‘I did sack you.’
‘Ry, I can’t–’
‘Julia, I want to.’
The warmth in his expression was so true and so honest that she couldn’t argue with him anymore. Julia used her mind’s eye to take a snapshot of his face, capturing the exact way he looked as he gazed down at her, and she filed it away in her memory bank. It was a keeper.
Two hours later they’d completed the first coat on the ceiling in the open plan living area. Ry had rinsed the rollers in the kitchen sink so they didn’t dry up with paint, and when he walked back into the main room he could see Julia surveying the crisp freshness of their work. She was still, her hands on her hips, her shoulders rising and falling with her deep breaths. Then she lifted her arm to wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt.
It must hurt, he realised. She was removing, bit by bit, the special things that made this her mother’s house. He debated what to do and once again, when it came to Julia, lost the battle with his commonsense.
‘You okay?’ he said quietly, keeping the distance between them.
Julia nodded and then turned to him. Her caramel brown eyes glistened with tears. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up and her hair was a tousled mess, half in and half out of a ponytail. Her daggy old jeans and shirt were splattered with paint, her body camouflaged in their folds and there was a smudge of white on her left cheek.
She simply took his breath away.
Julia held his eyes. He could see her breasts rise and fall with a sharp intake of breath.
‘Why are you helping me?’ she finally asked.
That was a question he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. ‘Because we’re old friends and that’s what old friends do.’
‘Old friends, Ry? Is that what we are?’
He could only nod.
‘Okay.’ And Julia smiled through her tears.
They’d brewed a coffee and had eaten the rest of the fresh bread for lunch while the ceiling was drying and were now ready for the next stage: another coat on the ceiling and a fresh coat for the walls.
Julia was on her knees, gripping a widget and prising open the lid of a fresh tin. She rounded the lid with a final twist, and gently eased it off before laying it upside down on the plastic drop sheet covering the floor.
‘Ta da!’
Ry stood at her side and bent over to peer into the paint. They both stared at the inky black swirls sitting on the surface like oil in a puddle.
‘That’ll need a stir.’
Julia looked up at him with wry smile. ‘No shit, Sherlock.’
‘Are you sure about that colour, Julia? It’s a little boring.’ They took another look at the white paint.
‘Not boring, Ry. Stylish. A blank canvas, so Stella tells me. You ready?’
Ry looked up. ‘What about I do the second coat on the ceiling and you can start cutting in on the walls behind me.’
‘You’ve done this before?’
He shrugged his shoulders, grinned. ‘Yeah, maybe once or twice.’
‘You’ve got a deal.’
Julia loved watching him as he painted, admiring the way his body worked, the muscles in his strong arms flexing as he moved the roller back and forth, his long neck exposed as he looked up to watch the movement. She savoured the sight of his flat belly, exposed as his T-shirt rode up. His skin there was tanned and shadowed with fine hair low on his stomach and, if she looked hard enough, which she definitely was doing, she could just make out the strong veins, like lines on a map leading down from his belly button. Down to … Julia felt a tremble in her stomach and lower. He was beautiful, always had been. There wasn’t a woman — or, let’s face it, a gay man — alive who wouldn’t appreciate the view from where she stood.
The only sound in the room was the squish of the roller on the ceiling and then she heard it. Ry was singing quietly under his breath. She couldn’t make out the words to the tune, but he was singing to the rhythm of it, humming the bass beat of what sounded like an old blues song. Her heart beat faster in her chest as his low, sexy voice became louder and a few words carried across the room to her. Something about howling at the moon and being stuck like glue.
His blue eyes were laughing as he sang, creating adorable crinkles in the corners. The shadows she’d noticed previously looked less obvious today. Another snapshot to file away in her memories of this time back in Middle Point.
‘So, Lizzie says you’re some kind of big-time property developer. Is that what you do now?’
Ry covered the roller in paint and lifted it to complete the next section of ceiling.
