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She swallowed against a flush and regained control. ‘I’m not sure that has anything to do with you buying a fish, Mr…’
‘Stuart. Mitchell Stuart.’ As if annoyed at himself, he waved a dismissive hand. ‘And, no, it doesn’t. Totally off track.’ He narrowed his focus on the gaping fish again and slowly grinned. ‘I think he’ll do nicely.’
She forced her thoughts away from family—or lack thereof—and back onto business.
For a moment she’d wondered if this customer might enjoy a closer connection…someone to walk and have fun with. Guess she’d been mistaken.
But she was pleased for the fish; clearly he was going to a good home. She was sure he’d be fed the finest fish food and have his home regularly cleaned by the housekeeper.
She went to lift the tank. ‘Do you have any names in mind?’
Frowning, Mr Stuart took over the weight of the tank. ‘Fish have names?’
At the counter, she collected flakes, stabilising drops, a complimentary miniature Poseidon and his trident, then went through everything with Mr Stuart regarding the care of his new goldfish. After he’d scrawled a signature on the transaction slip, she handed back his card. ‘I’m sure you’ll have no problems.’
‘If I do?’
‘Call me.’
She whisked a business card from its holder. He gripped it, genuine victory shining in his eyes. ‘I feel good about this.’
‘Then so do I.’
Mr Stuart collected his bundles. On his way past the puppies, he faltered, but then shot a glance over his shoulder and held up the fish with a smile that said, Right decision.
She winked and saluted. Another satisfied customer. And the puppies would go quickly to homes filled with love and adequate attention. Maybe one day Mitchell Stuart would return when he was ready for a bigger commitment.
Would she still be here? She had to believe tomorrow’s appointment with her bank manager would save the day. She couldn’t bear to think of the alternative.
Two hours later, she flipped the sign on the door as the phone rang. If that was the feeders and drinkers supplier after a payment, the cheque was definitely in the mail. If it was the landlord reminding her to be out in two weeks…
She held her nervy stomach. Maybe she wouldn’t answer.
When it rang again, she buckled and picked up. No hello from the other end, just a straight out, ‘I’ve found a name for my fish.’
That deep voice was even more bone-melting over the phone—low and unconsciously inviting against her ear.
‘Mr Stuart. Hello.’
‘Kamikaze.’
She stammered. ‘B-Beg your pardon?’
‘He won’t quit jumping out of the tank. He’s on a suicide mission.’
She sank down onto a chair and rubbed her brow. Oh, dear. ‘That sometimes happens.’
‘I filled the tank, added the right amount of drops, set up the filter, gave him a feed. When I turned my back, he jumped out. I put him back in. He jumped out again, and again.’ His voice dropped to a growl. ‘Clearly he’s not happy.’
‘Could be a couple of things, like not enough water.’
‘I’ve already put more in.’
‘Maybe there’s too much.’
His voice cracked. ‘A fish can have too much water?’
‘Only in so far as making it easier to leap out.’ She gnawed her bottom lip. ‘And then there’s the possibility…’
‘What possibility?’
‘Some fish are just, well, jumpers.’
She heard his groan, then a shuffle as if he’d moved and dropped into a seat himself.
A vision flashed to mind: gorgeous Mitchell Stuart dead on his feet after staying up all night, a scoop in one hand, a fist made out of the other, ruing the day he’d ever set foot in Great and Small.
Vanessa gripped the receiver tight. She’d said she’d help if need be. Statistics said people bought pets from shops relatively close to their homes. Doctors made house calls. No reason she couldn’t.
‘Mr Stuart, I’ve just shut up shop. Would you like me to drop over and see what I can do?’
‘You do that kind of thing?’
She lied. ‘All the time.’
A relieved expulsion of air travelled down the line. ‘I’ll give you my address.’
‘You think this is funny?’ Mitch manoeuvred Kamikaze off his redwood dining table into the net and, suppressing a shudder, plopped him back into the tank water. ‘Well, fun and games are over, buddy boy.’
