From Sydney With Love: With This Fling... / Losing Control / The Girl He Never Noticed

‘Agreed.’

‘You arrive at my office tomorrow and things seem a little strained between us,’ she continued. ‘I can take it from there. I attend your family barbecue next weekend, thus providing Sarah with visible evidence that you’ve moved on, and you can take it from there.’

‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘So do we have a deal?’

More lies aside, Greyson Tyler’s suggestion really did seem to solve a multitude of problems. ‘We do.’

CHAPTER THREE

THERE was something about waiting for the eminent Dr Greyson Tyler to arrive at her workplace that set Charlotte’s jaw to clenching. Correction: the waiting part wasn’t the problem. He set her on edge regardless.

She’d been expecting a scientist—a no-nonsense man of formidable intellect and optional physical prowess. Instead she’d encountered Action Man in the flesh, a man so physically fine, quick thinking, and composed in the face of complications that a woman couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like with a man like that in it. Not steady and predictable, she wagered. Anything but.

Not boring or empty either.

Greyson Tyler was a living, breathing reminder of a life she’d left behind in her quest for inner contentment, security, and peace of mind. Hardly his fault that for all her efforts to settle down, the jury was still out on whether staying in Sydney was making her happy. Where the hell was he?

Charlotte had plenty of work to be going on with. Satellite images to look at for a dig site that showed promise. Third-year essays to correct, a lecture to prepare, and no patience this morning for any of it. Greyson was twenty minutes late already. He’d been late yesterday too. The man had a punctuality problem.

That or he’d decided that he didn’t need a fake fiancée after all.

Rapping on her open door signalled a visitor and Charlotte turned to see who it was.

Millie.

‘Morning tea time,’ said Millie.

Indeed it was, and the perfect time for introducing a formerly dead pretend fiancé to her colleagues, but Greyson Tyler did not put in an appearance during the break.

Gil would have never been so tawdry.

But when she and Millie walked back along the corridor after the break, Charlotte discovered she had a visitor. A visitor who felt at home enough to plant his rear in her chair and his boots on her filing cabinet while he browsed through one of her archaeology journals.

Millie stopped. Stared.

Greyson Tyler glanced up, nodded to Millie, and favoured Charlotte with a deliciously slow smile; an invitation to come play with him if she dared.

‘You made it,’ she said icily.

‘Of course.’ Greyson’s smile widened. Lucifer would have been proud. ‘I always do. Eventually.’

Millie was still staring. Charlotte figured introductions were in order. ‘Millie, this is Tyler. He arrived home yesterday, rather unexpectedly. Tyler, meet Millie. Historian, map muse, and friend.’

‘But …’ Millie slid Charlotte a lightning glance before returning her attention to the figure in the chair. ‘You’re not dead.’

‘No,’ said Grey. ‘Well spotted.’

‘Apparently there was some confusion on that score,’ murmured Charlotte.

‘But … that’s wonderful!’ said Millie on firmer footing.

‘I’m glad someone thinks so,’ said Grey.

Greyson Tyler played the part of antagonist exceptionally well, decided Charlotte. The man was a natural.

With fluid grace, Greyson found his feet and held out his hand towards Millie, his smile a study in warmth and friendliness. ‘Charlotte’s had a rough few months, what with one thing and another,’ he offered in that chocolate coated baritone. ‘Thanks for helping her out.’

Millie shook his hand as if awestruck. Millie blushed, caught Charlotte’s eye and blushed some more.

‘How long are you planning on staying angry with him?’ Millie asked her.

‘A while,’ said Charlotte.

‘Good luck with that.’ Millie slid another helpless smile in Greyson’s direction. ‘I’m so glad you weren’t eaten by marauding tribesmen,’ she told him. ‘Did you manage to prevent the village daughters from being kidnapped as well?’

Grey blinked. A muscle ticced beside his mouth. ‘Yes,’ he said finally.

‘Hard to stay angry with a hero,’ said Millie.

