The icy breeze shocked her as she jumped off the bus and set out her goods. Sydney’s southerlies were intense. As the wind rattled her displays and sliced through her clothes, she was cross with herself. She’d seriously underestimated the strength of this cold snap.
Clouds built. As the wind steadily strengthened, bringing with it the smell of the open ocean, Stella shivered in her summery dress as she carefully positioned the trays.
She would have to try to get away to buy a warm scarf from Donna, but there were still some half empty trays, and she was finding the earrings particularly fiddly to position with her cold fingers.
A dog walker pounded past, pooches of all sizes straining at their leashes, frisky with the extra smells as the breeze intensified. It was fresh alright. Wild.
There was a rumble of thunder. At a stronger gust, three empty coffee cups skittered past. Stella had to hold her skirt down.
No sign of James, she noted. Good. She’d been there more than a month, and he still couldn’t resist offering gratuitous advice as he came past. Who needed another insult on a day like this? She was still smarting from having to buy back her own design the day before. Thrilled that Huntleys had seen the potential in her design, but desperate to pay down her debt. Saturday would be a write-off. Debt or no debt, she was determined to give up a day of trade to stay home and help host Jeannie’s party.
Stella’s sign was threatening to blow off, and she resolved to purchase some stronger hooks if she could find a quiet moment.
James appeared in a fine Burberry coat, like some kind of English squire who’d lost his horse.
“Rain’s coming,” James said. “Can you protect your stock?”
She glared at him, so perfectly presented, so totally prepared for every situation himself, then up at the clouds. She wasn’t expecting rain. She had no idea how she could protect her displays. The stock was waterproof, but not the velvet trays. She might have to close up and go home.
She put her hands on her hips but couldn’t think of a rejoinder. He was right. She should have considered this. He was making her feel like a fool.
If I’d wanted you to weigh in with your opinion, I’d have asked for it, she thought, but really, she was more cross with herself than with him.
Trust James to point out the obvious then disappear into his beautiful dry building.
A heavy drop of rain hit her forehead, and then another and then buckets of rain tumbled down. The soggy fabric of her dress clung to her skin, freezing in the stiffening wind. Frustrated, she rushed to cover her wares.
How foolish of her to forget a coat and umbrella. She scowled up at the sky.
There were no customers in sight, but for the coffee club parents with their babies and strollers, who would sometimes call in on her stall on their way home or before heading into the shops or yoga. They were gossiping away at the café while some of the older children scribbled with crayons at a small table.
Her dress was soaked. Teeth chattering, she gazed at the clouds. At least the rain had stopped.
There. What would James know? Just a passing shower.
James emerged again, debonair as ever, curse him. This time, he was brandishing a fine black umbrella as he swung open his door, and strode towards her. Really? Could he be bringing it for her?
As she pushed back her wet fringe, she imagined the toasty warmth of Huntleys’ interior.
A flash of red caught her attention - one of the children.
“Mummy, mummy, I’m a winner,” he was calling, frisky in the wind. Oh no! He was dashing towards the kerb!
Without thinking, Stella lurched forwards to catch him, her hand reaching for his shoulder, but she was unprepared and he was too quick, his sweatshirt slipping away from her grasp.
“Lucas!” his mother screamed, too many metres behind, busy with a baby in a stroller.
Panic in her throat, Stella sprinted after the child. He was heading straight for a line of traffic as the lights turned green. The menacing hiss of the wet tyres was terrifying. Time slowed. The cars were coming closer, the bus gathering speed.
The child was so tiny in his little denim pants, his face alight with excitement as he twisted back to look at his mother, oblivious to the danger. He would go over the curb, topple under those tyres ....
Without thinking, Stella threw herself at him, grabbing the top of his soft arm and yanking him back into the safety of the mall - just as she twisted her ankle on the wet curb and went down. Hard.
The pain took away her breath.
“Stella.” James’s deep voice was so close it reverberated against her chest, as her ankle shot pain up her leg and lodged in her gut. She’d crumpled into the gutter like a piece of cardboard. Brilliant. Ouch.
