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There's Something About a Rebel...
Anne Oliver


Her fantasy man - in the flesh! Lissa Sanderson is at an all-time low – so why does her brother’s gorgeous, brooding best friend have to come back into her life now? Even worse, the teenage crush she once had on Blake Everett is back with a vengeance, despite his scandalous reputation and the fact the ex-Navy officer would clearly prefer to be left alone. Only now she’s a woman. And Blake’s not quite so immune to her as he makes out.There’s definitely something about a rebel – and Lissa’s going to enjoy finding out just what that ‘something’ might be!












Praise for Anne Oliver


‘This attraction-at-first-sight story has just the right blend of adventure, passion and heartfelt emotion to make you want to spend time with this terrific twosome.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Hot Boss, Wicked Nights

‘A tantalisingly wicked read … Oliver gives the reader a tale of a man who knows how to be so good at being bad …’

—www.cataromance.com on

Hot Boss, Wicked Nights

‘A terrific story. Anne Oliver has created a winner in Ben, the hot and sexy but equally complex hero.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Marriage at the Millionaire’s Command

‘… filled with idiosyncratic characters who endeared themselves to this reader and made their lives and careers what they wanted them to be without losing the love and passion they discovered between them.’

—www.cataromance.com on

Memoirs of a Millionaire’s Mistress




Also by Anne Oliver


Her Not-So-Secret Diary

When He Was Bad …

Mistress: At What Price?

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




About the Author

About Anne Oliver


ANNE OLIVER was born in Adelaide, South Australia, and with its beautiful hills, beaches and easy lifestyle, she’s never left.

An avid reader of romance, Anne began creating her own paranormal and time travel adventures in 1998 before turning to contemporary romance. Then it happened—she was accepted by Harlequin Mills and Boon for their Modern Heat series in December 2005. Almost as exciting; her first two published novels won the Romance Writers of Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year for 2007 and 2008. So after nearly thirty years of yard duties and staff meetings, she gave up teaching to do what she loves most—writing full time.

Other interests include animal welfare and conservation, quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. She’s traveled to Papua/New Guinea, the west coast of America, Hong Kong, Malaysia, the UK and Holland.

Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege and a dream come true.

You can visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com


There’s Something About a Rebel …

Anne Oliver
























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


To everyday heroes




CHAPTER ONE


IT WASN’T the rumble of approaching thunder that woke Lissa Sanderson some time after midnight. Nor was it Mooloolaba’s tropical heat that had prompted her to leave the houseboat’s windows open to catch whatever breeze was coming off the river. It wasn’t even her seriously serious financial situation that had kept her tossing and turning for the past few weeks.

It was the sound of footsteps on her little jetty.

Unfamiliar footsteps. Not her brother’s—Jared was overseas, and no one she knew would be calling in at this ridiculously unsociable hour. A shiver scuttled down her spine.

Lifting her head off the pillow, she heard the leafy palm fronds around the nearby pool clack together and the delicate tinkle of her wind chimes over the back door as the sound of approaching footsteps drew closer. Heavy and slow but with a sense of purpose.

Her thoughts flashed back nine months to Todd and ice slid through her veins. The Toad wouldn’t be game to show his face in this part of the world again. Would he? No. He. Would. Not.

Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she scanned the familiar gloom for her heavy-duty marine torch then remembered she’d used it to check the new leak in the ceiling and left it in the galley. Damn it.

The jetty belonged to the owners of the luxury riverside home that was rented to wealthy holiday-makers, but her lease on the private dock wasn’t up for another two years. February was low season and the house had been vacant for the past couple of weeks. Maybe new tenants had arrived and were unaware that the jetty was off-limits?

That had to be it. ‘Please let that be it,’ she murmured.

The carport she used to gain access through the back yard and from there to her boat was security coded—who else could it be? She told herself not to overreact. Not to give in to the unease that had stalked her these past months. Both doors were secure, windows open but locked. Mobile phone beside her bed, both Jared and her sister, Crystal, on speed dial.

The footsteps stopped. A weighted thump vibrated through the floor, tilting it ever so slightly beneath her feet for a second or two. The resulting ripple of water lapped against the hull and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

Someone was on her deck. Right outside her door.

Okay, now she could be officially scared. She pushed up, grabbing her mobile and punching in numbers, then stared at the black screen. No charge. Great. Just great. Heart galloping, she darted to the bedroom doorway. From here she had a clear view down the length of the boat to the glass door where a light drizzle sheened the deck—and the stranger.

Tall. Male. His outline glistening with moisture.

Too broad-shouldered for Todd, thank God, but it could have been the hunchback of Notre Dame, his silhouette sharpening as silvery sheet lightning edged in bronze flickered behind him.

In the clammy air her skin chilled.

Then the hunch lifted away from his shoulders and she realised it was some kind of duffle bag. She pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle the hysteria rising up her throat. The bag or whatever-it-was hit the deck with a scuffed thud, then he straightened to a height and breadth rivalling her brother’s and she drew back instinctively. The sound in her throat turned to a choked gasp.

