‘You’ve been thinking about me, too.’ He caught her hand, held it in a relaxed grip.

‘No.’

His thumb whisked over her knuckles. ‘Admit it, Emma.’

She made one final, albeit half-hearted attempt to pull away, but his gaze held hers and he lifted her hand to his chest. His heart thumped strong and deep.

‘You’ve been wondering about our first kiss all day,’ he continued in that low, seductive tone. ‘Like when …’

Still massaging the base of her scalp, he leaned in, touched warm, firm lips to hers.

Oh, my.

‘And where …’

Heat flowed like honey as he slid the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip.

‘And how …’

About the Author

When not teaching or writing, ANNE OLIVER loves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handy—her favourite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege … and a dream come true. Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children. Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com She loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at anne@anne-oliver.com

Recent titles by the same author:

THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT A REBEL HER NOT-SO-SECRET DIARY

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Morning
After the
Wedding Before
Anne Oliver

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Sue.

You’re loyal, generous, compassionate and caring,

touching people’s lives in the best way, and a

true friend on life’s amazing and unpredictable journey.

Thank you for always being there! Anne

CHAPTER ONE

EMMA Byrne refused to give in to the nerves zapping beneath her ribcage like hysterical wasps. She was a sophisticated city girl, she wasn’t afraid of walking into a third-rate strip club. Alone.

But she paused on the footpath in King’s Cross, Sydney’s famous nightclub district, and racked her brain for an alternative solution as she eyed the bruiser of a bouncer propped against the tacky-looking entrance.

Six p.m. on a balmy autumn Monday evening and the Pink Mango was already open for business. Sleazy business. She gulped down the insane urge to laugh—she’d been naïve enough to think the Pink Mango was an all-night deli.

But she’d promised her sister she’d deliver the best man’s suit to Jake Carmody, and she would. She could.

Pushing the big sunglasses she’d found in her glove box farther up her nose, she slung her handbag and the plastic suit bag over one stiff shoulder and marched inside. The sound system’s get-your-gear-off bump and grind pounded through hidden speakers. The place smelled like beer and cheap cologne and smut. Her nostrils flared in distaste as she drew in a reluctant breath.

Her steps faltered as a zillion eyes seemed to look her way. You’re imagining it, she told herself. Who’d give you a second glance in a dive like this? Especially given her knee-length buttoned-up red trench coat, knee-high boots and leather gloves, all of which she’d left on the back seat of her car since last winter. Which, when she thought about it, could very well be the reason she was garnering more than a few stares …

Better safe than sorry. Thank heavens for untidy cars and a convenient parking spot.

Ignoring the curious eyes, she turned her attention to the décor instead. The interior was even tackier than the outside. Cheap lolly pink and gold and black. The chairs and couches were covered in a dirty-looking fuchsia animal print. A revolving disco ball spewed gaudy colours over the circulating topless waitresses with smiles as fake as their boobs.

At least they had boobs.

Most of the early-evening punters were lounging around a raised oval stage leering over their drinks at a lone female dancer wearing nothing but a fuzzy gold string and making love to a brass pole. A hooded cobra was tattooed on one firm butt cheek.

Far out. Despite herself, Emma couldn’t seem to tear her fascinated gaze away. What men like … She’d never have that voluptuousness, nor the chutzpah to carry it off.

Maybe that was the reason Wayne had called it quits.

Shaking off the self-doubt, she blew out a deep, slow breath and turned away from the entertainment. Just what she didn’t need right now. A reminder of her physical inadequacies.

I don’t care if you and Ryan are getting married next weekend, little sister, you owe me big-time for doing this.

‘I’ve got an appointment to get my nails done,’ Stella had told her with more than a touch of pre-wedding desperation in her voice. ‘Ryan’s in Melbourne for a conference till tomorrow and you don’t have anything special on tonight, do you?’

Stella knew Emma had no social life whatsoever since the break-up with Wayne. Of course she’d be free. Wouldn’t have mattered if she wasn’t. As the maid of honour, how could she refuse the bride’s request? But a strip joint had not been part of the deal.

A man in an open shirt with a thick gold chain over an obscene mat of greying chest hair watched her from behind a desk nearby. His flat, penetrating gaze—as if he was imagining her naked and finding her not up to par—made her stomach heave. A bead of sweat trickled down her back—it was stifling inside this coat.

But he seemed to be the obvious person to speak to, so she moved quickly. She straightened her spine and forced herself to look him in the eyes. Not easy when those eyes were staring at her chest.

But before she got a word out he twirled one fat finger and said, ‘If you’ve come about the job, take off that coat and show us what you’ve got.’

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and, appalled, she tightened her belt. ‘I beg your pardon? I’m n—’

‘You won’t need a costume here, darlin’,’ he drawled, eyeing the garment bag over her shoulder. ‘We’re one down tonight so you can start on the tables. Cherry’ll show you. Oi, Cherry!’ His smoke-scratched voice blasted through the thick air.

Emma cringed as people looked their way, glad of her dark glasses. She summoned her frostiest tone. ‘I’m here to speak to Jake Carmody.’

He shook his head. ‘Won’t make a scrap of difference, y’know. Seen plenty just like you pass through the door hiding behind a disguise, expecting to make a quick buck on the side.’

‘Excuse me? Just tell me where I can find Mr Carmody so I can finish my business with him and be out of here.’

Those pale flat eyes checked her out some more as a woman approached toting a tray of drinks. She was wearing eighties gold hot pants and a transparent black blouse. Beneath her make-up Emma saw that she looked drawn and tired and felt a stirring of sympathy. She knew all about working jobs out of sheer necessity, and was grateful she’d never been quite so desperate.

‘Lady here wants to see the boss. Know where he is?’

The boss? ‘There must be some mistake …’ Emma trailed off. His PA had told her she’d find him at this address, but … he was the boss of this dive?

The woman called Cherry gave a weary half shrug. ‘In the office, last I saw.’

He jerked a thumb at a narrow staircase on the far side of the room. ‘Up the stairs, first door on the right.’

‘Thank you.’ Lips pressed together, and aware of a few gazes following her, she made her way through the club, keeping as far away from the action as possible.

The boss?

