Unlocking the Millionaire's Heart

by Bella Bucannon

  ‘I’ll let you know when they do and we’ll celebrate.’

  The memory of a similar pledge slammed through her, taking her breath away and freezing her blood.

  I’m expecting good news. When it comes we’ll have a special celebration.

  Two days later she’d found out that the man she’d believed loved her and intended to propose was sleeping with a female colleague to gain promotion. He’d even gone to meet her after taking Jemma home that night.

  ‘Jemma, are you all right?’

  She shook her head, dragged in air and looked into concerned grey eyes.

  ‘You’re white as a ghost.’

  ‘The ghost of a bad memory. Best forgotten.’ She managed a smile and he relaxed into his seat, keeping watch on her pale face. ‘Truly, I’m fine.’

  ‘I’m not so sure, but...’

  He let out a very masculine grunt and she was totally back in the now, reaching for her wine, sipping it as he gave her a serious answer.

  ‘I was a reporter. Now I’m an investment advisor.’

  ‘A good one?’

  ‘Good enough to pay the bills.’

  Jemma pondered on his succinct job description. She could visualise him investigating a story, chasing information to find the truth, but the switch to an office job didn’t gel.

  ‘Why the career move?’

  She watched his chest expand under the tan sweater, hold then contract. He seemed to be deliberately assessing how much to disclose. Preparing to keep secrets and lie like her ex?

  ‘Things happen and you make choices. My gap year—travelling in Europe with a friend after we graduated from uni—became a rite of passage lasting seven years that made me who I am now.’

  She empathised, and was convinced his matter-of-fact tone belied his true feelings. Her parents selling their house—her home—to invest in a restaurant, and her ex’s betrayal were the two events that had forced her to re-evaluate her future, and they had a continuing effect on her viewpoint and life choices.

  ‘Four years ago, my father had a health scare, prompting him to semi-retire and move with my mother to the south coast. It was my motivation for coming home for good—a decision I’ve never regretted in the slightest.’

  She heard honest affection in his voice and envied that relationship. She couldn’t imagine her parents or sister giving up their careers for anyone—hoped she’d be more compassionate.

  Sensing he’d divulged more than he’d intended when he’d agreed to lunch with her, she didn’t reply and finished eating her meal.

  * * *

  Nate had no idea why he’d revealed private aspects of his life he usually kept to himself. Or why he found it almost impossible to take his eyes off her enchanting, expressive face. His attraction to a woman had never been so immediate, so compelling. So in conflict with his normal emotionless liaisons.

  A growing need for open space was compelling. He had to get away from her—away from her subtle floral perfume that had been tantalising him since he’d stepped near enough to greet her. Native rather than commercially grown city flowers, it was delicate and haunting.

  He didn’t fight his urgent compulsion to pace and consider all the implications, including any legal ramifications, of collaboration. He needed to think and plan away from the distractions of other people, away from Jemma and his reactions to her, physical and mental.

  Noting her plate was empty, he placed his cutlery neatly on his.

  ‘Do you want dessert or coffee here? Or we could take some time apart to consider our options and meet up later.’

  This time her scrutiny was short. yet no less intense.

  With an understanding smile he’d rather not have seen, she nodded. ‘That’s a good idea.’

  Muscles he hadn’t realised were tight suddenly loosened.

  ‘I’ll need your phone number.’

  Unease flickered in her eyes before she reached for her shoulder bag on the floor. Had it anything to do with her adverse opinion of him at first sight?

  He held his mobile towards her, allowing her to input first.

  Their empty plates removed, and anything else politely declined, she leant her elbows on the table and cupped her chin on her linked fingers as they waited for the bill.

  ‘Do you commute from the mountains every day?’ she asked.

  ‘Electronic media means I can do a fair amount from home. I come in when necessary, or for socialising.’

  He hadn’t yet bowed to the pressure to commit to full-time employment with the family firm, wary of the daily sameness stretching into his future.

  ‘Like today?’

  ‘Like today.’

  And he’d be staying until his flight overseas on Sunday morning.

  He settled the account on the way out, irrationally torn between needing to be alone and reluctance to let her go. After saying goodbye, she headed for the railway station without glancing back. He watched for a moment, then strode towards the Harbour Bridge.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JEMMA TOOK NO notice of the world around her as the train sped to Central Station, and as she deliberated on which way to go when she alighted. Her brain buzzed at the compliments Brian had given her, coupled with the sensations from Nate’s few touches and her own responses to his looks and his voice.

  Could she handle being in frequent contact with him? Even by email? How would she deal with someone who was averse to allowing her to read anything he’d written?

  Consider our options.

  Like heck. He oozed the authority of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and rarely settled for less. He’d given no indication of his point of view on their two-way deal, focussing only on his novel.

  Brian’s appraisal of her work had been honest and unemotional, letting her know the downsides while still giving her hope of a satisfactory solution. Already aware of her weakness when she’d submitted to him, she was open to any suggestion for improvement.