She swallowed it down. Even as she told herself that it was probably a new arrival checking out the grounds, she was pulling on her dressing gown, yanking the sash tight. She pocketed the useless phone.

She could exit via the rear door near her bed, but to leave the boat she’d have to pass within a close couple of steps of him on the narrow jetty then make it past the pool to the carport, wait for the roller door to rise … Safer to remain where she was.

And if he wasn’t a new arrival … How had he managed to get past the security-coded roller door?

Because he knew the code, right? Right. The thought was reassuring. Still, she had to force one foot in front of the other, her bare feet soundless over the linoleum as she skirted boxes and crates until she slipped on a pool of moisture that hadn’t been there a couple of hours earlier. Arms flailing and swearing to herself, she came to a slippery stop in her tiny galley, gripped the edge of her equally tiny table and looked outside.

His sheer size swamped her deck. A flash of lightning revealed black clothing, bare forearms and uncompromising features. Alarmingly good-looking for a potential burglar. Vaguely familiar. Short black hair silvered with raindrops, dark stubbled square jaw. Big hands as he patted his chest then slid them down the front of his thighs as if he’d lost something.

Dangerous. The errant thought of those hands patting her own chest sent an unwelcome thrill rippling down her spine. Something shimmered at the edge of her earliest teenage memories. A guy. As out of reach and dangerous and darkly beguiling as this man.

She shook old images away. She’d been fooled by one too many tall-dark-and-handsomes to be fooled again. And this man was probably looking for his lock pick while she was standing here like a loon and letting him, when what she should have been doing was phoning the police. With her dead phone.

Her limbs went into lock-down while her slow-motion brain tried—and failed—to figure her next move. She could smell the calming scents of the jasmine candle she’d used earlier, the fresh basil she’d picked and put in a jar on the sink, the ever-present pervasive river.

Would they be her last memories before she died?

She watched, frozen, while he dug into a trouser pocket and pulled something out then stepped right up to the door.

Adrenaline spurted through her veins, propelling her into action. Reaching for the nearest object—a seashell the size of her fist—she curled stiff fingers between its reassuring spikes and stood as tall as her five feet three inches would allow.

‘Go away. This is private pr—’

Her pitifully thin demand was gulped over a dry mouth when she heard the heart-stopping click of a key being turned in the lock. The door slid open and the stranger stepped inside, bumping into her brass wind chime on the way and bringing the fragrance of rain with him.

She yanked her phone from her pocket. ‘No closer.’ His silhouette loomed darkly as he moved and her nostrils flared at the potent smell of wet male. ‘I’ve called the police.’

He came to an abrupt halt. She sensed surprise but no fear and she realised her voice had given her away. Female.

All-alonefemale.

She lunged forward, the makeshift weapon in her other hand aimed at his throat. She felt the pressure as the shell’s prongs met flesh.

Before she could draw breath, his arm blocked hers. ‘Easy. I’m not going to hurt you.’ His deep voice accompanied the thunder that rolled across the ocean.

‘I don’t know that.’ And she wasn’t giving him the chance. ‘You’re on my boat. Leave. Now.’ Tightening her fist on her shell, she jabbed at him again but his forearm blocked her. It was like pushing against steel.

He made some sound, like an almost bored sigh. ‘You really don’t want to do that, sweet cheeks,’ he muttered, disarming her as easily as drawing breath. As if he fought off women for a living. Then his hand loosened, skated down her upraised arm from wrist to elbow and she didn’t doubt that was exactly what he did—and on a daily basis.

The limb that no longer seemed to belong to her remained within the heat of his hand of its own volition, while hot and cold shivers chased over her skin. ‘You’re on my boat,’ she repeated, but it came out like more of a whisper.

‘Yet I have a key.’

Before she could analyse that dryly delivered fact or think of a response, he released her, stepped sideways and flipped on the light switch. Then he raised both hands to show her he meant no harm.

She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sudden glare. As she noticed the red mark where the shell had grazed a bronzed neck. As her brain caught up with the fact that yes, absolutely, he had a key and he’d reached for the light switch with such easy familiarity …

Blake Everett.

She sagged against the table but her partial relief was quickly chased away by a different kind of tension. He wore faded black jeans and a black sweater washed almost transparent with age. The shrunken sleeves ended halfway down thick sinewy forearms sprinkled with dark masculine hair.

Jared’s mate. Her first innocent crush when she’d been nine years of age and he’d been eighteen and joined the navy. Then when he’d come home on leave after his mother’s death. oh, my. She’d been thirteen to his twenty-two but she’d looked at him as a woman would, dreamed of him as only a woman would and she’d kept the guilty pleasure a secret.

She doubted he’d ever looked at her other than the time she’d fallen off her skateboard trying to impress him and bloodied her nose, his whiter-than-white T-shirt and, most of all, her young pride.

Gossip had circulated. Bad boy. Black sheep. It hadn’t changed the way she thought of him until eventually she heard the rumours that he’d got Janine Baker pregnant then skipped town to join the navy. In an odd way, she’d felt betrayed.

