by Kay Thorpe
Within seconds he cleared the hotel entrance, entered the stream of traffic negotiating the inner city and headed south towards Brighton.
‘It might be as well to enlighten Sloane senior and junior as to your true identity.’
She turned towards him and noted the strong male profile outlined by passing street lights, the angles and planes, the firm jaw. ‘Oh, sure. That’ll work.’ She adopted a professional persona…‘By the way, Marshall is my family name. In reality I’m Lianne Benedict, your eminent client’s soon-to-be ex-wife.’ She returned her gaze to the passing scenery beyond the windscreen. ‘Whereupon I offer my apologies for the deception, cite a conflict of interest, and tender my resignation.’ Without missing a beat she continued, ‘Dare intercede and I’ll have to kill you.’
‘There’s just one thing,’ Tyler said in a silky-smooth voice. ‘Drop the soon-to-be ex.’
Dignified silence was the only way to go, and she maintained it during the short drive home and in the lift. Once inside the apartment she made straight for her bedroom…only to have her progress stopped by firm hands closing over her shoulders.
‘Don’t,’ she warned quickly.
He turned her round to face him and saw her eyes dilate, the tell-tale tension evident in her pale features. And the faint tremble of her mouth.
‘Headache?’
His intent gaze was too much, and she closed her eyes against the sight of him.
She felt his hands slide over her shoulders and cup her face, the light brush of his lips to her forehead.
Oh, dear God, don’t do this to me, she pleaded silently. She couldn’t afford his warmth or the solicitous gentleness he offered.
‘Where do you keep medication? Kitchen? Bathroom?’
‘Bedroom en suite.’
His mouth touched hers, so briefly she almost thought she’d imagined it.
‘Go on down. I’ll fill a glass with water.’
‘I don’t need a nurse.’ Tension headaches were a curse…and let’s face it she’d had more than her share of tension in the few days since Tyler had walked back into her life!
All she wanted was a good night’s sleep, aided by two strong painkillers.
Her room was in darkness and she switched on the lamp, dimmed it low, then observed a nightly ritual…cleanse off make-up, teeth, undo her hair, remove her clothes, slip into nightwear.
She was almost done when Tyler entered the room, glass in hand. ‘Go away.’
‘When you’ve taken the necessary meds.’
Lianne pulled open a drawer, extracted two tablets from their foil pack, took the glass from his hand and swallowed them down. ‘Satisfied?’
She resembled a belligerent child, her face bare, hair pulled back into a ponytail and wearing an oversize T-shirt. He had an urge to sweep her into his arms and tumble her down on to the bed.
‘Now there’s a question.’ The edges of his mouth curved a little. ‘Want me to answer it?’
She winced in pain and lifted a hand, then let it fall helplessly to her side. ‘Take your libido and get out of here.’
Tyler bit back an oath and slid her between the bedcovers in one smooth movement. ‘Shut up. Close your eyes and sleep.’
‘I hate you.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He turned the light down until the room was shrouded in semi-darkness. ‘You need anything in the night…just call.’
‘I’d rather die first.’
CHAPTER SIX
SUNDAY dawned bright and clear. Lianne rose early, spent an hour in the gym, then showered and changed into dress jeans and shirt; she added a denim jacket, collected car-keys, her bag, stopped by the kitchen to filch bottled water from the fridge…and almost bumped into Tyler.
He looked far too fit in hip-hugging black jeans and black T-shirt.
Her stomach curled and went into a mini free fall at the sexual energy he seemed to exude without any effort at all.
‘Going out?’
His voice affected her every time. Low, husky…sexy, in a way no man had a right to be this early on a Sunday morning.
‘Yes.’
‘Sans breakfast?’
Lianne bore his appraisal with equanimity, and managed to lift one eyebrow in silent query.
‘I’ll pick up something.’ Orange juice, latte, a croissant in any one of numerous coffee boutiques where she’d skim the Sunday newspapers before heading into the city.
‘Enjoy.’
She offered him a brilliant smile. ‘Oh, I shall.’ 78
Then she moved past him, exited the apartment and took the lift down to the basement car park.
There was no clear plan to the day except the need to escape the apartment…and Tyler.
Lianne chose Toorak, parked, then she selected one of several coffee boutiques and spent a pleasurable hour over a light breakfast while she scanned the courtesy newspapers.
From there she headed into the city and conducted some serious retail therapy, took in a movie, enjoyed a Caesar salad that doubled as a late lunch and early evening meal, then she slid into her Mini Cooper and drove to the Brighton apartment.
Tyler’s Porsche was there when she pulled into her car space and she gave a faint sigh as she collected her purchases, then took the lift to her level.
Any hope he might be in the gym was dashed when she entered the apartment, for the smell of food tantalised her tastebuds…pasta sauce, she determined, identifying the subtle aroma of tomato, garlic and spices.
Lianne deposited her carrier bags, walked into the kitchen and saw Tyler standing at the cook top stirring the redolent sauce with a wooden spoon.
He turned towards her, offered a warm smile, scooped a small quantity of sauce on to the spoon and held it out to her. ‘Try this.’