‘That sounds kind of wanky, don’t you think? I run BSD. Blackburn and Son Developments and we own and manage properties in the city.’
Julia considered what he’d told her. ‘So with a name like Blackburn and Son, I’m assuming you work with Your father?’
‘I did until he died five years ago.’ Ry paused. ‘Now there’s only Son … and thirty staff. I didn’t want to change the name.’
They shared a look and held it.
‘That must have been hard for you.’
‘You know what it’s like. You do what you’ve gotta do.’
Julia steadied the ladder before climbing it, a brush full of paint in her hand. When she reached the second to top rung, she leaned up and pressed the bristles to the wall, slowly and surely creating a fine line where the wall met the cornice of the ceiling, her hand steady as she began cutting in.
‘So the business is in Adelaide but you live here? Or do you come back and forth?’
Ry gave her a sly look over his shoulder.
‘What’s with the twenty questions? Am I on trial here, Your Honour?’
Julia smiled up at the wall. ‘For all I know, the gorgeous young guy I once knew could have turned into an axe-wielding maniac and here I am letting you paint my house. A girl can’t be too careful, you know.’
‘Well, lucky for you, I didn’t become an axe-wielding maniac. Although I’m only thirty-five and there’s still a possibility if you piss me off. When I saw the pub was up for sale, I couldn’t resist. I was down here to inspect it and I happened to drive past the beach house. I saw the “For Sale” sign out front and bought them both on the same day. They’ve got great potential for real capital gain in the next decade or so.’
‘So that’s how you came to own the ugliest house in Middle Point.’
The conversation was cut abruptly short. Julia looked down at Ry. His jaw twitched and he breathed in sharply, as if he was trying to stop something coming out of his mouth that he might regret later. He lowered the roller into the paint tray, held on to its pole and widened his stance.
‘The ugliest house in Middle Point? Is that what you said?’
‘That’s what people here are calling it. Face it, Ry, it’s huge and it’s kind of hideous.’
‘Is that what you think?’ She could see this was serious for him.
‘Well …’ and she realised she’d been as quick to rush to judgment as the rest of the town. ‘It’s the weekenders, Ry. People like you, who drive down in your European cars, splash out a million dollars on an old shack, knock it over and spend another million building a concrete-and-glass castle.’
‘While the people who live next door can’t even afford to replace their gutters.’
‘Something like that, yeah,’ Julia admitted.
‘Wow. If people hate my house, what do they think of the guy who owns it?’
‘People here think you’re rather nice, as it happens.’
Ry lifted the wet roller and resumed his work. ‘People … what people would they be?’
‘I can’t reveal my sources.’ Julia looked down from the ladder to watch him and he simply looked happy. Not stressed, not angry or sad. Not furious with her or frustrated. Just happy.
Spending time with him was going to be so much harder than she thought.
‘So, if your interrogation is over,’ he queried, ‘it’s my turn now. What restaur
ant do you work at in Melbourne?’
‘Huh?’ she said. A flick of paint hit Julia in the eye and she winced.
‘What’s the name of the restaurant you work in. Would I have heard of it?’
Julia gripped on to the ladder to steady herself. ‘You think I’m a waitress?’
‘Judging by that reaction I’m guessing you’re not a waitress.’
‘There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a waitress, but no, I’m not one.’
‘You were helping out at the pub, so I leapt to an obviously well-intentioned but non-judgmental conclusion.’
‘While I do love restaurants, and I spend a lot of time in them, it’s usually eating and drinking, not working.’
‘Okay. I’ll try again. What do you do in Melbourne if you’re not a waitress?’
Julia puffed out her chest. ‘I’m a crisis management consultant.’
‘Really?’ She could hear the surprise in his voice and she rolled her eyes.
‘Don’t worry, I get that a lot.’
‘No, it’s not that, it’s just that I know people in Adelaide who do the same sort of job.’ He’d hired them when things had gone pear-shaped with Blackburn and Son. ‘Do you like it, being a crisis management consultant?’
