Man About the House

by Alison Kelly

  ‘And so,’ she went on, ‘because you were a gentleman—didn’t paw me or want to get me into bed—’

  Wanna bet?

  ‘Plus you displayed other signs that tended to suggest

  ‘I what?’ he exploded, vowing that if he turned out impotent as a result of this, he’d sue her to hell and back!

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Brett! I don’t mean you come across as effeminate!’ she snapped, reading his mind. ‘But let’s face it, you cook better than most women, you can recognise who designed a dress just by looking at it—’

  ‘Says who?’

  I’ve seen you do it,’ she told him. ‘At the fund-raiser you could tell who designed my dress—’

  ‘Only because I saw the label when I was buttoning you into the damned thing!’

  ‘Oh...’

  ‘Yes, oh.’

  ‘Well, you can’t deny you know more than most men about feminine things like clothes and...and style and co-ordinating colours and stuff.’

  ‘It’d be hard not to!’ he snapped. ‘My mother’s a professional decorator and Dad was a fashion guru!’

  He grunted, staggering slightly, as she shoved him hard in the chest and having caught him off-guard, ducked under his arm.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry; all right? But you have to understand that on top of all those things, and after reading that article—’

  ‘It’s in print that I’m gay?’

  ‘Oh, no! It’s just a general article on how...er...how to tell if a guy is gay. I di—’

  ‘Get it.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Get...me...the...article.’

  As she darted from the room with the speed of the very desperate, he slumped onto the sofa and dropped his head in his hands. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that God was definitely female; a male wouldn’t do this to one of his own.

  ‘I won’t be long!’ he heard her yell. ‘I’ve just got to try and remember what magazine it’s in.’

  He didn’t bother responding. She had to have eighty assorted magazines and journals which she kept in a cane trunk in her room. Perhaps by the time she found it he’d have managed to make sense out of the whole bizarre situation. For he couldn’t deny he’d been thrown for a loop. Big time.

  Discovering the woman he was attracted to had perceived him to be homosexual could really spin a guy out. It was worse than being rejected because it meant he hadn’t even made enough sensual impact to warrant being rejected. It was as if he and his sexuality were so inconsequential that they were invisible to her on all levels and discovering he was heterosexual would count for nought.

  But, damn it! He couldn’t believe that he could feel the way he did about Jo without her sensing at least some level of awareness. Hell, if that was case he was in danger of falling for a brick wall or a bird bath!

  Brett’s head came up at the sound of the doorbell to find Jo watching him from the entrance of the room, a magazine in her hand.

  Er...that’ll be Steve,’ she said.

  Great, just what he needed to be confronted with right now—her damn boyfriend! ‘And where are we off to today?’ he asked snidely. ‘Another candy-floss-eating excursion?’

  Her mouth tightened. ‘We were just going to have lunch here.’

  The bell acted as a bleep for the four-letter expletive he muttered. Not trusting himself to speak, he got to his feet, crossed the room and took the magazine from her clenched hand.

  ‘Brett, wait! I...I really am sorry. I... I...’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what else to say.’

  ‘Then quit while you’re ahead,’ he said, striding from the room towards the bedrooms.

  The magazine was the typical glossy affair women favoured. It was titled Nineties You and, according to the lightning blot cutting diagonally across it, this was the launch edition. He flopped back on the bed and thumbed his way to page nine.

  ‘IS IT WORTH THE EFFORT?’ was the main title, then, in smaller, vivid red letters: ‘How To Tell If The Hunk You’ve Been Eyeing At The Bar Is Interested In You Or Your Brother Before You Put In The Hard Work.’

  The first paragraph was a diatribe about how women today faced two major problems when it came to men, those being that all the nicest ones were taken and all the best-looking ones were gay. The writer then said that there were signs to assist females on the make from wasting valuable time batting their eyelashes at guys who were going to be ‘non-starters’ in the passion stakes.