OK, she could play the game. Without a word she crossed to where he stood, dipped a finger into the spoon and tasted.
‘You haven’t lost your touch.’ As soon as the words left her mouth she wanted to take them back.
The edge of Tyler’s mouth twitched with humour, and his gleaming gaze brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks.
‘I assume you’re referring to food?’
‘Naturally. Sex isn’t even an issue here.’
He laid down the spoon and leaned one hip against the counter edge. ‘Have I tried to seduce you?’
Dammit, he was enjoying this. While she seemed to be getting in deeper with every word she uttered. It was time to try another strategy. ‘Are you willing to swear you won’t?’
Tyler appeared to give it some thought. ‘No.’
Her pulse went into overdrive and she consciously controlled her breathing. ‘Try it, and I’ll do you a mortal injury.’
He crossed arms over his chest and regarded her with a degree of amused mockery. ‘I consider myself warned.’
Straightening, he checked the sauce, turned down the heat, then tested the pasta.
‘Are you going to join me?’
‘I’ve already eaten.’ The thought of sharing his company and battling her emotions didn’t appeal. Hadn’t that been why she’d escaped for the day? ‘I’m going to spend an hour in the study, then catch an early night.’
Tyler tipped the pasta into a colander, added a knob of butter, and spared her a direct look. ‘I’m flying to Cairns early in the morning for a day or two.’
‘Have a successful trip.’ With that she vacated the kitchen, deposited her carrier bags in the bedroom, and crossed into the study.
It was almost nine when she closed the laptop. She could hear the faint noise of the television and had an image of Tyler seated comfortably viewing one programme or another.
She told herself she didn’t care. Reiterated it as she showered, then slipped into bed. At least she could look forward to a forty-eight hour respite from his presence coming up. Not exactly celebration territory, but a small air-punch wouldn’t go amiss! Something she effected just for the hell of it.
Nevertheless the apartment seemed strangely empty when she entere
d the kitchen next morning and found Tyler had already left.
The day became one of those days where anything that could go wrong did. It began with a fellow driver cutting in too close at an intersection, and it was only quick action on her part that prevented a collision.
From there on in it went from bad to worse. The assistant Michael senior had assigned her appeared to be suffering a bad hormone day, as each request Lianne issued was met with increasingly visible irritation. Around three o’clock the assistant threw a hissy fit and took the rest of the afternoon off.
An action which left Lianne with extra work to get through. At five she weighed up whether to take work home or stay on.
There was nothing waiting for her at home except a solitary meal, catching up with email, a few phone calls…Besides, there was something satisfying about finishing up the day’s work at the office.
An hour and a half, maybe two tops, and she’d be done.
The decision made, she notified Reception, extracted bottled water from the small bar fridge, took a long swallow and settled down in front of the computer.
It was mainly admin work, scanning in data, tying it in seamlessly with Michael senior’s cautions and advice in order to compile a comprehensive report that Tyler had requested be emailed through to him in Cairns the following morning.
The mezzanine level seemed a little empty, but she enjoyed the silence, the solitude. Doubtless there were a few legal associates downstairs who’d also chosen to stay back. It wasn’t as if she was alone in the firm’s suite of offices.
The sudden peal of the phone was unexpected, and a frown creased her forehead as she reached forward to take the call.
‘Lianne? Michael. Feel like sharing a coffee break?’
He was working late? Michael junior was known to be first out the door at day’s end. His strict adherence to the clock was a bit of a joke among his fellow staff.
‘I hadn’t planned on a break. Ten, fifteen minutes and I’ll be out of here.’
‘OK, I’ll meet you in the foyer in fifteen.’
The call terminated before she could offer a refusal.
A soft imprecation fell from her lips. On the surface Michael’s attention appeared as lighthearted, bantering fun. Yet occasionally she had the impression there was a seriousness beneath it all.
Ten minutes later she closed down the laptop, caught up her bag and headed to Reception. It was almost seven; it had been a long day, and the last thing she felt inclined to do was spend out-of-office time with the head partner’s son.
Michael was waiting for her when she reached the foyer, and together they rode the lift down to ground level.
Lianne didn’t miss a beat as they reached the external set of doors. ‘There’s a café at the end of the block.’
‘Why not head to Southbank? We can look out over the river, and the food is to die for.’
There it was again, that instinctive, almost intuitive feeling. ‘Michael, it’s coffee, not a meal.’
He spread his hands in a defensive gesture. ‘OK, got it. Coffee.’
It didn’t take long to reach the café, and they found an empty table just in from the entrance.
‘So,’ Michael began after they’d given their order. ‘What gives with wonder-boy?’
Lianne lifted an eyebrow. ‘I assume you’re referring to Tyler Benedict?’
‘One and the same.’
She looked at him evenly. ‘You must know I can’t discuss his business affairs.’
‘It’s the personal angle I’m interested in.’
‘Is that why you invited me to share coffee?’
‘Is it such a crime to want to spend time with you?’
‘Michael,’ she protested. ‘We’re legal colleagues. That’s all.’
‘What if I want more?’
‘But I don’t,’ she managed quietly.
‘Are you going to insult me with the it’s not you, it’s me spiel?’
