The Party Dare

‘The party hasn’t started yet.’

His voice took on a persuasive tone that brushed over her skin like velvet. He seemed to draw something from her that she’d never known she had. Was she out of her depth with this one?

‘Do you think I’m going to abandon my hostess responsibilities for a frolic across the sheets with you?’

He raised a dark brow. ‘Are you?’

The scary thing was she had a feeling that was exactly what was going to happen.

He closed the door, muting the sound of the party below.

She clutched the edge of the dressing table on either side of her hips. If she touched him she might not be responsible for her actions, and with him she very much needed to be responsible.

His head dipped … his mouth hovered. ‘I’ll admit to a little curiosity of my own,’ he murmured, and touched his lips to hers.

Dear Reader

Brie’s story hadn’t fully formed in my mind when I began writing my last book, MISTLETOE NOT REQUIRED, where Brie makes her first appearance. Brie supported her friend Olivia when she had to make some heart-wrenching decisions. Likewise, Olivia was there for Brie as Brie struggled to improve her relationship with her long-lost brother, Jett.

Because that’s what friends are for.

From the start, Olivia’s party-loving friend was demanding to be noticed—so much so that I had to promise her a book of her own, and here it is.

Digging into Brie’s past to find out why she’s such an attention-seeker was the fun part—giving her a worthy opponent even more so.

Leo Hamilton is a short-term, casual kind of guy when it comes to women and relationships. His brutal past and consequent responsibilities have made him a bit of a control freak, and this aspect of his personality immediately clashes with Brie’s sassy independence.

He’s also a man of integrity—as Brie is about to find out for herself …

Anne

The Party Dare

Anne Oliver

ANNE OLIVER lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and with its perfect location and relaxed lifestyle why would she want to leave?

In another life Anne was an early childhood teacher, but not long after she began writing paranormal and time travel adventures as a weekend escape she knew it was more than a hobby. Eventually preferring the fun of writing contemporary romance, she dreamed of swapping yard duties for the life of a published author.

It happened in December 2005, when she was accepted by Mills & Boon® for their Modern Heat™ series. The dream continued when her first two published novels won the Romance Writers of Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year in 2007 and 2008. She considers herself very lucky to have been a finalist for the same award in 2012 and 2013.

Other interests include animal welfare and conservation, quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook.

Visit Anne at her website: www.anne-oliver.com

DEDICATION

To make a friend you first have to be one.

With thanks to my critique partners:

Kathy, Linda, Lynn and Suzie.

Thanks also to my editor, Meg Lewis, who read the story and asked the right questions.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

DEDICATION

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

‘I should forewarn you the purchaser intends to renovate. Big time.’

‘Renovate? Big time?’ Breanna Black blinked at her soon-to-be departing next-door neighbour, Carol. ‘Do you know what that involves, exactly?’

‘I overheard elevator and wall demolition to make way for indoor pool mentioned. Amongst other things.’

The words were still echoing in Brie’s head at Carol and George’s farewell dinner more than twenty-four hours later. She shook her head as she rinsed her hands in Carol’s upstairs bathroom. The Reece-Bartons had sold their beautiful mansion, East Wind, to a moron. East Wind was a mirror image of Brie’s West Wind next door, built by brothers in the late nineteenth century. Obviously Leo Hamilton—her new clueless neighbour—didn’t appreciate historical structures or their significance. She swiped up the hand towel, rubbing away at the excess energy she didn’t know what to do with. An indoor pool? For heaven’s sake. If he wanted—

‘Apologies for the interruption, George.’ An unfamiliar voice drifted up the stairs. ‘I didn’t realise you had company.’

Deep and rich and silky, the timbre seemed to harmonise with the foyer’s warm wood-panelled walls where she imagined the recent arrival standing. Pushing the bathroom door wider, she cocked an ear in the direction of the stairwell and listened.

