There's Something About a Rebel-

by Anne Oliver

  ‘Try on the deck by the door. Under the tarp.’

  He nodded. ‘Goodnight, then.’

  ‘Goodnight. And be careful.’

  ‘I’m always careful.’

  She watched him turn and walk away. Was he? What about Janine Baker? a little voice whispered. Janine had left town too and Lissa had never heard, nor asked, what had happened to her or her baby.

  She was still watching when he turned back. ‘And the eggs.? I like them hard.’

  ‘That makes it easy, so do I.’

  She had the distinct feeling neither of them were talking about eggs.

  As soon as she heard the front door close she headed for a better view of the river. And Blake. She found it in the master bedroom. With the living-room lighting spilling onto the rain-swept patio, she watched him stride swiftly down the path. Past the pool. Along the jetty. A tall, impressive masculine figure, an image no less powerful than when he’d been standing outside her door as a possible intruder. And no less unsettling.

  When he’d disappeared onto the deck, she turned and gazed at the room. The light from the hallway slanted onto the rumpled king-sized bed, the upper sheet twisted and hanging off one side. The imprint of his head on the pillow had her stomach fluttering with the kind of nervous excitement he’d always instilled in her whenever she’d thought of him.

  She crushed a hand against her middle and ordered herself to settle down. He’d been sleeping in here. Or trying to. What had made him up and leave such comfort and seek out the houseboat in the middle of the night? Bad dreams? Or physical pain—she’d seen it behind his eyes, hard and brittle as if he’d been fighting it a while.

  Or was he missing a special woman that he’d left behind in some foreign country?

  She looked about for some hint. His open bag lay on the floor against a wall, clothes neatly stacked inside. A pile of sail-boat brochures were stacked on the dresser along with his passport and some loose change. She was so tempted to look at his passport and see where he’d been, but she couldn’t bring herself to invade his privacy.

  Instead, hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved to the bed and picked up his pillow, closed her eyes and breathed in. It smelled of sunshine with a subtle whiff of masculine scent that she’d come into close proximity with earlier. It had been a long time, but she remembered that smell. Blake. A moan started low in her stomach and rose up her throat—

  ‘Everything okay here?’

  Oh, God. Her heart jumped into her mouth. Oh, no. Her knees almost buckled from under her and her eyes snapped open though she’d rather they’d stayed shut. Then she could have imagined herself invisible instead of seeing Blake standing in the doorway, one arm on the doorjamb, head cocked to one side. His dark figure blocked the light from the hall. She had no idea what his expression was, or what he must be thinking, but it couldn’t be good.

  ‘Yep. Everything’s fine.’ Forcing a smile, she stepped away from the bed. ‘I … ah … wanted to check the boat was still afloat.’ She laughed; too bright, too high. ‘Silly, I know …’ But you already have that opinion about me. ‘I’m … just grabbing an extra pillow on the way if that’s okay. Was there something you wanted?’

  And how dumb was she, how reckless, standing next to his bed in the semi-darkness in her mini nightgown and asking that question? Not that he noticed … or did he? He wore a bemused expression and she pressed her lips together before she got herself into even more trouble.

  ‘My phone.’ He turned on the light, regarded her a moment longer then switched his attention to the empty night stand and frowned. ‘You haven’t seen it, have you? I’m sure I left it here somewhere.’

  She shook her head. ‘Perhaps you knocked it onto the floor.’

  ‘Or perhaps you did,’ he pointed out. Faintly accusing.

  Anxious to move this beyond-embarrassing situation right along and leave, she dropped the pillow on the bed and sank gratefully to her knees to hide her flaming cheeks.

  ‘Is it there?’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘Do you need a hand?’

  Oh, yes, please. The impact of those somewhat ambiguous words spoken in that low sexy drawl invoked an image she was better off not thinking about. ‘Ah …’ Her fingers closed over smooth plastic. ‘Found it.’

