Man About the House

by Alison Kelly

  He strode the short distance to her room, grateful that within a few minutes he’d be out of the house and taking the first step in a plan that would exorcise her from his brain.

  ‘Yeah, wha—?’

  Whatever he’d been intending to say wedged in his throat when he all but cannoned into the back of her in her doorway.

  The predominantly exposed back of her.

  Swallowing hard, twice, he shot out an arm to brace himself on the doorjamb as a defence against the erratic bouncing of a pulse which threatened to overpower what little balance was still keeping him upright.

  The dress was black velvet, which, he decided, fighting to remain rational, was the only reason her skin looked so milky white. No human being could possibly have skin—so much skin—as white and soft-looking as hers appeared. And, dear Lord, he’d never known a woman could have a neck as beautiful as hers; his mouth was watering with the desire to taste it.

  ‘Brett?’ She frowned at him over her shoulder. ‘Please...I need you to do me up. It’s hard to reach and my nails are still wet.’

  He swallowed again. ‘Do what?’

  ‘My buttons. Do up my buttons...’

  She had to be kidding.

  Do up her buttons! There were...fourteen of the damn things! Fourteen buttons running from the top of the high-collared creation along her spine to the deliciously tempting curve of her butt. Fourteen incy-wincy pearl buttons that needed to be pushed through a presumably corresponding number of loops. By him. He whose fingers, if they malfunctioned the way the rest of his body did when he got close enough for her perfume to corrupt his nervous system, would either become paralysed or start trembling...

  There was no way he could do it without touching her. Uh-uhl No way!

  ‘I can’t do this.’ Realising he’d spoken aloud, he added, ‘Er, that is...can’t you wait till your nails dry?’

  Glancing over her shoulder, she studied him with a concerned frown. ‘Brett...’ Her tone was hesitant. ‘Is something wrong? Have I... said or done something to upset you?’

  ‘That’d depend on how you define the word “upset”.’ The sneered response caught them both unawares.

  ‘Hang on!’ he said quickly. ‘That didn’t come out the way it was supposed to. I didn’t mean to snap.’

  She stilled, but remained with her back to him. ‘But I have done something to make you angry?’

  Maybe if she hadn’t sounded so confused, or if she’d substituted ‘horny’ for ‘angry’ he could have said yes. Instead, he exhaled every skerrick of breath in his lungs in the hope some of his tension would be expelled with it.

  ‘No,’ he said, forcing his fingers to the delicate pearl button and loop at the top of the high-necked dress, despite their wanton desire to start with the one at the base of her spine. ‘I’m not angry at you. It’s just that—’

  He broke off when the first button slipped though the loop and his right thumb and index finger skimmed her skin. Gritting his teeth, he tried to imagine himself doing something totally gross. Nothing came to mind. It wasn’t easy to conjure ugly thoughts when you where touching a living dream.

  ‘Just that what?’ she prodded.

  ‘Huh? Oh, just that I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment.’ Ain’t that the truth!

  ‘Because of Meaghan and her wanting to set up in London?’ she enquired.

  ‘Partly,’ he said, deciding that since his sister had been responsible for putting him under the same roof as Jo she was more than entitled to wear some of the blame for his problems.

  ‘Are you cold?’ she asked.

  Now there was something to wish for. ‘No, that’s one problem I don’t have,’ he said dryly, then drew a deep, steady breath. Five down and nine to go.

  ‘It feels like your hands are shaking.’

  Eight to go... ‘They’re not.’ Only a little white one.

  ‘Um...how long have you known Jason?’

  ‘Since we were kids. His grandmother lived across the road and he moved in with her when his folks died.’

  ‘How did it happen? How old was...?’

  It was as if a fog settled around his senses about then, and when it finally receded he wasn’t sure if he’d actually answered her questions or not. However, since he was vaguely aware of having heard his own voice merging with the husky melodious tones of hers, and since she was still standing trustingly in front of him, albeit squirming impatiently, presumably he’d said nothing untoward or suggestive to her.