Despite the heat, she shivered inside her coat. His lifestyle was none of her business, but she’d never in a million years have expected the guy she remembered to be involved in a lower-than-low strip joint. He already had a career, didn’t he? A degree in business law, for goodness’ sake. Please don’t let him have chucked in years of study and a respectable livelihood for this …

Sleaze Central’s business obviously paid better. Money over morals.

She knew Jake from high school. He was one of Ryan’s mates, and the two guys had often turned up at home to catch up with her more sociable sister and listen to music. Emma had been either working one of her after-school jobs or experimenting with her soap-making, but there’d been a few times when Stella had persuaded her to chill out with them.

Jake the Rake, Emma had privately thought him. A chick magnet. Totally cool, ever so slightly dangerous, and way too experienced for a girl like her. Maybe that was why she’d always tried to avoid him whenever possible.

Hadn’t stopped her from being a little in love with him, though. She shook it away. Obviously her young eyes had been clouded by naïveté and love was definitely not in her life plan. Not ever again.

She heard him before she reached the door. That familiar deep, somewhat lazy voice that seemed to roll over the senses like thick caramel sauce. She was well and truly over her youthful crush on him, wasn’t she? He was on the phone, and as she paused to listen his tone changed from laid-back to harassed.

The door was open a crack and she knocked. She heard a clatter as he slammed the phone down, a short, succinct rude word and then an impatient, ‘Come in.’

He didn’t look up straight away, which gave her a moment to slide her sunglasses on top of her head and look him over.

Sitting at a shabby desk littered with papers, he was writing something, head bent over a file. He wore a sky-blue shirt, open at the neck, sleeves rolled up over sinewy bronzed forearms. Unlike the rest of this dive, his clothing was top of the line. Her gaze lifted to his face and her heart pattered that tiny bit faster. God’s gift with a sinner’s lips …

An unnerving little shiver ran through her and she jerked her eyes higher. His rich, dark hair was sticking up in short tufts here and there, as if he’d been ploughing his hands through it. Her fingers itched to smooth it down—

Good grief, she was lusting after a man who owned a seedy striptease venue—a man who not only used women but exploited them. Wanting to touch him made her as low as him and as bad as those pervs downstairs. But, despite her best efforts to ignore them, little quivers continued to reverberate up and down the length of her spine.

‘Hello, Jake.’ She impressed herself with her aloof greeting and only wished she felt as cool.

He glanced up. His frown was replaced by stunned surprise. As if he’d been caught in a shop window with his made-to-measure pants down. She blinked the disconcerting image away.

‘Emma.’ Putting his pen down slowly, he closed the file he’d been working on, took his sweet time to stand—all six-foot-plus of gorgeous male—and said, ‘Long time no see.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ignoring the tantalising glimpse of masculine hair visible at the neck of his shirt, the way his broad shoulders shifted against the fabric. ‘Well … we’ve all got busy lives.’

‘Yeah, it’s all go these days isn’t it? Unlike high school.’ He came round to the side of the desk with a smile that was like a lingering caress and did amazing tingly things to her body.

She took a step back. She needed to get out. Fast. ‘I can see you’re busy,’ she hurried on, keeping her gaze focused on his black coffee eyes. ‘I j—’

‘Are you here for a job?’

What? She felt her jaw drop, and for a moment she simply stared while her brain played catch-up and heat crawled up her neck. The sod. The dirty rotten sod. ‘I phoned your office—your other office—and your PA told me you were here.’

Her lip curled on the last word and she tossed the garment bag onto the desk, sending papers flying every which way. ‘Your suit for the wedding. If it needs altering the tailor says he needs at least three days’ notice, which is why I’m dropping it off tonight. Ryan’s interstate, and Stella had an appointment, so I—’

‘Emma. I was joking.’

Oh. She glimpsed the twinkle in his eye and took another step back. Twinkles were dangerous. And why wouldn’t he joke? Because no way did she measure up to those voluptuous creatures downstairs. ‘I don’t have time to joke today. Or anything else. So … um … you’ve got the suit. I’ll be off, then.’

He watched her a moment longer, as if saying What’s your hurry? Beneath the harsh single fluorescent light she saw the bruised smudges and feathery lines of stress around his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Well, good, she thought. He deserved to be stressed for making her feel like an inadequate fool. As if her self-esteem wasn’t suffering enough after Wayne ending their relationship, and in this place …

‘So, it’s Gone with the Wind for us two, eh? Hope I can do Rhett Butler justice.’ He glanced at the bag, then aimed that sexy grin at her. ‘And you’re to be my Scarlett for the day.’

She stiffened at the darkly delicious—no, bad thought. But her blood pulsed a bit more heavily through her body. ‘I’m not your anyone. Why they had to choose a famous couples-themed wedding’s beyond me.’

He shrugged. ‘They wanted something sparkling and original and wildly romantic—and why not? Might as well have some fun on the big day. Everything’s downhill from there.’ His long, sensuous fingers curled around the edge of the desk and he aimed that killer smile again. ‘Thanks for dropping it off. Can I get you a drink before you leave?’

Good heavens. ‘No. Thank you.’

Crossing his arms, Jake leaned a hip against the desk, inhaling the fresh, unfamiliar fragrance that had swirled in with her. She was an energising sight for tired eyes. What he could see of her.

Tall and slim as a blue-eyed poppy. Even angry she looked amazing, with that ice-cold sapphire gaze and that way she had of pouting her lips. All glossy and plump and …

He fought a sudden mad impulse to walk over and taste them. Probably shouldn’t have made that wisecrack about a job here. But he’d not been able to resist getting a rise out of her. On the few occasions she’d been persuaded to join them she’d always been so damn serious. Obviously that hadn’t changed.

The muffled thump from downstairs vibrated through the floor. He rasped his hands over his stubbled jaw. ‘If I’d known you were coming I’d’ve arranged for you to drop the suit at my office. My other office.’

She drilled him some more with that icy stare. And he felt oddly bruised, as if she’d punched him in the gut with her … gloved hand.

‘I have to go,’ she said stiffly.

He pushed off the desk. ‘I’ll walk you down.’

‘No. I’d really rather you didn’t.’

The tone. He knew well enough not to mess with it and crossed his arms. ‘Okay. Thanks again for dropping the suit by. Appreciate it.’

‘Glad to hear that, because it’s a one-off.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow night at the wedding dinner.’

‘Seven-thirty.’ She hitched her bag higher. ‘Don’t be late.’

