Enamoured

by Shannon Curtis

  “Yes, Melanie, you should be going out to dinner, to parties,” Esme said as she gently rolled up the gorgeous shawl she was knitting. Melanie had admired it during the afternoon, the almost iridescent effect of the shimmering wool was mesmerising. She hadn’t seen anything like it.

  Melanie paused as she donned her jacket. The party. Ah, hell. She had to go to that awful fundraising party Lionel had organised at the Kogarah Bay Yacht Club.

  “Actually, I’m going to a party tonight,” Melanie admitted. She was going to make an appearance, then leave.

  “Oh, I do so love parties,” Esme sighed, clutching her hands together. She turned to Randall. “Let’s go out tonight, too, Randall. Take me to a fancy restaurant.”

  Randall shrugged. “Meh. Fancy-schmancy. Nothing beats your home cooking, Esme.”

  Esme pouted. “Oh, come on, please? We don’t get to go out much, now.”

  “Where are we going to go? We need to make reservations, make calls, then there is parking, you know you have to pay through the nose for some wine.” Randall waved his hand. “No, I think we stay in.”

  Melanie looked between the two of them. She knew that Randall was very frugal. He only spent money on something for the business if he absolutely, positively, had to. The coffee mugs looked like something from another century. They rarely got properties for sale, and she wondered just how well he was doing financially.

  “You could…come to this party, if you like?” She wasn’t sure why she made the offer. She never socialised with her boss, but his wife looked like she’d really like a night out, and Lionel was footing the bill for the event.

  “Oh, really?” Esme breathed, her expression hopeful.

  “Oh, I don’t know…” Randall said, blinking at her.

  “No, it will be fine. It’s just a fundraising event my stepfather is organising. Free food and drinks, and you don’t have to contribute. Actually, I’d be offended if you felt you had to donate anything, so don’t,” she said as an afterthought. Less money in Lionel’s pockets could only be a good thing, right?

  “Hm, it’s such short notice,” Randall said slowly, although he was watching his wife’s face.

  “Oh, come on, Randall, let’s go,” she pleaded.

  “There’s also free parking,” Melanie said as she buttoned her jacket.

  Randall nodded. “Okay, but I don’t want to embarrass you,” he said.

  Melanie smiled as she left the office. “You won’t.”

  Randall and Esme watched as Melanie crossed the road to her car.

  “Very well played, Essie, dear.”

  “Thank you. Now, I’m going to pay our frog a visit. See you at the party. Oh, and Rump?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t call me Essie.”

  Melanie handed her purse and shawl to the coat check clerk and headed toward the Captain Cook room, where the function was being held. Go in, get out. That was the aim for tonight.

  She smiled at familiar faces, all prominent business people, local politicians, and the odd celebrity here and there. She scanned the crowd and finally spotted her mother. Greeting folks as she went, she made her way over to the still lovely, yet tired-looking Deborah Lowry.

  “Hi, Mum,” Melanie said, as she hugged her.

  “Oh, there you are darling. I’m glad you made it. Lionel will be, too.” Deborah said, then hissed at her daughter’s gentle squeeze.

  Melanie froze. “What’s the matter?” She slowly let go of her mother.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” her mum said. “Just my back. You know, the usual.”

  Melanie’s mother had been injured in the car crash that had stolen her father’s life. Since then, the woman had undergone intense physical therapy, but still seemed to suffer twinges of pain, or so she said to justify her constant supply of painkillers.

  Melanie eyed her closely as her mother clutched her glass of champagne. Her mother looked…beautiful, almost ethereal, in her long silk gown with flowing sleeves. Melanie frowned. It was a balmy twenty-eight degrees outside, too warm for the long-sleeved dress.

  “What did he do?”

  Deborah darted a look around the crowd, her smile brittle. “I don’t know what you mean, sweetheart. So, tell me, how was your day? Lionel said you dropped in at his office?”

