Читать книгу Naughty Nights in the Millionaire's Mansion - Robyn Grady - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

‘IT’S settled. You’re coming home with me.’

The low murmur at Vanessa Craig’s back left her nape tingling, as if her skin had been brushed by an intimate kiss. Drawn from stacking the last of the special diet dog food, she curled some hair behind her ear, then slowly edged around. She tried—but failed—to keep her eyes in her head.

Of course, the attractive man standing nearby hadn’t spoken to her. Heck, he didn’t know she existed, even if Vanessa was acutely aware of every sensitised cell in her body suddenly glowing with life.

Powerhouse height, pitch-black hair, a strong shadowed jaw and eyes bluer than any Vanessa had seen. The precise cut of his trousers, the immaculate polish of his shoes—everything about this man didn’t simply say he settled for the best.

He was the best.

When the man-god shifted his weight, the ledge of his magnificent shoulders went back. His attention drifted from the small tank, which contained a single goldfish, and landed on her.

‘Afternoon.’ His mouth curved up at one side as he quarter-turned to face her. ‘You work here?’

Vanessa swallowed the knot of hot desire tugging in her throat. ‘I’m the manager.’

‘Great. I’m interested in that fish.’

Vanessa studied the goldfish, who was busy studying the man. She smiled over. ‘Not half as interested as he seems to be in you.’

While she spoke, the light changed in her customer’s ocean-blue eyes, as though something in her face or her voice, made him wonder if they’d met before. Not on this side of her dreams.

As his sexy smile returned, he tilted his head at the tank. ‘I’m wondering…can you tell his gender?’

Although Vanessa had answered that question regarding fish many times in the past two years, the majority of people who visited her Sydney pet store—Great and Small—seemed content to while away some time fawning over the puppies and kittens. Who could blame them? Cute bundles of fur bouncing around, pressing their squishy wet noses against the window, desperate for a cuddle. Searching for a home.

Caring for her animals was a labour of pure love, but the real joy came when one went to a family whom she knew would truly care. Friends were great: Josie and Tia, her buddies since high school, were the best. But family, real family…well, everybody wanted one.

Did this man have a family? Was he an uncle? A father?

She set a hand on a corner of the cool tank. ‘Males can have tiny dots on the gills and pectoral fins. Like those.’ She waggled a finger at the little guy’s fins, then filtered in an interesting detail. ‘Did you know that the Japanese have been keeping goldfish as pets for over a thousand years?’

His gorgeous eyes smiled and sparkled. ‘Is that right?’

She nodded. ‘It’s also a bona fide fact that watching fish swim can be soothing to the nerves.’

‘Well, that’s got to be cheaper than the psychiatrist I’m seeing.’

Vanessa’s jaw dropped, but then he lifted a brow and smiled—a sultry gotcha smile that burrowed beneath the skin and coddled every inch of her.

‘Actually, a friend of mine has a large aquarium,’ he admitted. ‘He says nothing’s more relaxing at the end of a long, hard day. No fuss, no bother. No noise.’ The impressive breadth of his chest expanded beneath its dark wool blend shirt as he retrieved his wallet from a back pocket. ‘Do you take Visa?’

But before he could extract the card, his attention shifted to a nearby glass pen and its excited scramble of Rottweiler pups. Aware her scent was Perfume de la Birdcage from the tray she’d cleaned earlier, Vanessa swiped both hands down her jeans and moved closer. ‘They’re pretty special, huh? Only came in this morning.’

When the lines of his classically cut profile intensified, as if he were considering a change of tack, she subtly tested, ‘Have you owned a dog before?’

Attention fixed on the pups, the dark slashes of his brows fell together. ‘I grew up with dogs…’ His Hollywood jaw shifted. ‘Kind of.’

She grinned. ‘Kind of grew up, or kind of dogs?’

His crystalline gaze met hers again; the contact rippled through her blood like the aftermath of a fiery liquid touch.

‘Poodles.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth, traced the sweep of her lips, then flicked back to her eyes. ‘I grew up with poodles. The tiny, yappy ones.’

Only half recovered from the sizzle of his gaze, she dug her hands into her pockets and rocked back on her Reeboks. ‘Whatever size, poodles are a highly intelligent breed.’

‘They certainly know how to get what they want.’

‘The family pooches were pampered?’

‘Like every other female in the house.’ His brows crunched together again. ‘Sorry. Too much information.’

