Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives - Darla Read online

  Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives Darla

  Tracey O’Hara

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives Darla

  Tracey O’Hara

  From the hottest writers in Australia comes a scintillating new series. Enter the world of Sydney’s elite, and find out what goes on behind the doors of the most exclusive addresses in the country…

  Meet the Housewives of Sydney. They are wealthy, elegant, poised, and constantly in the public eye. But what goes on behind closed doors, in the private homes and parties where the cameras and paparazzi aren’t welcome? Delve into the most personal details of their relationships, their friendships and their lives. The only question is: can you handle the heat?

  Darla knows her place at the exclusive Diamond D dinners—she is comic relief, entertaining the rest of the women with tales of her dating woes. Since her divorce, she has been on one bad date after another, and not even a high-class dating agency can help. But a massive storm front brings a visit from an old neighbour—and suddenly being neighbourly takes on a whole new meaning. When it rains, it pours, and it looks like Darla’s dry spell is about to become a thing of the past.

  Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives

  Reading order:

  1. Virginia—Rhian Cahill

  2. Lana—Cate Ellink

  3. Nella—Cathleen Ross

  4. Sienna—Tamsin Baker

  5. Jorja—Lexxie Couper

  6. Meagan—Shona Husk

  7. Christa—Keziah Hill

  8. Emma—Viveka Portman

  9. Willow—Christina Phillips

  10. Camilla—Mel Teshco

  11. Darla—Tracey O’Hara

  About the Author

  Tracey O’Hara grew up reading Stephen King, Raymond E. Feist, and J.R.R. Tolkien, where she developed her taste for adventure and the paranormal thriller. When she’s not writing, reading, or working, she spends time with her husband, two sons, three cats and a cheeky Pug called Colin. Night’s Cold Kiss, the first in her Harper Voyager Dark Brethren series, was shortlisted in the Best Horror Novel category at the 2009 Aurealis Awards, and won the Novel with Romantic Elements category at the Romance Writers of Australia awards the same year. Tracey came to writing erotic fiction on a dare and discovered that not only was it fun, but she had a bit of a knack for it. She has some short erotic romances with publishers, including Harlequin and Momentum. She is currently working on some new stories she hopes to publish very soon.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Kate Cuthbert who asked me to do this wonderful project. Thanks to all the other Secret Confession authors who said yes to taking part. And a HUGE thanks to Danielle Kendall who kept me sane and helped me every step of the way.

  For David.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Episode 11—Darla

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  Episode 11—Darla

  Enough. Darla Thomas slammed the lid down on the laptop with a little more force than she’d intended. She was done. Maybe a commitment ceremony with her vibrator was in order. A much better prospect than another of the disastrous dates she’d met through the Exclusively Yours dating agency so far.

  Truth be told—it wasn’t only the agency’s fault. The men just weren’t doing it for her. None of them had that indefinable thing she was looking for. Shit. She didn’t even know what it was she was looking for. The good-looking ones were far too self-involved to possibly care about anything but themselves. The accomplished ones were just too wrapped up in their own achievements. And the charming ones…well, she’d had enough charming to last her a lifetime, thanks to ex-husband, Julian.

  Darla sighed. It’d been a long day. Up before dawn to go see how the new yearlings were settling in. A massive storm had hit Sydney last night and while there was no damage to the Sonny Jim stables she owned with her brother Tom, some of the new horses were thoroughly spooked. Then she’d gone down to Randwick to help put a couple of the three year olds through their paces ahead of the Australian Derby next month. Add to that the picture of her ex-husband and his new—very pregnant—wife in the society pages this morning and…

  She needed a glass of wine or a nice warm bath to soak her aching muscles. Better still, a glass of wine in a nice warm bath. Perfect. Decision made, she padded her way into the kitchen and pulled out one of the several bottles of the chilled sparkling Veuve Clicquot she’d ordered in for the Diamond Dinner Club event this coming Thursday.

  It was her turn to host the night of great food, fine wine, and elitist bitching. Another night of entertaining the girls with her latest man-tastrophe exploits. Virginia would be over in a couple of hours to go through the catering menu for the Double D dinner. While Virginia preferred to cook when she hosted the women’s evening, Darla was never all that great in the kitchen, hardly able to boil an egg let alone pull together a three course menu. Besides, Virginia had come across this new caterer she wanted to try out before hiring for an Exclusively Yours mixer. Darla was only too happy to offer up her hosting night. If they could make the women of the Double D happy, then they could handle anything.

  ***

  Darla stripped off her riding gear and lowered herself into the tub of warm water. The lavender-scented soap suds tickled and licked her skin like a lover’s kiss as she reached for the chilled glass and took a sip of the sparkling champagne.

  Ah, better. Exactly what she needed after a day like today. Let it go. Stop thinking and allow the bath do its job. Right now nothing was more important. Not Julian, not dinner, and definitely not those Exclusively Yours loser dates. What she needed was a real man. Someone to come in and sweep her off her feet and take her to paradise instead of talking about social conquests, financial investments, or the effect the economy was having on the Dow Jones. She needed a real, red-hot-blooded man.

