by Nancy Warren
She punched in the number and after a few rings, Fiona answered. “This better be life or death.”
“Did you go home with your surfie?”
A great groan met her ears. “What the bloody hell are you doing ringing me at this hour?”
“Well, did you?”
A few passengers began drifting out from the California flight. Idly she watched them blinking with tiredness, or stretching after more hours than she cared to contemplate stuffed in a tin can thirty thousand feet above earth. Bron shook her head; she firmly believed that if God had meant man to fly, he’d have given surfboards wings.
She glanced down at the black-haired, serious and controlled-looking man in the photo and kept her eyes open while Fiona yawned and groaned.
“No,” her friend said, finally. “I didn’t go home with him. Now would you piss off.”
A man came through the glass doors alone. Right general age and he had black hair, but he was nothing like the photograph. His hair was a mess. He must have fallen asleep against something that had pushed his hair up one side. His face was shadowy with stubble, giving him a disreputable look. He wore a navy short-sleeved shirt that had wrinkled badly and tan chinos. He moved slowly, but she liked the way he walked, with a kind of rolling gait, as though he were getting off a boat rather than a plane. He stood as though he were about to fall asleep on his feet, his gaze searching out someone. Then their gazes connected and she felt her heart flop over.
No photograph could have captured the blue of his eyes. They were the dark, smoky blue of a wailing sax at some bar at three in the morning, with a half-drunk whiskey and a smoldering cigarette. They were so tired, and so lonely in a cynical way that she wanted to fix everything for him and kiss his hurts better. It was an odd reaction for her to have for a stranger, but he didn’t even look like a stranger she thought with a spurt of recognition.
He held a briefcase in one hand and a black suitcase in the other. She glanced at the photo and back at him, every hormone in her body doing a victory dance.
“Oh, my God,” she said into the phone. “He’s gorgeous.”
“I dunno,” her friend said in her ear. “He was all right looking, I suppose, but that shirt! I thought he’d—”
“What are you going on about? You can’t see him.” She’d have to remember never to wake Fi early on a Saturday again. “I’ve got to go.” And she ended the call, while Fiona was in the middle of saying something.
Mark Forsythe’s gaze had paused only briefly on hers and kept going, but whew, what could happen to a person’s pulse in a few seconds.
Slowly she rose and approached. Could she really be this lucky and find that she was being asked to look after just about the sweetest sexpot she’d ever seen? Taking a deep breath, she said, “Mark Forsythe?”
He looked at her for a moment, and a crease formed between his brows as though he weren’t quite sure what his name was. She wanted to kiss the frown away.
“Yes, I’m Mark Forsythe. You must be Bronwyn . . . I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your last name.” His voice was nice. Soft but commanding, somehow, and the American accent of course, that she usually only heard on telly or at the pictures.
She smiled. “That’s all right. It’s Spencer. I work at Crane Enterprises. I was sent to fetch you.”
“I was expecting someone older.”
“You’ll have to wait a while then,” she said briskly, and he blinked before smiling weakly at her bit of humor.
“You look tired,” she said, longing to smooth down the hair that stood straight up.
“I’ve never been so tired in my whole life,” he admitted.
“Did you sleep at all on the plane?”
“I never sleep on planes.”
“Oh, dear,” she said, barely resisting the urge to pat his cheek. “Come on. My car’s this way.”
He seemed almost shell-shocked. He walked stiffly, which she assumed was from having his long frame cramped for all those hours. He was so unkempt, in comparison to the perfectly clothed and groomed man in the photo, that she felt an unwanted intimacy, like accidentally seeing a stranger naked.
They walked out of the airport into blinding sun, and the man beside her recoiled. “Welcome to Sydney,” she said cheerfully, giving him a moment to find and slip on a pair of sunglasses.
“Thanks.”
They didn’t speak again until they’d reached her Ford hatchback. She opened the boot, shoving a chartreuse knee board and her black and red wet suit to one side so he could stow his gear.
“Sorry, it’s a bit daggy in there.”
He looked horrified at the idea of putting his pristine cases into a mess of sand, but finally shrugged and placed the black suitcase gingerly inside, and hung onto his briefcase as though it contained state secrets.
There could only be boring tax things in there; the poor man needed to loosen up. And, she thought, he couldn’t have picked a better country in which to do it. Or a better woman to help him.
She unlocked the driver’s side door and as she opened it she collided with Mark. He was more solid than he looked, and the current as their bodies jolted sent a thrill to her toes. She thought he felt it, too, before he stepped back quickly. “Planning to drive?” she said with a grin.
“I forgot. You drive on the left. Sorry,” he said, and he went around to the other door.
“Is this your first time in Australia?” she asked him as they sped through the relative quiet of a Saturday morning.
“Yes.” He stared out of the window, but didn’t talk much. She described a little of the areas they passed, but she didn’t think he was taking in a lot of what she said.
“It’s not too far,” she said. “Have a nap if you like.”
“No. The only way to prevent jet lag is to stay awake until it’s nighttime in the new location.”
