by Anne Oliver
‘I freelance to businesses who want advice on their environmental practices.’
‘You must charge a fortune for your services.’ She gestured towards her garden shed as they crossed the square of lawn bordered by recycled pink bricks. ‘You might as well know I’m a tell-it-as-it-is kind of girl—I know how much you paid for the place.’
He cleared his throat. ‘My clients seek me out, not the other way around.’
‘Really? With those interpersonal skills I witnessed last week?’
‘I was in a hurry.’
‘Because of me?’
He made a strangled sound, cleared his throat again. ‘No excuses. I apologise.’
Hmm, uncomfortable. How charmingly appealing. She loved having that effect on a man. Her resolve to keep her distance was weakening by the second. ‘Accepted. You had a plane to catch, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘And a date waiting?’
‘Not precisely. Are you always this...?’ He seemed to struggle for the word.
‘Straightforward?’ Not the word he’d have used, she’d wager, and his ‘not precisely’ answer clarified nothing. ‘Pretty much. You mentioned this was an investment, so will you be here often?’
They stopped at the shed and unloaded the pots.
‘I’ll be stopping by to check on the progress. And I’ve just taken on some new clients in Tasmania so I’ll be on the island most of the time. Where do you want the aloe vera?’
‘Inside the conservatory. Thanks.’
She watched him push the trolley to the rear of the house, then, once inside, she helped him unload the pot where she wanted it. ‘Would you like something to drink? I have a chilled fruit tisane in the fridge.’
He regarded her blankly. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’
‘Sure? It’s a very refreshing beverage.’
‘I’m a coffee man, myself. And I’m due to check out some rental accommodation in the Arcade Apartments.’ He checked his watch, displaying a thick wrist dusted with dark hair. ‘Twenty minutes ago.’ Grimacing, he yanked out his phone, sent a voice message apologising and advising he’d make a time later this afternoon.
Millionaire’s accommodation, the Arcade. ‘Where are you staying at the moment?’
‘A bed and breakfast two minutes away.’
She nodded. ‘That’ll be Hannah’s Hideaway. How much are you paying for an apartment at the Arcade?’
‘More than it’s worth.’ He spoke briskly, pocketed his phone with a similar movement. ‘Proximity’s important.’
Brie, always on the lookout for extra funds for Pink Snowflake, came up with an instant light-bulb idea. ‘How long are you looking at?’
‘Few weeks.’ A tiny frown dug between his brows. ‘Why?’
‘What would you say to living right next door?’
‘I’m not interested in a room.’ Penetrating eyes considered hers and he took his time answering. ‘If that’s what you’re offering.’
‘I’m not offering you a room.’ She matched his gaze. ‘My brother, Jett, and my best friend, Olivia, are on their honeymoon and I’m house-sitting their new health retreat from next week for a couple of months or thereabouts. It’s totally flexible. So, you could stay here, have the entire place to yourself and the rent money could go to the Pink Snowflake Foundation instead of the Arcade owner’s over-inflated bank account.’ She grinned at her own ingenuity. ‘It’s win-win.’
‘Hmm.’ He squatted in front of the blue pot, tested its stability on the uneven green tiles recycled from the sixties and laid with her own fair hands. ‘What’s the Pink Snowflake Foundation?’
‘Jett and Olivia are opening a luxury holistic retreat for cancer patients to recuperate after their treatment and Pink Snowflake is Olivia’s project of love that made the whole thing possible. It’s ahead of schedule but the happy couple are overseas. They asked me if I’d like to spend a few nights a week there. Soak in the spa, enjoy the pool and solarium. Use the gym. Explore their private cellar. Naturally I couldn’t refuse.’
‘Naturally.’ The tone was dry. Rising, he hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and looked about. ‘You own this place? You live here alone?’
She nodded. ‘I inherited it when my parents died and, yes, I live alone.’
‘So I’d have the entire place to myself? No unexpected interruptions. Until the job’s done?’
‘All yours. Although I may need to come by and collect the odd outfit or whatever. But you’d have all the keys and I’d ring first. I wouldn’t just drop in.’ Unless you invited me.
