* * *
Carlos came back eventually, all chores done, but Mia didn’t even stir when he added some wood to the stove.
He stood looking down at her for a long time. At the almost ridiculously long lashes against her cheeks. At her thick dark hair that she’d braided, making her look younger, as did—he smiled—the tartan pyjamas. At her mouth—it was one of the most luscious mouths he’d seen and if he looked at it long enough it was hard not to want to kiss it.
What would happen if he did kiss that delicious mouth again right now? Lightly at first at the same time as he stroked her cheek.
Would she sigh a warm little puff of air, then reach out to wind her arms around his neck? Would she invite him to lie beside her and accept his hands on her body in all those softly rounded or slender places?
He moved restlessly and shoved his hands in his pockets as he was struck by the irony of it, this compulsion that came over him from time to time to have and to hold Mia.
He gritted his teeth but pulled up a kitchen chair and continued to watch her as she slept.
Truth be told, he was having trouble linking the two Mias—the one from his past and this one. Although he remembered clearly being aware of the shy schoolgirl crush she’d had on him he’d ignored it, quite sure it would go away but, before it had happened, a freak storm had intervened, he’d got clobbered on the head by a falling branch and when he wasn’t sure what was what, he’d been beset by the certainty that all he wanted was to have and to hold Mia Gardiner.
Then sanity and reality had returned and he’d come back to West Windward kicking himself, although still not a hundred per cent sure what had actually happened between them.
Only to find the problem was solved. Mia apparently had accepted that he’d been concussed and gone on her way to a Queensland university, making her parents very proud.
But it hadn’t happened like that, he reminded himself grimly.
How had she managed to throw off as much of the shadow of it all as she had?
He thought of his mother with grim forbearance. Arancha was—Arancha, fiercely loyal to her family, no matter the cost and no matter—he grimaced—how misplaced her sentiments might be.
It was a problem that had escalated with his father’s death, one he’d inherited. It had struck him once or twice that maybe grandchildren would be the balm Arancha needed, only to wonder with a touch of black humour what kind of chaos his mother could create as an interfering grandmother.
Fortunately Juanita stood little nonsense from her mother but could Damien stand up to her? Come to that, Juanita stood little nonsense from Damien, he reflected wryly, and wondered if his new brother-in-law had understood what he was getting himself into.
None of which, it occurred to him, was of any help to him in this contretemps. How could he make it up to Mia for his mother’s cruelty? Not only that, but his thoughtless declaration today that he could have kicked himself for what he’d done. And the admission that he would have deemed it right to warn her off too? Not only all that, but not checking out with her that she was all right seven years ago.
Yes, she might have made a success of her life but, beneath that, there obviously lurked the stigma of being branded ‘the housekeeper’s daughter’. And it was obvious that it still hurt.
What about the attraction there had been between them? Maybe only a teenage crush on her part and a concussion-fuelled moment of madness on his but there all the same. Yet, once again he’d held her and kissed her and she’d responded.
He studied her with a frown, sleeping so peacefully and looking quite unlike the high-powered executive she was in reality.
It must take considerable organisational skills and flair to hold receptions on Mount Wilson. The logistics alone—just about everything had to come from Sydney—were mind-boggling.
Not only that, the foresight to appreciate that the special magic of the mountain would make it irresistible to people for their special days. So, yes, it wasn’t inappropriate to call her a high-powered executive.
Even though she slept in tartan pyjamas and looked about sixteen when she did.
He stretched and at the same time felt his mobile phone vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and studied it.
Nina...
He switched it off and put it back in his pocket.
Gorgeous, exotic Nina who ticked all the right boxes for his mother. Model looks, father an ex-politician rewarded for his services with an ambassadorship, uncle married to an Englishwoman who was a Lady in her own right.
Nina, who could be the essence of warmth and charm or cool and regal depending on how the mood took her. Nina, who aroused in most men the desire to bed her, yet who could be incredibly, screamingly insecure.
He stared at the flickering shadows on the wall behind the settee and listened to the crackle of the fire.
What was he going to do about Nina?
She was the one who’d called off their relationship in the middle of the row—he couldn’t even remember how it had started now—they’d had before Juanita’s wedding.
Well, yes, he could remember, he realised, not exactly how it had started but what it had been about. It was something that had been brewing through all of Juanita’s wedding preparations. It all had to do with Nina’s desire that they get married, something he’d not, for reasons all too clear, although belatedly to him, been willing to do.
And yet he’d allowed things between them to carry on when he’d known he shouldn’t but his pride had got in the way.
He’d allowed the good times to define their relationship and he’d cut himself off from her when she was being impossible—she always came back to him as if he was the only spar she had to cling to in the storm-tossed sea of life. He had no doubt that was what she was ringing him for.
But could they go on like this?
He lowered his gaze to the girl sleeping so peacefully on her settee. And he was reminded suddenly of the ridiculous proposal he’d made to her—that she take Nina’s place. What had prompted that? he wondered. Could he blame her for being angry and insulted by it? No...
But what germ of an idea or perception had prompted him even to think it?
The feeling that Mia wouldn’t cling, she wouldn’t employ emotional blackmail to hold him? That she wouldn’t be impossibly nice in between being a bundle of bizarre hang-ups?