The actual words were muffled by the flautist’s rendition of “Greensleeves” and the disorder of mingled conversations from the twenty or so guests, but it was the tone that hooked her attention. Would he look as scrumptious as he sounded? she wondered. A shiver of lust shimmied down her spine. Would he sound the same in bed?

Then George and his visitor moved from the foyer, their voices merging with those at the dinner party.

Wow. Brie straightened away from the wall she’d been leaning against and moved to the mirror. She hoped he’d stay for a drink at least so she could get a gander at him but she took her time repairing her make-up, determined not to give in to temptation and rush downstairs merely to satisfy her curiosity. Whoever he was.

Finally, she slid her lip-gloss into her purse and exited the bathroom. He was probably married with six kids. Except he didn’t sound married. ‘And what exactly does married sound like?’ she scoffed out loud. He had to be short, then—being six foot tall herself had its disadvantages. Except she couldn’t imagine anyone with a voice like that being anything but...

Perfect.

He appeared on the top stair as if she’d conjured him up, and her normally forthright and confident ‘Hi’ turned into a breathless schoolgirl sound of awe and appreciation.

He gave a brief half-nod. Said, ‘Evening,’ in that sexy as sin voice. One hand on the newel post, he stepped onto the upstairs landing. Thirtyish. Tall. Taller than her. Close-cropped dark hair, steel-grey eyes. Whipcord lean and tanned—her idea of a perfect man in one succinct package from his clean-shaven jaw to his crisp white business shirt and twilight-blue tie to his perfectly pressed charcoal trousers...with security pass clipped to his belt.

Leo Hamilton.

She almost groaned aloud. Perfect to look at but sadly that was where it ended.

Her smile remained frozen in half bloom on her lips. She refused to be seduced by his better than gorgeous looks. Beauty was only skin deep after all. Wasn’t it great timing that she’d just fixed her lip-gloss? She frowned at the ridiculous thought that popped up from nowhere. No. It wasn’t great at all.

What she really wanted to do was tell him exactly where to stick his renovation ideas. But she straightened slowly, drew in air tinged with the faint scent of skin-warmed cotton and reminded herself there was nothing to be gained by rudeness. Pull yourself together, Brie. Smile. Forget those pesky little renovations he’s planning and try the neighbourly, welcoming approach.

To start with at least.

‘Mr Hamilton. I couldn’t help but notice your name.’ Oh... Wrong place to look. She gave a little shrug—wrong place to wear it—and dragged her eyes from his crotch and up to meet his grey impenetrable ones. ‘I’m Breanna Black.’ She stepped forward, stuck out her hand. ‘Your next-door neighbour.’

He nodded, all unsmiling and enigmatic. ‘Breanna.’ He took so long to extend his own, Brie wondered for a moment if he intended responding at all.

When he did, at last, take her hand in a decisive grip, she didn’t reciprocate like some weak-willed female meeting her teenage idol but with the same strength and intensity as he. He looked startled. His eyes widened and his jaw tightened and she got an impression of hard, wide, slightly roughened palm before he released her. Or had she pulled free first?

Whatever, that first contact was as brief as it was disconcerting so she followed up quickly with, ‘Call me Brie. I’ve heard you’re moving here from Melbourne?’ And a few other not so good things besides.

‘It’s more of an investment, but yes. You heard correctly.’ The way he said that last, almost accusatory, made it sound as if she were the town busybody when he was the ignoramus with no appreciation for history or architecture. And okay, she was interested only because he was going to be living next door—and renovating—which might affect the property value of her own home.

‘Bad week at the office?’ she murmured. ‘Thank God it’s Friday?’ When he simply stared at her and made no attempt to reply, Brie continued, ‘Carol told me. That you’re from the mainland.’ She defended what she considered her reasonable query, even if he did not. ‘She and George are more friends than neighbours. So, you’ve big plans for this place?’ The words shot out before she could stop them. ‘An indoor pool, I hear?’

‘Do you believe everything you hear?’