  An image of Hunter Davis popped unexpectedly into her head. Now there was a hunk of male flesh she could really sink her teeth into. Too bad she wasn’t his type. From what she’d seen, leggy blonde model types seemed more his speed, not short auburn-haired divorcées. Besides, he was more on friendly terms with Julian than her. In fact, they’d barely spoken to each other since her ex-husband had moved out.

  But man, oh man, did he have a body she could wrap herself around, and some. Those broad shoulders and sculptured muscular arms. Those tight washboard abs, resulting in the most perfect six-pack she’d ever seen. He could sweep her off her feet any day. Both literally and figuratively. His 6’ frame would have no problem with her 5’2” slenderness.

  Her nipples hardened at the fantasy of him carrying her to bed. She brushed her palm across the tight nubs and sent a tingle straight to her core. It’d been so long since she’d felt a man’s touch. Just the mere thought of it made the apex between her legs throb with something akin to pain. That’s how long it had been.

  Well…she’d taken this bath to relax. If she couldn’t have the real thing, she could damn well fantasise about it.

  A few days ago Darla had seen him from the balcony of her harbourside home as he got out of his pool next door. He’d wiped a towel over that muscular body, beads of water sliding over sun-kissed skin and golden blond hair, darker when wet, framing his model-worthy face. The perfect package, all elements working to make him more seductive than sin. If only real life had slow motion like they did in the movies.

  Darla slid her hands down over her stomach towards her—

  The doorbell rang, snatching away her daydream.

  “Dammit,” she cursed out loud.
“Can’t I catch a freakin’ break?”

  Virginia had a bad habit of turning up early at the most inconvenient times. If only she could’ve waited just a few more minutes. Ten, five, two probably would’ve gotten the job done. Darla was so wound up it wouldn’t have taken much to send her over the brink.

  She sighed and climbed out of the tub, wrapping a soft white towelling bathrobe around herself before padding downstairs.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “I’m coming,” she called with more than a tad of irritation as she tied the belt on her robe. She never could develop the knack of making people wait.

  “Virginia, couldn’t you have…” Everything she was going to say flew right out of her head as she saw who actually stood on her doorstep

  Hunter freaking Davis.

  Holy crap. Her masturbatory fantasy was standing before her holding a bottle of red wine. Heat burned her cheeks. His eyes raked her robe-clad body and made her wonder if he could sense her heightened state. It sent more throbbing heat to her girly bits.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” His deep American accent did strange things to her insides. Years in Australia had done nothing to dent that slow, southern drawl.

  “No,” she said quickly, the throb in her groin kicking up a notch. “I mean—I was just taking a bath—but please, come in.”

  He stepped over the threshold, squeezing past so that his body brushed hers ever so slightly as he handed her the bottle. “I brought this as an apology.”

  She glanced at the label to stop her heart from jumping out of her throat. “Greenock Creek Roennfeldt Road Shiraz. Very nice. And 1998 too. But what do you need to apologise for?”

  “The storm damage.”

  She frowned and shook her head. “Storm damage?”

  “Last night. It brought down that old gum tree in the corner of my place onto the wall between our properties, and I think there may be some damage to your pool house.”

  “Oh,” she said, shocked. “I’ve been out all day and haven’t noticed any damage.”

  He nodded. “I tried earlier. Look, it’s probably a bit late to inspect the damage now, so why don’t I come back tomorrow.” His nearness suggested he was in no hurry to leave. In fact, his body language told her how much he wanted to stay.

  She smiled up at him. “Since you’re here, why don’t we crack this bottle and talk anyway.”

  Please, God, say yes.

  “Sure,” he said with a slow grin. If he kept on like that he may not make it out of here unmolested.

  Darla covered her turmoil with a smile. “Make yourself at home in the living room and I’ll get a couple of glasses.”

  She padded barefoot and self-conscious to the bar area of her lavish open lounge. The room flowed through to the entertainment area on the balcony and the floor to ceiling glass tri-fold wall was open to the warm night air. Last night’s rain made everything smell fresh and new. A large tree in front her balcony kept her private from any prying eyes, but didn’t detract from the twilight view over the harbour. Just as well the storm hadn’t blown that down too.

  He sat on the long white leather sofa and watched her as she moved around the lounge room. She grabbed some glasses from the bar, tucked a corkscrew under her arm and as she joined him on the sofa, her robe fell open a little to reveal her thigh. Hunter’s gaze dropped to her bare skin. Instead of feeling uncomfortable by the obvious hunger in his expression, she found herself turned on. Again her cheeks heated with a blush, but she left the robe as it was. She’d never been so…brazen, and it was only a bit of leg.

  “Can you open this please?” she asked, passing him the bottle and the corkscrew.

  He smiled and took them from her. Now it was her turn to watch him. He wore a pair of old faded jeans and a tight t-shirt. And man, he wore them so very, very well. His shirt was white, contrasting his deep summer tan to perfection, and had his Surf Hunter logo over a black and red stylised surfer catching a wave on the front. She wanted to reach out and feel the play of muscles across his shoulders as he bent over the bottle. Instead she placed the two huge glasses on the marble coffee table in front of him.

