Off Limits

‘Night show!’

Clint grins, as if following my gaze. Or perhaps he’s seen the involuntary shudder—a response to the suggestion of thunder. I don’t give in to temptation and ask if a storm is forecast. I’m not a little girl any more. I can recognise my phobia as just that—an illogical pattern of fear.

‘Have you lived here long?’ I ask.

‘A few years.’ He rests his hand on the back of a dark timber chair and sips his beer. ‘Bought it off the plan. Thought I’d use it as a renter, but then—divorce.’ He grimaces, as if the single word should communicate his entire backstory.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘Why would you?’

His smile is disarming. He’s handsome, I realise. Strange that I didn’t notice sooner. Oh, yeah? My brain is rolling its eyes again. It has a point. Finding another man attractive when I’m sleeping with Jack Grant is like taking a shower in the middle of the Niagara Falls. But there’s no denying it. Clint has got eyes that are almost as dark as night, a thick crop of black hair, a swarthy tanned complexion—and he’s built like a tank. Thick neck, muscled arms—like he’d be as at home on a rugby field as he would the boardroom.

Mmm.

‘True. It’s not really our concern if you’re married or not.’

‘Are you?’

My eyes lift to his, my smile hinting at a laugh. ‘Definitely not.’

‘That’s funny?’

His eyes scan my face and there’s curiosity there. I suppose I am of an age where women are generally on that path somewhere. Either dating, engaged, planning the wedding, married, just married, sick of marriage... I’m none of those things. In fact, marriage really hasn’t entered my head as a desirable state into which to enter.

Out of nowhere, the wedding anniversary party fizzes into my mind. I could definitely attribute my lack of faith in the whole institution of marriage to my parents. The silence of my childhood sits like a dull weight on my periphery.

‘Only in that I barely have time to plan a holiday, let alone something as monumental as—’ I wave my hand in the air and the gold bangles I’m wearing jangle ‘—that.’

‘Smart move. The whole thing’s overrated.’

I arch a brow, sipping my champagne. My eyes travel across the room distractedly. They’re just skimming faces and people, travelling out of habit rather than on any specific quest. But they glance across at Jack and meet his eyes and everything inside me lurches almost painfully. A primal ache of possession unfurls in my gut.

With effort, I turn my attention back to Clint. ‘I suppose it’s easy to feel that when you’ve just come out of a divorce.’

‘Should never have got married,’ he says with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Taught me a valuable lesson, though.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Gemma?’

I tilt my head, my eyes locking with Jack’s once more. He’s right beside me, his face unreadable.

‘Am I interrupting?’

‘I’ve never understood why people ask that. You obviously are interrupting.’ I soften the words with a smile, but Clint tenses beside me.

‘Then by all means continue,’ Jack invites, his eyes challenging me silently.

‘Clint was just telling me why marriage is a huge mistake.’

I turn my body away from Jack, giving Clint my full attention. Only I’ve made a crucial error. Jack’s right behind me, and my back is completely hidden from the room. His hand curls around my arse and I have to bite my

tongue to stop myself drawing in a sharp breath.

His fingers stroke my flesh, and even I can feel his warmth through the dress.

My knees are shaking suddenly.