Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Aunt Lucy′s Lover

Aunt Lucy's Lover
Miranda Lee
When, Jessica wondered, was she ever going to learn that men lied when it came to sex and money? Why, she'd almost fallen for Sebastian Slade's smooth story that he'd wanted nothing more than friendship from her aunt Lucy, before the lonely, wealthy, middle-aged widow had died.Perhaps Sebastian was planning to make love to Jessica, now that she was set to inherit Aunt Lucy's fortune? Jessica was determined to ignore her treacherous longings. Maybe the disturbing attraction she felt toward him would wear off, once she got used to his incredible charm and looks….


“What I want, Sebastian, is for you to tell me the truth.”
He glanced up at her, his face annoyingly bland. “About what?”
“About everything.”
“Everything.”
“You know what I mean, so don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”
“What if I think you’re not ready to know…everything?”

Aunt Lucy’s Lover
Miranda Lee



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#uedf94f6f-0688-52d2-a302-eb13ba3547c6)
CHAPTER TWO (#u73f76d74-d91d-5852-8973-51ae3edc37ce)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4cb66286-5d9c-54a6-973f-36ad500e66c4)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u895391b4-e4db-53c5-8960-73f5961fb5c9)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
‘YOUR Aunt Lucy has left you everything.’
Jessica stared at the solicitor across his leather-topped desk. ‘Everything?’ she repeated blankly, her normally sharp brain a little fuzzy with shock.
She was still getting over the news of Aunt Lucy’s death. Of inoperable cancer, three weeks earlier.
When she’d protested over not being told at the time, the solicitor informed her this was because no one had known of her existence till her aunt’s will had been found a couple of days ago.
Jessica had not known of her Aunt Lucy’s existence, either, till the woman herself had shown up at the Sydney Grand a couple of months back and asked to speak to the hotel’s public relations manager, who was none other than Jessica herself.
It had been an awkward meeting. Jessica had been stunned when the woman abruptly announced she was her mother’s older sister. Jessica’s mother had always claimed she was a foundling, with no known relatives.
Aunt Lucy had seemed a little stunned herself by the sight of her niece. She’d stared and stared at her, as though she’d been confronted by a ghost. When Jessica was called away to a problem with one of the guests, she’d left the tongue-tied woman in her office with the promise to return shortly. There were so many questions Jessica had wanted to ask. My God, her head had been whirling with them.
But when she’d returned fifteen minutes later, her Aunt Lucy had disappeared.
The memory of the woman’s distressed face had tormented Jessica ever since. As had the many questions her aunt’s brief and mysterious visit had caused. Why had her mother lied to her? Why hadn’t her aunt waited for her to come back? And why had she stared at her so strangely, as though her physical appearance offended her?
Jessica had tried tracing her aunt, but without success. She’d almost got to the stage where she was prepared to hire a private investigator. Only this last week, she’d started searching for one in the yellow pages.
As sad as her Aunt Lucy’s death was, at least now she might find some answers to her many questions. To which was added the puzzle of why her aunt had made her—a niece she’d only met once—her one and only heir!
‘I can see you’re startled by this legacy, Miss Rawlins,’ the solicitor said. ‘But Mrs. Hardcourt’s will is quite clear.’
‘ Mrs. Hardcourt?’ Jessica immediately picked up on the title. ‘My aunt was married, then?’
No wonder she hadn’t been able to trace her. She’d tried Woods, which had been her mother’s maiden name.
‘She was a widow. For some considerable years, I gather. She had no children of her own. Your mother was her only sibling. Their parents passed away many years back.’
Jessica’s heart sank. There went her hope of grandparents, or other aunts and uncles, or even cousins. So she still had no living family who wanted anything to do with her. Her own father—plus his parents and relatives—had abandoned all contact after her mother divorced him.
Not that Jessica had ever really known them. She’d only been three at the time of her parents’ divorce, and it had been a bitter parting, one her mother refused to speak of afterwards.
When Jessica had notified her father by telephone of her mother’s death eight years ago—he still lived in Sydney—he hadn’t even had the decency to attend the funeral.
Jessica’s heart turned over as she thought of that wretched day. It had been raining, with no one at the graveside except herself, the priest and the undertakers. Her mother had had no close friends, having been an agoraphobic and an alcoholic for as long as Jessica could remember. She’d died, of liver and kidney failure, at the age of thirty-eight.
Jessica wondered anew what had been behind her mother’s self-loathing and misery. She’d thought it was her failed marriage. Now she wasn’t so sure.
So many questions about her mother’s and her own life, unanswered…
Jessica looked up at the patiently waiting solicitor, her expression curious and thoughtful.
‘Surely my aunt’s husband must have had some relatives,’ she speculated. ‘Why didn’t she leave them something? Why leave everything to me?’
The solicitor shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that. She doesn’t mention any in-laws in her will. Neither have any come forward. You are her sole legal heir, and might I say her estate is quite considerable.’
Jessica was taken aback. She’d been picturing a small house perhaps, in a country town. Somehow, Aunt Lucy had looked country. Jessica hadn’t envisaged any great fortune. ‘How considerable is considerable?’ she asked, feeling the first stirring of excitement.
One of Jessica’s primary goals in life had been to make herself financially secure. Being poor all her young life had left its mark. When little more than a child, she had vowed never to be poor once she was old enough to support herself. After her mother’s death, she’d worked damned hard to put herself into a position where she had a well-paid job with considerable job security.
Though no job was entirely secure in this day and age, she conceded.
‘Firstly, there is the property,’ the solicitor began enthusiastically. ‘It consists of several acres of prime real estate overlooking the Pacific, and a grand old heritage home, which your aunt had been running as a guesthouse for many years. There is no mortgage, and the house itself is reputedly well-furnished with solid pieces, many of them valuable antiques.’
‘Goodness!’ Jessica exclaimed. ‘I had no idea!’
‘So I can see. I am also pleased to inform you that even after all legal fees and funeral expenses are paid for, your aunt’s bank balance will still be slightly in excess of five hundred thousand dollars.’
Jessica gasped. ‘Half a million dollars!’ She could hardly believe her ears. ‘So where is this property? You mentioned an acreage. And a view of the Pacific Ocean. I presume it’s along the east coast somewhere, then?’
The solicitor looked surprised. ‘You mean you don’t know where your aunt lived?’
‘No, I told you. I hardly knew her. We only met the once.’
‘I see. You’re in for another surprise then. Your Aunt Lucy lived on Norfolk Island.’
‘Norfolk Island!’
‘Yes.’
‘Good Lord.’ Jessica had never been to Norfolk Island, but she knew where it was. Out in the Pacific Ocean off the east coast of Australia. It was a popular holiday destination for honeymooners and the middle-aged to elderly, the sort of pretty but peaceful place where the most exciting activity available was looking through the ruins of an old convict gaol. One of the staff at the hotel had spent a week there last year and left a tourist brochure lying around. Jessica recalled glancing at it and thinking she’d be bored to tears at a place like that.
