There's Something About a Rebel-

by Anne Oliver

  But when he reached the top of the staircase he came to a silent halt.

  Lissa was dancing, bare feet moving lightly in time with the song. A pad of some description lay open on the floor beside her. She’d been sketching. something. Didn’t matter—he didn’t even cast his eyes in the pad’s direction. It was the woman he wanted to feast his eyes on.

  The day’s last vermilion beams lasered through the only upstairs window high above them, turning her magnificent crown of hair to flame, painting her limbs gold and leaving the shadowed spaces a dusky purple. He stood, transfixed in the stairwell’s dimness. Held his breath, though he doubted he had any breath left in him to hold.

  She’d changed into a loose white top that dipped low at the front. Beneath it she wore short white shorts leaving her legs bare.

  Those feet moved fast and light, as if she were dancing on air, but her arms moved above her in a graceful arc, her gaze wholly focused at some point in the middle distance, her lips turned up slightly at the corners as if delighting in the moment.

  It was like watching an angel.

  Would she wear that same expression if he were lying beneath her? Would she make love with that wholly focused gaze and delight?

  He shook his head to clear the lusty thoughts. Angels were supposed to be pure asexual beings, weren’t they? And as far as he knew, they didn’t make love. Virginal. But he could have watched for an eternity, absorbed in the beauty of the moment—and her—but she turned and saw him and that golden moment was gone.

  For a breathless heartbeat she watched him with those wide clear eyes. Then she blinked as if coming out of a trance and slowly lowered her arms. Perspiration dewed her skin and her breathing was elevated, drawing his attention to her breasts as they rose and fell. He couldn’t look away.

  ‘Hi.’ He kept his voice casual, breaking the sudden tension.

  She lifted a self-conscious shoulder and colour rose up her neck. ‘Hi.’ Bending so that her hair curtained her face, she flipped the pad shut, creating a draught across the floor, and he caught the fragrance of some exotic perfume she’d not been wearing earlier today. It reminded him of midnight madness on a moonlit beach.

  ‘I found an old CD player someone left behind.’ She moved to it, squatted down and lowered the volume. ‘Have you been standing there long?’

  ‘Not long.’ Not long enough. Too long.

  ‘Dancing’s my stress reliever of choice. And chocolate, of course.’ She helped herself to a four-square row from the half-eaten block beside the player. ‘I guess I got carried away.’

  ‘You don’t share?’

  ‘Sure, sorry.’ She grabbed the bar, held it out. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘Not the chocolate.’ He gestured towards the pad. ‘Your art or whatever you were sketching there.’

  ‘Ideas for your living room. But you don’t get to see them until I’m done.’

  With the tip of her tongue, she licked a small fleck of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. He watched her, wishing he could’ve been the one to sample that sweet taste on her mouth. Then she wiped the spot with a finger for good measure and said, ‘What have you got there?’

  He’d forgotten all about the box. He withdrew the aromatic bag, held it up. ‘I thought you might be hungry but I see you’re already well supplied.’

  She shook her head. ‘Chocolate doesn’t count. I’m starving. And that, whatever it is, smells delicious. Let me guess.’ Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly. ‘Mmm … Indian.’

  ‘Hope you like butter chicken. It’s full of calories and comes with jasmine rice and assorted delights.’

  ‘Ooh, yes. Hand it over.’

  She reached for it but he lifted it higher. ‘Not quite yet.’

  She did the pout, her hands on her hips, but a glimmer of a smile teased the edges of her mouth. ‘Hey, that’s just mean.’

  ‘First, answer a question for me. Earlier today you said you hated me. Is that still true?’

  ‘I … No.’ The tiny smile vanished and she frowned. ‘Did I say that? I don’t remember saying that. Of course I don’t hate you.’

  ‘Good. I don’t hate you either.’

  ‘Even though I’ve been such an idiot?’

  ‘You’re n—’

  ‘But I am. I hold myself responsible for the mess I’m in and … and the trouble I’ve caused you.’