‘No.’
A waitress presented their coffee, then moved on to take an order from another table.
Lianne added one sugar and stirred the aromatic brew.
It was hot, and she sipped carefully, wanting only to drink it as quickly as possible and leave.
‘Who is he?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The man in your life.’
This was getting tiresome. She looked at him steadily. ‘I don’t have one.’
‘So…why not me?’
‘Friends and colleagues.’ She effected a light shrug. ‘That’s as far as it goes,’ she declared firmly.
‘Tell me what I have to do to change your mind.’
Lianne had had enough. ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’ With one smooth movement she stood, extracted a note and placed it beneath her cup. Then she turned and walked out of the café.
She banked down irritation during the short distance to the office basement car park and, although it wasn’t intentional, there was a certain satisfaction in hearing the noise of squealing tyres as she turned sharply on to the ramp leading to street level.
Her irritation with Michael junior hadn’t cooled overmuch when she reached her apartment, and she slipped off her jacket, stepped out of her stilettos and crossed to the kitchen. Food was the furthest thing from her mind, but a long cool drink would suffice, then she’d shower, slip into something comfortable and lose herself in a good book.
Half an hour later she emerged from the shower. Then, dry, she pulled on an oversize T-shirt and wound a towel, turban-style, over her wet hair.
Better, she admitted. The warm, pulsing water had soothed the rough edges and cooled her temper.
Hunger ensured she fixed herself something to eat. Then, just as she was about to call Zoe, her cellphone rang.
‘Will you accept an abject apology?’
Something twisted inside her stomach at the sound of Michael junior’s voice. ‘I’d prefer any conversation between us to be limited to office hours.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Goodnight.’ She ended the call and prowled the lounge, only to tense as her cellphone began an insistent peal. If it was Michael junior…
‘Lianne.’
Chris. Thank heavens. ‘Hi, bro.’ Her voice held affectionate warmth. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Mom just phoned. They’re driving up from Geelong Sunday morning for a week or so. Thought we’d plan a barbecue. You’ll be here?’
‘Of course. I’ll bring dessert.’
‘Around eleven?’
‘Got it. How’s Sharon, and Shantel?’
‘Fine. We’re just not getting much sleep.’
New parents, new babe. She could hear Shantel’s distressed crying in the background. ‘Go be a good papa.’ She smiled at the thought of her brother in the parental role. ‘See you Sunday.’
Her niece was a delight, so tiny and perfect. A true joy for her doting parents. Lianne adored being an aunt.
It was after ten when she went to bed, and late when she closed the book and switched off the lamp.
To her surprise she fell asleep almost at once, and didn’t wake until six when the alarm went off.
Half an hour in the gym was followed by a shower, then breakfast, and she was halfway through dressing when her cellphone rang.
‘Tyler.’ The familiar drawl held a certain brusqueness and she envisaged him checking the day’s schedule and making notes as he dealt with each written task. ‘I’ve tied things up here and will be in Melbourne around midday. Will you alert Michael and arrange an early afternoon appointment? SMS me when you have a time.’
‘OK.’
‘Good morning to you, too,’ he offered with musing humour, and cut the call.
Work took Lianne’s attention, with a few minor amendments to the report she’d prepared for Michael senior’s approval.
It appeared Tyler had several properties in Queensland under consideration, ranging from the Gold Coast to Port Douglas in the north. Vaguely surprising were the i
nclusion of a few residential homes.
She emailed the report through, printed out triplicate copies, and was about to take a coffee break when an assistant from Reception delivered a stunning floral arrangement.
‘For me?’ There had to be some mistake.
‘I know of only one Lianne Marshall in the firm,’ the attractive assistant assured with a friendly smile. ‘I’ll organise a vase.’
Who? Her birthday was months away, there was nothing to warrant a congratulatory bouquet…
She plucked the small envelope from its nesting place, extracted the card, read the words and experienced a momentary feeling of unease.
Michael junior. The written message for you was innocuous.
An apology? She keyed him a thanks text message in acknowledgement, then she checked her day’s schedule.
There were phone calls she needed to make, a title search to organise, and enough paperwork to carry her through the day.
Tyler’s presence mid-afternoon moved Lianne’s nervous tension up a notch, and it took concentrated effort to present a calm persona during the meeting.
If she had thought her participation would be minimal she was mistaken, for Tyler drew her into the discussion as he requested her input on the properties he’d selected as warranting his interest.
‘Capital growth on the Gold Coast is at an all-time high on beachfront property,’ Lianne opined. She had a knowledge of the area and she’d studied the latest real estate trends. ‘Particularly Hedges Avenue at Mermaid Beach. Apartment living is very popular at Main Beach. Both areas have easy access to beaches, trendy society cafés and shopping centres. When it comes to canal-front homes, there are several prestigious areas, with Sovereign Islands numbering high on the list.’
Tyler gave her his total attention. ‘And country living?’
‘Terranora Heights, Tallai,’ she ventured. ‘Depending on your definition of country. Small or large acreage, remote or with easy access to the main highway north and south.’
‘Industrial?’
He was far too astute not to have done his homework. ‘It would depend on your purpose.’