‘Oh, it’s not that hard,’ said Charlotte.

Stifling a grin, Millie left.

Charlotte shut the door in Millie’s wake, took a steadying breath, and turned to face the man currently dominating her office space. His charming friendly smile had disappeared. The formidable Greyson Tyler had returned and he seemed out of sorts.

‘I think that went well, don’t you?’ she said lightly.

‘You told them I’d been eaten? By cannibals?’

‘Not you,’ she said soothingly. ‘Gil. And of course nothing was ever certain.’

‘And they believed you?’

‘It happens,’ said Charlotte.

‘Sixty years ago. Maybe.’

‘What’s a few decades? Besides, it’s a moot point. You’re back, alive and kicking and about to become my ex-fiancé. You need to embrace the bigger picture here.’

‘I’ll refrain from mentioning what I think you need,’ he said.

‘Greyson, all is well. Your work here is done and I do sincerely thank you for it,’ she said earnestly. ‘I’m still prepared to attend this barbecue with you but if you’d rather not … If you’ve decided you no longer need a fictional fiancée, or that I’m too irresponsible and that no one’s going to believe we’re an item anyway, it doesn’t have to happen. Your call.’

Greyson’s gaze grew intent. Whatever other flaws he had, there was no denying that the man could focus intently on something when he wanted to. ‘You welshing on me, Greenstone? I come through for you and you don’t reciprocate? Is that how you repay your debts?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ she said evenly, never mind the erratic beating of her heart. ‘I’m simply giving you the opportunity to reconsider your options. Fictional fiancés are more trouble than they’re worth—trust me on this. I’m doing you a favour by pointing this out.’

‘You’re very kind,’ he said smoothly. ‘I propose an experiment. Something that lets me decide if bringing you along to meet the family is going to work.’ He drew closer. Close enough for her to feel the heat in that big lean body of his. Close enough for her to catch the scent of him. Tantalisingly male, undeniably appealing. And then there was his mouth. Such a tempting mouth.

‘Kiss me,’ he murmured, and her eyes flew to his.

‘Excuse me?’

‘That’s the experiment,’ he said. ‘If there’s no chemistry we’re square. Finished.’ His lips moved closer. ‘Through.’ Greyson’s lips brushed hers, and Charlotte drew a ragged breath. ‘No barbecue.’ And then his lips were on hers, warm and coaxing, not demanding, not yet.

Teasing, those lips of his.

Practised, the hand that came up to cradle her skull and position her for deeper invasion, only he didn’t invade, not yet.

Torture first.

Slow, savouring torture as his tongue traced her lips, only to withdraw once she’d parted them for him. His lips playing at the edge of her upper lip now while she gasped for breath and clutched at his forearms for balance, only to have his skin beneath her palms play havoc with those senses too.

His eyes stayed open, observing, always observing, coolly watching her come apart beneath his ministrations.

And then he closed his eyes, slid his mouth over hers and simply took.

He wasn’t supposed to devour her, thought Grey with what little coherent thought he had left. He’d only meant to test her, not match her uninhibited response and raise the stakes by tabling a whole lot of mindless hunger as well. Too long without a woman, that had to be it, as he buried his hands in her silken tresses, his lips not leaving hers as he took what he needed and what he would have by way of supplication and desire.

She didn’t protest. The ragged husky sounds she made weren’t sounds of protest. The way she gave her mouth over to him, as if savouring every last drop of his invasion, wasn’t objection. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her up, both hands on her buttocks urging her legs around his waist and she obliged him and kept right on kissing him. Another gasp escaped her, one he echoed as hardness found a home. Too many clothes. Way too much urgency.

He wasn’t a small man, not by any means. He usually had more care for a woman’s comfort. He usually made sure to harness his strength and turn it to tenderness.

There was no tenderness here, just sensuality unleashed and Grey wanted more, and more again, and Charlotte gave willingly. Locking her legs around his waist she rode his hard length through two sets of clothing and slayed him with her abandon.

