‘It’s news whenever a new woman turns up in your life—you know that.’
‘Give me the camera.’
With a sigh, Percy handed it over.
Dylan stood and indicated for Mia to shine her torch on the camera. With a flick of his fingers he removed the memory stick.
Percy clambered to his feet, caught the camera when Dylan tossed it back to him. ‘It won’t stop the story, you know.’
‘Without a photograph the story won’t gain traction.’
They both knew that.
The photographer gave an ugly laugh. ‘But one of us will eventually get a photo—you can’t remain on your guard twenty-four-seven.’
Beside him, Mia stiffened. Dylan wanted to throw his head back and howl. This was her worst nightmare, and it was he who’d dragged her into it.
‘I know who she is,’ Percy continued. ‘And I know what she’s done.’
Her absolute worst nightmare.
‘Aren’t you afraid she’s on the make? That you’re simply her latest target?’
He felt rather than saw Mia flinch. A ball of fury lodged in his gut.
Don’t rise to the bait. Don’t give the pond scum anything. Don’t feed the frenzy.
It hit him suddenly how much his name, his position, were black marks against him in Mia’s book.
Percy gave another of those ugly laughs. ‘An ex-con? Really, Dylan? What are you trying to prove? Or have you developed a taste for a bit of rough?’
Dylan reached out and took Mia’s hand. ‘I think we’re done here.’
‘Run along, darlin’.’ The photographer smirked. ‘We all know what you’re after.’
And then he called her a name that no man should ever call a woman.
Dylan whirled around, his right hand fisted, and smashed him square on the nose. Blood burst from it as the man reeled backwards to sprawl on the ground. Pain shot up Dylan’s arm.
Mia sucked in a breath, and even in the darkness he could see the way her eyes flashed.
Percy cursed. ‘You’ll pay for that, Fairweather.
Mia tried to tug her hand from Dylan’s but he refused to relinquish it. He towed her in the direction of the car instead. He had to get out of here before he did something truly despicable—like beat Percy Struthers to a pulp.
Mia sat in tight-lipped silence all the way home, only unfolding her arms to push herself out of the car once he’d pulled up at the front of her cottage. She slammed it with a force that made him wince.
He had to jog to catch up with her. She didn’t hold the front door open for him, letting it fall behind her, meaning he had to catch it. But at least she hadn’t slammed it in his face. He told himself that was something.
‘You’re...uh...cross with me?’
She turned on him, and her eyes flashed with so much anger the hair at her temples seemed to shake with it.
She seized his right hand and glanced down at it. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
She dropped it as if it burned her. Moving to the freezer, she took out a packet of frozen peas. Grabbing his hand, she slammed it on top of his grazed knuckles. It didn’t really hurt any more, but he winced anyway, hoping it would give her more bloodthirsty impulses a measure of satisfaction. And he submitted when she pushed him towards one of her hard wooden chairs—not so hard now they sported pale blue chair pads.
She lifted his left hand and dropped it on top of the peas to hold them in place, then retreated to sit on the sofa and glower at him.
The silence started to saw on his nerves. ‘You think I’m an idiot?’
‘Totally.’
‘He had no right to call you what he did.’
‘You are utterly infuriating!’ Her hands balled into fists. ‘What he called me was despicable, but the best thing you could’ve done was walk away without giving him the satisfaction of reacting.’ She shot to her feet and started to pace. ‘Oh, but, no—you couldn’t manage that, could you? No! Your honour demanded reparation for the lady—regardless of how much more difficult you’d be making it for said lady!’
He shifted on the chair. ‘I...uh...’
‘The story will break in the tabloids, the ugliest accusations will be made, and I’ll be hounded by reporters and photographers at work. Hell!’ She flung her arms out. ‘Just wait until Gordon catches wind of this. I’ll be out on my ear.’ She swung to him, thumping a hand to her chest. ‘I need to finish this traineeship. I need a decent qualification so I can get a job.’
‘I’ve already told you—come and work for me.’
‘I don’t want to work for you!’
Her rejection stung. He shot to his feet then too. ‘That’s right—you’d rather bury yourself in some godforsaken place where you can sentence yourself to a life of solitary confinement.’
‘That’s my decision to make.’
He wanted to hurl the peas across the room. Except he didn’t want to ruin the pretty new furnishings. He had to settle for dropping them in the sink instead.
He moved back into the middle of the room. ‘I have no intention of making light of your experiences with the criminal justice system, but you’re letting one experience colour your entire life.’ That hard lump of anger in his chest rose up into his throat. ‘And I am not Johnnie Peters.’
Her entire frame shook. ‘I told you—this is about me. Not you.’ She didn’t yell, but her words speared through him as if they’d come at him at great volume. ‘You punched a man tonight, Dylan. That photographer can have you charged with assault. He’d be within his rights.’
It was true. It had been foolish to react. He couldn’t find it in himself to regret it, though.
‘And you made me an eye witness to the event.’
He swung back to meet her gaze. What he saw there made his heart burn.