Jessica liked to keep busy. And she liked lots of people around her; another mark, perhaps, of her wretched childhood when she’d had no friends, as well as no money. You didn’t bring friends home to a drunken mother, and if you had no money, you couldn’t afford to go out.
The inner Sydney area was Jessica’s type of place. She thrived on the hustle and bustle of city life, the bright lights and the continuous undercurrent of throbbing life. When she wasn’t working, there was always some place to go, something to do. Dining out and discos. The theatre. The ballet. Movies. Concerts.
Jessica couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, certainly not on a small Pacific island whose only bright lights were the stars in the sky!
‘I presume you’d like to go and see your inheritance for yourself?’ the solicitor asked.
Jessica gnawed at her bottom lip. Well, of course she would. But she really didn’t have the time right now. Her job was very demanding, and February was still a busy month for hotels in Sydney.
Still, how could she pass up the opportunity to find out the truth about her roots? And where better to start than where her aunt lived? It was clear the solicitor didn’t know very much.
Jessica mulled over her work situation. She was due her annual holidays, having slaved for over a year in her present position without a break. Surely they could spare her for a week or two. She would demand compassionate leave if the boss made a fuss.
‘Yes, I would like to see it,’ she said, making up her mind with her usual decisiveness. ‘I should be able to arrange to have the property put up for sale while I’m there, too, shouldn’t I?’
The solicitor seemed startled. ‘You mean you don’t want to live there yourself?’
‘Heavens, no. My life is here, in Sydney.’
‘You do realise that people with permanent residency on Norfolk Island don’t pay any income tax,’ he said dryly.
Jessica had forgotten about that. It was a tempting thought—especially now, with her income about to soar—but such a consideration was still not enough for her to give up a career she’d slaved for and a lifestyle she enjoyed. What on earth would she do on Norfolk Island?
‘You could take over the running of your aunt’s guesthouse,’ the solicitor said, as though reading her mind. ‘You’d have no trouble securing a permit to stay under your circumstances.’
Jessica wrinkled her nose. She’d spent a year in hotel housekeeping while working her way up in her career, and had hated it. She knew exactly what running a guesthouse would entail, and it was not what she wanted to do with her life.
‘That’s not for me, I’m afraid. No, I’ll be selling up and investing the money.’
‘I see. Er, how long were you planning on staying on the island?’
‘A fortnight at the most,’ Jessica said crisply. ‘I can’t spare more time than that.’
‘Hm, I think you’ll have to, Miss Rawlins. You see, there is a small but rather odd condition attached to your inheriting your aunt’s estate.’
‘Really? You didn’t mention anything earlier.’
‘I was presuming you’d want to live there permanently. Most people would jump at the chance. Since you don’t, then within a reasonable time of your being notified of your aunt’s death, you have to take up residence in her home on the island and live there for at least one month.’
‘A month! But that’s ridiculous. I can’t afford a month!’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to, if you wish to inherit. Your aunt’s wishes are clear. Provisions have even been made in the will to pay for the purchase of your airline ticket, in case you couldn’t afford one. Oh, and there’s another small condition. During this month, you are to allow a certain Mr. Slade to remain living in the same room he has occupied for the last three years, free of charge.’
‘How very peculiar! What happens if I don’t comply?’
‘Then the estate goes to the aforementioned Mr. Slade, whom Mrs. Hardcourt describes in her will as having been a loyal and loving companion to her over these past three years.’
Jessica frowned. Was loyal and loving companion a euphemism for lover? She remembered her aunt as having been a handsome woman, with a good figure for her age. Although obviously in her fifties, it was not inconceivable she’d been having an intimate physical relationship with a man.
‘It was this Mr. Slade who found the will,’ the solicitor said. ‘It had apparently slipped down behind a drawer. He’s been living in and looking after the house and grounds since your aunt’s death.’
‘Not to mention searching for a will, which he obviously knew existed,’ Jessica pointed out dryly. For some reason, she didn’t like the sound of this Mr. Slade. Or was it just the complication of that odd condition she didn’t like? ‘I wonder why my aunt didn’t just leave everything to him in the first place, if they were so close?’
‘I really couldn’t say.’
‘No, of course not,’ Jessica murmured. The only way she was going to find out anything was to go there herself. But for a whole month? How was she going to wangle that without risking her job?
‘This Mr. Slade,’ she said, her mind ticking over. ‘What do you know about him?’
‘Very little. I did speak to him briefly on the telephone yesterday.’
‘And?’
‘He sounded surprisingly…young.’
‘Young?’ Jessica repeated, startled.
‘It was just an impression. Some quite elderly people have young-sounding telephone voices.’
Jessica nodded. That was so true. The owner of the Sydney Grand was well into his sixties but sounded much younger on the telephone.
‘There’s a flight leaving for Norfolk Island next Sunday morning at seven,’ the solicitor informed her. ‘If you like, I can call the airline right now and see if they have a spare seat. If you go now, you’ll only have to stay four weeks to satisfy your aunt’s will. February this year only has twenty-eight days.’
So it had. But four weeks away from the hotel at this time of the year? Her boss would be most put out. Still, what alternative did she have?
‘All right,’ Jessica agreed.
Now that her mind was made up, she was quite eager to be on her way, her female curiosity more than a little piqued. She wanted to see the place for herself. And the island. And the mysterious Mr. Slade.
Actually, she felt a bit guilty about him. If he’d genuinely loved her aunt and nursed her during her last days, surely he deserved more for his devotion than one month’s free board. Jessica decided that if he proved to have been a genuine friend to her aunt and was in any way hard up for money, she would give him a cash legacy. It was the least she could do.
‘Would you like the telephone number of your aunt’s house?’ the solicitor asked once his call to the airline had been successfully completed. ‘That way you can call this Mr. Slade yourself and arrange for him to pick you up at the airport when you arrive.’
‘All right,’ Jessica agreed again. It would be interesting to see how young he sounded to her. Maybe the solicitor thought fifty was young. He was nearing sixty himself.
He jotted down her aunt’s number on the back of one of his business cards and handed it over to Jessica, who slipped it into her handbag.
‘Don’t hesitate to call me if you need any help,’ he said, standing up when she did so.
Jessica shook his extended hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will.’
As she turned and walked out of the office, the sudden thought came that her life was never going to be the same again. Suddenly, she was a rich woman, an heiress.
Strange. The realisation was vaguely unsettling. Jessica decided then and there not to tell anyone at work, or even any of her friends. Aside from the jealousy it might inspire, people treated you differently when you were rich, especially the opposite sex.
Of course, there were a couple of people who already knew of her new financial status. That couldn’t be helped. But the solicitor was hardly going to present a problem in her day-to-day life. He wasn’t likely to make a play for her, either.
Which left only Mr. Slade.
Jessica almost laughed at the instant tightening in her stomach. Now she was being fanciful. Logically, Mr. Slade had to at least be in his fifties. Neither was he likely to be too enamoured with the woman who’d robbed him of a sizeable inheritance. He might very well resent her.
