Читать книгу Unlocking The Millionaire's Heart - Bella Bucannon - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

JEMMA TOOK NO notice of the world around her as the train sped to Central Station, and as she deliberated on which way to go when she alighted. Her brain buzzed at the compliments Brian had given her, coupled with the sensations from Nate’s few touches and her own responses to his looks and his voice.

Could she handle being in frequent contact with him? Even by email? How would she deal with someone who was averse to allowing her to read anything he’d written?

Consider our options.

Like heck. He oozed the authority of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and rarely settled for less. He’d given no indication of his point of view on their two-way deal, focussing only on his novel.

Brian’s appraisal of her work had been honest and unemotional, letting her know the downsides while still giving her hope of a satisfactory solution. Already aware of her weakness when she’d submitted to him, she was open to any suggestion for improvement.

Could Nate remain impartial to the romance genre when he read her work? How did he feel about helping to transform her inept storytelling? He’d been very forthright about his aversion to allowing her access to his manuscript. Her emotions wavered from exhilaration that she might achieve publication to apprehension that Nate’s expectations might be hard to satisfy.

She walked out of the station and turned towards Circular Quay. Window shopping in Pitt Street would pass the time and occupy her mind. If he didn’t call... She banished that thought. He’d phone—even if it was only to dash any foolish hopes she might have allowed to take seed.

A new dress and two fun presents for her friends later, she was watching the ferries dock and depart as she devoured a fruit and nut bar. She wandered over to where groups of excited people were dragging suitcases towards a huge cruise ship. A holiday to inspire a romance novel? Maybe one day she’d take one.

A brochure she’d picked up on the way showed it wasn’t far from here to the historic Rocks area. If she hadn’t heard from Nate by the time she’d explored the old buildings she’d catch the next train to North Ryde.

* * *

Did he like Jemma? Way too much. Nate had kept his emotions under tight restraint since he’d narrowly escaped being duped into a sham marriage, but he’d had trouble curbing them around her. She’d had doubts concerning him on sight, which had him wondering who he reminded her of.

Did he trust her? Not yet. Experience in dealing with the darker side of life had taught him that trust had to be earned rather than given freely.

Did he want her? His body’s response to any thought of her gave him an instant reply. But that didn’t mean he’d follow through.

Mental arguments for and against dual authorship had got him nowhere, and he was still uncommitted as he reached the waterside. Swinging left, he took the steps leading up to the bridge walkway. After skirting a group of photo-snapping tourists, he took a deep breath of salty air and began to run.

He maintained a steady pace until he reached the apartment block at North Sydney. His grandfather had bequeathed a twenty-third-storey unit jointly to him, Sam and Alice, and all three of them had lived there, alone or together, at various times. It was always available for family and friends when they came to the city.

A long, refreshing shower cooled his body, but didn’t clear his mind. Dressed in fresh clothes, and with a stubby of cold beer in his hand, he stood on the balcony, staring at the buildings around him. Not far away by foot was the office block housing the family brokerage firm, which had offered him a lucrative job for life.

Far away up in the mountains was the home he’d designed, with an architect’s help, to suit the lifestyle he planned to live. Mostly solitary, with occasional guests, pleasing only himself. Closing his eyes, he pictured the view as he woke in the morning, ate his meals and chilled out in the evenings. And in that instant his decision was made.

Somewhere in the thriving metropolis across the bay was the woman Brian believed could help him realise literary success. All he had to do was have faith and stay in command of his libido.

But before he committed to a trial partnership he needed to reinforce the life oath he’d made years ago, during the lowest point of his life. He took the dog-eared leather notebook he always travelled with, flipped it open to a coded page, and read the vow he’d made never to get involved out loud.

Then he phoned Jemma Harrison.

It took three rings for her to answer, and he heard traffic and the rattle of a train in the background.

‘Hi, Jemma, where are you?’

‘Taking photos from the Harbour Bridge.’

He surprised himself with a spontaneous burst of laughter.

‘What’s so funny?’ There was a spike in her voice, though she didn’t sound offended.

‘I ran over it on the way here. Which end are you nearest?’

‘Um... I guess I’m about a third of the way along from the quay.’

‘Keep coming north. Don’t rush. I’ll meet you at the steps going down to the road. We can sit in the park nearby. Would you like me to bring you a hot or cold drink?’

‘No, thanks. I have a bottle of water.’

‘Okay, see you soon.’

He grimaced at the screen after disconnecting, and then went to put on socks and sneakers. Having his pulse hiking and his mouth drying, even his palms itching, was something he might have to become accustomed to if they were going to be in regular communication.

Anticipation of seeing her had him moving faster than normal. It was not the way he wanted to feel.

