Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle

by Amy Andrews, Aimee Carson, Avril Tremayne

  ‘You sure there was no free love on that commune?’ he asked, and thanked heaven and hell that he sounded his normal curt self.

  ‘Love’s never free, is it?’ Sunshine asked cryptically. And then she smiled. ‘That’s why I’m only interested in sex.’

  Before Leo could think of a response she tap-tapped her way out of the restaurant, clearly with no idea he was having a conniption and might need either medical or psychiatric intervention.

  FOUR

  TO: Sunshine Smart

  FROM: Leo Quartermaine

  SUBJECT: Photos

  Attached are the images we discussed yesterday, plus the restaurant layout with a sketchy floor plan.

  I’ve also included a photo of the toilet paper. White.

  I’ll be making pasta tonight, and bringing some homemade gelato.

  LQ

  TO: Jonathan Jones

  FROM: Sunshine Smart

  SUBJECT: All going swimmingly—and shoes!

  Darling!

  Checked out the venue yesterday—scrumptious. Caleb has photos.

  Your shoe design is attached. As requested, not too over the top! Black patent with a gorgeous charcoal toecap. The shoes will work brilliantly with the dark grey suit and red tie.

  I’m sending Caleb’s design to him directly—he says you don’t get to see his outfit before the big day! And you have the contact number for Bazz in Brooklyn to get the shoes made, so make an appointment, and quickly because he’s super-busy.

  Leo’s are next. And, speaking of Leo...drumroll...tonight he’s cooking me dinner!

  We’ll get onto the wedding menu tonight too. I’m thinking we should lean towards seafood, but with a chicken alternative for those who are allergic, and, of course, a vegetarian (dullsville) option.

  Sunny xxx

  PS: Was Marco Valetta always such a douche? Had dinner with him last night and he spent the whole meal talking about his inheritance—scared his father is going to gobble it up on overseas travel. Seriously, let the man spend his own money any way he wants! Marco thought he was going to get lucky, but after banging on all night about money and then suddenly switching to the subject of lap dances??????? As if!!!! He is SO off my Christmas card list. I’ll bet Leo Quartermaine would never be such a loser.

  PPS: I saw a statistic recently that said about twenty-five million dollars is spent on lap dances each year in Vegas alone. Amazing!!!!

  TO: Leo Quartermaine

  FROM: Caleb Quartermaine

  SUBJECT: Loving the Sunshine...

  ...and I don’t mean the New York weather, which is icky-sticky right now.

  Just warning you, bro, that my custom-designed shoes are eye-poppers. I love them—but I’m the flamboyant type. Better prepare yourself!

  Love the invitations, love the save-the-date, love the fact that you sent Sunshine a photo of the restaurant toilet rolls (yep, she told me). Think I love Sunshine too if she can get you to do that. Jon tells me half the male population of Sydney is in love with her—gay and straight—so I’m in good company.

  Also glad about your hair—go, Sunshine! And glad about South.

  Can’t wait to marry Jon. Seriously, I don’t care where or how we do it, as long as we do it. The party is just the icing on an already delicious cake.

  Your turn now. Hope you’re out there hunting instead of spending every spare minute slaving over assorted hot stoves.

  And please tell me the bunny-boiler Natalie is under control. If she turns up at the reception I am getting out the power tools and going for her.

  CQ

  Sunshine lived in an apartment in Surry Hills. The perfect place for people who didn’t cook, because wherever you looked there were restaurants. Every price range, every style, and practically every ethnicity.

  Leo had sent a ton of supplies and equipment ahead of him, because he had a shrewd understanding of what he could expect to find in Sunshine’s cupboards—i.e., nothing much—and the thought of overbalancing the bike while lugging a set of knives was a little too Russian roulette for his liking.

  He’d been cursing himself all day about offering to cook for her. Cursing some more that he’d offered to do it at her apartment—his own, with a designer kitchen and every appliance known to man, would have been so much easier. But then, of course, he wouldn’t get to see what her place was like. And, all right, he admitted it: he was curious about that. He imagined boldly coloured walls, exotic furniture, vibrant rugs, maybe some kick-ass paintings or a centrepiece sculpture.

  He buzzed the apartment and she answered quickly.

  ‘Leo!’

  He could hear the excitement in her voice. How did she do that? Could she really, truly, be that enthusiastic about everything?

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Fourth floor,’ she said, and clicked open the door to the lobby.

  She was waiting for him, apartment door wide open, when he got out of the lift.

  Her hair was piled on top of her head—kind of messy, but very sexy. She was wearing an ankle-length red kaftan in some silky material that managed to both cling and flow. It had a deep V neckline and was gathered at the base of her sternum behind a fist-sized disc of matching beads. Voluminous sleeves were caught tightly at the wrists. She looked like a cross between a demented crystal healer and a Cossack dancer—but somehow bloody amazing.

  His eyes, inevitably, dropped to her feet. She was barefoot. Good God! Stop the presses.

  ‘I am so looking forward to this,’ Sunshine confided, and puckered her lips.

  Leo steeled himself, and after the tiniest hesitation she went right ahead and laid the kiss on him.

