Читать книгу The Party Dare - Anne Oliver, Anne Oliver - Страница 9

TWO

One week later on Saturday afternoon, with Eve’s Naturally closed for the rest of weekend, Brie made her way to East Wind’s back door trailing her small plant trolley. She and Carol had exchanged keys years ago for those times when either of them were away. Before she handed her key to the agent Monday morning, she’d made arrangements to reclaim several dozen

potted herbs and flowers she’d given Carol over the years. She’d intended collecting them during the week but had been working insane hours and they’d slipped her mind.

Taking a last look down the driveway to make sure Mr Hamilton of the husky voice hadn’t decided to turn up in the last two minutes, she deactivated the alarm and let herself in. Not that she expected him—apparently he wasn’t able to collect the keys until Tuesday. Carol hadn’t elaborated and Brie was thrilled with herself for not asking for more details.

The glass-walled atrium formed a semicircular structure at the back of the home; soothing and familiar scents greeted her as she crossed its old brick floor. The sun’s warmth on nutrient-rich, damp soil. Basil. Oregano, mint and lemongrass. ‘Hello, my little treasures.’ She trailed her fingers over a variegated thyme. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’

Positioning the trolley near the workbench, she collected the smaller pots, and to keep the more delicate plants going until she had time to deal with them tomorrow, she filled a spray bottle and began misting them.

She caressed the thick leaves of a large aloe vera in an elegant waist-high blue pot. ‘You’re going to be a challenge to lift, aren’t you, my pretty? Maybe I should ask our friendly as a frozen fish neighbour for help.’

Huffing out a breath, she plugged her ear buds into the smartphone in the hip pocket of her jeans, switched on her favourite playlist. ‘He’d have to acknowledge I’m alive first.’ In time with her music, she shot off three hard squirts at a struggling coriander. ‘And I sure as heck am not going to be first to acknowledge him.’

He’d barely given her the time of day. As if she’d been invisible.

Story of her life.

Well, not quite. She knew she stood out in a crowd now, thanks to her late growth spurt at the age of fifteen. She’d had years to practise how to garner attention—and she’d learned well. Even if it hadn’t always been attention garnered for the right reasons and had landed her in trouble more often than she cared to remember. Her rebellious years.

These days she didn’t have to work hard for that attention. Except from people like Leo Hamilton. And why did that irk her?

‘I’m very much alive, Mr Big, Bad and Built,’ she told an overgrown cactus with delusions of its own importance. ‘And I’m going to make it my business to show you I do exist.’

Aiming her bottle at it, she squeezed the trigger. Hard. Seemed she wasn’t done with rebellion yet.

* * *

Arms crossed beside a potted kumquat tree, Leo leaned a shoulder against the door jamb and watched with some amusement while his new neighbour drowned the arid-loving cactus and his reputation as a usually well-mannered guy. With those bits of plastic in her ears, he wondered if she even knew she was voicing her opinions aloud. Yeah—she existed all too clearly and, despite his best efforts to the contrary, his body responded, the tension tightening with every squeeze of her slender fingers on that trigger bottle.

He wasn’t hiding but he was counting on her not seeing him just yet—he hadn’t witnessed anything as fascinating as Breanna Black making herself at home in his atrium since his pubescent self had ogled the naked female form for the first time.

He’d wandered around the back of the house with some landscaping ideas on paper to find the door open. He was ticked off that she still had the key George had mentioned and, worse, she was still using it. Obviously she had the security code as well. He intended familiarising her with the concept of privacy...soon. Right now he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had the sexiest backside, especially when she wiggled it as she was doing now in time to music only she could hear.

Her top was a yellow-raincoat yellow, and, from what he could see in profile as she moved, cling wrapped to those abundant breasts. The short hem flared over black leggings that clung to long, long legs. She looked like the sunflower she was standing next to.

She continued squirting, flicked her long black plait back over her shoulder. His fingers itched to free it from the confines of its elastic band, to watch it shimmer the way it had that moment at the top of the stairs last week, to feel its silky texture against his palms. To bring it to his nose and inhale. Slowly. Deeply.

Pull yourself together.

She was a neighbour, and, right now, a damn nuisance. He’d worked past midnight every evening this week so he could be in Hobart over the weekend to check out some nearby short-term accommodation for himself while the electrician ripped out the guts of this place and installed new wiring throughout. The plumbers were going to be here, and the kitchen renovation crew.

He did not want this woman in his space. Nor did he need her sensual perfume wafting his way and clogging up his sinuses with scents better appreciated in the bedroom.

She plunked the sunflower on the trolley, gave it a drenching. ‘He’d better not be planning any external changes that will affect the value of my home. An elevator, for crying out loud? And if he even thinks about getting rid of that foyer chandelier...’ Her rant trailed off—presumably she was contemplating what she’d do to him in the event.

