Читать книгу The Australian Affairs Collection - Margaret Way - Страница 46
ОглавлениеTHE STORY DIDN’T break on Monday or Tuesday. It didn’t break on Wednesday or Thursday either. There wasn’t a single item in the newspapers about Dylan, let alone any shady ex-convict women he might be dating.
Not that they were dating.
Even if he’d made it clear that he’d like to be.
Mia’s wilful heart leapt at the thought, avoiding all her attempts to squash its exuberance.
She’d finally gathered up the courage to ring Carla on Tuesday night. Carla had claimed she didn’t care about Mia’s history—that she only cared about the kind of person Mia was now. Mia had even believed her.
She hadn’t seen Dylan all week. He hadn’t dropped by Plum Pines during her lunchbreak. He hadn’t rung her for no reason at all other than to talk nonsense until she started to laugh in spite of herself. He hadn’t even rung to talk about the wedding.
Despite her best intentions, she missed him.
She didn’t just miss him—she ached for him.
On Friday morning, when it was barely light, she rushed the one and a half kilometres to the nearest newsagent’s to buy a newspaper. Again, nothing.
Saturday dawned—the day of her dinner party—and still no scandal broke. She could hardly imagine what strings Dylan had pulled to hush up the story. Could she start to breathe more easily?
It didn’t make the memory of their encounter with the photographer fade, though. She physically flinched whenever she recalled the moment Dylan had punched the other man. Was he crazy? He could have been hauled off in a paddy wagon and thrown in a cell overnight! All because someone had called her a bad name.
Couldn’t he see that for the rest of her life there’d be people who’d be happy to call her bad names? What would he do—punch them all on the nose?
Dylan deserved better than that.
So do you.
The thought whispered through her and she had to sink down into the nearest chair. Her heart thumped, the pulse in her throat pounded and her temples throbbed.
There are worse things than prison.
Dylan was right.
Shame, sharp and hot, engulfed her. She’d stolen money from people—people who hadn’t deserved it. Knowing she was capable of that—living with that knowledge—was the worst thing of all. She’d willingly spend another three years in prison if it would rid her of the taint. But it wouldn’t. Nothing would. Saying sorry to the people she’d hurt, doing her jail time, being a model prisoner, having the counselling—none of that had helped.
The only way she could ensure she never did something like that again was to stay away from people as much as she could.
Heat burned the backs of her eyes. She pressed a fist to her mouth. She wanted to believe Dylan—believe that she’d changed, become stronger, that no one could manipulate her now. His face rose up in her mind...a beautiful dream she’d kept telling herself was out of reach. Her every atom yearned towards him.
With a half-sob, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t reach for that dream until she was certain she’d changed.
But how could she ever be certain of that?
* * *
Mia glanced at the plate of nibbles she’d set on the coffee table—some nice cheese and fancy crackers, along with some fat feta-stuffed olives. Should she add some grapes to the platter?
She clasped and unclasped her hands. She wasn’t serving an entrée—just a main and a dessert...and these pre-dinner nibbles.
She peered into the refrigerator to check on the individual crème-brûlées she’d prepared earlier. What if they’d spoiled?
They hadn’t.
She glanced at the wine. What if she’d chosen the wrong sort? She knew nothing about wine. The man at the liquor store had been helpful, but still...
What if nobody wanted wine? What if they wanted something she didn’t have? She’d stocked up on mineral water and cola. She’d filled umpteen ice cube trays, so there’d be plenty of ice, but... She hadn’t thought to buy port. What if someone wanted an after-dinner port? Or sherry!
She twisted her hands together. What if she ruined the veal scaloppini?
We’ll call out for pizza.
What if she spilled a whole bottle of wine?
We’ll mop it up.
What if—?
Relax.
The voice in her head sounded suspiciously like Dylan’s. Funnily enough, it did help calm her panic.
It’s just a dinner for friends. Nothing to get het up about.
A knock sounded at the front door and her heart immediately leapt into her throat.
They were twenty minutes early!
Does it matter?
Yes. No. She didn’t know.
She wiped her palms down her pretty pink summer dress—another extravagant spur-of-the-moment purchase. She’d been making a few of those since she’d met Dylan—not that she could find it in herself to regret them.
Pulling in a breath, she went to answer it. Dylan stared at her from behind the screen. He held a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers, but she barely noticed them against the intensity of his burning blue eyes.
