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One Good Reason
Sarah Mayberry



Jon had touched her—in a very possessive male way.
Gabby’s heartbeat thumped in her ears as she marched to her office. She could still feel the heat of his big hand burning through the seat of her khakis as he’d steadied her on the ladder.
It had taken every ounce of self-control to tell him to unhand her. What she’d really wanted was to grab him by his shirt and, well, explore all those urges his touch had instantly brought to life.
While she might not like him, she was wise enough to understand that it wasn’t always about liking the other person. Sometimes it was about pure animal attraction.
And when it came to Jon, it was very clear the animal in her liked the animal in him.
Dear Reader,
I loved writing The Last Goodbye—which is Tyler’s story—and I loved, loved, loved writing Jon’s story in One Good Reason. I didn’t set out to write a sequel. I created Gabby as Tyler’s conscience and friend, but somehow, almost as soon as she appeared she morphed into an ex-girlfriend who, maybe, still cared too much. Then I gave Tyler a brother, because I didn’t want him to be alone in his childhood, and along came Jon.
By the time I’d finished Tyler and Ally’s story, I knew that Jon and Gabby had to meet each other. A guy like Jon with hyper-protective instincts and a woman like Gabby who is determined to make her own way in the world seemed destined to be together from where I sat. Not that either of them were ever going to be aware of that! That would take all the fun out of it.
I’d like to think that while One Good Reason has some definite heavy moments—an abusive parent is no laughing matter—there is plenty of light and tenderness and love and hope amongst the hard stuff. People are hugely resilient, and love is a great healer.
I hope you enjoy reading Jon and Gabby’s story. I love to hear from readers via my website at www.sarahmayberry.com.
Until next time, happy reading!
Sarah Mayberry

About the Author
SARAH MAYBERRY lives by the seaside in Melbourne, Australia. She has recently married her partner of eighteen years and is enjoying their new home and fabulous but exhausting garden. Her goal for the next year is to learn how to prune the thirty-two different fruit and nut trees on their property and to be more organized. When she’s not writing, she loves to cook, sleep, shop, read and watch movies. She really wishes going to the gym made it onto the “loves” list, but she makes herself go anyway. Long live ice cream!

One Good Reason
Sarah Mayberry









www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
I have to thank my husband for his endless patience
with me while I was writing this book.
That deadline was some doozy, my darling, but you fed
and watered me and mopped my fevered brow and I
thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness
and support.
Where would I be without you?
In my book, you are the ultimate hero.
I also want to thank Wanda for her endless faith in me—
you said I could do it and I did. Phew!

PROLOGUE
January
JON ADAMSON WOKE WITH A START. Someone was in his room. A heartbeat later, he was on his feet, fists raised, every muscle tense as he squared up to the intruder.
“Mate.” His brother held up his hands, took a step backward. “It’s just me.”
Jon dropped his fists. “You should have knocked.”
“I did.” Tyler’s gaze flicked to the half-empty bottle of bourbon beside the bed. “Several times.”
The light was hazy in the room. Jon tried to guess the time. Nine in the morning? Ten? He reached for the jeans he’d dumped at the end of the bed when he’d finally crashed last night.
“I was up pretty late.”
He wasn’t about to offer explanations for the bourbon or anything else. A man could have a few drinks at the end of the day. Besides, Tyler was the younger brother—it was Jon’s job to be the heavy, not the other way around.
“What are you doing up this way?” he asked as he stepped into his jeans.
Jon had been back in Australia, living in their late father’s house in the rural Victorian town of Woodend for eleven months now. Tyler lived an hour and a half away in Melbourne, so the two of them didn’t cross paths very often. Not that that would have changed even if they were geographically closer. They’d never been the kind of brothers who lived in each other’s pockets—witness the ten years Jon had spent in Canada.
“I hadn’t heard from you for a while. Thought I’d better check in.”
Jon pulled his T-shirt over his head, aware of the unspoken questions behind his brother’s words.
Why didn’t you return my phone messages? What’s going on?
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, I saw that. When did you knock down the wall between the kitchen and living room?”
“Figured both rooms would benefit from the light. It’s all about open plan these days.”
“What happened to tidying up the yard and giving the place a lick of paint before we listed it?”
“If you’re that desperate for the money, I can get a valuation done. Pay out your half.”
“It’s not about the money.”
Jon walked toward the door. “Yeah? What’s it about, then?”
Tyler followed him to the kitchen. Jon had pulled up the old linoleum tiles and the boards were rough beneath his feet. He sidestepped the hole where he’d removed a rotten plank and crossed to the sink. Turning on the tap, he sluiced handfuls of cold water onto his face.
Tyler was looking around, inspecting the gaping holes in the plaster where the kitchen cabinets had once hung. The only remaining features of the original kitchen was the sink unit, the freestanding stove and the fridge. And they’d be gone any day now, too.
“I suppose you’ve gutted the bathroom, too?”
“Everything except the toilet and shower recess.”
Tyler’s gaze was knowing. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to knock the place down?”
“I’m fixing it up for resale. We both agreed it needed work before we put it on the market.”
“Mate, you’re demolishing it from the inside out.”
“The kitchen needed updating. The bloody thing hadn’t been touched since the fifties. And the bathroom was leaking into the subfloor. You can see the joists I had to replace if you want to.”
Tyler didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away, either.
Jon could feel his hackles rising. Tyler was making a big deal out of this, reading things into Jon’s actions. Whatever Tyler thought was going on, he was wrong. Way wrong.
Jon crossed his arms over his chest, widened his stance. “I’m doing you and Ally a favor. You’ll make a lot more with this place fixed up than you would have if we’d put it on the market as it was.”
“Will you quit it with the money? I don’t give a damn how much we make. I’m here because of you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah? You looked in a mirror lately? When was the last time you shaved or had a haircut?”
Jon brushed a hand over his bristly jaw. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to eat? Because you look like a bag of bones.”
“I’m fine.”
“Which is why Ally got a call from Wendy in the middle of the night on Monday, telling her it sounded like you were holding a demolition derby.”
Wendy was the next-door neighbor. Until this moment, Jon had thought she was all right. He’d even tried to talk her into bed a few times, but she was seeing some computer guy.
“I was taking the wall out,” Jon said.
“At two in the morning?”
“If I woke her, I’ll apologize.”
“And what about all the bottles in the recycling bin?”
Jon’s eyes narrowed. His brother was quite the amateur sleuth. “I’d say that gets filed under ‘none of your business,’ same as everything else.”
“Doesn’t work that way, sorry. I’m not going to stand by and watch you kill yourself over an old bastard who wasn’t worth it.”
“This has nothing to do with him.” But he could barely get the words past the sudden tightness in his throat.
“You think if you change enough of this place it’ll change what happened?”
“I think you’ve been living with an advice columnist for too long.”
Tyler eyed him for a long beat. Then he tilted his head to one side and nodded slowly, a gesture which Jon read as conceding defeat.
Good. He didn’t need a keeper.
As for the things Tyler had said … This had nothing to do with the old man. It had nothing to do with anything.
“I told Ally you wouldn’t listen,” Tyler said.
He crossed to the kitchen door and collected something from the hall.
An overnight bag.
It took a moment for the penny to drop.
“No,” Jon said.
“I figure if we both pitch in, we can get this place finished in a few weeks. Get it on the market. Then you can go back to Toronto or wherever. Get away from here.”
Jon swore. “I don’t want you here.”
“Tough.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Then stop acting like you do.”
Jon breathed in slowly through his nose and out through his mouth. It didn’t make much difference—he still wanted to smash a hole in something.
He strode across the room, picked up the overnight bag. Started for the door. Maybe once he’d tossed Tyler’s gear into the street his brother would get the message that his intervention was neither welcome nor necessary.
Tyler blocked his path. Jon stopped short of barging into his brother’s shoulder. He met Tyler’s gaze. There was determination there. And something else.
Compassion.
It made Jon’s hand curl into a fist.
“Get out of my way.”
“I’m not leaving unless you come with me,” Tyler said. “Come to Melbourne, move into the spare room. Get away from this place.”
“Get out of my way.”
Tyler didn’t move. Jon reached to push his brother out of his path. Tyler resisted, grabbing a fistful of Jon’s T-shirt as he attempted to hold him off. Years ago, Jon would have been able to shift his brother easily, but Tyler was a man now, and they’d both inherited their father’s big build.
Jon braced his legs, shoving harder. Tyler shoved back. For long moments they struggled, locked together. In any other fight, it would have come to blows by now, but Jon was not going to throw a punch at his brother.
Not in this house.
“Move,” Jon demanded.
“He’s dead. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not worth it. Not in a million years.”
A surge of anger gave Jon new strength. He wrenched his brother to the side. Shoved past him and into the hall and out the door.
The air was cool on his face, the grass still damp from the morning dew. He dropped the bag on the ground and stood half-turned away from the house, chest heaving from the exertion, aware of his brother in the open doorway, watching him.
This wasn’t about his father. Jon refused to let him hold that much power over him. He was simply making the most of the house. Fulfilling its potential. It was what he did—he was a builder. He made homes for people. Until recently he’d co-owned a construction company in Toronto. This was business as usual.
His gaze found the recycling bin, filled to overflowing with various liquor bottles.
Too many bottles for one person. Way too many.
He swore. Ran a hand through his hair, fisting his fingers in it and pulling so tightly that it hurt.
Why couldn’t Tyler have left him here to rot, or whatever it was he was doing? Why couldn’t Tyler have left him to battle it out on his own with the ghost of a dead man?
He laughed, a short, hard bark of bitter amusement.
If this really was a battle, according to the tide of bottles spilling onto the lawn, he was making a pretty poor showing. He was in full retreat, utterly routed, on his way to surrender.
Tyler’s hand landed on his shoulder.
“Let’s patch it up and sell it. Then never look back.”