  Hunter poured a splash each and handed her one. As she took it, her fingers brushed his and it sent a jolt of need straight to her core. He watched her take a sip, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he did the same.

  Usually she didn’t go for the heavy reds. She was more a pinot noir kind of girl. “Good choice,” she said, saluting him with her glass. “Thanks for bringing it over.”

  She took another sip. Damn, the wine was good, but nowhere near as heady as the look he gave her over the rim of his glass.

  “It’s the least I could do since my tree may have wiped out your pool house,” he said.

  Still warm from her bath, the red wine worked to melt away the last of her tension. She sank back into the soft lounge and sighed. “This is just what I needed.”

  “Rough day?” he asked, moving his knees wider so his left one almost touched hers.

  She laughed. “Rough couple of years.”

  He raised his glass. “I read about Julian in the paper this morning.” He looked down at his glass. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not,” she said. And for the first time she meant it. Virginia was right, letting go was liberating. “It’s been two years now since he left me for her and frankly, she’s welcome to the self-centred prick.”

  “Good for you.” Hunter leaned toward her. “He never deserved you, Red.”

  It’d been a long time since she’d heard him call her that. He’d christened her with the nickname one evening at a BBQ and she’d always kinda suspected he called her that because he couldn’t remember her name.

  “I thought you liked Julian,” she said, trying to laugh off the intense predatory look in his eyes as he leaned forward on the lounge, rolling the wine glass between his palms. A shiver ran up her spine. He scooted a little closer, laying his knee against her leg. The heat of his closeness burned through the Egyptian cotton robe.

  Was he doing what she thought he was doing? God, she hoped so.

  He took her glass and put it with his on the coffee table. “He’s exactly what you said. A self-centred prick who I often wanted to punch in the face. I only ever put up with him for your sake.”

  That took her by surprise. “But you hardly ever spoke to me.”

  “Self-preservation,” he said, his face turning serious. “I wasn’t sure I could hide how much I wanted you. The first time I saw you, the sun behind making your hair glow like a red halo, I thought you were an angel.” His leaned in again, moving his hand to her thigh just above her knee and running it slowly up under her robe as he held her gaze.

  “So that’s why you call me Red,” she whispered, her voice shaky with her own desire.

  He nodded, the picture of intensity. His finger trailed along the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Her breath hitched in her throat in the heated wake of his touch on her skin.

  “Just say the word and I’ll stop,” he said, his voice husky with need.

  She gave a jerky shake of her head, afraid if she spoke out loud she would break the spell and he would be gone. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up.

  He moved closer until his lips were mere inches from hers, his warm ragged breath caressing her skin. Then he kissed her. Soft, deep and slow. He tasted of surf, sand and sunshine. She knew instantly he had come straight from the beach. His deep greenish-grey eyes bored into her soul as he held her face in his hands for his kiss. Her toes curled and her mind went blank of everything but Hunter Davis. His smell, his taste, his touch. She needed more.

  “Oh, Hunter,” she breathed, burying her hands into his blond surfer shag.

  He growled against the skin of her throat, sending shivers of delight along her spine and awakening every molecule in her body.

  “You don’t know what it does to me to hear you say my name like that, Red.” The use of his nickname for her ma
de her heartbeat skitter. She fisted his t-shirt—trying to rip it from his body in her desperation to get to his bare skin beneath.

  He leaned back to help, sweeping it over his head and exposing his smooth, hairless chest. God, how she wanted to feel that tanned hardness against her.

  Her fingers fumbled with the belt on her robe, desperate to feel more of him against her. Finally it came undone and opened in an unspoken invitation for him to take more. His gaze dropped to her naked body, toned thanks to the personal trainer Meagan had recommended. His expression made her exposed areole pucker into tight nubs and her sex flooded with desire. She couldn’t believe how wet she was.

  Hunter dropped to his knees between her thighs and pushed the robe from her shoulders. “My God, Red,” he whispered. At first he just looked. Then he touched her like she was made of fine glass, until finally he leaned forward and pulled her arse to edge of the sofa so her chest was flush against his.

  Darla wrapped her legs around his waist, rubbing her bare core along his hard length behind the zipper seam of his jeans. Oh, it had been so long. So long since a man touched her. No vibrator could ever compete with the feeling of being held like this. Of being caressed. Of being kissed stupid.

  Her head spun as he reclaimed her mouth, her senses overwhelmed with heat and desire. She never wanted to it to stop.

  But then he did.

  She whimpered as his lips left hers. “Please.”

  He gave a wicked grin, gently pushed her shoulders against the back of the lounge and parted her thighs wide, opening up her glistening sex to his gaze. She fought the urge to cover herself.

  Oh my God. Surely he’s not going to…

  He was.

  Hunter lowered his head and flicked his tongue once over her clit, sending a spasm of pure delight back to her aching breasts. She pinched the tight twin peaks to stop the throb, only to echo back more delicious sensations to her core. His tongue rasped over her again. More shock waves rippled through her body. Her womb clenched tight as he took the sensitive bud between his lips.