Meghan closed the bedroom door and leaned against it for a moment to catch her breath. “Oh my God,” she muttered. “This is too weird.”

On the bright side, at least she had a bed for the night, and a bathroom to use. A bath was exactly what she needed. She could take her time, let her brain catch up with what had happened, and try to sort out how she felt.

She poured half a bottle of scented oil into the massive tub, filled it with water, and eased into it with a sigh. The hot water felt wonderful, even if the song currently playing in her head was Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne.

“Jackson Brent,” she muttered aloud, rolling his name around her mouth like chocolate. “Of all the people to crash into.”

Thing was, she’d always liked Jackson. And there had been plenty of times she’d wished he wasn’t so uptight about the fact she’d briefly dated Peter, his older brother.

Peter had been the school’s sports star and dazzlingly popular. For some reason, all the other kids at school had treated Jackson’s brother like someone special. So, the startling fact that he’d turned his attention on a weird, music-loving outcast like Meghan had blinded her to the fact that underneath his polished exterior, Peter happened to be a selfish jerk. They’d only dated for a few weeks before she figured out what he was really like and ended it.

But even that short amount of time had changed things between her and Jackson, and from then on, he’d kept her at arm’s length. Probably because his entire family situation was screwed up. His mother had taken off when Jackson was young, and his father was scary when he was angry.

His father was also fixated on Peter, and it was obvious he thought the sun shone from his oldest sun’s backside. Part of Peter’s popularity was because his father always bought him the latest, most expensive clothes and gadgets. Meanwhile, Jackson got by on hand-me-downs. At Peter’s football games and practices, their father would be cheering on the sidelines. But he never showed any interest in Jackson, or came to see their band play. And a couple of times, Jackson had shown up to practice with some nasty bruises that he’d refused to explain.

No wonder Jackson hadn’t wanted to make a pass at his brother’s ex-girlfriend. But Meghan hadn’t known how messed up his family was before she’d dated Peter, had she? The situation had only become clear afterward, when it was too late.

And now? Judging by the sparks flying between them, Jackson might have gotten over his mental barrier about her dating his brother’s ex.

Only now there were other complications. Like the way he wanted to pay her to go out with him. Or the fact she’d been angry with Jackson for the last twelve years, since he didn’t turn up to the one gig that had really mattered.

Okay, so he’d fought with his father that night, and that’s why he left town. But if he had turned up, their whole band might have signed with the agent, and her career might have been very different. Was she supposed to just accept that Jackson hadn’t even been able to call and let the band know he wasn’t coming?

Hell, this was too confusing.

Dripping wet, she got out of the bath for long enough to grab her phone out of her jeans pocket. There was only one person she could talk to who might understand a little of what she was feeling.

But when she looked at her phone, she saw she’d missed a call. She blinked at the name on the screen. Trey Finnegan. What the hell did her slimeball ex-boyfriend want? Whatever it was, he could shove it.

“Jerk,” she muttered. Then she dialed Geena’s number and breathed a sigh of relief when her school friend picked up.

“Meghan, how are you?” asked Geena. Her friend had to shout over the noise of an Elvis song turned up to full volume.

“You’re at the Gee Spot?” Meghan asked. Geena had startled her when she’d announced she was buying a sex store in King’s Cross, but on reflection, it was exactly the kind of thing Geena would do. She’d always liked being different from everyone else, which was why they’d bonded in the first place.

“There are no customers, so I can talk. I’ll just turn the music down.” A moment later, Elvis was cut off mid-croon. “Okay, now I can hear you. How are you, Meg?”

“I’m finally in Sydney. And get this. I’m at Jackson Brent’s house.”

“Really? Jackson Brent? I haven’t seen him in forever.” Geena sounded breathless at the news, exactly like she used to when they were teenagers gossiping about the other kids at school. Meghan couldn’t help but smile. Coming back to Sydney was turning out to be like stepping back in time.

“I ran into him this morning,” she said. “Now I’m having a bath in one of his palatial spare bathrooms. He has four, can you believe it?”

“Actually, I can. I read an article about him just the other day. Who would have guessed someone we went to school with would do so well?”

“You read an article about him?”

“And I’ve seen him on TV. You don’t know about him?”

“Know what?”

“His company is huge. He makes electronic equipment. Not TVs or phones, but sound recording equipment and things for your computer. You know how useless I am with all that technical stuff, so I can’t give you the details. All I know is that he’s loaded. Seriously loaded. On the Rich List and swimming in money, like Scrooge McDuck.”

Meghan stared up at the ceiling over the tub, her body suddenly heavy. On the Rich List? Then their lives really had gone in completely different directions. Talk about us and them. If he was that rich, he was definitely them. So much for the sparks that had flown between them.

