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He leaned back in his chair and watched her as the room emptied. She stared back at him with unsmiling eyes, a contrast to the dark desire he’d seen there thirty-six hours ago. This conservative Kate with her raven-black hair imprisoned in a tight knot, those gorgeous breasts crammed into a demure navy suit, was no Oriental temptress. Even the no-frills name ‘Kate’ conjured an entirely different image from the sultry ‘Sha-ki-ra’. A double personality.
Maybe a double life? he mused, watching her struggle with a riot of emotions. ‘You and Bryce were friends, I’m told.’
‘Yes.’ She looked down at her hand beneath his, then yanked it away to clench it over her other one on her lap. Her head jerked up, and her eyes flashed, sunlight glinting on ice. ‘He was a caring and generous boss. And a true gentleman.’
Ah, well, that last attribute left him out in the cold. As far as she was concerned at any rate, if her expression was anything to go by. Yep, he’d been anything but a gentleman on Saturday night.
And she’d enjoyed every wild and wicked moment, this prim and proper woman in front of him. He felt his mouth kick up at the corner despite himself.
‘What are you smiling about?’ Before he could draw breath she continued, jamming each word onto a skewer. ‘Let me guess. You’ve just had a business fall into your lap.’
She was, he thought, his half-grin still in place, magnificent in anger.
She was also way off base. He didn’t need a failing business; he had enough problems with his own at this moment.
‘He’s been gone a matter of weeks.’ Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. ‘Have you no respect?’
His facial muscles tightened. If this was about Bry, she wouldn’t understand that Damon refused to look back. It didn’t mean he didn’t mourn Bry’s death in his own way. Nor did he have to justify himself to her. ‘It’s not about respect. Life goes on, Kate.’
She blinked, then sneezed. Snatched the box of tissues on the table. ‘Obviously he meant little to you,’ she said, swiping at her nose.
‘We lived in the same house when I was growing up. He was only nine years older than me; I knew him as well as you’d know a brother.’
‘And how long ago was that?’
Years. ‘I’m living in the US at present, but we kept in contact via email, by phone.’ Usually when Bryce wanted extra funds.
She must have had it rough over the past couple of weeks, he thought. Besides, she looked damn unwell. ‘You’re sick. Go home and take the rest of the day off,’ he suggested quietly. ‘I’ll be in touch later.’
She raised her mascara-stained red eyes and stared at him as if he’d grown horns. ‘Who are you to tell me I can take the day off? I haven’t had a day off in three years. I’m the most senior staff member here; I can’t run away from my responsibilities. People might need me.’
He nodded. He had to admire her dedication. Most employees would be running for their duvets. ‘Okay. But if you change your mind, no one’ll think badly of you.’
She pushed up, taking the tissue box and notepad with her. ‘But I would.’
‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Go easy on yourself. I’m staying at Bryce’s apartment if you need to get in touch.’ He took the pad from her hand, scrawled his mobile number beneath her notes.
‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ she replied frostily. ‘I can handle any situation should it arise.’
He met her gaze. ‘I don’t doubt it. But just in case.’
He watched her go, then spent a few moments checking his messages, made a couple of calls, then slipped out the back way. He unlocked the luxury BMW he’d leased yesterday for the time he’d be here, and sat for a few moments, barely seeing the charming row of Paddington’s little terraced houses as Kylie Minogue sang on the stereo.
‘What have you got me into, Bry?’ he said, staring at the darkening clouds. He’d already injected a six-figure lump sum into Bry’s business account a couple of years back. A loan, Bry had said. Where the hell had that money gone?
After collecting the keys from Security at Bryce’s apartment yesterday he’d driven to the office and taken a quick look at the figures. Then wished to blazes he hadn’t. A decision to shut up shop meant six employees would be out of a job, a situation that didn’t sit well with him. After all, turning struggling businesses around was his forte.
The million-dollar question was did he want to spend the time and energy, not to mention yet more of his own capital that the agency would need, here? In Sydney?
