The Price of Fame

by Anne Oliver

  Demanding, desperate. She tasted the richness of his lips and tongue, the darker flavour of his desire. His grinding need against her belly. He was not the casually suave and charming man to let a woman take the lead tonight. He was that dangerous animal she’d warned herself about.

  And she abandoned her caution absolutely. Gave herself up to him without reservation or hesitation. Her senses were so attuned, she felt every tremor: his and hers. The soft skitter of night air over her arms, the cool sand squishing between her toes. The heat flowing between their tightly pressed bodies.

  She heard the mutter of appreciation as he kissed her, his groan of reluctance as he pulled away. He dragged his fingers down through the length of her hair, then let it fall softly to her shoulders. ‘You were made for the night, Charlotte. That hint of the mysterious about you that makes me want to discover your deepest secrets.’ He looked down at her, eyes as dark as the ocean. ‘Do you still want to be alone?’

  She knew it couldn’t last, but right now she felt as if she never wanted to be alone again. ‘I’d rather be with you,’ she said, and reached out her hand for his.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, tugging her forward again. They followed the curve of the beach in silence, starlight guiding them, creating silvery streaks across the shallow pools between the thin ribbons of sand. No words were necessary, both knew where they were headed.

  His home came into view, blocking out a slab of the night sky; she recognised the louvred windows and the scrawny pines spearing skywards behind the stone wall.

  But instead of heading towards it, he led her further along the beach and up where the sand was soft, and coastal bushes provided protection. The air was pungent with marine life and rotting leaves.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘No one’ll find us.’ He sounded out of breath, as if he’d been running a marathon.

  ‘You sure?’ They were both breathless and it wasn’t only the rush to get here.

  ‘Sure I’m sure.’ A thread of that familiar teasing tone wound through the urgency. ‘The bushes are adequate cover.’

  His fingers fumbled a bit as he untied the knot between her breasts and she plain forgot about whether they could be seen. The silky material slithered away, leaving her naked but for a pair of sheer black lace panties threaded with red satin ribbon … and two red bows covering her nipples.

  ‘Man, you are something else.’ Appreciation darkened his gaze, molten chocolate desire as it skimmed over her body. ‘Wow.’ He fingered the bows, peeled them off with care, exposing her taut nipples to the cool air.

  ‘These are designed for moments like this,’ she told him and took his hands, placed them on her hips where the side seams were held together with matching bows.

  Humour touched his mouth. ‘You’re a clever girl.’ He tugged on the ends of the ribbon, watched the panties fall apart. ‘And a little bit wicked.’

  She knew she surprised him, that he’d prejudged her, and took pleasure in the fact as she unbuttoned his shirt with quick fingers, then reached for the snap on his jeans. ‘I’m not what you expected, am I?’ she said between breaths, sliding her fingers between the denim band and hard masculine abdomen. ‘I’m not what I expected either—not with you. You turn me into someone I hardly know.’

  His seductive hands were busy too, and a moan caught in her throat as he flicked his thumbs over her nipples, the electric charge zapping straight to her womb. ‘I think it’s you who’s wicked, Dominic Russo.’

  ‘I think you talk too much,’ he muttered, and shut her up with a long, drugging kiss that turned her blood to quicksilver and left both of them speechless.

  Her head spun with his taste and the hot, arousing scent of his skin. He’d reduced her body to a quivering mess of need. Any moment her knees would give way. She gave up on trying to undress him and lifted her now useless hands to clutch at the sides of his open shirt. ‘Hurry.’

  A glint of a smile in those dark, dark eyes, and the sharpness, the intensity, the confidence of a man who knew his own sexual power. ‘You’ll need to let go of my shirt.’

  Ah. Her arms fell limply as he shrugged it off. Grabbing a condom from his pocket, he shoved his jeans down long powerful legs, kicked the denim out of the way.

  And then they were both naked, the night’s soft light bathing them in silver and black. The stars seemed to spin closer as he spread her sarong on the sand and tumbled her down with him.

