Читать книгу Dreaming Of You - Margaret Way, Beth Kery - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCONNOR met the steeliness in Jaz’s eyes and wished he could just turn around and walk away. His overriding instinct was to reach out and offer her comfort. Despite that veneer of toughness she’d cultivated, he knew this return couldn’t be easy for her.
Her mother had committed suicide only four weeks ago!
That had to be eating her up alive.
She didn’t look as if she’d welcome his comfort. She kept eyeing him as if he were something slimy and wet that had just oozed from the drain.
The muscles in his neck, his jaw, bunched. What was her problem? She’d been the one to lay waste to all his plans, all his dreams, eight years ago. Not the other way around. She could at least have the grace to…
To what? an inner voice mocked. Spare you a smile? Get over yourself, Reed. You don’t want her smiles.
But, as he gazed down into her face, noted the fragile luminosity of her skin, the long dark lashes framing her eyes and the sweet peach lipstick staining her lips, something primitive fired his blood. He wanted to haul her into his arms, slant his mouth over hers and taste her, brand himself on her senses.
Every cell in his body tightened and burned at the thought. The intensity of it took him off guard. Had his heart thudding against his ribcage. After eight years…
After eight years he hadn’t expected to feel anything. He sure as hell hadn’t expected this.
He rolled his shoulders and tried to banish the images from his mind. Every stupid mistake he’d made with his life had happened in the weeks after Jaz had left town. He couldn’t blame her for the way he’d reacted to her betrayal—that would be childish—but he would never give her that kind of power over him again.
Never.
She stuck out her chin, hands on hips—combative, aggressive and so unlike the Jaz of old it took him off guard. ‘Why did you change the sign? Who gave you permission?’
She moved behind the sales counter, stowed her handbag beneath it, then turned back and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’ She tapped her foot.
Her boot—a pretty little feminine number in brown suede and as unlike her old black Doc Martens as anything could be—echoed smartly against the bare floorboards. Or maybe that was due to the silence that had descended around them again. He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and told himself to stay on task. It was just…that lipstick.
He’d once thought that nothing could look as good as the mulberry dark matt lipstick she’d once worn. He stared at the peach shine on her lips now. He’d been wrong.
‘Connor!’
He snapped to and bit back something succinct and rude. The sign, idiot!
‘I’m simply following the instructions you left with my receptionist.’
She stared at him for a long moment. Then, ‘Can you seriously imagine that I’d want to call this place Jaz’s Joint?’ Her lip curled. ‘That sounds like a den of iniquity, not a bookshop.’
She looked vivid fired up like that—alive. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t felt alive in a very long time.
He shifted his weight, allowed his gaze to travel over her again, noticed the way she turned away and bit her lip. That was familiar. She wasn’t feeling anywhere near as sure of herself as she’d have him believe.
‘I’m not paid to imagine.’ At the time, though, her request had sent his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. ‘Eight years is a long time. People change.’
‘You better believe it!’
He ignored her vehemence. ‘You told my receptionist you wanted “Jaz’s Joint” painted on the awning. I was just following your instructions.’ But as he said the words his stomach dipped. Her eyes had widened. He remembered how they could look blue or green, depending on the light. They glittered blue now in the hushed light of the bookshop.
‘Those weren’t my instructions.’
His stomach dropped a notch lower. Not her directions… Then…
‘I just requested that the sign be freshened up.’
He swore. Once. Hard.
Jaz blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Her tone almost made him grin. As a teenager she’d done all she could to look hard as nails, but she’d rarely used bad language and she hadn’t tolerated it in others.
He sobered. ‘Obviously, somewhere along the line a wire’s got crossed.’ If his receptionist had played any part in the Jaz’s Joint prank he’d fire her on the spot.
Jaz followed his gaze across the road to Mr Sears’s bakery. ‘Ahh…’ Her lips twisted. ‘I see.’