He’d grown up here. Lived with his grandmother through most of his adolescence. He’d been a mistake, he’d been told at age five, and he’d never been allowed to forget it. Until Grandma had put her steel-capped foot down and insisted he grow up in a stable environment with her and his father’s younger brother while his parents chased storms around the US.
Eventually they’d stopped coming home altogether. The last time he’d seen them was at his grandmother’s funeral ten years ago. He had no idea where they were now and he cared even less.
That was what he reminded himself as a chill seemed to wrap around his bones despite the car’s warmth. ‘I’d have come back sooner, Bry, if I’d known.’
But they’d never been close. Damon had his own life. If it wasn’t his Internet business it was deciding where his next thrill-seeking BASE jump would take him. Parachuting off buildings, bridges and mountains—the ultimate extreme sport and the only way to live.
So now he’d inherited a business he didn’t want but felt a familial obligation to put right. And an unwanted attraction for a woman who couldn’t stand the sight of him.
Yet she’d been all over him like a red-hot rash on Saturday night. Hadn’t been able to get enough of him. Had the fact that he’d taken a business call instead of engaging in some sort of post-coital conversation done it?
No, her hostility towards him was all about the business. He’d usurped her authority. And she was right—pleasurable as it had been, Saturday night was of no consequence. As she was the centre’s most senior staff member, he needed her support if he was going to keep Aussie Essential. Somehow he had to get Kate the employee onside.
Somewhere away from the office environment might work. A peace offering. Food. Did she like pizza? he wondered.
Kate could see the door from her desk and let out a relieved sigh when she saw Damon Gillespie’s broad shoulders as he exited the room and headed to the rear of the building. Could the day get any worse? She closed her eyes. Yeah, it could have been worse.
He could have recognised her.
Bryce’s nephew.
Perhaps her soon-to-be boss, if his take-charge attitude was any indication. A man she despised for all the right reasons—a selfish jet-setter about to snatch the manager’s job out from under her.
So why did the sight of him melt her insides to butter? Why couldn’t she get over him? The man who’d just taken charge wasn’t the fantasy lover she’d had on Saturday night. Somehow she had to separate her professional and personal life, which had suddenly become hopelessly entangled.
She rubbed a hand over her throbbing head. Despite his lackadaisical lifestyle she had a feeling Damon Gillespie was a very astute man—how long would it be before he discovered who she was?
CHAPTER THREE
KATE was about to microwave last night’s left-over chicken soup for tea, hoping she could somehow manage to put something in her stomach, when her phone rang.
‘Kate.’
‘Yes…’ She couldn’t say anything more because her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of his already familiar voice. It was as if he were right there, murmuring in her ear. She could almost feel his breath on her skin; the heat seemed to shimmer through the connection. What did he want? she thought distractedly. Ah…he’d said he’d be contacting her about the list of people who’d attended the funeral.
‘How’s the cold?’
‘Improving.’ Actually she felt much better after an extra dose of pills and a couple of hours’ nap. She glanced at the clock and her voice held an accusatory tone as she said, ‘It’s half past eight, Mr Gillespie. Work’s over.’
‘I know, I meant to call earlier. I hope you’re hungry.’
Her stomach churned. Surely he wasn’t inviting her out for dinner? She looked down at her worn black tracksuit pants under the oversize orange nightshirt, the fluffy pink slippers she’d meant to replace last winter. ‘No, I’m not. I take it you’re ringing about the list,’ she hurried on. ‘I’ll bring it tomorr—’
‘You have to eat, Kate. Did you have lunch?’
‘No, I…’ She was interrupted—no, saved—by the sound of knocking at her door and breathed a little sigh of relief at the interruption. ‘I have to go, I have a visitor, I’ll ring you back in a bit.’ When it was late and she could lie and say she’d already eaten. If she rang back at all…
She dropped the phone onto its base, hurried through the living room and dragged open the door. ‘Oh…’
Damon Gillespie. With his mobile still attached to his ear. Wearing khaki cargo pants and a white T-shirt tonight and balancing a pizza box and a small package in his spare hand. He disconnected the phone with his thumb, slipped it into his pocket, all without taking his eyes off hers. ‘Hi.’