  He was hard as steel and inside her in seconds, mouth and hands greedy, devouring her demands as if they were his own. Just what she needed, fast and frantic and so, so hot.

  Clever man. He knew just what she wanted. What she craved. Dizzy delight, unimaginable pleasure—they pounded through her system the way a storm surge crashed onto the beach, bringing her to peak and leaving her swamped and stunned and ravaged. Not in pain, but in breathless, glorious delirium.

  No time to recover, he took her up again, driving her to the crest of the highest wave and over, then dragging her under with him to some deep airless place where sanity vanished and passion ruled.

  Finally spent, she coasted with him into calmer, shallower waters where touches grew languorous and kisses turned lingering. Time now to drift like the tide and think only of this moment and this man.

  ‘You’re not what I expected either,’ she murmured a few moments later. Or it could have been hours—time no longer seemed relevant.

  He shifted so that he could pull the ends of her sarong around them. ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘Not this.’ She snuggled closer as the cooler air wafted over her skin. ‘I didn’t expect this. Us.’ The instant the word was out she knew she’d made a mistake.

  ‘Us …’ he said, carefully. ‘Babe, I don’t do “us”. I’m not that kind of guy; you should know that up front.’

  He was blunt to the point of being curt but at least he was honest and she knew exactly where she stood. Which was where she told herself she wanted to be. Casual. No disappointments. But she’d given him the clingy female impression—a big no-no.

  ‘I meant the “us” as in being together again here kind of us.’ Embarrassed, she struggled for words. ‘After all, it was only supposed to be one night.’ She raised her head and forced a casual smile. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea.’

  But he had got the wrong idea because he didn’t smile back, just went very still and looked up at the sky.

  He’d made it obvious he wasn’t looking for anything more than temporary. Neither was she. She couldn’t. Not now, not yet. Maybe not ever, because she suddenly didn’t want to imagine being with a man who wasn’t Nic in this way ever again.

  And how self-destructive was that kind of thinking?

  She let her head flop back too, beside his, and stared skywards at the drifting stars. ‘I’m leaving soon anyway so whatever we have is brief. If you still …’ She trailed off. She had no idea where his thoughts were.

  ‘Two weeks. My hours are flexible and you’re on vacation. We could spend that time together, if you’d like.’ His fingers touched hers but his gaze remained fixed on the stars. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘A holiday romance?’ Could she do that? Could she be romantically involved with a man knowing there was an end point? She’d never had a fling …

  ‘Why not?’ He shifted closer. ‘Perfect location for romance. A man who wants to please you when you want to be pleased and who’ll leave you alone when you want space. It’ll do you good.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘It’ll do us both good. I’ll be your part-time tour guide with benefits, you’ll be my muse.’

  ‘Part-time tour guide with benefits.’ She turned her head to look at him. ‘Does that sound romantic to you?’

  He looked back at her and smiled, and all the stars seemed to fall into his eyes. ‘Trust me, I can do romantic.’

  She bet he could. Problem was, could she let him do romantic and walk away unscathed?

  After he’d seen Charlotte safely to her room and made arrange
ments to collect her for their school visit in the morning, restlessness drove Nic onto the balcony with a can of beer. He ripped off the tab, chugged down half the contents while he watched a ship’s winking lights skim the horizon.

  Anywhere else, he’d have invited himself to a woman’s room to spend what was left of the night with her, but he had to consider his position at Vaka Malua. Which was why he never got involved with the resort’s guests. He knew Charlotte had expected him to bring her back here. He’d seen it in her eyes when, instead of taking the quick route to his gate, they’d retraced their steps along the beach.

  Us. She’d coupled them together and it had triggered that familiar sensation that the walls were closing in around him. It spelled long-term and commitment.

  Not for Nic Russo. And he believed in being upfront and open about it. No false expectations. He drank deeply, paced to the end of the balcony and back. At least he was honest and Charlotte said she admired that about him.

