About the Authors

NICOLA MARSH is a USA TODAY bestselling and multi-award-winning author who loves nothing better than losing herself in a story. A physiotherapist in a previous life, she now divides her time between raising two dashing heroes, whipping up delish meals, cheering on her footy team and writing—her dream job. And she chats on social media. A lot. Come say hi! Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—she’s there! Also find her at nicolamarsh.com.

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author KATEE ROBERT learned to tell her stories at her grandpa’s knee. Her 2015 title The Marriage Contract was a RITA® finalist, and RT Book Reviews named it ‘a compulsively readable book with just the right amount of suspense and tension’. When not writing sexy contemporary and romantic suspense she spends her time playing imaginative games with her children, driving her husband batty with what-if? questions, and planning for the inevitable zombie apocalypse.

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Sweet Thing

Nicola Marsh

Make Me Want

Katee Robert

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09583-9

SWEET THING & MAKE ME WANT

Sweet Thing © 2018 Nicola Marsh Make Me Want © 2018 Katee Hird

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Sweet Thing

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Make Me Want

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

About the Publisher

Sweet Thing

Nicola Marsh

One night was supposed to ease her craving...

But after one taste she’s hooked!

Abby loves her new life working at Sydney’s finest patisserie. Working alongside brooding new man-in-charge Tanner is an unexpected but delicious challenge—especially as each night their attraction only grows hotter! But Tanner’s past is as dark as the ink on his skin... He’ll let her get closer than close in the bedroom, but does Abby dare go deeper?

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

This one’s dedicated to Flo Nicoll and Nicola Caws, two of the best editors a girl could wish for.

Thanks for your enthusiasm, your support and your all-round awesomeness.

You rock!

CHAPTER ONE

Abby

D-DAY SHOULD’VE BEEN the happiest day of my life.

I’d envisaged a fabulous eight hours at Le Miel, creating the French pastries I’d grown to adore over the last year, followed by an intimate evening with a bottle of Shiraz and Channing Tatum.

What better way to celebrate a divorce than with a rich red to tantalise my palate and a hot guy strutting across my TV screen?

But my dreams of drooling into my wineglass over Channing turned to crap about an hour into the working day, when Remy King, the best boss in Australia, took a tumble off a ladder and ended up here, in Sydney Private Hospital.

‘You don’t need to stay,’ he said, his blue eyes filled with pain despite being dosed up on enough painkillers to fell an elephant. ‘Go back to the shop.’

‘Makayla has it covered.’ I perched delicately on the edge of his bed and reached for his hand. ‘Besides, I finished making the croissants, beignets, éclairs and macarons before you decided to do your lousy circus impression, so there’s not much left for her to do but serve.’

He managed a wan smile and winced. ‘It was the ladder’s fault.’

‘Yeah, it just happened to move sideways on that patch of flour on the floor all by itself.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘If you weren’t such a great boss and friend, I’d give you an ass-kicking for being so stupid.’

‘And if you weren’t the best apprentice I’ve ever had, I’d sack you on the spot for being so bold.’

I squeezed his hand, thanking God every day that this man had given me a chance when I needed it most.

Apparently leaving my cold, calculating husband after only nine months of marriage ‘wasn’t the done thing’ in the Prendigast family.

Not that my parents had cared why I’d done it. All they’d worried about was their precious reputation as one of the wealthiest families in Sydney, so they had cut me off financially and emotionally to teach me a lesson.

They’d expected me to come running back to their harbourside mansion in the first week.

I hadn’t been back in a year.

Yet for all their faults, I missed my folks. My friends too. But I’d left Abigail Prendigast, the perfect daughter in a perfect world who did exactly as she was told, behind that fateful day I’d walked out on my old life and into my new.

‘What’s wrong?’ Remy’s eyes narrowed, studying me. ‘If it’s the patisserie, don’t worry, you don’t have to handle the place on your own. I’ve already contacted Tanner, and he’ll be happy to help run the place while I’m recuperating.’

I stiffened. While I’d never met Remy’s younger brother, I’d heard enough to form an impression. And it wasn’t good.

The guy sounded like a flake. A rich flake, who ran nightclubs and bars along the eastern seaboard, made a squillion from them, but spent most of his time flitting overseas squandering his fortune on women.

Yet for some reason Remy seemed to adore him. I’d heard genuine emotion in his voice every time Tanner called from one of his far-flung destinations. Guess I had to give the guy credit for keeping in touch with his brother despite his playboy lifestyle.

I’d seen him once too, while Remy had been chatting to him on a teleconference call. It had been a fleeting glimpse of dark hair, dark eyes and stubble-covered jaw. Handsome if you liked that kind of thing. Me? I preferred uncomplicated, the opposite of Bardley, my ex, and the glower I’d seen on Tanner was enough to tell me he had complication all over him.

‘Isn’t Tanner overseas?’ I asked, sounding way calmer than I felt. I didn’t need some stranger who wouldn’t know a praline from a peach melba looking over my shoulder. I was confident in my work at Le Miel and didn’t need some rich-boy novice slowing me down. ‘Because I can handle the everyday running on my own.’

‘You can’t create and do everything else.’ Concern clouded his gaze before he blinked, and I wondered if I’d imagined it. ‘Tanner is a great businessman. He’s run restaurants. He’ll handle things at Le Miel for a month before I’m back on deck.’

‘A month?’ It came out a yell, and Remy chuckled.

‘That’s what the doc said. Apparently the more I keep off the fractured ankle and rest up the broken ribs, the faster it’ll all heal.’ He winked. ‘Who knew?’

Damn, I should’ve known he couldn’t use crutches to move around the shop when he had three broken ribs too. But when he’d said Tanner would be overseeing the daily operations, I’d envisaged a week, tops. Now I’d have to put up with the gypsy playboy for a month?

Feeling guilty for my selfishness when my friend was in pain, I squeezed his hand again. ‘You focus on healing fast. I’ll take care of the rest.’

‘Don’t you mean we?’

A deep voice came from behind me, the kind of voice that invoked images of dark bars, dark chocolate and dark souls. Deep. Rich. With an underlying hint of impudence that immediately put me on guard.

I turned and locked gazes with the devil himself.

Crap. Those eyes. A startling sienna, almost golden, the brown was so light. But it wasn’t the colour that unnerved me as much as the way they looked at me.

Like I was a tasty tarte tatin waiting to be devoured.

An involuntary shiver crept down my spine as that hungry stare zeroed in on my hand, where it lay covering Remy’s on the bed.

‘Isn’t this cosy?’ His insolent drawl made me bristle. ‘Hope I’m not interrupting anything?’

I snatched my hand away as Remy said, ‘Don’t be a dick. Tanner, this is Abby, my apprentice and the best damn French pastry chef outside of Paris.’

‘Next to you, of course, bro.’ Tanner’s assessing gaze focussed on me and damn if the parts of me that hadn’t experienced a guy’s touch in over a year didn’t zing. In a big way.

‘That goes without saying.’ Remy beamed, his affection obvious as he beckoned Tanner closer. ‘Thanks for doing this.’

‘My pleasure.’ As Tanner stepped forward, I stood and resisted the urge to scoot away.

As if those eyes weren’t enough, the closer he got I realised how big the guy was. Huge. At least six-three, with the kind of build honed from many hours in a gym. Or doing other forms of exercise.

Hell. Where had that come from? For the second time in less than a minute, I’d associated sex with him.

I really needed a bout between the sheets. If I could ever be bothered.

Being celibate since Bardley hadn’t been an issue. I’d been too busy assembling a life that didn’t involve society high teas, expensive dinners to woo clients and yachting on the weekends. All this squeezed around my business degree. Which I’d also walked away from. Bully for me.

‘Actually, your timing couldn’t be better.’ Tanner dwarfed everything in the room as he propped against the bed. ‘I’ve been looking for a new challenge.’

My skin prickled with awareness as Tanner’s daring stare alerted me to the fact he wasn’t just talking about Le Miel.

Either Remy was oblivious to the tension sizzling between Tanner and me, or the pain meds were really kicking in, because he waved us away.

‘Good. Then why don’t you two go get acquainted and leave me to wallow in agony?’

‘Your wish is my command, bro.’ Tanner leaned down to give Remy a gentle hug, an unexpected gesture that made me like him a little when I didn’t want to. ‘I’ll keep you posted. And don’t worry, the patisserie will be fine.’

‘Take care, Rem,’ I said, skirting the bed to the opposite side of Tanner, before bending down to place a kiss on his cheek. ‘Get well fast, okay?’

‘I will.’ Remy’s cheeky grin alerted me to the fact I wouldn’t like what he said next. ‘You’re in Tanner’s capable hands now.’

Heat surged to my cheeks as I imagined exactly what it would feel like to be in those hands, literally.

Then I made the mistake of glancing up to see Tanner hold up the hands in question, the corners of his mouth curved in a devastating smile. ‘Lucky you.’

Many words could be used to describe how I felt right at that very moment.

Lucky sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

CHAPTER TWO

Tanner

I HADN’T BEEN kidding when I told Remy I was up for a challenge. But the cool blonde with glacial blue eyes and an attitude to match wasn’t one of them.

A snowman could get frostbite next to that one.

From the first time she’d stared down her snooty nose at me, I had her pegged. Bored rich girl playing at baking goodies for a while. Probably like the ones she’d created in her state-of-the-art playroom kitchen as a kid, envisaging a prince charming with a mega bank account to come along and rescue her.

Yeah, women like her had the fairytale down pat.

Which begged the question: Why had she stuck around for a year?

Remy had given me the basics about his protégé during one of our phone calls about ten months ago. Said that one of his best customers had come into the patisserie one day, wild-eyed and dishevelled, begging for a job. It had been her dream to be a pastry chef apparently.

What a crock of shit.

I had no idea what game this Abby chick was playing, but the fact Remy had offered her the apartment over the patisserie while she got her life back together, and she was still there, meant I’d be keeping an eye on her and figuring out what her deal was.

Everybody had an angle. I’d learned that the hard way. So if the ice princess was taking advantage of my brother I’d kick her out on her sweet ass so fast she wouldn’t see it coming. And it was sweet. Very, from what I’d glimpsed when she’d bent over to kiss Remy.

It had been a touching gesture, indicating a depth of affection that could be construed as genuine, if I didn’t know better.

Women like her were masters at deception, and if her endgame was to fool my brother—maybe into giving her a piece of the action at Le Miel—she was in for a rude shock.

Remy had always been too kind-hearted; that was his problem. Probably one of the reasons Dad had tolerated him and despised me.

‘We should head back to the patisserie,’ Abby said as we exited the hospital. ‘Makayla, one of the staff, will be run off her feet.’

‘Not so fast, Sweet Thing.’ My hand shot out, touching the small of her back, and a shock akin to electricity sizzled up my arm. ‘We need to get acquainted first.’

She stared at me like I’d suggested we get naked to do it, and I grinned. The thought wasn’t totally unpalatable, considering how much fun it would be to rattle that impenetrable façade.

‘I meant let’s grab a coffee at that café down by the water, but if you had something else in mind I’m up for it.’ I threw in a wink, knowing it would rile her more than anything else I could say.

Predictably, she drew herself up to an impressive five-ten. Tall for a woman. I preferred them petite and pliable, not big and bristly.

‘Sweet thing isn’t my name,’ she said, chin tilted, haughty as hell.

‘Would you like it to be?’ I leaned in, expecting her to jump back like a startled cat.

When she held her ground and glared at me with those big blue eyes, an unusual azure similar to a glacier I’d seen in New Zealand once, I had to admire her a little.

‘Here’s the deal. I love my job and I respect your brother. He gave me a chance when no one else would, and I’m not going to screw this up over some big-mouthed Romeo who can’t keep it in his pants. Got it?’

She jabbed me in the chest with a finger. She actually jabbed me. And I admired her all the more for having the balls to stand up to my in-your-face innuendos to get a rise out of her.

‘So quit the bullshit flirting and let’s talk business.’

I couldn’t resist one more. ‘Dirty business?’

‘Jeez, you’re annoying,’ she muttered under her breath as she stomped away.

Okay, so maybe I’d pushed too far but getting her so wound up had its advantages. Namely giving me an unimpeded view of her ass.

My earlier assessment had been correct. It was sweet. Taut and rounded, highlighted to perfection in the tight black pants worn by staff at the patisserie.

The patisserie...

I’d promised Remy to ensure it ran smoothly in his absence, and I always kept my promises. I might be a prick who didn’t let anyone get too close but Remy was different. He was my blood. And I owed him.

Which meant I needed to play nice with little miss sweet cheeks.

‘Hey, wait up.’ I caught up to her in a few strides. ‘Look, you can blame my idiocy on jet lag, considering I only got in from LA late last night.’

She shot me an exasperated glance that indicated she hadn’t thawed in the slightest.

‘Let’s have that coffee, and I promise to behave.’ I held up my hands to show I had no tricks up my sleeves. ‘What do you say?’

