Читать книгу Man About The House - Alison Kelly - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

JOANNA FORD had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen! was Brett’s first thought as his niece executed a rapid-fire introduction of him in the foyer of his mother’s house. His second was that at about five-seven she might be too short to be a model, but she was also as far removed from his image of a country waif as the climate in the South Pole was from that of the Equator! No wonder the guy Meaghan had collided with had been swayed from calling the cops; Joanna Ford had the looks and body to convince a guy breathing wasn’t in his best interests!

Her naturally almond-shaped eyes were played up with skilfully smudged eyeliner and long thick lashes that were as dark as the silky jet hair falling over her shoulders. High cheekbones were enhanced to create a dramatic shadow on skin as pale and smooth as alabaster porcelain, and as if to balance the dramatic vividness of her eyes in such a serene face her slightly parted mouth was glossed a slick burgundy. Intriguingly, though, the professional use of cosmetics didn’t overpower the essential, almost angelic innocence in the girl’s face. Although, Brett thought dryly, he doubted innocence was the look she’d been trying to achieve when she’d dressed.

High, firm breasts were emphasised by a body-hugging black sweater and a waist Brett figured he could have encircled with both hands. The black skirt riding on her hips might have been fractionally longer than the belt adorning it was wide, but he couldn’t swear it because his eyes were too quickly distracted by the black nylon-encased thighs it displayed before he could do a more thorough visual calculation. Being a legs man, by rights his natural curiosity to check out what lay below the over-the-knee boots she wore meant Brett shouldn’t have found them as sexy as he did, but whoa! They sure blew his perceived image of a wholesome country girl in blue jeans and Blundstones to smithereens!

The four-inch heels had him scaling down his earlier estimate of her height to about five-three in bare feet, but if she was typical of rural Australia these days he was going to have to give serious consideration to getting into agriculture. A warning glance from Meaghan had him schooling his appreciation into a polite smile.

‘Hi, Joanna, it’s nice to meet you. Meaghan and Karessa have told me a lot about you.’ Course, not as much as they didn’t tell me, he mentally added.

‘Oh! Well... I... Er...that is, it’s nice to meet you too, Mr McAlpine,’ she stammered, blushing furiously as Karessa roared with laughter.

‘Mr McAlpine! Oh, God, you make him sound as old as Mum!’

‘That’s because he is,’ Meaghan retorted. ‘And thirty-four isn’t that old, young lady; it just means nobody can ground us.’

Brett could have added that if he was so damned old how come his hormones were acting as if they’d regressed twenty years? But it seemed kinder to put the obviously uncomfortable Joanna at ease. Despite the high fashion make-up and clothes, the way she was twisting her fingers and chewing her bottom lip suggested that in the poise and sophistication stakes even fourteen-year-old Karessa would give her a run for her money.

‘Meaghan’s a terrible liar,’ he said, winking. ‘I’m actually four minutes younger than she is, so Karessa’s right—you can drop the “mister” and just make it Brett.’

The hand she extended to him was tentative, but the touch of her palm in his packed a real wallop.

‘I...hope my being here isn’t going to be an inconvenience. If it is just say so and I’ll move—’

‘Joanna, you’re not going to inconvenience anyone,’ Meaghan inserted, her tone dragging his eyes away from the blue ones which had been mesmerising him. ‘Is she, Brett?’ One eyebrow arched as she subtly flicked her gaze to his hand, which was still engulfing Joanna’s more fragile one.

Instantly he ended the handshake. ‘Absolutely not. This house is plenty big enough for both of us, Joanna. Meaghan and I grew up here, and sometimes our paths wouldn’t cross for—oh...a week at a time. Even when I wasn’t trying to avoid her.’

If he’d been caught off guard by the contrast between her angelic features and sinful curves, it was nothing compared to the impact her sudden smile had on him. The parting of her cupid-bow mouth to reveal perfect white teeth and tiny dimples caused his lungs to seize mid-breath.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll try not to cause you too much bother.’ The smile was turned up another fifty or so watts before she glanced at Meaghan. ‘Meggsie...’

Her use of Karessa’s pet name for Meaghan further emphasised her youthfulness, and Brett found himself as irritated as he was grateful for the fact. He was honest enough to admit to himself that had Joanna been a few years older his vow to avoid women would have been postponed.

‘Meaghan, if you want to cancel our driving lesson to spend time with your brother, I’ll understand. You must have a lot to catch up on. And—’

‘Don’t be silly! We’ve loads of time. But c’mon through to the kitchen; I could use a cup of coffee before we go.’

His sister was already on her way from the room when she tossed over her shoulder, ‘I’d help you bring your luggage in, Brett, but I’m too old. But my darling Karessa will gladly help her equally decrepit old uncle.’