His cool stare matched his barely veiled criticism then he glanced down the stairwell, giving her time to check out his profile. The neat shape of his ear, the pinprick of evening stubble along the sharp jawline. Her trained therapist’s eye couldn’t help but notice his suntanned skin would benefit from one of her men’s all-fruit facials, and her mouth tingled at the errant thought of licking it off— Stop.

She pressed her lips together. Unlike the Reece-Bartons, this man was not her friend. In any way. If she could just convince her woman’s body of that fact. ‘Not at all, but I believe Carol. Are you aware that this home is a signific—?’

‘Chris, up here.’ He raised a hand to some unseen body below, effectively cutting Brie off.

The lifelong sense of powerlessness she’d always felt at being repeatedly ignored bristled along her spine. ‘Excuse me?’

His focus turned sharply and wholly back to Brie. She wasn’t being ignored now and the words she’d been about to say melted off her tongue. They stood almost eye to eye. Mouth to mouth. Breast to chest. Her nipples tightened. So did her belly. Somehow he made her feel dainty and petite, an achievement no man had ever accomplished. His gaze seemed to check her out from the roots of her hair to her low-heeled boots and every place between.

‘My architect,’ he said, finally.

Architect. Chris. Right. Now she had his attention back, she struggled to regather the thread of their conversation. ‘What does he think of your plans?’

But she was suddenly speaking to empty space because, without a second glance, he was headed back the way he’d come, his masculine scent drifting on the air behind him.

Rude. Inexcusably, unjustifiably rude. Brie saw a blonde clutching a tablet device to her ample bosom, which was plumped over an inappropriately low neckline. She watched the woman move to meet him at the foot of the stairs. His architect. Female. Of course. He actually smiled at the woman and Brie fought a stab of pique. He wasn’t ignoring Chris.

She watched them compare notes, converse a moment, then George appeared and both men walked towards the front door while Chris and her tablet headed towards the kitchen. The guys shook hands but just when Brie thought he’d forgotten she’d ever existed, Leo Hamilton turned his head and that enigmatic silver gaze found her, skimming her entire body again.

Her skin prickled, as if he’d given her an all-over body scrub with one of her salon’s best exfoliating mitts. She shivered and resisted the urge to soothe her arms.

A corner of his mouth lifted. A smile? Or a smirk... As if he knew the effect he’d had on her. She narrowed her eyes. Damn. She was a confident woman when it came to any man, hunky or otherwise, so why this particular man wielded that power she had no idea—he was irritating and arrogant and dismissive. And a bunch of other things she refused to waste her time thinking about.

If he began to raise his hand in some sort of belated farewell, she didn’t see it. Eyes averted and head high, she started downstairs. She heard the front door close and aimed a smile George’s way. ‘I hope I didn’t scare him off.’

‘I’d venture your new neighbour’s not a man who scares easily,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘He had a plane to catch.’ George fell into step beside her as they headed back to the dinner table. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted,’ he said with the devil in his voice.

A half-laugh caught in her overheated throat and she had to clear it. ‘He’s not my type.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ Granted, conservative senior citizen George probably thought every man was her type since he’d probably never seen her turn into her driveway with the same guy twice.

But he’d be wrong. She enjoyed men but she was discerning in her choice of partners. The arrogant guy next door with the mellow bedroom voice? No way.

She shook off the double distraction of Leo Hamilton and her bedroom in the same image. Apart from finding out what his intentions were for East Wind—which she could do by talking with his architect if necessary—she couldn’t wait to ignore him the next time she saw him.

* * *

Leo leaned back against the prestige cab’s headrest as they headed for the airport. What the hell had happened back there? His whole body was still vibrating, as if he’d been blasted sideways by a sonic boom.

The after-effects of the shockwave that was Breanna Black.

His libido had jolted awake and demanded breakfast, an occurrence so unexpected and so irrational given his usual taste in women that he’d left Chris with the calculations he’d intended checking through alongside her.

