Unforgettable You: Destiny Romance

by Georgina Penney

  Jo gave Mike a smile that should have been for Stephen. ‘Yeah. Thanks and I forgive you. Well, I will if you buy me a beer or two as well. It’s the first time I’ve gotten flowers in years and yellow roses are my favourite. Scott never gives me flowers.’ She turned to give Scott a sarcastic look with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘That’s because you’d probably tear them to shreds and eat them,’ Scott retorted.

  Stephen noted the look that passed between Scott and Jo and felt a twinge of an old jealousy.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I’m pretty sure we’d all like to make it up to you, Jo.’

  ‘Yeah, I feel so bad. Any woman who likes soccer as much as you do has to be a total legend,’ Mike added.

  Stephen suppressed a groan at Mike’s blatant arse-kissing, instead reminding himself to calm down and go along with the plan he and Scott had discussed earlier.

  He was fully prepared to move out tonight if that’s what Jo really wanted, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Not while he still had a chance to continue with his old plan of righting the wrong he’d done to her when they’d been kids.

  The situation hadn’t changed. She still worked internationally on shift and she still had a cat that needed looking after while she was away. Not to mention the repairs Stephen could do for her and the comfort she’d have knowing her apartment was safe in his care. He was a pretty good judge of artwork and knew a couple of paintings and prints on the wall were worth quite a bit. If the earrings she was wearing were any indication, there was a bit of expensive jewellery floating around as well.

  All he had to do was be his usual laid-back charming self. The problem was, he wasn’t feeling all that laid-back right now and Mike had an agenda to either get into Jo’s pants or wind him up. He couldn’t be sure.

  The knowledge that he still felt jealous of Scott and Jo’s . . . friendship or whatever it was they’d shared in the past and had now wasn’t welcome either.

  ‘So are we gonna talk?’ Her eyes flickered to Stephen’s before she looked at Scott and Mike.

  ‘Yeah. That’d be great,’ Scott replied. ‘Though we gotta get going soon. Doors open at eight.’

  ‘All right. Take a seat and let’s get down to business.’

  Jo ignored the unwelcome flutter low in her belly when she saw Stephen was watching her as she took a seat on the couch facing the three men.

  Much to her chagrin, he was even better looking than he had been years ago. His features were a little more tanned, a little more weathered, and all the better for it. His body had filled out to match the width of those broad shoulders too. He wasn’t overly bulky, but he was lean and had some nice definition in the muscles on his arms and chest, from what she could see. His tawny sun-bleached hair was shorter now than it had been when he was sixteen, the curls contained in a cut that just brushed his nape and the tops of his ears. And his eyes . . . sea-blue and just as intense as she remembered when he’d smiled at her earlier.

  Damn. He was hot. Even hotter than his brother. Of all the bad luck.

  Scott broke the awkward silence that now filled the room. ‘So, I’ve talked to Mike, and he’s going to stay with me while he’s in town—as long as he doesn’t even think of getting pissed and stripping off in my bedroom like he did in yours last night . . .’ He thumped Mike on the arm as punctuation.

  ‘Ouch! Man, that hurt.’

  ‘What about you. Stephen?’ Jo ignored the injured look Mike was giving Scott and met Stephen’s gaze, feeling the bottom of her stomach hit the floor. She willed him to look away but instead he kept up the eye contact.

  ‘Jo, I know you’re probably pretty upset with me right now and that’s totally understandable, but I’d like to talk to you about the possibility of me staying.’

  Jo felt panic rock through her. Everything in her wanted to say yes, but this attraction thing she was feeling wasn’t good. Not good at all. He was still Stephen Hardy. There were still too many secrets between them. Too much history. ‘W-why? Why would I agree to that?’

  ‘Because it’s a good idea,’ Scott spoke up, darting a look at Stephen before looking back to her. ‘I know you’re pissed off with me and Amy for lining this up, but you can’t hold it against Steve. He went along with this in the first place to help you out and he can still help you out.’

