Читать книгу Australia: In Bed with the Boss: The Marriage Decider / Their Wedding Day / His Boardroom Mistress - Emma Darcy, Emma Darcy - Страница 14

AMY did her best to carry a positive attitude home with her that evening. She didn’t allow the emptiness of the apartment she’d shared with Steve swamp her with depression. Soon it would be empty of both of them, she told herself. This phase of her life was over. Another was starting and she was going to make the most of it.

She made lists of what had to be done; contact the agency that handled the Bondi apartment and give notice of moving, telephone and electricity bills to be finalised, look up removalists and get estimates, collect boxes for packing. She was mentally arranging her furniture in the new Balmoral apartment when the telephone rang, jolting her back to the present.

Amy felt reluctant to answer the call. It might be for Steve, someone who didn’t know he was gone, and she would have to explain. Shock and sympathy would follow and she’d be forcefully reminded of her grief and humiliation. She glared at the telephone, hating its insistent burring, wanting to be left alone to pick up her new life.

The summons finally stopped. Amy sighed in relief. Maybe it was cowardly not to face up to the truth, but it was such a hurtful truth she just wanted to push it aside. To her increasing chagrin, however, she was not left in peace. The telephone rang on and off for the next hour, demanding an answer. She balefully considered taking the receiver off the hook, then realised that could instigate an inquiry from the telephone company since the caller was being so persistent.

In the end, the need to cut off the torment drove her to snatch up the receiver. “Amy Taylor,” she snapped into it.

“Thank heaven! I was getting really worried about you, Amy. It’s Brooke Mitchell here.”

Brooke! Amy instantly grimaced. Her least favourite person amongst her acquaintances.

“When Ryan came home from work and told me what Steve had done, I just couldn’t believe it at first,” she blathered on. “Then I thought of you and how you must be feeling, you poor dear…”

“I’m fine,” Amy interrupted, recoiling from the spurious gush of sympathy.

Gush of curiosity more like! Brooke Mitchell lived for gossip, revelled in it, and Amy had never really enjoyed her company. Brooke just happened to be married to Ryan who worked with Steve and the two men were both computer heads, moving their common interest into socialising occasionally.

“Are you sure? When you weren’t answering the phone…”

“I’ve only just come in,” Amy lied.

“Oh! I had visions of you…well, I’m relieved you haven’t…uh…”

“Slit my wrists? I assure you I’m not the least bit suicidal, Brooke. No drama at all.” For you to feed off, Amy silently added.

“I didn’t mean…it’s just such devastating news. And I can’t say how sorry I am. I don’t know how Steve could have done it to you. Infidelity is bad enough but getting the woman pregnant and deciding to marry her…after all the years you’ve been together…”

Amy gritted her teeth. Brooke was rubbing salt into the wound.

“…It’s just terrible,” she went on. “Though I’ve never thought living together was a good idea. You should have nailed him down, Amy. It’s the only way to be sure of them.”

It was the smug voice of a married woman. Amy refrained from saying divorce statistics didn’t exactly prove Brooke right. It would have sounded like sour grapes.

“If you need a shoulder to cry on…”

The memory of Jake holding her brought a sudden rush of warmth, taking the nasty chill off this conversation. “I’m really fine, Brooke. In fact, I’ve had a lovely day. Jake Carter, my boss, took me out to lunch to celebrate my new freedom.”

Which was almost true.

“You told him about Steve?” Real shock in her tone this time.

Caught up on a wave of bravado, Amy ploughed on in the same vein. “Yes, I did. And Jake convinced me I was well rid of him, so don’t be concerned about me, Brooke.”

“I see.” Doubt mixed with vexation at this turn of events. “Didn’t you tell me your boss was a rake?”

“Mmh. Though I’m thinking it might well be a worthwhile experience being raked over by Jake Carter.”

“Amy! Really!”

“Yes. Really,” she echoed, determined on wiping out any image of her being thrown on the scrap heap, too crushed to raise any interest in another man.

“Well…” Brooke was clearly nonplussed. “I was feeling so awkward about bringing up next Saturday’s party. I mean, when I invited you and Steve, I expected you to be together. Now…well, it is awkward, Amy. Ryan says Steve will want to bring…”

“Yes, of course,” Amy rushed in, her heart contracting at the thought of the pregnant blonde on Steve’s arm, queening it in Amy’s place. And the plain truth was, Steve was far more Ryan’s friend than she was Brooke’s.

“But if you want to bring Jake Carter…” Her voice brimmed over with salacious interest.

“I was about to say I have other plans, Brooke. It was kind of you to be concerned about me and I’m glad you called. I’d forgotten about the party. Please accept my apologies. And I do wish you and Ryan a very merry Christmas.”

