by Sami Lee
What right did he have anyway, to expect her to change because he was having difficulty controlling himself? Those casual jeans and ridiculous tops suited Meg, they were a part of what separated her from every woman he’d ever met, part of what made her unique. How could he want her to change when she seemed so damned perfect the way she was? If anyone should be making a few changes here, it was him.
The thought made his brows draw together. Did he need to make changes?
Meg’s comments about the need for him to spend more time with Phillipa had been niggling at him all week. Could doing simple things together, like playing the piano and going over maths homework, really bring them closer?
He glanced around the room. As he took in the heavy cedar dining setting and sideboard, the red damask curtains, he recalled Meg’s sketchbook and the pictures she’d drawn inside. Furniture too heavy. Atmosphere oppressive. She was right about that too, and the realisation stirred in his gut. It was a beautiful sunny morning and this room managed to wipe the sparkle off it by dampening the natural light.
His parents had bought this house when he was a boy and his mother had decorated it. He hadn’t changed anything about it in the time he’d been living here without them, not even when Isabelle had begged him to let her make the place over. He hadn’t wanted to let go of all he had left of his parents, of the family they had been before that tragic plane crash. Had he been holding too tight to the past?
He didn’t like this room. It wasn’t his style — but what was? He had no idea, but maybe it was past time to find out.
Before he fully realised what he was about to do, Bryce pushed back from the table and strode into the kitchen. Meg was washing the breakfast dishes. When he shoved the swinging door aside it slapped against the wall, causing her to turn her startled gaze toward him.
He opened his mouth to apologise. The words that came out instead were terse with impatience. ‘I looked in your sketchbook.’
Not surprisingly, she appeared stunned. ‘You did?’
‘I saw the pictures you’d drawn of the house. The improvements you thought it needed.’
Her expression shuttered. She drew herself upright and turned from the sink. ‘I didn’t mean any offence. It’s something I do, the sketches. I don’t know why. I don’t know where this yen to pull down everyone’s curtains comes from. I promise the habit hasn’t been interfering with my work.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting —’
‘Haven’t I been the model employee lately? I’ve been trying so hard. I know I’ve messed up before…’
‘No, you haven’t…’
‘…but I’ve been making improvements. See how I’m dressed?’ She spread her arms wide and glanced down to indicate her appearance. ‘Not a single cartoon character or any faded denim in sight.’
Bryce’s jaw set against the urge to sweep his gaze over her body in an assessment more thorough than would be acceptable. ‘I’ve noticed.’
‘I don’t know what else to do. I haven’t said anything impertinent in days.’
He’d noticed that, as well. In fact he’d missed her occasionally brutal disingenuousness so much that the deferential silence that replaced it seemed deafening to his ears. ‘I didn’t come in here to reprimand you.’
One hand parked on her hip as Meg returned his stare with a baffled look. ‘Then what are you trying to say?’
What indeed? He could face down a room full of shareholders without having to buy a vowel but one willowy blonde somehow rendered him inarticulate. He pushed out the words. ‘I want you to redecorate my house.’
He did?
Meg appeared as bewildered as he felt. ‘You want me to what?’
‘Redecorate. Not my entire house.’ He reminded himself she wasn’t a qualified decorator. ‘I thought perhaps you could start in the dining room. Give me a few ideas about how I might make better use of the space. Make it more inviting.’
She brought a hand to her chest. ‘And you want me?’
Oh, a loaded question if ever he’d heard one. Bryce forced himself to ignore the way her breathy inquiry shot fire into his blood. ‘You have done some study in interior design. If you want to pursue a career in that field this would be a good opportunity for you to increase your base of experience.’
She blinked her huge blue-grey eyes at him, speechless, as he continued. ‘Occasionally I have colleagues over for dinner. The place could do with a more modern look. It might even be tax deductible.’ His argument was sounding more rational the longer he spoke, and less like the deranged proposition of a befuddled lunatic. If Meg gained some hands-on experience she could start a portfolio. He could give her a reference and she could get a job somewhere else, where she wouldn’t provide a constant temptation for him. ‘You’ve indicated you’d like to do more with your time during the day, so this makes sense all round.’
