by Kris Pearson
“Why the mystery?” He looked like a small boy with a huge secret.
“Five minutes and you’ll know.” He loped up the stairs to their bedroom, returning almost instantly in his overcoat and scarf, and handing over her heaviest jacket and favorite New York boots.
She humored him by putting them on, enjoying seeing him so animated after the construction worries of the day.
They threaded their way out through the mess and across the street to Ballentine Park.
“She’s nearly there,” Anton said, turning to inspect his huge baby.
“It’s quite something you’ve taken on.”
“Ah well, no pain, no gain. Come on—I want to show you the next project.” He took her hand, towed her along the sidewalk, and onto one of the graveled paths that crossed the park. They passed beds of pink, white, and red camellias, clumps of fragrant jonquils and drifts of pansies. Tall trees stretched bare branches into blue sky. It was a perfect day for a stroll.
Anton wasn’t strolling though. He hurried her along—right across the park, across the street, and in through half closed gates to an immense overgrown garden surrounding a magnificent old house.
“Anton—you can’t knock this down!” She stared at him, shocked he’d desecrate such a piece of history.
“Big job,” he said, tucking an arm around her. “I’ve got the keys. Come and have a look.”
She accompanied him unwillingly up the path, admiring the steep pitch of the terracotta-tiled roof, the quaint attic windows with their diamond panes winking in the sun, the peeling paintwork, the life-size plaster lions flanking the steps to the grand front door. The thought of him demolishing it appalled her. Someone had built this house with real love and a lot of money at least a century ago.
Anton released her and inserted the key. The door swung open with a protesting squeal. He turned and scooped her up. “Gotta do this properly—carry you over the threshold and so on.”
What???
He stepped into the impressive but freezing entrance vestibule. “I told you these old houses were full of wasted space and weren’t energy efficient,” he added, cuddling her close. “She hasn’t been lived in for a while. So, first thoughts, Ms Rivers. Can you see yourself setting up home here?”
She had no words. Just gazed into his laughing blue eyes, and stretched up and kissed him. “Really?” she finally managed.
“Really. She’s got good bones but needs a heap of work. I’d peel the linings off and insulate properly. Put decent heating in. Open up the back with a lot of glass and let the sun through. You wanted a garden and a view over the park. Yes?”
“Yes, but…”
“Come and look.” He set her down and led her up the wide timber stairway, giving her no time to protest. “I’d strip out the top floor first. Use the master bedroom as living space. It’s plenty big enough. Four more bedrooms—one for us, an office each, a spare for guests.”
“But…”
“Yeah, no kitchen up here,” he said as they reached the top of the stairs. “But there’s a big sun porch I could convert as a temporary solution.”
“Anton!”
“Bathrooms need a total refurbish. I don’t mind if you want to style them so they look original as long as everything’s replaced and working well.”
She set her hands on her hips and sent him a mock glare.” And when is this all going to happen? How can you afford it, anyway? You’re up to your ears in debt.”
He reached over and cupped her face. Smiled his most disarming smile. “If it’s what you want, we’ll manage. The big reception rooms downstairs will make a great design studio and architects’ office to be going on with. We can tear out some of that overgrown garden for customer parking. And…if…” He lost his momentum and ducked his head for a few seconds. “Um…if there were children later on…well…plenty of space for all that.” Suddenly he looked like a shy schoolboy.
Jetta took a moment to let everything sink in. This was so big her brain refused to process data at normal speed. “So,” she said slowly, “You’re saying you want to live here, with me, work from here, maybe have a family together?”
He nodded, and swallowed. His Adam’s apple slid up and down. He was nervous! Her super-confident, gung-ho man had a vulnerable spot after all. And it was her. She turned her face against his palm and kissed it. “And we’d live at Number One while this top floor was remodeled?” she asked, turning and surveying the top gallery with its extravagantly carved balustrades.
“Hell, yes. It’s too cold here yet.”
“And maybe move in for summertime?”
“The apartments will be finished in a few weeks. I know it looks like an ongoing mess, but it’s only final details now.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and paced a few steps away, a few steps back. “And the money will be okay?” she asked. “You’ve enough to repay everyone you borrowed from for the apartments?”