  His sigh was a combination of relief and dread. Only four buttons left. But these were really going to test his fortitude. He paused and wiped his palms on his trousers before tackling them. It didn’t help. Not when the already closed buttons had pulled the fabric snug to her body, enhancing her curves.

  Once again clenching his teeth, he tried not to notice the tingle of awareness that travelled from her skin to the tips of his fingers and onwards through his entire body. Tried not to speculate about how she was going to get out of this thing tonight. Let’s face it, about the only problem she’d face there was the high probability that if she called for volunteers to help her she’d never survive the stampede.

  The gush of air he expelled when his fingers finally completed the task left him almost light-headed. It also alerted Joanna to the fact the task was completed.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, moving quickly towards the walk-in wardrobe. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ He told himself that she couldn’t have meant that the way he’d heard it. But he had a terrible feeling he was going to be wrong. ‘Go where?’

  ‘The supermarket.’ She gave a half laugh. ‘Where do you think? The fund-raiser, of course. Jason said...’

  Brett was too busy cursing his friend to be interested in listening to anything he might have said. Damn! If he hadn’t been so obsessed with trying not to think about her he might have managed to put two and two together and woken up to what was going on. Now what was he supposed to do? It was too late to bail out of the evening with just any excuse. And what about his plans for later tonight? What were his chances of finding a woman so desperate for an utterly meaningless night of passion that she’d view him having to bring Jo home as foreplay?

  ‘Right!’ she said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘I’m ready.’

  She emerged from the wardrobe with a cape of some description draped over her arm and a small purse in her hand.

  All he could do was stare at her.

  Since his own father had been a fashion designer Brett had been immunised against the penchant some designers had to shock. At least he hadn’t been until right now.

  Now he was not only shocked speechless, but furious. He’d just sweated blood buttoning up the back of a dress that gave the impression it was as chaste as a nun’s habit, only to discover the front had less material than the average handkerchief! Oh, sure, it had a high collar, but from the base of the neck it was dramatically slashed to show not only every bit of cleavage Joanna possessed, but even a teasing shadow of her navel. Adding a touch of bizarre, ironic humour was a solitary loose string of faux pearls, identical to the buttons so modestly securing the back; except these were draped to link both sides of the barely existing ‘bodice’ so that they swung against her breasts when she moved.

  It was a struggle to decide whether be was looking at his ultimate dream or his worst nightmare. But when he finally got his tongue unknotted from his tonsils the first words to roll from his lips were terse.

  ‘Put the coat on and let’s get out of here.’

  She frowned. ‘I’m not sure I really need it... It doesn’t seem all that cold.’

  ‘Joanna, for both our sakes... Put...the...coat...on.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IF JOANNA ever needed extra cash fast Brett decided she could pick it up getting kickbacks from chiropractors; the instant she shed her coat most of the males in the cloakroom gave themselves whiplash.

  ‘I didn’t expect there t
o be so many people,’ she confided as Brett halted at the entrance of the hotel’s ballroom to scan the crowd. ‘And everything is so elegant and sophisticated... I’ve never been anywhere like this before.’

  Her naive excitement was so painfully at odds with her appearance Brett didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘And thank heavens Jason told me to dress up.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Brett muttered, spotting what looked like his friend’s flame-coloured hair and steering her in that direction. ‘If you’d gone for anything less you’d have risked pneumonia.’

  Their progress through the throng was made slow due to the number of old acquaintances who’d been unaware Brett was home and wanted instantly to start catching up on every detail of his life. Jo was charming to everyone, and with her Alice in Wonderland awe of her surroundings seemed oblivious to the appreciative glances her dress drew.

  ‘Do you know everyone in Sydney?’ she asked, when they finally escaped a prominent politician who, had she not had photographs or quotes in the papers twice a day, would have been subject to speculation that she was dead.

  He shook his head. ‘Not yet, but Mum does. Although, considering the attention you’re drawing, I’ll probably leave here having met every straight guy in the place.’

