‘Sex is sex. It means nothing but a physical union between two people who find themselves turned on and in the same place at the same time.’

Her lips opened to form an O. Pink, full lips. He sucked in his own bottom lip and shifted. He liked to tease her. Her creamy white English skin always turned a delightful shade of pink when he teased her. But he hadn’t noticed how full her lips were before.

‘You really believe that, don’t you? You really think sex is just sex?’ Her eyes flashed.

‘Yes. I really believe that.’

He knew the truth. Love didn’t exist. Lust, mutual attraction—that was what he believed in. And lust had caused him absolutely no pain the last nine years so he was sticking with it.

‘It’s time you let it go, Faith. Find something else. Move on. You never know—you might find something you’re really good at. Current affairs, maybe?’

‘I’m really good at sex!’

Her voice rang out at the precise moment when everyone got off the phone and paused. Her eyes opened wide, horrified. She turned away and bustled with her things.

Dear Reader

I am a massive fan of British journalist Dawn O’Porter. She is brutally honest and wine-spittingly funny and I adore the fact that she immerses herself in the worlds she researches in order to be able to really take you on the ride with her.

As a journo myself, I know that the only way to get the best quotes, the most interesting stories or the rawest response is to be there. To walk with someone and talk to them face to face. To immerse yourself in their world and their mind and feel the story so you really understand it. So you know more than just the facts.

In this book, sex journalist Faith immerses herself in the world of love and sex and relationships to try and understand it. But it’s not until she meets her new boss, Cash, that she discovers that falling in love is much like being a good journo. There’s no peeking around the corner and whispering questions from afar. You have to cross one hand over the other, bend your knees and dive right in. That’s the only way to feel it and the only way to understand it.

So now it’s time for you to jump right in and fall in love with Cash and Faith!

I love hearing from readers, so be sure to email me at jenniferraeromance@gmail.com with your comments or questions about Faith and Cash or anything else.

Love

Jennifer Rae x

Sex, Lies & Her

Impossible Boss

Jennifer Rae

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER RAE was raised on a farm in Australia by salt-of-the-earth farming parents. There were two career options for girls like her—become a teacher or a nurse. Rather disappointingly for her dear old dad, she became neither.

All she’d ever wanted to do was write, but she didn’t have the confidence to share her stories with the world. So instead she forged a career in marketing and PR—after all, marketing and PR professionals are the greatest storytellers of our time!

But following an early mid-life crisis several years ago Jennifer decided to retrain and become a journalist. She rediscovered the joy of writing and became a freelance writer for some of Australia’s leading lifestyle magazines. When she received a commission to interview a couple of romance-writers for a feature article Jennifer met two incredible Australian authors whose compelling stories and beautiful writing touched her cold, cynical heart.

Finally the characters who had been milling around Jennifer’s head since her long years on the farm made sense. Jennifer realised romance was the genre she had to write.

So, with little more than a guidebook borrowed from the local library and a you-can-do-this attitude, Jennifer sat down to release her characters and write her first romance novel.

When she’s not ferrying her three children to their various sports, musical endeavours and birthday parties, you can find Jennifer at the boxing gym, out to dinner with her friends or at home devouring books.

Jennifer has lived in New Orleans, London and Sydney, but now calls country New South Wales home.

Other Modern Tempted™ titles by Jennifer Rae:

CONFESSIONS OF A BAD BRIDESMAID

This and other titles by Jennifer Rae are available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my sister Donna.

If you hadn’t rescued me from that bank, I’d never have written this book.

Thank you for that. And for making sure I never had to do anything completely alone.

x

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Extract

ONE

The first time her phone buzzed, Faith Harris was too busy taking photos of a burlesque dancer’s pasties to notice. They were new. Bright red and covered in thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds. Betty Boom-Boom was very proud of them and swung them from side to side for effect as Faith pointed the camera.

‘Hang on, Bets, I just have to get you in focus—slow down.’ Betty stopped swinging as Faith’s phone beeped again. This time Faith plucked it from her back pocket and impatiently read the message on the screen.

Answer your damn phone. CA

Faith winced. He’d been calling all morning. She knew what it was about. Which was why she hadn’t answered any of his calls. Or his emails. But now he was angry and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to ignore him any longer.

‘Sorry, Bets. I’ve got to sort something out.’ Faith let out a breath as she slung the camera around her neck and stared down at her phone.

Cash Anderson.

The wheatgerm in her smoothie. The run in her stocking. The one bar on her phone.

The man who annoyed her, stressed her out and did her head in more than anyone else.

Cash-freaking-Anderson.

Who was calling her to give her the boot. The man had only been in the job for four weeks but so far he’d upset programming, annoyed advertising and turned the entire editing department into fruitcakes with his constant demands and changes. And now he had his sights set on her and her TV show, Sexy Sydney. A show she’d been building for two years. A show that had gained her a reputation for honest, thought-provoking journalism. A show that he now wanted to can.

Faith breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Calm. She needed to be calm. She remembered her yoga. Be a bee. She stuck her fingers in her ears, closed her eyes and hummed—just like Sri Sri Ravi had taught her.

‘Mmm...’ she hummed.

She was going to lose her job. She had no savings so she’d have to move out of her flat and then where would she go? She’d left most of her friends behind in England when she’d moved here to follow her dreams. She’d only managed to make a few friends here—her job had taken all her time these past two years.

‘Mmm...’

She’d have to move home. With her mad mother and her disappointed father and her layabout brothers who teased her incessantly about her job.

‘Mmm...’

Then she’d start drinking heavily. And take up smoking and adopt a load of stray cats. And she was allergic to cats so she’d probably end up wheezing and not being able to breathe from all the cigarettes and cats and she’d cark it and they wouldn’t find her until her parents noticed a strange smell coming from her room.

‘Mmm—bloody—mmm...!’

Then she’d be dead and Cash-freaking-Anderson would finally be happy.

She unplugged her fingers. Not helping. Sri Sri and his yoga were useless. As was avoiding this phone call. She dialled Cash’s number and waited, her gut clenched, her neck tense.

‘About bloody time. Where have you been? Where are you now?’ his gruff voice boomed through the phone.

‘I’m interviewing Betty Boom-Boom. I told you I’d be here all day.’

‘Forget Betty Boom-Boom. I need you here.’ Faith felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. His tone was abrupt and demanding. She was reminded of the principal of her boarding school. Unrelenting. Harsh. A man who was incapable of understanding, even when a young girl was miles from home—scared, lonely and unable to fit in. That principal had told her to ‘toughen up’. And she had—which was why she wasn’t going to let this man push her around.

‘I really can’t. I have to get these photos—the crew want to come and shoot tomorrow and I need to do the sheets up.’

‘Faith. I’ll expect you back here in twenty minutes.’ He hung up. Twenty minutes. Yet she was forty-five minutes away. She closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell she’d got herself into. Only a few short years ago her dreams had seemed so clear. International travel and journalistic awards. They were the only two dreams she’d held her whole life. Ever since she was seven and found herself alone and unable to make friends in a new school full of girls with strange accents who seemed to consider her the resident freak. Back in those days her thick northern country accent, wild hair and outrageous comments made her the butt of many jokes. She’d learned to be small, to disappear and she’d gone to a lot of trouble to develop the thick, tough layer that now surrounded her. A layer she’d need to reinforce to deal with the abrupt, plain-speaking man who was determined to ruin all her plans. The Sexy Sydney show was her baby. She’d dreamt it up when she got her first station job back in Newcastle but no TV station in England would run it. Everyone called her bonkers; they’d snickered behind her back. But that was two years ago and everything had changed since then. Her dreams had come true. Escape. Freedom. Recognition. Finally. After being made fun of for so long, she was finally getting on her feet and now Cash Anderson was trying to take it all away.