Jon knew his brother was right but he hated the understanding in his voice. He twisted from under his brother’s grip. Moved away from him.
“We should focus on the kitchen, knock it off first. The bathroom won’t need too much time if we stick to the original layout.”
Carefully not looking at his brother, he strode toward the house.

CHAPTER ONE
March
GABBY WADE BELTED OUT THE chorus to Sinéad O’Connor’s classic “Nothing Compares 2 U” as she pulled into her usual parking spot in front of T.A. Furniture Designs, her voice echoing loudly in the small space. She waited until the final notes of the song had faded before turning off the ignition with a contented sigh.
There was nothing better than a really good angst-ridden ballad to kick off a Monday morning, and no one was better at it than Sinéad. Gabby grabbed her bag then twisted to collect the jumbo box of doughnuts from the backseat. The smell of chocolate and strawberry wafted to her as she walked toward the showroom door. It was barely eight o’clock, so the entrance was still locked, and she balanced the box on her knee as she struggled to get her key in the lock. The doughnuts nearly hit the dust before she got the door open, but she managed to keep her grip on them. Not that it would have made much difference to the guys—they would probably eat cardboard if it had chocolate frosting on it. A little gravel would hardly put them off.
She locked up behind her, then passed through the showroom, making a mental note to rearrange the display sometime this week. Even though she was officially only the office manager, she’d been stepping into sales a lot more lately and a static showroom wasn’t doing anyone any favors.
Heaven knew, Tyler was too distracted these days to notice those kinds of things. It was just as well she had his back.
The sharp whine of a power saw hit her as she entered the workshop. Dino was ripping some red gum, and Paul was setting up the router to bevel the edge on a cherry dining table. Carl was marking up some wood, squinting like crazy because he still refused to admit he needed glasses.
“Morning, boys,” Gabby hollered over the noise.
Dino grunted without looking up, while Carl ignored her altogether. Paul glanced up briefly, throwing her a token wave. She waited for his brain to register what she held in her hands.
One cat-dog, two cat-dog, three—
His head whipped up again and his mouth curled into a sweet smile. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes, my gallant prince, it is. Two dozen of Krispy Kreme’s finest for the fairest gentlemen in all the land.”
The saw stopped abruptly. Suddenly all eyes were on her.
Nothing like refined sugars and fats to get a man’s attention.
“Gabby, you’re a gem.” Dino started toward her, dusting his hands together.
“What he said,” Carl echoed, his eyes on the box as he followed in Dino’s footsteps.
“Try to leave some for Tyler and Kelly,” Gabby said.
Paul took the box from her hands. “Of course. We’re not animals.”
Dino had a doughnut in each hand.
“I’ll take your word for it,” she said.
Dino laughed sheepishly as she turned toward her office. Then, as though it had only just occurred to her, she swung around.
“I almost forgot—we really need to get that boardroom table out tomorrow. So anything you guys could do to finish it would be really appreciated.”
Dino froze midbite. “So these are bribe doughnuts? Nice. How cheap do you think we are?”
“I got chocolate custard, your favorite.”
Dino’s aggrieved look faded a fraction. “Fine. We’ll do what we can. But no promises.”
Gabby hid her grin as she walked to her office. If she knew Dino—and after three years of being Tyler’s office manager, she was pretty confident she did—the table would be ready for the afternoon’s deliveries. And all it had cost her was a trip to Krispy Kreme.
United Nations, eat your heart out.
She pushed open her office door—and froze.
A complete stranger—a man—sat at her desk, his back to the door as he used her computer.
She stared at his broad shoulders, strong neck and close-cropped dark hair. What the hell was he doing in her office? Making himself at home in her chair?
“Um, excuse me …?” she finally said when she’d gotten over her initial surprise.
He held up an imperious hand, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder to see who it was. “Won’t be a minute.”
She stared, incredulous, as whoever-he-was continued to tap at the keyboard.
Was he for real?
“Of course. Make yourself at home. Maybe you’d like a coffee while you’re at it?”
He did glance up and she found herself staring into a pair of dark gray eyes.
“Tyler said I could jump on to check a few things. I’ll be out of your hair in a second.”
His voice was low and deep, a subterranean rumble along her nerve endings. Between it and those eyes and the shape of his jaw and face, it wasn’t hard to work out who he was: Jon Adamson, Tyler’s brother.
He turned to the computer and Gabby found herself staring at his shoulders again. He was bigger than Tyler, broader. She knew he was older by a year or so, too, but apart from that, the only things she knew about Jon were that until recently he’d been living in Canada, that he’d missed Ally and Tyler’s wedding because of some business commitment there, and that the past few months he’d been in Woodend while he renovated the family home prior to sale. Correction, she knew one other thing—he was rude. Because surely even the most insensitive person could guess that invading somebody’s personal space then virtually ignoring them when they discovered you was not exactly the way to go about winning friends.
She crossed her arms over her chest and waited. And waited.
And waited.
After what felt like an age, Jon hit a key on her computer and pushed away from the desk.
“Thanks for that,” he said as he stood.
He was a little taller than Tyler, and now that he was facing her she noted further similarities and differences between the brothers. His cheekbones were pronounced like Tyler’s but sharper, and the lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper. His jaw was the same strong, sure arc, his chin as determined, but his eyes were a much darker gray, the color of storm clouds instead of Tyler’s unusual quicksilver.
Her gaze swept his body, taking in his pristine white T-shirt and his equally crisp-looking jeans. Both new, unless she missed her guess. Only his boots looked well-worn. She refocused on his face, noting his clean-shaven jaw and the military neatness of his buzz cut.
He looked … newly minted somehow. But in a raw, spare kind of way.
She was aware of him checking her out, too, and for a crazy second wished she was wearing something other than a faded T-shirt and jeans and that she’d gone for a proper haircut instead of trimming her fringe with the nail scissors this morning.
She shook the thought off quickly—all signs pointed to the fact this man was an ass, and she didn’t give two hoots what an ass thought of her.
Not even one hoot.
“You’re Gabrielle, right? Jon Adamson.” He offered his hand.
She let him hang for a moment before sliding her hand into his. It seemed only fair, since he’d kept her hanging.
“It’s Gabby.”
His palm swallowed hers, and she felt the roughness of calluses against her own soft skin.
“You all finished now?” she asked. “I don’t want to cramp your style.”
He gave her an assessing look. “Like I said, Tyler didn’t seem to think you’d mind if I used your office for a few minutes. But if I’ve stepped on your toes, I apologize.”
His tone was very even, very calm. As though she was the one who was out of line here. She felt herself bristling even more and was forced to admit that maybe she was overreacting a little. After all, he’d simply borrowed her computer, with her boss’s permission. Nothing to get her panties in a twist over.
Except …
He was too big and too strangely familiar, and yet not, and she felt … invaded and a little overwhelmed by his unexpected presence.
She wanted him gone. Wanted her space back.
“I was a little thrown, that’s all.”
“Again, sorry if I stepped on your toes.”
He moved out from behind her desk and she took a hasty step to the side to avoid brushing against him as he headed for the door.
She watched as he strode away, his broad shoulders dipping from side to side like a cowboy as he walked. Only when he was gone did she take a seat in her chair. It was warm from his body and she shifted, feeling invaded all over again.
Why he couldn’t have used Tyler’s computer, she didn’t know. Or at least Tyler could have given her a heads-up, told her he’d loaned her office to his brother.
Can you hear yourself? Anyone would think you were eighty-two, not thirty-two. Next you’ll be talking about young people today and how things were different in your day.
Gabby took a deep breath and let it out. She’d already acknowledged she’d overreacted. Yes, Jon could have handled the situation better, too, but she was blowing the whole incident out of proportion. It was a blip on the radar, nothing to get worked up over. He was probably only visiting the workshop for a few minutes, using the excuse of checking out his brother’s business to abuse the facilities. The odds were good she’d never see him again.
Launching her email program, she started reading the latest batch of orders and enquiries, absently running her fingers through her short dark hair. She was about to respond to a complicated request from one of their corporate customers when Tyler appeared at her door, a mug of coffee in hand.
“You got a minute?” He propped a shoulder against the frame. As usual, he was dressed in faded jeans and a black T-shirt, the color a perfect foil for his silver eyes.
It was impossible to look at him and not think about his brother. The resemblance was that strong.
“As in a genuine sixty seconds? Absolutely. Anything more than that and you’ll be paying me overtime tonight.”
“Dream on,” Tyler said with a snort of amusement.
He sat in her visitor’s chair, his big body loose and relaxed. Gabby studied him for a beat, fascinated despite herself by the change in him over the past year.
The easy laughter, the softness in his eyes, even the way he moved—Tyler was a new man since he’d met and married Ally.
Happier. More content. Less single-minded and closed off.
It was good to see. No, it was better than good—it was great. Tyler deserved some peace and comfort in his life.
She frowned at the wistful note to her own thoughts.
That’ll be enough of that, young lady.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “I wasn’t joking about being snowed.”
“You can work through lunch.”
“Your turn to dream on. You know nothing gets between me and my food. Come on, spill. Quit chewing up my valuable time.”
“It’s no biggy. I need you to add my brother to our insurance policy.”
Gabby sat a little straighter. “What?”
“Jon. My brother. He’s going to be helping out here at the workshop for a while.”
“But—” There were so many objections crowding her throat she couldn’t decide which one to voice first. “But he’s not a cabinet-maker or a French polisher, is he?”
“He’s a builder, and he’s good. He’ll pull his weight.”
“So, is this a temporary thing? A couple of weeks? A month?” Gabby asked.
“It’s for as long as it needs to be.”
“What are you? Yoda? As long as it needs to be? What the hell does that mean?”
Tyler sighed. “Sometimes I forget what a pain in the ass you can be. Can’t you just do what you’re told for a change?”
It stung. Useless to pretend it didn’t. She was only looking out for him. Worrying about his business. And he thought she was a pain in the ass.
