Fetching a cold bottle of beer from the fridge, and a chair from the dining room, he straddled the latter, leant on the back and drank slowly. He’d joined a tight-knit trauma support group overseas, kidding himself that it was to give help rather than receive. Only when Phil and Dave had cornered him in a bar late one night, had he admitted he needed counselling. It was the hardest decision he’d ever made. And the smartest.
As the sun rose he retrieved his mobile from his bedroom and paced the balcony as he accessed a number, not wanting to wait until the group meeting Saturday night.
‘Hi, Phil. No, Tess is fine. It’s me. Are you free to talk? Yeah, another nightmare...out of the blue.’
The following evening he walked into the back room of a city hotel, thankful for a restful night and willing to admit to the episode in front of the group.
He hadn’t mentioned Jemma to Phil and nor would he tonight, having persuaded himself that the attraction wouldn’t go any further. He was flying out tomorrow, with an undetermined return date, and he was certain he’d be able to greet her with impartiality the next time they were in contact.
* * *
At six in the morning Nate stashed his carry-on case in the overhead locker, settled into his seat and tucked the document wallet containing twenty-nine printed pages, a clipboard and assorted pens and highlighters by his side.
Before retiring late on Friday he’d followed his nightly habit and checked his emails. True to her word, Jemma had emailed her initial three chapters earlier in the evening. He’d resisted the impulse to ring her, and had sent a standard ‘received and thank you’ reply.
He’d noted the title, printed the pages and slipped them into a clear plastic sleeve. His intention was to read it all in one session on the plane, have a break, then take it scene by scene. Trial and error had proved that worked best for him when editing his own work.
His usual patience through the pre-take-off safety talk eluded him, and he put it down to the anticipation of finding out if she was as good as he hoped. Once airborne, he ordered a beer, clipped the pages to the board and began to read.
Within a few paragraphs he was reaching for his drink. The confrontation between her male and female characters blew him away. Their believable actions and dialogue were portrayed with a minimum of words. He could pinpoint people he’d met like them, yet wouldn’t have nailed it as she had. His characters’ interactions paled in comparison.
Jemma was good. Until her hero and heroine parted. Then it was as if someone else had taken over the keyboard.
He suspected that Jemma had been hurt in the past, and had deep-buried misgivings regarding men. But she was also intelligent, and ready to stand up for her beliefs if they were challenged. A stimulating paradox from whom he was having trouble distancing himself.
He flipped the pages, his emotions and his temperament riding a rollercoaster with the changing expertise of the author. In spite of the articulate wording, the basic story was, as Brian had implied, mundane and boring.
His respect for his agent grew for the tactful way he’d handled both him and Jemma, along with a surge of sympathy for him at being placed in this position of needing to spell out a truth Nate had struggled to accept.
He replaced the printout in the wallet, finished his beer and lay back with his headphones on. At times like these his choice of music was classical jazz.
By the time he landed in Athens he’d read the printout twice and made notes in the margins with a red pen.
And he was still puzzling over the enigma of Jemma Harrison.
CHAPTER FIVE
ON THE TUESDAY evening after she’d come home to Hahndorf, Jemma had been surprised to receive her limited script back from Nate, with comments in the margin. And she’d been thrilled by his second email, asking her to have a go at his attached first two chapters.
Have a go! As if it were a sideshow stall at a fair.
As she’d requested when she sent hers, he’d included back stories for his main characters.
From the opening paragraph she’d been drawn in and captivated; by page seven she’d begun to understand Brian’s proposition. By the end of chapter two she’d known it was too good not to be published—even if Nate did it himself. It was a genre she’d never have chosen, yet if she’d had the whole book she’d have continued reading, glossing over the stilted, uninspiring interaction between the hero and heroine.
She’d acknowledged receipt and spent all her free time from then until Saturday morning revising the four relevant scenes, two of them quite short. She double-and-triple-checked, determined not to leave a single mistake. Unsure of the normal procedure, she’d highlighted anywhere she’d made changes in one version, then deleted and amended in red text in another, allowing him to compare.
Dead on noon, with fingers crossed, eyes shut and her lips mouthing a silent prayer, she pressed ‘send.’
* * *
Late on Wednesday morning of the following week, as she walked into town, she counted her blessings: the beautiful natural setting of her home, fresh air to breathe and the one she loved most tucked into a cotton shoulder bag clutched to her chest.
There was a cruise ship in Port Adelaide, which she knew meant buses full of tourists who’d keep her too busy to fret over the absence of any response from Nate. And she was right. By mid-afternoon she’d hardly had time to take sips from her water bottle, let alone make tea or coffee, since she’d taken over at noon from Meg, who owned the business.
‘My mother’s going to adore these miniatures,’ an American woman gushed as Jemma wrapped three of them in bubble wrap with care. ‘It’s so hard to find anything small, light and tasteful to take home.’
‘Your grandchildren will love the cuddly Australian animals too,’ Jemma replied, placing them into a carry-bag.
‘Lucky I saw the kangaroos in the window, else I’d have gone straight past. My husband likes to be back at the coach early—keeps me on my toes when we’re travelling. Thank you, dear, have a nice day.’