  Melanie’s shoulders sagged. Oh, hell. “What did he do, Mum?” Her whisper was fierce.

  Deborah tucked a strand of her platinum blonde hair behind her ear, shaking her head. “Nothing. So, how was work?”

  Melanie ignored her, instead focusing on the mark on her mother’s wrist.

  Stepping closer, she took hold of her mother’s hand, and Deborah shook her head.

  “Don’t,” her mother whispered.

  Melanie ignored her, and pulled back the fabric of her dress. Her mother’s arm was mottled with dark red marks, the sign of her stepfather’s ‘love’. The bruises were deep, still yet to appear in technicolour - fresh.

  “Damn him,” Melanie said, her voice low.

  Rage rose inside her, rage at the man for abusing her mother in such a cowardly way, rage at her mother for not standing up to him. Rage at herself, for not being there to stop it. She let the cloth fall, and looked around at the smiling, laughing crowd, still holding her mother’s hand. “Where the hell is he?”

  Chapter 5

  “Don’t, Mel.”

  “No, Mum. Enough. He doesn’t get to do this. Not anymore. You have to leave him.”

  “We’re not discussing this here.”

  “Then where? When? It’s never a good time.” Melanie kept scanning the crowd. She was going to find the bastard, go up to him, and tell him to shove his money, and his marriage, where the sun didn’t shine. And she was going to do it loudly, and rudely, and make as much of a scene as possible. How would the voters like that, huh?

  “No, Melanie. Just…just leave it alone.”

  “Mum, he’s beating you again. You said last time that it would be the last time. Leave him.” Melanie choked on the words, so furious, so pained for her mother.

  “Mel, please. Not here.”

  Melanie finally met her mother’s gaze. Deborah’s face was perfectly made up, but the brackets around her mouth were deep, her complexion pale.

  “Please,” Deborah whispered.

  Melanie blinked back tears as she ducked her head. She so wanted to go up and hit Lionel, hit him with all the pent-up fury, all the rebelliousness, all the hate that had built inside her since she was fourteen. But doing so wouldn’t help her mother. It would only make the situation worse.

  “This isn’t over, Mum,” she whispered, and squeezed her hand gently. “I love you, and if you won’t fight for you, I will.”

  She turned away from her mother, not waiting for a response, and melted into the crowd, lifting her chin to will the tears back. Damn it. He was lower than a snake’s belly.

  She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and knocked it back in two gulps. She placed the now-empty glass on another waiter’s tray and grabbed a new one, but stopped herself from consuming it. No, anaesthetising the pain was her mother’s habit, not hers. She had to get out of here. Fresh air, that’s what she needed.

  She walked over toward the doors leading to the terrace.

  “Whoa, little lady, starting a party?”

  She froze at the sound of the snide voice behind her, and grimaced. Robert Dunn. Her stepfather’s project manager. Standover man. Same crap, different smell.

  She turned slowly, schooling her features into a cool mask.

  “Robert,” she said by way of a civil greeting.

  Robert was in his fifties, with thin grey curly hair, a red bulbous nose, and a belt that was at least two sizes too small for his girth. And he was eyeing her outfit, an off-the-shoulder jersey knit dress that fell to just above her knee, with a lecherous leer. “My, aren’t you a pretty picture.”

  She started to turn away. She really, really disliked this guy.

  “Hey, d
on’t leave me hanging, talk to me,” Robert said in a cajoling tone that screeched along her nerves. His hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist.

  Melanie reacted instantly. Twisting so that she could wrap her hand around his wrist, she gave a swift jerk and yank, and suddenly he was grimacing, his wrist and hand bent at an awkward angle. His expression shocked and pained, he staggered back. She followed, pulling his arm back further.

  “Don’t. Touch. Me.” She gritted the words, keeping her voice low.

  “Let go, damn it,” Robert whimpered. He had to lean back to keep his thumb from snapping.