She didn’t mind. She was intrigued.

So he had a mother as well as sisters, sounded like. The fine lines branching from the corners of his eyes said late twenties, early thirties at the outside —too old to live at home with the brood. Had he grown up overrun by female siblings and a domineering matriarch? Perhaps his father had been away often, a foreign diplomat for some exotic far-off land; the dreamy slant to his eyes and coal-fringed lashes suggested a Mediterranean connection maybe.

She smiled at herself.

And maybe she needed to get a life. Whatever his background, she wouldn’t get to know him well enough to hear it.

‘These pups are only eight weeks old. They’ll grow a whole lot bigger. I’d suggest a good quality bed.’ She selected one from a nearby display. ‘We recommend this brand.’

Close to where her hand rested, he rubbed and pinched the foam. ‘Hmm. Firm yet soft.’

As if on direct dial, the tips of her breasts picked up, tightening to responsive beads beneath her T-shirt. Vanessa surrendered to the delicious undercurrent before managing to shake herself free.

Good Lord, Josie was right. She needed a holiday. But with her most recent business crisis breathing down her neck, sipping piña coladas beneath palm fronds wasn’t likely any time soon. She’d take a holiday when she was back on her feet, when her business was back in the black. She wasn’t about to give up on her dream.

She set the dog bed down and cleared the thickness from her throat. ‘Rotties make great guard dogs as well as companions.’

On cue, the only male pup set his big front paws on the window; his tail whipped around back so hard, the motion almost knocked him over. Anyone who thought dogs didn’t smile didn’t know dogs.

She weaved around a giggling toddler, who clapped as Mr Cheese went hell-for-whiskers on his mouse wheel. ‘He’ll need walks. And puppy school to help socialise him.’

‘Like kindergarten for dogs.’ His arms crossed, then he scratched his temple. ‘How much time are we talking about? I get home late. I work most weekends too.’

Vanessa’s heartbeat slowed. She should have guessed. His aura exuded energy and no-nonsense efficiency. Not that ‘handsome high-powered executive’ was a turn off. Just everyone seemed so busy these days—the twenty-first century treadmill gone mad. No one had time to walk their dogs and smell the flowers any more.

Her gaze flicked to his left hand—large, tanned but no gold ring. Still, not all those who were taken wore bands. As she’d found out.

‘Perhaps your wife could help.’

‘I’m not married.’

‘Girlfriend?’

She was curious—only for the dog’s sake. A workaholic man-god descended from warriors wouldn’t be interested in an ordinary girl working her way up the ladder…lately one rung up, three rungs back.

‘My housekeeper comes in once a week.’

She cut him a wry grin. Not the same.

She had a thought. ‘If a dog’s too much responsibility and a fish maybe isn’t enough, perhaps a—’

‘Don’t say cat.’ His chin and its deep cleft came down. ‘I don’t do cats.’

She almost rolled her eyes. What was it with men and moggies?

‘A bird then? We have some lovely budgies. Or a parrot? You can teach them to talk. Sit on your shoulder.’

The nostrils of his hawkish nose flared. ‘I don’t think so.’

She indicated a cage. ‘What about a reptapet?’

‘You mean a snake?’ He visibly shuddered, a full body shiver. ‘Pass.’

He skirted around an elderly man in a grey fedora squeaking at the guinea pigs to return to that tank and scrutinised the fish. Hovering above its yellow and blue bed stones, the fish blew a bubble and stared back. Looking closer, he lifted a hand to knock on the glass.

When she touched the platinum watch on his wrist—fish and tapping was a no-go zone—the fiery sensation of his skin on hers released a crackling zap hurtling up her limb. The scrumptious shockwave carried an arrow straight to her chest and stole the air from her lungs.

He straightened and looked at her oddly—a curious glint in his eye as if he might have felt the charge too. Or maybe that look simply said hands off.

Stepping back, she drew her tingling hand away. ‘Plenty of people have satisfying relationships with fish,’ she said in an unintentionally husky voice.

An intrigued smile swam in the depths of his eyes. ‘Do you?’

Her glance took inventory of the wall of tanks behind them. ‘We have scores of fish here.’

‘But do you have fish at home?’

‘No.’

‘A dog?’

‘I’m not allowed.’

His brows jumped. ‘You live with your parents?’

She blinked twice. ‘I rent.’

‘But you have family close by.’