Help was on the way. Help in the form of a petite, twenty-something-year-old whom he had no intention of getting to know beyond, Thanksfor saving my fish. He wouldn’t acknowledge Vanessa Craig’s long, glossy hair, iridescent green eyes or the way his blood warmed like syrup on a stove whenever she smiled that I’m totallyharmless smile. He was on sabbatical from women.
All women.
When his father had passed away fifteen years ago, Mitch had become the man of the house. Although he’d moved out of the stately Stuart mansion seven years ago, he was still the one the females of the family scampered to for help…and it seemed they always needed help. Help with their finances, help with repairs, booking flights, computer glitches—you name it, he got the call.
Like a stealthy airborne virus, recently the helpless female factor had followed him into more intimate relationships. Up-and-coming lingerie model Priscilla Lawson had seemed independent and resourceful when they’d met at that charity dinner. After three weeks together, their liaison had warmed up nicely, until Priscilla had tickled his chin one night and mentioned her family reunion… Would he mind booking her flight to Melbourne and, while she was gone, clean her pool and take her cat to its monthly check-up? It had liver problems.
His upper lip twitched.
He did not do cats.
But damn, he sure had liked that Rottweiler pup.
He was a busy man. His work was his life. However, while he had close associates at the firm as well as friends he knocked about with on weekends when he could spare the time, he’d wanted someone to come home to. Someone male who could watch football without a moan, not complain if he put his feet on the coffee table, who didn’t flutter eyelashes or resort to tears to get their own way. Someone who didn’t demand much time or emotion.
He gazed at his goggle-eyed companion.
A goldfish qualified.
The doorbell rang, echoing through the contemporary two-storey that enjoyed a privileged view of Sydney’s magnificent harbour. Mitch rolled the tension from his shoulders, then stabbed a finger at Kami. ‘Don’t move a fin till I get back.’
He opened the door and there she stood, looking unaffected and fresh, one long leg pegged out in those bun-hugging jeans, conspicuously busty in her white T-shirt with the pink swirly logo that said Great and Small. If forced to vote, he would go with Great rather than Small. In fact, she looked pretty darn hot—
Mitch slammed on the mental brakes.
Sweet blazes, what was he doing? Visualising this woman naked wasn’t going to help. In fact, it was highly inappropriate for more reasons than one.
Think ‘fish’, Mitch. Think ‘through with females’.
Clearing his throat, he gestured her in. ‘Thanks for coming so quickly. He’s over here.’
In the dining room, Vanessa Craig set her hands on her knees and inspected the patient while Mitch stood back, eager for a diagnosis. When the examination went on and her left knee bent more, which meant her right hip hitched up, he scowled and scrubbed his jaw. If she’d done that on purpose, he didn’t need the aggravation.
Finally she straightened, one hand on her lower back as she arched to stretch out her spine. Although Great jumped out at him, Mitch kept his eyes fixed firmly on hers.
Her question was sombre. ‘When was the last time he jumped?’
‘Just before you arrived.’
‘Before that?’
‘Ten minutes ago.’
Pensive, she stroked her chin. ‘Could be he’s still settling in.’
‘Or tomorrow morning I could wake up and—’
Ack. He didn’t want to think about it.
She crossed her arms. The letters G and T met at her cleavage. Not that he was looking. Same way he wasn’t looking when she nibbled her lip and searched for an answer. Her mouth was naturally pink and very full. The highly kissable kind with delicate dimples on either side, as he’d already noted with some consternation earlier today.
‘What if we try a bigger tank?’ she suggested.
Mitch blinked back to the immediate problem. Increased volume equalled decreased risk, which added up to no dead fish in the morning. ‘I like that plan.’
She moved towards the door. ‘Good. I brought one with me. It’s outside on your portico.’
Giving in to a smile, he followed. Clearly Vanessa Craig was intelligent, helpful, prompt as well as prepared. She was also a professional with her own business. Did her profit and loss sheets balance? Of course he was well aware trouble was not a gender specific trait. However, for too long now, it sure-as-Jack seemed that way.
He assisted Vanessa in with the larger tank and a few minutes later it was filled with the neutralising drops doing their work.