He had eyes that could turn from tropical-island blue to glacial in an instant and an intense brooding aloofness that had called to her feminine nurturing side even way back then. She’d spent a lot of time imagining what it would be like to be the focus of all that intensity.

And now. maybe now he was looking at her the way she’d always wanted him to … with a definite glint of heat in those summertime eyes. But where men were concerned, she wasn’t as naive now. And she wasn’t looking back—not that way. Absolutely not. She wasn’t thirteen any more and there was a major problem here.

‘My name’s Blake Everett,’ he said into the silence broken only by an intermittent plop of water leaking from the roof into a plastic container on the floor. He remained where he was, hip propped easily against her counter top, his gaze skimming her too-slinky too-skimpy dressing gown and making her tingle from head to foot before meeting her eyes once more. ‘I—’

‘I know who you are.’ Posture stiff, she resisted the urge to hug her arms across her braless breasts to hide her suddenly erect traitorous nipples. She concentrated on relaxing tense muscles. Shoulders, neck, hands. Breathe.

His gaze turned assessing, then stern, drawing her attention to the pallor beneath the tanned complexion, the heavy lines of fatigue around his eyes and mouth. But his lips. They were still the most sensual lips she’d ever laid eyes on—full, firm, luscious—

‘You’re one up on me, then.’

At his clipped reply, she dragged her wayward eyes up to his. He didn’t recognise her. Good. ‘So now we’re even.’

He frowned. ‘How do you figure that?’

She knew him? Ignoring the cramped muscles from the rain-lashed drive up from Surfers and the headache battering away inside his skull, Blake searched his memory while he studied her. No hardship there.

He hadn’t been this close to a woman in a while, let alone one as attractive as this little redhead. After the navy’s testosterone-fuelled environment, she smelled like paradise. In the yellow light her hair shone brighter than a distress flare and her eyes were the clear translucent green of a tropical lagoon, but, just as the pristine-looking beaches he routinely assessed hid potential and possibly lethal dangers, there was a storm brewing behind that gaze.

And no wonder—the old man had obviously neglected to inform her that it wasn’t his boat to rent out. Ten years ago when his mother had died, Blake had bought it from him to help get his father out of debt and to secure himself a quiet and solitary place to stay when he was on leave in Australia. He’d not been back since.

‘I understand if you’re renting. I’ve been overseas and my father—’

‘I’m not renting. My brother bought this boat from your dad three years ago. It belongs to our family now. This is my home so. so you’ll need to find somewhere else.’

‘Your brother bought the boat …’ He remembered the less-than-considered transaction and an ominous foreboding tracked up his spine. He should’ve known better than to trust a gambling addict—

‘Jared Sanderson.’

Jared? The familiar name spoken in that stiletto-sharp voice sliced through his thoughts and he looked her over more thoroughly. The tousled bedroom hair, those aquamarine eyes and luxurious lips pulled down at the corners as she stared back at him. He’d lost contact with his long-time surfing buddy but he remembered the little sister …

‘You’re Melissa.’ Still tiny in stature but all grown up and curvaceous and looking. different from the kid he remembered. Disturbingly so. Blood pumped a tad faster through his veins. Don’t go there.

He flicked his eyes back to hers, catching a glimpse of generous breasts and smooth ivory décolletage on the way, before she jammed her arms in front of her. He didn’t miss the remnant shadows in her gaze. ‘I apologise for scaring you, Melissa. I should’ve knocked.’

‘It’s Lissa now. And yes, you should have.’

Her mouth pouted in that sulky way he remembered but tonight, rather than amused, he found himself oddly captivated. ‘Lissa.’

She seemed to shake off the sulk. ‘Okay, you just stripped five years off my life but apology accepted. And I didn’t ring the police.’ She lifted one delicate shoulder and gave a wry grimace. ‘Phone’s dead.’ She blinked up at him, still wary. ‘So what are you doing here?’

‘A man can’t come home after fourteen years?’ He didn’t elaborate. Now was not the time to ponder the demons that had sent him home to re-evaluate the universe and his place and purpose in it.

She shook her head. ‘I mean what are you doing here, on the houseboat?’

‘I thought I owned the houseboat.’ Conned by his own father. He clenched his jaw. He should have made the effort to see his old man earlier today before driving up here but he hadn’t needed the inevitable angst it would’ve entailed.

‘No. You can’t …’ She frowned, confusion adding to the clouds in her eyes. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s a long complicated story.’ He rubbed absently at the tiny scratch beneath his chin.

‘I’m sorry … about that.’ She glanced at his throat and a pretty pink colour swam into her cheeks. ‘I’ll just get some—’

‘Don’t bother. I’m fine.’

But he didn’t push the point as he watched her move to a cupboard and reach up … and up. Her shell-pink dressing gown grazed the tops of her thighs. Sleek, firm, creamy thighs that looked as if they’d been kissed by the sun.

Kissed. The word conjured a scenario he was better off not dwelling on but his lips tingled nonetheless. He ogled her spectacular rear without apology while she dragged out a box with assorted medication and pulled out a tube.

