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bankruptcy. But all he could think about was the pungent smell of papaya, mango, and orange, and the feel of—no, can’t think about that. Her hands were on his butt now, squeezing, and her mouth was all over him, her tongue so sweet, so warm, so . . . oh, no, one hand slipped lower, between his legs. No, not the balls, please, not the balls. Too late, gently she cupped and squeezed and it was too much. A moment of such exquisite delight gripped him that he had to reach behind him for the countertop in order to remain upright. When she had squeezed the last of his climax from him, she rose, looking pretty happy. They held each other, wordless for a few minutes, until a muffled squeak brought him out of the state of bliss in which he’d been floating half-conscious.
    “We’ve got to go.”
    “Shit,” he yelled, glimpsing the clock. One glance at his creased pants and the papaya spattered around his ankles, and a similar one at his room-mate and he knew they’d both have to shower and change. “Give me five minutes.” He bolted for the stairs but at the bottom couldn’t help but turn and enjoy the sight of Bron naked and sun-dappled, dashing to her own shower. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said.
    She glanced back at him with her sweet, sultry smile and he wished they didn’t have to go to work today. “Any time.”
    He couldn’t help the grin, or the urge to whistle as he raced up the stairs.
     

Chapter 6
    “Oh, the man doesn’t just work a spreadsheet, he makes love to it. He’s so amazing he could balance
your
checkbook,” said Fiona, the front office receptionist and center of a gossip network the size and complexity of which amazed Bronwyn. It might have questionable authenticity, but was always good for a laugh.
    Bron snorted. “To sort out my finances he’d need supernatural powers.”
    Mark had worked here for three days and Bron hadn’t missed the way the women in the office, Fiona especially, had been checking him out. Her only consolation was that so far he remained oblivious. Give the man a computer and a bunch of boring numbers, and he went to some completely different plane of existence. It was creepy.
    “I bet he’s amazing in bed.” Fi’s expression said, “come on it’s just us girls, give.”
    Fiona was terrific. Fun and upbeat, almost as daring a surfer as Bron and she genuinely loved men. All sorts of men. Fiona was exactly the kind of woman Mark had come to Sydney to find. But Mark and she would be all wrong together. Bron knew that. She was doing them both a favor, she rationalized with great virtuousness and a large dollop of self-interest, when she leaned in close and kept her voice low.
    “If you’re thinking of giving him a try, you might want to stock up on Viagra.”
    Fiona’s eyes opened wide. “Viagra? You mean he has trouble . . . ?” she made vague motions in the direction of her lap.
    Bron felt a moment’s guilt. She might as well publish Mark’s supposed impotence in the in-house email system as tell Fiona. However, she couldn’t go with the gay angle here, since everyone knew Jennifer Talbot and he had been engaged. They might find it suspicious that being dumped by a woman turned him gay within a matter of months. Probably such things happened, but her story wouldn’t hold up under the faintest of investigations.
    “I’m not saying that’s why Jen gave him the flick. Maybe it was being dumped for another man that’s given him some . . . um, confidence issues. All I’m saying is . . . well,” she tried to look sad and confidential, “I shouldn’t really tell at all. I don’t want you to waste your time, that’s all. Not after that surfie from Brisbane turned out to be such a letdown.”
    “Oh, don’t bring that up. I finally brought him home and he got drunk and spewed all over the bathroom.”
    “Right. Who needs two disasters in a row?”
    Fiona nodded sagely and took off her glasses to gnaw the earpiece, a habit that should have been