‘If I were in love with you, and you asked me to lie to the police about what had happened tonight...’
She didn’t finish the sentence, but her pallor made his stomach churn.
‘You’re afraid you’d perjure yourself for me?’
‘If I fell in love with you, Dylan, I’m afraid I’d risk everything again.’
He reached out to curl his fingers around her shoulders. ‘I would never ask that of you.’
She moved away until his hands dropped back to his sides. ‘The best way for me to avoid that kind of temptation is to avoid romantic attachments altogether. All I want is a quiet life. It doesn’t seem too much to ask. It doesn’t seem like such a big sacrifice to make.’
Ice sped through his veins. ‘You’re mistaken if you think living a half-life isn’t a sacrifice. It’ll keep you out of jail, it’ll keep you out of trouble, but there are worse things than jail.’
She blinked, as if that wasn’t a thought that had ever occurred to her.
‘Living a life without love is one of them. And here’s another thing for you to think about. If I fell in love with you—’ he pointed a finger at her ‘—who’s to say you wouldn’t have the same power over me that Johnnie had over you? Who’s to say you wouldn’t force me to turn my back on my principles?’
The words spilled from him with an uncanny truth that left him reeling.
Her mouth dropped open.
He forged on, not understanding what was happening to him. ‘Do you think I’d lie, steal or perjure myself for you?’
Her hands twisted together. ‘You might lie for me...if it wasn’t a big lie.’
He widened his stance. ‘But the rest?’
She bit her lip and finally shook her head. ‘No.’
‘What makes you think you would, then?’
‘My past tells me I’m weak.’
‘Do you really think three years in prison—
with all the education and counselling you received—hasn’t made you stronger?’
She still labelled herself as weak-willed and easy to manipulate. He understood her fear of prison, and her determination never to find herself back behind bars, but she was wrong. She might let people like Gordon push her around, but she was as strong as one of the Plum Pines the reserve was named after.
Behind the dark moss of her eyes he could see her mind racing. He mightn’t have convinced her. Yet. But he’d given her something to think about.
He snaked his hand behind her head and drew her face close to his.
‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked.
‘I’m giving you something else to think about. Do you really want to live without this, Mia?’
He wanted to slam his lips to hers and kiss her with all the pent-up frustration tearing at his soul. He didn’t. She’d tensed, ready to resist such an assault. And he didn’t want to hurt her. If she’d let him he’d do everything he could to make her happy.
He touched his lips to hers gently, slowly exploring the lush lines of her mouth—savouring her. He poured all of himself into the kiss, wanting to give her as much pleasure as he could.
With a shiver and a sigh she sank against him, her hands fisting in his shirt. At his gentle demand she opened up to him and he felt as if he was home. Murmuring her name, he moved to gather her close—only to find a hand planted on his chest, pushing him away.
‘Stop.’
He released her immediately.
Her chest rose and fell as if she’d been running. ‘You shouldn’t be kissing me.’
He couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do.
‘What you should be doing is readying yourself for the PR disaster that’s about to hit.’
He remained silent until she lifted her gaze to his. ‘I promise you won’t lose your job.’
She snorted her disbelief. ‘Will you please warn Carla too? I think it’d be a good idea if you told her all that I told you tonight.’
‘You want Carla to know?’
‘It seems only fair.’
‘No.’ He refused to be a party to her shutting herself off from people. ‘If you’re truly her friend, Mia, then you tell her.’
With that, he spun on his heel and left.
* * *
Dylan stumbled down Mia’s front steps, feeling as if he’d descended a drop of a thousand feet. He put out a hand to steady himself, but there was nothing to grab on to. He stood there swaying, praying he’d find his balance soon.
What had just happened?
Idiot!
The word screamed over and over in his mind, but he didn’t know why.
What was so idiotic about anything he’d done tonight? Mia might think him an idiot for punching Percy Struthers, but the man had deserved it. Given the chance, he’d do it again! And he wasn’t an idiot for refusing to be labelled as another Johnnie Peters either.
Pain shot into his jaw from clenching his teeth too hard. He was nothing like Johnnie Peters!
He lurched over to his car and flung the door open, but he didn’t get in.
He wasn’t an idiot for fighting against Mia’s mistaken view of herself. She wasn’t weak! She was one of the strongest women he knew.
Stronger than Caitlin.
He froze. Where had that come from?
But... Mia was stronger than Caitlin.
His mouth dried, and his heart was pounding so hard it sent nausea swirling through him. Mia was exactly the kind of woman who’d go the distance with a man—who’d take the good times with the bad, who’d weather the storms. Mia wouldn’t turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. If things got tough she’d dig her heels in and wait it out.
Idiot!
It finally hit him why that word kept going round and round in his mind. He collapsed on to the car seat. He’d been telling himself all this time that what he wanted with Mia was an affair, but that was a lie.
He wanted it all. He loved her. He wanted a chance to build a life with her.
His vision darkened. He raked his hands through his hair. All this time he’d thought he’d been keeping his heart safe...and yet the whole time he’d been falling in love with her.
