him,' the man smiled.
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The smile slid from Brett Lewis's face as he walked through the gallery door, but the feeling of satisfaction remained. The brochure not only contained photos of the two artists, but details of their other art gallery in Cairns and the general locations where they lived.
His lips twitched as he thought of the young woman in the gallery. She was attractive in a fresh-faced, gamin sort of way, not the kind he normally bedded; but if the circumstances were different, he would have had great delight in teaching her a few things she was unlikely to learn from the young men he had seen around Noosa.
Brett had an extensive range of unusual skills. He could pick locks, follow people unobserved, cut pure heroin with just the right amount of inert ingredients to keep his buyers happy and still provide enormous profits. His bedroom skills had been learned from a variety of very experienced women, and not restricted by the moral code vaguely encouraged by the woman who had raised him. Deception was an innate ability, one that had kept him out of the clutches of the law and others who would have dealt with him more severely, and on a more permanent basis.
But murder was something he had never had to carry out before, and he found himself painfully lacking in expertise, and enthusiasm. It was amazing though, how the smell of money could tempt him to broaden his skills.
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Kirri threw down her paintbrush and wiped her hands on an old towel. Concentrating on her work usually allowed her a respite from the problems in life which sometimes threatened to overwhelm her, but not this time. This problem was far too big to be pushed from her mind by the driving need to create, create, create.
Her reaction to Daniel's kiss had shocked her to the core. And his revelation that she had told him about her vow to marry a man who tasted like rainbows had caused her such consternation she had snatched up her bag and run from the house. Instead of going back to the gallery, she had driven to her flat and tried to distract herself with work.
She had learned more patience and self-discipline in the past two years than she'd thought herself capable of attaining. But now it had failed her. Her emotions were a jumbled mess, her thoughts a whirlwind, going fast but going nowhere. She brushed impatiently at a wayward lock that had escaped from the elastic capturing her hair at the nape of her neck.
A knock sounded on the door, and she frowned in annoyance. The last thing she felt like coping with at the moment was the elderly couple in the next flat. Immediately she felt ashamed of herself; she really did like the old couple. Friendly but not pushy, they had kept a neighbourly eye on her since her arrival, occasionally popping in with home-made biscuits or excess vegetables from their farmer son. Kirri was beginning to wonder if she wore a sign proclaiming she needed grandmotherly feeding up.
She walked out of the spare room and pulled open the front door.
Daniel's tall frame seemed to fill up the doorway. Her mind flashed back to this morning when he'd opened his door to her. A drop of water from his hair had fallen onto his shoulder, trickled down through the curls on his hard chest, and into the towel wrapped around his waist. He was a big man, but not a skerrick of fat marred his well-defined muscles, and her breath had caught at her body's involuntary reaction. Sheer physical desire had welled up so fast that even now the memory was swelling her breasts and pulsing through her.
'May I come in?'
'How did you know where I live?'
He nodded towards the lounge-room and she stepped aside. As he passed she caught again the wonderful scent that was his and his alone and colours flowed through her mind. She tried to stop them but it was as though she could no longer control them, as though Daniel were stronger than the self-control she had worked so hard to achieve.
His gaze swept the battered vinyl lounge suite and scuffed
Â
The smile slid from Brett Lewis's face as he walked through the gallery door, but the feeling of satisfaction remained. The brochure not only contained photos of the two artists, but details of their other art gallery in Cairns and the general locations where they lived.
His lips twitched as he thought of the young woman in the gallery. She was attractive in a fresh-faced, gamin sort of way, not the kind he normally bedded; but if the circumstances were different, he would have had great delight in teaching her a few things she was unlikely to learn from the young men he had seen around Noosa.
Brett had an extensive range of unusual skills. He could pick locks, follow people unobserved, cut pure heroin with just the right amount of inert ingredients to keep his buyers happy and still provide enormous profits. His bedroom skills had been learned from a variety of very experienced women, and not restricted by the moral code vaguely encouraged by the woman who had raised him. Deception was an innate ability, one that had kept him out of the clutches of the law and others who would have dealt with him more severely, and on a more permanent basis.
But murder was something he had never had to carry out before, and he found himself painfully lacking in expertise, and enthusiasm. It was amazing though, how the smell of money could tempt him to broaden his skills.
Â
Kirri threw down her paintbrush and wiped her hands on an old towel. Concentrating on her work usually allowed her a respite from the problems in life which sometimes threatened to overwhelm her, but not this time. This problem was far too big to be pushed from her mind by the driving need to create, create, create.
Her reaction to Daniel's kiss had shocked her to the core. And his revelation that she had told him about her vow to marry a man who tasted like rainbows had caused her such consternation she had snatched up her bag and run from the house. Instead of going back to the gallery, she had driven to her flat and tried to distract herself with work.
She had learned more patience and self-discipline in the past two years than she'd thought herself capable of attaining. But now it had failed her. Her emotions were a jumbled mess, her thoughts a whirlwind, going fast but going nowhere. She brushed impatiently at a wayward lock that had escaped from the elastic capturing her hair at the nape of her neck.
A knock sounded on the door, and she frowned in annoyance. The last thing she felt like coping with at the moment was the elderly couple in the next flat. Immediately she felt ashamed of herself; she really did like the old couple. Friendly but not pushy, they had kept a neighbourly eye on her since her arrival, occasionally popping in with home-made biscuits or excess vegetables from their farmer son. Kirri was beginning to wonder if she wore a sign proclaiming she needed grandmotherly feeding up.
She walked out of the spare room and pulled open the front door.
Daniel's tall frame seemed to fill up the doorway. Her mind flashed back to this morning when he'd opened his door to her. A drop of water from his hair had fallen onto his shoulder, trickled down through the curls on his hard chest, and into the towel wrapped around his waist. He was a big man, but not a skerrick of fat marred his well-defined muscles, and her breath had caught at her body's involuntary reaction. Sheer physical desire had welled up so fast that even now the memory was swelling her breasts and pulsing through her.
'May I come in?'
'How did you know where I live?'
He nodded towards the lounge-room and she stepped aside. As he passed she caught again the wonderful scent that was his and his alone and colours flowed through her mind. She tried to stop them but it was as though she could no longer control them, as though Daniel were stronger than the self-control she had worked so hard to achieve.
His gaze swept the battered vinyl lounge suite and scuffed
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