The expression on Meg’s face began to change. Confusion was slowly replaced by a tentative anticipation that curved her mouth and made her eyes twinkle. ‘You mean it? You want me to redecorate?’
‘You’d have to run everything by me first, of course.’ He couldn’t believe he hadn’t mentioned that up front. ‘Draw some sketches for me, perhaps show me some samples before anything went ahead.’
‘Sure, sure.’ Her hands fluttered that detail away. ‘I’ll do anything you want. I have so many ideas Bryce. I know I can come up with something you’ll like.’
Bryce didn’t doubt it. He’d probably agree to paint the room purple if it would put that gleeful expression on her face. He forced some semblance of professionalism into his voice. ‘We’ll soon see.’
‘Oh, you’ll see all right. You’ll see how great this place can look with a few minor tweaks. I can’t believe you’re trusting me with this.’ As she walked toward him she looked at him as though he’d offered her the key to the city. When she stood before him she placed a hand on his arm, and her touch coupled with the grateful, downright adoring look in her eye, sent his heart into a wild rhythm. ‘I can’t tell you what this means to me.’
Suddenly she leaned forward and Bryce was enveloped, entranced, by her sweet scent. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, her fingers burning through his suit jacket. Then she was close, too close, and her lips were blazing across his cheek, her silky hair tickling his temple as her arms wound around his neck.
She pulled back almost immediately, and Bryce knew she had meant the gesture to convey nothing more than gratitude. But he couldn’t control the way his hands fell to her waist, the tautness of his grasp. Nor could he seem to remove his touch when he knew he should. He held her there against him for an overlong moment, their bodies barely brushing up against each other, but firing heat into the fissure. What had started as an innocent peck took on a new life.
Meg’s gaze shot to his, surprise in her eyes. Beneath the shock Bryce detected a hint of something more, something that acted as a siren’s call to the rage of heat in his blood. It surged through his veins and his head swam. Good sense and propriety seemed distant concerns compared to the powerful urges coursing through him.
Just once, he told himself. Just this time so I’ll know the taste of her.
It took only a slight dip of his head and his lips brushed over hers. A shiver ripped through her body at the contact and her lips parted, her breath drifting over his jaw. Intentional or not, it was a blatant invitation. Bryce tightened his hold on her waist and pulled her softness against him as he settled his mouth fully over hers.
The small sound that came from her throat encouraged him. He tilted his head, obtaining better access to her mouth. She opened willingly, with a complete absence of caution that scattered his to the four winds. He dared to delve inside the sweet caverns beyond her lips. In response, the slender arms around his neck cinched tighter and Meg kissed him back with thrilling vigour, robbing him of breath.
Now he knew. She tasted like the finest, sweetest dessert from the best of restaurants. Something that, once sampled, would n
ever be forgotten.
He would want this again. Bryce knew it without a doubt, the knowledge laying waste to the stolen joy of this moment. One kiss would never be enough, yet he had already gone too far.
With a muffled groan he wrenched his mouth from hers. Meg uttered a nonsensical syllable wreathed in disappointment that only made it more difficult to turn from her. Impossible, but necessary. Bryce used the hands that were still grasping her waist to set her away from him.
Her lips formed a stunned O in her flushed face. Lashes fluttered over luminous eyes. She was so beautiful, too much a temptation. Bryce stepped back with an abruptness that made her stumble. Feeling like a cad, he stalked to the opposite side of the breakfast bench, unable to trust himself to offer a steadying hand. When he looked over at her she was clutching the granite countertop with a white-knuckle grip.
Silence screamed for agonising moments.
They began at the same time.
‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Bryce frowned at her words. ‘You have nothing to apologise for.’
‘I didn’t mean —’
‘I’m ready!’
