Sex on Tuesdays (12 page)

She hurled the mobile into her bag and leapt to her feet almost upending the chair. “Sorry, Dani, I have to go.”

“What do you mean…a little quirk?”

But in a rush of blue velvet and Poison perfume, Megan had swept out of the coffee shop.

12

Wednesday, 6:30 p.m.

Every time I tried Megan's mobile, her answering machine kicked in.

“This is Megan here. I'm tied up at the moment and can't come to the phone. If I don't get back to you by morning, it means the keys to the handcuffs haven't been found.”

Not only had I phoned her but I'd messaged her. I'd emailed her. I'd even considered borrowing a carrier pigeon and fastening a message to its leg.

But I still hadn't got through.

Half a dozen times, I lifted the phone to ring Edward and cancel our date, but then changed my mind. Finally I gave up. Quirk or no quirk, this man had two tickets to
Singing
in the Rain
—my all-time favorite musical show. After my brush with death outside Derek's house earlier in the day, I guess the fact that Edward had an odd foible or two was the least of my worries.

As I stood under the shower relishing the feel of the hot water as it pummeled my skin, I tried to piece together scattered segments of the puzzle currently turning my life into one big, black, ugly void. Had the Subaru been following us when I noticed it on the Birkenhead Bridge? Was the driver trying to
off
Derek or had he also been intent on turning me into road kill? And was the woman who'd rung Derek on the night of his wife's murder the same woman he'd been having an affair with? The same woman he'd unceremoniously dumped a few days before his wife's death?

Men!

Not only did they expect their cake naked, primed, and stretched out waiting for them on a plate at home, but they also craved that oh-so-tempting plateful of forbidden cake on someone else's doorstep.

Now I remembered why I was still single.

After wrapping a fluffy bath towel around my middle, I reached for the elegant jar of Sister Mary's Anti-Aging Creme that sat smugly on the wash basin under the bathroom mirror. I piled the thick porridgy gunk onto the train-tracks on each side of my eyes and the lines around my mouth, and rubbed the cream in until it was absorbed into my skin. Then, leaning closer, examined my reflection, searching for the slightest sign of improvement.

Nix. Naught. Nothing.

What a rip-off. For two solid months I'd religiously followed Sister Mary's daily instructions, and yet, my three-day-off-fifty-year-old wrinkles were still deep enough to wade in. I should have noticed the women demonstrating the cream on television were either too young to need Sister Mary or, like Megan, had already solved their problems with cosmetic surgery.

Muttering that I may as well have smeared mud from the backyard on my face, I finished blow drying my hair into a smooth page boy style and wandered into the bedroom.

On the middle of my bed, head resting on both front paws, lay Horace. An ex-racing greyhound I'd adopted from the Greyhound Adoption Program a couple of years ago, Horace was now my best friend, my confidante, and my protector.

“What do you think, sweetie?” I asked him holding up a flowered skirt with a white silky top. “This hot enough?”

Horace blew through his nose.

“Okay, so you think that's a bit stuffy for a night out at the Festival Theatre.” I threw the skirt and top on the bed beside him. “How about black slacks and a flowery top?”

Horace covered his eyes with a paw.

“You're right…not dressy enough.”

I peered into my wardrobe. Slid the hangers along until I came to a dress I'd bought twelve months before and hadn't been game to wear. It was a silky red halter dress of cocktail length with an uneven hem. Utterly gorgeous—but so not me. What had I been thinking when I paid half my weekly salary for the damn thing. A halter dress was for firm young skin, not for a middle-aged woman with droopy fat on the undersides of her arms.

I held it up to Horace and sighed. “Gorgeous, isn't it?”

Grinning, he scooted off the bed and padded across to me, his tail wagging in agreement.

“Like it that much, huh?” I leant down and petted him. “Well…I suppose I could get away with it if I wear my overcoat over the top to hide my floppy bits.”

Decision made, I quickly dressed, remembering at the last minute to attach my gold hoop earrings to my ears.

Wednesday, 8:30 p.m.

