There's Something About a Rebel...
Even in sleep, Blake knew it wasn’t. Because the heavy pounding at the back of his skull was gunfire.
He’d been one of five clearance divers on the beach that day. It had been a routine training exercise. Until the jungle had exploded. Exposed and caught unprepared, they’d returned fire and made a run for it. But the newest member of the unit, Torque, had frozen.
No time to think. Blake dodging bullets as he retraced his steps. Grabbing and dragging the quivering kid back across the beach with him. Then more shots, searing the air and zinging past his head. Torque’s last agonised cry as he fell against Blake, knocking him off balance. Rocks coming up to meet Blake as he fell. Then blackness…
Blake woke dry-mouthed, shaking, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was chilled to the bone, lathered in sweat, his skull reverberating as if he’d been struck from behind by Big Ben. It took a moment to draw breath, fight off the sheet, which had twisted around his legs.
He reached for the heavy-duty painkillers on the bedside table, swallowed them dry. The hospital doctor had ordered Blake to take them for at least another week. But he’d refused the sleeping pills even though he never slept more than a couple of hours at a time. If only the doc could prescribe him some magic potion to take away the nightmares.
He pushed upright and stared out of the window where the pre-dawn revealed a star-studded charcoal sky swept clear of last night’s storm. Torque had been just a kid, full of fresh-faced ideals and too damn young to die.
Blake had been that young idealist too, once.
Unwilling to subject himself to further night horrors, he rose, pulled on a pair of shorts. He almost forgot about the boat—he glanced out of the window again to make sure the thing was still afloat, then headed downstairs. Past the bedroom where Lissa dreamed untroubled dreams.
Stopping in front of the living room’s glass door, he slid it open to let the damp breeze cool his face. He could almost smell the nightmare’s beach and the decaying marine life. The hot scent of freshly spilled blood.
He heard a shuffling noise behind him. His military-honed senses always on alert, he swung around, one fist partially raised.
Lissa. In the shadows. Eyes wide. Looking as fragile as glass in that tiny excuse for a nightdress. And shrinking away from him. Perfect. He’d terrified the life out of her twice in one night.
A wave of self-loathing washed over him. Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the window. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I heard a cr—I heard a noise.’
He could hear the soft sound of bare feet as she crossed the floor and groaned inwardly, imagining those feet entwined with his.
‘What are you doing here?’
He didn’t answer. Just closed his eyes as the scent of her wafted towards him. Fresh, fragrant and untainted. She knew nothing of the atrocities committed beyond her protected little world. And he wanted to keep her that way. Safe.
Safe from him.
‘Are you okay?’ Quiet concern with a tinge of anxiety.
‘Yes. Go on back to bed.’
‘But you …’
Her hair, a drift of scent and silk, brushed his chin as she stepped in front of him. The feather touch of one small hand on his bare arm. ‘I thought I heard. Are you sure you’re okay?’
His eyes slid open. Wide eyes blinked up at him in the dimness. And those luscious lips. He could all but taste their sweetness on his own. She barely reached his shoulder. So tiny. His hands rose to hold her. To keep her away. To keep her safe. He could feel the firm muscles of her upper arms move beneath warm flesh.
Then he was sliding his hands up and over her shoulders, his thumbs grazing the petal-soft indentations just above her collarbones. He’d forgotten how smooth and silky a woman’s skin felt. How different from his own.
His whole body flexed and burned and throbbed. So easy to lean down, seal his lips to hers and take and take and take until he forgot.
But he’d never forget. He could never be that casual young guy she remembered. The remnants of his dream still clung to him like a shroud. Contaminating her. Dropping his hands, he turned away from those beguiling eyes. ‘Go away, Lissa, I don’t want you here.’
He barely heard her leave and when he glanced over his shoulder a moment later she was gone. Without another word. Relief mingled with bitter frustration. Damn it all, he didn’t want to offend her. He waited a few moments then went back to his room and pulled on his joggers. A two hour run might rid himself of some of his tension.
The street lights still cast their pools of yellow, and after last night’s turbulence the air’s stillness seemed amplified as his feet pounded the pavement.
