by Nicola Marsh
‘It’s a surprise,’ he said, placing a hand in the small of her back and guiding her down the path towards his car. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin material. It didn’t help his rampant libido straining to let loose.
‘I’m not usually one for surprises but in your case I’ll make an exception.’ She cast him a flirtatious glance from beneath mascaraed lashes and damned if he didn’t want to drag her into the back seat again.
‘Are you flirting with me, Miss Baxter?’
‘I may be, Mr Bronson.’
He opened the passenger door and waited for her to slide in before leaning down. ‘You’re something else. You know that, right?’
An odd melancholy clouded her eyes, as if she sensed this would be their last hurrah. ‘I’m hoping you mean that in the nicest way possible.’
‘I do,’ he said, startled to inadvertently recite those two little words that personally terrified him.
He slammed the door and stalked around the car, determined to keep this evening light-hearted. It was the least he could do before letting down the first woman he’d actually cared about in a long time, if ever.
They made desultory small talk on the short drive to the exclusive harbourside restaurant where he’d made reservations. When they pulled up out front and he handed over his keys to have his car valet parked, her eyebrows rose.
‘I heard it takes a year to get into this place. How did you manage it?’
He tapped the side of his nose and winked. ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.’
When she continued to eye him with suspicion, he said, ‘I called in a favour from an old buddy.’ He quickly added, ‘And before you think I bring all my dates here, you’re the first.’
‘I’m flattered,’ she said, but didn’t sound like it. In fact, ever since they’d arrived here, she’d seemed uneasy.
He waited until she’d stepped from the car before asking, ‘What’s wrong?’
She hesitated, as if unsure how to answer. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s fantastic you brought me here, but I guess it just reinforces that once I buy the house I’ll never have a chance to do fancy stuff like this.’
Of all the things she could have said, he hadn’t expected that. He didn’t want to have any deep and meaningful conversations tonight. He wanted her to have fun so she’d remember him fondly and not as the asshole who dumped her.
Her response virtually echoed the concerns he’d expressed when she’d shown him her future home.
Had she actually heard what he’d said and was reconsidering making such a huge commitment before she’d experienced all that life had to offer?
A flare of hope had him wondering what it would be like to be around for her awakening, before he mentally kicked himself in the ass for going there.
Even if Charlotte had reconsidered taking on a huge mortgage, that didn’t mean he’d be up for anything beyond short-term. Whatever the time limit on their relationship, he’d eventually end up leaving; and eventually breaking her heart. No way in hell would he be responsible for that.
Determined to make tonight special for her, he smiled. ‘You’ll be whipping up fancy meals in your very own kitchen. How cool will that be?’
She managed a wobbly smile. ‘You’re right. Maybe I’m being a chicken because I’m going to put down a deposit next week.’
‘That soon?’
Why did the thought leave him so hollow?
She nodded. ‘It’s exciting yet terrifying at the same time.’
Her bottom lip wobbled a tad and he captured her chin in his hand, tilting it up slightly. ‘Hey. This is your dream. Don’t ever doubt yourself, because you’re incredible and you can do anything you damn well set your mind to.’
A fact he was all too aware of as she stared at him in open adoration.
Fuck. He’d been so intent on not breaking her heart some time down the track, what if it was too late?
‘Let’s eat,’ he said, sounding gruff as he released her, but as they entered the restaurant he couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how special he tried to make tonight, it wouldn’t make an ounce of difference.
She’d end up hating him by the end of it regardless.
They reverted to small talk after they ordered: the rosemary-skewered Tasmanian salmon with a cauliflower cumin salad for him, the oven-roasted pork belly with a semi-dried tomato mousse for her. The meals arrived surprisingly fast and he watched Charlotte devour hers. He loved her healthy appetite: in all areas of her life.
Sadly, he couldn’t taste a thing. Because the longer he sat across from her pretending this was just a regular date between two people who were crazy about each other, the harder it was to fathom that they wouldn’t be indulging in this banter any longer. That he wouldn’t be able to kiss her, to touch her, to bury himself deep inside her.
This was bullshit.
Of his own making.
‘What’s wrong?’ She placed her fork and knife neatly together in the centre of her empty plate and nudged it away. ‘You’re distracted.’
‘Sorry.’ He grimaced, not wanting to tell her the truth now, like this, but finding it increasingly difficult to hold back.
‘Is it work? Is there a problem?’ She gestured around the restaurant, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows with stunning views of Sydney by night, the glow from nearby buildings reflecting off the water like glittering fairy lights. ‘Is that why you brought me here, to soften me up before you deliver bad news?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘Then what?’
She searched his face for answers he was reluctant to give. Hell, they hadn’t even made it to dessert yet.
‘I wanted tonight to be special.’ And that was all she’d be getting out of him until he took her home. This wasn’t the place to break unpleasant news.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘There’s more.’