  Brett tried to imagine Joanna in a predatory role, batting her thick black lashes. He forced himself to banish the thought when his body started taking an interest in what he’d intended to be purely intellectual speculation. Directing his attention back to the magazine, he continued reading, skimming the page until he reached the magazine’s warning that women should be suspicious of ‘any gorgeous-looking male who seems to know more about decorating than you do and whose advice on your wardrobe actually makes sense!’

  Undoubtedly Jason would get a chuckle out of that, but the damning statement hadn’t done his cause any good; there was no mention of giving the benefit of the doubt to guys who through no fault of their own were genetically predisposed to good taste. Which meant that yesterday when he’d been giving Jo advice on how to dress he’d only been pulling the noose tighter around his neck!

  He tossed the magazine onto the floor amid a chorus of expletives. Then, realising he was overreacting he tried to get a rein on his irritation. Fair enough, Jo had been way off beam with her assumptions, but why was he feeling so angry about what should have been a funny situation?

  Because, his ego answered, you feel Jo should’ve been so overpowered by your machismo that she’d forget ever reading all this garbage.

  He drew a long breath and forced himself to try and see things from where she’d been standing. Being objective, he supposed that someone as unworldly as Jo could have misinterpreted things. Especially since he’d nearly killed himself trying to keep his distance. The truism about the road to hell being paved with good intentions had certainly been proven out in this instance.

  The problem was he still wanted her in the worst way. But even now, knowing the truth, Jo would subconsciously have a hard time getting past the notion of what she’d perceived him to be. And then, of course, there was good old Steve...

  ‘G’day, mate. How’re things?’

  ‘Fine thanks, Brett.’ Cooper smiled. ‘Yourself?’

  ‘Fighting fit. Joanna, can I have a word with you for a moment?’

  His easy request had her looking nervous and suspicious as she rose from the attractively laid table over which she and Steve were sharing a frozen cannelloni. Brett knew it was frozen because, while Jo was competent in the kitchen, her imagination pretty much ended at steak, lamb chops and three vegetables.

  Excusing herself, she followed Brett through the kitchen to the laundry. It was obvious she was both curious and anxious about what he wanted to say.

  Fiddling with her hair in a pseudo-casual manner that didn’t quite work with the way she was gnawing her lip, she waited for him to speak.

  Brett deliberately kept her waiting.

  ‘Well?’ she prompted, shifting her feet restlessly.

  ‘I read the article.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And it’s the greatest load of crap I’ve ever seen put into print,’ he said calmly. ‘I suggest that if you don’t want to make a goose of yourself in future you disregard every bit of it.’

  Colour flooded her face. She gave a curt nod and turned to leave, but before she could take a step Brett hauled her into his arms and backed her against the wall.

  The kiss was intended to teach her a lesson about jumping to conclusions. It was going to be the hardest, hottest kiss of her young life. But the plan he’d so coolly calculated while showering went down the drain the moment he felt the fragile curves of her body against his. Immediately he lessened the force of his lips on her oh, so soft moist ones and offered an oral apology by soothingly
stroking his tongue across her lower lip from one comer to the other. But a rush of desire cut short his patience and, desperate to savour more of her sweetness, he tried to coax her mouth open. He was so convinced he could wear her down, so caught up in the need to do so, that it was several seconds before it registered she was struggling against him.

  He pulled back instantly to find her face furious. ‘You don’t have to grope me to prove a point,’ she said, her voice tight.

  Before Brett could deny the accusation, which in part would’ve been a lie anyway, she was already rushing back to Cooper. Once again he’d managed to come off feeling like the world’s biggest jerk.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CORRECTING Joanna’s misconceptions regarding his sexuality didn’t work in Brett’s favour.

  Where once she’d seemed relatively at ease in his presence, now her behaviour was reserved and circumspect. No more did she settle on the sofa dressed for bed and reading snippets from magazines. Gone were her spontaneous smiles and excited revelations of things she’d done, was planning to do or found interesting.

