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“Men who ooze money generally do.”
“Ouch, that was nasty.” He made a mock attempt to defend himself. “Come on, Miss Parker. For all you may have deserved it, you’ve had a bad day.” He made a grab for her hand and momentarily defeated she let him take it again, curiously responding to the feel of those calluses against her smooth skin.
“Well if you’re coming in for a while, come,” she said, her voice carrying strain. “I want to get this damned dress off.” It reminded her too bitterly of the wedding. Of wasted time. Failure.
He glanced down at her golden head for a moment then looked away. She’d created a sensation tonight. Ms. Bottecelli the gatecrasher. “Don’t you think you’re being rather forward?” he mocked.
She scarcely heard. “I can’t stand it.” There was nothing left to her but to mourn. Parting with ex-boyfriends was never easy even if they were hollow men. “I’ll never give my heart again. I’ll lock it away someplace inside me. I’ll never give my trust.”
“Oh stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” he advised, not without pity. “You’re young. You’re beautiful. So you let yourself get involved with a villain, there are good guys out there. Next time,” he added bluntly, “you might be a better judge. Callista spent more quality time choosing her wedding gown than her groom.”
Whereas Josh the freeloader had instantly chosen a young woman with money to burn.
They never spoke in the lift. He looked marvellous, she thought somewhere between detachment and admiration. A prince among men. Josh couldn’t hold a candle to him for looks or presence. Anything for that matter. If she was going to be fair. Not that Ashe McKinnon was the sort of man she should have fallen in love with. Men like that threw out such a challenge. One she preferred not to take on. Besides he was out of her league and he didn’t believe in marriage either. A man like that would expect his bride to sign a watertight pre-nuptial contract.
Thinking about it, it only made common sense.
Christy reached out and dislodged the pink confetti on his shoulders thinking he’d probably look as wonderful in his working gear—akubra, bush shirt and jeans, riding boots on his feet—as a morning suit. Groovy. Really groovy. That’s what her friend, Montana, would say. On the scale of one to ten Ashe McKinnon had to rate an eleven. She dwelt quietly on his physical attributes so as not to think about Josh. Josh would be labelled “unfit” beside this man.
“So what’s the verdict?” His eyes glinted.
“Sorry?” They stepped out of the lift together, Christy indicating with a little flourish of her arm her apartment was the one to the far right.
“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed my gold tooth.”
“You have a gold tooth?” She stood stock-still and stared at him in horrified amazement.
“No I haven’t, but if I had I’m sure you would have noticed it. Do you usually eyeball men so closely?”
“I know you look spectacular, but I was looking through you.”
“Here, give me that.” She was fumbling, something she never did, but her fingers were nerveless, so he took the key off her, turning the dead lock and standing back while she preceded him into her one-bedroom but decidedly up-market apartment. She would spend the rest of her life paying it off but it was an excellent investment.
Inside almost total darkness. He put out a hand and found the panel of light switches.
“How did you do that?” She pushed back her hair.
“What?” He gazed down at her with a puzzled expression.
“Find the lights so easily? I’ve never thought they were terribly well placed.”
“I have X-ray vision. I’ve spent my life learning how to see in the dark.”
“Ah the pleasures of being a cattle baron,” she sighed. “Won’t you sit down? I have to get out of this dress. Won’t be a moment. Then we’ll have coffee.”
“Take your time,” he said very dryly.
“What’s so funny?” Christy turned back to ask.
“Oh life in the fast lane. Do you mind if I take off my cravat?”
“Go ahead.” She met those eyes and had the extraordinary sensation something was cutting off her breath. “I’m not coming back in a negligee if that’s what you’re thinking. I intend to burn this dress.”
“When I thought you should wear it forever,” he said suavely. “I like your abode. Did you do the decorating yourself?”
“Right down to painting the walls. By myself. Now I think about it, Josh always had an excuse to avoid anything like physical hard work.”
“You call painting a few walls hard work?” he called after her, his tone caustic.
Josh. Josh. Josh Deakin was out of her life.
“By the time I was finished I was burned out.”
Left alone Ashe wandered casually around the open-plan living-dining room. His study at home was bigger in area so he took small steps unless he powered into the sliding-glass doors that led out onto a small balcony. He went to the doors, opened them and stepped out to take a look at the view. Or city people called it a view. God, he could never live in the city, he thought for perhaps the millionth time. He could never be contained. But this was nice for what it was. A successful working girl’s pad.
He wondered, with a surge of anger that could get him into trouble, whether Deakin had lived with her. Slept with her. Had his morning cup of coffee with her. He hoped not, picturing it but not wanting to.
