by Nicola Marsh
When he reached the veranda he stopped and dragged in several deep breaths. No point barging in all wound up about something that wasn’t his business. What she drove, where she drove it, was entirely up to her and taking out his lingering gripes against his mum from last night on her wouldn’t achieve anything bar push her away.
And that was one thing he certainly didn’t want. Now he was here he intended on getting closer to Lola Lombard—a lot closer.
Somewhat calmer, he strode into the kitchen; and came to an abrupt stop.
Lola stood at the stove wearing a ridiculous pink frilly apron, stirring something that smelled suspiciously like Beef Stroganoff, a dish he’d cooked too many times as a kid.
Having her in his kitchen, looking like the good little housewife waiting for a devoted hubby to come home, left him feeling hollow.
This was exactly why he never came here; it reminded him too much of what he’d never had, how much he resented it.
Not that he’d expected his mum to slave over a hot stove and wait for his dad to walk in the door—far from it—but it was the whole concept of family, of warmth, of cosiness, that he’d craved growing up.
Just once he would’ve liked to come home to this scene—just once. But he’d never had a home-cooked meal, not one he hadn’t made himself, and as for a sit down family dinner? Try never.
Lola looked up at that moment, her eyes initially widening in surprise before lighting with pleasure, eradicating his bad memories in an instant.
‘Let me guess. Cari coerced you into cooking her favourite.’
She smiled and swiped her hands down the front of her apron. ‘The other girls aren’t arriving till tomorrow morning now and we got to talking about dinner and she mentioned you used to whip up a mean Stroganoff so I offered…’
She trailed off, her eyelashes giving a nervous flutter as he stepped close enough to haul her into his arms.
‘That’s nice,’ he said, his fingers toying with the apron strings, his gaze never leaving hers, picking up every flicker of emotion—fear, nervousness, excitement—and it was the last that urged him to throw caution and close the small gap between them.
‘But right now I’m not interested in my sister’s dinner.’
He slid a hand around her waist, rested it in the small of her back and tugged her forward until her breasts brushed his chest and he bit back a groan.
‘I’m far more interested in discovering if there’s anything you can’t do.’
Her lips parted but he didn’t give her a chance to respond, covering her mouth with his in a searing kiss guaranteed to keep him up at night.
She resisted for less than a second, her lips softening, responding, before she really let go and clutched at his lapels, kissing him back with a ferocity that stunned him.
He had no idea how long they stood there, locked in an embrace neither wanted to end, savouring long, hot kisses that went on for ever but if the stove hadn’t given a startling hiss he seriously doubted whether he would’ve been able to stop.
‘Damn,’ she muttered, grabbing a ladle and giving the fettuccine a furious stir, and he had no idea if she was mad at the water bubbling over onto the pristine stainless steel stove or at him for that mind-blowing kiss.
‘Cari’s in the study looking at bridal magazines,’ she said, her tone dismissive, but she couldn’t hide her ragged breathing or the blush staining her cheeks.
‘Maybe I didn’t come out all this way to see Cari?’
Her shoulders stiffened before she resumed her vigorous stirring.
‘Of course you did. What other reason—’
‘I like you, Lola. So stop pretending that sensational kiss didn’t happen and admit you feel this zing as much as I do.’
Her hand holding the ladle trembled ever so slightly before she snatched it out of the boiling water and stuck it in a holder.
Folding her arms in a typical hands-off posture, she reluctantly met his gaze.
‘You hired me to do a job and I intend to do it to the best of my ability. I can’t afford distractions.’
‘Is that all I am to you?’
His gaze drifted to her sensual lips, to their luscious ruby sheen that hadn’t budged despite their serious lip locking as he briefly wondered what she’d look like without the war paint.
Her lips compressed into a thin red slash. ‘Fine, you want me to say we share a spark? We do. But come on, Chase, you’ve shared enough sparks with women across Melbourne to create your own bonfire.’
He laughed, as delighted by her sense of humour as the rest of her.
‘I’m not a monk. But I date for convenience rather than any grand passion. How about you?’
He’d caught her off guard with his bluntness, her instant flare of panic replaced by an emotion he didn’t expect: sadness.
She shrugged, sending a longing glance at the stove as if she’d rather get back to it.
‘I don’t have much time to date these days. Go Retro takes up all my time.’
‘That’s plain wrong.’ He shook his head and captured her chin when she tried to look away again. ‘A beautiful woman like you should be wined and dined. You should be dancing and clubbing and cutting a swathe through Melbourne.’
The corners of her mouth twitched before she swatted away his hand.
‘If I had more downtime I’d spend it at an art exhibition or a poetry reading or book launches.’
Disappointed by her staid choices, he silently chastised himself for caring, again. This was nothing more than a flirtation to him, a pleasant way to pass the time, a nice distraction from the increasing edginess that pervaded everything he did lately.
He’d initially blamed it on worry at Cari heading down the matrimonial path, then later on a few business deals that had almost gone south.
But walking into this kitchen, seeing Lola again, blew his lame excuses sky high.