  Brett might have taken some consolation from the fact Steve Cooper had ceased to be so prominent a feature in her life if her social calendar hadn’t become a production line of Kyles, Adams and Camerons. These days her presence in the house seemed to be limited to merely sleeping and personal hygiene. They’d not shared a meal together since he’d kissed her twelve days ago, and on the rare occasions it looked as if they might be in the house together for long enough to have a conversation her contribution to it was usually, ‘Oh, hello; I’m going out now.’ Whereafter she either retreated to her room or went for long walks on the beach.

  Brett told himself this didn’t bother him. He’d had the week from hell and more than enough to occupy his time and mind without wondering about what Jo was doing in her life. Today had been wall-to-wall meetings at the agency, tine-tuning detail on the possible London purchase prior to Meaghan flying out to the UK on Saturday. Then his lawyer had phoned with the news that the couple selling the property he wanted had decided to divorce and the ‘injured party’ was now pettily refusing to sell; negotiations had come to a grinding halt. And, as if that wasn’t enough, yesterday, when he’d been all set to sign an eighteen-month deal with a network to produce a lifestyle programme which would feature everything from DIY home improvements to health and fitness and financial management, he’d discovered that the network manager wanted control of which presenters were hired to handle each segment. Having been down that disastrous road once before, Brett was holding firm that he was the one with the final yea or nay in that area.

  No, he decided, entering the semi-darkened house after yet another business dinner with the network’s owner, which had resolved nothing, the last thing he needed was a perky, scantily clad Jo keeping his hormones on edge.

  For a moment he considered going straight to bed, then opted to grab a beer and try and unwind a bit in front of the late-night sports show. It wasn’t until nearly an hour later, when he went to the laundry door to check it was locked, that he saw the huddled figure sitting on the back patch of lawn.

  ‘Joanna, is that you?’

  She’d been sitting so perfectly still that it wasn’t until she reacted to the sound of his voice that the external sensor light went on. Clad in an anorak and jeans, she sat on the ground hugging her knees while a better than light offshore breeze lifted her hair back from her face.

  ‘You know you can set this light to stay on,’ he said, doing so as he spoke. ‘You’re lucky you weren’t locked out,’ he chided, more roughly than he’d intended.

  He thought her shoulders shrugged, but then again it could have been a shiver. Her head was already turning back towards the beach when she said, ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. Don’t worry, I’ll lock up when I come in.’

  It was clearly a dismissal, but Brett ignored it. ‘Why on earth are you sitting out here in the dark?’ He was already out of the door and negotiating the steps from the house to the tiered yard as he spoke.

  Thinking.’ The one-word response was flat and lifeless. But also, he realised, tinged with hurt.

  Ignoring the cold, he planted himself on the patch of ground next to her. She offered no sound of protest, nor even looked at him. Resting his elbows on his knees, he joined in her silent scrutiny of the horizon, content to simply sit with her. Which he supposed either made him easily pleased or certifiable for risking exposure for a woman who was not only rugged up against the cold but seemingly intent on freezing him out as well.

  After about five minutes he decided it was the latter, and, disgusted with the pathos of his desperation, he shifted his weight to get to his feet.

  ‘I really thought she’d forgive me...’

  Instantly the sad, soft voice changed his mind about leaving.

  ‘I thought,’ she continued, ‘that once she had time to...to calm down, she’d realise I wasn’t so much rejecting her beliefs as following my own.’

  ‘You’re talking about your sister...’ He spoke hesitantly, not from uncertainty but for fear he’d say something which would prompt her to clam up again.

  ‘She hates me, Brett,’ she whispered unsteadily.

  The desolation behind her tearful words wrung his heart.

  ‘She really, really hates me. We’re the only family either of us has left an—and she...she wants nothing to do w-with m-m—’ Her voice broke on a half-sob.

