by Nicola Marsh
Luca’s hand brushed her shoulder and she smiled, wishing she could apologise for her misconceptions.
‘You know, he’s not half bad.’
She grinned as Storm serenaded an older couple near the stage, the woman blushing from her wrinkly neck to the roots of her purple-rinse hair. ‘Yeah, he can be okay for a miva.’
Luca raised a brow. ‘Miva?’
‘Male diva.’
He laughed and she quickly averted her gaze before she was swallowed in his dimples whole.
When she studiously kept her gaze fixed on the band, he placed a fingertip under her chin and gently guided her back towards him.
‘You know who else isn’t half bad when they relax?’
She swallowed at the intent in his eyes, in the open admiration in all that deep blue.
‘I’m relaxed all the time,’ she said, her breath hitching when his thumb brushed her bottom lip.
‘I don’t think so.’
He leaned towards her, inching closer until there was nothing but a few millimetres of air between them.
‘You’re one of the most driven people I’ve ever seen. Work hours are irrelevant to you. You do what it takes to get the job done. Makes me wonder …’
‘What?’
His head edged closer and her heart stuttered.
‘Why a gorgeous, intelligent woman like you needs to bury herself in work when she should be relaxing more.’
Oh-oh, now it was her turn to squirm. He’d hit way too close to the mark with that perceptive comment.
Eager to deflect his probing, she tried to ease away from him and failed.
‘I relax plenty.’
‘Are you relaxed now?’
His lips touched hers in a soft, fleeting kiss that ended before it had begun and had her clamouring for more despite where they were and who could see.
‘Relaxation’s a state of mind.’
She said the first crazy thing that popped into her head and he laughed, slinging his arm around her shoulder.
‘You’re one intriguing woman.’
‘And you’re one irritating man.’
Her soft, breathy sigh at the end of her statement made a mockery of it and he smiled.
‘Looks like we have an audience.’
Luca pointed to the stage where Storm launched into a ballad, puckering up in their direction, and she winced. ‘So much for professionalism.’
‘You’re off duty. Don’t beat yourself up.’
‘Yeah, but I’m supposed to be setting a good example. I’m supposed to be in control …’
She trailed off, knowing exactly why she had to stay in control, increasingly rattled because Luca continued to undermine her protective barriers, getting closer and closer to why this job meant so much to her.
Some of her fear must’ve shown in her expression for his softened as he backed down, squeezing her shoulder and hugging her close.
‘It’s okay to lose control sometimes,’ he murmured, kissing the top of her head. ‘As long as I’m around when you really cut loose.’
Snuggling into his chest, she sighed. Cutting loose around him wasn’t the problem. It was regaining control afterwards that would be a killer.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE moment Charli stepped through the massive red doors leading into the Dragon Museum, peace descended. It had little to do with the soft Chinese music piped in the background or the faint waft of incense and everything to do with the fact Luca had made a detour via the gardens outside.
She needed time away from him.
Whenever she turned around he was there, crowding her space, and for a loner it was more than unsettling.
Yeah, like that was the real reason she needed to get away from him.
Another sell-out crowd last night when the concert had gone off without a hitch, a jam-packed CD signing at Bendigo’s largest music store this morning where fans had stretched two blocks to meet Storm, free music lessons with the band for street kids at a local juvenile centre she’d personally pushed for, plus a rock star on his best behaviour.
She should be ecstatic. Instead, ever since that nightcap with Luca during the band’s impromptu jam session she’d been on edge. He’d got too close that night, too close to what drove her every day and she couldn’t let him in, not when he’d be gone at the end of this tour.
She might be many things; a masochist wasn’t one of them. Luca could flirt and charm her all he liked; she could handle it. What she couldn’t handle was the perceptive, multifaceted man who saw a lot more than she gave him credit for.
Scowling, she stepped into the museum, grateful she’d given the entourage the afternoon off, and made straight for Sun Loong, the longest Imperial dragon in the world. His giant head, covered in scales and mirrors and beads, glittered beneath the muted lights, and she craned her head to see his one-hundred-metre body winding upstairs.
She’d always loved dragons as a child, had lost herself in fantasy tales of princes saving princesses from fire-breathing dragons, anything to escape her miserable life.
While Hector wasn’t quite the handsome prince she’d envisaged coming along to save her, he was a prince in her eyes, in every way that counted. He’d saved her. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him and with that sobering thought she started gathering information and writing notes.
‘Hard at it?’
She jumped and her pen clattered to the floor as she whirled on Luca. ‘You finished already?’
He folded his arms, a wicked grin quirking his lips, lips she remembered in exquisite detail.
‘That doesn’t sound like you’re glad to see me?’
Flustered, and more than a tad annoyed at her rudeness, she picked up her pen and tucked it behind her ear, choosing not to answer his question.
‘Are the gardens worth checking out?’
‘Yeah, it’s a kid’s paradise out there. You definitely need to see them before we go.’
‘Okay, guess I better get a move on in here, then.’
‘Need a hand?’
