Free Mistress: At What Price? by Anne Oliver Page A

closed the final wrinkles smoothed out.
    But her nerves didn’t. They tied knots in her stomach as she stepped into her sparkly stilettos, added a final touch to her upswept hairstyle and make-up. A delicate necklace of black diamonds flashed at her throat; a matching bracelet adorned her right arm. Her long platinum earrings swung as she studied her reflection side on.
    Satisfied, she sorted her bag, then paced to the window to watch the late sunlight turn the River Torrens primrose.
    She turned at the sound of the keycard being swiped in the door. Ridiculous to feel her heart pounding as if she was on her first date. She knew she looked fine, that this was exactly the type of gown his partners wore. Anyway, what did it matter what Dane—the king of dressing down—thought?
    It mattered.
    Taking a steadying breath, she turned. How did he manage to snatch her breath away every time? He wore black trousers and a made-to-measure white silk shirt that once again emphasised his shoulders and clung to his broad chest. His hair was still slightly damp and curled over the collar.
    She fought the temptation to walk right on over there and smooth it with her fingers. To lean in and press her lips to that distracting V of tanned skin at his throat. Instead she kept her cool. ‘No tie to a formal function—why do you ignore your own rules, Dane?’
    â€˜Because I can.’
    Dane’s answer was vague as his eyes swept down Mariel’s body. God help him. How was he going to function tonight with that siren’s temptation beside him? Because he suddenly seemed to have momentarily lost the power of speech, he motioned her to turn around with his fingers.
    White. Floor-length. Skinny. Backless—below backless, in fact, revealing the lower indentation of her spine. Low scooped neckline that dipped…and kept on dipping. Which made him wonder how she kept the whole thing from sliding off her shoulders. A slit up one side that looked as if it had been created by an overzealous pirate’s sword. He had to wonder if she wore panties at all…
    â€˜You want to talk rules?’ he murmured, unable—unwilling—to tear his hungry eyes away. ‘That dress is a rule-breaker. In fact, it should be illegal. One of your creations?’
    Dismissing his suggestion with, ‘I don’t wear my own designs,’ she whirled to face him again, the splitin the fabric parting to show the long length of one leg. ‘You think it’s too much?’
    â€˜More like not enough.’ He frowned, perplexed at his own reaction. He’d never been a conservative man, and enjoyed a good-looking woman as much as the next man.
    â€˜It’s the latest Veronique design— Sophisticated Style . What’s your problem?’
    Problem? He’d always been more than happy to have the object of every man’s desire on his arm. But was he sophisticated enough to make it through the evening knowing every guy would be falling over themselves to catch another eyeful of all that exposed skin? Because it was Mariel’s skin. His own flesh tightened, tingled as heat simmered beneath its surface.
    Weird. He didn’t understand himself. On any other woman the gown would have looked stunning. Did look stunning. If tonight hadn’t been so important, if he hadn’t been the one who’d organised the event, he’d have called the whole thing off and suggested a night in. Just the two of them.
    Fact was, he didn’t want everyone ogling what he suddenly realised he wanted to ogle himself in the privacy of their own suite. What the hell was happening to him?
    â€˜Don’t you have something…more? A wrap, perhaps?’ Blimey, just listen to yourself. He needed to change his attitude fast if he wanted this evening to go smoothly.
    Of course she looked lovely. Gorgeous. He’d be the envy of every man, and possibly every woman, in the room. And he intended to make sure