‘I’ve gotta go, Bets.’

‘It’s not that gorgeous boss of yours again, is it?’

Faith groaned. There was no denying the man was handsome. You could cut a piece of cheesecake with his cheekbones. But looks meant nothing to her. This man was a hard-headed businessman who wanted to shut down everything that was good about the station and inflict his stupid ‘cost-cutting’ ideas on them all.

‘It’s the good-looking ones you have to watch, Bets. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to shut my show down.’

‘The bastard!’ Faith preened at Betty’s indignation on her behalf.

‘Right? It’s a good segment. Australia needs to know about this stuff.’

‘Of course they do. We’re artists, not strippers, and what we do is a valuable part of our culture.’

‘Yes! Exactly. But he doesn’t get that. Him and his prudish attitude. You know what he told me at the last editorial meeting?’

Betty held her eyes in satisfying fascination. ‘He said that all a woman needs in the bedroom is a smile. A smile! As if that’s all it takes. That man has no idea how much waxing and plucking and shaping and moisturising goes into making that “smile” look hot. No idea.’

‘Men,’ announced Betty with a sniff.

‘Men,’ agreed Faith.

If only this man didn’t hold her fate in his hands. Then she’d find ignoring him so much easier. But he could no longer be ignored. She’d been summoned to the Devil’s den and if she wasn’t there in twenty minutes, he’d have his staff out to poke her with it.

* * *

The blood pumped furiously in Faith’s ears. It rushed like a waterfall through her veins. Cash was flashing one of those unfair electric white smiles at her. One of those smiles some men possessed that lit up their face and crinkled their eyes, making them seem younger and slightly sexy, which tricked your stupid heart into thinking they could be trusted. Which he couldn’t. Especially not with the big boss of Apex TV in the room.

‘Faith’s segment is popular, I know. But there are some other things I’d like to try,’ purred Cash—his eyes still on her.

She met his gaze and jutted out her chin. She couldn’t trust him one bit.

‘Such as?’ Gordon Grant was an over-tanned man in his sixties. His American accent was smooth and polished and he was so damn sparkly, he had a way of making everyone in the room feel dull and dowdy in comparison.

‘Such as sport. I want to introduce a new show based on Australian sporting legends.’

Faith groaned then looked up quickly as she realised everyone had heard her.

‘You don’t agree, Miss Harris?’ Gordon smiled, his teeth blinding her for a second. His eyes travelled over her face and down to her neck and landed right where the button on her shirt wouldn’t stay done up. She lifted a hand to it and sat up.

‘No, actually. I don’t.’ She glanced at Cash. He was frowning at her. ‘I don’t agree. There are enough sporting shows on television already.’

‘Australians love sport. It’s our culture.’ Matty Harbinger—the station’s sports reporter—spoke up. Faith always thought of a terrier dog when she looked at Matty. All big teeth with his tongue always hanging out. And he talked too fast. ‘Sport is in our blood. Cricket, tennis, footy. We can’t get enough.’

‘Sex is what Australians can’t get enough of, Matty. Studies show that Australians are more interested in sex than any other country. But that Australians are behind the US, the UK and most of Europe when it comes to sexual satisfaction.’ She glanced at Cash, who was now throwing death daggers her way with his eyes. ‘People in this country are more likely to want to try new things in the bedroom than anyone else, but less likely to actually do them.’

Cash raised an eyebrow at her. The way he stood there, looking at her, made the blood in her wrists pump faster and her palms sweat. Betty was right, he was handsome. And tall, and broad-shouldered. She’d heard he was an ex-national rugby player. The muscles that rippled in his back whenever he took his jacket off meant he was still working out like one. He was tall and lean and chiselled and perfect. Except for his left eye. His one imperfection where a little bit of green had crept into the perfect brown rims. Which she was now beating herself over the head for thinking of. Right now. When her career was on the line and everyone was looking at her as if she’d just sprouted a second nose.

‘The Australian public need this show,’ she ended, her voice higher than before. She cleared her throat and swivelled her eyes to Gordon, who was smiling at her. Although leering seemed a more apt description.

‘Is that so?’ He turned away and set his glossy looks onto Cash. ‘Well, Anderson, Miss Harris here would know. She is the resident sexpert—or so they say.’ He tittered at his joke. As did Matty and half the other people in the room. She knew what they thought of her. The oversexed girl who reported on fetishes, orgies and polyamorous marriages. She’d heard all the nicknames. Fellatio Faith. Horny Harris. But she knew what she was. A good reporter. A vital part of this organisation. A woman who wasn’t afraid to talk about sex and relationships and love. And she wasn’t ashamed of what she did. But she was sick of having to defend herself at every meeting she went to lately. The chair scraped on the polished wood as she stood.

‘You’re wrong about this, Cash. The Australian public want to know about sex and love and relationships and communication. They want to know how to save their marriage. They want to feel like they’re not freaks and that they can explore their sexuality without feeling they’re doing anything wrong. And they’re sick of watching grown men play games with their balls!’

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Every eye was on her. Felicity—the producer of the breakfast programme—snorted and covered her mouth. Faith’s chest heaved. Her breasts strained against her shirt as it lifted up and down. She let her eyes lift to Cash and he stood there watching her. His eyebrow still cocked, his expression unreadable. Then she felt the breeze as the next button on her shirt popped open and exposed her bra to the table. The one Betty had given her. The one with the bows on the nipples.

‘Bloody hell!’ she cried before tugging her shirt back together, taking one final look around and fleeing from the room.

TWO

When he walked up to her desk, Faith was packing her coffee mug into a brown box. He recognised the mug. It was covered in red kisses and was usually full of black tea. He wondered why she bothered to make it as she always had to tip it out when it went cold.

‘What are you doing, Faith?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing.’

He decided to bite. Faith had a tendency to make him do that. She never agreed with him. She fought him on everything. It should irritate him, but it didn’t. Out of all the new employees he’d met in the last month it was Faith who interested him the most. She was smart and she told it as it was. And she never sucked up to him.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m leaving. You obviously don’t want me here. You don’t get what I’m trying to do so I’m going to go somewhere where I’m understood. Where I’m appreciated.’ Her eyes were glassy. She was emotional. Faith was the type of woman who wore her emotions like a pair of very high heels. She teetered around on them. Fell over them. They got in the way. Which was one of the reasons he was canning her segment. She’d lost her edge. She’d become too invested.

‘I appreciate you, Faith.’

‘No, you don’t. You think what I do is pointless and stupid. Which is why you want to replace me with sport.’

His eyes flicked to her shirt. She’d found a pin or something to do it back up but he could still see the curve of her breasts. He remembered those bows and swallowed hard, bringing his eyes back up to hers. She suited her segment. Sexy Sydney. But she’d suit something else. Maybe the weather.

‘I don’t want you to leave, Faith. I’ll find you something else. You’re a good reporter.’

‘What? Are you going to find me a position as the weather girl? Make me dye my hair blond and giggle as I point to a high westerly blowing right up my skirt?’

Cash resisted the urge to laugh. Faith was funny. And quick and clever and he wondered why the hell she didn’t want to move on. Why she was so determined to stick to the sex show that just wasn’t working.

He’d been trying to get more advertisers to support the programme but they were hesitant. The content veered from quirky and amusing to deep and heavy from week to week. He wondered who was helping her produce the show—he needed to look into that. Maybe it was a production problem. The real problem, he suspected, was that, like him, audiences were just not that interested in nonsense like love and relationships and the various types of dildos. Everyone knew love didn’t really exist. Everyone except Faith, who thought it made a difference when couples perked up their sex life with handcuffs.

‘I’m sure we can find you something else. Something you’d rather be doing.’