‘Emma …’ She glanced back and he thought once again of poppies. About lying in a field of them on a summer’s day. With Emma. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

She didn’t reply, but she did hesitate, staring at him with those fabulous eyes and allowing him to indulge in the cheerful poppy fantasy a few seconds longer. And he could have sworn he felt a … zap. Then she nodded once and her head snapped back to the doorway.

He watched her leave, admiring the way she moved, all straight and sexy and classy. He wondered for a moment why he’d never pursued anything with her back in the day. He’d seen her look his way more than once when she’d thought he wasn’t watching.

His lingering smile dropped away. He knew why. Emma Byrne didn’t know the meaning of fun, and she certainly didn’t know how to chill out. She wore serious the way other women wore designer jeans.

Jake, on the other hand, didn’t do serious. He didn’t do commitment. He enjoyed women—on his terms. Women who knew the score. And when it was over it was over, no misunderstandings. No looking back. But, hoo-yeah … He couldn’t deny this lovely, more mature, more womanly Emma turned him on. Big time.

The door closed and he listened to her footsteps fade, stretching his arms over his head, imagining her walking downstairs. In that neck-to-ankle armour—which only added to the sexual intrigue. Did she even realise that? He should have escorted her down, he thought again. But the lady, and everything about her body language, had said a very definite no.

Shaking off the lusty thoughts, he rolled down his shirtsleeves. Damn Earl, the SOB who’d fathered him, for dying and leaving him this mess to sort out. No one knew of Jake’s connection to this club, with the exception of Ry and his parents and more recently his PA.

And now Emma Byrne.

‘Hell.’ He checked the time, then shoved his phone in his pocket. He didn’t have time for that particular complication right now—he had an important business meeting to attend. Grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, he headed downstairs.

CHAPTER TWO

AND she’d told him not to turn up late.

‘She’d better have a good excuse,’ Jake muttered the following evening as he swung a left in his BMW and headed for Sydney’s seaside suburb of Coogee Beach, where Emma lived with her mother and Stella. As Ryan’s best man he’d had no choice but to elect himself to conduct the search party.

Or maybe she’d decided she didn’t want to run into Jake Carmody again so soon.

She’d always been big on responsibility, he recalled, and tonight was her sister’s night, so he figured she wouldn’t opt out without a valid reason. But she hadn’t answered her mobile and concern gnawed at his impatience. He tapped the steering wheel while he waited at a red light. A trio of teenagers skimpily dressed for a night on the town crossed in front of him, their feminine voices shrill and excited.

Maybe Emma wasn’t the same girl these days. Maybe she had decided to swap those self-imposed obligations for some fun at last. After all, apart from those few minutes yesterday, when neither of them had actually been themselves, how long had it been since he’d seen her?

His gut tensed an instant at the memory. He knew exactly when he’d last seen her. Seven months ago at Stella and Ryan’s engagement party. He knew exactly what she’d been wearing too—a long, slinky strapless thing the colour of moon-drenched sea at midnight.

Or some such garment. He forced his hands to loosen on the wheel. Unclenched his jaw. So what if he’d noticed every detail, down to the last shimmering toenail? A guy could look.

He’d arrived in time to see her leave hand in hand with some muscled blond surfie type. Wayne something or other, Stella had told him. Apparently Emma and Wayne were a hot item.

Maybe Surfer Boy was the reason she’d lost track of time …

Frowning at the thought, he pulled into the Byrnes’ driveway overlooking the darkening ocean. The gates were open and he came to a stop beside an old red hatchback parked at the top of a flight of stone steps.

Perched halfway down the sloping family property was the old music studio, where he remembered spending afternoons in the latter days of high school. Early-evening shadows shrouded the brick walls but muted amber light shone through the window. Emma lived there now, he’d been informed, and she was obviously still at home. In the absence of any other car on the grounds, it seemed she was also alone.

Swinging his car door open, he pulled out his phone. ‘Ry? Looks like she hasn’t even left yet.’ He strode to the steps, flicking impatient fingers against his thigh. ‘We’ll be there soon.’

Pocketing the phone, he continued down the stairs. If he could make it on time to this wedding dinner after the hellish day he’d had, trying to stay on top of two businesses, so could Emma. She was the bridesmaid, after all.

Some sort of relaxation music drifted from the window, accompanying the muted shoosh-boom of the breakers on the beach. He slowed his steps, breathing in the calming fragrant salt air and honeysuckle, and ordered himself to simmer down.

The peal of the door chime accompanied by a sharp rapping on her front door jerked Emma from her work. She refocused, feeling as if she was coming out of a deep-sleep cave. She checked her watch. Blinked. Oh, no. She’d assured Stella she’d be right along when the family had left nearly half an hour ago.

Which officially made her the World’s Worst Bridesmaid.

She stretched muscles cramped from being in one position too long and assured herself her lapse wasn’t because her subconscious mind was telling her she didn’t want to see Jake. She would not let him and that crazy moment yesterday when their eyes had met and the whole world seemed to fade into nothing affect her life. In any way.

Rap, rap, rap.

‘Okay, okay,’ she murmured. She slipped the order of tiny stacked soap flowers she’d been wrapping back into its container and called, ‘Coming!’

Running her hands down the sides of her oversized lab coat, she hurried to the door, swung it open. ‘I …’

The man’s super-sized silhouette filled the doorway, blocking what was left of the twilight and obscuring his features, but she knew instantly who he was by the way her heart bounded up into her throat.

‘Jake.’ She felt breathless, as if she’d just scaled the Harbour Bridge. Ridiculous. Scowling, she flicked on the foyer light. She tried not to admire the view, she really did, but her eyes ate up his dark good-looks like a woman too long on a blond boy diet.

Tonight he wore tailored dark trousers and a chocolate-coloured shirt open at the neck. Hair the colour of aged whisky lifted ever so slightly in the salty breeze.

‘So here you are.’ His tone was brusque, those black-coffee eyes focused sharply on hers.

‘Yes, here I am,’ she said, trying to ignore the hot flush seeing him had brought on and reminding herself where she’d seen him last. The flashback to the strip club made her feel like a gauche schoolgirl and it should not. But she was the one at fault tonight—and the reason he was standing in her doorway.

She gave him a careless smile, determined not to let yesterday spoil this evening. For Stella’s sake. ‘And running late,’ she rushed on. ‘I assume that’s why you’re here?’ Why else?