Though she tossed a teasing smirk at her daughter as she guided Joanna from the foyer, Brett wryly acknowledged the remark was designed to further reinforce the age difference between him and Joanna. Geez, with a sister like Meaghan around a guy could actually end up believing he was a sleaze!

‘C’mon,’ Karessa tugged his arm. ‘Let’s get the stuff in before they scoff down all the cake Mum bought’

Brett laughed. ‘Cute ploy, sweetheart, but I can read you like a book.’ Smiling, he fished a small package out of his pocket, tossed it to her, then staggered as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

The wrapping was dispensed with in the same excited haste and enthusiasm Karessa always showed for the gifts he brought her whenever he returned from long trips. And, as always, Brett marvelled that her eyes could still light up with the same genuine wonder and delight they’d had when she’d been a toddler.

‘Oh, Brett, I love it!’ She pushed the beaten silver bangle onto her left wrist and waved her arm around, admiring it. ‘It’s almost exactly like yours!’

The moment he saw the stones set in the silver, he suddenly had a colour for those eyes: turquoise. Joanna Ford’s big, beautiful eyes were the purest of turquoise.

‘Oh, thank you so much!’ Karessa almost choked him with gratitude. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

He laughed. ‘You’re welcome. You’re welcome. You’re welcome!’

‘Oh, Brett, I’ve just gotta go show Mum and Joanna now. Then I’ll come right out and help with the luggage, okay?’

‘Don’t bother; I can handle it,’ he told her already departing form. ‘Er, by the way, Karessa...is Meaghan really giving her driving lessons?’

‘Mmm. Scary thought, huh?’

‘You’re not wrong, kiddo,’ he murmured, although the idea of Joanna Ford’s unique beauty being put at even the slightest risk struck him as more criminal than scary.

It took Brett the better part of three days to shake off his jet lag, during which time he saw Joanna a corresponding number of occasions. Once when he’d been crossing the foyer, en route to the living area of the house from his bedroom, and she’d barrelled into him at around a hundred ‘k’s an hour.

Automatically his hands had gone to her shoulders to steady her, and in the ensuing few seconds she’d simply stood there looking slightly dazed as she stared up at him. Again, on the surface she’d been glamour personified, but in the depths of her turquoise eyes—oh, yeah, turquoise was their precise colour—he’d seen an ocean of uncertainty. In the next instant she’d pushed him away and started muttering an embarrassed apology, explaining she was hurrying to catch the bus to the North Sydney office.

‘Hey, if you wait till I pull on a shirt I’ll drive you down to the bus stop.’ His offer had met momentary wide-eyed confusion, a blush, then a vigorously shaking dark head and a hasty, ‘No, er, thanks. I’m fine. I...I’m in a hurry. Bye!’

She’d been out of the front door and had it closed behind her before her perfume could catch up with her. He’d liked her perfume... However, on the second occasion he’d seen her he’d been too far away to smell it.

He’d been on his way out for an evening run just as she’d been climbing into a five-year-old Porsche. Having spent all afternoon in his mother’s study, reviewing various job offers, Brett hadn’t heard her come in from work and had assumed that, it being Friday night, she’d be late home. People who lived on the upper end of the northern Sydney peninsula didn’t usually come all the way home from the city to get changed before going out. Brett had figured the male driver was merely a friend, because if he was a date he’d surely have got out of the car to open the door for her! Plus, she’d been wearing snug-fitting jeans and a bomber jacket, which also pretty much ruled out a romantic dinner at a restaurant.

The third time his and Joanna’s paths crossed had been some five hours later, just ten minutes ago, when he’d gone out to check what was causing the security sensor light in the front yard to turn on and off every few minutes. He’d expected to find a neighbour’s dog had got out, instead he’d found her, bent over in drizzling rain and heaving her heart out in his mother’s azalea bed.

She was a wet, tearful and woebegone sight, and he couldn’t do much besides offering her physical support by way of an arm across her shoulders, and emotional support that amounted to verbal assurances that she would live and that everything was going to be all right. Which was pretty much what he’d told Meaghan the first time she’d written herself off—and what old Mr Parsons who’d used to live next door had told him when as a seventeen-year-old he’d been in exactly the same position Joanna was now. No doubt about it, over the years this particular plant had received a more bizarre fertilising compound than any of the others in the McAlpine family garden.

He didn’t know what events had led up to Joanna being in this less than sparkling state of health; there was no sign of her Porsche-driving escort and she wasn’t making much sense.

‘I...I’s not dunk,’ she continued insisting as he carried her into the house. ‘Don’t dink. S’never dink.’