All I had to go on was a pink carnation in the buttonhole of a grey suit.

Standing beside the ticket box at the Festival Theatre—minus my new spectacles that made me look like a stuffed owl—I peered short-sightedly at the flood of suits passing by. Surprisingly, grey seemed to be the color of the month. There were so many people swirling around me, eager to get out of the cold and enjoy the show, I found it difficult to check every grey-suited male heading for the foyer. After ten minutes, I'd discovered two white nasturtiums and a purple orchid.

But no pink carnation.

What else was it Megan had said about Edward? Oh yes, the scar that ran from his collarbone to his belly button. The scar he'd acquired in some sort of gang warfare or payback.

I decided to concentrate on the carnation.

“Hello. You must be Megan's friend, Danielle.” The voice was pure honey-smooth and suave in my ear. And when I looked over my shoulder, the speaker matched the voice. Wow! Did he match the voice! All smooth planes and sophistication. Dark eyes, dark hair with just a tantalizing touch of grey, full kissable lips, and a swimmer's six-foot-plus body. I could see this guy in Speedos doing lengths in his own private pool every morning.

And there, displayed in his right button hole, was a perky pink carnation.

A little overwhelmed, I blinked up at him. Megan said he was good looking, but this guy would give Pierce Brosnan a run for his money. “Edward Granger?”

“At your service, ma'am.” One hand, complete with long elegant fingers and perfectly manicured nails, settled on my arm. “When Megan spoke about you she forgot to tell me how beautiful you are.”

This guy had charm-school written all over him. And shitloads of money, which he'd likely acquired doing nefarious things, which I wasn't going to think about right at that moment. “And she failed to warn me about your silver tongue.”

He laughed. A low laugh that rumbled in his swimmer's chest. “My mother always taught me beauty was on the inside,” he crooned. “And I have this god-given knack of seeing what a person is really like. You, my dear, are quite beautiful.”

“And you, Edward, could charm for Australia.”

When he smiled at me, warmth pooled in the pit of my stomach and shivers of anticipation made my mouth dry. Perhaps, if I played this right, I could end up with hands-on experience for my column. His fingers shifted to my elbow. “Shall we go inside now? The show is due to start in ten minutes.”

“I've been looking forward to the show all day. Guess I'm a bit old-fashioned, but I adore the songs and the dancing in
Singing in the Rain
.”

“Me too,” he said, and his dark eyes twinkled as he steered me towards the nearest entrance. “I just don't broadcast the fact. After all, I have my macho image to protect.”

“Don't worry, my lips are sealed.” I twinkled back at him. Hey, I could flirt with the best of them if I really put my mind to it. “Even if a gang of torturers poked screwdrivers under my finger nails and butted their cigarettes out on my face, I still wouldn't divulge your secret.”

For a second, his smile wavered and his eyes darkened. Oh hell, I'd probably described an activity this guy participated in weekly. “Where are we sitting?” I asked, changing the subject before I managed to shove my foot any further down my throat.

The high-wattage of his smile slowly returned. “For
Singing in the Rain
? Where the real action takes place—in the front row, of course.”

That surprised me. Edward looked more like an upstairs, best-seat-in-the-house sort of guy. “Well, in that case, we'd better buy a couple of raincoats.”

As well as two brightly colored plastic ponchos from a nearby stall, my new found friend procured two jumbo sized buckets of popcorn, which immediately placed him even higher in my estimation. Then, chatting and joking, we followed the usher down the aisle and settled companionably together in the center of the front row.

Watching
Singing in the Rain
with Edward was a lot of fun. We laughed, munched on our popcorn, and when the stage hands became over enthusiastic with their fake rain, screamed and pulled our ponchos over our heads.

As we left the theatre, Edward slipped his hand into mine. And it felt okay. No sweaty palms. No sleazy question with his thumb. Nothing but a pleasant sort of let's hold hands because I'm enjoying your company. In contrast to his suave businessman façade, I was finding Edward a fun guy. And contrary to Megan's subtle insinuations, he didn't press me to go back to his place for a coffee…or for anything else. I wasn't sure if I was upset about that or not. Perhaps he wasn't as interested in me as I was in him. Or it could be that he was a perfect gentleman.