“Fine. I’ll add him on as a permanent employee.” She picked up a pen and poised it over her notepad, ready to take down his instructions verbatim, since that was clearly the kind of employee he wanted her to be. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Gabby. Come on. Don’t go all cat’s-bum-mouthed on me. You know I was only joking.”
Nice to know he found her hurt feelings amusing.
“Way to smooth talk me, silver tongue.”
“I’m sorry I called you a pain in the ass.” He said it like a dutiful schoolboy reciting his times tables.
She raised her eyebrows.
“And the cat’s bum comment was completely uncalled for,” he added.
“No kidding. And good work with the sincerity there, too. It’s really convincing.”
Tyler grinned. “Are we friends again?”
Friends.
For three years, they had been a lot more than friends. He’d been her lover, had practically lived at her place. She’d built all kinds of white-picket dreams around him. Then she’d realized that he was never going to share himself with her in the way she needed, and she’d pulled the pin on their relationship. He’d been angry at first. Convinced that she was asking for something he didn’t have to give. But after a while they’d settled into a friendship and she’d come to work for him.
Then he’d fallen in love with Ally and given all of himself to her freely and openly without a second’s thought.
“Your minute’s up,” she said.
Tyler laughed. Despite the fact that she was still annoyed with him, she couldn’t stop her mouth from twitching in response to the rich sound.
He pointed a finger at her. “I saw that.”
“Stop pretending you’re charming, because you’re not. You can’t ask for my opinion and advice one minute and then tell me to pull my head in the next.”
Tyler must have picked up on the seriousness of her tone because his smile faded.
“I was only joking, Gab, okay?” He was sincere this time, his eyes very sober.
She nodded, feeling ridiculous for being so prickly. She blamed the stranger she’d found at her desk this morning—Tyler’s brother had thrown her off her pace and she was still trying to regain her equilibrium.
“I’ll get the paperwork sorted today. What do you want me to set up as far as payroll goes?”
The million-dollar question—exactly what was Tyler paying his underqualified, transient brother?
“I’ll take care of that.”
She frowned, but this time she didn’t say anything. Before she’d joined the business, Tyler had handled the administration himself, so he was more than capable of adding an employee to the payroll. Why he suddenly chose to do so now when she’d been taking care of it for years was a whole other issue.
“Right. Then I guess we’re sorted,” she said.
“Good stuff.” Tyler stood, lifting his coffee mug in a casual salute before heading out the door.
She focused on her work, pushing all the nagging voices in her head to one side. At the end of the day, the name on the sign was T.A. Furniture Design. He was the one taking the risk, therefore he got to make the decisions.
Meaning she was going to have to get used to having his brother around.
It was an unsettling thought. Which was stupid. She got along with all the guys; she’d always been the kind of woman who got on well with men. They ragged on each other, told jokes, had the occasional beer together after work. They were her mates. And despite their not-so-great start, there was no reason why she wouldn’t rub along fine with Jon, too.
No reason at all.
JON TURNED OFF THE ORBITAL sander and ran his hand over the tabletop. In the very early days of his apprenticeship he’d dabbled in furniture making, but he hadn’t had the patience for it then. Now, he felt the smoothness of the wood beneath his fingers and felt a definite sense of achievement and satisfaction.
He was about to switch the sander on again when someone touched his arm. He looked up to see his brother standing there.
Jon slid off his ear protectors. “What’s up?”
“It’s quitting time. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
He glanced around in surprise. He’d been so lost in his work that he hadn’t registered that the rest of the guys had gone home for the day.
“Right. Well, I’ve still got a way to go with this.” Jon indicated the tabletop.
“You can finish it tomorrow. We’re ahead of deadline on that job.”
“I told Dino I’d have it ready for him in the morning. I’m happy to lock up if you want to head home.”
“Gabby usually does that. She’s still working.”
“Is that safe?”
Tyler raised his eyebrows. “You worried she doesn’t know how to handle a lock and key?”
Jon ignored the joke. “What if someone was hanging around? She probably doesn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.”
In fact, his brother’s office manager was so slight it had taken him longer than it should have this morning to figure out that the slim woman glaring at him was an adult, let alone Tyler’s right-hand woman. With her boyishly short hair and jeans and T-shirt, she’d looked more like a skinny teen than a woman who helped run a multimillion-dollar business.
“Don’t ever let Gabby hear you say that,” Tyler said. “She’ll tear you a new one.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? She’d be toast if someone tried to overpower her.”
Tyler groaned. “Definitely don’t say that to her.”
Jon gave his brother a look. “You’re serious?”
“Gabby prides herself on her independence. Hates it when people do things for her that she can do herself. If you’d met her mom, you’d understand. Really scary lady.”
Jon shrugged. “Fine. She can lock up, if that’s what floats her boat.”
Tyler pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Swing by the house on your way home if you change your mind. I’ve got some of that German beer you like and Ally’s cooking lasagna.”
Jon gave a noncommittal shrug. He knew Tyler was being hospitable, but the last thing Jon wanted was to sit on the sidelines of his brother’s life and play witness to his happiness. Not that he begrudged Tyler any of what he had—the business, his home, Ally. He simply didn’t need the reminder of all the things he’d messed up in his own life.
Plus it would make it a hell of a lot harder to stick to his self-imposed sobriety if he had to sit around and watch his brother knock back beers all night. And his abstinence would make Tyler curious.
Jon simply didn’t want to go there. Yes, he’d had a wake-up call about his excessive drinking, but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it or advertise it.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Tyler said.
“Sure.”
He didn’t go immediately, and Jon sensed there was something else on his mind. Jon reached for the sander, checking the tension on the clamps. After a long beat, he heard the metallic clink of his brother’s keys and when he glanced up Tyler was heading for the door.
Not for the first time, Jon wondered whether accepting his brother’s offer of a temporary job had been a good idea. He didn’t need the money—he’d sold out of his construction business and had a sizable chunk of change in his bank account—but he also didn’t need to be sitting around staring at the walls while he worked out what to do next. Taking up Tyler’s offer to work for him once they’d finished renovating the house had seemed like the best option—it was either that or continue the downward slide toward oblivion in the bottom of a bottle.
There was no denying that the notion held a certain appeal—the end of the struggle, all the crap cloaked in a warm, fuzzy haze of alcohol—but he could still hear his father’s voice in his head, telling him over and over how worthless he was and how he’d never amount to anything.
He flat out refused to let the bastard be right.
He started the sander again. The vibrations traveled up his arms as he moved along the grain. Slowly, the tension banding his shoulders relaxed and he lost himself in the simplicity of the task.
He had no idea how much time had passed when the sander suddenly fell silent. Instinct made him look over his shoulder. Gabby was standing beside the outlet, her handbag on her shoulder. He pulled off his ear protectors.
“Sorry. I tried shouting and you didn’t hear me.”
She didn’t sound sorry. Didn’t look it, either, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“If you’re ready to go, I already told Tyler I’m happy to lock up,” he said.
“But you don’t know the alarm code.”
Purely out of habit, his gaze dipped below her neck. She was small on top, one of those petite women with tiny breasts and narrow hips. She probably didn’t even need to wear a bra.
Basically the exact opposite of the kind of women he found attractive.
“I will if you tell me.”
She frowned. He wasn’t sure if it was because of what he’d said or if she’d caught him looking.
“What? You think I’m going to rip my own brother off?”
She stiffened. “It’s a complicated system.”
“I’ll take notes.”
She pushed her handbag strap higher on her shoulder. “All right. The keypad’s in the showroom.” She said it grudgingly. Reluctantly.
He followed her, aware of the tension radiating off her in waves. Man, she was one uptight chick. Tyler seemed to rate her highly, but personally Jon couldn’t see the appeal. Humorless, defensive, prickly—she was the very definition of hard work, and he didn’t do hard work when it came to women. Not that that would ever be an issue with Gabby—everything about her screamed not available, not interested, not ever.
She stopped in front of the alarm console beside the front door of the showroom.
“The code is Tyler’s birth year—not superoriginal, I know, but he insisted.”
Jon watched as she punched four figures into the alarm console and explained the system.
“Cool, got it,” he said.
“The lock is a little sticky. Sometimes you have to really force it.”
“Sure.”
“And we usually leave the showroom light on.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe I should leave you my number, in case you run into trouble.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he had it covered, but she was already rummaging in her bag. He studied the neat part in her straight hair.
“Big night on the cards?” he asked. Maybe if they got to know each other a little she’d loosen up.
She glanced at him. “Not really, just dinner with my girlfriend.”
He narrowed his eyes as the penny dropped. The no-frills clothes, the short hair, the lack of makeup, the whole not-available vibe—clearly, Ms. Wade batted for the other team. And based on the way she looked down her nose at him, she was one of those man-hating lesbians. The kind who thought the world would be a better place if men were cut out of the food chain altogether and replaced by lab technicians with turkey basters.
“Finally.” She pulled a dog-eared business card from the depths of her purse. “My number’s on the bottom. Call if you have issues with anything.”
He tucked the card into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’m pretty sure I won’t be needing it, but thanks anyway.”
The expression on her face told him she had her doubts, but she didn’t say anything. She moved toward the door and seemed surprised when he beat her there and held it open for her.
“Thanks,” she muttered, giving him a distinctly ungrateful look.
He remembered what Tyler had said about her not liking people doing things for her that she could do for herself and suppressed a smile. Probably it made him a bad person, but for some reason he liked the idea of yanking her chain a little.
“See you tomorrow,” she said, ducking past him into the warm night.
He waited until she’d reached her car and was safely inside. The moment he heard her engine start, he locked the door and returned to the workshop.
His footsteps echoed in the empty space. There was no one waiting for him at home—if you could call a serviced apartment home. He could work here until the wee hours if he wanted to, and no one would miss him or care.
That was the way he liked it. No strings, no obligations. Nothing hard or demanding or restricting.
Just him—and the dozen or so monkeys on his back, of course.

