“Is everything all right, Evan?”
“Yes, everything’s fine.” He drummed his fingers against the counter top. “Have you had any luck finding out who she’s meeting with?”
Guilt twinged in his gut that he was checking up on Stella without telling her—but he’d set those wheels in motion before her Ice Queen act had started to thaw.
“At this stage there are a few interested parties from what I can gather.” His assistant rattled off a few names, some big players and a few up-and-comers but no one he couldn’t handle.
Evan could only hope that whatever delicate balance he’d struck with Stella would hold until negotiations were done. He wouldn’t lose sight of their bet—just in case. After his last project went belly up—a combination of dodgy contractors and a dive in the pound—he needed a win. The Jackson Estate would be it.
Then he could be certain his company would continue growing and that Ethel and all of the other Jackson Estate employees would be taken care of. Maybe then he’d feel that he’d finally become successful enough to protect himself and those he cared about.
Chapter Twelve
After her initial two meetings were over, Stella felt a kernel of doubt lodge deep in her gut. The first meeting had been a complete disaster. The two brothers who owned the firm had brought in their head of design, who proceeded to show her all of the shiny new things they wanted to insert into the Jackson Estate with insinuations that the current staff would be shipped out and her family’s heritage wiped clean.
When she’d tried to talk about how the estate could best represent the work her grandfather had done, they’d laughed as if she were joking. What was so funny about wanting to keep the essence of what made the estate special? It wasn’t just the incredible heritage-listed architecture. It was the heart and soul of the property, the memories. Just because she couldn’t maintain the property herself didn’t mean she had to hand it over to someone who would destroy it.
Evan wants to keep what matters, a little voice in the back of her mind said. He cares about the history.
The second meeting hadn’t gone much better. There was less laughing but the look on the property developer’s face was not encouraging, to say the least.
Sighing, she trekked along Oxford street looking for a taxi. The wind blustered around her, pulling strands of her hair loose from her ponytail. Rain started to fall and she hadn’t had the forethought to borrow an umbrella from Evan.
After finding a taxi, she plucked her phone from her handbag. No new messages. She rang the voicemail number to be sure. Perhaps there’d been a glitch and she hadn’t received an alert. Nope, not a single message. She’d managed to connect to Wi-Fi in a McDonalds and check her work emails—even they had died down. It seemed that her team at the hotel was operating fine without her.
It was as if she could fall off the face of the earth and no one would notice. Her mother hadn’t called and if no one wanted her input at work, what was the point of her going home? Shame spread through her, hot and toxic.
It wasn’t productive to think like that, nor would it help her with her current problem. She opened her agenda and looked over her list:
1. Spend a month on the estate
2. Find the perfect buyer
3. Get the hell back to Australia in time for the new year
Nothing had been crossed off, but simply looking at the list was enough to calm her thudding heart. She had her plan, and now she would execute it. When she returned home, she’d throw herself into her work with such gusto that her boss would be reminded of why he’d hired her.
Letting out a long breath, Stella closed the agenda and ran over the list in her head. She repeated the three items over and over until the taxi pulled up in front of Evan’s building. By the time she made it upstairs, her body had begun to thaw out. The fireplace was on, sending a warm glow through the open space and making everything look inviting. Too inviting.
Evan had his back to the front door, his phone pressed against his ear. The deep timbre of his voice was even more commanding and masculine when he was in work mode. For some reason, the very sound of his firm instructions to whoever was on the other end of the call sent a shiver down her spine.
She slipped inside without drawing his attention, hanging her coat and placing her bag on the coffee table as quietly as she could. But he caught sight of her when he turned around, the stern expression melting into a smile.
“How did the meetings go?” he asked once he’d finished his call.
He’d changed out of his work wear into a pair of soft jeans that were frayed and threadbare in places. The material hugged his thighs, outlining the lean muscles perfectly. A soft long-sleeved T-shirt smoothed over his broad chest and shoulders, loose enough to be comfortable without obscuring the arresting physicality beneath.
“Fine.” Stella bent over to unzip the black ankle boots she’d purchased on Oxford street yesterday. They looked slick with her straight-leg black pants, but her feet were begging for reprieve. “It was a promising start.”
Lies, lies, lies. For some reason the idea of telling Evan her day was an utter failure didn’t appeal—like somehow it would make her seem outside her league.
“Right.” He cocked a dark brow. “So they were interested in incorporating some of the family history along with their changes?”
She turned away, pretending to check her phone but really buying time to figure out how to dodge his question. How did he zero in on the truth like that? “It’s up for discussion.”
“Interesting. The Vaughn brothers aren’t exactly known for keeping their promises,” he said. “Just so you know.”
“How did you know I was meeting with the Vaughn brothers?” She whirled around, piercing him with a hard stare. Had he been spying on her?
“It’s a small industry, Stella. I know everyone in the game here. I know exactly who will be sniffing around, and who’s likely to feed you a load of bullshit to get a deal.”