I opted for the latter.

“Come on, Dani, I'll see you to your car,” he said, and we joined the crowd heading toward the Festival Theatre's large underground car park. Not content with holding my hand, he hooked his arm around my shoulders as we walked, pulling me close to his body. And that was all right, too. I let my head drop against the silk of his suit, inhaled his expensive cologne, and felt safe.

Coincidentally, Edward had parked his car next to mine in the car-park, which made me laugh. My battered Ford against the sleek lines of his shiny BMW reminded me of a muddy stray cozying up to a pedigreed Doberman.

“Thanks, Edward,” I said as I beeped my car doors open. “I had a wonderful time tonight. Thoroughly enjoyed the show and the company.”

He leant down and brushed his lips against mine. They were soft and warm, and tasted of popcorn. “How about I ring you tomorrow?”

I nodded. Couldn't find my voice. Probably misplaced it during the kiss.

“We could go out for dinner somewhere.”

“That'd be lovely,” I told him, slipping into the driver's seat of my car. I must have misunderstood Megan when she hinted at Edward's ties to the Mafia. This guy had real potential as a future Mr. Right. Good looking, a gentleman, flash car—and what's more, he was a front-seat lover of
Singing in the Rain
.

Unable to wipe the smile off my face, nor stop the daydreams flitting around in my head, I turned my key in the ignition.

Nothing happened.

I turned the key again. Same result. My fickle car had let me down. This time there wasn't even a tiny chug-a-chug or even an apologetic cough. Only complete disinterested silence.

“Blast! Can't be the battery, I replaced that last week. And the spark plugs are new,” I told Edward, as I scrambled out and stomped around to lift the bonnet.

Frustrated, I peered into the bowels of the car. The motor appeared normal. Covered in grease—still attached—made of metal. Dubiously, I checked the coolant levels—seemed okay. Oil on dipstick? Check. Other than that, I didn't have a clue. I sighed, and wiped one greasy hand across the bridge of my nose. “I'd better ring the RAA. Again. Must be close to running out of roadside services.”

Edward lounged against his gleaming sports car and surveyed me with a thinly disguised twinkle. “You could be waiting for an hour for the RAA. Why don't I get onto my mechanic and then drive you home? Patrick will tow the car to his garage, take a look, and get the car back to you first thing in the morning.”

“But Edward, I can't put you to all that trouble—”

“No trouble,” he broke in, plucking his cell phone from one of his inside coat pockets. “Patrick owes me.”

“But—”

“Don't worry, Dani. I'll take care of it.” Already tapping in numbers, he withdrew to the far side of his car and spoke into the phone for several minutes.

“All under control,” he assured me, smiling as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. “I'll drive you home, and Patrick will have your car fixed and in your driveway before you leave for work in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Megan would skin me alive if I left you here in the car park on your own at this time of night. Now, come on; hop in,” he said opening the passenger side door of his car for me. “I don't know about you, but I'm seriously in need of a nice glass of red.”

A nice glass of red?

With these scary words buzzing around in my brain, I ducked under Edward's arm and slid into the front seat of his car. The inside of Edward's BMW smelt of new leather and his distinctive cologne. And as I fastened my seat belt and forced myself to relax, the luxuriously soft feel of the upholstery wrapped itself around me.

Nothing to worry about
, I told myself, catching at my bottom lip.
Not a thing!

After all, there was no red wine in my cupboards—nice or otherwise—so I wouldn't be obliged to invite Edward inside for a drink.

13

Wednesday, 11:30 p.m.

Cruising through the night, I let the soft music wafting from the car's player and the warmth from the heaters lull me into a contented drowsy state. Even Edward's chatter contributed to my lethargy.

He must have asked me a question, and not getting an answer, decided to tap me on the shoulder. Blinking, I opened my eyes.

