He glanced out the window and simultaneously smiled and frowned. The frown claimed dominance after a moment. She was in jeans again—absolutely hotter than he remembered—but she was wheeling a giant suitcase behind her and the pack on her back dragged her down, the straps cutting into her fine-boned shoulders. With her flushed cheeks and strained features, she looked hot and bothered. Ironic given that’s how she made him feel. But had she just lugged all this on the Tube? Irritated, he stepped out and took the suitcase handle from her.
“You should have told me you had all this, I’d have picked you up.” He hauled it inside. No wonder she looked fed up, the bag was heavier than an elephant.
“It wouldn’t fit in your car anyway.” She eased the pack off her back and rolled her shoulders.
“It would fit in my other car.”
“Well, I’ve got it here now,” she clipped, carefully looking around the kitchen and avoiding looking at him.
“You’ll be getting more ingredients soon though, right?”
She nodded.
“Then either have them delivered or I’ll collect them.”
She finally met his eyes—firing him a look that spoke volumes. He met it with an equally unwavering one. He wouldn’t apologize for being sensible. Would it hurt her to accept some very minor assistance?
“Okay.” She tore her gorgeous gaze away and looked around the kitchen again. “Is there no one else here?”
“Who else would be here?”
“The bakery owner? Shouldn’t I meet…” she trailed off.
“No need for that,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I own the place.”
“The bakery?”
“The building.”
“You own the whole building?” She looked horrified.
He decided not to tell her he owned the two on either side of this one as well. “Don’t worry, I have a really good maintenance team.”
Her color ripened. “You’re going to be here every night to open up for me?”
“And lock up.”
“Am I not to be trusted with a key?”
“Not at this stage.”
“Even though you’ve done all your snooping and know everything about me?”
“It was a quick Google search,” he answered easily. And he didn’t know nearly enough. And he wanted to see more of her. “You didn’t do one on me?”
“No.” She said it like she’d never think of it.
“Really?”
“Does that bruise your ego?” Her eyes kindled—enhancing that smooth skin and fresh-eyed look—the picture of vitality. Maybe there was something in the muesli after all.
He sensed her holding back a laugh and only just suppressed his own. “I’ll live.”
Her smile burst forth and she unzipped her suitcase. It was immaculately packed—plastic bags neatly arranged like a jig-saw puzzle to maximize use of every inch of space. It took five minutes for her to take out what she needed.
Only then did she glance at him again—her smile dying. “Are you staying?”
“Of course.” He went back to his spot at the bench where he had his tablet and phone out.
“I’m not going to set fire to the place if that’s what you’re worried about.”
That wasn’t why he was staying. “Is that what they implied?”
She nodded.
“It must have been horrible being under suspicion.”
“Not as bad as being there.”
“You were there when the fire started?” Goose bumps rippled over his skin.
“I got out, obviously, but I lost lots of things. And there was a lot of toasted muesli,” she quipped.
“It’s not funny.” No wonder she’d frozen in the face of the burned nuts the other day and flipped about the alarm. “Were you hurt at all?”
“No. But I lost my computer.” She looked rueful. “How to learn the ‘always back your stuff up’ lesson the hard way.”
“You lost important data?”
“Photos.”
“No,” he groaned in sympathy. “Can you get copies?”
“For some. Not all.”
He heard the desolate note—she’d lost precious things, memories? Sorry for bringing it up, he sought a way to lighten it. “Have you got a replacement computer yet?”
“Soon.”
“So that’s why you didn’t Google me,” he joked to bring her smile back.
“Yeah,” she went along with it. “And you weren’t worth breaking the ‘no personal Internet use’ rule at work for. So no cyber stalking for me.” She scrubbed her hands and got out several chopping boards and that stupidly small knife. The dried apricot dicing began.
“Why cut by hand?” He pointed out the industrial food processor.
“It’s better chopped by hand. One too many presses of the pulse button of that machine would make it pulp rather than bite-size pieces.”
“But it takes so much time.”
“I have time.”
Really? When she worked full time and ran her business on the side? “Then how do you fit in time for—” He broke off, temporarily blinded by the dangerous glitter in her eyes.
He got the no kisses rule, but did that mean personal talk was a no-go area too? “Your commitment to the circus,” he finished slyly. “Knife throwing and stuff with strong Serge.”
She almost smiled. “I’ve retired from the circus.”
Had she now? Serge too? He reached forward and snaffled one of the dried apricots. “Why’s that? You get hurt by the knife or the strong guy?”
“Why think I was hurt?” She chopped faster, louder. “Maybe it’s just that I’m too busy.”
“Taking all the time to dice dried apricots by hand? That’s not too busy, that’s extreme avoidance.”
“It’s dedication to making the best product I can.”
It was avoidance. Why did she have knife-edged barriers up when she’d been as into that kiss as he had? The incandescent reaction between them was only going to worsen the more they saw each other. It was stronger already—he couldn’t believe it wasn’t the same for her. And he planned to do something about it. Soon.