It was Charlotte who guided them back to reality.

‘Enough,’ she muttered, and when he bared his teeth against her cheek on a groan of pure frustration, ‘Greyson, stop.’ Grey’s body protested but he gentled his hold on her and held still while she nestled her forehead into the curve of his shoulder, her body trembling as she sought to master her desire and his. ‘I’m not saying no.’ Her lips and breath were warm against the skin of his neck, that sex-soaked voice doing nothing to aid her cause. ‘I’m saying not here, and not now. Let’s not be insane.’

Rich, coming from her.

But he slid her down gently, let her find her feet and step away and put some distance between them. One foot and then another until reason and caution returned.

‘What just happened?’ she asked warily.

‘You want the standard biology lecture or shall we just summarise and say that the dopamine and adrenaline kicked in? Hard.’

‘In other words, just an ordinary everyday biological response to sexual stimulus,’ she murmured and leaned against her workbench. ‘Nothing more.’

‘Exactly.’ Thank God for analytical minds. ‘I may be a little overdue for release in that particular arena. I’ve been out of touch with female company for a while. Nothing for you to worry about. Nothing I can’t control.’

She sent him a look, dark amusement running deep.

‘So I’ll pick you up Sunday morning at around eleven thirty,’ he said, ignoring his growing unease when it came to spending any amount of time with the delectably loopy Charlotte Greenstone. ‘It’ll take us an hour to get there. Barbecue starts at one. I figure we can be gone by three.’

‘You’re sure about this?’ She folded her arms across her slim waist.

‘I’m sure.’ More or less.

‘How would you like me dressed?’

Greyson blinked. ‘Do you normally ask a man this question?’

‘Normally, I can figure it out on my own. With you, all bets are off.’

He still didn’t have an answer to her question.

‘I’m not asking you for your colour preferences, Greyson. I’m asking you for your social status. I realise it doesn’t show, but I’m not without wealth. The kind that takes generations to acquire. You want me to wear it or not?’

‘Up to you,’ he said with a shrug. ‘My family is solidly middle class. My mother’s a paediatrician and my father’s a mechanical engineer currently contracted to the Australian Defence Force. My ex is a psychiatrist. We’re heading for a holiday house on the banks of the Hawkesbury. It’s private, sprawling, and comfortable in a totally different way from the showpiece you inhabit. There’ll be good wine, home-cooked food, and enough conversation to fill any gaps. Is that enough information?’

‘Plenty,’ she murmured, her gaze turning speculative. ‘Believe it or not, I just want to get this right and hopefully get the job you want me to do done with as little bloodshed as possible. Do you have any siblings?’

‘No.’

‘Anything else I should know in advance? Your ex-fiancée, Sarah. Will she be protective of you?’

‘Not without analysing the situation and every possible response to it first.’

‘Marvellous,’ muttered Charlotte, with the lift of a sweetly pointed chin. ‘You do realise that a psychiatrist will probably have a field day with me. I’m not without my eccentricities.’

‘Really? Who’d have guessed?’ Time to leave before he closed the distance between them and set his lips to the slender curve of her neck. ‘Look at it this way, it’ll give her something to do. Oh, and before I forget your what-to-wear question,’ he said as he opened her office door, ‘my favourite colour’s green.’

CHAPTER FOUR

GREEN it was, and a vibrant tree-frog green at that, shot through with yellows and vivid reds, pinks, and purples. Okay, so maybe calling her silk spaghetti-strapped sundress green was a stretch. Maybe green was only one of the colours splashed on it, but it was suitably bohemian, flattering to the figure, and inviting to the touch.

The matching manilas or Portuguese slave bracelets Charlotte wore at her wrists were a particularly nice touch, considering her services for the day had been bought and paid for. Part of Aurora’s eclectic collection of antiquities, the beaten brass bracelets could almost be classified as green and would hopefully give Sarah the psychiatrist something to dwell on.

Just one more reason to make Sarah reconsider whether she wanted to renew a relationship with a man whose current paramour indulged his every whim.

