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Of course it didn’t.
‘I’ll pick you up about five-fifteen this afternoon.’
Then he was gone.
Jaz reached up and touched her cheek. The imprint of his lips still burned there. A business arrangement, she told herself. That was all this was— a business arrangement.
Jaz slipped into the car the moment Connor pulled it to a halt outside the bookshop. At precisely five-fifteen.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
That was the sum total of their conversation.
Until he swung the car into the drive of Rose Cottage approximately three minutes later and turned off the ignition. ‘Here we are,’ he finally said.
She gaped at him. She turned back to stare at the house. ‘You bought Rose Cottage?’
Most old towns had a Rose Cottage, and as a teenager Jaz had coveted this one. Single-storey sandstone, wide verandas, established gardens, roses lining the drive, picket fence—it had been her ideal of the perfect family home.
It still was.
And now it belonged to Connor? A low whistle left her. Business must be booming if he could afford this. ‘You bought Rose Cottage,’ she repeated. He’d known how she’d felt about it.
‘That’s right.’ His face had shuttered, closed.
Had he bought it because of her or in spite of her?
‘Your things are in there.’
She dragged her gaze from the house to follow the line of his finger to an enormous garage.
He wasn’t going to invite her inside the house?
She glanced into his face and her anticipation faded. He had no intention of inviting her inside, of giving her the grand tour. She swallowed back a lump of disappointment…and a bigger lump of hurt. The disappointment she could explain. She did what she could to ignore the hurt.
‘Shall we go find what you need?’
‘Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.’
She followed him into the garage, blinked when he flicked a switch and flooded the cavernous space with stark white light. Her things stood on the left and hardly took up any space at all. ‘All I need is—’
She stopped short. Then veered off in the opposite direction.
‘Jaz, your stuff is over here!’
She heard him, but she couldn’t heed his unspoken command. She couldn’t stop.
Her feet did slow, though, as she moved along the aisle of handmade wood-turned furniture that stood there—writing desks, coffee tables, chests. She marvelled at their craftsmanship, at the attention paid to detail, at the absolute perfection of each piece.
‘You made these?’
‘Yes.’
The word left him, clipped and short.
He didn’t need to explain. Jaz understood immediately. This was what he’d thrown himself into when he’d given up his drawing and painting.
‘Connor, you didn’t give up your art. You just… redirected it.’
He didn’t say anything.
‘These pieces are amazing, beautiful.’ She knelt down in front of a wine rack, reached out and trailed her fingers across the wood. ‘You’ve been selling some of these pieces to boutiques in Sydney, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I came across a piece similar to this a couple of years back.’ She forced herself upright. If she’d known then that Connor had made it she’d have moved heaven and earth to buy it.
‘I went into that shop in my lunch hour every day for a week just to look at it.’
His face lost some of its hardness. ‘Did you buy it?’
‘No.’ It had been beyond her budget. ‘I couldn’t justify the expense at the time.’
She sensed his disappointment, though she couldn’t say how—the set of his shoulders or his lips, perhaps?
‘Mind you,’ she started conversationally, ‘it did take a whole week of lecturing myself to be sensible…and if it had been that gorgeous bookcase—’ she motioned across to the next piece ‘—I’d have been lost…and horrendously in debt. Which is why I’m going to back away from it now, nice and slow.’
Finally he smiled back at her.
‘My things!’ She suddenly remembered why they were here. ‘I’ll just grab them and get out of your hair.’
He didn’t urge her to take her time. He didn’t offer to show her any of the other marvels lined up in the garage. She told herself she was a fool for hoping that he would.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u3ea32e4f-9241-5191-9031-c7ad61a0b4dd)
WHEN Jaz opened the door to him on Saturday evening, Connor’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She stood there in a floor-length purple dress and he swore he’d never seen anything more perfect in his life. The dress draped the lines of her body in Grecian style folds to fasten between her breasts with a diamanté brooch. It oozed elegance and sex appeal. It suited the confident, capable businesswoman she’d become.
Ha! No, it didn’t. Not in this lifetime. That dress did not scream professional businesswoman. The material flowed and ran over her body in a way that had his hands itching and his skin growing too tight for the rest of his body. It definitely wasn’t businesslike. What he wanted to do to Jaz in that dress definitely wasn’t businesslike.
He had to remind himself that the only kind of relationship Jaz wanted with him these days was businesslike.
He had to remind himself that that was what he wanted too.
‘Hi, Connor.’
Gwen waved to him from the end of the hallway. It made him realise that he and Jaz hadn’t spoken a word to each other yet. He took in Jaz’s heightened colour, noted how her eyes glittered with an awareness that matched his own, and desire fire-balled in his groin. If they were alone, he’d back her up against a wall, mould each one of her delectable curves to the angles of his body and slake his hunger in the wet shine of her lips.
No, he wouldn’t!
Bloody hell. Get a grip, man. This is a businessarrangement. He tried to spell out the word in his head—B-U-S… It was a sort of business arrangement, he amended. He wanted to help Jaz the way she’d helped him. He wanted to prove to her that Clara Falls was more than Mr Sears and his pointed conservatism. He wanted her to see the good here— the way Frieda had. Instinct told him Jaz needed to do at least that much. If she wanted to leave at the end of twelve months after that, then all power to her.
He glanced down into her face and tried to harden himself against the soft promise of her lips…and the lush promise of her body.
Gwen strode down the hallway. ‘Are you okay, Connor?’