“More than. Enough to pay for quite a chunk of this house, too.” He gathered her into his arms. “What’s with all the questions?”
“And the upgrading here?” she pressed. “How are you going to cover that?”
“Details, baby. I’ve made it work once, and I can do it again.”
Jetta’s heart banged and fluttered about behind her ribs. He’d do this for her?
“But you don’t like old houses,” she objected.
He sent her a sizzling grin. “But you do. And what my woman wants, she gets.”
Jetta thought of her untouched trust fund, and silently thanked her grandfather and Horrie for their good work on her behalf. “I might be able to help out on the finance front,” she murmured. “Some dear old men made some sensible investments for me a long time ago.”
She enjoyed watching his mouth drop open. Enjoyed even more stretching up to nip his bottom lip and then turning her teasing into a deep and loving kiss.
The End
Also by Kris—
The Boat Builder’s Bed
The Wrong Sister
Four Stars HOT, RT Review
Taken by the Sheikh
Seduction on the Cards
The Boat Builder’s Bed
by Kris Pearson
A windy day...a flyaway signboard...a hideous crunch. Sophie Calhoun can't imagine how she'll pay for the damage to the luxurious car. Already cash-strapped, she's struggling to launch her new interior design studio and make a home for her daughter. She's only days away from disaster.
Out of the sleek black Jaguar storms super-yacht tycoon Rafe Severino. Steaming mad. Totally gorgeous. And desperately in need of a top-line decorator for his spectacular new harborside mansion.
Sophie fears her dream contract comes with strings that tie her to the boat-builder's bed. No matter how she tries to escape, he's always there - implacable and irresistible. She knows he doesn't want a preoccupied single mother, but concealing her daughter's existence from the man she's falling in love with is getting harder and harder. If he discovers her lies, she'll instantly lose everything.
Warning: contains one determined golden-skinned man who knows his way around boats, bodies and bed-sheets.
Chapter One
Rafe Severino pounded his fist on the steering wheel in time with the old Rolling Stones anthem. The Stones weren’t getting any ‘satisfaction’ and neither was he. His company, Severino Superyachts New Zealand, seemed unstoppable. Personally though, Rafe was lost in the desert.
And he knew it.
He hated that his marriage had been a mess. Hated being the last son to establish his own family. Hated the way his parents fawned over his younger brothers and their kids—and barely acknowledged his existence.
He hated even more that he let it matter.
Ahead of him a truck swung out across the road prior to reversing into an alley. Rafe slowed and then stopped to give the driver space.
The wind from the sea had risen. A flag flapped and rattled on a nearby pole. An empty Coke can tumbled a
long the gutter. Inside his Jaguar with the volume up high, Rafe saw both but heard neither. ‘Satisfaction’ seemed a long way off.
He sucked in a deep breath and tried to drag his brain onto something else.
His eyes drifted to the legs of a high-heeled blonde as she edged through a nearby doorway with a sign-board. The wind tugged at the long tendrils of her hair, concealing part of her face with a sexy golden veil, but still something about her seemed familiar.
Then the hem of her filmy blue skirt flipped up and Rafe sharpened his attention.
To the girl’s obvious consternation the sign-board started to collapse, and he easily lip-read her short sharp curse. His mouth quirked at her frustration, and he watched as she batted at her flying hair with one hand and clutched the sign with the other.
Recognition streaked through him then—an assistant of Faye’s. Josie or Susie, something like that. Maybe his ambitious ex-wife had new premises he didn’t know about? Was she going up in the world or down?
A combination of curiosity and his grandmother’s long ingrained code of chivalry made him turn the big car into a vacant space and kill the engine and the music. At that instant a more vigorous gust of wind wrenched the sign right out of the girl’s hands and flung it onto the sidewalk. The two halves parted company and she jumped onto one to hold it down, for all the world like a child playing hopscotch. The other flew up and hit the front of his car.
There was a bang. A crunch. A sound that could only be bad. Rafe added his own curse to hers and swung his long body out. He closed the door with a savage ‘thunk’ and strode around to assess the damage.
