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Dylan laughed. “Right. I’m off to Cairns for a court appearance this afternoon, then I’m booked solid until Friday. I could hand it over to one of my guys—”
“No. I’d much rather you handle it.”
“Okay. So it’ll have to wait until Sunday.”
Four days? Luke frowned. “Sure.” Then he hung up.
Beth rounded on him. “I didn’t ask for your help!” Her eyes narrowed, her expression tight. “Or is poking about in people’s lives just something that comes naturally?”
He slowly crossed his arms. “Dylan’s a P.I. and can find your runaway a lot quicker than the bank or the cops. I’m not interested in your secrets, Beth,” he lied smoothly.
“Just make sure it stays that way.” The fire retreated as she darted her gaze away to a point past his shoulder. “My private life stays private.”
Luke swallowed the unspoken question teetering on the tip of his tongue. Somehow he didn’t think voicing his opinion on her trust issues would bode well for their tentative truce.
“White-collar crime is more common than you think.”
“Gee, that makes me feel so much better.”
He ignored her sarcasm and started dialing Gino’s solicitor again. “And we need to prove I’m telling the truth.”
Luck was definitely not with him. After a few minutes of the busy signal, he clicked off with a foul curse. “I need to see your lease.”
Her eyes narrowed then zeroed in on his hand where he’d begun to rub his neck.
“Wait here.” But when he stood, she took a step back. “What?”
“Wouldn’t have any more coffee, would you?”
She paused. “In the kitchen.” Then, reluctantly, “Fine. Come in.”
Beth was acutely aware of his presence as she gathered up the carnations then walked into the kitchen. She got an empty vase from the cupboard, filled it with water then arranged the flowers, all the while trying to ignore the whirl of confusing reactions circling inside.
“Mind if I have some toast?” he asked when she finally finished.
She sighed. What’s one more oddity in a day like today? “Help yourself,” she muttered and walked out of the kitchen.
When Beth returned, she paused in the doorway, watching as Luke stood at the counter eating Vegemite-smothered toast.
I’ll bet relax is not in his vocabulary. Yet despite that small flaw, he was a perfect specimen. He had shoulders broader than a man had any right to have. His Mediterranean skin was a healthy tan and from what she could see, not one ounce of fat insulted that perfect physique. It was a functional, red-blooded, well-kept body … and looked far too warm and touchable for her liking. Despite herself she wanted to touch him, wanted to ease out the tension furrowing his brow, trail her hands down those beautiful forearms, over his chest, feel the heat radiating there, maybe even—
Annoyance chased away the threads of attraction. After her past mistakes, she’d vowed never to let anyone get that close again.
And now Luke was making himself at home in her kitchen. He’d even mastered her temperamental toaster, because just as the offending appliance flung a piece of toast high into the air, Luke caught it as skillfully as a Brisbane Broncos halfback.
She’d never been able to judge the trajectory on that stupid thing.
She laid her papers on the kitchen table. “Here’s everything. You should also know I have a legally binding tenancy agreement.”
She savored the small bittersweet triumph, even as he grabbed the documents and scanned them with a black scowl.
But as she watched him read, that feeling of victory slowly leeched away. Three months. Only a blink away. If he was telling the truth, could he actually sell her home from under her feet regardless of that bit of paper?
This house meant more to her than a roof. It was a home, a sanctuary. It was her home. After so many years of not belonging, it was a symbol of how far she’d come and everything she’d struggled for. And there was no way some high-priced banker with a sinful smile would force her out.
She needed expert legal advice—except she couldn’t afford it.
She eyeballed Luke still studying her papers, his shirt tight across his shoulders as he leaned over the table. Amazing how such a large piece of clothing provided so little cover.
With awareness prickling her skin, she reached for the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. Gently blowing the steam off, she lifted her eyes, only to find his intent on the rim of her cup.
On her lips.
She swallowed, lowered the cup and waved to her papers. “Does that prove I’m not lying?”