Wearing skin-tight leather and brandishing a whip.

The image of the two of them engaged in bodily combat flashed before him. The slippery slide of that black leather against his flesh. His teeth finding the vulnerable place under her chin while she screamed in pleasure. He clenched his jaw—he could literally feel his blood pressure spike.

He’d heard enough. He wanted her out of here, now. Before he said, or did, something detrimental to his state of solitary well-being.

Uncrossing his arms, he pushed off the door frame.

* * *

‘Now why would I want to do that?’

The low murmur near her ear at the same instant someone removed her ear buds had Brie practically leaping out of her skin. ‘What the...?’ Fists raised, she spun around. ‘You.’ Her fists uncurled and she lowered her arms to the workbench. ‘You startled me.’

She was still startled, but in an electrifying, breath-stealing way, and her strength seemed to drain out of her under the force of his steely eyed gaze.

He wore casual today—faded denim and a matching soft-looking jumper, and he smelled of warm wool and that indefinable masculine scent she recognised from the last time she’d seen him.

‘Then again, if I did want to do that...’ He didn’t appear concerned that he’d scared ten years off her life and looked her up and down in a manner that wiped whatever she had been talking about from her mind.

‘Do...what? And...and what are you doing here?’

‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?’ His voice was all reason and calm. Not to mention husky and low and seductive.

‘I thought George told you about the key,’ she went on, since she did owe him an explanation. ‘And the plants.’ She began picking up pots at random, setting them on the trolley. ‘I apologise, I meant to get around to it during the week but I was busy.’

One dark brow rose, his expression clear. Doing what?

‘You’re not the only one who works, Mr Hamilton.’

He slouched casually against the workbench. ‘You can rest easy—I have no intention of removing the chandelier. The elevator’s not happening and there’ll be no exterior changes—I love the house’s old-world charm and I appreciate that the two buildings share a history, which I believe should be retained. Apart from some electrical and plumbing work, I’m doing some kitchen renovations, which involve shifting a wall about fifty centimetres, but they won’t compromise the integrity of the place. You okay with that?’

She breathed a sigh of relief and slapped a hand to her chest. ‘Thank goodness. I’ve been thinking about you—about it—about your renovations all week.’ Busted. ‘And I’ve been thinking other stuff out loud too, haven’t I?’

No reply as his gaze stroked over her again.

Her blood rushed through her body and heat bloomed beneath her skin. ‘I’ll, um, get out of your way.’ She tossed the rest of the pots onto the trolley willy-nilly. When had she ever been so scatter-brained talking to a man?

‘You wanted me to give you a hand with this one, right?’ He indicated the aloe vera.

He gave no outward hint that he’d heard her ‘friendly as a frozen fish neighbour’ comment, but she knew he had, and cringed inwardly. ‘That’d be great,’ she muttered. ‘Thanks.’

‘Reckon you’ll need to keep it steady,’ he said, lifting it on board the trolley as if it weighed no more than an empty bucket. Which drew her attention to the movement of the muscles beneath his jumper. The way they stretched the wool tight across his chest and bunched beneath the sleeves.

He glanced her way. ‘Your back yard, I presume?’

She shifted her focus to his eyes. Only his eyes. ‘No need for you to bother. I can manage, thank you.’

‘Wouldn’t want that pot to shatter.’

Wouldn’t want her self-control to shatter either. She wanted to be away from him asap. Away from his warm man smell that made her want to burrow against his chest and breathe deep. She didn’t want to like her new neighbour but her body had a mind of its own.

Best to let him play Mr Macho then and get it over with. Get him over with and she could go back to whatever she’d been doing before. If she could just remember. ‘Okay. Thanks.’

They proceeded outside with rattling pots and trailing greenery as he manoeuvred the trolley towards the driveway.

Probably not wise to tell him she’d entered his property this way but, ‘There’s a gap between our fences.’ Brie lifted a chin in the general direction, holding the pot steady with both hands. ‘Carol and I used it to save time. I was going to close it after I got the plants,’ she told him.

When he said nothing, she continued, ‘We looked out for each other. As neighbours should. Don’t you agree?’

‘I’d say it depends on the neighbour.’ They reached the gap and he stopped to inspect it. ‘I’ll organise a tradesman.’

‘Fine. Thanks.’ He seemed so keen to take charge, she’d let him. This time.

‘Which reminds me.’ He held out his hand, palm up. ‘You have my key.’

Brie glimpsed scarring on the inside of his forearm as she retrieved the key from inside an empty ceramic pot and dropped it in his palm. ‘Thanks, it’ll save me a trip to the agent.’ Flipping her hand, she grinned at him. ‘And while you’re at it, you might want to change the security code.’

