He drew in a sharp breath and listened to the low hum of the refrigerator and wind chimes dancing in the wind. A feeling he hadn’t encountered in a long time sent him bounding off the couch.
This house felt like a home.
Like fuck it did. This daydream ended now. Takahashi was getting restless. Mason would either have to put in some more delay tactics or get the Canadian investor signing on the dotted line. He’d invested too much into it to back out. Fire pumped through his veins at the amount he’d have to dish up in penalty clauses on this house, and worse, the sting of failure, if he couldn’t get rid of it and the house in Coromandel he’d already committed to. Time to dump this cozy house shit and get back to work. Life was getting a bit too comfortable, and comfort led to more nightmares.
Stanley looked up when Mason passed, his body quivering on the floor. But he calmed when Mason patted the dog’s head, and again, Mason felt the sense of peace and belonging. All that was missing was his assistant making something to die for in the kitchen.
Yeah, he had to pull up roots and go before he started to believe he could have a future. And not the one he’d banked on years ago.
Chapter Eight
“Sarah, what were you thinking?” Billie asked a few hours later. She was huddled in the corner of a dressing room at an up-market boutique in the nearby city of Whangarei. Like a conveyer belt, Sarah passed in dress after dress. Billie’s BFF had dragged her there, insisting she needed something nice and not beige for her date with Mason—including matching underwear, shoes and a bag. Billie had decided not to mention Mason’s comment about no underwear, since that would instigate an inquisition that she wasn’t up to right now. She’d told Sarah at the outset that she wasn’t talking about the house or Mason’s plans. She wanted to get away from it all. Sarah had taken one look at her face and agreed.
She wished for the millionth time she’d stuck with the Crunch Master Sit-Up Demon Mean Machine for longer than two days. At the back of her mind, she knew she’d never look like the models who’d made the machine seem so effortless and who must eat half a grape a day. She sucked in her stomach and tried to give herself some cleavage by pushing the girls higher.
Sarah poked her head through the curtain, an exasperated look on her face. “What’s the matter with this one?”
“Right. Well, I’ve been asking for bigger boobs since I was sixteen, but I don’t think they’re going to make a miraculous appearance now.” She adjusted the wispy halter neck scarlet red dress Sarah had brought in. The only one she’d loved.
“Hang on, I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
“Like I’m going anywhere,” Billie mumbled. She caught sight of herself and twisted her head left and right, admiring the way the dress draped over her hips and legs, barely concealing the bandage wrapped around her warm and throbbing knee.
Sarah burst through the curtain, thrusting a red bra at her. “It’s a Wonder Bra. It lifts and separates.”
“Jeez, it has its work cut out for it.” Billie studied the flimsy red lace.
“And I borrowed these from the shoe department. I think the color match is perfect.” Sarah held out a pair of strappy red stiletto shoes, and Billie’s mouth watered. The shoes were the bomb. Impossibly high heels coupled with an ankle strap that screamed drill me completed the package.
A short while later, Billie emerged from the dressing room trying to figure out how to walk elegantly with two Eiffel Towers strapped to her feet.
While she’d been getting changed, something had dawned on her. “You know this is kind of the first date I’ve ever been on.”
Sarah frowned at her and cocked her head to one side. “God, I suppose it is. You and James married the day school finished.” Her face cleared. “That’s makes it even more important to have you looking fab-u-lous for your first date.”
Despite her reservations, she felt feminine and…sexy. Even her abundance of curves looked good in the dress. Maybe she wouldn’t have to spend fifteen minutes levering Spanx onto her body to wear this dress as she usually did.
Her usual self-doubt tangoed in her stomach. “I don’t know about this dress. It’s way out of my comfort zone.”
Sarah adjusted the strap on Billie’s dress. “You’re all about hiding yourself away and hoping no one will notice you.”
She scowled. “That’s not true. I don’t hide myself away. It hasn’t exactly been the easiest time for me.”
Sarah grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I know it hasn’t been. After you married, you kind of lost your sparkle, same as when you looked after him ’til the end. I thought you’d have bounced back a bit by now. But it looks like you’re still in hiding.” Sarah smiled. “I really love that I’m seeing Billie McCloud come out again from behind the wall of beige.”
She pretended to be mock offended. “Hey. I like beige, it suits me.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “That color doesn’t suit anybody, and as for the baggy dresses, I wish I could shred them.”
“I don’t like people noticing me or my body,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, I figured that. I don’t know why.”
Billie let her eyes drift over her image, squirming at the way the dress hugged her figure. Admittedly, the color was awesome, and the bra had gone beyond the call of duty to help her actually fill the dress. The shoes? Oh, she was already in love. They made her legs look awesome. She wasn’t in love with the height, but for one night, why not?
“It kills me that you don’t see it,” Sarah continued, a thoughtful look on her face. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and that boss of yours, but the way he looked at you last night on the stage had every woman there wishing he was looking at them like that. Methinks the boss-secretary boundary is blurring.”