  ‘That pucker was enough warning, right?’ she asked with a cheeky smile. And then she rolled right on before he could answer. ‘And I was right—trout do not have especially thick lips. So! This way,’ she threw over her shoulder, and walked to the kitchen.

  She gestured to three boxes on the counter. ‘Your stuff arrived about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Good. I’ll unpack everything,’ he said, but he was more interested in the uninterrupted view into her apartment afforded by the open-plan kitchen.

  And it was...disappointing.

  White walls. No paintings. A serviceable four-seater dining suite in one section of a combined living/dining room in a nondescript, pale wood—pine, maybe. The couch was basic, taupe-coloured. A low coffee table in front of the couch matched the dining suite. There was a television atop a cabinet that matched the other furniture. Carpet a similar shade to the couch. Absolutely nothing wrong with any of it, but...no. Just no!

  He nodded towards the living room. ‘What’s with the porridge-meets-oatmeal thing out there?’ he asked, shrugging out of his leather jacket, and tossing it onto one of the stools on the other side of the kitchen counter.

  ‘Oh, I thought you’d like it.’

  Leo was speechless for a moment. Seriously? That was how she saw him?

  When she came to his apartment she would see just how wrong she was!

  Not that she would be coming to his apartment. But if she did...

  Nope, he had to address this now or he wouldn’t be able to cook. ‘You’ve seen my restaurants—do they look like they’ve been furnished from a Design for Dummies catalogue?’

  ‘I guess I didn’t imagine you did that part personally. But there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with a neutral colour palette, you know! And... Well...’ She waved a hand at the living area.
‘This part wasn’t me, or it would be very different.’

  ‘So who was it?’

  ‘Moonbeam—and she just went for quick, basic, affordable. Out here and in her own room.’

  ‘But aren’t twins supposed to...you know...have the same taste?’

  ‘Negativo.’

  ‘So that’s a no, is it?’ Leo asked dryly.

  ‘A big no way, José.’

  Eye-roll. ‘So, no?’

  ‘Okay! No.’ Matching eye-roll. And then she smiled softly. ‘Unlike me, Moon didn’t care about stuff.’

  ‘What did she care about?’

  ‘Life, the earth, the universe...et cetera.’

  ‘So it stands to reason she wouldn’t expect you to make a shrine out of a few pieces of pine, right? Why don’t you change it?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just...can’t.’ She looked at the boring furniture as though it were some Elysian landscape. ‘Don’t you ever want to freeze a moment? Just...freeze it? Hang on to it?’

  ‘No, Sunshine, never,’ he said. ‘I want to move on. And on and on.’

  She turned to him. ‘You’re lucky to be able to see things that way.’

  ‘Actually, it’s the absence of luck that made me see things that way. The desire to change my luck. To have more—a better life. To get...everything.’

  Their eyes caught...held.

  And then Sunshine gave that tiny shake of the head. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘there’s quite enough me in this apartment. I just keep it behind closed doors because it’s scary for the uninitiated.’

  Was she talking about her bedroom? ‘Closed doors?’

  She pointed at a closed door at one end of the living area. ‘My office.’ Pointed at another closed door behind her. ‘Bedroom.’

  Leo’s mouth had gone dry. Over a freaking room? No—over just the thought of a room! But he couldn’t help it. ‘Show me,’ he said.

  She twinkled at him. ‘You’re not ready for that, Leo. But think a cross between Regency England and the Mad Hatter’s tea party in the office, and Scheherazade meets Marie Antoinette in the bedroom...’

  He looked at the bedroom door hard enough to disgust himself. What did he think was going to happen? An ‘Open Sesame’ reveal? Why did he care anyway?

  ‘So! Leo! How do we start this gastronomic enterprise?’

  Leo dragged his Superman-worthy gaze away from the bedroom door and refocused on Sunshine—the vivid, unique, laughing eyes; the luxuriant hair; her free-spirited yet glamorous dress; her naked feet.

  ‘You’re not wearing any shoes,’ he said. Duh! Of course she knows she isn’t wearing shoes! They’re her feet, aren’t they?

  ‘I’m generally barefoot when I’m at home. But I do have a lovely pair of black beaded high heels that I wear with this dress if I’m going out.’

  He could picture her, tap-tapping her way into South with sparkles on her feet, the red silk billowing. He knew he was staring at her feet, but they were very sexy feet.

  And then his eyes travelled up. Up, up, up... To find her watching him, her eyes dazed and wide, lips slightly parted.

  She licked her lips.

  ‘Sunshine...’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’ It was more a breath than a word.

  ‘Um...’ What? What was he doing? What? ‘Feet.’ Doh! ‘I mean shoes!’ he said desperately. ‘I mean mine.’

  She looked down at his feet. ‘I like them. Blue nubuk. Rounded, desert boot-style toe. White sole.’ Her eyes were travelling up now, as his had done. ‘Perfect with...’

  Holy freaking hell. He hoped she couldn’t see his erection as she got to—

  Argh. He saw the swallow, the blink, the blush. She’d seen it.

  ‘Jeans,’ she finished faintly.