  Could Nate remain impartial to the romance genre when he read her work? How did he feel about helping to transform her inept storytelling? He’d been very forthright about his aversion to allowing her access to his manuscript. Her emotions wavered from exhilaration that she might achieve publication to apprehension that Nate’s expectations might be hard to satisfy.

  She walked out of the station and turned towards Circular Quay. Window shopping in Pitt Street would pass the time and occupy her mind. If he didn’t call... She banished that thought. He’d phone—even if it was only to dash any foolish hopes she might have allowed to take seed.

  A new dress and two fun presents for her friends later, she was watching the ferries dock and depart as she devoured a fruit and nut bar. She wandered over to where groups of excited people were dragging suitcases towards a huge cruise ship. A holiday to inspire a romance novel? Maybe one day she’d take one.

  A brochure she’d picked up on the way showed it wasn’t far from here to the historic Rocks area. If she hadn’t heard from Nate by the time she’d explored the old buildings she’d catch the next train to North Ryde.

  * * *

  Did he like Jemma? Way too much. Nate had kept his emotions under tight restraint since he’d narrowly escaped being duped into a sham marriage, but he’d had trouble curbing them around her. She’d had doubts concerning him on sight, which had him wondering who he reminded her of.

  Did he trust her? Not yet. Experience in dealing with the darker side of life had taught him that trust had to be earned rather than given freely.

  Did he want her? His body’s response to any thought of her gave him an instant reply. But that didn’t mean he’d follow through.

  Mental arguments for and against dual authorship had got him nowhere, and he was still uncommitted as he reached the waterside. Swinging left, he took the steps leading up to the bridge walkway. After
skirting a group of photo-snapping tourists, he took a deep breath of salty air and began to run.

  He maintained a steady pace until he reached the apartment block at North Sydney. His grandfather had bequeathed a twenty-third-storey unit jointly to him, Sam and Alice, and all three of them had lived there, alone or together, at various times. It was always available for family and friends when they came to the city.

  A long, refreshing shower cooled his body, but didn’t clear his mind. Dressed in fresh clothes, and with a stubby of cold beer in his hand, he stood on the balcony, staring at the buildings around him. Not far away by foot was the office block housing the family brokerage firm, which had offered him a lucrative job for life.

  Far away up in the mountains was the home he’d designed, with an architect’s help, to suit the lifestyle he planned to live. Mostly solitary, with occasional guests, pleasing only himself. Closing his eyes, he pictured the view as he woke in the morning, ate his meals and chilled out in the evenings. And in that instant his decision was made.

  Somewhere in the thriving metropolis across the bay was the woman Brian believed could help him realise literary success. All he had to do was have faith and stay in command of his libido.

  But before he committed to a trial partnership he needed to reinforce the life oath he’d made years ago, during the lowest point of his life. He took the dog-eared leather notebook he always travelled with, flipped it open to a coded page, and read the vow he’d made never to get involved out loud.

  Then he phoned Jemma Harrison.

  It took three rings for her to answer, and he heard traffic and the rattle of a train in the background.

  ‘Hi, Jemma, where are you?’

  ‘Taking photos from the Harbour Bridge.’

  He surprised himself with a spontaneous burst of laughter.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ There was a spike in her voice, though she didn’t sound offended.

  ‘I ran over it on the way here. Which end are you nearest?’

  ‘Um... I guess I’m about a third of the way along from the quay.’

  ‘Keep coming north. Don’t rush. I’ll meet you at the steps going down to the road. We can sit in the park nearby. Would you like me to bring you a hot or cold drink?’

  ‘No, thanks. I have a bottle of water.’

  ‘Okay, see you soon.’

  He grimaced at the screen after disconnecting, and then went to put on socks and sneakers. Having his pulse hiking and his mouth drying, even his palms itching, was something he might have to become accustomed to if they were going to be in regular communication.

  Anticipation of seeing her had him moving faster than normal. It was not the way he wanted to feel.

  * * *

  Nate saw Jemma approaching as he reached the top of the steps so he waited, admiring the natural sway of her hips as she came towards him. The extra bag in her hand and the bulge in the one over her shoulder, proved she’d been shopping. Her smile as they met had him steeling his arms at his sides to prevent greeting her with a hug, and the sunglasses hiding the expression in her beautiful blue eyes was a disappointment.

  ‘Hi—would you like me to carry the bag?’

  ‘Thanks, I’m fine.’ She waved her arm in a wide sweep. ‘I’d love to sit and view all this on a stormy day—or preferably night.’

  ‘You like thunder and lightning?’

  She laughed, causing an unfamiliar and yet not unpleasant effect over his skin. Causing him to take a quick breath. Causing him to fortify the reason he was meeting her. To get his book published.

  ‘From a safe vantage point—oh, yes.’

  ‘They can give you a spectacular display in the mountains—especially when watched from a heated room with a beer or glass of wine at your side.’

  Berating himself for conjuring up an image of them sharing wine and nature’s dramatic show, he guided her down to the ground and across to the lawn area at the edge of the water. Partial images of the Opera House and the southern side of the bay were visible through the semicircle of palm trees. A small oasis of green surrounded by acres of concrete and buildings was behind them, and the expanse of deep water in front.

