Читать книгу There's Something About a Rebel... - Anne Oliver, Anne Oliver - Страница 8

‘IBEG your pardon?’ Lissa glared at him. It was hard to glare when faced with such gorgeousness, but she was through taking orders. From anyone. Ever again. ‘I’m no—’

‘Your choice, Lissa. You can come as you are if you prefer, it’s irrelevant to me.’ His supercool gaze cruised down her body making her hot in all the wrong places. ‘Just thought you might want a change of clothes.’

Then he stepped closer and she flinched involuntarily as memories of another man crowded in on her. Big, intimidating. Abusive. She’d thought she loved him once.

Shoving the sharp spasm away, she pushed at his chest. ‘Personal space, if you don’t mind.’ He was warm, hard. Tempting to forget past fears and let her hand wander … to feel the beat of his heart against her palm. Heat shimmied up her arm and her own heart skipped a beat. She dropped her hand immediately, lifted her chin. ‘I’m staying right here. On this boat,’ she clarified quickly since they were still standing way too close. ‘I should be here … in case something happens.’

‘Something’s going to happen all right if you don’t get your butt into gear and move.’

She bristled at the commanding tone but he backed off. Still, she knew without a doubt, he meant what he said. And she hated to admit that he was right; what would she do if water started leaking through the light socket? Or worse. She’d never known such a downpour. The situation was much more dangerous than when she’d gone to bed. More dignified to acquiesce with whatever grace she could summon up.

‘Fine, then,’ she said crisply, over her shoulder as she turned and walked to her bedroom. ‘You stay here and keep an eye on things.’

‘I intend to.’ His voice boomed down the narrow passage.

Oh. Really? Obviously this superhero was immune to the dangers he’d so helpfully pointed out. Well, that suited her fine. She had enough problems without adding gorgeous male to the list.

She plucked the jeans and the T-shirt she’d worn today from the bottom of the bed, considered changing but decided against it. Stripping now with him only a few steps away would put her in a vulnerable situation, and she knew all too much about vulnerable situations.

‘So, what, storms bounce off you, then?’ she tossed back, grabbing basic toiletries and shoving them in a carry-all.

No reply from the other end of the boat but she could almost hear him: I can look after myself.

And she couldn’t? She hurried back to the kitchen with her gear and came to a breathless stop a few steps away from him. Breathless because the impact of seeing him standing in her small living space all distant dark protector sucked her breath clean away. No, not all dark, she noted, because his eyes were cool, cool blue.

But they were still barriers. And he was still the intense brooding Blake she remembered from all those years ago. ‘I’m not that helpless little thirteen-year-old any more.’ Her cheeks stung with embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to remind him.

A muscle tightened in his jaw and his gaze flickered over her, the merest glint of heat in the cool. ‘I’m better off alone. That way I don’t have to worry about you slipping and breaking a leg and drowning in the process.’

‘I do know how to swim.’ She thought vaguely that she’d like to sketch him now, with the lines of maturity settled around his mouth, around his eyes. Those sharp planes and angles of cheekbones and jaw—

He shook his head. ‘You may not be helpless but I’m betting you’re as stubborn as ever,’ he muttered.

Stubborn? ‘How would you know how I was?’ She could do cool too. Iceberg-cool. ‘I didn’t exist to you.’ She stepped away. Turned to the bunk beds against the wall. ‘But yes, I’m very stubborn where my work’s concerned. I have merchandise here I need to protect from the weather. should anything happen.’

‘I’ll take care of it.’

‘Nice offer, but I don’t want it to get wet.’ She dragged a couple of plastic storage containers from beneath the lower bunk. ‘If you really insist on this … evacuation … all of this has to be stored and brought to the house.’

‘All?’ He sounded doubtful. ‘Do you really need it all?’

‘Every last fabric swatch. My work depends on it. I’m an interior designer.’ Unemployed interior designer at present, but he didn’t need to know that.

‘Come on, then, let me give you a hand.’

‘Fine,’ she clipped, packing the containers swiftly, anxious not to have him too close. His proximity was unnerving her; his musky warm scent was making her itch. ‘If you could get those sketch pads.’ She waved him away. ‘There are plastic bags …’

It took them a few minutes to pack everything up.

‘I’ll bring the rest up to the house after we’ve got you settled.’ He had to raise his voice above the rain drumming overhead.

