A TEMPTING ENGAGEMENT

by Bronwyn Jameson

  Hard.

  Breathing heavily, he tore his mouth from hers. "That wasn't supposed to happen," he said stupidly, unnecessarily, splaying both hands against the car roof and letting the shock of cold metal seep into his heated skin. Steel hard, like him. With a grimace he pushed himself upright, and, when he saw her face, his gut twisted, too.

  She avoided eye contact, but then she seemed at a loss as to where she could look. Her gaze skittered down his body, and heat bloomed in her cheeks. Hard not to notice what was going on down there, especially since they'd been standing hip to hip, and he silently cursed the wet jeans that made his situation even more uncomfortable. And whilst he was in the cursing mood, he flayed whatever impulse let him kiss her, let him threaten the fragile tenure of her employment.

  Way to go with the business relationship, Mitch. Very professional.

  This was exactly what he'd feared would happen, and he didn't have a clue what to say in explanation. To ensure she didn't leave, again. He exhaled a hot breath and set his jaw. Two things he did know – he needed physical distance to think it through, and he needed to get them both out of this weather.

  "Now," he asked, "will you please get in the car?"

  * * *

  Sitting huddled beneath the picnic rug Mitch had found in the trunk, dying a little more with each awkward, passing mile, Emily wished she'd refused that last plea. She could have walked back to town … except walking involved thighs and knees and muscles that no longer worked. Reduced to mush by a kiss he didn't seem in any rush to discuss, debate or dissect.

  So far he'd asked if she was comfortable; she said she was fine, thank you. He asked if she wanted the heater turned up; she said no, but could she have the radio? Afternoon talkback droned from the speakers, white noise, along with the rhythmic shwoosh of wiper blades and the sluice of tires through the water sheeting the bitumen. None of which did a blessed thing to silence the questions screaming in her head.

  He said she looked like a half-drowned kitten, so why the heck had he kissed her? She didn't think he had a cat fetish. The last time grief and alcohol had provided the kindling, but this time—

  "I'm thinking of going to Sydney this week," he said suddenly. "To talk to TVTWO about this documentary series. Is that a problem?"

  "You going away?" Emily almost laughed out loud. If being with him was going to be this awkward, strained, unbearable, then… "No. Absolutely not."

  "It might be a good idea if we book you some lessons with a professional driving school. A female teacher." He cast a guarded sideways glance. "Chantal said I'd make a lousy teacher."

  What could she say to that? I'm not the best judge? Or the ideal pupil? That being in the same space as you creates this incredible awareness that slakes my strength and my good sense?

  "I'll look into it when I get back." This time his eyes held hers a moment, until he saw her nod of acquiescence, before returning to the road. "I want you and Joshua to stay with Chantal—"

  "Why ever for?" Instantly defensive, she sat up straight.

  "I don't think you should be alone in the house."

  "I'm quite used to looking after myself. I don't need a sitter." When his jaw clenched – of course he'd disagree! – she tried another angle. "Joshua is settling in really well. It would be stupid to upset his routine. Besides, if we need anything, Chantal and Quade are close by. How long will you be gone?"

  "Four or five days." His gaze flicked across at her, direct, serious. "You will be here when I get back?"

  "I'm not going to leave because you kissed me, if that's what you're asking."

  "Yes," he said emphatically, "that is exactly what I'm asking. I couldn't go through that again, Em. Knowing you'd run away because I lost it for a minute."

  This time she didn't bother with her usual correction. She'd told him to forget the past, to let it go, and she had to do the same. To forget that, while he'd lost it for a minute, she'd lost it totally. "Don't worry about it; Mitch, really. We both lost it back there with the stress and the argument and all. It was only a kiss."

  "You're really all right about that?"

  Somehow she managed a reasonable smile and a little I'm-fine shrug. She even managed to meet his eyes while she out-and-out lied. "Absolutely."

  * * *

  When he left for Sydney two days later, Emily issued a huge sigh of relief and relaxed. She also couldn't resist reaching for a phone directory because, once she stopped thinking about that kiss – only a kiss? ha! – she remembered that she had been driving quite well before her inane reaction in the lay-by.

