‘OK.’ Brett pulled his phone out and tossed it to Holly. ‘Find the nearest vet surgery.’ He pulled out his car keys and tossed them to her. ‘And drive my car down here as close as you can get. It’s the silver BMW.’
Holly grabbed her tote and did so, and ended up driving the four-wheel-drive so Brett could attend to the dog on the way to the surgery. He was staunching a deep cut on its leg with his handkerchief and she heard him say, ‘You’re going to be all right, mate.’
She found the surgery with the aid of the GPS and helped carry the dog in. ‘Is he really going to be all right?’ she asked fearfully as they handed it over.
‘I reckon so.’ He scanned her briefly then looked more closely. ‘You better sit down; you look a bit pale. I’m going in for a few minutes.’ He turned to the receptionist, who was hovering. ‘Could you get her a glass of water?’
‘Of course. Sit down, ma’am.’
Holly was only too glad to do so. A mobile phone with an unfamiliar ring sounded in her tote. She blinked, remembered it must be Brett’s phone and after a moment’s hesitation answered it.
‘Brett Wyndham’s phone.’
‘Where is he and who are you?’ an irate female voice said down the line.
Holly explained and added, ‘Can I give him a message?’
‘Oh.’ The voice sounded mollified. ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. It’s his sister, Sue. I’m waiting for him at Southbank, but I’m going out to dinner so I won’t wait any longer. Could you tell him I’ll catch up with him tomorrow?’
Ten minutes later Brett reappeared and held his hand out to Holly. ‘Let’s go. He’s got a broken leg, as well as the cut, but he’ll be fine. He’s in good hands, and he’s got a microchip so they’ll be able to track down his owner.’
‘Thank heavens.’ She got to her feet.
‘How are you?’ he queried.
‘OK.’
He studied her narrowly. ‘You don’t altogether look it.’
‘I…I once lost a dog in an accident. He was also a border collie. I called him Oliver, because as a puppy he was always looking for more food. He was run over, but he died. It just took me back a bit.’
Brett released her hand and put an arm around her shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but Holly discovered herself to be comforted. Comforted and then something else—acutely conscious of Brett Wyndham.
She breathed in his essence—pure man—and she felt the long, strong lines of his body. She was reminded of how quick and light on his feet he’d been, how he’d used the power of his personality and expertise to calm the dog—but above all how he’d impressed her on a mental level, and now on a physical one.
‘Better?’ he queried.
‘Yes, thanks.’
They stepped out onto the pavement, but he stopped. It was almost dark. ‘My sister,’ he said with a grimace and reached for his phone, but it wasn’t there.
Holly retrieved it from her bag and gave him the message.
‘OK.’ He steered her towards his car.
‘If you drop me off at the parking lot…’ Holly began.
He shook his head. ‘You still look as if you could do with a drink.’
‘No. Thanks, but no. Anyway, we left the restaurant without paying!’
He shrugged and opened the car door. ‘They know me. In you get—and don’t argue, Holly Golightly.’
Holly had no choice but to do as she was told, although she did say, ‘My car?’
‘Mike will collect it.’ He fired the engine.
‘Who’s Mike?’
‘The miracle worker in my life.’ He swung out into the traffic. ‘The PA par excellence.’
Not much later, Holly was sitting on a mocha-colored leather settee in what was obviously a den. The walls were café au lait, priceless-looking scatter rugs dotted the parquet floor and wooden louvres framed the view of a dark sky but a tinsel-town view of the city lights.
Brett had poured her a brandy then she’d washed her face and hands and handed her car keys over to his PA. Brett had gone to take a shower.
She’d only taken a couple of sips but she was thinking deeply when he strolled back into the room. He’d changed into jeans and a shirt; his hair was towelled dry and spiky.
‘Will you stay for dinner?’ he queried as he poured his own brandy.
‘No thank you,’ Holly said automatically. ‘You know, it’s just struck me—this could look strange.’
‘What could?’ He sat down opposite her.
‘Me flitting around with you.’
‘In what respect?’
She glanced at him then looked away a little awkwardly. ‘People might wonder if I’ve joined the long list of, well, perhaps not beautiful—I mean they were all probably stunning—but the long list of women you’ve squired around.’
‘What long list is that?’ he enquired in a deadpan kind of way that alerted her to the fact he was secretly laughing at her.
Holly went slightly pink but said airily, ‘Just something I read somewhere. But, believe me, I have no ambition to do that. Unless…’ she stopped, struck by a thought, and relaxed a bit. ‘I’m not stunning enough or upmarket-looking enough to qualify? Don’t answer that,’ she said with a lightning smile. ‘I’m just thinking aloud.’ She sobered and contemplated her drink with a frown.
Does she have no idea of how unusually attractive she is? Brett Wyndham found himself wondering. Maybe not, he conceded. She certainly didn’t appear to expect him to counter her claim that she wasn’t stunning enough to qualify as someone he would “squire around”.
On the other hand, she’d had to fight off a bandit and a sheikh, if she was to be believed, so…
He shrugged. ‘I never bother with what people think.’
‘You may be in a position not to bother—your reputation is already set,’ she retorted. ‘Mine is not.’ Then she took a very deep breath. ‘Please tell me why you’re doing this.’
He rolled his glass in his hands then looked directly into her eyes. ‘I’m intrigued. I can’t believe you’re not.’ He paused. ‘And I guess that’s brought out the hunter instinct in me. At the same time, I don’t ever force myself on unwilling women, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
Holly looked away. She paused and pressed her palms together tightly. ‘And if I told you I don’t have any interest in…Well, the thing is, I got my fingers pretty badly burnt once due to “chemistry”. It’s—it hasn’t left me yet. I don’t know if it ever will.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Not the bandit or the sheikh, I gather?’
Holly waved her hand. ‘Oh, no,’ she said dismissively.
‘I think you better tell me.’
She glanced at him from under her lashes, then smiled briefly. ‘I don’t think I should. It’s supposed to be the other way round—you telling me stuff. And you have no intention of going into your private