Читать книгу The Australian Affairs Collection - Margaret Way - Страница 58

CHAPTER EIGHT

DECLAN DID NOT want to meet Shelley’s sister. Or her sister’s fiancé, who was helping with the move. Meeting her family would be a link he did not want to establish. But he felt compelled to watch—perhaps to make it seem real that Shelley was going to be living here from today on.

With typical Shelley efficiency, she’d arrived early in the morning with her crew. Feeling uncomfortably as if he was spying on them, he watched from his office window. A tall, very slender young woman with short brown hair, who must be the sister, and a red-headed guy helped Shelley bring in her stuff.

Just a few boxes and suitcases appeared to constitute her possessions. Shelley herself had a laptop computer slung over her shoulder and some clothes still on their hangers to take in.

It was still a shock to see her out of her gardening gear. Today she wore faded, figure-hugging jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and the ugliest running shoes he had ever seen—practical, no doubt, but a shocking contrast to the sexy, stiletto-heeled boots she’d worn earlier in the week. Or Estella’s thigh-high boots.

Could the bespoke shoemaker in Italy where he bought his shoes make a pair of moss-green suede boots in Shelley’s size?

He pushed the crazy thoughts aside. Both of ordering the green boots—and of imagining Shelley wearing them, and very little else.

Shelley’s helpers were in and out of the apartment within an hour. He wondered if she had so few possessions because she didn’t want them or because she couldn’t afford them.

He realised he was paying her over the odds for the gardening work. And he didn’t begrudge her a cent of it. A horticulturalist was not the highest paid of jobs, which seemed at odds with the incredible depth of knowledge Shelley seemed to have. Again he thanked whatever lucky chance had sent her to him.

His only regret was he could not ask her to pose for him. Princess Estella had stalled on him, still missing that final extra detail that might make her viable as the character on which he could base a new game. But he had to put the thought of Shelley posing for him alone in his eyrie office out of his fantasies. Especially when he spent way too much time thinking about her—as a beautiful woman who attracted him, not as a mere muse.

However, he now had his duties as not only an employer but a landlord to consider. Once she’d had time to settle in, he would go down to the apartment—now her apartment—and see if there was anything he could give her a hand with. That was not making excuses to see her—it was obligation.

But before he could do so, he saw her heading out—and had to smother a gasp of stunned admiration. She was obviously going horseback riding. Shelley the equestrienne wore tight cream breeches that hugged every curve of her enticing behind, and a black, open-neck shirt that emphasised her slim, toned arms. She wore shiny black leather knee-high riding boots and carried a black velvet riding helmet under her arm, along with a leather riding crop.

Shelley had mentioned she rode horses as a teenager, jumping over snakes in typical warrior manner. Seemed as if she rode them still. But where? Certainly not around here, just minutes away from the heart of the city.

Who knew horseback riding gear could look so hot?

But then Shelley looked good in anything she wore—even the drab khaki. He wouldn’t let his mind travel any further along the path that might have him speculating on how she would look in nothing at all.

He watched her as she paused to look at the fountain, now under repair, then continued around the corner of the house to where she parked her so-old-it-was-practically-an-antique 4x4 in the driveway. The multi-car garage was filled with his collection of expensive sports cars that rarely got an airing these days.

But he was not just watching in admiration of how well she wore equestrienne mode. His stalled creativity was also firing back into life.

Now he knew exactly what was needed for Princess Estella.

A horse.

He turned back to his drawing board, his brain firing with so many ideas his hand holding the charcoal could scarcely keep up with his thoughts. As it always did when he was driven by creativity, time seemed to come to a halt as he got lost in the world of his imagination. Hours, days could go past.

He sketched Princess Estella astride a magnificent white horse with a flowing mane and tail that echoed the Warrior Princess’s glorious tresses.

But it was still not enough.

He paced up and down, up and down, coming back to the drawing board again and again. It was good but still not right.

Then it hit him. Estella was fantasy. Shelley was earthy, warm, reality.

Shelley rode a horse. But Estella was not bound by human and earthly constrictions.

Princess Estella would ride a unicorn.

Again he went back to his drawing board. It wasn’t difficult to transform the horse into a unicorn. He added a silver horn to the centre of its forehead. Made its eyes look less horse, more mythical creature whose gaze gleamed with knowledge and wisdom. Attributes that would help the warrior princess in her epic battles for good.

This time when he finished and stood back to look at his work he was buzzing.

Gorgeous Princess Estella with her long limbs and sensual curves was a young man’s fantasy. But it was more than that. He was convinced Estella and her magical unicorn would appeal to female gamers as well. Hadn’t even outdoor-orientated Shelley admitted to playing a girly dragon game?

He wished he had someone to share his jubilation with. But he had distanced himself from his friends since his bereavement. Only his mother hadn’t given up on him—which never failed to bemuse him as she had scarcely been a presence in his childhood.

His online colleagues these days were working with him on games that had little to do with entertainment and everything to do with education. They would have no interest whatsoever in Princess Estella and her unicorn.

It was with Shelley he wanted to share Estella. To let her know how she had inspired him. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when he had gone this far without letting her in on the secret that she was his muse.

He went back to work, this time on his computer. The creation of a character was only the first step in the long process of producing a new game.