Suddenly, the month she had to spend on Norfolk Island in the same house as Mr. Slade loomed as very awkward, indeed.
Well, that was just too bad, Jessica thought fatalistically. She had every right to go there, and every right to find out what she could about her own and her mother’s past!

CHAPTER TWO
JESSICA’S watch said nine-thirty as she unlocked the front door of her flat. Her sigh was a little weary as she stepped inside and switched on the lights. She’d stayed extra late at the hotel tonight, getting things organised so that her PA could manage without her for the next month.
In the end, she’d asked for her full four weeks’ holidays, saying she was suffering from emotional stress after the sudden death of a dear aunt. The hotel management hadn’t been thrilled with the short notice, but they hadn’t been as difficult about her request as she’d imagined they’d be. Clearly, they valued her as an employee and didn’t want to lose her.
Jessica was well aware she did a good job, but it had always faintly worried her that she’d won her present position more for her model-like looks than her qualifications. Not that she didn’t have plenty of those, as well. A degree in hotel management and tourism, plus years of experience working in every facet of the hotel industry from housekeeping to reception to guest relations.
Jessica closed the door of her near-new North Sydney apartment—an airy two-bedroomed unit with a lovely view of the bridge and harbour. She’d bought it only four months previously, the deposit alone taking every cent she had saved during her working life.
But she’d craved her own place after sharing rented accommodation for years.
Funnily enough, whilst she adored the bathroom and bedroom privacy, she wasn’t finding living alone quite as satisfying a way of life as she’d thought it would be. She missed not having anyone to talk to in the evenings. Lately, she’d felt awfully lonely, which was unfortunate. In the past, whenever her chronic loneliness reached these depths, she had launched into an affair with some highly unsuitable man.
Of course she never knew they were unsuitable at the time, since they always declared their undying love and devotion at first, to which she invariably responded.
It was only later, when she found out they were married, or an addict of some sort, or allergic to long-term commitment, that she recognised her own folly for what it was. Just desperation to feel loved and not be alone, and a deep desire to find the man of her dreams, marry him and have so many children she would never be alone again!
At that point the scales would fall from her eyes and she would see her great love for what he was—usually no more than a handsome and highly accomplished liar who was using her for what he could get and giving her very little in return, not even good sex!
Jessica knew from talking to girlfriends and reading women’s magazines that she had always been shortchanged in the bedroom department. Perhaps she should have complained at the time, but you just didn’t when you imagined you were madly in love.
The thought of going that road again made her shudder. Better she remain alone than involved with one of those. Better she remain unmarried and childless than shackled to some selfish guy who would make a lousy father and who didn’t even satisfy her in bed!
Which left what to cure her present loneliness?
‘A flatmate!’ she decided aloud. ‘A female, of course,’ she added dryly as she strode down the small hallway and into her bedroom, tossing her handbag onto the double bed and kicking off her shoes.
‘Stuff men!’ she muttered as she began to strip.
One particular man suddenly jumped into her mind.
Her Aunt Lucy’s lover—the enigmatic Mr. Slade. She’d been going to ring him earlier at the office, but had kept putting it off. It irked her that she felt nervous about ringing him.
Ring him now, her pride demanded. What’s wrong with you? So he might give you the cold shoulder—you can’t help that. Just be polite, anyway. You’re used to being polite to some of the rudest and most arrogant men around. Your job has trained you for it. Use some of that training now!
Jessica glared over at the telephone, which sat on the bedside table nearest the window. Lifting her chin, she moved over to snatch up her handbag from the bed, opened it and drew out the business card the solicitor had given her. She didn’t delay once the number was in her hands. She sat down and dialled straight away before she procrastinated further.
‘Hi there,’ said a male voice at last. ‘Seb here.’
Jessica frowned. If ‘Seb here’ was Mr. Slade, then he did indeed sound young. Far too young to be the lover of a woman in her fifties. Unless…
Her stomach contracted at the thought her aunt might have fallen into the clutches of the type of unconscionable young man who preyed on wealthy widows. Jessica was not unfamiliar with the species. They often hung around the bars in the hotel, waiting and watching for suitable prey. They were invariably handsome. And charming. And young.
If Mr. Slade turned out to be one of those, she thought crossly, he would get short shrift after the month was over. He would not get a cent from her. Not one single cent!
‘This is Jessica Rawlins,’ she said, simmering outrage giving her voice a sharp edge. ‘Would I be speaking to Mr. Slade?’
‘You sure are. Pleased to hear from you, Jessica. I presume Lucy’s solicitor has been in touch. So when are you coming over?’
Jessica’s eyebrows lifted. Well, he was certainly straight to the point, and not at all resentful sounding. If she hadn’t been on her toes, she might have been totally disarmed by his casual charm.
‘I’m catching the seven o’clock flight from Sydney on Sunday,’ she said stiffly.
‘I’ll meet you then. Oops, no, I can’t. I promised Mike I’d go fishing with him Sunday morning. Tell you what, I’ll get Evie to meet you.’
‘And who, pray tell, is Evie?’ she asked archly.
‘Evie? She was your aunt’s chief cook and bottle washer. You’ll like Evie,’ he went on blithely. ‘Everyone does. Now perhaps you’d better tell me what you look like, so she won’t have any trouble recognising you on Sunday. Are you tall?’
‘Reasonably,’ Jessica bit out after smothering her frustration. She supposed she’d find out everything she wanted to know soon enough. And she could trust her eyes far more than a conversation on the telephone.
‘Slim?’ he went on.
‘Yes.’
‘What colour hair?’
‘Black.’
‘Long or short?’
‘Shoulder-length, but I always wear it up.’
‘How old are you? Approximately,’ he added quickly with humour in his voice.
‘Twenty-eight,’ Jessica said, having no reason to hide her age.
‘Really. You sound older.’
She tried not to take offence, and failed. ‘Well, you don’t,’ she snapped.
‘I don’t what?’
‘Sound as old as I thought you’d be. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were no more than thirty.’
His laughter might have been infectious under other circumstances. ‘You’ve no idea how many people say that to me, Jessica,’ he said. ‘But it’s some years since I saw thirty.’
Jessica wasn’t sure if she was mollified by that statement or not. She should have been relieved to find he was respectably middle-aged, but she didn’t feel relieved. She felt decidedly nettled. Mr. Slade was rubbing her the wrong way, for some reason.
‘I look young for my age, too,’ he volunteered. ‘But I try not to worry about it.’
She could hear the smile in his voice and bristled some more.
‘By the way, bring your swimmers and shorts with you,’ he added. ‘It’s pretty warm here at the moment. How long will you be staying?’
‘Just the month.’
‘Ah,’ he said with a long sigh. ‘What a pity. Still, we can talk about that more when you get here. I’m glad you rang, Jessica. I’m really looking forward to meeting you. I’m just sorry I can’t welcome you myself at the airport. I’ll try to get back by the time you arrive at the house. Au revoir for now. Have a good flight.’
He hung up, leaving Jessica not sure what she thought about him now. Clearly, he was middle-aged. He’d been most amused at her saying he sounded thirty.
