Читать книгу By Request Collection 1 - Jackie Braun - Страница 32

AT HIS insistence, Blake made the necessary calls and organised to have the houseboat refloated and towed away. Lissa was grateful to Blake for his cool, calm and sensitive handling of the whole situation. A man to lean on in a crisis. It gave her time to regroup. Most of her artwork was gone. Photos, jewellery, books.

She sat on her bed and looked about her. She also needed time to absorb the fact that until she was making an income, this was her bedroom. She needed to pull herself together and decide that she could still be that independent woman she wanted to be but there was nothing wrong with accepting help now and then.

But did it have to be Blake’s help?

She stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the bedroom wall. The boat disaster had briefly obliterated the excitement of the new business agreement she’d made … and that kiss. Oh, that kiss … and more. Her whole body burned and churned with the memory and she saw its instant effect in her reflection.

She shook it away and concentrated on applying make-up to mask her distress. She needed to forget that momentary indulgence. And to accept Blake’s insistence that she remain in his home.

‘Here?’ She’d glared at Blake through narrowed eyes, fighting it all the way. Nuh-uh. Not going to happen. Not after that kiss and a half.

‘You have somewhere else in mind?’ He’d waited for a response but she hadn’t had a ready one. Not one of any sort.

Returning to Surfers and facing Jared with her failures was not an option after the regrettably immature way she’d walked out eighteen months ago. And in an hour she’d be signing papers and making Blake her business partner. She had to remain in Mooloolaba. Rental accommodation was high in Mooloolaba.

Sharing with a guy was something she’d sworn she’d never do again. Living with Todd had been the most harrowing time of her life. Not only the physical abuse but the lies and degradation. Made worse because she’d kept it a secret from those who would have helped her. She’d been so naïve, so ashamed, and, for a while, so broken.

‘What are you afraid of, Lissa?’

She’d stared up at Blake and into those beautiful blue eyes. Blake wasn’t Todd—was nothing like Todd—but she no longer trusted herself when it came to choosing the right kind of man.

‘Nothing. Why would I be afraid? I’m certainly not afraid of you,’ she’d told him when he’d scrutinised her face more closely. As if he knew her secret. He couldn’t know. ‘Thank you. I accept.’

She’d arranged to meet Blake in the living room before leaving for their rescheduled appointment with the solicitor. In her jeans and faded T-shirt. She groaned inwardly. The T-shirt with the two faintly creased circles on her chest. Now there’d have to be an additional clause with the expenses incurred to replace her belongings.

She descended the stairs at the arranged time. Blake had changed into smart casual clothes and her thoughts scattered like confetti. The white button-through shirt, open at the neck, enhanced his tanned skin and accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular frame, the trousers were slim-fitting, showcasing well-defined thighs and.

She swung her gaze to the wood-panelled wall, embarrassed at being caught checking out his masculine shape, and said the first thing that came to mind. ‘Definitely the deeper turquoise. And a modern painting here that encapsulates the essence of Mooloolaba.’

‘You’re the expert.’

His eyes glinted and she knew that he knew what she was really thinking about. His hot, toned body against hers.

‘Let’s get the documentation over with first,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll pay a visit to the bank and then you can go shopping.’

What could she say? She needed clothes. ‘I’m. I’ll pay you back. Every cent. You can take it off my fee when the room’s done.’

‘Don’t worry about that now. But I’ve got some matters to attend to back here so I’ll arrange to meet you at this address later.’ He handed her a card and a key. ‘It’s a building I own. It was used as a prestige car showroom but it’s been vacant a while. I was going to sell it, but it might be a good location for an interior design business. Maybe you could take a look, come up with some ideas and tell me what you think. Don’t forget to key in the security code. Panel’s on the right of the door.’

Her spirits lifted a little. ‘Thanks.’ She tucked the card in her bag.

‘What about Jared?’ He paused. ‘I assume you’re in contact while he’s overseas. Shouldn’t you let him know what’s going on?’

Yes, but she had more than enough stress to deal with right now. Besides … ‘I don’t want to spoil his holiday.’

‘He’s your brother.’

She didn’t look at him as she slung her bag over her shoulder but she felt a vague criticism aimed her way and shrugged off the prickly sensation. What was between her and her brother was none of Blake’s business.

‘I’ll get around to it, okay?’ Tonight. It would be morning in Milan then. She’d make herself comfortable and alone and phone him tonight. Maybe in a few hours she wouldn’t be so likely to dissolve into tears in the retelling of it.

‘What do you want to do about your belongings?’ He sounded as if he was finding his way barefoot around broken glass.

‘Of course I want to save what I can. But it’s probably already ruined with salt and river grime and heaven only knows what else.’ She bit her lip to stifle the sob. It made her want to throw herself into his arms and weep.

