He knocked again and the door flew open. He smiled. Bingo! She wore jeans and ballet flats. With the added bonus of surprisingly jaunty earrings that drew attention to the dark glossiness of her hair. He’d not seen her with her hair down before. He had an insane urge to reach out and run his hand through it, to see if it were as soft and silky as it promised.
He curved his hand into a fist and kept it by his side. He’d meant to greet her with his typical over-the-top gallantry—kiss her hand, twirl her around and tell her she looked good enough to eat—except the expression in her eyes stopped him.
He made no move to open the screen door, just met her gaze through its mesh. ‘What’s wrong?’
Puffing out a sigh, she pushed the door open and gestured him in. ‘You’re early.’
‘If you haven’t finished getting ready I’m happy to wait. You look great, by the way.’ He didn’t want her thinking that he thought she didn’t look ready. He didn’t want her stressing about her appearance at all.
‘No, I’m ready. I just... I don’t do this, you know?’
‘Date? Yes, so you said. It’s not a date, Mia.’
Her living room was small. In fact the whole cottage was tiny. She’d told him earlier in the week that she rented one of the Plum Pines workers’ cottages. There was a row of three of them on the south side of the reserve. From what he could tell, she ate, breathed and slept Plum Pines. He glanced around. Which seemed odd when she’d clearly taken few pains to make her cottage cosy and comfortable.
‘Are you sure about this plan, Dylan?’
He turned back, frowning at her unease. ‘What are you worried about?’
One slim shoulder lifted. ‘That I’ll embarrass you.’ She gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa. She planted herself on a hard wooden chair at the little dining table pressed hard up against one wall.
She moistened her lips and he realised she wore a pale mocha-coloured lipstick. Desire arrowed straight to his groin. Gritting his teeth, he did his best to ignore it. For pity’s sake, he’d warned himself off her—that should have been that!
He gritted his teeth harder. Apparently not. But, while he might find her attractive, he didn’t have to act like a teenager. He needed to put her at her ease—not crank up the tension further.
‘I can’t imagine how you think you’ll embarrass me.’
‘I’m... I’m not much of a talker, but I know I need to keep up my share of the conversation tonight.’
His heart stilled before surging against the walls of his ribs.
She lifted her hands, only to let them drop back to her lap. ‘I’ve been trying to come up with five fool-proof topics of conversation so that...’ She shrugged again. ‘So that I’m pulling my weight.’
In that moment he wanted nothing more than to tug her into his arms and hug her. He had a feeling that would be the last thing she’d want. He contented himself with leaning towards her instead. She wore a soft floral scent and he pulled it as far into his lungs as he could.
‘I don’t expect you to become a sudden chatterbox. It’s not who you are. I don’t want you to change. I like you just the way you are. So does Carla.’
Was she worried that the better they got to know her the less they’d like her? The thought disturbed him.
‘It’s just...you and Carla are so bubbly and fun. I should hate to put a dampener on that.’
She thought he was fun? A smile tugged through him. ‘You mean Carla and I are noisy chatterboxes who dominate the conversation and won’t let anyone else get a word in edgewise.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I did not say that!’
He burst out laughing. After a moment she rolled her eyes, resting back in her seat.
‘You must’ve worked out by now that Carla and I love an audience.’
She gave a non-committal, ‘Hmm...’
‘And you have to remember Thierry will be there, and no one could accuse call him of liveliness.’
‘I’m not sure I want to be compared to Thierry.’
He tried a different tack. ‘How did the school group go this afternoon?’
Her face lit up. ‘They had a great time. It’s so funny to watch them the first time they touch a snake or a lizard.’
He picked up the book sitting on her coffee table—a recent autobiography of a famous comedian. ‘Good?’
‘Yes, very. She’s as funny on the page as she is on the television.’
He set the book back down. ‘Did you hear about that prank the engineering students at the university pulled with the garden gnomes?’
She sent him an odd look. ‘I saw the photos in the paper. It was rather cheeky...but funny.’
‘What’s a dish you’ve always meant to cook but never have?’
Her frown deepened. ‘Um...veal scaloppini.’
‘I couldn’t help noticing that these cottages don’t have any off-street parking.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘And...?’
‘And I didn’t see a car parked out the front, which leads me to conclude that you don’t have a car.’
She folded her arms. ‘That’s correct.’
‘Are you planning to get one?’
‘Maybe.’
‘When?’
Her forehead creased. ‘What is this, Dylan? Twenty Questions?’
‘There you go. There’s your five topics of conversation, should you need them—a funny incident at work, a book recommendation, a local news story, does anyone have a recipe for veal scaloppini they’d recommend, and I’m thinking of getting a small to medium-sized hatchback—what should I get?’
She pushed her hair back behind her ears, all but glaring at him, before folding her arms again. ‘How do you know I want a hatchback?’
‘You’re young and you don’t have kids, which means you don’t have to settle for a station wagon yet.’
She unfolded her arms, but then didn’t seem to know what to do with them. She settled on clasping them in her lap. And then she smiled—really smiled—and it lit her up from the inside out. Her dark eyes danced and he felt a kick inside that should have felled him.