If she were honest, she had to admit he’d been very nice to her, and not at all resentful of her inheritance. She wondered what he wanted to talk to her about. Did he hope to persuade her to stay and run the guesthouse? If he did, then he’d be wasting his breath. She had no intention of doing any such thing.
But she did want to talk to him. She wanted to find out everything he knew about her aunt. Maybe this Evie would know things, as well, depending on how many years she’d been Aunt Lucy’s cook.
Thinking of cooks reminded Jessica how hungry she was. Levering herself up from the bed, she headed for the door and the kitchen, dressed in nothing but her camisole and pantihose. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wardrobe as she passed and recalled the rather bland details she’d given Mr. Slade. Twenty-eight, tall, slim, black hair, worn up.
Not much of a description. Difficult to form a complete picture. But she could hardly have added she had a face that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the cover of Vogue, and a body one of her lovers had said he’d kill for.
He had certainly lied for it, she thought tartly.
‘And what do you look like, Mr. Slade?’ she mused out loud as she continued on to the kitchen. ‘Tall, I’ll bet. And slim. Men who look young for their age are always slim. And you won’t be bald. No way. You’ll have a full head of hair with only a little grey. And you’ll be handsome, won’t you, Mr. Slade? In a middle-aged sort of way. And just a little bit of a ladies’ man, I’ll warrant.’
Jessica wondered anew if he’d really been her aunt’s lover, or just a good friend. He’d said nothing to indicate either way. Really, she hadn’t handled that call very well. She’d found out absolutely nothing! Mr. Slade’s youthful voice and manner had sent her off on a cynical tangent, and by the time she’d realised her mistake, the call had been over.
Still, it was only three days till Sunday. Not long. In no time she’d be landing at Norfolk Island airport and be right on the doorstep of discovering all she wanted to know.
A nervous wave rippled down Jessica’s spine, and she shivered. It had not escaped her logical mind that something pretty awful must have happened for her mother to lie like she had. Maybe she’d done something wicked and shameful, then run away from home. Or something wicked and shameful had been done to her, with the same result.
Jessica wasn’t sure what that something could have been. Whatever had happened, she meant to find out the truth. Oh, yes, she meant to find out everything!

CHAPTER THREE
JESSICA’S flight on Sunday morning took two and a half hours. Two and a half long hours of butterflies in her stomach. Some due to her fear of flying; most to fear of the unknown that awaited her on Norfolk Island.
She stared through her window the whole way, despite high cloud preventing a view of the ocean below. Not that she was really looking. She was thinking, and speculating, and worrying. It was only when they began their descent that the sight of the island itself jolted her back to the physical reality of her destination.
Goodness, but it was picturesque, a dot of deep tropical green within a wide blue expanse of sea. But so small! Jessica knew from the travel brochures that the island only measured five kilometres by eight. This hadn’t bothered her till she saw that the airstrip was even smaller. She hoped the plane could stop in time, that it wouldn’t plunge off the end of the runway into the sea.
The plane began to bank steeply at that moment, a wing blocking Jessica’s view of the island. All she could see was water—deep, deep water. Her insides started to churn. She did so hate flying, especially the landing part.
The plane landed without incident, thank heavens, quickly taxiing over to a collection of small terminal buildings. There was a short delay while everything was sprayed for God knows what and some lady with a foreign accent gave a brief talk over the intercom about the island and its rules and regulations.
Jessica rolled her eyes when she heard the speed limit was only fifty kilometres an hour around the island generally, and a crawling twenty-five kilometres an hour through the town and down on the foreshores at Kingston. Drivers were warned they had to give way to all livestock on the roads.
Lord, she thought with rueful amusement. This was as far removed from Sydney as one could get!
The formalities finally over, she hoisted her roomy tan handbag onto her shoulder and alighted, relieved to find that it wasn’t all that hot outside, despite the sun beginning to peep through the parting clouds. She’d worn a summer-weight pants-suit for travelling, a tailored cream outfit that didn’t crease. But it had a lined jacket and wasn’t the coolest thing she owned.
Her hair was cool, though, slicked back into the tight chic knot she always wore for work. Her makeup was expertly done to highlight her big dark eyes and full mouth. Her jewellery was discreet and expensive. A gold chain around her neck. Gold studs in her lobes. A gold watch around her slender wrist.
She looked sleek and sophisticated, and a lot more composed than she was feeling.
The short walk across the tarmac to the small customs building was enough for Jessica to see that whilst the air temperature felt moderate, the humidity was high. As soon as she arrived at her aunt’s house she’d change into something lighter.
In no time Jessica had secured her suitcase and was through customs. It seemed there was some advantage coming to tiny places like this. She’d barely walked into the terminal building when a funny little barrel-shaped woman with frizzy grey hair touched her on the arm.
‘You’d have to be Jessica,’ she said, smiling up at her.
‘And you must be Evie,’ Jessica responded, smiling back. Impossible not to. Mr. Slade had been right about that. Evie was the sort of person one liked on sight. She had a round face with twinkling grey eyes and a warm smile. She wore a shapeless floral tent dress and might have been sixty.
Jessica was given a brief but all-encompassing appraisal. ‘You don’t look much like your mother, do you?’
She certainly didn’t. Her mother had been petite and fair with blue eyes.
Still, Jessica’s heart leapt at Evie’s observation.
‘You knew my mother?’
‘Well, of course I knew your mother, lovie! I’ve lived on this island for near nigh forty years now. Everyone knows everyone around here. You’ll soon learn that. I knew your grandparents, too. Come on,’ Evie urged, taking her arm. ‘Let’s get out of this crowd and into some fresh air.’
Jessica allowed herself to be led down some steps and out into a half-empty car park. Her thoughts were whirling. If Evie had known her grandparents, did that mean they’d lived here on this island, as well? Had her aunt and her mother been born here? Were her family islanders?
The desire to bombard Evie with questions was great, but something held Jessica back for the moment. Probably an instinctive reluctance to admit she was so ignorant about her own past.
Or was she afraid to find out the truth, now that it was within her grasp?
‘The car’s over here,’ Evie said.
It was a Mazda. Small, white, dented and dusty. It was also unlocked, with the keys in the ignition.
Jessica could not believe her eyes. ‘Er, don’t you think you should have locked your car?’ she said as she climbed into the passenger seat, not wanting to criticise but unable to keep silent.
Evie laughed. ‘No one locks their car on Norfolk Island, lovie. You’ll get used to it.’
‘I doubt it,’ Jessica muttered, shaking her head. Imagine doing such a silly thing in Sydney!
‘Think about it,’ Evie said, starting up the engine. ‘Where are they going to go if they steal it?’
Jessica had to admit that was true, but she knew she’d still be locking the car doors, no matter what the locals did.
‘It’s not my car, actually,’ Evie added as she angled her way out of the car park. ‘It used to belong to Lucy, but she gave it to Sebastian before she died.’
