Interview with the Daredevil
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‘Hell no!’
He laughed at her vehemence. ‘If not numbers, maybe words? What about using your numbers experience and using words to get your expertise across, maybe something like statistics lecturer or maths teacher?’
‘Couldn’t think of anything worse.’
Standing up in a room full of strangers watching her every move? No way. Too reminiscent of her past.
He tapped his bottom lip, thinking, while she focused on that lip. ‘Words … hey, what about writing?’
Her heart skipped a beat at his suggestion. Writing had once been a dream, a dream ripped asunder by the practicalities and expectations of being the prime minister’s daughter. She hadn’t written a word since Year Twelve English Lit, had turned her back on scrawling in her daily journals around the same time.
Ironically, when she’d been the brunt of the media’s smear campaign recently she’d wish she could report the facts and not the drivel printed. It had sparked a vague idea about writing again, perhaps using her experience to freelance, to be an interviewer famed for her integrity rather than headline grabbing.
Maybe it’d be fun to try again, but could she make a living from it? And who would hire her, an ex-financier who’d been publicly flayed for no other crime than bearing the Beckett name?
‘Take here, for instance, you’d have loads to write about.’
He snapped his fingers. ‘Let’s see. Melbourne’s newest hip hotel has a resident poolside attendant that incapacitates guests then resuscitates them with a little mouth-to-mouth—’
‘I kissed you,’ she blurted, mortified when his gaze flicked to her lips before meeting hers again, filled with heat and longing that took her breath away.
‘Yes, you did, and I can’t tell you how impressed I am.’
Enjoying his lighthearted flirtation more than she could’ve imagined, she screwed up her eyes, pretending to think.
‘With my technique? My impulsiveness? My—’
‘All of it.’
This time his gaze started at her lips and swept over her and, while he couldn’t see much beneath the voluminous grey robe, the smoulder told her he remembered every curve.
‘You know I don’t usually go around kissing strangers, right?’
‘We’re not strangers any more.’
He caressed her cheek, his finger starting at her temple and slowly stroking downwards towards her jaw, lingering under her chin to tip it up and when she looked into his eyes her temperature spiked.
Raw passion, the type of passion she’d read about in romance novels she’d hidden beneath her mattress as a teenager, a passion she secretly craved yet had never experienced, a passion she didn’t believe in.
Until now.
For Roman didn’t have to touch her to make her weak-kneed and hot. He didn’t have to sweet-talk her or use lines or do anything other than look at her.
When those darker-than-chocolate eyes looked at her, really looked at her, every female cell in her body snapped to attention, a subliminal reaction she had no hope of controlling. Totally, irrationally crazy.
Increasingly flustered under his burning stare, she aimed for flippant.
‘You should be safe from my randomly-lip-locking-strangers affliction, now we’re properly introduced and all.’
‘Pity.’
His thumb brushed her lower lip before his hand dropped away along with her belly and she floundered for a safe change of topic. There were only so many flirty comments and loaded stares a novice could handle.
‘Are you here on business?’
‘Of sorts.’
‘Sounds cryptic.’
He shrugged, the action emphasising the tension in his shoulders. ‘Time for new challenges so here I am.’
‘Trying to find a higher mountain to jump off than the ones you’ve already conquered around the world?’
‘Something like that.’
His smile didn’t reach his eyes and she wondered why he was really here.
‘What about you?’
‘Me?’
‘Are you up for new challenges? The writing idea?’
He’d subtly moved the focus back onto her. Interesting, as most of the guys in the social circles she’d moved in loved to talk about themselves but Roman seemed strangely reticent to discuss anything beyond here and now.
‘Is it something you could go for?’
If he only knew. She’d loved writing as a kid, had penned her first full-blown dragon-and-princess fantasy at eight, had won a short story comp run by a Melbourne newspaper at eleven and got top marks in English every year at the private girls’ school she’d attended.
