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She glanced back at the bed. Only her side had been slept in. She wondered where Mac had spent the night. She dismissed her disappointment. He’d probably been as exhausted as her. The few times she’d woken up during the flight he’d been busy working on his laptop, so he was no doubt catching up on his sleep. Or maybe he’d gone to work. Even with two weeks before his next project started, he might still have meetings and photo shoots and interviews and stuff like that to do. She doubted movie stars ever had very much free time and she didn’t intend to be some annoying little limpet constantly begging for his attention. Come to think of it, she probably wouldn’t see all that much of him. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering how short of breath she got every time she got near him.
She spotted her suitcase by the door. Inside were the array of brightly coloured outfits Daisy and she had ummed and aahed over the day before. She lifted out a lipstick-red retro dress that she wouldn’t have dreamt of wearing a month ago—and felt the jangle of nerves retreat a little. Once she looked the part, she’d go and explore the house—if she kept occupied, she wouldn’t have too much time to think about how far out of her depth she was.
An hour later, Juno had showered in an en suite bathroom bigger than her whole bedsit. Discovered four other bedrooms, a staggering six other bathrooms, a curved living room with a plasma TV the size of a small cinema screen, a fully equipped gym, a study with what looked like top-of-the-range computer equipment and a library packed full of dog-eared paperbacks, dry literary tomes and enough DVDs to outsource her local Blockbuster.
Exploring Mac’s house hadn’t quite had the palliative effect she’d been hoping for.
The one thing she hadn’t found, though, was any sign of her host. Apart from the series of framed posters in the lobby depicting films of his she’d never seen and the remnants of a hastily eaten breakfast in the kitchen.
She pressed her palms to the waistline of the expertly tailored red dress and stared at the empty bowl. Feeling a lot like Dorothy after she’d landed in Oz.
The gleaming stainless-steel cabinets, inlaid countertops and wardrobe-sized fridge ensured this room was as starkly modern, spotlessly clean and impeccably designed as the rest of the house. She sighed. It was certainly a far cry from the cramped galley kitchen in the bedsit co-op, which she shared with Jacie and her son, Cal, Mr Robertson the seventy-year-old Rastafarian on the top floor and Mrs Valdermeyer and her army of cats. But oddly enough, for all its sleek lines and imposing perfection—and the refreshing absence of cat pong—Mac’s kitchen made Juno miss the constant noise and clutter of Mrs V’s.
Finding a selection of cereals in one of the cabinets, she poured herself a bowlful and sat down to eat. But as she swallowed the muesli she imagined Mac sitting at the table and eating his breakfast alone every morning and wondered how he dealt with the suffocating silence.
The wave of sympathy was quickly quashed as she tidied both their bowls away into the dishwasher. Don’t be daft, the silence was probably what attracted him to this place. Peace and quiet was no doubt a precious commodity to a man who made his living surrounded by people. And who said he ate alone here? He probably had a string of women he could invite to sleep over.
The minute the thought entered her head, a vision of all the women he’d shared breakfast with in his luxurious kitchen popped up to illustrate it. And every one of them looked a thousand times more at home here than she did.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t even go there.
It was way too late to start panicking about Mac Brody’s other women. She was here now, not them, and that had to count for something.
She opened her eyes. Maybe a bit of sea air would help keep the nerves at bay.
As she ventured through the sliding glass door onto the terrace the stone tiles warmed the soles of her bare feet. The outdoor temperature had to be a good twenty degrees hotter than London. Despite the salt-scented breeze, her dress stuck to her skin moments after she’d left the air-conditioned cool of the house. She shielded her eyes against the glare from the sun, and spied a movement on the beach below.
A tall, tanned and painfully familiar figure strolled out of the surf and bent to take a T-shirt from the sand. As he rubbed it across his torso Juno’s eyes dipped to the lighter strip of flesh across his bare buttocks and the temperature shot up another twenty degrees.
Sweat dampened her armpits and her breathing stopped.
He tugged on a pair of jogging shorts and she managed a shallow breath. Picking up his sneakers, he crossed the beach in long strides, his short hair moulded to his head, the dark locks glistening in the sunshine. She wrapped her arms around her waist in a vain attempt to control the throb of arousal.
Oh, my, the man was at least as impressive as his home.
He stepped onto the terrace and his head came up, almost as if he’d scented her presence. A pair of feral blue eyes locked on her face.
He looked magnificent, the water beading on his chest and running in rivulets down the lean slopes and valleys of his abdomen. Her gaze followed the trickles that dripped from his shorts onto powerful thighs. He looked like a rampant male animal.
And he was all hers, for a little while at least.
She gulped, giddy from lack of oxygen.
‘You woke up?’ The gruff question had her eyes lifting to his face.
Had she? She was beginning to think this was all some extremely vivid and rather scary erotic dream. She nodded. ‘I helped myself to some cereal. I hope you don’t mind?’
One dark eyebrow lifted sardonically and a slow, seductive smile spread across his face. ‘Juno, you’ve my permission to help yourself to anything that takes your fancy.’
Her nipples peaked painfully and she took a jerky breath.
She might be a novice at this sort of thing, but she definitely didn’t think he was referring to his low-fat, fake-sugar, Swiss-style muesli any more. ‘Are you sure about that?’ she heard herself say.
His teeth flashed white and his eyes gleamed. ‘Absolutely.’
Her heart jumped into her throat and sweat pooled between her breasts. It was a dare, plain and simple, now all she had to do was prove she was up to the challenge.
She took a tentative step towards him, not taking her eyes from his face. Placing her fingertip against her own lips, she took a deep breath and then reached towards him.
