by Paula Roe
“It needs sanding then the hinges need to be realigned. I can do it.”
“So can I.”
“I’d rather you not—”
“Don’t make me pull rank on you, Beth.” His words were soft but his eyes firm. “I own the place, remember?”
Beth felt her face flush, but shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Fine. Do what you want.” Now she sounded petulant and that annoyed her more than anything. But it irked her that he had every right to paint the place in pink polka dots if he so chose.
“I got a call from Dylan last night,” Luke said. “He accessed your runaway’s cell-phone records. Plus, he’s also checking flight schedules.”
Beth’s heart skipped a beat. “He could’ve left the country?”
“What would you do if you’d stolen half a million?”
Beth exhaled slowly. “So the money could be gone forever.”
“Not necessarily. Let’s see what turns up.”
She nodded absently, her head whirling. More waiting. She’d be a world champion by the end of it.
“I’ll get started on that door, then chop that firewood in the backyard.” He massaged his shoulder. “Need to keep busy.”
“Not used to being idle, huh?”
“Hate it,” he admitted, and as she gave him a small smile, the lines on his face softened. “Lying on a beach with a book was my idea of hell.” He put his elbows on the counter and leaned back. “Until that massage.”
She knew he wanted to add something more, make some comment about their kiss, but he let his eyes do all the talking.
“I’ve got to go,” she muttered and beat a hasty retreat.
Luke watched her leave, wondering for the umpteenth time since yesterday how one woman could be so damn frustrating.
Connor would say it was because his obsession with fixing things had encountered a brick wall. Marco would add, “Because sometimes things can’t be solved with a charming smile, bro!” with a wink and a grin.
Maybe.
He grappled with the real reason, as if by wrestling with it he could reduce it to ashes. But he was plumb out of luck. The answer was purely selfish.
Attraction.
She wasn’t his type—too secretive, too stubborn, too take-charge. He liked everything straightforward, out in the open, no surprises. Yet there was something about her that got his blood pumping anyway.
He missed having a woman in his life. Missed the way they felt, their smell, their laughter. Their softness.
It was strange, having a woman refuse his help even when she was so obviously neck deep in problems. But Beth had made it clear she could function perfectly well without him and would continue to do so long after he was out of the picture.
So why did that rub him the wrong way so much?
Beth refused to spoil her day by thinking about her former bookkeeper. Instead, she focused on what she could control: namely, her attraction to Luke De Rossi. So when she picked up Laura she was on the receiving end of a one-sided conversation all the way to work. As she nodded and responded in the appropriate places, her conscience held up its end.
Be honest—you want him. What do you have to lose if you succumb to temptation for once? If you let him kiss you, touch you?
Her control. Not to mention her professional ethics and privacy.
Ha. You were interested long before that massage. And no one can take something from you you’re not willing to give.
Sure. It’d only take one eager reporter, one mistake, and your whole life could be exposed. Again.
She focused on the road with exaggerated concentration just as she tried to convince herself she wouldn’t care when Luke was gone. She’d be glad. Glad.
A hand waved in front of her face. “Still with me here?”
“Huh?” Beth blinked.
Laura rolled her eyes. “The light’s green. I asked if we need to do a double order on our cranberry oils for Christmas.”
“No.” Beth tempered her abruptness with an apologetic smile and pressed the accelerator. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”
Laura shot her a sideways glance. “Anything to do with that sneaky little rat Ben?”
“Got it in one.” She smiled weakly.
“Well, thank me for clearing your morning appointments today. I rescheduled everyone so we could go through yesterday’s new shipment. Oh, and Jack Benson says he hopes you feel better.”
Ahh, Jack, her plantar fasciitis retiree. “Am I sick?”
“Nope. People just assumed anything else wouldn’t keep you away.”
As the traffic ground to a halt again, Beth gave the younger girl her full attention. Her employee had the kind of personality and looks that could coax a smile from a statue—she’d be dangerous if she were self-centered. But Laura was the nicest person she’d ever known.
“Do you think I’m a workaholic?” Beth asked.
“Weeeell… You are. A bit.”
And honest to a fault. “I see.”
“The last time you took a day off was… Actually, you’ve never taken a day off. Since when’ve you had the chance to just lie on the beach and veg? Or come to think of it, been out on a date?”
Beth snorted. “And why haven’t you said anything before?”
Laura shrugged. “You never asked before. And you like working. The weird thing is you’re our target market, but you don’t practice what you preach.”
“And you think I need a man.”
“No. I think you need a little fun.” Laura grinned again. “And a little sex wouldn’t hurt.”
They pulled into the parking lot and Beth wound down her window for the ticket, effectively cutting off Laura’s train of thought.
If someone had told her a week ago she’d be sharing a house with Luke De Rossi, running from reporters and hunting down an ex-employee and a missing half-million dollars, she would’ve laughed in their face.
A shiver shot down her back. Yes, Luke seemed to be helping with her Ben problem. And she was attracted to him. But the issue wasn’t physical, it was mental. She didn’t want to let him into her life, into her secrets. Her head screamed danger every time she laid eyes on him.