  Jemma placed her bags on the ground, sat and curled her legs to the side. He joined her, leaning on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. For a moment or two there seemed no need for conversation. The serenity of the small area compensated for the traffic noise from the bridge.

  Having resolved his mental conflict, and acutely aware of her beside him, he accepted that she’d now be a presence in his life. How prominent depended on how often they had to meet in person.

  Few women he knew would wait so quietly, so patiently, for a man who’d told her he needed to consider his options, expected her to hike across the bridge, and then didn’t initiate conversation. Another difference from the women he dated.

  Her profile was as appealing as her full face. Delicate smooth skin invited a caress, thick brown lashes enhanced the dark blue of her eyes, and her slender neck with its curtain of...

  Where the heck had all that come from? And where the hell had it been when he’d tried to write such descriptions on the computer?

  ‘Jemma?’

  His raspy tone came from the absence of moisture in his throat, exacerbated by the expectancy in her eyes as she faced him. He coughed, swallowed and retried.

  ‘Do you have full virus protection on your computer?’

  Her chin lifted and her eyes narrowed in umbrage. ‘The best—and regularly updated.’

  ‘Would you be willing to send me some examples of those scenes Brian claims will improve my novel to a marketable level? I’m aware it means one-sided trust, but—’

  Her laughter—natural, musical and matched by the sparkle in her eyes—cut him short.

  ‘My text is less than fifty thousand words, a fair proportion of which need cutting or rewriting. Most of your...’ She tilted her head and her eyebrows rose in query.

  ‘One hundred and ten thousand.’

  ‘Not only pass muster but have earned Brian’s praise. You have the right to be protective. How about I email three chapters?’

  He puffed out what little air was left in his lungs. This could either be the start of a new career or the most turbulent phase of his life. Even seeing her face-to-face online would test his tenacity.

  * * *

  Jemma tried to hide the elation coursing through her. If he approved of her style of writing there was a chance he’d send her a partial to test her competence in blending with his. A limited partial, if she was any judge of men—a talent she could hardly claim, having had no inkling of her ex’s infidelity.

  Nate Thornton, with his solemn expression and deep-set thoughtful eyes, was hard to read. He rarely smiled, but when he did he stirred feelings she’d sworn she’d never allow to rule her again. And his touch had her hankering for pleasures she’d renounced, tainted by betrayal. An electronic, detached co-author partnership would be the ideal answer.

  ‘You’ll need my email address.’ He pushed himself into a sitting position, and took out his mobile. She gave him her ever-present notebook and a pen, and had no trouble reading the neat script, wishing hers was as legible when she jotted something down so fast. He recorded hers in his phone—a much newer model than she owned. Something she might have to research and rectify in the coming weeks.

  ‘I’ve got a USB back-up with me, so I’ll send them tomorrow.’ She grinned at him; no use being precious about her failings. ‘Try to skim over the boring bits. Brian left me with no illusions on the quality of the storyline, but I hope to amend that failing by taking relevant courses.’

  He returned the smile. ‘Maybe I should read them. They’re the reason he recommended you work with me instead of offering your novel to a publisher. I’ll do a print-out for my flight to Europe on Sunday morning—preferable
to reading off a screen for me. I’ll get in touch on my return in a week or so.’

  ‘However long it takes.’

  She couldn’t seem to break eye contact since he’d smiled at her, and wondered whether she ought to take the initiative and leave. Go home and start preparing dinner for her friends or watch some bad afternoon television. Even better, lose herself in the character charts and life histories of the hero and heroine of her next novel. One for which she intended to have Brian begging her to sign a solo contract.

  Nate’s sudden rise to his feet broke her reverie and dulled her mood. Now the main issue had been settled he’d be anxious to go, and she understood—she truly did. Accepting his helping hand, she rose, taking her shoulder bag with her. He bent to pick up the other one, and maintained his hold.

  ‘How are you getting back?’

  ‘Walking over the bridge, of course. Who knows when I’ll have another chance?’

  As he’d met her from this direction, she assumed he’d be staying in this area.

  ‘Suits me, Jemma. I’ll shout you coffee on the southern side.’

  She had no right to feel elated, or for her heart to beat faster, but both happened as he spoke. And the air in her lungs seemed to have dissipated, making her sound breathy.

  ‘Your offer is accepted with gratitude, Nate.’

  Since when had she spoken with such formality?

  I don’t even allow my characters that uptown privilege. Maybe I will in a future book of mine, and their love interest will have a rougher background for conflict.

  Her fingers itched to jot down notes on upbringing, and childhood environment. Instead she set the idea into her head as they returned to the walkway.

  On her journey across it she’d become used to the noise of the traffic speeding past, separated from her by a steel and mesh safety fence. On the water side there were shoulder-and-head-high gaps in the corresponding mesh to allow for clear photography.

  She stopped a short way along to take photos from this end, turning from Nate as she aimed her mobile upward, marvelling at the size and power of the metal beams and the majestic arches above their heads.