  So a couple of weeks … Romantic didn’t have to mean complicated. Hell, no. He knew what women liked and it was a matter of pride that he’d never left a lover unsatisfied. They always understood his rules going in and were only too happy to play the game his way.

  Of course, there were those few who hadn’t played by those rules; those who’d tried to insinuate themselves into his life with home-cooked meals and gifts and, sometimes, in desperation, tears. Nic was immune to those tricks.

  But Charlotte was unlike any other lover. She was fun and witty and sensual, but she was more. More than the sexually vibrant woman she’d allowed him to see. He’d glimpsed an inherent shyness and insecurity she worked hard to hide. She’d just come out of a serious relationship, which made her vulnerable to no-strings guys like him.

  She’d tried to get him to open up about his past. And she’d wanted to soothe. To share. To understand. And for one unguarded moment he’d found himself strangely tempted.

  But there was that thorny issue of trust. The brilliant, beautiful and devious Angelica had taught him people weren’t always as they seemed and his fingers tensed on the can.

  Just because he and Charlotte had a deeper than usual rapport going didn’t mean he wanted to book the resort’s wedding chapel. A couple of weeks would be enough of an indulgence before getting back to what he did best. Work.

  Stretching out on the wicker sofa, he breathed in the garden’s damp night fragrance and concentrated on the soothing sound of the sea and the evening breeze on his skin.

  Maybe she wouldn’t be sleeping yet either. He punched the sofa’s cushion into shape behind his head. Maybe she’d be spread out on that big bed, those pearls around her throat, reliving their passion. Would she touch herself, remembering how he’d touched her …?

  It was a long time before he slept.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHARLOTTE inspected her holiday wardrobe the following morning. She didn’t want to fade into the background today. She wanted to dress the way she was feeling—sunny and happy. She wanted to fit in with the island culture.

  She wanted Nic to notice.

  With an hour before she was due to meet him, she headed for the central facilities and shops. She chose half a dozen picture books and jumbo crayons for Kasanita’s class. Then she tried on clothes, finally settling on a bright tropical print dress in lime and hot pink. It reminded her of the way Nic’s eyes had all but set her sarong on fire last night. Before he’d taken it off her.

  Not her usual choice, she thought, staring at her reflection back in her room. And she liked it: being someone different. Here in Fiji she didn’t need to worry about being recognised. Here she wasn’t a big name’s daughter or a politician’s partner. She could be herself. She wasn’t entirely familiar with the freedom of anonymity. Feeling as if she were dancing on air, she reached for her hat.

  She was walking along the cool elevated breezeway towards the concierge desk on her way to meet Nic when she saw him on the lawns below chatting with a couple of female staff members. She paused at the balustrade. He wore khaki shorts and a white T-shirt with a black turtle motif, his slightly dishevelled hair catching the breeze, his smile blinding, even at this distance.

  Like Flynn, he was a people person, charm and charisma personified. Another pretty girl joined them. Nic hugged the new arrival’s shoulders, she smiled back and said something and they all laughed. Unlike Flynn, he wasn’t using his charm to further any agenda. It was professional courtesy and respect and friendly interest all the way. Also unlike Flynn, Nic made time for people because he genuinely cared about others. And he was utterly, utterly gorgeous with it.

  Her heart squeezed tight, then seemed to detach from her body and took off on a journey of its own.

  Oh, no. She rubbed a hand over her chest and mentally dragged her heart back where it belonged and waited the longest time for it to settle.

  She was no expert on men. Apart from co-workers and a forgettable couple of adolescent crushes, her experience was limited to her father and brother who’d loved her and an ex-fiancé who had not. Falling for Nic wasn’t an option. This was a holiday romance, nothing more.

  She turned and continued towards the concierge desk at the end of the open-air structure, taking her time to feel the salty air drifting through the covered walkway while her pulse returned to normal.