His gaze flicked down to the fluffy slippers and her toes curled up in embarrassment. And she’d been too distracted to slip something over her nightshirt; her braless breasts—the breasts he’d handled with such expertise—jutted out at him. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone,’ she muttered.
His eyes flashed with amusement. ‘You were keen enough to answer the door a second or two ago.’
‘No… I thought it was my sister…’ But he saw through her, she just knew it. She didn’t want to share pizza with him, she didn’t want him in her home, checking out her state of dishabille, but what choice did she have? Too late to dive for cover now. She turned away and began heading back to the kitchen. ‘Come in, but I’m telling you now I couldn’t eat pizza if my life depended on it.’
‘Ah, but you haven’t tried Dominic Amigo’s Gourmet Pizza, have you?’
Her brows rose. ‘Have you? I thought you just rolled into town?’
‘Sandy recommended it when I rang this afternoon for your contact details and we got talking about local restaurants. You were with a customer at the time.’
‘Remind me to thank her,’ she murmured as she pulled plates from her cupboard and searched out a spatula. She tried to ignore the pizza’s tempting aroma, but it did smell good and her stomach rumbled in spite of herself. In the silence it sounded more like a blocked drain clearing.
‘Not hungry, huh?’ He set the box down on the tiny glass-topped table, pulled out a chair and grinned.
She hadn’t seen that grin since Saturday night. A bone-meltingly sexy grin that turned her insides to mush and made her do crazy, stupid, reckless things.
Like having sex with a complete stranger.
Forcing her gaze away from him, she looked at the other item he’d brought. ‘What’s in the bag?’
‘Fresh ginger root and a couple of essential oils—peppermint and tea tree. Grandma used to swear by them when Bry and I had colds. I’ve written the instructions out; they’re inside the bag.’
He’d thought enough to bring her a family cold remedy? A warm feeling of…something—like maybe she’d misjudged him?—seeped into her bones, going some way to melting the frost. She didn’t know what to say. ‘That’s very kind. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
She withdrew the items along with the handwritten note. Firm, bold, decisive writing. It denoted someone who was confident and at ease with himself. ‘You still use it, then?’
‘I never get a cold. In fact I’m disgustingly healthy.’
Yes. She could see that. She turned away from the unsettling sight of his more-than-healthy masculinity and peered in the fridge to cool her rapidly heating face and to search for something to offer to drink.
‘Ah, two plates,’ he said. ‘Does that mean you’ve decided to join me?’
‘If it’s got olives I could be tempted.’ And if anyone could tempt her… In any way…
It would not be Damon Gillespie.
‘There’s mozzarella cheese, marinated roasted chicken, capsicum, mushrooms, onion with fresh coriander smothered in satay sauce. No olives.’
‘Satay chicken. I never heard of satay chicken pizza. You sure you didn’t stop in at Nonja’s Rasa Sayang and forget the fried rice on your way out?’
‘You’ll love it.’
She retrieved an unopened bottle and held it up. ‘Is sparkling mineral water okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Okay. We can talk while we eat.’ That way she could kill two birds with one stone and get him out of her apartment sooner. She set two glasses down, filled them, then sank down on the only other chair.
‘Sure we can, but not about business.’ He lifted the lid and inhaled appreciatively. ‘Not while we’re eating pizza.’ He slid a slice of the delicious-smelling food onto a plate and pushed it towards her. ‘Now, eat.’
She did as he asked and was surprised to find how hungry she was. Having food in her stomach also put her in a slightly better frame of mind. ‘I expect this has all been a bolt out of the blue,’ she said after a few moments. She thought she saw something like grief flicker in his eyes before he deliberately snuffed it out. A thread of surprise wound through her.