  Blake heard her muffled reply as he watched her silk-draped bottom wriggle backwards. She had it all right: the perfect backside. He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It had been a long time since he’d seen anything so. spectacular.

  The last time he’d seen her she’d been a skinny thirteen and a blusher. Still was apparently. Her curtain of auburn hair obscured her face but he knew without a doubt that her cheeks matched it. She could be telling him the truth about the pillow and the boat but he seriously doubted it.

  She was attracted to him.

  Jared’s little sister. Jared’s very attractive, very sexy little sister.

  She pushed up, held his phone at one end as if it were red hot.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Sure.’

  If she felt that zing when his fingers came into contact with hers, she didn’t show it. She smoothed her hair behind her ears, straightened and met his gaze almost defiantly. Pink-cheeked and pretty.

  Not words that normally came to his mind, but they suited Lissa. His chest cramped in an odd way. Sitting too long in the one position, he assured himself.

  A scowl tightened his facial muscles and he studied his phone, pressed a couple of buttons. He didn’t do pink and pretty and its association with hearts and flowers and ever afters. It wasn’t for guys like him, always on the move. What was more, he didn’t need it. Way too problematic.

  Hot and fast and uncomplicated—that was what he needed. And by crikey, he thought, his lower body suddenly hard as rock, he needed it soon.

  ‘Got someone special waiting for you to ring, huh?’

  His head jerked up. ‘You always did get straight to the point, didn’t you? I need to make a few calls.’ A plumber and an electrician for starters. But it could wait till morning. ‘Your tools are worse than useless. I’ve secured the tarp over the main leak for now. Are you even aware of the state of the roofing?’

  She looked away. ‘I was going to get around to it.’

  Yeah? When? ‘I’ll organise something for tomorrow.’ He turned and walked to the door. A thought occurred to him and he turned back. and his mind went blank.

  She was holding his pillow by one corner and staring at him. He imagined himself walking over there and taking it from her hands, leaning close and breathing in the scent of her neck. Feeling the silky heat of her flesh against his knuckles as he untied her sash and slid the dressing gown from her shoulders before laying her down and letting her help him forget why he’d come home.

  But pink and pretty didn’t deserve to be used in that way. She didn’t deserve to be used in that way.

  She arched a brow, waiting, and he realised that he’d been about to ask a question before he’d been blindsided. ‘Are you working tomorrow?’

  She hesitated, looking uncertain. ‘No. Not tomorrow.’

  She also sounded vague. ‘Are you sure?’ he prompted. ‘You’re not thinking of playing hooky, are you? Because—’

  ‘Because you’re here to take care of everything and not to worry my pretty little head over it?’

  Right. He wouldn’t have said it in quite that way but, yep, that pretty much summed it up.

  She made a dismissive snort and didn’t look the least bit impressed. She had that sulky pout going on again.

  He didn’t see the problem. Protection came naturally to him. Other women would be grateful for his assistance. And only too willing to show that gratitude. In any number of ways.

  Not Melissa Sanderson apparently.

  ‘Okay. Fine.’ Whatever you say.

  But there was something she wasn’t saying, he could see it in the way she evaded his eyes. He also remembered the almost hunted gaze from
earlier and the way she’d pushed at him. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then,’ he clipped. ‘Oh, and if you’re looking for a spare pillow, there are three other bedrooms to choose from.’

  As he walked out into the stormy night he wondered whether she had, in fact, planned to sleep in his bed. The thought of that soft satiny skin on his sheets and that alluring feminine scent on his pillow smouldered through his bloodstream. Lengthening his stride, he distanced himself as quickly as possible.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BLAKE carried the rest of her decorating gear up to the house, then returned to see what he could do about the mess. He swapped the small container beneath the now free-flowing drip for a bucket and snatched up a newspaper from beside the couch to absorb the water on the floor.

  As he spread it out he noticed an ad for a retail assistant’s job in a beachwear shop circled in a red felt-tipped pen then crossed out with ‘TOO LATE’ scrawled beneath it and a sad face. Hadn’t Lissa said she was an interior designer?