Her stomach lurched at his assumption. Orphaned at a young age, she’d been brought up by an aunt on the rural east coast of Australia. She had no brothers or sisters, grandparents or cousins. Other than Aunt McKenzie, she had no one.

She swallowed against a flush and regained control. ‘I’m not sure that has anything to do with you buying a fish, Mr…’

‘Stuart. Mitchell Stuart.’ As if annoyed at himself, he waved a dismissive hand. ‘And, no, it doesn’t. Totally off track.’ He narrowed his focus on the gaping fish again and slowly grinned. ‘I think he’ll do nicely.’

She forced her thoughts away from family—or lack thereof—and back onto business.

For a moment she’d wondered if this customer might enjoy a closer connection…someone to walk and have fun with. Guess she’d been mistaken.

But she was pleased for the fish; clearly he was going to a good home. She was sure he’d be fed the finest fish food and have his home regularly cleaned by the housekeeper.

She went to lift the tank. ‘Do you have any names in mind?’

Frowning, Mr Stuart took over the weight of the tank. ‘Fish have names?’

At the counter, she collected flakes, stabilising drops, a complimentary miniature Poseidon and his trident, then went through everything with Mr Stuart regarding the care of his new goldfish. After he’d scrawled a signature on the transaction slip, she handed back his card. ‘I’m sure you’ll have no problems.’

‘If I do?’

‘Call me.’

She whisked a business card from its holder. He gripped it, genuine victory shining in his eyes. ‘I feel good about this.’

‘Then so do I.’

Mr Stuart collected his bundles. On his way past the puppies, he faltered, but then shot a glance over his shoulder and held up the fish with a smile that said, Right decision.

She winked and saluted. Another satisfied customer. And the puppies would go quickly to homes filled with love and adequate attention. Maybe one day Mitchell Stuart would return when he was ready for a bigger commitment.

Would she still be here? She had to believe tomorrow’s appointment with her bank manager would save the day. She couldn’t bear to think of the alternative.

Two hours later, she flipped the sign on the door as the phone rang. If that was the feeders and drinkers supplier after a payment, the cheque was definitely in the mail. If it was the landlord reminding her to be out in two weeks…

She held her nervy stomach. Maybe she wouldn’t answer.

When it rang again, she buckled and picked up. No hello from the other end, just a straight out, ‘I’ve found a name for my fish.’

That deep voice was even more bone-melting over the phone—low and unconsciously inviting against her ear.

‘Mr Stuart. Hello.’

‘Kamikaze.’

She stammered. ‘B-Beg your pardon?’

‘He won’t quit jumping out of the tank. He’s on a suicide mission.’

She sank down onto a chair and rubbed her brow. Oh, dear. ‘That sometimes happens.’

‘I filled the tank, added the right amount of drops, set up the filter, gave him a feed. When I turned my back, he jumped out. I put him back in. He jumped out again, and again.’ His voice dropped to a growl. ‘Clearly he’s not happy.’

‘Could be a couple of things, like not enough water.’

‘I’ve already put more in.’

‘Maybe there’s too much.’

His voice cracked. ‘A fish can have too much water?’

‘Only in so far as making it easier to leap out.’ She gnawed her bottom lip. ‘And then there’s the possibility…’

‘What possibility?’

‘Some fish are just, well, jumpers.’

She heard his groan, then a shuffle as if he’d moved and dropped into a seat himself.

A vision flashed to mind: gorgeous Mitchell Stuart dead on his feet after staying up all night, a scoop in one hand, a fist made out of the other, ruing the day he’d ever set foot in Great and Small.

Vanessa gripped the receiver tight. She’d said she’d help if need be. Statistics said people bought pets from shops relatively close to their homes. Doctors made house calls. No reason she couldn’t.

‘Mr Stuart, I’ve just shut up shop. Would you like me to drop over and see what I can do?’

‘You do that kind of thing?’

She lied. ‘All the time.’

A relieved expulsion of air travelled down the line. ‘I’ll give you my address.’

‘You think this is funny?’ Mitch manoeuvred Kamikaze off his redwood dining table into the net and, suppressing a shudder, plopped him back into the tank water. ‘Well, fun and games are over, buddy boy.’

Help was on the way. Help in the form of a petite, twenty-something-year-old whom he had no intention of getting to know beyond, Thanks for saving my fish. He wouldn’t acknowledge Vanessa Craig’s long, glossy hair, iridescent green eyes or the way his blood warmed like syrup on a stove whenever she smiled that I’m totally harmless smile. He was on sabbatical from women.