‘What I want to do is this. My Sexy Sydney show. I’ve built up a following. People love my reports.’ She could talk as fast as a used-car salesmen, he’d give her that. She was engaging; she made you actually start to believe the drivel she was spouting. Her show was—at times—brilliant. But lately the content was getting too heavy. She’d actually cried on camera last week when interviewing some sex workers. Too emotional. Admittedly, she did seem to have a huge following if the comments on their Facebook page was anything to go by. Most people she came in contact with seemed to be under her spell. But he wasn’t most people.

‘It’s just sex, Faith.’

Her eyes burned into him. He hadn’t noticed before but they weren’t brown as he’d thought they were. They were very, very dark blue. An unusual colour that reminded him of the ocean out at the front of his apartment late at night. As the wind blew and the waves fell against the cliffs.

‘There’s no such thing as “just sex”, Cash. Sex always means more than just sex.’

Cash’s lip curled into a half-smile as he watched her determined face. Once upon a time he’d thought sex was more than just sex. When he was much younger. But now he knew better. Sex was just sex. His mind snapped back; he didn’t want to even think about what else sex could be.

‘No. Sex is sex. It’s a physical union between two people who find themselves horny and in the same place at the same time.’

Her lips opened to form an O. Pink, full lips. He sucked in his bottom lip and shifted. He liked to tease her. Her creamy white English skin always turned a delightful shade of pink when he teased her. But he hadn’t noticed how full her lips were before.

‘You really believe that, don’t you? You really think sex is just sex?’ Her eyes flashed.

‘Yes. I really believe that.’ He knew the truth. Love didn’t exist. Lust, mutual attraction—that was what he believed in. And lust had caused him absolutely no pain the last nine years so he was sticking with it. ‘It’s time you let it go, Faith. Find something else. Move on. You never know—you might find something you’re really good at. Current affairs maybe?’

‘I’m really good at sex!’ Her voice rang out at the precise moment everyone got off the phone and paused. Her eyes opened wide, and she turned a shade of beetroot, horrified, as a couple of the jokers who were supposed to be working laughed.

She turned away and bustled with her things. Heat rose in his face. She’d have to learn to toughen up if she wanted to work in this industry. He’d suffered rejection, ridicule and censure every day and if she was going to survive, she’d have to stop blushing and fumbling every time she got embarrassed.

He didn’t want her to give up. This station was riddled with idiots. That was why it was in trouble. That was why they’d called him back over here. Faith was one of the few he wanted to keep on. But she had to step up. He moved closer and decided it was time he made her step up. He didn’t want her to give up, so he did the only thing he could do: threw her right in the deep end and watched to see if she could swim.

When Cash leaned down, his mouth was perilously close to Faith’s earlobe. She breathed in. He smelled delicious. Heady, warm and sexy. When he finally spoke it came out deep and rough in the broad, abrasive accent he used when he was angry. ‘As your station manager, I insist you prove that statement to me.’ But he wasn’t angry. He was...something else.

Faith’s heart beat in her chest. Being this close was not something she was used to. And not just close to Cash. She actually didn’t get this close to men in general. As a rule. Which was probably why her heart was pounding and a bead of sweat formed on her forehead. He’d find out. If he dug too deep—he’d realise her secret.

‘That is sexual harassment, Mr Anderson.’

Cash stilled. His eyes flicked to hers. There was no smile present on his face any more. He moved back a little. She felt the coldness of his look as it swept over her face.

‘If I wanted to sexually harass you, Harris, I’d do it properly. On top of my desk. With you screaming my name.’

His eyes went hard, which was helping to slow down Faith’s rapid heartbeat. He was still too close. Way too close and she needed him to step back. And now he was suggesting doing something she hadn’t done in so long. With anyone—let alone a tall, handsome, gruff man who was trying to get rid of her.

Everything in her body throbbed. This had gone too far. She had to leave. For no other reason than she was actually considering what it would feel like to have sex on the desk with Cash. Multiple times. Using every Kama Sutra position in the book. And possibly some that weren’t even in there. One after the other after the other after the other...

Faith mentally shook her head and pursed her lips together. She was a professional. She knew what this was—a man using his sexuality to get what he wanted. She’d read about that. She’d also read that those types of men wouldn’t take no for an answer. You had to show those types who was boss—apparently.

‘If you had any idea what I actually did every day, Cash, you’d realise that what I do is valuable.’ She lifted her chin and put on her poshest London accent, trying desperately not to broaden her vowels. ‘You’d realise how important my segment is to the Australian people and to this station.’

‘All right, then.’ He finally stepped back.

‘What?’ Confused, she tried to meet his eyes but he’d taken them off her and was now undoing the buttons at his wrists. He started rolling up his sleeves, revealing a set of thick tanned forearms. Lined with slightly bulging veins, she noticed absently before dragging her eyes off them and back to his.

‘Show me what you do. Show me how your work is relevant. Prove to me that sex is not just sex and I’ll keep your show on.’

‘Prove it to you?’

‘Yes. Show me Sexy Sydney. Teach me what you know. Convert me and you can stay on.’

Convert him? The man who thought sex was just sex? The man who—at last count—had been connected with over twenty high-profile women since he’d arrived back onto Australian shores four weeks ago? That was impossible. But it was her only chance to stay. So she grabbed it.

‘Fine. Be ready at six in the morning. I’ll pick you up.’

‘Great. Gives me time for my morning surf.’ He smiled and for once that smile didn’t make her feel like trusting him. This smile looked more like that of a great white shark. All interlocking white teeth, hungry for some flesh. The beating of war drums sounded deep in her gut. This battle would be to the death. The only way to keep her show and her dream alive was to win—and this time she’d have to go all the way.

THREE

Sydney looked different at six a.m. Quiet. Coiled, like a spring waiting to be let go and bounce crazily all over the place. When Faith had moved here two years ago it had seemed so foreign and strange. Everything was bright and sunny and sparkling. The people smiled too much. People in Australia worked to live rather than lived to work. It took a lot of getting used to. Sometimes it irritated her. She sometimes wished people would be a little more serious—a bit more ambitious, more like her. But as the sun bounced from the waves of the water onto the ferries that took people from work to the bars and restaurants and clubs that surrounded the harbour, she could admit that Sydney was growing on her.

What she loved the most was that it was a place where anything went. Where nothing was taboo. Where you could see a man dressed as a woman kissing a man passionately on the street at nine a.m. It was so different from the small country village she grew up in and literally a world away from the stuffy boarding school where she’d lived for ten long years. Here, she seemed to blend in a little bit more. With all the other crazies.

Faith stopped her car. There were no spare spots so she double parked and got out, hitting Send on the text she’d written to Cash.

I’m here.

She could only see the back of his building. Apparently he lived at the very top. His view would be magnificent. It would reach out so far he’d be able to see where the world curved. Of course a man like Cash Anderson would live at the top. He’d probably spent his life looking down at people like her. Small-town nobodies with only a sliver of talent but a truckload of determination. He was one of those people who determined the fate of people like her. And, frankly, she was getting a little sick of being beholden to the whims of people like Cash Anderson.

She’d finally started to feel different. No longer the nobody she’d always been at home. Or worse—the wacko everyone laughed at. Her mother had actually laughed when she’d told her she was going to be a journalist. Her father had given one of his lectures and her brothers had just had another angle from which to make fun of her.

She had always been an outsider—at home, at school, at every job she’d had since leaving college four years ago. But here, in this strange place, her fascination with love and relationships and sex had found a home. She had fans in Australia. Actual fans. And not just weirdo men with worn-out rewind buttons on their remote controls. She’d received letters from women who thanked her for showing them how to revive their marriages. From young girls who said she was the reason they learned to respect their bodies and themselves and from men who were happy she was able to teach them how to please their girlfriends in ways they wouldn’t have thought of themselves. Real people with real problems.