‘And you enjoy the rest of your cruise.’
Grateful for an empty shop at last, she hunkered down to drink from the bottle under the counter, relishing the cool water as the doorbell rang with the customer’s exit. The murmur of a voice didn’t register as she looked at her watch, which showed it was more than an hour until Meg returned. But by now the last of the cruise buses would be heading back to the port, so there’d be fewer shoppers around.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted as if caught by a light breeze or someone’s warm breath. A quiver ran down her back. Not daring to hope, she came upright with slow ease and glanced across the shop.
Her throat dried, her fingers curled into her palms and everything around her faded into mist as her blue eyes met perturbed storm-grey in enigmatic features. It was as if he was unsure of why he was there. Then light flared in his eyes and he gave her the smile she’d spent all the time since she’d been home telling herself she didn’t miss at all.
His unique aroma filled the space between them, stirring her senses. Up close, he looked tired, and she noticed that the fine lines at the corner of his eyes were deeper, more pronounced.
‘Hello, Jemma.’
Two everyday words in an unforgettable voice with a rusty edge. Absolutely no reason for her suddenly to feel hot all over. No reason for her stomach to clench and her pulse to race.
Feigning control, she met his gaze with what she hoped was a calm, unruffled demeanour. ‘Hello, Nate. You’re a long way from home.’
The bell rang and they both turned their heads to watch the door open, hear a male voice say, ‘Let’s have a drink first,’ and then see it close.
Jemma saw Nate frown as he scanned the shop and peered at the open doorway behind her.
‘Are you on your own? What time do you finish?’ He frowned again, as if aware of how terse he sounded.
‘Sorry, I’d like to talk to you. Should have let you know I was coming, but...’
He shrugged, as if that were explanation enough. She ought to be annoyed at his arrogance—wasn’t that a major factor against all those she deemed were that type of man?—but instead energising anticipation bubbled through her. The reason for his presence had to be to discuss Brian’s solution. Why come all this way if he wasn’t seriously considering it?
‘Would you like coffee? I’m dying for a hot drink.’
She sounded like a flustered teenager. Exactly how she felt.
At his nod and ‘Mmm,’ of acceptance, she went through the doorway and into the small kitchen, not expecting him to follow. The compact space seemed to diminish when he came in, watching as she filled the electric jug, set out two mugs and measured coffee into both.
‘Two sugars, right?’
The sound of the bell impeded his reply and she handed him the spoon.
‘I take one and milk, and mine’s the mug with a possum on it. There’s biscuits in the square tin.’
Leaving the room meant squeezing past him and another intake of musk, citrus and him. Another aspect of the man she’d missed—which was crazy, considering the limited time they’d spent together. Fixing a smile on her lips, she smoothed her hair and stepped past the counter to greet the new customers.
* * *
In the time it took for the water to boil and for Nate to make the coffee the bell rang twice, and he figured he’d made a mistake coming during shopping hours. He hadn’t warned her, hoping to gauge her true reaction to him, but had seen a delightful range of astonishment, pleasure and annoyance, leaving him unenlightened.
He hadn’t factored in the lack of privacy. He’d be lucky to find a quick moment to arrange a quieter place for their essential conversation on co-operation. Success was now a feasible goal, and his plan for co-writing depended on her availability and commitment. One read-through of her suggested amendments and he was fully on board. With reservations.
She’d done a brilliant job, bringing fiery passion to the bland interaction between his leading characters. And she’d nailed the way the male he’d visualised would respond to a female whose presence had upset his life’s equilibrium. His heroine was now feisty and flawed—a worthy match for his hard-bitten, battle-worn hero.
Mug in hand, he went to take a surreptitious peek at her. She was showing a couple with a young girl a display of colourful teddy bears. Staying out of sight, sipping the hot drink, he admired her genuine pleasure at serving all three. Two women were browsing the shelves... Another was peering in the window.
Why was she having to cope alone? Was it always this busy? If so, it might affect his proposal. And why the hell did she have to be as alluring in jeans and a loose green top as she’d been in the outfit she’d worn in Sydney?
His fingers gripping his mug were white-knuckle taut. Forcing them to relax, he returned to the kitchen. Hanging around was distracting for him, probably the same for her, and would achieve nothing.
Between customers he brought her a fresh coffee, the first one having gone cold.
‘Thank you. This is much more satisfying than quick sips from a bottle of water under the counter. It’s been full on this afternoon.’ She cradled the mug in her fingers and savoured the invigorating flavour.
‘Are you always on your own? When do you get a break?’
Her eyes flashed and she stepped away. He shouldn’t have asked so abruptly.
‘I can manage. Meg had to go home for personal reasons just after I came in at twelve. She’ll be back around four.’
‘I’m concerned—okay?’
He pressed one finger to her mouth, preventing the words she’d taken a breath to say from being voiced. Had to fight not to caress a path to her cheek.
‘Will you have dinner with me so that we can discuss how good your rewrites are?’
