Читать книгу What's A Housekeeper To Do? / Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds - Нина Харрингтон - Страница 13

‘THE hairdresser is next.’ Cam made this announcement and led Lally towards the hotel salon. He pressed a small sparkly bag into her hands as they walked. His other hand held a bag the saleswoman had kindly supplied for Lally’s day clothes. ‘In the scene, the female character would make out that she wanted to be showered with as much “spoiling” as she could get.’

‘And your male lead would be determined to do that, to keep her suspicions at bay about his real motives. They’ll be deep in their false roles.’ Lally took the small bag; she couldn’t take her eyes from his face. The grooves at the sides of his mouth were deep. His face had the kind of stillness that concealed attraction and awareness.

Though she knew she shouldn’t, though there were a thousand reasons why it would be better if she failed to react to this at all, Lally’s gaze locked with his. Her fingers closed about the short strap of the bag, she drew a deep, deep breath and admitted, to herself at least, that she was equally attracted to Cam. That had to stop right now. They had to get the fun back and avoid these other inappropriate responses to each other. It was probably just the atmosphere getting to both of them, anyway.

Somehow Lally got through the appointment with the hair stylist. It helped that Cam sat on a lounge in the waiting area and buried his nose in a magazine.

Half an hour later Lally got up from the chair with her curls artfully drawn away from her face in a high pony-tail with just a few tendrils trailing down her back.

‘Shoes.’ Cameron murmured the single word as his gaze tracked over her hair and the vulnerable nape of her neck.

‘You’ll have to decide about your heroine’s hair,’ Lally said, and hoped the desperate edge couldn’t be heard in her tone. ‘It’s probably ice-blonde, straight and swept up in a bun away from her model-gorgeous face.’

‘Uh, yes. Perhaps.’ Cam drew her to a shoe shop.

Lally’s transformation to Cinderella-dressed-for-the-ball reached its final moment as they stepped through the door. She spotted the sandals immediately. They were third row down on an elegant stand, they had their own name—Grace After Midnight—and she had to have them.

Six inch stiletto gold-and-black heels; tiny criss-cross gold-and-black strips across the instep. Elegant ankle straps. All of Lally’s sensible thoughts and cautions disintegrated for that moment of time. She forgot the purpose of the night, forgot everything—well, not Cam, but he did take second place to the shoes for a minute.

‘I’ll pay for these myself.’ They were in her hands before she finished speaking the words, on her feet moments later. They fit like a dream; these shoes were meant to be.

Lally had her credit card and there were fifty dollars in the pocket of the skirt that had gone into the dress shop bag with her other clothes. She held her hand out to Cam. He came back into focus, and so did his grin that held outright amusement—was that a hint of enchantment?

Of course it isn’t, Lally. It so totally isn’t! ‘I need the bag, please.’

‘No. I’ve got this.’ Cam paid for the shoes and hustled her out of the store.

‘You don’t understand. I had to have them, you see.’ How did she explain the compulsion that took a pair of shoes from stage prop to girl’s best friend? And how that meant she couldn’t let him pay for her pure indulgence.

‘And I’d have paid that much or more for any choice that you made.’ With those few words, Cam dismissed the matter.

And he truly did dismiss it. The glint in his eyes was a good-humoured one, but it also warned her that arguing would be futile. He tucked her arm through his and led her towards the hotel’s restaurant. ‘You look great, Lally. You’re made for bright colours.’

‘That’s what Mum says.’ Business, Lally! She must remember tonight was about his work, no matter how he’d been looking at her or how it felt to walk at his side and feel as though she were made to belong there.

‘Over dinner we’ll discuss where this has put you in terms of figuring out your heroine,’ Lally declared, and led the way with determination towards their dining table.

Lally looked amazing; the thought washed through Cam yet again as he escorted his housekeeper into the restaurant. She looked amazing, was dressed amazingly and walked incredibly in heels that would have stopped a lot of women in their tracks.

He’d told Lally she was made for colours. What he hadn’t said was that she was made for all of this—the dress, the shoes, the lovely hair, the sparkle in her eyes…

Yes, he had needed this research for his story. Seeing Lally in the clothes had somehow made her more vibrant and real to him, and that had, indeed, already helped him to start seeing his book’s heroine.