‘I love it. And I’m really good at it.’
‘So you handle everyone else’s shit sandwiches. That’s really impressive, Julia.’ There was nothing but admiration and sincerity in his expression, but why did she have to feel so narky all of a sudden?
‘Yeah, who would have thought little Julia Jones from Middle Point would end up with a job like that, huh?’
Julia heard a clunk and his footsteps across the empty room. The ladder shuddered and she suddenly felt unsafe and uncertain. Ry’s chest was pressing against the back of her legs. She gripped tightly with one hand, clasped the paintbrush in the other, checking over her shoulder to find him looking up at her with a determined expression.
‘Ry, stop it. You’re shaking the ladder.’
‘Can you come down from there?’
CHAPTER
11
Julia considered his request for a moment before acquiescing. She turned and stepped down until she was on the first rung, eye to eye with him. Ry didn’t give an inch, but leaned forward to hold the ladder on either side of her, closing her in, making sure she was safe, too. She found herself in a squeeze between his chest and the hard aluminium rungs. She didn’t want to meet his eyes so she stared at his chest instead. Which didn’t help her nerves one bit.
‘Look at me,’ he said, his voice husky and low. When her eyes found his, she saw confusion. Ry’s finger traced a slow line from her chin down her throat and then used his whole hand to cup the back of her head through the tangle of her hair.
‘So what’s with the chip on your shoulder?’ His tone wasn’t accusing or mocking but curious as his gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips and back again.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘It might suit small-town Julia Jones from Middle Point to think of me as the rich boy property tycoon, but that’s not who I am.’
‘All evidence to the contrary,’ she breathed.
Ry watched her caramel brown eyes drop to his mouth. It was the damndest thing. She wants me to kiss her. ‘Don’t put me in a box with a label that suits you because you’ll be wrong.’
‘Oh bullshit, Ry. I know people like you.’
‘You do, huh?’
‘I deal with suits like you every day of my working life.’
‘Suits? C’mon Julia. You think you aren’t one of them now? No matter where you started out, you’ve got a swanky job with a wanky title just like the rest of us.’
Julia wriggled but Ry strengthened his hold on her, one arm moving around her waist and drawing her the tight distance closer. They were pressed against each other from his thighs to her breasts.
He reacted as any man would. When he pushed his erection into her, he was stunned to realise she was returning the pressure. Fuck, he wanted her and it damn well felt like she wanted him too. Her nuzzled her neck, breathing in her scent, fresh flowers and paint, feeling her silky hair caress his cheek.
‘Ry,’ she whispered, her fingers gently tugging at his T-shirt. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ His words a groan under his breath.
‘Too much history,’ she said.
‘Feels more like too much biology to me.’ He released her and stepped back from the ladder.
Julia didn’t move, couldn’t. He turned away from her, running his hands through his hair. He wanted her too. She’d felt the hard evidence, had seen it in his eyes. After all this time, after all these years, after what she’d done to him. What kind of a man was he to still want her?
And hold the phone. What kind of a man was he to be crushing up against her when he had a wife? Even if they had a history together. Julia instantly felt like a total slut. She’d wanted him as much as he wanted her. And she knew he was married. She’d let that inconvenient truth be buried for far too long.
‘I reckon I’ll be able to finish the ceiling this afternoon.’ Ry looked upwards to survey his work, carefully avoiding making eye contact.
‘Don’t worry, Ry.’ Stay calm and cool, she willed herself. ‘I can take it from here. You should probably go home, call your wife.’ It came out before she could edit the thought and she swore under her breath.
Ry stopped. ‘My what?’
‘Your wife.’ A cold feeling swept over her from head to toe and she felt a shrinking in her chest. Please don’t let him see the disappointment in my face.
‘Julia, I’m not married.’
‘Sorry, girlfriend then.’ He turned to regard her with an expressionless face.
‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’
What game was he playing? Either he was lying through his teeth or telling the truth. Why on earth would a man like Ry Blackburn still be on the market? If he wasn’t married or taken, who the hell was Amanda to him? And why the hell did she care so much? In a pathetic attempt to recover, she went for a joke to lighten the mood.
‘Girlfriend. That’s such a ridiculous word for people our age, isn’t it? I mean your partner. Your friend with benefits. Your …’ she hesitated on her final choice, ‘… Friday night fuck buddy?’
It seemed like forever before he spoke. She could see a million questions popping in his eyes, his lids closing ever so slightly as he concentrated on what to say. Then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he met her eyes.
‘You’re talking about Amanda.’
She nodded as if it didn’t matter.
‘She’s not anything to me. She’s the daughter of a friend of mine, that’s all.’
‘Oh.’
‘And besides, I could never be interested in someone who’s that rude to my staff. Or my ex-staff.’
Julia turned away, suddenly making a great fuss of her paintbrush. She felt heat flame her cheeks and couldn’t suppress her smile.
‘So what about you, JJ? Any husband, friend with benefits, partner or Friday night fuck buddy I should know about?’
‘No. No one.’ And wasn’t that the deep, dark truth of her life. She couldn’t meet Ry’s eyes, not when she was afraid everything she was feeling was right there on her face. ‘Shall we finish up for today?’
Ry pointed to a section of the ceiling. ‘One more patch to go and then I think I need a beer. Or three.’
‘Now that sounds like a plan.’
Julia fumbled her paintbrush and it fell handle first into the paint tin. She swore out loud. Dipping her fingers into the cool and sticky mixture, she chided herself for her lack of concentration. For the past hour while they’d continued to work side by side, she’d felt like a skittish fool. The very fact that he was only a glance away had her sexual radar going off the charts. She had been trying desperately not to think about how it had felt to have his hard, masculine body pressed up against hers, the evidence of his
want digging in to her belly. And she’d returned the feeling, overcome with a hunger for him and his touch and desperate to return it.
The unconcealed desire she’d seen in his eyes had, she knew, been clearly reflected in her own, no matter how hard she’d tried to hide it.
Crouching down over the paint tin, letting the paint dribble from the brush and her fingers in slow drips, she looked over at Ry. He was in the opposite corner of the room, legs astride, eyes to the ceiling and wielding the long-handled roller like an expert.
Don’t put me in a box with a label that suits you because you’ll be wrong.
She’d tried to put him in a box, the ‘married with a beautiful wife, children and a labrador’ box and she’d been spectacularly wrong. Pleasantly wrong.
On the other hand, why should finding out that he was single change anything? Whether the problem was too much history — or too much biology — it wouldn’t be sensible to go back. No matter how much sexual chemistry was zinging in the air between them.
Julia scraped her fingers along the rim of the tin to get rid of as much paint as she could, but it clung stubbornly to the small wrinkles around her knuckles, in her cuticles and under her nails. Standing, she turned to walk over to the sink and saw him.
He was watching her.
Ry was standing stock-still, his blue eyes serious and his lips together in a thin line. She could see the muscles in his jaw tighten and the subtle rise and fall of his chest under his soft white T-shirt.
She walked quickly to the kitchen sink and wrenched on the cold-water tap, trying hard to concentrate on the view through the kitchen window, rather than think about the fact that Ry was ten feet away and looking at her like that.
Outside, the sky was beginning to darken and a wind had whipped up, gusting through the silver leaves of the saltbush growing along the side fence. Julia let the cold water drizzle through her fingers and settle in a pool in her cupped palms, hoping the growing, numbing feeling might spread further up her arms, to her head, her chest and the spot low in her belly that was twisted in knots.
She simply couldn’t feel this way about Ry Blackburn. She knew that more than anything.
And then he was next to her. Close. His hot body brushing against hers, his thigh grazing her rounded hip. And her resolve was suddenly shaky.
Nobody But Him Page 10