She needed him to leave her alone so she could concentrate on the task at hand and not be distracted by his crisp lime aftershave, his mesmerising blue eyes and his cheeky smile.
Instead, she found herself nodding. ‘That’d be great.’
He rubbed his hands together. ‘Good-o. Where do you want me to start?’
Her gaze drifted to his hands, the broad palms, the long, strong fingers, the neat square nails, and as her belly tumbled into a frightening free fall she bit back her first retort of exactly where he could start.
‘I’m making a list of the dragons and a few brief points to devise a kind of treasure hunt/quiz for Tiger. Storm and he will only have an hour to pop in here in the morning so I want to make it worthwhile. Maybe you could find the info while I jot it down?’
‘Sure.’
Sadly, what she’d thought was a safe pastime to keep him occupied yet far enough away to be comfortable turned into anything but. As they moved between exhibits he dogged her every step, standing way too close, his radiant heat making her fingers tremble as she took notes.
‘Wow, check this out,’ he said, way too close to her ear for comfort. ‘Sun Loong is covered in four-and-a-half thousand scales, ninety thousand mirrors, thirty thousand beads and his head weights twenty-nine kilos. And he was blessed and brought to life by some old dude, one hundred and one years old, dotting his eyes with chicken blood.’
‘Ew! Gross.’
His eyes crinkled in amusement at her squeamishness as he patted her arm. ‘You’re such a girl.’
‘Glad you noticed.’
Their gazes locked and she silently cursed for flirting at a time like this. She needed to concentrate and keep a distance, remember? Unfortunately, her memory short-circuited under all that intense blue as a thrill of longing shot through her.
What would it be like to surrender? To give in to the attraction simmering between them? To not second-guess every word, every smile,
to just live in the moment and go for it?
‘I noticed from the first moment we met.’
His fingertips grazed her hip and she inhaled sharply, overwhelmed and slightly dizzy by his nearness, his masculinity, his everything.
Thoroughly bamboozled, she clutched at her notebook and gripped her pen so hard it almost cracked.
‘What about the other dragons in here?’
She half expected him to push the flirting but to her immense relief he turned back to study the wall plaque.
‘Along with our friend Sun Loong here, we’ve got Yar Loong, the night dragon. Then there’s Gansu Loong, donated from the Gansu province of China.’
He jerked his thumb over their shoulders and they turned around.
‘And this pair are Ming and Ping.’
‘Cute,’ she said, her pen flying as she took notes. ‘What’s their story? ‘
‘Ming, with the yellow beard, is the male and means brightness. Ping has the green beard and means peace.’
Typical. Even in the dragon world the female got dazzled by the male’s brightness, leaving her to keep the peace.
He pointed to a small dragon. ‘This is Xiao Le Loong, the Little Happy Dragon. And our last is Choi Loong, the newest addition to Bendigo’s dragon family.’
She could’ve listened to his voice all day: smooth, mellifluous, modulated, it lulled her as she wrote and she didn’t know what was worse, the fact she could’ve listened to him all day and night or the fact she wondered what he’d sound like whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
‘Apparently he’s a competitive dragon, is prosperous, colourful and lucky.’
She was glad someone was getting lucky this trip.
‘Great, that’s it for this room. I just need to check out the other room where the original Loong is then we’re done here.’
He stared at her, an eyebrow raised. ‘You’re really into this stuff.’
‘It’s my job.’
‘It’s more than that and you know it.’ He caressed her cheek and she resisted the urge to lean into his hand. ‘You get the afternoon off and you choose to come here.’
‘I like dragons, always have.’
‘It’s more than that. You’re glowing.’
She shrugged, hating how he did that, saw through her so easily, as if he could peel away her outer layers and see the real her.
‘How many people get to do a job they really love? I’m so lucky it’s only fair I give it my all.’
He studied her for a long moment and she struggled not to squirm under his scrutiny.
‘Come on, let’s go check out the oldest Imperial dragon in the world.’
Grateful he bought her distraction, she headed for the room housing an amazing array of ancient artefacts.
‘What makes it Imperial?’
‘Only the Emporer’s dragon has five claws,’ she said, her interest sparking anew as they stepped into a huge room filled with engraved wooden screens, exquisite porcelain vases and wax-figure displays.
While the outer room housing the dragons had been impressive in a dazzling, sparkly way, this room had an understated elegance that took her breath away.
‘Do you want me to read out the information plaques?’
She shook her head, reluctant to talk and disturb the incredible tranquillity permeating this special place.
‘No, thanks. This isn’t really a place for kids.’
‘But you still want to check it out, huh?’
He touched her hand and that brief touch scared her as much as everything that had come before.
Luca got her. He understood how the ambiance of this place affected her and he respected her for it. How could a guy she’d known for less than a week do that? It defied logic. She’d never believed in romance, never believed in love at first sight or soul mates or any of that other crap. But connecting with Luca so quickly, on a deeper level than just physical attraction, scared her.
Living on the streets for a fortnight had been terrifying: avoiding the gangs, the drugs, the pimps, but realising Luca might understand her better than anyone she’d ever met petrified her.