Jessica frowned at this news. So Mr. Slade had been given something, after all. Okay, so it wasn’t much of a car but maybe he’d been given other gifts, as well. For all she knew, her aunt might have handed over quite a degree of money to her loyal and loving companion before she died. It would explain why he’d received nothing in the will.
‘This is the main street,’ Evie piped up. ‘A lot of the shops have duty-free goods, you know. It’s one of the main pastimes for visitors. Shopping.’
There were, indeed, a lot of shops lining the road. Some of them were open but most looked pretty well deserted, as were the sidewalks. There was a young boy on a bike, plus a middle-aged couple wandering along, hand in hand. It looked as quiet and dead a place as Jessica had originally thought.
‘It’s pretty slow on a Sunday,’ Evie said. ‘Things will be hopping here tomorrow.’
Jessica decided Evie’s idea of hopping might be a fraction different from her own.
‘Sebastian seemed to think you might want me to come in and do the shopping and cooking while you’re here, like I did for Lucy,’ Evie rattled on. ‘He’s been looking after himself and the place since Lucy’s death, though I do drop by occasionally to give the house a dust through. I only live next door and men never think of dusting.’
‘That was kind of you, Evie. Yes, I think I would like you to do that. I’ll pay you whatever Lucy did. Will that be all right?’
Evie waved her indifference to talking about payment. ‘Whatever. I don’t really need the money,’ she said. ‘My husband left me plenty when he died. I just like to keep busy. And I love cooking. Eating, too.’ She grinned over at Jessica. ‘So what do you like to eat? Do you have any favourite foods or dishes?’
‘Not really. I’m not fussy at all. Cook whatever you like. I’ll just enjoy being pampered for a change. Cooking is not one of my strong points.’
Actually, she could cook quite well, had had to when she was growing up to survive. If she’d waited for her mother to cook her a meal she would have starved. But she didn’t fancy cooking for Mr. Slade. It had also crossed her mind that she’d be able to question Evie with more ease if she was around the house on a regular basis.
‘That’s fixed, then,’ Evie said happily. ‘I’ll come in every morning around eleven-thirty and make lunch. Then I’ll come back around five to cook dinner for seven-thirty. I don’t do breakfast. Lucy always did that for herself. How does that sound?’
‘Marvellous.’ Jessica sighed her satisfaction with the arrangement and settled back to look around some more.
The wide streets of the shopping centre were quickly left behind and they moved onto a narrower road, with what looked like farms on either side. A few cows grazed lethargically along the common. The Mazda squeezed past a truck going the other way, then a car, then a utility, Jessica noting that Evie exchanged waves with all three drivers as they passed by.
She commented on this and was told it was a local custom, and that even the tourists got into the spirit of the Norfolk Island wave within a day of arrival. Jessica was quietly impressed with their friendliness, despite cynically thinking that if all Sydney drivers did that in city traffic, everyone would go barmy. Still, it was rather sweet, in a way.
‘Here we are,’ Evie announced, slowing down and turning into a gateway that had a cattle grid between its posts and an iron archway above, which said with proud simplicity, Lucy’s Place.
The gravel driveway rose gradually, any view either side blocked with thickly wooded Norfolk pines. Finally, the pine borders ceased, and there in front of Jessica was the most beautiful old wooden house she had ever seen. Painted cream, with a green pitched iron roof and huge wooden verandas all round, it stood on the crest of the hill with a stately grandeur and dignity that were quite breathtaking.
Jessica was surprised, both by its elegant beauty and its effect on her. She’d heard of falling in love at first sight, but she’d always thought of that in connection with a man, not a house.
A sudden movement on the veranda snapped her out of her astonished admiration. Someone had been sitting there and was now standing up and moving towards the front steps. A man, dressed in shorts and nothing else, holding a tall glass in his hand. A young man with shoulder-length fair hair.
He stopped and leant against one of the posts at the top of the steps and watched as Evie brought the car round to a halt at the base of the front steps.
Jessica frowned at him through the passenger window. This couldn’t be Mr. Slade, surely. She couldn’t see the details of his face—it was in shadow—but that was not the body of a middle-aged man. Or the hair.
Maybe he was a workman. A gardener, perhaps. Or the man who mowed the lawns. There were plenty to mow, she’d noted, the house set in huge rolling lawns. There was quite a bit of garden, as well, beds of flowers underneath the verandas, backed by multicoloured hibiscus bushes.
‘I see Sebastian made it back from fishing in time to greet you,’ Evie said, shattering Jessica’s delusion over the man’s identity.
He straightened as the car braked to a halt, lifting the glass to his lips and at the same time taking a step forward out of the shadow of the veranda. Jessica sucked in a sharp breath as sunlight fell upon silky golden locks and smooth bronzed shoulders. He continued drinking as he walked slowly down the steps, taking deep swallows and seemingly unconscious of his quite extraordinary beauty.
A couple of drops of water fell from the base of the frosted glass onto his almost hairless chest, Jessica’s fascinated eyes following them as they trickled down to pool in his navel, which was sinfully exposed above the low-slung white shorts.
Jessica found herself swallowing, her throat suddenly dry. Her eyes dropped further as he continued his measured descent, taking in every inch of his leanly muscled legs. They lifted at last to once again encounter his face, no longer obscured by the glass.
It was as disturbingly attractive as the rest of him, with a strong straight nose, an elegantly sculptured jawline, bedroom blue eyes and a far too sexy mouth. As he drew nearer, Jessica’s stunned fascination gradually turned to a simmering fury.
Hadn’t seen thirty in many years, my foot! she thought angrily. Even if he did look young for his age, he could be no more than thirty-five. If that!
Before he reached the bottom step she’d flung open the car door and stepped out, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring scornfully into that now treacherously smiling face. No one had to tell Jessica what sort of man he was. She hadn’t come down in the last shower.
His smile faltered, then faded, his narrowed blue gaze staring, first into her cold black eyes, then down over her stiffly held body and up again.
Was he taken aback by her obvious contempt for him? Had he imagined for one moment that he could fool her, too?
Jessica almost laughed. Sebastian Slade was everything she’d feared when she’d first heard of him. And possibly more.
Despite all this, she swiftly and sensibly decided to hide her feelings, smoothing the derision from her face and stepping forward with her hand politely stretched out. There was no need to be overtly rude to him. She knew the score now. Why make her stay more awkward than it would already be?
She would endure his undoubted hypocrisy for the next month then send him packing without anything to remember her by, except a few parting shots. Oh, yes, she would tell him what she thought of him on that final day. And she’d enjoy every word!
He hesitated to take her hand, staring at it for a few seconds before staring into her face. His expression reminded her of the way Aunt Lucy had stared at her that day. What was it about the way she looked that was so surprising? Okay, so she didn’t look like her mother, but she was very like her father, who’d been tall, with dark eyes and hair.
Jessica was beginning to feel a little unnerved by his intense regard when Evie joined them, laughing.
‘You should see the look on your face, Sebastian,’ she said as she swept the empty glass out of his hand. ‘Yes, Lucy’s niece is a striking-looking woman, isn’t she? Not exactly what you expected, eh what?’