His hands clenched about the steering wheel. He would not give up! Mia had told his uncle that he, Dylan, made dreams come true. Was there the slightest chance on earth that he could make her dreams come true?
If he wanted to win her heart he had to find out.
CHAPTER TEN
THE STORY DIDN’T break on Monday or Tuesday. It didn’t break on Wednesday or Thursday either. There wasn’t a single item in the newspapers about Dylan, let alone any shady ex-convict women he might be dating.
Not that they were dating.
Even if he’d made it clear that he’d like to be.
Mia’s wilful heart leapt at the thought, avoiding all her attempts to squash its exuberance.
She’d finally gathered up the courage to ring Carla on Tuesday night. Carla had claimed she didn’t care about Mia’s history—that she only cared about the kind of person Mia was now. Mia had even believed her.
She hadn’t seen Dylan all week. He hadn’t dropped by Plum Pines during her lunchbreak. He hadn’t rung her for no reason at all other than to talk nonsense until she started to laugh in spite of herself. He hadn’t even rung to talk about the wedding.
Despite her best intentions, she missed him.
She didn’t just miss him—she ached for him.
On Friday morning, when it was barely light, she rushed the one and a half kilometres to the nearest newsagent’s to buy a newspaper. Again, nothing.
Saturday dawned—the day of her dinner party—and still no scandal broke. She could hardly imagine what strings Dylan had pulled to hush up the story. Could she start to breathe more easily?
It didn’t make the memory of their encounter with the photographer fade, though. She physically flinched whenever she recalled the moment Dylan had punched the other man. Was he crazy? He could have been hauled off in a paddy wagon and thrown in a cell overnight! All because someone had called her a bad name.
Couldn’t he see that for the rest of her life there’d be people who’d be happy to call her bad names? What would he do—punch them all on the nose?
Dylan deserved better than that.
So do you.
The thought whispered through her and she had to sink down into the nearest chair. Her heart thumped, the pulse in her throat pounded and her temples throbbed.
There are worse things than prison.
Dylan was right.
Shame, sharp and hot, engulfed her. She’d stolen money from people—people who hadn’t deserved it. Knowing she was capable of that—living with that knowledge—was the worst thing of all. She’d willingly spend another three years in prison if it would rid her of the taint. But it wouldn’t. Nothing would. Saying sorry to the people she’d hurt, doing her jail time, being a model prisoner, having the counselling—none of that had helped.
The only way she could ensure she never did something like that again was to stay away from people as much as she could.
Heat burned the backs of her eyes. She pressed a fist to her mouth. She wanted to believe Dylan—believe that she’d changed, become stronger, that no one could manipulate her now. His face rose up in her mind...a beautiful dream she’d kept telling herself was out of reach. Her every atom yearned towards him.
With a half-sob, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t reach for that dream until she was certain she’d changed.
But how could she ever be certain of that?
* * *
Mia glanced at the plate of nibbles she’d set on the coffee table—some nice cheese and fancy crackers, along with some fat feta
-stuffed olives. Should she add some grapes to the platter?
She clasped and unclasped her hands. She wasn’t serving an entrée—just a main and a dessert...and these pre-dinner nibbles.
She peered into the refrigerator to check on the individual crème-brûlées she’d prepared earlier. What if they’d spoiled?
They hadn’t.
She glanced at the wine. What if she’d chosen the wrong sort? She knew nothing about wine. The man at the liquor store had been helpful, but still...
What if nobody wanted wine? What if they wanted something she didn’t have? She’d stocked up on mineral water and cola. She’d filled umpteen ice cube trays, so there’d be plenty of ice, but... She hadn’t thought to buy port. What if someone wanted an after-dinner port? Or sherry!
She twisted her hands together. What if she ruined the veal scaloppini?
We’ll call out for pizza.
What if she spilled a whole bottle of wine?
We’ll mop it up.
What if—?
Relax.
The voice in her head sounded suspiciously like Dylan’s. Funnily enough, it did help calm her panic.
It’s just a dinner for friends. Nothing to get het up about.
A knock sounded at the front door and her heart immediately leapt into her throat.
They were twenty minutes early!
Does it matter?
Yes. No. She didn’t know.
She wiped her palms down her pretty pink summer dress—another extravagant spur-of-the-moment purchase. She’d been making a few of those since she’d met Dylan—not that she could find it in herself to regret them.
Pulling in a breath, she went to answer it. Dylan stared at her from behind the screen. He held a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers, but she barely noticed them against the intensity of his burning blue eyes.
Swallowing, she unlatched the screen and pushed it open. ‘Come in.’
He kissed her check—all formality—and handed her the wine and flowers. ‘Gifts for the hostess.’
She swallowed again, her senses drenched with the nutmeg scent of him. ‘Thank you.’
While he might be physically close, his reserve made him seem a million miles away. Her fingers tightened around the stems of the flowers. She had no idea how to breach that distance. She wasn’t even sure she should attempt it.
An Unlikely Bride for the Billionaire Page 15