  Yes, she would take some lessons, under her own steam. A birthday present to herself and, she hoped, a surprise for Mitch on his return. Childish, maybe, but she kept picturing herself hopping confidently behind the wheel and taking off with a cheerful wave while his mouth dropped open in shock and awe.

  After scanning two columns of driving instructors, her mouth went slack. Random selection of a school did not seem the best solution – she needed some local knowledge, and who better in that field than Chantal? Of course, she poo-pooed professional lessons, insisting Emily save her money and use Quade and Julia as teachers. After all, she would need to borrow a car to get into Cliffton to the driving school.

  She spent the next three days driving all over the countryside under Quade or Julia's tutelage, and finally, this afternoon, she was driving alone. A self-satisfied smile curled her lips. Of course, she hadn't yet taken on the night or the rain, although this morning she had driven in town.

  Stopped at Cliffton's only traffic light, she'd felt a light-headed wave of panic, but she beat it down and poked her tongue out at it. Quade had given her a long sideways look, but she'd just smiled. She couldn't recall the last time she'd felt so good about something she'd done for herself. Remembering now, another burst of happy, satisfied pride bubbled through her blood.

  Almost home from her first solo spin, the cell phone Mitch insisted she carry – "I want you and Joshua contactable at all times" – rang. As she pulled over to the side of the road, her heart jitterbugged with anticipation. But it wasn't Mitch; it was Julia, and she sounded uncharacteristically rattled.

  Emily's dancing heart stalled. She'd left Joshua in Quade's care so she could practice her solo-driving without any distraction. "Is it Joshua?"

  "No, nothing's wrong," Julia reassured her quickly. "I was hoping you could do me and Zane a big favor. Our baby-sitter for this evening just canceled. I know it's last minute and all, but I'm sure Joshua can stay a bit longer with Quade and Chantal… It's only for a couple of hours."

  Julia had her at nothing's wrong. "I'd love to. What time?"

  "Is five too early? I'll send Zane out to get you—"

  "No, don't do that. I'm sure I can use Chantal's car – I've had it most of the week." Emily ignored the flutter of her pulse. This was her big chance to start driving after dark. With Joshua for company on the trip home, she could do it. "We'll be there at five," she finished decisively.

  * * *

  "Surprise!"

  No kidding. Emily slapped a hand to her mouth as a small but rowdy bunch of well-wishers emerged from various doorways in Julia's hallway, blowing party tooters and yelling, "Happy Birthday."

  "Surprised?" A beaming Julia immediately wrapped her in the biggest, warmest, squeeziest hug, which only caused Emily's eyes to well with happy tears.

  "Does this mean I don't get to sit Bridie?" she managed before Chantal and Quade and Zane and his sister Kree and Suzie from the Lion and a half dozen others added their own hugs and kisses.

  "I knew the baby-sitting ruse would get you here." Linking arms, Julia led her through to her cozy living room with its chintz-covered chairs and rose-printed wallpaper … and balloons and streamers and a huge banner spelling Happy Birthday, Super-Em. "Next step was kidnapping because we weren't letting all these decorations go to waste."

  Joshua bounded around, beside himself with excitement. "I love birthdays," he chirped. "We got a cak
e with this many candles."

  He held up an indeterminate number of fingers – possibly seven, although Emily's brimming eyes hampered her vision. Behind her a champagne bottle popped, and everyone cheered while she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her ratty sweatshirt. Babysitting wear, not party wear.

  "Why is Emmy crying?" Joshua asked, his brow puckered with concern.

  "She's just surprised." Chantal thrust a glass of champagne into her hand, and Julia insisted she sit. "Right here next to me, birthday girl." And there was food – boy, was there food! – and a cake with more candles than she and Joshua combined could blow out, and someone – possibly Julia – insisted she make a wish.

  A hush fell over the group, a quiet that made the thump of Emily's heart echo in her ears. What the heck was she supposed to wish for? The unimaginable, the unattainable, the unthinkable? She looked around, face-to-expectant-face and saw his family. Yes, they were throwing a better celebration than any her own family had conceived in her twenty-five years, but she wanted such a family for herself. Not a loaner until she moved on to her next job, but her own family, her own happiness, and while she closed her eyes and made her wish, deep down she knew it was too much to ask, too much to expect. Still, she smiled and said, "Done," and everyone cheered and sang the birthday song, and the tightness in her chest started to ease.

