LITMIR.BIZ

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exactly how you live it. Tell your naysayers to look to their own effectiveness, not yours.’

      ‘You want to know something?’ said Charlotte as his words put another chink in her carefully constructed armour.

      ‘I’m not sure,’ he offered dryly. ‘I might.’

      ‘You’re much better at giving advice than Gil.’ She glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘And I have to get to work. You want to let yourself out? There’s a spare set of driveway keys around here somewhere.’

      But to that, he shook his head. ‘I’ll follow you out.’

      ‘Will you call me?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Or are we done here?’

      Greyson got to his feet. Charlotte adjusted her gaze skywards. He looked even bigger than he had last night and a whole lot more lethal. Maybe it was because he hadn’t shaved. Maybe she was simply applying her newfound knowledge of how this man thought and what made him tick. What he was capable of giving to a woman by way of encouragement and support. And pleasure.

      A shudder ripped through her and it felt like a warning. Just how was she supposed to keep this liaison carefree and temporary when every move he made and word he spoke brought him closer?

      ‘We’re not done yet, Charlotte.’ Greyson eyed her a little too grimly for comfort. Call it a hunch, but he didn’t seem to be embracing their temporary liaison with a whole lot of lightness and joy either. ‘You can expect me to call.’

      He probably hadn’t meant to make it sound like a warning.

      Or maybe he had.

      ‘I tried calling you yesterday afternoon to see if you wanted to go to the movies,’ said Millie at morning tea time as they raided the biscuit tin for biscuits that weren’t a hundred years old. ‘Couldn’t get through to you though.’

      ‘What did you go and see?’

      ‘I didn’t see anything,’ said Millie. ‘The offer’s still open for tomorrow night.’

      ‘Done,’ said Charlotte, never mind what films might be playing.

      ‘It’s fine if you want to bring someone else along too,’ said Millie.

      Charlotte shook her head and smiled.

      Millie sighed heavily.

      ‘Subtlety will get you nowhere,’ said Charlotte archly. ‘Ask.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said the long suffering Millie. ‘What’s going on with you and Gil?’

      ‘He’s hoping to go and work in Borneo soon. We’ve ended our engagement. It was a mutual decision based on many factors.’

      ‘Fool,’ muttered Millie. ‘Have you seen him lately?’

      ‘I have.’

      ‘Sexy as ever?’

      ‘Alas, yes.’

      ‘Attentive?’

      Charlotte felt her face start to heat.

      ‘Feel free to enlighten me,’ said Millie. ‘Really. I mean it.’

      Charlotte smiled again; it was that kind of day. Blue skies above, body sated, mind still trying to work its way through the sensual haze Greyson’s lovemaking had left her with. Hard to concentrate on the bigger picture, namely Greyson’s—no, Gil’s—impending exit from her life and from her co-workers’ consciousnesses. ‘He’ll be gone again soon, and that’ll be the end of it. Really. It’s for the best.’

      ‘What’s Borneo got that you haven’t?’ said Millie.

      ‘Novelty value. Research possibilities. The call of the wild.’ Charlotte reeled off the attractions. ‘Rainforests. Temples. Orangutangs.’

      ‘Trifles,’ said Mille. ‘Though I will confess a fondness for orangutangs. Have you considered going with him?’

      ‘No,’ said Charlotte, and a little bit of brightness went out of her day. ‘That’s really not an option.’

      ‘Why not? There are opportunities for archaeologists in Borneo. You’re wasted here, Charlotte. You know you are. The Mead dangles tenureship in front of you and turns you into his lackey. Carlysle and Steadfellow mine your knowledge and then try and take the credit for it. You could do such brilliant work but you don’t. You could tie yourself so lightly to this place and go anywhere. Everywhere.’

      ‘Everywhere’s overrated,’ said Charlotte lightly, and suffered Millie’s puzzled glance.

      ‘I thought it was your godmother’s failing health that kept you here,’ said Millie. ‘But that wasn’t it, was it? There’s something else. Something bigger than Gil, bigger than love, only I don’t know what it is.’

      ‘It’s hard to explain,’ said Charlotte.

      ‘Try.’

      So Charlotte tried. ‘I like stability. I like the connections I’ve made here. I feel like I’m part of something, even when I’m being used up.’

      ‘I still don’t get it,’ said Millie. Millie, with her big and loving family all around her, brothers and sisters, and parents and cousins, all scattered across a city she knew and loved. Millie didn’t know how lucky she was to have that safety net of people who cared for her, people who’d be there for each other in times of need.

      ‘Millie—’ Charlotte searched for just the right words. Not wanting pity, she’d never wanted that. ‘It takes time to get to know a place, to make friends, but I’ve done that now. Here. And I won’t give that up lightly. I feel—I feel that for the first time in my life, I’m starting to belong.’

      Grey left it until Friday morning before phoning Charlotte. Never mind that he’d wanted to call her earlier … He hadn’t. Self-control had been applied. Restraint. The restraint required of a man embarking on a casual, no-strings affair.

      The presence of one Charlotte Greenstone in his life should have made his time between jobs very pleasant. A smart and sensual woman of independent means and a gratifyingly strong sexual appetite wanted to spend a little time with him. Riveting to look at, and with a voice fully capable of coaxing angels downstairs to play in the pit a while—what more could a man want from a short-term sexual partner?

      A little less perfection of form wouldn’t have gone astray, he decided bleakly. She could have at least given the women who were to come after her a fighting chance to measure up.

      A little less abandon in the bedroom wouldn’t have hurt either, for exactly the same reason.

      And would it have killed her to have led a normal life instead of some fascinating life of money, privilege, and discovery? How was a man supposed to do his own work while continually wondering how hers was going? The Internet was for instant access to research papers, not for Googling Charlotte’s family name to see if he could get a better feel for this brand she’d inherited. A glamorous brand, by all accounts. The Greenstones were to archaeology what the Kennedys had been to government. Dazzling, immensely successful and supremely ill-fated. And the only one left was Charlotte.

      Who hadn’t called.

      Or texted.

      Or emailed.

      Not that he was obsessing. Not that it would do him much good if he were.

      He placed the call. Confidence was key. That, and knowing exactly what he wanted from this woman. Right now, he wanted her on his turf and he wanted it with an intensity he usually reserved for his work.

      ‘I’m moored at the marina at Hawkesbury River,’ he said without preamble when she answered. ‘I can offer fresh seafood, cold beer, and a berth on my boat if you’ve a mind to stay over.’

      ‘Hello, Greyson,’ she said, and there was rich amusement in that whisky

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