Читать книгу The Man Who Saw Her Beauty - Мишель Дуглас, Michelle Douglas - Страница 8

THE woman had eyes so blue they could steal a man’s soul, and as Nick stared into them they made him ache for something he couldn’t name. She pursed those delectable lips and it suddenly hit him how loud, coarse, and utterly unreasonable he must seem to her.

That would be because he was acting loud, coarse, and utterly unreasonable. Get a grip! He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, backed up a step so that he was no longer crowding her. Once upon a time he’d have approached a situation like this with charm and humour, doing his best to deflect and defuse any bad feelings.

Once upon a time …

When had the world turned upside down?

When Stevie had started spending all her pocket money on make-up and fashion magazines, spending too much of her time window-shopping for clothes, that was when. She was talking about getting her ears pierced. Pierced! She wanted to maim her body in the interests of fashion? As far as he was concerned that made no sense whatsoever.

And it reminded him too much of Sonya.

Blair drew herself up to her full height. He was six feet two. She must be five feet eleven. Sonya had been the same height.

Stop it. This woman wasn’t Sonya. She hadn’t abandoned and then almost bankrupted her family. She hadn’t succumbed to designer drugs. Even if she did represent the world of fashion that he loathed—the same world that had destroyed Sonya—that didn’t mean she deserved his rudeness or to bear the brunt of his frustration.

He opened his mouth to form some sort of apology, to try and explain why he was yelling at her like a lunatic. But not only had she straightened, she’d folded her arms—and it thrust her breasts out, pressed them tight against her T-shirt. The heat and the hunger hit him again. The words dried in his mouth.

He forced his gaze back to hers to find her surveying him. Sympathy gleamed from those mesmerising eyes. ‘You’re the faithless father?’ She gave a tiny shake of her head.

It took a moment for her words to hit him. The what?

‘Mr Conway, I know this is none of my business, but … But I think you’ll find that your daughter has misinterpreted your lack of support for the Miss Showgirl as a belief that she’s not good enough to enter.’

He stiffened.

‘Sixteen-year-old girls can be terribly vulnerable and their confidence shaky. While I don’t doubt for a moment that it hasn’t been your intention to sabotage her self-confidence, that’s the effect it has had.’

Sabotaging Stevie? Garbage! He was protecting her. Any sense of proportion he’d gained shot off into the ether with the speed of a V8 super car. ‘Don’t you tell me how to raise my daughter!’

She blinked. ‘I’m not. I’m just saying—’

‘Well, don’t bother!’ His hand slashed the space between them. ‘What the hell do you know about teenage girls?’

She tilted her chin. ‘I was one.’

‘Do you have children?’

He watched her swallow. His knee twitched again. ‘No.’

‘Then don’t presume to tell me how to deal with my own. If I don’t think it’s appropriate for her to enter a beauty contest—’

‘It’s not just a beauty contest!’ Colour flared in her cheeks. ‘It’s for charity, and it’s a chance for the girls—’

‘Save the spiel! I don’t want Stevie involved in some sad, jumped-up little beauty pageant and I want you to stay away from her. You hear me?’

‘Me and the neighbours, I should think.’

He grimaced. He was going to have to apologise. The thought did not improve his temper. He started to compose a suitable apology. He opened his mouth to deliver it—

‘You do know that Stevie believes you don’t think she’s pretty, don’t you?’

Air left his lungs. Stevie was beautiful, unique. She was the light of his life. She had to know that. Not pretty? Stevie could win the Miss Showgirl quest hands down. She was the prettiest, smartest—

He cut the thought off, annoyed with himself for even going there. He needed to talk to Stevie as soon as he could. He straightened. ‘I don’t believe we have anything else to discuss.’

Her eyes widened. She even had the gall to roll them.

‘Darn city slicker,’ he muttered under his breath, needing to vent.

‘Country hick,’ she shot back, and he almost choked. She’d heard him?

With a lift of one elegant shoulder she turned and sauntered off. He stared after her until she’d disappeared around the corner.

He dragged a hand down his face and bit back a curse. He’d been darn rude. He’d let his temper and frustration get the better of him, and that hadn’t happened in a long, long time. What had got into him?

He swung away and kicked at a stone before striding back to the car. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Stevie and this Miss Showgirl nonsense, but one thing he did know—he was going to have to apologise to Blair Macintyre.

‘You did what?’

Nick swallowed at Stevie’s screech. He’d never heard her take that tone before. Her voice literally bounced off the kitchen walls. He forced his shoulders back. ‘I told you I didn’t want you involved in anything as shallow and superficial as a beauty contest. You should be focussing on your studies. If you want to be lawyer then you’ll need good grades.’