And perhaps, she thought, as she moved directly to the door without waiting, that was his intention.

Deanna Mayfield was just the sort of woman Lissa imagined Blake would find attractive. Any man would find attractive, actually. As tall as him, silver-blonde hair, trim figure. Even in her grey pin-striped business suit she exuded a sultry kind of glamour.

If you went for that kind of thing.

‘Blake!’ Her smile was pure toothpaste advertisement. She ushered them into her office. ‘What a pleasant surprise to get your call.’

Ms Mayfield and smartly dressed Blake looked like an ideal couple as they reminisced about a past Lissa had no part in. Had they ever been lovers? She couldn’t help thinking of the bad-boy reputation. Yep, she thought, Ms Mayfield would definitely go for bad boys.

Even when they eventually got down to business it was there. That … something. While Lissa sat within arm’s reach feeling out of the loop, uninvolved and insignificant.

‘We’ll need a signature here.’ Leaning over the desk, Deanna flicked her hair and indicated with a passion-purple fingertip, then passed Blake her pen.

Lissa’s lip curled, then she pressed a hand to the tender spot just beneath her breastbone while Blake signed and passed the pen back. With a smile. The knot was hunger, not jealousy. Good heavens, she couldn’t begin to imagine how many women Blake would have been with over the years, no doubt all as glamorous as Miss Sunshine here.

Then Deanna smiled at Lissa as if suddenly remembering she was there and handed her the pen. ‘Melissa. Your turn, sweetie.’

Sweetie. Condescending cow. Lissa stretched her lips into a smile over her clenched teeth as she took the pen and signed.

Blake dropped her at the Sunshine Plaza with her new personal debit card. The arrangement was that she should catch a cab to the address on the card he’d given her when she was done and they’d meet at five-thirty.

She headed into the mall to buy her blues away. She refused to get carried away however, knowing she needed to repay whatever she bought at a future date. Sticking to basics, she purchased underwear, toiletries, casual wear, a couple of business suits and skirts and a cream jacket. and, of course, the obligatory little short black dress.

She couldn’t resist a tiny bottle of her favourite perfume and a couple of CDs—for therapeutic reasons. At an art shop she bought a new sketch pad, charcoals and pencils so that if she arrived at the premises before Blake she could keep busy. If she was busy she wouldn’t think about the boat.

Fighting the dull pain that had been throbbing away at the back of his skull for the past couple of hours, Blake walked towards the shop. Standing across the road, he watched the lowering sun paint the upper half of the unique building a burnt orange. When he’d bought it, he’d been impressed right off with its central location—near other businesses but not overcrowded—and the interesting canted windows out front. Dodging a steady stream of slow-moving traffic, he let himself in with a takeaway meal, drinks and cutlery in a cardboard box.

The empty interior still blew him away. A gleaming expanse of polished floorboards flowed like a golden lake to cream walls on all sides. But the feature that really sold it for him was the main source of illumination. Two metal wheel-like structures a good couple of metres in diameter studded with down-lights and suspended at an oblique angle to each other and to the floor.

The building had a vaulted wooden ceiling and odd-shaped windows. Their topaz and sapphire glass threw out a rich palette of colours, glinting on the brass rail of the spiral staircase to one side, which led to a mezzanine level, which in turn floated above the rear third of the cavernous space.

It might have reminded him of a church except for the sound of a CD player crackling away with the unmistakeable voice of Robbie Williams from somewhere up those stairs.

With his box under one arm, he crossed the floor, appreciating the warm ambience. What better venue to launch an interior design business? With his mother’s contacts and Lissa’s obvious expertise, they couldn’t lose.

But when he reached the top of the staircase he came to a silent halt.

Lissa was dancing, bare feet moving lightly in time with the song. A pad of some description lay open on the floor beside her. She’d been sketching. something. Didn’t matter—he didn’t even cast his eyes in the pad’s direction. It was the woman he wanted to feast his eyes on.

The day’s last vermilion beams lasered through the only upstairs window high above them, turning her magnificent crown of hair to flame, painting her limbs gold and leaving the shadowed spaces a dusky purple. He stood, transfixed in the stairwell’s dimness. Held his breath, though he doubted he had any breath left in him to hold.

She’d changed into a loose white top that dipped low at the front. Beneath it she wore short white shorts leaving her legs bare.

Those feet moved fast and light, as if she were dancing on air, but her arms moved above her in a graceful arc, her gaze wholly focused at some point in the middle distance, her lips turned up slightly at the corners as if delighting in the moment.

It was like watching an angel.

Would she wear that same expression if he were lying beneath her? Would she make love with that wholly focused gaze and delight?

He shook his head to clear the lusty thoughts. Angels were supposed to be pure asexual beings, weren’t they? And as far as he knew, they didn’t make love. Virginal. But he could have watched for an eternity, absorbed in the beauty of the moment—and her—but she turned and saw him and that golden moment was gone.