Lissa tossed and turned for the next couple of hours as the room slowly lightened. She’d left Blake’s pillow right alone and taken a spare from another bedroom as he’d suggested. To prove that her story that she needed an extra wasn’t a lie to get her out of an embarrassing situation. Not that he’d believed her for a second and she cringed at the memory. Why the heck had she bothered? Her pillow worries wouldn’t even register on his horizon—not after seeing him downstairs in the darkness.
Hurting and alone and determined to stay that way. She’d heard him cry out. And for a moment she’d thought maybe she’d helped a little until he’d dropped his hands from her shoulders as if the touch of her skin had burned him. His curt dismissal had stung, especially when for a heart-trembling moment earlier she’d thought he was going to kiss her.
Which only proved she still had zero understanding when it came to men.
She would not take it personally. If she remembered anything about Blake at all, he’d have refused anyone’s help. Except she hated seeing anyone hurting like that.
As soon as the boat was repaired she could be out of his house. Right away from him. Away from temptation.
Except for his claim that he owned the boat.
That wasn’t a problem she could sort on her own so there was no use dwelling on it now. She threw back the sheet and rose. The storm had passed, leaving the sky a glorious violet-smeared orange. She opened the window to enjoy the bird’s dawn chorus and early humidity.
Leaning on the sill, she looked out over the palatial homes and their moored million-dollar yachts and reflections on the river. A private helicopter circled further up the river then landed on its helipad.
She could hear a steady splash beyond the high concrete fence. Their next-door neighbour, Gilda, whom Lissa had met and spoken to a few times, was taking her regular early-morning dip in the pool.
Gilda Dimitriou was a well-known socialite, heavily involved in charitable works. Her husband, Stefan, was some bigwig in finance and they frequently entertained. Lissa was probably the only person within a hundred-kilometre radius without a high-flying job and a bulging bank account.
A fact that Blake Everett did not need to know. No one knew about her financial situation. Not even her family. Especially not Jared. She didn’t want or need his help. Hadn’t she spent the past year and a half proving that she could manage just fine in Mooloolaba on her own? Mostly.
Except that the interior design shop she’d worked for had gone out of business due to a dodgy accountant, leaving her with no income apart from a casual three-hour-per-week stint cleaning a couple of local offices. She’d had to put off the repairs out of financial necessity.
She’d hit a little bump in the road, that was all. She collected the clothes she’d brought with her. Determined not to see Blake until she’d showered and tamed her hair, no matter what dire circumstances and humiliations she was about to face, she headed for the en-suite.
And what an en-suite. It was as big as her entire houseboat. White tiles, gold taps, thick fluffy towels in marine colours of aqua and ultramarine. She breathed in their new and freshly laundered scent and switched on the shower.
After the boat’s mere trickle, the water pressure was an absolute luxury and she took her time, pondering her bump in the road. She still wanted to start her own business. It had been a bitter source of tension between her and Jared which had led to her moving here. She so badly wanted to prove she was capable.
Mooloolaba was a wealthy man’s town on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. Plenty of people here would think nothing of paying exorbitant prices for a home makeover. She just needed to find them and convince them they needed her services.
Somehow.
For months now she’d taken cleaning jobs while scouring the papers and searching the Internet for the kind of work she wanted. Nothing. She’d had no response to her ads in the paper and on the net. The locals went for the services of the big, well-known, well-respected names. Lissa needed to come up with something different, something unique, get out there and make herself known.
Yes, she could drop Jared’s name. His reputation for building refurbishments was well known around these parts. She wrenched off the taps and swiped the towel off the rail. No way. Absolutely out of the question. Because that would be admitting to Jared that he’d been right, that she couldn’t do it on her own. And after walking out the way she had, she was too … ashamed.
So she’d have to settle for second best for a while longer. Which meant finding a full-time job—of any description. Which were few and far between. Back to square one.
And right now she had to face breakfast with a man she didn’t know how to react to this morning.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE had the toast buttered, coffee freshly brewed when Blake appeared in the kitchen on the stroke of seven. She just knew he’d be one of those super-punctual people. Always on time. Ruthlessly organised. Socks always paired and rolled together. How did he live with himself?