One eyebrow rose and she knew he wasn’t impressed. ‘You had some people concerned.’ He said it as if he didn’t count himself amongst those people—where had yesterday’s twinkle gone?—while he stepped inside and scanned the dining room table covered in the hand-made goat’s milk soaps she’d been working on.

‘You weren’t answering your phone.’ His gaze swung back to hers again. ‘Not handy when people are trying to contact you.’

Her smile dropped to her feet. Was that censure in his voice? ‘This from the guy who was too busy at his other business to answer his own mobile yesterday?’ she shot back. ‘You do realise I had to pry the info as to your whereabouts from your PA?’

He nodded, his eyes not flinching from hers. ‘So she told me. I apologise for the inconvenience, and for any embarrassment I caused you.’

Emma drew in a deep breath. ‘Okay.’ She forced her mature self to put yesterday’s incident to the back of her mind for now. ‘As for me, I have no legitimate excuse for forgetting the time, so it’s my turn to apologise that you had to be the one to come and get me.’ She tried a smile.

He nodded, his dark eyes warmed, and his whole demeanour mellowed like a languid Sunday afternoon. ‘Apology accepted.’ He leaned down and brushed her cheek with firm lips, and she caught a whiff of subtle yet sexy aftershave before he straightened up again.

Whoa. Yesterday’s tingle was back with a vengeance, running through her entire system at double the voltage. ‘So … um … I’ll just go …’ Feeling off-centre, she backed away, ostensibly towards the tiny area sectioned off by a curtain which she used as a bedroom, but he didn’t take the hint and leave. ‘Look, you go on ahead. I’ll be ready in a jiff and it’s only a ten-minute drive to the restaurant.’

He shrugged, stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘I’m here now.’

Slipping off her flats, she glanced about for her heels. But her eyes seemed drawn to him as if they were on strings. He dressed like a million bucks these days. Still, those threadbare jeans he’d worn way back when had fuelled more teenage fantasies than she cared to remember. She watched him wander towards her table of supplies. With his hands in his pockets, drawing his trousers tight across that firm, cute butt …

No. Sleazy club-owner. Dragging her eyes away, she scoured the floor for her shoes. ‘There’s really no need to wait …’

‘I’m waiting. End of story.’ She heard the crinkle of cellophane as he examined her orders. ‘Your hobby’s still making you some pocket money, then?’

Irritation stiffened her shoulders. She glared at him. ‘It’s not just a hobby, and it’s never been about the money.’ Unlike others who shall remain Nameless. Exhaling sharply through her nose, she swiped up a black stiletto and slipped it on. ‘I have to wonder why it is that helping people with skin allergies seems to you to be a waste of time.’

‘I never sa—’

‘Why don’t you go while I …?’ Calm down. ‘Find my other shoe.’

‘So uptight.’ He tsked. ‘You really need to get out more, Em. Always was too much work and not enough play with you.’ He scooped her shoe from beneath a chair and tossed it to her. ‘Maybe the wedding’ll help things along.’

She caught it one-handed, dropped it in front of her with a clatter and stepped into it, then bent to do up the straps. She’d had it with people telling her how to live her life. Get out more? She let out a huff. She had familial obligations. Had she told him what she thought of the way he was living his life nowadays? No.

She finished fastening her shoes and straightened, pushed at the hair that had fallen over her eyes. Forget his uninformed opinion. Forget him, period. She had her un-fabulous job at the insurance call centre—but it paid the bills—and she had just finished her Diploma in Natural Health. And if she chose to fill her leisure hours working on ways to help people use natural products rather than the dangerous chemicals contained in other products these days, it was nobody’s business but hers.

‘So how’s … what was her name …? Sherry?’ she asked with enough sweetness to decay several teeth as she slipped open the top button of her lab coat. ‘Will she be missing you this evening?’

His brows rose. ‘Who?’

‘The one …’ draped all over you ‘… at Stella’s engagement party. Stella mentioned her name,’ she hurried on, in case he thought she’d actually asked. Which she had. But he didn’t need to know that.

‘Ah … You mean Brandy.’

She shrugged. ‘Brandy. Sherry. She looked like more of a Candy to me.’ With her suck-my-face-off lips and over-generous cleavage. And everything else Emma was lacking. ‘You didn’t say hello and introduce us. Was that because she was one of your exotic dancers?’

‘You and your date left as we arrived. Was that just a curious coincidence?’

Jake watched her cheeks flush guiltily and felt an instant stab of arousal. Hell. He kept his expression neutral, but something was happening here. And the hot little fantasy he’d had last night about what she’d been wearing beneath that red coat yesterday wasn’t helping.

And now she was undoing the second button of that lab coat, revealing a pair of sexy collarbones and putting inappropriate ideas into his head.

He ground his teeth together as images of black lace and feminine flesh flashed through his mind. ‘Are you going to get ready or what?’ The demand came out lower and rougher than he’d have liked. Then he held his breath as she shrugged out of the coat, tossed it over the couch.

‘I’m ready already.’ She flashed him a cool look. ‘I use the coat to protect my clothes when I’m working.’

His gaze snagged on her outfit—a short black dress shot through with bronze, hugging her slender curves to perfection. He swallowed. The legs. How come he’d never noticed how long her legs were? How toned and tanned? He did not imagine how they’d feel locked around his waist.

Cool it. He deliberately relaxed tense muscles. He’d wait outside, get some air.

But before he could move she picked up an embroidered purse from the couch and walked to the front door. ‘Shall we go?’

He walked ahead, opened the door. ‘We’ll take my car.’

‘I’m taking my own car, thanks.’ She locked the door behind them, then headed towards the hatchback, her heels tapping a fast rhythm on the concrete.

He pressed his remote and the locks clicked open. ‘Hard to get a parking space anywhere this time of night,’ he advised. ‘And we—make that you—are running late already. Stella and Ryan are waiting.’

Swinging her door open, she glanced back at him. ‘Better get a move on, then.’

He started to go after her, then changed his mind. She was in a dangerous mood, and he was just riled enough to take her on. And it might end … He didn’t want to think about how it might end. Because he had a feeling that anything with Emma would need to be very slow and very, very thorough. If you could find your way through those thorns, that was. ‘I’ll see you there.’

She clicked her seat belt on, turned the ignition and revved the engine. ‘Ten minutes.’