Then her father had been elected Prime Minister and a starry-eyed fifteen year old with dreams of being a journalist-cum-fiction-writer had been indoctrinated into the expectations of a PM’s daughter, sending her dreams along with the many vivid plots dancing in her mind straight down the toilet.
She’d followed a career path deemed more suitable, giving up her ‘impulsive, flaky writing’ to enter economics.
Oh, she’d done well, both at university and the merchant bank she’d worked for—not that she ever had an option for failure—but getting creative with figures wasn’t a patch on getting creative with words and as her resentment had steadily built so had her frustration.
It had spilled over into all areas of her life, including her marriage, and while Leon had been amicable to the split she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been the major cause of the inevitable breakdown of their relationship.
‘Yeah, writing for a living would be great.’
‘What kind?’
‘Probably freelance for a start.’
Give her a chance to free the muse and get the words flowing again, then see if anyone would truly employ her with zilch experience in the field.
‘You should do it.’
Buoyed by his enthusiasm, she squared her shoulders. ‘Maybe I will.’
‘Good for you.’
He winked and her heart stuttered and stalled. ‘Go ahead, paint a picture in words for me.’
‘Now?’
‘Yeah, no time like the present to get you started on your new career path.’
He leaned closer and she sucked in a breath of heady male tinged with chlorine. ‘Describe your favourite holiday destination.’
‘Lizard Island,’ she blurted, needing to deflect those hypnotic dark eyes before she did something foolish, such as kiss him again. Though if her two-word answer was all she could come up with description-wise, she’d better ditch the writing idea now.
‘Whitsunday Islands?’
She nodded. ‘Not as well known as Hayman or Hamilton. Coastline’s more rugged, beaches more isolated. Off the beaten track.’
‘Unspoilt beauty can be more appealing than commercialised tourist traps.’
She silently chalked up another brownie point to him, in total agreement. She’d spent enough time traipsing around the world’s hot spots with Leon: from Monte Carlo to New York, London to Tokyo, playing a diplomat’s wife to perfection. Dining at Michelin-starred establishments, staying at exclusive spa resorts, mingling with the upper echelons of society, living the high life.
She would’ve rather camped in the Pyrenees and eaten hawker food and gone without pedicures than have her every move watched and scrutinised by people who almost wanted her to slip up so they could spread gossip or leak it to the press. Just as they had during her divorce.
She’d grown oblivious to the constant watching after a while, had pretended it hadn’t bothered her, but it had taken its toll.
She’d spent the bulk of her life under a microscope and the fact that she was here, staying in a funky hotel under a pseudonym, flirting with an adventurous guy so far removed from the men in her social circle, was so freaking fantastic she wanted to shout it to the world.
Or do something crazy, something impulsive, something so far removed from her past to render her a new woman.
Grabbing his hand before she had second thoughts, she looked him straight in the eye.
‘You know something? I’m pretty sure this concussion is worsening. Maybe you should walk me to my room after all?’
If he was surprised by her forwardness he didn’t show it. A consummate performer. Then again, a guy who looked like him probably had women throwing themselves at him every day of the week. What was one more?
‘Sure, no worries.’
He stood and held out a hand and as she stared at it she had a moment to change her mind.
Would she really go through with this? Invite a guy she barely knew back to her room? Have sex with him? Her first one-night stand?
‘I’ll just leave you at your door …’
His hand wavered but before he could lower it hers shot out and grabbed it as she surged to her feet, wobbly, off balance for a second before he steadied her.
She wanted to explain why she was doing this, wanted to give him a clue as to what this meant for her, but how to do it without sounding like a naïve moron?
‘Ava, don’t worry about it. If it’s easier I’ll leave you here—’
‘I’m a prime minister’s daughter and I’m four weeks out of a lacklustre marriage to a politician and I’ve spent my life doing the right thing and saying the right thing and I’m sick of it and I want a little adventure of my own and—’
‘Shh …’
He placed a finger against her lips and she exhaled, embarrassed by her blurted admission.
Taking a deep breath to quell her mortification, she risked a quick glance at his face. If she saw pity, she was out of here.
