Читать книгу The Australian Affairs Collection - Margaret Way - Страница 43
ОглавлениеWHEN DYLAN PARKED the car at the shopping centre Mia removed her seat belt and turned fully to face him. ‘We’re not going to do the Pretty Woman thing in here, Dylan.’
He knew exactly what she meant and a secret fantasy—or not so secret, in this case—died a quick death.
He didn’t argue with her. He’d already forced her into too many situations that she hadn’t wanted this week.
He wanted to make her smile. Not frown.
He wanted to make her life a little bit easier. Not harder. And he had been making it harder. He couldn’t deny that.
Then walk away now. Leave her be.
The look on her face when Felipe had snapped that photograph of her... It burned through his soul now. He’d wanted to make it up to her. He’d wanted to make things right. Nothing before had ever stung him the way her rejection of his aid had done.
She heaved out a sigh. ‘Are we going to have to argue about this?’
He shook his head. ‘Tell me exactly what you want to have happen in there.’ He nodded towards the shops.
‘I want to walk into a budget chain store, select a pair of board shorts and a swim-shirt, and pay for them with my own money. I then want to leave.’
Precise and exact.
‘Can I make one small suggestion?’
She stared at him as if she didn’t trust him and it occurred to him that he didn’t blame her. His heavy-handed attempts to come to her defence last Tuesday hadn’t been entirely unselfish. He’d wanted that photo.
He’d taken one look at it and he’d wanted it for himself.
He couldn’t even explain why!
It was pointless denying his attraction to her, but he had no intention of falling for Mia. It would be a replay of his relationship with Caitlin all over again, and he’d learned his lesson the first time around.
It was just... Mia had got under his skin. He hated the way Thierry treated her. He hated the way Gordon treated her. He chafed at how hard her life was—at the unfairness of it. He wanted her to feel free to laugh the way she had in Felipe’s photograph.
It’s not your job to make her laugh.
Maybe not, but what harm would it do?
He shook himself, realising the pause in their conversation was in danger of becoming too charged.
‘It’s just a small suggestion.’
She pursed her lips. He did his best not to focus on their lushness, or the need that surged into his blood, clenching hard and tight about his groin. If he stared at them too long she’d know exactly where his thoughts had strayed, and that would be a disaster. For whatever reason, she was determined to ignore the attraction between them. Today he didn’t want to force her to face anything she didn’t want to face or do anything she didn’t want to do.
‘Okay.’ She hitched up her chin. ‘What’s this small suggestion?’
Her tone told him it had better be small. Or else. Her ‘or else’ might be interesting, but he resisted the temptation. Today was about making things easier for her.
‘I have it on pretty good authority that swim-shirts can chafe.’
She folded her arms, her lips twisting as if she thought he was spinning her a story.
‘So you might want to buy a one-piece suit to wear underneath. And, while shirts are great for avoiding sunburn, they don’t protect your face, arms and legs, so you might consider adding sunscreen to your shopping list too. And a hat.’
She smiled, and the noose that had started to tighten about his neck eased. ‘I have sunscreen at home. I use it for work. But a new hat might be nice.’
He stared at that smile and then fumbled for the door handle. He needed to get out of the car now or he’d be in danger of kissing her.
‘Let’s go shopping.’
* * *
Mia looked cute in her board shorts and swim-shirt—a combination of blue and pink that set off the warmth of her skin and provided a perfect foil for the dark lustre of her hair. She’d look cute in the modest one-piece that he knew she wore beneath too, and while he’d be lying if he said he didn’t care about seeing her in a bikini, a large part of him simply didn’t care what she wore. That large part of him just wanted her to relax and be happy.
He glanced across. She reclined on a banana lounger, staring at her toes and smiling.
He moved to the lounger beside hers. ‘What are you smiling at?’
Her cheeks went a delicious pink. ‘Oh, I...’
He leaned closer, intrigued. ‘’Fess up.’
Her eyes danced. Not long ago they’d all enjoyed a rousing game of water volleyball in the pool, and it had improved everyone’s mood—even Thierry’s.