“Suit yourself.” It sounded like a crazy idea to Bron. If you were hungry, you ate. If you were tired, you slept. If you were drawn to a man—as strongly as she was to this one—you let nature take its course.
From cursing Cam for foisting the Yank onto her, she now silently thanked him.
Since her passenger didn’t seem up for talking, she slipped a Kylie Minogue CD into her player and drove, entertaining herself by wondering what the man beside her would be like in bed.
Her fantasies were rich enough that she was well-primed when she pulled up in front of the Crane corporate guest house right across the road from Bronté Beach. “Here we are,” she said brightly.
He blinked owlishly. “This isn’t a hotel.”
“No. It’s a corporate guest house. Cameron hates hotels and owns more houses than he knows what to do with, so he likes to offer a proper home to our out-of-country guests,” she parroted what she’d been told. “It’s fully stocked and comes with a maid who does daily. There’s a cook on call.”
“Then it’s got more comforts than my home,” Mark said, glancing up at the pale cream stucco house as though he mistrusted it. She bit her lip, thinking his instincts were bang-on.
For all of Cam’s big love of buying homes, he’d never bought his own sister one. He wanted her to be self-sufficient, he’d told her. He’d given her a job, she conceded, but she was damn good at it. And sure, he paid her a good wage, but her lifestyle was expensive, and somehow she always slipped into financial messes. Cam didn’t seem to have much sympathy for that. He told her she was spoiled, but it wasn’t only clothes and shoes that did her in. There were her friends. How could you not help a friend out from time to time?
Honestly. If she didn’t keep getting lovely offers for new credit cards, she’d really be in the basket. Although, come to think of it, it had been a while since she’d been offered a new one.
Oh, well, Cameron was out of the country and therefore out of her mind, and in his absence, he was being more than usually generous.
She grabbed Mark Forsythe’s case before he could get to it, and walked on ahead of him. “Come on. I’ll show
you around.”
She led him up the path to the two-story modern house with big windows and a balcony overlooking the beach. It was a bit sterile for her taste, and not as close to the heart of the action as she liked but beggars, and in particular squatters, couldn’t afford to be choosers.
“That’s great. Thanks,” he said, when she’d finished the tour. He reached into his pocket and then stopped. She was pretty sure he’d been about to hand her a tip as though she were a bellhop.
Because he looked so adorably confused, she grinned at him. “We’re not big on tipping in Australia. Anyway, I work for Crane. I have to help out for nothing.”
“Well, I appreciate the ride and the house tour,” he said, and stood staring at her, obviously waiting for her to leave.
“So, what do you want to do on your first day?” she asked brightly.
“Unpack, shower, and set up my computer.”
“Well, I’ll make some coffee,” she said, heading for the kitchen.
“I really don’t want coffee,” he said with a slight edge.
“It’s for me,” she said. “It’s the only thing that gets me through an early morning.”
“It’s ten-fifteen, local time,” he said glancing at his watch.
“Exactly.” So he was one of those organized sorts who set his watch to local time when he traveled. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.
He disappeared into the bathroom and she got the feeling he’d have been able to get rid of her a lot easier if he wasn’t tired and jet-lagged. The trouble was, she couldn’t leave quite yet. There was something she was going to have to explain.
She’d lead up to her news over coffee.
When Mark emerged from the bathroom, his eyes were a sharper blue and a shade of annoyance crept into his tone. “There are cosmetics in the bathroom.”
Damn. This wasn’t how she’d planned to ease into her news. “Like I said, all the comforts of home.”
“Used cosmetics. And a drawer of underwear.” He held up a glittery thong that she wore on special occasions.
“Right. I was going to tell you about that. Over coffee.”
She turned away and he stepped forward, grasping her forearm with surprising strength. “Why don’t you tell me now?” he said pleasantly, but with no loosening of his grip.
“Well, we’re sort of sharing the premises.”
“Are you the cook or the cleaner?”
“Neither. We’re sharing.”
“Sharing?” He blinked in stunned disbelief. “As in room-mates?”
“I suppose,” she said, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “Yeah.”
He started shaking his head before she’d finished speaking. “No. We’re not. Drop me downtown and I’ll check into a hotel.”
“No! You can’t do that. Cameron . . .” Cam would chuck a wobbly if he heard of her latest stunt. “Cam specially asked me to show you around and look after you. I can’t fail on the first day.” She tried to look appealing, and earnest and hopefully a little scared of her big brother and boss.
She couldn’t tell if Mark was buying it. His face remained impassive—and implacable—and his eyes gave away none of his thoughts.
“There’s plenty of room,” she continued. “Two bedrooms, three bathrooms, and your own in-house driver and sightseeing guide. Can’t we give it a bash?”
“Tell Crane thanks, but no thanks,” he said shortly and reached for his bags, hefted them, and started for the door.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“I’ll get a cab.”
“No. Don’t do that. I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.” She felt awful now. The poor man was wobbling with tiredness and trying to escape. “Just have your coffee. Please.”
He turned and gave her a wary look, then nodded.
“Sit in the lounge and enjoy the view. I won’t be a tick.”