All women.

When his father had passed away fifteen years ago, Mitch had become the man of the house. Although he’d moved out of the stately Stuart mansion seven years ago, he was still the one the females of the family scampered to for help…and it seemed they always needed help. Help with their finances, help with repairs, booking flights, computer glitches—you name it, he got the call.

Like a stealthy airborne virus, recently the helpless female factor had followed him into more intimate relationships. Up-and-coming lingerie model Priscilla Lawson had seemed independent and resourceful when they’d met at that charity dinner. After three weeks together, their liaison had warmed up nicely, until Priscilla had tickled his chin one night and mentioned her family reunion… Would he mind booking her flight to Melbourne and, while she was gone, clean her pool and take her cat to its monthly check-up? It had liver problems.

His upper lip twitched.

He did not do cats.

But damn, he sure had liked that Rottweiler pup.

He was a busy man. His work was his life. However, while he had close associates at the firm as well as friends he knocked about with on weekends when he could spare the time, he’d wanted someone to come home to. Someone male who could watch football without a moan, not complain if he put his feet on the coffee table, who didn’t flutter eyelashes or resort to tears to get their own way. Someone who didn’t demand much time or emotion.

He gazed at his goggle-eyed companion.

A goldfish qualified.

The doorbell rang, echoing through the contemporary two-storey that enjoyed a privileged view of Sydney’s magnificent harbour. Mitch rolled the tension from his shoulders, then stabbed a finger at Kami. ‘Don’t move a fin till I get back.’

He opened the door and there she stood, looking unaffected and fresh, one long leg pegged out in those bun-hugging jeans, conspicuously busty in her white T-shirt with the pink swirly logo that said Great and Small. If forced to vote, he would go with Great rather than Small. In fact, she looked pretty darn hot—

Mitch slammed on the mental brakes.

Sweet blazes, what was he doing? Visualising this woman naked wasn’t going to help. In fact, it was highly inappropriate for more reasons than one.

Think ‘fish’, Mitch. Think ‘through with females’.

Clearing his throat, he gestured her in. ‘Thanks for coming so quickly. He’s over here.’

In the dining room, Vanessa Craig set her hands on her knees and inspected the patient while Mitch stood back, eager for a diagnosis. When the examination went on and her left knee bent more, which meant her right hip hitched up, he scowled and scrubbed his jaw. If she’d done that on purpose, he didn’t need the aggravation.

Finally she straightened, one hand on her lower back as she arched to stretch out her spine. Although Great jumped out at him, Mitch kept his eyes fixed firmly on hers.

Her question was sombre. ‘When was the last time he jumped?’

‘Just before you arrived.’

‘Before that?’

‘Ten minutes ago.’

Pensive, she stroked her chin. ‘Could be he’s still settling in.’

‘Or tomorrow morning I could wake up and—’

Ack. He didn’t want to think about it.

She crossed her arms. The letters G and T met at her cleavage. Not that he was looking. Same way he wasn’t looking when she nibbled her lip and searched for an answer. Her mouth was naturally pink and very full. The highly kissable kind with delicate dimples on either side, as he’d already noted with some consternation earlier today.

‘What if we try a bigger tank?’ she suggested.

Mitch blinked back to the immediate problem. Increased volume equalled decreased risk, which added up to no dead fish in the morning. ‘I like that plan.’

She moved towards the door. ‘Good. I brought one with me. It’s outside on your portico.’

Giving in to a smile, he followed. Clearly Vanessa Craig was intelligent, helpful, prompt as well as prepared. She was also a professional with her own business. Did her profit and loss sheets balance? Of course he was well aware trouble was not a gender specific trait. However, for too long now, it sure-as-Jack seemed that way.

He assisted Vanessa in with the larger tank and a few minutes later it was filled with the neutralising drops doing their work.

Hooking up the filter, she nodded almost shyly at the portrait on the wall. ‘Is that your family?’

His chest constricted with a familiar sense of fondness tinged with regret. The photo featured his tall, lean father sitting on a red chaise longue surrounded by his wife, their four girls and only son.

His hand slid along the rim of the tank. ‘My father passed away not long after that shot was taken.’ Only days before Mitch’s fifteenth birthday.

When she flicked on the filter, her hand accidentally brushed his. His heartbeat kicked as a live current spiralled up the cords of his arm to his shoulder, much the same heat-generating sensation that had claimed him this afternoon when they’d touched. Instantaneous and perilously pleasant.