‘This is going to sound utterly frivolous, but... I’m admiring my toes.’
He glanced at her toes and she wiggled them at him.
‘I haven’t had painted toenails since I was fifteen or sixteen...and the pedicurist has made them look so pretty.’
They were a shiny fairy-floss pink...and totally kissable.
‘I think I’ll sit here and admire them too. They’re too cute for words.’
She laughed, and something inside him soared.
‘I’ve had a really nice afternoon, Dylan. I just wanted to say thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I’m hoping the fun continues well into the evening.’
She glanced across at Carla and Thierry, sitting at a table on the other side of the pool, a giant umbrella casting them in shade. ‘Thierry seems a bit more relaxed today. Maybe pool volleyball is the secret to his soul.’
He found himself strangely reluctant to focus on the other couple’s real or imagined issues at the moment. ‘Would you like to see the Jason Gilmore?’ At her frown he added, ‘You remember. The photographer Felipe scoffed at?’
She hesitated, and then gestured out in front of her. ‘Can it compete with this?’
He stared out at the view spread before them and then rested his hands back behind his head. ‘Nothing can compete with this view.’
And it was all the better too for having Mia’s toes in the foreground.
‘You have a pool that looks like it belongs in a resort.’
The pool was long enough for laps, curving at one end to form a lagoon, with an island in the middle—a handy spot for resting drinks and nibbles. There was an infinity edge that had utterly bewitched Mia when she’d first seen it.
He nodded. The pool was amazing. ‘But even better is the view beyond it.’
The Fairweather mansion sat on a headland, and the forest leading down the cliff obscured the beach below, but the Pacific Ocean was spread out before them in all its sapphire glory. Waves crashed against rocky outcrops and the spray lifted up into the air in a spectacular display of the ocean’s power. It was elemental, primal and magnificent.
‘We’re incredibly lucky to live here.’
‘You are,’ she said, but her voice lacked any resentment. She glanced across at him. ‘I suspect you work very hard for your luck.’
He gestured to the pool and the house. ‘We inherited this from our parents.’
She gazed at him, her eyes moss-dark. ‘And yet I bet you’d give it all up to spend just one more day with them.’
Her words hit him squarely in the secret, private part of himself that he let no one but Carla see. If only he could see his father again and ask his advice about how best to deal with his uncle. If only he could sit down with his mother and ask her how he could best support Carla. To have the chance to simply hug them one more time...share a meal with them...laugh with them. His chest burned with the ache of their absence.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.’
He pushed himself out of his grief. ‘Not sad.’
She shot him a tiny smile. ‘You’re a dreadful liar, Dylan.’
For some reason that made him laugh. ‘I miss them. I don’t know what else to say.’
‘You don’t have to say anything.’
With Mia he felt that might indeed be true.
‘Is this photograph of yours in your bedroom?’
He stared at her, and a grin built through him. ‘Did you think I was trying to whisk you away under false pretences?’
She pointed a finger at him, her lips twitching. ‘I’m on to your tricks. You are not to be trusted.’
‘Ah, but do you want me to be trustworthy?’ He seized her finger and kissed it.
She sucked in a breath, her eyes widening, and it was all he could do not to lean across and kiss her for real.
If he kissed her now, she’d run.
And he was starting to realise that he’d do just about anything to make her stay. He had no idea what that meant.
‘However, in this instance, madam, I’m being eminently trustworthy. The photo hangs in the formal lounge.’
She glanced at her toes, the view, and then at him. ‘In that case I should like to see it.’
He rose, holding out his hand to her. She hesitated for a beat before putting her hand in his and letting him help her to her feet. He laced his fingers through hers, intent on holding on for as long as she’d let him.
‘Why do you keep it in the formal lounge rather than the living area?’
‘You’ll understand when you see it.’
She left her hand in his and it felt like a victory.