  Was that why she wasn’t working tomorrow? Because she didn’t have a job? He glanced over to the final notice on the fridge door. Obviously she was in financial difficulty and just as obviously she hadn’t told Jared because if he knew his old mate, no way would he have let this situation arise. No job and inadequate accommodation. Dangerously inadequate accommodation.

  Bloody hell.

  Blake had inherited a duty of care here. Not only because it came naturally to him but because Jared had been his closest mate, the brother he’d never had. As a young teenager, when neither of his parents cared whether he even came home at night, Jared had been there. Until his friend had taken on the heavy responsibility of parenting. It was no wonder he’d done such a good job with his sisters.

  The rain continued to pelt down while he surveyed the deck once more. Nope. Useless to try doing anything more until the storm blew out to sea. He went inside to ensure all the windows were closed, located the fuse box and turned the power off.

  Then he stood on deck a moment, glaring at the house while water sluiced down his face and soaked down to his skin. He needed the chill factor. The fire in his groin, which had been smouldering since he’d first laid eyes on Lissa, had morphed into a raging inferno the instant he’d seen her nose buried in his pillow.

  Hell, he needed more than wind and water to douse the flames. He needed a woman.

  And now he was going to have to try and sleep up there after all, knowing one very attractive, very sexy woman was a few quick steps away down the hall.

  The strip of golden sand was strewn with shells, driftwood and dead palm leaves where the rainforest met the sea. An azure sky, the air laden with the pungent smells of lush vegetation and decaying marine life. It should have been a tourist paradise.

  Even in sleep, Blake knew it wasn’t. Because the heavy pounding at the back of his skull was gunfire.

  He’d been one of five clearance divers on the beach that day. It had been a routine training exercise. Until the jungle had exploded. Exposed and caught unprepared, they’d returned fire and made a run for it. But the newest member of the unit, Torque, had frozen.

  No time to think. Blake dodging bullets as he retraced his steps. Grabbing and dragging the quivering kid back across the beach with him. Then more shots, searing the air and zinging past his head. Torque’s last agonised cry as he fell against Blake, knocking him off balance. Rocks coming up to meet Blake as he fell. Then blackness…

  Blake woke dry-mouthed, shaking, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was chilled to the bone, lathered in sweat, his skull reverberating as if he’d been struck from behind by Big Ben. It took a moment to draw breath, fight off the sheet, which had twisted around his legs.

  He reached for the heavy-duty painkillers on the bedside table, swallowed them dry. The hospital doctor had ordered Blake to take them for at least another week. But he’d refused the sleeping pills even though he never slept more than a couple of hours at a time. If only the doc could prescribe him some magic potion to take away the nightmares.

  He pushed upright and stared out of the window where the pre-dawn revealed a star-studded charcoal sky swept clear of last night’s storm. Torque had been just a kid, full of fresh-faced ideals and too damn young to die.

  Blake had been that young idealist too, once.

  Unwilling to subject himself to further night horrors, he rose, pulled on a pair of shorts. He almost forgot about the boat—he glanced out of the window again to make sure the thing was still afloat, then headed downstairs. Past the bedroom where Lissa dreamed untroubled dreams.

  Stopping in front of the living room’s glass door, he slid it open to let the damp breeze cool his face. He could almost smell the nightmare’s beach and the decaying marine life. The hot scent of freshly spilled blood.

  He heard a shuffling noise behind him. His military-honed senses always on alert, he swung around, one fist partially raised.

  Lissa. In the shadows. Eyes wide. Looking as fragile as glass in that tiny excuse for a nightdress. And shrinking away from him. Perfect. He’d terrified the life out of her twice in one night.

  A wave of self-loathing washed over him. Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the window. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I heard a cr—I heard a noise.’

  He could hear the soft sound of bare feet as she crossed the floor and groaned inwardly, imagining those feet entwined with his.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  He didn’t answer. Just closed his eyes as the scent of her wafted towards him. Fresh, fragrant and untainted. She knew nothing of the atrocities committed beyond her protected little world. And he wanted to keep her that way. Safe.