‘Five topics of conversation—just like that.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘You managed it effortlessly. How can you make it so easy?’
‘Probably the same way you can identify the difference between a bush orchid and a noxious weed.’ He grinned, referencing an incident earlier in the week when he’d set about eradicating the wrong plant.
She continued to stare at him as if he were amazing, and he had the disconcerting feeling that he could bask in that admiration forever. He shrugged. ‘Practice. In my line of work I have to talk to a lot of people. Though, if the truth be told, the sad fact is that I have a talent for frivolity and nonsense.’
‘Good conversation is neither frivolous nor nonsensical.’
He waggled his eyebrows. ‘It should be if you’re doing it right.’
She didn’t laugh. She met his gaze, her face sober. ‘It’s not nonsense to put someone at ease.’
His gut clenched up all over again. If he continued to put her at her ease would she eventually let him kiss her?
He stiffened. He and Mia were not going to kiss. They weren’t going to do anything except find out if Thierry deserved Carla. Full stop.
This was nothing more than a case of opposites attracting. He and Mia were too different—too mismatched—to make things work in the long term. And he refused to do anything to hurt her in the short term. She’d been through enough.
* * *
By the end of dinner Dylan could cheerfully have strangled Thierry. The only contributions he’d made to the conversation had been negative, except when Carla had won a grudging concession that his gourmet burger was ‘okay’.
Mia, for all her worry, had been a
delightful dinner companion. And nobody had needed to ask her if her burger was good. The expression on her face after she’d taken her first bite had made him grin.
Thierry had scowled.
From what Dylan could tell, scowling was Thierry’s default setting.
When a lull had occurred in the conversation Mia had mentioned the book she was reading and asked if anyone else had read it.
Thierry had ignored the question.
Carla had invited Mia to join her book group.
Mia had kept her expression interested, but in her lap her fingernails had dug into her palms, creating half-moons in her flesh that he’d wanted to massage away.
She’d swallowed. ‘Are you sure I’d be welcome?’
‘All are welcome! We meet at the library on the first Wednesday of the month.’
‘Well...thank you. It sounds like fun.’ And she’d promised to read the following month’s book.
Dylan had wanted to hug her. He hadn’t known that asking her to befriend Carla, and the specific details involved, would be so difficult for her. The thing was, friendship didn’t seem to be an issue at all. He sensed that both women genuinely liked each other. But going out and mixing with people was obviously a challenge for Mia.
He couldn’t help thinking, though, that locking herself away and hiding from the world wasn’t the right thing to do.
He’d taken his cue from her, however, and gone out of his way to invite Thierry for a game of golf. Thierry had declined, saying he didn’t play the game. Dylan had then tried inviting him out on his yacht, but Thierry had declined that too, saying he was too busy with work at the moment.
His heart had sunk when Carla had avoided his gaze. What on earth did she see in the man?
Now dinner was over, and they were finally seated in the cinema—Mia on one side of him and Carla and then Thierry on the other—Dylan let out a sigh of relief, no longer obligated to attempt small talk with his sister’s fiancé.
It wasn’t until the cinema darkened, though, that he suddenly remembered Mia’s thin-lipped, pale-faced reaction to the nocturnal houses. Damn it! Did the cinema have the same effect?
He touched her arm and she started.
‘Is being here uncomfortable for you? Is it like the nocturnal houses?’ He kept his voice low so no one could overhear.
‘No, it’s fine. High ceiling...and it’s cool. Those things make a difference.’ Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. ‘Actually, I’m really looking forward to the film.’
It made him wonder when had been the last time he’d relished an outing as simple as this one. Reaching over, he took her hand. When she stiffened, he leaned closer to whisper, ‘It’s just for show.’
It wasn’t, though. He held her hand because he wanted to. He leaned in closer because he wanted to breathe in that subtle floral scent she wore.
When the movie started her hand finally relaxed in his as if she’d forgotten it was there. For the next ninety minutes Dylan experienced the romantic comedy tactilely—entirely through Mia’s reactions. They weren’t reactions visible in her face, but evident only via her hand in his—in the twitches, squeezes, sudden letting go, in her hand’s tension and relief. He sat there spellbound as Mia worried for and cheered on the romantic leads. All of it rendered for him through her fingers.
What miracle allowed him to read the language of her hand so fluently? His heart surged against his ribs. He had to be careful not to let his fascination with this woman grow. Very careful. Nothing good could come of it.
* * *
When Dylan pulled up outside the front of Mia’s cottage at the end of the evening she didn’t invite him in.
She shook her head when he reached for his door handle. ‘You don’t need to walk me to my door.’
But what if he wanted to?
This isn’t a real date.
He nodded. ‘Right.’
She undid her seat belt. ‘I just wanted to say...’ She swung back, and even in the dark he could see the wariness in her eyes. ‘I did have a nice time tonight, Dylan. Thank you.’
‘I’m not after thanks. I want to apologise. For Thierry. Again.’
She shook her head. ‘Not your place.’
He clocked the exact moment when she gave in to her curiosity.
‘But why in particular this time?’