The only reason she was ahead this morning was because she’d been too wound up after their recent rendezvous in the living room to relax. She’d spent the time familiarising herself with the spectacular wood-panelled kitchen and every modern appliance known to man.
She’d psyched herself up for seeing him but the first glimpse still packed a punch as he walked to the kitchen table, leaving her breathless and feeling as if she’d run a cross-country marathon. He’d changed into a khaki T-shirt with some sort of blood and tar design all over the front but he still wore the same kind of snug-fitting jeans he’d had on last night.
He seemed more relaxed. His eyes weren’t the haunted ones she’d glimpsed last night, even though they were still somewhat aloof, but, hey, this was Blake Everett and aloof was his trademark. Whatever his demons last night, he’d apparently shrugged them off. He’d showered and smelled as fresh as the new day.
Yes, a new day, she thought. Best to pretend last night never happened.
‘Good morning.’ Her smile was automatic, unlike his stern expression, as she lifted the coffee plunger and concentrated on pouring a mug without spilling it all over her hand. ‘Coffee?’
He set a couple of those sailing brochures she’d seen on the table. ‘Never touch the stuff. But thanks,’ he added in what sounded like an afterthought.
His gravelly morning voice did strange things to her insides as he moved to the cupboard, pulled out an unopened box of Earl Grey tea. Real leaves, not the tea-bag kind. She watched him reach for a teapot on the bench, dump in a large fistful of leaves.
‘Kettle’s just boiled,’ she said, wanting to be helpful and desperate to break the awkward silence that seemed to crowd in on them. She should have stayed right away last night. Stuck her head under the pillow or something.
‘Not a morning person?’ she said, briskly. He shot her a glance as he poured water into the pot. ‘That’s okay, I am. So that kind of balances it out, wouldn’t you agree?’
He lifted a brow. ‘I’m up at five a.m., rain or shine, how about you?’
Oh. She stared at him a moment. ‘I’ve been known to drift home around that time.’
That earned her a look and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘On weekends. Some weekends. As a matter of fact, if you’re free, there’s a party tonight down on the beach …’ She trailed off as his jaw tightened. ‘Maybe not.’
And not for her either. She studied him as she sipped her coffee. No, she wouldn’t imagine he’d fit in with the party scene. She needed to forget her teenage crush, pull herself together and remember that he wanted her boat. ‘How does the damage look this morning?’
‘Haven’t checked it out yet.’ He poured his tea, already thick and black as molasses, and added two sugars, then took a seat opposite her at the table. ‘After a closer inspection last night, I turned off the electricity, locked up and came back here.’
‘Oh,’ she murmured. ‘I did wonder what you were doing in the liv—’ Then bit her lip, wishing she’d never mentioned it.
‘It needs major work,’ he said, not looking up as he flicked through his brochures. ‘Could take a while.’
She stifled a retort. It wasn’t that bad, surely. It was just a ploy to keep her away and it wasn’t going to work. After breakfast she was going to take a look for herself. She’d not gone down earlier because she’d thought he was there and didn’t want the awkwardness of catching him asleep. After all, what if he slept naked?
She quashed the warmth that spun low in her belly and joined him at the table, pushing the plate of toast to the centre. ‘You must have left eggs off your shopping list.’
‘Toast’s fine.’ He reached for a slice, bit in with a crunch.
‘You planning on going sailing while you’re here?’ she said, eyeing his reading material.
He didn’t look up. ‘Could be I’m planning on purchasing one.’
‘But aren’t you … in the navy?’
‘Not any more.’ He glanced up a moment, his eyes focused on middle distance. ‘What do you reckon—sailing solo down the coast, stopping anywhere that takes your fancy. No timetables, no schedules, no demands. Just you, drifting with the tides.’
‘Sounds …’ lonely ‘… magic. Is that what you’re planning?’
‘Could be.’ He popped the rest of his toast in his mouth.
‘You’ve given up navy life, then?’
‘Reckon so.’ He folded a corner of a page to mark it, then flipped the brochure shut, picked up his mug and leaned back. ‘I’ll ring a plumber this morning. And an electrician. Do you use anyone in particular?’
