Bargain in Bronze (Flirting to Win)

by Natalie Anderson

  Three of the guys moved immediately—hauling out a boat from the shed and carrying it down to the water for them. She watched the awestruck, so-eager-to-help teens with wry amusement, understanding how they felt. No doubt Jack could have been a champion rower too, but what impressed her more was the obvious respect and loyalty he inspired in the club members. Everybody liked Jack Barnes—including her. She stumbled as she walked down—as it hit her heart. She more than liked him.

  “You’re going to have to do all the work you realize.” She managed to tease as she stood on the jetty, feeling colder by the second. “As always.”

  “You do your thing.” He curved an arm around her and guided her to the boat. “And you know it. But yes, you’re pretty much just a passenger today.”

  “You’re not going to wear one of those high-tech, skin-clinging outfits?” she asked, trying to stick to light-hearted tease.

  “I will if you will.” He mocked up a leery look with an eyebrow lift and a lascivious grin.

  She resisted the urge to reach up on tiptoe and nip his lips with her teeth—he’d always gazump her in the playful stakes. She took off her shoes as directed and then studied the boat. It seemed crazy narrow to her while the river was wide and flowed fast.

  “You can trust me.” His amusement was even more obvious now as he held the boat steady for her to step into.

  “I know.” And she did. He was a good guy. That suspicious, arrogant attitude he’d had that first day was merely a mask, symptomatic of his protective nature. She knew he’d do anything for anyone—quite the knight. Trouble was, she ached inside for more, and that could never be. She didn’t want to hurt or be hurt and she couldn’t trust that her body wouldn’t let her down. She sat in the small, hard seat and watched as he sorted out her oar. She twisted round and saw he had two for himself.

  “Won’t this make us go round in circles?”

  “Yours is more for decoration,” he laughed. “Just enjoy the ride.”

  Well that wasn’t going to be hard.

  He rowed strongly, the boat swiftly glided through the water and in no time they were away from the club. She was glad he was behind her and couldn’t see how much she was acting the princess—her one oar was totally for show as it rested across her legs and out of the water. He took her up river. She didn’t know which bank to look at, with the monumental buildings on each side either steeped in history or architectural greatness. Eventually he stopped rowing and let the boat begin to float back with the current.

  “I have something for you,” he said.

  The something was tossed over her shoulder and into her lap. She picked it up and looked at it. “You’re trusting me with a key for the bakery?” she asked, her blood frozen despite the strength of the morning sun.

  “It’s not for the bakery.” His reply was low. “And you already know the alarm code.”

  Her heart—and brain—stuttered. He’d given her a key to his home? “Jack—”

  “And there’s someone I want you to meet,” he said with more volume, apparently ignoring her audible panic.

  She put her hands to her face. Her cheeks were at deep fat fryer temperature but the rest of her had iced over. Why had he given her a key to his house? That was far too serious for either of them. And while there was a corner of her heart trying to dance for joy, the rest of it seized in fear.

  “Her name’s Jemma.” He continued speaking. “She’s an enabler—you know, introduces people to people. People who might want to invest in start-ups or accountants who can help develop business plans and stuff. I’ve dealt with her in the past and she was interested in what you’re doing.”

  Start-ups? As in like her cereal business? “Why do you want to set this up?” she croaked.

  “I think you could make a real success of your muesli. You have an amazing product.”

  “I thought oats were for horses?” She joked weakly. “And don’t you think it’s too expensive to be anything more than for a tiny niche market? That there’s no real way of making it viable?”

  “I think it could work. Meet with Jemma—she’s very good at what she does.”

  No. “That’s really nice of you Jack, but…”

  “It’s nothing.”

  She heard the faint edge—but she couldn’t act pleased or laugh this off. She couldn’t take any of what he was offering.

  “I’m only arranging a meeting. It’s not like I’m offering to invest millions in your company,” he broke the long silence. “Or is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  The charged word hung between them—final.