Settled? Hardly. She straightened, a container beneath one arm, her carry-all over a shoulder. If he wanted to play Mr Protector, so long as her stuff was safe from rain, she’d put up with it.

‘Thanks.’ Said grudgingly. She really did not want his assistance. Slipping into her rubber thong sandals by the back door, she slid the glass open and stepped onto the deck. A torrent of water slammed into her where it should be dry and she glanced up at the flapping canvas. She might not want his help, but she was forced to admit she needed it.

She stepped onto the jetty, Blake following behind her with a load of plastic-protected work. Her thongs slapped wetly as she made her way past the sapphire pool edged with moss-covered boulders, the palm-fringed undercover entertainment area to the wide glassed door.

Over the past couple of years she’d watched the beautiful house and its parade of beautiful people come and go. Now it was her turn to get a good look inside. It wouldn’t be so bad to sleep in such luxury for a change, would it? And from a designer’s point of view she couldn’t wait to see the décor.

Didn’t mean she had to like the arrangement but at least it was dry. She waited for him to come up alongside her and unlock the door, then followed him inside. He flicked a switch and light flooded the magnificent home.

She gazed up at the bright source of illumination. A myriad of tiny crystal spheres exploded from a central orb, splattering rainbows across the room.

Open-plan living gave it an airy atmosphere. The honeyed wood-panelled ceiling slanted high over two storeys, with a staircase against a feature wall in the same treacle tones leading to the upper rooms. White-tiled flooring merged with the white walls giving the impression of space. A black leather lounge with cushions in lime and tangerine tones was positioned against the exterior slate wall. The minimal furniture was teak and glass.

Stunning. But impersonal and maybe a little dated. It had been rented out for years to wealthy international jet-setters and lacked that lived-in ambience. A tingle of excitement lifted her. Maybe she’d ask if he wanted to redecorate.

They offloaded the stuff in one corner.

‘I’ll go back for the rest in a moment,’ he said, already walking towards the stairs.

As he led her to the mezzanine floor she admired a wall of rich wooden patchwork. She did not admire the shape of his taut backside encased in those hip-hugging black jeans—she imagined a painting or feature of some sort in soothing blues on the wall instead.

She thought of all the times she’d looked at the house and never known Blake owned it. In fact, she hadn’t thought about Blake in a while. But now … now it was as if those intervening years had never happened. Her feelings were as bright and strong as they’d been back then. And just as futile. But they zinged through her body and settled low in her abdomen at the prospect of dreaming about him again. They’d always been such. interesting dreams.

He indicated an expansive room with thick cream carpet and a mountain of quilt in striped olive green and black. The glossy black furniture was devoid of the usual knick-knacks. The window looked out onto the house next door and a view of the river. But not the houseboat.

Perhaps he’d chosen it intentionally, she thought as she walked past him and set her bag and clothing on a silk-covered boutique chair next to a chest of drawers. No way to spy on him. No way to drool over him and think lustful thoughts while she watched him work. Bare-chested, his skin gleaming, those rippling muscles—

‘Shower’s through there.’ He spoke behind her. ‘I haven’t looked yet but I’m informed the pantry’s been filled today so help yourself to breakfast in the morning.’

Breakfast. A sudden tension gripped her. She hoped Blake didn’t decide to look in her pantry or her fridge because she hadn’t stocked up for a week. She’d been skimping on meals, counting her last dollars. Breakfast was a luxury she’d managed without. And she loved breakfast.

Blake looked like a man with a large appetite. A breakfast-with-the-lot kind of appetite. In fact the way he was watching her, eyes kind of slumberous, lips slightly parted, he looked hungry right now.

Hungry enough to take a bite out of her … No. Bad thought. Her stomach turned an instant somersault and she licked suddenly dry lips before she realised she’d drawn his attention to them.

‘I don’t normally eat breakfast,’ she lied. ‘My cupboards are a bit Mother Hubbard at the moment.’ So don’t bother looking. ‘Why don’t you join me here in the morning?’ Why don’t you stop staring and say something?

‘I was planning to walk into town and grab something there.’

Okay, so he didn’t want to be anywhere near her. Humiliation vied with embarrassment and she was that attention-seeking thirteen-year old again. ‘Suit yourself.’ She huffed silently. Now she even sounded like a thirteen-year-old, all wounded pride and disgruntlement. She’d always acted differently around him. Why hadn’t that changed?

