Free Star Kissed: A Crane Series Romance by Nancy Warren Page B

hers to command, was a sight he’d never forget. And surfing, he discovered, made her horny. Yes, he’d decided he was a big fan of surfing after all.
    He was also learning some new customs. How to order a coffee, the correct way to order a beer; he’d even made half a stab at working out the rules of cricket, and tried not to fall asleep when he actually watched a game. He really ought to ask Bron about this crotch-checking business, though. But as it turned out, something new and far more unpleasant took its place at the top of his mind. He’d endured the by-now familiar crotch glance, this time with the addition of a smirk from some young punk with blindingly bright board shorts, a goatee, hair decorated with sand, and a big honking earring.
    After the crotch-glance/ smirk combo the fellow said, “G’day, ah’m Peet.”
    A quick glance at the list of people he’d requested meetings with clued Mark in that Peet must be Peter Moorehead, the company’s in-house accountant, who’d been on holiday for the last couple of weeks.
    “Hi, Pete,” he said, shaking hands and coming away with more sand. These people must be hell on computer keyboards. They were certainly hell on the eyes of the unwary. “I need to ask you a few questions about how you do your tax accounting.”
    “Righto. Ask away.”
    And to give the young guy credit, he certainly knew his stuff. After half an hour, they’d gone from the general to the specific, and Mark asked, “And do you code different colors under the same product code?”
    “Dunno, mate. You’d have to ask Cam’s sister about that.”
    “Cam’s sister?”
    His gut bubbled like an underground geyser at the mention of the man. He’d thought he was free of Cameron Freakin’ Crane for the first couple of weeks he was here, and now it turned out he had a sister working here? Well, whoever she was, he’d avoid her like the man-eating crocodiles he’d read about.
    “Yeah. Bronwyn Spencer.”
    He felt like someone had just encased him in ice. Mark couldn’t move, not even his lips; he couldn’t so much as blink. Unconcerned, Pete lifted a sandaled and rather hairy foot to his knee and picked sand out from under a toe ring the size of a plumbing fixture. The resulting sand hill on the industrial carpet caused Pete to rub the sand into the pile with a crooked and wholly unapologetic grin.
    “Sorry, mate. The surf was beaut this morning. I didn’t have time to shower before coming to work.”
    “Bronwyn Spencer is Cameron Crane’s sister?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Excellent,” Mark said, pulling himself together with an effort and pulling his notes into a neat right angle with hands that hardly shook at all. “That’s great, Pete. Thanks. I think we’re done here.”
    “I thought you also wanted to know about how we file with the government?”
    “Maybe later. Thanks.” He rose, and with a shrug, his sandy friend rose also and shuffled out of the temporary office.
    If Mark had ever been this angry, he didn’t remember it. He’d been pretty near gutted when his fiancée broke up with him over the phone, but that had been nothing like the crimson tide of anger that washed over him now. He stormed out and in the general direction of where he’d last seen Bron. If he were being sensible, he’d go for a walk, calm down, and speak to Bron when he could see straight. The hell with that. What he had to say couldn’t wait.
     

Chapter 7
    “No. That’s the wrong pink,” Bron sighed, looking at a trio of samples from a supplier. “I want surfie-chick pink, not the color of something you take when your guts are churning.”
    “I’m not sure they understand the sort of color you have in mind,” the hapless sales rep said.
    “Well, it’s bright, but not too bright; pink, but not too pink. Wait a sec. I’ve got a lipstick that shade, I think.”
    She scrabbled through her shoulder bag, past the extra set of keys to Cam’s car that she thought she’d lost, a few crumpled