Tedious business, the indulging of a man’s whims.

Charlotte’s make-up was subtle and she’d decided against perfume. Her demeanour was obliging; she’d been practising all morning.

Time to get this over with. This task she had no taste for.

This dashing of another woman’s hopes and dreams.

As far as anthropological experiments were concerned, Grey had a strong suspicion that this one was ripe for failure. Too many variables. Far too many unknowns. Social interaction between him and Charlotte had been volatile, at best. Add the pretence of a relationship, his parents, and an ex-fiancée to the mix, and the impending family barbecue had all the hallmarks of social disaster.

When he drove up Charlotte’s gravelled circular driveway and she looked up from her watering of the plants beneath the portico and smiled, he groaned aloud.

He’d ordered a free-spirited woman. By Charlotte’s translation, this seemed to mean a golden-limbed goddess wrapped in a slip of a dress that dazzled the eyes. A wild profusion of wavy black hair tumbled to her waist and showcased her dress to perfection. Completing the outfit were flat sandals that looked suspiciously like ballet slippers, and huge grey-tinted sunglasses courtesy of someone’s Elton John collection.

Bring on the circus.

He brought the car to a standstill. A hired, late-model four door Toyota, nothing special, hopefully reliable. Charlotte cut the tap, rolled up the hose on its reel and tucked hose and reel into a low cupboard, seemingly built for that purpose. Money, and lots of it, thought Grey. Enough to make conforming to society’s rules optional, never mind the tidy hose arrangement. It might be worth discussing a few rules of engagement before they reached his parents’ place. Spell out just what he expected of an unconventional yet perfectly acceptable partner in deception.

Charlotte collected up a handbag and wrap from beside the front door. She made sure the door was locked and made her way towards the Toyota. She bent down and smiled at him through the window, showing even white teeth and an abundance of free-spirited cleavage.

She made no move to get in the car.

Gritting his own teeth, Grey slid from the car, strode around it and hauled the door open for her. ‘Why couldn’t you have been a feminist?’ he said.

‘Why on earth would I want to be a feminist?’ she muttered as she slid into the seat and waited for him to close the door. ‘Where’s the power in that?’

He shut the door. Gently. He got back in the car.

‘You’ll notice I’m not currently wearing a bra,’ she said briskly.

Oh, he’d noticed.

‘That’s because the bodice of this dress fulfils that function, not because it’s a feminist convention of the late last century.’

‘Noted,’ he said.

‘I would, however, have made a wonderful suffragette,’ she told him. ‘There are many principles of equality that I adhere to.’

‘Wonderful,’ he said dryly. ‘Power-based selective feminism. Can’t wait to experience that.’

‘Oh, I dare say you already have,’ she murmured. ‘How long were you engaged?’

‘One year. And Sarah opens her own doors.’

‘As is her choice,’ said Charlotte magnanimously. ‘Did you live with her?’

‘No. I spent most of that time in PNG. In my defence, Sarah knew I’d committed to a three year project there before we became engaged.’

‘Perhaps she thought she could tolerate the wait,’ said Charlotte. ‘And discovered otherwise.’

‘Yes,’ he said heavily, and won several points for honesty. ‘That’s pretty much what happened.’

Not a comfortable topic of conversation for Greyson Tyler, decided Charlotte. Plenty of skeletons in that cupboard.

‘Sarah’s a smart woman,’ he continued. ‘Capable. Loyal. Lovely. I want her to be happy. I want her to realise that calling off our engagement was a good decision and that one day she’ll meet someone who can fulfil all her needs, not just some of them.’

‘Idealistic,’ murmured Charlotte.

‘Practical,’ he countered.

‘If you say so. You know what’s interesting when you speak of your Sarah?’ said Charlotte. ‘You never speak of passion. Or longing. Or needing to wake up beside her. Did you never feel that? Not even in the beginning?’

Grey stayed stubbornly silent.

‘I see,’ she said gently. ‘Then I guess she is better off without you.’

