Man About the House

by Alison Kelly

  A charming, witty and entertaining dinner companion, Suzanne wasn’t the least bit hesitant in letting Brett know that she was recently divorced and not averse to some horizontal recreation on a purely casual basis. Brett accepted her invitation for coffee, convinced her terms suited him right down to the ground.

  Unfortunately that was all that suited him.

  The reality was he got more excited shaving than he did kissing Suzanne, and despite his best efforts to rally his enthusiasm, her practised seduction techniques lacked the impact of the dinner bill on his credit card. Within twenty-five minutes of entering her apartment Brett had exited it and was on his way home, making mental bets with himself as to whether or not Jo would be there.

  She wasn’t. She came in four hours and seven minutes later at 4:04 a.m. A fact that didn’t, however, prevent her from being disgustingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when Brett discovered her dressed and reading a magazine as she ate breakfast at eight the next morning.

  ‘Hi!’ she said. ‘How did your date go?’

  The effort it took to produce a smile and a response that wasn’t a He was painful. ‘I’m not going to complain. Er...how was your night?’

  ‘Great! We had so much fun!’ She grinned. ‘Your sister might be a little the worse for wear, though.’

  ‘I’ll let you know when I get back from the airport,’ he grumbled, dissatisfied with her answer.

  ‘Oh, I won’t be here,’ she said airily. ‘I’m going out in about an hour.’

  ‘Geez, considering the time you got in, there really wasn’t any point in Grant going home, was there?’ he asked snidely.

  She took instant offence. ‘For your information I’m not going out with Grant! And if I was ever going to invite someone to stay the night I’d be polite enough to consult you in advance.’

  ‘Don’t bother! Because the answer would be no! And who the hell are you going out with anyway?’ he demanded.

  ‘None,’ she said, jumping to her feet, ‘of your business, you...you...idiot!’ And with that she snatched up the magazine and stormed out of the back door.

  By the time Brett had recovered from her unprecedented display of temper, and the fact he’d just made one hell of a fool of himself, Jo was a distant figure heading south along the beach. The impulse to go after her and apologise warned with the desire to go after her and kiss her senseless.

  In the end it was a phone call from his excited niece, demanding to know how long he was going to be, that solved his dilemma.

  When he next saw Jo, on Sunday morning, she was her usual grudge-free self. Not surprisingly she was going out. Again. But this time Brett didn’t ask where or with whom, nor reveal the sense of abject despair he’d felt when Meaghan had mentioned Jo’s name amongst the list of agency staff who’d expressed interest in spending time at the London agency should the purchase go through.

  For any twenty-two-year-old the chance of having their airfare paid and the guarantee of employment in one of the world’s most famous cities would be an exciting opportunity. But Brett knew that for Jo it would mean far more than that; for Jo it would represent the attainment of one of her wildest and most cherished dreams.

  Which was why he’d told his sister that, though he wanted no further part in the running of the agency, if she did end up opening a London office he was going to insist Jo be the first one sent.

  During the following week, the advent of a new love interest in Jason’s life meant Brett was denied his most convenient refuge, and was forced to endure his misery alone. It might have been some compensation if his business life had been proceeding smoothly, but he couldn’t even make that claim. The situation with the network hadn’t improved any, and the owners of the chain of furniture stores he’d been sounding out so far hadn’t shifted from their original indecisive interest.

  In a desperate bid to assert control in at least one aspect of his life, he’d today upped his offer on the property he wanted by fifteen thousand dollars and managed to secure the deal. He didn’t give a stuff that his lawyer was livid at him for acting without consulting him, or that he considered Brett insane for going so far over the market value. Brett figured it was the best fifteen grand he’d ever spent, since buying the house gave him a legitimate reason to celebrate. Which was exactly what he was going to do while Jo was out painting the town with Kyle, or Adam or whoever the devil was bound to turn up to collect her. And champagne was for celebrations, he told himself. If he’d just wanted to sit home and drown his sorrows he’d have bought a bottle of Scotch.