Emma’s stomach jittered. Her pulse raced. Trouble. She’d seen more than enough of it in Jake’s hot brown eyes. As if she was performing some sort of striptease. She’d not given it a thought when she’d peeled off her lab coat. But he had. Sheesh. She scoffed to herself. As if he’d give her less than average body a second look when he was surrounded by all those Brandies and Candies and brazen beauties at the Pink Mango.

Flicking a glance at her rearview mirror she caught the glare of his headlights. She deliberately slowed her speed, hoping he’d overtake, but he seemed content—or irritated enough—to cruise along behind her. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head.

She let out a shaky sigh and drew a deep, slow breath to steady herself. Easier to blame him than to admit to that old attraction—because no way was Jake the Rake the kind of man she wanted to get involved with on an intimate level.

She accelerated recklessly through a yellow light, Jake hot on her heels. She wasn’t herself tonight. Wrong. She hadn’t been herself since she’d come face to face with Jake in his dingy office yesterday.

Even as a teenager he’d always made her feel … different. Self-conscious. Tingly. Uncomfortably aware of her feminine bits.

Her fingers clenched tighter on the steering wheel. She needed to get herself under control. She didn’t figure in his life at all, nor he in hers. And tonight wasn’t about her or him or even them; it was about Stella and Ryan.

She tensed as the well-lit upscale restaurant came into view, and glanced in the mirror again just in time to see Jake’s car glide into a parking space she’d been too distracted to notice right outside the restaurant.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, this was ridiculous. The restaurant was on a corner and she stopped at a red light, tapping impatient fingers on the dashboard. Seriously, if it wasn’t Stella’s night she’d turn around and go home, pull the covers over her head and not surface till Christmas—

The thump on the car’s roof nearly had her foot slipping off the brake as Jake climbed in beside her. ‘Don’t you know better than to leave your passenger door unlocked when you’re driving alone at night?’

She hated his smug look and lazy tone and looked away quickly. ‘Don’t you know better than to scare a person half to death when they’re behind the wheel?’

‘Light’s green.’

She clenched her teeth, pretending that she hadn’t noticed his woodsy aftershave wafting towards her, and crossed the intersection. ‘What are you doing here? There’s no sense in both of us being late.’ She saw a car pulling out ahead, remembered at the last second to check her rear vision and slammed on the brakes.

‘We’ll walk in together, Scarlett.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ she muttered. She slid the car into the parking spot, yanked the key from the ignition, jumped out and locked her door before he’d even undone his seat belt.

Jake took his time getting out, watching her walk around the car’s bonnet to the footpath. Not looking at him. No trace of the blue-eyed poppy tonight, he thought, locking his own door. She was as prickly as a blackberry bush.

The pedestrian light turned green. She left the kerb and he fell into step beside her. ‘If we’re going to pull this wedding business off, we need to be seen to be getting along.’

She jerked to a stop outside the restaurant. ‘Fine.’

Catching her by her slender shoulders, he turned her to face him, noticed her stiffen at the skin-on-skin contact. ‘We’ll need to have a conversation about that at some point.’

‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

Light from the window spilled over her face. Wide eyes stared up at him, violet in the yellow glow. He slid his hands down her bare arms, felt her shiver beneath his palms and raised a brow. ‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing.’ She rubbed her palms together, her gaze flicking away. ‘It’s chilly. I should’ve brought a jacket. I left it on the bed …’

No, he thought, she’d been distracted. Grinning, he let her go. ‘Lighten up, Em, and give yourself permission to enjoy an evening out for once.’

CHAPTER THREE

WITH a light hand at her back, Jake ushered Emma into the upstairs restaurant. Exotic Eastern tapestries lined the burgundy walls. On the far side, through double glass doors was a narrow balcony crowded with palms. Dreamy Eastern music played softly in the background. The tempting aromas of Indian cuisine greeted them as they made their way towards the round family table already covered in a variety of spicy smelling dishes.

‘Apologies, everyone.’ Jake nodded to the happy couple. ‘Glad to see you’ve already started.’

Emma murmured her own apologies to Stella while Ryan spooned rice into two empty bowls and passed them across the table. ‘We wondered whether you two had decided to play hooky.’

‘We thought about it—didn’t we, Em?’ Jake grinned, enjoying her appalled expression, then turned to Ryan’s father.

Gil Clifton, a stocky man with wiry red hair and always a genuine smile, rose and shook hands. ‘Good to see you again, Jake.’

‘And you. We must get around to that tennis match.’

‘Any time. Just give us a call and drop by.’

‘I’ll do that.’

Gil’s smile faded. ‘I was sorry to hear about your father. If there’s anything I can do …’

The mention of the old man left nothing but a bitter taste in Jake’s mouth and an emptiness in his soul that he’d come to terms with years ago. As far as he was concerned Gil and Julie Clifton were the only adult support he’d ever needed. ‘Got it covered, thanks, Gil.’

He kissed Julie’s cheek. ‘How’s the mother of the groom holding up?’

‘Getting excited. And, to echo Gil’s words, if you want to drop by and chat … you’re always welcome.’

If Jake was ever to be lost for words now was that time. Ryan’s family were the only people who knew about his dysfunctional childhood, and now the whole table knew about Earl. He forced a smile. ‘Thanks.’

Emma watched Julie give Jake’s arm a sympathetic squeeze. It occurred to her how little she really knew of his background beyond the fact he was Ryan’s mate.

‘So how’s business?’ Gil asked as Jake moved to the two empty chairs.

‘Busy as usual. Evening, Bernice.’

‘Jake.’ Emma’s mother acknowledged him coolly, then turned the same stony gaze on Emma. ‘Thank you for collecting my unpunctual daughter.’

Emma reminded herself she was Teflon coated where her mother’s barbs were concerned. The others resumed their conversations while she took the empty seat that Jake pulled out beside her mother and whispered, ‘Sorry, Mum.’

‘Have to admire our Emma’s work ethic, though,’ Jake remarked as he sat down beside her. ‘It’s not easy juggling two jobs.’

‘Two jobs?’ Bernice bit off the words. ‘When one’s a waste of time, I—’

‘Mum.’ Emma counted to ten while she reached for her table napkin and smoothed it over her lap. ‘How are you enjoying the food?’

Bernice stabbed at a cherry tomato on her plate. ‘You need two proper jobs to be able to afford a dress like that.’