Obviously he didn’t want to discuss the navy or his reasons for leaving. ‘Up till now, I’ve not needed anyone.’ She nibbled the edge of her toast. ‘Jared would know someone, but he’s away.’
At the mention of her brother’s name, Blake’s demeanour brightened. ‘So what’s Jared doing these days?’
‘He has his own refurbishing business in Surfers. He’s on holiday overseas at the moment, with his family. They’ve been gone nearly two months.’
‘Jared’s married now?’
‘Yes. He and Sophie have a three-year-old son. Isaac.’
‘Good for him.’
His lips curved in one of those rare smiles she hadn’t had the pleasure of looking at in ten years and her pulse skipped a few beats. At this rate she was going to need to see a cardiologist.
‘You see them often?’ he asked.
She refreshed her coffee, then nodded. ‘Every couple of weeks and that’s not counting birthdays and celebrations. I drive down to Surfers, though. A houseboat’s no place for kids, it’s too cramped and too dangerous and Crystal has two now.’ She didn’t tell him that after she’d walked away from her home, Jared made a point of not coming to Mooloolaba to see her unless specifically invited.
He regarded her a moment while he blew on his tea. ‘When’s he due back?’
‘A couple of weeks.’
‘I’ll need his phone number. I’d like to catch up after all this time and I need to contact him about the boat.’
The boat. The way he said it. As if he’d retaken ownership already. ‘No.’ Her fingers tightened around her mug. ‘You can’t tell Jared about the boat.’
His brows rose. ‘Why not? You pay rent.’ He studied her coolly through those assessing blue eyes. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ Except she’d missed last month’s payment. She’d assured Jared she’d have it by the end of the week. Stalling. Hoping another job would come up.
He’d be furious she’d not called him about the leak earlier but she’d been anxious to show him she was capable of organising things like repairs herself. And worse, Blake was going to tell him the boat was his, she just knew it. She had no idea who stood where legally but she couldn’t let Blake take it from her. Wherever would she be then?
‘Lissa.’
He brought her attention back to him, set his mug on the table. He met her eyes and she felt herself start to quiver. The soft way he’d just said her name. Oh, he made her weak. He’d always made her weak.
More like weak and stupid.
‘What?’ she demanded, knowing he wasn’t going to say something she wanted to hear and determined not to fall for his husky low voice. His husky, low, cajoling voice.
‘Forget about the boat and Jared for a moment. Tell me about you. Your place of employment, for instance.’ The last words were silver-edged sharp as his gaze held hers.
She shrank back from the almost physical touch. Uh-oh, not cajoling, but worse. Much worse … ‘I already told you. I’m an interior designer.’
‘But you don’t have a job at present, do you?’
Her stomach muscles clenched. She wanted to look away. Sweet heaven, she wanted to look away. Away from the man who’d starred in so many dreams for so many years. But these weren’t the lover’s eyes she remembered from those dreams. They were the eyes of a teacher demanding to see her homework and knowing she hadn’t done it. No point denying it.
She placed her palms firmly on the table. ‘Look, I’m having a few problems right now. Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Make it my business, then,’ he said, un-offended. ‘I might be able to help.’
Help? Of all the people in the world, she didn’t want Blake’s help. She wanted him to go away and not ask difficult and embarrassing questions. But that wasn’t going to happen. She smiled tightly. ‘You know of a short-staffed interior design business round these parts?’
‘Is that what you really want?’
Did he think her lazy? She’d been accused of burning the candle at both ends in the past and drew herself up straighter. ‘Absolutely it is. I studied hard, have my diploma to show for it and I don’t want to do anything else.’
He watched his mug as he twirled it on the table between them, then looked at her once more. ‘So are you after employment or are you looking to branch out on your own?’
She took a deep, resigned breath. In a way it was a relief to talk to someone about it and he wasn’t going to be around for long. He was nothing to her, she told herself. Nothing.
‘Okay.’ She studied her hands on the table to avoid looking at him. ‘I haven’t been able to get employment in any of the interior design shops here since the business I worked for went bust. So I have a low-paying part-time cleaning job, which doesn’t allow for me to save anything like the money I’d need to start my own business.’