Swallowing, she unlatched the screen and pushed it open. ‘Come in.’
He kissed her check—all formality—and handed her the wine and flowers. ‘Gifts for the hostess.’
She swallowed again, her senses drenched with the nutmeg scent of him. ‘Thank you.’
While he might be physically close, his reserve made him seem a million miles away. Her fingers tightened around the stems of the flowers. She had no idea how to breach that distance. She wasn’t even sure she should attempt it.
‘I didn’t know if you’d come.’ She moved behind the kitchen counter to find a vase for the flowers—yellow-headed daisies.
‘I’d have let you know if I couldn’t make it.’
Of course he would. He had impeccable manners.
She glanced up to find him scrutinising her living room, a frown—small but unmistakable—settling over his features.
She set the vase of flowers on the kitchen bench and walked across. ‘What’s wrong?’ Maybe he hated cheese and olives. She could have sworn he’d eaten them the night she’d dined at the Fairweather mansion.
He gestured to the room. ‘Do you mind if I make a few adjustments?’
‘Knock yourself out.’
He immediately shifted the cushions out of their perfect alignment and shook out her throw rug before casually draping it across the sofa. He took a decorative rock from the mantel and placed it on the coffee table, pushed the platter of cheese and olives from the centre further towards one end. He moved the vase of fresh flowers she’d bought that morning to the end of the mantel, rather than dead centre, and then pulled a magazine and a book from the magazine rack, all but hidden by the sofa, and placed them on the little table by the door.
‘There!’ He dusted off his hands. ‘Now the place looks lived in.’
Mia blinked. His few simple changes had made a big difference. The room now radiated warmth rather than stiff awkwardness.
Her hands went to her hips. ‘How do you even know how to do that?’
He shrugged. ‘You just need to relax a bit more, Mia.’
Relaxing around Dylan... Was that even possible?
She swallowed. ‘I spoke to Carla through the week.’
‘I know. She’s talked of little else.’
Mia couldn’t work out whether he was pleased about that or not.
‘Carla’s the reason I’m early. She seemed to think you might need a hand, and that I should be the one to offer it.’
He didn’t smile.
She gestured to the room, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Obviously she was right.’
He just stared at her, his eyes blue and brooding.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. ‘I...uh... I think I have everything under control.’ She kicked into hostess mode. ‘Can I get you a drink? Beer, wine...soft drink?’
He chose wine. She poured wine for both of them and invited him to help himself to the cheese and olives. They sat there barely talking, barely looking at each other. Mia excused herself and pretended to do something in the kitchen.
They were rescued from their excruciating awkwardness when Carla and Thierry arrived fifteen minutes later.
‘Oh, look at your cottage!’ Carla gushed, hugging her. ‘It’s so quaint and pretty.’
Carla’s kindness eased some of the burning in Mia’s soul, and she could only give thanks that his sister’s presence made Dylan a little more sociable. Thierry neither hugged her nor kissed her cheek. Not that she’d expected him to do either. He barely said hello.
The veal scaloppini was a melt-in-the-mouth success. The dinner, however, wasn’t. Dylan complimented her on the food, made small talk about nothing of note, and every time Mia glanced at him a knife twisted into her heart. His despondency—his unhappiness—was her fault.
She hated it that she’d hurt him. And she didn’t know how to make it right. More to the point, she didn’t know if she should make it right.
Carla’s eyes grew increasingly narrow as she glanced from Mia to Dylan. Thierry just continued to survey Mia with his usual and by now familiar suspicion.
She told a funny story about a wombat at Plum Pines but only Carla laughed.
She mentioned that she was considering getting a car and asked if they had any opinions on what she should buy. Thierry said he wasn’t interested in cars.
Carla gaped at him. ‘Liar!’
‘I’m interested in sports cars. Mia can’t afford one of those.’
‘Don’t be so rude!’
‘No, Thierry’s right,’ Mia jumped in. ‘I’m just after something reliable and economical.’
Dylan then subjected them all to a long, monotonous monologue about the pros and cons of a particular model of hatchback that had their eyes glazing over and Mia wishing she’d never asked the question in the first place.
‘What is wrong with you two?’ Carla finally burst out at the two men. ‘I think it’s brave of Mia to tell us the full story of her past. I don’t care what the two of you think—it doesn’t change the way I feel about her. She’s been a lovely friend to me.’