To her chagrin, after all these years she was still allowing him to affect her. Helpless to stop all those teenage emotions exploding into her mind like big red paint splotches on a blank wall. As if time had wound backwards. As if he’d never left.

Disgusted with herself, she was already turning away when he touched her shoulder. A feather-light touch, barely there. So gentle. So sensual. She imagined suddenly, and with devastating clarity, how it might feel if her shoulder were bare and it were his lips rather than his hand. Heat blossomed where his palm rested and she jerked to a startled stop.

‘But since we’ve a few matters to discuss …’ he began in a neutral tone that belied the fact that his fingers sculpted over her shoulder were pressing ever so slightly into her flesh or that his thumb was creating tiny circles of friction on the back of her neck ‘.breakfast might be a good place to start.’

And for a few unguarded seconds she found herself relaxing into the sensations he was creating. The fresh scent of the soap he’d used to wash his hands. The shimmer of heat down her back from his body—No. She pulled away. ‘All right.’ Spoken coolly as she swung to face him. His hand slipped off her shoulder and she almost sighed at the loss. ‘How do you like your eggs?’

‘You’re going to cook?’

He looked so surprised, she had to grin. ‘I do know how these days.’ And she had every intention of being up and dressed and prepared before he arrived.

He nodded without a glimmer of humour. ‘Shall we say oh six hundred?’

‘Make it seven.’ She needed time to acquaint herself with the kitchen.

‘Seven, then. I’ll rescue the rest of your gear then take a look at the boat. Do you have anything I can use for repairs?’

‘Try on the deck by the door. Under the tarp.’

He nodded. ‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight. And be careful.’

‘I’m always careful.’

She watched him turn and walk away. Was he? What about Janine Baker? a little voice whispered. Janine had left town too and Lissa had never heard, nor asked, what had happened to her or her baby.

She was still watching when he turned back. ‘And the eggs.? I like them hard.’

‘That makes it easy, so do I.’

She had the distinct feeling neither of them were talking about eggs.

As soon as she heard the front door close she headed for a better view of the river. And Blake. She found it in the master bedroom. With the living-room lighting spilling onto the rain-swept patio, she watched him stride swiftly down the path. Past the pool. Along the jetty. A tall, impressive masculine figure, an image no less powerful than when he’d been standing outside her door as a possible intruder. And no less unsettling.

When he’d disappeared onto the deck, she turned and gazed at the room. The light from the hallway slanted onto the rumpled king-sized bed, the upper sheet twisted and hanging off one side. The imprint of his head on the pillow had her stomach fluttering with the kind of nervous excitement he’d always instilled in her whenever she’d thought of him.

She crushed a hand against her middle and ordered herself to settle down. He’d been sleeping in here. Or trying to. What had made him up and leave such comfort and seek out the houseboat in the middle of the night? Bad dreams? Or physical pain—she’d seen it behind his eyes, hard and brittle as if he’d been fighting it a while.

Or was he missing a special woman that he’d left behind in some foreign country?

She looked about for some hint. His open bag lay on the floor against a wall, clothes neatly stacked inside. A pile of sail-boat brochures were stacked on the dresser along with his passport and some loose change. She was so tempted to look at his passport and see where he’d been, but she couldn’t bring herself to invade his privacy.

Instead, hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved to the bed and picked up his pillow, closed her eyes and breathed in. It smelled of sunshine with a subtle whiff of masculine scent that she’d come into close proximity with earlier. It had been a long time, but she remembered that smell. Blake. A moan started low in her stomach and rose up her throat—

‘Everything okay here?’

Oh, God. Her heart jumped into her mouth. Oh, no. Her knees almost buckled from under her and her eyes snapped open though she’d rather they’d stayed shut. Then she could have imagined herself invisible instead of seeing Blake standing in the doorway, one arm on the doorjamb, head cocked to one side. His dark figure blocked the light from the hall. She had no idea what his expression was, or what he must be thinking, but it couldn’t be good.

‘Yep. Everything’s fine.’ Forcing a smile, she stepped away from the bed. ‘I … ah … wanted to check the boat was still afloat.’ She laughed; too bright, too high. ‘Silly, I know …’ But you already have that opinion about me. ‘I’m … just grabbing an extra pillow on the way if that’s okay. Was there something you wanted?’

And how dumb was she, how reckless, standing next to his bed in the semi-darkness in her mini nightgown and asking that question? Not that he noticed … or did he? He wore a bemused expression and she pressed her lips together before she got herself into even more trouble.