‘Yes. I will.’

Then he smiled back. Kind of. As if he hadn’t meant to and it was a surprise to him too, generous lips quirking at the corners. She glimpsed a twinkle of humour in his eyes.

Her stomach fizzed, her limbs went soft and her fingers tightened on the rim of the pot as her inner flirt demanded she come out and play. No, Brie told her.

He looked away, resumed pushing the trolley again. ‘So, Ms Black. Breanna—’

‘Brie.’

‘Brie. How do you earn a living?’

‘I’m a beauty therapist. You?’

‘Environmental management consulting.’

Her brows lifted. ‘And what does an environmental management consultant do, exactly?’

‘I freelance to businesses who want advice on their environmental practices.’

‘You must charge a fortune for your services.’ She gestured towards her garden shed as they crossed the square of lawn bordered by recycled pink bricks. ‘You might as well know I’m a tell-it-as-it-is kind of girl—I know how much you paid for the place.’

He cleared his throat. ‘My clients seek me out, not the other way around.’

‘Really? With those interpersonal skills I witnessed last week?’

‘I was in a hurry.’

‘Because of me?’

He made a strangled sound, cleared his throat again. ‘No excuses. I apologise.’

Hmm, uncomfortable. How charmingly appealing. She loved having that effect on a man. Her resolve to keep her distance was weakening by the second. ‘Accepted. You had a plane to catch, right?’

‘Correct.’

‘And a date waiting?’

‘Not precisely. Are you always this...?’ He seemed to struggle for the word.

‘Straightforward?’ Not the word he’d have used, she’d wager, and his ‘not precisely’ answer clarified nothing. ‘Pretty much. You mentioned this was an investment, so will you be here often?’

They stopped at the shed and unloaded the pots.

‘I’ll be stopping by to check on the progress. And I’ve just taken on some new clients in Tasmania so I’ll be on the island most of the time. Where do you want the aloe vera?’

‘Inside the conservatory. Thanks.’

She watched him push the trolley to the rear of the house, then, once inside, she helped him unload the pot where she wanted it. ‘Would you like something to drink? I have a chilled fruit tisane in the fridge.’

He regarded her blankly. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

‘Sure? It’s a very refreshing beverage.’

‘I’m a coffee man, myself. And I’m due to check out some rental accommodation in the Arcade Apartments.’ He checked his watch, displaying a thick wrist dusted with dark hair. ‘Twenty minutes ago.’ Grimacing, he yanked out his phone, sent a voice message apologising and advising he’d make a time later this afternoon.

Millionaire’s accommodation, the Arcade. ‘Where are you staying at the moment?’

‘A bed and breakfast two minutes away.’

She nodded. ‘That’ll be Hannah’s Hideaway. How much are you paying for an apartment at the Arcade?’

‘More than it’s worth.’ He spoke briskly, pocketed his phone with a similar movement. ‘Proximity’s important.’

Brie, always on the lookout for extra funds for Pink Snowflake, came up with an instant light-bulb idea. ‘How long are you looking at?’

‘Few weeks.’ A tiny frown dug between his brows. ‘Why?’

‘What would you say to living right next door?’

‘I’m not interested in a room.’ Penetrating eyes considered hers and he took his time answering. ‘If that’s what you’re offering.’

‘I’m not offering you a room.’ She matched his gaze. ‘My brother, Jett, and my best friend, Olivia, are on their honeymoon and I’m house-sitting their new health retreat from next week for a couple of months or thereabouts. It’s totally flexible. So, you could stay here, have the entire place to yourself and the rent money could go to the Pink Snowflake Foundation instead of the Arcade owner’s over-inflated bank account.’ She grinned at her own ingenuity. ‘It’s win-win.’

‘Hmm.’ He squatted in front of the blue pot, tested its stability on the uneven green tiles recycled from the sixties and laid with her own fair hands. ‘What’s the Pink Snowflake Foundation?’

‘Jett and Olivia are opening a luxury holistic retreat for cancer patients to recuperate after their treatment and Pink Snowflake is Olivia’s project of love that made the whole thing possible. It’s ahead of schedule but the happy couple are overseas. They asked me if I’d like to spend a few nights a week there. Soak in the spa, enjoy the pool and solarium. Use the gym. Explore their private cellar. Naturally I couldn’t refuse.’

‘Naturally.’ The tone was dry. Rising, he hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and looked about. ‘You own this place? You live here alone?’

She nodded. ‘I inherited it when my parents died and, yes, I live alone.’

‘So I’d have the entire place to myself? No unexpected interruptions. Until the job’s done?’

‘All yours. Although I may need to come by and collect the odd outfit or whatever. But you’d have all the keys and I’d ring first. I wouldn’t just drop in.’ Unless you invited me.