They drove the next twenty kilometres in silence.

‘So when did we meet?’ asked Charlotte, determinedly breaking the silence.

‘Three months ago when I was in Brisbane for a conference. I stayed a fortnight longer than planned because of you. We kept in touch. How does that sound?’

‘Plausible. I’m liking the implied passion. Let’s face it; you’re not offering commitment, progeny, or fiscal support. There’s got to be something in it for me.’

‘There is. A back-from-the-dead fiancé who suffered the ignominy of almost being eaten by cannibals.’

‘Something else,’ she said, not above a little needling of her own. ‘I’m thinking that if I really was the free-spirited type, I’d probably only want you for the sex. Outrageously intimate sex of the most delectable kind. The kind of passionate tour de force a woman would go out of her way to encounter.’ Charlotte lifted her sunglasses and favoured him with a sultry glance. ‘How does that sound?’

‘I’ve no complaints,’ he said gruffly.

‘Excellent,’ she murmured. ‘I do hope you can keep your end of the pretence up.’

‘It’s up.’ God, what was it about this woman’s voice that had him reacting like an oversexed schoolboy? Grey suffered that knowing gaze of hers drifting down his body in silence. He suffered the lift of her elegant eyebrow and the tiny tilt of generously curved lips.

‘Stop it,’ he muttered.

‘Practice makes perfect,’ she said airily. ‘I’m a method actor.’

He put the radio on, a man in need of a diversion. ‘Tell me about your work,’ he said, and then just as quickly decided against hearing it. Given the effect of her voice on his body, it was probably best if she didn’t speak at all. ‘No. I’ve changed my mind. Don’t speak. Take a nap or something. Pretend you had a tiring night.’

‘I did have a tiring night,’ she said. ‘I dreamed of you.’

Greyson Tyler quite unknowingly brought out the worst in her, decided Charlotte as they drove up a steep and winding track to his parents’ weekender on the river. Tall gums and rocky undergrowth stretched before them and a vast river flowed behind them, placid and serene. None of it could stop the butterflies from starting up in her stomach. None of it could match the man beside her when it came to arresting views. He’d dressed casually in old jeans and a white linen shirt with a round neck. The shirt could have looked effeminate, but not on those shoulders, and not with that face.

No, with those shoulders and that face and that lean and tight rear end of his, the metro shirt served only to emphasise the blatant masculinity of the body beneath.

‘Ready?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Ready,’ she said with far more confidence than the situation warranted. ‘Just as soon as you open the car door.’

He got out and came round to her side of the car and opened the door. He put his hand out to assist her graceful exit. He even managed to hide his impatience with the whole antiquated process.

Almost.

‘Thank you, Greyson,’ she said magnanimously as she flowed out of the car and into his arms, one hand still in his and one hand covering his heart as she pressed her lips to that strong square jaw. ‘You’ll figure out this game yet.’

‘I already have,’ he murmured. ‘It’s about torture, and touch, and it’s dangerous.’ His mouth hovered over hers. His eyes promised retribution. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘And a gentleman is born.’ Charlotte smiled in slow challenge, but peripheral movement made her glance beyond Greyson. A trim, well-preserved older woman had come out onto the deck of the house and stood watching. ‘I think your mother’s watching us.’

‘Good,’ he murmured, and kissed her. Not swiftly or perfunctorily, but with a sensual abandon that a mother probably didn’t need to see.

‘How am I doing so far on the led-astray-by-passion front?’ he murmured when he’d finished with her.

‘Quite well,’ she offered, her words little more than a strangled squeak. ‘Mind you, Gilbert would never have subjected me to such kisses in front of his mother. Gil had more sense.’

‘Pity he wasn’t real,’ said Greyson silkily.

Cheap shot. So was the hand she deliberately let brush across the well-packed front of his jeans as she sailed past him and summoned up what she hoped was a meet-the-parents smile. Charlotte wasn’t all that familiar with parents, hers or anyone else’s, but mentioning this tiny snippet to Greyson now would only alarm him.