She hesitated, gnawing her bottom lip, and damned if the innocuous action didn’t shoot straight to my cock. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t screw everything that walked and it had been a few months since I’d been with a woman.

Time to rectify that if the ice princess got me horny with a simple lip-nibble.

‘Come on, Abby, I don’t bite.’ I refrained from adding, ‘only if you ask nicely’, because that wasn’t helping the hard-on situation.

After what seemed like an eternity, she managed a terse nod. ‘Fine.’

But it wasn’t. Because as we strolled the last fifty metres to the café I caught a whiff of her fragrance on the wind. An intoxicating blend of vanilla and coconut, and I wondered if she tasted as good as she smelt.

Shit. Remy would castrate me if I screwed around with his protégé. Not that I wanted to. Taunting was one thing, following through another.

But as another gust of wind blew blond strands of hair into her face and my fingers itched with the urge to brush them away, I knew working alongside Abby would be a long four weeks.

I’d craved a challenge.

Looked like I’d got one.

CHAPTER THREE

Abby

I DIDN’T HAVE time for this.

I should head back to Le Miel and make sure Makayla had everything under control.

Instead, I had to play nice with him.

‘This table suit?’ Tanner gestured to the only vacant table for two outside the café. A cosy table.

Swallowing my first retort of ‘hell no’, I nodded. ‘Let’s get this done so I can head back to the patisserie.’

‘Why the hurry to get rid of me?’ He pulled out my chair, a gentlemanly gesture at odds with the raw toughness that radiated off him. ‘I told you I’d behave.’

I managed a tight smile in thanks as I sat, well aware that Tanner’s version of ‘behaving’ and mine would be continents apart.

‘What’ll you have?’ He sat and pushed his shirtsleeves up, revealing heavily inked arms.

I didn’t like tattoos. Couldn’t fathom what drove a person to scar their skin like that. But as Tanner leaned his forearms on the table, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sheer artistic beauty that started above his wrists and wound its way up.

Elaborate vines. Stunning roses. Intricate motifs. Symbols I couldn’t decipher from this distance but wanted to get closer to.

I found myself inadvertently leaning forward before realising what I was doing, and when I glanced up Tanner grinned like he knew exactly how fascinating I found him.

‘See anything you like?’

‘No,’ I snapped, sounding uptight and prudish, the situation made worse by the wash of heat flushing my cheeks.

‘They extend a lot further than my arms,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly, the underlying hint of naughtiness making my thighs clench. ‘In case you were wondering.’

‘I don’t like tattoos,’ I said, making a mockery of my supercilious declaration when my gaze strayed to those forearms again.

Strong. Sinuous. Sexy.

Damn.

‘Many people don’t.’ He shrugged, like my opinion meant little. ‘They see tats and think bikers and drug lords. They don’t get the artistic angle at all.’

‘You like art?’

It was the safe thing to say, a conversation starter that would get us off the topic of his tattoos and his body. I hoped.

‘I like ink.’ He leaned back in his chair and interlocked his hands behind his head, a guy comfortable in his own skin.

Which he revealed more of as the hem of his shirt rode up and I got a tantalising glimpse of more ink on his lower belly. I couldn’t make out the design, but it looked suspiciously like a cutlass and a hook.

‘A pirate, seriously?’ The words popped out before I could stop them and while I was horrified I’d articulated my thoughts, he laughed so loud nearby patrons turned to stare.

‘Don’t look so shocked,’ he drawled, filling our glasses from the water bottle between us. ‘I like a good pillage like the next pirate.’

I compressed my lips before I blurted anything else. Like how I’d rather walk the plank than be pillaged by him.

Though that wasn’t entirely true, and after my disastrous marriage, I’d made a promise to myself to never lie again—especially to myself.

In less than thirty minutes, Tanner King had made me feel more alive than I had in years. He riled me. He taunted me. His cocky, laid-back attitude annoyed the crap out of me.

But I liked the buzz making my skin prickle and the weird hollow feeling deep in my belly. Like I was missing something. Like I craved something.

Much to my horror, I had to admit that he turned me on a little. A lot. Whatever.

Bastard.

‘Let me guess. You’re going to make some crude remark about what constitutes the pirate’s peg leg.’

He laughed again, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes endearingly cute. ‘You’re funny. I like that in a woman.’

The natural retort, that he’d like all women, hovered on the tip of my tongue but a waitress appeared and after she’d taken our orders—double shot espresso for him, soy latte for me—I was back to being scrutinised by his intense golden gaze and liking it too much.

I needed to get this meeting back on solid ground. Professional. Far from charming smiles and pirate peg legs.

‘Remy told me you’ve run restaurants?’

A shadow clouded his eyes for a moment, a hint of sadness, before he blinked and I wondered if I’d imagined it. ‘Yeah, but nightclubs are more my thing.’

I bet. I could imagine him prowling around a dim room like a panther stalking its prey at night. Senses on high alert. Watching. Waiting. Before pouncing on some poor unsuspecting female.

Though with the amount of testosterone radiating off his taut body, maybe I should amend that to lucky female.

‘I haven’t seen you around the patisserie?’

He’d been toying with the cutlery on the table and he stilled, like I’d taken a shot at him for not being around for his brother. ‘I’ve been working in London and LA. Helping friends set up similar nightclubs to the ones I run here.’

‘How altruistic.’ The sarcasm slipped out before I could stop it and I wasn’t surprised when he frowned at me. ‘Sorry, that sounded bitchy. It’s an important day for me and then Remy fell and I was so worried...about him and the patisserie and getting everything done...’

Great, now I sounded like a rambling loser. But to Tanner’s credit, he didn’t make a joke. In fact, he looked surprisingly serious, the first time I’d seen him like this in our brief acquaintance. I liked it. That he could lose the clown act when called for.

‘You won’t have to do it on your own, that’s why I’m here,’ he said, eyeballing me with curiosity. ‘As for my big brother, he’ll be fine.’

He paused, a glimmer of a frown slashing his brows. ‘So it’s an important day, huh? What’s the occasion? You getting hitched?’

I snorted and wrinkled my nose. ‘Been there. Done that. Tore the bouquet to pieces.’

‘You’re married?’

‘As of today, officially divorced.’ I made jazz hands. ‘Woop-de-freaking-do.’

‘Being divorced has gotta be better than being married,’ he said, making married sound like a dirty word.

‘It is when you’re married to a cold, heartless dweeb because it seemed the right thing to do at the time.’

Even now I could see that day so clearly. The rear garden of my parents’ harbourside mansion converted into a winter wonderland. Massive marquees. White chiffon draping everything. Fairy lights twinkling in the perfectly manicured trees. Five hundred of their closest acquaintances. And Bardley, waiting at the altar, staring at me with avarice, like he’d scored a prized portfolio.

I should’ve made a run for it then. But I’d been a people-pleaser to the end, and given up my soul in the process.

Never, ever, again.

‘I thought women viewed marriage as hearts and flowers and all that crap, not something to do because it’s right.’ He made cutesy inverted comma signs with his fingers. ‘Want to talk about it?’

His mouth eased into a sexy smile. ‘Tell Uncle Tanner all your dirty little secrets.’

If he only knew.

‘No dirt and it’s not a secret. Married at twenty-one to a guy I’d virtually grown up with. Family friends. Our folks pushed us together constantly so it seemed like a natural progression to get married.’

My chest tightened at the memory of what had happened after I’d said ‘I do’. Of how Bardley had morphed into a sadistic, controlling monster. ‘Moved into Vaucluse. Perfect house. Perfect life. Except it wasn’t so perfect...’

I trailed off, wondering why the hell I was revealing all this to a virtual stranger. Then again, maybe that was the attraction. I didn’t know Tanner and he knew jack about me. Today was a turning point for me. Proof that I’d walked away from my old life. I’d been counting down the days until I was officially divorced and who knew? Maybe once I’d purged all the crap I’d bottled up for so long I might be able to finally accept that the past didn’t control me any more.

‘Did the bastard hit you?’ Tanner growled, and I glanced up, surprised to see his hands clenched into fists. ‘I don’t care if you’re divorced. Tell me where to find the prick and I’ll beat him to a pulp.’

‘Whoa, he-man.’ I held up my hands. ‘Bardley was emotionally and verbally abusive, but he never laid a finger on me.’

‘That other shit’s just as bad,’ he muttered, his hands relaxing a little. ‘What kind of a dickhead name is Bardley, anyway?’

I smiled, his ferociousness as sexy as the rest of him.

‘“That other shit” is why I left him. It got to a point where I couldn’t take it any more...’ I shook my head, remembering the exact moment I’d taken control of my life.

He’d belittled me in front of his friends, forcing me to try water-skiing when he knew I was petrified of any water above bathtub level. I ended up spraining my wrist after taking a bad tumble the first time I tried to stand on the skis. It had been a suspected fracture. Bardley had mocked me. Been totally indifferent to my pain. Had called me names.

I’d packed with my one good hand that night and taken a cab to a motel. Spent a good hour emptying my bank accounts and maxing out my credit cards by paying a top lawyer most of his fee in advance.

I regretted being a fool. Being the kind of woman to put up with that treatment from anyone. Then again, I’d been doing it my entire life, so I guess my idiocy had been ingrained from birth.

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘Plan?’ I mimicked, coming back to the present, almost surprised to find myself sitting at a harbourside café on a glorious spring day with a seriously hot guy.

‘To celebrate your divorce.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You have got something in mind to celebrate, right?’

‘I’d envisaged leaving the patisserie early tonight to kick back with a spectacular red wine and Channing Tatum, but it looks like I’ll be stuck working ’til late, taking over Remy’s duties and prepping for tomorrow.’

He rolled his eyes, his upper lip curled in derision. ‘What is it with women and Channing Tatum?’

‘Hot bod. Chiselled jaw. And the guy has the moves. What’s not to like?’

‘He’s a fantasy.’ He sniggered, a decidedly wicked sound. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer a real man?’

I saw the challenge in Tanner’s unwavering stare. Taunting me. Encouraging me to say yes.

I knew what he was offering.

A night of debauchery.

A night to wipe away sour memories of my marriage.

A night to come alive.

But I had to work with this guy for the next four weeks. Remy was depending on me, and no way in hell would I screw up his faith in me by screwing his brother.

‘I’d prefer if we drank our coffees and got back to the patisserie,’ I said, exhaling in relief when the waitress appeared to place our order on the table.

‘Fair enough,’ he said, but he wasn’t done yet. The twinkle in his eyes alerted me to the fact that every second I had to spend with him over the next month would be pure, unadulterated torture. ‘But if you want to ditch the fantasy in favour of the real thing, you know where to find me.’

He picked up his small coffee cup and raised it in my direction. ‘Here’s to a good working relationship, real-life celebrations and finding the elusive peg leg.’

I choked on my first sip of latte and he laughed, a low, sexy chuckle that sent a jolt of longing through me.

Yeah, it was going to be a long four weeks.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tanner

I TOOK ONE step into Le Miel and wished I’d said hell no when Remy asked me to help him out.

There was a reason I avoided the patisserie. With its polished honey floorboards, sunlight spilling inside and the tempting aromas of warm yeast and sugar heavy in the air, it reminded me of home.

Of Mum.

I’d been ten when she died, twenty long years ago. My memories of her might have faded with time but I’d never forget standing next to her in the kitchen while she baked. Passing her cups of flour. Gently handling eggs. Having my own board to roll pastry on. Licking icing from my sticky fingers.

Our kitchen had been huge, almost industrial-sized. Mum had run a makeshift cupcake business from home but mostly she’d loved to cook. It was her passion, like she’d been my father’s, the Frenchwoman who’d stolen his heart on a gap-year trip to Paris.

Pity the romance hadn’t lasted.

From what Remy told me, Dad had taken one look at Claudette Allard and she’d become the number one woman in his life. They’d married in two months, had Remy a year later and I’d arrived five years later. And from what I’d overheard that fateful day Mum had died, everything had turned to shit about then.

Dad avoided the kitchen and even as a youngster I’d been glad. We were happier when he wasn’t around, me, Mum and Remy.

I’d loved those days when we’d all be in there together: Mum smacking my hand for sneaking a croissant before it had cooled. Remy helping me with a tricky letter on the icing. Me proudly presenting Mum with her favourite chocolate cupcake that I’d baked from scratch. Just the three of us, laughing and joking around. Happy. Together.

Until that day I’d heard my parents argue, the kind of argument that had imprinted on my brain no matter how many times, how many drinks and how many women I’d used to dislodge it. The day Mum had been so upset she’d rushed out of the house, got in her car and been killed in a crash, leaving us with Dad.

And my hell had begun.

‘You okay?’

I glanced down to see Abby’s hand lightly resting on my forearm, concern crinkling her brow.

Annoyed I’d let memories get to me, I shrugged off her touch. ‘Yeah. Let’s get started.’

She didn’t believe me. She had this way of staring at me with those deep blue eyes like she could see right through me. It was disconcerting.