She brewed coffee, poured it into the white china cups, used the matching milk and sugar, arranged a few biscuits on a plate, even remembered blue linen napkins. How could the man not want her around?
He didn’t fall all over himself being impressed when she put the tray down in front of him, merely added a dash of milk and stirred the coffee.
When she’d picked up hers and sipped, he said, “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
She bit her lip and glanced up at him, wondering why she’d ever thought this would work. “You have to promise not to tell Cam.”
“The man stole my fiancée. Believe me, I’m not inclined to tell him much of anything.” He spoke in a cool, clipped way, but still she heard a hint of bitterness. Everybody at Crane knew the story, of course. Jen had ended her engagement to Mark Forsythe in order to shack up with Cam, and they’d all been a bit surprised when they found out her ex was coming over to do a job for the company.
Bron had assumed, since he was coming here to help Crane Surf and Boogie Boards, that he harbored no ill feelings about the man who was now with his former fiancée. Maybe that’s what he wanted everyone to assume. It seemed they’d been wrong. Still, a man who held a grudge against Cam could be trusted to keep her secret. He had problems of his own; maybe he’d even have a little sympathy.
“I got chucked out of my flat.”
Blue. His eyes were so blue. In that calm, serious face, they were intensely sexy, even when he was staring at her with that expressionless gaze. “Care to tell me why?”
“I had a few people over. It got a bit noisy and the neighbors complained so the landlord chucked me out.”
“Seems a little harsh. I would have thought a warning was deserved.”
“Well, I think he was glad of the excuse. I got behind in my rent.”
“Ah.” He said Ah with the calm confidence of a man who’s never been chucked out of anything in his life.
He drank coffee. She felt him deliberating over her words. He’d seemed older in the picture, but in the flesh, even with the lines of tiredness, she didn’t think he could be much more than thirty. So why did he, at only four years older than herself, seem unimaginably more mature?
She stared out the window for a minute, barely taking in the sparkling waves and a couple of sailboats bobbing.
“I promise you’ll barely notice I’m here, except in good ways, like having fresh coffee in the morning,” which she was going to have to get up extra early to brew, “and breakfast and I’ll do dinners.”
He seemed less impressed by the second, so she threw everything she had at him. “I’ll even clean the place myself.”
“No offense, Bronwyn, but the answer’s still no.”
“But I—”
“Listen, since you’ve been good enough to share your personal agenda with me, I’ll be up-front with you about mine. I’m newly single ever since my fiancée dumped me for Cameron Crane. Now, I wanted this trip for two reasons. One,” he leaned forward slightly and tapped one forefinger with the other. With his hair all stuck up one side like a toddler after naptime, he was adorable. “I’m a professional and no one can do the job better. Two, I’m going to sow some wild oats. I’ve heard about Australian women, about their free and easy ways and partying mentality, and I decided it was the quickest and simplest way to get over my former girlfriend.”
Wow. He couldn’t even mention Jennifer Talbot by name. He was really bruised. “You came to Australia to get over her?” Seemed an odd plan, since he must know that Jen and Cam would be back in the country in a couple of weeks. They’d be bound to run into each other at work.
“That’s right. I’ll be sleeping with a different woman every night I’m here. I hope you can understand that having you in this house would be awkward, to say the least.”
The quick stab of disappointment surprised her. He’d looked like a man who was fastidious in all things. Like the last of the good guys, but he was as much a hound on the prowl as most men.
Since she prided herself on her practicality, she stifled her disappointment. She wasn’t particularly a
verse to prowling, as it happened. And if he was so anxious to bed an Aussie babe, what was wrong with her? If he wanted to experience an Aussie party girl, he couldn’t do better. “Well, I—”
But she stopped herself. Somehow, she was certain he’d turn her down flat if she suggested her own sweet self as his first taste of Australia. He’d probably have some rule against fraternizing with people he worked with or something.
She was bound by no rules. But warning him ahead of time of her intentions was seeming like a bad idea right now when he was half a cup of coffee away from showing her the door.
She thought quickly. “Well, if you want to check out the party scene, I’m your girl. I know all the hot places and can introduce you to a lot of really fun people. I can show you around. Just one more service I’ll provide as your housemate.”
He crossed his arms and regarded her. “And what, the three of us return here? I don’t think so.”
The only time she ever came home alone was if she wanted to. However, her amazing instinct about this man kicked in yet again before she said any such thing.
A plan was forming in her mind, even as she tried to look crestfallen, but understanding. “All right. I understand. But would you do me a big favor and let me stay tonight? In exchange, I’ll cook you dinner and we’ll plan a strategy for you.”
“Strategy?”
“Ye-eah. You’re here what, two weeks? We’ll plan all the places you need to go.” She deliberately looked him up and down. “What to wear, what to order, what . . . what Australian women like in bed.”
Swift humor lit his eyes, and she thought a man who looked so gorgeous when he smiled ought to do it more often. “How about I work out that last one by trial and error.”
Her own quick smile flashed back at him. “All right. So, is it a deal?”
“One night.”
She nodded. A lot could happen in one night.
Chapter Two