Stevie dragged her hands back through her hair. ‘This is about Mum, isn’t it?’

He ran a finger around the collar of his T-shirt. ‘This is about you.’

‘Because I want to look nice, you think that makes me like Mum. You think I’m going to use drugs!’

‘That’s absurd.’ He’d done his best to shield Stevie from the truth about her mother’s death, but Sonya’s overdose had made all the national newspapers.

She stepped back, her face going pale. ‘You don’t trust me.’

Tears shimmered in her eyes. Her pain cut him to the quick. ‘I want you to focus on important things, not shallow nonsense.’ He would not lose another girl he loved to the ruthless, heartless world of fashion. He would not let Stevie starve herself, turn to surgery, and turn herself inside out all in the name of presenting some impossible ideal vision for the camera.

‘The Miss Showgirl quest isn’t just a beauty contest.’ Her voice wobbled. She paced around the kitchen table. An image of Blair flashed in his mind. ‘It was my one chance, and you’ve wrecked it! ’

He stiffened. ‘Your one chance at what?’

‘To learn how to dress well! To learn how to do my hair and make-up, and—’

‘There’s nothing wrong with how you look!’

‘Yes, there is!’ The words burst from her in frustration, her face red and her hands shaking. ‘You’re a guy—what do you know? You want all the other lawyers laughing at me the way the girls at school do?’

Country hick. Blair’s taunt ran through his mind.

‘The other girls have their mothers. I …’

He stared at her. He’d never felt more at a loss.

‘Even if Miss Showgirl is as superficial as you say, what’s wrong with wanting to play around with make-up and hair and wearing pretty things? I’m tired of pretending not to like those things because you don’t approve.’ Her voice rose again. ‘I don’t care what you say. That doesn’t make me like Mum!’

‘I wasn’t saying—’ He broke off because that was exactly what he’d been saying. All those things—pretty clothes, make-up, fussing with hair—they reminded him of what Sonya had chosen over her family. Over him. And, worst of all, what she had chosen over Stevie.

His eyes started to burn and his temples throbbed. Stevie had forgone all those things—things girls delighted in—to spare his feelings?

She leant across the table towards him, her face distorted with frustration and disappointment. ‘It was my one chance to get over being afraid.’

‘What are you afraid of?’ He’d slay any dragon for her.

‘Public speaking!’ she all but hollered at him. ‘It’s part of Miss Showgirl to make a speech. We get lessons, pointers. But now … How will I ever be a lawyer if I can’t speak in public?’

The breath shot out of him. He should have talked to her, found out why the quest meant so much to her. Instead he’d jumped to conclusions, and then he’d jumped in to play the heavy.

She was right. He hadn’t trusted her.

‘Baby, I—’

But she wouldn’t let him speak. ‘You don’t think I can win.’

Her voice was hard, but there was a wobble beneath it that snagged at his heart.

‘You think I’ll make a fool of myself like everyone else does.’

His hands clenched. Everyone who?

‘But Blair thought I had a chance. Blair believed in me.’

With that, she raced out of the room. Her bedroom door slammed and then he heard muffled sobs. He closed his eyes, pressed a fist to his brow. Stevie rarely cried.

It took all his strength to remain in his seat and not go to her. She wouldn’t welcome his attempts at comfort at the moment. He’d made such a hash of this.

He had to fix it.

He rose. He picked up his hat and dusted if off against his thigh. He knew Blair was Glory Middleton’s niece. If she was staying in Dungog, that was where she’d be. He settled the hat on his head and made for the front door.

A tap on the back door had Blair glancing up from her magazine. She’d not long got home and her pulse had barely slowed from her encounter with Nicholas Conway.

What a Neanderthal!

A sexy Neanderthal, though.

The thought slithered in beneath her guard. She shook it off and pushed to her feet to answer the door, almost welcoming the promised distraction on the other side. She was off men for good. And a Neanderthal was still a Neanderthal—sexy or otherwise.

She opened the door, and then pulled up short when she saw who stood on the other side of the screen.

And just like that her pulse sped up again.

An adrenaline surge as her body readied itself for another confrontation, she rationalised. She opened the screen door, folded her arms, and leant a shoulder against the doorframe. She didn’t invite him in. She knew how to do cool and haughty. And at the moment, cool and haughty pleased her nicely. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t the country … boy.’

She couldn’t call him a hick again because a) she wasn’t angry any more, and b) he quite obviously wasn’t a hick.

Her mouth went dry. He was hot!

He wore faded denim jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged his shoulders, emphasising their breadth. Her gaze drifted over those shoulders and slowly made their way down his body. The thin black cotton emphasised the muscles in his chest before plastering itself to an abdomen that even through the material she could see was sculpted and lean. Her pulse sped up even more. Lean hips. Long legs. Feet encased in dusty brown workboots. This country boy had country chic down pat, but he was sexier than any male model she’d come across.