* * *

Nate saw Jemma approaching as he reached the top of the steps so he waited, admiring the natural sway of her hips as she came towards him. The extra bag in her hand and the bulge in the one over her shoulder, proved she’d been shopping. Her smile as they met had him steeling his arms at his sides to prevent greeting her with a hug, and the sunglasses hiding the expression in her beautiful blue eyes was a disappointment.

‘Hi—would you like me to carry the bag?’

‘Thanks, I’m fine.’ She waved her arm in a wide sweep. ‘I’d love to sit and view all this on a stormy day—or preferably night.’

‘You like thunder and lightning?’

She laughed, causing an unfamiliar and yet not unpleasant effect over his skin. Causing him to take a quick breath. Causing him to fortify the reason he was meeting her. To get his book published.

‘From a safe vantage point—oh, yes.’

‘They can give you a spectacular display in the mountains—especially when watched from a heated room with a beer or glass of wine at your side.’

Berating himself for conjuring up an image of them sharing wine and nature’s dramatic show, he guided her down to the ground and across to the lawn area at the edge of the water. Partial images of the Opera House and the southern side of the bay were visible through the semicircle of palm trees. A small oasis of green surrounded by acres of concrete and buildings was behind them, and the expanse of deep water in front.

Jemma placed her bags on the ground, sat and curled her legs to the side. He joined her, leaning on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. For a moment or two there seemed no need for conversation. The serenity of the small area compensated for the traffic noise from the bridge.

Having resolved his mental conflict, and acutely aware of her beside him, he accepted that she’d now be a presence in his life. How prominent depended on how often they had to meet in person.

Few women he knew would wait so quietly, so patiently, for a man who’d told her he needed to consider his options, expected her to hike across the bridge, and then didn’t initiate conversation. Another difference from the women he dated.

Her profile was as appealing as her full face. Delicate smooth skin invited a caress, thick brown lashes enhanced the dark blue of her eyes, and her slender neck with its curtain of...

Where the heck had all that come from? And where the hell had it been when he’d tried to write such descriptions on the computer?

‘Jemma?’

His raspy tone came from the absence of moisture in his throat, exacerbated by the expectancy in her eyes as she faced him. He coughed, swallowed and retried.

‘Do you have full virus protection on your computer?’

Her chin lifted and her eyes narrowed in umbrage. ‘The best—and regularly updated.’

‘Would you be willing to send me some examples of those scenes Brian claims will improve my novel to a marketable level? I’m aware it means one-sided trust, but—’

Her laughter—natural, musical and matched by the sparkle in her eyes—cut him short.

‘My text is less than fifty thousand words, a fair proportion of which need cutting or rewriting. Most of your...’ She tilted her head and her eyebrows rose in query.

‘One hundred and ten thousand.’

‘Not only pass muster but have earned Brian’s praise. You have the right to be protective. How about I email three chapters?’

He puffed out what little air was left in his lungs. This could either be the start of a new career or the most turbulent phase of his life. Even seeing her face-to-face online would test his tenacity.

* * *

Jemma tried to hide the elation coursing through her. If he approved of her style of writing there was a chance he’d send her a partial to test her competence in blending with his. A limited partial, if she was any judge of men—a talent she could hardly claim, having had no inkling of her ex’s infidelity.

Nate Thornton, with his solemn expression and deep-set thoughtful eyes, was hard to read. He rarely smiled, but when he did he stirred feelings she’d sworn she’d never allow to rule her again. And his touch had her hankering for pleasures she’d renounced, tainted by betrayal. An electronic, detached co-author partnership would be the ideal answer.

‘You’ll need my email address.’ He pushed himself into a sitting position, and took out his mobile. She gave him her ever-present notebook and a pen, and had no trouble reading the neat script, wishing hers was as legible when she jotted something down so fast. He recorded hers in his phone—a much newer model than she owned. Something she might have to research and rectify in the coming weeks.

‘I’ve got a USB back-up with me, so I’ll send them tomorrow.’ She grinned at him; no use being precious about her failings. ‘Try to skim over the boring bits. Brian left me with no illusions on the quality of the storyline, but I hope to amend that failing by taking relevant courses.’

He returned the smile. ‘Maybe I should read them. They’re the reason he recommended you work with me instead of offering your novel to a publisher. I’ll do a print-out for my flight to Europe on Sunday morning—preferable to reading off a screen for me. I’ll get in touch on my return in a week or so.’

‘However long it takes.’

She couldn’t seem to break eye contact since he’d smiled at her, and wondered whether she ought to take the initiative and leave. Go home and start preparing dinner for her friends or watch some bad afternoon television. Even better, lose herself in the character charts and life histories of the hero and heroine of her next novel. One for which she intended to have Brian begging her to sign a solo contract.

Nate’s sudden rise to his feet broke her reverie and dulled her mood. Now the main issue had been settled he’d be anxious to go, and she understood—she truly did. Accepting his helping hand, she rose, taking her shoulder bag with her. He bent to pick up the other one, and maintained his hold.