Their eyes met—hers filled with perception as well as surprise before she dropped her gaze and edged a little away. ‘I’m sorry…about your dad.’

Setting his thoughts straight, Mitch collected his trusty net. ‘He was a good but old-fashioned man. A firm believer in tough love.’

Her mouth thinned. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child?’

‘Not at all. But, in our house, actions had consequences.’ How many talks about responsibility and putting those you cared about before yourself had he listened to? ‘We were loved, but you didn’t get away with much. In return, he gave us his undivided attention when we needed it.’

Her green eyes took on a sheen, reminding him of the leaves on the pavement this morning when he’d decided to get himself that pet.

‘You must all miss him very much,’ Vanessa said.

He nodded. Every day.

What would his father have done about the current family dilemma? Last night, Cynthia, the youngest at twenty-two, had announced her engagement to the sleaze ball of all time. Their showboating mother had crowed with joy, which had surprised him. Sleaze Ball might be a doctor but he was also a notorious gambler.

How on earth could he protect people who jumped feet first into disaster, tittering prettily as they fell into the abyss?

Groaning, he swirled the new water with the net.

Guess he’d sort something out. Or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe this time would be the time he let the women sort it out themselves. He couldn’t very well tell his sister who to marry, though he’d certainly like to tell her who not to.

Mitch stole a glance at his comely visitor as a gentle reflection from the water danced over her face. Did Vanessa Craig hold high expectations on the business front, or was she focused more on personal matters, like landing a good catch? Seemed his sisters could think of little other than having babies. What was the hurry? He was in no hurry at all.

He set the net down. ‘What about you?’

Her bright eyes blinked up from the water. ‘What about me?’

‘Family. You didn’t say whether yours live nearby.’

Her slender shoulders went up, then down. ‘I don’t have a family.’

section_insertedcopyright--num_1--seq_18? The idea was alien. And, in some ways, wickedly appealing. No demands. No expectations. No interruptions. ‘No one at all?’

She trailed a damp hand down her jeans, leaving a streak on her shapely denim thigh. ‘I have an aunt. As well as great friends and my animals—’ she flashed an optimist’s smile ‘—so life’s full.’

Was that a subtle hint that she wasn’t interested in romance? Well, ditto…even if his growing curiosity and flexing libido refuted that statement. There was something about Vanessa Craig—something mesmerising calling to him from beyond those bewitching green eyes.

She checked her large-faced watch, took the net and scooped Kami up to ease him into his new watery home. As his golden scales darted around the relocated trident, Mitch shot out a relieved breath. ‘He looks happier already.’

‘Hopefully that should do the trick.’

‘After all that exercise, he should sleep well.’ Which was good news for them both; he had some important paperwork to get through tonight.

‘Fish don’t sleep,’ she pointed out. ‘They slow their metabolism and rest.’ She knelt down to gather the replacement tank’s packaging. ‘Dolphins sleep, of course,’ she went on. ‘But they’re mammals. They keep one side of their brain awake while the other half dozes.’

Fascinated, he dropped onto his haunches too. He’d known dolphins weren’t fish, but, ‘They’re awake while they sleep?’

Clearly he was behind in his general knowledge. Maybe he should subscribe to the Animal channel. Or he could cut his more primal instincts some slack and become better acquainted with this expert. Not as if he was taking the plunge and asking her out. He was simply interested in getting to know her mind a little better.

He collected some discarded bubble wrap. ‘Did you study marine biology?’

‘Zoology. And business as well as some Greek mythology.’ Sweeping up more packaging, she tilted her head at him and shimmering hair fell like a silky waterfall from behind her shoulder. ‘Did you know that the ancient Greeks believed dolphins were once human? There’s a school of thought that says Poseidon was human once too.’

Still crouching, he leant a little closer. The sound of her voice was melodic…soothing. ‘Is that right?’

‘The more traditional myth says he was one of the supreme Olympian gods,’ she continued, grabbing more packaging. ‘When Creation was divided between the gods, Hades got to rule the underworld, Zeus dominated the skies, and Poseidon became lord of the water, both fresh and salt. His son, Triton, was half human, half fish.’

Engrossed, Mitch blindly reached for more bubble wrap while she reached the same way. Their hands touched. That sizzle flashed again and this time sparked and caught light. But while the sexual awareness was through the roof, the sense of awkwardness had all but vanished.