‘This should …’ She turned, catching him staring. He did not look away. It was the best view he’d seen in a long time. The colour in her cheeks intensified, bleeding into her throat. She thrust the tube at him, then, as if mortally afraid of skin contact, set it on the table beside them. ‘There you go.’

‘Thanks.’

She hesitated, as if finding the last minute or so discomforting in the extreme and determined to banish it from her mind, then said, ‘Your long complicated story. I’m listening.’

He let out a slow breath, then said, ‘Tomorrow I’ll go back to Surfers, sort it out with Dad then discuss it with Jared. It’ll be okay,’ he assured her. He’d reimburse his old friend for the money he’d paid and help Melissa—Lissa—find alternative accommodation.

‘It’ll be okay, how? Jared purchased the boat when your father sold the home in Surfers and moved south. New South Wales, I think … No one knows exactly …’

It didn’t come as a surprise. He acknowledged being left to discover the news about his father’s apparent disappearance through another party with a shrug. ‘I guess I already knew that.’

He’d paid his father cash for the boat the day he left Australia, but he’d not actually signed anything … and the paperwork had never followed as promised.

When Blake had rung to query it, he discovered the phones had been disconnected and the emails began bouncing back … The old man hadn’t been above using his son to suit his own purposes. Again, no surprise there.

‘So … am I right then in assuming you own the house too?’ She waved a hand towards the window. Outside, the predicted storm had set in. The rain had turned into a downpour, partially obscuring the view and pelting the roof and decking.

He nodded. He’d purchased what had been the family’s luxury holiday house when he’d bought the houseboat. He’d gone through the bank to finance the deal and had the land title for that, at least, safely locked away.

‘So why opt for the houseboat tonight when you have a more than adequate alternative?’ she asked with a frown.

Despite having employed a service to stock the fridge and air the linen, he’d been unable to find the relaxation he needed to recuperate in the house. Too much space, too many rooms. Too many memories.

He’d lugged an old army bedroll he’d found in storage down to the waterfront hoping the familiar marine environment and solitude would help with the infernal headaches he’d suffered since the accident that had brought him back to Australia. Seemed he’d lucked out in both instances there too.

‘I was hoping to catch up on some sleep.’ He’d not expected to find a bed mate.

Her eyes widened, a hint of panic in their depths as they met his. ‘But since I’m here already, you’re going back up to the house, right?’

That had been his initial intention. Except. now his immediate plans for the night had been dashed he found he wasn’t as tired as he’d thought and in no immediate hurry to bid the lovely Lissa Sanderson goodnight.

No, that wasn’t quite correct, he decided. His body was telling him to stay and get reacquainted, to absorb that feminine scent until his pores were saturated, to touch her arm again and feel that soft skin against his. His body had very definite ideas about where it wanted the evening to go.

His head was saying something else entirely.

His head didn’t lead him astray. His diving team knew his reputation for remaining cool under pressure even in the most perilous situations.

Women were more likely to describe him as emotionally detached right before they slammed a door of some description in his face.

Either way, that was why he was good at his job and why he knew that Lissa Sanderson with her feminine curves and clear-eyed gaze that seemed to know exactly where his thoughts were going was trouble best avoided. For both parties.

Steeling himself for a restless night, he focused on that gaze. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you in peace. For now.’

‘For now?’ She stared at him, eyes huge and incredulous. ‘This is my home.’ Desperation scored her voice. ‘You don’t understand … I need this place.’

‘Calm down, for heaven’s sake.’ Women. Always overreacting. ‘We’ll sort something out.’ He glanced about him for the first time, remembering how the boat had looked years ago when his father had owned it. When Blake had lived on it.

Now a blue couch sagging beneath the weight of a jumble of boxes—some open, others taped shut—sat where there’d once been a leather lounge suite. Except for the addition of a microwave, the galley remained unchanged. If you didn’t count the slather of paperwork on the bench. His gaze snagged on a final notice for payment for something or other attached to the fridge door with a magnet. None of his business.

Every square centimetre of the boat was crammed with stuff. Canvases against the wall beside an old tin of artists’ brushes, another of charcoals and pencils. The bunk beds beyond were covered in swatches of fabric, colour palettes, magazines, wallpaper books. How did anyone live amidst such chaos?

Maybe it was the calming floral scents that pervaded the air or the potted herbs on a shelf near the window, but somewhere beneath the domestic carnage the place had a. comfortable cosiness. He’d not experienced anything like it since he’d been a youngster living with his mum, and wondered grimly if he could find sleep here after all.

He should leave the area entirely. Find somewhere else to rent along the coast somewhere while he was in Oz and forget he’d ever seen Melissa Sanderson. Solitude was what he wanted. What he craved until he felt halfway sane again.

A steady drip nearby diverted his attention, a silver teardrop followed quickly by another against the light, and he glanced up. Obviously the leak had been there for some time judging by the half-full container beneath it. He’d been too preoccupied with everything else to notice. Now he scanned other damp patches. ‘How long’s this been going on?’

She glanced up at the ceiling, then away. ‘Not long. I can manage, it’s nothing.’ Instantly defensive.

