in her laugh, her sheer and glorious abandonment.
And he realised he was witnessing something he doubted many people saw when they looked at Charlotte. The woman’s inner beauty. And an innate sexuality that he found irresistible. He had a feeling she didn’t show that side of herself often, much less share it.
He hoped she’d share it with him.
She’d swapped that seriously awful suit for the hotel’s robe. Was she naked underneath? His groin tightened. She still wore the pearls; their iridescence reflected the sun’s vermilion rays. He imagined lifting them, warm from her body, and sliding his fingers beneath to explore her creamy throat.
He couldn’t be certain she’d changed into the robe as an invitation or prelude to sex. It made sense that she’d wear it since their luggage was checked in at the airport. But that was about the only thing that made sense right now because for the life of him he couldn’t remember ever being this captivated by a woman before.
Again the sense that this was different—she was different—slid through him like a ripple on a millpond. He shook off the shivery silvery sensation and discreetly cleared his throat to announce his presence. ‘Anyone for soggy gourmet pizza?’
She swung to face him and a thousand different emotions flitted over her expression before she settled for happy-to-see-him. ‘Yes, please.’ She uncurled herself and stretched out a pair of long shapely legs in front of her. ‘Where did you find pizza?’
‘The airport’s café. The last one. Or the last half of one. I had to fight off the hungry hordes.’ After setting the box on the desk, he switched on the lamp, then reached for the bottle of wine on the shelf above the bar fridge.
She rose, smiling and shrugging the lapels of the robe closer. ‘My hero.’
His hand jerked a bit at that as he upended two glasses. ‘You want wine?’
‘Thanks.’ She lifted the lid on the cardboard container. ‘Yum, I love artichokes.’ She peered closer. ‘It is artichoke, isn’t it?’
He grinned. ‘I think so.’
She reached for her handbag on the coffee table, pulled out a linen napkin embroidered with her name, then proceeded to polish up the motel’s cutlery.
Swallowing his surprise, he opened the bottle, then set a couple of paper plates next to the pizza box. ‘You like Italian?’
‘I do, but seafood’s my favourite.’ She scooped up the slices with a knife, set them on the plates. ‘There’s a fabulous seafood place at Glenelg, on the Marina Pier. Their King George whiting is to die for.’
‘I know the one.’ He didn’t tell her his apartment overlooked said pier as he splashed a generous amount of the ruby liquid into the glasses. ‘And I agree with your review. It’s one of my favourite food haunts when I’m in Adelaide.’
‘Mine too.’ A little hitch in her breath as she stared up at him. ‘Seems we have something in common.’
‘I’m hoping that’s not all we have in common.’ He couldn’t resist stroking his knuckles lightly down the side of her face. Testing her, tormenting himself. Her skin was smooth as silk and smelled like flowers.
Her eyes turned glassy, like a still ocean on an overcast summer’s day, and she pressed her lips together, then said, ‘We weren’t going to talk about ourselves.’
‘Who said anything about talking?’
Their gazes clashed, but he didn’t act on the hot fist of anticipation gripping the lower half of his body and the impulse to show her the alternative option. Plenty of time. A girl like Charlotte definitely needed slow. And he’d already made up his mind to give her a chance to decide whether she still wanted to act on that hot look he’d glimpsed earlier.
So he only lifted the glasses, offered her one and said, ‘Let’s eat before this sloppy offering gets any colder. Cheers.’
‘Thanks. And cheers.’ Taking her plate, Charlotte returned to the armchair while Nic sat at the desk. She took a sip, then set her glass on the coffee table in front of her. Her cheek was still tingly and warm from his touch. Other parts were tingling too, with a wickedly wanton need like she’d never experienced.
But he was giving her space and she appreciated that. Even if she was having a full-on fantasy around him and what they could get up to on that office chair …
‘Hawaii’s nice this time of year,’ she said to take her mind off her fantasies, determined to keep the conversation on neutral topics.
He glanced at his pamphlets then at her, his gaze thoughtful. Unreadable.
‘I know we agreed on nothing personal but they were just there …’
He smiled, all trace of whatever she’d seen in his eyes gone in one mischievous twinkle. ‘All good, Charlotte, it’s not personal. And yeah, it’s the best time of year. Get away from the cold.’ He bit off half his slice in one go and chewed, then washed it down with a mouthful of wine.
She sliced a corner off her own piece, watching the man’s enthusiasm over the very ordinary food. He had a strong tanned neck and prominent Adam’s apple, which moved as he swallowed. Oil from the pizza glistened on his upper lip … She wanted to jump up, lean down and lick it off. She really needed to slow her thoughts down to warp speed.
‘You’ve been there before?’ she asked, keeping to the script.
‘I try to make it every couple of years. Hanalei Bay on Kauai. The surf’s great there. How about you—have you ever been?’
‘Once. To Maui. It was a family holiday to celebr …’ She trailed off as the memory of her parents’ tenth wedding anniversary surfaced. The little twinge in her heart had her rubbing her hand once over the area and caressing the pearls at her throat. ‘But that’s against the rules.’
‘Sure—if you say so.’ His eyes probed hers and his voice gentled. ‘You okay?’
‘Fine.’ Her smile relaxed as she finished the last bite, patted her mouth then popped the fancy napkin back in her bag. ‘You know, you’re a very nice man.’
‘Nice?’ His brows rose. ‘That’s a bit of a worry.’
‘I mean honest. Considerate …’ Totally gorgeous.
He chuckled and popped the remainder of his pizza into his mouth. ‘You sure you’re not a rebellious princess on the run from some minor European nation somewhere?’
‘What? Oh, the napkin?’ She grinned back. ‘I’d carry my own cutlery if the airlines allowed it. I have personalised soap too. Somewhere …’ She searched the bottom of her bag unsuccessfully, then shrugged. ‘Call me eccentric.’ Or a product of a privileged and traditional upbringing. If her folks could see her now and knew what she was thinking …
She bet Nic had a string of women in his life. She wondered how old he was. Around thirty? She reminded herself she didn’t want to know because then she’d want to know more. Like where he lived and what his work was and … how he liked to make love.
‘“Sex Fact or