Instead, his understanding had her swaying unconsciously towards him, her body recognising on some subconscious level what her mind only just realised.
This guy was special.
‘You don’t owe me any explanations.’
He lowered his finger, traced a path along her jaw, under her ear, across her collarbone, lingering in the hollow there.
‘I think you’re amazing and if you want me to spend the night with you, the pleasure is all mine.’
Ava would’ve melted into a puddle of lust there and then if not for his strong arm sliding around her waist, supporting her as they strolled towards the lifts.
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t, not with her throat constricting and her diaphragm heaving and her pulse pounding so hard she could barely hear herself think.
When they reached the lifts he squeezed her gently and she automatically snuggled into his side.
‘You sure about this?’
She hadn’t been sure about taking an economics major, she hadn’t been sure about marrying Leon and she sure as hell wasn’t sure what she’d do next career-wise but if there was one thing she was sure of tonight this was it.
‘Does room 1620 answer your question?’
She held her breath as he guided her into the elevator, hit the sixteen button and brushed a soft kiss across her lips.
‘Perfectly,’ he said as they stood like silent sentinels, watching the panel counting down the numbers from twenty-seven to sixteen, and when the elevator pinged and the doors slid open on the sixteenth floor she could’ve sworn she experienced an adrenalin rush no jump off a bridge could ever hope to reproduce.
CHAPTER THREE
ROMAN had exactly sixty seconds to extricate himself from this situation and make a run for it.
How many times had he aborted a jump due to risky conditions? Or rescheduled a climb for another day due to changeable, unfavourable winds?
Too many to count and right now he had that same churning in his gut telling him something wasn’t right.
He knew what it was. Despite her forwardness Ava had vulnerable written all over her. And he’d had a gutful of susceptible females, considering the major reason he’d fled to Australia was to get as far away from one as possible.
Not entirely fair, as Ava had more strength in her little finger than Estelle had in her entire passive-aggressive body, but fresh from another emotionally draining bout with his moody mother left him with little impetus to fall headlong into another potentially fragile situation, even if it was for only a night.
Ava practically bounced along beside him as they traversed the long corridor to her room, oblivious to his dilemma.
For that was what he was facing: lose himself for a night in a wild, passionate encounter guaranteed to refresh or give the woman beside him another reason to doubt herself if he ditched her at her door.
She’d do it too, probably rehash their pool encounter at length and come to the erroneous conclusion that she’d said or done something wrong to drive him away.
He’d hate that, for he could see she’d already had the life squished out of her. Being a prime minister’s daughter would’ve been hell, not to mention a politician’s wife, and the fact she’d gathered enough courage to invite him back to her room for a one-night stand spoke volumes.
A month out of a divorce, she needed to test the freedom waters. It had nothing to do with getting laid and everything to do with asserting a femininity he’d hazard a guess had been battered.
He’d seen mates go through divorces and one word summed them up. Ugly. How much harder had it been for Ava, with the added pressure of her family name?
The right thing to do would be to walk her to her door, kiss her goodnight and wish her a happy life. The last thing she needed was a guy who made an art out of escapism, who’d outrun an Olympian at the first sign of anything deeper than casual.
And Ava needed deeper. She needed a good guy to nurse her through this tender period, a guy to build her confidence, a guy to be there for her.
He sure as hell wasn’t that guy.
He’d make sure she made it safely back to her room, try to assure her he’d had a fun evening and make a run for it.
Decision made, he risked a sideways glance at her, his gut instantly tightening and making a mockery of his resolution.
Water droplets clung to the strands of hair framing her glowing face, her skin still dewy and damp from their pool encounter. Her body was completely covered in the hotel’s voluminous robe but he could remember every intriguing detail: the nip of her waist, the flare of her hips, her smooth caramel-toned legs, her breasts … The tension within him coiled tighter, strangling his resolve to leave her and walk away. He knew what he had to do. Shame his libido wasn’t with the programme yet.
‘Almost there.’