“Hey!” His voice was husky, as though talking through a haze of smoke. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you?”

“Mmm?”

“Doesn't say much for my scintillating conversation.”

I hurried to convert my slack-mouthed drowsiness into a smile of apology. “No, no, I'm just resting my eyes,” I assured him, blinking rapidly. “Look, I'm sorry, Edward—it's your car. Purrs like a kitten and runs so smoothly it's making me sleepy.” I stretched my shoulders awkwardly. “Plus, today has been one very long, very eventful day.”

“Care to tell me about it?”

I shook my head. “Too long and too complicated. And anyway, I don't want to spoil what's been a lovely night.”

“Try me. I'm a good listener,” he said in that deep gravelly voice that had me wanting to spill my guts to him—probably learnt the technique in Gangster 101.

“Let's just say I'm embroiled in the middle of a mystery that's sucking me in way over my head. And I really don't want to be there.” I snuggled deeper into the soft leather seat. With his gangland contacts, Edward could very well be a big help. On the other hand, I'd known him all of three hours—how did I know he wasn't involved?

Time for a subject change.

“Why do you hate being called Eddy?” I blurted and immediately wished I could swallow my words. According to Megan this subject was way off-limits. And I was currently trapped in Eddy's car travelling 100ks an hour on a lightly populated road in the middle of winter. Holding my breath, waiting for the explosion, I closed my eyes.

Instead, Edward laughed. A laugh that came from deep down in his well-built swimmer's chest. I flicked my eyes open. Surely that meant he wasn't going to reach across, remove his gun from the car's state-of-the-art glove box, and drill a hole between my eyes.

“Megan been making me out to be a mega-villain, has she?”

“Um…well…”

“Don't worry, it's no big deal—merely embarrassing. Story goes, my Nanny always called me ‘little Eddy' right up to and into my teens, and I loathed her for it. Made me feel like I was still in nappies. Hell, the old bat even embarrassed me when my friends came over.” He paused—as though this scene still caused old wounds to re-open. I watched his hands strangle the steering wheel. “Naturally, the other boys teased me rotten about it. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I finally convinced my parents to sack the woman. And ever since that day, I've
insisted
on being called Edward.”

With a shiver at the emphasis on
insisted
, I wondered what happened to those who forgot. Cement boots in shark-infested water? Target practice for hoods with L plates? Snack time for his tank of piranhas?

Edward's mobile let out a piercing ring. I jerked, startled. Apologizing for the interruption, he switched the phone onto hands-free speaker and continued driving. “Yes. Who is it?”

“Edward, darling, it's Sasha,” said a breathy female voice. “You'd better get home, pronto. I think you have an intruder.”

“You're joking.”

“No, I'm out the front waiting for my itsy-bitsy Brutus to do a tinkle before going to bed. There's a light on in your study, and I know you're not home because your garage door is open and the car's gone.”

Edward slowed the car to a crawl and guided it off the road into a dirt siding. Without turning off the motor, he continued talking. “Sasha, it can't be a burglar. No one can get into my house, because the security system's switched on.”

“All I'm saying is you'd better come home and check it out. There's a light on in your study, and I'm sure I saw a shadow move across the blind a moment ago.”

“Bloody hell!”

“Darling, would you like me to ring the police?” asked the breathy voice. My imagination attached the voice to an exotic dancer with legs up to her neck.

“No police!” Edward yelled making me jump. “And I don't want you going anywhere near my place, Sasha. Go back inside your own home and stay there. I'm on my way.” He switched off his phone and turned to me. “I'm sorry, Danielle. My neighbor Sasha watches too many crime shows on television, but I really should check this out before I take you home. Do you mind?”

Yes!
I want to go home! Now!

“Of course I don't mind, Edward. Your neighbor has reported seeing a burglar. Of course you need to go home and see if everything's okay.”

“It won't take long,” he assured me, pulling back onto the highway and flooring the accelerator.