‘How are you getting back?’

‘Walking over the bridge, of course. Who knows when I’ll have another chance?’

As he’d met her from this direction, she assumed he’d be staying in this area.

‘Suits me, Jemma. I’ll shout you coffee on the southern side.’

She had no right to feel elated, or for her heart to beat faster, but both happened as he spoke. And the air in her lungs seemed to have dissipated, making her sound breathy.

‘Your offer is accepted with gratitude, Nate.’

Since when had she spoken with such formality?

I don’t even allow my characters that uptown privilege. Maybe I will in a future book of mine, and their love interest will have a rougher background for conflict.

Her fingers itched to jot down notes on upbringing, and childhood environment. Instead she set the idea into her head as they returned to the walkway.

On her journey across it she’d become used to the noise of the traffic speeding past, separated from her by a steel and mesh safety fence. On the water side there were shoulder-and-head-high gaps in the corresponding mesh to allow for clear photography.

She stopped a short way along to take photos from this end, turning from Nate as she aimed her mobile upward, marvelling at the size and power of the metal beams and the majestic arches above their heads.

‘It’s so incredible—so powerful and strong.’

‘Walking up there is an entirely different experience. Keep it in mind for another visit.’

Swinging round, she bumped into his body as he stepped forward, pointing his finger to the top of the bridge. Her pulse surged as he caught her by the waist for support, and it didn’t ease off when he let go.

‘Not for me,’ she stated with emphasis.

His eyebrows rose and he grinned—a genuine magnetic smile, stirring butterflies in her stomach. Heat flooded her veins and her heart pounded. Such potency...she was glad he normally withheld it from her.

‘You’re toned and fit. What’s the problem? Fear of heights?’

He’d checked out her body? Fair was fair...she’d checked out his.

‘No, I just have no inclination to try anything I consider extreme.’

Or to become involved with the self-assured, super-confident men those activities attract.

‘Ah.’ He straightened his back and crossed his arms in mock umbrage. The quirk at the corner of his mouth and the gleam in his eyes belied his stance. A new personality was emerging—one that was engaging and amiable, much harder to keep at a distance. With luck it was only transient.

‘And that encompasses skydiving, mountain climbing and abseiling, huh?’

His words sounded deeper too, making the abrasion more appealing.

‘I’m not anti them. I can almost understand the compulsion to try them. But not the repeated temptation for disaster. Everyday life is challenging enough.’

‘Don’t you ever feel the need for an adrenaline rush?’

‘Mine come from seeing a koala with her new baby, or a rainbow appearing over the hills in a rainstorm.’

His soft chuckle evoked an alien feeling in her stomach, warm and exciting.

‘Oh, darling, you are so missing out on life.’

Her mood altered in an instant and she moved away towards the city. He walked by her side, seemingly oblivious to the word that had rendered her speechless and torn at her heart. It marked him as a man who used endearments as a matter of course, making them meaningless; it had been a habit of her ex.

Glancing at him, she caught his lips curling as if she’d amused him and the penny dropped. He’d listed the extreme sports he’d participated in, was prepared to risk his life for the so-called ‘rush’ she’d heard people rave about. Nothing they’d said had ever convinced her to try any, and she doubted reading about them—they had to be part of the action in his novel—would change her mind.

Was he even now classifying her as boring, doomed to fail in her attempt to revise some of the passages in his high-adventure book?

She stopped and swivelled to face him, square-on. ‘You’ve done all those activities?’

* * *

Nate couldn’t deny the accusation. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded. ‘Multiple times—plus a few others over the years, here and abroad.’

If they stayed in touch for a lifetime Nate figured he’d never get used to the way she breathed slow and even, her lips slightly parted and her eyes wide and focussed as they studied his face. It made him feel virile, yet vulnerable at the same time—a totally alien sensation.

Better she didn’t know that some of those activities had been to gain access to high-risk areas, following leads for stories. Others had been for the adrenaline rush—to prove he was capable of feeling after the sights he’d been exposed to had completely numbed all his emotions.

Racking his brain for something to divert her attention, he saw it over her shoulder. ‘Where does sailing qualify?’ he asked, gesturing towards the water.

She twisted to follow his gaze. A few yachts had emerged from under the bridge and were tacking from side to side, skilfully avoiding impact.

Moving to the mesh protection, she craned her neck to watch. ‘Mixed. My sister and brother-in-law in Melbourne own a yacht, and I’ve sailed with them. I love the wind in my hair, the smell of salt water and the sense of the ocean below us as we skim across the waves. Wearing life jackets. Ocean-racing in rough weather—like the Sydney to Hobart some years—is out.’

He’d bet any advance he might get on his book that she had no idea how captivating she looked: features animated, eyes sparkling and hands gesturing. Or how the inflections in her voice proved that she wasn’t immune to the thrill—no matter how much she said so.