As if he’d heard her private thought, his eyes dropped to her mouth. He looked away fast, checked his watch again and she pounced before he could refuse. ‘When would you want it by?’
His eyes flicked back to hers. This time they held. ‘Next weekend.’
Was it her imagination or was there something in the way he said that? A glint rapidly masked behind that quicksilver gaze?
‘Sold,’ she told him before she could think of all the reasons why inviting a man she knew nothing about—except that he turned her on—into her private sanctuary might be a bad idea. ‘The Pink Snowflake Foundation thanks you.’
‘Okay, we’ll give it a try,’ he said finally. ‘I’m all for a good cause.’ He pulled out his mobile, cancelled his appointment with the Arcade rep.
‘“We” as in you and a partner?’ Brie spoke more sharply than she meant to.
‘“We” as in you and me.’ The way he linked them together in that low, husky voice while he held her gaze prisoner made her pulse race with excitement. ‘I want to see it,’ he said, sliding his mobile back into his pocket. ‘If it’s not an inconvenience.’
‘Not at all.’ She gestured him towards the far side of the conservatory while she got herself under control. ‘Family area’s through here. Layout’s the same as yours,’ she said, whisking a basket of washing off the sofa as she passed. ‘Have a seat and I’ll get you a drink. I have fourteen kinds of tea, hot or cold— Oops, you’re a coffee m—’
‘Thanks, but there’s no need,’ she heard him say. ‘I’m meeting my architect in ten.’
The busy blonde with the over-exposed boobs. ‘Chris.’ She raised a brow. ‘Thought you weren’t planning any major changes?’
‘Just that kitchen wall I told you a...bout...’ Leo’s voice trailed off as he took in the visuals. He’d walked into chaos.
What appeared to be an entire wardrobe of party dresses was strewn across an armchair. As he entered the kitchen, a variety of foodstuffs covered every available surface but he had no idea what she intended cooking. He gave a mental shudder, comparing it with his own ordered world, from his computer files to his DVD collection to the way he arranged his ties.
Had she thought this idea through? He doubted it. By all appearances, it seemed she was one of those impulsive people who never stood still, gravitating from one interest to the next as the whim took her.
‘Excuse the mess. I’ve been experimenting with some nature-based facial masks and steams.’
Which explained the bowl of pink mash that smelled like strawberries and peppermint. But not the fifty or so plastic beer and wine glasses stacked alongside a large box of Moroccan lanterns. ‘I’ll come back later,’ he told her. When he’d reconsidered.
‘Hey, if you’re in a hurry now, why don’t you come by this evening? I’m having a party—ten o’clock on—you could check out the place then.’
Fine for some. He had a Saturday night date with his laptop. To ease the pain, he was planning to help the evening along with a nice Tasmanian Cabernet Shiraz. He intended stopping at the trendy upmarket bottle shop he’d seen nearby. But that wasn’t the only reason. An evening with Breanna Black in party mode was a bad idea. ‘No can do. I’ve got work to finish.’
‘Don’t we all? But on a Saturday night?’ She clucked her tongue. ‘That’s just sad.’
‘Some might say so.’ But he was proud of his consultancy business. His alone.
He’d built it from the ground up, with nothing but determination and hard work and it was the first and only part of his life he’d ever had absolute control over. It was worth a few sacrifices.
‘I’ll leave you my contact number.’ He placed his business card next to a row of a dozen or so unusual teapots on a distressed wood sideboard then turned to her. ‘If you’ll tell me your details, I’ll come by tomorrow. I’m presuming afternoon’ll be best?’
She smiled. A naughty smile that seemed to make him an accomplice in whatever racy plans she had for the evening, and almost had him wishing he’d accepted her invitation, bad idea or not.
Temptation beckoned with the luscious curve of those full lips. ‘Give me your phone.’
Holding out her hand, she stepped close. Too close, and into his personal space. Feminine scent enveloped him; the tips of her extended fingers brushed his jumper.