  ‘And now we’ll move on.’ He mentally kicked himself for bringing up this morning’s disaster and wiping away her smile just because he wanted some sort of petty reassurance. What the hell was wrong with him?

  ‘That’s a relief, since we just signed an agreement to work together, but can we have the rest of this conversation after we’ve eaten?’

  He moved closer to better catch her scent. ‘I’ve been thinking about you.’

  ‘You mean that kiss.’ She shrugged and turned away, refusing to play his game of grab-the-bag, but he saw her fingers tremble slightly as she popped the last piece of chocolate in her mouth.

  ‘Ah … that kiss,’ he said, slowly, and watched her cheeks pinken. ‘Since you’ve brought it up …’

  ‘I didn’t, you did.’ She dropped to her knees and busied those small hands putting her art purchases in a pile. ‘I’ve had more important matters on my mind, actually.’

  ‘So have I.’ He set the food and the box holding the rest of the stuff on the floor, then shook out a rug he’d found in the boot of the rental and spread it out. ‘Fact is, you’re right in there with all the other stuff that’s going on.’

  She set the containers out on the rug and began removing the lids. ‘I’m sorry if that bothers you.’

  It did. More than she could possibly know. He watched the way her auburn hair swung down in an arc, hiding her face from view. ‘I’ll manage.’

  ‘Of course you will, you’re very capable. What is it you do again?’

  Now her eyes flicked up to his. They were full of questions he wasn’t going to answer. Not to anybody. The headache burgeoning behind his eyes intensified. ‘I was a clearance diver. Like I told you, I’ve resigned from the navy.’ End of story.

  She blinked. ‘O-kay …’ When he didn’t elaborate she glanced at the window. ‘It’s going to be dark soon. The lighting up here doesn’t seem to be working.’

  He welcomed the encroaching night and a change of topic. He wasn’t going to spill his guts to Lissa Sanderson. Knowing her family background as she did, she’d be the kind of woman who’d want to try to nourish his soul.

  If he still had a soul, that was.

  ‘Lucky I brought these, then,’ he said, pulling out a box of tea lights. He set half a dozen along the balustrade.

  ‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ she murmured.

  ‘It’s my practical streak.’ He shot her a quick glance as he lit them. ‘I wasn’t sure if the power company would make it here to switch on the electricity in time.’

  He lowered himself to a corner of the rug on the other side of the feast and passed her some plastic cutlery and a plate from the box. She piled up her plate as if she hadn’t eaten a square meal in a week.

  ‘So, what do you think of the building?’ He spooned some rice onto his plate.

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said around a mouthful of chicken. ‘Absolutely gorgeous. Just what we need.’

  He popped the cork on the champagne bottle, poured it. ‘Have you had a chance to decide how you want to set it up?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll take you downstairs and show you after.’

  He handed her a foaming glass, raised his own. ‘A toast to our new partnership.’

  ‘To success.’ She clinked her glass to his.

  To us, Lissa wanted to say. But despite the candles’ soft glow caressing his face with bronze fingers and casting shadows in the violet spaces between them and the love song’s words on the tinny player, this wasn’t supposed to be a romantic dinner.

  And she’d had to go and mention that kiss.

  Obviously he’d not been
thinking about it at all. Just because he’d said he’d been thinking about her, didn’t mean he’d been thinking about her in any romantic sense. He probably had loads of women who’d been waiting ten years just for his call. Naturally he’d think about her, and it wouldn’t be good.

  She’d just managed to lose all her belongings and the boat he called his. He’d inherited a house-mate he hadn’t asked for. And that wasn’t all. He’d had no intention of being involved in a business, let alone an interior design one. He’d rather have his luxury sail boat. Was it any wonder he’d been thinking about her?

  ‘Wine not to your taste?’

  His voice dragged her back to the present and their surroundings. ‘Yes, it’s lovely. Thank you.’ And so it should be, at the price she knew it sold for. French, too, always her favourite. She took a sip and said, ‘So, the navy must pay you very well.’

  He shrugged. ‘I do okay.’

