by Nicola Marsh
She’d built a new life in the years since he’d split, a better life, an independent life where she didn’t need anything or anyone, and she’d like to keep it that way.
Leaning forward, he touched her cheek, the calluses on his finger-pads rasping against her skin and sending a tiny shiver of longing through her.
She remembered all too well how those work-roughened hands felt caressing her body, how gentle yet arousing they could be. How they used to circle her waist, lift her up and spin her around till she was dizzy with the motion and the sheer joy of being with him. How strong and sure they’d been, stroking her that very first time, initiating her into pleasures she’d only ever dreamed about.
‘I won’t take no for an answer.’
His fingertips lingered an exquisite moment longer before he dropped his hand.
Shaking her head, she bit back the urge to laugh. There was nothing remotely funny about having the man she’d once loved badger her after all this time, but the young, impulsive guy she’d known back then had never been this determined, this stubborn.
‘One coffee then you’re out of here. Take it or leave it.’
‘I’ll take it.’
‘Fine. Choose your poison and make it snappy.’
He grinned as he rocked back on his heels, hands thrust into pockets, confident he’d wear her down.
As if.
‘You sure have a way with customers.’
‘You’re not a customer, you’re my…’ She trailed off, not wanting to go there. She’d shut the door on the past, why open it and risk the future she’d worked so hard to build?
‘Go on, say it. I’m your?’
‘You know,’ she bit out, sending him a withering glare that made little impact if his widening grin was any indication. ‘You better order that coffee before I renege and bundle you out of here right this very minute.’
He chuckled, and rather than it riling her, she could barely clamp down on the urge to join in.
He’d always done this: made her laugh, made her see the lighter side of any situation—a genuine glass-half-full kind of guy. She’d loved that about him. She’d loved many things about him, which had made it all the harder to get over him.
Gritting her teeth, she prompted again, ‘Coffee?’
‘The usual, please.’
‘Coming right up.’
She swivelled on her heel, realising her mistake a second too late. Now he’d know she remembered how he preferred his coffee. Not a great start to showing him how she’d got over him.
The gentle hand on her shoulder pulled her up, her body’s reaction to his innocuous touch totally flummoxing.
‘Cam, I just want to say hello to some guys I know, and I’ll be back in a moment.’
Amusement sparked in the depths of his grey eyes, as if he were privy to some private joke, before he dropped his hand and turned away, leaving her flustered, confused and staring at a very fine butt.
Hearing him call her Cam resurrected memories of the way he’d breezed into Rainbow Creek one sunny Saturday morning, strolled into her parents’ coffee shop, took one look at her name badge and said, ‘I’ll have an espresso, please, Cam’ with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his boyish face.
She’d been a goner, instantly falling head over heels for the laid-back, nomadic builder who’d taken a piece of her heart along with a huge chunk of her pride when he’d left.
As for that butt…tight, firm, filling out the seat of his worn denim very nicely, thank you very much…oh, no, she wouldn’t dwell on how long it had been since she’d admired it, gripped it…
‘No, no, no,’ she muttered, grabbing the end of her French braid and fiddling with the elastic, hoping her plait hadn’t unravelled along with her common sense.
Valentine’s Day had really got to her, and, calling the chubby cherub some rather nasty names under her breath, she marched across the café and slid behind the bar.
One espresso, extra-strong, two sugars, and laid-back Blane with the twinkly eyes and charming smile could take his sexy butt and hightail it out of here, leaving her to do what she did best: run the best damn café in Melbourne.
‘Hey, how’re the plans coming along?’
Blane slid into a chair next to the two guys who were helping him turn his dream into a reality.
An adjunct to his dream, he thought, as his glance flicked to the bar, drawn to the sassy brunette paying an inordinate amount of attention to the espresso machine.
She’d changed so much.
Her short spikes had gone, replaced by a long plait hanging halfway down her back, the three ear studs were down to one, and the lean body he remembered all too well had morphed into curves. Eye-catching, gorgeous curves he couldn’t take his eyes off.
Though the biggest change was her personality. Gone was the impressionable, spontaneous girl he’d known and loved and in her place, a blunt, confident woman who had no qualms about declaring how unwelcome he was.
Not that he expected any less. For what he’d put them both through he deserved it.
But there hadn’t been a choice, and, glancing around the café, her dream a reality, and back to her deftly making his coffee just the way he liked it, he knew he’d done the right thing.
Besides, she might act as if he was as welcome as a cockroach at her café, but there’d been something about the way her brown eyes had sparked when she’d seen him, the way she’d reacted to his touch…it had given him hope.
‘See for yourself.’ Dirk, the cabinetmaker, pushed the plans across to him. ‘The architect’s made changes to the guest bedrooms, as you requested, and we’ve run with the new specifications. What do you think?’
He studied the tiny straight lines, the numbered annotations, and ruffled the hair at his nape, a habit he’d acquired while labouring over countless financial reports during the years it had taken BA Constructions to become a rival of the biggest guns in Australia’s building industry.