  ‘Straig—oh!’ She nodded with understanding.

  As was typical at these functions, there was an assortment of socialites, politicians, actors, hospital board members and members of various gay organisations. Brett had been attending fund-raisers for AIDS research since the days when the number of people at a function like this would have been lucky to reach a hundred.

  ‘Brett McAlpine! It’s been ages! My God, it’s wonderful to see you again! And goodness who’s the princess in the daringly darling dress?’

  Kirk O’Grady had never been one of Brett’s favourite people. He was vain, malicious and utterly self-obsessed. If Toni was the disaster of his personal life, then Kirk held the same title in Jason’s. For ten cents Brett would have knocked his pretty smile into the middle of next week. It took a real effort to be civil.

  ‘Joanna, meet Kirk O’Grady. Kirk, Joanna Ford.’

  ‘Joanna, sweetheart, it’s delightful to meet you!’ he gushed. ‘And allow me to tell you your dress is absolutely dee-vine! A David Lingard, isn’t it?’

  Brett answered before Jo had time to recover from her embarrassment. ‘Sorry, no kewpie doll, Kirk. It’s a Nightwatch. Bye.’ Snagging Jo’s hand, he turned from the man and headed towards the bar.

  ‘That was awfully rude,’ she said.

  ‘That’s Kirk in a nutshell.’

  ‘I meant the way you acted,’ she clarified.

  ‘Good. Let’s hope he noticed.’ At her murmur of surprise, he added, ‘The guy’s scum. A big-time user.’

  She came to a dead stop. When he turned to see what was wrong, she stared at him in horrified amazement. ‘As in drugs?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not as far as I know.’

  When her frown remained, he continued to explain. ‘I meant he’s a user of people. Everything he does and says is aimed only at serving his own best interests. He’s an emotionally crippled con-man who considers only himself as being important. If you get what I mean.’

  Her eyes became rueful and chased all trace of the earlier joy from her face. ‘Unfortunately, I do.’ she said. ‘I’ve had one of those people in my life.’

  ‘Me too,’ he admitted. ‘Although fortunately Toni didn’t mess me up as badly as Kirk did Jason. But,’ he said, injecting a cheerful tone into his voice and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, ‘you’ll get over What’s-his-face.’

  ‘What’s-his—? Oh, right! Andrew.’

  He grinned. ‘See, you’ve practically forgotten him already! Now, what’ll you have? Name your poison.’

  Her expression went momentarily blank, then lightened with wry amusement. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I’m going to presume that’s some sort of slang, because while I admit What’s-his-face—’ she grinned ‘—left me feeling pretty sorry for myself, I’m passed the stage where I want to kill myself.’

  Brett laughed. ‘I’m asking you what you want to drink. You must find communicating with all those photographers and models a real challenge. At times even I think they have a language all their own.’

  ‘Mmm,’ she agreed. ‘But I’m getting better at it. At least now I know that having a model tell me there’s a guy in the building wanting to shoot her doesn’t have me calling the police.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  Her dark head nodded. ‘Unfortunately, I did.’

  Brett’s visual image of the scene had laughter rumbling in his chest.

  Jo was grinning too. ‘It’s funny now, but at the time I thought I’d die of mortification and get fired. Thank heavens the model rang straight back and explained there’d been a mistake.’

  ‘I bet you’re still being given a hard time about that.’ He opened his mouth to clarify the remark, but she jumped in before he got the chance.

  ‘Yes. I still get teased...’ she pulled a smug face ‘...about it occasionally, but mostly it’s good-natured. Just about everyone’s been very nice and patient with me.’

  ‘In my experience “nice” and “patient” aren’t words most people associate with the modelling game,’ he said dryly.

  ‘Well... I guess I’d have to admit that for some reason the women aren’t always as understanding as the men are...’

  For some reason! Dear Lord, hadn’t she ever looked in a mirror?

  ‘I think the reason you’re looking for is fear of the competition,’ he informed her.