He didn’t have time to put into a relationship, it wasn’t fair on a girlfriend. And frankly, he knew loss—intimately—and he didn’t want any more of that. Keeping an eye on Tom and Anne was more than enough for his emotional capacity. But what he hadn’t had—in too long—was a little fun. There hadn’t been time. He’d abandoned his degree and gotten on with work, taking over the family art and antiques store. Then he’d bought his first building and refurbished it, spearheading the revitalization of that block and beginning his commercial property portfolio. He’d worked crazy hours. Through half the night while his siblings slept, rousing Tom to go to training in the early hours before snatching a couple of hours sleep before getting his sister up and on track for school. It wasn’t a time he wanted to revisit. He’d been so tired. But he still worked hard, caught in the habit. The drive to achieve and maintain security for his family still pushed him. So there’d only been one-nighters, the briefest of flings despite his increasing business success and security. Frankly there’d been nothing in recent months.
But now Libby Harris had him thinking about fun. All the time. And he knew she was as affected—the flickering eye contact? The flush in her cheeks? The irrepressible smiles?
“How much can you make in a night?” he asked, trying to distract himself.
“A couple of batches. Enough for Tom.”
“What about to fulfill your orders at the organic supermarkets?”
“That’s going to take a little longer.”
Good. He wanted more time. “You can’t give up the day job?” He grabbed another apricot as a displacement activity. “Copywriting?”
She nodded. She was definitely avoiding looking at him for too long. “Local council.”
“No wonder you’re good at telling tales in tight situations,” he teased.
It drew one of t
hose gorgeous smiles from her. “The tales I get to tell at work aren’t nearly as exciting. It’s puff pieces on litter collection or something.”
“So you invent to make them more entertaining?” He laughed. “I bet you come up with some crazy stuff.”
“Most boarding school-girls have good imaginations,” she said mock primly. “Sometimes it’s the only way to survive.”
Boarding school-girl? He glanced at her and for once their gaze met, meshed—clashed.
Heat unmistakably flared and the charged silence between them thickened. He stilled, waiting, aching for her to move closer. For a split second he was sure she was about to, but then she turned away. The disappointment was almost a physical pain.
He was sure she wanted him, but that she didn’t want to want him. He needed to give her some time, right? Not practically pounce on her the first chance he got. He could be patient, couldn’t he? And wait for her to come to him.
Jack pulled up a stool and sat, flicking through his emails. He was confident enough in himself—in that kiss—to know it wasn’t him, but something within her making her skittish. But, arrogant as he was, he didn’t think she could resist for too much longer. He was sure he wasn’t alone in feeling this pull. It was too strong to withstand.
But all good things came to those who waited, right? And he’d be waiting right here.
The second night he arrived before her. Wearing jeans and tee again—the casual outfit emphasizing his flat abs, long legs, and a butt meant for grabbing. Libby inwardly groaned. Spending four hours in his presence last night had been hard enough. She’d tried not to look at him too much but it was difficult when he kept chatting and laughing and being the ultimate in charming. She’d hardly slept. Remembering his smile, his gentle teasing, his quick wit.
Every interaction sharpened her attraction like long strokes of a knife on steel—the pull tightened her nerves and pushed her towards succumbing to the heat. She sighed, trying to push out the tension and gather her self-control. She didn’t want to have to walk away from this opportunity with the kitchen. She wanted to do something with her life—to help someone, lots of people ideally. She wanted to give something to society. Because she wouldn’t fall in love. She wouldn’t have a family. She’d make a contribution, a difference in another way. Helping Tom would be something. Getting her product back on the shelves would be something more. It was a healthy option. People might benefit and that would be wonderful.
But Jack made her think about other things—intimacies and personal pleasures that she’d denied herself for a long time. She didn’t want to open up that part of herself to someone so overpowering. She had the fear she’d ended up giving him far more than she’d ever intend to.
“If you’re going to insist on staying here while I work, the least you can do is make yourself useful,” she said firmly, deciding to take control of the situation tonight. There’d be no swapping secrets or life stories—or worse, flirting.
“I have my own work to do, thanks,” he held up his tablet.
“Do you have to do it here?” Why couldn’t he leave her to get on with it and come back to lock up at a fixed time? Instead he was a complete distraction—and she was the one unable to control her own mind and impulses…
“Yeah. I do.” Mr. Uncompromising.
Because he still didn’t trust her? Or because…
“Does my being here bother you?” he asked.
She swallowed. “Of course not. I just thought if you have work to do…”
“I can do what I need to here.”
She shouldn’t have started this conversation, it was going nowhere anyway. He just being all immovable man. Damn. Because just looking at him had her coming over hot and bothered and...wanting.
“You don’t have a business partner?” he asked once she was underway.
“No,” she said, thankful for the conversation to distract her from her treacherous hormones. “My uni friends love my muesli but they think I’m mad for putting so much into it.”