* * *
The moment Mia clapped eyes on the photograph she understood why Dylan didn’t keep it in the more informal living areas. Even distracted as she was by Dylan’s touch, his fingers laced casually through hers as if he was used to holding hands with a woman, the power of the photograph beat at her.
In her entire life she’d only ever held hands with three men—her father, when she’d been very small, Johnnie, when she’d been very stupid, and now Dylan.
You’re no longer either very young or very stupid.
She wasn’t convinced about the latter.
She tugged her hand from his to take a step closer to the picture and he let her go—easily and smoothly.
‘It’s...awe-inspiring.’
She wasn’t sure she’d be able to live with it every day. It was so powerful. She wasn’t even sure where the power came from...
On the surface it seemed a simple landscape—a preternaturally still ocean with not a single wave ruffling its surface. In the foreground crouched a grassy headland, with every blade of grass as still as the water—unruffled by even the tiniest of breezes. But storm clouds hung low over the ocean, turning the water a menacing monochrome. Behind the photographer, though, the sun shone fierce, piercing the picture with a powerful light, making each blade of grass stand out in brilliant green relief. The contrast—so odd and so true—held her captive.
‘What do you think?’
She had to swallow before she could speak. ‘Your Mr Gilmore has caught that exact moment before a storm hits—before the wind rushes through and the clouds cover the sun. It’s...it’s the deep breath. It’s like a duel between light and dark, good and evil.’
He moved to stand beside her. ‘I feel that too.’
‘And you know that in this instance the dark is going to win...’
‘But?’
‘But I can’t help feeling it’s not going to prevail—the dark is only temporary. Once the storm has worn itself out the sun will reign supreme again.’
They stood in silence and stared at it. Mia stiffened.
‘It’s about grief and hope,’ she blurted out, unable to stop herself. ‘It makes me feel sad and hopeful, and happy...and incredibly grateful, all at the same time.’
She turned to him and found all her emotions reflected in his face.
He nodded. ‘I know.’
‘It’s the most amazing picture I’ve ever seen.’
‘It’s the second most amazing one I’ve seen.’
She’d started to turn towards the photo again, but at his words she turned back with a raised eyebrow. ‘You’ve seen something to top this?’
‘That photo Felipe took of you—it made me feel all of that and more.’
It was as if a hand reached out to squeeze her chest, making breathing all but impossible. ‘Oh, I...’
She didn’t know what to say, and the spell was broken when Carla burst into the room.
‘Oh, Dylan!’
It seemed to her that he turned reluctantly. ‘What’s wrong?’
Carla wrung her hands, making odd noises in her throat, and Dylan’s gaze sharpened.
Mia stepped forward to take her hand. ‘What is it, Carla?’
Carla grasped her hand in a death grip. ‘Oh, Mia, there aren’t enough apologies in the world.’ Turning to Dylan, she said, ‘Uncle Andrew has just arrived.’
Her words seemed to age Dylan by ten years. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that there was no love lost between them and their uncle. He must be an utter ogre if his arrival could cause such an expression to darken Carla’s eyes. As if...as if she might be afraid of the man.
Mia glanced at the photograph that dominated the wall and then pushed her shoulders back, aching to see Carla and Dylan smiling and laughing again.
‘So...your uncle is a storm?’
Dylan’s gaze speared hers. She sent him a small smile.
‘I have a relative like that. I guess we’ll just have to weather him.’ She winked at Carla. ‘Who knows? Maybe Thierry will charm him.’
Carla choked back a laugh.
Dylan glanced at the photo and something in his shoulders unhitched. He reached out and gave Mia a one-armed hug, pressing his lips to her hair. It was friendly and affectionate, not seductive, but it heated her blood all the same.
‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and face the dragon.’
* * *
Over dinner Mia discovered that the elder Fairweather was everything she most feared—an intimidating authoritarian with views that were as narrow as they were strong. He was the kind of man who took his privilege for granted, but considered it his God-given duty to ensure that no one else in his family did.
Add to that the fact that Andrew Robert Fairweather was a Federal Court judge—he sent people to jail for a living—and Mia could feel her legs start to shake.