‘Carla, that’s really nice of you.’ Mia’s heart hammered up into her throat. ‘But I think you ought to know that Dylan doesn’t have an issue with my past either.’
Carla folded her arms, her eyes flashing. ‘Then what’s the problem? What’s wrong with the pair of you?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ Thierry bit out.
‘Dylan is my brother. Mia is my friend. Of course it’s my business.’ She turned to Mia. ‘Is it because of that incident with the photographer?’
Dylan’s hands clenched about his knife and fork. ‘Why the hell did you have to tell Carla about that anyway?’ he shot at Mia.
An answering anger snapped through her. ‘I didn’t know it was a state secret. Besides, I thought it only fair that Carla be prepared for the story to break.’
‘I told you I’d take care of it!’
‘You’ll have to excuse my scepticism. I didn’t know your reach was both long and powerful enough to stop a story that juicy from making the headlines.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me!’
He glared at her.
She glared back.
‘Why did you wait until Tuesday night to tell Carla?’
The question ground out of Thierry, cutting through everything else.
Mia moistened her lips. ‘Because I was afraid that once she knew the whole truth she’d despise me.’
Thierry leaned towards her. On her other side she felt Dylan tense.
‘She should despise you.’
‘Thierry!’
Carla’s pallor caught at Mia’s heart.
‘Ignore him. He has a giant chip on his shoulder because his father was in and out of prison all through his childhood.’
Mia’s jaw dropped as Thierry’s animosity made sudden and perfect sense.
Thierry shot to his feet. ‘I told you that in the strictest confidence!’
They all stared after him as he slammed out of the house.
Carla leapt up too, grabbing her handbag. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ she said to Mia, before racing after him.
Mia glanced at Dylan. Did he mean to slam out of her cottage as well?
He stared back, his mouth a hard straight line, and she realised he meant to do no such thing.
She swallowed. ‘Dessert?’
‘Please.’
Before Mia could retrieve the crème-brûlées the cottage phone rang. That phone hardly ever rang.
She lifted the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘This is Andrew Fairweather, Ms Maydew—Dylan and Carla’s uncle. Perhaps you remember me?’
His tone of voice said, Of course you remember me.
‘Yes, sir, I do.’
‘A disturbing report has reached me claiming that you and my nephew are romantically involved. Well?’
His tone reminded her of her father. Her hands trembled.
You stood up to your father.
She pushed her shoulders back. ‘No comment.’
‘I know about your background, young lady!’
Her fingers tightened about the receiver. ‘I can’t say as I’m surprised.’ She glanced at Dylan to find him watching her closely.
‘I’m giving you a friendly warning.’
Oh, yes—very friendly.
‘Stay away from my nephew and niece or you will be sorry.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
The line went dead. She dropped the receiver to the cradle and made for the kitchen.
‘Was that the press?’ Dylan demanded.
She set a crème-brûlée in front of him and slid into her seat. ‘Have a taste.’
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but he spooned some of the dessert into his mouth and an expression of bliss spread across his face. He swore—just a little swear word—in an expression of wonder, not of alarm or anger. ‘This is amazing.’
She stared at him, her chest clenching and unclenching, her skin going hot and cold, and something inside her melted so fast she wanted to cry out loud at the shock of it.
She loved him.
She loved him utterly, but she couldn’t see how things between them could ever work out.
‘Mia?’
She straightened. ‘It wasn’t the press on the phone, Dylan. It was your uncle.’
* * *
Dylan swore—one of the rudest words he knew.
Mia flinched. For all that she’d been to jail, she was no hardened criminal.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.
She waved his apology away. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
It did matter. She deserved better. ‘He warned you off?’
‘Yes.’
He set his spoon down. ‘What did he threaten you with?’
Her lips lifted a fraction. ‘It wasn’t a threat, but a “friendly warning”.’
As if that were somehow different! He wished to God he could smile with her, but his sense of humour had deserted him. It had abandoned him when he’d walked away from her last week.
Fear had taken its place. Fear that he would never find a way to win her love.
‘And it wasn’t specific—just a general warning to stay away from you and Carla or I’d be sorry.’
‘Are you going to heed him?’
She picked up her spoon and pressed it gently to the crust of her crème-brûlée until it cracked. ‘Surely you and Carla have some say in the matter?’
He stilled. That felt like progress. ‘You’re not going to buckle under to his bullying?’
