beamed at him. ‘You called me your girlfriend.’
Max looked perplexed. ‘Well, that’s what you are, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s what I am. I hope,’ she muttered under her breath as she turned away from him and hurried round to the passenger side.
She could feel his eyes on her as she climbed into the car. But she didn’t want to see what was in them. It was enough for now that he’d called her his girlfriend. Enough that he’d declared his love. She didn’t want to see the heat in his gaze and misinterpret it. Of course he desired her, as she desired him. Of course!
But he won’t ever give you what you want, Tara.
Yes, he would, she reassured herself as the car sped towards the city. Till he left for the airport tomorrow, he would give her his company, and his love, and his body. Which was all that she wanted right at this moment. His body possibly most of all.
Even now, she was thinking of the hours she would spend in bed with him, of the way she felt when he caressed and kissed her all over, when he made her melt with just a touch of his finger or a stab of his tongue. She especially liked it when he played with her endlessly, bringing her again and again to the brink of ecstasy, only to draw back at the last moment, making her wait in a state of exquisite tension till he was inside her.
Those were the best times, when they reached satisfaction together, when she held him close and she felt their hearts beating as one.
The car zoomed down into the tunnel which would take them swiftly to the city, the enveloping darkness making Tara even more aware of the man beside her. She glanced over at his strong profile, then at his hands on the wheel.
Her thighs suddenly pressed together at the thought of him taking her, her insides tightening.
When Tara sucked in sharply Max’s head turned and his eyes glittered over at her. ‘What are you thinking about?’
She blushed and he laughed, breaking her tension.
‘Same here. But we’re almost there now. It won’t be long to wait.’
THE Regency Hotel—recently renamed the Regency Royale by Max—was situated towards the northern end of the city centre, not far from Circular Quay. Touted as one of Sydney’s plushest hotels, it had a décor to suit its name. Guests could be forgiven for thinking they’d stepped back in time once they entered the reception area of the Regency, with its wood-panelled walls, velvet-covered couches and huge crystal chandeliers.
The arcade which connected the entrance of the hotel to the lobby proper was just as lavish, also resonant of England in past times, with its intricately tiled floor and stained-glass ceiling. The boutiques and bars which lined the arcade reflected a similar sense of period style and grace.
Max had once told Tara that was why he’d bought the Regency. Because of its period look.
The Royale chain specialised in hotels which weren’t modern-looking in design or décor. Because modern, Max told her, always eventually dated. History and grandeur were what he looked for in a hotel.
Tara had to agree that this made sound business sense. Of all the hotels in Sydney, the Regency Royale stood out for its style and good, old-fashioned service. But it was the look of the place which captivated guests. The day she came here for her interview at Whitmore Opals eighteen months ago, she’d spent a good while walking around the place, both amazed and admiring.
Today, however, as Max ushered her along the arcade past her place of employment, her focus was on anything but the hotel. Her thoughts were entirely on the man whose hand was clamped firmly around her elbow, and on the state of almost desperate desire he’d reduced her to.
Never, in the twelve months they’d been seeing each other, had she experienced anything quite like this. She’d always been happy for Max to make love to her. But never had she wanted him this badly.
‘Afternoon, Mr Richmond,’ a security guard greeted as he walked towards them.
‘Afternoon, Jack,’ Max replied, and actually stopped to talk to the man whilst Tara clenched her teeth in her jaw.
It was probably only a minute before they moved on but it felt like an eternity.
‘Glad to see you again, Mr Richmond,’ another employee chirped after a few more metres.
‘Same here, Warren.’
This time Max didn’t stop, thank goodness. Tara smothered a sigh of relief, even happier when Max bypassed the reception desk and headed straight for the lifts. Not that he needed to book in, for heaven’s sake. But Max was a hands-on hotel owner who liked to be kept informed over the ins and outs of everything. He usually stopped by Reception for a brief chat on arrival.
In the past, Tara hadn’t minded his stopping to talk to his employees. She’d always admired the way Max knew every employee by their first name, from the valet-parking attendants to the managers.
Today, however, she was extremely irritated by the delays. Which wasn’t like her at all.
The alcove which housed the lifts was not empty. A man in his forties, and presumably his wife, were standing there, waiting for a lift. They didn’t look like tourists. Or members of Sydney’s élite. Their clothes and faces betrayed them as working-class Australians, perhaps staying here in Sydney’s flashest hotel for some special event, or occasion.
‘I will never stay in this hotel again,’ the man grumbled. ‘I’d go somewhere right now if it didn’t mean losing my deposit. I couldn’t believe that girl, insisting that I hadn’t booked a harbour-view room. As if I would bring you here for our silver anniversary and not get the very best room I could afford.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Tom,’ the wife placated. ‘I’m sure all the rooms here are lovely.’
‘That’s not the point. It’s the principle of the thing. And that girl behind the desk was quite rude, I thought.’
‘Not really,’ the woman said with a nervous glance towards Max and Tara. ‘It was just a mix-up. These things happen. Let’s try not to let it spoil our night.’
Tara smothered a groan when she felt Max’s fingertips tighten around her elbow. She knew, as she glanced up at his tightly drawn face, that he was going to do something about this situation.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, just as the lift doors opened. ‘But I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m Max Richmond, the owner of this hotel. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to accompany you back to Reception, where I will sort this out to your satisfaction.’
‘Max,’ Tara whispered urgently.
‘You go on, darling,’ he said. ‘I’ll be up as quick as I can. Slip into something more comfortable,’ he murmured as he pecked her on the cheek.
Tara stared after him as he led the awestruck couple away, struggling to contain her bitter disappointment and understand that of course, he couldn’t have done anything else. Not her Max. Hadn’t she tried