For a breathless heartbeat she watched him with those wide clear eyes. Then she blinked as if coming out of a trance and slowly lowered her arms. Perspiration dewed her skin and her breathing was elevated, drawing his attention to her breasts as they rose and fell. He couldn’t look away.

‘Hi.’ He kept his voice casual, breaking the sudden tension.

She lifted a self-conscious shoulder and colour rose up her neck. ‘Hi.’ Bending so that her hair curtained her face, she flipped the pad shut, creating a draught across the floor, and he caught the fragrance of some exotic perfume she’d not been wearing earlier today. It reminded him of midnight madness on a moonlit beach.

‘I found an old CD player someone left behind.’ She moved to it, squatted down and lowered the volume. ‘Have you been standing there long?’

‘Not long.’ Not long enough. Too long.

‘Dancing’s my stress reliever of choice. And chocolate, of course.’ She helped herself to a four-square row from the half-eaten block beside the player. ‘I guess I got carried away.’

‘You don’t share?’

‘Sure, sorry.’ She grabbed the bar, held it out. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Not the chocolate.’ He gestured towards the pad. ‘Your art or whatever you were sketching there.’

‘Ideas for your living room. But you don’t get to see them until I’m done.’

With the tip of her tongue, she licked a small fleck of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. He watched her, wishing he could’ve been the one to sample that sweet taste on her mouth. Then she wiped the spot with a finger for good measure and said, ‘What have you got there?’

He’d forgotten all about the box. He withdrew the aromatic bag, held it up. ‘I thought you might be hungry but I see you’re already well supplied.’

She shook her head. ‘Chocolate doesn’t count. I’m starving. And that, whatever it is, smells delicious. Let me guess.’ Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly. ‘Mmm … Indian.’

‘Hope you like butter chicken. It’s full of calories and comes with jasmine rice and assorted delights.’

‘Ooh, yes. Hand it over.’

She reached for it but he lifted it higher. ‘Not quite yet.’

She did the pout, her hands on her hips, but a glimmer of a smile teased the edges of her mouth. ‘Hey, that’s just mean.’

‘First, answer a question for me. Earlier today you said you hated me. Is that still true?’

‘I … No.’ The tiny smile vanished and she frowned. ‘Did I say that? I don’t remember saying that. Of course I don’t hate you.’

‘Good. I don’t hate you either.’

‘Even though I’ve been such an idiot?’

‘You’re n—’

‘But I am. I hold myself responsible for the mess I’m in and … and the trouble I’ve caused you.’

‘And now we’ll move on.’ He mentally kicked himself for bringing up this morning’s disaster and wiping away her smile just because he wanted some sort of petty reassurance. What the hell was wrong with him?

‘That’s a relief, since we just signed an agreement to work together, but can we have the rest of this conversation after we’ve eaten?’

He moved closer to better catch her scent. ‘I’ve been thinking about you.’

‘You mean that kiss.’ She shrugged and turned away, refusing to play his game of grab-the-bag, but he saw her fingers tremble slightly as she popped the last piece of chocolate in her mouth.

‘Ah … that kiss,’ he said, slowly, and watched her cheeks pinken. ‘Since you’ve brought it up …’

‘I didn’t, you did.’ She dropped to her knees and busied those small hands putting her art purchases in a pile. ‘I’ve had more important matters on my mind, actually.’

‘So have I.’ He set the food and the box holding the rest of the stuff on the floor, then shook out a rug he’d found in the boot of the rental and spread it out. ‘Fact is, you’re right in there with all the other stuff that’s going on.’

She set the containers out on the rug and began removing the lids. ‘I’m sorry if that bothers you.’

It did. More than she could possibly know. He watched the way her auburn hair swung down in an arc, hiding her face from view. ‘I’ll manage.’

‘Of course you will, you’re very capable. What is it you do again?’

Now her eyes flicked up to his. They were full of questions he wasn’t going to answer. Not to anybody. The headache burgeoning behind his eyes intensified. ‘I was a clearance diver. Like I told you, I’ve resigned from the navy.’ End of story.

She blinked. ‘O-kay …’ When he didn’t elaborate she glanced at the window. ‘It’s going to be dark soon. The lighting up here doesn’t seem to be working.’

He welcomed the encroaching night and a change of topic. He wasn’t going to spill his guts to Lissa Sanderson. Knowing her family background as she did, she’d be the kind of woman who’d want to try to nourish his soul.

If he still had a soul, that was.

‘Lucky I brought these, then,’ he said, pulling out a box of tea lights. He set half a dozen along the balustrade.

‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ she murmured.