Phillipa’s announcement made them both turn, guiltily abrupt, toward the kitchen door. His daughter walked into the room, her attention fixed on zipping her back pack. Bryce’s stomach plummeted. What if she’d walked in two minutes ago?
She glanced up and saw them both staring at her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Bryce lied.
‘Nothing,’ Meg supported his deception. Her voice seemed falsely bright. ‘I’m ready too. Let’s go, Phillipa. We don’t want to be late do we?’
Bryce saw the way Meg’s fingers fumbled on the car keys, the small stagger in her walk as she shooed Phillipa out the door like wild animals were on their trail, all without meeting his eyes. The feeling of remorse intensified.
He was a terrible boss, and as a father he wasn’t much better. He wasn’t unaware of the bond that was gradually forming between his daughter and her nanny. How could he have been so selfish as to risk scaring Meg away? She had left her last job because her employer had been inappropriate with her. Would she leave this one too?
The possibility left him feeling panicked, which was odd, considering he’d just made sure she got decorating experience with the express purpose of fast-tracking her exit from his life. Yet he couldn’t deny she was good at the job he’d actually hired her for, better than any of the qualified, professional nannies he’d hired over the past eighteen months. Down to earth and difficult to faze, Meg was the perfect caretaker for his wilful daughter.
Bryce thought of how she had felt in his arms. She was perfect.
He shook his head as though he could so easily silence his inner voice. He couldn’t kiss her again — not ever. He shouldn’t have kissed her the first time.
The difference was now he knew what he was missing. Excitement, elation, pure bliss.
With resolute motions he prepared himself to head to the office.
***
On Friday morning, Meg was using the laptop Bryce had said she could use to research furniture suppliers online when the phone rang. Mrs Dunkirk beat Meg to it, and sent Meg a look that seemed to say phone answering was not her job, before turning away to speak into the receiver.
A moment later Meg’s ears pricked up at the older woman’s exclamation. ‘I told you not to try and lift that Mother! Why don’t you ever listen to me?’ A pause and then, ‘I’ll have to come right away, won’t I?’
Meg was waiting for details, not bothering to hide her interest when Mrs Dunkirk whirled around. The woman seemed harried. ‘My mother was trying to move a pot plant and has taken a fall. She can’t get up off the ground. It was lucky she had the mobile phone I gave her in her pocket. She’s called an ambulance and I’m going to meet it at the hospital.’
‘Crikey, you’d better get going Mrs D.’ When the other woman’s expression barely flickered at the way Meg had accidentally called her Mrs D, Meg knew she was very worried about her mother. She said, gently coaxing, ‘Just go, I’ll handle everything here today.’
‘You will?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘Even the dinner?’
Meg would have been insulted if she hadn’t been thoroughly used to the woman’s distrust of her by now. ‘I am capable of cooking, you know. I’ll call Bryce and let him know what’s going on. I’m sure he’ll insist you take the rest of the day off.’
The housekeeper muttered something about her taking liberties but, obviously preoccupied, she collected her bag and scurried out the door.
Moments later, Meg picked up the phone and dialled the number on the business card Bryce had left her in case of emergencies. It wasn’t long before the phone was answered by a woman with a smoothly cultured voice.
‘Bryce Carlton’s office.’
‘Hello my name is Meg Lacy. I was wondering if Bryce — Mr Carlton — was free to talk?’
‘What is your business with Mr Carlton please?
‘Oh, no business. It’s personal.’
‘I see. One moment please and I’ll see if he’s available.’
Meaning of course, she’ll see if he wants to talk to her. Oh dear, thought Meg, what if he fobs me off? She’d barely seen him in the three days since that mind-blowing encounter in the kitchen, although she’d thought of little else. Was he avoiding her?
Probably. Meg was certain he must be regretting what happened between them. He’d lost his bearings for a moment and had done something out of character. She’d be naïve to read more into the kiss.
It had been a wonderful kiss.
It was a terrible thing to do, Meg. You started it, throwing yourself at him like that.