  For several seconds she actually stood there as if the comment warranted consideration, before firmly shaking her head—an action which caused the pearls at her breasts to start swinging. Damn! And he’d been doing so well at keeping his gaze locked above her neck!

  A drink! He needed a drink! Fast.

  If he’d been thinking clearly he’d have taken her straight to the table and then returned to get the drinks. But because he’d been reluctant to leave her alone in a dress which could conceivably start a riot, he now had her pressed to his side by a crowd of people all wanting to quench their thirst.

  ‘Geez. you’d think the organisers would’ve anticipated this and provided the tables with drink waiters!’

  A middle-aged woman in front of him turned to scowl at him. ‘Sir, there will be drink waiters during the meal,’ she said, indicating he’d spoken his frustration aloud. ‘We had hoped people would appreciate that by keeping catering overheads to a minimum we’ll have more money to donate to the research facilities.’

  When she turned away without waiting for a response, Joanna giggled. An action which caused her body to vibrate against his, sending sparks of awareness showering through him. Then, as if that wasn’t enough to steam his senses, she linked her arm through his and rose on her toes to say in a confidential tone, ‘In case you didn’t notice, you’ve just had your knuckles rapped.’

  Big deal. If she got any closer someone could whip out a knife and start performing open heart surgery on him and he wouldn’t notice!

  ‘By the way,’ she said. ‘When you asked me to name my poison was that a trick question?’

  ‘A trick question?’ he echoed, having no idea of what she was talking about, but totally fascinated by the mouth that had produced the words.

  ‘Yes, a test.’

  The only test Brett was aware of was the one of strength going on inside him, between his hormones and his brain. And, Lord, he hoped his hormones won!

  ‘To see if I remembered your lecture on how to...’ she grinned ‘...avoid being slipped a mickey?’

  Almost rendered completely brain-dead by the intent way she was gazing up him, it took him an age to grasp what she was talking about. When he finally did, he could no more have prevented his finger from stroking the smooth, youthful skin of her cheek than he could stifle the growth of the soft, warm heat filling his chest.
/>   ‘No, Jo, it’s not a test. Tonight you can have anything you want.’ His fantasy was that she’d reply with, I want you.

  ‘Anything, huh?’

  The teasing, flirtatious grin raised hopes he knew didn’t stand a chance, yet he couldn’t prevent himself from holding his breath in anticipation as he nodded.

  ‘In that case,’ she drawled, ‘I think I’d like to try something I haven’t had before...’

  Oh, God, me too!

  ‘I think I’ll have a Grasshopper.’

  Brett went from holding the hopes of a prince back to feeling like a toad.

  ‘Brett,’ she whispered anxiously, her breath grazing his ear. ‘Help me...’ A hand shook his knee. ‘I can’t remember which fork I’m supposed to use.’

  Fork! She’d just sent a thousand volts ripping through his body, leaving him grateful just to be able to remember his own name, and she was fretting over a fork? Why was it he couldn’t generate one shred of interest in the blonde on his right, who’d spent the entrée practically in his lap, yet something as simple as a whispered request for an etiquette update and a kneecap nudge from Jo could send him into meltdown?

  ‘Brett...’ This time the whisper was accompanied with a not so gentle elbow to the ribs. ‘Help in—’

  The dinner conversation was sufficiently loud to shield her startled gasp as he grabbed her hand under the table. He’d acted purely with the intention of discreetly guiding it to the correct fork, but now that he held it he didn’t want to let her go.

  The decision, though, was quite literally taken out of his hands when she snatched it away. That she wasn’t happy with his behaviour was more than evident in the turquoise glare she sent him. ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

  ‘Trying to discreetly show you the right for—’ Her foot hit his ankle. Hard.

  ‘Don’t shout,’ she muttered out of the side of her mouth.

  ‘I’m not shouting.’

  Then don’t talk.’ With a bright smile she said something to the guy at the end of the table before again frowning at Brett. ‘Just let me get a better look at the one you’re using.’