He led her to two doors in the lounge area, opposite the long veranda.
The first room was set up like an executive’s office, with top-notch furniture and equipment, and was showroom-neat and tidy. The bookshelf held a few photographs, and books that were all reference books.
Noting her frown at the latter, Nate quickly ushered her out and into the next room, standing to the side to watch her expression. He wasn’t disappointed. She gasped, her lips parted and her eyes widened in ecstatic surprise.
* * *
Jemma coveted this room more than any other she’d seen in either home. Two full walls and the space under the window held replicas of the bookshelves in Sydney, even the random higgledy-piggledy stacking of reading material. In the centre was a comfy old armchair, with its footrest out and a coffee table alongside. She closed her eyes, envying his having both rooms, wishing that maybe one day...
‘You approve, Jemma?’
Her heart blipped and her eyes flew open. She’d been so wrong at their first meeting. Forget romantic phrases—his soft tone against her ear would stir sensations even if he were reciting a dull repair manual. She swallowed, and managed to nod in agreement.
‘I’ll take that as a yes. Come with me. I think you’ll like this too.’
He reached for her hand; she pulled away at the first touch—too late to stop the tingles shooting across her skin. He didn’t appear affected.
She followed as he strode towards the front corner of the house by the kitchen, to a door with no handle in the side wall. He placed his right-hand fingers into a metal insert at his head height, she heard a click, and then it slid to his left, disappearing into the wall.
The humidity hit her and she knew what she was going to see apart from the weights and bench press in her immediate view. Past a screened change area and shower there was a lap pool, clear and inviting, extending nearly the width of the house. A lat pulldown machine stood in the furthest corner.
Her mind boggled, trying to take it all in: the actual building with its solar panels, the double-glazed floor-to-ceiling windows on almost every wall, and the underground area—what the heck would digging that out have cost? Add in the fixtures, fittings and furniture...
Her brain couldn’t, wouldn’t process the figure, had gone numb trying.
Her eyes met Nate’s gaze. It was hopefully expectant—as if her opinion mattered, as if he really wanted her endorsement. But that was crazy thinking, and she countered it by voicing the silly thought that had flashed into her head.
‘What? No spa?’
Instead of being insulted, he burst out laughing and raised his eyebrows.
Idiot, of course there was. Probably in his bathroom. No, probably in all of them. His approach upstairs had prevented her from looking right into hers.
As if he read her mind, he answered. ‘How could I possibly enjoy my own spa if my guests had to settle for less? Apart from the colour scheme, and some difference in size, the bedroom suites are all the same. Did you pack bathing suits?’
She refocussed at his question. ‘Yes, I checked out the nearby aquatic centre online, hoping to use it for exercise and an alternative to walking. This is amazing, Nate. You really are self-contained here, aren’t you?’
She heard the envy in her own voice. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said his home had everything he wanted. How she’d love to design her own home from scratch. How she’d love to have enough money even to consider it.
‘As long as you’re here, consider the pool yours as well. Do you want to unpack now, or go for a walk?’
‘I’d love some fresh air and exercise, please.’
‘Walk it is.’
* * *
Nate took two small water bottles from the fridge and they left via the front door, walked across a porch area and down two steps to the pebbles. The width of the path varied, constantly forcing the gap between them to widen and narrow. Each time they were close Nate flattened the fingers of his left hand to his thigh, fighting the desire to touch her and have her even closer to his side. Once or twice, when they were further apart, he became aware that his fingers were tapping, a sign of agitation he fought to control.
His solitary walks in the mountains would never be the same. They would now be imbued with the spirit of Jemma—her tranquillity as they strolled, her affinity with nature and the scent of her floral perfume.
He’d have to modify his lifestyle while she was here. He couldn’t expect her to fit in with his erratic hours—sometimes he was up through the night and cat-napping in the day. It only happened here. Even if he was alone in the Sydney apartment he lived by regular business hours.
‘Do you have a work schedule, or do you go with the creative flow?’
Grateful for the sudden question requiring him to refocus, he answered readily. ‘I can write any time, anywhere. If you like, I’ll rustle up some food while you unpack, then you can choose where you’d like to set up. We can sort out breaks as we go.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
* * *
Jemma was enjoying the feel of the pebbles under her sneakers, loving the crunch of fallen leaves and undergrowth along the track even more. The filtered sun through the trees warmed her back, and the T-shirt and cotton pants she wore were perfect for the different activities of the day.
A slight breeze cooled her skin, and their footsteps were the only sound apart from the occasional rustle of nature. It seemed they had the world all to themselves—or at any rate, this tiny part of it. She memorised the sights, sounds and smells, the latter a mingling of musk, vanilla and citrus. And the essence of Nate.
Their discussion on the return trip included aspects of living in the same house, morning rising and meal times, plus music and television show preferences. She admitted that her exercise consisted of walking to and from town as often as possible, spasmodic yoga classes and summer trips to the beach with friends. She kept quiet about her love of dancing whenever she was inspired by music...most often at home and alone.