  Disaster. This was a freaking disaster. Say something, say something, say something. ‘I meant for...for the...the wedding,’ Leo said.

  And, really, it was a valid subject. Because he was starting to get curious about what she would design for him. Although it would probably end up being the shoe equivalent of a Design for Dummies pine bookshelf: plain black leather lace-ups.

  ‘Oh!’ She took a breath, smoothed the front of her dress. ‘Well! I need to see what you’re wearing first, remember?’ She blinked, smiled a little uncertainly. ‘So! Pasta? I even bought an apron!’

  Food. Good. Excellent. Something he could talk about without sounding stupid or crotchety or boring or...or crazed with inappropriate lust.

  Because he could not be in lust with Sunshine Smart. They were polar opposites in every single possible, conceivable way. Like light and dark. Bright and gloomy. Joyful and... Oh, for God’s sake, get over yourself!

  ‘You’ve got pots and pans, right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. And most of them are even unpacked.’

  ‘Most of them? How long have you lived here?’

  ‘Two and a half years.’

  Leo ran his hand over his head. If he’d had hair he would have yanked it. Two and a half years was long enough to unpack all the pots and pans. ‘I need a medium saucepan and a large frying pan. And what about bowls? Plates? Cutlery?’

  ‘Oh, plates and stuff I have.’

  ‘You get all that out while I unpack the food.’

  She started humming. Off-key.

  Leo peeked as she opened cupboards and slid out drawers. Just the bare minimum.

  He opened the fridge to stow the wine he’d brought—empty except for butter, milk, soda water, and a wedge of Camembert.

  Freezer: a bottle of vodka and half a loaf of bread.

  The kitchen had one of those slide-out pantry contraptions, which he opened with trepidation. A jar of peanut butter. A packet of lemon tea. A box of sugary kids’ cereal. A tin of baked beans that looked a thousand years old. And—sigh—three packets of two-minute noodles.

  ‘Right,’ she said proudly, and pointed to the pot, pan, bowls, and forks she had lined up on the counter. She reminded him of a hyperactive kitten being given a ball of wool to play with after being cooped up with nothing all day.

  ‘How old are you?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Twenty-five—why?’

  ‘You look younger. You act younger.’

  ‘So I’m fat and immature?’

  ‘You’re not fat.’

  She laughed. ‘But I am immature? Just because I can’t cook pasta? How unfair. I’m not asking you to design a boot, am I?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Just go and put on your apron,’ he said, and then wondered what he thought he was doing as she hurried towards a tiny alcove off the kitchen. What she thought she was doing! She wasn’t going to be in the kitchen with him! She didn’t cook! She had scoffed at the idea of cooking classes. So she didn’t need a goddamned apron.

  But when she came back she was beaming, and he couldn’t find the will to tell her to go and watch TV while he made dinner.

  He took one look at the slogan on the front of her apron—Classy, Sassy, and a Bit Smart-Assy—and had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the smile. He was not going to be charmed. Like Gary and Ben—and probably Marco. Iain. And the tinker, the tailor, the soldier, and the spy.

  ‘Come on, it’s cute—admit it!’ she said, possibly wondering about the strangled look on his face. ‘You know, I used to be called Sunshine Smart-Ass in school, so seeing this in the shop today was like an omen. Not a creepy Damien omen. I mean like a sign that I am going to nail this pasta
thing.’

  ‘Smart-Ass. Why am I not surprised?’ Leo asked through his slightly twisted mouth. Damn, he wanted to laugh.

  She’d messed up her hair, getting the apron on. He could see part of her temple, where her fringe had been pushed aside. He realised he was holding his breath. Because...because he wanted to kiss her there.

  Half the male population of Sydney is in love with her, he reminded himself. And you are not—repeat not—going to become a piece of meat in the boyfriend brigade.

  * * *

  Leo unpacked his knives and chopping boards, liberated extra plates and dishes from the cupboard, unearthed additional gadgets from his magic boxes.

  ‘Come here so you can see properly,’ he said as he started arranging ingredients on the counter.

  Sunshine moved enthusiastically to stand beside him. The wave of heat emanating from him was very alluring. She edged a little closer. Breathed in the scent of him, which was just...well, just him. Just super-clean Leo. Could she manage to get just a bit closer, so that she was just—nearly—touching him, without him panicking and hitting her with a cooking implement?

  His arm, naked below the short sleeve of his T-shirt, brushed hers—that was how close she was, because there was no way he would have done that on purpose—and she felt like swooning. Wished, quite passionately, that she hadn’t worn sleeves so she could feel him skin to skin.

  And it had absolutely nothing to do with exposure therapy either.

  It was, plain and simple, about sexual attraction. Mutual sexual attraction—at least she hoped the impressive bulge in his jeans that had taken her by surprise earlier was Sunshine-induced and not some erectile dysfunction...like that condition called priapism she’d read about on the internet...

  Not that she was going to ask him that, of course, because men could be sensitive.

  But with or without erectile dysfunction, she wanted to have sex with Leo Quartermaine!

  Was it because he was cooking for her? There was definitely something off-the-chain seductive about a man—a chef man—making her dinner.