If anyone should have some bizarre hang-ups, Mia Gardiner should, he reflected, directly due to the behaviour of himself and his mother.
CHAPTER THREE
MIA WOKE THE next morning to the sound of running water.
She moved under her duvet but she was so snug and comfortable, apart from a slight throbbing in her foot, she was reluctant to get up, reluctant even to open her eyes.
As for the water she was hearing, could it be rain? They had been forecasting rain for a few days...
But no, it didn’t sound like rain on the roof, it sounded just like her shower.
Her lashes flew open and she sat up with a gasp as it all came tumbling back into her mind. It had to be Carlos in her shower.
Right on cue, she heard the bathroom door open and he padded through the kitchen wearing only his khaki trousers and drying his hair with a towel.
‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Do you happen to have a razor I could borrow?’
She blinked. ‘Only a tiny one. I get my legs waxed.’
He rubbed the dark shadows on his jaw. ‘Then you’ll have to put up with me like this. What’s your favourite tipple first thing in the morning?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Tipple?’
‘Champagne? Vodka and fresh orange juice? I personally subscribe to a Bloody Mary.’
He dropped the towel and reached for his shirt lying over a chair. ‘You believed me, didn’t you?’ He shook his head. ‘No wonder you’re so suspicious if you harbour these dissipated views of me.’
Mia closed her mouth and tried to dampen her look of no doubt naive surprise. Then she confessed with a gri
mace that she had believed him for a moment. ‘But I gather you meant tea or coffee? If so, tea, please, black, no sugar and one slice of raisin toast with butter.’
‘Done,’ he replied, pulling his shirt off after realising it was inside out. ‘Mind you, there are times when champagne is a great way to toast in the morning.’
Foolishly, she realised too late, Mia raised an eyebrow at him. ‘When?’
He studied her, his lips twisting. ‘When a man and a woman have a night to remember, to celebrate.’ His grey eyes flicked over her in a way that left her in no doubt he was visualising a night to remember with her.
Mia blushed—it felt as if from her toes to the top of her head. And hard as she tried to tear her gaze away from his, she couldn’t do it as wave after wave of colour ran through her and her senses were alive and leaping. ‘Oh.’
‘That hadn’t occurred to you, obviously,’ he said with a glint of wicked amusement in his eyes now.
‘No,’ she said slowly, but her thoughts were running riot. She had to get a grip on her responses to him! ‘It may not be standard behaviour for housekeepers or their daughters,’ she told him tartly.
He frowned. ‘You really do have a chip on your shoulder, don’t you, Mia?’
She bit her lip but decided she might as well soldier on. ‘Yes,’ she said starkly and pushed aside the duvet. ‘But I don’t want to discuss it, thank you, Carlos. I would really like to go to the bathroom.
He put down his shirt again. ‘Sure.’ And, before she had time to resist, not that she would have been able to anyway, he came across, picked her up and deposited her outside the bathroom door.
Mia ground her teeth but was at a loss to be able to do anything about it.
He still didn’t have his shirt on when she made her way out of the bathroom, but there was a steaming cup of black tea and a slice of raisin toast waiting for her on a tray. There was also a neat pile of clothes on the settee. A pair of jeans and a T-shirt as well as a selection of underwear.
‘Don’t,’ he warned as he saw her eyeing the undies with a pink tinge of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks.
‘Don’t what?’ she managed.
‘Don’t be embarrassed or go all prim and proper on me,’ he elucidated. ‘I’ve seen a few bras and panties in my time so I’m not going to become all excited and leap on you.’
‘Ah.’
He eyed her. ‘And there’s still no way you could have gone up the ladder.’
Mia changed tack mentally and said sweetly, ‘Thank you, Mr O’Connor.’
He looked surprised for a moment, then picked up his shirt but clicked his tongue as he stared at it.
‘What?’ Mia asked through a mouthful of toast.
‘More blood on it!’ He took it over to the sink and rinsed one of the sleeves.
‘I’m doubly sorry,’ Mia said, actually managing to sound quite contrite as she sipped her tea.
He looked across the kitchen at her with a spark of curiosity in his eyes. ‘If that’s what a sip of tea and a slice of toast can do for you I’m tempted to think a full breakfast could work miracles.’
Mia had to laugh. ‘I don’t know about that but I do love my first cuppa.’
He rinsed his shirt sleeve, squeezed it out and turned it right side out again.
That was when Mia frowned as she stared at his back. Her gaze had been drawn to it anyway because she’d suddenly been possessed of an irrational desire to be in a position to run her hands up and down the powerful lines and sleek muscles of it.
‘Hang on,’ she said slowly. ‘What have you done to yourself? Your back—there’s a black and blue patch on your back.’
‘Ah.’ He squinted over his shoulder. ‘Can’t see it but that wasn’t me, that was your blasted horse.’
Mia’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘But I warned you.’
‘And I told him I’d been forewarned and he’d be stupid to try anything.’ He raked his hair with his fingers. ‘We obviously don’t speak the same language.’
Mia started to laugh helplessly. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘I know it’s not funny—’
‘You expect me to believe that?’ he broke in politely.