  Stephen said, his expression earnest, ‘Yeah, I’m sorry Mike messed things up but Scott’s right. This whole thing was set up to give you a hand. I owe you and I wanted a chance to make things up to you.’ She knew then and there that if she let him stay, she’d end up trying to jump him at some stage.

  ‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Jo said, feeling every hormone in her body screaming at her. ‘I don’t need anyone to be here. I don’t understand why we’re even having this conversation.’ She turned to Scott. ‘Why are we having this conversation? The old set-up works. Amy looks after Boomba while I’m away and my apartment stays empty.’

  Stephen answered before Scott could reply. ‘I know you probably see it like that, but think of it this way. You need a couple of things done around the house that I can help out with, you’ll have the peace of mind of knowing your cat’s being taken care of, and, let’s face it, it’s not like you couldn’t hunt me down, since your parents still live on our farm.’

  Jo went cold at the mention of her parents. From what Amy had told her this afternoon, Stephen had no idea about her dad or what had really happened years ago, but if he stayed, she’d have to keep up the façade again. Worse, she’d have to stop him from telling her dad where she lived. Why hadn’t Amy and Scott thought this through?

  ‘Stephen, you’re not helping, mate.’ They all looked at Scott. The discomfort on his face would have been comical if not for the seriousness of the situation. Scott frequently faced down bullets armed with nothing more than a camera. ‘Ah, Jo, we need to get this all sorted out quickly. Stephen and I need to get to the gallery in half an hour for set-up and above all I want you to have some peace of mind. I feel terrible about what’s happened here today and I know Stephen does too . . . but the fact of the matter is that Amy’s boyfriend is allergic to cats. That’s why we asked Stephen to stay here when I heard he was currently between houses. I’m surprised Amy didn’t tell you earlier, but she must have assumed I’d already said something. You know I’d do it, but I’m out of town almost as much as you are. So it’s either Boomba goes into a cattery for eight weeks at a time while you’re at work or—’

  ‘You let me look after him,’ Stephen finished for him, glancing down at Boomba, who was purring smugly in Mike’s arms. ‘You’d want that for the little guy, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Dammit,’ Jo muttered.

  When she’d taken the job in Africa, she’d promised Amy she’d come up with alternative arrangements if looking after Boomba was ever a problem. If Amy’s boyfriend really was allergic, that was a problem. Right now, having someone house-sitting her place was the simplest solution. And if that person was hot with an amazing body and gorgeous eyes, well . . . no, no. There were too many reasons why all this was a bad idea and Stephen’s earlier mention of her parents was the biggest one.

  ‘I promise you I’ll treat him like royalty,’ Stephen said, his deep voice cutting through her internal conflict.

  A thick silence filled the room as Jo tried desperately to think of a way out of this so she wouldn’t have to cohabit with the blond god and bane of her adolescent hormones. It was no use. As fraught with potential landmines as this whole thing was, she simply didn’t have time to come up with a better arrangement.

  ‘All right.’ Jo sighed, turning to Stephen. ‘You can stay.’

  If the smile she got in response made her a little shaky around the knee region, she told herself it was only jetlag.

  Stephen leaned his back against a wall and ran his eyes over the crowd surrounding him. The artfully lit, small industrial concrete-and-steel gallery space on King Street was packed wall to wall with the usual suspects perfecti
ng the art of mutually agreeable narcissism. The process was being aided judiciously by the free champagne and wine, care of Stephen’s generous donation of a couple of crates of Evangeline’s Rest’s finest.

  Looking around at the photography and paintings on the walls, he experienced a brief moment of pride by association.

  The tone of the evening spoke loudly of how much recognition Scott had earned for his photography in recent years. The other artist featured, Myfanwy Lane, was obviously less well known, but Stephen knew Scott would make sure her profile was raised a few notches by the end of the night.

  Scott and Myf hadn’t needed any help getting people to attend tonight. In fact, Stephen had just fielded a few complaints from a couple of local celebrities over how crowded the room was. He’d laughed it off and set them up with a modest tab at the bar, and they’d quickly mellowed out. They’d chilled out even more when he’d made sure they were photographed with Scott and Myf for the local press. The publicity wouldn’t mean a hell of a lot to Scott, who was already a big name internationally, but Myf’s fledgling career would benefit. Besides, it never hurt to have the Evangeline’s Rest label prominently showing on the bottle of champagne Stephen had been holding in every photograph.