CHAPTER TWO
GUILT NAGGED AT GABBY ALL through dinner with her old school-friend Shona. Jon had tried to be friendly, and she’d blown him off. He’d asked about her evening, opened the door for her. Then he’d watched until she was safely in her car. Even though those kinds of old-fashioned courtesies made her want to grind her teeth, she could appreciate the good manners behind them.
He was trying to be nice. And she’d been nothing but prickly and short.
Brushing her teeth before bed, Gabby tried to work out why he made her so bristly.
Sure, they’d gotten off on a bum note with the whole him-being-in-her-office thing, but she wasn’t the sort of person to hold a grudge. And yes, she was worried that Tyler was taking on a staff member who was going to hold back the team rather than help them grow. But none of that was enough to explain the way she turned into Mother Superior every time she spoke to him.
She thought about the moment when he’d faced her after she’d switched off the sander. She’d met his eyes and seen … nothing in their gray depths.
She paused, her mouth full of minty foam.
Maybe that was what it was. Jon was a whole lot of man—a commanding, demanding physical presence by sheer dint of the fact that he took up so much damned room—but when she looked at him she got … nothing. No sense of how he was feeling or what he was thinking. No hint of his mood or attitude. Just a contained, polite calm.
So what? Big deal if the guy doesn’t go around advertising his emotions for all and sundry. He’s a guy. That’s generally what they do. If that’s your big beef with him, you need to get over it, princess.
Gabby spit, then rinsed her mouth. Tomorrow was a new day. There was no reason why she couldn’t start fresh with him. She’d take the time to chat with him, ask how he was settling in. She’d even insist on him using her computer again if he needed to check anything on the internet. Before long they’d be laughing and joking around the way she did with the other guys.
He was Tyler’s brother, after all. It was impossible for her not to like him.
GABBY’S GOOD INTENTIONS turned to dust the next day when Jon didn’t turn up until close to eleven o’clock. She was busy with her own work but she was very aware of his absence because she’d come in with the specific intention of starting over with him.
Initially, she thought he was simply running a little late, which was fine, since he’d stayed to finish the table last night. As the morning wore on, however, and he still didn’t appear, she began to wonder if he was going to make history as the shortest-lived employee the company had ever had.
Then, just shy of eleven, Jon sauntered in. She took one look at him and knew exactly why he was late. The heavy eyes, the paleness—he’d had a big night, to use his own terminology. Probably been out to all hours, drinking and God knows what else. Then he’d slept it off and rolled into work as though he owned the place and answered to no one.
Gabby watched from her office as he exchanged a word with Dino, who was the senior on the workshop floor and didn’t suffer fools gladly. She waited for him to let Jon know in no uncertain terms that the working day had started two and a half hours ago.
Dino said something. Jon replied. Dino laughed, the sound audible even over the whine of the table saw. She watched incredulously as he clapped Jon on the shoulder as though they’d been buddies for years. Dino was still chuckling as he crossed to the drill press.
As though he sensed her watching, Jon glanced at her, a big, no-holds-barred grin still on his face.
She blinked. He looked like a different man when he was smiling. Younger. A little dangerous.
Their eyes met and his smile sobered as he gave her a small acknowledging nod. Her own face felt frozen, but she forced herself to nod in reply. Then she swung in her chair and made a big deal out of being busy with her computer.
She told herself it was none of her business as she punched figures into the accounting software. If Dino was prepared to let the boss’s unreliable brother get away with murder, it was no skin off her nose.
At lunchtime she walked around the corner and grabbed a sandwich. As she returned, she could see Jon through the window of the showroom. He was talking to a woman. Gabby frowned, taking in his body language: the way he was slouching oh, so casually against the counter; the almost-there smile on his face as he listened to something the woman was saying; the way his gaze traveled over her body in a slow, appreciative scan.
If he were in a bar, Gabby wouldn’t hesitate for a second in assuming that he was hitting on the woman. But this was Tyler’s showroom, and the woman was a customer. Jon was probably simply being friendly.
Gabby pushed the door open, stepping into the air-conditioned cool of the showroom.
“The thing about good design is that it’s timeless. Ageless,” Jon said. “It only gets better.”
The woman was in her early forties, blonde and wearing a tight black dress. She flipped her hair over her shoulder as Jon gave her a loaded smile.
Gabby might not have had a date in a while, but she knew when a man was on the make—and he was definitely eyeing the blonde with carnal intent.
In his brother’s showroom. At—she checked her watch—one thirty-five on a Tuesday afternoon.
Nice. Really classy.
Putting on her best professional smile, Gabby joined their cosy tête-á-tête.
“Hi. Hope you don’t mind me interrupting. I’m Gabby.” She offered the other woman her hand.
The blonde looked a little startled—no doubt she’d been so busy eating Jon up with her eyes she hadn’t noticed Gabby approach.
“Hi. Fiona. Pleased to meet you.”
Gabby turned to him, her smile still firmly in place. “Thanks, Jon. I’ll take over from here.”
For a moment she saw a flash of something in his eyes—annoyance? Defiance?—then he straightened and gave Fiona a rueful shrug.
“Back to the grindstone.”
Fiona laughed and flipped her hair again. “I’ll keep in mind what you said.”
“You do that.”
Without looking at Gabby, he left the showroom.
“So, how can I help you …?” Gabby asked the other woman brightly.
Ten minutes later, Fiona was on her way with a handful of brochures and some preliminary pricing for the dining-room suite she was looking for. Gabby took a moment to gather her thoughts before heading to her office. Everything in her wanted to hunt Jon down and read him the riot act for behaving so unprofessionally. But he was Tyler’s brother, and it was Tyler’s business. If anyone was going to deal with Jon, it should be Tyler.
She entered the workshop, veering to the kitchen before hitting her office. She was rinsing a mug when she heard the heavy tread of someone entering. Her spine stiffened. Somehow she knew that it was Jon, but she refused to look to confirm it.
“She was into it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” a deep voice said.
She turned to face him. “Excuse me?”
“Fiona. The blonde.”
Gabby blinked, then shook her head. “Let me get this straight. It’s your second day on the job, you walk in nearly three hours late, then you try to pick up one of our customers. And none of it is your fault?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“So you’re not making excuses for treating our showroom like a pick-up bar?”
“Apick-up bar? Are you serious? We were having a conversation.”
“When it comes to your brother’s company I’m usually pretty serious. I’m a little crazy like that, caring about him staying in business and whatnot.”
He made a rude noise. “Lady, you need to lighten up.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“Listen, I know you’re all bent out of shape because I used your computer for a few seconds yesterday—”
“This isn’t about you using my stupid computer. What do you think I am, a child or something?”
His gaze dropped to her chest for a telling beat. Never had she regretted being an A-cup so much in her life.
“I don’t know. I can’t think of another reason why you’d nearly blow a gasket because I was having a friendly chat with another consenting adult on my lunch break.”
“She was a customer. She was looking for furniture, not a quickie in the parking lot.”
“Personally I prefer a nice big bed and plenty of time, but don’t let that get in the way of a good story.”
To her everlasting chagrin, Gabby could feel heat stealing into her cheeks. “Stop trying to make this about me. You’re the one who’s taking advantage of Tyler, taking his job offer and then arriving late on your second day. How do you think it looks to the other guys, the boss’s brother strolling in whenever he feels like it and—”
“I called Dino, told him I’d be in late and that I’d make up the time tonight.”
Gabby was thrown for a second. “Well, good. At least someone knew where you were.”
“What’s wrong? Worried about me?”
“Hardly.” She was fiercely hot now, her armpits prickling with self-conscious heat. It didn’t help that he looked as cool as could be, as though he could barely bother to raise a sweat over her.
“You know what? Forget I said anything. Why I even felt the urge to explain is beyond me.” He turned to go.
“Uh-uh. You don’t get off that easy.”
She raced around the table, barely making it to the doorway in time to block his exit. He stopped short of plowing into her and she caught a whiff of male skin and spicy deodorant before he took a step backward.
“I want a promise from you that you won’t talk to any of the customers again.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Sweetheart, you have got to be the most uptight chick I have ever met in my life.”
“My name is Gabby, thanks. And I want your word that you’ll stay out of the showroom. If Dino’s prepared to put up with you stuffing him around in the workshop that’s his business. But Tyler and I handle sales and I won’t have you screwing with our clients. Literally or figuratively.”
Something fiery and dangerous flashed in his dark gray eyes. He grabbed her by the upper arms, forcibly picking her up and moving her to one side as though she were a piece of furniture. Then he was gone, and she was left gaping at his audacity.
“How dare you!” she said to the empty kitchen.
Good lord, she sounded like a Victorian maiden. An hysterical, outraged Victorian maiden on the verge of the vapors. Any second now she’d be reaching for her smelling salts or calling for her maid to burn some feathers.
How on earth had he managed to turn the tables on her so effectively? He’d been utterly in the wrong, yet somehow she was left feeling like some uptight morals campaigner. He was the one who’d taken advantage of Tyler’s generosity, not her. Jon was the one who should be feeling stupid and wrong and out of sorts.
You’re an asshole, Jon Adamson.
Damn straight he was. That was why she’d been so prickly and bristly around him right from the start—her instincts had simply been ahead of the game, recognizing his essential asshole-ness way before he’d shown his true colors.
Which was great, except for one thing—she worked with him now. For the foreseeable future, she had to face him every day from nine to five.
Relax. He’s a screwup. He’ll mess up again. And next time Tyler will notice and then it will only be a matter of time.
She took a deep breath, then let it out.
Tyler was a good guy and a generous employer, but he was also an astute and passionate businessman. Once he realized his brother was deadwood, Jon would be gone.
It couldn’t happen soon enough.
JON DIDN’T CONSIDER HIMSELF A tough guy to get along with. Sure, he wasn’t a cuddly, let-me-be-your-instant-best-friend kind of guy, but he usually rubbed along okay with most people. He had a handful of good mates. He managed to end most of his romantic liaisons without tears and recriminations.