She was helping. She was important. For the first time in her life, she mattered. Which was why this show was so important to her. She needed to make it a success. She had to make sure it stayed on air. With this show—she was somebody and with this show, she’d never have to go back to being nobody.

Her phone beeped.

What are you wearing?

What was she wearing? Faith’s cheeks heated. Perhaps he thought she was someone else. One of his harem of twenty women he’d apparently bedded. Just for sex. She decided Cash Anderson was a pig. A sexy pig, but a pig nonetheless. She texted back.

It’s black and hot and covered in leather straps.

Triumph made her lips curl into a smile. He’d be disappointed when he got down here and it was just her in her T-shirt and jeans.

Your car is covered in leather straps? Who are you—Batman?

Faith paused. What? Her phone rang and she pushed the green button.

‘I asked, “What are you driving?” Are you the yellow bug or the red clunker?’

‘The red clunker. I thought you said what was I wearing...’

As it always did when Cash was involved, her skin turned a bright shade of beetroot. Lately, she’d found herself trying so hard to impress him in order to keep her job—she more often embarrassed herself in front of him.

‘You’re wearing something black, hot and leather? Now who’s doing the harassing?’ She heard his laugh as he approached. His hair was short on the sides but a little longer on top—thick and dark and shining in the sun. And his long legs were striding towards her. The wind blew his white button-up shirt back, emphasising the muscles in his chest. He looked more casual today. His shirt was untucked. He looked suntanned and relaxed and ever so slightly sexy.

Faith pushed her bottom lip between her teeth. She didn’t want to think of him as sexy. Not when he was the man intent on destroying any dream she’d ever had. Not when he was her boss. Definitely not when she hadn’t had sex in too many years to remember and was so desperate she was almost considering jumping the homeless man that slept on the beach near her flat.

Sex was something Faith reported on, not something she practised regularly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been intimate with anything that wasn’t metallic or attached to her own hand. Actually—she could. But she didn’t want to think about that right now.

Cash was smiling that annoyingly happy smile again. The one that made him look like an American college boy. All red-cheeked and arrogant and fresh from the football field...and the memories of just how long it had been kept knocking on her brain—like an insistent salesman.

‘That’s not leather,’ he scolded. ‘Or black.’ His eyes travelled from her head to her toes and her body heated from his look. Knock-knock.

‘I thought you sent that text to someone else.’

‘Why would I send a text meant for someone else to your phone number?’ He smiled and chuckled at her before opening the passenger-side door with a creak. ‘Get in, Harris. We have work to do.’

She slid into the driver’s seat, a little mortified that her joke had backfired. This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go. She had a plan. A plan to show him that what she did was important and why sex was about more than just sex. But in order to do that, she was planning on exuding utter professionalism.

‘You look nice.’ His eyes flicked to hers before he looked out of the window. His comment made her eyebrows raise. She gunned the engine of her ‘clunker’, as he’d called it. She’d purchased the red 1975 Kingswood a few weeks after she’d arrived. Everyone in Australia had a car. The general population seemed to all start driving around the age of eight and seemed so familiar with their vehicles they all named their cars. Matty Harbinger’s BMW was named Bruce. Although everyone called it Sebastian behind his back. Her red clunker was called Red. Obviously. She wasn’t great with coming up with witty nicknames.

‘What do you mean...nice?’

‘Nice. Pleasant. Lovely.’ She felt his eyes on her. ‘Do you need a dictionary?’

‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

Cash sighed. ‘Nothing. I said you looked nice. Why do you get so defensive with me, Harris? Why do you argue with everything I say?’

‘I don’t do that.’

‘You’re doing it now.’

Did she do that? She hadn’t noticed. It was just that everything he said was usually wrong.

‘When you said I looked nice I just thought you meant...something else.’

‘What else could I possibly mean?’

‘When you asked me what was I wearing you meant what was I driving.’

‘That was an autocorrect mistake on my phone. You’re just being difficult.’

She wasn’t being difficult; she was trying to be professional. She needed to calm down and start again.

‘I’m sorry, Cash. I just wasn’t expecting you to say something...nice.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you never say anything nice.’

Cash stilled and Faith swore under her breath. Offending him wasn’t professional either. If only she were better at being professional. Faith remembered a report she’d done the other week on getting what you want in the bedroom. Speak softly. Be frank. Look your partner in the eye and ask them their fantasies. If it worked for sex, maybe it would work in this situation. Faith cleared her throat.

‘Cash, I’d like to know what you want. How I can help you understand what it is I do.’

She felt his eyes on her and gripped the steering wheel. She remembered the way he often looked at her. Unblinking. Intent; as if he was reading her mind through her eyes. He had a way of throwing her off balance when he looked at her like that, but she was safe as long as she didn’t look at him. And at the way he cocked his eyebrow at her.

‘What I want?’

‘Yes. I want to know what I can do to change your impression that what I do has no value.’

‘No value?’ He paused and Faith felt a trickle of sweat slide from the back of her neck into her shirt. Red had no air conditioning and it was close to forty degrees outside. ‘I never said your show didn’t have value. Some of the things you report on are obviously stories that need to be told. Your problem is you get too close. You want everyone to believe what you do—that love is the answer.’

She turned to him then, her cheeks heating again and her palms slipping from the steering wheel in response to his annoyingly patronising tone.

‘That’s not true.’

‘Yes, it is. You invest too much emotionally. Journalists have to put distance between themselves and the issues they’re reporting on. That’s what creates objectivity.’

Faith bristled. She didn’t need a lecture on objectivity. If only he knew how distant she was from the topics she reported on.

‘Sometimes you have to get close. That’s the only way you can get the truth.’

‘Advertisers don’t like close. They like light and fun.’

‘But that’s not what my viewers want. They want me to get close, to get involved. They want to know more.’

He paused, then let out a sigh. Not a huge sigh but a little exasperated puff. ‘People are not interested in love and relationships and everything else you report on.’

She stole a glance at him then. Of course people were interested in that—hadn’t he heard? Love made the world go round.

‘What about my report on online dating? That show got more hits on our website than any other. I talked to dozens of people who found love online and another dozen who found nothing but perverts and deviants. The public needs to know about this stuff. And what about the report I did on body image and the way women were perceived differently depending on their body shape?’

Cash breathed in through his nose, flaring his nostrils slightly. Faith watched him, then watched the road, then turned back to him, determined to get an answer from him.

‘Was that the one where you were naked?’

‘Where I...? What?’ Faith turned just in time to veer away from a woman crossing the street with her massive Alsatian. ‘Yes. But that wasn’t the point.’

She didn’t turn back to him. She could feel him grinning at her.

‘I got naked to show women they had nothing to be ashamed of about their bodies. And I wasn’t completely naked—my intimate parts were covered in leaves.’

‘Your “intimate parts”?’

‘Yes. My intimate parts. You know—the ones you don’t show people.’

‘I enjoy showing my intimate parts to people.’

Faith pushed the mental image of Cash’s ‘intimate parts’ out of her mind. Professional. Sparkling. Insightful. That was what she was supposed to be.

‘I’m sure you do, but I like to keep my intimate parts private. I only show them to a selected few.’

‘Really?’ Faith still wasn’t watching Cash, but had her eyes intent on the twisting turns of the narrow Sydney streets. But she could feel him prop his elbow up on the console and move a little closer. He smelled of the beach and of something she somehow knew was just him. ‘How many “selected few” have been privy to a viewing of your “intimate parts”, Faith?’

‘How many?’

‘Yes. How many?’

‘As in...as in...a number?’ she stuttered. This conversation was definitely not professional.

‘Yes. A number.’

His breath was warm against her shoulder. She could feel it through the thin T-shirt she was wearing. Her skin prickled at the feel of it. His lips must be close to her skin if she could feel his breath. His tongue would only have to reach out a little to lick her skin...