  Setting his board against the back of the house, he slid open the back door and strode to the phone, daring it to stop ringing before he reached it.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, his jaw tightening with immediate tension at the caller’s request. Not that it was a surprise these days to hear a male voice asking to speak to Joanna.

  ‘She’s not home yet,’ he said, glancing at the clock and noting she was later than usual.

  ‘Oh. That must be Brett, is it?’

  He frowned, uneasy with the overt familiarity in a voice he didn’t recognise. The caller didn’t wait to have his question answered.

  ‘It’s Russell Bumswood, here, Brett. You’re probably in the same position as me...’ He chuckled. ‘Know the name but not the face.’

  Brett didn’t know any such thing, but again the man gave him no time to say so.

  ‘Listen, I’ve just found Joanna’s wallet at my place, but I haven’t been here since I dropped her back at the agency after lunch. Knowing Joanna, she’ll be worried sick about where she left it, but if she’s been ringing me to check she’ll be none the wiser. She’s expecting me at around seven tonight, but I didn’t want her to worry unnecessarily...’

  Even after he’d replaced the receiver Brett was still hearing the man’s voice. More importantly, he was still hearing the obvious affection for Jo which had been behind the words, and a whole lot of other implications that had his blood boiling.

  When she still wasn’t home by six, as she was every Friday, he rang the agency. The phone was eventually answered by the cleaner, who curtly told Brett that as far as he knew he was the only person still in the building, and that he wasn’t paid to keep track of the firm’s staff. With his anger over Jo’s mystery involvement with the unknown Russell Bumswood fast becoming intermingled with nagging concern at her unexplained absence, Brett came dangerously close to telling the man not to worry; Meaghan’s wouldn’t be paying him for anything in the future! Instead he grunted, ‘Thanks for nothing, mate,’ and slammed the receiver down.

  Fifteen minutes later he literally sprinted to the front door when he heard a key click in the lock.

  The initial blessed relief at seeing her unhurt vanished within seconds of her cheerful, ‘Hi!’

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he demanded.

  ‘I...I left my purse at—’

  ‘I know where you left your damned purse,’ he cut in. ‘I want to know where you’ve been that you couldn’t even bother to call!’

  ‘I went back to Russell’s to get it,’ she told him, her voice hushed but terse. ‘And I’m sorry if you were worried, but I’ve been trying to call you on the car phone for nearly an hour and getting a busy signal.’

  ‘Car—’ He stopped her attempt to close the door and stuck his head out in time to see a maroon Statesman complete a three-point turn and head off down the road. He spun back to glare at her. ‘Whose car phone?’

  ‘Russell’s.’

  Brett was having a hard time collating things in his mind, but the departure of Russell definitely seemed like a good sign. Leaning back against the door, he allowed himself a smug grin. ‘Guess the date is off, then, huh?’

  Rubbing her forehead, as if completely exhausted with the discussion, she shook her head. ‘Since we’re running late he’s going to get petrol while I shower and dress. So if you’re through with the inquisition...’

  Having his fledgling hopes battered put him back on th
e offensive. ‘Sure!’ he said, pushing away from the door. ‘By all means go take your shower! But I suggest you give that cute little mouth of yours a good wash-out with soap too, princess! ’Cause I haven’t been on the phone except for the few minutes it took to check and see if you were at work!’

  Not trusting what might come out of his mouth next, he headed straight for the bar. He was on his second glass of Scotch when the doorbell chimed. Having seen the Statesman swing into the drive, he remained in his chair. He was Jo’s date; if she wanted to let him in she’d just have to answer the damned door in her robe!

  Like hell!

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BRETT’S anger was superseded by disbelief the moment he opened the front door. If this guy wasn’t at least five years older than Brett himself was, then he must have had one hell of a tough life! Not that it showed in his trim athletic build, nor his well cut but uninspired navy suit, pinstriped shirt and old school tie. No, the evidence was in the flecks of grey at his temples and the weathered face, heavily grooved by what, to Brett, was a too friendly smile that radiated no warmth, nor reached his hard slate eyes.