“And you’re a more noble businessman?” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Oh wait, no, you bet me for the estate.”
He frowned. “I’m looking out for you.”
Her stomach vaulted. The last time he’d claimed to be putting her wellbeing before himself it had turned out to be nothing more than self-preservation. “Let’s not lie to each other, shall we? You’re looking out for yourself.”
She turned and headed toward the bedroom, hoping he would get the hint and leave her alone.
…
When Stella didn’t emerge from his bedroom, Evan wandered into the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for their dinner in an effort to distract himself. He ate out most of the time, but the woman at the gourmet Italian deli had assured him it was impossible to mess up pasta. He doubted her conviction, but he’d try—after all, the instructions were right there in front of him.
Not that you’re so good at following instructions. What happened to not getting emotionally involved?
He wasn’t emotionally involved, but he wasn’t a robot either. Some guilt lingered over the white lie he’d told Stella, his reasons for checking up on her potential business partners weren’t altruistic. But he’d needed to be selfish for such a long time that he didn’t know how to operate without putting himself first.
By the time Stella reappeared, the pasta was almost done and she glanced curiously at the stove. “Are you cooking us dinner?”
“It would seem that way.” As he stirred the pasta sauce with a wooden spoon, steam curled upward from the pot.
He collected a small sample of the sauce—tomato dotted with chunks of onion and fresh herbs—and offered it to Stella. She leaned forward, blowing on the steam before wrapping her lips around the edge of the spoon. As she tasted the sauce, her eyes fluttered shut and she murmured her pleasure in such a sensual way that Evan’s body reacted instantly. His eyes zeroed in on a dot of red sauce clinging to the corner of her mouth.
“You missed a bit,” he said, swiping t
he pad of his thumb across her lip.
Her fingers grazed the spot where he’d touched her. “Delicious.”
The kitchen felt tiny around them, as if the air were pressing in and pushing them closer. Every inch between them crackled with awareness and tension, the gap feeling simultaneously too large and too small.
“About before—”
She held up a hand. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. This is work, and I would expect you to do your regular due diligence as if I were any other seller.”
But she wasn’t any other seller. The fact that he’d even felt a hint of guilt about looking into her plans behind her back was telling enough. “I should have told you.”
“You’re doing your job and I’m doing mine. This is business.” She bobbed her head. “I need to remember that.”
Well, that was the line drawn in the sand. He wouldn’t be where he was today without being able to read the true meaning in someone’s words, and Stella was telling him loud and clear that she was putting up barriers.
He wanted to grab her and pull her to him, to kiss away her fear and show her that he could treat her the way she deserved to be treated. He contemplated his next move but the water boiled over the pot’s edge, hissing as it splashed against the hot stovetop. He cursed under his breath, abandoning their stand off to turn the heat down and drain the pasta over the sink.
“Wine?” he asked, as he mixed the sauce through the pasta before dividing it out into two bowls.
“No, thank you.” She offered up a rueful smile. “It seems that I make bad decisions when I drink.”
He carried their meal to the table and she thanked him politely without fully making eye contact. It was as if all the passion they’d had the night before had evaporated into thin air.
“You mean like last night?” He busied himself with cracking some fresh pepper over his pasta. “Was that a bad decision?”
“I wouldn’t say bad, exactly.” She speared a piece of ravioli with her fork and popped it into her mouth. “Maybe ill-advised.”
Christ. She made it sound like they’d played the stock market poorly. “Since when are multiple orgasms ill-advised?”
“When they make you forget how badly people can hurt you.”
Evan sensed that he’d gotten a rare glimpse at Stella’s true vulnerability. She’d always shrugged off the issues with her mother and her ex-fiancé, but it had to hurt. The only time she’d previously let her guard down was when she was telling him just how much he’d hurt her four years ago.
Are you sensing a theme here?
He put down his cutlery and leaned forward to catch her eye. “What if I promised not to hurt you?”
“You can’t promise that, Evan. No one can.” She fiddled with the end of her long ponytail. “People hurt one another even when they’re trying to do the right thing. That’s why it’s easier to keep a distance.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I don’t trust you.” The words seemed to pop out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“Ouch.”
“I don’t trust anyone, really.” She sighed. “Don’t take it personally.”
He watched as she pushed her remaining pasta pieces around her plate. She looked as though she wanted to speak, but couldn’t sift through the words in her head. “Go on, spit it out.”
“Do you ever wonder if you’ve gone so far down a path that it’s too late to turn around?” she asked.
“Why do you ask that?”
She ran her tongue along her lower lip. “I guess I’ve just been wondering lately whether the choices I have made were the right ones.”
“And you’re worried you can’t reverse things?”
Why was she telling him this if she’d already confessed to not trusting him? Or was it more specifically that she didn’t trust him to treat her well, given their history? His brows pulled into a frown.