  A colourful array of beads caught her eye and she paused to talk to the local women who came in from the nearby village daily and sat in the shade, their handcrafts spread on tarpaulins in front of them.

  By the time she’d chosen a bracelet of tiny lime green stones to match her dress, Nic was waiting, watching her as she approached. She felt as admired and breathless as she had last night.

  ‘Bula, Charlotte.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Don’t you look bright and cheerful today.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She smiled. ‘I feel bright and cheerful.’ She saw the appreciation in his dark eyes and was glad she’d decided to buy something different.

  As they drove inland and away from the coast in his luxury car she asked Nic about the education system.

  ‘Here they lack the funds for equipment Australian schools take for granted, particularly in the rural areas.’

  ‘Tell me about this school we’re visiting.’

  Nic overtook an ancient, rusted pick-up truck overloaded with workers on their way to the sugar-cane fields. ‘It caters for children from five to twelve years, with two classrooms, two teachers and sixty kids. Kasanita teaches the kids up to the age of eight.’

  ‘So how do they afford computers?’

  ‘They don’t.’ He slowed for a bus stopping to pick up passengers.

  ‘Oh?’ Of course. ‘You donated them.’

  He shrugged a shoulder. ‘It’s a good cause.’

  She nodded. He was a cause man. She loved causes. So often she’d found it to be women who put in the time and effort. ‘How often do you visit?’

  ‘When I’m here, I try to make it every couple of weeks. Early intervention’s important, so I spend most of that time with Kas’s class.’

  ‘How do you know Kas?’

  ‘Her father owns a yachting business and takes charter cruises around some of the local islands. But we’ve not talked much about you yet.’ He glanced at her; more specifically at her breasts. ‘I take it you’re a fashion designer.’

  She ignored the heat his gaze invoked and tried not to think about the underwear she’d chosen specifically in the hope that at some stage he’d take it off her. ‘No. That’s just a hobby.’

  ‘A hobby.’ His tone suggested he thought she lived on her parents’ wealth. ‘What do you do, then?’

  ‘I worked at the winery, in the office.’

  ‘Not any more?’

  ‘I sold the business three weeks ago, so I’m out of a job at the moment.’

  He didn’t reply and maybe she was being oversensitive but she got the feeling he thought she was satisfied with her unemployed status. She hastened to explain she wasn’t som
e rich chick with nothing to do but take exotic vacations. ‘My ex and I were going to open a cheese and wine cellar door place there until he changed his mind and decided to give politics a go. And now …’

  She looked away, at the green mountains in the distance, and thought how far away her problems seemed on this island paradise. How she had so many things to tackle on her return. How unready she still was to tackle them. ‘I decided I couldn’t, not on my own.’

  He was silent as they drove past fields of banana palms and more jungle. Charlotte watched blurred walls of creeping green vegetation skim by, corrugated iron structures and primitive thatched roofs.

  Finally he said, ‘You could turn your designs into a business if you wanted to; they’re unique enough.’

  ‘No.’ Her designs were her private indulgence and a solitary pursuit. She’d given it a lot of thought since Flynn had left and decided she needed work that involved social interaction if she wanted to avoid becoming a total recluse. ‘Something’ll turn up.’ The charities her mother and she supported could keep her busy in the meanwhile.

  The school was part of a village, quaint and old and basic—a single louvred building painted bright blue with a maroon roof and a wide porch. The playground’s grass surface was patchy and devoid of shade or equipment and adjoined the ubiquitous village rugby field.

  But it didn’t lack vitality because the moment they pulled up at the door the children spilled outside, Kas following, and suddenly the car was surrounded with friendly faces.

  ‘Bula! Bula!’ The kids swarmed around them, hands on the car’s windows, their laughs loud and happy.

  She and Nic climbed out into humidity and hot sun, crushingly different from the car’s air conditioning. A couple of chooks scratched at the ground and unfamiliar bird calls echoed in the trees.

  Kasanita welcomed them. ‘Bula, Charlotte, Nic.’