Engaging the Enemy

by Susanne Bellamy

  She should stop him. She meant to stop him. Except she wanted his kiss with an urgency that went beyond reason. Beyond thought. Beyond truth.

  Like Pygmalion inside her sculpted cage, her taut body waited for his kiss to release her.

  He brushed his lips across her mouth then kissed the line of her jaw. Stubble rasped her skin in the wake of his mouth across her cheek. His mouth returned to nibble on her lower lip. Electrical currents raced to every pore on her skin. She groaned and turned her head, chasing his lips, needing them on hers.

  Like a compass to magnetic north she zeroed in on his mouth and took his bottom lip between hers. She slid her hand up his chest and over his shoulders and slipped the other around his neck. Rational thought disappeared along with her desire to be anywhere but here.

  He eased back a little, taking his warmth from her.

  Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, hardly daring to breathe. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Trouble, you do realise this is an invitation to kiss you, don’t you?’

  For answer, she kneeled up in front of him. Thigh to thigh, breast to chest, she pulled his head down and lost herself in the delight of his mouth, the sweep of his tongue on hers.

  He trailed his hands down her back and cupped her bottom. Goose bumps marched down her arms and she shivered.

  Warm lips and hot breath slid across her neck. He nuzzled her ear and murmured, ‘Andie, I want you.’

  And she wanted him. He swept her legs from under her and pulled her onto his lap. Thighs wrapped around his hips and caressed his hard ridge. She wriggled closer. Snuggled against his chest, she twined both arms around his neck and he deepened the kiss. It was too much, yet not enough to satisfy the desire erupting through her.

  ‘Get a room!’ The young male voice dragged her back to reality. Prude that she was, she’d forgotten they were in a public park, forgotten everything as Mahoney’s hands and lips caressed her.

  She unwound her arms from his neck and pushed herself off his lap. She fell onto her bottom with a thump. As fast as she could, she scrambled to her feet and off the blanket, putting a couple of metres between her and Mahoney. Stunned at how intimately they’d been entwined — in a public park! — she covered her flaming cheeks with shaking hands.

  ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Liar.’ He stood, casually brushing off the grass that clung to his jeans. ‘Why do you keep denying the attraction between us?’

  She gasped. ‘What? There’s no attraction. There isn’t.’

  ‘Then why did you kiss me?’

  ‘I didn’t. I mean — oh, blast. Keep making a liar of me, Mahoney, and I won’t help you anymore.’

  He grinned and hooked his thumbs into his pockets and leaned back. ‘So long as you acknowledge there is something between us.’

  ‘There is — something between us.’ Just not what he meant. After all, she was just saying what she meant and who was he to blame her if he misinterpreted her words?

  Since when did you learn to be devious, Andie de V?

  Since a blue-eyed, soft-voiced Irishman had pushed his way into her life.

  And since she’d realised protecting The Shelter was more important than her breaking heart.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Matt walked up the laneway. Sunlight glinted off the topmost windows of his building and the light revealed pink tinges beneath the city grime. This morning marked a beginning and the weather smiled on his good fortune. He stopped beside a fire-engine red, custom-built ute parked in the square.

  Seb, his long-time foreman, strolled around the front of the ute. ‘G’day, boss.’

  ‘Seb, good morning. Is everyone here?’

  ‘Just waiting on the skip. They’re two minutes away, stuck in traffic on Flinders.’

  ‘Okay. Have you let the occupants know you’re here?’

  ‘Thought I’d wait for you. They know though. Kid was at the window poking faces.’

  ‘Jordan.’ Wouldn’t he enjoy all the trucks and the men with tools hanging from their belts. And wouldn’t it be difficult to restrain that young man from poking more than his face into the work?

  ‘Curious, was he?’

  ‘You’re right there, boss. I remember my young ‘un when I was building the home barbeque. Wanted to be my helper.’ Seb grinned. ‘Took me twice as long but it’s never too early to train them in safety.’

  Safety and Jordan? Matt wasn’t sure the two things worked together. Jordan seemed fearless and inquisitive, and the combination worried him.