  Later she opened her presents. A superhero bear from Joshua – "’Cuz you prol'ly miss Bruiser, since you loaned him to me" – generated more tears, not because she missed her old Bruiser bear but because of the solemn intent in his hazel eyes, so serious, like his father's.

  "He's some kid," Chantal murmured at her side.

  "I'm pretty crazy about him," Emily admitted as she opened the gift box from Chantal and Quade. Along with his father and the whole extended family. Her breath hitched in her lungs. Resting in a nest of cream tissue paper sat the most beautiful peach-colored robe ever created.

  "It feels like cashmere," Chantal explained as Emily fingered the unbelievably soft fabric, "but it's just a clever imitation. Doesn't it make you want to curl up and sleep with it?"

  "It's exquisite," Emily whispered over the latest rush of tears. "But it's too much."

  "Rubbish. Try it on," Chantal demanded, shooing the males from the room.

  Emily did try it on, over the fancy forget-me-not-print underwear set from Julia, and as she felt the first kiss of that luxurious fabric against her bare skin she thought she might never take it off.

  Kree presented her with a voucher for a cut and treatment at her hair salon, and Suzie's basket of lotions and potions brought a collective gasp from all the women. Kree clapped her hands with delight and yelled, "Makeover," and no one paid any mind to Emily's objections.

  "Gorgeous," Kree declared an hour later, admiring her handiwork as she peered into Emily's face. "Except…"

  She ducked from the room and returned wielding scissors which she clicked with scary fervor. Julia's eyes widened in – possibly mock, possibly real – horror. "Good grief, Emily, don't let her near your hair with scissors."

  "Rubbish," Chantal interjected. "She's the best snipper this side of the mountains."

  The sisters argued, Kree circled with a predatory gleam in her eyes, and Emily took another sip of champagne and wondered when she'd stepped through the looking glass. And then she lifted her glass to her mouth, and the plush robe moved against her skin in a sensual caress that made her forget she was, plain, old, vanilla variety Emily, indispensable nanny but as attractive as a sodden kitten. Wearing designer-label underwear and an imported robe, skin shimmering with sumptuous creams, she felt like some sleek, pampered exotic.

  With a particularly un-Emily-like flourish, she raised her glass toward the circling Kree in a solemn salute and invited her and her scissors to "Do your worst!"

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  They were home.

  The twisted knot of anxiety in Mitch's gut unraveled as Korringal – with lights glowing – came into view at the end of the drive. He reached for the cell phone he'd tossed aside fifty miles back and checked for a signal. He must have called a dozen times since leaving Sydney, before he lost coverage coming over the mountains. Home phone, cell phone, Chantal's – no answer anywhere. And those last fifty miles had blurred with images of accidents, Joshua lost, Emily deciding – with him due home tomorrow – that it hadn't been "only a kiss" and that she couldn't trust living in the same house any longer.

  He hit redial, impatiently tapping the wheel through three rings before— "Hello."

  Absurdly happy to hear her voice, absurdly relieved she hadn't taken off, he said the first thing that came to mind. "You're home."

  "Only just. Joshua's in bed and I'm sitting here—" She stopped abruptly. "Never mind. Where are you?"

  "Pulling up outside." He enjoyed the long beat of pause as he switched off the engine. Pictured her brow puckering in a frown. "I didn't want to scare you coming in the door unannounced at this time of night."

  "Outside…as in here?"

  Mitch laughed at her astonishment. Hell, he laughed because, for the first time since that aborted driving lesson, he'd coaxed an unmeasured, knee-jerk response from Emily. He slammed the car door and took the three steps onto the verandah in one bound. "As in coming through the front door. I'll see you in a minute."

  He saw her in five seconds, standing in the middle of the sitting room, the hands-free still at her ear.

  "Hi," he said from the doorway, pocketing his phone. Smiling.