So why had Gabby taken such an instant and steadfast dislike to him?
He punched the table saw on and lined up his first cut, feeding the timber slowly into the blade.
He’d apologized for using her computer. He’d bitten his tongue last night when she’d been all bent out of shape about him locking up. He’d even sought her out to explain that she hadn’t seen what she’d thought she’d seen when she’d come into the showroom. And she’d still looked at him as though she’d scraped him off her shoe.
It had to be the lesbian thing. Maybe she saw him as competition. Maybe she’d had a bad experience with a man that had tainted her view of his gender for all time. Whatever, he was done with worrying about her prickly sensibilities. From now on, it was every man—or woman—for himself.
You’re the one who’s taking advantage of Tyler, taking his job offer and then arriving late on your second day.
He frowned, shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge her words. As he’d explained to her, he’d called Dino, let him know he was running late. He’d been up half the night, unable to sleep, pacing the floor of his apartment and staring at late-night TV like a zombie. And when he’d finally fallen asleep in the early hours he’d been so out of it he’d slept through the alarm. But it wasn’t as though he hadn’t put in the hours yesterday—it had been nearly midnight when he left the workshop, bone weary and covered in sawdust—and it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t make up for the time today. As for taking advantage of Tyler … Jon’s conscience was clear on that one, too. He and Tyler had an understanding, and it was none of Miss Prissy’s business.
Jon lined up his next cut. Sawdust and wood chips flew as he ripped the length of the wood.
How do you think it looks to the other guys, the boss’s brother strolling in whenever he feels like it?
He told himself to concentrate on the matter at hand, but Gabby’s words continued to eat at him. He could tell himself she knew nothing and that her words held no weight. But the truth was that if he had an employee who’d turned up late on the second day of work, he wouldn’t be too impressed, either. Not that he was Gabby’s employee … but he could see her point. Considered objectively, it had probably looked bad. And it definitely didn’t send a great message to the other staff members.
He swore under his breath, then hit the stop button. Pulling the ear protectors from his head, he faced the inevitable: Gabby was right. But only about the late thing. He’d go to his grave defending his conversation with Fiona-the-blonde in the showroom. They’d been flirting, for Pete’s sake—hardly a crime against nature. It wasn’t as though he’d been about to club her over the head and drag her to his cave. They’d had a few laughs, eyed each other approvingly. Maybe, if things had warmed up, he’d have gotten her number. That’s it.
Miss Prissy needed to get a life.
He glanced toward her office. She was visible through the open doorway, her head bent over her work. A small frown wrinkled her forehead. She was so serious. Did she never let her hair down? He tried to imagine it and couldn’t. She was too stiff and distant and uptight.
She glanced up and he looked away before she caught him staring. God knew what she’d make of that. Sexual harassment, probably.
He smiled faintly. The idea of him trying to get it on with her was too absurd. She would probably kick him in the nuts then take photos of him writhing on the floor to show the rest of the sisterhood.
Dino walked past and gave him a questioning look. “You all right there, mate?”
Jon realized he was standing in the middle of the workshop with a piece of wood in his hands, staring at nothing. And that he’d wasted the past half hour thinking about Gabby Wade.
“All good,” he assured the other man.
Then he collected the other pieces of timber and took them to where Carl was waiting.
GABBY LEFT WORK BEFORE SIX o’clock that night for the first time in months. Tyler and Ally had invited her for dinner to celebrate her birthday. Technically, it wasn’t until the weekend but Ally and Tyler were hosting the firm’s delayed Christmas party on Saturday night—they’d been so busy in the lead-up to Christmas that everyone had voted to postpone the party until a time when things were less hectic. Gabby would have been happy to combine the two events—or, better yet, forget her birthday altogether—but Ally had insisted they have a separate dinner to mark Gabby’s special day.
Normally Tyler forgot her birthday, then made up for it by buying her something expensive a month or so later. Times had changed. He had Ally to remind him now.
Gabby parked close to their double-fronted Victorian home and fumbled in her bag for her lipstick. She found a roll of mints and two tampons, but no lipstick. Damn. Maybe she should have made the time to swing home and freshen up.
Who are you trying to impress, anyway? It’s just Ally and Tyler.
Her hand stilled in her bag. It was a good question. Who was she trying to impress? Not Tyler anymore. That horse had well and truly bolted. As for Ally, right from the start she’d embraced Gabby has a friend.
Yet there was no denying the fact that Gabby found herself playing the comparison game whenever she spent any significant time with Tyler’s wife. It was hard not to, given the superficial similarities between the two of them. They were both on the petite side, and they both had short, dark hair. Sure, Ally was much curvier than Gabby, and her hair was curly instead of dead straight, but it wasn’t as though Tyler had gone off and married a six-foot-six redhead. Then there was the fact that both she and Ally were not exactly shy, retiring types …
Enough in common, really, to seed a host of unanswerable questions in Gabby’s mind. But as she reminded herself regularly, Tyler had made his choice, and she was happy for him. Anything else was a waste of energy.
Which meant she didn’t need to worry about lipstick. She was having dinner with two of her good friends. End of story.
Before she could examine her navel any more, she got out of the car and made her way up the well-lit path to Tyler and Ally’s porch. The door opened before she could knock and Ally greeted her with a hug. Dressed in an aqua dress with white embroidery around the hemline, she looked fresh and bright.
“I was beginning to think you were never going to show up,” she said.
“Sorry. I got held up at work.”
“As usual. Your boss is a slave driver.”
“Don’t look at me—it’s the office manager who wields the whip,” Tyler said as he joined them in the wide entrance hall. He kissed Gabby’s cheek. “Happy early birthday.”
Gabby laughed. “I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve heard those words pass your lips.”
“What can I say? Forgetting dates is a guy thing.”
Ally poked him in the ribs. “You’re on increasingly thin ice with that one, mister. All the latest research is showing that there’s precious little difference between the male and female brain.”
Tyler captured her hand in one of his to save himself from further prodding.
“I kind of like the differences. Don’t know about you,” he said, smiling into his wife’s face.
Gabby looked away. She could tell herself she was happy for Tyler until the cows came home, but there was no getting around the fact that seeing the way he looked at Ally made her chest ache.
Not once in three years had he ever looked at her in the same way. Not once.
Which is why he married her and not you, dufus.
“Something smells great,” she said, sniffing appreciatively.
Ally hooked her arm through Gabby’s. “I made us Moroccan meatballs with preserved lemons, pistachio couscous and orange-and-date salad.”
“We’re going through a Moroccan stage,” he explained as they walked toward the open living space at the rear of the house.
“Well, you know me, anything that I didn’t cook myself is manna from heaven,” Gabby said.
“Good. Tyler was worried it might be too exotic for you.”
Ally released Gabby’s arm to pour wine into three of the four glasses on the counter.
“Here’s to you,” Ally said as she passed Gabby a glass.
“Yeah, happy birthday, Gab,” Tyler said.
Gabby clinked glasses, distracted by the single flute still on the counter. It was possible, of course, that Tyler or Ally had simply put out one too many. She hoped like hell that was what had happened, because the alternative was that someone else was joining them for dinner. And since it was a small and cosy family affair, she had a horrible feeling she might know who that fourth person might be.
Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Gabby’s stomach dipped with foreboding.
“I’ll get it,” Tyler said.
“We thought it might be nice to have Jon over, too,” Ally explained as he disappeared to answer the door. “We’ve barely seen him since he’s been back, because he was in Woodend so long. Now he’s here, I’ve been bugging him to come for dinner every night, and finally he said yes.”
Ally looked pleased. Gabby could only imagine how she looked. Constipated? Bilious? The last thing she wanted was to sit around a table making polite conversation with Tyler’s knuckle-dragging brother.
“Wasn’t sure what you guys were having, so I brought red and white,” Jon said as he and Tyler appeared.
Jon’s step faltered when he saw her standing there.
“Evening,” she said, raising her glass.
For some reason his obvious discomfort made her feel better, made her feel less childish for being unhappy about him being here.
“Hi.” Jon was frowning slightly as he put down the bottles of wine he’d brought.
“Finally I get you in my clutches. I’m determined to put some meat back on those bones, you know,” Ally said, planting a kiss on his cheek and giving him a warm hug.
Jon hugged her as warmly, a faint smile on his face. Ally seemed very small in comparison to his big body. Gabby experienced an odd clench of … something as she watched them embrace.
Looking away, she swallowed a big mouthful of wine. Everybody loved Ally, it seemed. Even the arrogant, standoffish brother.
“Have some wine. We’re toasting Gabby,” Tyler said.
Jon’s expression was unreadable as he accepted a drink.
“Gab, you know I’d be a mess without you. You’re my right-hand woman. Hope this makes up for all the other birthdays I’ve forgotten,” Tyler said.
Out of the corner of her eye, Gabby saw Jon tense as he registered the occasion. As she’d suspected, Ally hadn’t told him tonight was her birthday dinner. In fact, given that small giveaway hesitation when he’d first entered, Gabby was pretty damn sure he hadn’t known she was going to be here. No doubt he would have come up with an ironclad excuse otherwise. Lord knew, she would have if she’d known.
“Happy birthday, Gabby,” Ally echoed.
Some instinct made Gabby glance at Jon as she took a drink. She saw him lift his glass to his mouth, tilt it and wet his lips. But he didn’t open his mouth. It was over in a split second, so fast she almost thought she’d imagined it, but she hadn’t.
Jon had faked drinking a toast in her honor.
Wow. He must really dislike her.
She was surprised how much the realization stung. Then she gave herself a mental shake. She didn’t care what he thought of her. The idea was laughable. Ludicrous. She’d met him only two days ago, and what she knew of him proclaimed him to be a screwup of the highest order—she should consider it a badge of honor that he didn’t like her, not a slap in the face.
Tyler crossed to the sideboard to collect a small, neatly wrapped box. “From us.”