  He was in his element. This is what he did best and he was in a particularly good mood, given the deal he and Scott had worked out with Jo earlier. He didn’t want to analyse too closely why he was feeling so elated right now or why he’d spent most of the night keeping an eye on her.

  She’d been avoiding him. He would have had to be blind not to notice it, but he didn’t mind so much. Since they were both six-foot tall—or over, in his case—he’d been able to keep track of her as she moved around the room, waiting for a chance when she was free so that he could wander over and strike up a conversation.

  The only dampener on the moment was that he was currently boxed in.

  Not long after he’d taken up a post in a corner overlooking the room, he’d been sandwiched against the wall by two immaculately dressed, interchangeable blondes, who’d launched into a spirited discussion about their respective Louis Vuitton handbags after giving him an up and down that made him feel like the last sausage roll in a truck-stop eatery.

  As far as he could gather, neither of them had even glanced at the powerfully evocative black-and-white photographs or violently colourful paintings on the walls around them, or even knew who their creators were, for that matter. They were merely in attendance because this was a gallery to be seen at, and ‘being seen’ was probably their main occupation in life.

  According to the woman on the left, her model of Louis Vuitton was infinitely ‘classier’ than the other shoulder candy in the room. The blonde on the right gushed agreement in a voice with such an exaggerated Aussie twang, Stephen winced. He hoped to hell she never travelled overseas. That accent was an embarrassment to the nation.

  It was a conversation he’d heard many a time over the years, more frequently since the mining boom had taken off in Western Australia and there was more disposable income to throw away on luxuries. Right now, he was just happy the ladies were looking at their shoulder candy now instead of looking at him.

  When he’d been in a relationship the female attention he’d gotten had been flattering but he’d just brushed it off. Now it felt . . . uncomfortable. It was moments like this when he missed having Lauren at his side. In the old days they would have joked about all the pretentious wankers present tonight, and at some stage, Stephen would have talked her into disappearing to a quiet safety exit and getting up to mischief.

  Just the thought of Lauren turned his mood.

  He’d done everything to make her happy; she’d been his queen, but one day she’d just started acting distant. She’d avoided any attempt on his part to work through their problems and in the end he’d confronted her, only to have the woman he’d loved for over a decade tell him she wanted to end it because he ‘didn’t get it’. It had been six months since their split and Stephen had dealt with the worst of it, but the memory of her words still felt like a knife between his ribs.

  He’d felt as if his world was ending the afternoon he’d packed up his stuff and moved out of their apartment. They’d bought it together and lived there for ten years. Lauren was still living there now. For some reason she was refusing to sell it so they could split the profits and move on.

  Stephen knew he could have legally forced the issue months ago but he hadn’t wanted to. That kind of acrimony just wasn’t his style. Lauren might have run for her lawyer, but Stephen just wanted them to resolve everything as simply as possible.

  If he was honest with himself, the complication with the apartment, the stress with Lauren and not understanding where the hell he’d messed up was why he’d taken Bridgett Cowcher up on her offer to have a fling.

  Bridgett was a classically beautiful blonde cougar with an acute business sense and killer legs. When she’d introduced herself a couple of months back at a wine expo, she’d been a breath of expensively scented fresh air.

  He knew it went the same the other way. To Bridgett, he was the younger guy with the winery she could brag about. The clean-cut businesslike way they’d approached things so far out of the sack had appealed to him. It didn’t feel anything like the car crash he was still recovering from with Lauren.

  A high-pitched laugh snapped him out of the moment. Good thing too. He didn’t want to think about Lauren right now. He didn’t want to dwell on Bridgett either. Their thing was casual and pretty much amounted to a horizontal workout and mutual self-interest when it came to business. Nope, much better to dwell on the present, more specifically Jo Blaine.