‘Not exactly,’ he said, a rueful smile hovering about his sensually carved mouth.
She found herself glaring at that mouth and wondering caustically if it had pressed treacherous kisses to her aunt’s lips. It would be naive of her to think that a woman in her fifties would not take a lover twenty years her junior. It happened a lot in the name of lust. Lust for a beautiful young male body on her aunt’s part. Lust for money and material gain on Mr. Slade’s.
‘Welcome to Norfolk Island,’ he said formally at last, taking her hand in his. ‘And welcome to Lucy’s Place. How do you like it?’
I’d like it a lot more, she thought crossly, if you’d let go my hand. And if you’d go put some more clothes on. Damn, but the man was breathtakingly attractive. On a rating of zero to ten, his sex appeal would measure twenty.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said truthfully, but stiffly.
‘Do you think you might change your mind about staying on and living here, then?’
‘No, I can’t see that happening,’ she replied, despite feeling a definite tug at her heartstrings. Anyone would love to live in such a beautiful house. But a house did not make a home, and life on Norfolk Island was not for her, however sweet their customs.
Was that relief she glimpsed in his eyes, or disappointment? Actually, it looked more like frustration. Jessica’s brain began to tick over. Did Mr. Slade have some secret agenda where she was concerned? Did he need more than a month to achieve his goal?
And what could that goal be? she puzzled. To move on to the next victim, perhaps? To seduce his dearly departed lover’s heiress?
Jessica shuddered at the thought.
‘She’ll change her mind,’ Evie said confidently, and moved up the steps. ‘Her case is on the back seat, Sebastian,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Flex your muscles and bring it inside. I’ll go rustle up some lunch.’
At least he released her hand then. And moved away.
Jessica was annoyed with herself for letting him get under her skin, even a little. Still, she had to admit that his physical charisma was incredible. It was as well she was on her guard against him.
‘I won’t, you know,’ she said tartly when he returned with her case.
‘Won’t what?’
‘Stay on and live here. There’s nothing you can say or do to change my mind.’
‘What makes you think I’d want to change your mind?’
The coldness in his voice surprised her, as did the scorn that flashed across his face. It was hardly the way a man would act if he had seduction on his mind.
‘I promised Lucy I would make your month’s stay as enjoyable as possible,’ he went on, just as coldly, ‘and that I would show you what the island has to offer. But I can see already you’re not the sort of girl to appreciate simple things or a simple lifestyle, so I won’t overtax myself playing persuader.’
‘You’re too kind,’ she countered, matching his icy tone.
His top lip lifted slightly, just short of a sneer. ‘Tell me, Miss Rawlins. What’s the sum total of your reason for coming here? Are you interested at all in finding out about your heritage and your roots? Or is this simply a matter of money?’
Jessica began quivering with suppressed rage. ‘Don’t you dare presume to judge me, you…you gigolo!’
He actually dropped her case. It tumbled down the steps, but he made no move to try to retrieve it. He simply stood there, staring wide-eyed into her flushed face.
‘Gigolo?’ he exclaimed.
His shock was echoed by her own. Whatever had possessed her to say such a stupid thing! As true as it might be, it had been a tactless and very rude accusation. Still, having voiced her private beliefs, Jessica was not about to back down. Why should she when he’d virtually accused her of being a mercenary money-grabbing bitch?
‘Are you saying you weren’t my aunt’s lover?’ she asked scornfully. ‘That you haven’t been hanging around here for what you could get?’
‘Good God. What a nasty piece of work you are!’
‘Don’t try to turn the tables on me, Mr. Slade,’ she bit out. ‘You’re the one described in my aunt’s will as her loyal and loving companion, yet you must be twenty years younger than she was. You’re the one who’s wangled it so that you’re still living here free of charge. I’ve no doubt you always did! And you’re the one who inherits everything if I don’t comply with my aunt’s peculiar wishes. Are you saying you never made love to her? That you didn’t worm your way into her affections with sex? That she didn’t give you her car, and God knows what else, for services rendered?’
Jessica reeled under the chilling contempt in his arctic blue eyes. ‘I’m going to forget you said that, because if I don’t, I might be tempted to break my word to the nicest woman I’ve ever known. You might be her niece, but I can see you don’t have a single gene of hers. No doubt you take after your pathetic parents!’
Jessica’s face went bright red. ‘You didn’t even know my parents! And you certainly don’t know me!’
His mouth opened to say something, then closed again. He looked away from her, his hands lifting to rake through his hair before looking back, a shuddering sigh emptying his lungs.
‘Let’s stop this right now,’ he said with cool firmness. ‘I have no intention of spending the next month exchanging verbal darts with you. Neither will I defend the relationship I had with your aunt, other than to say I never sought anything from her but her friendship, which I hope I gave back in kind.’
‘Are you saying that you weren’t her lover?’ Jessica challenged.
His top lip curled with more contempt as his gaze swept over her. ‘Would you believe me if I said no?’
‘Try me.’
His cold gaze swept over her quite insultingly.
‘No, I don’t think I will,’ he said at last with a derisive glitter in his eyes.
Jessica stiffened. ‘Very funny. If you won’t deny it, then I will have to presume that you were.’
‘Believe what you like,’ he replied with cold indifference.
‘Oh, I will, Mr. Slade,’ she said tartly. ‘I will. As to your accusation that I’m only here for the money… I won’t be holier than thou and say money isn’t important to me. It is. But not to the extent you’ve implied. Still, I, too, see no need to defend myself. I’m not sure if you know this, but I had no idea I even had an aunt till recently, when she showed up at the hotel where I work.’
‘Yes, I do know about that,’ he said, surprising her.
‘But…but I thought you didn’t know of my existence till the will showed up.’
‘I didn’t know your full name and address till the will showed up. But I did know Lucy had found she had a niece named Jessica working in a hotel in Sydney, and that she’d left everything to you in her will. Lucy only spoke of you by your first name. I naturally assumed I would know all the necessary details once the will was read, but when Lucy died, I couldn’t find the damned thing. It had slipped behind a drawer, you see.’
‘Yes, the solicitor told me.’
‘Frankly, Lucy told me only the barest of details about you. She didn’t seem to want to talk about your one meeting. I was about to ring every hotel in Sydney when I came across the will.’
‘Are you saying you can’t tell me why Aunt Lucy left the hotel that day without really speaking to me?’ Jessica asked painfully. ‘You know, she stared at me like I was a ghost at first. I was called away for a few minutes, and when I returned she was gone. She hadn’t even told me her last name, either, which was why I wasn’t able to trace her.’
‘I see. That explains a few questions I had myself, but no… I’m afraid I can’t tell you why Lucy ran away from you. God only knows. Perhaps she was having trouble coming to terms with the guilt of never having looked up her sister before and seeing if she was all right. I think the news that Joanne was dead came as a dreadful shock to her.’
Jessica was shaking her head, her eyes dropping wearily to the ground. ‘I don’t understand any of it.’