‘Your uncle reminds me of my father. I stood up to my father and the world didn’t come crashing down. Mind you—’ her sigh arrowed into his chest ‘—it didn’t do me any good either.’
The smile she sent him made his eyes burn.
‘I suspect that if he chooses, your uncle could cause trouble for me.’
‘And all you want is a quiet life?’
She lifted her eyes heavenward. ‘I crave a quiet life.’
Life with him would never be quiet.
She brought her spoon down on top of her dessert again, shattering the toffee crust further. ‘But me standing up to your uncle isn’t going to be enough for you, Dylan, is it?’ She met his gaze, her eyes troubled. ‘You want more from me, and I don’t know if I can give it to you.’
He straightened I don’t know was a monumental improvement on No chance at all.
‘You want our relationship to become physical, and you assure me you can keep that news under wraps from the press. I’m even starting to believe you. But can you promise me—?’
He leaned across and pressed a finger to her lips. ‘First things first.’ He needed to remove a significant problem before focusing on the reasons behind her softening. ‘You think my uncle can cause problems for you at work with Gordon?’
‘The thought has crossed my mind.’ She stabbed the spoon into her dessert. ‘I liked my plan—gain a useful qualification that’ll keep me in employment—but I think it’s time to say goodbye to it.’
He removed the crème-brûlée from her grasp and placed it out of reach before she totally mangled it. ‘You have a new plan?’ Even though he knew it was a long shot, he couldn’t help hoping he featured in this Plan B of hers.
‘I think I’d better start looking for unskilled work—factory work or waitressing. At a pinch I suppose I could join the fruit-picking circuit.’
A hand reached out and wrung his heart. ‘No!’
Her raised eyebrow told him he had no say in the matter.
‘I won’t leave you worse off than I found you. I won’t be responsible for that.’
Too late.
The words whispered through him, leaving a bitter aftertaste. ‘I promise to do everything in my power to ensure you keep your job at Plum Pines.’
He could see that while she believed the sincerity of his intention she didn’t think he’d be able to achieve the desired outcome. She had a point. His uncle held a lot of sway.
He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Right. If that doesn’t work... Look, I know you don’t want to work for FWE, but you could still do a traineeship with the company.’ He drummed his fingers harder as his mind raced. ‘I’d put you under one of my managers. You’d hardly see me. Our paths would barely cross.’ He’d make sure they didn’t if it would help her accept his offer. ‘After two years of working for FWE, you could get a job anywhere in the industry. Job security would never be an issue for you again.’
‘Dylan, I—’
He held up his hand. ‘This is only a fall-back plan, in case you’re fired from Plum Pines. I don’t want to be responsible for you losing your job. Ever since I’ve met you, all I’ve done is cause you trouble.’ He started to tick off the list on his fingers. ‘Gordon tried to fire you for flirting with me, when I was the one doing the flirting. I introduced you to Thierry, who tried to play the heavy with you. Felipe put you in an untenable position when he snapped that photograph. The press have tried to go to town on you. And now my uncle has threatened you. It’s not a list to be proud of.’
She glanced away. When she turned back, her eyes were dark and troubled. ‘I fear you’re paying for it too, though,’ she said.
She was worth any price he had to pay. Which would be fine if he were the one paying the piper and not her. When he looked at the facts baldly, he’d done nothing but cause her trouble.
‘That really is quite a list.’ For the briefest of moments her eyes twinkled. ‘It hasn’t been all bad. You’ve bought me chocolate, and I’ve had my toenails painted. And I got the opportunity to see some amazing art.’
It was a paltry list in comparison.
She pressed her hands together. ‘Most importantly, though, we now know Thierry isn’t mistreating Carla.’
That was something. He’d never have found that out if it weren’t for Mia.
‘I’ve also learned some decorating tips and had the opportunity to cook veal scaloppini. What more could a girl want?’
A whole lot more!
He dragged a hand back through his hair. ‘Dinner tonight was truly awful. Not the food,’ he added quickly. ‘The atmosphere.’ And that had mostly been his fault too.
Mia pleated the tablecloth. ‘I thought you were sulking.’
He couldn’t seem to find any middle ground where she was concerned. ‘I’ve been trying to give you some space, but the effort is killing me.’
As soon as he said it he knew the admission was too much. Mia sat further back in her seat. Further away from him. He had to swallow a groan at the pain that cramped his chest.