By the time the car squealed to a stop outside Edward's mansion in the leafy streets of Burnside, I was wide awake. Oh yes—and totally on the ball. Not only ready to deal with a pesky burglar but also any or all of Edward's quirks, oddities, foibles or eccentricities.

How? Well, I just wouldn't get out of the car.

Edward, in full attack mode, leaped from his vehicle. I half-expected him to scale the ivy-clad walls like Spiderman and crash his way through the study window, Uzi blazing. “Danielle, stay in the car,” he instructed. “And lock the car doors when I leave. I don't want you getting hurt.”

Fine. I didn't want me getting hurt either.

Through the window of the car, I watched Edward's shadowy form move nimbly towards the front door and, like a puff of smoke, disappear inside. The light in the upstairs study still blazed. Perhaps the greedy burglar—so absorbed with filling his big black sack with Edward's goodies—hadn't heard the car pull up. For the burglar's sake, I hoped he was long gone.

Five long minutes ticked past, seeming like an hour. No screams or gunshots coming from the house. Nobody flung from the upstairs study window. No blood-stained burglar running for his life through the front doorway.

And then the car beeped and my door opened.

“Unghh…” I yelped, and my heart quit beating for a full five seconds while my breath hooked on my tonsils.

“You can relax now, Danielle. There's no one in the house.” It was Edward returning from his man hunt. “I must have forgotten to turn my study light off.”

“Oh.”

Struggling to get my heart back to its normal rhythm, I surveyed the man draped against the passenger side door. Suave and cool in his silky grey suit and his charm-school smile, his near-black eyes burned into mine. “Guess I had other things on my mind when I was leaving for the theatre tonight,” he whispered.

I gulped and began to blabber. “So…thank God it wasn't a thief, hey? I had visions of a robber in a ski mask running off with all your valuables.”

His eyes grew blacker in the light from the car, and one fist tightened by his side. “If it
had
been an intruder he wouldn't have gotten far.” I shivered. And then his engaging smile returned, crinkling the fine lines on each side of his eyes. “Danielle, my dear, now we're here, I could really use that glass of wine I was hankering for a while ago. Would you care to join me?”

No! No! No! A truckload of diamonds wouldn't get me inside your door!

“Um…love to, Edward.” I stammered, plastering a fake smile on my face while settling my nerves back into their box, patting them down and giving them a Tylenol.

Ever the gentleman, Edward helped me from the car, placed one hand lightly on the small of my back, and led me toward the front door. It was a classy, beautifully tooled oak door. Probably paid half a million dollars to have the damn thing shipped over from Buckingham Palace.

Once inside, I blinked at the lavishness and size of the reception area. As big as a small church and professionally decorated, the entrance hall was done out in an ethereal blue with polished wooden flooring.

“Take your coat off, my dear. It's quite warm inside,” said Edward leading the way through an archway that opened into a softly carpeted room complete with bulky lounge suite, glass-topped tables and the largest plasma television I'd seen outside of a glossy magazine.

Although an inviting fire crackled cheerfully in the grate, I pulled my coat around me. No way was I exposing my flabby arms to this gangland Adonis. “I'm fine,” I assured him examining a painting on the wall. It resembled a Picasso I'd seen in the art gallery on North Terrace. Three weird eyes, a couple of thick noses, and splashes of vivid color that could have been made by a child throwing paint at the canvas.

After pouring two glasses of wine, Edward Granger strolled toward me, completely relaxed and totally at home within his own body. He set the glasses on the nearest coffee table, and I watched his eyes move slowly from my hair down to my shiny red sling-back shoes. Then, with a flirtatious smile that curled my toes and left my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, he slipped his grey suit jacket off and hung it neatly on the back of a chair. Like a male model, he smoothed his silk tie and then lowered himself onto the elegant berber couch and crossed one sharply creased trouser leg over the other. His hot eyes traversed my body again, before indicating with a nod of his head to come join him on the couch.

This man was gorgeous.

Sophisticated.

And reminded me of the bad boys my mother used to warn me about as a teenager.