Although she’d been at ease during the walk, Jemma’s trepidation resurfaced as she mounted the stairs to her room, her fingers clenching and opening. Nate had a knack of disconcerting her with words, looks and limited touches. And an equal talent for bringing her back to equilibrium with the same.
Shutting her door was an unwarranted gesture. She was convinced he’d never enter uninvited. It was for her own benefit—a physical obstacle she needed because her emotions were rapidly dismantling her internal barricades.
The quick peek she’d given the bathroom confirmed its luxury, and now she pushed the door into its recess. It was as if he’d perused the same décor magazines and top hotel rooms she had in her research. She’d described it in her book and he’d built it. She’d fantasised about soaking in bubbles while he actually relaxed in them. Tonight, she’d be joining him.
No, no, no. Not together. Heat shot through her—head to toe, skin to core—as she tried to distance her imagination from her innocent thought process. Too late. And splashing cold water over her cheeks did little to diminish the colour or the burning.
Vowing to stick to showers, she left, shutting the door behind her, knowing that sooner rather than later she’d renege.
She knelt by her suitcase and began to unpack her everyday clothes in this room which deserved the kind of designer clothes her sister’s closet held. Suitcase empty, she stowed it away and crossed to the window, overlooking the track they’d taken. Pushing the curtains further apart, she was thrilled to find a door leading onto a balcony. The beauty of the ancient peaks against a brilliant blue sky spurred her to capture this moment of nature’s tranquillity, to have it as a permanent memento.
A few minutes later she had photographs taken from there, and others of the gully view from the corner of the house in her camera.
Shamed by her stubbornness in res
isting her friends’ pressure for so long, she stood for a moment, reinforcing to herself who she was and the reason Nate had invited her to his home.
You are here because you have an invaluable talent. Because Brian and Nate believe in your ability to enhance this novel. Because Nate trusts you. Because you are worthy of his trust.
He was also attracted to her, and she was vulnerable.
Only if you allow yourself to be.
She vowed to focus on the reason she was there, to complete her task as soon as possible, then return to Hahndorf, where she belonged, with no regrets.
* * *
Nate put the two covered plates of ham and salad in the fridge, wondering how long it took a woman to unpack one suitcase and a carry-on. He opened a bottle of beer and drank, leaning against the island. His fingers tapped on his thigh and he grunted, trying to understand why her approval of his home was so important.
Every moment spent with her tested his resolve to stay platonic, as he’d promised himself. She amused him, provoked him and stirred desires he’d sworn never to fall prey to again. When she’d decided where she wanted to work he’d pick another area, out of sight of her, where her evocative perfume didn’t reach.
Huh, as if that would diminish how aware he was of her. Like right now, as the hairs on his nape stiffened, sensing she was near.
He squared his shoulders and sucked in his stomach. Twenty-five chapters to go—each with a minimum of one confrontational scene between his prime characters. In all, too many discussions with Jemma about feelings, emotions and sex.
He turned his head and smiled as she approached, looking cool and refreshed, while he was in definite need of a cold shower.
* * *
The rest of the day was spent as he hoped a fair portion of their time would be.
Jemma chose to work at the lounge room desk, with the full manuscript on her laptop and a printed copy she could make notes on. He took his computer, containing all the chapters she’d revised, his canvas folding recliner and a soft drink to his favourite spot on the ground-floor veranda.
They compromised on non-vocal music from classic movies in the background, and to limit distraction he pulled the middle blinds, blocking their view of each other.
That didn’t stop him from being aware of the regular breaks she took to stretch or move around. But it was no fault of hers that he was as aware of her as he was of the words in front of him.
She went to the kitchen once, and twice brought a page to him for clarification. Mid-afternoon they stopped for coffee and biscuits, and he called a halt at five, telling her he’d fix a chicken stir fry for dinner and she could cook tomorrow.
When Jemma yawned and said goodnight Nate stayed in the lounge, giving her time to fall asleep before he retired.
The tactic didn’t work. He stared open-eyed at his ceiling, picturing her along the corridor, silken hair spread over her pillow, soft skin glowing in the moonlight through the window, her delectable lips curled as she dreamt of one of her heroes.
Hell, who needed sleep anyway?
Somewhere between two and three in the morning he gave up trying, and flung himself out of his crumpled bed. After showering and dressing in T-shirt and shorts he grabbed a sandwich and coffee, and stretched out on the long sofa. Milly, woken by the lights, came looking for attention, and he scooped her up onto his stomach.
‘You’re almost as distracting as your mistress, Scamp.’ The name from his past came more easily than Milly. He tickled her ear, and she swatted his hand. ‘The pair of you are getting under my skin, and that’s not good.’
She curled up and closed her eyes, making him chuckle, and the movement of his stomach caused her to lift her head and blink at him. He stroked her and she settled.
Dragging his mind from an image of Jemma being in Milly’s place, he tried and failed to mentally plot the opening scene of book number two as he ate and drank. Images of his encounters with her dominated, messing with his mind.
With an exasperated curse, he pushed upright and gently set the kitten down. If he couldn’t sleep, he’d at least be productive.