Even if her body screamed the opposite.
At exactly nine-thirty, Beth and Laura walked down the mall toward a darkened shop front.
“Smell that,” Laura said softly as Beth unlocked the doors and whooshed them open.
Beth took a deep breath, punching in a security code as Laura flicked on the lights. “Frangipani, lavender. Lemongrass.”
“I can smell coffee,” Laura singsonged, dangling a bag of gourmet beans between two fingers. They both grinned.
“You fill the pot and I’ll fix things up here,” said Beth. She selected a key and switched on the cash register, straightened the flyers on the counter, then placed an errant pen in a cup.
Casting an eye over the familiar interior, she breathed in again with a smile, loving the crazy mix of scents that hit her senses. The place wasn’t huge, but she’d made use of every available space. A giant oak tree mural decorated the walls, each branch a protruding glass shelf that displayed various jellies, lotions and powders. Bath bombs, frothies and bottles of shower gel were divided in four tiers on the trunk and a small white sink sat discreetly in the wall, a half-empty body-wash tester bottle on the side.
As usual, everything was in its place.
This was her reality. It was just another normal day.
Please.
Crossing her fingers, she turned to the office, drawn in by the delicious coffee bean and mocha aroma.
Laura turned from the kitchenette and held out a packet of cookies. “Biscuit?”
“This early?”
“It’s never too early for Tim Tams.”
Beth grinned, plucked out a chocolate-covered cookie and munched slowly. “You want to check out the stock while we eat and drink?”
“Thought you’d never ask. I’ve got my eye on those new bath bombs.”
&
nbsp; Beth made good use of the internet on her lunch break, searching for anything and everything on Luke De Rossi and Gino Corelli, then making a call to the titles office and local legal aid. Armed with new knowledge, she felt the rest of the day fly by until finally, at five-thirty, she dropped Laura off at her apartment then made her way home.
The sensationalist articles were no surprise. But what she hadn’t expected was the absence of Luke in the society and gossip columns.
She sighed, reluctant admiration warring with self-preservation as she pulled into her driveway. Despite how she personally felt about him, Luke was the quintessential high achiever and proud of it. A perfectionist. A man who was doing everything to protect his career. Who still reminded her of every arrogant, demanding suit she’d met, despite the man’s overwhelming charm.
Yet he’d still ended up poking holes in her prejudices. He could’ve stepped back and called in his high-flying lawyers but he hadn’t. He could’ve left her on the airport tarmac. And he could’ve escaped that reporter crush alone, but instead he’d shielded her from the cameras, even offered to help her with the missing money. For all his alleged faults gleefully detailed in the press, actions spoke louder than tainted words.
And Beth felt like a certifiable ingrate.
As she slammed the car door and strode up the porch steps, the mouthwatering smell of garlic and onions hit her as soon as she swung the door open.
With a thick swallow and deep breath, she walked into the kitchen then peeked in the oven.
Lasagna.
Her smile stretched as she caught sight of the newly hinged pantry door, then the clean sink, the dust-free countertop....
And a bunch of potted gerberas in the center of the kitchen table.
Luke had certainly made himself at home.
“Luke?” She walked slowly into the living room only to finally notice the ominous silence.
“Hello?” She went to the back door and looked out. The silence was so thick she could have walked on it. Despite her quiet reassurances, panic slowly bubbled to the surface.
She was about to race up the stairs, but opted to explore the backyard further. It sloped down toward the riverbank and could obscure her vision of a fully grown man.
Sure enough, when she strode over the rise there he sat on the grass, his back to her, reclining on his elbows, his face accepting the late sunshine in lazy worship.
Beth had to take another inward breath to calm her pounding heart, gently tugging on her necklace as the beat gradually slowed.
Luke must have sensed her, because he turned, sending her a smile that heated her quicker than a January summer’s day—and her heart picked up again. “Hey, there.”
She swallowed, shading her eyes with a hand. “Hi.”
He turned fully this time, sprang to his feet with all the fluid motion of a man who kept his body in perfect shape. “You cooked,” she said faintly.
“I did promise you lasagna.”
She returned his smile, clamping down on the sudden surge of need. Nervously, she rubbed one palm against her leg.
Luke shoved his hands into his back pockets and the T-shirt pulled taut across his chest, leaving her breath in a hitch as muscles strained against well-worn cotton.
“How was work?”
“Good.”
“No phone calls, no problems?”
“If you don’t count the usual ‘where’s our money?’ call from the bank.”
He frowned. “I can fix that.”
Beth shrugged. “I’ve handled much worse.”
“Yeah, but they’re not allowed to harass you. Let me deal with it.”
Suddenly tired of fighting, Beth nodded. “Okay.”
His eyes arrowed in on hers, surprise flaring.
“Why are you so quick to distrust everyone, cara?”
She closed her eyes briefly and considered dancing around that question. Honesty seemed less draining.