He barely noticed Hobart’s lights winking as he crossed the Tasman Bridge. A neighbour who could light his fire with just a look was a complication he didn’t need. Perhaps he could oversee what needed to be done via email? He dismissed that idea with an impatient snap of fingers against his thigh—this project was as personal as it was important.

Whereas she wasn’t important. In any way. He refused to alter his plans on a woman’s account. Particularly one he’d just met.

And now he was going to be at the airport half an hour earlier than planned where he’d no doubt spend that time digging her out from beneath his skin.

He didn’t have time for the attraction. The distraction. Or whatever the hell Breanna Black was.

Still, if he had to choose one word to describe her it would be stunning. Not in the usual way one called a woman stunning but in a stun-gun kind of way—and he was still feeling the burn.

She was all about impact rather than beauty. There was nothing subtle about her. Her cheekbones were too wide and too sharp for her face. Then there was the eye-popping lime tasselled top that stretched taut over firm, round and very generous breasts. Her mouth...ripe and red and damned if he hadn’t wanted to move in and—

He closed his eyes but the woman’s image blistered the back of his eyelids. Her hair a shiny river of blackberry silk flowing over her shoulders. Midnight eyes flashing with an inner fire, which made him wonder if that apparent passion for knowing other people’s business extended to her bedroom.

Leo pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate the tension building between his brows. He wasn’t being entirely fair. Breanna had introduced herself at least, whereas he’d not exactly been Mr Congeniality.

Nice work, Hamilton. Way to antagonise the new neighbour. His sister needed an ally in this new community—another woman she could rely on when he wasn’t around—not an adversary.

So he wouldn’t be telling Sunny about bumping into Ms Black yet, he decided. If he happened to see Breanna next weekend—and he didn’t intend going out of his way to do so, but if he did—he’d make more of an effort. For Sunny’s sake.

* * *

Two hours later the Melbourne night wrapped its chill around his bones as he jogged up the shallow stone stairs of home. The evocative strains of violin drifted from within. Sunny was weaving her magic and he listened with brotherly pride. Little wonder she’d been accepted into Hope Strings, which performed as part of Tasmania’s prestigious Philharmonic Orchestra, and at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

Rose and amber light spilled through the front door’s stained glass, and as he pushed it open the delicious aroma of Mrs Jackson’s slow-cooked bouillabaisse filled the air. His highly valued daytime housekeeper, and worth every cent he paid her.

He shrugged out of his coat and paused, a feeling of warmth seeping through him. Unlike his childhood, these days coming home gave him a comforting sense of peace and achievement.

But circumstances were about to change yet again. With Sunny’s exciting new career taking off, despite her physical challenges, his little sister had demanded her independence. In no time at all, she’d be in her own home, in a new state. Alone. She’d point-blank refused his offer to employ a live-in housekeeper but had agreed to a cleaner on the condition she paid the woman’s wages herself.

He zoned out and let the violin’s sweet melancholy wash over him. Enjoy the moment while you can.

The house fire had robbed Sunny of the use of her now withered right leg and deformed foot, but had that slowed her down? Not on your life. If anything it had made her stronger, more determined.

She’d have that autonomy with his blessing—and some conditions. He’d arranged to install a personal emergency alarm system and insisted she wear a distress pendant at all times while in the house. And—yes, Ms Black—he had indeed checked out the feasibility of a pool.

Tasmania’s climate didn’t favour an outdoor construction, so he’d been considering alternatives. Sunny loved swimming; she found the weightlessness liberating. But not when she was alone. Which was why, in the end, he’d decided against the pool. It wasn’t in keeping with the home and he didn’t trust her to stay away from a pool when he wasn’t there.

His freelance environmental management consultancy business took him to Tasmania on a regular basis and he anticipated dropping by her place at every opportunity. He also intended purchasing a suitable apartment nearby for himself. She could yell control freak and uncompromising jerk as often and loudly as she liked—he was immune as far as her insults were concerned, and was more than comfortable with any label she threw at him so long as she was safe.

‘Why are you standing there all by yourself and looking like the world’s about to end?’