The reason behind his restlessness these days was a general dissatisfaction that no matter how much money he made or how many condos he invested in or how many A-list parties he attended, there was more to life.
‘I can see how riveting you’d find my social life.’
She turned back to the stove, any inroads into establishing camaraderie banished by his obvious disdain for anything remotely arty.
‘It’s good having different interests. Opposites attracting and all that?’
With an annoyed huff that made her lips pout deliciously, she stuck her hands on her hips and stared him down. ‘You’re a flirt; I get it. But I’ve got more important things to do, if you don’t mind?’
Ducking down to her ear, he murmured, ‘Ah, but I do mind.’
Her exasperated curse was tempered by an underlying hint of amusement. ‘Are you staying for dinner?’
‘Sweetheart, I’m staying for the week.’
With that parting shot that shocked him as much as it did her, he headed for the study, leaving a delightfully flustered woman gaping after him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LOLA shoved the pasta around her plate with a fork, occasionally making a show of guiding a small piece of beef into her mouth but tasting nothing.
Sitting here with Cari and Chase, listening to their easy banter, was all a bit surreal. She’d expected to be working her butt off the moment she arrived, not enjoying a casual dinner with two people she could easily see herself being friends with.
The heat of Chase’s gaze landed on her and she choked on the next mouthful.
Friends? Not a hope in hell.
The memory of that sizzling kiss in the kitchen had her reaching for a glass of water and downing the lot. It did little to cool her, her body on perpetual fire since he’d annihilated all her carefully prepared, well-rehearsed reasons why this week couldn’t be more than work.
She hadn’t expected him to turn up but on the drive here she’d gone through many reasons to keep him at arm’s length if he did.
They were opposites in every way.
He was
looking for a good time in a short time; she wanted the best time for ever.
He thrived on mod cons; she knew every shoe buckle circa nineteen fifty but wouldn’t know a smartphone from an iPad.
All very sane, logical reasons and she’d been determined to keep things between them strictly business if he did show his face.
Well, she could kiss her logic goodbye now, just like she’d kissed him without restraint.
Lord, she’d come apart the moment his lips touched hers, her body lighting up like a firecracker on New Year’s Eve.
How long since she’d been kissed like that?
One word echoed through her head…never…and she risked a quick glance at the guy who’d rocked her world.
While Cari droned on about some stunt Hugh had pulled, Chase nodded and ‘ah-ha’d in all the right places, but his gaze was firmly fixed on her.
She gulped, desperate to ease the tightness in her throat, for if either of them asked her anything her answer would come out an embarrassing squeak.
Sensing her discomfort, he smiled and raised his Shiraz in her direction, taunting her to what? Admit to this annoying, unavoidable attraction between them? Give in to whatever game he wanted to play?
Not likely but the longer he stared at her with those intense blue eyes, the harder it was to stay focused on her resolve to concentrate on work.
‘What do you think, Lola?’
Cursing the man who’d distracted her to the point of tuning out of the conversation completely, she swung her gaze to Cari, wondering how she could fluff an answer to whatever question she’d asked.
Putting down his fork, Chase steepled his fingers together, his smug grin making her itch to dump the Stroganoff in his lap.
‘Yes, tell us, Lola, we’d love to hear your opinion on my multitasking skills.’
Okay, so he’d thrown her a lifeline and saved her from mortification. Didn’t mean she had to let him off easy.
Tapping her chin, she pretended to think. ‘Considering you could barely function for two minutes when I confiscated your phone in my shop, I’d say you’re not doing so great.’
Cari’s mouth dropped open. ‘You touched his precious smartphone?’ Letting out a loud hoot, she clapped her hands. ‘Never thought I’d see the day.’
Chase’s quick glance in his sister’s direction should’ve warned her that what came next wouldn’t be good.
Chuckling, Cari punched Chase on the arm. ‘Lola, if this guy let you touch his phone, you’re practically engaged.’
Inwardly cringing, Lola glanced at Chase, expecting to laugh off his sister’s exuberant teasing with his help. She expected him to make light of it, crack a joke, fire back a quip.
What she didn’t expect was the horrified expression turning his face stony. And that was when her little fantasy bubble well and truly popped.
For no matter how much Chase flirted with her, how many times he touched her or charmed her or kissed her, it was all a game to him.
A guy like him would never get serious about a girl like her.
Apparently she wasn’t marriage material, not for him.
‘More bread?’
Lola all but shoved the basket in Cari’s direction; she’d twigged something wasn’t right with her brother and was giving him time to compose himself.
‘Yeah, thanks.’
Darting a quick glance in Chase’s direction then rolling her eyes, Cari resumed conversation as if nothing had happened, glossing over the engagement joke faux pas as if it had never happened.
And while Chase joined in again, a practised socialite at his charming best, the gloss of the evening had worn off.
A long ten minutes later, Lola begged off dessert and made a dash for the safety of her room.
Lola couldn’t sleep.
She tried: everything from counting sheep to mentally checking inventory to running through the itinerary for the next week.
Nothing worked. Every time she closed her eyes all she could see was Chase’s deep blue eyes, his sexy smile, his intent expression the second before he’d kissed her…followed by his appalled expression at the thought of being engaged to her.