‘You must be Charlotte,’ said the older woman with a smile. Not entirely friendly, not exactly brimming with antagonism either. Greyson’s mother was reserving judgement. ‘We’ve heard a lot about you of late.’

‘She’s lying,’ said Greyson, coming up the deck stairs behind Charlotte and putting his hand to the small of her back as he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his mother’s perfectly powdered cheek. ‘I told her you lectured at the university and that she’d be meeting you on Sunday. That’s all I told her.’

‘Thus ensuring a week’s worth of rampant speculation,’ Greyson’s mother said dryly before turning her attention back to Charlotte. ‘Call me Olivia,’ she said. ‘And I promise to limit my curiosity to the basics. Age. Weight. Intentions …’

Charlotte twirled on the ball of her ballet slippers and ran smack bang into Greyson’s chest.

‘The door’s that way,’ he rumbled.

‘I know.’ She stared up at him, more than a little panicked. ‘I really don’t think I can do this.’

‘Coward,’ he said next. ‘Think of your reputation.’

‘I’m thinking it’s shattered beyond repair anyway,’ she said to his shirt covered chest.

‘Then think of mine.’

‘Yours seems pretty robust from where I’m standing.’

‘Not if you run out on me.’ Greyson put his lips to her ear. ‘Please, Charlotte. Just follow my lead.’

Charlotte didn’t stand a chance against a pleading Greyson Tyler. Charlotte straightened. Charlotte turned. Greyson’s mother stood waiting by the sliding door into the house. Maybe intimidation came naturally to her. Or maybe Charlotte was just oversensitive when it came to mothers and wanting to impress them and knowing instinctively that she wasn’t going to. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, summoning a smile. ‘Slight moment of panic on my part. I hadn’t really thought through my intentions towards your son. Nothing to worry about though. I’m pretty sure I only want him for the sex.’ Nothing but the truth.

Olivia blinked, and turned her gaze on her son.

‘What?’ he said blandly and ushered Charlotte through the door. ‘It’s a start.’

There were more people inside. Neighbours and family friends, Greyson’s father. Half a dozen faces in all. Someone handed Charlotte a frosty glass of white wine, and Greyson a beer.

‘Thank you,’ murmured Charlotte, and promptly drained half of hers. Greyson was far more restrained. He only took one mouthful of his.

‘I hope you’re not lactose intolerant or allergic to seafood,’ said Olivia, offering up what looked to be trout dip with rosemary flatbread on the side. ‘Grey didn’t seem to know.’

‘I eat almost anything.’ Charlotte tried a mouthful of bread and dip. Nodded as she chewed and swallowed, with every eye still firmly fixed upon her. Perhaps they were assessing her manners. Perhaps they’d overheard the sex comment. ‘This is delicious. Thank you.’

Grey’s mother smiled warily and moved on, offering the plate around to all her guests. Conversation resumed. Gazes drifted away. Charlotte took a deep breath. Follow his lead, Greyson had told her, only Greyson was now being talked at by a grey-haired gent who seemed wholly disinclined to include her in the conversation. Charlotte sipped at her drink more cautiously now and surveyed her surroundings. Large covered deck, an array of comfortable chairs. Stainless-steel gas barbecue groaning with sizzling seafood kebabs. Lots of older couples and one other younger woman around Charlotte and Greyson’s age, standing a short distance away. A beautiful buttoned-down blonde with forest-green eyes and an air of quiet suffering.

Probably Sarah.

Bohemian, Greyson had requested of Charlotte. Free-spirited. Now she knew why. The contrast between herself and the lovely Sarah couldn’t have been more extreme.

Sarah smiled tentatively at her. Charlotte smiled back.

Awkward.

‘Hi, I’m Sarah,’ said Sarah, in the absence of anyone else willing to make the introduction. ‘The ex-fiancée.’

‘Charlotte,’ said Charlotte. ‘Greyson’s … friend.’