‘Jared can’t loan you the money?’
‘I don’t want Jared’s help. Jared and I … we had a disagreement of sorts. I moved up here because I needed some space.’
‘Space?’
‘Space. Independence.’ She lifted a shoulder. ‘After I qualified, I worked at a design shop in Surfers for two years but I know I can do better than work for someone else. Jared told me not to rush it. We argued. I left. He didn’t take it well.’
Blake studied her a moment; the intensity was unnerving. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
She heard genuine regret in his voice and tried to shrug it off. ‘We still get on okay.’ Mostly. Except now she realised Jared was right. She’d been in too much of a damn hurry. ‘So I want to maybe freelance for a bit,’ she continued, ‘but people round here don’t want to take a chance on a nobody.’
‘You’re not a nobody unless you think that way. Trust me, I know.’
Trust him? She met his eyes across the table—cool and calm and blue as a summer lake. Ah, so not only was he super-efficient and a protector hero, he was one of those super-positive, role-model motivational types as well.
But it was the underlying flame in those cool depths that turned her inside out and had her gripping the edge of the table and reminding her she was nowhere near ready to trust a man again. Not even Blake Everett. To have another man in her life, even as a friend, was a leap she wasn’t sure she could make.
‘I’ll be fine. Something’ll turn up.’ Did she really believe that? Or did she just not want this man in particular to see her fail? ‘How long are you here for?’
‘I haven’t decided yet. A few weeks, a couple months …’
Watching the play of emotions cross her gaze as she spoke it was obvious to Blake that she wanted him gone, as far away and as quickly as possible. But at the same time he saw the attraction shine out of those eyes and felt its burn all the way down his body.
He wasn’t the only one confused, then. Stick with what you know and leave the emotional minefield well alone.
But emotion and attraction aside, it was obvious she needed some sort of financial assistance to get her up and running. It was just as obvious, a matter of pride for her, that she didn’t want her brother’s support. Which left Blake. And he owed Jared.
He guessed he wasn’t going anywhere until something was sorted.
‘Do you have a vision for this business, Lissa, should you set one up?’
‘Do I ever.’ She leaned forward, eyes alive with enthusiasm. ‘In a nutshell: Beauty, Functionality and Innovation through Experience and Knowledge.’
She smiled with such glowing satisfaction that he just bet she’d been itching to give her spiel to anyone who’d listen.
More than a few thoughts flashed through his mind, none of them business, but he wiped out all distraction and focused on the here and now. His socialite mother’s death had left him a wealthy man. He also owned investment properties here in his own right. Right now he was jaded and disillusioned. He needed a challenge, a distraction. Something new to light a fire in his belly.
Lissa Sanderson’s vision promised all those things. He wanted to help her, not only because she was Jared’s sister, but because she was young and vivacious and fuelled with the same energy he’d had at her age. At a fit and healthy thirty-two he was hardly an old man but he wanted that energy that had been lacking lately, that zest, back in his own life.
‘Oh, and it must be eco-friendly,’ she went on, ‘working with rather than against the environment. And colour. Lots of colour. Bold …’ She trailed off as she caught his eye and her cheeks grew rosy. ‘I’m getting carried away.’
So was he. With her ideas, the way her voice and its passion for her work flowed over him. But more so with the woman. Her eyes. Her emotions clearly visible with that hint of the sea in their colour. Her hair, its vibrant auburn tint catching the morning sun, her creamy skin. He fisted his hands and rubbed his knuckles to try and curb the impulse to reach out.
He mentally shook his head, assured himself it was purely sexual. It was the perfectly natural response of a horny man to feminine sexuality. And far more comfortable than the alternative.
But she drew him in ways he couldn’t explain. And he’d not felt that intriguing pull of desire for a woman in a long while.
He didn’t want the alternative. Didn’t want the complications that came with it. He didn’t want to hurt her because of it. So. he’d need to make sure this … sexual tug … didn’t clash with a possible temporary working relationship.
‘I’m looking for somewhere to invest some money,’ he said carefully. ‘A business, perhaps.’