He stepped back. She wasn’t getting her hands near his contacts list—or anywhere else for that matter. His groin tightened at the erotic thought. ‘Just tell me, I’ll remember.’ He had an exceptional memory for numbers and facts—except right now he was having trouble remembering his own name.
She rattled off a series of numbers as he walked to the door.
‘We’ll work out the details tomorrow,’ he muttered.
He didn’t stop till he reached the new SUV he’d picked up only hours ago. Sliding onto the caramel-soft seat, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, lust and frustration building a fire below his belt.
Hadn’t he stayed away from her? Minded his own business?
Had it made a scrap of difference?
The woman wasn’t merely a nuisance, she should come with a warning label. Approach at your own peril.
So much for working without being disturbed. Brie didn’t have to be physically present to mess with his head.
Tonight was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.
THREE
Brie, an experienced hostess, was running late for her own party. Her plant rescue expedition had taken longer than she’d anticipated. The reason for that was an enormously sexy man and he was still centre stage in her thoughts. And didn’t she love the fact that here was a man who more than matched her height? She set out nibbles, arranged tea-lights and lanterns for lighting later while she thought about her impulsive offer to rent her home to him.
She doubted he’d expect the use of the entire house but it was going to be a race against time to have the place tidy and the stuff she wanted to take to the retreat packed by next weekend. On top of that, the thought of Leo Hamilton sleeping in her bed, on her sheets, sent a shiver through her, along with the question: did he sleep naked? There was no alternative. It was the only room with a bed long enough and wide enough to accommodate a man his size.
Two hours before her guests were due to arrive, she drove to the liquor shop. She’d paid for her order, the cartons already stacked in her car with a friendly staff member’s assistance, when she remembered she’d intended to buy a bottle of sparkly to enjoy after work in the retreat’s spa later in the week.
And there he was, the most recent object of her private fantasies perusing the classiest labels in the red wine section. Labels so out of her price range, she could only imagine the smooth, rich flavour. No doubt the two of them had vastly different tastes. And not only in wine.
Come on, Brie, when has that stopped you?
It might be fun at that.
She picked up the nearest bottle of sparkling white while she watched him from the corner of her eye. She’d glimpsed a sense of humour this afternoon. Even traded flirty looks with him. Whether he acknowledged it or not, Brie knew when a guy was interested.
She also knew that the moment the renovations were done, he’d leave the property in his agent’s hands and move on to his next million-dollar investment. He was that kind of guy. She smiled to herself. And that made him the perfect kind of guy—perfectly constructed, perfectly casual, perfectly short-term.
When Brie set her sights on a man, he didn’t stand a chance. But their fun times never lasted long—these days she made sure of it. Since Elliot, her motto was no heart, no hurt. Worked for her every time.
* * *
Heat stroked Leo’s left cheek like a glove and the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to move antenna-like in the same direction.
He knew why before he looked up.
He’d seen Breanna and her puppy-dog assistant stacking up her car with booze and thought she’d left. But no, she was walking towards him, holding a bottle of bubbly and wielding her flirtatious smile like a challenge. His fingers tightened on his two-hundred-dollar bottle of Barossa shiraz cabernet and, with a vague nod towards her, he moved to the refrigerator section.
Like an inevitability, she kept coming. He selected a black olive pâté and his favourite cheese—a Tasmanian Brie—before he realised the irony of his choice.
Too late to swap for a Camembert. Was this some kind of cosmic conspiracy?
She’d loosened her hair and it slid over her shoulders, straight and thick and glorious. She stopped in front of him, noted his product choices and wielded that smile some more. ‘Party for one?’
‘Might as well get some enjoyment out of the evening while I work.’
She flicked her hair back in an artful, well-practised feminine move. ‘Why do tonight what you can put off till tomorrow? I have some crackers at home that would go nicely with that Brie.’ Her eyes seemed to say the type of cracker that goes off with a bang.