Faith’s body throbbed. Her pulse hummed. Her foot slid a little further down on the accelerator. Professional.

‘I don’t think my number is relevant.’

‘I think it’s very relevant. You are the self-confessed sexpert around here. I’d like to know how much of an expert you are. I’d like to know about your personal experience with sex.’

Faith’s tongue lay dry in her mouth. Her personal experience?

‘I’ve had enough to know what I’m doing.’

‘Is that right?’

The air was now stifling. Faith lifted a hand off the steering wheel to pump the old rolling handle of the window to get it down. She needed air. Fast.

‘That’s interesting. Because I’d like to know how much is “enough”? Was it just the one partner? Or are we talking double figures?’

Faith stayed silent as the air finally rushed in the window. It was humid and sticky but it was air and the blood rushing through her head eased. A little.

‘Triple figures?’

‘No!’ Faith’s emphatic answer surprised even her. ‘No. And I’d rather not discuss that with you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re my boss and it’s not...professional.’

‘Forget about that.’ He waved a hand out of the window. ‘The sun is shining, it’s a beautiful day and right now I’m not your boss. We’re just two people going for a drive. Enjoying each other’s company. Just talking.’

The vinyl seats were sticking. Red was a big car but still Cash seemed too close to her. He took up too much space and too much air with his questions and his deep voice with its gravelly assurances. But she knew what he was doing—trying to get something out of her. Trying to get her to reveal something she didn’t want to. She had been working as a journalist long enough to know those tricks when she heard them.

‘My sex life is none of your business.’

‘I disagree. Your sex life is everyone’s business. Especially when you’ve made a career out of it. Which is what I find so interesting. Why are you so willing to talk about sex on camera but unwilling to discuss it in private? What’s happened to you in the past that makes you think sex is more than just sex? And why do you get so fired up every time I talk about getting rid of your show?’

Definitely too close. ‘I get fired up because the Australian people need my show.’

‘No. No one is that honourable. People are only motivated by one of three things, Faith—fear, greed or lust. So what are you motivated by? Why is this show so important to you?’

Faith felt as if she were snagged on a thorny bush. Cash was asking her questions she didn’t want to answer. He was saying things she didn’t want to talk about but she couldn’t sit there and say nothing.

‘If I had to choose from one of those, I’d have to say greed. I want to be successful. I want to be an award-winning journalist. I want people to know who I am.’

Cash remained silent for a moment and she felt him studying her. She flicked her hair off her shoulder and tilted her chin. She didn’t care what he thought of her.

‘All right. I’ll pretend that’s your real answer. But why sex? Why love? Why relationships? Why not choose current affairs? Politics? Sports? They’re the flashy subjects that win the awards.’

‘I don’t care about sports or politics.’

‘But you care about sex and relationships.’

‘Yes.’

‘And love.’

Finally she turned to him and held his eyes with hers. ‘Yes. Love. I care about love.’ She wasn’t ashamed. She did care about love. She cared about it; she thought about it—she wondered why she could never find it. Something caught hard in her throat. She twisted her bottom lip between her teeth and turned back to the road, enjoying the glare of the sun as it bounced off the bitumen.

‘Love doesn’t exist, Faith.’

He said it so quietly Faith wondered if she’d misheard him.

‘Of course it does. Everyone falls in love at one time or another in their life.’

‘That’s lust. Love is different.’

‘You’ve just disproven your own argument, Cash. If you know lust is different from love you obviously acknowledge that love exists.’

‘Maybe.’ He shrugged. ‘For some people. But it never lasts, which is why I prefer lust.’ A heavy ball formed in Faith’s stomach. This was not going well. He was going to fire her if he only believed in lust. Her show was based around the fact that everyone at some point in their lives would fall in love. Silence settled thickly around them. Cash was looking out the window and Faith could feel her career and the only thing that mattered in her life slipping away as the seconds ticked past.

‘We’re meeting with a tantric sex consultant this morning.’ Faith forced a smile onto her face, trying to dissipate the awkward atmosphere that had settled over them. She glanced at Cash. He was silent as he hung one arm on the car window.

‘Tantric sex?’ he said absently, glancing her way with a slight grimace. ‘Sounds fascinating.’

She wanted to tell him it was. She wanted to explain how she’d been reading about how tantric sex could make sex a more intimate and intense experience. She wanted to give him the statistics on the rise of BSDM and she wanted to explain the benefits of the Jessica Rabbit vibrator over the previous year’s model, The Rampant Rocket. But she didn’t. He seemed distracted and she could feel herself losing him with every speed bump they went over in the road.

‘Is something wrong, Cash? Do you have something against tantric sex?’

She heard the smile in his voice. ‘No. Just thinking.’

‘About?’ She shifted the old car into third and it jumped a little as she rounded the corner.

‘About you and your show. And about...’ She felt it when his eyes left her face and he turned away. ‘Never mind. Not your problem.’

He sounded distracted, and a little bit sad. Which made her pay attention. Cash never sounded sad. Mad? Yes. Cross? Absolutely. Frustrated, impatient, angry? Yes, yes, yes. Sad? Never.

‘I’m sorry if I argued with you.’

He turned back to her then and she felt his intense look. ‘You don’t have to apologise for disagreeing with me. I like that you disagree with me. I like that you ask questions and don’t let anyone walk all over you.’

‘Then what’s wrong?’

‘You know why they sent me out here, don’t you?’

‘To manage the station?’

‘To save the station. Things are not going well, Faith. I’ve been sent here to make cuts, to find ways to save money and increase revenue. I’m not here to be the big bad bully who ruins everyone’s fun and squashes everyone’s dreams.’

Faith knew the station hadn’t done as well this year, but she hadn’t realised it was that bad. ‘My show is good, Cash. Moving it into prime time will attract more advertisers.’

‘Your show will never go to prime time, Faith. Last week you had someone use a vibrator on herself. That’s not prime-time TV. That would turn off our family viewers, not to mention our family advertisers.’

‘You couldn’t see anything. It was just the noise and the point was—’

‘It doesn’t matter what the point was. Sex isn’t acceptable on mainstream TV. Sport is. It’s not personal, Faith. It’s business.’

Not personal? Losing her job was personal. Calling what she did unacceptable was personal. Making everything she’d achieved in the last two years out to be worthless was personal.

‘You have no intention of keeping my show on, do you? This is a waste of time, isn’t it?’ Faith pulled the car up with a screech. ‘Because if that’s it, then you should get out now.’

His eyes met hers and she felt them. Hot. Challenging.

‘I made a promise to you, and I’m going to keep it. If you can convince me that sex is more than just sex—I’ll keep your show on. I’ll back you a hundred per cent. I’ll work with you to make this into something we can take prime time. But if I walk away at the end of the week thinking sex is just sex, then you have to admit it’s not going to work. You have to give up.’

Faith turned back to the road. She revved up the idling engine. The stakes were now higher than ever before. No more Miss Nice Guy. He wanted to know about sex? By the end of today Cash would be dripping in sex. Not literally, of course. But today was about teaching this man what it meant to want something so bad you’d kill for it.

FOUR

Patricia Fellows was the kind of woman that you expected to be inside her cosy family home baking cakes. She was round and jolly and constantly cracking dad jokes.

Cash glanced at Faith. If she thought he was going to sit in this woman’s backyard and have her bring him to orgasm with her energies—she was mad. And he was done.

He’d been willing to humour Faith. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the thought of her leaving. She was the only person he knew who could sit him down, shut him up and fascinate him for longer than two minutes. And he didn’t want her to go.

But her show had to. It wasn’t right for the station and it wasn’t bringing in the advertising dollars it needed to stay feasible. But she was right—her ratings were good. The viewers did enjoy the show. His mind flickered over the options. Perhaps the production team needed some help with direction. Maybe it was the script that needed work.

