Joanna Ford had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen! Author’s note—For Female Readers Only! Title Page 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 EPILOGUE Copyright Joanna Ford had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen! That was Brett’s first thought as he was introduced to her. “Hi, Joanna, it’s nice to meet you.” The hand she extended to him was tentative, but the touch of her palm in his packed a real wallop. “I...hope my being here isn’t going to be an inconvenience.” “Absolutely not,” Brett replied. If he’d been caught off guard by the contrast between her angelic features and sinful curves, it was nothing compared to the impact her sudden smile had on him. He was honest enough to admit to himself that, had Joanna been a few years older, his vow to avoid women would have been postponed.... Author’s note—For Female Readers Only! When my editor first asked me if I’d like to write a book entirely from the hero’s viewpoint, I jumped at the chance. First, because of the challenge it presented. We all know guys don’t think like us—although, let’s be honest, the world would be a smarter place if they did! The second reason was...revenge. Now, as a married woman, the mother of two sons and a romance author, I’m anything but anti-men. In fact, despite all the undue stress they cause us women with their quirky little habits, they are by and large an endearing species.
My great fear, however, has always been that we don’t really cause them nearly as many problems as they cause us. They constantly ridicule us for our women’s intuition; but really, what can we do when they are so reticent about revealing their true thoughts or feelings to us? They can, on rare occasions, be perceptive themselves—as was proven when my husband’s best mate, Mark, informed me that my husband-to-be was crazy about me...long before he came to that realization himself! I confess I had a lot of fun “thinking” like a man for this story, and I hope you’ll get a few smiles reading it, too.... Oh, and incidentally, this book is dedicated to my fourteen-year-old son, Jordan, whose quick thinking and instincts for protecting the female sex saved not only two chapters of this book but also his little sister’s life when she inadvertently switched off the computer! Ah, men...you gotta love ’em! Man about the House Alison Kelly www.millsandboon.co.uk PROLOGUE THE customs officer who’d welcomed the previous passenger into the country with minimum fuss, despite grubby jeans, a bare chest and tatty leather waistcoat, was becoming more and more pedantic in his inspections of Brett’s Louis Vuitton luggage. And on the tail-end of a delay plagued flight from LAX Brett was becoming more and more anxious to get it over with. ‘Fair go, mate,’ be said irritably. ‘Do I look like a sleazebag drug courier?’ ‘I couldn’t say, sir,’ the man informed him, his face expressionless as he flicked his eyes over Brett’s crumpled designer sports coat. ‘But the sniffer dogs didn’t seem to think so.’ Despite himself, Brett grinned at the subtle, ironic humour of the man’s response. He’d missed the Australian trait of blending dry, cheeky wit with a perfectly straight face during the four years he’d been in the ‘let’s-do-lunch’ capital of the world. The small, unexpected dose of it now reminded him he’d re-entered the pretention-free zone of home. After the hectic pace of his LA existence as producer of a cable TV lifestyle show, in a business climate that worshipped over-achievers and workaholics, Brett was more than ready to embrace the more laid-back attitude of his home country. For all that the television and film industries in Australia operated on only a fraction of the budgets available to their North American counterparts, the commitment of those involved seemed more, not less, professional. There was no way the star of an Aussie television series would arrogantly not turn up for work until his salary was doubled, because there was no way network executives would cop for that kind of prima donna behaviour. Okay, so coming home meant he was going to be earning less, but conversely he’d be less stressed and in a better position to re-evaluate the current state of his life and what was important to him. Thirty-four seemed like a good age to do this, especially since he’d wasted the last three years of his personal life on a live-in relationship with a former-model-wannabe-TV-presenter who’d cared more about what he could do for her career than she had for him. He groaned mentally when the image of Toni Tanner popped into his head, vowing that in the wake of the pouty, manipulative, china-smashing shrew he’d stupidly imagined himself in love with the only women he wanted in his immediate future were his twin sister, Meaghan, her daughter, Karessa, and his mother. When the customs clerk finally cleared his luggage, it was with an easy smile and an uncomplicated, ‘Welcome home, mate.’ вернуться Joanna Ford had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen! That was Brett’s first thought as he was introduced to her. “Hi, Joanna, it’s nice to meet you.” The hand she extended to him was tentative, but the touch of her palm in his packed a real wallop. “I...hope my being here isn’t going to be an inconvenience.” “Absolutely not,” Brett replied. If he’d been caught off guard by the contrast between her angelic features and sinful curves, it was nothing compared to the impact her sudden smile had on him. He was honest enough to admit to himself that, had Joanna been a few years older, his vow to avoid women would have been postponed.... вернуться Author’s note—For Female Readers Only! When my editor first asked me if I’d like to write a book entirely from the hero’s viewpoint, I jumped at the chance. First, because of the challenge it presented. We all know guys don’t think like us—although, let’s be honest, the world would be a smarter place if they did! The second reason was...revenge. Now, as a married woman, the mother of two sons and a romance author, I’m anything but anti-men. In fact, despite all the undue stress they cause us women with their quirky little habits, they are by and large an endearing species.
My great fear, however, has always been that we don’t really cause them nearly as many problems as they cause us. They constantly ridicule us for our women’s intuition; but really, what can we do when they are so reticent about revealing their true thoughts or feelings to us? They can, on rare occasions, be perceptive themselves—as was proven when my husband’s best mate, Mark, informed me that my husband-to-be was crazy about me...long before he came to that realization himself! I confess I had a lot of fun “thinking” like a man for this story, and I hope you’ll get a few smiles reading it, too.... Oh, and incidentally, this book is dedicated to my fourteen-year-old son, Jordan, whose quick thinking and instincts for protecting the female sex saved not only two chapters of this book but also his little sister’s life when she inadvertently switched off the computer! Ah, men...you gotta love ’em! вернуться PROLOGUE THE customs officer who’d welcomed the previous passenger into the country with minimum fuss, despite grubby jeans, a bare chest and tatty leather waistcoat, was becoming more and more pedantic in his inspections of Brett’s Louis Vuitton luggage. And on the tail-end of a delay plagued flight from LAX Brett was becoming more and more anxious to get it over with. ‘Fair go, mate,’ be said irritably. ‘Do I look like a sleazebag drug courier?’ ‘I couldn’t say, sir,’ the man informed him, his face expressionless as he flicked his eyes over Brett’s crumpled designer sports coat. ‘But the sniffer dogs didn’t seem to think so.’ Despite himself, Brett grinned at the subtle, ironic humour of the man’s response. He’d missed the Australian trait of blending dry, cheeky wit with a perfectly straight face during the four years he’d been in the ‘let’s-do-lunch’ capital of the world. The small, unexpected dose of it now reminded him he’d re-entered the pretention-free zone of home. After the hectic pace of his LA existence as producer of a cable TV lifestyle show, in a business climate that worshipped over-achievers and workaholics, Brett was more than ready to embrace the more laid-back attitude of his home country. For all that the television and film industries in Australia operated on only a fraction of the budgets available to their North American counterparts, the commitment of those involved seemed more, not less, professional. There was no way the star of an Aussie television series would arrogantly not turn up for work until his salary was doubled, because there was no way network executives would cop for that kind of prima donna behaviour. Okay, so coming home meant he was going to be earning less, but conversely he’d be less stressed and in a better position to re-evaluate the current state of his life and what was important to him. Thirty-four seemed like a good age to do this, especially since he’d wasted the last three years of his personal life on a live-in relationship with a former-model-wannabe-TV-presenter who’d cared more about what he could do for her career than she had for him. He groaned mentally when the image of Toni Tanner popped into his head, vowing that in the wake of the pouty, manipulative, china-smashing shrew he’d stupidly imagined himself in love with the only women he wanted in his immediate future were his twin sister, Meaghan, her daughter, Karessa, and his mother. When the customs clerk finally cleared his luggage, it was with an easy smile and an uncomplicated, ‘Welcome home, mate.’ Maybe it was the accent, but somehow those words sounded a hell of a lot more sincere than all those routine have a nice day’s he’d been on the receiving end of for the last four years. More than once he’d been tempted to snap back with, Don’t tell me what kind of day to have! if only for the sake of seeing if that would generate an honest, impulsive response. Though to be fair, he reasoned, steering his luggage trolley towards the exit, that particular habit hadn’t started grating on him until Toni had, and— ‘Brett! Hoy, Brett! Over here!’ Turning his head, he immediately spotted the grinning, arm-waving antics of his sister and his fourteen-year-old niece. вернуться CHAPTER ONE THEY crossed the car park with Karessa chattering nineteen to the dozen, as if it was imperative Brett be brought up to speed with everything that had happened in her life since his visit six months ago at Christmas. One of his fears when he’d made the decision to move overseas was that the easy relationship he’d shared with his niece would become stilted by distance or just the inevitable changes of her moving from childhood to young adulthood. It was a relief to know it hadn’t happened, that Karessa could still be as open and spontaneous with him as she’d been at two, eight and ten. From the day she was born, in the absence of a father or grandfather, Brett had taken it upon himself to provide her with a male role model. Though he hadn’t entirely ruled out having his own kids, given his habit of falling for women with zero interest in becoming mothers he suspected his niece was going to be as close as he got to fatherhood. But hearing her gush about various boys and bands made it even more obvious his ‘little’ niece was rapidly growing up. In contrast to her mother, who, like him, was a green-eyed blonde, his niece had inherited her late grandfather’s russet hair and whisky eyes, but like all the McAlpines she was going to be tall—perhaps taller than her mother. At five foot ten, Meaghan was only six inches shorter than Brett, but already Karessa stood eye to eye with her. Or at least she would if she ever actually stood still instead of leaping about like a hyped-up thoroughbred filly. ‘And you know what’s really cool, Brett? Meggsie said I can work at the agency during the next school break!’ Brett frowned at his sister. ‘You’re going to start her modelling?’ ‘No, I am not.’ The reply was accompanied by a determined look at Karessa. ‘What I’m hoping to do is discourage such stupidity. So feel free to back me up on this, little brother.’ Brett laughed at the abject plea for him to do just the opposite his niece shot at him. ‘Think you guys can at least give me a few days before expecting me to act as Solomon?’ ‘Take as long as you like,’ Karessa said, grinning. ‘I’m not going to change my mind, no matter what you say, anyway.’ ‘Now there’s a shock,’ he said dryly. ‘No need for a DNA test to prove you’re Meaghan’s daughter.’ Just then the two women came to a halt beside a sparkling red, latest model BMW. There was one thing he hadn’t missed while he was away: his sister’s thrill-seeker driving style! ‘Of course, Karessa,’ he said, looking at the very crumpled rear passenger side fender, ‘we can always hope you inherited my driving skills. Hell, anyone’s save Demolition Donna’s, here.’ ‘I know,’ his niece said solemnly. ‘That’s my nightly prayer.’ ‘Oh, shut up, both of you!’ Meaghan’s rebuke was weakened by the hint of a reluctant smile. ‘It wasn’t my fault. I was pulling out of the mall parking lot into traffic and this young idiot slammed into the side of me.’ ‘Late twenties. Body to die for. Major hunk,’ Karessa tossed over her shoulder as she slid into the back seat. ‘He was a reckless idiot!’ her mother insisted. ‘Meaghan, if you were pulling into traffic, then you were in the wrong,’ Brett said mildly, wondering what his chances were of talking his sister into letting him drive. ‘Unlock the trunk, will you? So I can load my luggage.’ ‘You’re back in Australia now; it’s a boot, not a trunk. And how come if I was in the wrong I wasn’t charged, huh?’ ‘You offered to fix them up with a couple of models?’ he teased. Karessa’s grinning face poked through the window. ‘He didn’t want to call the cops.’ ‘Because he knew he was in the wrong!’ Meaghan retorted. ‘Besides, he was driving a four by four with bull bars. There was no damage to his car, so Mum and Joanna talked him into just taking my insurance details.’ Brett closed the boot. ‘Joanna?’ ‘Joanna Ford. She works for the agency.’ Well that explained things, he concluded, too easily able to visualise a scene where his sister was loudly and vehemently denying all responsibility while one of the agency’s models was batting her baby blues and flaunting her figure in a bid to further confuse the other driver. The poor guy wouldn’t have stood a chance. The sight of his sister moving to the driver’s door quickly rerouted his concerns from her last unfortunate victim to trying to avoid meeting another today. ‘I’ll drive if you like.’ Meaghan looked utterly perplexed by his offer. ‘You’ve spent the last four years in a country where they drive on the wrong side of the road... Why on earth would I want you to drive?’ ‘Community consciousness?’ ‘Oh, very droll. For your information this is only my second prang in fourteen months. And neither were my fault so just quit the wisecracks and get in the car.’ She shook her head as she slid behind the wheel. ‘To think I’ve been looking forward to having you back, even knowing you’d be looking over my shoulder every day.’ Brett strapped himself into the passenger seat as the engine was gunned to life with more gusto than was necessary or intended by the vehicle’s engineers. ‘I’m not going to be looking over your shoulder, Meaghan.’ ‘Oh, sure, that’s what you say now... But I know you, Brett McAlpine. The only reason you’ve stayed a silent partner in the agency these last four years is because you’ve been on another continent. Once you get back in the office you aren’t going to be able to help yourself.’ ‘I’m not going to be back in the office.’ ‘What?’ Meaghan turned fully to look at him, bringing the steering wheel with her. ‘Watch out!’ he shouted, grabbing for the dashboard. His sister, typically, remained unperturbed at narrowly missing a signpost. ‘What do you mean, you won’t be coming into the office? You own half the business.’ ‘Well, for a start you don’t need me.’ It was the truth. Meaghan’s driving might suck, but she’d proved herself to have a good head for business. ‘In the time I’ve been away you’ve managed it brilliantly,’ he said honestly. ‘Aw, but I’ve been looking forward to working with you, Brett,’ Karessa whined, pushing her head between the front seats to peer woefully at him. ‘I thought you’d let me be your assistant or something. If you’re not going to be there I’ll probably get stuck doing Meggsie’s dumb filing. Or something equally borr-ring.’ ‘You won’t have time for “dumb filing”, daughter dear,’ Meaghan said, looking into the rearview minor. ‘You’re going to be too busy sharpening my pencils.’ Her eyes flicked to Brett. ‘Now, would you care to tell me what brought this on? When you said you were coming home to stay, I assumed we’d be running the business together. That was the plan when you left.’ From Brett’s side of things it hadn’t been so much a plan as an expedient excuse. When he’d suggested he go fifty-fifty in the modelling agency five years ago, it had only been because he knew how desperately Meaghan wanted to buy the business and the precise limits of her finances. Had he merely offered to lend her the money his sister, being the most stubbornly proud person on God’s earth, would have refused his help point-blank, so he’d gone with the line that he was looking for something he could ‘come back to’ when he got bored with television production. He’d had no real desire to run a modelling agency back then, and even less now. The last thing he needed was facing a lot of Toni clones on a daily basis, who’d have no hesitation about fawning over ‘the boss’ if they thought it would help them get ahead. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve had some promising offers from the networks here, and there’s another venture I’m mulling over. By the way, has Mum given you any idea when she’ll be back?’ Meaghan shook her head. ‘You know Mum. But she did say that knowing you’d be here to keep an eye on business for her she’d feel less pressured to hurry back.’ She grinned. ‘Nice to know she’s started transferring the heat to someone else at last.’ The comment confirmed Brett’s suspicions that the only reason their semi-retired mother had requested he ‘keep an eye on business’ while she was overseas was because she still hadn’t given up the idea of having one of her children take over the running of her interior design business. Kathleen McAlpine’s driving ambition in life had been to establish a “true” family business which she could pass on to her children and grandchildren in due course. However, while her only two children had inherited their mother’s tenacity and eye for colour, they lacked her passion for building an interior design dynasty. Meaghan had started out following their father’s career path of fashion design, before falling into modelling for a short while and ultimately joint ownership of the agency with him. Brett, meanwhile, had completed an Arts and Communications degree, lucked into a job as a set designer, then used his good fortune to get a job as a researcher on a current affairs programme. From there, he’d gradually worked his way up to production assistant. His switch from working, quite literally, behind the scenes of current affairs to travel and lifestyle shows had been more a case of accident than planning, but one which allowed him to exercise his communication skills in tandem with his creativity. He wasn’t absolutely certain how long television production would continue to hold his interest, but he did know that when he was ready for a career change it wouldn’t be in the direction of interior decorating. It wasn’t that he doubted he’d be successful at it—he’d inherited both his fashion designer father’s eye for clothing and his mother’s flair for co-ordinating furnishings—he just couldn’t see any challenge or excitement in telling someone what colour to paint their walls or where to hang their Dali print. On the other hand, he’d recently come to the decision that opening a chain of stores selling quality furnishings to the upper and middle income earners had the potential to be a very lucrative investment. It might also be a way of appeasing his mother’s disappointment when he told her once and for all he wasn’t interested in taking over her busi— He and Karessa swore in unison as Meaghan jumped on the brakes with whiplash-inducing force. Their driver, however, was blithely unconcerned that she’d almost ran up the backside of the car in front of them—the driver of which had mistakenly assumed Meaghan took note of surrounding traffic and that using his indicator was sufficient notice that he was changing lanes. ‘By the way, Brett,’ she said calmly, ‘you’re going to need a car. I’ve got a friend who owns a BMW dealership who’ll do you a good deal if you’re interested.’ Considering the number of cars Meaghan had gone through in the last seventeen years, he would have expected her to be on a first-name basis with every car salesman and panelbeater in Sydney. ‘Thanks, but I’m not in any rush. I’ll use Mum’s until I decide what I’m going to—’ ‘No, you can’t.’ ‘Let me guess,’ he groaned. ‘You’ve been exercising it while she’s been away and as a result it’s gone to the big car dump in the sky.’ ‘For your information, smarty, it’s in A1 condition in her garage! It’s just that once Joanna gets her licence, she’ll need it to get to work.’ He blinked. ‘Who?’ ‘Joanna Ford—the—’ ‘Oh, right. The one who helped you out at your last accident scene. Why’s she driving Mum’s car?’ ‘Because she doesn’t have one and Mum said she could. How else is she going to get to work in the city every day?’ ‘Well, last time I was here there were these things called buses.’ ‘Get real, Brett!’ Karessa piped from the back seat. ‘You know what an uphill hike it is from Nan’s place to the nearest bus stop.’ ‘Nan’s place!’ He straightened in the seat. ‘This Joanna’s living at Mum’s?’ Meaghan nodded. ‘Has been for about two months now.’ Oh, great! Here he’d been, imagining himself mentally and emotionally regrouping in blissful solitude, only to find out his absent mother had a model in residence. A damn model of all things! ‘Would you mind telling me why Mum would find it necessary to bring in a boarder?’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Brett! Joanna’s not paying to live there. Mum only managed to talk her into taking up the offer by telling her she needed a house-sitter while she was away. Of course, back then no one knew you’d suddenly decide to come home and need somewhere to stay.’ ‘Gee, the warm welcome got cold fast Not long ago you claimed you were looking forward to having me home.’ ‘I was—I am.’ She shrugged off the lack of conviction in her voice. ‘It’s just it would’ve been better for everyone if you’d had your own place to go to.’ ‘Well, I’m not going to disagree there, kiddo,’ he said dryly. ‘But I could hardly tell Glen I wanted him and Tracy to move out of my place when she’s practically one contraction away from giving birth to their fifteenth kid in three years.’ When he’d first decided to head overseas, renting his house to his newly married cousin for the two years he’d originally intended being away had seemed like a smart thing to do. Then, when he’d deluded himself into believing his future was with Toni, he’d extended the arrangement he’d made with Glen for a further three years. His cousin had since begun reproducing at such a rapid rate Brett suspected the guy had to be ignorant as to what was causing it, but when a guy had three kids under three and a fourth due any minute you didn’t chuck him out in the street. So, now he was stuck having to share his mother’s house until he could make alternative arrangements. Wonderful. ‘Exactly how long is this Joanna person going to be staying?’ ‘As long as she wants to.’ His sister’s look was sharp. ‘You’ll really like her,’ Karessa assured him. ‘Won’t he, Mum?’ ‘Just as long as he doesn’t like her too much.’ There was stiff warning in the statement, but before Brett could say he had no intention of getting tangled up with any woman in the immediate future, his sister launched into lecture mode. ‘I mean it, Brett,’ she said. ‘This kid has had a really tough time. When she first came into the agency she had a self-confidence reading of minus one hundred. She’s starting to come out of herself a bit now, but she’s still emotionally fragile. So if you so much as even think about doing a seduction number on her, I’ll personally tear you limb from limb.’ ‘Trust me, Meaghan, the girl’s safe from my unscrupulous claws,’ he said facetiously. ‘The last thing I need after Toni is another model.’ ‘She’s not a model. Too short. But she’s as far removed from that witch Toni as any other human being with a heart.’ Irritated at having his plans disrupted, Brett grunted, wondering how long it would take him to find a decent place to rent. However, his sister and niece were still going on about Joanna and how sweet she was. ‘She’s a country girl who came into the agency to enrol in a deportment course right when I was looking to replace our receptionist...’ Meaghan was saying, obviously under the misapprehension that he was interested. ‘She had no job, next to no money and was staying in a bedsit in inner Sydney—’ ‘Oh, well, it’s easy to see where common sense would advise lashing out on an expensive grooming course in those circumstances,’ he said. ‘As it happens, Mr Know-It-All, in Joanna’s case it was the most practical thing she could do! She’s an intelligent, ambitious girl, but she had absolutely no—and I mean zilch—sophistication. Apparently her parents were well into their forties when she was born, and from what I can gather more Amish than the Amish.’ ‘Yeah!’ his niece endorsed. ‘Can you believe she hadn’t even seen a CD player until she had to learn how to operate the one at the agency?’ Karessa was clearly appalled. ‘She was sooo embarrassed. And I felt sooo sorry for her.’ ‘What little exposure she had to city life came via a year at some boarding school her older sister dumped her in when their parents passed away,’ Meaghan continued. ‘Unfortunately, she didn’t have any choice but to move back and help her sister run the family business they inherited when she graduated. Apparently it’s been passed from one generation to the next since the turn of the century, or something.’ Brett frowned. ‘I have a hard time believing the heiress to a well-established family business could be as naive or destitute as you two are making her out to be.’ ‘You jerk! What are you using for brains?’ It was unclear whether he or the pale-faced cyclist his sister had only narrowly avoided skittling was the intended recipient of her outburst, but before Brett had uncurled his fingers from the dashboard Meaghan had calmly picked up where she’d left off. ‘We’re talking about a feed store here, Brett, not a multinational conglomerate, for heaven’s sake. Besides, she couldn’t access any of her inheritance until she turned twenty-one. The sister sounds like the Wicked Witch of the West with PMS, but to really round off what is the most miserable existence I can imagine, just when poor Joanna thought she’d found true happiness, she discovered the lowlife lump of pond scum she was in love with was married!’ And that, Brett thought, explained precisely why the girl had been taken under the collective wings of his sister and mother. Meaghan had been only nineteen when she’d got pregnant with Karessa, to a long-time boyfriend who had turned out to be someone else’s equally long-time husband. To say she’d been devastated would be a massive understatement. Emotionally she’d come close to having a nervous breakdown as she’d struggled to get past not just the humiliation of having been taken for a fool but her love for a man who’d demanded she have an abortion. At the time, Brett had been damned lucky not to find himself charged with assault when, reacting to sibling instincts rather than brains, he’d rearranged the guy’s very pretty face. And it was probably indicative of his baser, less civilised qualities, but he’d never been able to seriously regret that the mongrel had been killed in an accident before Karessa was born. ‘Brett! Are you listening to me?’ Meaghan’s exasperated tone reefed him from his reverie. ‘Huh?’ ‘I said...I want your word you won’t put the moves on Joanna.’ She was so intent that if Brett hadn’t been amused he might have been angry. ‘Sure. You want a signed statement to that effect, or will it suffice if I just swear an oath on the Bible?’ Karessa’s laughter from the back seat didn’t infect her mother. ‘Look, all I’m saying is she’s not up to being hit on by you. I know your love ’em and leave ‘em style, Brett, and, despite everything she’s been through, Joanna’s probably still naive enough to fall for it.’ Okay, so now he was starting to get angry. ‘I’d like to point out that as debaucherous as you believe me to be, until a couple of weeks ago I’d been in a monogamous relationship for over three years. And that even in the most decadent periods of my lust-infested life I have never found anything remotely appealing in gauche, heartbroken country waifs I ‘Furthermore,’ he added, over his niece’s hysterical giggles, ‘I currently have about as much interest in getting entangled with another female as I do in being castrated. So your precious receptionist has nothing to fear from me. Satisfied?’ Wearing a serene smile, and with no respect for the notorious left-hand bend she was taking, his sister reached across and patted his shoulder. ‘Thank you, darling. I knew 1 could count on you.’ вернуться CHAPTER TWO JOANNA FORD had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen! was Brett’s first thought as his niece executed a rapid-fire introduction of him in the foyer of his mother’s house. His second was that at about five-seven she might be too short to be a model, but she was also as far removed from his image of a country waif as the climate in the South Pole was from that of the Equator! No wonder the guy Meaghan had collided with had been swayed from calling the cops; Joanna Ford had the looks and body to convince a guy breathing wasn’t in his best interests! Her naturally almond-shaped eyes were played up with skilfully smudged eyeliner and long thick lashes that were as dark as the silky jet hair falling over her shoulders. High cheekbones were enhanced to create a dramatic shadow on skin as pale and smooth as alabaster porcelain, and as if to balance the dramatic vividness of her eyes in such a serene face her slightly parted mouth was glossed a slick burgundy. Intriguingly, though, the professional use of cosmetics didn’t overpower the essential, almost angelic innocence in the girl’s face. Although, Brett thought dryly, he doubted innocence was the look she’d been trying to achieve when she’d dressed. High, firm breasts were emphasised by a body-hugging black sweater and a waist Brett figured he could have encircled with both hands. The black skirt riding on her hips might have been fractionally longer than the belt adorning it was wide, but he couldn’t swear it because his eyes were too quickly distracted by the black nylon-encased thighs it displayed before he could do a more thorough visual calculation. Being a legs man, by rights his natural curiosity to check out what lay below the over-the-knee boots she wore meant Brett shouldn’t have found them as sexy as he did, but whoa! They sure blew his perceived image of a wholesome country girl in blue jeans and Blundstones to smithereens! The four-inch heels had him scaling down his earlier estimate of her height to about five-three in bare feet, but if she was typical of rural Australia these days he was going to have to give serious consideration to getting into agriculture. A warning glance from Meaghan had him schooling his appreciation into a polite smile. ‘Hi, Joanna, it’s nice to meet you. Meaghan and Karessa have told me a lot about you.’ Course, not as much as they didn’t tell me, he mentally added. ‘Oh! Well... I... Er...that is, it’s nice to meet you too, Mr McAlpine,’ she stammered, blushing furiously as Karessa roared with laughter. ‘Mr McAlpine! Oh, God, you make him sound as old as Mum!’ ‘That’s because he is,’ Meaghan retorted. ‘And thirty-four isn’t that old, young lady; it just means nobody can ground us.’ Brett could have added that if he was so damned old how come his hormones were acting as if they’d regressed twenty years? But it seemed kinder to put the obviously uncomfortable Joanna at ease. Despite the high fashion make-up and clothes, the way she was twisting her fingers and chewing her bottom lip suggested that in the poise and sophistication stakes even fourteen-year-old Karessa would give her a run for her money. ‘Meaghan’s a terrible liar,’ he said, winking. ‘I’m actually four minutes younger than she is, so Karessa’s right—you can drop the “mister” and just make it Brett.’ The hand she extended to him was tentative, but the touch of her palm in his packed a real wallop. ‘I...hope my being here isn’t going to be an inconvenience. If it is just say so and I’ll move—’ ‘Joanna, you’re not going to inconvenience anyone,’ Meaghan inserted, her tone dragging his eyes away from the blue ones which had been mesmerising him. ‘Is she, Brett?’ One eyebrow arched as she subtly flicked her gaze to his hand, which was still engulfing Joanna’s more fragile one. Instantly he ended the handshake. ‘Absolutely not. This house is plenty big enough for both of us, Joanna. Meaghan and I grew up here, and sometimes our paths wouldn’t cross for—oh...a week at a time. Even when I wasn’t trying to avoid her.’ If he’d been caught off guard by the contrast between her angelic features and sinful curves, it was nothing compared to the impact her sudden smile had on him. The parting of her cupid-bow mouth to reveal perfect white teeth and tiny dimples caused his lungs to seize mid-breath. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll try not to cause you too much bother.’ The smile was turned up another fifty or so watts before she glanced at Meaghan. ‘Meggsie...’ Her use of Karessa’s pet name for Meaghan further emphasised her youthfulness, and Brett found himself as irritated as he was grateful for the fact. He was honest enough to admit to himself that had Joanna been a few years older his vow to avoid women would have been postponed. ‘Meaghan, if you want to cancel our driving lesson to spend time with your brother, I’ll understand. You must have a lot to catch up on. And—’ ‘Don’t be silly! We’ve loads of time. But c’mon through to the kitchen; I could use a cup of coffee before we go.’ His sister was already on her way from the room when she tossed over her shoulder, ‘I’d help you bring your luggage in, Brett, but I’m too old. But my darling Karessa will gladly help her equally decrepit old uncle.’ Though she tossed a teasing smirk at her daughter as she guided Joanna from the foyer, Brett wryly acknowledged the remark was designed to further reinforce the age difference between him and Joanna. Geez, with a sister like Meaghan around a guy could actually end up believing he was a sleaze! ‘C’mon,’ Karessa tugged his arm. ‘Let’s get the stuff in before they scoff down all the cake Mum bought’ Brett laughed. ‘Cute ploy, sweetheart, but I can read you like a book.’ Smiling, he fished a small package out of his pocket, tossed it to her, then staggered as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. The wrapping was dispensed with in the same excited haste and enthusiasm Karessa always showed for the gifts he brought her whenever he returned from long trips. And, as always, Brett marvelled that her eyes could still light up with the same genuine wonder and delight they’d had when she’d been a toddler. ‘Oh, Brett, I love it!’ She pushed the beaten silver bangle onto her left wrist and waved her arm around, admiring it. ‘It’s almost exactly like yours!’ The moment he saw the stones set in the silver, he suddenly had a colour for those eyes: turquoise. Joanna Ford’s big, beautiful eyes were the purest of turquoise. ‘Oh, thank you so much!’ Karessa almost choked him with gratitude. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ He laughed. ‘You’re welcome. You’re welcome. You’re welcome!’ ‘Oh, Brett, I’ve just gotta go show Mum and Joanna now. Then I’ll come right out and help with the luggage, okay?’ ‘Don’t bother; I can handle it,’ he told her already departing form. ‘Er, by the way, Karessa...is Meaghan really giving her driving lessons?’ ‘Mmm. Scary thought, huh?’ ‘You’re not wrong, kiddo,’ he murmured, although the idea of Joanna Ford’s unique beauty being put at even the slightest risk struck him as more criminal than scary. It took Brett the better part of three days to shake off his jet lag, during which time he saw Joanna a corresponding number of occasions. Once when he’d been crossing the foyer, en route to the living area of the house from his bedroom, and she’d barrelled into him at around a hundred ‘k’s an hour. Automatically his hands had gone to her shoulders to steady her, and in the ensuing few seconds she’d simply stood there looking slightly dazed as she stared up at him. Again, on the surface she’d been glamour personified, but in the depths of her turquoise eyes—oh, yeah, turquoise was their precise colour—he’d seen an ocean of uncertainty. In the next instant she’d pushed him away and started muttering an embarrassed apology, explaining she was hurrying to catch the bus to the North Sydney office. ‘Hey, if you wait till I pull on a shirt I’ll drive you down to the bus stop.’ His offer had met momentary wide-eyed confusion, a blush, then a vigorously shaking dark head and a hasty, ‘No, er, thanks. I’m fine. I...I’m in a hurry. Bye!’ She’d been out of the front door and had it closed behind her before her perfume could catch up with her. He’d liked her perfume... However, on the second occasion he’d seen her he’d been too far away to smell it. He’d been on his way out for an evening run just as she’d been climbing into a five-year-old Porsche. Having spent all afternoon in his mother’s study, reviewing various job offers, Brett hadn’t heard her come in from work and had assumed that, it being Friday night, she’d be late home. People who lived on the upper end of the northern Sydney peninsula didn’t usually come all the way home from the city to get changed before going out. Brett had figured the male driver was merely a friend, because if he was a date he’d surely have got out of the car to open the door for her! Plus, she’d been wearing snug-fitting jeans and a bomber jacket, which also pretty much ruled out a romantic dinner at a restaurant. The third time his and Joanna’s paths crossed had been some five hours later, just ten minutes ago, when he’d gone out to check what was causing the security sensor light in the front yard to turn on and off every few minutes. He’d expected to find a neighbour’s dog had got out, instead he’d found her, bent over in drizzling rain and heaving her heart out in his mother’s azalea bed. She was a wet, tearful and woebegone sight, and he couldn’t do much besides offering her physical support by way of an arm across her shoulders, and emotional support that amounted to verbal assurances that she would live and that everything was going to be all right. Which was pretty much what he’d told Meaghan the first time she’d written herself off—and what old Mr Parsons who’d used to live next door had told him when as a seventeen-year-old he’d been in exactly the same position Joanna was now. No doubt about it, over the years this particular plant had received a more bizarre fertilising compound than any of the others in the McAlpine family garden. He didn’t know what events had led up to Joanna being in this less than sparkling state of health; there was no sign of her Porsche-driving escort and she wasn’t making much sense. ‘I...I’s not dunk,’ she continued insisting as he carried her into the house. ‘Don’t dink. S’never dink.’ ‘Well, then, princess, I guess you must be having an allergic reaction to that Jack Daniel’s you wear as perfume, ’cause it’s sure as hell making my eyes water.’ She frowned up at him. ‘Jack? Hoosh Jack?’ ‘Someone you weren’t ready to take on, that’s for sure.’ Despite the limpness of her body she was light as a feather, and for an instant Brett considered carrying her down the hall to the bathroom and shoving her under a shower fully clothed. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t already half drenched and in need of warming up, but she was snuggled against him in such a damn trusting way he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he stopped at the bedroom door and bent his knees so he could open the door without dropping her in the process; the handle, though, gave a useless half-turn, indicating it was locked. ‘Hell.’ He sighed heavily and felt the echo of a softer one as the body in his arms nestled closer. Even smelling like a brewery, with her long black hair a damp tangle and black tear-tracks streaking her face, she possessed an ethereal beauty that inspired protective instincts only Karessa had previously managed to provoke. If he could get her into her room and convince her to get out of her wet clothes and have a shower, she’d be in good enough shape for him to leave her and let her sleep it off. ‘Joanna... Joanna, I’m going to put you down and—’ Her arms tightened around his neck. ‘No. Shleep...I’m ashleep.’ ‘No, you’re not, honey,’ he said, fighting laughter and the stranglehold she had on him. ‘You’re what’s commonly known as tanked to the gills.’ ‘Fank oooo,’ she mumbled. ‘You...nice.’ Shaking his head at her inebriated agreeability, he used his left arm to haul her tighter against his chest for stability while his right forearm supported her lower body in such a way that his hand was free to blindly grab the door handle. His height, the bundle in his arms and the low position of the handle made it something of a juggling act, but fortunately long familiarity with the intricate lock mechanism worked in his favour. He nudged the door wide with his foot, then used his elbow to flick the light switch on the architrave. Immediately the woman in his arms gave a yelp, and buried her face into his shoulder. ‘Sorry, but if you think that’s bad, waking up tomorrow is going to feel like you’re staring directly into the sun.’ He stood for a moment, scanning the room, and decided he could do without emptying the assorted stuffed animals from the wicker chaise in the comer, which meant the bed was the only other place to put her. Crossing to the broderie anglaise-covered bed, he lowered her to her feet, intending to pull back the comforter. But before he could act on the thought she emitted a delighted whimper and lurched towards it so fast she nearly pulled him down onto it too. He managed to brace himself on the bedhead, and when her arms could no longer maintain the effort of stretching up around his neck, she slumped back onto the mattress. And this had seemed like a two-second rescue job when he’d started it! He shook her shoulder. ‘C’mon, Joanna, your clothes are wet. You can’t go to sleep in them.’ ‘Yesh...shleep. I wanna go...shleep.’ ‘Yeah, I’m sure you do. But you have to change into something else first.’ She pushed him away when he endeavoured to sit her up. ‘Shleep,’ she mumbled, rolling sideways to embrace the . pillow on the other side of the bed. ‘Damn,’ he breathed. Trying to coax her into compliance would be a waste of breath, since neither her current comprehension or co-ordination gave him a hope in hell of success. Which meant he either had to let her sleep in clothes that were wet and grubby enough to support incineration over washing or...undress her himself. If Meaghan hadn’t been going away for the weekend he’d have taken great delight in calling at—he glanced at his watch—twenty to one in the morning and asking if the ‘hands off instruction she’d issued about his housemate extended to the point of letting her risk pneumonia. Looking down at the motionless, bedraggled form on the bed, he resigned himself to the fact he couldn’t in good conscience just leave her as she was, but dealing with the situation wasn’t going to be easy. Toni had always insisted that a pair of jeans didn’t fit right unless you had to lie down on a bed to get into them and then use a coat hanger hook to zip them up. Apparently Joanna adhered to the same fashion philosophy, because had the jeans she was wearing hugged her any tighter they’d have cut off her circulation. Dry, they’d have been tough enough to get off; damp, they were going to be a nightmare. Although executing that particular task was going to be a whole lot easier on his nerves than ridding her of the Lycra knit bodysuit she wore under them, because that was more than wet and tight enough to tell him she was sans bra. Damn. He raked his hair in frustration, then grabbed her bootshod foot and gave it a hard shake. ‘Hoy! Joanna! C’mon, wake up!’ No response. He repeated the action, this time with more vigour and a raised voice. ‘Hoy! Wake up!’ The futility of the exercise didn’t take long to register. The next time Brett grabbed her ankle it was to start unlacing the trendy pseudo-army boots she wore. If his putting her to bed meant Joanna would suffer severe embarrassment as well as a terminal hangover in the morning... well, damn it, she had no one to blame but herself for getting into this state in the first place! вернуться CHAPTER THREE BRETT climbed the steep stone steps rising from the beach to the grassed area that his mother always referred to as ‘the backyard’. It was, in fact, only a small patch of painstakingly laid and maintained lawn which people failed to notice because it was overwhelmed by the sweeping Pacific view beyond it. For Brett it was the pristine sand and thick rolling waves of Whale Beach which had been his true backyard growing up. There’d only been a handful of days from the time he was ten until he was nineteen that he hadn’t felt the urge to grab his board for a quick surf even if the waves weren’t ideal. Today, having woken to discover a surf breaking to near perfection thanks to a pre-dawn storm, the fact he was thirty-four and it was smack in the middle of winter hadn’t mattered a whit. Of course, after about twenty minutes, when the initial adrenalin rush of making a ride all the way to the beach on his first choice of wave had worn off, cold and old age had started to prove a diabolical combination. Not his age, of course, but the wetsuit he’d fished out of his wardrobe was about thirteen years old; as insulation it was as useful as a screen door on a submarine. He laughed aloud when he caught himself giving his most beloved tri-fin an affectionate pat as he leaned it against the wall of the laundry, yet in that instant he knew that even though he’d come to no firm decisions about his professional future he’d made the right personal one in coming home. He’d missed this...really missed it. Oh, sure, he could’ve surfed in California, and on occasion he had, but somehow it suddenly seemed more natural, indeed essential that the rest of his life be spent seeing the sun rising over the Pacific rather than setting on it. Reaching behind his neck, he snared the plaited tail of the wetsuit’s zip and was tugging it down when a startled yelp behind him caused him to almost leap free of the clinging latex. ‘Lord, Joanna! You frightened the life out of me.’ His heart was still beating out of whack. ‘You always sneak up on people like that?’ ‘I... I...I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were home.’ She was hugging a pile of bedding and looking everywhere but at him. ‘I...er...just wanted to use the washing machine. But it’s okay. It can wait. I’ll do it later.’ When she went to dart from the room, Brett snagged her arm. ‘Whoa, there. Contrary to whatever stories you’ve heard, I don’t bite.’ Though she stilled, her head was downcast, and he used his free hand to tilt it. The minute their eyes made contact she flushed the most vivid red Brett had ever seen and he couldn’t help smiling. ‘Now your skin matches the red lines in your eyes.’ If possible she turned even redder. With the exception of last night, when she’d been totally plastered, whenever she was around him Joanna Ford acted as if she was being asked to deal with an alien. It put an irritating dent in his ego, since women usually made no secret of the fact they enjoyed his attention. ‘So, how are you feeling this morning?’ he asked. ‘And if you say anything but “half-dead”, I’m not going to believe it.’ Her tongue came out to graze her lip a split second before she spoke, so mesmerising Brett that it took him several seconds to realise he hadn’t heard her response. Releasing her chin, he shook his head to clear it. ‘Sorry...what?’ The sigh she gave was so heavy he regarded it a disguised blessing she was still hugging the laundry. Considering his lower body was clad in a wetsuit, the less he was reminded of the fact she even had breasts the better off he’d bel She’d been out cold when he’d finally summoned the courage to strip her wet top from her last night, but, as swift and circumspect as he’d endeavoured to be in averting his gaze, images of their translucent white firmness and cherry-red peaks had tormented him for the better part of the night. ‘I said...I’m mortified about what happened last night.’ Her voice was slightly shaky and her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on the wad of bedding. She swallowed hard before continuing, ‘I don’t remember much, except being sick and you talking to me, then helping me inside. I’m sorry you had to find me like that... I know how...how revolting it is to see someone vomit, and I want you to know I appreciate you staying with me and taking care of me.’ It irked the hell out of him that while the tone of her apology was polite and sincere she’d delivered it without once looking at him. He didn’t know if she realised he’d been the one to undress her, but suspected she didn’t; her embarrassment didn’t seem that extreme. ‘Listen, Joanna, I realise getting drunk and pulling a hangover can blur the brain a bit, but it wasn’t the washing machine who carried you inside and tucked you into bed.’ His bored tone had her head swinging around to him and her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. Eventually she managed a sound. A loud, indignant sound. ‘I was not drunk!’ The declaration was immediately followed by a painful grimace that called her a liar. ‘Sweetheart,’ he said through a chuckle, ‘if they took blood from you now, they could sell it as eighty proof.’ ‘I tell you, I don’t drink. I didn’t have anything last night but punch and cola.’ ‘Uh-huh.’ He didn’t bother to hide either his scepticism or amusement at her straight-faced avowal. ‘And I suppose you don’t have a hangover this morning either, even though you look like death warmed up.’ ‘Having never been drunk, I don’t have the slightest idea what a hangover is,’ she told him, devoid of all trace of the previous shyness she’d exhibited around him. ‘And if I look a bit off colour it’s because I’m obviously coming down with some kind of flu.’ She was absolutely serious, Brett realised. She truly believed she was feeling the way she did because she was getting a bug. Meaghan had said she was naive, but this... Hell, it was criminal to let someone as innocent as Joanna Ford out alone! ‘The flu, huh?’ he said casually. ‘Running a temperature?’ ‘No, but I think the aspirin I took earlier is keeping it at bay.’ ‘And the aspirin was for...let me guess...that mild headache you have?’ ‘There’s nothing mild about it. It feels like—’ ‘Like your skull is being split in two from the inside?’ he inserted, knowingly. ‘Except, of course, when a raised voice, a slammed door or even a sneeze makes it seem like someone is using a jackhammer to clear your sinuses.’ Thick black lashes blinked over surprised turquoise eyes. ‘Well, yes...I guess that’s one way of putting it,’ she conceded, her tone tinged with the same hint of doubt that was beginning to show in her wan-looking face. Brett gave a sage nod and went on. ‘And I’d say the odds would be in the red that, despite the fact you’ve probably brushed your teeth three or four times now, your mouth still feels like it’s coated with old cotton wool that’s been dipped in vinegar and rolled in sand. Oh, and your stomach probably feels like it’s going to cave in too, but the mere thought of actually introducing food to it makes it start recoiling in dread.’ He raised an eyebrow at her ever-increasing frown. ‘How’s Dr Brett’s description of your symptoms so far? Ah, yes...and shaking your head hurts,’ he added, seeing her grimace after doing so. ‘Well?’ he prodded. ‘That’s what a hangover feels like?’ ‘Yep, ’fraid so.’ As concern battled with confusion for dominance in her pretty face Brett wished he’d been a little less smug. “I know it’s small consolation right now,’ he said, ‘but you aren’t the first person to have one, Joanna.’ ‘But my stomach doesn’t feel like you said,’ she told him, in a grasping-at-straws tone. ‘Ahh,’ he said sagely. ‘Then you’re obviously what I call a cast-iron gut drunk,’ he told her, softening the description with a smile. ‘The majority of hangover victims, myself included, cannot look at anything even remotely greasy the morning after. But there’s a second category who swear ingesting as much cholesterol-laden food as quickly as possible restores them to a reasonable facsimile of health.’ He grinned. ‘My bet is you’re in the latter category and that you’re craving...oh, say, a big plate of bacon and eggs? Or maybe a nice, thick juicy hamburger?’ He allowed himself a smug chuckle as her expression came close to a drool. ‘Tell you what, you put those sheets in the machine while I go get dressed, then meet me in the kitchen.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because it just so happens I’m the cure for your hangover,’ he said, returning to the task of peeling off his wetsuit. ‘I happen to cook the best damned bacon and eggs you’ll ever taste.’ ‘You can’t do that while I’m here!’ The adamant declaration surprised him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t expect you to do all the cooking.’ ‘I mean you can’t just take your clothes off like that!’ Take my—’ There was no containing his amusement once he’d caught on to where she was coming from, but he sobered quickly when she dumped the bedding onto the floor and pivoted towards the door. Acting purely on instinct, he threw out an arm, barring her escape; he instantly regretted the action when fear flared in those gorgeous eyes. ‘It’s okay, Joanna,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I’m dressed. That is, I’ve got a pair of swimmers underneath.’ Once again she flushed pink. A week ago he’d have sworn blushing had been entirely bred out of the last few generations of females, but Joanna Ford was a real revelation. A very attractive, very sexy revelation. It was clear she didn’t know what to say or where to look. Or rather, she was working hard to look at everything bar his bare chest, to which she was currently close enough for him to feel the warmth of her stuttered, ‘Oh. Well... I...’ The husky quality of her uncertain whisper sparked interest in muscles of Brett’s body which in the wake of the emotional workout Toni had given him weren’t supposed to be looking for exercise. They especially weren’t supposed to be motivated by a petite twenty-two-year-old with more curves than common sense and a way of nibbling her mouth that made a man want to say, Hey...taste mine. When she did eventually bring her gaze to his face, her demeanour of shy expectation as she slowly slipped a strand of silky jet hair behind her ear almost made him groan. Had any other woman looked at him like that he’d have read it as a come on and accepted the invitation. Hell, he wanted to accept it now! Trouble was, as difficult as it was to believe, he doubted Joanna had a clue about the signals she was emitting. Deciding they both needed space Brett lowered his arm and stepped back. Producing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he excused himself and headed to the bathroom. Brett heard her enter the kitchen scant seconds before a soft, awed voice officially announced her. ‘You really can cook.’ ‘You seem surprised.’ He spared her a quick glance. ‘Can’t you?’ ‘Can’t I what?’ ‘Cook.’ Her laugh was incredulous. ‘Of course I can. I’ve just never met a man who could.’ ‘Then you must’ve met a lot of useless, skinny, hungry men.’ His teasing comment limped into an awkward silence. The way she was fidgeting with the carton of eggs lying on the benchtop hinted at her still being uncomfortable in his presence, for which Brett was grateful. It meant she’d be too distracted to notice any semblance of unease he might display, because there was no denying this girl seriously raised the level of his awareness meter. In the half-hour or so since their earlier encounter, she’d donned make-up and a trendy trouser suit and it irritated him. To his way of thinking, the sexy fashion-plate image constituted false advertising by promising things that were way out of this kid’s league and strictly off limits to him. Sans make-up, dressed in the blue jeans and sweatshirt of earlier, she’d been less of a threat to his good intentions by at least looking as innocent and unworldly as she so obviously was. Now she looked as if she not only knew the score but wanted the role of captain-coach in the game. He tried hard to concentrate on what he was doing, but was so aware of her watching his every move her gaze was almost like a physical touch. ‘Um, would you like me to set the table?’ she offered, after several minutes of razor-sharp silence which Brett figured had to have made her as uncomfortable as him. ‘Sure. Thanks.’ Instantly she started into action, moving with the familiarity of having lived in the house for two months. The kitchen was by no means small, but somehow Joanna’s aura managed to fill every atom of space. Brett had never been so aware of another person’s presence in his entire life. On two occasions they got in each other’s way, and brushing against her felt like being zapped by a current of electricity. But her movements between the cupboards and the table, the sink and the fridge were a distraction even when she wasn’t in his line of vision or within touching distance. Bit by bit the musky scent of her perfume won dominance over the aroma of the cooking breakfast. and his heartbeat drowned out the sizzle of the bacon. The relief when he could finally sit down and have the width of the breakfast table between them was enormous. Well, it was until the silence again became a stilted roar. They might have both been going through the motions of eating with the automation of two robots oblivious to the other’s presence, but Brett figured between them they’d exercised more covert glances than a CIA agent did in a career. This was getting ridiculous! He was thirty-four, for God’s sake, not fifteen! ‘So,’ he said, quickly lowering his unintentionally loud voice when she physically started, ‘are you feeling any better now you’ve eaten?’ Nodding, she quickly swallowed. ‘A bit.’ A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. ‘You were right; you are a good cook.’ 1 did warn you.’ His teasing didn’t draw more than another small smile, but its briefness didn’t dull its impact. Brett scrambled to keep the conversation going. ‘You like Thai food?’ ‘I don’t know. I’ve never had it. I had Italian once.’ ‘Once?’ ‘My family didn’t eat fancy stuff.’ ‘Well, then, I guess I’ll have to introduce you to a wider culinary range while you’re here.’ ‘Oh, no! Really. I wouldn’t feel right letting you fix meals for me.’ ‘Why not? You have to eat, and it’s no fun just cooking for myself.’ For several seconds she seemed nonplussed by his logic, then produced another of those killer smiles. ‘All right, but only if we take turns. You cook one meal, I’ll cook the next’ ‘Fair enough.’ Their gazes met and held, and Brett had a difficult time convincing his libido that he really wasn’t interested in any woman right now—much less the young girl across the table. Even if she was the most incredibly beautiful female he’d ever seen. Yet the hypnotic effect of those turquoise eyes made it impossible for him to look away, and they suffused his body with an inner warmth that was as tranquil as it was disturbing. It wasn’t until she lowered her lashes and rose from her chair that Brett was capable of blinking and breathing again. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ she asked. Caught up in trying to unravel his bemused thoughts, he had to rerun her words twice before they made sense. ‘Whatever you’re having is fine.’ ‘I only drink tea,’ she told him. ‘But I don’t mind making you coffee if that’s what you want.’ The curve of her mouth was almost as bewitching as those of the body she leaned gracefully against the counter, and the item which sprang to the top of his immediate ‘want list’ wasn’t anything as innocuous as either beverage. He managed to bite back the admission. ‘Thanks, but tea’s okay with me.’ ‘How do you have it?’ Brett found himself actually having to think before making what should have been an automatic response. ‘White. No sugar.’ ‘Darjeeling, Earl Grey or Irish Breakfast?’ It was then his trouble alarm started clanging! The truth was he had no damn interest in what sort of tea he drank and way too much in the woman making it; all of it sexual. The problem was he wasn’t supposed to be in the market for sex. Even more disturbing than discovering he was, was finding himself window shopping in an area outside his habitual interest zone. Which, of course, was Meaghan’s fault! he thought testily. She was the one who’d placed him in Joanna Ford’s proximity. It was bad enough she’d exposed him to the ethereal raven-haired witch currently holding up boxes of tea like a quiz show hostess, but if his sister hadn’t erected neon ‘keep off the grass’ signs around Joanna, he probably wouldn’t have given the girl a second glance. After all, as attractive and sexy as she was, it didn’t alter the fact she was only eight years older than his niece and twelve years younger than him. What was more, he decided, she was only proving a distraction because he was allowing her to be one. Determined to correct that situation right now, he responded to her repeated query about the tea with an uninterested, ‘Surprise me,’ then stoically refocused his attention on finishing his breakfast. His only reaction to the steaming mug which moments later was placed near his right hand was a headbent murmur of, ‘Thanks.’ Ruing the absence of a newspaper to bury his head in, Brett continued to eat and to drink his tea without once letting his gaze shift beyond the centre of the table. With the passing of each loud, silence-breaking tick of the wall clock he congratulated himself on having triumphed over the temptation to look at his breakfast companion. See? It wasn’t hard. He could be as indifferent to Joanna Ford and her seemingly mystical intrigue as he could the salt and pepper shaker her long, elegant fingers were idly tracing with slow, sensuous strokes. ‘Brett...’ The husky utterance of his name was his undoing, immediately snapping his gaze up to hers. ‘I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t drink last night,’ she told him. ‘But I think you’re right about me having a hangover.’ A curt nod would have communicated his lack of interest in further discussion on the subject, but instead Brett heard himself say, ‘A contradictory comment, but I take it as meaning you think it’s possible you were slipped a mickey.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘Slipped a mickey?’ The confused shake she gave her head set her dark hair glittering in the sunlight. ‘What does that mean?’ Aw, hell! There ought to be laws against women this unworldly being allowed within a thousand-kilometre radius of a major city. Especially one with a male population. Deciding the sooner Joanna had her beautiful but innocent eyes opened and developed a cynical edge the safer every red-blooded man she was likely to encounter would be, he went on to explain what a Mickey Finn was, concluding with, ‘Some idiot with a juvenile sense of humour probably spiked the punch.’ ‘But mostly I drank cola.’ ‘Out of a can or bottle?’ She stiffened in her chair and glared at him. ‘Look, I mightn’t be all that terribly chic and sophisticated...’ hearing anger in her voice startled him ‘...but I do know it’s good manners to use a glass!’ Prudence had him swallowing the smile trying to force itself from his lips. ‘While that social nicety has its place, Joanna, sometimes good manners have to take second place to good sense. ‘So.’ he said, ‘I’ll tell you exactly what my father told Meaghan and me when we were sixteen and just starting to hit the party circuit. One: never accept a drink from anyone at a party unless the bottle cap or ring tab is still sealed. Two: never leave a drink somewhere and then go back and drink it later. And three: avoid punchbowls at all costs. ‘As Dad used to say, “The most innocuous thing someone will spike a drink with is alcohol, which can leave you sick as a dog. Other things can leave you dead.’” ‘You mean some people might put drugs in someone else’s drink?’ ‘No... Some people do.’ At her look of alarm, he hastened to reassure her. ‘Relax, Joanna; you might’ve been plastered last night, but you didn’t appear doped.’ But then, because she still looked so shocked, concern caused him to add, ‘Well, at least I didn’t think you did. You don’t think you were, do you?’ ‘How would I know?’ she demanded. ‘Until this morning I didn’t know I was drunk.’ ‘Good point!’ He laughed. ‘Well, you’ll know next time.’ ‘There’s not going to be a next time,’ she told him. ‘If I ever have to feel this ill again I want it to be because I’m dead.’ The droll retort indicated Joanna had a sense of humour, which wasn’t good. Because after three years of Toni’s pouts and petulance, a woman with a sense of humour was all too appealing, especially when she came gift-wrapped with sexy curves and wide-eyed innocence that practically begged to be educated. Once again enmeshed with his own worrying thoughts, it took him several seconds to notice Joanna had already cleared the dirty dishes and was running water into the sink. ‘Don’t bother washing them,’ he told her. ‘Just rinse them and shove them in the dishwasher.’ ‘I don’t mind doing them. I enjoy standing here and looking out at the beach.’ ‘Yeah? Gee, Meaghan and I always thought it was more fun being on the beach, which is why Mum got the dishwasher in the first place.’ ‘True.’ She sent him another of her breath-defying grins. ‘But, since I never saw a beach until I was sixteen, I don’t consider having to look at one from this distance any real hardship.’ Brett knew his curiosity showed, but rather than voice it he merely crossed to the kitchen linen cupboard and, pulling out a dishtowel, joined her at the sink. ‘It’s so incredibly beautiful. It must have been wonderful growing up here?’ Though she phrased the words as a question, her attention was fixed firmly on the other side of the ceiling reaching window, and her enraptured expression as she surveyed the surrounding cliffs, crags, sand and surf suggested she’d merely been uttering her thoughts aloud. Clearly she was in awe of all that lay between them and the horizon. It was, be supposed, only natural that growing up here had bred a familiarity which to a degree had immunised him against the natural beauty the scene presented, but for some reason Joanna’s reaction to it urged him to look back and try to see it through less jaded eyes. When he did it was as if each new wave that rolled in and collapsed on the beach carried a precious but too long ignored memory of the past. His father teaching him and Meaghan to swim. The Christmas he’d been given his first surfboard and had been practically tied to a chair to get him to stay out of the water long enough to eat dinner with the multitude of relatives who’d turned up for a hot turkey dinner. He remembered how they’d all been politely appalled when his ‘radical’ father had served up salad and exotic seafood instead. James McAlpine, whose motto had been ‘Tradition is for the gutless and uninspired’, had been highly amused by the predictable reaction, yet he’d still produced an alternative menu of baked vegetables, roast turkey and pork with all the traditional trimmings. Growing up. Brett had at times been embarrassed by the fact his parents had rejected most of the middle class values embraced by his peers’ families and teachers, who’d viewed his upbringing as being at best unconventional—especially after his mother was arrested at an anti-nuclear rally. Yet now, from the distance of maturity, he could appreciate that James and Kathleen McAlpine had provided their children with a loving and secure environment that went far beyond their material comforts and liberal views on discipline. They’d taught love and tolerance by example, and yet while firmly adhering to their own beliefs had never tried to force feed them to their children. Yeah, he thought, gazing out at the beach but seeing much more. It had been wonderful growing up here. As his eyes drifted to the outcrop of rocks at the northern end of the beach yet another time-locked image floated through his mind. One that not only made him smile, but kindled a desire to snatch a piece of the past. But this time, unlike this morning, when he’d dug out his old wetsuit and board, he felt like sharing it ‘Joanna,’ he said, ‘have you got some ratty old jeans and a pair of runners?’ вернуться CHAPTER FOUR THE mid-morning July air was cool but not cold as they picked their way over moss-covered rocks still damp from the earlier tide. ‘Okay, now I know why you wanted me in old clothes and sneakers,’ Joanna said. ‘But where exactly are we going?’ Brett waited until she’d sussed out the width of the rock pool which separated them and then agilely leapt over it before pointing to the wall of rock rising on his right. ‘In there.’ ‘We’re going to climb the cliff?’ Her tone questioned his sanity. ‘Nope.’ He pulled at a weedy overhanging scrub growing from wide ancient cracks in the upper rockface to reveal a metre-wide cavity at its base. ‘We’re going to crawl into it.’ Shooting him a sceptical look, she crouched to inspect the cave entrance, then frowned over her shoulder at him. ‘It’s pitch-black. We can’t go in there.’ ‘Sure we can...’ He fished out the penlight he’d tucked in his back pocket. ‘We did all the time as kids.’ ‘Presumably you were somewhat smaller then,’ she said, her gaze running pointedly over him. ‘The only way you’d get in there now would be flat on your belly.’ ‘You got it.’ Watching her mentally assimilate this was a fascinating exercise. A tiny ‘V’ formed between her perfectly arched eyebrows as she flicked her gaze back to the cave’s entrance; a moment later she started to worry her bottom lip with her teeth. ‘Is it safe?’ she asked, without looking at him. ‘Rock-solid.’ he said glibly, then added, ‘High tide is hours away.’ He dropped onto his knees beside her. ‘When we were kids we used to have time trials to see who could get in and out quickest. The record was less than five minutes.’ ‘Did you hold it?’ ‘Yep!’ He grinned. ‘Until my mate Jason broke it. The sub-five time is his. How’s the hangover?’ ‘Shh!’ She scowled. ‘I’m hoping if I ignore it it’ll go away.’ He laughed. ‘So how do you want to do this; you want me to lead?’ ‘Who said I wanted to do it at all?’ ‘No one.’ He grinned again. ‘But you have very expressive eyes, Jo, and right now they’re practically sparking with anticipation.’ A faint flush hinted at her being pleased by his comment, but she produced a wry smile. ‘How do you know it’s not fear?’ ‘Gut instinct,’ he responded, privately acknowledging there was a fair bit of sparking going on inside him too. Except in his case he ruefully suspected it owed itself more to Joanna’s face being within easy kissing distance rather than the thrill of reliving a boyhood escapade. Damn, but she was beautiful! And yet amazingly she seemed completely unaware of the fact. Too bad he wasn’t. ‘Brett...I asked you a question?’ Yes, she had. He knew because he’d watched her mouth move. Trouble was, what he’d been imagining those lush little lips saying had deafened him to what they’d actually said. There was probably only one chance in a zillion that a reply of, You bet I want to make love to you! wouldn’t catch her off guard. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’ he asked, downshifting his hormones to a lower gear. ‘Once we’re in there,’ she said, pulling a stretchy band from around her wrist and hastily securing her hair into a ponytail at the top of her head, ‘how long will it take us to get to the other side?’ ‘There is no “other side”.’ He watched her mull this over, then again check out what from where they were appeared to be only a narrow tunnel. ‘So you’re saying we crawl in forwards and then have to come out backwards?’ He shook his head. ‘After thirty metres or so the tunnel opens up into a huge cave.’ ‘So we come out the way we went in?’ He nodded. ‘What’s in the cave?’ ‘Nothing.’ Joanna’s excited grin created contradictory feelings within him. Most women would have questioned the point in undertaking an exercise which offered no real rewards, and perversely he now half wished Joanna would throw a hissy fit at the whole idea and refuse to take part on the grounds of putting her fingernails at risk. But it seemed Joanna Ford’s shy-sexy persona hid a streak of adventure. Discovering she possessed yet another quality the women in his past had lacked was as bothering as it was pleasing. It had him sensing he’d put himself between a rock and hard place even before he’d eased onto his stomach and prepared to snake his way into the damp darkness of the tidal cave. There was a noticeable but not dramatic drop in temperature within the rock tunnel; the air held the distinct smell of salt and the hard sand-crusted surface beneath his body was still damp from the last high tide. Clasping the flashlight in his right hand, Brett snaked his way forward on his elbows and forearms without once having a problem with the tunnel’s vertical clearance. Although width-wise it was an occasional squeeze. ‘Don’t you dare get stuck,’ a muttered voice warned from behind him in one such instance. ‘No worries,’ he assured her. ‘How’re you doing?’ ‘Fine. Just keep going and try not to kick me in the face with those size twelves you’re wearing.’ Grinning, he continued to edge forward. ‘Almost there. By the way, if you’re close enough to read the sizing on the soles of my shoes in this light, you better back off a bit. The floor of the main cave is about a half metre or more below this. I’ll have to lower myself down onto my hands to get in there...if you’re too close you might get caught by a stray boot.’ ‘All right.’ When the tunnel finally did open up, the dim, dank surrounds filled Brett with a wave of nostalgia, making him chuckle. A hand clamped around his right ankle. ‘Er, Brett... you’re not getting claustrophobic and hysterical on me, are you?’ The cautiously voiced question added to his amusement. ‘Nope. Just appreciating some old memories.’ ‘So how come you’ve stopped moving?’ ‘Because I’m at the cave.’ ‘Already! Really?’ The excitement dripping from her voice magnified his own. He wasn’t game to examine why. ‘Just stay where you are till I get right in, okay?’ ‘Okay.’ As testament to his increased height since he’d last been down here as a seventeen-year-old, his arms reached the cave floor without being fully extended. He released the flashlight, which rolled a little, throwing patterns of light and shadow on the dark crusty walls, and ‘walked’ his palms until he could get his feet to the floor. Standing, he turned in a small circle to survey his surroundings. Structurally nothing had noticeably changed in the almost two decades since his last visit, but it irked him that more recent visitors had found it necessary to make the underground trek armed with spray cans. Unfortunately the absence of skeletal remains suggested the vandals who’d scrawled ‘RAP RULES’ in fluorescent yellow on the walls hadn’t perished from inhaling paint fumes in a confined space. ‘Brett! Are you all right?’ ‘Yeah,’ he responded, dusting his gritty hands across the back of his jeans before crouching again at the entrance of the tunnel. ‘You can come on through now.’ Joanna’s mouth was pursed in concentration as she wormed her way to the end, but by the time she poked her head through at the end it was split into a megawatt grin. ‘Hi, there! Just passing; thought I’d drop in...’ She looked at the distance to the cave floor. ‘Drop being exactly the word.’ Instinctively Brett took a hold of her forearms. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just ease out slowly.’ ‘Gotcha,’ she said, obeying his instructions, although Brett was pretty sure he hadn’t said anything about putting her hands on his shoulders, nor about sliding them around his neck as she emerged further. But, reluctant to look a gift horse in the mouth, and needing to keep his equilibrium, he started inching his feet backwards. Unfortunately Joanna moved forward a fraction too far, at the same time tumbling him first onto his backside, then his back, before landing on top of him with an ‘Oomph!’ Joanna’s startled ‘Dam!’ was considerably tamer than the four-letter word which burst from him, although he wasn’t sure whether her furious blush of embarrassment was caused by his swearing, her part in causing the fall or the suggestive intimacy of how they’d landed. She was stretched between the ‘V’ of his bent legs, with her belly and breasts pressed tight against him as a result of his arms protectively tightening around her mid-tumble. And it had been a purely protective action, he assured himself. Within seconds, though, she rallied herself. ‘Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry!’ she gushed. ‘It’s all my fault. Are you okay?’ Oh, yeah, it was her fault, all right. And he’d be just dandy once she stopped squirming and wriggling her body against his and the stupid voice inside him stopped chanting, This is your chance; kiss her, kiss her... ‘Brett... Are you going to be able to get up?’ He gave a dry, humourless laugh. ‘There’s no indication that’s going to be a problem. Although it’s a bit hard with you lying all over me.’ And getting a damn sight harder by the second! he added silently. |