Interesting. If he remembered correctly, the young Melissa had been anything but independent. Or so it had seemed. ‘Nothing? Look up, sweet cheeks. If water gets into that light socket there we’ve got a problem.’

He saw her glance up, then frown. Clearly she hadn’t noticed the extent of the damage. He looked at the puddle near her feet lapping around the base of the fridge. ‘Don’t you know electricity and water don’t mix?’

‘Of course I do,’ she snapped. ‘And it’s I’ve got a problem, not we.’

He shook his head. ‘Right now I don’t care whose problem it is, the boat’s unsafe—for any number of reasons.’ Now he’d seen the potential disaster he couldn’t in all good conscience just leave her here to fend for herself and go back to bed, could he?

As if to make a point, a flash sizzled the air, accompanied by one almighty crash of thunder that reverberated between his ears in time with his throbbing head.

‘That’s it.’ He rapped impatient knuckles on the table. ‘Two minutes to grab what you need. You’re sleeping in the house.’




CHAPTER TWO


‘IBEG your pardon?’ Lissa glared at him. It was hard to glare when faced with such gorgeousness, but she was through taking orders. From anyone. Ever again. ‘I’m no—’

‘Your choice, Lissa. You can come as you are if you prefer, it’s irrelevant to me.’ His supercool gaze cruised down her body making her hot in all the wrong places. ‘Just thought you might want a change of clothes.’

Then he stepped closer and she flinched involuntarily as memories of another man crowded in on her. Big, intimidating. Abusive. She’d thought she loved him once.

Shoving the sharp spasm away, she pushed at his chest. ‘Personal space, if you don’t mind.’ He was warm, hard. Tempting to forget past fears and let her hand wander … to feel the beat of his heart against her palm. Heat shimmied up her arm and her own heart skipped a beat. She dropped her hand immediately, lifted her chin. ‘I’m staying right here. On this boat,’ she clarified quickly since they were still standing way too close. ‘I should be here … in case something happens.’

‘Something’s going to happen all right if you don’t get your butt into gear and move.’

She bristled at the commanding tone but he backed off. Still, she knew without a doubt, he meant what he said. And she hated to admit that he was right; what would she do if water started leaking through the light socket? Or worse. She’d never known such a downpour. The situation was much more dangerous than when she’d gone to bed. More dignified to acquiesce with whatever grace she could summon up.

‘Fine, then,’ she said crisply, over her shoulder as she turned and walked to her bedroom. ‘You stay here and keep an eye on things.’

‘I intend to.’ His voice boomed down the narrow passage.

Oh. Really? Obviously this superhero was immune to the dangers he’d so helpfully pointed out. Well, that suited her fine. She had enough problems without adding gorgeous male to the list.

She plucked the jeans and the T-shirt she’d worn today from the bottom of the bed, considered changing but decided against it. Stripping now with him only a few steps away would put her in a vulnerable situation, and she knew all too much about vulnerable situations.

‘So, what, storms bounce off you, then?’ she tossed back, grabbing basic toiletries and shoving them in a carry-all.

No reply from the other end of the boat but she could almost hear him: I can look after myself.

And she couldn’t? She hurried back to the kitchen with her gear and came to a breathless stop a few steps away from him. Breathless because the impact of seeing him standing in her small living space all distant dark protector sucked her breath clean away. No, not all dark, she noted, because his eyes were cool, cool blue.

But they were still barriers. And he was still the intense brooding Blake she remembered from all those years ago. ‘I’m not that helpless little thirteen-year-old any more.’ Her cheeks stung with embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to remind him.

A muscle tightened in his jaw and his gaze flickered over her, the merest glint of heat in the cool. ‘I’m better off alone. That way I don’t have to worry about you slipping and breaking a leg and drowning in the process.’

‘I do know how to swim.’ She thought vaguely that she’d like to sketch him now, with the lines of maturity settled around his mouth, around his eyes. Those sharp planes and angles of cheekbones and jaw—

He shook his head. ‘You may not be helpless but I’m betting you’re as stubborn as ever,’ he muttered.

Stubborn? ‘How would you know how I was?’ She could do cool too. Iceberg-cool. ‘I didn’t exist to you.’ She stepped away. Turned to the bunk beds against the wall. ‘But yes, I’m very stubborn where my work’s concerned. I have merchandise here I need to protect from the weather. should anything happen.’

‘I’ll take care of it.’

‘Nice offer, but I don’t want it to get wet.’ She dragged a couple of plastic storage containers from beneath the lower bunk. ‘If you really insist on this … evacuation … all of this has to be stored and brought to the house.’

‘All?’ He sounded doubtful. ‘Do you really need it all?’

‘Every last fabric swatch. My work depends on it. I’m an interior designer.’ Unemployed interior designer at present, but he didn’t need to know that.

‘Come on, then, let me give you a hand.’

‘Fine,’ she clipped, packing the containers swiftly, anxious not to have him too close. His proximity was unnerving her; his musky warm scent was making her itch. ‘If you could get those sketch pads.’ She waved him away. ‘There are plastic bags …’

It took them a few minutes to pack everything up.

