‘Enough,’ she muttered, and when he bared his teeth against her cheek on a groan of pure frustration, ‘Greyson, stop.’ Grey’s body protested but he gentled his hold on her and held still while she nestled her forehead into the curve of his shoulder, her body trembling as she sought to master her desire and his. ‘I’m not saying no.’ Her lips and breath were warm against the skin of his neck, that sex-soaked voice doing nothing to aid her cause. ‘I’m saying not here, and not now. Let’s not be insane.’
Rich, coming from her.
But he slid her down gently, let her find her feet and step away and put some distance between them. One foot and then another until reason and caution returned.
‘What just happened?’ she asked warily.
‘You want the standard biology lecture or shall we just summarise and say that the dopamine and adrenaline kicked in? Hard.’
‘In other words, just an ordinary everyday biological response to sexual stimulus,’ she murmured and leaned against her workbench. ‘Nothing more.’
‘Exactly.’ Thank God for analytical minds. ‘I may be a little overdue for release in that particular arena. I’ve been out of touch with female company for a while. Nothing for you to worry about. Nothing I can’t control.’
She sent him a look, dark amusement running deep.
‘So I’ll pick you up Sunday morning at around eleven thirty,’ he said, ignoring his growing unease when it came to spending any amount of time with the delectably loopy Charlotte Greenstone. ‘It’ll take us an hour to get there. Barbecue starts at one. I figure we can be gone by three.’
‘You’re sure about this?’ She folded her arms across her slim waist.
‘I’m sure.’ More or less.
‘How would you like me dressed?’
Greyson blinked. ‘Do you normally ask a man this question?’
‘Normally, I can figure it out on my own. With you, all bets are off.’
He still didn’t have an answer to her question.
‘I’m not asking you for your colour preferences, Greyson. I’m asking you for your social status. I realise it doesn’t show, but I’m not without wealth. The kind that takes generations to acquire. You want me to wear it or not?’
‘Up to you,’ he said with a shrug. ‘My family is solidly middle class. My mother’s a paediatrician and my father’s a mechanical engineer currently contracted to the Australian Defence Force. My ex is a psychiatrist. We’re heading for a holiday house on the banks of the Hawkesbury. It’s private, sprawling, and comfortable in a totally different way from the showpiece you inhabit. There’ll be good wine, home-cooked food, and enough conversation to fill any gaps. Is that enough information?’
‘Plenty,’ she murmured, her gaze turning speculative. ‘Believe it or not, I just want to get this right and hopefully get the job you want me to do done with as little bloodshed as possible. Do you have any siblings?’
‘No.’
‘Anything else I should know in advance? Your ex-fiancée, Sarah. Will she be protective of you?’
‘Not without analysing the situation and every possible response to it first.’
‘Marvellous,’ muttered Charlotte, with the lift of a sweetly pointed chin. ‘You do realise that a psychiatrist will probably have a field day with me. I’m not without my eccentricities.’
‘Really? Who’d have guessed?’ Time to leave before he closed the distance between them and set his lips to the slender curve of her neck. ‘Look at it this way, it’ll give her something to do. Oh, and before I forget your what-to-wear question,’ he said as he opened her office door, ‘my favourite colour’s green.’
GREEN it was, and a vibrant tree-frog green at that, shot through with yellows and vivid reds, pinks, and purples. Okay, so maybe calling her silk spaghetti-strapped sundress green was a stretch. Maybe green was only one of the colours splashed on it, but it was suitably bohemian, flattering to the figure, and inviting to the touch.
The matching manilas or Portuguese slave bracelets Charlotte wore at her wrists were a particularly nice touch, considering her services for the day had been bought and paid for. Part of Aurora’s eclectic collection of antiquities, the beaten brass bracelets could almost be classified as green and would hopefully give Sarah the psychiatrist something to dwell on.
Just one more reason to make Sarah reconsider whether she wanted to renew a relationship with a man whose current paramour indulged his every whim.
Tedious business, the indulging of a man’s whims.
Charlotte’s make-up was subtle and she’d decided against perfume. Her demeanour was obliging; she’d been practising all morning.
Time to get this over with. This task she had no taste for.
This dashing of another woman’s hopes and dreams.
As far as anthropological experiments were concerned, Grey had a strong suspicion that this one was ripe for failure. Too many variables. Far too many unknowns. Social interaction between him and Charlotte had been volatile, at best. Add the pretence of a relationship, his parents, and an ex-fiancée to the mix, and the impending family barbecue had all the hallmarks of social disaster.
When he drove up Charlotte’s gravelled circular driveway and she looked up from her watering of the plants beneath the portico and smiled, he groaned aloud.
He’d ordered a free-spirited woman. By Charlotte’s translation, this seemed to mean a golden-limbed goddess wrapped in a slip of a dress that dazzled the eyes. A wild profusion of wavy black hair tumbled to her waist and showcased her dress to perfection. Completing the outfit were flat sandals that looked suspiciously like ballet slippers, and huge grey-tinted sunglasses courtesy of someone’s Elton John collection.
Bring on the circus.
He brought the car to a standstill. A hired, late-model four door Toyota, nothing special, hopefully reliable. Charlotte cut the tap, rolled up the hose on its reel and tucked hose and reel into a low cupboard, seemingly built for that purpose. Money, and lots of it, thought Grey. Enough to make conforming to society’s rules optional, never mind the tidy hose arrangement. It might be worth discussing a few rules of engagement before they reached his parents’ place. Spell out just what he expected of an unconventional yet perfectly acceptable partner in deception.
Charlotte collected up a handbag and wrap from beside the front door. She made sure the door was locked and made her way towards the Toyota. She bent down and smiled at him through the window, showing even white teeth and an abundance of free-spirited cleavage.
She made no move to get in the car.
Gritting his own teeth, Grey slid from the car, strode around it and hauled the door open for her. ‘Why couldn’t you have been a feminist?’ he said.
‘Why on earth would I want to be a feminist?’ she muttered as she slid into the seat and waited for him to close the door. ‘Where’s the power in that?’
He shut the door. Gently. He got back in the car.
‘You’ll notice I’m not currently wearing a bra,’ she said briskly.
Oh, he’d noticed.
‘That’s because the bodice of this dress fulfils that function, not because it’s a feminist convention of the late last century.’
‘Noted,’ he said.
‘I would, however, have made a wonderful suffragette,’ she told him. ‘There are many principles of equality that I