She eyed him moodily. Now that he’d recovered, he always got up at the crack of dawn and went for a jog then a brisk swim in the pool and, for some reason, it annoyed her immensely to see him looking so fit and relaxed, big, vital, tousled, blue around the jaw and almost insanely attractive.
‘That was my only son.’ She got out a pan and some bacon and eggs.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Homesick?’
Ellie put the bacon on, then she removed a segment of mouth-wateringly ripe pawpaw from the fridge, scooped out the seeds and cut it into two segments. She squeezed fresh orange juice over them, a dash of sugar and topped each segment with fresh strawberries. ‘On the contrary, he’s having a ball.’ She placed Brett’s fruit in front of him.
‘I see.’ Brett looked down at the plate, then up into her eyes. ‘Thanks. Ellie?’
But she turned away and went over to the stove where she busied herself with the bacon and eggs.
‘All right,’ she heard him say, ‘how about lunch, then?’
‘I’ve only just started breakfast,’ she responded tartly. ‘Isn’t it a bit soon to be wanting lunch?’
‘I was suggesting that I take you out to lunch.’
‘What for?’ She turned from the stove with a frown.
‘It’s Saturday, it’s a lovely day and it may just take your mind off your only son, who is not missing you at all by the sound of it. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ he added, his grey eyes dancing. ‘It only points to a well-adjusted kid. You could be a different matter, however.’
Ellie had a spatula in her hand, which she held aloft in outraged amazement. ‘Are you saying I’m badly adjusted?’
He grimaced. ‘No. Just a bit lost and lonely at the moment—probably quite natural for a mother of an only child. Uh—something’s burning.’
She turned back to the stove with a smothered exclamation and rescued the bacon.
‘Twelve o’clock suit you, Ellie?’
‘I haven’t agreed to go.’
She heard him get up as she cracked two eggs and added them to the pan and put some toast on. And the little hairs on the back of her neck rose, indicating he was standing behind her. The next moment the spatula was removed from her fingers and he turned her to face him.
‘Brett!’ she protested.
‘Ellie,’ he replied, ‘I don’t intend to take no for an answer.’
‘You can’t force me to go to lunch with you!’
‘There is an alternative,’ he said softly. His gaze roamed over her flushed face and the spot at the base of her throat where he had kissed her so pleasurably. ‘As an antidote to being lost and lonely, perhaps even having a slightly sore head from a rather generous intake of champagne yesterday, some really rousing sex can work wonders.’
‘D-don’t touch me,’ she stammered.
He smiled, the most enigmatic smile she’d ever seen. ‘How about lunch, then?’
‘All right,’ she said rapidly, ‘but I’ll probably be very annoyed about it!’
‘We’ll see.’ He handed her back the spatula and, adding insult to injury, dropped the lightest kiss on the top of her head. ‘Go to it, Mrs Beeton.’
He took her to a seafood restaurant across the river—and it was impossible to remain annoyed.
They made the crossing in one of the river cats, the fast catamaran ferries that plied the Brisbane River, and were a treat not only as a means of getting from A to B but as a way of experiencing one of Brisbane’s great resources, its river.
In fact, Ellie noted as they sat in the sun and skimmed over the water, the way Brett looked around it was as if he were taking his home town in through his pores, and loving it.
‘A bit different from the Congo?’ she said.
‘A lot different.’
‘You must have had some good times there, though,’ she suggested.
‘I had some great times and I met some great people, but home’s nice.’
Ellie sighed suddenly.
He looked a question at her.
‘I love Brisbane too,’ she said ruefully. ‘It’s just that I had great plans to backpack my way around the world before I reached thirty.’
‘You may find that the delay only means you’ll be able to do it in more comfort.’
‘I may need to find myself a rich husband,’ she said thoughtlessly.
He raised an eyebrow but said, ‘You’re looking very chic, Ms Madigan.’