“Every time someone claimed to care about me—like my mother and my ex—I’ve found out they were in it for some other reason.” She swallowed. “I convinced myself that people couldn’t use me if I never let them in to begin with.”
The frankness and complete and utter resignation in her voice made him want to hold her until all her fears melted away like snow under a blazing sun.
She attempted a smile. “That’s why I don’t trust anyone. Experience has shown me that all people are in it for themselves, they always want something. You want my estate and if I sell it to you, then you won’t need me anymore.”
How was he supposed to counter that? She had a point. If it wasn’t for the estate they wouldn’t even be having this meal tonight. He didn’t do relationships, so after her decision was made there would be no reason for them to be together.
The finality of that thought stuck uncomfortably in his chest.
“How about we leave the estate out of it for now?”
“But it’s the whole reason I’m here. Unless you’re telling me that you would have brought me to London if I’d simply come to the estate for a holiday…” She let out a soft laugh when he pressed his lips together. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“What do you want me to say, Stella?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I do care about you, we’ve been friends for a long time.”
Her lips twisted. “Yeah, friends.”
Shit. No matter what he said it seemed to be the wrong thing. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he was toying with her emotions to buy the estate. But the truth wasn’t what she wanted to hear, either.
“I think you’re incredibly sexy, Stella. But you’re also my friend, so where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know.”
This conversation was going nowhere and he was only digging himself a bigger hole. Words were never his forte, but actions were.
“Come on,” he said suddenly. “We’re going out.”
“What?” She looked up. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He’d planned to show Stella around the best bits of London and give her a little Christmas magic later in the week, but if he didn’t so something now there was the distinct possibility that she’d pack her bags tonight.
“What if I don’t like surprises?”
He pushed back his chair and gathered up the now-empty bowls. “Then you’ve never had the right kind.”
…
He was probably right. To date, her surprises had consisted of things like discovering her diamond ring was a fake, that her whole engagement was a sham…nobody would like surprises after that. But there was nothing at this point that Evan could do to make her feel as bad as those things. Or was there?
“Can I get a clue?” she asked.
He smirked. “It’ll be cold.”
“Gee, that narrows it down.”
True to his word, half an hour later they stepped out of a cab and it was about as cold as Stella could ever remember being. She’d dressed in jeans, one of Evan’s hoodies, and a large coat, also his. But it wasn’t the cold that captured her attention.
Trees decorated with winking fairy lights adorned a path that led to the London Eye. Against the pitch-black sky, the Ferris wheel was lit up in neon blue, vibrant and ethereal. People were ice-skating in a rink beneath it, the sound of laughter and the occasional squeal rising up into the air.
“Have you ever gone ice-skating before?” he asked.
“The only ice we have back home is the kind that keeps my mojito cold,” Stella joked as she watched the skaters whiz past, their scarves flapping behind them like rainbow streamers.
“Come on, then.” Evan grabbed her hand and led her to where they could pay for access to the rink and hire their skates.
Their breath billowed up in soft white clouds, and her nose and cheeks were already numb. For the first time since arriving in England the cold didn’t bother her.
“I’m going to warn you now, the closest I’ve ever come to this is roller-blading. It
didn’t end well. There were tears.” She paused as they lined up to swap their shoes for skates. “Not mine, but the man I accidentally pushed over wasn’t impressed when I roller-bladed into his crotch.”
“Are you telling me I should watch out for my privates?”
“You should always watch out for your privates.”
They paused to change into their skates and Stella held onto Evan’s arm with a claw-like grip as they made their way to the rink. His muscles were hard, totally noticeable even under the layers of puffy clothing. A memory floated to the surface—his strong arms holding her up in the shower, making her feel completely and utterly secure. Completely and utterly protected.
“So, is this a good surprise?” he asked, helping her onto the ice and not even cringing when she squealed as her skates slid unexpectedly.
“Ask me in a few minutes.”
The other skaters flew past with the confidence of people used to ice and a true winter. The children were fearless, zooming around with the kind of “devil may care” attitude that belonged only to people who’d never experienced a broken bone. Stella, on the other hand, treated the ice with the utmost suspicion.
“Relax into it,” Evan said, leading her along slowly while she held on to the railing with her free hand. “Let go of the railing, I’ll keep you upright.”
“But I’ll get mowed down by one of these little demons.” She nodded toward a boy of about ten chasing a girl in a purple outfit.
“Don’t be a chicken.” He gave her a tug and she squeaked as her hand slipped off the railing. “Trust me.”
“You don’t seem super trustworthy right now.”
They moved around the rink, gaining speed little by little as Stella found her balance. She gripped Evan’s hand tightly but started to enjoy the feeling of the wind on her face and the soothing sameness of the rink laps. Even though the gloves prevented skin-to-skin contact, she could feel the hard grip of Evan’s hand guiding her, keeping her safe. Her earlier stress had melted away—or perhaps it was simply frozen into submission.
Millionaire Under the Mistletoe Page 13