  Safe from him.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Quiet concern with a tinge of anxiety.

  ‘Yes. Go on back to bed.’

  ‘But you …’

  Her hair, a drift of scent and silk, brushed his chin as she stepped in front of him. The feather touch of one small hand on his bare arm. ‘I thought I heard. Are you sure you’re okay?’

  His eyes slid open. Wide eyes blinked up at him in the dimness. And those luscious lips. He could all but taste their sweetness on his own. She barely reached his shoulder. So tiny. His hands rose to hold her. To keep her away. To keep her safe. He could feel the firm muscles of her upper arms move beneath warm flesh.

  Then he was sliding his hands up and over her shoulders, his thumbs grazing the petal-soft indentations just above her collarbones. He’d forgotten how smooth and silky a woman’s skin felt. How different from his own.

  His whole body flexed and burned and throbbed. So easy to lean down, seal his lips to hers and take and take and take until he forgot.

  But he’d never forget. He could never be that casual young guy she remembered. The remnants of his dream still clung to him like a shroud. Contaminating her. Dropping his hands, he turned away from those beguiling eyes. ‘Go away, Lissa, I don’t want you here.’

  He barely heard her leave and when he glanced over his shoulder a moment later she was gone. Without another word. Relief mingled with bitter frustration. Damn it all, he didn’t want to offend her. He waited a few moments then went back to his room and pulled on his joggers. A two hour run might rid himself of some of his tension.

  The street lights still cast their pools of yellow, and after last night’s turbulence the air’s stillness seemed amplified as his feet pounded the pavement.

  Lissa tossed and turned for the next couple of hours as the room slowly lightened. She’d left Blake’s pillow right alone and taken a spare from another bedroom as he’d suggested. To prove that her story that she needed an extra wasn’t a lie to get her out of an embarrassing situation. Not that he’d believed her for a second and she cringed at the memory. Why the heck had she bothered? Her pillow worries wouldn’t even register on his horizon—not after seeing him downstairs in the darkness.

  Hurting and alone and determined to stay that way. She’d heard him cry out. And for a m
oment she’d thought maybe she’d helped a little until he’d dropped his hands from her shoulders as if the touch of her skin had burned him. His curt dismissal had stung, especially when for a heart-trembling moment earlier she’d thought he was going to kiss her.

  Which only proved she still had zero understanding when it came to men.

  She would not take it personally. If she remembered anything about Blake at all, he’d have refused anyone’s help. Except she hated seeing anyone hurting like that.

  As soon as the boat was repaired she could be out of his house. Right away from him. Away from temptation.

  Except for his claim that he owned the boat.

  That wasn’t a problem she could sort on her own so there was no use dwelling on it now. She threw back the sheet and rose. The storm had passed, leaving the sky a glorious violet-smeared orange. She opened the window to enjoy the bird’s dawn chorus and early humidity.

  Leaning on the sill, she looked out over the palatial homes and their moored million-dollar yachts and reflections on the river. A private helicopter circled further up the river then landed on its helipad.

  She could hear a steady splash beyond the high concrete fence. Their next-door neighbour, Gilda, whom Lissa had met and spoken to a few times, was taking her regular early-morning dip in the pool.

  Gilda Dimitriou was a well-known socialite, heavily involved in charitable works. Her husband, Stefan, was some bigwig in finance and they frequently entertained. Lissa was probably the only person within a hundred-kilometre radius without a high-flying job and a bulging bank account.

  A fact that Blake Everett did not need to know. No one knew about her financial situation. Not even her family. Especially not Jared. She didn’t want or need his help. Hadn’t she spent the past year and a half proving that she could manage just fine in Mooloolaba on her own? Mostly.

  Except that the interior design shop she’d worked for had gone out of business due to a dodgy accountant, leaving her with no income apart from a casual three-hour-per-week stint cleaning a couple of local offices. She’d had to put off the repairs out of financial necessity.