Ellie glanced down at her outfit, a white, summery, sleeveless tunic top over a three-quarter-length gathered cinnamon skirt and matching sandals. She always liked the swirl of the skirt around her legs and she had a lovely straw hat with a wide brim on. ‘Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.’
She said it lightly, as a throwaway line, but it was all too true. With a breeze ruffling his dark hair and wearing a blue and white striped shirt, open at the throat, with his moleskins, he was extremely good-looking.
‘Thank you!’ He took her hand as the river cat docked. ‘After you, ma’am.’
They sat on the restaurant’s terrace beneath an umbrella overlooking the river and she refused a glass of wine in favour of a long, cool soft drink and ordered butterfly prawns. He ordered a beer and grilled schnapper.
‘Not inclined to have some hair of the dog, Ellie?’
‘No.’ She looked rueful. ‘I’m feeling fine now but I don’t drink during the day because I need my wits about me, I guess. Not that Simon’s here at the moment.’
He smiled. ‘Is he such a handful—Simon?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘No more than any active ten-year-old boy, I suspect. He’s actually pretty good.’
‘You and he seem to have a great relationship.’
‘Even though I may have missed out on backpacking my way around the world, I think it’s helpful to be young enough to relate to your kids or—’ she looked impish ‘—perhaps there’ll always be a bit of kid in me.’
‘You certainly don’t look like the mother of ten-year-old.’
Ellie studied him through her lashes, then she said abruptly, ‘You’re still doing it, Brett, trying to massage my ego. But I can fight my own battles.’
He subjected her attractive outfit and immaculate grooming to another brief inspection.
‘All right!’ she said frustratedly, then had to laugh. ‘I guess Chantal has put me on my mettle, such as it is. But the only person I’m concerned about feeling good about me is me, not you about me, if that makes sense.’
‘Perfect sense,’ he murmured, with a wicked glint of humour in his eyes. ‘But before Chantal hit us, it had already occurred to me that there was almost a new you, Ellie, from the girl of Tom’s time and even the last time we met. A much more vibrant, confident person. Being thirty becomes you, Elvira Madigan.’
It was so long since anyone had called her that, Ellie almost did a double take. By the time she’d realized she’d been named after a Danish tightrope walker who’d had an affair with a Swedish army officer with tragic consequences, she’d changed her name in her mind to Ellie, and had used it ever since.
Now she said, ‘Don’t remind me.’
He looked amused. ‘I always thought it was rather attractive. But to get back to the you of now, I’m impressed, Ellie, and full of admiration for how you’ve coped with life. I know it can’t have been easy.’
She stared into his eyes, then looked away with a slight shiver. ‘You do what you have to, I guess, that’s all. But it hasn’t all been doom and gloom. I can’t imagine life without Simon now, he brings me so much joy.’ She smiled and sniffed.
‘I’m glad,’ he said simply.
Ellie frowned suddenly. ‘Is that why you want to stay around us now—apart from Simon, of course? Because I’m a better person?’
‘I didn’t say that. As a matter of fact, the first time you intrigued me and it occurred to me that I’d like to sleep with you was when you were nineteen and the day I found out what your real name was.’
If
her synapses had been tested recently they now flashed in collective disbelief. ‘What?’
He lay back in his chair. ‘It’s true. That name and something a little lost, embarrassed and lovely about you definitely prompted the thought.’
Ellie could only stare at him.
‘I guess you’re wondering why I’ve never mentioned it?’ He raised an eyebrow at her.
‘Yes. No.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Why didn’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘First of all there was Tom. Then you were grieving for Tom and pregnant. And by the time Simon was born I knew I’d be away for long periods and I doubted you’d got over Tom anyway.’
‘So, what you’re saying…’ her voice was shaky ‘…is this. You’d thought about sleeping with me as opposed to falling in love with me? Just as it crossed your mind that Chantal was desirable but you could take it or leave it?’
‘I’m saying the time hasn’t been right to mention it, that’s all,’ he replied evenly. ‘It’s right now for more reasons than one. So that you know it isn’t something that’s jumped up out of the blue for me and—eleven years ago there was no Chantal or a stint in the Congo I was trying to readjust from.’
