“I guess so,” she answered, reasoning Jared would want to please her daughter, given his ready offer of honey prawns and chocolate chip ice-cream.
They arrived at the front gate. Christabel reached over it to work the catch on the other side. To her frustration, it seemed to be stuck. She released Alicia’s hand to give herself leverage for a stronger tug, even while thinking this physical obstacle was a sign she was trespassing where she shouldn’t go. The gate didn’t want to let her in. It was protecting the people it was built to protect.
“I’ll open it for you!”
She looked up to see Jared emerging from the veranda, already descending the steps to the path leading to the gate.
“It’s probably stuck, not having been opened since the fence was last painted,” he explained, striding towards her. “We mostly use the side entrance.”
His white shirt was unbuttoned, flapping open as he walked, revealing black curls nestled on his darkly tanned chest and a fine line of hair arrowing down, disappearing below the belt line of white shorts. Snug, sexy shorts, leaving most of his muscular legs bare.
His flagrant maleness caught the breath in Christabel’s throat. She barely had wits enough to withdraw her hand and stand back from the gate for him to work the catch free for her. The urge to simply feast her eyes on him was so strong, it was difficult to think of anything else.
His thick dark hair looked soft and springy, newly washed. He had neat ears for a man, tucked close to his head. His jaw was shiny-smooth. She picked up a tantalising scent, something sharper than fresh sea air, intriguingly attractive, multi-layered in essence. Very Jared, offering sensory pleasure.
“There!” He beamed a triumphant grin at them as he swung the gate wide.
“Thank you,” Alicia piped up, minding her manners.
“You’re welcome,” he returned, waving them forward, his eyes gathering a gleam of more personal triumph as his gaze travelled from her daughter to Christabel herself.
“Lucky you arrived before the storm,” he remarked. “I was about to close the shutters on the veranda.”
“We like storms,” Alicia informed him.
“Well, in that case, we’ll leave the shutters open unless the rain starts coming in.”
Happy with this indulgence, Alicia skipped ahead along the path. Christabel waited for Jared to shut the gate behind them, inwardly churning over what he had to be thinking, given the overt provocation of her dress. She couldn’t bring herself to walk ahead, knowing she would feel him watching the free movement of her buttocks with every step she took. It wouldn’t be so bad, walking with him.
His shoulder muscles bunched as he realigned the catch and fastened it. Her own tautly strung nerves thrummed with the tension coming from him, causing her stomach to contract and sending little quivers down her thighs. Yet when he turned to her, it was with a warm, welcoming smile, aimed at relaxing any fears she might have over accepting his invitation.
“I like the pendant you’re wearing. Very eye-catching,” he remarked.
“It goes with the dress,” she answered before she could catch the words back.
To her intense relief his gaze didn’t wander downwards. His eyes twinkled appreciation straight into hers. “Once again you demonstrate your talent for the perfect touch.”
“I’m a long way from perfect, Jared,” she blurted out, guiltily conscious of raising expectations she didn’t know if she could meet or not. Would he want more from her than having his desire sated? Was it just a physical craving for him?
“You gave me the kind of showcase I wanted for our pearls, Christabel. Your designs are now on display in Hong Kong, exciting far more interest in the trade than a showing of our wholesale product.”
A rush of pleasure eased her sense of guilt. “Then I’ve given you something of value for all the time you’ve spent on me.”
He frowned quizzically. “I do want more.”
The quiet tone carried a wealth of suggestion, tapping straight into the pulsing core of why she’d come, why he’d invited her. He wanted more and so did she, and it had nothing to do with pearls and professional business. She stared at him, feeling the gathering ache of need he stirred, wishing it could be appeased, wondering if the risk would be worth taking.
“It must mean something to you, as well,” Jared went on, “knowing your creative vision has excited such interest?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say, I only did it for you, but that was far too revealing a truth. “I simply enjoy designing, Jared. What you do with my work...that’s your business. It doesn’t relate to me any more.”
“But you could make a real name for yourself,” he pointed out.
A kick of alarm hit her heart. “You didn’t use my name, did you?”
His frown deepened. “No. As per our agreement, the jewellery was simply labelled Designs by Picard. But I do feel very strongly that you should get recognition, Christabel.”
She shook her head, the anxious moment receding at his reassurance. “I truly don’t want that.”
“Why not?”
Because they’ll find me through you. But she couldn’t say that. Dragging him into her dilemma wouldn’t solve anything. “I’m happier this way.”
“You could make a very substantial career.”
“I don’t need a career. What I need is to be free, Jared. Can you understand that?” A kind of desperate panic welled up in her, forcing an explanation that warned him where she stood. “Not to be tied down. Not to be owned. Not to have my life ordered by others. So don’t count on more from me. Don’t ever count on more. I’ve tried to tell you....”
“Yes, you have,” he agreed. “I’m sorry if you think I haven’t respected those feelings.”
The passionate outpouring broke into a ragged sigh. “Then why am I here?” she muttered defeatedly.
“Because it’s where you want to be.”
As simple as that. Except nothing was really as simple as that. She looked at him in anguished uncertainty.
“Let it rest for now, Christabel. Come...” He gestured towards the veranda, smiling in light whimsy. “...it’s only one evening.”
One evening...he was right. It involved only a short time span. Nothing need happen that she didn’t want to happen. And Alicia was with her.
Her gaze automatically swung to the veranda as she fell into step beside Jared. Alicia was chatting to a little old woman who was bent over, exuding interest in what the child was saying.
“Vikki Chan,” Jared elucidated. “Probably checking when and where to serve the honey prawns.”
As with many of the Chinese population in Broome, she wore loose cotton trousers and an overblouse with slits on the side. Her grey hair was scraped into a bun and her much wrinkled face was creased into an indulgent smile. Clearly Alicia was at ease with her.
Christabel gratefully seized on an impersonal topic of conversation. “I find it amazing that the Chinese and Japanese people here have adopted Western society names.”
“They’ve been here a long time. Descendants of the divers in the old days.”
“Yes, but they still keep