From Sydney With Love - Kelly Hunter Mills & Boon M&B

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and clutched at his forearms for balance, only to have his skin beneath her palms play havoc with those senses too.

      His eyes stayed open, observing, always observing, coolly watching her come apart beneath his ministrations.

      And then he closed his eyes, slid his mouth over hers and simply took.

      He wasn’t supposed to devour her, thought Grey with what little coherent thought he had left. He’d only meant to test her, not match her uninhibited response and raise the stakes by tabling a whole lot of mindless hunger as well. Too long without a woman, that had to be it, as he buried his hands in her silken tresses, his lips not leaving hers as he took what he needed and what he would have by way of supplication and desire.

      She didn’t protest. The ragged husky sounds she made weren’t sounds of protest. The way she gave her mouth over to him, as if savouring every last drop of his invasion, wasn’t objection. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her up, both hands on her buttocks urging her legs around his waist and she obliged him and kept right on kissing him. Another gasp escaped her, one he echoed as hardness found a home. Too many clothes. Way too much urgency.

      He wasn’t a small man, not by any means. He usually had more care for a woman’s comfort. He usually made sure to harness his strength and turn it to tenderness.

      There was no tenderness here, just sensuality unleashed and Grey wanted more, and more again, and Charlotte gave willingly. Locking her legs around his waist she rode his hard length through two sets of clothing and slayed him with her abandon.

      It was Charlotte who guided them back to reality.

      ‘Enough,’ she muttered, and when he bared his teeth against her cheek on a groan of pure frustration, ‘Greyson, stop.’ Grey’s body protested but he gentled his hold on her and held still while she nestled her forehead into the curve of his shoulder, her body trembling as she sought to master her desire and his. ‘I’m not saying no.’ Her lips and breath were warm against the skin of his neck, that sex-soaked voice doing nothing to aid her cause. ‘I’m saying not here, and not now. Let’s not be insane.’

      Rich, coming from her.

      But he slid her down gently, let her find her feet and step away and put some distance between them. One foot and then another until reason and caution returned.

      ‘What just happened?’ she asked warily.

      ‘You want the standard biology lecture or shall we just summarise and say that the dopamine and adrenaline kicked in? Hard.’

      ‘In other words, just an ordinary everyday biological response to sexual stimulus,’ she murmured and leaned against her workbench. ‘Nothing more.’

      ‘Exactly.’ Thank God for analytical minds. ‘I may be a little overdue for release in that particular arena. I’ve been out of touch with female company for a while. Nothing for you to worry about. Nothing I can’t control.’

      She sent him a look, dark amusement running deep.

      ‘So I’ll pick you up Sunday morning at around eleven thirty,’ he said, ignoring his growing unease when it came to spending any amount of time with the delectably loopy Charlotte Greenstone. ‘It’ll take us an hour to get there. Barbecue starts at one. I figure we can be gone by three.’

      ‘You’re sure about this?’ She folded her arms across her slim waist.

      ‘I’m sure.’ More or less.

      ‘How would you like me dressed?’

      Greyson blinked. ‘Do you normally ask a man this question?’

      ‘Normally, I can figure it out on my own. With you, all bets are off.’

      He still didn’t have an answer to her question.

      ‘I’m not asking you for your colour preferences, Greyson. I’m asking you for your social status. I realise it doesn’t show, but I’m not without wealth. The kind that takes generations to acquire. You want me to wear it or not?’

      ‘Up to you,’ he said with a shrug. ‘My family is solidly middle class. My mother’s a paediatrician and my father’s a mechanical engineer currently contracted to the Australian Defence Force. My ex is a psychiatrist. We’re heading for a holiday house on the banks of the Hawkesbury. It’s private, sprawling, and comfortable in a totally different way from the showpiece you inhabit. There’ll be good wine, home-cooked food, and enough conversation to fill any gaps. Is that enough information?’

      ‘Plenty,’ she murmured, her gaze turning speculative. ‘Believe it or not, I just want to get this right and hopefully get the job you want me to do done with as little bloodshed as possible. Do you have any siblings?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Anything else I should know in advance? Your ex-fiancée, Sarah. Will she be protective of you?’

      ‘Not without analysing the situation and every possible response to it first.’

      ‘Marvellous,’ muttered Charlotte, with the lift of a sweetly pointed chin. ‘You do realise that a psychiatrist will probably have a field day with me. I’m not without my eccentricities.’

      ‘Really? Who’d have guessed?’ Time to leave before he closed the distance between them and set his lips to the slender curve of her neck. ‘Look at it this way, it’ll give her something to do. Oh, and before I forget your what-to-wear question,’ he said as he opened her office door, ‘my favourite colour’s green.’

      GREEN it was, and a vibrant tree-frog green at that, shot through with yellows and vivid reds, pinks, and purples. Okay, so maybe calling her silk spaghetti-strapped sundress green was a stretch. Maybe green was only one of the colours splashed on it, but it was suitably bohemian, flattering to the figure, and inviting to the touch.

      The matching manilas or Portuguese slave bracelets Charlotte wore at her wrists were a particularly nice touch, considering her services for the day had been bought and paid for. Part of Aurora’s eclectic collection of antiquities, the beaten brass bracelets could almost be classified as green and would hopefully give Sarah the psychiatrist something to dwell on.

      Just one more reason to make Sarah reconsider whether she wanted to renew a relationship with a man whose current paramour indulged his every whim.

      Tedious business, the indulging of a man’s whims.

      Charlotte’s make-up was subtle and she’d decided against perfume. Her demeanour was obliging; she’d been practising all morning.

      Time to get this over with. This task she had no taste for.

      This dashing of another woman’s hopes and dreams.

      As far as anthropological 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

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