Did she? For reasons Connor couldn’t fathom, Gordon Sears wanted the bookshop, and he wanted it bad.
She sprang out from behind the counter as if the life force coursing through her body would no longer allow her to coop it up in such a small space. She stalked down the aisles, with their rows upon rows of bookcases. Connor followed.
The Clara Falls bookshop had been designed with one purpose in mind—to charm. And it achieved its aim with remarkable ease. The gleaming oak bookcases contrasted neatly with wood-panelled walls painted a pale clean green. Alcoves and nooks invited browsers to explore. Gingerbread fretwork lent an air of fairy-tale enchantment. Jaz had always loved the bookshop, and Frieda hadn’t changed a thing.
Therein lay most of its problems.
‘I’ll change the sign back. It’ll be finished by the close of business today.’
She glanced back at him, a frown in her eyes. ‘Why you?’
She turned around fully, folded her arms and leant against the nearest bookcase. To the right of her left hip a book in vivid blues and greens faced outwards—Natural Wonders of the World—it seemed apt. He dragged his gaze from her hips and the long, lean length of her legs. Way too apt.
But…
He’d never seen her wear such pretty, soft-looking trousers before. Mel would love those trousers. The thought flitted into his head unbidden and his heart clenched at the thought of his daughter. He gritted his teeth and pushed the thought back out again. He would not think of Mel and Jaz in the same sentence.
But…
Eight years ago he’d grown used to seeing Jaz in long black skirts…or naked.
And then she’d removed herself from his world and he hadn’t seen her at all.
‘Is that what you’re doing these days—sign-writing?’
Her words hauled him back and he steeled himself not to flinch at her incredulity. ‘Among other things.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘After graduation I took up a carpentry apprenticeship.’ He’d relinquished his dream of art school. ‘I run a building contractor’s business now here in Clara Falls.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘What about your art?’
Just for a moment, bitterness seeped out from beneath the lid he normally kept tightly sealed around it. ‘I gave it up.’
Her head snapped back. ‘You what?’
The madness had started the night he’d discovered Jaz in Sam Hancock’s arms. When he’d found out the next day that Jaz had left town—left him— for good, Connor had gone off the rails. He’d drunk too much…he’d slept with Faye. Faye, who’d revealed Jaz’s infidelity, her lies. Faye, who’d done all she could to console him when Jaz had gone. Faye whose heart he’d broken. When Faye had told him she was pregnant, he’d had no choice—he’d traded in his dream of art school to become a husband and father…and an apprentice carpenter.
He hadn’t picked up a stick of charcoal since.
‘Is that somehow supposed to be my fault?’
Jaz’s snapped-out words hauled him back. ‘Did I say that?’
He and Faye had lasted two years before they’d finally divorced—Jaz always a silent shadow between them. They’d been two of the longest years of his life.
It was childish to blame Jaz for any of that. He had Melanie. He could never regret his daughter.
Jaz’s eyes turned so frosty they could freeze a man’s soul. Connor’s lips twisted. They couldn’t touch him. His soul had frozen eight years ago.
And yet she was here. From all accounts a world-class tattoo artist, if Frieda’s boasts could be believed.
Dianne was right. Clara Falls had no need for tattoo artists—world-class or otherwise.
And neither did he.
Silence descended around them. Finally, Jaz cleared her throat. ‘I take it then that you’re the builder Richard hired to do the work on this place?’ She lifted a hand to indicate the interior of the shop, and then pointed to the ceiling to indicate the flat upstairs.
‘That’s right.’
She pushed away from the bookcase, glanced around. ‘Considering the amount of work Richard told me needed doing, the place looks exactly as I remember it.’
Her eyes narrowed. He watched her gaze travel over every fixture and furnishing within her line of sight. ‘Exactly the same.’ She turned accusing eyes on him.
‘That’s because I’ve barely started work in here yet.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘But…but your receptionist assured me all the work would be finished by Thursday last week.’
The muscles in his jaw bunched. ‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Positive.’