“It looks legitimate.” He pointed to a signature. “The agency has a management agreement, acting on behalf of the owners.”
“That’s right.”
“So you have no idea who the real owners are?”
“No.” From the look on his face he obviously didn’t like her answer. “So our next move is …?”
“I’m going to see Gino’s lawyers.”
“You mean, we’re going.” She put her cup in the sink, the coffee now a tart taste in her mouth.
He flexed his back and grimaced but said nothing.
She scowled. “I’m going to be frank with you, Mr. De Rossi. I am not impressed with you—not by your power or your wealth. I know people like you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Really.”
“Yes. Men dedicated to their jobs, their own needs. They think that with one killer smile, anyone can be swayed into changing a decision. They have to be in control twenty-four hours a day.”
“All that just by looking at me, hey?”
“I’ve had a lot of practice. And just so you know, don’t even think about trying to charm me. I’m immune.”
Luke studied her blankly, her stubborn chin tilted up, lips pressed tightly together, hands on hips.
Classic defensive stance.
His sudden smile threw her. “So, apart from my job, my looks and my mere presence, you like me, right?”
A gentle morning breeze took that moment to sweep through the window, curling through the flowers on the windowsill and ruffling her wheat-blond curls. It wrapped around them until Luke wasn’t sure if the perfume came from her or the flowers.
Either way, she smelled damn good.
Yeah, hold on there, mate. You need to focus on getting Gino’s stuff out of your life, not be swayed by a pair of wide Bambi eyes. She could make things awkward. You still don’t know what her part is and you need Beth Jones onside.
Judging by the hostile vibe of her crossed arms and her closed expression, he had his work cut out.
“Surely there must be one tiny thing you like about me, right? Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here.”
She tilted her head with a curious expression. “Why is it so important I like you?”
“Because then you can start to trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
Luke watched her grab a cloth and wipe the table in swift, jerky movements.
He could read people pretty well, yet Beth Jones was an enigma. In direct contrast to yesterday, she was armored up in a green shirt and jeans, her hair efficiently pulled back low on her neck. Defensive, yes. Self-sufficient, definitely. Yet he couldn’t quite get a handle on the rest … and loose cannons made him nervous.
Despite her desperation to get rid of him and the mess she was now in, she hadn’t mentioned cops or lawyers again. He’d expected tears or anger, not this cool, calm logic. She’d even dug in her heels and dared him to prove his story, which meant she was confident with hers.
His initial hunch was correct—she was hiding something.
He crossed his arms and tested his theory. “We do this my way or we hand it all over to our lawyers. And I’m pretty sure you won’t like the alternative.”
She narrowed her eyes, her smile tight. “So I guess we’re about to find out who’s trustworthy, aren’t we?”
Three (#u7080c6c7-d924-5cea-a4ac-9523f5811dca)
They got into Luke’s car and set off in silence.
Instead of thinking about those long fingers changing gears a hairbreadth away, she tried to focus on the things she didn’t like—his arrogant attitude, the way he took control. Those all-seeing, all-knowing eyes. The tension in his shoulders … hard, firm shoulders … That kissable mouth …
As he changed into third gear, she jumped again, the warmth of his knuckles sending a tingle up her leg. She stole a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead and didn’t appear to be having a problem keeping his hormones in check.
“So,” he finally said, absently running a finger around his rolled-up shirtsleeve and working the material, bringing Beth’s attention to the tanned forearm underneath. “We’ll make a stop at the real estate agent’s first then head to Brisbane.”
“What makes you think they’ll tell you anything?”
“Because I can be very persuasive.”
Oh, I’m sure you can.
“So how did you find them?” he asked.
“They’re local, a few of my clients use them and they had what I was after.” She glanced sideways, taking in his expression. “Look, they’re a legitimate business with an office, a receptionist and a bunch of listings. It’s not like I threw my money at any old bum in the street.”
