Bad Boys Down Under by Nancy Warren

boardroom table for illicit purposes as he was to take her there?
    Last minute pre-wedding jitters.
    It had to be.
    She pulled on a cotton nightgown, the kind she always wore. They were comfortable and easy to launder. Mark had never complained.
    And all she could see was her in something black and absurd, and Cameron Crane staring at her with that look in his eyes that informed her he was about to tear her little bit of outrageously expensive black silk and lace right off her body. Probably with his teeth.
    She shuddered as she climbed into bed. A big lonely bed where the sheets were as cool and sensible as her nightgown. A mortgage affordability spreadsheet was a good thing, a sensible thing. In Mark’s masculine brain, she knew it was his way of telling her he loved her.
    But a bit of flowery nonsense about how much he missed her would have gone a long way to easing her jumpiness. He could even have started his day by giving her some earthy suggestions on exactly what he was going to do to her when she got back.
    Her smile went a little lopsided as she imagined crisp, businesslike Mark Forsythe talking dirty on a long distance call. He was a good man, and they were compatible. She had to accept he wasn’t always going to sweep her off her feet.
    In fact, Cameron Crane was exactly suited to display all the qualities Mark lacked. That’s why he was starting to look so good. He was all raw sex appeal and casual attitudes. If he were in love with a woman, he wouldn’t waste a long distance phone conversation on mortgage rates. He’d be having phone sex. Of course, he was such a troglodyte he likely wouldn’t ever need to have phone sex long distance. He wouldn’t let his woman out of his sight.
    Mark was a modern man. He respected her. She had to remember that respect was a lot more lasting than blood-simmering sex.
    She punched her pillow and placed her head back on it. Right. Long-term.
    But in the short-term, she had a problem.
    She wanted blood-simmering sex. And she wanted it with her client.

Chapter Six
    â€œCan you be ready for surfing by six?” Cam had asked her before she raced up the stairs to escape the memories of his kiss.
    â€œNot a problem,” she’d assured him. She wasn’t being polite. It wasn’t a problem, unfortunately. Her inner clock was still so whacked that she was in pretty good shape at six in the morning. Wide awake and alert. Sadly, the same could not be said of her by six P.M. Still, she knew she’d adjust eventually. Probably the day she flew back home.
    Sure enough, when six rolled around, she was ready to go. She’d had time for a shower, had written up some ideas from last night’s focus group, and gone for a light makeup. No doubt she’d soon be smeared in sand and salt water, but at least she’d start the day fresh and looking her best.
    She wore her new Crane duds, mainly to flatter her client, but when she got them on she really liked how they fit and felt. A woman wearing clothes this easy-wearing and brightly colored couldn’t take herself too seriously. Or the man she was with. They’d surf, get back on the businesslike, friendly terms they’d been on before last night, and she would, on no account, drink a beer. Now that she thought about it, she was pretty sure Mark had warned her that Australian beer had a higher alcohol content than its U.S. counterpart.
    She’d lied to Cam the first day here. Of course she’d brought her bathing suit. A couple actually, and the one she put into a beach bag along with her sunscreen, a cotton hat, and a sarong wrap was the one she used for swimming lengths at home. It covered as much of her as any bathing suit could. Mr. String Bikini was going to be out of luck. In fact, if she had a choice, she’d take her lesson in a full wetsuit.
    She was ready in plenty of time, and if she felt a slight blush rise when she encountered Cam, he was so absolutely the same