“Look, my dad was a serial cheater. He left when I was five then came back a year later. My mum took him back and for a while, it was good…until I turned ten and he left again. Mum finally had enough and we moved away and got on with our lives.”
If he sensed more to her story, he didn’t let on. “And all this—me, your runaway employee—isn’t helping, right?”
“Right.”
Her gaze skittered away, telling Luke there was more but she wasn’t about to share.
The sudden urge to throttle someone flared. Irrational, absurd, yeah, but he felt it nonetheless.
“My parents moved from Italy to Australia when I was six,” he said instead, shifting his weight to the back foot. She blinked but said nothing, and Luke continued. “They struggled all their lives to make a living. I mean, really struggled—we lived in a small rural town, trying to survive on the takings from their small fruit-and-veg store. But with the cyclones, drought and rain, plus the huge supermarket chains pushing us out, we were frequently without power and water. It was—” he dragged a hand through his hair, pushing back all those old memories “—frustrating. And after they died, I started to hate them for that.”
“Why?”
“Because they never told me about my mother’s brother, Gino. Apparently, he’d offered them money, a house and a job when they first got here, but they refused. They were deeply proud and deeply religious, and gambling was a huge sin. So when they died and Gino and Rosa suddenly appeared, it just gave me two more people to blame.”
Beth bit down on her lip, watching him shift uncomfortably then glance away. She wanted to go to him, to hold him, to connect and soothe and comfort. She’d even started to move, rolling her weight forward in anticipation, until he suddenly turned to the house and she stopped dead.
“I should go and check on dinner,” he said with a half smile over his shoulder. “Coming?”
She tucked her hair behind her ears, feeling foolish. “Yeah.”
And then she followed him inside.
They ate dinner in a strange, uncomfortable silence, almost as if Luke had regretted sharing and was waiting for the right moment to take it all back.
That kiss had started it. Since then, their simmering attraction had cooled to arm’s-length standoffishness, and despite the good talking-to she’d given herself, Beth felt oddly disappointed.
But instead of meeting the challenge when she felt his eyes infrequently graze over her, she focused on the tabletop, at the small knots and flaws in the heavy pine, at the scores of marks worn into the wood over the years.
Finally she finished her food, and with an inward sigh of relief, stood. Luke followed.
“Let me clear up,” he offered.
“There’s no need.”
“I want to do it.”
She clamped down on her frustration. “Okay. You can stack the dishwasher.”
They let the mundane task of clearing away the table fill the void, until she went for a plate at the same time as Luke.
Once again their hands met, then their eyes.
Beth didn’t know where to look. If she stepped back, he’d know she was nervous, and if she stayed where she was, he’d think she didn’t mind him touching her. But the truth was, she was minding less and less.
“Sorry,” she muttered and relinquished the plate.
As he stacked the dishwasher, she busied herself with the coffee.
You’re hopeless at trying to pretend he isn’t affecting you, that his kiss was no big deal.
And for every good reason she came up with for keeping her distance, she had only one very strong one why she shouldn’t.
You want him.
“I called Rosa,” Luke said suddenly. “I’m seeing her Sunday night.”
“Just you?”
At his nod, she shook her head. “Oh, no. You are not leaving me out of this.”
“Beth…”
“No, Luke.”
He scowled, and finally his eyes revealed something more—anger. “This is personal. To me. Okay?”
> Great, throw her words back in her face. “And what about our promise to share information?” The heat from his scrutiny made her cheeks warm, and for a second she stood there in guilty silence, thinking he’d call her on it. “Look, we’re in it together. Right?”
Those seductive eyes were blacker than a starless night and revealed nothing. “I don’t want you involved in my family disputes.”
“A bit late for that. And anyway, just how are you going to stop me?”
Luke’s gaze bored into hers, but she refused to back down. Frustration, anger, irritation all flashed in those dark depths, along with something else she was more than familiar with. Guilt.
“I’m stronger,” he growled.
She put her hands on her hips and braced her feet apart. “But I can kick.”
His eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
She gave him a small, deadly smile. “Oh, I would.”
For a second they both froze, eyeing each other up in adversarial silence until his sudden bark of laughter broke it. His amusement transformed every worry line and tense muscle into something so compelling that it made her heart jump.
She returned the smile, but realized too late his closeness, his darkening eyes. His sensuous bottom lip.
Time passed. The blink of an eye. But to Beth it stretched, lengthened, heated, teasing out the moment until the lick of flames in her belly flared up and bathed her in a desperate need she could no longer ignore.
Gently, almost wonderingly, she placed a tentative hand on his cheek. The rough one-day growth rasped over her skin, reminding her that this was no dream. He was real and hard, the look in his eyes half warning, half wanting, and she couldn’t help herself.
“Beth…” Her name was like a groan on his lips, his eyes devouring her. She paused, her hand still cupping his face.
She wanted to feel the contours of his mouth, touch him, kiss him.
She was going to.
Every muscle in his body flexed and tensed as she edged closer and pressed her legs against his, her hip bumping his groin. She heard his breath catch, the low rumble in his throat barely audible.
“What are you doing?” he said quietly.