  “You know I can’t help myself.” His tone changed, like he was now joking. “I help out Tom and Anne all the time. Even when they don’t want me to. It’s the curse of the elder brother.”

  All Libby could hear now were the panicked thoughts spinning in her head. She didn’t want his protectiveness—didn’t want to think about what it might mean. She didn’t want to know what he felt for her—never wanted to know if it was more. Because she couldn’t do more.

  And now she couldn’t escape this conversation unless she dived in the water. She smothered a hysterical laugh, if she did that she’d end up with Thames belly. Somehow she had to extricate herself from something that had grown painfully beautiful, too quickly.

  The trouble wasn’t only him. She felt too much. If she took his assistance now, she’d always associate her company with him. She’d always be in his debt and he’d always be in her mind.

  Truth? She feared he’d be there always already. She’d never be able to look at maple syrup again without thinking of him. But she couldn’t let this happen—if she said yes, it would always have an association with him and it would be too painful to hold on to if it reminded her of him. It was her passion, her baby—her only one because she’d never have real babies. She couldn’t risk it.

  “Libby.”

  She didn’t turn to face him, but she heard everything in the way he said her name—the frustration, resignation, the dawning realization. He knew what she was going to do. He knew and she knew.

  “It’s not you,” she said. So, so sorry.

  “Oh come on.” His laugh was brief and laced with bitterness. “I thought you were more imaginative than that.”

  “It’s the truth. It’s me. I can’t do this.” She twisted in her seat and put the key down between them.

  “What is this?”

  “This was a light fling that’s gone on a little long.” She swallowed. “I don’t want anything that goes on.”

  “You were still having fun last night,” he argued. “All that’s happened since is I’ve offered help. Is that my mistake?”

  “If this goes on it would become too involved and too messy.” She turned away from him, unable to bear the intent scrutiny of his sharp, blue eyes.

  “And you can’t do anything messy? Libby, the maple syrup is messy.”

  “Don’t.” She gripped her oar and curled up her legs, hunching over her knees. She didn’t care that she was rocking the boat. She just needed to hold in her heart. “Jack, please.”

  Silence.

  “Here, I got these. You might as well have them.”

  Another something was tossed over her shoulder. She looked down and drew the card from the envelope. Tickets to a circus coming to town next month.

  Next month was too long. Another month of making love and laughing and growing closer and falling deeper, deeper, deeper?

  Her heart hurt already but it would hurt more in another month. It would be unbearable six months after that. But this wasn’t only about her heart. This was about his. And if he cared for her—even a smidgeon as much as she cared for him—then he was in trouble. She wanted to spare him trouble. She wanted him to be free. To go and have fun. And maybe one day to make a family with someone else. She’d fooled with a guy who—for all his playfulness—was actually sincere and full of heart.

  “Knife throwing might be dangerous for us to be ar
ound together,” he said sharply.

  “Please try to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “That I can’t do a serious relationship,” she said fiercely. “I told you that at the start. I can’t get close to anyone. I won’t.”

  “Why?”

  She twisted in her seat and glared at him. “Why do you think?”

  He clamped his jaw shut and eyeballed her. She glared right back at him—she wasn’t giving way. She’d been strong for so long, and she refused to weaken. She knew what was right for her. And she absolutely knew what was right for him—and that wasn’t her.

  The blades splashed and the boat began to surge through the water. The warmth and beauty of the morning broken.

  “You’re a coward,” he spoke through his teeth, his muscles rippling.

  “I’m as protective as you are.” She couldn’t let anyone get too close. She had to protect those she loved.

  He shook his head, his expression grim as he powerfully pulled the blades. “You’re going to live your life not taking any chances?”

  “Not a relationship, never commitment, certainly no family of my own.” She was never having children—never letting them suffer through what she’d suffered through. And she’d never love the way her father had loved—too deeply to survive the loss of it. She had to live more lightly than that.