“You still there?” asked Geena.

“Yes. Sorry. I should have guessed he was that rich when he showed me his recording studio.” She tried for a laugh, only it came out hollow. Crazy for her to feel so disappointed, but somehow she couldn’t help it. When she’d thought about kissing him, it had felt thrilling. Now it was like all her air had been let out.

“Is his house luxurious?”

“Yeah, and he’s offered me a weird deal. If I go to some conference events with him, he’s going to pay me.”

Geena was silent a moment. When she spoke, Meghan could hear a frown in her voice. “He’s paying you to date him?”

“Only for three nights. He says it’s just business, not personal.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“I haven’t decided yet. There’s a costume party tomorrow night and he wants me to go along, then give him my answer.”

“You’re going on a trial run first?”

“Something like that.” She slid a little lower into the bath, wishing she’d thought to bring a drink in with her. The icy cold beer she’d been dreaming of earlier would have been perfect. “The reason I’m hesitating is because I came to Sydney to get my life together, and I’ve come up with a plan on how I’m going to do it. Doing this instead feels like thinking up an amazing song, then switching to new idea before I’ve had a chance to play more than a single note. You know what I mean?”

“Oh yeah, I can relate. You’ve set your mind on something, and it’s frustrating when other things get in the way.”

“Exactly.” Of course Geena knew what she was talking about. Hadn’t Meghan listened for hours while Geena raved about how she’d make her store different from all the rest? Geena had been determined women would feel comfortable walking into her store. Not a sleazy place, hidden from view, but a modern, fun sex toy shop.

“Anyway, how’s The Gee Spot going?” she asked. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Things are kind of weird here too. The store’s having a few teething problems. Nothing I can’t sort out, but…” She hesitated. “I told you my sister Ally’s staying with me, right? She started a blog and she was trying to get a big story to make it work. Then one walked in the door, so to speak. And now…” Geena laughed. “Okay, get ready, because you’re not going to believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“You know how shy Ally is? Well, for an article she’s going to write, she’s pretending to be a dominatrix.”

“She’s what?” Meghan sat upright, splashing water over the edge of the tub and onto the floor.

“I know, right? To be honest, I kind of pushed her into it. She’s only doing it for a week, but I think it’ll be good for her. Help her get her confidence back.”

Shaking her head with amazement, Meghan settled slowly back in the tub. “I can’t believe Ally’s willing to do that. You know I love your sister, she’s sweet and hilarious. But she’s the last person in the world I’d ever expect to become a dominatrix. Even for a week.”

She closed her eyes, trying to imagine Geena’s sweet, slightly scatter-brained sister dressed up in leather and wielding a whip. Ally’s ex-boyfriend had been abusive, and destroying her confidence had been how he controlled her. Geena was right, acting this part would probably be good for her. Still, she couldn’t imagine how difficult Ally would find it.

“Isn’t it quite a specialized profession?” she asked. “Shouldn’t Ally spend time learning all the tools of the trade before jumping in at the deep end of the kinky sex pool?”

“I gave her a lesson on the basics.” Geena’s voice dropped, becoming conspiratorial. “Some customers just walked in. Listen, I’d tell you more, but I’ve promised to keep it on the down low. I probably shouldn’t even have said that much.”

“Your life is officially crazier than mine. I thought I’d win with the whole being paid to date Jackson thing, but you’ve taken the grand prize for maximum weirdness.”

Geena laughed. “What’s new? Anyway, hon, I’ve got to run. But call me tomorrow, okay? I want to know how your business-not-personal dating job goes.”

“I’ll definitely call. I’ll need an update on how Ally’s doing.”

Meghan finished her bath and put on clean clothes. The steam had loosened the adhesive bandage the doctor had stuck on her forehead so she took it off, but the wound was clean and had stopped bleeding.

When she emerged from the bedroom, it was seven o’clock exactly and starting to get dark. She found Jackson in the living room with a beer. A middle-aged woman emerged from the kitchen to ask what she’d like to drink, which made her wonder how many employees the man actually had. Jackson introduced her and said the woman was his chef, but Meghan was so flustered by the fact she was being waited on, she missed the woman’s name.

On impulse, she asked for a glass of wine instead of a beer, then immediately regretted it. She’d been dreaming of beer all day, and it was silly not to ask for one because she felt intimated.

“It looks better.” Jackson motioned to the cut on her forehead. He’d changed into dark jeans and a black open-necked shirt, which made him look more like the boy she remembered. That wasn’t a good thing. She didn’t want to be so attracted to him. And if he’d stop looking so gorgeous and wash off that should-be-illegal cologne, it would make things a whole lot easier.