Gabby took the box, very aware of the tall figure standing at the edge of her peripheral vision.
“This is awfully small for the company car I’ve been campaigning for.”
“Next year,” Tyler said.
Gabby tugged the pretty silver ribbon free and lifted the lid. Inside, a pair of stud earrings rested on a velvet cushion. Set with golden-brown gems, they sparkled in the overhead light.
“They’re beautiful,” Gabby breathed.
“They’re golden beryls. I saw them and thought they were a match for your eyes,” Ally said. “Tyler couldn’t remember if your ears are pierced, but I was pretty sure you wore earrings to his birthday in August.”
“My ears are pierced.” Gabby touched one of the glittering stones, trying not to be hurt that Tyler couldn’t remember. He’d been in her apartment, in her bedroom, hundreds of times. Had he really forgotten her messy jewelry box? And what about the time she’d freaked out over sucking up one of her favorite earrings in the vacuum cleaner? Had everything pre-Ally been consigned to the archives of his mind?
“If you don’t like them, we won’t be offended if you want to swap them for something else,” Ally said.
Gabby realized she’d been silent for too long and she offered her hosts—her friends—a big smile.
“They’re absolutely perfect. Gorgeous. In fact …”
She eased the earrings from the box. A few seconds later she let her hands fall to her sides and offered herself up to Ally and Tyler’s scrutiny. “How do they look?”
“Just as I imagined,” Ally said.
Gabby stepped forward to kiss her cheek in thanks. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
Ally drew her into a hug, squeezing her tight. “It was my pleasure.”
Gabby squeezed her back.
When Tyler had first introduced her to Ally, Gabby had been determined to like the woman who had made him so happy, even if it killed her. She’d been prepared to overlook anything, to be generous and accepting of any and all faults or shortcomings because Ally was Tyler’s choice, the woman he loved.
The woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Then she’d met Ally and realized that it would be no hardship to like her. She was warm and generous, smart and funny. Easily one of the most thoughtful people Gabby knew—witness the beautiful earrings, chosen with care and consideration. Not too dangly or elaborate—because Gabby was not a fussy woman—and, apparently, a match for her eyes. Although Gabby was pretty sure it was a stretch to compare her ordinary brown eyes to the warm golden gems. It hadn’t taken her long to understand why Tyler had fallen in love with Ally. She was very easy to love.
Tyler patted her on the shoulder fondly as she and Ally broke their embrace. Gabby gave him a wry look, then her gaze slid to where Jon was standing at a distance, watching them. Their eyes met for a moment before he glanced down at his still full wineglass.
“Okay, people. Make a beeline for the table, it’s time for the feasting to begin,” Ally said, waving them toward the dining table that occupied one corner of the room.
Gabby dutifully followed orders, but Jon lingered at the counter, arms crossed over his chest.
“That means you as well, my friend. The last thing I need is you hovering while I serve our meal,” Ally said.
“Funny. I thought only men suffered from short person syndrome,” Jon said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ally asked.
Jon looked at her, a smile quirking his mouth. “What do you think it means?”
“I think you’re saying I’m bossy.”
“Hey. If the shoe fits …” Jon said with a don’t-blame-me shrug.
Ally laughed and gave him a shove. “Move, you big lug.”
Gabby watched, fascinated, as Jon resisted Ally long enough to make her really work before finally deigning to shift from his position. There was a lazy, amused light in his eyes, not quite the same as the expression he’d had when he was chatting up the blonde in their showroom this afternoon, but certainly just as playful.
“Next to Gabby, please. Since I’ve already been labelled a dictator, I might as well have it the way I want it,” Ally instructed.
Gabby gave a silent sigh. Great. Now she was going to have to rub shoulders with Captain Studly through three courses and coffee. Not exactly the birthday celebration she’d been hoping for. But there was precious little she could do about it.
Buckle up, it’s going to be a bumpy night.

CHAPTER THREE
GABBY FIDDLED WITH THE STEM OF her wineglass as Jon hesitated for a telling second before pulling out the chair next to her.
Nice.
“Don’t worry, I don’t have cooties,” she said as he sat.
“Good to know. Although I’ve never really been sure what they are.”
“I think they’re the equivalent of girl germs.”
“Yeah? I’ve always been kind of partial to those.”
Gabby flashed to the scene she’d witnessed this afternoon. “No kidding.”
She realized immediately that he might take the comment the wrong way, but when she glanced at him askance he was smiling slightly.
Don’t get too excited, but you may have had your first civil exchange with Jon Adamson.
Not quite a miracle, but close to it given their record. Which probably meant she should make an effort to extend the cease fire.
“So, um, how are you finding Melbourne after so long away?”
“Busy. The traffic is nuts. I don’t remember it being this bad.”
“You’ve been away ten years, haven’t you? Melbourne’s grown by about a million people in that time.”
“That would explain it.”
A small silence fell and they both glanced to where Ally and Tyler were serving the meal. To Gabby’s admittedly inexpert eye, it looked as though they were still several minutes away from being rescued by their hosts.
Which meant more small talk was called for.
Over to you, buddy. I did my bit.
“So. It’s your birthday, huh?” Jon finally said.
“Yep. Keeps coming around every year, whether I like it or not.”
“Am I allowed to ask …?”
“Thirty-three. It’s actually on Saturday, but since we’re having the work Christmas party then, Ally wanted to do something tonight so I’d feel special.”
“Sounds like Ally.” There was a softness in his voice when he said the other woman’s name.
“Yeah. She’s pretty great.”
Another silence.
My turn. Think of something. Anything.
But the only thought that popped into her head was that he would have a hell of a time buying a suit off the rack with his broad shoulders.
She took a breath to launch into a discussion about work, but he beat her to it.
“So, Dino was telling me you usually dress up for the Christmas party?”
She gave him a mental elephant stamp for coming up with such a nice, neutral topic. Even they couldn’t go awry talking about this one.
“It’s kind of become a tradition.”
“What are you coming as this year?”
“I was thinking Rudolph. But I’m still toying with the idea of a Christmas tree.”
“What about your girlfriend? Does she get into the whole dressing-up thing?”
Gabby frowned. “I’m sorry?”
She was vaguely aware of Tyler and Ally ferrying dishes to the table.
“Here we go,” Ally said.
“Or aren’t partners invited?” Jon asked, his questioning gaze going from Gabby to Ally to Tyler.
Partners. Girlfriend.
The words circled Gabby’s brain like thought balloons. It took her a full five seconds to join the two together and jump to the only conclusion possible.
“I’m not a lesbian.” It came out sounding a lot more high-pitched and defensive than she would have liked.
Ally’s eyebrows rose as she stared at Jon. “You thought Gabby was gay?”
Tyler laughed. “Bloody hell. Where did you get that idea from?”
Jon’s cheekbones were a dull red. “She mentioned her girlfriend, and I thought …” His gaze went to Gabby’s hair, then dropped below her chin to her body. “I must have got the wrong end of the stick.”
“Girlfriend as in a friend who happens to be a girl,” Gabby said.
She didn’t need a mirror to know she was bright red—she could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Although why she was embarrassed was beyond her—he was the one who had made a fool of himself.
“Sorry. My mistake,” Jon said.
“No kidding,” Gabby said. Talk about a lack of perception.
Tyler was still smiling.
“Tyler. It’s not funny,” Ally chided.
“I know. Sorry. It’s just—Gabby as a lesbian … It boggles the mind.”
“Can we let it drop?” Jon said. The glance he shot her was full of apology.
Great. First he outed her as a lesbian, now he felt sorry for her.
“This looks great, Ally,” she said brightly, picking up her knife and fork. “You know, if you weren’t married, I’d be tempted to nab you for myself.”
Everyone laughed, including Jon. The knot in Gabby’s stomach loosened a little.
“This reminds me of a letter I got last month for the column …” Ally said.
Gabby reached for her water glass as Ally launched into her story. Gabby nodded and laughed and made comments in all the right places, but all the while, behind her smile and her I-couldn’t-care-less demeanor, her mind was whirring, obsessing over Jon’s mistaken assumption.
She told herself that she didn’t care what he thought, that being thought to be gay was not an insult, that some of her best friends were gay. She told herself that his lack of perception said a lot more about him than it did about her. She even got herself to the point where she half believed it—except she kept returning to that significant pause when he’d looked at her hair, then her body before apologizing for getting it wrong.
“Excuse me.” She pushed back her chair and stood.
Hopefully enough time had passed that her leaving the table wouldn’t be read as retreat. Right now she was beyond caring.
The bathroom door closed behind her with a soft click and she crossed the tile floor to stand in front of the full-length mirror mounted beside the old-fashioned tub.
She stared at the woman she saw reflected there, determined to prove to herself once and for all that Jon had his head up his backside.
The woman staring back at her had short, straight dark hair, with a crooked fringe and a pale face utterly devoid of makeup.
Heaps of women have short hair, her inner voice scoffed. Audrey Tatou has short hair, and no one is calling her a lesbian.
As for the no-makeup thing, well, she’d simply gotten out of the habit of it over the past few months. Admittedly, she looked a little … nondescript without it, but, again, it didn’t make her gay.
She dropped her gaze to her body. Her T-shirt was old and stretched out, the fabric swamping her small breasts and bunching unattractively around her waist. Her jeans were cut for comfort rather than style, their fit loose and utilitarian. Her sneakers were old and scuffed, again chosen for comfort over appearance.
Gabby blinked, but it didn’t change what the mirror was telling her. The voice in her head was suspiciously silent.
She looked like a boy.
Was it any wonder that Jon had made assumptions? Really?
She sat on the rim of the tub, feeling shaky. As though someone had pulled a veil from her eyes and forced her to see an unpalatable truth.
When had she stopped caring how she looked?
When had she stopped wearing makeup and going to the hairdresser instead of trimming her own hair with nail scissors? When had she stopped buying sexy underwear and high heels and pretty clothes?
When had she ceased to think of herself as an attractive, sexual being and slipped into this sexless, safe disguise?