  ‘Maybe I’ll just go talk to Andie. It’s a tricky combination, kids and machinery.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a good idea to have kids around while we’re working here?’

  ‘I don’t know, Seb. Maybe I should have insisted they moved out while we did the major work.’

  Had he allowed his need to get into the building by any means to colour his dealings with Andie? Her sweetness and honesty, her complete inability to lie were incredibly appealing. She made him want to help and protect her. Made him want to get to know her a whole lot better.

  The urge to make love to her had preoccupied him from the moment her black-skirted bottom had danced across his vision as she chased a champagne flute. Her tool belt had ratcheted his fantasies to new heights that he was intent on exploring, more so since the night she’d stormed into his apartment and ended up having the hottest sex he’d known.

  The picnic had been his intention to make it up to her, not to make out again. But when she’d pulled him into her kiss — what was a man to do? He wasn’t made of stone, though parts of him were uncomfortably hard just thinking of her warm body moving against his.

  Tonight, he decided. They’d go for a private dinner and he’d lay it on the line. Forget the pretence, forget the engagement; it had served its purpose. A new start with Trouble, time to get to know one another better — that’s what he would suggest.

  As persuasively as he knew how.

  He grinned at the thought of the many ways he would convince her.

  Distracted by his lustful thoughts, he was surprised to find himself standing on the stone entry staring at the tarnished brass knocker. If the building was his pot of gold at the end of this particular rainbow, was she the leprechaun sent to mislead and misdirect him?

  To be sure, nothing had turned out as expected.

  It was much better.

  So perhaps Trouble was his pot of gold?

  Leprechauns and pots of gold. What are you thinking, Mahoney? He shook his head at his folly. Lust and business never mixed in his world. So why had he allowed Trouble to invade his head like she had?

  ‘Hey, boss? They’re here.’

  A high-pitched beeping signalled the arrival of the industrial-sized skip along the narrow laneway. Too late to suggest Trouble and her clan move out now.

  He walked back to Seb as the driver began manoeuvring the heavy dumpster into a corner by the pub. Chains clanked as it swung off the back of the truck and he had to raise his voice over metal scraping on concrete. Goose bumps rose along his arms as metal screeched, worse than fingernails on a blackboard.

  ‘Boss, did you invite them?’ Seb jerked a thumb to his left.

  Matt turned.

  A Channel 2 van entered the square from the other direction. It stopped and Jace Stuart hopped out from the driver’s side. He covered breaking news, not small stuff. What would there be to interest him in a back street city renovation? Another man pulled open the boot, emerging moments later with bags slung over his shoulder and camera in hand. He raised it to his eye and pointed it at the old pub.

  A sinking feeling hit Matt’s stomach and chased off any contentment he had felt. Jace sauntered up to him. ‘Jace. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Hello, Matt. Nice to see you too. Heard you were turning into El Destructo today? Ah’ — his glance slid past Matt’s shoulder — ‘there’s my girls.’

  El Destructo?

  The sinking feeling became
a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach. He turned.

  Lexie and Trouble stood side by side at the foot of the steps. One of the mothers clung to the half-closed door and a child peeked around her legs. More faces peered through windows.

  Jace raised a microphone and signalled his camera man. ‘Roll it. Last year, against council orders, the Roses pub in the heart of Melbourne’s CBD was demolished in the middle of the night. Today, another historic inner-city building is under threat and is being valiantly defended against an attempted act of vandalism by a small group of women and children. In a surprising move, property developer, Matthew Mahoney, head of the charitable foundation Fresh Start, has brought in trucks and men to demolish the building that houses The Shelter. Five families of abused women and children—’

  Momentarily stunned, Matt’s surprise gave way to searing anger. He sought eye contact with Trouble and pointed a finger at her. ‘You.’

  Trouble’s wary gaze met his before sliding away. Her lip-biting act wouldn’t save her this time. Trouble by name and by nature all right.

  I can’t pretend, can’t act, can’t lie.

  She’d played him like a pro.