He should have known she’d be intuitive, picking up on his mood no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
Thankfully, her cell rang at that moment, a momentary reprieve as he gathered his thoughts.
She quickly glanced at it, one eyebrow rising. ‘Sorry, I have to take this, it’s my aunt.’
‘Go ahead,’ he said, pushing away his half-eaten meal.
He watched her expression change from happiness at hearing from her aunt to concern, though he couldn’t hear much of her murmured conversation as a pianist started up.
When she hung up, her cute nose crinkled. ‘I’m sorry to do this after you went to all the trouble of getting us a booking here, but I have to go home.’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘My aunt’s biggest client, a regular who keeps her in business, has an urgent order to be filled and I have to do it tonight to ship first thing in the morning.’
He tried not to laugh.
Her aunt’s kinky sex-toy business had saved him from blurting the truth here. But his relief was short-lived, that phone call only delaying the inevitable.
‘Do you mind if we leave now? As it is it’s going to take me all night to sort everything.’
‘Sure,’ he said, gesturing at a waiter for the bill. He wanted to offer to help but he knew that spending the next few hours beside her as she sorted through that quirky lingerie and more wouldn’t be conducive to ending things. ‘Let’s go.’
She worked on her cell for the entire drive back to her flat, doing an online search for the courier companies her aunt usually used, making bookings.
It gave him a chance to mentally rehearse what he’d say when they arrived at her flat but he never got the chance because her cell rang again when they reached her doorstep, her aunt issuing more orders.
When she hung up, she pecked him on the lips. ‘Sorry, I really have to get started. I’ll see you tomo
rrow.’
With that, she left him staring at a closed door.
So much for manning up and ending it tonight. He’d have to psych himself up another time.
Sooner rather than later.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AS IF CHARLOTTE needed a reminder of how thoughtful Alex was, he sent her a text the next morning saying she could take the day off if she needed it after her all-nighter.
Considering she’d got a grand total of two hours’ sleep once she’d filled the massive order for her aunt’s business, she took it. She fired back a quick Thx, am exhausted, will c u soon. Meaning tomorrow. Or tonight, if she plucked up the courage to text him later this afternoon and ask him to come over.
She didn’t like how they’d ended things last night.
He’d obviously gone to a lot of trouble to organise a special dinner date for her but she’d sensed his reticence at the restaurant, as if something was bothering him.
She’d caught him staring at her a few times when he’d thought she wasn’t looking and she hadn’t been able to fathom the odd look in his eyes.
He’d been about to open up to her, she just knew it, when her aunt had called, and while she loved Dee she could have strangled her at that moment. He hadn’t offered to help her either, which was another red flag.
What was going on inside that handsome head of his?
Increasingly sleepy, Charlotte curled up in bed, read three-quarters of the latest bonkbuster that had her riveted and dozed for an hour or so. When she woke, morning had given way to afternoon and she felt as lacklustre as she had before sleep.
Something kept niggling at her, something about last night, a feeling she hadn’t been able to shake since she entered that fancy restaurant.
It bordered on...disappointment. That she’d never be able to do anything like that again. That she was giving up a lot for her dream house—like expensive dinners and spa days and vacations—and ultimately, she wondered whether the sacrifices would be worth it.
She wanted that house. Craved it. Damn Alex for planting those thoughts in her head, that she’d be missing out on something if a house financially tethered her for life.
Only one way to shake off her funk.
Visit her baby.
So for the umpteenth time over the last few weeks she found herself parked opposite the Californian bungalow that had captivated her from the first moment she saw it online.
She could see her life behind that picket fence so clearly.
Coming home at the end of a long day, letting herself in the front door, toeing off her shoes and padding barefoot along the polished, honey-coloured boards to the cosy kitchen where she’d pour a glass of wine before sinking into her sofa in the lounge room.
The lounge had an open fireplace and, while Sydney winters weren’t terribly cold, she couldn’t wait to curl up with a book in front of it.
Throw in the stand-alone clawfoot bath that was big enough for two people and a modern double shower, a small sunroom that backed onto a tiny cottage garden and a reading nook on the veranda she’d immediately coveted, and she could hardly wait.
As she continued to stare at her dream house, she waited for the inevitable buzz of excitement, that slightly breathless feeling that made her tingle every time she visited.
Today, it didn’t come.
Probably overtired, she knuckled her eyes, yawned, took a deep breath and stretched.
It didn’t help.
Odd. Her house—she’d come to think of it as hers the last few days as she finalised her mortgage at the bank—appeared as charming as ever. She loved the ecru-trimmed windows, the fresh painted exterior, the duck-egg-blue fence. It looked like a home, not just a house, the kind of home she’d craved since she was a child, her nose buried in a book while Dee chattered incessantly, choosing to live in fictional worlds rather than her own where her parents didn’t give a damn about her and preferred living in a tent than in a proper house with their own daughter.
But as she stared at her house, the doubts crept in.