  She looked at him but he was too angry to look back at her. He lowered his gaze and focused on rowing them back to the club. He could have qualified for the Olympics himself with the speed with which he did it.

  Libby got out the boat without looking at him. It was the right thing to do—better a little hurt now than devastation later.

  “I’m sorry,” she choked as she passed him.

  More sorry than she could express.

  …

  Nine days. Nine days was all it had taken to flip his life upside down. Jack stalked back to his apartment, stunned with how quickly everything had fallen apart. The leaden feeling in his chest didn’t lighten when he saw the black cab parked outside.

  “How long you got?” he patted Tom’s shoulder.

  “Only the night.” Tom grinned, clearly happy about it.

  “Have you got like thirty pounds of Libby’s muesli in here?” Jack growled as he hefted the case up the stairs.

  Waiting at the top, Tom looked uncomfortable.

  Jack wasn’t in the mood to be mucked around. “Tom, what’s going on?”

  “I exaggerated about how much I needed.”

  “You mean you’ve brought most of the muesli I couriered to you back home again? Why say you needed more?”

  “Because it was obvious you liked her. I wanted you to have some fun.”

  With a grumpy humph Jack barged through his door, chucked the bag to the floor and stomped into the living room. He avoided the machines—instead he slumped into the one sofa at the back of the room.

  Tom slowly followed him. Jack glanced at him and away again. He wasn’t in the mood for company and if his little brother wasn’t careful, he might get snappy.

  “Do you know what I learned from you, Jack?” Tom gingerly sat on the hard seat of the lateral pull-down machine.

  Jack didn’t answer. He really wasn’t in the mood.

  “Never to give up.” Tom leaned forward. “You never gave up Jack. You never let me give up. You’ve fought so hard for so long.”

  No, Jack hadn’t taught him that. That resilience and determination had been forged within Tom years before. “You learned that yourself, when you got through the cancer.”

  “I didn’t get through the cancer on my own.” Tom argued fierce enough to make Jack bristle. “You helped me. Remember you used to sit there and read me stories when I was feeling sick? You took me to training with you. I used to sit on the embankment and watch you rowing on the river and I wanted to be just like you. That’s what got me started rowing. I looked up to you. You were my hero.”

  Now Jack sat determinedly rigid. He didn’t feel like much of a hero. Sometimes he felt like he’d he hadn’t been there enough for Tom and Anne and that when he had been around, he’d been too hard on them. But he’d tried—as he’d tried with Libby. But it hadn’t worked.

  “After Mum and Dad died you just took complete control,” Tom continued. “When I screwed up and it all went to my head and I got in with that party crowd a couple of years ago, you were there for me. You never gave up on me. You never gave up on Anne. You’ve never stopped fighting for us and for what we needed. So don’t you dare stop fighting for what you need.”

  Jack looked at the man who’d once been the scrawny kid that he’d piggy-backed around. Hell, he’d always be his baby brother. He couldn’t trust that his voice would work.

  Tom stood. “You might be older than me, but I’m allowed to lecture you sometimes too.”

  Tom was right of course. Jack didn’t give up. He’d never given up. What had he been thinking these last thirty minutes? Why the hell had he just walked away?

  Because he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been feeling. And all he’d been feeling was hurt. She’d rejected him. And why was that? Because she was afraid? Or because she didn’t feel the same way he did?

  She knew why he’d given her the key, why he’d made that offer. Because he cared about her. It wasn’t just a desire to help a friend. It was the same way he’d do anything to help his brother and his sister. Because he loved them. And he loved her—not brotherly.

  Hell. Could it happen that quick? Really? Or was it just lust making him cross-eyed? But while he’d had the best sex ever with her, he also adored her passion for her product, her humor, her quick lip, and her generosity and desire to help Tom… everything about her won Jack’s heart.

  His nerves skittered. Maybe she just wasn’t that into him? But she’d laughed at his lame jokes, she’d eaten him up with her eyes and body—warm and lush and welcoming. It felt good—a natural, right fit. He couldn’t believe that only he felt that between them.