  ‘Just okay?’ Clearly he didn’t want to talk about any aspect of his working life—his previous working life—or how they happened to be drinking one of the most expensive celebratory champagnes available.

  ‘I live in military accommodation when I’m not at sea. I’ve never had a mortgage so I’ve put my money into buying property. This building for example.’ He forked up a morsel of meat, but didn’t put it in his mouth. ‘If you’re wondering whether I am, in fact, a secret international drug lord, maybe I should tell you my mother also left me a sizeable inheritance.’ His expression betrayed nothing of his emotions regarding the loss of his mother.

  Lissa remembered the car accident that had claimed Rochelle Everett’s life and brought Blake home that last time. She’d been a popular social celebrity and famous for her charitable work from Surfers all the way up to the Sunshine Coast.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about your mother, Blake. She did so much good for the community.’

  He studied the meat on his fork. ‘Can’t deny that.’ Then he jammed it in his mouth, chewed a moment and washed it down with a long, slow swallow of champagne.

  Lissa felt the wall go up so hard, so fast, it made her head spin. Impenetrable. Insurmountable. What made a man so unwilling to talk about himself? Every aspect, every topic she broached, every time she tried to get him to open up, he stopped her cold. And it wasn’t only pain she saw in his eyes, there was bitterness too.

  She’d never known her mother, who’d died when Lissa was born. She’d also discovered a few years ago that she was the result of her mother’s affair with an itinerant artist. The man she’d known as her father was dead and good riddance. But she couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of losing Jared, who’d been both a mother and father to her in her formative years, or Crystal, her older sister.

  But Blake’s mother had been a good person, a caring person who’d worked tirelessly for charity and the community. What was it with him?

  So she spent the rest of the meal covering easy neutral and safe topics, like her family. She told him how Jared had met Sophie when she’d emailed her not-so-secret diary to him on her first day as his PA and he laughed the bubbles off the top of his champagne. Then she regaled him with entertaining stories about her nieces and nephews.

  He opened up enough to reminisce about his surfing days with her brother. She didn’t ask him about his work or what he intended doing now or his family again.

  When they’d finished the meal, Lissa switched off the CD player, stacked the plates and Blake packed everything back, standing the half-finished bubbly in one corner of the carton.

  Finally out of safe conversational topics, Lissa waited for Blake to speak or fill the void with … anything. He looked at her for a long, hushed, tension-packed moment, his eyes glinting in the candle’s seductive glow.

  Anticipation swarmed through her body, her pulse picked up and her breathing quickened. She swore she could see the sexual sparks dancing between them on the candle-light.

  But Blake didn’t kiss her. He wasn’t seduced or persuaded by those sparks. Instead, he rose, walked the couple of steps to the balustrade and blew out the candles, leaving only the light filtering up from downstairs. Back-lit, he was all stern lines and sharp angles and shadows. Who are you really, Blake Everett? What’s made you this way?

  Then he bent down, picked up his box and said, ‘I think it’s about time you filled me in on your plans for this place.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LEAVING Lissa to follow, Blake blew out a strangled breath as he descended the stairs. A beautiful woman, a willing woman, champagne and candles. He could have had her. Right there on the floor, he could have given into the temptation that had kept him hard as granite all evening and most of the day.

  He could have stripped away her clothes and watched her body bloom beneath his hands. He could have slid inside her, watched her eyes darken in surprise then pleasure. And he was walking away.

  He shook his head. Some other man would have to introduce Lissa to the joys of sex because she was strictly out of bounds to him. And the pain in his skull was intensifying by the minute. Strobes of light impeded his vision, nausea rose in ever-increasing waves. The alcohol hadn’t helped. He shoved the discomfort away. Never allow another to witness your vulnerabilities. He’d lived by that personal mantra all his life and he wasn’t changing now.

  On his arrival earlier, he’d had the unnerving feeling she was looking right into him when she’d caught him watching her at the top of the stairs. He hadn’t enjoyed the sensation one bit.