‘Go ahead, take your time. I’ll wait for you in the gardens.’
He respected her wish to be alone and that raised him in her esteem even higher. Any higher and his wings would clip the clouds. Or maybe that should be his horns, for as she smiled her thanks he smiled right on back, the familiar, wicked smile that did strange things to her insides.
‘Don’t be too long though, I want to get you all alone beneath a pagoda.’
Just like that he reverted to his teasing best, reminding her why she could never be serious about a guy like him. A guy here for a fleeting time, a guy who went through life making light of everything, a guy who could never give her the stability she so desperately craved.
Glancing at her watch, she held up her other hand, fingers extended.
‘Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you outside.’
‘Deal.’
He saluted and as he headed back into the main area, faded denim clinging to his long legs like a second skin and accentuating a butt that turned women’s heads, she wondered if she could forget all the reasons they shouldn’t get together and go for it anyway.
Luca paced the classical Chinese gardens.
He’d already admired the ponds, the fish, the bridges. Now he needed new scenery; namely one stunning blonde who worked far too hard.
He planned to change all that.
Their date a few nights ago had ended badly and while he should be happy he’d succeeded in pushing her away from delving any deeper, for inveigling her way beneath his carefully erected barriers, he wanted to make amends. Wanted to tease the smile back to her face, wanted to make her laugh, wanted her to look at him as if she fancied him as much as he fancied her.
She’d been so serious in the museum and while he admired her dedication his fingers had itched to tug the clip from her hair and send her bun cascading into disarray around her shoulders, to snatch the pen from her fingers, to unbutton her jacket and take a good long hard look at the lacy camisole peeking out beneath.
She liked all that old stuff, he got it, but a part of him wondered if she was deliberately hiding behind her work today, deliberately maintaining her distance after their date.
He’d shut her out over dinner and he’d seen the resulting hurt, her wounded expression. He should be glad she cared about Pop so much she’d suspect his motives but all he could think about was how he’d been irrationally jealous she cared about Pop a hell of a lot more than she cared about him.
Crazy, because he didn’t want her to care too much, didn’t want her getting too attached or emotionally invested. But for the briefest moment during dinner, when she’d demanded to know why he was really here, he’d wished he had a woman like her to defend him.
His mum never had. She’d only had one primary goal: get Rad to love her back. That, and securing a piece of his fortune. Ironic, she’d never lived to see one of her dreams come true. The trust fund Pop had set up for him had given him a start in life, in the business world that funded his other activities, namely his charities, and he’d never forgotten it.
It was why he was here now; he owed Pop. Guilt was a powerful motivator, and lately, when he schmoozed another half a million out of European royalty or courted a Hollywood A-lister for the publicity it gave to his newest charity, he couldn’t ignore the fact he wouldn’t be moving in these circles if it weren’t for Pop and the start he’d given him.
Pop had done his best over the years to stay in touch, but he’d been obstinate. Not that their occasional catch ups had been anything other than terse and uncomfortable. They had nothing in common, bar Rad—a fact he’d rather forget.
Besides, his gratitude only extended so far and he didn’t want Pop getting any ideas: such as he was a replacement for the son he’d lost years ago. Though that wasn’t entirely fair. Even when Rad was around Pop had made overtures. Hell, the first ti
me they’d met Pop had been all class. His mum had crashed a Landry family function and when Rad tried to evict them Pop intervened.
He hadn’t known about his grandson until that moment, and while Luca had initially been wary of the old man wanting to acknowledge him when his own father didn’t, he’d soon realised Hector wasn’t Rad and deserved a chance.
As long as Pop didn’t make assumptions about why he’d come back now: he was here for the requisite fortnight to repay his debt, that was it. He didn’t want to play happy families, didn’t want to broach the yawning distance between them. He hadn’t gone out of his way over the past decade to initiate contact, tolerating Hector’s London stopovers, catching up over snatched lunches, occasionally on the phone.
They had a wary relationship, were acquaintances more than friends. As for family, he didn’t know the meaning of the word and that was what scared him, the fact Pop might want to breach the wall of calculated indifference he’d worked so hard on establishing.
‘I didn’t pick you for the gardening type.’
He turned at Charli’s soft voice, something indefinable niggling in his chest. Dismissing it as indigestion after the massive cooked English breakfast he’d consumed, he reached out a hand and snagged hers.
‘Put the pen and paper away?’
‘I’ll store the garden facts up here.’ She smiled and tapped her temple. ‘Besides, I need some fresh air.’
She glanced around the garden, her eyes widening in appreciation. ‘It’s beautiful out here.’
‘And private.’
She laughed at his exaggerated wink as intended and he tugged on her hand.
‘Come on, there’s a nice cosy spot beneath that distant pagoda with our name on it …’
Rolling her eyes, she fell into step beside him as they strolled around the small gardens, the rain tumbling in a light sheet. The paved walkways were mostly covered so the drizzle didn’t bother them. Though he wouldn’t mind slipping off her jacket and seeing what that camisole looked like wet …
Charli liked the rain, liked the freshness of it, liked its symbolism of washing everything clean.