He fetched his laptop and settled down with it on his lap, his feet on a padded footstool. After booting up, he created a new folder and file, blocked from his mind the figure asleep upstairs and typed.
SHADOWS OF A HAUNTED MAN
CHAPTER ONE
* * *
The only sound greeting Jemma when she descended the stairs at twenty past seven in the morning was the ball being patted across the tiles by Milly. She’d meant to ask Nate about a morning swim last night, but had been tired from the long day.
He wasn’t in the pool. He must either be in his room or... He was running, according to the note attached to the coffee machine.
She brushed off irrational disappointment. Expecting to be included in an exercise she rarely participated in was selfish—as would be asking him to slow down to accommodate her leisurely pace.
She made coffee and toast, wandering as she ate, studying the photos attached to the few walls. It was easy to identify his family—his brother was so much like Nate, apart from a carefree look and shorter, trimmed hair. Had Nate’s eyes been that clear and untroubled before he’d gone abroad? Or had being naturally sombre steered him towards the more thought-provoking stories he’d chased?
A movement outside caught her attention. Nate was moving fast and sure towards the house on a track opposite the one they’d walked yesterday. She drank in the power of his fluid motion, his feet pounding and arms pumping, eyes fixed straight ahead.
The desire to have that intensity focussed on her, that energy overriding her fears and that power sweeping her away to delights unknown swamped her, inciting tremors down her spine.
A second later, icy chills overrode all that.
There were stones and bits of broken branches on that uneven trail. How far did he run? What if he tripped and got injured? Couldn’t make it back to the house? Did he take his mobile with him?
And why was she panicking about something that shouldn’t concern her and might never happen?
His head jerked up as if he’d become aware of her presence, his eyes seeking her out through the window.
Please let him be too far away to see what I’m feeling.
Her prayer was answered with a light wave of his hand and, she thought, a smile. So if she couldn’t see his mouth, then he couldn’t see her expression. She began to deep-breathe, figuring she had roughly three minutes before he was in this room. Counting to ten with each inhale and exhale, she went to fetch her coffee.
His chest heaved with audible puffing as he came through the door, perspiration glistening on his skin and soaking the white tank top and black shorts, which left oodles of bare, tanned and toned muscle for her eyes to feast on. His eyes shone with exhilaration.
Clinging tightly to her hot mug, she prayed the internal waves of desire he created simply by standing in front of her, hands on hips, didn’t show externally. His quick smile and back-arch reassured her that he hadn’t noticed.
Both pieces of his clothing and his black and green running shoes looked worn and comfortable, but she didn’t have to see their tags to know they’d be an international brand.
‘I thought about waking you—wasn’t sure what sort of reception I’d get after yesterday’s early start.’ He headed for the kitchen tap.
‘A moan and the sight of me disappearing further under the blankets, if your appearance now means you’ve been gone for a while.’
He swallowed a glass of water in one gulp and leant on the edge of the sink, grinning at her. How could a sweaty and dishevelled man look so gorgeous? He tugged at her heart strings and booted up her pulse to danger speed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JEMMA NEEDED A DIVERSION—something to distract him.
‘Do you want coffee?�
�
Mundane but, with luck, effective. He shook his head.
‘I was wide awake before dawn and left just as the sun rose. It’s a great time to be out there. If you leave your drapes open the sun will substitute for an alarm. I’ll take a shower and eat, then we’ll get to it.’ He walked towards her, arms outstretched, lips curved in a devilish grin. ‘Wanna hug?’
Jemma’s brain was trying to process ‘get to it,’ and her body was fighting the heat its connotations had fired up. He was within the required arm’s length for the action before she reacted. She jumped back, and blushed even hotter at his roar of laughter as he gave her chin a gentle flick on his way past.
She mustn’t... She wouldn’t... She did. She twisted and watched him take the stairs two at a time, looking as hot and heady from the rear as he did face to face.
By the time he returned she was reading his script on the veranda, a glass of water and a bowl of mixed nuts by her side. It was the coolest place she could find, short of going into the basement.
* * *
‘Hey, time for a break. D’you fancy a swim?’
Jemma started, blinked and dragged her mind from the ruins of the battered European town in his novel to the peaceful mountain scene in reality. Her laptop told her it was nearly two-thirty, and Nate was standing in the veranda doorway, watching her.
She’d chosen to remain outside after she’d returned from her solitary short walk after lunch. Declining his offer to accompany her, she’d claimed that solitude was preferable for forming mental images of the current scene. The crisp mountain air had been invigorating, and she’d begun to understand why people settled in the area, even with its cold, snowy winters.
‘Sounds great.’
Clear water to refresh her mind and body after the stimulating scene she’d been working on, intensifying the characters’ relationship, forcing the hero to admit to himself he might have feelings for the heroine.
Standing in front of the wardrobe mirror, she scrutinised her figure in the blue one-piece swimsuit, bought in the January sales. Cloe had often told her she’d look great in a bikini, but she couldn’t shake her own negative comparison with Vanessa.
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