No one saw the real me. Ever.

‘You’ve been here before, right?’

I nodded. ‘Not for a while though.’

She didn’t ask why but I could see her condemnation in the flattening of her lips.

‘I’ll show you Remy’s office as that’s where you’ll be working.’

So she didn’t know I could cook? Interesting. I could have a lot of fun showing Miss Prim and Proper exactly what I could do with a rolling pin.

‘Lead the way,’ I said, with a mock bow, biting back a laugh when she gritted her teeth.

This could be fun if I concentrated on baiting my cool co-worker rather than mentally rehashing maudlin memories.

The late-morning crowd had thinned to a few mums with toddlers and an older couple reading the newspaper. From the few times I’d been here over the years, I knew early mornings and lunchtimes were hectic. Remy would have hired staff accordingly but a sliver of worry niggled.

I ran successful nightclubs employing hundreds of people. I’d run restaurants up and down the eastern seaboard. So why the touch of anxiety that I could be in over my head with one patisserie?

Because this place was Remy’s pride and joy, and I knew it. I owed my brother a lot. He’d cheered me up when I’d been young and reeling from Dad’s subtle hatred, even if he’d been oblivious as to the reason behind my sulks. He’d shown me how to cook, how to play footy, how to be a man by using clever words rather than my fists when kids teased me at school for not having a mum. He’d raised me when the old man had the decency to curl up his toes when I was fifteen, never complaining at being saddled with a recalcitrant teen when most guys were partying at twenty.

Remy was my hero, always had been, and the only person I let get close. So I’d make damn sure that not only did the patisserie continue business as usual, but also that it flourished.

As we passed the gleaming stainless-steel counter, a young guy popped up from behind it, balancing a stack of trays. Abby smiled and the poor guy almost dropped the trays. I didn’t blame him. I hadn’t seen the ice princess smile much since we’d met but when she did...kapow. I felt it like a kick to the guts.

‘Shaun, I’d like you to meet Tanner King, Remy’s brother. He’ll be the boss around here ’til Remy’s back on his feet.’

I stuck out my hand. ‘Good to meet you.’

‘You too.’ Shaun placed the trays on the counter and shook my hand. Firmly. Earning him brownie points. ‘Abby texted me earlier to let me know he’s going to be okay. That’s good news.’

‘Sure is.’ The kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen yet for some reason the thought of Abby texting him about anything stung. Pathetic. ‘Have you been working here long?’

‘Two months,’ he said, shooting Abby a scared look, like he expected I’d fire him on the spot. ‘I’ve enrolled at a college to do pastry work, and I need the hours here as part of an apprenticeship.’

‘You’re in the right place.’ I tempered my tone so the kid wouldn’t look so damn frightened. ‘Remy’s the best.’

‘He sure is.’ A woman sauntered out from the corridor linking the shop to the kitchen.

If Abby was ice, this one was fire.

Flaming red hair, deep blue eyes and the body of a lithe goddess. She moved like a dancer, confidence and strength, like she knew her place in the world and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it. A stunner. Yet I felt nothing but appreciation for her as a beautiful woman, whereas Abby turned me on with a tilt of her snooty nose.

Go figure.

‘Hi, I’m Makayla Tarrant, waitress extraordinaire.’ She held out her hand and I shook it, a little relieved when there was no zing. ‘Hope you’re ready to roll up your shirtsleeves and get to work. Remy doesn’t appreciate slackers around here.’

Abby appeared outraged, shoulders drawn back and icy glare back in full force, and I laughed, liking the other woman already.

‘You’ll be pleased to know I intend to work as hard as the rest of you while I’m here.’ I pushed up my sleeves for emphasis, liking when Abby’s gaze drifted to my forearms.

She’d been mesmerised when I’d done it earlier at the café, like she’d never seen ink before. A blush had appeared on her cheeks as she’d studied me, and I’d had the craziest impulse to strip off and show her exactly how much ink covered my body and where.

‘Good, then let’s get started.’ Abby cleared her throat, oddly brusque, and that blush was back.

Oh, yeah, showing her the rest of my tats could be fun.

‘Nice meeting you both,’ I said, with a wave at Makayla and Shaun.

Shaun shot me a nervous smile and Makayla nodded, her gaze assessing, like she couldn’t figure me out.

Join the long line, honey.

Abby strode down the corridor that led to the kitchen, and I followed, the aroma of sugar and cinnamon and buttery goodness getting stronger with every step.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Sadness clogged my throat. Potent. Disorienting.

When she opened a door marked ‘Office’ off the corridor, I’d never been more grateful.

I couldn’t enter the kitchen right now, not when some strange nostalgia gripped me, making me yearn for a past I’d left behind a long time ago.

‘Remy’s very organised, so you’ll find everything documented in spreadsheets. Supply order forms. Current stock. Online orders. The works...’ She trailed off as I slammed the door, wishing I could do the same on the memories swamping me. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘Nothing,’ I growled, annoyed that she was so insightful. ‘Continue the induction.’

‘No.’ She folded her arms, her superiority annoying me as much as the relentless memories of how much I missed Mum. ‘For some reason, being here has you rattled, and I need to know why so we can fix it.’

‘Babe, you may be many things, a shrink isn’t one of them.’ I stalked towards her, covering the short distance between us. ‘I don’t need to be fixed.’

‘I—I didn’t mean it like that.’ She took a small step back as I invaded her personal space. ‘I want this place to run smoothly while Remy’s away and if there’s a problem I want it sorted now before it affects business.’

I admired her dedication to my brother. Not many employees would give a rat’s ass about their boss’s business. But no way in hell would I stand here and be analysed by her ladyship.

‘So that’s what’s all-important to you, is it? Business?’

A tiny dent appeared between her brows, as if she didn’t understand the question, before she nodded. ‘Of course. Remy gave me a chance when my life was down the toilet. I owe him. And I won’t have you breezing in here on the pretext of helping and screwing it up.’

My respect ratcheted up further. I didn’t like many people in this world let alone respect them, so I decided to wind her up a little to detract from the flood of uncharacteristic emotions swamping me the last few minutes.

‘If you’re all business, when do you have time for pleasure?’

Her lips parted in a surprised little O and I took it a step further.

‘You do know what pleasure is?’

I leaned in, close enough to smell the sweetness of vanilla in her hair, close enough to see her porcelain skin was one hundred percent natural and unadorned by make-up, close enough to kiss her if I was so inclined.

‘Back off,’ she said, her fighting words at odds with the soft, breathy way she uttered them.

‘Make me.’ I squared my shoulders, wondering when I’d last enjoyed sparring with a woman this much.

‘You’re such a...child,’ she muttered, and I laughed at how she must’ve watered down that insult.

‘And you’re all woman.’ I leaned against a filing cabinet, knowing she’d have to push past me to get out. ‘But a prickly one. Don’t you ever lighten up?’

Anger sparked in her eyes, flecks of vibrant emerald and sizzling sapphire among the blue. ‘I haven’t got time to lighten up. I work ten-hour days here, five days a week, while attending classes one day a week to complete my apprenticeship. On Sunday, my one day off, I do extensive research to update my blog so that people will know who the hell I am if I eventually save up enough to open my own place one day.’

Her chest heaved with indignation as she tried to shove past me. ‘So why don’t you lighten the hell up and give me a freaking break?’

I should’ve felt bad for pushing her to this point. I didn’t. Because if her icy façade had turned me on, it had nothing on this outraged, furious woman.

She was spectacular.

So I calmed her down the only way I knew how.

I hauled her against me and kissed her.

I caught her off guard, her gasp of surprise all I needed to invade her mouth, my tongue taunting hers as much as my words.

I’d expected her to retreat. To possibly bite me. I didn’t expect the low moan that emanated from the back of her throat, like a primitive growl that reverberated all the way down to my soul. Or the way she pushed against me, so hard my back slammed against the filing cabinet.

The ice princess liked it rough and ready. Who knew?

I ravaged her mouth, palming her breast and tweaking a nipple as she writhed against me. Hot. Wanton. Abandoned.

If she didn’t stop, I wouldn’t be able to and, as much as I’d like to, screwing her on Remy’s desk my first day here wasn’t part of the plan.

Remy.

With an anguished groan I wrenched my mouth from hers, stunned I’d let it get this far.

What was it about this woman that made me forget boundaries let alone my own name?

‘I need to get to work.’ I pushed past her like nothing had happened and took a seat behind the desk, adjusting myself as I did so and wishing my brother had the smarts to install a shower at his workplace.

I’d never needed a cold shower so frigging badly.

Abby stared at me in open-mouthed disbelief. I knew the feeling. I couldn’t believe we’d just done that either.

‘I—you—shit,’ she muttered, shaking her head as I tried not to notice her reddened lips and her flushed cheeks, blond tendrils sticking out all over the place.

She looked like we’d done a lot more than kiss, and my cock throbbed again.

‘Don’t expect me to apologise for that,’ I said, waving her away in a cruel dismissal, like the kiss meant nothing.

When in fact I needed her to leave ASAP so I wouldn’t be tempted for a repeat. Next time, I might not be able to stop.

‘I don’t expect anything from you.’ The haughtiness was back as she tilted her chin and stared down her nose at me. ‘Not a single bloody thing.’

She slammed the door on her way out.

I didn’t blame her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Abby

IF THERE WERE awards handed out to people for the art of pretending, I’d have an entire shelf full. A room full. An entire house full. I’d be in the academy’s hall of freaking fame.

I’d done it my whole life. Pretending I liked the handcrafted silver jewellery box for my seventh birthday when I’d wanted a backyard cricket set. Pretending I liked having a fully catered disco party for my thirteenth birthday when I’d wanted to have fish and chips on the beach with my only friend. Pretending I didn’t mind having a lavish society wedding when I would’ve been happy swapping vows at the register office.

Yeah, I was an expert at pretence. A goddamn queen. Which was how I managed to get through the rest of the day, creating brioche and baguettes and pains au chocolat, like that kiss had never happened.

That kiss.

Six hours later, it still haunted me.

Powerful and commanding and so damned passionate I got damp just thinking about it.

I’d never, ever, been kissed like that.

Like stepping into a raging inferno, consumed by heat from the inside out and not giving a damn.

I’d lost it. The moment his mouth covered mine I hadn’t been able to think. Hadn’t wanted to, if I was completely honest. Because kissing Tanner King put a full stop on my old life and kickstarted my new.

I’d wanted to celebrate with Channing tonight. Instead, I’d got a brief taste of Tanner and I wasn’t disappointed. Angry at myself for letting it happen. Confused why he’d done it. And seriously peed off. But never disappointed.

God, the man could kiss.

If I was the queen of pretending, he was the master of manipulating lips.

My hand drifted upward to my mouth and a fingertip traced my bottom lip. I could swear it still tingled from the way he’d devoured me.

‘All locked up, Abs.’

I jumped and spun around, hoping Makayla hadn’t seen me. ‘Thanks.’

She grinned and pointed to the small table set up in the kitchen where staff took their meal breaks. ‘Why don’t you sit and tell me all about the dishy Tanner while I fix us a hot chocolate?’

‘Nothing to tell,’ I said, far too quickly, and Makayla raised a knowing brow.

‘You’ve been avoiding the office all afternoon and blushing at random times for no reason so I beg to differ, my friend.’ Makayla tittered as she performed a little pirouette, something she did often, as if to keep her dance training at the forefront of her mind. ‘Plus I just saw you staring into space and touching your lip, so I’m guessing you’re fantasising about Hot Stuff kissing you.’

‘You’re too damn perceptive for your own good,’ I muttered, but took a seat at the table anyway. ‘Make mine a double.’

‘Two giant marshmallows coming up,’ she said, busying herself at the stove. ‘Have to say, it’s nice to see you lust over a guy. In the three months I’ve been here, you haven’t mentioned anyone let alone been out on a date.’

Was I that pathetic? Considering I’d avoided men for the last twelve months since Bardley the Bastard, probably.

‘Who said I’m lusting over Tanner?’

Makayla beamed as she poured hot chocolate into two mugs. ‘Sweetie, it’s all over your face.’

‘Am I that easy to read?’

‘I’m good at reading people.’ Makayla plopped two marshmallows in each mug and headed for the table. ‘Got a ton of experience at an old job.’

Sadness downturned her mouth for a moment, like it had been a less than pleasant experience, before her signature smile was back and she visibly brightened. Makayla spent all her spare time attending dance auditions and had worked in a few theatre productions. Maybe she needed to get a read on the competition?

‘It’s probably my self-imposed year-long drought—’

‘You haven’t been with a guy in a year?’ Makayla squealed and mimicked a faint as I rolled my eyes.

‘Yeah, I’m that much of a sad case.’

It wasn’t until that moment I realised I was. Sad. My marriage might have been bland at best, but I missed the intimacy of having someone to debrief with at the end of a day. Of having a male perspective on life. Of being with a guy, even if the sex had been as lacklustre as the marriage.