Meg ran her fingers over her lips. She fancied she could recall every sweep of Bryce’s mouth over them, every shared, shallow breath.
She wished she could forget about it as easily as Bryce apparently could.
‘Meg, is everything all right? Is it Phillipa?’
‘No, no she’s fine,’ Meg assured him. ‘It’s Mrs Dunkirk’s mother. She’s had a fall and Mrs D’s had to go to the hospital.’
‘How bad is it?’
‘I’m not sure. I just thought you should know I’m on my own here.’
Meg rolled her eyes at herself. That last comment had made it sound as though she were lonely or something.
‘Did you need something else?’ he asked when the silence stretched on.
‘Ah, no. I only wanted to make sure it was okay that I told Mrs Dunkirk to take the rest of the day off.’
‘Of course. I would have insisted on it.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ Meg coughed nervously. She was making an absolute monkey of herself. ‘Um, and I need to know if you’ll be home for dinner tonight.’
There was a silence on the other end of the line. Then, ‘I’ll be home. Is there some reason I shouldn’t come home?’
Did his voice seem strained to her? Angry? ‘Of course not. I just thought you might have a… date. Or something. It is Friday night.’ Silently, Meg started to bang her head against the refrigerator.
‘I do not have a date.’ He did sound angry. Tersely, he demanded, ‘Do you?’
‘No!’ Did she have to make it seem like such a ludicrous proposition?
‘Because if you want the night off Meg, you need only say so.’
He could not care less if she was here or not, clearly. ‘I don’t want the night off. I don’t have a date.’
‘We never did discuss the protocol relating to boyfriends.’
‘Boyfriends plural?’ Meg gasped at his implication. Just because she had practically thrown herself at him a couple of times, didn’t mean she was hot to trot for anyone wearing trousers. He was a special case, the only man who’d ever made her behave so stupidly. Didn’t he know that? ‘Just what kind of girl do you think I am?’
‘A very attractive one,’ he stated plainly, causing Meg’s mouth to dangle ope
n again. ‘I’m sure we’ll have to address this issue at some point.’
‘Eager to foist me off, are you?’ Meg inquired crossly before she could prevent the words coming out. It hurt her more than she cared to think about that he might be starting to see her as a thorn in his side.
‘Meg…’ He drew her name out in one long, frustrated syllable. She felt sure she could hear him tearing his hair out again. ‘Why don’t we discuss this later?’
‘Lovely,’ Meg said, in a very un-lovely voice. ‘But I will need your answer about dinner. I thought that if you were coming home I’d make something special. I didn’t want to go to any trouble if you were going out.’
Yikes. Something special made it sound romantic somehow, although that was not at all the way she’d intended it. She raced to add, ‘I thought I could discuss the ideas I’ve come up with for the dining room. Call it a business dinner.’
Bryce took his time thinking it over. Meg waited on tenterhooks for his response. At last he spoke. ‘If you’d like to cook, both Phillipa and I will be there.’
‘Okay,’ Meg breathed and closed her eyes, glad the embarrassing conversation was finally over. ‘I’ll see you this afternoon then,’ she said, and rang off before she could muddle things any further.
She had only about eight and a half seconds of relief before it hit her. She had said she’d cook something special for dinner. She had seen the meals Mrs Dunkirk prepared. They were arranged like modern works of art on the plate, with things like mango jus on the side. Meg didn’t know how to make things like that. Her idea of special was spaghetti bolognaise with a side order of Lambrusco.
Panicking in earnest, Meg raced to the cupboard in search of Mrs Dunkirk’s cookbooks.
***
Several hours later, Meg was no closer to achieving a new standard of perfection in nouveau cuisine than she had been when she had made the badly-thought-out call to Bryce’s office. The kitchen looked like a cyclone had been through it, every surface littered with one or another of her works in progress, failed creations that would never be sampled. It was hopeless. She could officially scratch apprentice chef off the list of possible careers, should the decorating thing not work out.
