âDidi, how do you feel aboutextending this arrangement a littlelonger? Say, three weeks?â
âWhat do you mean?â She tried to keep her voice even, her expression neutral.
But she knew what he meant, and blood pounded through her veins. A ball of fire lodged behind her breastbone, shooting flares up and down the length of her body.
He wanted herâhere. In this bed. And she didnât need rocket science to work it out.
If she wanted, for three weeks she could be Cameron Blackâs live-in mistress.
Anne Oliver has wonRomance Writers of Australiaâs awardfor Romantic Book of the Year two yearsrunning, with her first and second books!
2007: BEHIND CLOSED DOORSâ¦
Cleo Honeywell has always loved Jack Devlin, but he moved to the other side of the worldâwithout even a phone call! Now Jackâs back. Cleo is determined not to fall at his feet, or into his bed. But this time Jack canât wait to get Cleo behind closed doorsâ¦
2008: ONE NIGHT BEFORE MARRIAGE
Still smarting from the way her ex dumped her, virginal Carissa Grace is looking for a single night of hot passion to help her move on. Then she meets tall, sexy hotel magnate Ben Jamieson, and it appears she has found exactly the man sheâs been looking forâ¦
Romantic TimesBOOKreviews gave this novela four-star review: âA terrific story.Anne Oliver has created a winner in Ben,the hot and sexy but equally complex hero.â
Anne Oliverâs novels are smart, sexy and sassyâstep into her worldâ¦
When not teaching or writing, Anne Oliver loves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handyâher favourite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesnât have to cook. Sharing her charactersâ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilegeâ¦and a dream come true. The winner of Australiaâs Romantic Book of the Year Award for short category in both 2007 and 2008, Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children. Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com. She loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at [email protected].
Also by this author:
HOT BOSS, WICKED NIGHTS
PREGNANT BY THE PLAYBOY TYCOON BUSINESS IN THE BEDROOM THE EX FACTOR ONE NIGHT BEFORE MARRIAGE BEHIND CLOSED DOORSâ¦
With thanks to my editor, Meg Lewis.
For my colleagues and friends who supported me through tough times during the writing of this book, especially Gayâthanks for the roses!
CHAPTER ONE
âDONâT date this man.â
Didi OâFlanagan paid scant attention to her workmateâs warning, barely glancing up as she scoured her bag for lip gloss. âWhatever he did, Roz, he probably doesnât deserve to have his photo plastered to the mirror in a public restroomâ¦â Her words segued to a hum of approval, lip gloss momentarily forgotten.
Maybe he did deserve it. His eyesâdeep dark blueâwere the kind of eyes that could persuade you to do things youâd never do in your right mindâ¦
âOnly the woman who put it here knows that.â Roz leaned in for a closer look. âYou mustâve really ticked her off, Cameron Black. Still, you are a bit of a hunk.â
âYeahâ¦â Didi had to agree. Dark hair, squared jaw. Perfect kissing lips. What did the rest of him look like? she wondered. She imagined a man with looks like that would keep his body toned to match. In fact she could imagine quite a lot about that body. âWe could try Googling those âdonât date himâ websitesâ¦â
âHmm, revenge. Undoubtedly a dish best served onlineâ¦â Roz agreed. âBut right now, if we want to keep our jobs, weâd better get out there and start serving those impatient big-shots,â Roz reminded her, heading for the door.
Didi blinked, feeling as if sheâd somehow stepped out of a time warp. âRight behind you.â
Cameron Black. Why did that name sound familiar? Didi wondered. Shaking the thought away for now, she unscrewed her tube of colour, slicked coral gloss over her lips.
She twitched at a few blonde spikes, straightened her uniformâs little bow tie and fiddled with her name-tag, which always seemed to tilt at an angle no matter how many times she adjusted it.
She couldnât resist; her gaze slid back to the printout on the mirror. Below the picture were the words, âHeâs not the man you think he is.â On impulse, she reached out. She didnât care what heâd done, it wasnât right. That was what she told herself as she peeled it off. There were two sides to every story. Not that she knew much about relationships. In her twenty-three years thereâd been only one serious relationship, and that mistake had coloured her perception in a very uncolourful way.
But she couldnât bring herself to crumple the paper and toss it in the waste basket on her way out as sheâd intended. It seemed a sacrilege to spoil that perfect face. She folded it into quarters, then again, carefully creasing the lines before sliding it into the pocket of her black trousers.