lingering. Time now to drift like the tide and think only of this moment and this man.

‘You’re not what I expected either,’ she murmured a few moments later. Or it could have been hours—time no longer seemed relevant.

He shifted so that he could pull the ends of her sarong around them. ‘What
did
you expect?’

‘Not this.’ She snuggled closer as the cooler air wafted over her skin. ‘I didn’t expect this. Us.’ The instant the word was out she knew she’d made a mistake.

‘Us …’ he said, carefully. ‘Babe, I don’t do “us”. I’m not that kind of guy; you should know that up front.’

He was blunt to the point of being curt but at least he was honest and she knew exactly where she stood. Which was where she told herself she wanted to be. Casual. No disappointments. But she’d given him the clingy female impression—a big no-no.

‘I meant the “us” as in being together again here kind of us.’ Embarrassed, she struggled for words. ‘After all, it was only supposed to be one night.’ She raised her head and forced a casual smile. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea.’

But he had got the wrong idea because he didn’t smile back, just went very still and looked up at the sky.

He’d made it obvious he wasn’t looking for anything more than temporary. Neither was she. She couldn’t. Not now, not yet. Maybe not ever, because she suddenly didn’t want to imagine being with a man who wasn’t Nic in this way ever again.

And how self-destructive was that kind of thinking?

She let her head flop back too, beside his, and stared
skywards at the drifting stars. ‘I’m leaving soon anyway so whatever we have is brief. If you still …’ She trailed off. She had no idea where his thoughts were.

‘Two weeks. My hours are flexible and you’re on vacation. We could spend that time together, if you’d like.’ His fingers touched hers but his gaze remained fixed on the stars. ‘What do you say?’

‘A holiday romance?’ Could she do that? Could she be romantically involved with a man knowing there was an end point? She’d never had a fling …

‘Why not?’ He shifted closer. ‘Perfect location for romance. A man who wants to please you when you want to be pleased and who’ll leave you alone when you want space. It’ll do you good.’

‘You think so?’

‘It’ll do us both good. I’ll be your part-time tour guide with benefits, you’ll be my muse.’

‘Part-time tour guide with benefits.’ She turned her head to look at him. ‘Does that sound romantic to you?’

He looked back at her and smiled, and all the stars seemed to fall into his eyes. ‘Trust me, I can do romantic.’

She bet he could. Problem was, could she let him do romantic and walk away unscathed?

After he’d seen Charlotte safely to her room and made arrangements to collect her for their school visit in the morning, restlessness drove Nic onto the balcony with a can of beer. He ripped off the tab, chugged down half the contents while he watched a ship’s winking lights skim the horizon.

Anywhere else, he’d have invited himself to a woman’s room to spend what was left of the night with her, but he had to consider his position at Vaka Malua. Which was why he never got involved with the resort’s guests. He knew Charlotte had expected him to bring her back
here. He’d seen it in her eyes when, instead of taking the quick route to his gate, they’d retraced their steps along the beach.

Us
. She’d coupled them together and it had triggered that familiar sensation that the walls were closing in around him. It spelled long-term and commitment.

Not for Nic Russo. And he believed in being upfront and open about it. No false expectations. He drank deeply, paced to the end of the balcony and back. At least he was honest and Charlotte said she admired that about him.

So a couple of weeks … Romantic didn’t have to mean complicated. Hell, no. He knew what women liked and it was a matter of pride that he’d never left a lover unsatisfied. They always understood his rules going in and were only too happy to play the game his way.

Of course, there were those few who hadn’t played by those rules; those who’d tried to insinuate themselves into his life with home-cooked meals and gifts and, sometimes, in desperation, tears. Nic was immune to those tricks.

But Charlotte was unlike any other lover. She was fun and witty and sensual, but she was
more
. More than the sexually vibrant woman she’d allowed him to see. He’d glimpsed an inherent shyness and insecurity she worked hard to hide. She’d just come out of a serious relationship, which made her vulnerable to no-strings guys like him.

She’d tried to get him to open up about his past. And she’d wanted to soothe. To share. To understand. And for one unguarded moment he’d found himself strangely tempted.

But there was that thorny issue of trust. The brilliant, beautiful and devious Angelica had taught him people weren’t always as they seemed and his fingers tensed on the can.

Just because he and Charlotte had a deeper than usual
rapport going didn’t mean he wanted to book the resort’s wedding chapel. A couple of weeks would be enough of an indulgence before getting back to what he did best. Work.

Stretching out on the wicker sofa, he breathed in the garden’s damp night fragrance and concentrated on the soothing sound of the sea and the evening breeze on his skin.

Maybe she wouldn’t be sleeping yet either. He punched the sofa’s cushion into shape behind his head. Maybe she’d be spread out on that big bed, those pearls around her throat, reliving their passion. Would she touch herself, remembering how he’d touched her …?

It was a long time before he slept.