His breath caught in his throat and his pulse tripped, then surged as her face lit up and her eyes shone, as dazzling as the stars he gazed at from his balcony in the mountains. Idiot! That was the greeting she’d deserved—not the uncivil questions he’d fired at her. His hand fell to his sides.
‘You’re happy with them?’ Her voice was husky and animated, making him feel like Father Christmas.
‘Yes—so we need to have a serious discussion on how we proceed.’
She blinked, and appeared to consider the implications of his words.
‘There’s quite a few good places to eat and I’ll be free at five-fifteen.’
‘We’ll need privacy.’
Again there was that assessing scrutiny he was beginning to anticipate. Then she smiled, as if pleased at his words.
The shop bell rang again.
‘I could get to hate that sound.’ There was a low growl in his voice, fuelled by frustration.
She heard it, and a light blush flowed over her cheeks, easing his tension. He wasn’t alone.
In an effort to hide her expression, she dipped her head to finish her coffee. ‘I have a customer. Would you rinse the mugs and leave them to drain, please, Nate?’
For another smile he believed he’d clean the whole kitchen—floors, walls and all. On his way out, he called, ‘See you later, Jemma,’ and held the door for the teenagers entering.
His replies were a quick wave from her and giggles from the girls.
* * *
Jemma relaxed as he strode past the window and gave her full attention to her current customer and those who’d followed until the shop had emptied. She’d been on edge since he’d waltzed in—well, strolled in as if he was expected, barking out questions. In hindsight, remembering his demeanour, he’d obviously been disconcerted at finding her serving alone.
The conflict between anger at his assumption that he could act as if they’d arranged this meeting and her emotional and physical response to his presence was unsettling. He muddled her brain—not conducive to giving good service.
She brewed herself a chamomile tea, and drank it while automatically tidying the shelves—a no-brainer task allowing her to imagine future scenarios for his battle-scarred ex-soldier and the girl who’d lost everything because of the military.
Meg arrived and was pleased with the sales, giving Jemma due praise.
‘The extra tourists helped. Always eager to buy Australian souvenirs.’
‘I’ll finish closing up if you want to go home and put your feet up.’
‘I’m fine—a friend’s coming to meet me at a quarter past five.’
‘Going to dinner? That’ll be a treat.’
Her words gave Jemma reason to think. She preferred to keep her personal life private, except for the facts she chose to reveal to a few close friends. Yet enough local people knew her to make her being seen dining out with Nate open to gossip. A takeaway at home would be better.
As she unpacked and displayed new stock she found herself glancing through the window every few minutes. By five she was ready to leave, and the instant he appeared she collected her two bags and said goodbye to Meg. Resolving to be calm and businesslike, she joined him outside.
She wished he wasn’t so ruggedly attractive—like those guys on television who starred in exotic nature series, travelling the wildernesses of the world in their four-wheel drives.
Quivers skittled up and down her spine as he perused her from head to feet and back...as far as the cotton bag clutched to her chest. A bubble of laughter rose in her throat at his puzzled frown.
* * *
Nate jerked as if he’d been sideswiped. A moment ago, he’d been admiring how fresh Jemma looked after a busy day in the shop—now he couldn’t take his eyes from the wriggling bulge in the colourful fabric she was hugging.
‘It’s moving.’
He glanced up as her lips parted in a burst of delightful laughter and then she opened the unf
astened top. A small tortoiseshell head popped out, tawny eyes blinking at the bright world.
‘Hey, it’s cute.’ He liked animals, and rued the fact that his travelling prevented him keeping any at the moment.
‘Isn’t she?’
‘She comes to work with you?’
He stroked the kitten with his forefinger and she leant into it, then licked him. Lifting her out, he cradled her to his chest, and Jemma’s eyes showed approval of his gentleness.
‘It depends on my hours and how she seems. I’ve had her less than a week—it’s a learning curve for the two of us.’
‘I grew up with an assortment of cats and dogs, along with various other pets my brother and I found or brought home. Until I built my own home I couldn’t imagine one without any animals. I assume she’s not coming to dinner with us?’
She dropped her gaze to his hands, still wrapped around her pet, seemingly unsure of how to answer.
‘Jemma?’ His fingers itched to cup her chin and see why she’d hidden her expression from him. Instead he tickled the kitten’s ear, and waited.
‘I thought...’ It was mumbled and faint.
She let out a slow breath, breathed in, and then her eyes, cool and determined, met his.
‘I thought we’d go to my home to talk...then order takeaway.’ Firm and assured now.
It was new and strange, this feeling of being honoured by her offer of trust—a gift he was convinced few men were granted. Having guessed she was vulnerable, he resolved not to break it and kept his tone casual.
‘Okay by me. Whatever you choose.’
‘It’s a fifteen-minute walk along the track—unless you’d rather take the road. I assume you have a car?’
‘I’d prefer to go through the local bushland. My hire car’s parked behind the hotel I’ve booked into for the night. May I carry...? What’s the little fur ball’s name?’
‘Milly.’
She took off the bag and slipped it over his neck, leaning towards him. Allowing him to breathe in her floral aroma. Forcing him to fight the urge to find out with his lips if her skin was as soft as it appeared.
Unlocking the Millionaire's Heart Page 5