She didn’t know the exact date, but she could guess: the moment she’d given up on Tyler. Nearly four years, give or take. Four years of seeing him every day, convincing herself they were better friends than they had ever been lovers and that she’d done the smart thing—the only thing—in breaking off their relationship.
She laughed suddenly as a bitter irony hit her: she’d broken up with Tyler to protect herself, but he was the one who had moved on. He’d found love, while Gabby, apparently, had been marking time.
A wellspring of emotion tightened the back of her throat. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids. If she started crying, she’d never stop. And there was no way she was going to hide in the bathroom and cry at her own birthday party while her ex and his new wife fretted about her on the other side of the door.
No. Freaking. Way.
She took an unsteady breath, then another. She stood and shook out her hands.
“Come on, princess. Get it together.”
She tried out a smile in the mirror. It looked more like a grimace than a smile, but it would have to do.
Then she threw back her shoulders, straightened her spine and opened the bathroom door.
She had a birthday party to survive, after all.
JON SHOOK HIS HEAD AS TYLER offered to refill his wineglass, his brother only belatedly noticing that Jon hadn’t finished his first glass yet.
“Driving,” Jon said at Tyler’s enquiring look.
Tyler didn’t say anything, but Jon guessed from the dawning understanding in his brother’s eyes that they would be having a conversation about his abstinence in the near future.
Great. Exactly what he wanted. Not.
He glanced toward the hall for the second time in as many minutes, very aware that Gabby had been gone for a long time. Judging by their casual demeanors, neither Tyler nor Ally seemed to find her extended absence unusual but they were still in the honeymoon phase of their marriage, totally wrapped up in one another. They probably wouldn’t notice if Jon jumped on the table and started doing the chicken dance.
It was possible he wouldn’t have noticed Gabby’s absence, either, had he not been sitting next to her. He’d felt her tense when he’d asked about her girlfriend. And even though she’d brushed off his assumption and made a joke about it, he’d felt her continuing tension. She’d practically vibrated with it, like a plucked harp string.
He’d hurt her feelings. Unintentionally, but the result was the same. He might be a lot of things, and she might be a pain in the ass, but if he could take back the moment, he would.
He was about to suggest Ally go in search of her absent guest when Gabby returned. Jon studied her face as she sat. She was wearing a polite social smile but he could see the unhappiness behind her eyes.
Damn.
He was going to have to apologize. Not that he hadn’t already done so, but clearly he was going to have to try again.
He reached for his glass, his fingers closing around the stem. Only when he was carrying the wine to his mouth did he register what he was doing. He reversed the action without drinking.
Two months. That was how long he’d sentenced himself to abstinence. Not because he truly believed he had a drinking problem, more to prove to himself that he could stop if he wanted to.
It occurred to him that a guy who didn’t have a drinking problem should be finding it a hell of a lot easier to go without than he had the past few days. Certainly he probably shouldn’t keep catching himself fantasizing about grabbing a six-pack on the way home from work, or imagining the warm creep of alcohol stealing over his body and numbing his mind.
“So, Jon, what’s this mysterious apartment you’re staying in like? Tyler tells me it’s around the corner from the workshop,” Ally said, drawing his thoughts back to the moment.
“It’s a serviced apartment. Nothing mysterious about it that I can see,” he said.
“Great. Then I guess the coast is clear for Tyler and I to come over for dinner one night soon.” Ally had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
He was well aware that his sister-in-law was quietly campaigning for a closer relationship between him and his brother. It was never going to happen, for a variety of reasons, but Ally would realize that soon enough on her own without him pointing it out to her.
“Sure. As long as you like take-out pizza.”
“You’re as bad as Gabby,” Tyler said. “I swear I was never that pathetic when I was single.”
“Isn’t there a rule about not dissing a person on their birthday?” Gabby said.
“No. And even if there was, it’s not until Saturday, so I’m in the clear,” Tyler said.
“I can cook,” Gabby said.
“Ditto,” Jon said, because he figured he owed it to her to provide backup.
“Microwaving frozen meals doesn’t count,” Ally said.
“Toast does,” Jon said. There was an echo, and he realized Gabby had said the same thing simultaneously.
She glanced at him, disconcerted. He offered her a faint smile. Not too big, since he didn’t want to push his luck.
Her gaze became frosty.
He was still in her black books, then. It figured. She hadn’t liked him much before he’d got her sexuality wrong—she would probably go home and burn an effigy of him in her yard after tonight’s events.
Ally served lemon cheesecake for dessert—Gabby’s favorite, apparently—and they all watched as Gabby dutifully blew out the single candle. They moved to the couches while Tyler prepared coffees with their shiny new espresso machine.
Jon’s gaze kept drifting to the wall clock, trying to calculate when it would be acceptable for him to leave. Immediately after coffee? Or would that mark him as the crassest of social boors?
He jiggled his leg impatiently, willing Tyler to hurry. Once the coffee was ready, Jon gulped his down while it was still too hot and earned himself a burned tongue for his troubles. Finally he decided he must be in the clear and made his excuses.
It wasn’t until he was on the porch, the door closed behind him that he remembered he’d planned to apologize to Gabby again.
He turned, raising his hand to knock, but lowered it without doing so. The least he could do was apologize in private, save Gabby a rehashing of what had obviously been an embarrassing moment.
He’d have to find a few minutes alone with her at work tomorrow. No doubt she’d find some way to give him a hard time. But he’d do the right thing because, contrary to what she obviously believed, he wasn’t a bad guy.
IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT BY THE time Gabby let herself into her apartment. She threw her bag onto the couch and checked her answering machine—nothing—then walked to her bedroom and into the ensuite.
Flicking on the light, she gave herself a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before beginning her nightly ritual. First, she washed her face, then patted it dry and smoothed a lightly scented moisturizer onto her face, neck and shoulders. She switched to almond-scented body lotion for her arms, hands and legs, working it in with long, smooth strokes.
At least you didn’t give up everything. Apparently, you still care if your skin is nice.
Her hands stilled on her calf. Somehow, she’d managed to keep a lid on her emotions. But now she was in the safety of her own home and it was time to come clean with herself.
More than time—about four years overdue, in fact.
She straightened, and for the second time that night she stared at her own image in the mirror, trying to understand herself.
Was she still in love with Tyler? Was that what all this was about? Had she been kidding herself for years when all along she’d been holding a candle, pining, hoping?
Dear God. Please don’t let me be that woman. Please don’t let me be that pathetic.
She didn’t want it to be true. But the facts were pretty damned convincing. She’d gone on exactly one date since she’d broken up with Tyler. One date in four years. And it wasn’t through lack of invitations, either. She’d had her share of admirers in those first few years of being single again. She couldn’t remember what excuses she’d come up with for not accepting any of the offers to see a movie or go out for dinner. She simply hadn’t been interested, and eventually the offers had dried up.
If she was being honest, she’d have to admit she hadn’t really noticed or cared. She’d been too busy organizing Tyler’s business—whipping it into shape when she first came on board then doing all she could to help lift him to the next level in subsequent years. Too busy recasting herself as Tyler’s faithful sidekick, the sexless, tireless little buddy who never let him down.
What did you think was going to happen—that he’d admire your skill with a balance sheet so much that he’d finally fall all the way in love with you?
Because, of course, Tyler had never loved her the way she’d loved him.
It still hurt, even after all these years. She turned her back on her reflection, unwilling to play witness to her own unhappiness. Which pretty much answered the big question, didn’t it?
She brushed her teeth, staring at the tile wall. Once she was finished, she walked into the bedroom and stripped to her underwear. Kicking her clothes into the corner, she crawled beneath the covers.
The sheets were cool against her skin and she shivered as she waited for them to warm, legs drawn up, arms pulled tightly to her chest.
On nights such as these, she used to make Tyler spoon her from behind, the heat of his body like a furnace against her back. She’d loved feeling his warm breath on the nape of her neck, loved having one of his strong arms wrapped around her. Tyler had always moved in his sleep, however—he’d liked to spread out, to have his own space. Nine times out of ten she’d woken to find their positions reversed, him curling away from her while she clung to his back, her body molded to his.
Chasing him, needing him, even in her sleep.
She made a distressed sound and burrowed deeper into the pillow. It didn’t stop the tears from coming. Four years’ worth, pushed down deep.
The truth was, she’d never allowed herself to grieve for Tyler. She’d been too busy being tough. Moving on. Assuring him there were no hard feelings and that they’d still be a part of each other’s lives. She’d convinced herself that she’d done all her grieving beforehand, before she’d made the painful, wrenching decision to call things off between them. She’d been so sure she had it all together, that she was on top of it.
More fool her.
Her pillow was getting wet. She rolled onto her back. The sound of her sobs seemed very loud in her quiet bedroom. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes down her temples into her hair. She pressed her palms to her sternum and pushed, willing the ache to go away.
She didn’t want to still love Tyler. She didn’t want to be this weak and tragic.
Dear God, if Mom could see me now, she’d kick my backside into the middle of next week.
The thought prompted a hiccuping laugh. Gabby sniffed noisily, then sat up and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands.
She’d been raised by a fiercely independent woman who’d prided herself on never needing anyone—men being at the very top of that list. Divorced from Gabby’s father when Gabby was only two years old and her sister, Angela, barely one, Rachel Wade had thrown herself into single motherhood like an Amazonian warrior. She’d taught herself how to change fuses, tap washers and car tires and had hammered into her daughters from the moment they were old enough to understand that they always had to stand on their own two feet and that no one could ever make them unhappy unless they allowed it.
Nice in theory, but often not so great in practice, as Gabby and her sister had discovered many times over the years.
Fortunately for Gabby, her mother was halfway around the world at present, living her dream of working and traveling through Europe.
Still, the thought of her mother was enough to make Gabby reach for the box of tissues. She blew her nose, mopped her eyes dry. Then she switched pillows and lay down and tried to go to sleep.