‘I know,’ said Sarah quietly, and that was that. Or maybe not, because Sarah was still speaking. ‘How long have you known him?’

‘A few months.’

‘Not long.’

‘No, not long.’ Not when compared to a lifetime.

‘Long enough to fall in love with him?’ Sarah asked next.

‘Sarah …’ said Charlotte, helpless to reply in the face of the other woman’s pain. Where the hell was Greyson? When did it become her job to break this woman’s heart?

‘It’s okay,’ said Sarah. ‘Heaven knows he’s easy enough to love.’

‘Oh, not at the moment,’ murmured Charlotte. ‘At the moment I’m more of a mind to wring his neck. You?’

Sarah looked startled. Then a tiny smile appeared. The shrug of an elegant shoulder. ‘Now that you mention it …’

‘Exactly.’ Charlotte smiled in full. ‘The man’s a menace.’

The man in question looked up from his discussion with the white-haired patriarch. The man in question paled a little when he saw them together. Kudos to him when he rapidly excused himself and headed their way.

About damn time.

‘He minds you,’ said Sarah. ‘He’s nervous.’

‘How can you tell?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Shoulders,’ said Sarah. ‘His carriage. The way he keeps glancing at you. He can’t read you. He doesn’t know what you want.’ Greyson’s ex glanced back at Charlotte. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘No, I’m pretty sure that’s just me,’ said Charlotte. ‘Hard for Greyson to know what I want when I hardly know myself. I really can’t blame him for that one.’

‘Blame who?’ said Greyson, reaching them.

‘You,’ said Charlotte and smothered a smile when his eyes narrowed upon her. ‘It’s okay though. I’ve decided not to. For now.’

‘Good of you,’ he murmured.

Sarah was watching them closely. Sarah the psychiatrist who’d known how to read Greyson since childhood and who in the space of a three-minute conversation had already unearthed Charlotte’s greatest flaw. ‘Sarah and I have been getting acquainted.’ Charlotte bestowed on him a very level look.

Greyson bestowed on the lovely Sarah a very level look. Sarah blushed and looked away.

‘I might go and see if Olivia needs any help with serving the food,’ said Sarah finally, after a long and awkward pause. ‘Nice meeting you, Charlotte. Grey.’ And then Sarah was gone.

‘Nice manners,’ murmured Charlotte.

‘What did she want?’

‘I guess she wanted to meet me. Get it over and done with.’

‘Don’t underestimate her, Charlotte.’ For a moment Greyson looked troubled. Concerned, and not for Sarah. ‘For all Sarah’s good points, she’s not without claws.’

‘Greyson. Sweet man.’ Did he really think he was telling her something she didn’t know? Charlotte smiled, really smiled at him and had the pleasure of seeing Greyson relax and smile back. ‘No woman is.’

‘So …’ he murmured. ‘You know what you’re doing, then.’

‘Hardly,’ she murmured. ‘Do you?’

‘Sometimes. Right now, for example, I’m about to introduce you to my father. He’s the one over there captaining the barbecue.’

But Charlotte hung back. ‘Is he a Sarah fan too?’

‘He’s very fond of her, yes.’

Great.

‘Relax. He’ll be fine,’ said Greyson as if reading her mind. ‘And so will you.’

For an Associate Professor of Archaeology, with all the staidness the position implied, Charlotte Greenstone didn’t hold back when it came to playing the part of free-spirited bohemian. She could tell a story of old bones and bring to life the heat and the dust and the excitement along with it. She could open a person up and rifle around inside until she found something they could both discuss with passion and verve. She had manners, and a great deal of charm, some of which was polished, and some of it innate.

Grey watched Charlotte bespell his father within minutes of her starting up a conversation with him about the vagaries of catapults versus castle walls. He watched her as she talked oysters with his father’s fishing buddy and recipes with his wife. He watched his mother’s friends tread carefully with her, wanting to find fault with her manners or her demeanour, and discovering to their consternation that they could not.