  Brett wasn’t sure whether he’d pulled her to his chest in a bid to comfort her or if she’d flung herself there, but as his arms closed around her clothes-bulky figure he prayed for the ability to be able to absorb every bit of her pain.

  ‘I’ve tried to explain to her.’ Tears and his shoulder muffled her words. Tve written to her every day, even though she...she wouldn’t answer... And today...today, was her birthday, so I...I rang her. To...to say happy birthday and...and...’

  ‘Shh, honey,’ Brett soothed, gently stroking the back of her head. Take it easy... It’s going to be all right.’

  Her head shook against his chest. ‘Th-that’s what I kept t-telling myself. That it would...work out But it’s n-not... F-Faith’s never going to forgive me...I know that now.’

  Her long, shuddering sigh was so sadly resigned that he wished he held the power to right this wrong in her world. He didn’t know all the ins and outs of her falling out with her sister, but he knew the older woman had abandoned Joanna at a time when she was vulnerable. The trouble was, he sensed Joanna’s trusting heart would always be vulnerable, whether she was twenty-two or ninety-two.

  Even now, as she cuddled against him, one arm around his back and the other clutching his jumper, Brett knew she was seeking and expecting nothing more than comfort. So, with Herculean effort, he steeled himself against the tempting self-delusion that he would be acting with only the noblest of intentions were he to tumble her back onto the grass and kiss away her pain until she experienced only the most exquisite pleasure. She’d confided in him because she trusted him. And because she did he couldn’t abuse that trust by lying even to himself.

  For an indeterminable length of time, that was both painfully long and conversely not long enough, he simply held her, making soothing, murmuring noises and words which made no sense and required no response. They were the same generic phrases he’d used all those years ago to comfort Meaghan, but then as now, they did little to ease his own pain of the moment. Most guys he knew complained that crying women freaked them, but they straight out broke Brett’s heart. None more so than Jo.

  As the tears lessened and her sobs faded to hiccups she started to speak again. In an act of non-verbal encouragement and support he tucked her tighter against him.

  ‘I always imagined that Faith was just like me. That if Mother and Father hadn’t been around we’d have been able to laugh and be like real sisters. Do things like normal families did—go to the movies or...or away on vacations together. But it didn’t happen. Nothing changed. Except Faith
took over the role of disciplining me. Telling me what to do, what to think...

  ‘I knew then I had to make a stand if I ever wanted to have a chance at a normal life, of being like other girls my age and having nice clothes and a boyfriend... I thought that was the easiest place to start—with a boyfriend. So during the Christmas vacation, when a boy in my class started paying attention to me when he came into the store, I didn’t ignore him, like I was supposed to do with boys...’ She paused and drew a long breath before continuing.

  ‘He started coming every day when I was taking my lunchbreak out behind the store shed. One day when he tried to kiss me I let him. No one had ever kissed me before, not even my parents.’

  The concept so flabbergasted Brett that he couldn’t express his disbelief. What kind of parents didn’t kiss their child? The idea was incomprehensible to him.

  ‘It was a really innocent kiss,’ Jo went on, ‘but the next thing I knew Faith was there screaming about how she’d set the police on him if he ever came near me again and physically dragging me back into the store. For three days she only spoke to me to quote Scripture and lecture me about sins of the flesh.’ She sighed. ‘Then she took me to Brisbane and enrolled me in boarding school.’

  Brett refrained from saying that was the best thing that could have happened to her. When a boarding school represented freedom, it gave a whole new meaning to grim.

  ‘When I finished school and went back home to work in the store, I knew with absolute certainty that I couldn’t live my life like her. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do as a career, just that I needed to get away and be a part of the world I’d read about and experienced little bits of when I was away at school.

  ‘I tried to explain to her how I felt, but she wouldn’t listen. She kept telling me that vanity and self-absorption were sinful, and that my obligations to God and my family were at the store. I decided that as soon as I could save enough money I’d leave... And then I met Andrew.’