He didn’t blame her for her gritted teeth response. ‘I’m sorry, Jaz, but you were given the wrong information.’ And he’d be getting himself a new receptionist— this afternoon, if he could arrange it.
She pressed her lips so tightly together it made his jaw ache in sympathy. Then she stiffened. ‘What about the OH and S stuff? Hell, if that hasn’t been sorted, then—’
‘That’s the part I’ve taken care of.’
Several weeks ago, someone had filed an Occupation Health and Safety complaint. It had resulted in an OH and S officer coming out to inspect the premises…and to close the shop down when it had been discovered that two floor to ceiling bookcases, which should’ve been screwed fast to battens on the wall behind, had started to come away, threatening to topple and crush anyone who might happen to be below. Connor had put all his other jobs on hold to take care of that. The bookshop had only been closed for a day and a half.
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ What the hell… ‘Because it was dangerous, that’s why.’
‘Not that.’ She waved an imperious hand in the air. ‘Why is it your company that is doing the work?’
Because Richard had asked him to.
Because he’d wanted to prove that the past had no hold over him any more.
She folded her arms. ‘I should imagine the last thing you wanted was to clap eyes on me again.’
She was right about that.
She stuck out a defiant hip. ‘In fact, I’d guess that the last thing you want is me living in Clara Falls again.’
It took a moment for the import of her words to hit him. When they did, he clenched a fist so tight it started to shake. She glanced at his fist, then back into his face. She cocked an eyebrow. She didn’t unsay her words.
‘Are you insinuating that I’d use my position as a builder to sabotage your shop?’ He tried to remember the last time he’d wanted to throttle someone.
‘Would you? Have you? I mean… There’s that travesty of a sign, for a start. Now the delay. What would you think? You and Gordon Sears could be like that—’ she waved two crossed fingers under his nose ‘—for all I know.’
‘God, Jaz! I know it’s been eight years, but can you seriously think I would stoop to that?’
She raked him from the top of his head to his boot laces with her hot gaze—blue on the way down, green when she met his eyes again on the way up— and it felt as if she actually placed her hands on his body and stroked him. His heart started to thump. She moistened her lips. It wasn’t a nervous gesture, more…an assessing one. But it left a shine on her lips that had him clenching back a groan.
‘Business is business,’ he ground out. ‘I don’t have to like who I’m working for.’
Was it his imagination or did she pale at his words?
Her chin didn’t drop. ‘So you’re saying this is just another job to you?’
He hesitated a moment too long.
Jaz snorted and pushed past him, charged back down to the sales counter and stood squarely behind it, as if she wanted to place herself out of his reach. ‘Thank you for the work you’ve done so far, Connor, but your services are no longer required.’
He stalked down to the counter, reached across and gripped her chin in his fingers, forced her gaze to his. ‘Fine! You want the truth? This isn’t just another job. What happened to your mother… It made me sick to my stomach. We…someone in town…we should’ve paid more attention, we should’ve sensed that—’
He released her and swung away. She smelt like a wattle tree in full bloom—sweet and elusive. It was too much.
When he glanced back at her, her eyes had filled with tears. She touched her fingers to her jaw where he’d held her. Bile rose up through him. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—’ He gestured futilely with his hand. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No.’
She shook her head, her voice low, and he watched her push the tears down with the sheer force of her will…way down deep inside her like she used to do. Suddenly he felt older than his twenty-six years. He felt a hundred.
‘I’m sorry I doubted your integrity.’
She issued her apology with characteristic sincerity and speed. He dragged a hand down his face. The Jaz of old might’ve been incapable of fidelity, but she’d been equally incapable of malice.
If she’d asked him to forgive her eight years ago, he would have. In an instant.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Am I rehired?’
She straightened, moistened her lips and nodded. He didn’t know how he could tell, but this time the gesture was nervous.
‘You won’t find it hard coping with my presence around the place for the next fortnight?’ Some devil prompted him to ask.