She suspected he wasn’t trying to sport any look at all. She had a feeling that what you saw with Nicholas Conway was exactly what you got.

It was beyond sexy.

She tossed her hair—her wig. Not that she was interested in sexy or sex. She couldn’t imagine being intimate with a man ever again. The thought of a man seeing her naked body …

She suppressed a shudder. She could imagine with a vividness that made her stomach rebel a man recoiling in horror when he saw the real her—scars and all. Could imagine being rejected. Again.

So she lifted her chin and kept her demeanour cold and haughty. ‘Something you forgot to holler?’ she drawled.

He scratched a hand through his hair. He shuffled his feet. He held his hat in his hands and restless fingers twirled it round and round. Her stomach softened.

Neanderthal—don’t forget that.

‘I wanted to apologise.’

She could tell by the way he held himself that he was waiting for her to slam the door in his face. She’d never been one for grand, melodramatic gestures. Still, the idea was tempting. His eyes flashed and glittered as he waited for her response. With a sigh, she relented. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

She could feel his bulk behind her as he followed her into the kitchen, his vital heat. There was something purely masculine about it. She put the kitchen table between them. ‘Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?’ He didn’t look like the kind of man who needed Dutch courage, although with her last boyfriend she’d proved that where men were concerned she had seriously bad judgement. Who knew what Nick was really like?

‘Are you having anything?’

He’d donned his best manners. She had to give him that. ‘I was about to make tea.’

‘Tea would be great. If you’re sure it isn’t any trouble.’

Yep, his very best manners. And just like that she didn’t want him to apologise any more. She wanted him and his disturbing presence and her even more disturbing reaction to him to walk out through that door and leave her in peace.

For a brief moment today she’d experienced something she hadn’t felt in quite some time—optimism. She’d felt she had something of value to offer to someone. Namely Stevie. And then this man had come along and deflated it with his harsh words and dismissive attitude.

Still, it had been refreshing to be abused rather than mollycoddled.

She snapped herself back into the present and put the jug on to boil, spooned tea into the pot. Nicholas and his unnerving masculinity weren’t going to walk out through that door just yet, because she’d offered him tea as hospitality demanded. The sooner the tea was done, the sooner he’d leave.

She chose her aunt’s tiniest teacups instead of her usual generous mugs.

He didn’t speak until they were seated at the kitchen table and Blair had poured the tea.

He didn’t speak even then. She bit back a sigh. ‘You said you wanted to apologise?’

He nodded, surveying her over the rim of his cup, his eyes not wavering from hers. ‘That’s right.’

She bit back another sigh. It came from deep down inside her, wistful and full of yearning for something she didn’t want to look at too closely. ‘Apology accepted. Forget about it.’ Life was too short to hold grudges.

‘Hey, I haven’t made it yet. Besides, it’s not that simple, city girl.’ He smiled, but there were shadows in his eyes. ‘Earlier, you said something about looking exactly the same. What did you mean?’

‘Nothing. Forget about it.’ Their gazes clashed and locked, and she cursed her rotten defensive self-consciousness. Earlier he’d looked at her as if he’d liked what he saw—really liked it—and for a moment something inside her had responded.

And then she’d remembered the scars, no right breast, no hair—and had imagined his reaction if he could see the real her. Those tart words had come spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

His eyes refused to release her. ‘I’ve been ill.’ She was the first to break eye contact. ‘But I’m all better again.’

Better? Yes.

Would a man ever find her attractive again? Unlikely.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. She risked a glance at him. He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been ill, Blair. You’re home to recuperate?’

‘I’m recuperated.’ She wanted to be clear about that. ‘I’m home for some R&R. A holiday.’

His eyes narrowed. She refused to let hers drop this time. Finally he shook his head. ‘None of that changes the fact that I shouldn’t have lost my temper and said the things I did without a thought for anything but my …’

‘Your?’ She preferred to follow his train of thought than her own.

He set his teacup down. ‘Fear.’

It shouldn’t be sexy when a man admitted to being afraid. Only, where Nicholas Conway was concerned, it was. Maybe it was the way he held her gaze as he made the admission. She moistened suddenly dry lips. He watched the action and his eyes darkened. It was hellishly sexy.

Hellish.

‘Fear never brings out the best in a man, and it seems I was hellbent on yelling at someone.’

She saw now that maybe he’d needed to.

He grimaced. ‘If I’d known you’d been sick, though …’

‘No harm done on my account. Like I said, I’m well again now.’ She nearly spread her arms to add, Don’t I look the picture of health? Only on further consideration she didn’t want him looking at her that closely. He might take it as an invitation, as flirting.