Sarah’s words were an icy bucket of reality. She sucked a breath through her teeth. “God, Sarah. What am I doing?” Tears burned her eyes. “He is my boss. Here I was trying to make it into something it’s not. It isn’t a date. It’s just him doing this as an obligation. I goaded him into it.” She hitched a breath. “Me thinking there is any emotional connection is just delusional.”
Sarah laced her fingers with hers. “Honey, the man has definite feelings for you. We all saw that last night. I bet he’s in complete denial, but drag him to the light. You say he’s had perfection and that you get one shot? God, I hope not. Otherwise, half the world is buggered.”
Shame and confusion filled her and made her want to scream. “I work for him! This is beyond blurred.” She threw up her hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. Why I even insisted we should do this date.” She picked at her cuticles, something she hadn’t done in years. “He’s my boss. The one I kind of screwed in terms of the council. Oh, God, this just gets more complicated every passing second.”
“Show him what a real date is like. Get him out from underneath the blueprints and permits and spreadsheets he lives under. Have fun and live in the moment. You can worry about the council stuff later.”
She looked down at the beautiful dress and killer shoes.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” she said slowly. “We’re on borrowed time here. I bet it’s been years since he went on a date. Maybe by showing him that a world exists outside of work, he’ll realize there is more to life than just work all the time.”
Damn it. This was all so hard.
As if sensing the brainstorm going on in her head, Sarah squeezed her hand. “Honey, the man has real feelings for you.”
She shook her head. Maybe this was all in her mind and she was just overcomplicating this, when all he wanted was to water and feed her and send her on her way. Well, in a few short hours, she’d find out where she stood with him.
Whatever way the pendulum swung tonight, she’d have an answer.
…
Mason studied the table. Round white plates gleamed against the navy tablecloth. A pinot noir was breathing, and his favorite jazz playlist murmured suggestively in the background. Hundreds
of tiny candles in glass tea-light holders danced in the slight evening breeze.
He ran his fingers through his hair and gave himself a brief once-over in the mirror. Nothing earth shattering there, but he’d do.
Uncharacteristic nerves curled his stomach. Feeling uneasy, he started pacing around the room and stopped by the open French doors. The sweetness of the orchard mixed with a salty breeze calmed the slow churn in his gut.
He shouldn’t need calming.
He was stuck between opposing magnets. Part of him enjoyed himself here, and a part of him needed to get away, to leave this idyllic world he’d dropped into like an alien.
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t know where he belonged, and the thought paralyzed him. It was all to do with one woman.
The pinging of the oven timer broke him out of his self-imposed hell. He went to the kitchen to check the food then returned to the lounge and stopped dead.
Standing in front of him was a vision.
“Hey,” Billie said softly.
She’d walked up behind him, and out the corner of his eye, he saw her bedroom door open, clothes heaped on the bed. Caught off guard, he could do nothing but stare. Jesus, she was beautiful.
“Billie?” He tugged his hands through his hair “Fuck.”
Her eyes widened. “Not quite the greeting I was hoping for.”
He shook his head. “Sorry.”
Filmy red gauze floated from her shoulders to her knees, hugging the line of her body. Her legs were the length of Africa. He blinked and stared at her shoes—stilettos in the same fire engine red that of the dress straining across her chest. He twitched remembering her nipple in his palm. He’d auction off what was left of his soul right now to know if she was wearing underwear.
A dusky blush stained Billie’s cheeks.
“Color suits you.”
“Thanks,” she whispered. “Tonight I’m stepping out of my comfort zone, and I didn’t have to wear the bum bra.” She widened her eyes at him and his gaze instantly dropped to her perfect butt.
“I told you, I’m not wearing it.” She playfully swatted his arm.
He eyes drifted to the sparkle of red on her lips and the long sweep of her lashes against a lightly dusted cheek. Her hair, all soft and shiny like a waterfall of silk, cascaded to her shoulders. He itched to run his hands through her hair and feel its softness.
“You look wonderful,” she said in a shy kind of voice.
She handed him a bottle of chilled sauvignon blanc, and he caught the tremble in her fingers.
“I had it chilling in my room. I thought about opening it twelve times and taking a slug.”
His breath hitched in his throat at the apprehensive look in their velvety hazel depths. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to inch that dress from her and lick her every curve.
Stanley stood by the kitchen table, looking embarrassed. A giant red ribbon adorned his neck.
“Don’t you look handsome?” She smiled and hugged her dog. “I love the ribbon.”
“I thought he should get dressed up too,” Mason said and cleared his throat. “I think we’re making progress. He doesn’t totally flinch when I pat him, and he loves rounding up pine cones.”
“He adores you. Thank you for taking so much time with him.”
“Yeah, I kind of like him myself.” He smiled down at her dog, who glanced up at him, then quickly looked down.
Billie’s sunshine smile rained down on him.
She turned a slow circle before her eyes came back to rest on his. “Wow. You did all this? The room looks stunning.”
The flicker of hundreds of candles highlighted the bronze streaks in her hair.
“It’s lovely.” Her voice choked and she turned her head away from him. “God, this is going to sound weird, but this is the first date I’ve been on.”
“You mean after your husband died?” He maneuvered the cork out of the bottle and poured her a glass of wine.