“Any sort of success requires sacrifice at some level,” he said. “Is that why you’ve no boyfriend?”
She looked at him, trying to stay cool. “Possibly.”
“There must be an endless queue though.”
“There’s no need for the flattery.” She tried to shut the topic down. “I’m making enough muesli to last Tom ten years.”
“But there must be.” He ignored her and insisted.
She picked up a cloth and wiped some spilled syrup from the bench. “No, there was only the one.”
“One?”
“At university. I finally got out of the all girls’ boarding school and found some freedom.”
“I thought the all girls boarding schools were where it was all at.”
“It’s not like those bad movies you know. They’re just a male fantasy.”
“Tell me more.” He came round to her side of the counter.
“There’s nothing to tell.” She wiped the top more vigorously. She didn’t need him standing so close—she could smell the soap he’d used, she could sense his heat and she could remember his strength.
It made her weak. And willing.
“Of course there is. Why did you break up with him?”
“It was getting too serious.” Good, remember the mess it had been. Remind yourself you don’t want a fling.
“He was getting too serious?”
She stopped wiping. “Yes.”
“Serious how? He wanted to marry you?”
She nodded.
“So he proposed and you broke up with him?”
Why did he look so surprised? “We wanted different things,” she said firmly. “It was for the best.”
“So you don’t want serious?”
“No.”
“Why not? Most women are searching the world for serious aren’t they?”
She rolled her eyes again. “Not everyone, no.”
His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t one of your tall tales?”
How totally insulting. “Why is it that men have sole dibs on just wanting fun? On not wanting commitment?”
He ignored her sarcastic tone and weighed the question seriously. “I think most men who don’t want commitment have serious reasons for not wanting it.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Such as?”
“Fear. Bad experience. So they don’t want to be hurt or betrayed again.”
Libby’s curiosity soared at his certainty. Had anyone betrayed him? She couldn’t imagine any woman being so stupid. “Maybe it’s just that they can get it easily from any number of women so why should they just settle for one?”
That was way more likely in his case, wasn’t it?
“I don’t think there are many men who actually want that for long,’ he said. ‘Casual isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
That shocked her—he was a no commitment guy wasn’t he? “What is it that stops you from the dreaded commitment?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“Inconvenience,” he answered bluntly. “This isn’t the right time in my life. I’ve still got too much else I need to do for my business and for the family I have.”
Too much else? What more did he need? She frowned at him. “So it’s not that some woman once minced your heart with her stilettos?”
He chuckled. “No. There hasn’t been a girlfriend who meant that much to me. I’ve been too busy for a while I guess.”
Oh. Fair enough. She pulled the muesli from the oven—perfectly toasted. She stirred the hazelnuts through—picking up a spare that had fallen on the bench and tossing it up to catch it in her mouth.
“What other circus skills you got?” Jack laughed. “Trapeze?”
She glanced at him standing so close and so determinedly tempting, that an imp took over her mouth. “You want to know if I can do the splits three ways?”
“I—” The stunned look he threw her was so worth it.
She smirked, but the blush fired her cheek
s at the same time.
“I’m thinking maybe you’re more clown than contortionist,” he muttered.
Amusement bubbled. It had been surprisingly easy to fluster him. And suddenly she wanted to provoke him more.
He must’ve caught the glimpse in her eye because less than a breath later he spun, pinning her back against the counter—putting one hand either side of her so she couldn’t escape. He leaned towards her—his chest a tantalizing millimeter from her own. Her nipples screamed in need.
“If you’re going to wind me up, you better be prepared for payback.”
She hardly heard him she was so distracted by watching his mouth and remembering the soft-but-firm touch he’d used on her. She was so, so prepared.
“You’re going to wind me up?” Fact was he already had. Her breathlessness pretty much gave it away.
“Tight,” he promised. Or perhaps it was more of a threat.
Either way Libby was bowled. She rested her weight against the counter as heat exploded deep in her belly. Her muscles clenched, ready to grip, while other parts melted. With just one word?
She breathed slow and deep trying to contain her extreme sexual response. But she couldn’t. Instead she tried to minimize the meaning of it. She’d been without sex for a while—a long, long while. And from the tips of his black eyelashes to his long, muscular legs, Jack was gorgeous. Pure, prime male—every inch of him screamed stellar sex.
He didn’t want a relationship. Life was too busy and the expectations too inconvenient. Fine by her. Libby wasn’t the kind of girl to think she could change a man. Besides, she wouldn’t want to because she was keeping herself safe—no relationships. Nothing long-term that could lead to marriage and kids. At least there was no fear of that with Jack.
There was just this kind of fun that hummed between them—and their incredible physical chemistry.
Her reaction to that kiss the other day? Maybe she needn’t have been so spooked. It must have been so intense since it had been a while. It wasn’t anything other than sex.
Surely she could she handle a fling? Or was she really going to spend the rest of her life celibate? At this moment that didn’t sound like any fun.
Her Bossy Billionaire (Love in London Book 1) Page 5
