Free Unconditional by Cherie M. Hudson Page A

at least buy you a coffee or green tea or something before you start thinking about us having sex.”
    It was my turn to laugh. I ducked my head, the heat in my cheeks creeping up into my scalp. “Hey, I’m jet-lagged, okay?”
    He chuckled, took a sip of water and nudged me with his hip again. “Okay. I’ll let you off this time. But what do you think about us getting some clothes on and getting out of this place? There’s a café around the corner that brews the best green tea ever. My treat.”
    I couldn’t help but laugh once again. Nor stop picture him pouring me a mug of steaming hot green tea while buck naked. I’m blaming that far-from-platonic image on jet lag as well, just in case you’re interested. And don’t ask what he looked like in my head without his clothes because I’m not telling. Suffice to say, I’ve come to the realization the Australian air was bringing out the dirtiness in my mind, because damn, there was a lot of naked, exposed flesh going on in there. A lot of naked, exposed—
    “There you are!” The female voice rose above the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.
    I swung away from Brendon just in time to see Heather wrap her arm around my shoulder. She hugged me as if I hadn’t only just left her company a few minutes ago.
    “Whoa, girlfriend.” I giggled into her hair, holding my bottle of water away from her back. “I missed you too.”
    “Someone else is missing you,” she whispered. “And didn’t look too happy when you took off with The Biceps.”
    Right away, I knew who she was talking about. My pounding pulse quickened and a lump filled my throat. Before I could stop myself, I peered over her shoulder, searching for—
    “He’s not there,” Heather muttered a second before pulling away from me. Grinning up at Brendon, she wriggled her eyebrows. “I’m stealing my American friend back, Brendon. Sorry. You’ve monopolized her for too long tonight.”
    Behind me, Brendon let out that relaxed laugh of his. “That’s okay. I’ve got her tomorrow morning.”
    Heather pulled a wickedly intrigued face, sliding her gaze from him to me. “ Oh , do tell.”
    “She’s getting hot and sweaty with me.”
    “Is she now?” Heather cocked an eyebrow, her lips twitching.
    I rolled my eyes. “A physical therapy session, you dirty-minded woman.”
    The second the words popped out of my mouth, I tried to bite them back.
    Sure enough, Heather asked the question I knew she would, a frown pulling at her eyebrows. “Physical therapy? Why do you need physical therapy? What’s broken?”
    “Her heart,” Brendon said, stepping up beside me. “I told her I’m not available.”
    Heather snorted. “Ah, that’s right. You’re saving yourself for Emma Watson.”
    Brendon gave a sage nod. “I’m saving myself for Emma Watson.”
    With another snort, Heather threaded her fingers through mine and fixed him with an exasperated look. “You’re delusional, Brendon Osmond.”
    He preened, obviously taking her insult as a compliment. “And a thorough optimist. You’ll see, me and Emma. It’s the way it’s meant to be.”
    “All right, all right.” Heather rolled her eyes again. “Whatever you reckon. Come along, Rowling. I want to see you try Vegemite.”
    “Vegemite.” I frowned as Heather tugged me away from Brendon and toward the door. “That’s the jar of black stuff in the welcome basket in my room, right?”
    “Run, Maci!” Brendon called behind us. “Run now! Before it’s too late!”
    Heather chuckled, dragging me back inside. “Shut up, Osmond,” she tossed over her shoulder with a grin. “Go bench-press a train or something.”
    Brendon’s laugh told me he wasn’t offended by her jibe. I flicked him a look just in time to see a girl roughly my age in the skimpiest thong and bra set imaginable plaster herself to his body and rub her palms up his very impressive chest.
    He grinned at me over her head, dropped a quick wink and then turned his attention