They shared a brief what if smile, then she pushed to her feet.

He wanted to hear more. ‘So the mermaid legend started with the Greeks?’

She nodded. ‘But originally mermaids were called sirens, fabled to be half woman, half bird. They had beautiful voices they used to lure sailors and their ships onto the rocks. If a ship got away, the siren would have to throw herself into the sea.’

He slowly pushed to his feet too, chancing to take in the tempting lines of her body as he went. Vanessa Craig didn’t smell like birdseed or puppies any more. She smelled soft, sweet and slightly salty, like a fresh ocean breeze.

He rested his hip against the table edge. ‘Did any sailors try to resist?’

‘One. He’d heard about the sirens hypnotic deadly powers. He had his crew tie him to the mast of his ship so he wasn’t able to steer her towards tragedy. But when he saw the beautiful siren on the shore, and heard her song, he begged to be cut free.’

His gaze skimmed her delicate jaw. ‘Who won?’

She laughed. ‘Depends if you were the siren or the sailor.’

His return smile faded as his gaze drifted to her mouth. Those pink, full, tempting lips. Another few inches and he could taste them. Explore them. Of course this instant attraction could merely be backlash from shunning the dating scene long enough. Vanessa was attractive, intelligent, not to mention incredibly sexy.

Best of all, she was independently minded. A strong but companionable woman. His kind of woman.

He broke the trance and bent to sweep the box off the floor. ‘Have you had your business long?’

‘Two years.’

‘Going well?’

Her smile wavered and she shrugged. ‘Sure. Aside from being evicted in two weeks from the store I adore and needing to find a new place with rent that’s anywhere within my budget. I have an appointment with my bank manager tomorrow and—’ She stopped and released a self-deprecating sigh. ‘Now that was too much information.’

His gut turned to ice as a withering feeling sank through his middle, but Mitch managed a thin smile in return. ‘Not too much information at all.’

Rather, just enough. Barring an earthquake in central Sydney or the acting President suddenly losing all faith in his protégé, two weeks from tomorrow Mitch would claim the head chair of the family company, as per his late father’s will. If anyone could organise finance, the soon-to-be President of Stuart Investments and Loans certainly could.

But, realistically, he and Vanessa Craig were little more than acquaintances. Despite the lure of smouldering embers, he wouldn’t ignore the warning signs. Eviction. Financial disaster. Before him stood a time bomb about to explode, which translated into a loss for his company should he choose to invest, not to mention a hit to his personal armoury if he allowed himself to become any more intrigued. God knew, he had enough to worry about without taking on new risks.

He held the box against his ribs and glanced around. ‘Well, that seems to be it,’ he announced cheerily. ‘How much do I owe you?’

Reading his terminating social cue, her smile wavered and her gaze flicked away. ‘No charge.’

‘There must be some difference between the two tanks.’

‘All part of the service.’ She nodded at her card on the table. ‘And if you need any help in the next few days, you know where to find—’

‘Absolutely.’ He snatched up the card with his free hand as if to confirm his commitment. ‘I’ll see you out.’

A moment later, he swung open his front door and faced the sunset’s dying colours, deepest crimson and streaks of gold bleeding across the eucalypt hills in the west.

‘Goodnight, Mr Stuart.’ She gave him her signature salute. ‘Good luck.’

‘Yep. Thanks. You too.’

She’d need it.

When the door closed, he emptied his lungs, tossed her business card on the hallstand and made a vow. If he had any more problems with Kami, he’d call a fish expert; Yellow Pages were bound to list them. The best way not to get burned was to stay away from the fire, no matter how attractive the flames of that fire might be.

But as he strode towards the living room, a tantalising image swam up to taunt him…those heavenly hips, that amazing T-shirt, her hypnotic voice and come-hither smile.

Damp broke out on his hairline and he wheeled back around. Grabbing the card, he looked at it hard and tore it clean down the middle.

Beautiful sirens. Sailors sinking with their ships. The only rocks he wanted to see were the ones clinking in his pre-dinner Scotch while he pored over those figures for tomorrow’s late meeting.

He settled down to that drink and his work, with the new tank and its occupant on a side table nearby. He was trying to banish Vanessa Craig and her lips to the furthermost corners of his mind when the doorbell rang.

He slammed down his glass. What now?

A moment later he swung open the door and his heart hit his throat.