  Nor had he intended a seduction scene as such. One always celebrated a new venture with champagne. And the candles. He really had expected the power to be off.

  Beneath the twin circles of light, he slowed to allow her to catch up. The empty building echoed with the sound of footsteps on wood as they crossed the polished boards.

  A big hollow space, waiting to be filled. Kind of like where he was in his life right now. A place full of endless possibilities. He stared past the lights’ glare to the darkened ceiling. Darkness into light.

  He swiped a frustrated hand over his hair. Today had been one hell of a day and he wasn’t going to end it by making an even bigger mistake with Lissa. A mistake that could cost them this partnership, and he knew she couldn’t afford for that to happen.

  She walked up and stood beside him, her shoulder brushing his arm, and said, ‘Right, where shall we start …?’

  He liked her ideas, suggested a few of his own. Her vision for the premises was well thought through considering she’d seen it for the first time this afternoon, the energy running through her commentary boundless. She pointed out a proposed office area, another space where clients could wait in comfort and browse catalogues. Areas for displays of soft furnishings and colour swatches, wallpaper, shelves to display interesting and unusual glassware or pottery. Another where clients could play with mock-up designs on touch-screen computers.

  Eventually Lissa had said all there was to say. She looked to Blake for his response to her suggestion that she hang some of her own artwork on the walls. She’d saved a couple of her favourite pieces from a watery grave and she could create more.

  He only nodded and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  ‘If it’s all right with you, I could set up at home in one of the spare rooms so it doesn’t interfere with anything you might want to do,’ she said.

  ‘No problem. I don’t have any plans for entertaining. Besides, I’ve never watched an artist at work.’

  The thought of him watching unsettled her and she rubbed her arms in the cool swirl of air. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ A half-laugh trickled out. ‘I’ve never worked with an audience.’

  But when she looked at him her smile faded. His eyes. Haunting, hurting. Hungry. A well of conflicting emotions churned like a choppy sea behind that carefully neutral stare. A stare that defied anyone to try and find a way through.

  She wanted to see the pain gone. She wanted to be the one to make it go. Right now she didn’t care that she’d w
arned herself to keep away, that the business came first, that she didn’t want her heart broken. She rested her hands on his crossed forearms and looked up at him.

  She wasn’t going to let their difference in height intimidate her. Rising on tiptoe, she reached behind his head and pulled it down towards her, keeping her hands slow and light, craving his taste again.

  She felt his tightly crossed arms loosen, his body give as he leaned closer. So close. The scent of his skin surrounded her, his quickened breathing feathered over her mouth.

  And then his lips brushed hers and her pulse went wild. How long had it been since she’d been brave enough to invite any kind of sexual contact, let alone initiate it? She crept her fingers between his forearms so that she could open them wide and fit herself against that broad hard chest—

  He muttered something against her mouth that sounded like something a sailor would say. She felt the stiffness in his neck, resisting her, pulling back. Pulling away.

  He uncrossed his arms all the way. Not to wrap them around her but to let them hang at his sides, leaving her own hands to drift down, useless.

  ‘Lissa.’ He looked down at her, the heat she’d felt emanating from him banished somewhere behind that shuttered gaze. ‘I phoned Jared this afternoon.’

  Pardon? ‘You phoned Jared?’ It took her a moment to gather her wits, pull her scattered self together and absorb what he’d said. Another before the feeling of betrayal slid cold and slick between her ribs. What had happened to keeping it between them? Our little secret.

  ‘You made an agreement with me and you broke it.’ The intoxicating moment fled and she clenched her fists against her stomach to stop the feeling of nausea welling up there. ‘What did you do—scroll through my address book behind my back?’

  ‘I looked up Crystal and Ian’s phone number. Ian remembered who I was and gave it to me.

  I—’

  ‘No.’ She couldn’t look at him. ‘You had no right.’

  ‘Wrong. It was the responsible thing to do. The only thing to do.’

  ‘No.’ She jabbed a finger at her chest. ‘What I tell Jared is my business.’