Hooking up the filter, she nodded almost shyly at the portrait on the wall. ‘Is that your family?’
His chest constricted with a familiar sense of fondness tinged with regret. The photo featured his tall, lean father sitting on a red chaise longue surrounded by his wife, their four girls and only son.
His hand slid along the rim of the tank. ‘My father passed away not long after that shot was taken.’ Only days before Mitch’s fifteenth birthday.
When she flicked on the filter, her hand accidentally brushed his. His heartbeat kicked as a live current spiralled up the cords of his arm to his shoulder, much the same heat-generating sensation that had claimed him this afternoon when they’d touched. Instantaneous and perilously pleasant.
Their eyes met—hers filled with perception as well as surprise before she dropped her gaze and edged a little away. ‘I’m sorry…about your dad.’
Setting his thoughts straight, Mitch collected his trusty net. ‘He was a good but old-fashioned man. A firm believer in tough love.’
Her mouth thinned. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child?’
‘Not at all. But, in our house, actions had consequences.’ How many talks about responsibility and putting those you cared about before yourself had he listened to? ‘We were loved, but you didn’t get away with much. In return, he gave us his undivided attention when we needed it.’
Her green eyes took on a sheen, reminding him of the leaves on the pavement this morning when he’d decided to get himself that pet.
‘You must all miss him very much,’ Vanessa said.
He nodded. Every day.
What would his father have done about the current family dilemma? Last night, Cynthia, the youngest at twenty-two, had announced her engagement to the sleaze ball of all time. Their showboating mother had crowed with joy, which had surprised him. Sleaze Ball might be a doctor but he was also a notorious gambler.
How on earth could he protect people who jumped feet first into disaster, tittering prettily as they fell into the abyss?
Groaning, he swirled the new water with the net.
Guess he’d sort something out. Or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe this time would be the time he let the women sort it out themselves. He couldn’t very well tell his sister who to marry, though he’d certainly like to tell her who not to.
Mitch stole a glance at his comely visitor as a gentle reflection from the water danced over her face. Did Vanessa Craig hold high expectations on the business front, or was she focused more on personal matters, like landing a good catch? Seemed his sisters could think of little other than having babies. What was the hurry? He was in no hurry at all.
He set the net down. ‘What about you?’
Her bright eyes blinked up from the water. ‘What about me?’
‘Family. You didn’t say whether yours live nearby.’
Her slender shoulders went up, then down. ‘I don’t have a family.’
section_insertedcopyright--num_1--seq_18? The idea was alien. And, in some ways, wickedly appealing. No demands. No expectations. No interruptions. ‘No one at all?’
She trailed a damp hand down her jeans, leaving a streak on her shapely denim thigh. ‘I have an aunt. As well as great friends and my animals—’ she flashed an optimist’s smile ‘—so life’s full.’
Was that a subtle hint that she wasn’t interested in romance? Well, ditto…even if his growing curiosity and flexing libido refuted that statement. There was something about Vanessa Craig—something mesmerising calling to him from beyond those bewitching green eyes.
She checked her large-faced watch, took the net and scooped Kami up to ease him into his new watery home. As his golden scales darted around the relocated trident, Mitch shot out a relieved breath. ‘He looks happier already.’
‘Hopefully that should do the trick.’
‘After all that exercise, he should sleep well.’ Which was good news for them both; he had some important paperwork to get through tonight.
‘Fish don’t sleep,’ she pointed out. ‘They slow their metabolism and rest.’ She knelt down to gather the replacement tank’s packaging. ‘Dolphins sleep, of course,’ she went on. ‘But they’re mammals. They keep one side of their brain awake while the other half dozes.’
Fascinated, he dropped onto his haunches too. He’d known dolphins weren’t fish, but, ‘They’re awake while they sleep?’
Clearly he was behind in his general knowledge. Maybe he should subscribe to the Animal channel. Or he could cut his more primal instincts some slack and become better acquainted with this expert. Not as if he was taking the plunge and asking her out. He was simply interested in getting to know her mind a little better.