A surprisingly gentle hand on her arm jerked her head upright. She was stunned by the momentary compassion in those beautiful blue eyes of his, and the confusion it stirred in her heart. Compassion was not something she was familiar—or comfortable—with. On top of that, it was not at all what she was expecting from this man.
‘Of course you can’t understand any of it,’ he said with surprising sympathy. ‘It’s hard enough to understand what goes on in our own lives. Much more difficult to work out the lives of others. But you have a month to find some answers for your questions. I’ll help as much as I can. Not that I have all the answers. But for now, why don’t you come inside? It’s hot out here, and Evie will be wondering where we are.’
Jessica automatically pulled back when he went to take her arm, feeling flustered by his suddenly solicitous attitude towards her. Such an about-face had to be viewed with some suspicion.
His frown carried frustration. ‘There’s no need to act like that. I was only trying to be friendly.’
‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘A few minutes ago, you were calling me a nasty bit of work.’
‘That was a few minutes ago. Maybe I’ve changed my mind about you since then.’
And maybe pigs might fly, she thought cynically, one of her eyebrows lifting in a sceptical arch.
A wry smile curved his mouth to one side, bringing her attention to those sensually carved lips, and where they might have been. The thought that he might have changed his mind about seducing her held an insidiously exciting aspect, one she would find hard to ignore.
But ignore it she would. She hadn’t come here to fall victim to the slick, shallow charms of a man like Sebastian Slade, no matter how sexy he was.
‘I see you still don’t trust me,’ he said dryly. ‘Funnily enough, I can see your point of view. I dare say there are others on this island who think the same as you. I’ve just never cared what they thought. I stopped caring about what people thought of me some years ago.’
‘Lucky ol’ you,’ she retorted tartly. ‘Would we could all have the same privilege. Unfortunately, most of us have to live in the real world and work at a real job, which means we do have to worry what others think.’
‘But you don’t have to, Jessica,’ he pointed out in a silky soft voice, which rippled down her spine like a mink glove. ‘You don’t have to live in the real world any more, or work at a real job, if you don’t want to. Neither do you have to give a damn what people think. You can do what you like from this day forward.’
It was a wickedly seductive thought, provocatively delivered by a wickedly seductive man. She looked at him, her face a bland mask, while she battled to stop her mind from its appalling flights of fancy.
He was technically right, of course. If she invested her inheritance wisely she would never have to work again for the rest of her life, or kowtow to a boss. He was also right about her not having to worry about what other people thought, especially during the next month. Out here on this island, in this isolated house, she could do exactly as she pleased, and there was no one to judge or condemn.
Why was he pointing that out to her? She puzzled over this. Was it part of his seduction technique, to corrupt his victim with thoughts of a lifestyle of totally selfish and hedonistic behaviour?
He would have to do better than that, she thought with bitter amusement. She’d been seduced before by good-looking liars and had no intention of going that route again, no matter how stunningly this particular liar was put together.
‘Let me tell you something, Mr. Slade,’ she said coolly. ‘I happen to like the real world, not to mention my real job. But thank you for explaining that I don’t have to worry about what other people think of me here. I hope that includes you.’
He stared at her, and she would have loved to know what he was thinking. ‘Touché,’ he said at last, the smallest of wry smiles playing around his mouth. ‘By the way, call me Sebastian, would you? Or Seb, if you prefer.’
‘I prefer Sebastian,’ she said crisply.
Which she did, actually. It also suited him very well. It was a strong name, yet sensual—like its owner. Not a modern name. There was nothing modern about Sebastian’s looks. If he’d been an actor, he would never be cast as a business executive. He would, however, make a magnificent Viking prince, or a knight in King Arthur’s court, or one of the Three Musketeers, with a feathered hat atop his flowing locks.
‘Sebastian it will be, then,’ he agreed nonchalantly. ‘I’ll just get your case.’ He turned and walked with indolent grace down the steps to where it had fallen, his bending over drawing his shorts tightly over his tantalisingly taut buttocks.
Jessica tried not to stare, but she was doomed to failure. Never had a man’s body fascinated her so much before. There again…it was a gorgeous body.
He straightened and turned, their eyes meeting as he slowly mounted the steps. It wasn’t just his body, she conceded ruefully. Those eyes were like blue magnets, drawing her, tempting her. And that mouth of his was made strictly for sin.
Damn, but she hoped nothing she was thinking was showing on her face.
Self-preservation had Jessica throwing him one of her coolest looks before whirling and walking up the steps and into her Aunt Lucy’s beautiful home.

CHAPTER FOUR
THE house was even more beautiful inside than out. Over a hundred years old, Sebastian told her, but lovingly cared for and restored to retain its original old-world charm.
The use of Norfolk pine was extensive, from the polished timber floors to the stained wall panelling to the kitchen benches and cupboards. Very little of the furniture, however, was made from local wood.
Sebastian explained that most pieces had been shipped in from New Zealand and Australia and even England, and were made from a variety of woods. There were fine examples of oak and teak, mahogany and rosewood, walnut and cedar.
The bathrooms featured black marble from Devon, brought over in sailing boats a century before. The bedrooms were a delight to behold, with their carved four-poster beds and exquisitely delicate furnishings.
Everywhere Jessica looked there was lace in some form or other. Lace curtains and bedspreads, tablecloths and doilies. In pure whites and rich creams, the lace lent an old-world atmosphere and blended beautifully with the fine porcelain figurines that rested on the many ornamental side tables and shelves. Overhead, the light fittings were mainly brass. Underfoot, fine woven rugs in earthy colours took the chill off the floors.
It was a warm and wonderful home, with style and an air of contentment Jessica could only envy.
She felt guilty at the thought she might sell her aunt’s property to someone who would not care for the home and its contents as her aunt obviously had. It would be a crime to disturb a single thing. Everything fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. There wasn’t a piece missing.
‘What a perfect, perfect place,’ she murmured as she wandered through one of the large living rooms, running an affectionate hand along the mantelpiece above the marble fireplace.
‘It was Lucy’s pride and joy,’ Sebastian said.
Jessica’s eyes moved reluctantly to where he’d stayed standing in the doorway, her suitcase at his feet.
She’d avoided looking at him too much during her grand tour of the house. Inside, he seemed even more naked than he had outside. And much sexier…if that were possible.
Jessica had been quite unnerved when they’d brushed shoulders once, a decidedly sexual quiver running through her at the physical contact. After that, she’d kept her distance. He seemed to keep his, too, for which she was grateful. She could think of nothing more embarrassing—or awkward—than his finding out she was in any way vulnerable to him.
‘It’s such a shame I have to sell it,’ she said.
‘Why do you have to sell it? Why not live here yourself?’
‘It’s not as easy as that, Sebastian,’ she said stiffly. ‘I have a life in Sydney. And a career.’
‘You call slaving for someone else a career? You could make a real career out of running this place like Lucy did. She did very well yet she only opened the house for guests in the summer.’
‘I wouldn’t be very good at that type of thing.’