“I spoke to Geena,” she said. “Remember her?”

“Of course. How is she?”

“She bought an adult toy store in King’s Cross.”

His eyebrows shot up. “A sex shop? How’s that going for her?”

“Okay, I think. I’m going to visit first chance I get.”

Jackson’s chef came back in the room with the glass of wine Meghan had asked for, and Meghan took a sip. Yum. It hadn’t been a bad choice after all. She may not have a sophisticated pallet, but she’d had enough cheap wine to recognize when she was drinking the expensive stuff. There’d definitely be good things about having as much money as Jackson did, and nice wine was one of them.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving. I can smell something delicious.” And for a change, it wasn’t his cologne. The smell wafting from the kitchen made her mouth water.

“Would you like to be served right away?” asked his chef. Jackson nodded, and the woman disappeared again.

“So weird,” Meghan said in a low tone. “Do you get waited on every night?”

“When I’m home.” Instead of leading her into the dining room with its enormous table, he gestured for her to follow him out onto the balcony. A small table had been beautifully set with a flickering candle as its centerpiece. But it was the view that made her breath catch. The balcony was high above Sydney’s harbor, and it was that magical hour after sunset, when the water had turned a perfect shade of deep blue. Lights were starting to shine from all the buildings that surrounded the harbor, and the bridge looked both delicate and impressive with its span lit up.

When she froze in place, Jackson took her arm to lead her to the table, then pulled a chair out for her to sit down.

It was such an old-fashioned courtesy, she couldn’t remember the last time a man had pulled her chair out. Maybe it was more common in his circles. Another reminder of how different they were, as if she needed it, faced with his multi-million-dollar view.

All she could hear in her head was saxophones. Pink Floyd, again. Us And Them was a great song, but it was a shame Jackson kept inspiring it.

“Do you like pork?” he asked.

“Um. Sure.” She swallowed, staring back out at the harbor. Up here, he really was on top of the world. Like a king surveying the land he’d conquered.

“Nice, isn’t it?” He nodded at the view. The way it had transfixed her must have been obvious.

“Gorgeous. And a little unsettling.”

He frowned, but before he could ask her to clarify, his chef came out with platters of pork, potatoes, and vegetables. The woman exchanged jokes with Jackson as she laid the food on the table, so at least they had a friendly relationship. The jokes made the whole thing slightly less weird.

“You don’t see anyone from school anymore?” Meghan asked after the chef had gone back inside. Then she took a bite of her food and groaned with her mouth full. “Mmm, that’s good.”

“I used to keep in touch with a few people,” he said. “Not for a while.”

“What about your brother?” It felt a little hypocritical to ask, seeing as Jackson’s brother wasn’t exactly her favorite person. And she didn’t want Jackson to get the wrong idea and think she still had a thing for him. “Never mind.” She waved her fork as though she could brush away the question. “Forget I asked.”

Jackson frowned. “My brother is married and lives in Dover Heights. He’s employed in my company.”

That was surprising. At school, his brother had been more brawn than brains. “What does he do?”

“Not much.” Jackson pressed his lips together. Most people probably wouldn’t have caught the gesture, but she remembered him well enough to pick up on the things he didn’t want to say.

“But you pay Peter a salary anyway? And I bet he resents you for it. He’s probably angry you’ve done so well, when he was the one your father fawned over.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows. “Was that a guess? I’m impressed.”

“I remember what he was like. Besides, you should know I’m not just a pretty face.” She swallowed another gulp of wine and shot him a smirk. Now that she’d got over her shock at the view from his balcony, the wine was helping her relax. Truth was, she was lightheaded from it already. Probably because it had been a long day full of shocks, and she’d slept badly for the last few nights, too uncomfortable on her passenger seat to get the rest she needed. Alcohol always hit her harder when she was exhausted.

“I know exactly how pretty you are. And how smart.”

Feeling her face heat, she searched for a change of subject. “Do you know what happened to Mikey?” she asked, thinking of the drummer in their high school band.

“Last I spoke to him, he was heading to New Zealand to get married.”

“They got hitched? Good for him. Oh, and did you hear about Anne?”

They swapped stories about old friends and classmates while they ate, and when they’d finished and the chef had cleared their plates and topped up their wine glasses, she sat back with a sigh of contentment.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in forever,” she said.

He studied her without speaking for a moment, then asked, “Have you been thinking about my offer?”

“Of course. But I’m not sure about dressing up in period costume.”

He leaned close enough that her entire body tingled. “If it’ll help you decide, I’m prepared to go to two thousand dollars.”