  She was running scared. Well, he was scared too—more than he’d ever been in his life. Not even when he’d wondered how the hell he was going to care for his kid siblings had he been this scared. But he was wrong to walk away from the fight.

  …

  A pain pierced between Libby’s ribs like someone had stabbed her with a knife. But it wasn’t just the pain that bothered her, it was the poison of fear. It worsened with every step she took—so she stopped taking steps. She stood with both hands gripping the railing and watched the rowers on the river. She could hear the calls from the coxes, could see the effort the men and women put into each pull of the oars. Throngs of people in shorts and pretty floral dresses passed her on the bridge, ice creams in hand. She had no idea how long she stood there, in the middle of the bridge that overlooked the club, unable to walk to either end.

  “Answer me something. That guy, your ex who asked you to marry him. Did you love him?”

  She jerked round so quick it hurt. Jack. Jack back and looking fierce and proud and determined and so very hot.

  “Is the reason you said no because you really loved him and couldn’t cope with the idea of losing him?”

  Libby’s eyes filled. “If I’d really loved him, I could never have said no. I could never have walked away.”

  He reached for the railing, gripping it hard as he looked at the muddy water churning beneath the bridge.

  “I’m scared, Jack,” she said quickly. “But I can’t walk away from here.” From you.

  “You’re a very strong person,” he answered. “You have circus skills.”

  She shook her head. “But you have dealt with enough,” she said vehemently. “What if my heart breaks in middle age like Dad’s did? Or what if I have a child and he or she has Mum’s condition? That’s not fair on anyone.”

  “I know how cruel fate can be,” he answered. “And I know that you have to fight on. I know that you have to find happiness in the little things. Take pleasure in the lovely every da
y you have it.” His fingers curled tighter until his knuckles were as white as hers. “Don’t waste a day, Libby. Don’t waste a single day.”

  She let go of the bridge. “Jack—”

  “I know loss,” he interrupted in a low voice. “I know what it is to survive and to just survive. And that’s not enough. Not for you. And it’s not enough for me either. These last few days I’ve had more fun than I’ve had in years. And I don’t mean in bed. I’ve been working so hard for so long, and you’ve given me balance. It comes from relationships Libby—you can’t hide from them. You’ve got to take them on, put your head down and charge. You heal my heart. Isn’t that making the kind of difference you wanted? Because who knows how long any of us have? We don’t. That’s why I’m not wasting any more minutes away from you.”

  Somehow she’d moved. He’d been speaking so softly, compelling her closer. And now she was near enough to feel his inviting heat. She gazed into his eyes and the brave promise in them. Finally he lifted a hand and touched her hair—so gently.

  “I found out something in my Google snooping you know,” he breathed even more quietly.

  “What’s that?”

  “That Libby is short for Liberty.”

  “Oh,” she groaned. She hated her full name.

  But he smiled, a half-laugh rumbling, his expression warm and kind and willing her to take him on. “Liberty. Set your heart free. Love me.”

  It was knocking in her chest right now, every thump hurting. It didn’t want to be constrained. But if she gave it to him, he’d capture it forever—and wouldn’t that be even more of a risk? For both of them?

  “Can you handle this?” he whispered.

  It was hard to breathe, hard to think. She could only feel. But now pleasure and excitement and anticipation pummeled her fear into submission because he was smiling at her and offering so much with his arms spread wide. She wanted—and she wanted this brave, strong, honest man. And she couldn’t walk away.

  “Let’s just take it…each day.” She half sobbed and took that last step into his embrace.

  His arms wrapped around her, bringing her home. His lips brushed her forehead for the briefest of seconds as they had that first day when she’d bumped it. Then he lifted her face to his and kissed her. She didn’t open her eyes again for a long, long time. But when she did she saw he had the satisfied look of a successful man who’d won what he wanted. Her heart soared as he whispered his promise.