Maybe that was why I’d enjoyed Tanner’s kiss so much?

Yeah, and downplaying it would make me forget it in a hurry. Not.

‘You need to get out more,’ Makayla declared, her forehead crinkled in thought. ‘A night out on the town. You and me. Drinks. Dancing. Deviously scoping out hot guys.’

‘Nightclubs aren’t really my thing—’

‘Bull.’ Makayla waggled her finger at me. ‘I’m not taking no for an answer. If you’re lusting over our new boss on the first day, you need to get laid.’

‘I’m not a guy—’

‘Girls have needs too, and after a year? Sweetie, you must be pretty damn needy.’

I laughed as Makayla wiggled her eyebrows.

‘There’s this fabulous club, the hottest dance venue in Sydney, called Embue. We’re going. Tomorrow night.’ She did another jig. ‘So get your dancing shoes on, baby, because I’m not taking no for an answer.’

I’d seen Makayla like this before, when she’d railroaded me last month into buying an exquisite rose silk scarf I couldn’t afford at The Rocks market. And before that, when she’d insisted I attend an art gallery opening that featured the weirdest nude paintings.

She wouldn’t give up until I said yes, so I sighed. ‘What kind of a weird name is Embue?’

‘It means steamy in French.’ Makayla winked and fanned her face. ‘Don’t you want to get all steamed up over some guy?’

I already was and that was the problem. Because heading out to some dark, dingy nightclub to scope out men wouldn’t make me forget Tanner and the potency of his kiss.

I’d need to meet Channing or his equivalent for that to happen and the odds were a billion to one of any guy remotely coming close to my screen idol.

But I had a feeling Makayla wouldn’t let up. She’d asked me out to go clubbing several times since she’d started working here and we’d become friends, and I’d fobbed her off with excuses of homework.

With school holidays coming up and the universities winding down, she wouldn’t buy that excuse this time.

I gave a resigned shrug. ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’

Makayla clapped her hands, excitement making her eyes glitter. ‘Two babes out to shake things up. Can’t wait.’

I could, but I needed something—maybe even someone—to distract me from this insane attraction to Tanner.

A night out could be just the thing I needed.

CHAPTER SIX

Tanner

I HAD TO hand it to my brother. He sure knew how to run a business. Le Miel turned a handy profit and had the potential to expand if the boutique next door ever accepted his generous offer to buy them out.

I’d studied the spreadsheets yesterday and today, and couldn’t find a single weak spot.

Unlike me, who’d discovered a major one: for prim, snooty women who kissed like a frigging dream.

Even now, a day and a half later, I couldn’t get that kiss out of my head. Which was plain crazy, considering the number of women I’d kissed over the years. I hadn’t been in double figures for a long while so why did Abby, with those weird azure blue eyes and her cool façade, get to me so damn bad?

So I’d done what had to be done. Avoided her. Snuck out yesterday while she’d been in the kitchen with Makayla, and locked myself away in the office all day today.

We’d exchanged civil greetings this morning, that was it. Suited me fine. I didn’t have time to be some society girl’s plaything. Her walk on the wild side to celebrate her divorce.

Not that I wasn’t interested. Sex with Abby had the potential to be phenomenal. Women coming out of a shitty marriage could go off like firecrackers.

But Remy would bust my balls if I inadvertently hurt her and she quit out of some misguided notion that any future chance meetings between us would be uncomfortable.

It had happened before, when I’d been young and dumb; had opened my first club and slept with my accountant. She’d been looking for more than a good time, despite her reassurances before things started up. When it soured she left and I’d lost the best damn accountant in the business.

No, I wouldn’t be responsible for screwing this up for Remy, not when he’d spoken so highly of Abby when I’d called him last night and first thing this morning.

I’d keep my distance. Maybe even apologise for that kiss. Remy’s business had steadily increased over the last year and, considering he recorded Abby’s progress as part of her apprenticeship, looked like his protégé had been a big part of that.

Le Miel and Remy couldn’t afford to lose Abby.

Which meant I had to keep the snake in its cage.

I glanced at the clock. After seven, when I needed to start my own work at nine. No time for a workout to ease the kinks out of my back. Sitting at a desk for twelve hours straight was for fools.

Pressing the tips of my fingers to my eyes, I did a few yoga breaths while rolling my shoulders. I heard the door open and when I opened my eyes, Abby stood in front of me, with a steaming espresso and an almond croissant.

‘You’ve been working hard all day and haven’t been out, so I thought you might like a snack?’

‘You’re an angel,’ I said, meaning it, as the pungent Brazilian brew hit my nose and I inhaled greedily. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

A faint blush stained her cheeks, as if she wasn’t used to praise, and damned if I wasn’t catapulted straight back to yesterday morning when I’d kissed her.

Her blush had been deeper then, the blue of her eyes so damn crystal clear I could’ve drowned in them.

My cock hardened in agreement and I inwardly cursed. Remember Remy and Le Miel and a flourishing bottom line?

Down, boy.

She handed me the coffee and placed the plate on the desk. ‘At the risk of sounding like a nag, you shouldn’t lock yourself away in here all day and not eat.’

‘Who said I don’t have a secret stash of energy bars in the top drawer?’

She quirked an eyebrow. ‘Do you?’

‘Nah, but if it stops you nagging, I’ll say it.’

She smiled and it softened her features from pretty to breathtaking. ‘I’m heading out soon so are you okay to lock up?’

‘Sure, go head.’ I tapped my temple. ‘The alarm combo is stashed away up here.’

The corners of her mouth twitched. ‘Not sure how you can remember any new numbers when you must have a phone book’s worth stored up there already.’

I laughed, enjoying this softer side of her. ‘Did you just make fun of my little black book?’

She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. ‘A little.’

Surprised by her lighthearted sparring when I’d expected her to be gauche and standoffish after that kiss, I feigned indignation. ‘I’ll have you know my mental capacity is much less than you give me credit for, so I keep the thousands of women’s phone numbers stored in my cell.’

‘Little wonder you have such a big one—’ Her lips clamped shut and her eyes widened in horror at her gaff.

‘We are talking about my cell, right? Or are you still obsessing over my peg leg?’

The blush returned, deepening her cheeks to a rosy pink. ‘It’s been a long day. I really should go.’

‘And I really should let you.’

But neither of us moved, our gazes locked in some invisible battle of wills while electricity sparked between us.

I had to do something to break this tenuous hold she had on me before I did something monumentally stupid, like kiss her again. And not stop at a kiss this time.

‘I’m sorry for kissing you yesterday,’ I blurted, not sorry at all. ‘It was out of line. Blame it on my jet lag, concern over Remy and your unfailing knack of goading me.’

‘Glad to know it wasn’t my womanly charms,’ she said, her dry response tempered with a smile. ‘Honestly? Don’t worry about it. Forgotten, just like that.’

She snapped her fingers and damned if my ego didn’t take a hit.

Forgotten? That made one of us.

‘Anyway, got to go. Makayla’s taking me clubbing.’ She made it sound like her friend was dragging her for a root canal. ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, see you.’ I watched her walk out the door, my gaze riveted to her ass.

She worked those black pants like nothing else and I scowled, snatching up the croissant and jamming it into my mouth.

The buttery goodness melted on my tongue and I wondered if its creator would taste as good.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Abby

I’D ENVISAGED EMBUE being a one-room dive with mirrored walls, strobing lights and ear-splitting techno.

Thankfully, I was wrong.

‘Isn’t this place the coolest?’ Makayla clung to my arm and did a little jive on the spot. ‘I’ve heard rave reviews about it but this surpasses my expectations by a mile.’

Mine too. Everything about the nightclub screamed class, from the polished floorboards and soaring ceilings to the chandelier hanging over the DJ’s console, placed smack-bang in the middle of the dance floor.

The dance floor circled the DJ like a giant shimmering oil slick, with golden velvet lounges in booths surrounding it. Cream and gold were everywhere, from the chiffon-covered walls to the coasters.

The entire effect was upscale elegance rather than downtown disco.

I loved it.

As for the music, I actually recognised the song, an upbeat nineties number that made me sway a little.

I elbowed Makayla. ‘Should I make a confession now that I’ve never been to a nightclub?’

Makayla gripped my arm tighter and swung me around to face her. ‘What the... I could’ve sworn you just said you’d never been to a nightclub?’

I held up my free hand. ‘The truth and nothing but the truth.’

‘What are you, a nun?’ She released my arm, only to slug it. ‘Girlfriend, either you’ve been in a cult or kidnapped by a madman who kept you locked up, because everyone on the planet has been to a nightclub at some point in their lives.’

Being part of the perfect Prendigasts had been like living in a cult, before being virtually kidnapped by Bardley and living in a prison of my own making.

‘I got married at twenty-one.’

Makayla shook her head, a riot of glossy red curls tumbling over her bare shoulders dusted in glitter. ‘But didn’t you ever sneak into a nightclub underage? Go out with your friends from school?’

‘I went to an all-girls private school and no, we didn’t sneak out.’

We didn’t do much of anything bar go on expensive shopping trips and have mani-pedis in the private comfort of our mansions. Not that I could call any of the girls I’d hung out with as friends. They’d been the bitchiest group I’d ever encountered, clones of their mothers whose only ambition was to find a rich, upper-class guy and marry him.

All they’d ever talked about was who had the latest designer bag, who had the most expensive car sitting in the garage for when they turned eighteen and which guys from the elite boys’ schools were the best to shag.

How I’d longed to be part of those groups of girls who hung around together at the local shops, swapping frozen yoghurts and gossip while they waited for the school bus instead of Daddy’s chauffeur.

Those girls had looked genuinely happy, despite their ripped blazers and holey jumpers. My folks had taught me from a young age that money could buy anything. They’d been wrong. I couldn’t buy happiness, the kind I’d seen on those girls’ faces.

‘Sweetie, you need to start living.’ Makayla gave me a gentle nudge towards the dance floor. ‘Starting now.’

I wanted to let loose but I caught sight of myself in a floor-to-ceiling-length mirror and baulked.

Whereas Makayla fit in here with her dramatic make-up, sexily mussed hair, towering stilettos and a strapless figure-hugging purple mini, I looked like a grandma with my blow-dried hair, clear lip gloss and mascara, moderate heels and a staple sleeveless LBD that ended at my knees.

Who knew little black dresses had gone out of fashion around the same time I’d gone out of circulation?

‘You’re dancing. Now.’ Makayla shoved me again and this time I let myself be propelled onto the dance floor, joining the throngs of writhing bodies moving in time to an old pop song about spinning around.

I liked music and always had the latest stuff on a playlist while I baked. But bopping around a kitchen and moving my body in front of a bunch of strangers were worlds apart.

Thankfully, nobody gave a flying fig as I started to shuffle my feet. Allowed my shoulders to relax and my hips to sway to the music.

‘There you go. You’re dancing and the ceiling hasn’t caved in.’ Makayla put her hand over her mouth in mock horror. ‘Wow, you may even start having fun.’

‘Bite me,’ I yelled above the music, moving my body faster and adding a shimmy for good measure.

Makayla laughed and flung her arms in the air, her body sensual and sinuous as she executed moves I could never dream of pulling off.

After the first song, I lost track of how many we danced to. Daggy songs from the eighties mingled with the latest techno beats as I danced my ass off. Wiggling my hips. Shimmying my shoulders. Not caring that I jiggled in places I hadn’t jiggled in a long time.

I enjoyed it. Until an old boyfriend of Makayla’s slunk up to us and I quickly realised that three was a crowd.

I tapped her on the arm and gestured towards the bar. ‘I’ll leave you two alone.’

‘You don’t have to go.’ Makayla’s gaze swung between the guy and me and I could tell she was torn.

‘Seriously, I’m zonked anyway. I’ll just have a drink, then take a taxi home.’

‘You sure?’

I nodded. ‘Absolutely.’ I leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. ‘Go have fun.’

Still Makayla wavered. ‘But tonight was supposed to be about you and finding some hot guy to end your drought.’

‘Another time,’ I said, giving her a gentle nudge in the direction of the guy waiting patiently for us to finish our conversation. ‘Go. Be naughty enough for the both of us.’

A wicked gleam lit her eyes. ‘I think I can manage that.’

I laughed and headed off the dance floor. I’d barely made it onto the polished boards before the guy had swept Makayla into his arms and they were doing some weird ritualistic dance that almost looked obscene.

Makayla was a lovely girl, I liked her a lot, and for one fleeting moment I wished I had half the va-va-voom factor she did.

With a sigh, I turned.

And ran smack-bang into Tanner.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tanner

DOING THE ROUNDS of my clubs after putting in two long days at the patisserie wasn’t my idea of fun, but I’d been away for almost a year and I wanted to do a stealth visit to see how the managers and staff were coping.

I needn’t have worried. I only hired the best and the four clubs I’d visited so far were operating with precision. Embue was the last on my list and, like the rest, the managers were on top of things and the place was packed.