  Dragging in a deep breath he returned his attention to the reporter and dug deep for control while betrayal, anger, hurt seethed beneath his calm exterior.

  ‘Stuart. You’ve been misinformed about my intentions.’

  Jace swung the microphone under his chin. ‘What are your intentions for the building, Mr Mahoney?’

  ‘As I told Ms de Villiers and Ms Hamilton-Smythe, my intentions are to renovate, not demolish. I thought I’d made that perfectly clear at the outset.’

  The Lexie woman stepped up beside him. ‘He ordered us out of the building after giving us one day to pay so-called back rent.’

  ‘A legitimate demand, given you’ve been squatting in my building. Illegal possession and trying to claim the high moral ground don’t give you legal right, Ms Smythe.’

  The dumpster delivery truck engine roared to life. Oblivious to the tense interview being recorded, the driver began backing.

  ‘Jordan!’ The woman’s scream filled his ears as a pint-sized blur streaked down the steps toward the vehicle. Heart racing, Matt pushed past Lexie and the reporter and grabbed at the boy’s shirt. He lifted the boy out of the way just as Trouble reached them. White-faced, her hands reached for Jordan.

  Alarmed that the truck was still moving, he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her out of harm’s way. Chest heaving, he deposited both armfuls on the steps. ‘Why don’t you stop poking your nose into what doesn’t concern you and pay more attention to your son?’

  ‘Oh my God, Jordan, my baby.’ The woman who’d been at the door scooped up the child and cradled him in her arms. She pressed the child’s head into her shoulder and hugged him tightly, then turned to Matt. ‘Thank you, oh thank you, thank you.’

  ‘It’s okay, Sami. Jordan’s okay.’ Voice devoid of inflection, Trouble patted the boy’s back and Sami’s shoulder.

  Matt looked from the boy to the woman in whose arms he clung. Jordan wasn’t Trouble’s son?

  Another lie.

  But did it matter who the boy belonged to as long as he was safe?

  As for Trouble — he glared at her white upturned face, wishing for a moment of privacy to demand answers. Of all her lies and pretence, why had she felt the need for that one? Did she think it would soften him up, seeing her with a child?

  Eyes wide, she stared at him as though he had two heads.

  The damned camera man moved around into his line of vision. Of course this whole farce had been filmed. Just perfect.

  His head began to ache as the tension in his jaw spread. He needed to get out of here. But first, he had to deal with any fallout from the women’s lies.

  Straightening his shoulders, he turned back to the reporter and the camera. ‘Show’s over. Your story doesn’t exist, Jace, except in their imaginations.’

  Stuart presented the microphone again. ‘And just so your viewers know, I offered this group free use of another property. They declined. Our new agreement was I’d allow them to remain in the upper storey for a month while beginning renovation work on the ground floor. Given what’s just happened, we’ll need to reconsider the safety aspects of that offer.’

  Beside him, Trouble’s pallor increased. She touched his forearm. His skin burned under the gentle touch. ‘Please, Matt, don’t.’

  ‘Miss de Villiers. We’ll speak about this off camera.’ He shook off her hand and headed for Seb’s ute.

  ‘Mr Mahoney, is there anymore you’d like to say about this project?’

  He paused. The reporter was doing the decent thing by him, making a peace offering after following a misleading contact.

  He made a short, pointed comment about the importance of preserving heritage buildings, reiterated his offer of alternative accommodation for The Shelter, if they chose to accept this time, and then turned on his heel before marching off down the lane.

  By the time he reached his car two blocks away, the throbbing in his head had eased.

  But not the pain of betrayal. Or his disappointment over Trouble’s lies.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Jace will kill me.’ Miserable as Andie felt, Lexie looked worse. Andie stirred in an extra half teaspoon of sugar to Lexie’s mug. It was the best she could do when their budget didn’t run to chocolate.

  ‘Hey, Jace got footage of a hunky, philanthropic Melbourne developer doing something good, a dramatic rescue and an eyeful of you. It will be the lead story tonight. What is there to complain about?’

