experiments were concerned, Grey had a strong suspicion that this one was ripe for failure. Too many variables. Far too many unknowns. Social interaction between him and Charlotte had been volatile, at best. Add the pretence of a relationship, his parents, and an ex-fiancée to the mix, and the impending family barbecue had all the hallmarks of social disaster.
When he drove up Charlotte’s gravelled circular driveway and she looked up from her watering of the plants beneath the portico and smiled, he groaned aloud.
He’d ordered a free-spirited woman. By Charlotte’s translation, this seemed to mean a golden-limbed goddess wrapped in a slip of a dress that dazzled the eyes. A wild profusion of wavy black hair tumbled to her waist and showcased her dress to perfection. Completing the outfit were flat sandals that looked suspiciously like ballet slippers, and huge grey-tinted sunglasses courtesy of someone’s Elton John collection.
Bring on the circus.
He brought the car to a standstill. A hired, late-model four door Toyota, nothing special, hopefully reliable. Charlotte cut the tap, rolled up the hose on its reel and tucked hose and reel into a low cupboard, seemingly built for that purpose. Money, and lots of it, thought Grey. Enough to make conforming to society’s rules optional, never mind the tidy hose arrangement. It might be worth discussing a few rules of engagement before they reached his parents’ place. Spell out just what he expected of an unconventional yet perfectly acceptable partner in deception.
Charlotte collected up a handbag and wrap from beside the front door. She made sure the door was locked and made her way towards the Toyota. She bent down and smiled at him through the window, showing even white teeth and an abundance of free-spirited cleavage.
She made no move to get in the car.
Gritting his own teeth, Grey slid from the car, strode around it and hauled the door open for her. ‘Why couldn’t you have been a feminist?’ he said.
‘Why on earth would I want to be a feminist?’ she muttered as she slid into the seat and waited for him to close the door. ‘Where’s the power in that?’
He shut the door. Gently. He got back in the car.
‘You’ll notice I’m not currently wearing a bra,’ she said briskly.
Oh, he’d noticed.
‘That’s because the bodice of this dress fulfils that function, not because it’s a feminist convention of the late last century.’
‘Noted,’ he said.
‘I would, however, have made a wonderful suffragette,’ she told him. ‘There are many principles of equality that I adhere to.’
‘Wonderful,’ he said dryly. ‘Power-based selective feminism. Can’t wait to experience that.’
‘Oh, I dare say you already have,’ she murmured. ‘How long were you engaged?’
‘One year. And Sarah opens her own doors.’
‘As is her choice,’ said Charlotte magnanimously. ‘Did you live with her?’
‘No. I spent most of that time in PNG. In my defence, Sarah knew I’d committed to a three year project there before we became engaged.’
‘Perhaps she thought she could tolerate the wait,’ said Charlotte. ‘And discovered otherwise.’
‘Yes,’ he said heavily, and won several points for honesty. ‘That’s pretty much what happened.’
Not a comfortable topic of conversation for Greyson Tyler, decided Charlotte. Plenty of skeletons in that cupboard.
‘Sarah’s a smart woman,’ he continued. ‘Capable. Loyal. Lovely. I want her to be happy. I want her to realise that calling off our engagement was a good decision and that one day she’ll meet someone who can fulfil all her needs, not just some of them.’
‘Idealistic,’ murmured Charlotte.
‘Practical,’ he countered.
‘If you say so. You know what’s interesting when you speak of your Sarah?’ said Charlotte. ‘You never speak of passion. Or longing. Or needing to wake up beside her. Did you never feel that? Not even in the beginning?’
Grey stayed stubbornly silent.
‘I see,’ she said gently. ‘Then I guess she is better off without you.’
They drove the next twenty kilometres in silence.
‘So when did we meet?’ asked Charlotte, determinedly breaking the silence.
‘Three months ago when I was in Brisbane for a conference. I stayed a fortnight longer than planned because of you. We kept in touch. How does that sound?’
‘Plausible. I’m liking the implied passion. Let’s face it; you’re not offering commitment, progeny, or fiscal support. There’s got to be something in it for me.’
‘There is. A back-from-the-dead fiancé who suffered the ignominy of almost being eaten by cannibals.’
‘Something else,’ she said, not above a little needling of her own. ‘I’m thinking that if I really was the free-spirited type, I’d probably only want you for the sex. Outrageously intimate sex of the most delectable kind. The kind of passionate tour de force a woman would go out of her way to encounter.’ Charlotte lifted her sunglasses and favoured him with a sultry glance. ‘How does that sound?’
‘I’ve no complaints,’ he said gruffly.
‘Excellent,’ she murmured. ‘I do hope you can keep your end of the pretence up.’
‘It’s up.’ God, what was it about this woman’s voice that had him reacting like an oversexed schoolboy? Grey suffered that knowing gaze of hers drifting down his body in silence. He suffered the lift of her elegant eyebrow and the tiny tilt of generously curved lips.
‘Stop it,’ he muttered.
‘Practice makes perfect,’ she said airily. ‘I’m a method actor.’
He put the radio on, a man in need of a diversion. ‘Tell me about your work,’ he said, and then just as quickly decided against hearing it. Given the effect of her voice on his body, it was probably best if she didn’t speak at all. ‘No. I’ve changed my mind. Don’t speak. Take a nap or something. Pretend you had a tiring night.’
‘I did have a tiring night,’ she said. ‘I dreamed of you.’
Greyson Tyler quite unknowingly brought out the worst in her, decided Charlotte as they drove up a steep and winding track to his parents’ weekender on the river. Tall gums and rocky undergrowth stretched before them and a vast river flowed behind them, placid and serene. None of it could stop the butterflies from starting up in her stomach. None of it could match the man beside her when it came to arresting views. He’d dressed casually in old jeans and a white linen shirt with a round neck. The shirt could have looked effeminate, but not on those shoulders, and not with that face.
No, with those shoulders and that face and that lean and tight rear end