A barely detectable tremor underscored her husky tone and in that second his intention to leave her alone took a serious hit.
Her susceptibility was the one thing driving him away yet that audible hint of vulnerability had him wanting to hold her close all night.
He wasn’t usually a sucker for a damsel in distress—discounting Estelle, who’d worked out he was an easy target for a single mother and who never let him forget that fact every day of his life.
Nope, he usually went for confident, showy women. Women proud of their assets, who knew how to use them. Women like him. Nothing wrong with grabbing the spotlight and staying there, something he’d perfected out of necessity.
So why was he so hung up over a naive divorcee primed to test her newfound independence?
‘Here we are.’
With her back to the door, she gazed at him with a gut-punching mix of wary optimism and expected rejection. The rejection hit him hardest, as if she’d expected him to walk away all along.
‘You sure—’
Her fingertips pressed against his lips, effectively silencing him, and when her hand trailed slowly downwards, her palm coming to rest over his heart, he knew he couldn’t do it.
Walking away would be like kicking a defenceless puppy. Not that he pitied her, far from it. He admired her pluck in a world that must be topsy-turvy for her right about now.
Women reeling from divorces might want to assert their independence but often didn’t follow through so the fact they’d got this far notched up his admiration further.
When her palm slid lower, lingered on his upper abs, her fingers tentatively exploring, he didn’t pity her or admire her, he just plain wanted her and taking a step closer, their bodies barely touching, he knew that whatever happened when they stepped through that door, he wanted to make this night memorable for her.
When Ava had headed for a late-night swim she hadn’t expected to bring back a visitor to her room so when she slid the key card into the slot and opened the door to her room, she baulked.
‘Problem?’
Yeah, there was a problem.
She’d never done this before.
Inviting a guy she’d just met back to her room for sex? So far out of the realms of reality to be ludicrous. Except for the fact she had an incredibly hot, amazingly gorgeous guy hovering behind her, waiting for them to take their flirtation all the way.
Was she nervous? Hell yeah, but anticipation far outweighed her nerves.
A moment ago, she’d thought Roman would kiss her goodnight and walk away. He’d had that look, the look of a guy wanting to do the right thing.
She never should’ve blurted that stuff about being recently divorced; for all she knew, this was a pity lay.
Would it matter? Considering how Roman had made her feel the last hour, probably not. She wanted to explore the attraction between them, wanted to see if the excitement making her nerves buzz and her muscles clench could carry over into the best sex of her life.
Staying in this hotel had been all about a fresh start and what better way to kick-start her new life than with an unforgettable night with a guy who made her insides quiver with a single look?
A delicious shiver ran through her as Roman nuzzled her ear, his arms sliding around her waist from behind, pulling her close to reveal evidence of how he could make all her problems vanish over the next few hours.
‘The place is a mess,’ she said, tilting her head back to look at him.
‘I’m not here to check out the place.’
His mouth crushed hers in a breath-stealing kiss to prove it and her last-minute doubts faded into oblivion.
When he finally gave her a chance to breathe again, she said, ‘Right, now we’ve cleared that up, come on in.’
Laughing, they tumbled through the door and as it slammed shut they reached for each other, oblivious to the mess, oblivious to everything but satisfying the hunger that had started with an unexpected kiss.
Ava wanted to tear off his robe, push him against the nearest wall and jump him.
She settled for tugging on his robe sash so hard he slammed against her and she staggered slightly, getting her wish reversed when her back hit the wall.
‘Uh … it’s been a while for me,’ she said, feeling the need to explain her desperate behaviour.
In response he captured her face between his hands and kissed her, long, hot, open-mouthed kisses that made further explanations unnecessary.
Her knees would’ve buckled if he hadn’t pressed his body to hers, holding her upright with every delicious, hard plane.
As his tongue danced with hers she strummed his shoulders, his back, revelling in the defined muscles, the lean sinews.
When her hands moved lower, exploring the contours of one very fine ass, he moaned, pressing his pelvis into hers, making her crumple just that little bit more.