  “Is everything all right, here?”

  Melanie looked up at the interruption and blinked. He looked…familiar. Tanned, handsome, he stared at Robert, his expression stern. He eyed the tableau, his lips firming. The look he gave the other man was forbidding, almost threatening, and he came to stand by Melanie’s side, his bulk supportive to her, intimidating to Robert.

  “We’re fine,” she replied calmly, and let go of her grip on the repulsive man.

  Robert clutched his hand to his chest and glared at Melanie. “We’ll talk later.”

  “I don’t think so.” The man’s tone beside her was low. Calm. Deliberate.

  Robert glanced between them and hurried away, scowling.

  “Are you okay?” The man by her side turned to her. His expression was concerned, solicitous. Who is this guy?

  “Uh, yeah, I’m fine, thank you.” She tried to check him out without making it too obvious.

  Tall, his pale, slightly rumpled suit clung to broad shoulders, tapering to slim hips. His grey jacket framed a white shirt, just a little creased, and she noticed he wasn’t wearing a tie. No, his shirt was unbuttoned, a casual elegance that looked completely natural on the man. The open shirt revealed a tanned column of skin, with just a faint dusting of hair making an appearance before disappearing behind a small, pale button. Russet brown curls flopped over his brow, and his eyes…green, deep, curious. He was staring at her.

  And she was staring at him. Good one.

  “It’s a good thing I was here, then, huh?” he said, and he grinned, deep dimples appearing either side of his mouth. Recognition hit.

  The Village People. But—how? She eyed him up and down. He was just a smidge dishevelled, and anyone else would look messy and unkempt, but on him it just looked—tough yet classic. He was clean-shaven, and he smelled—she inhaled—he smelled fresh, spicy, a combination of seduction and masculinity. Clean. Which was a darn sight better than earlier in the day.

  “You.” She took a deep breath and glanced around. How had he found her? He hadn’t even called her. She hadn’t had the chance to hang up on him, damn it.

  “Yeah, me.” He looked around the room and gave a low whistle. “Well, this place definitely fits the bill.” He nodded with approval.

  Melanie frowned.

  “For what?”

  “For our first date.”

  Chapter 6

  Cole tried not to smile when she gaped at him. Tried. Failed. She looked like a stunned mullet.

  “Are you kidding me? How did you find me?” She finally managed to squeak something out.

  He smirked. “Relax, princess. It’s not all about you. I was coming here.” He wouldn’t have missed this for the world. It was an opportunity to approach Lowry. Seeing the man’s stepdaughter here, well, that was just icing on the cake.

  She frowned. “How? Why? You’re a construction worker.” She said it as though the job was on par with Poop Scooper at the dog park.

  He arched an eyebrow. “I happen to work for the host.”

  “So do a lot of people.”

  “Well, maybe I’m special.”

  Her mouth opened, but apparently she thought better and refrained from saying anything else. She flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder, and he watched the way it trailed over the bare skin. She was a lovely looking woman. His groin tightened. Okay, she was hot. But she was also Lowry’s stepdaughter. He had to get close to the guy, and he’d just found his way in.

  “Look, um, it’s nice to see you, hope you enjoy the night,” she said smoothly and made to leave.

  “Oh, but this is our date, sweetheart.”

  Her brow wrinkled, just slightly, before she composed her expression. “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, you promised. Our first date.”

  “One date,” she corrected immediately, holding up a finger.

  He nodded triumphantly. “Exactly. This is it.”

  She shook her head slowly, and took a step back through the doors leading to the terrace. He followed, noticing the panoramic view of Kogarah Bay behind her, the marina below the function centre, picturesque boats bobbing on the water as the sun set, turning the water into a pool of pinks, crimsons and golds.

  “See how romantic this is,” he cajoled, and she folded her arms as she faced him.

  “This is not a date. This is not our date. I don’t want to go out with you.”