I’d planned on spending thirty minutes mingling, chatting with staff, getting a general feel where I could liven things up.

That plan shot to shit when I spied Abby. Writhing on the dance floor, arms flung wide, hips swaying, out of time with the music but dancing to some imaginary rhythm in her head.

Damned if it wasn’t the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.

So I watched. My cock throbbing in time with some crap techno beat. Wanting her.

I saw some guy sleaze up to Makayla and they started chatting like long-lost lovers, all over each other. Leaving Abby a third wheel and about to leave.

She strode off the dance floor and twenty guys in the vicinity swivelled their heads to watch.

Not that she wore anything revealing. In fact, her modest black dress was practically outlandish in a sea of scantily clad women. But it was the way she carried herself. The set of her shoulders. The tilt of her head. The way her hips moved.

She exuded class. And every horndog in the place wanted to see if they could get behind that cool exterior and see how far she could be pushed to get off.

When one guy put down his drink and walked towards her, I made a move, cutting him off. ‘Sorry, buddy, she’s mine.’

A possessive statement I had no right making but no way in hell would I stand by and watch Abby have to fend off a bunch of horny pricks.

I reached out to tap her on the shoulder when she spun around and smacked into me.

‘Whoa.’ My arms shot out to grab her, her look of abject horror at finding me here making me want to tease the hell out of her. ‘You’ve got to stop throwing yourself at me like this.’

She recovered her wits and her balance but I didn’t release her. I liked having her this close, her nipples grazing my chest, her palpable heat warming my body, the sweat-slicked sheen to her skin.

She looked radiant.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I own the place.’ I shrugged, like it meant little, when in fact every club I owned was testament to how far I’d come—and how far I’d proved Dad wrong. ‘Haven’t been here in a year so after I locked up at the patisserie, I’ve done the rounds of my clubs, checking up on things.’

To my surprise, she hadn’t moved. In fact, now that she’d recovered from the shock, she seemed perfectly relaxed having me hold her arms like I wouldn’t let go.

‘The diligent boss, huh?’

‘Something like that.’

We ran out of conversation, our gazes locked in some kind of invisible heated battle, as I wondered what it was about this woman that rattled my cage.

I wanted her with a fierceness I hadn’t felt for a long time. If ever. I dated. I screwed. I didn’t do commitment. It worked well for me. Sex as exercise. Sex for fun. Sex with women who knew the score and didn’t have any expectations.

Women nothing like Abby.

Abby would be a hearts and flowers kind of girl. She’d told me about her bastard ex and the emotional abuse, but who knew what kind of expectations she’d put on the guy? Maybe he hadn’t lived up to her high standards? Maybe he’d lashed out verbally when he couldn’t handle it?

The moment I thought it, I felt guilty. Just because I wanted Abby and knew that having her would be a screw-up of monstrous proportions, I was trying to find excuses and maligning her in the process. Not cool.

‘I should go.’ She tried to back away, and the smart thing to do would be to release her.

I tightened my hold. ‘Would you like a tour? You can have a drink and relax in the VIP room, then I’ll get you a taxi.’

A refusal hovered on her lips. I saw them tremble with it before she clamped them tight and nodded.

Mentally calling myself everything from putz to dickhead, with a long list of obscenities in between, I led her to a shimmering gold curtain in the back corner and pulled it aside.

‘After you.’

She hesitated, as if unsure of my intentions. Smart girl.

‘What’s wrong?’

She glanced sideways at me and, rather than see trepidation in her eyes, I glimpsed excitement. ‘I’ve danced for about two hours nonstop and I’m about to faint if I don’t get a drink. Could we skip the long tour and head straight to the bar?’

I smiled, her honesty refreshing. ‘Sure, this way.’

We passed through the VIP room, filled with the usual crowd of elite sportsmen, WAGs, models and a visiting rap star from the US. Abby ogled a little but I had a feeling it was more about the way the women were draped all over the men than in any recognition for the VIPs.

For a woman in her early twenties, she was strangely naïve. Like she hadn’t really lived. Rich girls like her would’ve gone to the best private school and been privy to parties from a young age. Sure, she might have married young but she’d been single for a year. She must’ve let loose over the last twelve months. So why the air of innocence that hovered over her like a cloud?

‘Through here.’ I slid a card over a digital lock and waited for the beep before pushing the door open.

Though no one used this room but me and I hadn’t been in here for a year, I knew it would be immaculate and well stocked. My staff were nothing but professionals and word would’ve travelled fast from the other clubs that I’d probably drop by tonight.

‘What would you like to drink?’

The door slid soundlessly shut behind us and I saw her glance at it, hesitate, before squaring her shoulders like she’d come to a decision.

She probably didn’t trust me. I understood. But she had nothing to fear. I wouldn’t mess with the status quo, no matter how much I wanted to ruffle that cool façade. Remy was too important to me, and I’d already screwed up enough in my lifetime to add yet another thing to feel guilty for.

‘Sparkling water if you’ve got it, please.’

‘For you, babe, anything.’ I flashed her a quick grin, surprised when she smiled back. Maybe all that dancing had loosened up her reservations? ‘Take a seat.’

But she didn’t. Instead, she strolled around the room, inspecting it. ‘What is this place?’

‘My hideout.’ I grabbed a bottle of mineral water out of the bar fridge, unscrewed the cap and poured it into a long glass, adding a sliver of lemon. ‘When hosting a bunch of selfish, spoiled brats in the VIP room, I need a place to escape, and this is it.’

‘It’s nice,’ she said, trailing her hand over the butter-soft black leather sofas, the small glass-topped desk in the corner, the display cabinet where I kept my awards. ‘These all yours?’

‘No, I mug every sportsman who comes in here and stash the loot in here,’ I deadpanned, handing her the drink.

‘Thanks.’ She took the glass and downed the mineral water in several gulps as I stared at the almost convulsive movement of her throat and desperately tried not to imagine her doing something similar to me.

When she finished, she handed me the glass with a sheepish smile. ‘I was parched.’

‘Want a top-up?’

‘Please.’ She turned back to the awards as I poured her another glass. ‘You’ve won a lot of stuff in the hospitality industry.’

‘Awards are ego-strokers.’ I handed her the glass, forcing myself to look away this time. I couldn’t be any harder if I tried, grateful that I’d installed a bathroom in here too so the minute I put her in a cab I could take a cold shower. ‘I prefer to see results in profit margins.’

She stilled, sadness creeping across her face. ‘My father used to say that a lot. Always about the profit margins.’

‘That’s what matters most to savvy businessmen. That and a healthy portfolio.’

She screwed up her nose and damned if it wasn’t the cutest thing I’d ever seen. ‘Is that what you’re all about? Because those tattoos speak more about rebelling against convention than caring about portfolios.’

‘What’s with you and my tats?’ I shrugged out of my jacket, flung it on a sofa and rolled up my sleeves. ‘Here. Look your fill. Then judge me some more.’

I had no idea where my outburst came from but I felt like a jackass the moment she blushed in mortification.

‘I didn’t mean to judge—I mean, I just haven’t seen tattoos up close and—’

‘And you still haven’t,’ I muttered, hating that she’d touched a sore spot without knowing it and I’d reacted accordingly.

My tats were more than art.

They defined me.

At a time in my life when I hadn’t been comfortable in my own skin, I took on a new one.

And having a woman like Abby judge me as just another deadhead rebel because of my tats really pissed me off.

‘This would be looking at them up close,’ I growled, trying to tamp down my anger and failing as I unbuttoned my shirt and shrugged it off. ‘Here. Take a good look. See if you can figure me out.’

I stood in front of her, hands on hips, defiant and oddly vulnerable. I shouldn’t care what she thought of me. After Remy was back on his feet, I’d be outta here and back on the road, heading to Bangkok or Ibiza or Munich, creating successful clubs that would define me more than my tats.

But I did care. And that was what pissed me off the most.

I shouldn’t give a flying fuck what Abby thought of me.

Yet I did.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her apology soft and uncertain, her gaze riveted to my chest. ‘I’ve offended you.’

My anger dimmed a little as she scanned my chest as if studying for an art exam. Her hungry gaze gobbling me up and coming back for seconds. She couldn’t look away.

I’d never been studied so closely, her scrutiny disconcerting. It felt like she could see through the tats to the real me beneath, the scared little boy I’d once been, desperate for approval.

‘You’re beautiful,’ she said, taking a step closer to study me, gnawing on her bottom lip a little, the innocuous action making me want to throw her down on the sofa and take her.

Not ‘the tats are beautiful’, but ‘you’re beautiful’, her simple statement deflating what was left of my resentment.

Had it been a slip of the tongue or had she meant it? Because no one saw past my tats and a few moments ago she’d been like the rest, judging me for them.

‘May I?’ Before I could react she touched me, the briefest brush of her fingertips skating across my skin, tracing every inch of ink.

The Buddha. The peace sign outlined in flowers. The phoenix.

Symbols of my past.

My search for clarity.

My quest for harmony.

Rising out of the ashes of my childhood.

I held my breath as she moved lower, skirting around the pirate. Her fingertips light as air but making my skin burn.

‘Seen enough?’ I said through gritted teeth, regretting I’d let my anger get the better of me and done this.

Because daring her to look and expecting her to blush and turn away was far different from having Abby touch me like she wanted to explore my tats.

All over.

Her gaze lifted to mine and the blatant lust darkening her eyes to indigo blew me away.

Fuck, I was in trouble. So much trouble.

‘Not nearly enough,’ she murmured before placing her hand flush against my straining cock. ‘All these pretty tattoos are an insult to your manhood, so you better show me that pirate’s peg leg so my faith in you is restored.’

Laughter burst from deep within me as I held onto the last of my self-control.

‘Abby, this is a bad idea. You’re Remy’s protégé and when this all turns to shit—’

‘It won’t,’ she said, stroking me lightly through my jeans, shredding the last of my resolve. ‘One night. That’s all I’m asking for.’

She removed her hand and I inwardly cursed my misplaced chivalry. ‘Though in fairness, I should disclose I haven’t had sex in over a year so I may break you.’

I could resist the snooty princess.

I couldn’t resist this playful, honest woman who stared at me like she could devour me in one gulp and come back for seconds.

‘Fuck, Abby, you’re making this hard—’

‘I sure as hell hope so.’ She cupped me again, firmer this time, and I lost it.

I dragged her forward and crushed her to me, grinding against her so she was in little doubt to exactly how this would go.

Hot, sweaty animalistic sex. Fast and furious and so fucking good.

She reacted like I’d set her alight. Slamming her mouth to mine. Pushing me against the nearest wall. Climbing all over me.

It was the hottest frigging thing ever, having someone like her want someone like me so damn much.

Her tongue stroked mine, shy and darting one second, bold and commanding the next, as her hand sneaked between us to touch me.

She kissed aggressively, long, deep sweeps of her tongue totally at odds with the aloof front she usually presented. It turned me on even more, the contrast between fire and ice. Hot and cold. So frigging hot.

She’d go off when I entered her, I just knew it, and my cock ached with wanting to be inside her.

I palmed her breast, rolling the nipple between my thumb and forefinger, drawing a deep groan from her. Sensitive breasts, I liked that. I needed to feast on them, to suck on those nipples until she screamed.

But my mind momentarily blanked as she slid her hand inside my jocks. Wrapped her fingers around my cock. And squeezed.

‘I want to see you,’ she murmured against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip while continuing to squeeze me. Stroke me. Undo me.

‘Right back at you.’ I hissed out a breath as her thumb rolled over the head of my cock, and I stilled her hand, withdrew it before I embarrassed myself.

There was something incredibly hot about a shy, reserved woman taking charge, and having her go for my package served to ratchet up the desire pounding through me to a relentless beat.

‘Turn around.’

If my guttural growl frightened her, she didn’t show it. Instead, her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip before she pouted. ‘But I want to see the pirate. All of him.’

‘You will, babe, trust me.’ I flashed a wolfish grin. ‘But first, I need to see all of you.’

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, so I hit the dimmer switch, willing to do anything to make her more comfortable.

Anything but stop.

Because I’d ditched my reservations around the time she’d ditched hers and stuck her hand in my pants.

I couldn’t stop this. I didn’t want to.

Not when she’d articulated exactly what this was. A rebound fuck. We both knew the score and that made it okay.

She didn’t expect hearts and flowers.

She wanted hard and fast.

After over a year of celibacy—I didn’t have a frigging clue how that had happened considering how damn gorgeous she was—she wanted to use me to break the drought.

The good girl wanting the bad boy to make it all better, even if it was only for one night.

This I could do.

The moment she’d taken emotion out of the equation and shown me exactly what she wanted, I couldn’t say no.

I understood wanting to obliterate the past with something a tad wild, something not entirely good, something to make you forget. Boy, did I understand.

‘I want you,’ she said, the vulnerability of a moment ago fading as she eyeballed me with unabashed hunger. ‘Real bad.’