‘Me again.’ An apologetic but upbeat Vanessa Craig curled some hair behind her ear. ‘I got down the street before realising I forgot to collect the smaller tank. I bet you don’t want it clogging up your gorgeous home—’

Her words ran dry at the same time her face fell. Her gaze had drifted behind him, to the hallstand at his back.

To the torn business card.

As his insides wrenched into a guilty knot, she blinked several times, then her mouth quivered with a lame smile—a vain attempt to cover her hurt. ‘Gee, I didn’t realise I’d made such a sterling impression.’

He ran a hand through his hair. Hell.

‘It’s not how it looks.’

Her laugh was short. ‘It looks like you can’t bear to see my name.’

He groaned. She had it completely wrong, but he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t begin to explain.

Her chin angled up. ‘Whatever your opinion of my service today, you’re one hundred per cent entitled to it. The customer’s always right. Always.’ She forced a brave smile, then turned on her heel.

‘Even when the customer screws up,’ he said, ‘because he’s attracted to the lady in charge?’

She turned back, her jaw hanging. ‘What did you say?’

He gripped both sides of the door jamb and admitted what must be obvious. ‘I’m attracted to you.’

She shook her head, puzzled. ‘So you don’t want to contact me again?’

She was right. His reasoning was flawed, particularly now she was back, with her lips so near and his elevated testosterone levels demanding to know what the hell he was waiting for.

He held his breath.

What was he waiting for?

His hands left the jamb and found her upper arms. Drawing her close—with that maddening logo pressed against his chest—he dropped his mouth over hers.

Her body stiffened and her fists came up, two small rocks pushing against his collarbone. But he didn’t release her…truth tell, he couldn’t. The heat combusting between their bodies had fused them together; she was glued to him as much as he was to her.

As his mouth opened, her lips parted and the kiss evolved and deepened, growing beyond spur-of-the-moment into something-special. His hold on her arms eased; as if a crutch were removed, she leant against his length. Taking the cue, his tongue performed a lazy sweep against hers, and again. Her relaxed fists began kneading his shirt.

When a compliant mew vibrated in her throat, he imagined slipping that T-shirt over her head and running his hands over the sweetest heaven on earth. His blood felt on fire. Every red-hot ion ready to ignite. God help him, he didn’t want to stop.

The kiss broke gradually, reluctantly, the caress growing strong again before, hot lava flowing through his veins, he finally eased off.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged. Out of breath himself, he murmured against her warm soft lips, ‘Now do you see?’

Her eyelids flickered and her focus sharpened. ‘You wanted to kiss me?’

‘Very much.’

‘And you thought I wouldn’t want you to?’

Wincing, he pulled slightly back. ‘That’s not quite it.’

Her shoulders sank. ‘Is it another woman?’

He groaned to himself. ‘Not just one.’

When she unravelled herself from what remained of his grasp, he rubbed his brow. How could he explain that he didn’t need any more ties?

‘What I mean is, sexual attraction is one thing, but compatibility should be built on—’ He stopped, then started again. ‘When two people get together, they should be on the same page as far as—’ No, that wasn’t right. He took a breath. ‘Well, the thing is—’

‘That water should meet its own level?’ She darted a wounded glance towards his spacious living room and, beyond that, the priceless view. ‘Is that what you’re trying to say?’

He exhaled. ‘I’m saying we don’t know each other very well.’

‘But you know enough.’

‘Vanessa—’

As he stepped forward, she stepped back and held up a hand. ‘Please don’t be embarrassed. I’m a pragmatist, Mr Stuart. I know the way the world works.’ She reached around and took her torn card from the hallstand. ‘In case you’re tempted.’

With infuriating good grace, she shut the door behind her. It took all his willpower not to call out and drag her back against him where she seemed to belong. He had wanted to kiss her, hold her… Damn it, in that moment of insanity, he’d wanted to peel the clothes from her body and make love to her, thoroughly and all night long.

But, as he’d said, he barely knew this woman and his rescuing-damsels-in-distress plate was full. He shouldn’t get involved. In fact, he should thank his lucky stars it was over before it had begun.

He strode to the wet bar and poured himself a fresh Scotch. He swallowed a gulp, swallowed another. Frustration winning out, he smashed the glass down on the counter.

Like it or not, he was already involved. He wanted to see Vanessa Craig again. He wanted to listen to her stories. Taste her sweet lips. Damn it, he wanted to help.

The six million dollar question was…