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He looked directly into her eyes and he smiled.
Mattie swallowed. What could she say? It would be pathetic to trot out a feeble excuse about her friend being delayed. Somehow, she just knew that Jake would expose her as a fraud.
While she sat there, feeling silly, Jake held out his hand. ‘How do you do?’ He smiled with effortless charm. ‘I’m Jake Devlin. Do you mind if I join you?’
She expected to see a teasing glint in his eyes but, to her surprise, she could only find genuine warmth. Nevertheless, she hesitated.
‘Come on, say yes,’ Jake urged. ‘Otherwise you’ll force me to try my pick-up lines.’
‘Are they corny?’
‘So bad you could feed them to chickens.’
His confession was accompanied by a lopsided self-deprecating grin that melted Mattie on the spot. She suspected that Jake had seen right through her, but it somehow no longer mattered. He was wiping their slate clean. Starting again. And she was enchanted. Caught. Hook, line and sinker.
‘You’re welcome to sit here, Mr Devlin.’
‘Thank you.’ He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her and happiness fizzed inside Mattie like soda pop.
Following his lead, she held out her hand. ‘How do you do? I’m Matilda Carey.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Jake’s expression was deadpan. ‘Do your friends call you Mattie?’
‘Quite often.’ She gave a little shrug and added rather recklessly, ‘At times they’ve been known to call me Florence Nightingale.’ She didn’t mention the other tag that she hated—Saint Matilda.
‘Is that accurate? Are you a caring type?’
‘’Fraid so.’
The skin around his eyes crinkled and he cocked his head on one side. ‘Let me guess. You’re probably the kind of girl who cares for sick grannies.’
Mattie’s sense of fun faltered. Was he teasing her? Uncertain, she quickly changed the subject. ‘I’ve already ordered. I’m having the chicken noodle soup.’
‘I think I’ll try the beef stir-fry.’ Jake waved to a waitress and, when she came over, he gave his order. ‘And I’ll have a beer.’ Turning to Mattie again, he asked, ‘Would you like another glass of wine?’
She tapped the side of her glass. ‘This is fine.’
When the waitress left, Jake leaned towards Mattie, hands linked on the table top. His smile faded and, with it, all pretence dropped away. ‘Seriously, Mattie, I’ve been thinking about what you did for your grandmother. That was a huge gesture, to spend two years looking after her.’
She took a quick sip of her wine to cover her surprise, then set the glass down.
‘Did it feel like a big sacrifice?’ he asked urgently.
‘Not at all. Those two years were rather lovely. Gran was always so sweet. So grateful for my company. She never complained about her health.’
‘Was she very ill?’
‘She had a weak heart, so she tired easily and she couldn’t take proper care of her house, but I was happy to help.’
‘What do you reckon would have happened if you hadn’t looked after her?’
‘She’d probably have gone into a nursing home. My parents run a hardware store in a little country town and they were too busy to give her the care she needed.’
‘They were lucky you stepped up to the plate.’
‘I was happy to help,’ she said again. ‘Anyway, it was tit for tat. When I was little, my gran nursed me through the chickenpox and the measles and umpteen bouts of tonsillitis. Mum was always too busy helping Dad in the store.’
Unexpectedly, Jake frowned and he looked deeply pained as he rearranged the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table.
‘What’s the matter, Jake? Have I said something wrong?’
He let out a heavy sigh. ‘No. You’re just confirming my worst fears.’
‘Really? How?’
Exhaling another deep sigh, he rested his chin on his hand, and suddenly he was telling her about an old stockman he knew, someone from his childhood called Roy, who was now in a nursing home here in Sydney. As Jake talked about how strong and tough this stockman used to be and how shockingly weak and shut-in he was now, Mattie could see how deeply he cared for the old man.
‘My parents and I have let him down,’ he said quietly. ‘We should be doing more for him.’
On impulse, Mattie reached out and touched the back of Jake’s hand. He stiffened as if she’d burned him.
‘It sounds as if you’ve visited Roy whenever you can,’ she said softly. ‘There’s not much else you can do if you’re working in Mongolia, but I’m sure your visits mean a lot.’
His gaze met hers and his dark eyes were shimmering and vulnerable and something shifted inside her, almost as if a key had been turned in a lock. Oh, help. She’d been trying not to like Jake Devlin, but now she feared she was beginning to like him very much.
Too much. Was she falling in love?
Surely not. She mustn’t fall in love. Not again. Not ever. Certainly not now.
Gently, she removed her hand from his. ‘Did you take Roy with you to the movies today?’
‘No.’ Jake looked angry as he shook his head. ‘I didn’t even think of it. How selfish am I? Roy would have loved a movie. It was an action-adventure flick and they’re his favourite.’
‘There’s always tomorrow,’ Mattie suggested gently.
His brow cleared. ‘Yes, of course. It’s my last day, but that’s a good idea.’
‘Actually,’ Mattie said, warming to this subject, ‘if Roy’s an outdoor type, he might prefer to be out in the fresh air. You could take him on a ferry ride on the harbour. Do you think he’d be well enough for that?’
‘I reckon he might be. That’s a really good idea.’
The waitress brought Jake’s beer and Mattie couldn’t help watching the movements of his throat as he took a deep draught. Every inch of him seemed breathtakingly male and dark and sexy. She was beginning to think she’d never met such an attractive man.
