My Innocent Indiscretion. Eva Cassel

in soft cheese. ‘It’s all in your head. Think thin and you’ll be thin. Jogging is for suckers.’

      They all turned to glare at naturally stick-thin Mandy who had no idea how good she had it.

      ‘Well, this sucker will be back in a while.’ With a quick wave over her shoulder, Jodie slipped out the door and ran down the three flights of stairs just as Heath reached the front alcove where they had said their moonlight goodbyes only hours before.

      ‘Hi! Don’t! I’m here!’ she cried out, so that he wouldn’t reach for the doorbell. The poor guy flinched.

      ‘So you are,’ he said. ‘And all in a rush to see me.’

      Jodie opened her mouth to negate that idea, but then realised it was probably easier to let it lie. ‘Hungry, remember?’ she said.

      Tugging a cute pink cardigan over her T-shirt to dress up her outfit just a tad, she took the opportunity to find out if he really was as attractive as she had remembered him. Lo and behold, in the harsh light of day, Heath Jameson—in chinos and blue and cream Hawaiian shirt that set off his eyes, his tan, and his general gorgeousness beautifully—was pure masculine heaven. Ouch!

      ‘Ready?’ he asked, and then he smiled, his face coming over all warm and encouraging, and Jodie had to abstain from leaning against him just to soak up some of that Australian warmth that Louise had begun to notice in her.

      ‘So, where are you taking me?’ she asked.

      ‘To heights of gastronomic pleasure the likes of which you have never seen.’

      Heath drove from Jodie’s apartment back towards his beach-side St Kilda hotel, stealing glances at the woman in the passenger seat of his car.

      He had spent a good portion of his morning wondering if his great first impression of Jodie had been falsely remembered. In the light of their secret tryst out into the Melbourne night, her side-splitting tales of her time at the hands of her meddling housemates, and with the addition of a truly fantastic kebab to finish off the night, he thought perhaps he had been so hoping for it to be perfect that he had indeed willed it to be the best blind date any guy had ever known.

      But as Jodie had leapt through the doorway like a whirl-wind of nervous energy just now, madly pulling her auburn waves into a quick pony-tail, flapping that bright pink cardigan at him like a flag at a bull, her wide green eyes wild with panic as he reached for the doorbell—obviously because she didn’t want her roommates to know what she was up to—he knew his concerns had been unfounded.

      She was bright. Complicated. Nervous as an unbroken colt. Utterly lovely. And she smelled so good he had to remind himself to breathe out as well as in.

      Last night he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it, some lingering sweetness that played with his senses. But this morning it came to him like the subtle scent of grass after a storm. Strawberries.

      As he pulled his car into a park on the St Kilda Esplanade, just near a row of white-sailed market stalls, he shot a look her way.

      Something in her demeanour had him thinking she was preparing to give him the brush-off, but he wasn’t having any of it. He was struck by her. Truly struck. And a risk was not a risk if the path to your goal was clear.

      And since he didn’t believe a word of her claim that she hated desserts as much as she said she did, he took her to the one place in Melbourne that would tempt her to change her mind.

      If anything could.