Ellie could only stare at him with her lips parted.
He smiled rather satanically and recommended that she eat her lunch before it got cold.
She blushed, and did as she was told. In fact she ate every morsel of her lunch in silence as a delaying tactic while she grappled with this revelation and how to handle it. But her thoughts were jumping like fleas, with a definite tendency to jump backwards rather than forwards.
She’d been so sure she’d never appealed to Brett in any way. But suddenly, and clear as a bell, she remembered the day Tom had let slip her real name to Brett Spencer.
She’d experienced her usual embarrassment—she’d worn her hair long in those days and to cover the embarrassment she’d taken her scrunchie off, combed her fingers through her hair, then gathered it back into the scrunchie. As she’d lowered her arms she’d become aware that Brett’s gaze had still been on her, and for no reason she’d been able to think of she’d felt hot and bothered over more than her father’s explanation that, once they had a daughter, he and her mother could never seem to get beyond the name Elvira to go with Madigan.
But all she’d been able to put that feeling down to was yet another reason for Brett Spencer to disapprove of her.
Now, though, it all fell into place as she remembered also that he’d said, surprisingly gently, it was a pretty name. And she dipped her last prawn into the tartar sauce and felt her heart soar like a bird…
Moments later it came tumbling down as she rinsed her fingers in the flower-studded bowl. Two or three years perhaps, but eleven years was an awfully long time to wait to do anything about the feeling that had come to him.
She picked up her glass and studied the river traffic. There were seagulls wheeling noisily above a trawler as it steamed up stream, and the bow of a trim little blue and white yacht rose and sank gently as it sailed through the trawler’s wake.
Brett finished his fish and put his knife and fork together but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She couldn’t, yet, work out what she’d be getting herself into if she admitted her true feelings to him. It was all so new, so…it was still pretty flimsy, she thought.
‘I gather I’ve floored you, Ellie.’
She had to look at him at last. ‘Perhaps,’ she conceded. ‘I had no idea.’
Their gazes clashed.
‘Well?’ he said softly.
Ellie felt her forehead bead with sweat as her pulses started to hammer and she had no doubt that at this point in time, at least, Brett was actively thinking of sleeping with her. It was there between them like an invisible conduit, allowing something in his gaze to arouse the most intimate sensations in her. It was like being caressed mentally and not a whole lot different from the real thing—and this time she had no magazine to hide behind as these powerful sensations raced through her.
She moved restlessly as it became plain she’d aroused some quizzical amusement across the table. ‘Look, I don’t know what to say! I…it…it may be amusing for you, but it’s not for me.’
‘My apologies, I didn’t mean to laugh at you. But…’ he paused and frowned ‘…your reaction seemed to suggest it was out of the question for you to be found attractive and desirable.’
‘By you, yes,’ she conceded.
‘Is that because you never thought about me in the same way—discounting recent times?’
She swallowed and frantically tried to organise her thoughts. ‘No,’ she said rather bleakly, at last. ‘But that may only place me in the same category as—’ she gestured ‘—the waitress who served us. What I mean to say is it could be an occupational hazard for most women who cross your path. There is a huge distinction between that and…really being in love with someone, however.’
‘It all has to start somewhere, though.’
‘Only a man could say that!’ She eyed him darkly.
He grinned. ‘You’re wrong. It was said to me by a woman very recently as it happens.’
She blinked.
‘Chantal Jones,’ he supplied. ‘Your sister-at-arms.’
A reluctant smile tugged at Ellie’s lips. ‘She’s not really, and, forgive me, but I wouldn’t say you’ve completely cured yourself of her yet, Brett, but—start what?’
He sat back. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that you and I leap straight into bed, Ellie. Merely that we consider the future and the possibilities.’
It was like having cold water dashed over her and there was nothing she could do to hide it.
She said stiffly, ‘I think I’d like to go home now.’