“It’s okay,” James said, soothing. “The boy’s safe. He’s with his mother.”
That was a relief, but she could barely breathe for the pain, and the traffic was so close it roared and hissed like a monster!
With her wet fringe in her eyes, she couldn’t see properly. The pain stabbed at her, and then panic. Had she broken something? How could she trade with one leg out of action!
Gentle fingers smoothed the hair out of her eyes. James’s strong arms cradled her, his presence an immense comfort as the pain just keeps stabbing, stabbing, shooting up her leg.
“You’re okay, Stella.”
A tender touch at her temple. Could she believe this?
James was holding her; James in all his fine clothes, down here in the gutter with her, stormwater swirling all around them and traffic roaring past.
Within the black frame of pain and confusion, his tender embrace was a balm.
This man was so achingly beautiful up close, a blazing distraction from the throbbing pain.
His eyes, bluer than ever, were boring into hers, intense with concern. She could see every eyelash, even a tiny scar on his wet cheekbone, maybe from chickenpox. Could Mr Perfect have once been a boy? Could it be that he cared for her? She closed her eyes again, ashamed. She’d been so sure he’d hated her. It was true his every comment had seemed insulting, but how could she have thought this man hostile? He was here. For her.
Or maybe he’d do this for anyone. Save a life.
She went to move, but the pain made her cry out. He held her closer. Wet James Huntley. This man smelled divine. Warm and wonderful. Strong. Irresistible. How could so beautiful a man be real? Those chiselled cheeks, those parted lips, so close, tender with concern. For her. Maybe she’d died and gone to heaven.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m going to move you further off the road, Stella,” he said, breaking their gaze. “It’s too dangerous.”
The rain fell heavier now, the world growing darker still as the storm intensified. The pain in her ankle spiked as he moved her, then receded to a throb, dwarfed by her intense awareness of him, closer than ever, warm, protecting her, helping her.
“Mmmmm,” she moaned as he held her closer, one arm beneath her knees.
What was this agony, to be so close, and not to kiss?
She tipped her head back, then, willing him with her eyes, inviting him, daring him.
His eyes flashed fire.
And then. Ecstasy.
Those lips, brushing hers, were softer than expected, so tender and warm in this cold, wet wind. Yes! But oh. Less than a second. An explosion of possibilities, too quickly extinguished.
“You’re bleeding, Stella. I must get help.” Damn him. Damn this broken kiss.
She turned her head away, wretched. The pain in her leg returned with a vengeance.
“You’re okay,” he said. “You’ll be okay.” Except she wasn’t. All she wanted was to kiss him again and have him kiss her in return, kiss away the pain, kiss away the rest of the world.
He was fiddling with his phone.
She panicked. In the driving rain she couldn’t see what was happening.
“The kid!”
“He’s fine. He’s with his mother.”
“My stall!”
“It’s okay. Nicole will look after it all.”
Great. Nicole’s got everything then. Delicious James, and all my worldly fortune.
She would have to shake off the pain, push him away and get on with her life.
She struggled, but he held her fast.
“That’s inadvisable, Stella. You might be badly hurt. There’s some broken glass here. Stay still. I’ll take you in to Emergency. We’ll get this seen to right away. Is there someone I can phone for you?”
“Jeannie.”
“What’s her number, please?”
She could never remember it, so she reached for her pocket, but pain darted up again through her leg and she cried out.
“Let me,” he said.
“My pocket.”
He was searching for it, brushing her waist, her hip, her thigh. Intimate. She was almost sorry when he located it and extracted it from her sopping wet pocket.
She caught his eye, and both of them blushed.
He knows. He feels it too.
It was right there between them, stronger than the cold wind, brighter than the pain and louder than the sound of the rain and hissing tires. Desire.
Go on. Kiss me again, she willed him, but he blinked and turned away, then handed her the phone.
“Jeannie?”