‘Looks okay to me.’
The pungent aroma of freshly brewed coffee, strong and bittersweet, drew his attention away from the plans and back to the bar where Cam was placing a steaming cup on a saucer.
He studied her with the same focus he’d shown for the plans, noting the tendrils escaping her plait, curling in defiance around her heart-shaped face, the high cheekbones, the mouth a tad on the full side to be strictly beautiful.
His gaze drifted lower to a funky, bright top whose colour defied logic but blended perfectly with the colour scheme of the place—all bright pinks and blues and golds—to the hint of cleavage which resurrected memories of how she’d felt in his hands, the sounds she’d made the first time he’d touched her…
A short, shrill whistle interrupted his journey down erotic lane, and his gaze snapped up to meet hers—questioning, daring, challenging, as if she’d caught him checking her out and was calling him on it—as she crooked a finger at him and pointed to the steaming espresso on the bar.
‘I told you Cam’s great. Serves the best coffee this side of the Yarra. Mike and I always come here for meetings.’
‘So you said.’
Blane couldn’t thank Dirk enough for letting slip this vital bit of information when he’d arrived in Melbourne a week ago. He’d barely begun his search for her when he’d found her, and, now that he had, he had no intention of letting her slip away.
As for the guys telling him she needed a project manager for renovations on her apartment, it had been a stroke of pure luck.
He’d been hell-bent on barging in here the minute he’d discovered her whereabouts, but once he’d discovered that particular titbit of information, he’d bided his time over the week, knowing she’d be more responsive to him on a professional rather than personal level.
Not that he intended to keep the status quo that way for long.
‘Back in a sec.’
Pushing his chair back, he headed for the bar, deliberately slowing his stride when in fact he felt like sprinting. In all
honesty, if she whistled and crooked her finger at him again with that ‘come and get it’ look in her eye, he’d probably do a mean pole-vaulting impression over the bar, too.
‘Here you go. One extra-snappy espresso.’
She pushed the cup towards him, the saucer sliding across the squeaky-clean steel bar.
‘You only made it snappy so you can get rid of me.’
Her wry smile did little to detract from the cheeky gleam in her eyes. ‘Well, looks like you haven’t lost your mind-reading abilities.’
‘I guess not. Care to test me out?’
She shook her head and laughed, the familiar low chuckles sending warmth spiralling through him. ‘Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s going through my head right now.’
‘Says who?’
The laughter died on her glossed lips, the same startling shade as her top, as she inched his coffee towards him with a decisive push of her finger.
‘Drink up. The clock’s ticking.’
Taking a gamble, he ignored the coffee, placed his index fingers against his temples and narrowed his eyes. ‘Let me see…you’re thinking how tired you are after working hard all day. You’re thinking you can’t wait to get out of here.’
She quirked an eyebrow and slow-clapped. ‘Amazing. You should add a bit of crossing-over stuff to your repertoire, too.’
‘I also see some cynical thoughts about me whizzing through your head. You don’t want to hear what I have to say. You don’t want to revisit the past. But maybe you’re too scared to face how good we were together. And how we could have that again, given half a chance.’
Her finger convulsed on the edge of his saucer. ‘Drink up. Then please leave.’
If she pushed the coffee any closer to him it would tip off the bar and splatter on his boots, and, reaching across he stilled her hand, vindicated by the slight tremor under his fingers, the flare of awareness in her eyes.
Cam might act as if she didn’t give a flying fig about him anymore, but he knew better.
He’d seen it when she’d unconsciously leaned towards him a few minutes ago, he saw it now as her tongue darted out to moisten her full bottom lip, the ache to do the same almost visceral.
She’d always done that cute little tongue thing when nervous, like the first time he’d taken her kayaking down Rainbow Creek, the first time she’d tried trail-bike riding, arms clutched around his waist and hanging on for dear life, the first time she’d tried oysters au naturel at his coaxing, the first time they’d made love…
The memories flickered across his mind in crystal-clear clarity, sending a shard of pain stabbing at his gut, filling him with bittersweet regret.
He’d walked away from the best thing to happen to him, and, while he might not have had a choice back then, he sure had one now, and there was no way he’d let her go again.
‘Not till we talk.’
Her chin tilted up in defiance as she snatched her hand out from under his and took a step back to distance herself from him. ‘I suppose you’re really not going to leave me alone till I agree?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Still as stubborn as ever,’ she muttered with a shake of her head.
‘Good to see you remember so many things about me.’
His gaze dropped to the espresso in front of him, extra-strong black, just the way he liked it.
She shrugged, but not before he’d seen an answering gleam as if she remembered plenty.
‘My mind has a habit of storing useless information. Don’t take it personally.’
‘I won’t.’
He grinned, noticing an immediate softening around her mouth. She wanted to smile back, he could tell. They’d always been like this: he trying to charm her, she trying her utmost to pretend it wasn’t working before giving in.
‘How about we have this chat over a death by chocolate next door after you lock up?’
Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You like the Chocolate Toad?’