‘I’ll bring the rest up to the house after we’ve got you settled.’ He had to raise his voice above the rain drumming overhead.

Settled? Hardly. She straightened, a container beneath one arm, her carry-all over a shoulder. If he wanted to play Mr Protector, so long as her stuff was safe from rain, she’d put up with it.

‘Thanks.’ Said grudgingly. She really did not want his assistance. Slipping into her rubber thong sandals by the back door, she slid the glass open and stepped onto the deck. A torrent of water slammed into her where it should be dry and she glanced up at the flapping canvas. She might not want his help, but she was forced to admit she needed it.

She stepped onto the jetty, Blake following behind her with a load of plastic-protected work. Her thongs slapped wetly as she made her way past the sapphire pool edged with moss-covered boulders, the palm-fringed undercover entertainment area to the wide glassed door.

Over the past couple of years she’d watched the beautiful house and its parade of beautiful people come and go. Now it was her turn to get a good look inside. It wouldn’t be so bad to sleep in such luxury for a change, would it? And from a designer’s point of view she couldn’t wait to see the décor.

Didn’t mean she had to like the arrangement but at least it was dry. She waited for him to come up alongside her and unlock the door, then followed him inside. He flicked a switch and light flooded the magnificent home.

She gazed up at the bright source of illumination. A myriad of tiny crystal spheres exploded from a central orb, splattering rainbows across the room.

Open-plan living gave it an airy atmosphere. The honeyed wood-panelled ceiling slanted high over two storeys, with a staircase against a feature wall in the same treacle tones leading to the upper rooms. White-tiled flooring merged with the white walls giving the impression of space. A black leather lounge with cushions in lime and tangerine tones was positioned against the exterior slate wall. The minimal furniture was teak and glass.

Stunning. But impersonal and maybe a little dated. It had been rented out for years to wealthy international jet-setters and lacked that lived-in ambience. A tingle of excitement lifted her. Maybe she’d ask if he wanted to redecorate.

They offloaded the stuff in one corner.

‘I’ll go back for the rest in a moment,’ he said, already walking towards the stairs.

As he led her to the mezzanine floor she admired a wall of rich wooden patchwork. She did not admire the shape of his taut backside encased in those hip-hugging black jeans—she imagined a painting or feature of some sort in soothing blues on the wall instead.

She thought of all the times she’d looked at the house and never known Blake owned it. In fact, she hadn’t thought about Blake in a while. But now … now it was as if those intervening years had never happened. Her feelings were as bright and strong as they’d been back then. And just as futile. But they zinged through her body and settled low in her abdomen at the prospect of dreaming about him again. They’d always been such. interesting dreams.

He indicated an expansive room with thick cream carpet and a mountain of quilt in striped olive green and black. The glossy black furniture was devoid of the usual knick-knacks. The window looked out onto the house next door and a view of the river. But not the houseboat.

Perhaps he’d chosen it intentionally, she thought as she walked past him and set her bag and clothing on a silk-covered boutique chair next to a chest of drawers. No way to spy on him. No way to drool over him and think lustful thoughts while she watched him work. Bare-chested, his skin gleaming, those rippling muscles—

‘Shower’s through there.’ He spoke behind her. ‘I haven’t looked yet but I’m informed the pantry’s been filled today so help yourself to breakfast in the morning.’

Breakfast. A sudden tension gripped her. She hoped Blake didn’t decide to look in her pantry or her fridge because she hadn’t stocked up for a week. She’d been skimping on meals, counting her last dollars. Breakfast was a luxury she’d managed without. And she loved breakfast.

Blake looked like a man with a large appetite. A breakfast-with-the-lot kind of appetite. In fact the way he was watching her, eyes kind of slumberous, lips slightly parted, he looked hungry right now.

Hungry enough to take a bite out of her … No. Bad thought. Her stomach turned an instant somersault and she licked suddenly dry lips before she realised she’d drawn his attention to them.

‘I don’t normally eat breakfast,’ she lied. ‘My cupboards are a bit Mother Hubbard at the moment.’ So don’t bother looking. ‘Why don’t you join me here in the morning?’ Why don’t you stop staring and say something?

‘I was planning to walk into town and grab something there.’

Okay, so he didn’t want to be anywhere near her. Humiliation vied with embarrassment and she was that attention-seeking thirteen-year old again. ‘Suit yourself.’ She huffed silently. Now she even sounded like a thirteen-year-old, all wounded pride and disgruntlement. She’d always acted differently around him. Why hadn’t that changed?

To her chagrin, after all these years she was still allowing him to affect her. Helpless to stop all those teenage emotions exploding into her mind like big red paint splotches on a blank wall. As if time had wound backwards. As if he’d never left.

Disgusted with herself, she was already turning away when he touched her shoulder. A feather-light touch, barely there. So gentle. So sensual. She imagined suddenly, and with devastating clarity, how it might feel if her shoulder were bare and it were his lips rather than his hand. Heat blossomed where his palm rested and she jerked to a startled stop.