Jake smiled at Bernice on Emma’s other side. ‘And it’s worth every cent. She looks sensational, don’t you think? Wine, Em?’

‘No, thank you. Driving.’ She acknowledged Jake’s support with a quick nod and reached for the glass of water in front of her. She took several swallows to compose herself before she said, ‘I bought it at Second Hand Rose, Mum. That little recycle boutique on the esplanade.’

When her mother didn’t reply, Emma turned to Jake. ‘I didn’t know about your father,’ she murmured as other conversation flowed around the table. ‘I’m sorry.’

He didn’t look at her. ‘Don’t be.’ He tossed back his drink, set his glass on the table with a firm thunk and turned his attention to something Ryan was saying on his other side.

Ouch. Emma reached for the nearest dish, a mixed vegetable curry, and ladled some onto her plate. He didn’t want to talk about his father—fine. But there was a mountain of pain and anger there, and … She paused, spoon in midair. And what, Emma?

He clearly wasn’t going to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about it—not with her at any rate—and she had no business pursuing it. It wasn’t as if they were close or anything.

A moment later Jake turned to her again. ‘I was abrupt. I shouldn’t have been.’

An apology. Of sorts. ‘It must be a tough time, no matter how you and he …’ The right words eluded her so she reached for the nearest platter instead. ‘Samosa?’

‘Thanks.’ He took one, put it on the side of his plate. ‘I’ve been thinking about you, Emma.’ He leaned ever so slightly her way, with a hint of seduction in the return of that suave tone.

She could feel the heat bleed into her cheeks. ‘I don’t—’

‘Have you considered selling your supplies over the internet?’ He broke off a piece of naan bread. ‘Could be a profitable business for you. You never know—you might be able to give up your day job eventually.’

‘I don’t want to give up my day job.’ I’m not a risk-taker. Mum depends on me financially. I can’t afford to fail.

‘I could help you with your business plan,’ he continued, as if she’d never spoken. He lowered that sexy voice. ‘You only have to ask.’

His silky words wrapped around her like a gloved hand and an exquisite shiver scuttled down her spine. She could imagine asking him … lots of things. She wondered if his sudden interest and diversionary tactics had anything to do with taking the focus off his own family problems. ‘I don’t have time to waste on the computer, and I told you already it’s not about the money.’ Business plan? What business plan?

‘Lacking computer confidence isn’t something to be embarrassed about.’

‘I’m n—’ With a roll of her eyes she decided her protest was wasted—men like Jake were always right—and topped up her curry with a broccoli floret. ‘I’m flat out supplying the local stores. I don’t need to be online.’

‘It would make it easier. And if your products are so popular why wouldn’t you want to see where they take you?’

She would—oh, she so would. Her little cottage business was her passion, but technology was so not her; she wouldn’t know where to start with a website, and her meagre income—which went straight into the household budget—didn’t allow her to gamble on such a luxury. ‘As I said, there’s no time.’

‘Maybe you need to change your priorities. Or maybe you’re afraid to take that chance?’ He eyed her astutely as he broke off more bread. ‘The offer’s always open if you change your mind.’

Was she so easy to read? An hour or so with Jake and he saw it already. Her fear of failure. Of taking that step into the unknown. He was the last person she’d be going to for help; she felt vulnerable enough around him as it was. ‘Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind.’

Over the next hour the meal was punctuated with great food, toasts to the bride and groom, speeches and recollections of fond memories.

Jake watched on, feeling oddly detached from the whole family and the getting-married scenario. What motivated sane, rational people to chain themselves to another human being for the term of their natural lives? In the end someone always ended up abandoning the other, along with any kids unlucky enough to be caught up in it.

Then Emma excused herself to go to the ladies’ room and Julie claimed Bernice’s attention with wedding talk. He breathed a sigh of relief that for now he wasn’t included in the conversation.

A moment later he saw Emma on her way back and watched, admiring her svelte figure and the way her hips undulated as she walked. Nice. Last night’s fantasy flashed back and a punch of lust ricocheted through his body. She’d been fire and ice yesterday at the club, and he couldn’t help wondering how it might translate to the bedroom.

He saw her come to an abrupt halt as a newly arrived couple cut across her path. His eyes narrowed. Wasn’t that …? Yep. Wayne whoever-he-was. Jake watched on with interest as Wayne’s dinner partner hugged his arm a moment then walked to the ladies’, leaving Emma and Surfer Boy facing each other.

More like facing off, Jake thought, studying their body language. Even from a distance he could see that Emma’s eyes had widened, that her face had gone pale and that Surfer Boy was trying to talk himself out of a sticky situation fast. Emma spoke through tight lips and shook her head. Then, turning abruptly, she headed straight for the balcony.

Uh-oh, he thought, trouble in paradise?

Emma’s whole body burned with embarrassment as she hurried for the nearest sanctuary. She pushed blindly through the glass doors and took in a deep gulp of the cooler air.

He’d had the nerve to introduce the girl. His fiancée. Rani—a dusky beauty, heavy on the gold jewellery—had flashed a brand-new sparkle on the third finger of her left hand and said they’d been seeing each other for over a year.

While Emma and Wayne had been seeing each other. Sleeping with each other.

The bastard.

He’d broken it off with Emma only a month ago. Said it wasn’t working for him. No mention then of a fiancée. Obviously this Rani girl had what it took to keep a man interested.

The worst part was that Emma had let her guard down with him. She’d done what she’d sworn she’d never do—she’d fallen for him big time.

Shielded by palm fronds, she leaned over the railing and stared at the traffic below. But she wasn’t seeing it—she was too busy trying to patch up the barely healed scars and a bunch of black emotions, like her own stupid gullibility. She’d been used. Deceived. Lied to—

‘Emma.’

She jumped at the sound of Jake’s voice behind her. Embarrassment fired up again. He must have seen the exchange. No point pretending it hadn’t happened. ‘Hi.’ She ran a palm frond through her stiff fingers. ‘I was just talking to an ex.’

‘A recent ex, by the look of things.’ Warm hands cupped her shoulders and turned her towards him. He lifted her chin with a finger, and his eyes told her he knew a lot more than she wanted him to. ‘Should I be sorry?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not very good company right now.’ Shrugging off the intimacy of his touch, she looked down at the street again, at the neon signs that lit the restaurants and cafés.