Apart from her fiancé, the guys she’d dated had all lived in her home town and she’d known them since they’d first grown baby teeth. She’d gone to kindergarten and school with them. They’d belonged to the same pony club and Sunday school. There were no mysteries there.
Jake, on the other hand, was a man surrounded by mystery.
Pink rose in Mattie’s cheeks and Jake watched the telltale colour with mounting dismay.
His reasons for following her to this café weren’t crystal clear to him, but he supposed he’d been hoping for useful tips on how to help old Roy. One thing was certain—he wasn’t here because she looked cute in those sleek grey trousers, or because her new hairstyle looked terrific and brought out the blue in her eyes.
Hell, no. He wasn’t interested in Mattie as a woman.
She wasn’t even close to his type. She was small and serious and mousy. Well, maybe she wasn’t mousy exactly, certainly not now, but she was most definitely small. And earnest.
The heat that had scorched him when she’d touched his hand a few minutes earlier was not what he’d first feared. He couldn’t possibly have experienced hot, pulsing lust for her.
On the other hand, Jake didn’t want to think too hard about why he’d ended it with his latest female companion, Ange, or why he’d started hanging about the kitchen in the flat in the mornings, or why he’d casually asked Mattie to the movies today.
None of his recent behaviour made sense, and Mattie was giving out confusing signals too. It was as if she was trying to impress him and avoid him at the same time and, like a fool, he’d followed her here. He wasn’t in the habit of following women, but he’d convinced himself that she would be able to give him good advice about Roy. That was the only reason he’d come here, wasn’t it?
He wished he felt surer. It was a relief when their meals arrived and he could concentrate on eating.
Mattie declared that her soup was delicious—so full of noodles and vegetables that she ate most of it with chopsticks.
Which caused a tiny problem. Jake found himself watching the way she deftly used the chopsticks. Her hands were pale and delicate and graceful, possibly the prettiest hands he’d ever seen. He pictured her holding a pen or a paintbrush as she created her whimsical works of art.
He thought about the way she’d touched him a few minutes ago. Imagined—
‘What’s the food like in Mongolia?’ she asked.
Jake blinked, dragged his mind into gear. ‘Er…do you mean the traditional food of the locals, or what we eat on the mine site?’
‘Both, I guess.’
‘Our cook serves mainly western food, but the Mongolians eat mutton. Loads of mutton. They even drink the mutton fat. It’s no place for vegetarians.’
Mattie wrinkled her nose. ‘I rather like Mongolian lamb.’
‘The meals in Asian restaurants here in Sydney are nothing like the mutton eaten out on the steppe.’
Mattie accepted this with a shrug. ‘Do you live in barracks, or one of those little round tents?’
‘I have a tent. They call it a ger.’
‘It sounds rather primitive.’
‘Actually, gers aren’t too bad. The walls are made out of layers of felt and they’re quite snug. In winter we have a stove for heating and in summer we can roll up the sides for ventilation.’
‘It’s a very different world, isn’t it?’ she said, glancing out through a window to the city lights.
‘That’s part of the attraction for me. Then again, I grew up in a remote part of the Outback, so I suppose that made it easier for me to fit in.’
Her blue eyes challenged him. ‘Why do you work there?’
Jake had been asked this question before, but suddenly, when Mattie asked him, he wished he had higher motives. There was no point, however, in trying to pretend he was a paragon of virtue.
‘I’m footloose and fancy free,’ he said, aware that his jaw was jutting at a defensive angle. ‘And the job offered a chance to see a really different part of the world. But the big drawcard is that it pays very well.’
He expected to read disapproval in her eyes. To his surprise, she smiled. ‘And when you’re on leave you can party hard.’
‘Mostly.’
The obvious fact that he’d been partying when Mattie had arrived on his doorstep and the equally obvious fact that he was nowhere near a party right now was not something Jake wanted to analyse too closely.
‘Tell me more about your paintings,’ he said quickly to change the subject.
Mattie dismissed this with a graceful wave of her hand. ‘They’re just illustrations for a children’s book.’
‘Do you plan to write the story as well?’
She nodded.
‘Have you been published?’
‘Uh-huh. I’ve had three books published so far.’
‘No kidding?’ He knew his eyes were wide with surprise. ‘That’s terrific. I’ve never met an author.’
‘Most people don’t think of me as a real author. They assume that children’s stories are incredibly easy to write.’
‘How could they be easy, when they’re created entirely out of your imagination? And you don’t just write the stories, you do the illustrations as well. Aren’t children supposed to be the harshest critics of all?’
She nodded and smiled, clearly pleased by his enthusiasm.
‘What are your stories about?’
Now Mattie looked embarrassed. ‘Nothing you’d be interested in.’ She poked her chopsticks into the noodles at the bottom of her bowl.
‘Try me.’
‘Don’t laugh,’ she ordered.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘They’re about a little girl called Molly.’ Carefully, she laid the chopsticks across her bowl and sat back, arms folded.
‘And…’ Jake prompted.
‘Molly’s actually a white witch and, when her parents aren’t looking, she has all sorts of adventures. She goes around doing secret good deeds and terrific acts of heroism.’
Just like her creator, Jake thought, and suddenly he was struggling to hide his amusement.
Mattie’s eyes blazed. ‘I knew you’d laugh.’
‘I’m not laughing.’ Why couldn’t he stop smiling? ‘Honestly. I’m seriously impressed. I’m sure Molly’s stories are very popular.’
‘They seem to be.’ Mattie sniffed, then rolled her eyes, as if she hoped he would drop the subject.