‘Who’d expect a forty-three-year-old guy with no history of illness to drop dead with no warning?’ He returned his attention to the pizza, sliding out another piece for himself as he said, ‘It’s a blow losing the only family you have left.’
She couldn’t begin to imagine losing her family. They were the most important thing to her. ‘Your parents…?’
His expression changed, the lines around his mouth deepened, the golden colour of his eyes, moments ago so bright and alive, dulled. ‘I’ve no idea where they are. Haven’t seen or heard from them in years. Gran raised me alongside Bryce. Dad won’t know his only brother’s died because I didn’t know how to contact him. Even if I’d wanted to.’
The bitterness in the rough-throated voice stunned Kate. She realised she’d been so caught up in the injustice of Damon’s apparent takeover at Aussie Essential and his appearance in her kitchen, she hadn’t really given him much of a chance. ‘I’m s—’
‘Don’t.’ Damon held up a hand and mentally shook himself. What the hell was he doing, giving Kate Fielding a glimpse of his vulnerability? The part that he kept private and ruthlessly hidden. He’d rid himself of his anger and self-pity years ago. Buried it under a mountain of hard work and harder play.
He turned his attention to lifting the pizza to his mouth. Its spicy, succulent flavours slid over his tongue, pleasure danced across his taste buds. He hadn’t tasted a pizza like it anywhere in the world. ‘The food’s good, don’t you think?’
A tiny frown still marred her brow, as if she didn’t quite believe he could be so dismissive of his inner pain.
‘Try something for me,’ he said. ‘Bite off a mouthful, chew it slowly and concentrate.’ Anything to distract her from probing into his history.
She hesitated, then raised another slice to her lips. He watched her take a bite and savour it a moment, her eyes half closed. It sent a trickle of heat to his groin. Then she licked her lips, leaving a glossy sheen of oil clinging to them. ‘It’s good,’ she agreed.
The trickle of heat grew. Tonight she looked different yet again. More accessible than the closed businesswoman he’d seen this morning, and yet, perversely, there’d been something about that buttoned-up image that had turned him on. He couldn’t stop himself imagining her sprawled on that big desk right now. While he slipped off her jacket, popped the buttons on her blouse and pulled down her bra… The trickle turned to a torrent.
Then there was Shakira—masked and mysterious but blatantly sexy with plenty of cleavage and smooth bare skin. That intriguing ruby glittering in her navel. He couldn’t help but wonder if she still wore it, whether it was attached to her somehow, like a body piercing.
And now the informal look. Very informal. But no less tantalising for all that. For a start she’d let her hair down. It cascaded halfway down her back, a waterfall of shiny black silk that begged for his touch. In her nightshirt she was obviously ready for bed.
Don’t go there, he warned himself as an image of Kate and heat and sheets rose before him. The nightshirt proclaimed in glittery letters that diamonds were a girl’s best friend. ‘Is that a personal motto?’ He waved his pizza slice towards her chest.
She stopped mid-bite and as he watched two little buds rose beneath the fabric. ‘What?’
‘You’d go for money over men?’
She frowned, looked down and her expression cleared. ‘It’s just a nightshirt, for heaven’s sake.’ But her eyes met his in a challenge. ‘When—or if—I find a man who’s worth more I’ll let you know. On second thought, I won’t bother, since you probably won’t be here for me to tell you anyway. Where did you say you live again?’
‘Wherever I happen to be working.’ Or pursuing his various recreational activities.
‘And what exactly is your line of work?’
He shrugged, evasive. ‘I take on whatever comes my way.’
Aware of her disapproval, and satisfied with it somehow, he lifted his glass, took a long slow drink. He didn’t stay anywhere long. Nor did he feel inclined to talk about it.
His own motto: Make your success, have your fun, and move on. Don’t make attachments—with people or places. Which made his Internet-based business so attractive. He set his glass down and resumed his demolition of the pizza without speaking.