“Stell! What’s up? You’ve been retweeted by Harrods. It’s incredible. Talk about star power.”
“I’m in the gutter.”
“Not for long, baby sister. Not with me managing your social.”
“No, Jeannie. I’m about to go to hospital.”
“What?”
Stella thrust the phone at James, closing her eyes as the pain surged.
“It’s James Huntley here, Jeannie.”
“James Huntley? What have you done to my sister?” Stella could hear Jeannie’s frosty tone, suspicious, hostile.
“There’s been an accident but Stella’s okay. I’m taking her to Prince of Wales Emergency, Randwick.”
Blue shirts. They were moving her. James was holding her hand. She never wanted to let him go. The pain was excruciating. Someone was giving her an injection. She kept her eyes on James’s, such a deep and beautiful blue.
Chapter 14
Amid the hum of the hospital air-conditioning and smell of disinfectant, Stella’s heart lifted to see Jeannie waiting for her on one of the beige emergency waiting room vinyl chairs, flipping lazily through a gossip magazine.
Awkward on crutches, Stella eased herself down beside her.
“Hey, little sister! Knew you’d be okay Are they done with you?”
Stella nodded.
“Sprain. Bit of a gash. Wish I’d seen that broken bottle in the gutter, but it’s all sewn up now and they’ve jabbed me with a few injections, Tetanus, I think. Whatever. Still a bit numb.”
“That’s okay. Just sit for a minute. No rush. Still raining out there. Matt’s looking after the girls. Take a break. You’ve had a bit of a shock. Hey! I hear you saved a little boy!”
Stella remembered the flash of red, the child’s t-shirt, her frantic dash to stop him...
And then, the swirling storm water and a kiss, a delectable kiss and basking in the warmest sensation of being loved and cared for...
“Jeannie! My stall! The takings!”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about a thing. It’s all locked up in the Huntleys safe. The guy who called me was looking out for you, alright. You didn’t tell me you had a fan...” Jeannie was smiling.
Stella started to pull herself up on her crutches again. Her ankle was throbbing and she wanted to get out of there, to get her life back in order.
“Hey, relax, Stell. Slow down. Everything’s okay. I’ve only been here an hour. Can’t remember when I last read a magazine. Besides...” Jeannie was smiling again, that smile she used when she knew something Stella didn’t.
“What is it, Jeannie? Don’t tease me.”
“You didn’t let on at all.”
“About what? What’s up?
“James Huntley.”
“What about him?”
“Met him just as you went in. Gave me his card.” Jeannie looked like the cat that got the cream, or the older sister who had something she didn’t. She pinched the card between thumb and forefinger and moved it slowly back and forth like something precious. The raised gold lettering caught the light, and Jeannie held it just out of reach.
“Tell me, Jeannie. Take pity. I’m injured, dammit. How much more pathetic can I get? It’s cruel to take advantage of someone in hospital!”
“Calm down, calm down. Alright, I’ll tell you, but I don’t see why I should, since you’ve barely been levelling with me.”
“What do you mean? Jeannie, stop it!”
“Rescued you, told us not to worry about a thing. And he’s rung me twice while you’ve been here, to see how you are. You have a big fan, Stell. You never told me he cared about you. I thought you two were enemies.”
“We ...”
Jeannie leaned towards her, one eyebrow up, smiling.
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Stella?”
“Tell you what?”
“He’s hot. He’s hot, full stop. And he’s especially hot for you, little sister.”
“Stop it. What is this?”
“James Huntley. All this time I’ve been slinging it to him on social. I had him pegged as fat and middle aged and grumpy. Instead, I meet him here and I think he’s the doctor. He’s tall and toned and tanned and ... really rather nice. Not nice like my Matt, mind you, but not bad. Not bad at all. And you. You never let on once that you liked him, not at all. And you never said once that he likes you. He’s crazy about you. Wants you to phone him by the way. Left me his card. For you.”
She held it again like a trophy, teasing. It caught the light, the gold edges and raised gold H glowing like strips of gold.