The decor was entirely feminine yet a man would feel comfortable here. She had great taste, sensibility. Even unhappy she’d filled the place with flowers. He liked that. He liked the books she read. Lots of books. She would love the extensive library he had inherited with many important first editions and historical documents. His was one of the great pioneering families. He liked the prints on the walls. An oil painting of her. Very good. He understood the artist had been in love with her. It showed. He liked how everything was very clean, very neat. Orderly. She’d make a fine wife, he thought with a kind of dark amusement when in reality he was appalled she wanted Callista’s brand-new husband. Yet when was the last time he’d found a woman so damned intriguing? Never was the answer. It left him feeling vaguely shell-shocked.
Finally he got his silk cravat undone and placed it on a side table. There was a glass bowl filled with beautifully perfumed yellow roses on it and a silver-framed photograph of her and he presumed her parents. She bore a strong resemblance to the woman, so youthful-looking she might have been an older sister but he knew she wasn’t. The man was good-looking, too, rugged, with a look of character. For some reason he thought them landed people. Maybe they owned a farm of some sort. Living on the land was character building in his experience.
Ashe sank down into an armchair with apple green upholstery; spring colours dominated the room, awaiting the drama of her return. He was starting to wonder what the hell he thought he was doing? He wasn’t the man to be swept away by a woman’s very obvious charms. Correction: he hadn’t been up to date. There was her beauty and the rest, the way she talked, the way she moved, but he realised he was getting too big a charge out of being with her.
He wanted her. The thought stunned him. He’d only just met her, under the worst possible circumstances, yet he wanted this woman. He supposed it was the way he lived his life. He was always making instant decisions. Big decisions. But he was never, couldn’t afford to be, reckless. This was madness. So ill-advised. How could he possibly want a woman who was tearing herself to pieces over another man? A man moreover he already despised. Worse, married to his cousin. He knew better than anyone what happened to a man who let himself fall very deeply in love. It was like handing over one’s soul. His mother had cheated on his father long before she finally left him. He couldn’t get her treachery out of his head. More than twenty years later. His father was the finest man he had ever known. He had never grown another emotional layer of skin to enable him to remarry. His mother right up to the day he died had been enshrined in his father’s memory. If it had been him…if it had been him…
“Oh dear, what’s the matter?” Coming back into the room Christy gave him an alarmed glance. He looked positively daunting, the expression on his face dark and brooding.
“Nothing.” He emptied his mind of all violence. “Do come further in and let me see you. Didn’t change your mind? No negligee?” He spoke flippantly, trying to kill desire.
“You’re a complete stranger.” Just as coolly she answered his banter. She’d put on the first thing that came to hand, a pink-embroidered shirt over white cotton jeans. “Would you like coffee?”
“Coffee, the instant cure. Not the instant kind, I hope? You wouldn’t by chance have any single malt whisky?”
Her face froze as memories floated up. “I let Josh have all his liquor back. I’m not much of a drinker. There is however a bottle of Tia Maria. It goes exactly with coffee.”
“Tia Maria it is,” he answered rather shortly, outraged anew by her feelings for Deakin. “It’s not exactly what I planned but it will do. Strong, black coffee, no sugar. Do you need a hand?”
“There’s not the space for you. How tall are you anyway?”
“If I remember correctly just over six-three. Are they your parents over there?” He inclined his head towards the photograph.
“Yes.” She came back into the living room, her beautiful face breaking into a smile. “I miss them terribly.”
“Where are they?”
“I grew up on a sheep and lavender farm in Victoria. My parents are still there. They’ll never leave. They adore country life and one another.”
“You’re an only child?” He stared at her with brooding eyes.
“Sad to say yes. My mother had a lot of trouble having me. My father couldn’t have borne to lose her. That put paid to a bigger family. But I was never spoilt. I was never of the over-protective one-child syndrome. In fact I ran wild.”
“So you’re a country girl?”
“Does that put me up a notch?” She heard the approval in his voice.
“Indeed yes. When I marry—”
“To great applause,” she cut in dryly.
“My wife will have to understand what living in the Outback means.” His vibrant voice cracked right down the line.
“You look extremely sober when you say that,” she commented.
“It’s a top requirement.” He didn’t bare his soul to her. He didn’t say his mother had been a beautiful social butterfly. A city girl, born and bred. In fact the last woman his father should have married. The last woman to mother a child. It was a miracle she had stayed so long. She had missed—expected to miss—his tenth birthday. There had been no celebration. His charming extravagant mother had run away. She was an adulteress, goddamn it. Love wouldn’t stand between him and a successful marriage.
She brought him a hot steaming cup of excellent coffee along with a small crystal glass containing a dollop of liqueur.
“What are you having?”