‘Hey, Suns.’ He realised he’d been lost in thought awhile. ‘I was listening to you play and thinking how quiet it’s going to be here.’

‘Doesn’t say much for my skills then; I stopped five minutes ago.’ She was leaning on her elbow crutch in a slant of light studying him with a half-smile on her lips, blonde hair curling in wisps around her face.

He nodded, coming out of what felt like a daze. ‘I’ll want a CD of your music.’ He was going to miss her. Sunny by name, Sunny by nature.

‘Already working on it.’ She cocked her head. ‘Problem with the new house?’

Why did her question immediately conjure a certain dark-haired dynamo rather than his latest property acquisition? ‘A few surprises, that’s all.’

That famous Sunny mood dimmed. ‘So there is a problem.’

‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ He walked to her, clasped her shoulders with both hands and smiled his reassurance. ‘I’m ravenous. Did you wait for me?’

‘Of course I did.’

He squeezed her shoulders and released her, and she accompanied him down the passage, her crutch tapping lightly on the tiles. They both preferred the cosiness of the little kitchen alcove over the formal dining room. Because he knew she wanted him to, Leo sat down and let her ladle the fish stew into two bowls without assistance.

She’d raided his wine stash. He poured two glasses of pinot noir from the bottle she’d set on the lace-cloth-covered table. ‘Celebrating again?’

‘Can’t seem to stop,’ she said with a laugh. The table was arranged flush against the bench to accommodate Sunny’s disability and she carried the bowls to the table one at a time. When she was seated, she raised her glass. ‘To the next adventure.’

Crystal chimed against crystal. ‘Wherever it is you’ll find it, Suns.’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of your next adventure.’ Her blue-eyed matchmaking gaze winked back at him.

He leaned back and studied his glass. ‘We seem to be talking at cross purposes again.’

‘What happened with that pretty little brunette you sent fifty red roses to then escorted to the theatre last month? Aisha, wasn’t it?’

Ah, Aisha. Perfectly lovely, perfectly amenable. Or so he’d thought until she’d expected him to pay the cancellation fees for the overseas honeymoon she’d booked in anticipation of his marriage proposal.

Sunny and his love interests were very separate aspects of his life, except that she’d caught him ordering the roses. ‘You know me.’ He broke open his bread roll. ‘Short-term casual all the way.’

‘You’re right, I do know you. And it’s just sad.’ She pointed an accusatory finger at him then shrugged and sighed rather dramatically. ‘Okay, so you’re looking for ways to make your next million.’

‘Accumulating wealth.’ He drank deeply then tilted his glass towards her. ‘I thrive on the challenge.’

She grinned, picked up her spoon. ‘I love a challenge too. Swimming in the Australia Day Big Swim on Sydney Harbour, for instance.’

Leo set his glass down and blinked at her while she tucked into her meal. ‘Are you serious?’

‘I’ve put my name on the list for swimmers with disabilities,’ she said around a mouthful of fish. ‘January’s nine months away. Plenty of time for you to agree to be my swim buddy.’

‘We’ll need to have that conversation at some point,’ he growled and got stuck into his own meal. But of course he’d agree—what was more, she knew it.

She tolerated her scars and deformity without a whisper of complaint or self-pity. Her wish to live independently was her choice, not his.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, reading his mind.

‘Mum would’ve been proud of you.’

‘She’d have been proud of us.’ Spoon halfway to her mouth, Sunny eyeballed him. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Don’t.’

Sunny’s pain was physical and would last a lifetime. Leo’s anguish was deep and every bit as enduring. Guilt. Regret. His memories of the night twelve years ago when their lives had changed forever was as stark and real and terrifying as if it had happened yesterday.

He’d saved his sister but had been too late to pull their bruised and battered mother from their burning home. If his father hadn’t goaded him into swinging that punch earlier in the evening, maybe the monster wouldn’t have come back later and torched the place. The only justice was that he’d also died in the blaze.