  "Hi." She smiled back for a long, unguarded second, before she seemed to grab ahold of herself. She lowered the handset with a wry what-am-I-doing? edge to her smile. "You're a day early."

  "I tried to call earlier, but…" He shrugged.

  "We weren't home. Joshua is going to go bananas."

  "He's asleep?"

  "He's in bed," she clarified. "I'll go see if he's—"

  "Wait." He crossed the room with no particular clue what he was doing, only that he didn't want her gone. He stopped in front of her. "What about you, Emily, any chance of you going bananas because I'm home?"

  She laughed, a soft burst of disbelief. Then something she saw in his eyes caused her laughter to hitch, her smile to waver. And she just stood there looking at him, all uncertain cinnamon eyes and… Mitch frowned. There was something different about her. He took a step back, inspecting the entire picture.

  "Your hair…"

  Self-conscious, she lifted a hand to the feathery layers that framed her face. "Kree O'Sullivan cut it. I'm not quite used to the change yet."

  "It looks—" grown-up, sexy, dynamite "—good."

  Pleasure softened the nervous uncertainty in her eyes, even softened the edges of Mitch's need to touch her hot, new hairstyle, her skin, her mouth, the robe he'd never seen before. He cleared the heat from his throat. "Is that new, too?"

  Slowly, as if his meaning took a while to sink in, she looked down. Smiled. "Yes. It's my birthday present from Chantal and Quade."

  "Nice." Which didn't even begin to describe how the soft fabric skimmed her curves. Like the wicked glide of a lover's hands, not nice, not good, not professional. Mitch, the boss, forced his eyes back to her face while Mitch, the man, snarled in protest. "Happy birthday, Em."

  "Thank you," she said simply.

  "And has it been a happy birthday?"

  "Are you kidding?" Her smile unfurled like a golden ribbon of sunshine. "Your sisters threw a party – that's where we were tonight, at Julia's – and it was a complete surprise. I had no idea."

  Nor had Mitch. And he'd talked to Chantal the previous day, to Joshua that morning. If he'd known he'd have … what? Bought her a gift – something as hot and wicked and sexy as that robe? Fine idea, boss. Shucking aside a ridiculous sense of disappointment, he focused on the unlikely event of his family keeping closemouthed about anything. "A surprise party, huh? And no one let the cat out of the bag?"

  "I suspect it was las
t minute. Julia rang in an apparent flap to ask me to baby-sit – she is an excellent actress, by the way – and they were all there when I arrived. There were decorations and a cake and—" She stopped, shamefaced, and winced. "I'm rambling. Sorry. Can I blame it on the champagne? Sugar overload from the cake?"

  "Sure you can," he said softly. As for the ebullience racing through his blood at the same breakneck speed – he blamed scented skin and a peach-skin robe, the gleam of excitement in her eyes and the pink flush of delight on her face. He blamed a week without her company and a year without any woman's and the last hour hammering home, not knowing if she were here or gone. "Was it Julia's special cake?" he asked. "The fluffy chocolate one with all the layers?"

  "Yes! With raspberries on top and totally slathered in whipped cream!"

  Now there was an image he didn't need right now. The birthday girl with her hot new hairstyle, opening the wraparound robe and saying something such as—

  "Would you like some?"

  —in her shyly sexy voice. Mitch might have groaned out loud, although he did try to contain the hot, hungry sound.

  "We brought the leftovers home," she finished, her voice trading off uncertainly. Maybe he hadn't groaned, but she definitely sensed the shift in mood. She swallowed, lifted a hand to touch her throat. The small, nervous gesture resonated through Mitch's body like an erotic whisper.

  Tempt me, touch me, taste me.

  A step closer and her nostrils flared slightly, scenting him, his purpose. Her lashes fluttered over darkened eyes, and he reached out as slow as the night to stroke the warm, smooth skin of her throat. Satin. Baby soft. He traced the fading scar of the scratch incurred that night in the forest, and his gut stirred with more than the raw, unruly surge of lust. Something rich and tender and multifaceted that jolted him back into his own space.

  "I…" Emily forced in air, forced her throat and her voice and her brain to start working again. She waved a vague hand toward the kitchen. "I'll just go get you that—"