Wait. No. He didn’t want to keep the show on. He needed more advertising dollars. Sport. That was what brought in the big bucks. Cash twisted his neck from one side to another. Faith was trying to sell him something he didn’t want to buy. From now on he was going to make a concerted effort to not listen to her.

‘Golly, you’re a handsome boy,’ gushed the elderly woman brandishing an incredibly long red stick with tassels each end. Cash stepped back. He didn’t know what she was planning on doing with that stick, nor did he have any intentions of finding out.

‘This is my boss. Patricia, Cash Anderson.’

‘Gosh, if I had a boss like that I’d come to work dressed in nothing but a pair of very tiny black panties every day.’

Right. This was uncomfortable. Especially as Patricia was now licking her lips as she looked at him. As if he were a particularly juicy set of BBQ ribs and she hadn’t eaten in a week.

‘I might just sit this out and watch.’

‘No! No. We don’t normally get ones who look like you here. You will be the star of the show!’ Cash now knew how Hansel and Gretel must have felt.

‘Actually, Cash is only here to observe,’ said Faith firmly. She glanced at him and smiled. A playful smile he felt deep down. ‘He’s still learning.’

‘Oh.’ The disappointment was obvious in Patricia’s tone. Her eyes turned frosty. ‘Sit over there,’ she demanded, waving her stick.

A few other people had started to arrive. Mostly middle-aged couples named Barry and Sharon who all seemed to know each other. Faith received a lot of handshakes and hugs and everyone seemed to know who she was. They were all fans of her show. She managed their gushing well, he thought. She answered their stupid questions, laughed at their awkward jokes. Then she stepped back as the session began.

‘Tantra brings harmony to all parts of our lives,’ began Patricia as she started handing out silk kaftans. The men and women in the circle seemed to know what to do and immediately start to strip off, replacing their clothes with the kaftans. Cash shifted his feet and tightened the grip on his folded arms. This wasn’t what he signed up for. He had no interest in watching a few horny old men shake their willies about.

Faith leaned in. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t see anything.’

He glanced at her. She moved a little closer, as if pressing her arm against his would reassure him, but he didn’t feel reassured. He felt uncomfortable and now aware of the woman next to him. A woman who was making his life difficult at the moment by not agreeing to move on to something else and allowing him to shut down her show. It was what the station needed and he’d find her something else—he liked having her around. For once he didn’t feel so numb.

Faith smiled. He noticed how bright her eyes were. Blue and a little sparkly in the sun. And her teeth; white and straight. She was gorgeous, too gorgeous. But a little bit bonkers. Just don’t listen to her, he reminded himself.

‘Tantra is about respecting and harmonising our bodies, our souls and our hearts.’

His attention was dragged back to the circle of people whom Patricia was now directing to sit next to their significant others—their arms touching—just as his was touching Faith’s. He held steady. Faith was attractive and she had a great body. Why couldn’t he touch just a little? They weren’t at the office and nothing was ever going to happen between them. He’d told her in the car they were just two people enjoying the sunshine. What was the harm in thinking that for a few minutes? A few minutes’ escape before he went back to the real world. Before he became numb again. He heard the twittering of birds in Patricia’s garden and felt the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck and allowed his shoulders to relax a little.

‘First, we start with pelvic floor muscle exercises. This strengthens the grip of your “yoni”—the part of a woman’s body that makes her a sexual being,’ explained Patricia as she wandered between the couples, her voice becoming softer. ‘Making it more pleasurable for the man’s sexual core—his “lingam”.’

Nothing too weird yet. Most people had their eyes closed, a few were whispering to each other—but as their pelvic muscles were packed away safely behind their kaftans, Cash was happy to watch.

‘Now it’s time to turn to each other and tell each other what makes us happy.’

The couples started murmuring and Patricia looked up.

‘You too, Faith. I’ve told you before you can’t come if you’re not going to join in.’

Faith’s blue eyes swivelled to his. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘But Patricia thinks I’ll make everyone uncomfortable if I don’t join in. I usually come alone to do my research but seeing as you’re here...’

‘It’s fine. You can tell me what makes you happy.’ Strangely there was a pull inside him that wondered what did make her happy. Faith was always busy, always running. She seemed to be searching for some kind of answer and he was beginning to wonder exactly what was the question.

‘We should sit.’ She sat cross-legged on the grass. Cash shifted his body down. Too many years of bone-crushing rugby meant there was no way in hell he’d be able to sit cross-legged, but he managed to prop one knee up and spread the other out before he realised he had her encased within his legs. She looked small sitting there. Her hair was down and curled around her shoulders and her light skin glowed in the sunshine. Something else pulled at him—but he ignored it. Not the time. Not the place. Definitely not the girl.

‘So what makes you happy, Cash?’

‘Patricia said you had to join in, not me.’ Cash didn’t want to talk. He had a tendency to be too honest sometimes and he wasn’t about to let Faith in to anything going on in his head. She’d be shocked when she found out what he was really like.

‘Go on, it won’t hurt.’ She smiled and Cash sighed, shifting on the hard ground. Why did everything have to be so difficult? There was a simple solution to his current programming issues. Can the sex show, rejig the breakfast news programme and introduce the new sports show. But he’d promised Faith he’d let her try and prove herself to him. Although he knew she wouldn’t be able to change his mind. He knew all about his stubborn streak; it was why he was making more money than he’d imagined he ever could and heading towards the top of the TV game.

‘What makes me happy? Surfing. Steak.’ He looked into Faith’s eyes. ‘Silence.’

Faith’s lips didn’t smile, but her eyes did. Something about them held him steady, unblinking. They were such pretty eyes and she watched him so intently, as if she was trying to read his mind by looking inside his eyes. He shifted a little again and then felt her hands on his knees. The warmth of them made him still.

‘Relax,’ she said quietly, her voice dripping in that honey warmth he recognised. ‘No one’s judging you here.’

The sun on the back of his neck instantly burned. He rubbed at it. She was wrong. He was always being judged. Everyone was. That was just the way it went.

‘I like quiet too,’ Faith began, removing her hands from his knees. Relief ran through him and he rested his hands behind him, still watching her though. Watching her watch him. ‘I like to sit and listen. You know?’

He didn’t, but he liked to listen to her talk. Her accent was cute. Posh, but every now and again her lips would curl as she manoeuvred them around a word and a strange broad accent would creep in.

‘I like to just listen to the wind or the sounds below my bedroom window and switch off. Pretend I’m a cat and I can just sit and watch, then slink away when I want—where no one will find me.’

‘You want to be a cat?’ How was it that she could always say something that surprised him?

She laughed, her eyes crinkling and her teeth flashing in the sunlight. ‘Sometimes. How about you? Have you ever wanted to be anything else? Anyone else?’

Cash thought about that. He thought about his brother. Yes. For years he’d wanted to be someone else.

‘No.’

‘I wish I were as brave as you.’ Faith’s smile faltered, her eyes falling.

‘I’m not brave.’ He was a coward; he knew that, but no one else did. No one beyond his home town of Warra Creek anyway.

‘Yes, you are. You say what you have to say. You do what you have to do. You don’t worry about what anyone thinks of you or what might happen. You’re fearless.’

He watched her as she spoke. Something about her had him transfixed. He shook it off. Anyone would like to hear someone talking about them like that. It was just his weak little ego wanting a boost, that was all—which was what had happened when he fell in love the last time. She’d boosted his ego. But that was nine years ago—his ego didn’t need boosting any more. He didn’t need anyone trying to make him feel better about himself. He didn’t need anyone.

‘I’d call that being pig-headed, not brave.’

Faith laughed and the change in her face was instant. The wide smile transformed her face and he felt something pull at his chest. How long had it been since he’d made a woman laugh? Not simper. Not flirt with him. But laugh, out loud in the sunshine.