‘My phone.’ He turned on the light, regarded her a moment longer then switched his attention to the empty night stand and frowned. ‘You haven’t seen it, have you? I’m sure I left it here somewhere.’

She shook her head. ‘Perhaps you knocked it onto the floor.’

‘Or perhaps you did,’ he pointed out. Faintly accusing.

Anxious to move this beyond-embarrassing situation right along and leave, she dropped the pillow on the bed and sank gratefully to her knees to hide her flaming cheeks.

‘Is it there?’

‘Um …’

‘Do you need a hand?’

Oh, yes, please. The impact of those somewhat ambiguous words spoken in that low sexy drawl invoked an image she was better off not thinking about. ‘Ah …’ Her fingers closed over smooth plastic. ‘Found it.’

Blake heard her muffled reply as he watched her silk-draped bottom wriggle backwards. She had it all right: the perfect backside. He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It had been a long time since he’d seen anything so. spectacular.

The last time he’d seen her she’d been a skinny thirteen and a blusher. Still was apparently. Her curtain of auburn hair obscured her face but he knew without a doubt that her cheeks matched it. She could be telling him the truth about the pillow and the boat but he seriously doubted it.

She was attracted to him.

Jared’s little sister. Jared’s very attractive, very sexy little sister.

She pushed up, held his phone at one end as if it were red hot.

‘Thank you.’

‘Sure.’

If she felt that zing when his fingers came into contact with hers, she didn’t show it. She smoothed her hair behind her ears, straightened and met his gaze almost defiantly. Pink-cheeked and pretty.

Not words that normally came to his mind, but they suited Lissa. His chest cramped in an odd way. Sitting too long in the one position, he assured himself.

A scowl tightened his facial muscles and he studied his phone, pressed a couple of buttons. He didn’t do pink and pretty and its association with hearts and flowers and ever afters. It wasn’t for guys like him, always on the move. What was more, he didn’t need it. Way too problematic.

Hot and fast and uncomplicated—that was what he needed. And by crikey, he thought, his lower body suddenly hard as rock, he needed it soon.

‘Got someone special waiting for you to ring, huh?’

His head jerked up. ‘You always did get straight to the point, didn’t you? I need to make a few calls.’ A plumber and an electrician for starters. But it could wait till morning. ‘Your tools are worse than useless. I’ve secured the tarp over the main leak for now. Are you even aware of the state of the roofing?’

She looked away. ‘I was going to get around to it.’

Yeah? When? ‘I’ll organise something for tomorrow.’ He turned and walked to the door. A thought occurred to him and he turned back. and his mind went blank.

She was holding his pillow by one corner and staring at him. He imagined himself walking over there and taking it from her hands, leaning close and breathing in the scent of her neck. Feeling the silky heat of her flesh against his knuckles as he untied her sash and slid the dressing gown from her shoulders before laying her down and letting her help him forget why he’d come home.

But pink and pretty didn’t deserve to be used in that way. She didn’t deserve to be used in that way.

She arched a brow, waiting, and he realised that he’d been about to ask a question before he’d been blindsided. ‘Are you working tomorrow?’

She hesitated, looking uncertain. ‘No. Not tomorrow.’

She also sounded vague. ‘Are you sure?’ he prompted. ‘You’re not thinking of playing hooky, are you? Because—’

‘Because you’re here to take care of everything and not to worry my pretty little head over it?’

Right. He wouldn’t have said it in quite that way but, yep, that pretty much summed it up.

She made a dismissive snort and didn’t look the least bit impressed. She had that sulky pout going on again.

He didn’t see the problem. Protection came naturally to him. Other women would be grateful for his assistance. And only too willing to show that gratitude. In any number of ways.

Not Melissa Sanderson apparently.

‘Okay. Fine.’ Whatever you say.

But there was something she wasn’t saying, he could see it in the way she evaded his eyes. He also remembered the almost hunted gaze from earlier and the way she’d pushed at him. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then,’ he clipped. ‘Oh, and if you’re looking for a spare pillow, there are three other bedrooms to choose from.’

As he walked out into the stormy night he wondered whether she had, in fact, planned to sleep in his bed. The thought of that soft satiny skin on his sheets and that alluring feminine scent on his pillow smouldered through his bloodstream. Lengthening his stride, he distanced himself as quickly as possible.