‘But since we’ve a few matters to discuss …’ he began in a neutral tone that belied the fact that his fingers sculpted over her shoulder were pressing ever so slightly into her flesh or that his thumb was creating tiny circles of friction on the back of her neck ‘.breakfast might be a good place to start.’

And for a few unguarded seconds she found herself relaxing into the sensations he was creating. The fresh scent of the soap he’d used to wash his hands. The shimmer of heat down her back from his body—No. She pulled away. ‘All right.’ Spoken coolly as she swung to face him. His hand slipped off her shoulder and she almost sighed at the loss. ‘How do you like your eggs?’

‘You’re going to cook?’

He looked so surprised, she had to grin. ‘I do know how these days.’ And she had every intention of being up and dressed and prepared before he arrived.

He nodded without a glimmer of humour. ‘Shall we say oh six hundred?’

‘Make it seven.’ She needed time to acquaint herself with the kitchen.

‘Seven, then. I’ll rescue the rest of your gear then take a look at the boat. Do you have anything I can use for repairs?’

‘Try on the deck by the door. Under the tarp.’

He nodded. ‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight. And be careful.’

‘I’m always careful.’

She watched him turn and walk away. Was he? What about Janine Baker? a little voice whispered. Janine had left town too and Lissa had never heard, nor asked, what had happened to her or her baby.

She was still watching when he turned back. ‘And the eggs.? I like them hard.’

‘That makes it easy, so do I.’

She had the distinct feeling neither of them were talking about eggs.

As soon as she heard the front door close she headed for a better view of the river. And Blake. She found it in the master bedroom. With the living-room lighting spilling onto the rain-swept patio, she watched him stride swiftly down the path. Past the pool. Along the jetty. A tall, impressive masculine figure, an image no less powerful than when he’d been standing outside her door as a possible intruder. And no less unsettling.

When he’d disappeared onto the deck, she turned and gazed at the room. The light from the hallway slanted onto the rumpled king-sized bed, the upper sheet twisted and hanging off one side. The imprint of his head on the pillow had her stomach fluttering with the kind of nervous excitement he’d always instilled in her whenever she’d thought of him.

She crushed a hand against her middle and ordered herself to settle down. He’d been sleeping in here. Or trying to. What had made him up and leave such comfort and seek out the houseboat in the middle of the night? Bad dreams? Or physical pain—she’d seen it behind his eyes, hard and brittle as if he’d been fighting it a while.

Or was he missing a special woman that he’d left behind in some foreign country?

She looked about for some hint. His open bag lay on the floor against a wall, clothes neatly stacked inside. A pile of sail-boat brochures were stacked on the dresser along with his passport and some loose change. She was so tempted to look at his passport and see where he’d been, but she couldn’t bring herself to invade his privacy.

Instead, hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved to the bed and picked up his pillow, closed her eyes and breathed in. It smelled of sunshine with a subtle whiff of masculine scent that she’d come into close proximity with earlier. It had been a long time, but she remembered that smell. Blake. A moan started low in her stomach and rose up her throat—

‘Everything okay here?’

Oh, God. Her heart jumped into her mouth. Oh, no. Her knees almost buckled from under her and her eyes snapped open though she’d rather they’d stayed shut. Then she could have imagined herself invisible instead of seeing Blake standing in the doorway, one arm on the doorjamb, head cocked to one side. His dark figure blocked the light from the hall. She had no idea what his expression was, or what he must be thinking, but it couldn’t be good.

‘Yep. Everything’s fine.’ Forcing a smile, she stepped away from the bed. ‘I … ah … wanted to check the boat was still afloat.’ She laughed; too bright, too high. ‘Silly, I know …’ But you already have that opinion about me. ‘I’m … just grabbing an extra pillow on the way if that’s okay. Was there something you wanted?’

And how dumb was she, how reckless, standing next to his bed in the semi-darkness in her mini nightgown and asking that question? Not that he noticed … or did he? He wore a bemused expression and she pressed her lips together before she got herself into even more trouble.

‘My phone.’ He turned on the light, regarded her a moment longer then switched his attention to the empty night stand and frowned. ‘You haven’t seen it, have you? I’m sure I left it here somewhere.’

She shook her head. ‘Perhaps you knocked it onto the floor.’

‘Or perhaps you did,’ he pointed out. Faintly accusing.

Anxious to move this beyond-embarrassing situation right along and leave, she dropped the pillow on the bed and sank gratefully to her knees to hide her flaming cheeks.

‘Is it there?’

‘Um …’

‘Do you need a hand?’

Oh, yes, please. The impact of those somewhat ambiguous words spoken in that low sexy drawl invoked an image she was better off not thinking about. ‘Ah …’ Her fingers closed over smooth plastic. ‘Found it.’

Blake heard her muffled reply as he watched her silk-draped bottom wriggle backwards. She had it all right: the perfect backside. He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It had been a long time since he’d seen anything so. spectacular.

The last time he’d seen her she’d been a skinny thirteen and a blusher. Still was apparently. Her curtain of auburn hair obscured her face but he knew without a doubt that her cheeks matched it. She could be telling him the truth about the pillow and the boat but he seriously doubted it.

She was attracted to him.