She put the receiver down before Brooke could ask about her plans, which were none of the other woman’s business. It gave Amy some satisfaction to think of Brooke speculating wildly about Jake, instead of pitying her, but it had probably been a rash impulse to use him to save her pride. The word would be quickly spread…

So what? Amy thought miserably. It would probably salve everybody’s unease about excluding her from future activities. Brooke had been angling to cancel the party invitation and she wouldn’t be the only one to dump Steve’s ex-partner in favour of his wife-to-be.

When couples broke up, it forced others to make choices and the pragmatic choice was to accept a couple rather than a suddenly single woman who could either be a wet blanket at a social gathering or a threat to other women’s peace of mind.

Depression came rolling in as she realised she was now a social pariah and she didn’t really have friends of her own. The five years of sharing her life with Steve had whittled them away, and the past two years as Jake’s personal assistant had kept her so busy, she literally hadn’t had the time to develop and nurture real friendships. In fact, she felt closer to her boss than she did to anyone else at the present moment, and that brought home what a sorry state she was in.

Jake had filled the emptiness today but she knew how foolish it would be to let herself become dependent on him to fill her future. She had to take control of her own life, find new avenues of meeting people. The need-todo list she’d made seemed to mock her. It would get her through the next week, but what then?

Amy couldn’t find the energy to think further. She went to bed and courted oblivion. Being without Steve had to get easier, she reasoned. Everyone said time was a great healer. Soon she’d be able to go to bed and not think of him cuddled up to his blonde. In sheer defence against that emotional torment, she started visualising what it might be like to be cuddled up with Jake Carter. It was a dangerous fantasy but she didn’t care. It helped.

Though it didn’t help her concentration on work the next day. It made her acutely aware of every physical aspect of the man, especially his mouth and his hands. Even the cologne he wore—a subtle, sexy scent—was an insidious distraction, despite its being the same cologne he always wore. It didn’t matter how sternly she berated herself for imagining him in Steve’s place, the fantasy kept popping into her head, gathering more and more attractive detail.

It was terribly disconcerting. Thankfully, Jake didn’t notice how super-conscious she was of him. He seemed totally tied up with business, not even tossing her teasing remarks. Certainly there was no allusion to any wish to race her off and make mad passionate love, nor any suggestion it was on his mind.

Amy hoped her stupid boast to Brooke Mitchell would never reach his ears. Not that she’d meant it. It was purely a reaction to circumstances, not a real desire. She knew better than to actually want Jake Carter in her bed. In the flesh.

The only personal conversation came at the end of the day as she was preparing to leave. Jake stood in the doorway between their offices, watching her clear her desk. “Are you holding up okay, Amy?” he asked quietly.

She flushed at the question. “I am not suicidal!” she snapped, the conversation with Brooke all too fresh in her mind, plus everything else that had flowed from it.

Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “The thought never entered my mind.”

“Then why ask?” she demanded, dying at the thought he’d noticed how jumpy she was around him.

His mouth quirked. “Guess you’ve already had wellmeaning friends nattering in your ear.”

“You could say that.”

“Do you still plan to move house on Saturday?”

“Absolutely. Saturday can’t come fast enough.”

The quirk grew into a grin that seemed to say That’s my girl! and Amy’s heart pumped a wild stream of pleasure through her body, spreading a warm, tingly feeling.

“You seemed rather unsettled today,” he remarked with a shrug. “It made me wonder if there was too much on your plate. Moving can be a hassle if you intend to do it without the help of well-meaning friends.”

“I’ve got it all lined up,” she informed him, although it wasn’t quite true. She had spent the lunch hour on the telephone, organising what she could.

“Fine! If you need some time off, just ask. If there’s anything I can do to facilitate the resettling process…”

“Thanks, Jake.” She smiled, relieved he’d put her edginess down to her emotional state over Steve. “I think I can manage but I’ll let you know if I need some time off.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied. “One other thing, Amy. You know we’ve sent out brochures and invitations to the New Year’s Eve cruise on Free Spirit.”

“Yes.” The magnificent yacht came instantly to mind, pure luxury on water. The cruise, which would feature the fireworks display over the harbour on New Year’s Eve, had a guest list of potential clients, all of whom could be interested in chartering the yacht for either business or pleasure. As Jake had it planned, New Year’s Eve was the perfect showcase for Free Spirit.

“Well, if you’re not tied up that evening, I’d really appreciate your hostessing for me on the yacht. I know it’s work on a holiday night, but you would get a frontline view of the fireworks and they’re supposed to be the best ever.”

Amy barely heard his last words. Her mind was stuck on not tied up. Steve would certainly be tied up. It was his wedding night. He and his blonde bride would be…

“I’ll be happy to hostess for you,” she rushed out, welcoming any distraction from those thoughts and the curdling that had started in her stomach.

“Thanks, Amy. It should be a most productive evening.”

No, it won’t, she thought. The production was already in place. The only difference would be the wedding rings, holding it together.