‘I think you might be right there. But still. I’d love to be myself and not worry about what anyone thinks. I’d love to be brave like that.’

She was still smiling and he supposed that was the reason he felt a smile pull across his own face. He supposed that was why he wanted to talk.

‘You are brave, Faith. You travelled across the world to start up a show that could have made you a laughing stock. But you did it. And you’re here now. Proving yourself, standing up to me.’

‘Is that brave, or just foolish?’

‘A little of both maybe. But you’re doing it. You’re not running away.’ Not as he had.

‘Thank you, Cash. I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’

Cash raised his eyebrows at her. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you? You need to find some new friends.’

His joke didn’t make her laugh. She broke her gaze and although her body didn’t move he could feel her pulling away.

The murmuring of the other people and the sounds of the birds started to get louder. He shouldn’t have said that. He had a habit of saying the first thing that popped into his head, a habit he’d found hard to break over the years, but usually he managed to achieve it. There was something about Faith, though, that made him want to talk. That made him think he could trust her. He should have known better.

Just when he thought Faith was going to get up and walk away from him, she leaned in again. ‘People don’t usually say nice things to me because I don’t often give them a reason to.’

Cash stopped. What did that mean? He wanted to know more, he wanted to say more but he didn’t dare. He might say something else to upset her and today—here in the sunshine with her sitting between his legs—he didn’t want to upset her.

Patricia was coaching again. Telling everyone to move their bodies, welcome the light through their pelvis. The people in the circle started to move in strange ways, lifting their hips and opening their arms. He hoped Faith wasn’t expecting him to do that. Not only would his body probably refuse but it all seemed a little stupid to him. This wasn’t sex. This was a whole load of rubbish about feelings and emotions. Sex was about sex. Pleasure. Rock hard, pounding, sweaty pleasure. End of story.

‘Tantric sex is all about deepening the connection you have with someone,’ Faith murmured from her position on the grass. He didn’t turn to face her. He wished she wouldn’t use the words sex and deepening in the same sentence. Especially not with that voice she had. The one that dipped from high and sweet to low and throaty in seconds. ‘It teaches you to make love rather than just have sex.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’ This time he did look at her. He met her gaze directly and let his words seep in. Again with the honesty. But this time she didn’t fall back; she actually leaned in closer.

‘Doesn’t it feel good? To make love rather than just “have sex”?’ The way she asked had him puzzled. She was looking at him intently as if waiting for an answer. But she already knew the answer to the question. Either way it felt good. That was why everyone did it. Over and over, generation after generation. Because it felt good. He wondered what it would feel like with Faith. Would it be fast and passionate or slow and sensual?

As his imagination started to take over Patricia started giving orders again and Cash was glad for the break in the atmosphere. He pulled his hands up from the grass and planted an elbow on his knee, avoiding Faith’s eyes again. He was sure Faith was one of those women who mistook lust for love and always wanted more than a man was willing to give. He usually steered clear of women like Faith, preferring those with...simpler tastes. At least he did now. That way there was no danger of feeling anything he didn’t want to.

The couples in the circle shoved and shifted, their knees cracking in the air while their ample tummies made difficult the manoeuvre Patricia was now asking them to make. Cash watched, bemused, from his spot on the grass for a moment before Patricia’s voice rang out across the garden.

‘Faith! I need you.’ Faith jumped up suddenly and held out her hands.

‘What do you need, Patricia? I’m all yours.’ Her voice was high again, and she spoke a little too quickly.

‘Straddle that friend of yours over there. I need an example.’

Cash stilled. Straddle him? Faith turned. She wasn’t smiling.

‘I can’t do that, Patricia. He’s my boss.’

‘All the more reason. This technique will teach you to communicate better. You’ll learn how to listen to what each other needs rather than just talking over the top of one another.’

Cash wondered what Faith would do. She looked nervous, unsure. Slowly and tentatively she moved closer.

‘I’ve been ordered to straddle you,’ she said with an embarrassed smile.

‘No, sorry.’ He looked around Faith to Patricia. ‘I’m not dressed for straddling.’

‘Nonsense. Get on top of him, Faith.’

Faith looked mortified and Cash felt guilty. About what he’d said earlier and about the fact that he’d made her do this. All she wanted to do was prove herself to him; he owed her a fair chance. ‘Come on, Faith, you may as well hop on. What could it hurt?’ She looked so frightened he had to do something to reassure her. He lifted his arms. ‘I only bite if you’re bad.’

FIVE

Faith laughed nervously and moved to stand with one foot either side of his legs.

‘Are you ready?’ she asked, her voice high.

The jeans she had on were tight and they followed the curve of her hips and clung to her legs. Cash lifted his hands and placed them on the outside of her thighs.

‘Ready,’ he said, his eyes not leaving hers.

She started to lower herself, coming closer, and his eyes moved to her stomach where her T-shirt didn’t quite meet her jeans, exposing a pale sliver of skin that made the hairs on his arms stand up. His hands slid higher and her hands eventually landed on his shoulders. He tensed and she moved them a little as if caressing his muscles. Everything on his body went hot. For a second he forgot where he was and that there were a dozen eyes on him. All he could feel was her softness and all he wanted was to feel her in his lap.

His eyes landed on hers as her breasts came into view. They moved down, past his forehead, past his nose and then his lips. Her nipples were standing to attention. He clenched his gut, bit his tongue and moved his hands to her hips, easing her onto his lap. Her hips fitted right into his hands. She felt right there. As if that was where she was meant to be and all he wanted to do was pull her down on top of him. Feel her warmth covering him. She moved further down until he could feel her hot breath on his forehead.

Then her eyes were level with his and she was sitting on him. Her eyes opened wide. She shifted. She felt it. He felt it. He wanted her to feel it. She shifted again, getting comfortable and her breathing hitched. Her eyes moved to his mouth and all he could feel was her and all he could think about was her. Sitting on his lap, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, breathing heavily so close to him. His head thumped. His lap throbbed. She sucked in a breath and held it before her eyes moved to his. Electricity shot between them. Her eyes that were so dark yesterday were now lighter. Almost the colour of a blue summer sky. Beautiful eyes. He moved his hands up until he felt the curve of her breast touch the top of his thumb. She let out her breath and parted her lips and he let his hand still, right beneath her breast.

‘Exhale, Cash, exhale!’ Patricia was saying something but he couldn’t hear it properly. All he could hear was Faith’s breathing as it changed and became heavier.

‘Exhale,’ murmured Faith. ‘She wants you to exhale. Into my mouth.’

‘What?’ His voice came out all croaky and deep. What was she saying?

‘Breathe out,’ she whispered. ‘As I breathe in—you breathe out.’ He breathed out, letting his breath go in between her parted lips, then she breathed out and he felt the rush of hot hair go into his own mouth. His other hand moved around to her back. She was only slim and his hand took up most of the space on her back. He pushed her closer to him, letting his hard shaft get more comfortable. He ran his fingers through the soft hair that ran down her back and breathed out again, keeping his eyes on her lips. She shivered beneath his hands. Something was happening. Something that should not be happening. Not here in Patricia’s garden.

Definitely not with Faith.

Cash moved his legs. He could feel her warm against his erection. It felt incredible. Not just like a beautiful woman sitting in his lap but something else, something much more intimate. She breathed out again and he sucked in her air, wanting to feel her closer, wanting to draw those full lips closer. She shifted and he shifted to allow her to get more comfortable but right then her head snapped up as if waking up from a sleep. She let out a noise and jumped up quickly. So quickly her head hit the bottom of his jaw and he tasted blood as his tooth went through his lip.

‘Damn!’ He gritted his teeth.

‘Cash! I’m so sorry. Oh no. You’re bleeding!’

Cash lifted a hand and held his mouth. When he pulled his hand away it was full of blood. His lip throbbed.