Not an ice-blonde, but a woman in her late thirties with elegant looks and straight brunette hair in a cap-cut to her head. A woman who wore classic black. Lally’s reverse-psychology theory was working. Her quirky approach to the problem had got him well on the way to resolving it.

He’d thought that to fix his writer’s block he needed a housekeeper to free up his time so he could concentrate better.

What he’d needed was tonight’s insights.

‘This way, please.’ The waiter seated them with a flourish at the table Cam had booked earlier. The man’s gaze rested for a long moment on Lally’s beauty.

Cam could only silently agree.

‘I feel quite transformed.’ Lally’s fingers toyed with the clasp of the small bag in her lap after the waiter walked away. ‘Cinderella ready for the ball, except the shoes aren’t glass.’ Her lips pressed together. ‘Well, this isn’t about me. What would your book character be wearing? What would she have bought in the shop?’

‘The shoes are better than glass.’ They revealed the beauty of Lally’s calf muscles, the delicate shape of her feet, the slender ankles. But that wasn’t something Cam should tell his housekeeper. ‘My heroine would be in a black dress. Full length and fitted. She’s in black stiletto-shoes with a closed toe and heel—what do you call those?’

‘Pumps?’

‘Yes.’ Cam nodded. ‘She’s wearing diamonds, a choker around her throat, a thick tennis-bracelet style of cuff on her right wrist. Earrings that are a carat apiece.’

‘You’re working her out! That’s great.’ Lally glanced down at the bag in her lap. ‘The diamanté on this is amazing. It looks so real.’

Cam thought about avoiding her gaze when she raised it, but in the end he simply returned it and hoped he didn’t look too guilty. Or too sheepish. ‘They are real, but there aren’t many, and they’re very small. The bags with fake stones cost nearly as much.’

He added somewhat craftily, ‘It’s the perfect size for a small ladies’ handgun.’

‘Ooh.’ Lally’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward in her chair, her whole face alight with interest and excitement. ‘Is she an assassin? A double agent?’

‘Close to that.’ He knew he was being mysterious, but the desire to tease her just a little had got hold of him. Cam’s gaze tracked over her hair and the sweep of her neck, the soft nape, and he forgot about his characters.

Instead, Cam wanted to kiss Lally right there at the base of her neck, to inhale the scent of her skin and brush his lips over the side of her neck and across her face. He felt ridiculously proud that he’d been able to distract her about the cost of the bag. ‘Don’t tell anyone what ideas I have in mind for the heroine.’ He winked. ‘I have to keep the book’s secrets until it hits the shelves, otherwise my career as a writer is over.’

‘I won’t tell a soul.’ She crossed her heart with her fingers, joining in the fun. ‘I guess it’s all right to confess I’m enjoying the dress, and I love the shoes. I had a pair that were similar when I was fresh out of high school.’ Lally made this admission almost guiltily. ‘They were cheaper, and not quite as pretty, but they made me feel…’

‘Beautiful? You are.’

Maybe he shouldn’t have said it—probably he shouldn’t have said it—but the words were out.

‘Thank you.’ Lally registered Cam’s words and tried not to let her feelings melt. If she simply felt complimented, that would be okay, still manageable. The charming man tells the girl she looks great, the girl appreciates his words of admiration and takes them for what they are: a compliment. The same as he might give to any other woman while they were working on an unusual project together.

But she didn’t feel only complimented; she felt Cam’s awareness of her, and hers of him. She felt the consciousness that flowed back and forth between them that had been beneath the surface from the start of the night, but hidden under the excitement and fun factor of their research and role-playing.

That consciousness was there. Even now as they sat here, Cam’s upper body leaned forward as though he’d like to close the distance of the table that separated them and press a soft kiss to her lips.

Lally’s body leaned in too, until she forcibly stopped herself and straightened her spine.

She had to remember that Cameron Travers was her employer, not a man she would like to melt into, to kiss and be kissed by.

‘We should choose something to eat.’ Lally dropped her gaze to the menu; she flipped it open and stared blindly at the entrées. ‘Do you need us to choose anything specific for research purposes?’

‘No. Just choose what you’d like to eat.’ Cam, too, turned his attention to his menu.

You see? They were being perfectly sensible.

Eventually the list of dishes unscrambled itself enough that Lally could read it: tuscan prawns; artichoke and sweet-potato soup—Cam would avoid that one—lamb, leek and bread broth; baked cheese bites in puff pastry with a dark-plum dipping sauce.