“And a fun time, as well,” Jake went on.

Fun! Well, she could always fall overboard and drown herself. Except she wasn’t suicidal.

“You can count on me,” she said dully.

“Good!” He gave her a casual salute. “Happy packing.”

It was more a case of ruthless packing, than happy. In sorting through the contents of drawers, Amy discovered Steve had left behind all the photographs of their life together, as well as mementos from their skiing trips and seaside vacations. She threw them out. Threw out the clothes that reminded her of special occasions, too. If he could walk away from it all, so could she.

When tears occasionally fell over silly, sentimental things, she dashed them away, determined on not faltering in her resolution. It occurred to her that death would be easier to accept than betrayal. At least you were allowed to keep good memories when someone died, but all her memories of Steve were tainted now. She could never again feel good about him. Best to let him go. Let the hurt go, too.

Unfortunately, however hard she worked at achieving that end, she couldn’t make the awful sense of aloneness go. Even the strong connection she felt with Jake Carter was not enough to dispel it. That couldn’t be allowed to progress to real intimacy, so the pleasure of it was always mixed with a sense of frustration. Which added to her feeling of defeat, as though she was fated to be drawn to men who would never ultimately satisfy her.

She welcomed the weekend, eager for the move to Balmoral and the change it would bring to her life. No one except Jake knew about it. Easier to cut her losses, she’d argued to herself. Those who might try to contact her were all connected to Steve and she guessed that any caring interest would quickly fade once she was completely out of the picture. In any event, it was better for her to move on.

She did not regret walking out of the Bondi apartment for the last time on Saturday morning. It was a glorious summer day, an appropriate omen to leave gloom behind and fly off to the wide blue yonder. She smiled over her use of Jake’s company name. It did have a great ring to it, promising an adventure that obliterated the greyness of ordinary day-to-day life.

As she followed the removalist’s van across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, her spirits were buoyed by the sense of going somewhere new and exciting, and when she arrived at Balmoral, it was every bit as lovely as she remembered it. So was the apartment.

She did, however, have an odd sense of de´jà vu on looking into the master bedroom. The new carpet was turquoise, almost the exact shade as used in the offices at Milsons Point. Then she realised the paintwork was similar, too. It felt uncanny for a moment, almost as if Jake had left the imprint of his personality here. But the colours were easy to live with and an attractive combination. Anyone could have chosen them.

Having already planned where to place her furniture, Amy was able to direct the removalist men efficiently. They came and went in very short time. She spent the rest of the day, unpacking suitcases and boxes, exulting over how much space she had in cupboards and arranging everything to please herself.

When she was finally done, fatigue set in, draining her of the excitement that had kept her fired with energy. She was here, old shackles cut, bridge crossed, ready to write a new page in her life, yet suddenly it didn’t mean as much as she wanted it to. There was no one to show it to, no one to share it with, and the black beast of loneliness grabbed her again.

She wandered around, still too wired up to relax. Watching television didn’t appeal. She plumped up the cushions on her cane lounge suite, eyed its grouping with the small matching dining setting, and knew she’d only be fiddling if she changed it. The view should have soothed her but it didn’t. Somehow it imbued her with the sense of being in an ivory tower, separated from the rest of the human race.

The ringing of her doorbell made Amy almost jump out of her skin. A neighbour? she wondered. Even a stranger was a welcome face right now. In her eagerness to make an acquaintance, she forgot to take precautions, opening the door wide and planting a smile on her face.

Jake Carter smiled back at her.

Jake, exuding his charismatic sexiness, looking fresh and yummy and sun-kissed in an orange T-shirt and white shorts, lots of tanned flesh and muscle gleaming at her, taunting her with its offering of powerful masculinity, accessible masculinity, his wicked, yellow wolf’s eyes eating up her dishevelled state and his smile saying he liked it and wouldn’t mind more.

Amy’s impulses shot from wanting to hug him for coming, to a far wilder cocktail of desires running rampant. Or was it need clawing through her? It was madness, anyway. She felt virtually naked in front of him, clothed only in skimpy blue shorts and a midriff top that she usually wore to her aerobics class. Quivers were attacking her stomach and her breasts were tightening up. Indeed, she felt her whole body responding to the magnetic attraction of his.

It was scary.

Alarming.

And the awful part was she sensed he knew it and wasn’t the least bit alarmed by it. He was positively revelling in it. And he’d come here at this hour, when she was so rawly vulnerable, having burnt all her bridges, making himself available to her, seeking entry…Jake, the rake.

The moment those words slid into her mind, sanity bolted back into it, repressing the urges that had been scrambling common sense. In sheer, stark defence, words popped out of her mouth, words she would have given anything to take back once they were said, but they hung there between them, echoing and echoing in her ears.

“I’m not going to bed with you.”