Cash swore loudly.

‘Oh, dear. Oh, no. Let me get you something to clean that up.’ Patricia was close and she was fussing.

‘It’s all right. I’ll live.’ He got to his feet and wiped his chin. Blood was still pouring out. He swore again but this time he kept it to himself. He should have known. He should have remembered. You don’t lose your head or someone always winds up getting hurt.

Patricia returned with a fistful of tissues and he pressed them to his mouth. His lip hurt, but his pride hurt more. She’d jumped up off him so quickly. As if she’d realised what she was doing and who she was with. For a second he’d thought Faith might have felt something, that there was actually something happening between them. But there wasn’t. She was faking it. For Patricia. For the show. Pretending to like him to get her own way.

His jaw hurt. He was hot and sticky and humiliated and all he wanted to do was return to the office. Get back to work. That was where he should be, not out here in someone’s garden thinking things he shouldn’t and feeling things he had no right to.

‘Are you all right?’ Faith’s voice was small and a little timid, which was unlike her. He didn’t want her sympathy. He knew she was doing her best to convince him that sex was more than just sex so he’d let her keep her show. But he wasn’t falling for that. Not again. Ever. ‘Do you want to stay?’ she asked.

No, he didn’t. He was cut and bleeding and angry.

‘I think we should go.’ He didn’t look at Faith. He didn’t want to see her face. Disappointed her scheme hadn’t worked. Desperately trying to make him get into all this to convince him to let her stay on. He reminded himself that this was work and Faith was an employee and that was all this was. He just wished his throbbing shaft would listen as it twitched in disappointment.

SIX

Faith watched as Cash creaked open the car door and slipped into the seat. The tissues were red with his blood and drops had fallen onto his crisp white shirt. Cracking his jaw and making him bleed was definitely not professional. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.

‘Cash, I’m so sorry.’

‘Forget it,’ his deep voice grumbled and her heart sank. This was not working. She’d got carried away back there. Sitting on his lap. She’d felt his hardness and got carried away. Thought something she shouldn’t have thought. Of course he had a hard-on. There was a girl sitting on his lap. He was a normal red-blooded male. She wasn’t anyone special. That hard-on wasn’t for her.

But for a moment, when he was breathing into her mouth, she’d thought it was. She’d thought he felt it too. The buzz that fired her blood when his breath hit her skin. But then he’d moved and she’d realised he was uncomfortable and wanted her off. So she’d jumped off. And split his lip open.

Seduction had never been her strong point. When she was young, she’d always been the girl standing in the corner. Watching the others snogging on the dance floor. And when she’d finally built up the courage to go further...things hadn’t gone well. Faith twisted her neck from side to side. Which was another reason she needed this job. She wasn’t exactly honest with Cash earlier. She did want to be successful—that was true—but the reason she chose sex and relationships rather than current affairs was that it enabled her to learn about sex in a way she’d never be able to on her own. And she’d learned a lot.

Sometimes she thought she was ready to put those lessons into action. But now, whenever she actually met someone she thought she could like, they were more interested in inserting part A into slot B than allowing her to explore their body with her tongue. Which was exactly what she’d wanted to do with Cash five minutes ago. But now he was bleeding and angry and definitely not interested in her tongue.

‘Do you want to go to the emergency room?’

‘It’s a split lip. I don’t think we need to bother the surgeons.’

‘You should have moved your head.’

‘Me?’ He stared at the side of her head and her cheeks heated. He was about to blow up. Tell her what a screw-up she was. Abuse her and tell her she was an idiot. But he didn’t. He laughed. ‘So it was my big head that got in the way?’

‘Yes. I was just trying to get up.’

He laughed again. ‘Well, I’m sorry for making you split my lip.’

She glanced at him, surprised. He wasn’t cross, nor was he ignoring her. She smiled and turned back to the road. ‘That’s OK. Just don’t do it again.’

He laughed again and took the tissues away from his lip. ‘How does it look?’ His lip was swollen and covered in blood.

‘Fine. Can’t even tell,’ she said, pushing the stick shift into fourth as she hit the motorway.

They laughed again and started trying to impress each other with the most pathetic injury stories until Cash looked out of the window at the passing scenery. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Thornleigh.’

‘Thornleigh? As in the burbs?’

‘Yep. Housewives and private schools and swimming lessons. Sydney’s BDSM heartland.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘No. It’s where Miss Kitty lives. Her clients are some of the most well-known people in Sydney. High society. Celebrities, soap stars, footy players. Anyone with cash goes to Miss Kitty’s parties.’ Faith glanced at him. She wondered if Miss Kitty’s world would be his scene.

‘What happens at these parties?’

‘I’ve only been to one. I’ve seen men being led around on dog collars and women whose butts were red raw from spanking.’

To be honest, she’d been a little frightened and mortified when she’d first visited Kitty, but if her show had taught her anything it was to open her mind and find the source of pleasure in every act.

‘That doesn’t sound very sexy.’

‘It’s not the action so much as the feeling. Of being dominated. Of dominating. Of being in control or out of control. Like I said—sex isn’t always just sex.’

‘Is this what you’re into?’ Cash asked her quietly. She felt his eyes on her and was glad her window was down. He seemed to be asking as if he were interested in her answer. As if he wanted to know. As if the mistake she’d made earlier didn’t matter. As if he liked her anyway.

‘I like to try and understand relationships. The idea of being dominated or dominating has a lot to do with what one needs outside the bedroom. Sex is a manifestation of our whole life. Our attitude towards it is shaped by our lives—the way we feel about ourselves, our fears, our pasts.’

He reached for the knobs of the radio and twisted, finding a station that was playing country music. Faith glanced at him—she didn’t take him for a country-music fan.

‘Sounds like you’re reading way too much into it.’ Cash stared ahead. ‘In my experience, sex has nothing to do with how you feel and more to do with what you want. Which is usually power. Sex is about power. Who has it, who wants it. And once you have the power, you can make someone do anything you want.’

Faith’s neck prickled and her mouth dried up. ‘Is that what you do? Have sex with women to have power over them?’

She felt his eyes hot on her. She knew he was looking at her intently, in that way he always did.

‘I have sex for pleasure. I don’t let emotions play any part. No one gets hurt that way.’

‘Someone always gets hurt.’

Cash didn’t say any more; he just turned to look out of the window and they stayed in silence as the sound of Johnny Cash singing ‘Ring of Fire’ rang through the car.

* * *

Miss Kitty was in a bad mood. She’d had a load of cancellations. Apparently a competitor had opened up close by and was offering discounts.

‘As if it’s a supermarket!’ Kitty had bright blue hair and black fingernails but other than that she didn’t look too different from the other women walking the streets of the leafy northern suburb. She had on jeans and a long white top with colourful beads slung around her neck.

While they toured her seemingly suburban house, Cash asked her about being a submissive. He wanted to know what it meant and why anyone would want to submit to another. Faith almost laughed. Trust Cash to not understand submission. It was a question, however, that seemed to make Kitty bristle. ‘It’s men like you who make the best submissives, honey. Men who think they can control everything and everyone. Being a submissive is about being attentive. Being aware of the needs of your dom. Doing whatever they need whenever they need it. It makes you a better lover. A devoted lover. Which is the best kind.’

Faith watched Cash’s face. He wasn’t comfortable here. He wasn’t comfortable in Kitty’s dungeon. He wasn’t interested in her pulleys and straps. He didn’t even touch her collection of whips.

‘Can we have a minute to look around ourselves?’ Faith wondered if Miss Kitty would agree. She was mostly a private person but Faith had managed to gain her trust over the last few months. Kitty blinked and folded her arms.

‘What about him?’ She nodded towards Cash as if he weren’t there.

Faith winked and met Kitty’s suspicious stare.

‘I’ll take care of him.’

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