‘Come now. The public relations manager of a big city hotel could run a place like this standing on her head. Now don’t look so surprised. One of the things Lucy did tell me was what you did in Sydney, even if she didn’t say where. She sounded very proud of you.’
‘I see. Well it’s not a matter of capability, Sebastian. It’s a matter of what I enjoy doing. I enjoy being a public relations manager. I don’t enjoy housekeeping.’
‘Neither did Lucy. When she had guests, she had a girl come in every day to do the laundry and ironing, another to do the heavy cleaning and Evie to cook. Lucy’s role was more of a hostess, though she did make breakfast in the mornings.’
‘What did she do with herself all day?’
‘She entertained her guests, in the main. Her friendly and relaxing style of companionship was one of the reasons the same people came back to stay here year after year. Lucy was a very calming person to be around. And then, of course, there was her garden. She spent a lot of time there, too. She loved her flowers. Do you like flowers, Jessica?’
‘What woman doesn’t like flowers? I can’t say I’m much of a gardener, though. I’ve never had a garden.’
‘You would here.’
‘I didn’t say I wanted one.’
‘You didn’t say you didn’t, either.’
She sighed an exasperated sigh. ‘Stop trying to change my mind, Sebastian. I don’t want to run a guesthouse. I am not going to stay. I’m here for one month and one month only.’
He said nothing. Absolutely nothing. But his mouth tightened a little and she thought she saw scorn in his eyes.
Jessica bristled, resenting the feeling she was having to defend herself to this man all the time. She decided it was his turn to answer some questions.
‘What else did Lucy tell you about me?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing much.’ He shrugged. ‘She said you looked and seemed very…efficient. That’s about it. You must appreciate Lucy found out as little about you in your brief meeting as you did about her.’
He was lying. Aunt Lucy had told him something else, something that had made him stare at her when they’d first met. But it was clear he wasn’t going to tell her. She felt quite frustrated with him. And totally frustrated with herself.
Dear God, it was as well he was on the other side of the room, for as she looked at him now, she felt the urge to reach out and touch, to see if his long golden hair was as silky as it seemed, to know if his bronzed skin was as satiny smooth as it looked.
The man was a menace! Why couldn’t he have been rising sixty, with a paunch and a greying beard? she thought irritably. Why did he have to be a golden god with eyes one could drown in and a mouth to tempt even the most frigid virgin?
‘Have you decided which bedroom you want to sleep in?’ he asked abruptly.
Yours, came the wicked thought before she could stop it entering her mind.
Jessica took a deep, steadying breath. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But not Lucy’s. I wouldn’t feel comfortable in Lucy’s room.’
‘Which leaves you four to choose from, since I have no intention of giving you mine.’
‘It’s hard to choose,’ she said. ‘From what I can remember they were all beautiful.’
‘The view is better on the southern side,’ he advised, ‘and you get more breezes in the evening.’
‘Which side is the southern side?’
‘This side. My side. I’ll put your case in the room next to mine, shall I?’
‘Oh, er, all right.’
‘Good.’ He bent to pick up the heavy case, the movement highlighting the sleekly defined muscles in his chest and upper arms.
‘I know you probably promised my aunt you would try to persuade me to stay, Sebastian,’ she burst out, a type of panic invading her at the thought of spending a whole month in the bedroom next to his. ‘But the truth is… I simply could not bear to live permanently on Norfolk Island.’
He straightened and looked at her with suppressed exasperation in his eyes. ‘How do you know that? You haven’t tried it.’
‘You don’t have to climb Mount Everest to know that it’s freezing cold up there,’ she said defensively.
‘Meaning?’
‘Life here is too slow for me. And far too quiet. I’d be bored in no time.’
His eyes locked with hers across the room, and she felt instantly breathless.
‘You think so?’ he said with a taunting softness.
‘I know so.’
‘You know nothing, Jessica,’ he said with an almost weary sigh. ‘Just as I knew nothing when I first came here. But I won’t bore you by telling you about my experience. I can see Evie’s quite wrong. You won’t change your mind. Still, perhaps it’s just as well. You really don’t suit the island any more than it suits you.’
His eyes became cold again as they raked over her. ‘No. You’re much better suited to a career in Sydney. I dare say having to stay here for a whole month has inconvenienced you no end.’
Jessica resented the underlying contempt in his voice. Who was he to judge anyone? ‘Yes, it has, actually,’ she said curtly. ‘I might have risked my job in dropping everything and coming at once.’
‘Pardon me if my heart doesn’t bleed for you. I’m sure your inheritance will more than compensate for any inconvenience. And if you lose your job, then what the hell? You’ll survive till you get the next one.’
‘You still believe all I care about is the money, don’t you?’
‘If the cap fits, wear it, Jessica.’
‘I have not come just for the money!’
‘Whatever you say.’ His expression was distant, as though he didn’t give a damn either way.
‘Lunch in ten minutes!’ Evie called from the depths of the house. ‘I’ll serve it out on the back veranda.’
‘Fine, Evie,’ Sebastian called down the hallway before turning to face Jessica. ‘Let’s get you along to your room,’ he said briskly. ‘You might like to shower and change before lunch. I know I do. I probably smell of fish. I threw away my T-shirt earlier because it was high as a kite, but I think I must still be on the nose a bit. I couldn’t help but notice you run a mile every time I get too close.’
Jessica found some relief that this was what he thought. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she fancied him. My God, the last thing she’d wanted—or expected—was to fancy him at all!
She wasn’t sure why she did, with the way he was treating her. Like she was a cold-hearted, ambitious bitch! Okay, so he was gorgeous looking, in a blond, bronzed surfie fashion, but she’d never been attracted to that type before, not even in her younger days. She’d always gone for dark, intensely passionate types, the ones who couldn’t stop looking at you, who flattered you like mad and were always over you like a rash as soon as they got you alone.
Jessica’s previous lovers had always rushed her into the bedroom before she could draw breath, and silly lonely love-struck fool that she was, she’d never thought to say no, even when the bells didn’t ring and the stars didn’t explode.
She’d long come to terms with the fact that while the men she’d fallen in love with had been passionate types, they hadn’t been the most skilled lovers in the world. They had been impatient for their own pleasure, quick and selfish, takers, not givers.
She stared at Sebastian as she crossed the room and wondered what kind of lover he was. Which led her to the question of whether he had a girlfriend somewhere on the island.
She didn’t like that idea. Not one bit. It was a perversely telling moment.
‘I’ll use the bathroom on the other side of the house,’ he said, ‘if that’s what you’re frowning about.’
Jessica frowned some more till she remembered none of the bedrooms had ensuites. Each side of the house had a bathroom and separate toilet, with a third powder room and toilet coming off the hallway near the living rooms.
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ she said coolly. ‘Perhaps you should always use that bathroom for the duration of my stay here. That way we won’t have to worry about sharing, or running into each other accidentally in the bathroom.’
And I won’t have to worry about drooling over you too much.
He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Okay. If that’s what you want.’
‘What I want, Sebastian,’ she said as she followed him into the bedroom he’d chosen for her, ‘is for you to tell me the truth.’

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