‘I think I’ll have the broth.’ Lally rejected the appeal of spicy prawns, of sensually melted cheese in pastry. ‘Yes, the broth. Something healthy and ordinary. It seems exactly what I’d like.’

She was a sensible, ordinary girl, after all, even if she had allowed herself to be swept up in the purchase of a lovely dress and a pair of stunning shoes.

Over all, Lally had progressed past being influenced by emotions, sudden whims or anything else uncontrolled.

Sam had taught her that lesson—well, in truth, the pain she had caused out of knowing him had taught her. Lally’s good cheer wobbled.

In that moment Cam glanced at her, smiled and said softly, ‘Thank you, Lally, for being such a good sport tonight. I’ve really enjoyed myself, enjoyed the research. I’ve got ideas coming into focus in my mind. You’ve helped me to get the muse back on track.’

‘You’re welcome. It’s been my pleasure to help you.’ Lally pushed those other unhappy thoughts far away.

Cameron’s eyes moved over his menu, but a smile lingered on his face. After that he led the conversation onto the topic of his property development; maybe he knew she needed that easing of tension.

He talked about the challenge of obtaining good workers in locations all around Australia wherever he purchased properties to develop, and the properties themselves. Lally relaxed and her happiness came back.

‘You’ve certainly developed some interesting projects over the years. Several of my family members might be interested in the art gallery you mentioned in the tourist township on the Queensland coast.’ Some of them might like to have work exhibited there, if the gallery manager was interested.

Their entrées arrived and Lally dipped her spoon into the broth. It was thick with chunks of lamb, loaded with fresh colourful vegetables, and the aroma was spicy. She took the first taste onto her tongue and closed her eyes while the flavours exploded on her palate.

Cameron cut a piece from a Tuscan prawn, popped it into his mouth and chewed. He gestured towards her soup bowl. ‘How is it?’

‘Fabulously interesting and totally yummy.’ Lally smiled in wry acceptance. She was wearing a beautiful red dress and killer heels—would it really hurt for her to eat exciting food too?

They talked about nothing much. It should have been totally unthreatening; instead, a rising consciousness seemed to fill the air between them once again until every breath she took held the essence of that consciousness, whether Lally felt ready to feel like that or not.

When Cam picked up his fork and knife, Lally realised they’d both been sitting there staring at each other in unmoving silence.

At what point had they put down their implements and simply sat in quiet stillness?

Almost…like lovers.

The way you used to stare at Sam across a dinner table, totally besotted, and with no thought for anything beyond the smooth words, smoother smiles and the looks he used to send your way?

‘How, um, how would your heroine behave at this point of the evening?’ They’d finished the entrées; Lally sipped her water and told herself she had to do better than this.

‘Here we are.’ A waiter deftly reordered their table setting and offered Cam a choice of wines to go with their main course. Cam had chosen flame-grilled steak; Lally, Barramundi fillets with a creamy herbed-lemon dressing.

‘I’d like Chardonnay, please.’ Lally felt pleased that her voice sounded normal. They’d opted out of the wine to start with, and she’d appreciated that too.

Cameron examined the labels of the wines the waiter had brought and approved a Chardonnay for Lally and a red for himself. The waiter poured and left, and they started their meals.

Cam answered her question then. ‘The heroine would be doing her best to distract the hero and keep his mind jumping so he doesn’t have time to wonder what she’s up to.’ He glanced at his plate and then hers. ‘For us, for now, I’d like descriptions of the food so I can use the dishes in the book, I think. I can see the characters eating these meals.’

‘Oh—okay. The fish is moist and flaky; the sauce is tart enough to balance the creaminess.’ Lally did her best to describe the combination of textures and tastes.

She could see Cam making mental notes, and she tried to feel that they’d left behind their consciousness of each other, but it felt as though it still simmered beneath the surface.

There had to be some way to stop that simmering. It was inappropriate for her to simmer in this setting.

And if your boss is simmering?

Well, Lally didn’t know—and what were they anyway, a matching set of human saucepans?

‘Do you think you’ll take on other property-development projects in Adelaide?’ Yes, that was the way to express an everyday, businesslike interest and nothing more—ask a question that made her sound as though she wanted to be assured he wouldn’t be leaving after a few short weeks!

‘Tell me about your family. You mentioned art and restaurants.’