That was what haunted her the most, the fact he could flirt and charm and kiss her, but the slightest hint of anything more serious sent him scuttling.
Not that she’d consider marrying him for a moment—she didn’t believe in his opposites attracting hoo-ha—but if he balked at a joke about it, what did he really think of her?
A nice little distraction for the week? A bit of fun? Someone he could toy with before moving on to his next infatuation?
Ha! As if she’d ever consider marrying someone like him. He’d have to crawl through the bush over tiger snakes and wild boars and feral dogs for her to even think about it, and then she’d still say no.
With a frustrated groan she rolled out of bed, snagged her dressing gown off the end of the bed and shrugged into it. A nice cup of chamomile tea might take the edge off her insomnia. Though, as she padded down the hallway in the darkness, her bare feet thankfully silent on the marble polished floors, she realised her foolishness.
Cari had given her a quick rundown of the kitchen earlier but where the heck would she find chamomile tea?
She daredn’t turn on the lights for the last thing she needed was Chase coming to investigate a midnight marauder in the kitchen.
Feeling her way through the monstrous stainless steel and granite kitchen, she flicked on the small light on the range hood over the stove, casting enough light into the kitchen but not enough to wake snoozing charmers—hopefully.
Rifling through the well-stocked pantry, she spied a huge range of teas on the middle shelf and grabbing the chamomile she dumped a bag into a mug while waiting for the kettle to boil.
How many times had she done this as a teenager—sneaking into the kitchen in the dead of night while the rest of her perfectly proportioned family slept?
Contrary to their beliefs, she’d never gorged on chocolates or cakes or chips. She’d just preferred having the kitchen to herself so she could sit down with a mug of cocoa and a piece of toast in peace without having her plate scrutinised.
She’d hated that, hated the constant calorie counting and portion cutting at every meal just so her mum could stay slim and her sister wouldn’t gain a pound before her next fashion show.
They’d never believed she didn’t eat junk food on the sly, always glaring suspiciously when she ate the same rabbit food as them but continued to weigh the equivalent of both of them combined.
How many times had she stared at herself in the mirror, loathing her curves, wondering why she looked like an elephant stuck between two gazelles?
Other people had thought the same: she’d seen it in their critical stares, their barely concealed distaste as they’d fawned over her mum and Shareen, deeming her not worth a second glance when their judgemental glances flicked over her.
Ironic, when she’d finally grown into her own body, had shed the puppy fat naturally and embraced her curves with clothes and styles that suited her rather than squeezing into outfits deemed worthy by her mum but that did nothing for her figure, those same people had wanted to know who the newest Lombard female was.
Flicking off the kettle before it could whistle, she poured boiling water in her cup and dunked the tea bag a few times, the familiar action soothing. Herbal tea had been the only fad of her mum’s she’d actually embraced and hoping it did the trick tonight she cradled the mug in her hands and headed for the lounge room.
Curling up with her chamomile in a suede recliner, staring out at the beautiful bushland bathed in moonlight through the floor to ceiling windows, would hopefully calm her into sleep.
As she neared the lounge she heard voices coming from the study, the soft spill of light illuminating the hallway in a gentle glow.
Damn, she needed to pass the study to get to the lounge. The smart thing to do would be head back to the safety of her bedroom but curiosity urged her forwa
rd. Besides, the study door was mainly closed. She could tiptoe past without interrupting whoever was burning the midnight oil.
However, as she edged past the door, she stopped, captured by the sight of Chase sitting behind another monstrous glass desk, his crisp white business shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his fingers flying over a laptop keyboard while he issued instructions into a Dictaphone.
He barely drew breath, barking out orders while typing simultaneously, his frantic work pace in the middle of the night startling.
Was this the norm for him? She’d thought he was a workaholic but not taking the time to change out of his business suit, stuck in his study at all hours when he’d escaped the city and had this beautiful house to relax in?
She didn’t get it. Sure, Go Retro was her life but she liked nothing better than chilling out over a skinny latte at her favourite St Kilda café or strolling along the boardwalk at Port Melbourne or her favourite, trawling the markets on lazy Sunday afternoons.
What drove a guy like Chase?
He had money to burn, probably didn’t have to work these manic hours yet here he was holed up in the early hours of the morning, pushing himself while the rest of the world slumbered.
Well, most of the world and as she gripped her mug tighter and took a step forward, he glanced up, sensing her presence.
Cursing her curiosity for landing her in this predicament, she raised her mug in his direction. ‘Just having a late night cuppa. I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Stay.’
He stood, moved around the desk towards her and she held her breath, the weariness shadowing his eyes making her yearn to reach out and erase the dark circles testifying to his long hours.
‘Please.’
His soft plea persuaded her as much as his puzzlingly bleak expression and she warily nodded, entering the study while wishing she had something more appropriate on. Slinky satin might make her feel womanly and empowered, two things she’d craved to be her entire life, but holed up in a study with a man she couldn’t stop thinking about made her acutely aware of the purple satin sliding across her breasts and hips.