“No, I mean ever. We married straight out of high school. James lived miles away from here, and we never went out. I was his secret girlfriend. His family would have sent him to Antarctica had they known about us. I wasn’t their kind.” She looked down at her hands then looked back up. “When we married, James didn’t see the point since he’d done all the wooing he needed to do.” She shrugged. “Date nights weren’t his thing.”
He stopped pouring the wine. “Well, I don’t know what to say to being your first and all.”
Shit.
The color drained from her face before her cheeks turned pink.
Yeah, he remembered the other night, as well. The memory of her calling his name was scorched into the back of his skull.
With trembling fingers, she grabbed the glass of wine he offered, and her gaze slid across his before she turned and walked to the window.
“Nola brought the candles. She thought it would add atmosphere.” The room dipped and swayed, sending golden shadows across the wooden floor. The room felt intimate. He stepped back, away from the pull of Billie’s simple beauty and the feeling of standing on the cusp of an abyss.
“It’s beautiful, thank you.”
“Yeah.” He pulled his hands through his hair, staring at her before remembering his manners.
“Please. Sit.” He held out a chair. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He returned to the quiet calm of the kitchen to prepare the appetizer.
He returned with a white plate of hot whole grain toast, chicken, and cognac pâté to the table, placed it in front of her, and sat across the table.
She cut a square of toast, smeared a slab of pâté across the surface, and took a bite.
Her eyes widened. She finished her mouthful, dabbed her lips with a napkin, and hooked him with her sparkling dark eyes.
“Seriously? You made this?”
He expelled a breath. The tension slipped from his body, and he allowed himself to relax. After topping off their wine, he sampled the dish. Damn it if he wasn’t half-bad at cooking.
She shook her head, her hair dancing against her shimmering shoulders. She smeared another slice of toast with pate. He stared, mesmerized by the shimmer of her red, sparkly lips, the tilt of her chin.
If she was any other woman in the world sitting across from him in that dress looking that hot, they wouldn’t be sitting here eating right now. She would be on her back, and her legs would be wrapped around his head. She was without a doubt the most stunning woman he’d ever met. And the most sexy, the most infuriating, and the most invigorating. She made him feel… alive.
“You’ve missed your calling.” She took a sip of wine.
“Not a chance.” He finished the last of the dish and reclined with his glass. “Renovating houses and selling them is genetic.” He blinked in surprise at the admission. “It’s what Pop does.”
Her easy smile could so readily push him into further conversation.
“I’ll check on the rest.” He pushed the chair back. Without a backward glance, he escaped to the kitchen where he gave himself a quick what the F is wrong with you speech. He pulled heated plates from the oven, lifted the sizzling fish onto a bed of wilted spinach, and poured the Midori vinaigrette on the meal, ending with a circle of green on the plate, trying to mimic how it had looked on the internet site.
Carrying the plates waiter-style to the dining room, he avoided looking at Billie. He placed the plate in front of her then slipped into his seat and waited for her exclamation of delight or at least a growl of appreciation.
Nothing.
He looked at her. Sparks ripped out of her eyes. “Why do you do that?” She raised her eyebrows, her voice gentle but insistent.
“Do what?” He tried to keep the surprise out of his voice, hoping to focus the attention onto the meal and away from him. He took a bite of the succulent fish, savoring the sweetness of the melon against the nutty spinach.
“Every time you talk about yourself, it’s like you’ve let out a state secret. You look horrified and then you c
heck out.”
Her voice, soft and low, sent a tremor through him. His fork hovered over his plate. He hesitated. “No, I don’t. Talking about myself and my past isn’t something I do, but I don’t check out, much less look horrified.” He shifted in his seat, fully aware of her gaze, as she finished her meal.
“I figured that, Mervyn.” Her dark eyes glittered.
He put his fork down. “In fact, I’ve talked more with you than I have with anyone for a long time.” Monica’s easy laugh slipped into his head, or was it Billie’s?
A small smile tugged at her lips.
“Thanks, glad to know I’m your first,” she said softly.
He shoved back from the table. “There’s dessert.” He took their plates and left. The kitchen gave him the space he needed to breathe and get control of whatever the hell was happening out there.
He dropped a dollop of cream onto the warmed tart and grated chocolate over it as Nola had instructed, and then headed back to the table with a gnawing feeling. This evening wasn’t going to be the simple dinner and exit stage right that he’d planned.
He couldn’t look away when she bit into the warm tart. Her eyes widened then narrowed. When her tongue licked a speck of chocolate from her lip, heat filled his body. She finished her mouthful, licked her lips, and laid the fork on the table.
“This tastes like Nola’s pies.”
Mason paused with his fork halfway to his mouth before he lowered his hand to the table. “Yes, about that. That whole egg separating thing? Beyond me.” The light from the candles swayed behind her, a golden backdrop of tear shapes dancing on the wall. A blush tinted her cheeks. She picked up the fork and took another bite. Every time her tongue darted out of her mouth, he came a bit closer to combustion.
“Can you please not lick the fork?” he said in a voice way too raw.
She stared at him, her eyes going wide.
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