  Joanna was actually interested in this guy? He was so nonplussed by the possibility that it took the other man to instigate conversation.

  ‘Russell Bumswood,’ he said, thrusting out his right hand. ‘You must be Brett. Joanna’s mentioned you and your family so often I feel I know you already.’

  Though his initial response to the handshake was purely automatic, Brett’s brain checked back in a few seconds later and he stepped back to allow the man to enter.

  Burnswood scanned the decor and the living room’s eclectic mix of contemporary and period furnishing and dismissed it without comment.

  ‘Have a seat,’ Brett said, curious to see if he’d relax easily onto the sofa or perch uncomfortably on the edge of the antique wing-backed chair. He chose the chair, but with a blasé air suggestive of absolute confidence in himself.

  ‘Joanna mentioned you were a television producer,’ he said conversationally. ‘I imagine you find it an interesting profession.’

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  For the life of him Brett couldn’t see Jo laughing and enthusing about candy floss with this guy. Despite the attempt at pally chit-chat, he wasn’t the sort to put a person at ease. Then again, Brett conceded, his discomfort with the guy’s presence could have had a lot to do with the fact jealousy had him itching to kick his miserable butt out through the front door. It took effort to even appear to be civil.

  ‘I’m having a Scotch. Can I get you something?’

  ‘Thank you. Water will be fine—don’t drink alcohol myself.’ He smiled. ‘Always believed true enjoyment and relaxation can be drawn from within, without the need of artificial stimulants. One of the things I admire about Joanna,’ he confided. ‘Doesn’t have any nasty habits.’

  Fighting down the urge to say, Guess she’s never thrown up on your front lawn. huh? Brett excused himself and went to fetch the requested drink. For the luxury of the few extra seconds it would keep him away from the jerk, he opted to go to the kitchen refrigerator rather than the one in the wet bar.

  Where the devil had she met this guy? Not at any of the parties she’d told Brett about, that was for sure!

  On his way back inside with the water he noticed the handpiece of the telephone was askew. It wasn’t until he was replacing it that he recalled not only how he’d slammed it down when he’d last used it, but what he’d said to Jo when she’d said she’d been unable to get through.

  ‘You bloody idiot!’ he roared.

  His first instinct was to rush inside and apologise to her, but then he realised that with Mr Excitement sitting in the wings waiting for her he probably wouldn’t get a chance.

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘Problem, Brett?’

  Turning, he found the man he’d left in the living room moving across the dining room, looking extremely concerned.

  ‘Nothing I can’t rectify.’ I hope! ‘Were you looking for something?’ he asked pointedly.

  ‘Oh, no. No, it’s just when I heard your language I assumed the worst.’

  ‘My apologies, Burnswood,’ he said tightly, steering the man back to the living room, ‘if I alarmed you.’ Be damned if he’d say ‘offended’, because he didn’t give a rat’s backside about offending this pompous jerk!

  ‘Oh, don’t feel badly.’

  Brett bit the inside of his mouth.

  ‘While I don’t swear myself, it’s hard not to become somewhat immune to it in this day and age. Another of the reasons I find Joanna so delightful.’ He paused and sipped his water. ‘She’s the essence of the contemporary yet with the values of the past. I know she’s going to be a wonderful influence on my girls.’

  ‘Your girls?’

  ‘My daughters. Abigail, Bethany and Rachel. They’ve been becoming something of a handful since the two eldest hit their teens,’ he said ruefully. ‘Joanna’s meeting them tonight, which is why I brought her back to change. Her get-up today was a tad too extreme, and unfortunately they’re already wanting to wear the most appalling clothes. Still, I’m hoping they’ll adore Joanna as much as I do. They do so need a woman’s guidance, and who better than someone like her?’

  ‘Your wife?’ Brett suggested, knowing it was a vain hope even before the idiot shook his head.

  ‘My wife walked out on her responsibilities before our eldest started school. Not that the girls haven’t been better off for it. She was an utterly undesirable mother and the worst kind of wife. Wilful and rebellious.’

