‘Ah … that kiss,’ he said, slowly, and watched her cheeks pinken. ‘Since you’ve brought it up …’
‘I didn’t, you did.’ She dropped to her knees and busied those small hands putting her art purchases in a pile. ‘I’ve had more important matters on my mind, actually.’
‘So have I.’ He set the food and the box holding the rest of the stuff on the floor, then shook out a rug he’d found in the boot of the rental and spread it out. ‘Fact is, you’re right in there with all the other stuff that’s going on.’
She set the containers out on the rug and began removing the lids. ‘I’m sorry if that bothers you.’
It did. More than she could possibly know. He watched the way her auburn hair swung down in an arc, hiding her face from view. ‘I’ll manage.’
‘Of course you will, you’re very capable. What is it you do again?’
Now her eyes flicked up to his. They were full of questions he wasn’t going to answer. Not to anybody. The headache burgeoning behind his eyes intensified. ‘I was a clearance diver. Like I told you, I’ve resigned from the navy.’ End of story.
She blinked. ‘O-kay …’ When he didn’t elaborate she glanced at the window. ‘It’s going to be dark soon. The lighting up here doesn’t seem to be working.’
He welcomed the encroaching night and a change of topic. He wasn’t going to spill his guts to Lissa Sanderson. Knowing her family background as she did, she’d be the kind of woman who’d want to try to nourish his soul.
If he still had a soul, that was.
‘Lucky I brought these, then,’ he said, pulling out a box of tea lights. He set half a dozen along the balustrade.
‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ she murmured.
‘It’s my practical streak.’ He shot her a quick glance as he lit them. ‘I wasn’t sure if the power company would make it here to switch on the electricity in time.’
He lowered himself to a corner of the rug on the other side of the feast and passed her some plastic cutlery and a plate from the box. She piled up her plate as if she hadn’t eaten a square meal in a week.
‘So, what do you think of the building?’ He spooned some rice onto his plate.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said around a mouthful of chicken. ‘Absolutely gorgeous. Just what we need.’
He popped the cork on the champagne bottle, poured it. ‘Have you had a chance to decide how you want to set it up?’
‘Yes. I’ll take you downstairs and show you after.’
He handed her a foaming glass, raised his own. ‘A toast to our new partnership.’
‘To success.’ She clinked her glass to his.
To us, Lissa wanted to say. But despite the candles’ soft glow caressing his face with bronze fingers and casting shadows in the violet spaces between them and the love song’s words on the tinny player, this wasn’t supposed to be a romantic dinner.
And she’d had to go and mention that kiss.
Obviously he’d not been thinking about it at all. Just because he’d said he’d been thinking about her, didn’t mean he’d been thinking about her in any romantic sense. He probably had loads of women who’d been waiting ten years just for his call. Naturally he’d think about her, and it wouldn’t be good.
She’d just managed to lose all her belongings and the boat he called his. He’d inherited a house-mate he hadn’t asked for. And that wasn’t all. He’d had no intention of being involved in a business, let alone an interior design one. He’d rather have his luxury sail boat. Was it any wonder he’d been thinking about her?
‘Wine not to your taste?’
His voice dragged her back to the present and their surroundings. ‘Yes, it’s lovely. Thank you.’ And so it should be, at the price she knew it sold for. French, too, always her favourite. She took a sip and said, ‘So, the navy must pay you very well.’
He shrugged. ‘I do okay.’
‘Just okay?’ Clearly he didn’t want to talk about any aspect of his working life—his previous working life—or how they happened to be drinking one of the most expensive celebratory champagnes available.
‘I live in military accommodation when I’m not at sea. I’ve never had a mortgage so I’ve put my money into buying property. This building for example.’ He forked up a morsel of meat, but didn’t put it in his mouth. ‘If you’re wondering whether I am, in fact, a secret international drug lord, maybe I should tell you my mother also left me a sizeable inheritance.’ His expression betrayed nothing of his emotions regarding the loss of his mother.
Lissa remembered the car accident that had claimed Rochelle Everett’s life and brought Blake home that last time. She’d been a popular social celebrity and famous for her charitable work from Surfers all the way up to the Sunshine Coast.
‘I was sorry to hear about your mother, Blake. She did so much good for the community.’
He studied the meat on his fork. ‘Can’t deny that.’ Then he jammed it in his mouth, chewed a moment and washed it down with a long, slow swallow of champagne.
Lissa felt the wall go up so hard, so fast, it made her head spin. Impenetrable. Insurmountable. What made a man so unwilling to talk about himself? Every aspect, every topic she broached, every time she tried to get him to open up, he stopped her cold. And it wasn’t only pain she saw in his eyes, there was bitterness too.
She’d never known her mother, who’d died when Lissa was born. She’d also discovered a few years ago that she was the result of her mother’s affair with an itinerant artist. The man she’d known as her father was dead and good riddance. But she couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of losing Jared, who’d been both a mother and father to her in her formative years, or Crystal, her older sister.
But Blake’s mother had been a good person, a caring person who’d worked tirelessly for charity and the community. What was it with him?
So she spent the rest of the meal covering easy neutral and safe topics, like her family. She told him how Jared had met Sophie when she’d emailed her not-so-secret diary to him on her first day as his PA and he laughed the bubbles off the top of his champagne. Then she regaled him with entertaining stories about her nieces and nephews.
He opened up enough to reminisce about his surfing days with her brother. She didn’t ask him about his work or what he intended doing now or his family again.
When they’d finished the meal, Lissa switched off the CD player, stacked the plates and Blake packed everything back, standing the half-finished bubbly in one corner of the carton.
Finally out of safe conversational topics, Lissa waited for Blake to speak or fill the void with … anything. He looked at her for a long, hushed, tension-packed moment, his eyes glinting in the candle’s seductive glow.
Anticipation swarmed through her body, her pulse picked up and her breathing quickened. She swore she could see the sexual sparks dancing between them on the candle-light.
But Blake didn’t kiss her. He wasn’t seduced or persuaded by those sparks. Instead, he rose, walked the couple of steps to the balustrade and blew out the candles, leaving only the light filtering up from downstairs. Back-lit, he was all stern lines and sharp angles and shadows. Who are you really, Blake Everett? What’s made you this way?
Then he bent down, picked up his box and said, ‘I think it’s about time you filled me in on your plans for this place.’