Was she doing the right thing? Tying herself to a life of debt with no money left over for travel or indulgences? Ensuring that bricks and mortar consumed her life? Making sure she did it tough until she found the dream man to fulfil the rest of her fantasy and help shoulder the load?
What if that didn’t happen? Or what if the guy she met didn’t want to live in this house? What if he didn’t want to take on the responsibility of a big mortgage alongside her? What if he preferred going out to frugal dinners at home?
A wave of nausea swept over her and she swallowed.
She’d had it clearly planned out. Get the house first; the rest would follow. A carefully calculated decision she’d been more than happy about.
Until Alex.
He’d done this to her. He had her wishing for things she’d never wanted before. Fun. Frivolity. Fantasies...
‘Damn you,’ she muttered under her breath, thumping the steering wheel for good measure.
It didn’t help. Sadly, she had a feeling nothing would because, no matter how many times she envisaged her life in this house, she couldn’t help but see Alex, in the garden, in the kitchen, in the bedroom, front and centre in her happily-ever-after scenario.
And he’d made it more than clear that would never, ever happen.
Which left her totally screwed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ALEX KNEW HE was in big trouble when he mooned around the office for the entire day, unable to concentrate on work because Charlotte wasn’t around.
Pathetic.
Since when had he turned into some lovesick schmuck who couldn’t think about anything but a woman?
Lovesick?
Fuck. The moment the word popped into his head, he knew he had to get out of here. Had to do something drastic to shake himself up.
He didn’t love Charlotte.
He didn’t have it in him to love anyone.
Not any more.
So he did the one thing guaranteed to give him the wake-up call he needed.
Booked a trip home.
It would take too long to drive to the tiny outback town not far from Broken Hill, the isolated mining town over seven hundred miles west of Sydney, so he booked a flight leaving that night and made arrangements to be away from work for two days.
It was a crazy, impulsive thing to do, considering he hadn’t been back to Rocky Plains since his father’s funeral many years ago and had vowed then never to return.
But he needed to do this. Needed a reminder of why he could never have what Charlie wanted.
Charlie... He should tell her he was leaving. Then again, they had a casual thing. He didn’t owe her any explanations and it sure as hell wouldn’t make their imminent break-up any easier if he started treating her like a girlfriend he had to check in with.
Scowling, he gathered his things, gave curt instructions to the receptionist regarding the work to be delegated, and headed for the airport. He didn’t even stop at his hotel to pack. He wouldn’t be staying in Rocky Plains long enough to warrant a bag.
At the airport he flipped his cell over and over in his hand, wondering if he should give his mum a heads-up of his impending arrival, before ultimately deciding against it.
She wouldn’t care one way or the other if he showed up. She never had, not since he’d left home for university without looking back.
They had a polite relationship. One maintained out of obligation rather than any real emotion. He knew why.
He couldn’t help but blame himself for his father’s death and couldn’t bear to see the judgement in his mother’s all-knowing stare, like she blamed him too.
Even if the coroner and local police force had been unable to establish whether his father had drowned in the family dam by accident or had committed suicide, Alex knew
the truth.
His dad had lost the will to live a long time ago.
He’d seen evidence of it every single miserable day, growing up in a household where his dad couldn’t give a flying fuck about him no matter how hard he tried and his parents hated each other yet did their utmost to hide it.
The flight took two and a half hours and landed in Broken Hill around eight p.m. As he stepped off the small plane, the heat hit him first. Descending like a heavy, oppressive cloak, stifling every living thing beneath it.
He’d travelled the world and had welcomed the warmth of the tropics. But the outback heat was something else entirely and it made him want to claw off his tie and guzzle a litre of water.
He hired a car, made the thirty-minute drive to Rocky Plains and checked in to the first motel he could find, then spent an hour lying on the rickety bed, staring at a ceiling mottled by water stains. Rain in these parts was rare but when it came it bucketed down in a relentless torrent.
He hadn’t thought this through.
Back in Sydney, he’d been so desperate for a reality check that he’d bolted. Now that he was here, listening to the raucous laughter of beer drinkers from the bar next door and the occasional hoon doing burnouts up the main street, he wished he’d never come.
He must have fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion and over-thinking at some point, because when he woke sunlight streamed through the dirty window set high in the wall.
Time to head home and face his mother.
After grabbing an OJ from the motel’s vending machine, he drove the ten minutes to his family’s farm. Not a working farm, per se, just a small homestead, a barn and a dam on a few acres of land stuck in the middle of nowhere.
He hated it.
The isolation had always got to him and being an only child hadn’t helped. When he wasn’t being forced to endure his parents’ less than scintillating company he’d been left to wander alone. Riding his dirt bike along tracks. Taking pot-shots at cans with an air rifle. Swimming in the dam.
His heart sank as he turned into the pocked drive. He’d never understand why his mother had chosen to stay here after his dad’s death, stuck in the middle of nowhere, left to wallow in bad memories.