As if he’d heard her private thought, his eyes dropped to her mouth. He looked away fast, checked his watch again and she pounced before he could refuse. ‘When would you want it by?’

His eyes flicked back to hers. This time they held. ‘Next weekend.’

Was it her imagination or was there something in the way he said that? A glint rapidly masked behind that quicksilver gaze?

‘Sold,’ she told him before she could think of all the reasons why inviting a man she knew nothing about—except that he turned her on—into her private sanctuary might be a bad idea. ‘The Pink Snowflake Foundation thanks you.’

‘Okay, we’ll give it a try,’ he said finally. ‘I’m all for a good cause.’ He pulled out his mobile, cancelled his appointment with the Arcade rep.

‘“We” as in you and a partner?’ Brie spoke more sharply than she meant to.

‘“We” as in you and me.’ The way he linked them together in that low, husky voice while he held her gaze prisoner made her pulse race with excitement. ‘I want to see it,’ he said, sliding his mobile back into his pocket. ‘If it’s not an inconvenience.’

‘Not at all.’ She gestured him towards the far side of the conservatory while she got herself under control. ‘Family area’s through here. Layout’s the same as yours,’ she said, whisking a basket of washing off the sofa as she passed. ‘Have a seat and I’ll get you a drink. I have fourteen kinds of tea, hot or cold— Oops, you’re a coffee m—’

‘Thanks, but there’s no need,’ she heard him say. ‘I’m meeting my architect in ten.’

The busy blonde with the over-exposed boobs. ‘Chris.’ She raised a brow. ‘Thought you weren’t planning any major changes?’

‘Just that kitchen wall I told you a...bout...’ Leo’s voice trailed off as he took in the visuals. He’d walked into chaos.

What appeared to be an entire wardrobe of party dresses was strewn across an armchair. As he entered the kitchen, a variety of foodstuffs covered every available surface but he had no idea what she intended cooking. He gave a mental shudder, comparing it with his own ordered world, from his computer files to his DVD collection to the way he arranged his ties.

Had she thought this idea through? He doubted it. By all appearances, it seemed she was one of those impulsive people who never stood still, gravitating from one interest to the next as the whim took her.

‘Excuse the mess. I’ve been experimenting with some nature-based facial masks and steams.’

Which explained the bowl of pink mash that smelled like strawberries and peppermint. But not the fifty or so plastic beer and wine glasses stacked alongside a large box of Moroccan lanterns. ‘I’ll come back later,’ he told her. When he’d reconsidered.

‘Hey, if you’re in a hurry now, why don’t you come by this evening? I’m having a party—ten o’clock on—you could check out the place then.’

Fine for some. He had a Saturday night date with his laptop. To ease the pain, he was planning to help the evening along with a nice Tasmanian Cabernet Shiraz. He intended stopping at the trendy upmarket bottle shop he’d seen nearby. But that wasn’t the only reason. An evening with Breanna Black in party mode was a bad idea. ‘No can do. I’ve got work to finish.’

‘Don’t we all? But on a Saturday night?’ She clucked her tongue. ‘That’s just sad.’

‘Some might say so.’ But he was proud of his consultancy business. His alone. He’d built it from the ground up, with nothing but determination and hard work and it was the first and only part of his life he’d ever had absolute control over. It was worth a few sacrifices.

‘I’ll leave you my contact number.’ He placed his business card next to a row of a dozen or so unusual teapots on a distressed wood sideboard then turned to her. ‘If you’ll tell me your details, I’ll come by tomorrow. I’m presuming afternoon’ll be best?’

She smiled. A naughty smile that seemed to make him an accomplice in whatever racy plans she had for the evening, and almost had him wishing he’d accepted her invitation, bad idea or not.

Temptation beckoned with the luscious curve of those full lips. ‘Give me your phone.’

Holding out her hand, she stepped close. Too close, and into his personal space. Feminine scent enveloped him; the tips of her extended fingers brushed his jumper.

He stepped back. She wasn’t getting her hands near his contacts list—or anywhere else for that matter. His groin tightened at the erotic thought. ‘Just tell me, I’ll remember.’ He had an exceptional memory for numbers and facts—except right now he was having trouble remembering his own name.

She rattled off a series of numbers as he walked to the door.

‘We’ll work out the details tomorrow,’ he muttered.

He didn’t stop till he reached the new SUV he’d picked up only hours ago. Sliding onto the caramel-soft seat, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, lust and frustration building a fire below his belt.

Hadn’t he stayed away from her? Minded his own business?

Had it made a scrap of difference?

The woman wasn’t merely a nuisance, she should come with a warning label. Approach at your own peril.

So much for working without being disturbed. Brie didn’t have to be physically present to mess with his head.

Tonight was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.