Cam spoke at the same time. They both stopped. He brushed his hand over the back of his neck.

If Lally got started on family, they would still be here when the place closed for the night. And she did want to know what his future plans might be, even if that made her nosy.

‘I may take on further projects here.’ Cam didn’t seem to make too much of her question. He started to talk about other buildings in various parts of Adelaide. ‘There’s a block of apartments, dilapidated but in an area that I know would resell really well. I put an offer in on those earlier today.’

As though there was nothing exciting or fascinating about buying up another building; perhaps to him there wasn’t. He bought and sold in dollar figures she could only dream about. She found his ability to write stories fascinating, too, his imagination and his interest in hands-on research. The dimple in his chin, the groove on his forehead…

Are not fascinating, Lally!

All right, fine; as a person, Cameron Travers was interesting—complex, busy, bordering on workaholic. And an insomniac. And, for whatever reason, Lally found all of this a little too intriguing for her own calm and controlled state of mind.

They made their way through the remainder of the meal. Cameron occasionally jotted notes on a small note-pad he drew from his trouser pocket, but Lally felt as though his attention never left her, never left them. Which was quite silly, because this wasn’t about her or them.

Finally, they finished the last sip of their coffee. Lally pushed away her half-eaten dessert of a profiterole filled with crème custard and coated in crunchy strands of caramelised sugar. ‘That’s delicious, but I can’t fit it all in.’

Cam patted his flat stomach and pushed the platter of cheese and crackers into the middle of the table. ‘I’m done there too.’ He glanced at his watch and met her gaze with eyes that were piercing and interested, weary, alert and conscious of her all at once. ‘It’s after eleven. Will you come and do the final step of tonight’s adventure with me now?’

Deep tone. Words meant to be about his work. Expression that was somewhat about that. Yet…

‘That’s what we’re here for.’ Lally agreed while her senses were in a muddle reacting to him.

She agreed before her brain engaged at all, really. That was dangerous, as was the feel of his arm holding her fingers tucked against his side as they left the restaurant after he paid for their meal. She could feel the muscles over his ribs moving as he walked; his skin beneath his shirt was warm against the back of her fingers.

He felt lean and fit—he was lean and fit—and gorgeous and appealing into the bargain. Lally shouldn’t be feeling these responses to him because she needed to protect herself. She was not ready to tackle another relationship with a man, and, even if she was, that man wasn’t going to be a millionaire, incredibly focused, fabulous and famous temporary boss: Cam was way out of her league.

So, what was she about, leaning against his side this way?

They climbed into a service lift that took them to the top of the hotel.

‘It’s only five storeys high, but I do want to go all the way to the roof for this.’ Cameron said it almost as though he felt he should apologise for this fact.

‘Whatever works best for your story.’ Lally told herself she had overcome her momentary lapse, that she had herself well in hand now.

That theory lasted until she looked into Cameron’s eyes and her pulse started to throb at her wrists and at the base of her neck. And—oh, it was silly—she suddenly she felt a bit…nervous too.

‘That’s exactly what I wanted to see, Lally—the edge of caution, even though at this stage you don’t believe you’re in any true danger.’ His words were a glide of consonants and cadence that crossed her senses like the brush of velvet over her skin. ‘That’s a look I can describe for my heroine to good effect in the book.’

The lift stopped and they stepped out onto the flat rooftop area of the building. Cam glanced around and led her towards the edge with a firm grip on her arm. ‘You don’t suffer from vertigo or anything like that?’

‘No. I don’t.’ Even so, Lally made no bones about leaning into his firm hold now; it was a long drop to ground level. Too bad if that made her look clingy just at the moment. ‘What?’

‘Look at the drop for me. Then we’re going to act out…’ He led her close enough that she could look over.

As Lally truly registered that they stood five storeys up on a deserted rooftop late at night, her imagination kicked in. What did Cam plan to write about this setting? What did he want her to do?

Lally glanced at her boss, and adrenalin and excitement coursed through her veins. It seemed necessary to speak in a hushed tone, and she whispered, ‘This is going to be a real rush, isn’t it? Like skydiving or something. My instincts are telling me it will be exciting. My heart’s in my throat already and I don’t even know yet.’

‘I don’t know what you’ll think.’ His fingers tightened their hold around her arm. ‘But we’re going to find out.’