  ‘He sent a junior reporter to cover his story on the latest episode in the political saga unfolding today because I promised him heritage vandalism for his Australian heritage series.’

  ‘So he turns up to a different demolition derby next week. What matters is that we’re still here.’

  ‘For how long, Andie? Can you really see Mahoney letting us stay more than a day or two after that fiasco?’

  ‘I’ll go see him, Lexie. I — I just don’t understand how I got it so wrong.’ Andie picked up two mugs of tea and plonked one in front of Lexie.

  ‘We both thought the worst of him. It fit the picture we had of him and we stopped thinking.’ Lexie blew across her mug then sipped tentatively. ‘Just right.’

  ‘A cuppa’s about the only thing I have got right.’

  ‘Hey, no pity party allowed.’

  ‘Agreed. Just a lesson learned. Nothing good comes of pretending to be what you’re not. I should never have agreed to that insane proposal of his.’

  ‘Doomed from the start, I agree.’ Lexie sipped her tea, a meditative frown wrinkling her forehead. ‘And yet—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Just — nothing.’

  ‘You can’t say and yet and give me that look. Spill, woman. What’s going through that brain of yours?’

  ‘We-ell, as much as I was against Mahoney and his fake fiancée scheme, seeing you two together—’

  ‘Stop right there.’

  ‘— there was some hot chemistry happening.’

  ‘We were play-acting, Lexie.’

  Play-acting perhaps, but it had felt so real when he’d kissed her to the edge of reality and beyond. As though he didn’t want to let her go.

  Unwilling to meet Lexie’s perceptive scrutiny, she raised her mug of tea. ‘He’s a good performer. I’ll give him that.’

  ‘Hot, is he? Of course he is, but you haven’t told me one thing about his performance. I thought you and he—’

  ‘We didn’t. He’d make anyone look great.’

  ‘Girlfriend, you can’t act that well to save your life. And he isn’t exactly un-beautiful.’

  ‘Any red-blooded woman would want him, Lex. Including you, even if you’ve got the hots for Jace Stuart while poor old Dave pines away for you.’

  ‘Okay, pax. Sheesh, can we leave our miserable love lives out of this now? Do you want me to dr
op you over to Mahoney’s office?’

  ‘Good grief, no. No appointment, no see big boss. Besides, I want this to be all open and above board. There’s been enough pretence for a lifetime.’

  She wrapped both hands around her steaming mug and wandered over to the window. Clouds scudded in from the south and covered the sun and she shivered. There’d be rain before night fall. Even nature sympathised with her mood.

  ***

  Matt shoved his hands in his pockets and stared through the rain-spattered floor-to-ceiling windows at the dark clouds racing in from the bay. Usually, this view connected him with the outdoors when his work bound him to his desk. It inspired his creative side but now, it was dark as his mood. The morning’s hope had fled with the sun.

  It wasn’t just that Trouble had deceived him; coming from that family, he should have expected it. The apple never fell far from the tree.

  Blame lay on his shoulders too for blinding himself to her character. For allowing himself to dream of something he had no right to seek.

  Worse though, he’d really liked her, opened his personal life to her, and even allowed her a little way into his wary heart. Her and her ‘son’.

  And wasn’t that the only piece of luck he’d had? Not sharing that titbit with Ma? She’d have been down at The Shelter to see Jordan before he could whistle Tipperary.

  His phone buzzed. He crossed to his desk and leaned over to pick it up. ‘Yes, Narelle?’

  ‘You have a visitor, Mr Mahoney.’

  Sure he’d kept the day clear so he could oversee the beginning of the renovations, he frowned. Had he missed noting an appointment? And since when had Narelle become so formal?

  ‘Who is it?’

  There was a pause on the other end of the line then Narelle continued. ‘I’ll show Miss de Villiers in.’

  ‘I don’t want—’

  A soft click told him Narelle had replaced the handset. Of all days for her to stop guarding his time like a dragon, why today? He thrust fingers into his hair and tugged. The pressure was a welcome distraction as he pondered Trouble’s agenda.