“Aspirin.” She couldn’t disguise how she felt.
“Go back and get some coffee. Put a lot of milk in it,” he ordered.
“You’re the boss.” She walked back into the kitchen and popped a small jug of milk into the microwave. “I bet you’re the boss even when you’re asleep?”
“Of course I’m the boss. That’s my job. So what next, Miss Parker?” he asked, quietly surveying her.
“As in?” Wearily she rubbed the faint cleft in her chin, taking a seat opposite him.
“Plans for the future. You realise you’re going to have to cut Josh Deakin out of your life? End of story.”
“Obviously you haven’t read my character correctly.” She didn’t know how it had happened but she desperately wanted him to approve of her.
“Not every ex-girlfriend turns up uninvited at a wedding.”
“Go on, rub it in.”
“I have to. I’m excessively biased in favour of my cousin.”
“She’s a lucky girl.” Christy gave a mournful sigh.
There was a little droop to her lovely mouth. It made him want to kiss it hard. A little punishment without hurting her. “Anyway if you’re a good girl and say your prayers, Mr. Right will come along.”
“Mr. Right?” Her beautiful green eyes were distant. “What makes men Mr. Right all of a sudden? I don’t even want to talk about Mr. Right and marriage. I’m in denial.”
“I recognise that. I can even understand how you feel being burned. The fact is I’m wary of marriage myself.” He said this with considerable self-mockery.
“Pray tell why is that? You don’t look like you’d be wary of anything.”
“I’ve seen a lot of men lose their good judgment over a woman,” he remarked cynically.
“Well you couldn’t possibly say that only applies to men. Right now I’m feeling love is a four-letter word. And it definitely doesn’t last. Well it did—it does—for my parents. But they’re different.”
“You’re thinking you don’t stand a chance?” He gave a quiet, ironic laugh. “What about arranged marriages?” he asked. “Plenty of precedent for those. This head over heels bit doesn’t always come off.”
“You can’t be saying you’d seriously consider marrying a woman who doesn’t love you?” He took her breath away.
“And one I don’t love either. I’ve no time for mad primitive urges, all that sweep a woman up and carry her off sort of stuff. One can learn to love, certainly. And, of course there must be trust and respect, mutual commitment and the same goals.”
“Anything else?” She kept her eyes on him.
“Ideally she’ll be good-looking, warm, compassionate, love kids, smart and able to take on a full partnership in the McKinnon operation. At least have input. I don’t want any trophy wife.”
“And one who would never be unfaithful?”
The brilliant black eyes turned glacial. “Why did you say that?” His handsome face tautened.
She took a little rapid breath. “I see it hit a nerve? You’re certainly looking at me as though I’m not to be trusted.”
“Women as beautiful as you mightn’t make the safest wife,” he retorted.
“Really?” Colour flared into her face. “You’re a real woman hater, aren’t you?”
“I’m just very much against divorce.” He sounded deadly serious.
Christy half rose, anything but at ease with him. “More coffee?”
“No this is fine. You’re not going to cry, are you? You’ve been very emotional all night.”
“No I am not going to cry,” she told him a little fiercely. “Dammit I don’t understand men. You could have any woman you liked. That bridesmaid you were talking to? Did you happen to notice she’s madly in love with you? And there were at least a dozen others sick with disappointment you had me hanging off your arm. Is it possible beneath that formidable exterior you’re scared of women? Do you look like a panther when you’re really a puppy?”
He surveyed her coolly. “I can’t believe you said that. It’s just that I want a lot, Christy. For one so recently jilted, you have a great deal to say.”
The phone rang out, saving Christy an answer. They both jumped, so intense was the atmosphere between them. Christy went to answer it. Who could be ringing her this time of night? Her mind sprang, instantly, anxiously, to her parents. Accidents happened on farms. Nerves tightening she spoke into the mouthpiece. “Christy here.”
Silence at the other end then a man’s voice so low she would have had to ask him to speak up only the voice was too familiar. “Christy, Christy, don’t hang up.”
Her heart contracted. Shock. Sick anger. Utter disbelief.
“Please…hear me out.”
“You’re kidding. You’ve got to be kidding!” The words burst from her before she could swallow them back. What sort of life form was he?
“Who is it?” Ashe McKinnon was on his feet. “Deakin?” His voice was hard.
She hung up immediately. “Don’t be ludicrous. Wrong number. They were after a woman named Paderewski or Popadiamantris or someone.”
He clicked his tongue disgustedly. “I can think of a few other things you might be but a good liar isn’t one of them. We all know who Paderewski was and Papadiamantris to the best of my knowledge was a Greek writer. That was Deakin. Where in hell is he speaking from, the hotel? I’ll go round.”