“You don’t need to offer me more money. It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Nothing. I’ll go with you to the costume party, at least. I just…” She hesitated, wondering whether she should tell him what she was feeling. If it weren’t for the wine, she probably wouldn’t even admit it out loud to herself, let alone the gorgeous squillionaire who kept trying to throw his money at her.

She picked up her wine and drained it. What the hell? Better to talk about it and get it in the open than have all these feelings fighting inside her.

“I’m a good singer,” she said flatly.

“You’re a fantastic singer.”

She made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I was born with a distinctive voice and a good ear. Sure, I’ve had lessons, practiced, and worked hard. But still, that talent was given to me.”

The candlelight was reflected in his dark eyes, bringing a hint of warmth to their black depths. That warmth kept the words coming, in spite of the way they wanted to catch in her throat.

“So, I started with a big advantage in life,” she said. “Yet here I am, twenty-nine years old and so broke I was sleeping in my car.”

He started to say something, but she touched his hand to stop him. The impulsive gesture felt intimate, like a lover’s caress.

Before she could pull her hand back, he captured it, trapping it in his warm grip. Probably a bad move to let him keep it, but now he had it, she didn’t want to take it back. Especially because it felt so good when his thumb stroked her skin.

“I’ve made a series of bad decisions that have led to where I am today.” She kept her tone matter-of-fact so he wouldn’t think she was whining, or feeling sorry for herself. “I’m not making excuses, and I can’t blame my lousy agents or my ex-boyfriend, because I’m the one who trusted the wrong people. And I think deep down, the reason I’m hesitating about taking your money is that from now on, I need to make better decisions and do what’s right for me. And I’m not sure being around all this is a good idea.”

She motioned her head around, indicating his mansion with its ridiculously amazing view. He was included in the motion. The more time she spent with him, the more attracted to him she was. Another distraction from getting her life back on track.

His brow creased. “What is it about my house that makes you uncomfortable?”

“It’s so different from real life, it feels wrong.” She let out a breath, frustrated by not being able to find better words to describe how she felt. “It’s like how I write songs. A feeling comes to me, and there’s a kind of melody in it. An idea wrapped up in a simple tune. I take that piece of music, and the feeling, and build on it until I have an entire song with verses, a chorus, and lyrics. But if the starting point isn’t right, if that first, simple melody is no good, then it doesn’t matter how many guitar solos I add, or how great the lyrics are. It’ll never be any good.”

His frown deepened. “You’re saying my house is like a bad song?”

“I’m saying it’s distracting. Your song is yours, and it’s loud. How can I write my own music when all I can hear is this?” She waved her free hand at their surroundings. Was she making any sense at all? Probably not, but there was no changing the metaphor now. Not when she was already neck deep in her music analogy. “What I’m saying is, I need to stop adding guitar solos and find my own melody.” She gave her head a little shake. “I can’t believe at twenty-nine I’m still figuring out what kind of tune that is.”

His lips twitched. “So my house is a guitar solo. That’s the first time anybody’s described it like that.”

“I know, the whole music metaphor got away from me. But you know what I mean?” She tugged her hand out from under his. He was on the opposite side of the small table, but they were both leaning in, so his face was close. The light from the candle made him all dark angles and hard edges.

Now his hand was free, he moved it up to her face instead, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “There’s one thing I know,” he murmured. His hand moved under her curtain of dreadlocks and found the back of her neck. Then his lips were on hers.

He kissed like he was a flame and she was his fuel. His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue not just claiming hers, but owning it. Her world narrowed to the feel of his lips, the roughness of his chin. The taste of his breath. And oh God, that cologne.

When he drew back a little, she realized her heart was trying to break free of her chest, her body was pressed forward as though she were trying to force her way through the table, and her thighs were clenched against a rush of lust so intense it made her dizzy.

“The candle.” He moved back to blow it out. “It was about to set your hair alight.”

She dragged in her breath, running her tongue across her lips and tasting him there. What just happened? Hadn’t she been explaining how she couldn’t let herself be distracted?

“I’m sorry,” she managed, forcing herself to stand up, though her legs were wobbly. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

He cocked his head. “Another guitar solo drowning you out?”

“More like a full-scale orchestra with kettle drums.”

He nodded, like he magically understood what she was saying. Kind of a miracle, when she only half got it herself.

“You don’t have to leave. We could have desert and coffee.” His voice was so composed, it was like their kiss hadn’t affected him at all. If her lips weren’t still reliving every glorious moment of it, she might think she’d imagined it.

She took a step back. “Thank you, but I’m really tired. I should go and get some sleep.”

He gave her a cocky smile that was lifted in one corner. It seemed to say he’d already made up his mind to possess her, and if she hadn’t figured out she was his yet, she was being slow in the uptake.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmured.

Only two words, but they were filled with a world of suggestion.