been feeling guilty for an imaginary girlfriend—not that the thought of wrecking someone’s life had stopped her, or him. She was just some floozy to while away the hours with up here in the middle of nowhere. He was bored, he was hot. She was available.
Her mother always told her it was okay to make a mistake as long as you learned from it. Obviously Nick’s betrayal was no deterrent for making huge lapses of judgement where men were concerned. She had known Quinn a bit over a week, a record time for her to sleep with someone. And that would reflect badly on her, she suspected.
But was she strong enough to keep away from his bed?
The next few days dragged by. The necklace progressed well, even without Quinn’s encouraging presence. It was as if all her frustrations poured out into the design. Without consulting him, she altered the model she’d supplied for his approval—that is, his client’s approval—and worked fifteen-hour days. Ryan and Jessica’s wedding arrangements were well in hand.
Quinn kept to himself and a kind of polite peace enveloped the house.
But by night, it was a different story. Dani was her own worst enemy, reliving their lovemaking over and over. He was a drug she was addicted to. To stop herself from marching into his bedroom, she began justifying his actions. After all, she was being paid an enormous amount of money and an enormous compliment to design a necklace for the most beautiful and valuable stone she was ever likely to see. What did it matter that it was for a client and not him?
And it wasn’t like he had tricked her into bed, either. She’d practically ambushed him while he sat at his desk, conducting his business. She couldn’t blame him for that.
Had she really expected that something more could come of this “situation” she had rushed headlong into? She was out of his league, not even in the same stratosphere.
One night he told her that Jake Vance’s mother had passed away. “The funeral is Friday. Come to Sydney with me and catch up with your family.”
She considered it dubiously. “It will put me back on the necklace. I wanted to finish it before the wedding on the twentieth.”
“Relax. I’ll put it in a bank vault here. I’ll charter a flight for Thursday afternoon and we’ll return Saturday.”
It was the excuse she needed to keep away from him. She went all out for the next few days and made good progress, barely sleeping at all.
And that’s probably why she fell asleep on the private plane.
She awoke slowly, fuzzily, dreaming of Quinn, so it was no surprise at all when she saw his face mere inches away. And when he leaned even closer and brushed her mouth with his, she closed her eyes again, didn’t even think of resisting. After all, that was how the dream was supposed to go. Reliving their lovemaking was how she’d spent every night since the fight.
She stretched toward him, allowed the dream to part her lips, to feel the tip of his tongue seek and find hers. She combed her fingers through his thick hair and her heartbeat quickened and banged loudly in her ears. But she wouldn’t open her eyes just yet. She didn’t want this to stop, didn’t want him to disappear.
His hand moved on her thigh, skimming her silk underskirt over her heated skin. Each stroke lengthened, higher and higher until she shifted restlessly, craving more. Another hand caressed her neck and face as they kissed. The seat belt dug into her hips, making her wriggle against it. Every part of her strained toward him, this faceless lover, this man with his tongue in her mouth, one hand moving down over her blouse to cup and stroke her breast, the other moving ever higher, scorching her thigh. Her arms were trapped against his chest, unable to move far with his weight leaning into her, but she moved toward him, trying to touch him, to inflict some of the same torture on him.
Breathing heavily, he grasped her wrists and stilled her.
“Open your eyes, damn it!”
She did and almost quailed at the tortured desire in his. Desire and regret.
Regret for wanting her or for hurting her?
Wide awake now, she gave a shuddering breath, laid her head on the rest and just looked at his face. The heat of passion still smouldered sullenly in the pulse beat on her wrist where he gripped her, and in the aching tips of her breasts and deep inside her centre. But her breathing slowed and she searched his scowling, troubled face, trying to read what he was thinking and feeling.
His breathing had calmed. Gradually the grip on her wrists eased and became more of a caress. He, too, leaned back in his seat facing her, watching her.
Finally his eyes softened and he spoke. “You’ll stay with me tonight.”
It wasn’t a question, or a demand. And—God help her—her heart leapt in her chest with welcome. She’d intended to take a cab to the Blackstone mansion in Vaucluse and surprise her mother. But Dani would take what she could get from Quinn.
Time with him was short and she knew there’d be less of her when their fling ended. The fight had torn them apart physically, and because it was unexpected, the end was hard to accept. Now she had the opportunity to say goodbye properly, make it special. Dani was going to make the most of the day or days she had left with him, and damn the consequences.
They spent the rest of the flight looking at each other. Not kissing now but touching, sweet touches to their hands, cheeks, throat, hair. His eyes burned for her, and that and his touch kept her at a simmer for the remainder of the flight to Sydney, the seemingly endless taxi ride to his building and equally interminable elevator ride to his penthouse apartment.
Giddy with desire, they barely made it inside before he was ripping her clothes off, pushing her up against the wall opposite a massive picture window that showcased beautiful Darling Harbour, Sky Tower, the harbour bridge and the opera house. He took her there and Dani welcomed him into her body and came again and again as the lights of the city swirled behind her eyes like a kaleidoscope on drugs.
Eight
Dani survived the fierce hug and pulled back to survey her mother. “You look … different. Did you get highlights?”
Her mother patted her hair self-consciously while Marcie, the Blackstone housekeeper, bustled around the table.
Sonya Hammond usually wore her brown hair in a neat bun, but today she’d allowed several long spiralling tendrils to escape, giving her a completely different look. Was it her makeup or the unusually colourful teal blouse she’d teamed with smart-looking slacks? Her mother was the epitome of conservative elegance, but today, Dani thought she looked younger somehow, mature-chic. “Have you had a facial or something?”
Sonya ignored her question and instead tsked at Dani’s earrings. “Must your earrings always arrive before you do?”
“I thought these were quite demure.” She touched one gold bar with a plaque of smoky quartz on the end. Since she had reinvented herself up in Port Douglas, some of her more bohemian creations stunned her mother, though Sonya was too nice and too fond of Dani’s strong sense of individualism to criticise without humour.
“Sit. How is it you’re here when we’re seeing you in a few days?”
“I told you I was doing a little job for Quinn