‘Well, then, princess, I guess you must be having an allergic reaction to that Jack Daniel’s you wear as perfume, ’cause it’s sure as hell making my eyes water.’

She frowned up at him. ‘Jack? Hoosh Jack?’

‘Someone you weren’t ready to take on, that’s for sure.’

Despite the limpness of her body she was light as a feather, and for an instant Brett considered carrying her down the hall to the bathroom and shoving her under a shower fully clothed. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t already half drenched and in need of warming up, but she was snuggled against him in such a damn trusting way he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he stopped at the bedroom door and bent his knees so he could open the door without dropping her in the process; the handle, though, gave a useless half-turn, indicating it was locked.

‘Hell.’ He sighed heavily and felt the echo of a softer one as the body in his arms nestled closer. Even smelling like a brewery, with her long black hair a damp tangle and black tear-tracks streaking her face, she possessed an ethereal beauty that inspired protective instincts only Karessa had previously managed to provoke. If he could get her into her room and convince her to get out of her wet clothes and have a shower, she’d be in good enough shape for him to leave her and let her sleep it off.

‘Joanna... Joanna, I’m going to put you down and—’

Her arms tightened around his neck. ‘No. Shleep...I’m ashleep.’

‘No, you’re not, honey,’ he said, fighting laughter and the stranglehold she had on him. ‘You’re what’s commonly known as tanked to the gills.’

‘Fank oooo,’ she mumbled. ‘You...nice.’

Shaking his head at her inebriated agreeability, he used his left arm to haul her tighter against his chest for stability while his right forearm supported her lower body in such a way that his hand was free to blindly grab the door handle. His height, the bundle in his arms and the low position of the handle made it something of a juggling act, but fortunately long familiarity with the intricate lock mechanism worked in his favour.

He nudged the door wide with his foot, then used his elbow to flick the light switch on the architrave. Immediately the woman in his arms gave a yelp, and buried her face into his shoulder.

‘Sorry, but if you think that’s bad, waking up tomorrow is going to feel like you’re staring directly into the sun.’ He stood for a moment, scanning the room, and decided he could do without emptying the assorted stuffed animals from the wicker chaise in the comer, which meant the bed was the only other place to put her.

Crossing to the broderie anglaise-covered bed, he lowered her to her feet, intending to pull back the comforter. But before he could act on the thought she emitted a delighted whimper and lurched towards it so fast she nearly pulled him down onto it too. He managed to brace himself on the bedhead, and when her arms could no longer maintain the effort of stretching up around his neck, she slumped back onto the mattress.

And this had seemed like a two-second rescue job when he’d started it!

He shook her shoulder. ‘C’mon, Joanna, your clothes are wet. You can’t go to sleep in them.’

‘Yesh...shleep. I wanna go...shleep.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure you do. But you have to change into something else first.’

She pushed him away when he endeavoured to sit her up. ‘Shleep,’ she mumbled, rolling sideways to embrace the . pillow on the other side of the bed.

‘Damn,’ he breathed. Trying to coax her into compliance would be a waste of breath, since neither her current comprehension or co-ordination gave him a hope in hell of success. Which meant he either had to let her sleep in clothes that were wet and grubby enough to support incineration over washing or...undress her himself. If Meaghan hadn’t been going away for the weekend he’d have taken great delight in calling at—he glanced at his watch—twenty to one in the morning and asking if the ‘hands off instruction she’d issued about his housemate extended to the point of letting her risk pneumonia.

Looking down at the motionless, bedraggled form on the bed, he resigned himself to the fact he couldn’t in good conscience just leave her as she was, but dealing with the situation wasn’t going to be easy.

Toni had always insisted that a pair of jeans didn’t fit right unless you had to lie down on a bed to get into them and then use a coat hanger hook to zip them up. Apparently Joanna adhered to the same fashion philosophy, because had the jeans she was wearing hugged her any tighter they’d have cut off her circulation. Dry, they’d have been tough enough to get off; damp, they were going to be a nightmare. Although executing that particular task was going to be a whole lot easier on his nerves than ridding her of the Lycra knit bodysuit she wore under them, because that was more than wet and tight enough to tell him she was sans bra.

Damn.

He raked his hair in frustration, then grabbed her bootshod foot and gave it a hard shake. ‘Hoy! Joanna! C’mon, wake up!’

No response. He repeated the action, this time with more vigour and a raised voice. ‘Hoy! Wake up!’

The futility of the exercise didn’t take long to register. The next time Brett grabbed her ankle it was to start unlacing the trendy pseudo-army boots she wore. If his putting her to bed meant Joanna would suffer severe embarrassment as well as a terminal hangover in the morning... well, damn it, she had no one to blame but herself for getting into this state in the first place!