‘It’s my practical streak.’ He shot her a quick glance as he lit them. ‘I wasn’t sure if the power company would make it here to switch on the electricity in time.’

He lowered himself to a corner of the rug on the other side of the feast and passed her some plastic cutlery and a plate from the box. She piled up her plate as if she hadn’t eaten a square meal in a week.

‘So, what do you think of the building?’ He spooned some rice onto his plate.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said around a mouthful of chicken. ‘Absolutely gorgeous. Just what we need.’

He popped the cork on the champagne bottle, poured it. ‘Have you had a chance to decide how you want to set it up?’

‘Yes. I’ll take you downstairs and show you after.’

He handed her a foaming glass, raised his own. ‘A toast to our new partnership.’

‘To success.’ She clinked her glass to his.

To us, Lissa wanted to say. But despite the candles’ soft glow caressing his face with bronze fingers and casting shadows in the violet spaces between them and the love song’s words on the tinny player, this wasn’t supposed to be a romantic dinner.

And she’d had to go and mention that kiss.

Obviously he’d not been thinking about it at all. Just because he’d said he’d been thinking about her, didn’t mean he’d been thinking about her in any romantic sense. He probably had loads of women who’d been waiting ten years just for his call. Naturally he’d think about her, and it wouldn’t be good.

She’d just managed to lose all her belongings and the boat he called his. He’d inherited a house-mate he hadn’t asked for. And that wasn’t all. He’d had no intention of being involved in a business, let alone an interior design one. He’d rather have his luxury sail boat. Was it any wonder he’d been thinking about her?

‘Wine not to your taste?’

His voice dragged her back to the present and their surroundings. ‘Yes, it’s lovely. Thank you.’ And so it should be, at the price she knew it sold for. French, too, always her favourite. She took a sip and said, ‘So, the navy must pay you very well.’

He shrugged. ‘I do okay.’

‘Just okay?’ Clearly he didn’t want to talk about any aspect of his working life—his previous working life—or how they happened to be drinking one of the most expensive celebratory champagnes available.

‘I live in military accommodation when I’m not at sea. I’ve never had a mortgage so I’ve put my money into buying property. This building for example.’ He forked up a morsel of meat, but didn’t put it in his mouth. ‘If you’re wondering whether I am, in fact, a secret international drug lord, maybe I should tell you my mother also left me a sizeable inheritance.’ His expression betrayed nothing of his emotions regarding the loss of his mother.

Lissa remembered the car accident that had claimed Rochelle Everett’s life and brought Blake home that last time. She’d been a popular social celebrity and famous for her charitable work from Surfers all the way up to the Sunshine Coast.

‘I was sorry to hear about your mother, Blake. She did so much good for the community.’

He studied the meat on his fork. ‘Can’t deny that.’ Then he jammed it in his mouth, chewed a moment and washed it down with a long, slow swallow of champagne.

Lissa felt the wall go up so hard, so fast, it made her head spin. Impenetrable. Insurmountable. What made a man so unwilling to talk about himself? Every aspect, every topic she broached, every time she tried to get him to open up, he stopped her cold. And it wasn’t only pain she saw in his eyes, there was bitterness too.

She’d never known her mother, who’d died when Lissa was born. She’d also discovered a few years ago that she was the result of her mother’s affair with an itinerant artist. The man she’d known as her father was dead and good riddance. But she couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of losing Jared, who’d been both a mother and father to her in her formative years, or Crystal, her older sister.

But Blake’s mother had been a good person, a caring person who’d worked tirelessly for charity and the community. What was it with him?

So she spent the rest of the meal covering easy neutral and safe topics, like her family. She told him how Jared had met Sophie when she’d emailed her not-so-secret diary to him on her first day as his PA and he laughed the bubbles off the top of his champagne. Then she regaled him with entertaining stories about her nieces and nephews.

He opened up enough to reminisce about his surfing days with her brother. She didn’t ask him about his work or what he intended doing now or his family again.

When they’d finished the meal, Lissa switched off the CD player, stacked the plates and Blake packed everything back, standing the half-finished bubbly in one corner of the carton.

Finally out of safe conversational topics, Lissa waited for Blake to speak or fill the void with … anything. He looked at her for a long, hushed, tension-packed moment, his eyes glinting in the candle’s seductive glow.

Anticipation swarmed through her body, her pulse picked up and her breathing quickened. She swore she could see the sexual sparks dancing between them on the candle-light.

But Blake didn’t kiss her. He wasn’t seduced or persuaded by those sparks. Instead, he rose, walked the couple of steps to the balustrade and blew out the candles, leaving only the light filtering up from downstairs. Back-lit, he was all stern lines and sharp angles and shadows. Who are you really, Blake Everett? What’s made you this way?

Then he bent down, picked up his box and said, ‘I think it’s about time you filled me in on your plans for this place.’