From Sydney With Love: With This Fling... / Losing Control / The Girl He Never Noticed

‘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.’