Jared’s little sister. Jared’s very attractive, very sexy little sister.

She pushed up, held his phone at one end as if it were red hot.

‘Thank you.’

‘Sure.’

If she felt that zing when his fingers came into contact with hers, she didn’t show it. She smoothed her hair behind her ears, straightened and met his gaze almost defiantly. Pink-cheeked and pretty.

Not words that normally came to his mind, but they suited Lissa. His chest cramped in an odd way. Sitting too long in the one position, he assured himself.

A scowl tightened his facial muscles and he studied his phone, pressed a couple of buttons. He didn’t do pink and pretty and its association with hearts and flowers and ever afters. It wasn’t for guys like him, always on the move. What was more, he didn’t need it. Way too problematic.

Hot and fast and uncomplicated—that was what he needed. And by crikey, he thought, his lower body suddenly hard as rock, he needed it soon.

‘Got someone special waiting for you to ring, huh?’

His head jerked up. ‘You always did get straight to the point, didn’t you? I need to make a few calls.’ A plumber and an electrician for starters. But it could wait till morning. ‘Your tools are worse than useless. I’ve secured the tarp over the main leak for now. Are you even aware of the state of the roofing?’

She looked away. ‘I was going to get around to it.’

Yeah? When? ‘I’ll organise something for tomorrow.’ He turned and walked to the door. A thought occurred to him and he turned back. and his mind went blank.

She was holding his pillow by one corner and staring at him. He imagined himself walking over there and taking it from her hands, leaning close and breathing in the scent of her neck. Feeling the silky heat of her flesh against his knuckles as he untied her sash and slid the dressing gown from her shoulders before laying her down and letting her help him forget why he’d come home.

But pink and pretty didn’t deserve to be used in that way. She didn’t deserve to be used in that way.

She arched a brow, waiting, and he realised that he’d been about to ask a question before he’d been blindsided. ‘Are you working tomorrow?’

She hesitated, looking uncertain. ‘No. Not tomorrow.’

She also sounded vague. ‘Are you sure?’ he prompted. ‘You’re not thinking of playing hooky, are you? Because—’

‘Because you’re here to take care of everything and not to worry my pretty little head over it?’

Right. He wouldn’t have said it in quite that way but, yep, that pretty much summed it up.

She made a dismissive snort and didn’t look the least bit impressed. She had that sulky pout going on again.

He didn’t see the problem. Protection came naturally to him. Other women would be grateful for his assistance. And only too willing to show that gratitude. In any number of ways.

Not Melissa Sanderson apparently.

‘Okay. Fine.’Whatever you say.

But there was something she wasn’t saying, he could see it in the way she evaded his eyes. He also remembered the almost hunted gaze from earlier and the way she’d pushed at him. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then,’ he clipped. ‘Oh, and if you’re looking for a spare pillow, there are three other bedrooms to choose from.’

As he walked out into the stormy night he wondered whether she had, in fact, planned to sleep in his bed. The thought of that soft satiny skin on his sheets and that alluring feminine scent on his pillow smouldered through his bloodstream. Lengthening his stride, he distanced himself as quickly as possible.




CHAPTER THREE


BLAKE carried the rest of her decorating gear up to the house, then returned to see what he could do about the mess. He swapped the small container beneath the now free-flowing drip for a bucket and snatched up a newspaper from beside the couch to absorb the water on the floor.

As he spread it out he noticed an ad for a retail assistant’s job in a beachwear shop circled in a red felt-tipped pen then crossed out with ‘TOO LATE’ scrawled beneath it and a sad face. Hadn’t Lissa said she was an interior designer?

Was that why she wasn’t working tomorrow? Because she didn’t have a job? He glanced over to the final notice on the fridge door. Obviously she was in financial difficulty and just as obviously she hadn’t told Jared because if he knew his old mate, no way would he have let this situation arise. No job and inadequate accommodation. Dangerously inadequate accommodation.

Bloody hell.

Blake had inherited a duty of care here. Not only because it came naturally to him but because Jared had been his closest mate, the brother he’d never had. As a young teenager, when neither of his parents cared whether he even came home at night, Jared had been there. Until his friend had taken on the heavy responsibility of parenting. It was no wonder he’d done such a good job with his sisters.

The rain continued to pelt down while he surveyed the deck once more. Nope. Useless to try doing anything more until the storm blew out to sea. He went inside to ensure all the windows were closed, located the fuse box and turned the power off.

Then he stood on deck a moment, glaring at the house while water sluiced down his face and soaked down to his skin. He needed the chill factor. The fire in his groin, which had been smouldering since he’d first laid eyes on Lissa, had morphed into a raging inferno the instant he’d seen her nose buried in his pillow.

Hell, he needed more than wind and water to douse the flames. He needed a woman.

And now he was going to have to try and sleep up there after all, knowing one very attractive, very sexy woman was a few quick steps away down the hall.

The strip of golden sand was strewn with shells, driftwood and dead palm leaves where the rainforest met the sea. An azure sky, the air laden with the pungent smells of lush vegetation and decaying marine life. It should have been a tourist paradise.

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.’




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