Stella took the card, closing her eyes, remembering the wet morning, the dash to save the child, James’s warm embrace, and then that instant of a searing, delicious, broken kiss.
“Come on, Stell. Fess up. I thought it was war between you two.”
War. Practically. Except ...
“Any chance of a cup of tea?”
“Yeah. I’ll be a few minutes. But you don’t get out of it. Here, you can use my phone. Lover boy wants to hear from you.”
Stella looked at the number on the card, glanced at Jeannie’s phone, and hesitated. Maybe it was all better as a dream. This was so awkward. She didn’t even know if she’d just imagined the kiss. Everything happened so quickly. Still. At least Jeannie was out of the room. She’d just make it a quick call. Get it over with.
The phone rang twice. “You’re okay then?” he said, his voice full of concern, warm as tawny port. “Good of you to call. Do you need me to come and get you?”
“No. Thank you.” She cleared her throat, awkward as a schoolgirl.
James cleared his, too. Maybe it was a mistake to ring. They were strangers, practically rivals, from Nicole’s point of view, anyway. What would Jeannie know? Had they actually kissed? Maybe she’d just imagined the touch of his lips as some kind of wishful thinking. Or maybe he thought if he used his charm she wouldn’t sue him for breach of copyright. Deep disappointment attacked her very core. She felt like weeping.
She hadn’t told Jeannie yet about the way Huntleys stole her design. She didn’t want to spoil the birthday surprise. Yes. That was it. James was just being charming so she wouldn’t make trouble. Despicable.
“Gotta go,” Stella said as Jeannie walked back in, balancing tea in paper cups.
“See you,” James said levelly.
“See you.” Whatever that meant. Tea. As she reached for the tea in its flimsy take-away cup, Jeannie leaned over her to give her a gentle squeeze, smelling like fruity shampoo and vegemite sandwiches.
Stella burnt her tongue on the first sip. And she ached all over.
“Jeannie! My takings. My bag. Where’s it gone? Do you have the money?”
“Relax. I told you everything’s okay. Take it easy! It’s fine. Your hero rescuer has it all in hand. He asked me to remind you that Nicole got your bag, and it’s in the Huntleys safe with your stock.”
Stella ran a finger over the raised gold lettering and copperplate font of the card. Old fashioned, it oozed status.
“So, come on,” Jeannie prompted. “Tell me about the hottie!”
Stella looked away and bit her lip, all her senses remembering in a rush. Essence of James. That broken kiss. She hadn’t imagined it. No way.
“Yes, little sister. He was here with you till I got here. Very, very attentive, Stell. Very concerned about you. An absolute gentleman. Crazy about you. Not crazy at you at all! Come on. Explain.”
“Mystery to me. Maybe he finally worked out his competition was about to be eliminated... Any port in a storm? How am I to know? You’ve seen it on Facebook. Huntleys has only ever been hostile, hostile, hostile. Then, suddenly, Mr Nice Guy. Mr Hero. Mr Save the Day. I don’t trust him one ounce and nor should you, Jeannie. And you should know better than to judge a book by its cover.”
Jeannie held her tongue, encouraging Stella to say more.
“Well, I’ll admit it’s quite an attractive cover. Very attractive, even. Yes. Anyone might find James attractive.” Jeannie remained silent, smiling. “Look. He might have good manners and he stopped me getting run over, but don’t read too much into it, Jeannie. Please. You shouldn’t tease me. Come on. Even if he did rescue me, it doesn’t necessarily mean a thing. He might be spoken for, for all I know. He spends a lot of time with that Nicole person, the PR agent, partner, whatever. And you’ve seen all those hostile tweets.”
“We give back as good as we get...”
“You do. I have nothing to do with it. You enjoy it, Jeannie, I swear it! Mild-mannered Mrs Matt Lipson, former marketing executive and mother of two is actually a social media warrior! One of those trolls. Savage! Is it really necessary?”
House of Diamonds Page 12
