view of the ocean.
The black bomb roared to the crest of the steep slope, levelling out only momentarily before plunging into a large parking area under the building. Miles sucked in a deep breath as Maddie braked to a savage halt barely inches short of the cliff wall at the back of the unfinished garages. The F.J. Holden shuddered as the engine died.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said without a shred of apology in her voice. ‘But I have to give the old girl plenty of gas to get up that drive, then I have to brake hard to stop in time. You won’t have any trouble in your Audi.’
‘In that case, we’ll bring the Audi next time, shall we?’ he said, straightening his tie as he struggled out onto still unsteady feet. The tie didn’t need straightening. It was just something he did to cover any inner agitation, as though by straightening his clothes he could straighten out his thoughts—and his life. He’d been doing it a lot these past twelve months.
‘If you like.’ She shrugged indifference to his car as she hopped out from behind the wheel and smoothed down her leather pants.
A thought flashed into his mind of Annabel and her passion for limousines. She wouldn’t be seen dead driving around in this old bomb of Maddie’s. Or dressed in black leather, for that matter.
Miles knew which woman he preferred and marvelled anew at his apparent lack of taste. His mother would be appalled if she could see him now.
Or would she? he puzzled.
She’d changed since his father’s death. Loosened up, for want of a better word. And grown in self-confidence. She’d been surprisingly supportive about his decision to break his engagement to Annabel and take off for far-flung shores for a while.
Miles secretly hoped she would marry again, some nice kind man who would love her to death and dance attendance on her. She deserved it, after his pig of a father. It killed Miles to think he might take after that man in any way at all.
‘Anything the matter?’ Maddie quizzed him.
Miles blinked, then focused across the bonnet of the car onto her very sexy red mouth. It was wide and lush, and he couldn’t wait to be ravaged by it.
‘You were scowling,’ she added.
‘Scowling’s a family trait,’ he said ruefully.
‘Then give it up,’ she suggested airily. ‘It’s unbecoming.’
Miles was taken aback. No woman had dared to criticise him openly in years. He should have chilled any other’s woman’s temerity with a frosty look. Instead, he found a smile tugging at his mouth.
‘All right,’ he agreed.
She seemed taken aback for a second before smiling back. ‘You know, you’re even more good-looking when you smile,’ she said with a disarming but charming candour.
Miles might have blushed if his body had known how. ‘You think so?’
‘I know so. Fact is, Miles MacMillan, you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.’ Her head cocked on one side, she looked him up and down for the umpteenth time. ‘I’d really like to paint you.’
‘Paint me? You mean a portrait?’
‘Sort of. Painting people is a passion with me. I’ve been doing it for years and making good money out of it, too. You’d make a perfectly divine subject for my entry in this year’s Whitbread Prize. Might I persuade you to sit for me some time?’
‘The Whitbread Prize,’ he repeated as he wandered round the front of her car to stand less than a metre in front of her. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s an art competition.’
Miles felt hopelessly flattered yet slightly flustered at the same time. It had something to do with the way that glittering black gaze was appraising him, like she was undressing him with her eyes and seeing him without a stitch on.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, glad his suit jacket was of the new double-breasted style and hid his growing discomfort. ‘Wouldn’t you be better off with an Australian subject?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Heavens, no. The subject doesn’t have to be known. Frankly, it’s better if they’re not. Less embarrassing that way.’
Miles swallowed slowly. ‘What do you mean? Less embarrassing?’
‘Oh, didn’t I mention it? All the paintings entered in the Whitbread Prize are nudes.’
‘Nudes.’ Miles gulped. How could he possibly pose for her in the nude when his body would be raging with desire all the time? Embarrassing was not the word. It would be simply humiliating! ‘I, er, don’t think I, umm ...’
‘Don’t be silly, Miles,’ she interrupted, coming forward to link arms with him and turn him towards the stairwell in the corner. ‘I don’t do explicit nudes. You won’t have to be completely starkers to pose for me. I rarely put faces on my subjects, either. No one will know it’s you. Except for me, of course.’ Her sidewards smile was erotically suggestive in the extreme.
Frankly, the last thing Miles needed at that moment was anything remotely erotically suggestive. Her arm through his was bad enough to contend with.
She stopped walking and looked at him, her expression expectant. ‘So what do you say? Is it a yes?’
He stared into her striking face, with its high, exotic cheekbones, bewitching black eyes and luscious mouth, and knew his answer to her would always be yes. He was hers to command. Only his pride stopped him from openly admitting it, his staunchly embedded British pride.
‘We’ll see,’ came his coolly delivered, almost haughty words. ‘Posing for a nude portrait would not be looked upon favourably by the board of MacMillan Credit if it ever got out. I’ll have to give the matter some further thought. A man in my position can’t just do as he pleases all the time, Maddie. He must always be aware of his reputation.’
CHAPTER FOUR
MADDIE almost laughed at that point. How pompous could you get? But it was rather endearing, in a way. And it would make his eventual seduction all the more satisfying.
‘I’ll have to know your answer soon,’ she said coolly, extracting her arm from his. A tactical retreat at this critical point often worked to splendid effect. ‘Otherwise, I’ll have to find myself another subject. Entries for the Whitbread Prize close in a couple of months.’
Miles could see his chances of becoming her next lover slowly flying out the window. Why hadn’t he simply said yes to posing for the damned picture? Why had he come out with all that guff?
‘I’ll let you know next time we meet,’ he said, still unable to simply say yes.
Maddie sighed expressively and tossed her hair from her shoulders. Both actions drew his gaze—as she knew they would—first to her softly parted lips, and then to where the leather vest strained open for a second as air filled her lungs.
Miles clenched his jaw as his loins leapt once more to attention. The temptation to haul her into his arms and