‘The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.’ I spun her around and homed in on her zipper. Slid the tab down, the rasp of metal against metal meshing with her soft pants of anticipation.

I imagined expanses of soft, creamy skin. Unblemished. Untarnished. The opposite of mine. When I hit the bottom she whimpered a little. I slid my hands up her back. Pushed the dress off her shoulders.

It pooled at her feet, leaving her in matching black satin bra and panties. French cut. Almost prophetic. I liked everything French. French food. French fries. French kissing. And French panties I could tear off with my teeth to feast on her.

Her skin was as beautiful as I’d imagined and I trailed my fingertips across the top of her ass, skirted her waist, drifted upward, loving how soft she felt. She trembled a little as I unhooked the bra and stepped closer to slide it off her arms.

‘Beautiful,’ I murmured in her ear as I slid my arms around her from behind to cup her breasts. To savour the weight of them. To flick her light brown nipples with my thumbs. ‘I can’t wait to taste you.’

She made an incoherent sound as her head lolled back a little and I captured her mouth, plucking at her nipples. A deep tongue-tangling kiss, assertive and greedy, as I marvelled at the sweet taste of her, the hot moistness of her mouth, a prelude to how she’d be when I feasted lower.

‘More,’ she demanded between kisses, and I was only too happy to oblige.

Without taking my mouth off hers, I spun her towards me and ground my hand against her mound.

She moaned and I pushed her panties down, waiting until she’d kicked them off before sliding my fingers between her slick folds, savouring how wet she was. For me.

‘Tanner, please...’

I wanted to prolong this, to go down on her once, maybe twice, before finally getting off. But my own months of celibacy ensured I’d take things slow later.

We had all night.

I zeroed in on her clit. Circled it twice. Stunned when she came apart so damn fast.

I hadn’t pegged her for a screamer but she made enough noise to make me thankful for the club’s soundproofing in every room.

‘Wow,’ she said, her head sagging against my shoulder, her body trembling with aftershocks. ‘I think I needed that.’

I chuckled, her bluntness refreshing. Women didn’t articulate much after sex beyond asking where the shower was and implying they wanted another date.

‘Plenty more where that came from,’ I said, gently easing her away, unable to stop grinning like an idiot when I took in her tousled hair, flushed cheeks and swollen lips. ‘In case you were wondering, I love giving head and I plan on going down on you several times tonight.’

Her mouth parted in a shocked O before I continued. ‘But first, I need to fuck you. Think you can handle that?’

Her eyes glittered with desire as she nodded and reached for me.

I’d wanted to shuck my jeans and jocks off in record time, get protected and bury myself to the hilt inside her before I exploded. But I let her call the shots because this was her night.

She unsnapped the button on my jeans and, with unsteady hands, yanked the zipper down.

‘Easy, babe. Inflicting a mortal injury on me at this stage won’t do either of us any good.’

‘I want to see you,’ she said, eyes wide as she pushed my jeans down my legs, her hungry gaze riveted to the bulge in my jocks.

‘Be my guest.’ I toed off my shoes and socks, and kicked my jeans away. ‘Though haven’t you heard staring too long at a guy’s cock makes you go blind?’

‘I thought playing with it did that?’

I chuckled. Not so innocent after all. ‘You’re something else.’

A hint of sadness crept into her eyes and I cursed for inadvertently saying the wrong thing. ‘You okay?’

Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she shook her head a little. ‘I—I haven’t done this a lot. And I’m not very good...’

‘That useless prick.’ An explosive rage filled me at the thought of what her ex had done to her self-esteem. ‘Sweetheart, look at me.’

I placed my finger under her chin and tilted it up, the uncertainty clouding her eyes slugging me in the chest. ‘It wouldn’t matter to me if you were a frigging virgin. This thing between us is pretty damn hot. Fireworks hot. So when we get to the good stuff you’ll forget that bastard who did a number on you because I guarantee any problems you had were with him, not you.’

‘How can you be so sure—?’

I kissed her. I wouldn’t give her any more time to doubt. I had to show her.

She ignited again, her hands everywhere. Grabbing my biceps. My waist. Moaning into my mouth as she dug her fingers into my ass like she couldn’t get enough.

I lowered her onto the sofa and broke the kiss, hovering over her like some goddamn avenging angel as she stared at me in wide-eyed wonder.

‘That thing you said earlier? About wanting to do me?’ She didn’t break eye contact as she shimmied out of her panties. ‘Please do it.’

I bit back a smile at her avoiding the F word, considering she was naked in front of me, and I didn’t have to be asked twice as my gaze zeroed in on nirvana. I liked a full bush and appreciated that she hadn’t gone for the Brazilian job many women favoured these days.

‘Now it’s your turn,’ she said, splayed on the sofa like a wanton sex goddess. ‘I want to see all of you.’

I slipped my thumbs under the elastic of my jocks and pushed them down and she gasped as my cock sprang free.

‘You’re huge!’ She blushed as she continued to stare, unable to look away. ‘I mean, I haven’t seen many before. In fact, only one, and that was less than impressive, but you’re quite big...’ She wolf-whistled and I laughed to hide my surprise that she’d only been with her ex.

No wonder she had reservations when it came to sex. If the guy had been clueless in the bedroom he would’ve shoved his insecurities onto her. Dickhead.

‘And why does the pirate only have a torso?’ An impish smile curved her luscious lips. ‘Would’ve been so much more fun to make that his peg leg.’

She pointed to my cock and I chuckled again. ‘You’re a very bad girl.’

‘Not yet, but I’m hoping to be.’ She crooked her finger at me. ‘Come here and corrupt me.’

I knew this was her fantasy. To have me, the tattooed bad boy, fuck her to eradicate her boring past. Yet for one crazy, inane moment, I wanted her to see me as more than that.

I wanted her to see past my well-honed tough guy persona and want me, Tanner King. Really want me.

Annoyed, I grabbed my jeans off the floor and snagged a condom out of my wallet.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she watched me roll it on, her expression wondrous.

‘You sure you’re not a virgin?’

A faint pink stained her cheeks. ‘I just haven’t done it in this much light before.’

Shit. Her ex really must’ve been a dickhead not to want to see every inch of this glorious woman as he slid inside her.

With an exaggerated wink, I knelt next to the sofa. ‘All the better to see you with, my dear.’

Her lips curved into a naughty smile. ‘I want to watch too.’

Which meant I needed to put on a show she’d never forget.

But all my intentions to take things slow shot to shit when she slid her ankles apart and her thighs fell open. Giving me an eyeful of moist folds and exactly where I wanted to be.

I grabbed her legs and half turned her, so she was slumped against the sofa with her legs dangling down. Dragging her towards me, I scooted forward on my knees, positioning myself while trying to stop the urge to drive into her and not stop until she screamed my name.

‘It’s even bigger close up,’ she whispered, her audible awe making me grin.

‘Maybe you’re looking at it through a side mirror?’

She laughed and damned if it wasn’t the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.

I didn’t usually swap banter during sex. And I rarely laughed. I got in and out. Got the job done. Got off. Felt good. That was it.

And even though we hadn’t got to the good part yet, sex with Abby was different.

We connected beyond the bits fitting together.

It disarmed me.

So I focussed on doing what I did best. Ensuring she had a good time.

‘Watch me,’ I commanded as I gripped my cock in my hand and pressed the head against her clit. Circling it. Rubbing into her slick folds and back again. Over and over until her breath came in pants and her hips shifted restlessly.

‘That feels so good.’ She propped up on her elbows to watch and I increased the pressure, gritting my teeth against the tension building in my balls.

I’d already warned her about taking this slower later and it would have to do because right now I needed to be inside her so damn bad.

‘More,’ she gritted out, sweat beading between her breasts as she started to writhe.

‘You got it, sweetheart.’

I gave her clit one last rub and as her orgasm started I slid into her. Hard. To the hilt. Sheathed in tight, wet pussy.

Heaven.

I thrust into her fast, using my thumb on her clit as she screamed, desperate to milk every last drop of pleasure out of her.

She surged upward, bringing her breasts into my face, and I took one in my mouth, laving her tight nipple while thrusting into her.

‘Too sensitive,’ she gasped, wrenching her nipple from my mouth and leaning back on her outreached arms. ‘Want. To. See.’

So I let her.

I slid in and out. Harder. Faster. Oblivious to everything but watching her, watching me.

Damned if it wasn’t the hottest frigging thing I’d ever seen.

My balls tightened and my mind blanked the moment before I thrust into her one last time. As far as I could go.

The most intense pleasure crashed over me. Wiping me out. Mindless. Boneless.

Conscious of nothing but this woman.

Abby.

My eyes must’ve closed at some point because when I opened them Abby was staring at me like I’d just given her the keys to the best patisserie in Paris.

‘That was amazing,’ she whispered, reaching for me. ‘I never knew it could be so good.’

‘Just good?’ I slid my arms around her, cradling her close. Another first for me after sex. I wasn’t a cuddler. ‘Guess I better lift my game for the rest of the night.’

I couldn’t see her face with it buried against my chest, but I sensed her smile.

But as she continued to hang onto me like she’d never let go, the first feelings of remorse flooded me.

For me, this would be a night of amazing sex and I’d walk away in the morning. Back to being Tanner King, the guy everybody labelled, the guy everybody judged, the guy everybody tried to get close to but couldn’t.

No matter how stupendously good the sex, tonight wouldn’t change me.

Could Abby say the same?

CHAPTER NINE

Abby

I HURT. In places I’ve never hurt before.

Even now, fifteen hours since I left Tanner’s bed in the wee small hours, my muscles twang as a reminder of what I’ve done.

And how much I enjoyed it.

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed when Tanner didn’t front at Le Miel today. Whatever his reason, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

What we’d done at the club, and later at his apartment...defied logic.

I should never have had sex with Tanner.

So why did I not give a damn that I had?

When he’d taken me to that private room at his club, I’d anticipated having a drink, then leaving. Then he’d got angry, taken off his shirt and I’d lost it.

I didn’t usually ogle guys. Sure, I appreciated a fine male body on Bondi Beach in summer like any woman with eyes in her head, but I didn’t fantasise about what guys looked like underneath their clothes.

Yet the second Tanner had shrugged off his shirt in defiance I’d wanted to see more. I’d wanted to see all of him.

I must’ve said the wrong thing and his misplaced anger had prompted him to strip. That was the point I should’ve called for a cab. Or laughed it off as a joke. Or done anything other than practically drool all over him.

He’d been a good sport about my naivety. Had tried to put me at ease with banter and I’d appreciated it. What I didn’t appreciate was my own stupidity wishing I could have more of him.

When I quashed my voice of reason and my inner vixen insisted I deserved one night of sexy fun, it should’ve ended there. One night.

But after he’d pleasured me countless times with his mouth, his fingers and his very talented and sizeable appendage, I wanted more.

Of course, I hadn’t said anything. Instead, I’d been the epitome of casual, like I had one-night stands every day of the week, when he’d kissed me goodnight. If he’d seen through my bravado act, he didn’t call me on it. For that, I was grateful.

Because I’d bolted in the wee small hours when he’d been asleep, and during the twenty-minute ride from his penthouse apartment in the city to my apartment over Le Miel I replayed every single moment of our night together and knew that acting like last night didn’t mean anything the next time I saw Tanner would take monumental acting skills I didn’t possess.

Bardley had always taunted me for being too readable. But he’d been wrong. If I were that easy to read he would’ve seen my loathing for him on my face every single day.

Thanks to Tanner, I now knew our lacklustre sex life hadn’t been my fault. How many times had Bardley called me frigid or cold or worse? Saying I didn’t turn him on. That I was as useless in the bedroom as I was in the kitchen.

I hadn’t cared about the sex, but insulting my cooking had been a low blow, particularly since I knew I baked like a dream even back then.

Screw him.

Though thankfully, I’d never have to do that again and courtesy of last night I’d replaced memories of a sad sex life with phenomenally amazing erotic ones.

‘You’re daydreaming again.’ Makayla bumped me with her hip. ‘You sure you didn’t pick up at Embue?’

I felt heat flush my cheeks but I feigned nonchalance as I scrubbed my station. We’d been busy today, frantic, supplying a local private school with pastries for a teacher conference, so I’d managed to avoid Makayla’s interrogation. Until now.

‘I’m not the one with a story to tell,’ I said, pasting a bright smile on my face. ‘You and what’s-his-name looked mighty cosy when I left last night.’

Makayla screwed up her face. ‘There’s a reason you date a guy and don’t go back.’ She held up her little finger and let it droop. ‘I’m smarter than that.’

I laughed, wondering what Makayla would say if she knew that a pinkie wouldn’t come close to describing Tanner.

‘What about you?’ Makayla grinned as she dried her hands on a dishcloth. ‘You’re not still mooning over our dishy boss?’

If only she knew the half of it.

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Pity he’s working off-site today. He brightens up the scenery.’ Makayla pursed her lips and tapped them. ‘He’s nothing like Remy, is he?’