Not that she ever needed to worry. The bad boys in my youth were never interested in me. I'd been too shy, too plain, too naive. Bad boys were only interested in big boobs, short skirts and a promise of copious shagging.

So why was this grown-up bad boy eyeing me as if I was a mouth-watering chocolate cake oozing masses of cream? It was enough to make me twitch.

Ignoring Edward's raised eyebrows, I dropped into a single lounge chair and reached for my glass of wine. It tasted smooth on my tongue, fiery hot as it coursed the length of my throat. There was something to say for alcohol in a dilemma. The smoothness loosened the tongue and the fire initiated courage.

“Tell me something, Edward,” I began in the same tone of voice I would use to ask him if he wanted anything from the corner shop. “Exactly what are you looking for in a woman? I'm not sure I understand why you agreed to go out with me on a blind date. Surely, with your opulent lifestyle, you regularly beat women off with a stick.”

Smiling one of those bad-boy predator's grins that almost had me wetting my pants, Edward took a sip of his wine and lazily unfolded his body from the couch. Once upright, he bent down to place the glass back onto the table before gliding toward me on his five hundred dollar loafers. “You underestimate yourself, Danielle,” he purred, reaching my chair and holding out one manicured hand in invitation. “Why don't you stand up, my dear and I'll help you remove your coat. You look hot.”

Oh God. He was right. I was burning up. Hell, if I didn't get away from the blazing fire and from this gorgeous hunk of a man in the next ten seconds, I could end up stretched out naked on the expensive looking Oriental rug in front of the fire, enjoying every one of his bad-boy techniques. A little voice, probably the leader of my twitchy hormone pack, sighed inside my head before letting out a sharp expletive. “Isn't that precisely what you're looking for?” the voice queried in exasperation. “If not, I give up!”

Okay, I'd ditch my coat. I drained my glass and stood up, not surprised when my legs wobbled dangerously beneath me.

“Here, let me.” Edward's voice was gruff in my ear. His breath hot on the nape of my neck, his hard body pressed against mine. Leisurely, as though he had all the time in the world, he reached around me and undid the bottom button of my coat before turning me around to face him. With each successive button, his exploratory fingers brushed against me, lingering and swirling and drawing ever increasing circles until both hands finally cupped my breasts.

“Phew! It
is
getting hot in here.” Breaking away, I shrugged out of my overcoat and dropped down in my chair. Not being accustomed to the tricks and ploys of bad boys, I needed a breather before deciding whether to travel that rocky road or not. Megan might have been completely at home in this situation, but Edward was moving a little too quickly for me.

With a thin smile I held up my empty glass. “I wouldn't mind a top up.”

“Of course, my dear.” As Edward strolled across to the drinks cabinet I noticed how aroused he was. Wow! To think I could do
that
to Edward Granger—every woman's idea of a hot sexy date. Perhaps I should just relax and let things take their course instead of allowing the old uptight Dani to spoil my fun. After all, the new
me
was in the market for a man. And the new
me
could quite easily adapt to travelling in a BMW, to the comfort of five-thousand thread sheets and hot spa baths in far-off Alpine lodges.

With a subtle shrug of one bare shoulder, I leaned into the luxury of the soft leather chair, crossed my legs at the ankles, and hefted my boobs forward. Note to self—go shopping in the morning and buy one of those push-up bras Megan's always advising me to buy.

I eyed Edward's erection as it pressed against the crutch of his silky grey trousers—begging to be let out. Oooh, yes. That could be mine if only I let the new
me
take over. I ran my tongue over my wine-wet lips….

And the phone rang.

Crap!

“Don't go away,” croaked Edward, handing my refilled glass to me before sculling his own. “I'm expecting a business fax from the States in my study. Why don't you finish your drink, make yourself at home. I won't be long.”

Make myself at home?

Okay. I could do that. I slipped my red sling-backs off my feet and with a glass of wine in my hand, padded across to the sofa Edward had recently vacated. Snuggling into the corner, I tucked my feet under me and settled back to enjoy my second glass of red. It was time to let my hair down. To relax. After the day I'd had, things could only get better.