There’d been an excruciatingly awkward moment at dinner. Carla had asked Mia what the last film she’d been to see had been, and Mia had paled. Thierry had pounced with a narrow-eyed sneer.
‘It might be more pertinent to ask, When was the last time you went to the movies?’
Dylan’s gut had churned and an ugly heat had flushed through him.
Mia had answered with a quiet, ‘It’ll be over four years since I’ve been to see a movie.’
And the reason why—the fact she’d been in jail—had pulsed in all the spaces between them.
Dylan couldn’t imagine Mia in prison—he couldn’t make it make sense. But then he recalled her Spartan cottage and wondered if she’d actually left prison at all.
He rubbed a hand across his chest, trying to dislodge the hard ball that had settled there. ‘Thierry went out of his way to make sure everyone remembered why you’d not been to see a film in so long.’
She glanced down at her hands. ‘Dylan—’
‘It wasn’t only rude, it was unkind.’ How could Carla marry someone like that?
Mia rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans. Finally she glanced at him. ‘No matter how much you try to ignore it or justify it, the fact I’ve been in prison is not a small issue.’
He reached out to cup her face. ‘Mia, you’re more than your past. You’re more than the mistakes that landed you in jail.’
Her bottom lip trembled. The pain that flashed through her eyes speared straight into his gut.
She reached up and with a squeeze removed his hand. ‘It’s kind of you to say that, but it’s not what it feels like. It feels huge. It was a defining moment in my life. I completely understand why other people take issue with it.’
With that she slipped out of the car and strode up to her front door.
Dylan waited until she was safely ensconced inside and the veranda light was switched off with an unambiguous ‘the night is over’ conviction. With a sigh he didn’t understand, he turned the car towards home.
* * *
Mia set her sandwich down and unclipped her ringing phone. ‘Mia Maydew.’
‘Mia, it’s Dylan and I have brilliant news.’
The sound of his voice made her pulse gallop. She swallowed and did her best to sound cool and professional. ‘Which is...?’
‘I have an appointment with Felipe Fellini—the photographer Carla’s been so hot for.’
That made her brows lift. She hadn’t thought the guy did weddings or celebrity functions any more. Still, the Fairweathers had a lot of clout.
‘She must be over the moon.’
‘I haven’t mentioned it to her yet. He’s agreed to a meeting—nothing more. I don’t want to get her hopes up until it’s official.’
Dylan was certainly going above and beyond where Carla’s wedding was concerned. Especially when he wasn’t even convinced that it would go ahead.
Correction—he wasn’t convinced that the groom was worthy of the bride. That was an entirely different matter.
‘Mia, are you still there?”
‘Yes. I... That’s great news.’ She tried to gush, but she wasn’t much of a one for gushing. ‘I’m very impressed.’
‘Liar.’ He laughed. ‘You couldn’t care less.’
‘I want Carla’s wedding to be perfect.’ And she didn’t care how surly, bad-tempered or humourless Thierry happened to be. With her whole heart she hoped he treated Carla with re
spect, that he made her happy...that he did indeed deserve her.
‘That I do believe. The thing is, Felipe wants to meet at Plum Pines this afternoon—two o’clock, if possible. He’s only in Newcastle for a couple of days, and his decision on whether or not to take the job apparently depends on the potential locations Plum Pines offers for wedding shots. He wants to start with the lily pond.’
In other words he wanted her to be available at two this afternoon to take Felipe around.
‘That won’t be a problem.’
She’d finished supervising the weed eradication programme last week. She was in the process of helping Veronica create an action plan for a particularly inaccessible area on the northern boundary. That, along with path maintenance, was what her week consisted of.
‘Are you on your lunchbreak?’
She traced a finger along the wooden edge of the picnic table. ‘I am.’
‘Excellent! That means we can chat.’
She stared up into the eucalypt canopy above and shook her head. Dylan always wanted to chat. The sooner he got back to FWE and his usual work the better. He wasn’t the kind of guy who liked sitting around and twiddling his thumbs, and she had a feeling Carla’s wedding wouldn’t have his full attention until he’d passed judgement on Thierry.
She suspected he rang her just to ‘chat’ in an effort to remove the sting of Thierry’s incivility. Which was totally unnecessary. Only she didn’t know how to say so without sounding ungracious.
‘What are you having for lunch?’
She was having what she always had. ‘A sandwich.’
‘What’s in it?’
She lifted the top slice of bread. ‘Egg and lettuce. Why is this important?’ Nevertheless, she found herself suppressing a smile.
‘Are you having chocolate once you finish your delicious sandwich?’
She choked back a laugh. ‘I refuse to have chocolate with every meal. I have a banana.’
‘But you’re missing a food group! You have carbohydrate, protein, a fruit and a vegetable, but no dairy. Chocolate is dairy. It makes for a rounded meal, Mia.’
She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’ll see you at two, Dylan.’
She hung her phone back on her belt, a frown building through her. In the last fortnight Dylan had developed the habit of calling her a couple of times a week—always during her lunchbreak. Some days he didn’t mention the wedding at all. She sometimes thought his sole reason for calling was simply to make her laugh. But why would he do that?
An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire Page 8