‘I’m sure you do. Brie.’ He refused to be seduced by her smoky-voiced invitation with its barely subtle innuendo. To prove it, he maintained his nonchalant gaze towards her as he drew out his wallet. He was all in favour of seduction, but he wanted to be the one doing the seducing. Wherever and whenever he was good and ready. He ignored the fire in his chinos insisting that time was fast approaching. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. As arranged.’
‘Fine,’ she said, not looking away. ‘However you want to play.’
Hard and fast. The unspoken words singed the air between them.
He waited for Breanna to break the searing eye contact first. The tension stretched out for several long seconds. Only when she finally glanced at her watch then delved into her bag for her purse did he turn towards the cash register at the end of the aisle.
‘Afraid you might enjoy yourself, Mr Hamilton?’ she teased behind him. ‘Or is it me you’re afraid of.’ It wasn’t a question.
He turned, caught her teasing, tossed it back. ‘Not at all. Parties aren’t my scene. Too many people.’ He intentionally lowered his tone. ‘But a party for two...’ He watched the teasing light in her eyes flare to frank awareness and a distinct attraction before she looked away. Score two to him.
I’m as eager to find out as you are, baby doll. But he had no intention of acting on it. Yet. He’d decide the if and when and it wouldn’t be tonight. Still, he couldn’t help grinning as he walked to the counter and set his platinum card down.
She followed, stood a good arm’s distance along the counter from him, considering the bottle in her hands. ‘I think I’m going to need two or more of these,’ she murmured to herself.
‘Best to be prepared, I say.’
That startled a laugh out of her. ‘You’re not what I expected, Mr Hamilton.’
‘Should I interpret that as a good thing?’
‘I’ll let you know. Later.’ She dared him with a hot glint in her midnight eyes, a quick curve of those glossy lips.
Which had him wondering how those eyes would look dazed with passion, how her lips would feel pressed against his own. How they’d feel against other body parts...
He gritted his teeth as his body responded to that tempting glimpse of paradise. He refused to be dictated to by his hormones. Or Ms Black. Swinging away, he raised his bottle in farewell as he moved to the door. ‘Enjoy your party.’
Yanking open his car door, he shook his head. Unbelievable. He was
walking away from an opportunity to share the evening with a hot woman who obviously wanted the same thing he did.
He slid inside, sat a moment, staring through the windscreen. His next-door neighbour. Correction: Sunny’s neighbour. She and his sister looked about the same age, had the same feisty personalities—they’d probably get on well, even long-term.
Whereas he and Breanna? It would be hot and temporary, like that firecracker she’d made him think of. A whizz-bang, short-term fling.
But unlike the easy-going, casual women he hooked up with, this one would clash plenty with him. Give him a whole lot of drama he didn’t need.
He’d endured more than his share of emotional trauma. As a kid hearing his mother’s broken pleas when her violent husband exercised his conjugal rights and slapped her around while doing it, her sobs in the dark after he’d gone.
For more than half his lifetime he’d been powerless to change the situation. And every time his young self had tried, his mother had copped the beatings and the bruises.
Then there was the fire. Sunny’s arduous recovery and rehab. The relentless questions that nagged at him: what could he have done differently? What should he have done to change the outcome?
His breath fogged up the windscreen and he swiped a hand over the glass, switched on the ignition. High drama? Not him. No way. He’d planned his evening—a meal in one of the city’s upmarket restaurants overlooking Sullivans Cove, a few hours of work in the cosy sitting room accompanied by his favourite shiraz. Nothing and, more specifically, no one was going to interfere with those plans.
* * *
At ten-thirty, Leo powered off his laptop and stretched cramped muscles. The decision to postpone opening his wine had given him a clear head to work. His latest client was a new six-star eco lodge on Tasmania’s east coast with the beguiling name of Heaven. He’d finished reading their initial commentary and had noted his suggested changes and added his in-depth report an hour earlier than he’d anticipated.
It left him at a loose end for the rest of the evening.
Was that why he’d subconsciously postponed opening the bottle in the first place? Frowning, he dismissed it. He never felt the need to self-analyse. Until tonight. Until Breanna had burst into his life.