  He touched his chest, as though struck through the heart. “Aw, that hurts. But you promised.”

  “Of course I promised. I needed that—lipstick,” she finished lamely.

  Lipstick, my arse. He knew what she was after. The rest of the Special Investigations Unit had been very interested, too. He wagged his finger at her. “So you made a promise you had no intention of keeping. Tsk, tsk.”

  He watched as a pretty pink bloom crept over her cheeks, and she ducked her head. She felt the guilts. Good. He could work with that.

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “And I’m sorry. But I didn’t mean for you to turn up here, thinking this was our date.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Oh, well, we can arrange another one, too, if you like. I don’t mind.” He enjoyed baiting her. Had thoroughly enjoyed the exchange at the site, too. He’d been caught by surprise when his snoop around the site had been interrupted by the stepdaughter of the very man he was investigating. He’d seen photos of her, sure, but they hadn’t really done her justice, hadn’t quite captured the life, the sparkle, the spirit of the woman.

  Her eyebrows pulled together in a tight frown, and she met his gaze. “No. Thank you, but…no.”

  He chewed the inside of his cheek. He needed to get into Lowry’s home, search the man’s private papers. Maybe even get in on any of his scams. And this woman was going to help him do it.

  “Oh, I think you’ll want that date,” he said smoothly, hiding his reticence. He wasn’t used to bribing or threatening a woman to go out with him, and while he may be undercover, and may have to act in a certain way to be convincing, it still didn’t sit comfortably that he was basically going to blackmail the young, attractive woman in front of him. And since when did he have to badger a chick to go out with him? He usually didn’t have any trouble with the ladies, and he was a gentleman. He could take no. Just not this time. Too much depended on her saying yes.

  She shook her head, and he was once again distracted by the swathe of mahogany hair that framed her face. Having it loose was such a contrast to the neat chignon she’d worn earlier that day. Now, it hung in loose waves, each relaxed curl lustrous and gleaming under the golden light of the sunset.

  “No, it’s not going to happen.”

  Time to play his trump card. “I think you’ll reconsider.” He dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small item, holding it up for her to see.

  The plug, along with the delicate circuitry, winked in the fading sunlight, and her jaw dropped when she recognised what he held in his hand.

  Her flash drive.

  Chapter 7

  Her flash drive. He had her flash drive.

  “You—you jerk.” She tried to snatch it, but he held it beyond her reach.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?” she hissed at him, her cheeks heating. He’d pulled the innards out of her lipstick, damn it. She remembered the nausea at her desk when she’d realised she no longer had the data
. She remembered the panic. “Damn you, what were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking I needed some insurance,” he protested. “You didn’t take any of my calls.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “All this for a date? You selfish little…” she stopped abruptly when he held a finger to her lips. His touch was warm, gentle.

  “Don’t say something you’ll regret later,” he warned.

  She batted his hand away from her. “You jerk. There is no way on earth that I would go anywhere with you.”

  He stared at her for a moment, his expression tinged with something that almost looked like regret, before he composed his features into something more relaxed.

  “Come on, we’ll have fun,” he cajoled.

  Her eyes narrowed. Fun? Fun? This guy had no idea what he was messing with. Who he was messing with. Lionel Lowry was not fun.

  “Give it to me.”

  He shook his head. “Dinner.”

  “I’m going to hit you.”

  “Dinner. I swear, I can be a nice guy.”

  She seriously doubted it. “Give it to me, now.” She lunged for it, and he twisted when she grasped it, pulling her in close.

  Her body bumped against his, and his arm went around her to steady her. Hold her. Suddenly she was pressed against him, her breasts and hips flush against his body. She gazed up at him. His body was hard, firm, she could feel the dip and swell of the muscles beneath his shirt. Her breaths came in small, gusting pants, and she realised he was just a little breathless, too. His green-eyed stare met hers, surprised, interested, and slowly warming into something hotter, darker. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and his mouth opened, just slightly.