‘What’s not to like? Great chocolate and a big, happy, green guy looking down on us while we talk.’
He leaned forward and crooked his finger at her, pleased when she met him halfway. ‘You’re not the only one who remembers things, you know. I bet chocolate is still your staple food.’
Camryn couldn’t move.
She wanted to. Oh, yes, she wanted to run away as fast as her boots would carry her, far from this man and the power he had over her.
After all she’d been through, after the pain of losing him, she should turn around right this very minute and walk away without a backward glance.
So why was she standing here, mesmerised by the twinkle in his eyes, captivated by his sense of humour, with the word ‘yes’ hovering on her lips?
‘Come on. A girl deserves a good death by chocolate after a hard day’s work. And I really think it’s important you hear what I have to say.’
He leaned forward until their faces were inches apart, his clean, woodsy smell, as natural and outdoorsy as the rest of him, flooding her senses, tempting her to do crazy things as he had all those years ago. ‘You know you want to.’
‘Yes,’ she breathed on a sigh, caught by his powers of persuasion and something more, something scary and indefinable. A soul-deep attraction to a man who set off sparks by simply tilting his head in acknowledgement had made her lose her mind and accept his invitation when nothing he could say would make up for what he’d done to her six years earlier.
‘Great.’
He straightened, breaking the intimate spell woven around them. ‘In that case I better bolt this coffee down, finish up my business and wait for you to close up.’
Business! She snapped her fingers, wondering how she could have forgotten her proposed meeting with the project manager.
‘Actually, I’ve just remembered I’m meeting a project manager about some renovations I’m doing.’
‘Best in the building industry, so I’ve been told.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘You obviously know Dirk and Mike, but I’m surprised the guys have been discussing my plans with you.’
His smile widened, his eyes twinkled, and her heart sank as realisation dawned.
‘Why wouldn’t they? I’m the best project manager around. Ask anybody.’
His reappearance must have really thrown her if she’d missed the connection between him turning up here, knowing the guys and her scheduled meeting. Talk about slow on the uptake, but, somehow, she didn’t care a toss about anything but how let down she felt.
He’d said he’d come here to see her but it was obviously for business reasons. And of course he’d have to mention their shared past, smooth the way if she were to hire him. She’d been such a fool. Again.
‘I know what you’re thinking, but don’t. Just for the record, I came here to see you, to talk to you. As for you needing a project manager, that was my trump card if you’d tried to boot me out the door the minute I set foot in here.’
There he went again, reading her so easily, and she quickly slid an impassive mask into place, knowing it was too late.
Okay, so he wasn’t just here on business, but that didn’t change facts: she’d loved him, he’d walked out on her, and there wasn’t one damn thing he could say to change that.
‘Come on, Cam. Catching up can’t hurt. And if I can help out with your renovations, all the better.’
She still had time to fob him off, to come to her senses, to give him some feeble excuse why she’d rather pick up a sledge hammer and bang the walls down herself than have him involved in her renovations.
But that was the coward’s way out, and if she’d learned anything since she’d arrived in Melbourne as a naïve nineteen-year-old ready to take on the world while mending a broken heart, it was to face things head on.
Besides, she needed the renovations completed sooner rather than later or she’d lose out on the chance at expansion into the apartment next to hers. She’d lived in what she affectionately termed her ‘shoebox’ since she
’d opened the café, pouring all her funds into making the Niche great. But with the café doing better and the opportunity to enlarge her living space, she had to strike now. However, she’d been given the run around and time was running out.
She needed his skills asap, and, now he was here, she should at least hear what he had to say—regarding business only, that was.
With a resigned sigh, she glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll meet you next door in forty-five minutes,’ she said, half hoping he’d renege once he heard how long he’d have to wait. The other half of her was already doing a mental scrummage through her handbag for lipgloss, pressed powder compact, brush and hair serum, essentials she’d need to make herself halfway presentable for their date.
Date?
Business or otherwise, she’d agreed to go on a date.
With Blane Andrews, the guy who’d left her with a broken heart without a backward glance.
Was she nuts?
‘Forty-five minutes it is.’
He lifted his coffee cup towards her in a toasting action before strolling away, his even-paced strides achingly familiar. Blane in all his laid-back glory never hurried anywhere.
Unless she counted how fast he’d run out on her.
Wincing at the memory, she got busy with the day’s takings, did a final check for tomorrow’s bookings, determinedly avoiding looking at the table where the occasional low rumble of laughter emanated from.
She focused on the booking diary and accompanying table sketches, running her finger down the list of names, matching them to the table numbers, but the figures blurred and danced the harder she stared at them, and, finally relenting, she allowed her gaze to drift upwards.
Either Blane had been staring at her all along or he was doing his mind-reading trick again, for the second she looked up their gazes locked and held, an unexpected rush of heat flooding her body, making her tummy quiver and her legs tremble so hard she had to grip onto the bar for support.
He smiled, a slow, sensual upward curving of his lips, a smile designed solely for her, a smile that was temptation personified.