  He hadn’t expected the attraction he’d felt the minute he’d seen her this afternoon, or the sheer relief he’d felt when she’d gone along with Scott’s plan about the apartment . . . it felt good. It felt like he was making something right.

  He looked over the crowd, searching for her, stifling a surprising yawn. He’d had a full day yesterday, showing Bridgett around Evangeline’s Rest and getting the last of their deal verbally ironed out before she’d had to drive back to the city. And then he had gotten up first thing this morning to help his dad with the milking. The lack of sleep was catching up with him.

  ‘Geriatric Barbie wore you out last night, mate?’ Mike sauntered up to him with two full wine glasses, handing one over.

  Stephen knew better than to bite. Instead he took a glass, raising it to his mouth and letting the familiar taste of his family’s shiraz mellow his mood. ‘Bridgett, and fuck you.’

  Mike turned and surveyed the room. ‘Scott’s done all right for himself. He scrubs up pretty good too, doesn’t he?’ He nodded at the clump of admirers surrounding their cousin. Stephen had to agree.

  Scott was looking sharp in a tailored black suit and white shirt, open at the neck, his long hair left out down his back. He was flanked by Amy Blaine, who was wearing an eye-popping red body-hugging dress, and Myf Lane, the other star of the evening, a petite, whippet-thin woman with a head of wildly chaotic ginger-red curls.

  A couple of football players blocking Stephen’s view moved and he finally caught sight of Jo standing beside Myf, towering a foot taller than the other two women. She was deep in conversation with a short, balding man in a yellow turtleneck.

  Stephen shook his head in bemusement at the contrast. She stood out. It wasn’t just her height that did it. It was the way she was so blatantly a tomboy. Where everyone else was wearing Gucci, she’d gone for Gap.

  Mike whistled appreciatively. ‘You know, I think I’m feeling a bit jealous. How about you share with Scotty boy, and I’ll stay with Jo?’

  ‘Yeah, and how about I rip your head off for crashing out in Jo’s bed and almost screwing things up in the first place,’ Stephen growled.

  ‘That bug up your arse biting, by any chance?’ Mike asked, an eyebrow raised at Stephen’s tone but his eyes still firmly fixed on Jo. ‘Actually, nix that comment, keep being an arsehole. It’l
l lessen the competition. I’m going over to start again. Coming with?’

  Stephen narrowed his eyes on his brother, trying to gauge how much Mike was looking to wind him up. All he saw was Mike’s usual smug grin so he capitulated.

  ‘Yeah, sure. I’ll just grab us another bottle.’ Stephen headed in the other direction, towards the bar, not wanting to approach Jo empty-handed. By the time he’d worked his way back through the crowd it was to find Mike with his arm draped over Amy’s shoulder and around Jo’s waist.

  Neither woman seemed to mind the attention. In fact, Amy was laughing at something Mike had just said, while Jo was still in conversation with the yellow turtleneck. Stephen caught her looking at him and flashed her a smile, but she went back to her conversation as if she hadn’t seen him. The reaction was understandable, given the impression he’d given her both today and in the past. Although, if Mike didn’t remove his arm sometime in the near future, Stephen would be ‘accidentally’ pouring a bottle of red all over his brother’s overpriced Hermès shoes.

  Mike gave Stephen a look that said he knew exactly where his thoughts were headed. ‘I’ve promised Jo an apology beer or two, and Amy’s up for joining us. You want to come?’

  Stephen suppressed the urge to verbalise just what he thought of the offer. Mike knew full well that Stephen had agreed to stick around to the end of the show to help Scott and Myf work the crowd, just like he knew just how much Stephen would want to come along.

  Stephen was forced to give Jo, then Amy, an apologetic smile. ‘Nah. I’d love to but I’ve gotta stick around to help out. If I haven’t said it, you look amazing tonight, Jo.’

  Jo’s eyes widened and he enjoyed the colour he could see rising in her cheeks, even in the muted lighting. ‘Yeah? Thanks.’

  ‘What about me?’ Amy poked him in the chest.