This was the person who’d replaced Carla and Dylan’s parents as role model and guardian? Her stomach rolled in a slow, sickening somersault. For all their trust fund money and fancy education, Mia didn’t envy Dylan and Carla one jot. She found her heart going out to them in sympathy.
‘It’s past time I was introduced to this man you mean to marry, Carla. As you won’t bring him to meet me, I’ve had to resort to descending on you unannounced.’
‘You’re welcome here any time, Uncle Andrew.’ Dylan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Your room is always kept ready for you.’
‘Humph!’ He fixed his gaze on Mia. ‘Who are you?’ he barked.
Three years in prison had taught Mia to hide all visual evidence of fear. It had also taught her to fly beneath the radar. ‘I’m Mia. Just a friend of Carla and Dylan’s.’
He immediately passed over her to start grilling Thierry.
Thierry, it appeared, ticked every box on the elder Fairweather’s list of what was desirable. As a self-made man in the world of finance, Thierry had power, position, and money of his own. They even knew some of the same people.
If Andrew Fairweather had expected Thierry to fawn he’d be sadly disappointed, but for the moment at least he didn’t seem to hold that against the younger man.
Their exchange took the heat off the rest of them for a good fifteen minutes. Three sets of shoulders lowered a fraction. Dylan, Carla and Mia even dared to nibble at their thin slices of smoked salmon.
It wasn’t until the entrée had been cleared away and a delicious risotto served that Fairweather Senior turned his attention back to his niece and nephew.
‘Pray tell, Carla Ann, what are you doing with the education you’ve been so fortunate to have had? Frittering it away like your brother, no doubt?’
Carla glanced at Dylan. The older man had to be joking, right?
‘Carla has no need to work for a living,’ Thierry inserted smoothly. ‘She’s in the fortunate position of being able to help others—a role she takes seriously and one I’m happy to support. Recently she’s been busy working on charitable projects, including some important conservation work. I couldn’t be more proud of her.’
Wow! Go, Thierry. Mia didn’t blame Carla in the least for the look of unabashed adoration that she sent him.
Dylan glanced at Mia and raised an eyebrow. She could only shrug in answer.
‘Well, what about you?’
His uncle fixed Dylan with a glare that made Mia quail internally. Silence stretched and she searched for something that would help ease the tension that had wrapped around the table.
She forced a forkful of food to her mouth and made an appreciative noise. ‘This meal is really lovely. I’d... I’d like to become a better cook.’
Everyone stared at her. Her stomach curdled. She loathed being the centre of attention. She grasped the lifeline Dylan had given her on a previous occasion.
‘I’ve always wanted to make veal scaloppini. I don’t suppose anyone has a good recipe for that particular dish, do they?’
It was Thierry, of all people, who answered. ‘I have a fool-proof recipe.’
Thierry cooked? She shook off her surprise. ‘Would you be willing to share it?’
‘Yes.’
Andrew Fairweather’s face darkened. ‘Dylan, I—’
‘Maybe I could make it and you could all come to dinner at my place to try it?’
Carla finally got with the programme. ‘What a lovely idea, Mia.’
From the corner of her eye Mia could see Mr Fairweather opening his mouth again, his hard gaze burning in Dylan’s direction. She set her fork down.
‘Maybe we should set a date?’
She couldn’t seem to help herself, but she had a feeling she’d say anything to halt the malice she could see sitting on the end of the older man’s tongue.
‘What about Saturday two weeks from now?’ Carla suggested.
‘I’m free.’ She had no social plans slotted into her calendar at all.
When she glanced at Dylan she found him smiling at her.
‘Sounds great. If you’re sure?’
Her stomach started to churn. She was very far from sure, but she couldn’t back out now. ‘If it’s a disaster we’ll just call out for pizza.’
She’d aimed for light, but even though both Dylan and Carla laughed it occurred to Mia then that nothing could lighten the mood around the table.
‘Back to business!’ Mr Fairweather boomed. ‘Dylan, I want to know what you’re working on at the moment.’