She wasn’t inviting anything.

‘Blair, I really am very sorry. My behaviour was appalling.’

‘Apology accepted.’ Please go now.

‘The thing is, I’ve screwed up royally and I need to make amends.’

‘Not to me.’

‘A bit to you,’ he said cautiously, ‘and a lot to Stevie.’

She sat back.

‘Which is why I need you to forgive me.’

‘Because …?’

‘Because I’m taking back everything I said, I’m asking that Stevie be reinstated as an entrant for the Miss Showgirl quest, and I’m begging you to help Stevie the way you told her you would.’

He took a sip of his tea, as if his throat needed the moisture after that admission. His big hand on the tiny teacup should have looked clumsy, but it didn’t. His eyes surveyed her over the rim and she remembered all the things he’d said about the Miss Showgirl quest. He’d implied that it was a waste of time, a waste of brains, and a waste of talent, and by association that she was worthless too.

And yet with one look he could have her prickling and burning all over. He’d come here fully expecting to be forgiven, presuming she’d be happy to bend over backwards to help him out.

And she had. And she was. And that made her angry too.

‘And what happens next week when you change your mind all over again? Will I find you banging on my door to hurl more abuse at me?’

His jaw dropped. ‘Of course not.’

‘You expect me to take your word for that? I don’t know you from Adam.’

‘I—’

‘Have you changed your mind about the …?’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘What was it? Sad, jumped-up little beauty pageant?’

He didn’t say anything and she realised he hadn’t changed his mind about anything. But he was still going to let Stevie enter? She folded her arms, intrigued despite her best intentions.

‘If I hadn’t interfered, if I hadn’t lost my cool, you’d still be happy to help Stevie out like you’d told her you would.’

She had every intention of keeping her promise to Stevie. Still, it wouldn’t hurt him to sweat for a bit. ‘But now I have to take into account a temperamental parent.’

He half rose out of his chair. ‘I’m not temperamental!’

‘Are you yelling at me, Mr Conway?’

He subsided back into his seat. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘It’s just … Stevie shouldn’t pay for my mistake.’

No, she shouldn’t.

‘And it’s Nicholas—Nick—not Mr Conway.’

Blair considered him for a moment. She almost chuckled at the way he tried to hide his glower. ‘I was right, wasn’t I? Stevie took your lack of support to mean you didn’t believe she had a scarecrow’s chance of winning. I’m right, aren’t I?’

His deepening scowl told her she was.

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ he ground out.

‘I am taking a fiendish kind of delight in it.’ She didn’t scruple to admit it.

‘And when will you deem that I’ve been punished enough?’

‘Oh, your punishment hasn’t even begun yet, Mr—’

‘Nick!’ he snapped. His hand clenched to a fist on the table. ‘Will you help Stevie?’ he burst out. ‘Please?’

He loved his daughter. He wanted her to be happy. And he hated the Miss Showgirl quest.

‘I will help Stevie on one condition, Nicholas. That you support her fully in her Miss Showgirl efforts.’

‘Sure I will. I’m here, aren’t I?’

Her smile grew, and she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘By taking on the role of her fundraising manager. By co-ordinating and directing all her fundraising efforts.’

Nick’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t expect me to …’ He let the sentence trail off. The pictures rising in his mind were too hideous to put into words. Him get involved in the dog-eat-dog world of a beauty pageant?

She sent him a pitying glance. ‘Oh, no, Nicholas. I expect a whole lot more than that.’

His stomach clenched to hard ball of lead. ‘More?’ he croaked.

‘But fundraising manager will do for a start.’

He wouldn’t know where to begin.

‘You were serious weren’t you? About making it up to Stevie?’

‘Yes, but …’

‘Words are cheap.’

He saw then that she was right. He could repeat over and over again until he was blue in the face that he had faith in her, he could say it till the cows came home—and he would the moment he got home—but the only way to truly reassure Stevie, to prove that he believed in her, was to support her in a material way. Like co-ordinating her fundraising efforts.

On the up side, being involved did mean he’d have a chance of protecting her against the more unsavoury aspects of the pageant, the competitiveness and bitchiness and constant undermining of one’s self-esteem …

‘It looks as though you have yourself a deal, city girl.’ He could have sworn, though, that when he extended his hand she was curiously reluctant to take it.

Blair might act all haughty and aloof, but somehow he knew he’d needled his way in under her skin. The thought made him grin. It made him hold her hand for longer than custom demanded.

When he finally released her the colour in her cheeks was high and a purely masculine satisfaction settled in the pit of his stomach.

Game on.