‘You didn’t answer the question, Em,’ he said softly. ‘But, if you ask me, I’d say he’s not worth being sorry over.’

‘Damn right, he’s not. That was his fiancée. According to her, they’ve been together over a year.’

‘Hmm. I see.’

‘Unfortunately for me, I didn’t.’ She stared at the street. ‘We were both busy with work and after-hours commitments, but we always spent Friday nights together.’ Frowning, she murmured, ‘I wonder how he explained that to her?’

‘Friday nights?’ There was a beat of silence, then he asked, ‘You had, like, a regular slot for him, then?’

She watched a couple strolling arm in arm below them and felt an acute pang of loss. ‘We had an understanding.’

‘He understood that you scheduled him into your working life like some sort of beauty session?’

Her skin prickled. Wayne had actually been the one doing the scheduling, and Emma had been so head over heels, so desperate to be with him, she’d gone along with whatever he’d asked. ‘He had a busy schedule too.’ Obviously. ‘But Friday night was ours. And he was cheating all along.’

Why the hell was she telling Jake this? Of all people. She turned to him, dragged up a half-smile from somewhere. ‘I’m fine. I was over it weeks ago.’

‘That’s the way.’ He smiled, all easy sympathy, and gave her hand a quick pat. ‘The trick is not to take these things too seriously.’

These things? Being in love was just one of these things? ‘And you’d be the expert at that particular trick, wouldn’t you?’ She and Wayne had had an understanding. He’d betrayed her and that was serious.

To her surprise, he spoke sharply. ‘Contrary to what you may think, I don’t cheat.’

‘Because you’re not with a woman long enough.’ As if she would know his modus operandi these days … she wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. She looked up and met Jake’s eyes—dark, intense, like Turkish coffee. ‘Sorry.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just that you’re here, you’re male, and right now I want to punch something. Or someone.’ Her gaze flicked down to the street. ‘Nothing personal.’

He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Emma, yesterday—’

‘You live your way, I live mine.’ She waved him off. ‘We’re not teenagers any more.’

But was she living her life her way? she wondered as she paced past the balcony’s foliage and back. Or was she living for other people?

After her father had died, leaving them virtually penniless, Emma had spent years working menial jobs after school so that they wouldn’t have to sell her maternal grandmother’s home, and then had supported herself through her studies. Her mother had been diagnosed with clinical depression soon after their father’s death, and Stella had taken on the role of main carer, but Emma had been the one with the ultimate financial responsibility.

She didn’t mind giving up her time or her money, but her mother was recovered now and Emma’s sacrifices went unacknowledged and unappreciated.

And now she’d discovered the man she’d loved had been cheating on her for God knew how long, and in Jake’s opinion it was because she was so focused on her work.

But Jake knew nothing about it, and she intended for it to stay that way. It did not excuse Wayne. Even the fact that the girl was more exotic than she was, more voluptuous … more everything … was no excuse. She was tempted to run downstairs and tell him what she thought of him, let Rani in on his dirty little secret—except she never wanted to see him again and she’d only make herself look like a fool. ‘If nothing else, I expect honesty in a relationship.’

‘You call a regular Friday night bonk a relationship?’ he said.

She met his stare with a defiant stare of her own. ‘It suited us.’

‘It suited you.’

She bit her lip to stop unwanted words from spilling out. ‘I thought what we had was what he wanted too.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure it was.’

His dry comment riled her further. She rubbed the chill from her arms while inside her the anger and hurt and humiliation burned bright and strong. Better him thinking she was an idiot than knowing the embarrassing truth—that she was a naïve, gullible idiot.

‘Sometimes I get so damn tired of doing what everyone else wants. What other people expect …’ She trailed off when she saw Wayne and Rani outside an Italian restaurant on the street below. While his fiancée studied the menu in the window he glanced up and met Emma’s eyes.

Renewed outrage surged through the other emotions in a dark wave. She refused to step back, refused to be the one to break eye contact. How dared he? Their weekly love-in had been a lie. They’d been seeing each other for months and the whole time he’d been deceiving her.

Making a fool of her.

In an uncharacteristic move, she made a rude hand gesture … and it felt good. Especially when Wayne looked away first. She spun away towards Jake, finding an oddly reassuring comfort in his presence. ‘And sometimes I just want to live my own life and to hell with everything and everyone.’

‘So start now, Em,’ he said, his voice gentle yet firm. ‘Change your life. Do what you want for a change.’

She stared into those dark eyes holding hers. What did she want?

All she saw was Jake.

Every rational thought flew away. Every drop of sense drained out of her as she stepped nearer to him, her eyes only leaving his to drift to his mouth.

What I want …

Before she could warn herself that this was a Really Bad Idea, she launched forward, cupped his jaw between her hands and plastered her lips to his.

Her heart gave a single hard jolt, and a little voice whispered, This is what I’ve been waiting for. The sizzle zapped all the way to her toes and back again before frustration and fury liquefied into heat and hunger. She flung herself into the moment, indulging her senses. The warmth of his mouth against hers was a counterfoil for his cool, refreshing scent—like moss on a pristine forest floor.

Caught off guard, Jake rocked back on his heels before steadying himself, and her, his hands finding purchase on the smooth slope of her hips as he kissed her back.

Emma. Her taste—new and unforgettably sweet. The fragrance of soap and shampoo and woman all wrapped up in the texture of skin-warmed silk beneath his fingers.

She was a rising tornado of emotion and needs, and it whipped around the edges of his own darker desires. The word complication lurked somewhere at the back of his mind. He shrugged it away and instead, sliding his palms around to her back, hauled her closer and settled in to savour more of the exquisite sensations battering him.

‘Ohh …’ The sound was exhaled on a strangled gasp as firm hands pushed at his chest. She jerked out of his hold, eyes wide. ‘I didn’t … That was …’

‘Nice,’ he finished for her. His hormone-ravished body protested the gross understatement even as he knew she was just using him to get back at the drivelling idiot probably still watching the performance from the other side of the street.

As quickly as it had blown in the whirlwind subsided leaving only a tantalising whisper as she stared up at him, rolled her lips between her teeth and said, ‘I don’t know why I … did that.’

‘You were upset. I was here.’ Enjoying the way her eyes reflected her conflict, he couldn’t help but grin. ‘Have to tell you it wins hands down over the punch you threatened to dole out earlier.’

‘I … need to see if Mum’s ready to go home.’