All her offer of dinner had done was delay the inevitable. His uncle fired question after question at Dylan—all of them designed to put him on the defensive, all of them designed to make him look small.
A frown built through her. But...why?
She glanced from Dylan to his uncle, trying to understand the animosity that crackled between them. Carla said nothing, just stared down at her plate of untouched food. Thierry met her gaze, but there was no help to be had there. His curled lip was directed at her, not at Fairweather Senior.
‘You were given all of the tools to make something of yourself and you’ve wasted them,’ Andrew Fairweather was saying.
No, he hadn’t!
‘I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, sir.’
No! A hundred times no! Dylan shouldn’t apologise to this man. In whose world could Dylan ever be construed as a failure? How could anyone conceivably interpret Dylan’s achievements as worthless or lacking in value?
Would no one stick up for him?
Fairweather Senior slammed his knife and fork down. ‘You could’ve done something important! Instead you’ve wasted the opportunities presented to you on trivial nonsense. You should be ashamed of yourself. You lack backbone and brains and you’re—’
‘You are so wrong!’ Mia shot to her feet, quailing inside but unable to sit and listen to Dylan being run down like that any longer. ‘What Dylan does is neither shallow nor trivial. He brings people’s dreams to life. Don’t you realise how important that is?’
‘Important? He throws parties for a living. It’s disgraceful!’
‘You really mean to tell me you can’t see the merit in what Dylan does?’ Her daring and defiance made her stomach churn, but she couldn’t stop herself. She turned to Dylan. ‘How long have you had to put up with this?’
‘Mia, I—’
She swung back to his uncle. ‘Your nephew provides people with memories they can treasure for a lifetime. Dylan doesn’t just “throw parties”—he doesn’t just light sparklers and eat cake. He creates events that mark milestones in people’s lives. He creates events that honour their accomplishments. He provides an opportunity for people to celebrate their achievements with their families, their friends and their peers. That’s what life is about. It’s not trivial or shallow. It’s important!’
‘Duty is what’s important!’
Mia swallowed and reminded herself that she wasn’t on trial here. Regardless of how much she displeased him, Fairweather Senior couldn’t send her to jail simply for disagreeing with him.
‘I agree that working hard and being a useful member of society is important—it’s what we should all strive for. And Dylan does both those things.’ She lifted her hands skywards. ‘Can’t you see how hard he works? Can’t you see how talented he is? He has a gift—he’s a creator of dreams. And if you can’t see the value in that then I pity you.’
She dropped her crisp linen napkin to the table. ‘If you’ll all excuse me for a moment...?’
She turned and walked out of the dining room. Everything started to shake—her hands, her knees...her breath. Letting herself out of a side door, she stumbled down a series of steps and collapsed onto a low retaining wall that stood just beyond the light of the house. Dropping her head to her knees, she felt her shoulders shaking with the sobs she couldn’t hold back.
‘Shh...’
She found herself lifted and planted in Dylan’s lap. His arms moved about her, holding her securely against him. His warm scent surrounded her.
‘Why are you crying, Mia? You were magnificent.’
‘I scared myself.’ She hiccupped through her sobs. ‘I... Men like your uncle scare me.’
‘Men like that scare everyone. But at the moment I think he’s more afraid of you.’
He said it to make her laugh, but she was still too shaken. She lifted her head and scrubbed her fists across her face. Dylan slapped her hands away and dried her face gently with the softest of cotton handkerchiefs.
‘Look at me,’ he urged gently.
‘No.’ She stared instead at her hands, but she couldn’t prevent herself from leaning into him and taking comfort from his strength and his warmth.
‘Why not?’
She pulled in a shaky breath. ‘Because I know what I’ll see in your face, Dylan, and I don’t deserve it.’
‘You don’t think you deserve admiration and gratitude?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Mia, you—’
‘It was a man like your uncle who sentenced me to three years in jail. And he was right to do so. I’d broken the law. I’d taken money that didn’t belong to me.’