  Though he’d never claimed to have psychic powers, the constriction in Brett’s chest and gut told him he was spot on the money when it came to what was on this turkey’s mind. Still, if he was going to strangle a man with his bare hands in the house, his mother would want to know he’d done it without a shadow of doubt that it was justifiable.

  Gripping his Scotch glass so hard he expected it to shatter, he forced himself to voice his gravest fear. ‘Am I correct in assuming you’re intending to ask Jo to marry you?’

  Affirmation came in the man’s egotistical grin. ‘Not immediately, of course,’ he said. ‘She still has some rough edges which need smoothing, but nothing that isn’t correctable.’

  The cork coaster Brett’s free hand was using as a worry bead snapped in two. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Oh, minor things! Too much make-up...the skin-tight clothes. Nothing which isn’t superficial. The important thing is Joanna has a kind heart and a genuine desire to please people. With patience, I think she could be made into the perfect wife; I doubt she’s a selfish bone in her entire body.’ He chuckled, then offered a conspiratorial wink. ‘And you have to admit she has a very attractive body.’

  Rage rolled through Brett’s gut, but he set the Scotch glass down with infinite care and rose to his feet. ‘Oh, I admit Jo’s beautiful, inside and out And I’m convinced she’d be the best wife a man could have,’ he said. ‘And you’re absolutely right when you say she’s not selfish. However...’ Lunging forward, he grabbed Bumswood’s lapels, hauling him to his feet amid the tinkle of glass splintering on the tiled floor.

  ‘I am selfish, Bumswood! Which means if anyone’s going to ruin her life by marrying her it’s going to be me!’

  The man’s frantic struggles provided Brett with the pleasure of having to increase the force necessary to escort the mongrel to the front door. Then, concerned Bumswood’s incoherent spluttering might bring Jo to investigate, he drew great satisfaction from gagging the protests by shoving the two halves of the coaster he still held into the gaping mouth and clamping a hand over it. Hard!

  Instantly the irritating but ineffective blows to his ribs stopped as his opponent employed both hands to fight the one gagging him. Brett, however, needed the use of only one to open the front door, and while Bumswood was still bent over, trying simultaneously to suck air, spit cork and issue legal threats, he planted a foot squarely on the man’s pompous backside and
shoved!

  Slamming the door shut, he pivoted and in eight strides was at the bathroom; it was silent and the door ajar. He pushed it wide...empty.

  The peal of chimes began tinkling through the air.

  Six more strides and he was outside her room; a buzz came from within and the door was closed. Unhesitatingly he turned the handle and flung it open.

  With a gasp Jo’s head came up from between her knees, her hair flying back and the humming dryer falling from her hands to the bed. Her face was flushed, those exotic almond eyes of hers wide with surprise and curiosity; her mouth formed a perfect glossy ‘O’. Without doubt she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he loved her so damned much he couldn’t imagine how he was ever going to be able to put it into words.

  Though she was only half dressed, in partially zipped jeans and a grey satin camisole that flowed like liquid silver with her slightest movement, she seemed more bemused by his presence than embarrassed.

  ‘Brett... what’s the matter?’

  The sheer spellbinding beauty of her kept him speechless.

  With innate grace she rose to her feet. ‘Brett, what—?’ She broke off, frowning. ‘Is that the doorbell?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Reaching for the hairdryer, she switched it off. ‘Brett, it is the doorbell.’

  ‘So it is.’ He closed the door.

  ‘It...might be Russell back from—’

  ‘It is Russell.’ He advanced towards her with slow determined steps. ‘But we’re not letting him in.’

  ‘We’re not?’

  ‘Nope. ’Cause I’ve just gone through the trouble of turfing him out.’

  ‘Oh.’

  There was a banked excitement in her eyes that increased both his pulse and his hopes as he halted in front of her. ‘Do you want to know why?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was barely a whisper.

  ‘Because,’ he said, ‘I can’t think of one reason why I’m continuing to drive myself insane trying to keep my hands off you, when you’re dating a jerk who’s even older than I am.’