Pulling in a breath, he forced himself to focus on the important topic of their conversation. ‘Please tell me that if you do lose your job you’ll allow FWE to employ you. I can’t stand the thought of bringing that much trouble to your door. I know it means working in events management, rather than in conservation, but once you’ve gained the qualification you can arrange your working hours so you can study at night for a different qualification if you want. If I’m reading you correctly, it’s job security that’s really important to you.’
She was silent for several long moments, but eventually something in her shoulders unhitched. ‘Okay.’
He stared at her. ‘You mean it?’
‘I’m really, really hoping I don’t lose my position at Plum Pines.’
‘We’ll call that Plan A.’
‘But if I do lose it, then, yes... I’d like to accept your offer of a position at FWE. We can call that Plan B’
‘You’ll trust that I won’t try and take advantage of the situation?’
She nodded, and he found that he could smile. If she trusted him that far...
He rubbed his hands together. ‘I feel we’re making progress.’
‘Progress?’ The word squeaked out of her. ‘How?’
He leaned towards her. ‘I want to throw our ground rules out the window, Mia. I thought I only wanted an affair with you—fun, pleasure, satisfaction.’
At each word her eyes widened.
‘But I was wrong. I want a whole lot more than that. I want—’
She pressed her fingers to his lips before he could tell her he loved her. Her throat bobbed convulsively. ‘You’re moving too fast for me.’
He pressed a kiss to her fingers before wrapping her hand in his. ‘I’ll slow down.’
‘Do you even know how to do that?’
‘I’ll learn.’
Her brow creased. ‘Dylan, I can’t promise you anything.’
‘I know. I might have hope, but I don’t have any expectations. I have no right to expect anything from you.’
Dark eyes stared into his. ‘You have so much faith in me, and I have so little in myself.’
She had to find that faith or there’d be no chance for them. They both knew that.
Her gaze drifted down to his mouth. Her eyes darkened and her lips parted, as if she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.
‘And yet your beauty continues to addle my brain,’ she murmured, almost to herself. ‘That can’t be good.’
An answering desire took hold of him, his stomach muscles tightening and his skin tingling. ‘I think it’s excellent.’
She moistened her lips, her chest rising and falling. ‘Would you like to stay the night?’
For a moment he couldn’t breathe. His free hand clenched and then unclenched, before clenching again. ‘I would love to stay the night, but you told me sex wouldn’t make a difference.’
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
‘Can you promise me that it will make a difference, Mia?’
Her gaze slid away and she shook her head.
He pulled in a breath and held strong. ‘I want more than crumbs from you. I want everything.’
She looked as if she wanted to run away. ‘I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. Especially when I just asked you to slow down.’ She rubbed her brow. ‘We should bring this evening to a close and you should say goodnight.’
He rose, forcing her to rise too. If he didn’t leave soon he’d be in danger of settling for anything, however small. ‘It’s a hostess’s duty to escort her guests to the door.’
She bit back a smile as he pulled her along in his wake. ‘You’re just angling for a kiss.’
He backed her up against the wall. ‘It excites me to know you’re burning for me.’
Her breath hitched. ‘You promised slow.’
‘It’s just a kiss, Mia.’
‘Nothing is just anything with you, Dylan. We both know that.’
‘Then tell me to stop.’
Her gaze moved from his eyes to his mouth. ‘Just a kiss?’
He grinned down at her and shook his head. ‘I mean to leave you really burning, Mia.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I—’
He covered her mouth with his own, keeping the caress gentle until she relaxed beneath his touch, her lips moving against his, her mouth opening to him... And then, without warning, he deepened the kiss, intensifying it using his lips, tongue, teeth. His hands pressed into the small of her back until her full length was against his. He used every weapon in his armoury to assault her senses.
‘Dylan...’
His name was a groan of need on her lips, and it nearly drove him mad. She tangled her hands in his hair, drawing him closer as she tried to crawl into his skin, inflaming him beyond endurance. He pressed her back against the wall, his hands sliding down over her backside, his fingers digging into her buttocks, pulling her up and into him, his need for her a fire in his blood.
She wanted him too. They could have each other and...
He eased away from her. Their eyes locked. He wanted so much more than this from her, but he knew that if she asked him to stay now, he would.
She pulled in a breath, as if reading that thought in his face. With something that sounded like a sob, she planted a hand to his chest and gently pushed him away.
‘Go.’