She hadn’t kept it, but that was neither here nor there.
‘That’s why my uncle scares you?’
She met his gaze then. ‘I meant everything I said at the table. Every single word.’
His eyes throbbed into hers. ‘I know.’
‘But, Dylan, don’t you see? All it would’ve taken was for Thierry to tell your uncle that I’m an ex-convict and that would’ve instantly negated everything I’d said.’
‘Not in my eyes.’
No, not in Dylan’s eyes. She reached up and touched his cheek. ‘But it would in your uncle’s...and most other people’s too.’
He turned his head to press a kiss to her hand. She went to pull it away but he pressed his hand on top of it, trapping it between the heat of his hand and the warmth of his face.
‘Does it matter what people like my uncle think?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it means that whenever I stand up against some injustice, as soon as my background is known my protests have no effect, no impact. In fact it usually makes things worse—as if their association with me taints them. I might as well have kept my mouth shut.’
‘You’re wrong.’
The intensity of his gaze held her trapped. She couldn’t look away.
‘After you left just then, Carla announced to the table at large that she was proud of me. It’s the very first time she’s ever stood up to him.’
Her heart pounded against the walls of her chest. ‘Have you ever stood up to him?’
‘On Carla’s account—but never my own.’
She couldn’t stop herself from brushing his cheek with her thumb. It turned his eyes dark and slumberous.
Dangerous.
The word whispered through her, but she didn’t move away. She liked being this close to Dylan.
‘You shouldn’t let him treat you the way he does.’
‘I realised that tonight for the first time. I’ve made a lot of excuses for him over the years. He lost his brother, and he and my aunt provided a home for Carla when our parents died.’ He shrugged. ‘The family tradition of law and politics is important to him, but I had no intention of ever following that path. Letting him rant and rave at me seemed a small price to pay, but...’
‘But?’ she urged, wanting him to break free from all the belittling and bullying.
‘But I hadn’t realised until tonight how much I’d let his voice get inside my head. Somewhere over the years I’d unknowingly started to agree with him—started to define myself by his standards. But tonight you stood up and reminded me of why I do what I do. And I felt proud of it.’
She smiled. It came from way down deep inside her.
Dylan stared at her. His gaze lowered to her lips and the colour of his eyes darkened to a deep sapphire. A pulse started up in the centre of her.
‘I want to kiss you, Mia.’
Her heart fluttered up into her throat. ‘Oh, that would be a very, very bad idea.’
‘Why?’
A part of her wished he’d just seize her lips with his and be done with talking.
Crazy thought!
‘Because...’ It was hard to talk with her heart hammering in her throat. ‘Because I’ve made it clear where I stand in relation to romance and relationships.’
‘And you think I want more?’
They’d set their ground rules, but...
‘Do you?’
‘Things change.’ He spoke slowly, frowning.
His reply frightened her, and yet she didn’t move away.
‘I haven’t changed.’ She’d meant the declaration to sound defiant, but it came out whisper-soft and full of yearning. She couldn’t drag her gaze from the firm promise of his lips.
‘If you really don’t want me to kiss you, I won’t.’ He trailed his fingers down her throat and along her collarbone. ‘I meant to say earlier that I love your dress.’
The change of topic should have thrown her, but she grasped it like a lifeline. ‘It’s new. I bought it especially.’ She hadn’t been able to resist the raspberry-coloured linen dress once she’d tried it on.
‘For tonight? For me?’
Her eyes met his.
No lying.
‘Yes.’
His fingers continued to trail delicious paths of sensation across her skin. ‘Are you sure your stance on romance hasn’t changed?’
She couldn’t look away. ‘Positive.’
Liar.
‘I still want to kiss you.’
She should move away, put an end to this insanity.
‘And I think you want that too.’
Her heart beat so loud she thought he must hear it.
‘Would you like me to kiss you, Mia?’
Her pulse thumped. ‘I’ll own to some curiosity,’ she managed.
‘Is that a yes?’
She met his gaze and nodded. ‘Yes.’