‘This time I’ve offended you.’
She didn’t answer; she switched her gaze to the river, then looked at her watch. ‘I think there’s a ferry due shortly.’
‘Wouldn’t you like some coffee?’
‘No, thank you. And thanks for lunch but I’ve got that kite to finish off so I really ought to get home—’ She stopped abruptly and closed her eyes briefly.
At the same time someone walked up to the table, a svelte, attractive brunette, saying, ‘Brett Spencer—is it really you?’
He stood up. ‘Delia Saunders—is it really you?’ And an enthusiastic reunion followed.
‘But I’m no longer Delia Saunders, Brett! I married Archie McKinnon about three years ago, don’t know why I waited so long,’ Delia said humorously. ‘We’re deliriously happy!’
‘Congratulations, I always thought you and Archie were made for each other! Delia, this is Ellie.’
Delia did a speedy reconnaissance and must have liked what she saw because she sat down excitedly. ‘This is so fortuitous,’ she said. ‘It’s our third wedding anniversary next weekend and we’re having a party. Do please come, both of you!’
‘Why not?’ Brett said. ‘Thank you, Delia.’
‘I’m not going,’ Ellie said to the river.
‘Why didn’t you say so at the time?’
Ellie watched the wake of the river cat for a long moment, then tossed him an irony-laden glance. ‘How—without making a complete fool of myself? It was hard enough to know what to say at all.’
He shrugged. ‘Delia always gives wonderful parties.’
‘That’s not the point. Going out and about as a couple is—a complication we don’t need, surely?’
‘Why?’
‘Brett, you’re being obtuse—or something,’ she accused.
He grinned wickedly. ‘It would be a good way of getting to know another facet of each other, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘I’m not sure that’s what we should be doing or will be doing. I’m not sure at all,’ she said a little bleakly.
‘Well, think about it,’ he suggested. ‘In the meantime do you mind if I drop you off at home? I need to do a few things in town.’
Think about it, Ellie repeated in her mind as she let
herself into the quiet house.
And was surprised to discover she felt like screaming again and shouting with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. What, precisely, did he have in mind? An affair? True, there’d been that moment when things had got electric between them. But despite his protestations of innocence he must have created some electricity for Chantal—quite possibly he was able to turn it on and off like a tap!
But how much of the real Brett Spencer did she know? Enough to make an informed decision on the subject of taking the quantum leap into his bed?
‘There’s something here that doesn’t gel,’ she said to herself, and with a sigh got to work on her kite.
CHAPTER FIVE
SIMON came home late on Sunday afternoon looking tanned and fit and glowing with enthusiasm. Causing Ellie to say with a trace of irony, after she’d welcomed him with open arms, that for such an avowed away-from-nature freak his enthusiasm for camping was a little surprising.
‘It’s all in the company, Mum! We had a ball, midnight feasts, we played poker and I got to abseil down a cliff!’
She raised her eyebrows.
‘Just as well you weren’t there,’ he said with a cheeky grin. ‘You’d have been having kittens.’
Ellie upended his bag on the kitchen floor to find every piece of clothing mud-stained and damp. ‘Glory be,’ she murmured. ‘Did it rain a lot up there?’
‘Nope, not a drop!’
‘So?’ She picked up a T-shirt gingerly.
‘There was this fantastic waterhole. We used to pretend we were hippos and sing that song.’
“‘Mud, mud, glorious mud?’”
‘Yep.’ Simon dissolved into laughter.
‘You are aware that you’ve probably ruined all these clothes?’
‘No way,’ he said blithely. ‘You’re brilliant at getting out stains!’
‘I just hope your faith in her isn’t misplaced,’ Brett said, coming into the kitchen and eyeing the mound of clothes ruefully. ‘But it’s good to have you back, mate.’
‘Just between you and me, it’s good to be back,’ Simon said and cocked an eye in Ellie’s direction. ‘She been handling things OK?’
‘Simon,’ Ellie said severely.
His Convenient Proposal Page 7