She got that right. Remy and Tanner might be biological brothers but that was where the similarities ended. I couldn’t think of two siblings who were so different.

‘Yeah, they’re nothing alike,’ I said, grateful Makayla had moved off the topic of last night and onto safer ground.

‘I’m not just talking about looks.’ Makayla struck a strong-man pose. ‘Tanner’s like this big tough guy who swaggers around, and Remy’s soft and gentle.’

Tanner could be soft and gentle when it counted, and I’d counted last night. Many times.

‘Do you know much about their background?’ Makayla leaned against the bench. ‘I don’t know Remy that well but you’ve worked here for a year. What’s the story?’

I shrugged. ‘We don’t talk much about our pasts.’

That was the truth. I’d divulged the basics to Remy about my crappy marriage and my dreams to become a pastry chef. He’d told me he’d opened this place many years ago, had never met the right woman and his only living family was Tanner.

When we chatted during a rare lull in our busy days, we talked pastries, the latest cooking reality show on TV and gave our critiques of the newest cookbooks.

I valued our friendship, especially since he’d offered me a place to live and a job when I’d needed it most, but we weren’t the kind of people to reveal too much. I preferred it that way. Until now. Because I’d give anything to discover what made Tanner tick.

‘If Remy hasn’t revealed much to you, maybe Tanner will?’ Makayla’s exaggerated wink made me laugh. ‘Don’t you love that whole bad-boy thing he has going on?’

‘Yeah, he’s hot.’ I settled for a smidgeon of honesty so Makayla wouldn’t think anything was wrong.

Like exactly how much Tanner had revealed to me, and how much I’d liked it.

Makayla blew a raspberry. ‘Queen of the understatement.’

‘What do you want me to say? That he’s so damn sexy I get hot flushes just thinking about him?’ I pretended to fan my face and Makayla grinned.

‘That’s more like it...’ She trailed off, as if unsure how to continue. ‘I’ve got a confession to make.’

For an awful moment I wondered if Makayla had slept with Tanner too. The thought made bile rise in my throat and I swallowed, feeling increasingly foolish.

Of course a guy like him would go for a girl like Makayla. She was a bombshell. Not to mention beautiful inside and out.

‘What’s up?’ I tried to fake nonchalance. It didn’t work when my voice came out a tad high.

Makayla screwed up her nose, but she couldn’t hide the twinkle in her eyes. ‘I saw you. Last night. Heading into the VIP room with Hot Stuff.’

I exhaled in relief, unaware I’d been holding my breath.

‘So you’ve been fishing for information this whole time?’

‘Gotcha.’ Makayla made a mock gun with her thumb and forefinger and fired it. ‘Come on, sweetie, ’fess up. Did anything happen between you two?’

I’d never had a best friend. The girls at my private school had been bitches, students at uni in the few years I attended were aloof and Bardley’s friends were as bland and boring as him.

In the few months I’d known Makayla I liked talking to her. Liked the way she breezed through life. Liked her exuberance and warmth and genuine enthusiasm for everything.

I could lie to her. Fob her off with some lame-ass vague response.

Instead, I found myself nodding, liking having a female confidante for once. ‘We hooked up.’

Makayla squealed and jumped up and down. ‘Hooked up as in kissed? Or hooked up as in—’ She made lewd bumping gestures with her hands.

‘Yeah, that.’ I felt heat flush my cheeks. ‘But you can’t say a thing, okay?’

‘Good for you, girlfriend.’ She made a zipping motion over her lips, but her silence lasted all of two seconds as she eyed me with obvious admiration. ‘The quiet ones are always the worst.’

Considering how I’d screamed the place down last night, I wasn’t so quiet.

Makayla slugged me on the arm. ‘I want details.’

I shook my head, not willing to divulge anything more. I didn’t want Makayla casting sideways knowing glances at Tanner and I sure as hell didn’t want him thinking I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

I’d never been the type to blab my personal business and I wasn’t about to start now. ‘Sorry. I don’t kiss and tell.’

‘Fair enough.’ Makayla sighed, her grin goofy. ‘I’m happy for you, sweetie. You deserve to have a little fun. But if he has a brother other than Remy, let me know.’

She made a downward sign with her thumb. ‘I’m in a major slump. Both professionally and romantically. I’ve attended eight auditions in the last fortnight, nada. And my dating average is less than that.’

‘Those stage shows must be nuts not to hire you,’ I said, defending my friend when in fact I had no idea how good a dancer she was. Sure, she could burn up the dance floor with her disco moves but professionally I didn’t know how she performed. ‘As for guys, most of them have rocks in their heads, but you’re gorgeous and sweet. You’ll find a good one soon.’

A surprisingly vulnerable smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘Hope you’re right, because I don’t do so well when I’m in a drought.’ She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. ‘I need a good man between my legs offstage so I can use my legs to create great dance moves onstage.’

‘Maybe that’s the problem? You’re after a good man when what you need is a bad man?’

We laughed and I impulsively leaned over to hug her. ‘Thanks for taking me out last night. I needed it.’

‘The dancing or the bad guy between your legs?’

‘Both,’ I said, my naughty grin matching Makayla’s. ‘Now, if you’re done interrogating me, can we lock up so I can catch up on some sleep?’

‘Sure,’ she said, pushing off the bench. ‘So he kept you up all night, huh?’

‘And then some.’

The way Tanner had touched me, stroked me, caressed me—everywhere—had blown my mind. I’d never imagined sex could be so good. He’d driven me to the brink so many times, teasing and tasting, before pushing me over with a skill that spoke of years of practice.

I should’ve felt jealous at the thought of him using his mastery on countless women in the past. Instead, all I could feel was grateful. Very, very grateful.

‘Come on, let’s close up before I begin to hate you.’ Makayla smiled and bumped me with her hip. ‘And a word of advice? Don’t overthink things with Hot Stuff. He’s not here for long, so you should be in this for a good time.’

Whatever ‘this’ was. Because right now I didn’t have a freaking clue. I’d labelled last night as a one-night stand. But from what I’d read in magazines, you didn’t usually have to see your one-night stand again. Me, I’d have Tanner in my face for the next few weeks.

Was I really that good an actress that I could pretend nothing had happened and erase the memories of him licking me all over?

Worse, did I want to?

I throbbed just thinking about what we’d done last night. How much stronger would the urge to jump him be when he was standing in front of me?

Did I have the willpower to resist another shot at achieving mind-blowing pleasure?

With the prospect of Tanner showing up for work tomorrow, guess I’d soon find out.

CHAPTER TEN

Tanner

I KNEW THE second I opened my eyes she was gone.

I should’ve been ecstatic. I never let women stay over. In fact, I rarely brought women here. Over the years I’d been in Sydney I could count the number of dates I’d brought to my penthouse on one hand.

Then again, Abby hadn’t been a date.

She’d been...what? A one-night stand? A chance hook-up? A goddamn mistake? Technically, all of the above, which begged the question: Why the hell did I feel so disgruntled to find her gone?

That was another thing. I’d slept better last night than I had in years. Usually I liked the bed all to myself, hated having anyone encroach on my personal space. Yet after the fifth time we’d fucked she’d spooned me and I’d liked it, to the point I’d fallen into a deep slumber, so deep I hadn’t heard her leave.

Shit. Why did she have to sneak out of here like some damn fugitive?

Peeved, I pushed out of bed and headed for the shower. Alone, when I’d had grand plans for the two of us in my expansive double shower complete with rain head and angled jets. Lots of possibilities with those jets. Especially with how responsive she’d been... I could’ve turned her to face the back wall, where she would’ve braced. I could’ve bent her forward. Adjusted the jets to hit her sweet spot. Taken her from behind...

Swearing, I turned the taps to cold. Ice cold. Jerking off wouldn’t ease the desire pounding through my veins like the insistent beat of a drum. Burying myself in Abby would, but that wasn’t an option. Not now. Probably not ever again.

Last night had been an aberration. It had to be.

I’d vowed to not touch Remy’s protégé but that had shot to shit when she’d come on to me like an eager virgin. I should’ve had stronger willpower. I hadn’t. Not getting laid for months had short-circuited my brain. Both the big and little one.

A lousy excuse because I could’ve stopped her. I should’ve stopped her. But I hadn’t, and now I had to live with the consequences.

Namely seeing her every day at work and keeping my hands off her.

I wasn’t a complete idiot. I knew we couldn’t have a repeat. That would be a disaster of monumental proportions.

Women like Abby didn’t do one-night stands. They did romance and bouquets and all that crap, no matter how much they protested to the contrary. Especially if she hadn’t been with a guy in a year.

That blew me away. How could a beautiful woman who’d come out of a shitty marriage not have wanted to purge her past? Then again, maybe her ex had done such a number on her that she’d sworn off men for a while? Whatever the reason, I’d been the beneficiary, because the way she’d reacted to my every touch had blown my mind.

That was what had me rattled the most. The flashbacks of what we’d done. Her on her front, me entering her from behind. Her with her legs spread, me eating her out. Her riding me like a cowgirl. Her clawing my back and biting my shoulder and tentatively licking my cock like it was the best damn popsicle she’d ever tasted.

‘Fuck,’ I muttered, towelling off and dressing in record time.

I couldn’t go to the patisserie, not today. Couldn’t face her. Not without my every erotic thought replaying like an X-rated flick on constant repeat.

She’d know. Then where would we be?

If my willpower had been at an all-time low last night, now that I knew how combustible we were between the sheets, would I be able to resist? Doubtful. Which meant I needed time and space between us to gain perspective.

That meant staying away from Le Miel.

I grabbed a bottled banana smoothie from the fridge and headed out. There’d been a shitload of work I could’ve done at Embue last night before I got distracted. In the best possible way. The way she’d come on to me in my private room...

Damn, I better hole away in my office and stay clear of that room. Having wavering willpower was one thing. Deliberately putting myself into a fraught situation another.

I’d try to do the right thing where Abby was concerned but I wasn’t a saint, and I knew that keeping her at arm’s length until Remy got back on his feet would slowly but surely kill me.

I arrived at Embue, parked in the private underground spot reserved for me and entered the club. All these years later it never failed to give me a thrill that I owned this place. That it flourished. That it continued to grow.

Despite dear old Dad’s many dire predictions I’d never amount to anything.

How many times had I listened to his snide comments, berating me, battering my self-esteem, while he deliberately praised Remy when he wasn’t around, knowing it would make me feel like shit? How many times had he served me the crusts off the fresh bread loaf while he got the thickest slices? How many times had he given me a shrivelled chicken wing while he ate the juicy breast?

After Mum died, on the rare occasions Remy was home he thought Dad was a mean prick too, but he’d excused his mood swings and anger as grief. But I knew better because Dad saved his own special brand of vitriol for me alone.

Even before Mum had died, I’d felt unworthy. That I was not good enough. That I couldn’t do anything right. He treated me like a second-class citizen but only when Mum and Remy couldn’t see.

I didn’t get it. Had always thought it was my fault, some inherent flaw only Dad could see. Until the day Mum died and I overheard the final argument that drove her to her death. The day the old bastard revealed the truth behind his hatred and I’d vowed to never let his insults or shoddy treatment hurt me ever again.

Because it wasn’t about me. It was about him. His ridiculous hang-ups and assumptions that had driven Mum to her death and driven me to be nothing like him.

I’d rejoiced the day the prick had died. I’d attended his funeral out of respect for my brother. Remy never understood my latent hatred of our father, and I’d never told him the truth. Better that one of us had good memories rather than none.

Then again, he’d been five years older than me and already holding down a part-time pastry chef apprenticeship while juggling school at fifteen, so he hadn’t been around to witness Dad’s ritualistic, systemic torture of me. The son he blamed for his entire miserable life.

It meant nothing now. He couldn’t hurt me any more. But every time I strode through one of my clubs I saluted him for giving me the drive, the ambition, to be so much better than he ever gave me credit for.

‘Hey, Tanner, didn’t expect to see you today.’ Hudson Watt, my manager and oldest friend, slapped me on the back as I entered the bar area. ‘Aren’t you meant to be making pastries or croissants or some other fancy-schmancy shit?’

‘Had a stack of stuff I wanted to check up on last night but didn’t get a chance so thought I’d spend the day here.’

Hudson grinned, the same smug grin he’d given me in high school when I’d tried to weasel out of a history assignment by devising an elaborate lie and he’d seen right through me.

‘Bit busy last night, huh?’ Hudson filled a glass with water and added a lime twist before sliding it along the bar towards me. ‘Here. You’re probably dehydrated after swapping spit with that hot blonde you had holed away in your private VIP room.’

‘What are you, twelve?’ I downed the water anyway. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Come on, man, don’t spin me some line.’ Hudson slugged me on the arm. ‘I’ve seen you sweet-talk more girls out of their panties than the number of mojitos I’ve served. And considering I’ve worked here for ten years and filled in on many occasions, that’s a shitload of mojitos.’

I chuckled. ‘I was giving Abby the grand tour, then I took her home.’