‘You know what I mean! But anyway, you’d better let me put something on it.’
He brought his own tea over and sat down on the coffee table. ‘Don’t worry about me. Let’s see your foot.’
Mia was still shaken by giggles but she stuck her foot out obediently. He unwound the bandage and lifted the dressing off carefully.
‘Hmm...still bleeding a bit. Look, I’m going to my friends’ to get a change of clothes, then I’ll be back and I’ll take you to the nearest clinic.’
‘You don’t have to.’
He got up to fetch the first aid kit. ‘Don’t start, Mia,’ he warned over his shoulder. ‘By the way, it’s raining.’
Mia glanced out of the window and rubbed her face as she noted the grey, gloomy view. ‘I thought it was earlier. At least we don’t have a function on today.’
‘At least,’ he agreed.
They were both silent while he redressed her foot until she said out of the blue, ‘We always seem to be bandaging each other.’
He looked up. ‘I was just thinking the same thing. History repeats itself.’
‘What...what would your father have thought if you’d married someone like me?’
He frowned. ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘You said his influence was a sort of negative one. Do you know why he was like that?’
Carlos smiled, a tigerish little smile. ‘I think it had something to do with the fact that he’d done all the hard work, he’d built the company up from the dirt, whereas I’d, to his mind, had it easy. The right schools, university, the means to—’ he gestured ‘—do whatever I wanted.’
Mia thought for a moment. ‘That doesn’t mean to say you couldn’t be an achiever. It looks as if you’ve nurtured his dreams and his company and taken them on to even greater heights.’
He shrugged. ‘Yes, I have. I doubt if even that would have given him much pleasure.’ He looked into space for a moment. ‘I don’t see why you’re wondering about this in connection with us.’ He searched her expression narrowly.
‘I wondered if he’d disinherit you if he didn’t approve of whoever you married.’
‘I’ve no doubt he’d have found something to disapprove of, whoever it was.’ He paused and looked into the distance with his eyes narrowed as if some chord had been struck with him but he didn’t elaborate.
‘Why do people get like that?’ Mia asked.
He linked his fingers. ‘I think it’s the struggle. The almighty battle to pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Coupled probably with a sense of ambition that’s like a living force.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘I could be wrong. But no, he wouldn’t have disinherited me. That’s the other thing that...weighed, you could say, with my father—my mother.’
Mia blinked. ‘How do you mean?’
‘She would never have stood by and let him disinherit me.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m not sure he entirely appreciated the fact that, while she would defend him with her dying breath, she would do the same for me. She’s very strong on family loyalty.’
Mia stared into space and listened to the rain on the roof. Then she shivered.
‘Mia, what exactly happened that night?’
Her startled gaze jerked back to his. ‘You don’t remember?’ she breathed incredulously.
‘I remember...feeling like hell and suddenly being possessed of the strongest urge to hold you in my arms. As if it would make me feel a whole lot better. It did.’ His lips twisted. ‘Then I remember laughing about something but not exactly what it was and—’
‘You called me a pilchard,’ she broke in.
He blinked. ‘Why the hell would I do that?’
‘You actually told me to stop wriggling around like a trapped pilchard.’
Mia said it seriously and her expressio
n was grave but she couldn’t maintain it as the expression in his grey eyes went from puzzled to incredulous then gleamed with laughter.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t find a pilchard to clobber me with! Hopefully I retrieved things?’
‘You called me a siren next. Then you kissed me.’
‘I remember that.’ His gaze fell to her mouth and Mia trembled inwardly. ‘But that’s all,’ he said after a long moment.
A moment when her fingertips tingled as if she was actually touching them to his skin, as if she was running her fingers through the night-darkness of his hair and trailing them along the blue shadows of his jaw.
If she did that, would he grasp her wrist and kiss her knuckles, would he flick open the buttons of her tartan pyjama top and touch her breasts?
The mere thought of it made her nipples harden and a rush of heat run through her body. She moved restlessly and said hurriedly, ‘That is all.’
‘Nothing else?’ he asked, scanning her pink cheeks with a frown.
‘No. You fell asleep and I just stayed there. I didn’t want to wake you.’ She gestured. ‘To be honest, I didn’t want to move. I think I must have dozed too because I didn’t hear your mother drive in.’ She hesitated. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘So it was only a kiss and an embrace?’
She stared at him. ‘Did you think there was...’ her voice shook ‘...more?’
‘Not as I remembered it, but...’ He frowned. ‘For you to be so upset and still so affected by it, I’m now wondering.’
Mia drew a vast agitated breath. ‘You think I’ve made a mountain out of a molehill?’
‘No.’ He closed his eyes briefly and took her hands.
She wrested them free. ‘You do. Oh, will you just go away and leave me in peace, Carlos O’Connor? To think that I once thought I had a crush on you—’
She broke off and her hand flew to her mouth.
‘It’s all right. I knew.’ He stood up—and someone knocked on the door.
‘You decent, Mia?’ Bill James called out. ‘I’m home, just thought to let you know—oh!’ He stopped abruptly as Carlos swept open the door.
The Return of Her Past Page 5