‘You’re driving me wild,’ he murmured against the side of her mouth and she groped him, unable to keep the smug grin off her face.
She’d never driven any guy wild in her entire life and to think a guy like Roman, who’d probably had enough adrenalin rushes to keep him high for life, found her exciting enough to drive him wild … well, it was the best aphrodisiac ever.
‘You think this is funny?’
‘I think this is fantastic,’ she said, her fingertips toying with the waist of his wet board shorts.
The corner of his mouth kicked up along with an eyebrow.
‘Then why the grin?’
‘Because I’m happier than I’ve been in a while.’
The truth spilled out and as surprise lit his eyes she wished she could take it back.
This wasn’t the time for stark reality.
This was a time to forget the past; to live in the future.
Before he could ask any more questions or she could blurt out any more mood-killers, she wrapped a leg around him, surprised when he murmured, ‘Me too,’ in her ear.
Before she could ponder why a rich, gorgeous, adventurous guy like him would be anything other than happy he systematically ravaged her, starting at the top and working his way down.
He ripped off her robe and her nipples instantly hardened as he stared at her breasts through the wet Lycra.
Her simple navy one-piece was conservative by swimsuit standards these days but the way Roman devoured her with his eyes made her feel as if she wore the skimpiest, sexiest swimsuit ever.
Not that she was wearing it for long.
Hooking his thumbs under the straps, he peeled them down.
Slowly.
Revealing one breast first, then another, his hungry stare making her skin pebble.
She sucked in a breath as he continued stripping her, kneeling in front of her as he tugged the swimsuit lower … and lower … his breath fanning her belly.
Lower still and she stiffened as the swimsuit snagged on her butt. Using his hands, he slid them under the Lycra and eased it over and down her legs, baring her to him and she shivered, more from the intensity and hunger in his stare than the air-conditioned chill in the air.
‘Jeez,’ he murmured, his hands stroking her ankles, her calves, the backs of her knees, lingering on the insides of her thighs and gently nudging her apart.
She watched him, so turned on she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, for wanting him to touch the part of her throbbing for him.
Second after torturous second passed before his head eased forward and his mouth finally touched her where she yearned to be touched.
Her pelvis arched as his tongue flicked her, once, twice and she whimpered, the tension within her spiralling out of control too soon, too fast.
But she was powerless to stop it and as he spread her further, his tongue lapping at her, she came apart on a drawn-out scream.
Senseless, boneless, she would’ve slid down the wall if his strong hands hadn’t braced her waist and as he kissed his way upwards, his tongue tracing a slow, scorching path towards her breasts, her need for him increased.
‘That was … ooh …’
His mouth clamped around a nipple, sucking it while his hand kneaded her other breast, and the tension started again, coiling, tightening.
She wanted to say that was spectacular, sensational, stupendous, and a whole host of other totally inadequate adjectives. But he didn’t give her time to think.
Before shrugging off his robe he pulled his wallet out of the pocket, snaffled a foil packet, stripped off his board shorts as if it were the most natural thing in the world and made quick work of a condom.
While she struggled to breathe as she watched the entire time.
Time slowed as she watched him roll the condom over his arousal, thick and long, and she clenched her hands to stop from reaching out and finishing the job for him.
When she finally wrenched her gaze away, she sucked in a breath, for he was looking at her the same way: wide-eyed, dazed and ravenous.
Needing him inside her, now, she opened her arms to him and he didn’t need to be asked twice.
His hands splayed her waist as he hoisted her up and she wrapped her legs around him.
He nudged her entrance and she moaned as he slid in, inch by exquisite inch, until he filled her.
His mouth claimed hers as he started to move, gliding in and out, trying to keep it slow.
But she didn’t want slow. She wanted hard and fast. She wanted the type of sex she’d never had.
Her pelvis took on a life of its own as she bucked against him, urging him on and he obliged, pumping into her until she was mindless, clawing to the edge of another monumental orgasm before falling over the other side in a blaze of heat and glory.