‘Of course not!’
He could tell that she was lying.
‘We’re both adults, aren’t we? What’s in the past is in the past.’
He wanted to agree. He opened his mouth to do precisely that, but the words refused to come.
Jaz glanced at him, moistened her lips again. ‘It’s going to take a fortnight? So long?’
‘Give or take a couple of days. And that’s working as fast as I can.’
‘I see.’
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘I’ll get back to work on that sign then, shall I?’
The door clanged shut behind Connor with a finality that made Jaz want to burst into tears.
Crazy. Ridiculous.
Her knees shook so badly she thought she might fall. Very carefully, she lowered herself to the stool behind the counter. Being found slumped on the floor was not the look she was aiming for, not on her first day.
Not on any day.
She closed her eyes, dragged in a deep breath and tried to slow her pulse, quieten the blood pounding in her ears. She could do this. She could do this. She’d known her first meeting with Connor would be hard. She hadn’t expected to deal with him on her first day though.
Hard? Ha! Try gruelling. Exhausting. Fraught.
She hadn’t known she would still feel his pain as if it were her own. She hadn’t known her body would remember…everything. Or that it would sing and thrum just because he was near.
She hadn’t known she’d yearn for it all again— their love, the rightness of being with him.
Connor had shown her the magic of love, but he’d shown her the other side of love too—the blackness, the ugliness…the despair. It had turned her into another kind of person—an angry, destructive person. It had taken her a long time to conquer that darkness. She would never allow herself to become that person again. Never. And the only way she could guarantee that was by keeping Connor at arm’s length. Further, if possible.
But it didn’t stop her watching him through the shop window as he worked on her sign.
She opened the shop, she served customers, but that didn’t stop her noticing how efficiently he worked either, the complete lack of fuss that accompanied his every movement. It reminded her of how he used to draw, of the times they’d take their charcoals and sketch pads to one of the lookouts.
She’d sit on a rock hunched over her pad, intent on capturing every single detail of the view spread out before her, concentrating fiercely on all she saw. Connor would lean back against a tree, his sketch pad propped against one knee, charcoal lightly clasped, eyes half-closed, and his fingers would play across the page with seemingly no effort at all.
Their high school art teacher had given them identical marks, but Jaz had known from the very first that Connor had more talent in his little finger than she possessed in her whole body. She merely drew what was there, copied what was in front of her eyes. Connor’s drawings had captured something deeper, something truer. They’d captured an essence, the hidden potential of the thing. Connor had drawn the optimistic future.
His hair glittered gold in the sun as he stepped down the ladder to retrieve something from his van.
And what was he doing now? Painting shop signs? His work should hang in galleries!
He turned and his gaze met hers. Just like that. With no fuss. No hesitation. She didn’t step back into the shadows of the shop or drop her gaze and pretend she hadn’t been watching. He would know. He pointed to the sign, then sent her a thumbs up.
All that potential wasted.
Jaz couldn’t lift her arm in an answering wave. She couldn’t even twitch the corners of her mouth upwards in acknowledgement of his silent communication. She had to turn away.
When she’d challenged him—thrown out there in the silences that throbbed between them that she must be the last person he’d ever want to see, he hadn’t denied it.
Her stomach burned acid. Coming back to Clara Falls, she’d expected to experience loss and grief. But for her mother. Not Connor. She’d spent the last eight years doing all she could to get over him. These feelings should not be resurfacing now.
If you’d got over him you’d have come home like your mother begged you to.
The accusation rang through her mind. Her hands shook. She hugged herself tightly. She’d refused to come home, still too full of pride and anger and bitterness. It had distorted everything. It had closed her mind to her mother’s despair.
If she’d come home…but she hadn’t.
For the second time that day, she ground back the tears. She didn’t deserve the relief they would bring. She would make a success of the bookshop. She would make this final dream of her mother’s a reality. She would leave a lasting memorial of Frieda Harper in Clara Falls. Once she’d done that, perhaps she might find a little peace… Perhaps she’d have earned it.