‘Emma.’ He lifted a hand, dropped it when she edged farther away. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. It was just a kiss. And I’m sure Wayne got the message.’

She flinched as if he’d hit her. ‘He wasn’t the … He wasn’t look—I was … Oh, forget it.’

And in the light filtering through from the restaurant he glimpsed twin spots of colour flag her cheeks before she whirled around and made a dash to the door.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he leaned a hip against the railing while he waited for his body’s horny reaction to subside. You kiss me like that, honey, I ain’t gonna forget.

It was too bad she’d come to her senses so quickly. He didn’t mind being used when it came in the form of a beautiful woman in distress—particularly when the woman had seemed oblivious that she had, in fact, used him. He looked down at the street. No sign of the scumbag.

He could still smell Emma; the fresh, untainted fragrance lingered in the air, on his clothes. The flavour of that one luscious kiss still danced on his tastebuds. The surprise of it—of her—like the first green sprout emerging from the carnage of a bushfire, still vibrated along his bones. She’d reacted without thinking for a hot and heavy moment there, and he’d enjoyed every second.

So had she.

And he wasn’t going to let her forget either. Her weekly love-in arrangement proved she did casual. And she expected honesty from her lover. They had something in common on both counts.

He watched her walk towards a group who were preparing to leave and smiled to himself. The upcoming wedding weekend was looking better and better.

Emma gulped in a calming breath, drew herself tall, and walked unsteadily towards her table, trying not to remember she’d just kissed Jake Carmody senseless. Correction: she was the one who was senseless. The dinner left-overs had been cleared away. Only a rumpled and food stained red tablecloth remained. And a few curious faces were aimed her way.

‘Emma …’ Stella trailed off, her gaze sliding over Emma’s shoulder.

The back of Emma’s neck warmed. Her cheeks scorched. ‘Um … sorry.’ Was it possible to speak more than one word at a time? She waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Needed some air.’

‘We were starting to wonder whether you two had slipped away without—’

‘Jake and I were just catching up.’ She collected her purse. ‘Mum, are you ready to leave? I’ve got some work to do before I go to bed.’ She didn’t wait for an answer, moving around the table saying her goodnights.

‘Can I get a lift with you?’ Stella reached for her own bag. ‘Ryan’s taking his parents home, and I want a couple of early nights this week.’

‘Sure.’ Emma steered clear of Jake, muttering a quick goodnight without looking at him, and from a safe distance on the other side of the table, then headed for the stairs.

‘You okay, Em?’ Stella asked beside her as they drove home. ‘You’re awfully quiet.’

‘Wayne came into the restaurant while we were there,’ she said, her voice tightening. ‘With his fiancée.’

‘Oh. Oh, Em. I’m sorry. You guys split up—what?—only a month ago?’

‘What did you expect?’ her mother piped up from the back seat. ‘If you mixed with the right people like your sister, instead of hiding away in that studio night after night, y—’

‘I’m not hiding.’ Emma sighed inwardly. Stella had nursed their mother, then fallen in love with a wealthy man; in Bernice Byrne’s eyes her younger daughter could do no wrong. ‘I enjoy what I do, Mum.’

‘Like you enjoyed cleaning other people’s toilets and stocking supermarket shelves after school too, I remember. Just another excuse not to meet people.’

Emma pressed her lips together to stop the angry words from rushing out. Yeah, Mum? Where would we be if I hadn’t? In a rented bedsit on the wrong side of town. Not in Gran’s home, that’s for sure.

‘Mum, that’s not fair.’ Stella spoke sharply.

‘It’s not, Stella. But then, life’s not always fair—right, Mum?’ Emma glanced at her mother in the rearview mirror. ‘And sometimes it makes us hurt and lash out and say things we shouldn’t. So I forgive you. You’re not sorry about Wayne, Stella, and neither am I. And I don’t want to talk about it. Him.’

‘No, you’d rather kiss that good-for-nothing Jake Carmody behind the palms like some floozie,’ her mother muttered.

Emma jolted, her whole body burning with the memory. And her mother, of all people, had obviously seen the entire catastrophe. Something close to rebellion simmered inside her and made her say, ‘Jake’s hardly a good-for-nothing, Mum—he has a well-established practice in business law.’ She couldn’t help feeling a sense of indignation on his behalf.

The strip club aside, she knew enough about Jake to know he’d worked hard all those years ago, taking jobs where he could get them to pay his way through uni.

Whereas Ryan came from old money. He’d graduated in the sciences and held a PhD in Microbiology—all expenses paid by Daddy. Then he’d volunteered his skills in Africa for a couple of years before hooking up again with Stella.

From the corner of her eye she saw Stella shift in her seat and turn to look at her. Suddenly uncomfortable, Emma lifted a shoulder. ‘What?’

‘Jake kissed you?’ she said slowly. ‘Like a proper kiss?’

‘Not exactly.’ Emma couldn’t resist a quick glance at her mum in the mirror again. ‘Mum got it right. It was more like … I kissed him.’ As she relived that moment something like exhilaration shot through her bloodstream. ‘What about it?’

‘Ooh, that’s so … hmm … You and Jake?’

Emma heard the smile in her sister’s voice, could almost hear her mind ticking over.

‘Wouldn’t it be cool if—?’

‘Not me and Jake. You know him. Every red-blooded female in Sydney knows him. Didn’t mean anything.’

‘But—’

‘No buts.’

‘Okay. But … The wedding will give you two time to catch up. You liked him well enough when we were younger, I remember.’

‘Yeah—in a galaxy far, far away.’

‘Not that far, Em. He lives in Bondi now. Only an hour’s stroll along the coast … if you feel inclined.’

‘I don’t. I won’t.’

But she couldn’t blot him from her mind when she crawled into bed that night. She had been looking forward to seeing Jake again, even if it was only to assure herself she was well and truly over him.

But she didn’t want to catch up with a seedy strip club owner who used women for his own purposes—both for his personal satisfaction and his burgeoning bank account.

But, oh, that moment of insanity … his lips on hers, his hands tugging her against the heat of his hard, muscled body …

And it was insanity. She stared up at the music room’s low stained ceiling and tried not to hear the thick elevated thud of her heartbeat in her ears. She could have kept it simple. A friendly few days in the company of a good-looking guy. But she’d kissed him like one of his Brandies or Candies … and she’d changed everything.

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