‘Her home or yours?’

I could’ve fobbed Hudson off but the guy was right. We’d been friends for a long time. If anyone knew me, faults and all, he did.

‘Mine.’ I pinched the bridge of my nose to ease some of the tension building behind my eyes. ‘Should never have happened.’

Hudson’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard you express post-coital regret.’

‘Bullshit. Remember that time we double-dated those bogan twins from Bundaberg? Disastrous.’

Hudson laughed. ‘Don’t change the subject. From what I saw, this Abby chick had class stamped all over her. Too cool between the sheets, huh?’

Too hot, more like it. Scorching, soul-searing hot. The type of woman who got inside a guy’s head and wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard I tried. And I’d tried. Boy, had I tried. But she was there, every time I allowed my attention to wander for a moment. Front and centre. Naked. Wanton. Willing.

Fuck.

‘Abby’s Remy’s protégé and I shouldn’t have gone there.’

‘Why not?’ Hudson’s grin turned wicked. ‘From the way I saw her draped all over you as you left this place as fast as humanly possible, she was seriously into you.’

‘Still too complicated,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Anyway, what’s going on with you?’

‘You don’t get off that easy.’ Hudson glanced at his watch. ‘I was just heading down to Jim’s for a quick workout before coming back here to do the books. Want to join me so I can grill you some more?’

‘You’re still working out at Jim’s?’

That place had saved my life as a kid. I’d been fourteen when Hudson had taken me to the run-down gym on the outskirts of Kings Cross, where kids could box for recreation, sport or just to vent their frustration.

I’d done a lot of the latter.

When I couldn’t tell anyone about Dad’s crappy treatment at home, I’d take it out at Jim’s. First on a punching bag, later in sparring matches with other teens. It had been cathartic, being able to physically vent in a safe place, and I hadn’t been back in over a decade.

‘Yeah, no better place to spar.’ Hudson jabbed a left hook in my direction and feigned a dodge to the right. ‘Come on, will do you good. You’ve drifted off about five times in the last few minutes and that means you’ve got it bad for this new chick.’

If he only knew. Being with Abby hadn’t dampened my attraction to her. If anything it had intensified, and that wasn’t a good thing. ‘Don’t you ever stop with the bullshit?’

Hudson chuckled and this time jabbed me on the arm for real. ‘Let’s go, champ. It’ll be my pleasure to whip your ass.’

‘Dream on, dickhead.’

An hour later, Hudson had done exactly that but I felt so much better for the workout and being at Jim’s had a lot to do with my lift in mood.

Walking into Jim’s was like coming home. The pungent smell of sweat warred with liniment. Four boxing rings flooded with natural light from rows of windows set high in the walls. Free weights and punching bags in the far corner, with an old-fashioned juice bar next to it.

There weren’t many guys around this morning. Probably all at work. Where I should be, rather than running from my present into the past.

‘You’re rusty,’ Hudson said, draping a towel around his neck and handing me one.

‘And you’re soft in the middle,’ I said, socking a punch into his solar plexus. He dodged.

‘Bet that’s not what Abby says to you.’

This time, I aimed harder and he sidestepped easily, laughing so loud a trainer nearby grinned.

‘Seriously, dude, if you like her this much, do something about it.’

I hated the flare of hope his words elicited. ‘Like what, Einstein?’

‘Damned if I know. Do I look like an expert on women?’

‘Good point.’ I wiped the sweat off my face and towelled my torso. ‘Seeing anyone?’

‘Nah. Between managing the bar and doing part-time work at the theatre, I don’t have much time left for a relationship.’

‘Who said anything about the R word?’

He snorted. ‘I’m not like you. I like to date women for longer than five hours.’

‘I’ll have you know Abby stayed the night.’

The second the retort popped out I wished I could take it back.

‘And there you go, dude. Proof that she’s not like the rest.’

‘Back off, bozo.’ I advanced on him in mock anger so he’d do just that.

Predictably, Hudson just stood there like the big, blond lug he’d always been. Loyal to a fault. The kind of mate I could depend on.

‘Make me, squirt.’

Considering I towered over him by three inches, it was a hollow taunt, one he’d made many times as a kid, and we laughed.

‘Let’s get back to the club and you can show me proof you haven’t been embezzling me out of a fortune.’ I tugged on the end of a glove lace with my teeth, thinking I should do this more often.

Boxing worked off frustration of all varieties, including sexual, like nothing else could.

‘Sounds like a plan.’ As Hudson took off his gloves and helped me with mine, I knew he wanted to say more but was holding back.

‘What’s up?’

‘It’s this place.’ Hudson gestured around. ‘I don’t get back here as often as I like but whenever I do it’s like the past crashes over me and I wonder why I put myself through it.’

That was another thing that had bonded us, our crappy childhoods. His father had made mine look like a frigging saint.

‘Cut the heartstring crap, bozo, and let’s get back to work.’

Hudson blinked rapidly, as if coming back from a place of bad memories, before his signature grin made me sigh in relief. ‘After you, big guy.’

As we traded banter while changing, swapping the usual crap guys did, I knew I’d done the right thing in taking time away from the patisserie and Abby today.

But I couldn’t play chicken for ever, and come tomorrow I’d be back there, wishing I hadn’t complicated matters and wanting her more than ever.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Abby

AFTER MAKAYLA AND I locked up I’d intended on taking a hot bath and having an early night. But as I entered the small one-room apartment over the patisserie, it didn’t offer the comfort it usually did.

I’d never forget the first time Remy brought me up here and said I could stay as long as I liked. That had been over a year ago, the day I’d walked out on Bardley and into Le Miel. In search of comfort via the delicious pastries Remy made, I’d frequented the patisserie often during my marriage, using it as my go-to place to escape home. I’d spent many afternoons sitting at the small table near the counter, sipping at a latte and trying to stop at only one croissant while studying.

Remy would come out from the kitchen occasionally and he’d always stop to chat. As kind-hearted and generous with his time as he was with his magnificent pastries.

I’d never plucked up the courage to tell him that I also enjoyed baking and that to me he had my dream job. Instead, when he asked, I pretended to wax lyrical about my business degree and how happy I was juggling university with marriage.

If he saw through my brittle smile, he never said; that was the kind of man he was. And that fateful day when I’d found my backbone and had the guts to walk away from Bardley, he still hadn’t prodded for information despite me coming in here like I had a pack of wolves on my tail.

On impulse, I’d asked him for a job and once he’d heard my sob story he’d offered me the apartment too.

I’d taken one look at the cosy, light-filled space and fallen in love. Pockmarked mahogany floorboards covered in rugs in the most vibrant peacock blues and crimsons, a faded chintz sofa and chairs, a bookcase overflowing with classics and a kitchenette stocked with everything I’d need to whip up healthy meals for one.

The small bedroom and bathroom had been basic but I hadn’t cared. I’d never lived on my own, moving straight from my parents’ Double Bay mansion into Bardley’s Vaucluse monstrosity gifted to him by his folks when we married. Having the freedom to do whatever I liked in my own space had been heady stuff for a girl like me.

So I’d moved in with the few suitcases I’d packed when I’d walked away from my marriage, had paid Remy six months’ rent in advance—a pittance, really, considering the rental prices in this upmarket part of town—and settled into a routine.

Living the life I wanted.

But today, restlessness plagued me and after I’d done a quick circuit or ten of the apartment I decided to go for a drive. Another thing I liked doing that I’d never had much of a chance to do in my past: driving for leisure.

Dad had a chauffeur that had dropped me at school and picked me up, and Bardley roared around in his sports car when he wasn’t getting a private car to ferry him around. My narrow-minded husband had never understood my love of driving, had mocked me endlessly for wanting to drive out of the city on a weekend with no destination in my mind.

So I’d rarely done it; hadn’t been worth the angst. Besides, it had been difficult to squirrel away any me-time when Bardley demanded I keep up with his hectic social schedule and attend every boring polo party/sailing regatta/race carnival as his arm candy.

These days, on my limited down time, I drove for the heck of it. For the pleasure of exploring new places. For the simple fact I could, without anyone telling me I was an idiot or worse.

It wasn’t until I was in my hatchback and cruising the streets did I realise where I was heading.

Home.

Not the harbourside mansion I’d lived in for twenty-one years before I got married, but the suburb. Ritzy Double Bay. Everything seemed brighter here, like a fairy had sprinkled glitter over the entire suburb.

I drove aimlessly along the lush tree-lined boulevards, passing row upon row of incredible palatial homes with manicured emerald lawns, tennis courts and pool houses that could house a large family.

Trendy boutiques I’d frequented when I didn’t baulk at the four-figure price tag on a pair of shoes or hold back when signing up for the newest release designer handbag.

Cafés I’d regularly met my friends at, to do nothing but chat about our caviar facials and the latest celebrity break-up. Friends that hadn’t given a crap when I’d left Bardley. Friends that hadn’t even called.

Past Redleaf Beach, a gorgeous slice of Sydney Harbour foreshore, where I’d sat on the sand for hours sometimes, wishing I could swim like the bathers doing laps in the tidal enclosure but too afraid to bring it up in case Bardley ridiculed me for wanting to learn how to swim at my age and conquer my fear of deep water.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter as I glimpsed a sprawling whitewashed building fringed in lush gardens. The day spa Mum and I used to attend.

Emotion clogged my throat as I homed in on the elaborate gold-embossed entrance, wondering what I’d do if I glimpsed Mum. But she was nowhere in sight and I found myself pulling into a parking spot and killing the engine.

Crazy, as even if I saw her I wouldn’t approach her. Not when a hotbed of resentment and hurt festered inside me that not once over the last twelve months had she contacted me. Other than those fraught initial phone calls when she’d begged me to reconsider walking out on my marriage.

Phone calls where she hadn’t asked how I was or where I was living or what I was doing to support myself since I’d been cut off financially from Bardley and my folks. Oh, no. Mum’s phone calls consisted of cajoling alternating with berating.

‘How could you be so stupid, darling? Walking away from your husband? Your home? Your friends?’

‘What were you thinking, leaving behind a life of luxury?’

‘You’ve embarrassed your husband and you’ve mortified us. Return home immediately!’

The latter had been the most laughable because I hadn’t had a home with Bardley. Not really. We’d been friends coexisting in a massive house. More like housemates, really, who had lacklustre sex on occasion.

Not that anyone besides us knew the truth. To our friends and family we were the luckiest couple in Australia. Married young. The successful merging of two powerhouse families. A glamorous life filled with the best money could buy, with a fortune guaranteed to keep our offspring in the lap of luxury.

The biggest sham ever perpetuated.

I hated myself for putting up with it for so long. For being a mousy, subservient girl who went along with whatever my parents wanted, including marrying a man I only felt a lukewarm affection for.

I’d allowed myself to get caught up in the euphoria of having some guy pay me attention. Because that was what Bardley had done, wooed me with the express purpose of marriage, as his folks had suggested to him.

While he’d had dollar signs in his eyes, envisaging a family merger that would consolidate fortunes, I’d had stars in my eyes, naively hoping that marriage would provide the excitement I’d been craving.

Instead, Bardley had morphed into the dweeb I’d always suspected he was, with a mean streak that flourished once he had a ring on my finger. And I’d started to lose myself, piece by piece, becoming a listless yes-person who’d do anything to keep the peace and not earn his wrath.

What a fool.

I’d hated being that spineless, mouthless idiot and as I stared at the day spa and watched a mother and daughter exit, heads close together as they gossiped, their blond-streaked hair shiny in the lights flickering on, I realised maybe I didn’t miss my old life so much after all.

I couldn’t fathom my parents’ lack of contact, their complete lack of interest in my well-being now that I wasn’t doing what they wanted.

Dad had always been aloof and business-focussed, so I didn’t expect as much from him. The only time he’d ever paid me attention—Mum too, for that matter—was when we did something that pleased him. Otherwise, he’d convey his displeasure through angry silences that lasted for days, ensuring that I learned from a young age to make him happy.

So it didn’t surprise me that he hadn’t contacted me, but for Mum to ignore me too...it hurt. A lot.

I’d rung twice over the last six months, more to touch base and hear a familiar voice. The maid had skilfully diverted my call both times, so I never got to speak to my folks.

They hadn’t returned my calls.

Was I stupid to still miss them? To still hold onto a faint hope they’d eventually come around? Maybe, but they were my parents and no matter how crappy their treatment, a small part of me wished they’d understand one day.

A tear plopped onto my forearm, startling me. I hadn’t realised I’d been crying. Swiping a hand across my eyes, I shot the day spa a final wistful glance before starting the engine.

I should be happy. Last night with Tanner had purged my past once and for all. I should be rejoicing. Instead, I couldn’t help but wish I could have my old life mix successfully with my new.

At least the drive had achieved one objective.

Forget Tanner.

But as I headed back to Le Miel, knowing I’d have to confront him all too soon, maybe this new life I’d craved so much was a lot more than I’d bargained for.

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