“I’ve no doubt their operation is professional,” Luke said.
“And I have all the right papers, as you saw.”
“I also saw you have three months left on your lease.” She clamped her mouth shut. She wouldn’t have to suffer his presence much longer. Before day’s end this would all be cleared up.
She focused back on the road, staring out the window as they moved along Pacific Highway, passing Australia Fair shopping complex before driving over the Nerang River.
Soon, Aphrodite’s appeared on the left, all towering glass and concave walls. A replica of the Venus de Milo standing proudly atop seemed subdued in the daylight, almost grave in her state of undress. But at night, when all the lights of the casino came on, reflecting on the lake below like a never-ending fireworks display, she glowed with inner beauty. A magnificent spectacle that was still a regular Gold Coast draw twenty years on.
A familiar line of hotels, shops and restaurants flanked busy Surfers Paradise Boulevard as they crawled along with the rest of the traffic, the pungent smell of exhaust fumes mingling with the familiar saltiness of the Pacific Ocean a few hundred feet away.
She chanced another glance at Luke—deep in thought—and set her mouth in a grim line.
“Why are you getting involved in this, anyway? Don’t you have an army of lawyers to do all the legwork?”
The unspoken mistrust hovered, warm and cloying, until he pulled into a parking space across from Cavill Mall.
He switched off the engine and turned to face her.
“For whatever reason, Gino Corelli gave me that house. So—”
“Wait, what? Gino Corelli? He’s your uncle?” Shock slammed into Beth, choking her breath. She tried to swallow but failed. “The owner of Aphrodite’s? The one who’s just been under investigation from the gaming commission?”
“Yeah, so?”
At his confused expression, she slumped back in her seat and stared blankly ahead. “Gino Corelli,” she repeated slowly. “So you’re … he’s … My God! You … you … You were in my home … using my toaster!”
His black frown loomed like storm-filled clouds. “I thought you knew who I was!”
“You, yes. Not who your uncle is … was. I …” The words caught in her throat as his expression iced over.
“The press are wrong. The commission didn’t have enough evidence to bring to the Director of Public Prosecutions,” he returned tightly.
Beth scrambled out of the car, desperate to dislodge the sour taste in her mouth. What on earth was she in the middle of?
Luke rounded the hood and came toward her.
“You just keep your distance!” she ordered. The brief newsflashes she’d been unable to avoid burst in her mind, robbing her of coherent thought. “Corelli’s a crime boss who laundered money and was bribing the cops and …” She scrambled for further details but it was futile. All that stood out was something about insider trading—and Luke worked for one of the largest merchant banks in Australia.
“Allegedly bribing the cops. Allegedly laundering money.” His eyes went stony, his expression grim. A wall of self-protection to hide the blow she’d unthinkingly dealt him. “One disgruntled employee with an ax to grind, and the mighty press finishes the job. And for the record, Ms. Jones, the case was eventually thrown out and I was never formally named. They didn’t splash that on the front page though, did they?” He spun on his heel and strode across the road.
His words struck Beth like a slap. A wave of shame immediately followed, burning her cheeks as surely as if he’d landed the blow.
She had hurt him. She’d never willingly hurt anyone, yet she’d blurted out those accusations without a thought as to Luke’s innocence.
A small groan of dismay escaped as she recalled the scant details. More important, she remembered the overwhelming rush of sympathy she’d felt for Luke De Rossi right before she’d clicked off the TV in frustration. She had avoided the news since then and frankly, the absence of hearsay, rumor and half-truths was wonderfully liberating.
So why was she so willing to believe in Luke’s guilt now?
That thought propelled her into action. She dashed across the street to where Luke was impatiently waiting, his eyes hidden by sunglasses.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I overreacted. I …” She shrugged, at a loss for words. “It’s not exactly been a normal day for me, okay?”
He sighed, as if suddenly tired of arguing. “Yeah. Me neither. So let’s just focus on clearing up this mess.”