He realised he still hadn’t uttered a word. ‘Uh…’ He cleared his throat, ran a finger around the inside collar of his dress shirt. ‘These things cut a man’s windpipe in two. I feel as trussed up as a Sunday roast.’
‘You look damn fine in it, though.’
‘You’re looking pretty stunning yourself,’ manners made him shoot back at her. In truth, with Jaz in the same room he barely saw Gwen. He had a vague impression of red and that was about it.
Jaz folded her arms and glared at him. Man, what had he done now? He turned back to Gwen. ‘Who’s your date tonight, then?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘I’m going stag this year. I don’t want to be shackled to any man. Not when there’ll be so many eligible males to choose from this evening.’
Fair enough. ‘Need a lift?’
‘No, thank you. I mean to be fashionably late.’
‘Do you expect me to be shackled to you all evening?’ Jaz demanded.
He stiffened. Yes, dammit!
He rolled his shoulders. No, dammit.
So much for relaxation. ‘We arrive together. We leave together. We eat together. First dance and last dance.’ He rattled each item off. They were non-negotiable as far as he was concerned. ‘Fair enough?’ he barked at her. They’d settle this before they left.
She didn’t bat an eye. ‘Fair enough,’ she agreed.
The pulse at the base of his throat started to slow. He found he could breathe again. He meant to negotiate more than two dances out of her, come hell or high water. He meant to hold her in his arms, enjoy the feel of her, safe in the knowledge that nothing could happen in such a public place.
He turned to find Gwen staring at him with narrowed eyes. He gulped. ‘I…er…want her to schmooze,’ he tried to explain.
‘I just bet you do,’ she returned with evil knowingness.
‘I…’ He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.
Jaz jumped in. ‘Did you know that Connor is planning to challenge Gordon Sears for the town councillor position at the next election?’
Gwen’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you serious? But you’re not some power-hungry nob.’
‘No, he’s not.’ Satisfaction threaded through Jaz’s voice. ‘Which should make him the perfect candidate, don’t you think?’
He stood a little straighter at her praise, pushed his shoulders back.
‘It at least makes him better than Gordon Sears, but enough of that.’ Gwen dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. ‘Make Jaz’s day and tell her the move is complete.’
‘It’s all done.’ His men had moved Jaz’s things out of his garage and into her flat today. He hadn’t helped move those things. Whenever he’d driven into the garage, walked through the garage, walked past the garage, and saw her things there, he’d had an insane urge to go through them to try and discover a clue as to how she’d spent the last eight years. He hadn’t. He wouldn’t. But he’d put himself out of temptation’s way today and had taken Mel for a hot chocolate and another skyway ride instead. ‘You can move in and start unpacking as early as tomorrow if you want.’
When he’d driven the van into the garage this afternoon and found all her things gone, it had left a hole inside him as big as the Jamison Valley. Why?
Because you’re an idiot, that’s why. Because youstill want her.
He ground his teeth together. He’d made a lot of mistakes in the last eight years, but he wasn’t making that one. Not again. He would not kiss Jaz. He would not make love to Jaz. He would not get involved with Jaz.
Never again.
He had to think of Mel. His daughter already adored Jaz more than he thought wise. He didn’t want Mel thinking of Jaz as anything other than a friend.
It would be hard enough for Mel to cope with Jaz leaving in twelve months’ time, let alone…
He ran a finger around the inside of his collar again. Let alone anything more. End of story.
‘I’ll move into the flat on Monday,’ he heard Jaz tell Gwen. ‘I’m hoping business will be brisk in the bookshop tomorrow.’
She was working tomorrow? They’d better not make it a late night then. His jaw tightened. Not that he’d intended on making it a late night.
He tried to get his brain onto business and away from the personal. ‘How are the new staff members working out?’ She’d spent the last four days training staff the recruitment agency in Katoomba had sent her.
‘So well that I’m planning on taking Monday and Tuesday off to unpack and set the flat up properly. I’ll only be a shout away if needed.’
‘Good. It’s about time you stopped working so hard and took a couple of days off. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself ill.’
Her eyes widened and he thrust his hands in his pockets with a scowl. That comment had been way too personal. He started to spell businesslike out in his mind again.
Speculation fired to life in Gwen’s face. She raised an eyebrow at Jaz. Jaz pressed her lips together and gave one tight shake of her head. Connor adjusted his tie. It seemed a whole lot tighter now than it had when he’d left home.
Gwen laughed. ‘You two give off as much heat as you ever did.’
His collar tightened until he thought he’d choke. Jaz’s eyes all but started from her head.
Jaz swung to him. ‘Speaking of heat…’
He wondered if he’d ever breathe again.
‘…is the town hall still heated? Or should I change into something warmer? Something with longer sleeves?’
‘Don’t change!’ The words burst out of him with revealing rapidity.
He coughed and quickly overrode Gwen’s triumphant ‘Aha!’
He rapped out, ‘It gets uncomfortably warm in the town hall. You’ll be grateful for those short sleeves once the dancing starts.’
‘Okay.’ She gazed at him expectantly for a moment, then finally sighed. ‘I’ll get my handbag and wrap and then we can leave.’
The town hall was festooned with ribbons and pine cones, with fragrant boughs of eucalyptus. Beneath it all, Connor could smell the tantalising scent of wattle. He and Jaz paused as they crossed the threshold, and Connor had to bite back a grin when one section of the hall—Gordon Sears and his set— broke off their conversation around a table of hors d’oeuvres to turn and stare.