She glanced back out of the window. Connor hadn’t left yet. He stood in a shaft of sunlight, haloed in gold, leaning against his van, talking to Richard. For one glorious moment the years fell away. How many times had she seen Connor and Richard talking like that—at school, on the cricket field, while they’d waited for her outside this very bookshop? Things should’ve been different. Things should’ve been very different.
He’d given up his art. It was too high a price to pay. Grief for the boy he’d once been welled up inside her.
It would take her a long, long time to find peace.
She hadn’t cheated on him with Sam Hancock. She hadn’t cheated on him with anyone, but Connor no longer deserved her bitterness. He had a little daughter now, responsibilities. He’d paid for his mistakes, just like she’d paid for hers. If what her mother had told her was true, Faye had left Connor literally holding the baby six years ago. Jaz would not make his life more difficult.
Something inside her lifted. It eased the tightness in her chest and allowed her to breathe more freely for a moment.
Connor turned and his eyes met hers through the plate glass of the shop window. The weight crashed back down on her with renewed force. She gripped the edges of the stool to keep herself upright. Connor might not deserve her bitterness, but she still had to find a way of making him keep his distance, because something in him still sang to something in her—a siren song that had the power to destroy her all over again if she let it.
Richard turned then too, saw her and waved. She lifted a numb arm in response. He said something to Connor and both men frowned. As one, they pushed away from Connor’s van and headed for the bookshop door.
A shiver rippled through her. She shot to her feet. She had to deal with more Connor on her first day? Heaven, give her strength.
The moment he walked through the door all strength seeped from her limbs, leaving them boneless, useless, and plonking her back down on the stool.
‘Hello, again,’ Richard said.
‘Hi.’ From somewhere she found a smile.
She glanced sideways at Connor. He pursed his lips and frowned at the ornate pressed-tin work on the ceiling. She found her gaze drawn upwards, searching for signs of damp and peeling paint, searching for what made him frown. She didn’t find anything. It all looked fine to her.
Richard cleared his throat and she turned her attention back to him with an apologetic shrug.
‘These are the keys for the shop.’ He placed a set of keys onto the counter in front of her. ‘And this is the key to the flat upstairs.’ He held it up for her to see, but he didn’t place it on the counter with the other keys.
Connor reached over and plucked the key from Richard’s fingers. ‘What did my receptionist tell you about the upstairs flat?’
Her stomach started to churn. ‘That you’d given it a final coat of paint last week and that it was ready to move into.’
Connor and Richard exchanged glances.
‘Um…but then you’re a builder, not a painter, right?’
He’d painted the sign for the shop, so maybe…
She shook her head. ‘Painting the flat isn’t your department, is it?’
‘No, but I can organise that for you, if you want.’
‘You didn’t think to check with me?’ Richard asked.
The thought hadn’t occurred to her. Though, in hindsight… ‘She said she was contacting me on your behalf. I didn’t think to question that. When she asked me if there was anything else I needed done, I mentioned the sign.’ She’d wanted it bright and sparkling. She wanted her mother’s name loud and proud above the shop.
‘I’m sorry, Jaz,’ Connor started heavily, ‘but—’
‘But I’ve been given the wrong information,’ she finished for him. Again. From the expression on his face, though, she wouldn’t want to be his receptionist when he finally made it back to the office. Shame pierced her. She should’ve known better than to lump Connor with the meaner elements in the town.
She swallowed. ‘That’s okay, I can take care of the painting myself.’ She wanted to drop her head onto her folded arms and rest for a moment. ‘What kind of state is the flat in?’
‘We only started tearing out the kitchen cupboards and the rotting floorboards yesterday. It’s a mess.’
Once upon a time he’d have couched that more tactfully, but she appreciated his candour now. ‘Habitable?’
He grimaced.