The girl stayed frozen, all legs and flying skirt and hair, as though she was perched on her own little surfboard.
Once she’d gathered the gleaming strands up in both hands her mouth became a perfect ‘o’ of horror and her eyes grew almost as round.
Rafe’s quick inspection confirmed his corner light needed repairing in a hurry. He shot her a glacial glare. “Nice work.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said in a crushed voice.
Not trusting himself to speak further, he dug out his mobile and started running through the presets to find the Jaguar dealer.
“So, so sorry,” she repeated. “I’ll pay for it somehow.”
“Of course you will.”
“It was a total accident,” she added with a hint of defensiveness.
Rafe held up a hand to silence her as the dealership answered. He turned away to conduct his conversation and concluded it with, “Around two? Thanks buddy—I owe you.”
He returned his gaze to the girl. She stood very straight now, clutching her half of the sign with an absolute death grip and looking as though she expected the guillotine blade to fall any second.
Christ man, lighten up! It wasn’t her fault and they can fix the car this afternoon.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, softening his manner as he took in her obvious panic. “No-one’s fault. It was only the thought of not being able to use the car tonight.”
“Bad things seem to happen in threes,” she said. “At least that’s the whole three out of the way. First your light. Then not being able to use your car. And third, my broken sign. I really need that sign.”
Rafe turned and picked up the other piece of sign-board, undamaged apart from its hinged top. “It’ll never stay together with these tiny screws. It’s Josie, isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “Sophie. And you’re Mr Severino. I worked—”
“—for Faye. Yes, I know. I’ll fix the sign for you.”
“Why would you do that? After I damaged your car?”
He ignored the sharpness in her query. He’d over-reacted. No wonder she sounded prickly.
“Because I’m a helpful kind of guy. Is Faye about?”
“Faye? Faye and I—have gone our separate ways,” she muttered, avoiding his eyes.
“That’s apparently the current thing to do. Faye and I have also gone our separate ways.”
“No! When?” she blurted, looking at him with those wide grey eyes again. Then she recovered her manners. “Sorry. I’m surprised. I didn’t know. I thought you were the perfect couple.”
His mouth flattened into a grim smile.
“That was my understanding too, until a few months ago.”
So Faye’s been hiding the fact we’ve divorced? Interesting.
He inspected the sign more closely. “Is this place any good?”
“Very good indeed.”
He sensed defiance or defensiveness in the three abrupt words. He waited for her to say more. She didn’t.
He thought of his almost finished house and its current unloved interior. “I need a decorator. Someone as good as Faye.”
She rolled her eyes at that. “I’m better than Faye. I actually listen to what customers want.”
“You work for this place?”
“I am this place.” She turned away and pushed at the door, indicating he should follow. “There’s only me. I opened today—or would have if the crummy sign hadn’t fallen apart.”
“I’ll fix it for you,” he repeated as he followed her inside. The sign was competently painted but the carpentry looked dire. Would offering his expertise make up for his initial burst of temper? He hoped so. “I suppose you used the screws supplied with the hinges?” he asked, and then surprised himself by adding, “Have you got any more sensible shoes?”
“What?” she demanded, apparently thrown by his change of subject.
“As I said, I need a decorator now I don’t have Faye. I’ve been letting things slide. Do you want to see my house and submit a proposal? It’s still a bombsite. You won’t get around it in those.” He eyed her high-heeled sandals, and the slim ankles and light golden calves above them, pleased to have the excuse to inspect her openly.
“You’re serious? A proposal to decorate your house? Faye’s house? After I damaged your car?”
“Forget the car. It’s fixable. Yes—the house above the water. But it’s not Faye’s any longer.”
He watched as she squeezed her big eyes shut and buried her even white teeth in the cushion of her lower lip.
“I can’t just drop everything,” she objected after a few seconds. “I’ve stuff to arrange.”
“Pretend you’re not open for business yet. It’s only nine-fifteen.”
Romances that sizzle with love, life and laughter.
For more information on Kris’s other books, please visit her website
http://www.krispearson.com
Table of Contents
Prologue
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Epilogue
Chapter One