‘Okay then…’ She thought hard for a moment. ‘All my stuff is arriving tomorrow.’
‘What stuff?’ Connor asked.
‘Everything. Necessary white goods, for a start— refrigerator, washing machine, microwave. Then there’s the furniture—dining table, bed, bookcase. Not to mention the—’
‘You brought a bookcase?’ Connor glanced around the shop. ‘When you have all these?’
For a brief moment his eyes sparkled. Her breathing went all silly. ‘I’ll need a bookcase in the flat too.’
‘Why?’
The teasing glint in his eyes chased her weariness away. ‘For the books that happen to be arriving tomorrow too.’
Connor and Richard groaned in unison. ‘Has your book addiction lessened as the years have gone by?’ Richard demanded.
They used to tease her about this eight years ago. It made her feel younger for a moment, freer. ‘Oh, no.’ She rubbed her hands together with relish. ‘If anything, it’s grown.’
The two men groaned again and she laughed. She’d actually laughed on her first day back in Clara Falls? Perhaps miracles could happen.
She glanced at Connor and pulled herself up. Not those kinds of miracles.
‘Relax, guys. I’ve rented out my apartment in Sydney. Some of my stuff is to come here, but a lot has gone into storage, including most of my books. Is there room up there to store my things?’ She pointed at the ceiling. ‘Could you and your men work around it?’
‘We’ll work quicker if it’s stored elsewhere.’
It took her all of two seconds to make the decision. ‘Where’s the nearest storage facility around here? Katoomba?’ She’d organise for her things to go there until the flat was ready.
Connor planted his feet. ‘We’ll store it at my place.’
She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He stuck his jaw out and folded his arms. ‘It’s my fault you thought the flat was ready. So it’s my responsibility to take care of storing your things.’
‘Garbage!’ She folded her arms too. ‘You had no idea what I was told.’ He was as much a victim in this as her. ‘I should’ve had the smarts to double-check it all with Richard anyway.’
‘You shouldn’t have had to double-check anything and—’
‘Guys, guys.’ Richard made a time out sign.
Jaz and Connor broke off to glare at each other.
‘He does have the room, Jaz. He has a huge workshop with a four car garage for a start.’
She transferred her glare to Richard.
Connor shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. ‘This is the last thing you should’ve had to come back to. You shouldn’t be out of pocket because of someone’s idea of a…prank.’
It was more than that. They all knew it.
‘I’d like to make amends,’ he said softly.
She found it hard to hold his gaze and she didn’t know why. ‘Okay.’ She said the word slowly. ‘I’ll accept your very kind offer—’ and it was a kind offer ‘—on one condition.’
Wariness crept into his eyes. Tiredness invaded every atom of her being. Once upon a time he’d looked at her with absolute trust.
And then he hadn’t.
‘What’s the condition?’
‘That you go easy on your receptionist.’
‘What?’ He leant across the counter as if he hadn’t heard her right.
She held his gaze then and she didn’t find it hard—not in the slightest. ‘She sounded young.’
‘She’s nineteen. Old enough to know better.’
‘Give her a chance to explain.’
He reared back from her then and the tan leached from his face, leaving him pale. Her words had shaken him, she could see that, but she hadn’t meant for them to hurt him. From somewhere she dredged up a smile. ‘We all make mistakes when we’re young. I did. You did.’
‘I did,’ Richard piped in too.
‘Find out why she did it before you storm in and fire her. That’s all I’m asking. My arrival has already generated enough hostility as it is.’
Inch by inch, the colour returned to Connor’s face. ‘If I don’t like her explanation, she’s still history.’
‘But you’ll give her an opportunity to explain herself first?’
He glared at her. ‘Yes.’
‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t ask for any fairer than that.
They continued to stare at each other. Connor opened his mouth, a strange light in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, and every molecule of her being strained towards him. No words emerged from the firm, lean lips, but for a fraction of a second time stood still.
Richard broke the spell. ‘Where were you planning on staying till your stuff arrives, Jaz?’
She dragged her gaze from Connor, tried to still the sudden pounding of her heart. ‘I’ve booked a couple of nights at the Cascade’s Rest.’
Richard let the air whistle out between his teeth. ‘Nice! Treating yourself?’
‘I have a thing for deep spa-baths.’ She had a bigger thing for the anonymity that five-star luxury could bring. She couldn’t justify staying there for more than a couple of nights, though. ‘How long before the flat will be ready?’
‘A week to ten days,’ Connor said flatly.
She turned back to Richard. ‘Is there a bed and breakfast you’d recommend?’
‘Gwen Harwood’s on Candlebark Street,’ he said without hesitation.
Unbidden, a smile broke out from her. ‘Gwen?’ They’d been friends at school. The five of them— Connor, Richard, Gwen, Faye and herself. They’d all hung out together.
‘Look, Jaz.’ Connor raked a hand back through the sandy thickness of his hair. ‘I can’t help feeling responsible for this, and…’
And what? Did he mean to offer her a room too?
Not in this lifetime!
She strove for casual. ‘And you have plenty of room, right?’ Given all that had passed between them, given all that he thought of her, would he really offer her a room, a bed, a place to stay? The idea disturbed her and anger started to burn low down in the pit of her stomach. If only he hadn’t jumped to conclusions eight years ago. If only he’d given her a chance to explain. If only he’d been this nice then!
It’s eight years. Let it go.
She wanted to let it go. With all her heart she wished she could stop feeling like this, but the anger, the pain, had curved their claws into her so fiercely she didn’t know how to tear them free without doing more damage.
She needed him to stay away. ‘I don’t think so!’
The pulse at the base of Connor’s jaw worked. ‘I wasn’t going to offer you a room,’ he ground out. ‘You’ll be happier at Gwen’s, believe me. But I will deduct the cost of your accommodation from my final bill.’
Heat invaded her face, her cheeks. She wished she could climb under the counter and stay there. Of course he hadn’t meant to offer her a place to stay. Why would he offer her of all people—her—a place to stay? Idiot!
‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Pride made her voice tart. ‘I had every intention of arriving in Clara Falls today and staying, whether the flat was ready or not.’ She’d just have given different instructions to the removal company and found a different place to stay.
No staff. Now no flat. Plummeting profits. What a mess! Where on earth was she supposed to start?
‘Jaz?’
She suddenly realised the two men were staring at her in concern. She planted her mask of indifference, of detachment, back to her face in double-quick time. Before either one of them could say anything, she rounded on Connor. ‘I want your word of honour that you will bill me as usual, without a discount for my accommodation. Without a discount for anything.’
‘But—’
‘If you don’t I will hire someone else to do the work. Which, obviously, with the delays that would involve, will cost me even more.’
He glared at her. ‘Were you this stubborn eight years ago?’
No, she’d been as malleable as a marshmallow.
‘Do we have an understanding?’
‘Yes,’ he ground out, his glare not abating in the slightest.
‘Excellent.’ She pasted on a smile and made a show of studying her watch. ‘Goodness, is that the time? If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, it’s time to close the shop. There’s a spa-bath with my name on it waiting for me at the Cascade’s Rest.’
As she led them to the door, she refused to glance into Connor’s autumn-tinted eyes for even a microsecond.
When Jaz finally made it to the shelter of her room at the Cascade’s Rest, she didn’t head for the bathroom with its Italian marble, fragrant bath oils and jet-powered spa-bath. She didn’t turn on a single light. She shed her clothes, leaving them where they fell, to slide between the cold cotton sheets of the queen-sized bed. She started to shake. ‘Mum,’ she whispered, ‘I miss you.’ She rolled to her side, pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. ‘Mum, I need you.’
She prayed for the relief of tears, but she’d forced them back too well earlier in the day and they refused to come now. All she could do was press her face to the pillow and count the minutes as the clock ticked the night away.