There wasn’t much else she could do, after all. She’d been in love before—Billy Harrison when she was seventeen, Gareth Devenish when she was in her early twenties. Neither of them had been as important in her life as Tyler was, but both experiences had taught her that there was no willing away a broken heart. She would simply have to wait the pain out.
It’s been four years. How long do you freaking want?
A good question. A scary one, too, because she’d already wasted four years longing for something she could never have.
She fell asleep late and woke early. The first thing she did was walk to her wardrobe and throw the doors open. She had to dig deep to get past jeans and yet more jeans, but after a few minutes she pulled out her black leather miniskirt and her stiletto ankle boots. A rummage in her chest of drawers produced the tight orange tank that through some mysterious trick of design managed to give her cleavage. In the shower, she shaved her legs and her armpits, washed and conditioned and exfoliated. Then she smoothed on body lotion and pulled out her make-up bag. Twenty minutes later she inspected herself in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door.
She’d always had good legs, and her backside was a nice shape, neat and round and perky. The boots and the skirt she’d chosen made the most of her two best assets, while the tank and push-up bra worked their magic upstairs.
Jon was going to eat his words when he saw her this morning. He was going to take one look at her in this outfit and realize how wrong he’d been about her. He was going to—
Gabby froze in the act of spritzing on her most expensive perfume as it occurred to her that, as well as all those other things, he was going to know that she’d done all this—the legs, the hair, the makeup, the clothes—for him. To prove something to him. Because she cared what he thought.
“Damn it.”
Annoyed with herself, Gabby stripped. Dressed only in her underwear, she pushed hangers out of the way until finally, at the back of the wardrobe, she found what she was looking for—a pair of shapeless cargo pants she kept for really dirty work. The top shelf yielded the box with her Doc Martens boots, a relic from her teen years. She was stumped for a moment with regard to the top, but then inspiration struck and she grinned. Throwing herself across the bed, she grabbed the phone from the nightstand and dialed.
“Jen, it’s Gabby. Sorry it’s so early, but I need to borrow something …”
No way was she going to let Jon think that she cared what he thought or said. No. Way.
JON WOKE BATHED IN SWEAT, HIS heart racing. It took a full five seconds to work out where he was and that he’d been dreaming.
He let out a sigh and lifted a hand to his face. His skin felt clammy and cold. Throwing back the covers, he stood and walked out of the bedroom and into the apartment’s living space. He poured coffee into a fresh filter and turned on the coffee machine.
Hard to work out what was worse—suffering broken sleep from the nightmares that had become his almost nightly companions since he’d given up drinking or waking with a thundering hangover.
This morning’s dream had been a doozy—his father storming up the hallway of their family home toward him, the thick leather belt he favored for beatings clutched in one hand. Tyler’s whimpers of fear from behind him. No sign of his mother, although Jon knew she should be there, that she should be the one standing between them and the monster bearing down on them. The almost overwhelming urge to run had gripped him. The need to abandon Tyler and run, run, run to save himself. And then, finally, he’d been hit with the dawning, horrible knowledge that there was no escape, that there was nothing he could do to save himself or his brother.
Really restful stuff. The kind of stuff that made a guy want to spring out of bed whistling a tune, ready to head out into the day to rub shoulders with his fellow man.
The carafe was full. He grabbed a cup, poured coffee, stirred in sugar. Mug in hand, he wandered over to the sliding doors that led out onto his tiny balcony. He glanced at the redbrick wall opposite, then changed his mind about going outside. The lack of view hadn’t bothered him when he’d taken the place, but the looming wall that filled every window was starting to get on his nerves.
No one’s forcing you to stay. Book a ticket, get on a plane. Go find someplace with no memories, no ties. No expectations.
It was what he’d wind up doing eventually, he was sure. But he wasn’t ready to go. Not yet.
He wasn’t sure what was holding him back. But soon enough he’d get over whatever it was, pack his meager belongings and head off to a new start somewhere.
Downing the last of his coffee, he dumped the mug in the sink and went to shower. It was early, but he might as well be at work as here.
Half an hour later, he pulled into the parking lot at T.A. Furniture Designs. Belatedly it occurred to him that he’d left the key in his jeans from yesterday—then he spotted the red car parked close to the building.
Gabby. It figured she’d be the first in. If there was an employee equivalent of teacher’s pet, she was it.
Still, it would give him a chance to apologize to her again without the risk of the guys overhearing. He’d get it out of the way, then he and Gabby could go back to pistols at ten paces or whatever it was they did whenever they were in the same room.
He locked his truck and strode to the entrance. He pressed the doorbell that had been provided for after-hours visitors and waited. When no one came after a couple of minutes, he knocked and tried the bell again.
A few seconds later the workshop door swung open and Gabby walked through. The good-natured smile on her face faded when she recognized him through the glass. His gaze took in first her T-shirt, then her baggy combat fatigues and finally her chunky punk rocker boots as she strode toward him. Lastly, he focused on her hair, which had been parted to one side and gelled into a shiny brown helmet of asexual hair.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Exactly how long do you think it takes to walk from the back room to the front door?”
His gaze dipped to the image of k.d. lang printed across her chest. “Nice T-shirt.”
He wasn’t stupid—he knew a challenge when he saw one—and he couldn’t hide the smile curving his lips a moment longer.
“What’s so funny?”
He patted her on the shoulder as he moved past her. “I’m flattered you went to so much trouble for me. I didn’t realize you cared.”
He heard her quick intake of breath.
“Please. I know you think you’re the center of the universe and God’s gift to women, but you’re not the center of my world, Jon Adamson. Maybe it’s time to get over yourself.”
He waited while she finished her little speech. Then he grabbed the price tag that was still dangling from her collar, tugging it free.
“Must have been hard to find that T-shirt on such short notice. Like I said, it’s nice to know you care.”
He dropped the tag into her hand. He’d delivered the perfect exit line and the script called for him to walk away now. But he couldn’t resist hanging around to see her reaction. Maybe it made him a little twisted, but he was starting to enjoy these sparring sessions.
She looked at the tag in her hand, then slowly raised her gaze to his. He was all set to savor his victory, but she shifted slightly and a shaft of sunlight hit her face, catching her eyes and glinting off the earrings that Tyler and Ally had given her.
He blinked.
Ally was way off base—Gabby’s eyes were far richer than the gemstones sparkling at her ears. He didn’t even have a name for the warm golden tone of her irises. Cognac? Honey? Amber? None of them seemed adequate. Set off by long, dark lashes, they were hands down, no questions asked, the most arresting, beautiful eyes he’d ever gazed into. No mineral composite dug out of the ground was ever going to do them justice.
The silence stretched between them. Jon realized he was staring, but couldn’t make himself stop.
“I suppose you think you’re pretty clever,” she said.
“No.”
For the life of him he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then she stepped out of the sunlight and his brain came back online.
“I want to apologize,” he said. “For last night. For the whole gay/lesbian thing.”
Her mouth tightened. “You already said sorry. It was a misunderstanding. I get it.”
He looked at k.d. lang again. “Do you?”
She pulled her keys from the lock and dropped them into the pocket of her baggy pants.
“You done? Because I’ve got work to do.” She turned on her heel. He grabbed her elbow. She stilled, then narrowed those incredible eyes.
How had he not noticed them before? He must have been blind.
“I really am sorry, Gabby. I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but I didn’t mean to embarrass or hurt you last night.”
He felt her stiffen. She shook off his hand.
“I wasn’t embarrassed. And you certainly didn’t hurt me. I barely know you. Why would I care what you think of me?”
She was so damned prickly. He bet the word gracious wasn’t even in her vocabulary.
“You know, I have no idea. Just like I have no idea why I even bothered to apologize again. You go ahead and enjoy your indignation. I’m sure it’s very satisfying.” He walked away from her.
“Fine. I accept your apology,” she called after him.
“Good. Great.” He pushed through the swinging door with more verve than strictly necessary.
The door swung sharply back, cutting off anything she might have been about to say. He stood in the silent workshop for a long beat, trying to rein in his temper.
What was it about her that pissed him off so much? Even when he tried to be nice they wound up fighting. She took everything he said the wrong way, even his apologies.
He simply didn’t get it.
The door opened and Gabby entered. She didn’t look at him as she marched toward her office. He watched her straight spine, then he shrugged.
So what if she didn’t like him? He wasn’t one of those people who had to have everyone love him. He was a big boy. He could live with her animosity. It wasn’t as though it was forever, after all. A few months from now, he’d be somewhere else and she’d be nothing but a fading memory, notable only for her defensiveness and fantastic eyes.
He turned his back on her. He had work to do.

CHAPTER FOUR
GABBY FELT LIKE AN IDIOT. She’d been so determined to show Jon that she didn’t give two hoots what he thought of her. Then she’d put so much time and energy into dressing to meet his mistaken assumptions that she’d done the exact opposite. She might as well have stuck with the miniskirt and stilettos.
She glanced at the k.d. lang T-shirt. She’d had to drive twenty minutes out of her way to pick it up this morning before coming to work. Just so she could thumb her nose at Tyler’s brother.
God, she was dumb.
But that was fairly well established after last night’s self-revelation.
What had she said to him? I barely know you. Why would I care what you think of me?
It should have been true. She wished it was. But she had only to look in the mirror to know what a big fat lie it was. She’d spent hours this morning caring about what Jon thought of her. And for the life of her she didn’t understand why.
The beginning of a headache pulsed behind her left eyebrow. She pulled her in-tray close and grabbed a stack of invoices. She needed to stop gnawing on this stuff. It was doing her head in—literally.
It took some serious willpower, but gradually she lost herself in her work. The rest of the team straggled in, until finally she heard Tyler’s deep voice as he called out a greeting to the crew.
Her stomach tensed and she put down her pen.
Any minute now he would stick his head through the door and say hello. A dart of panic raced up her spine.
Relax. It’s a day like any other. He’ll say hi, and you’ll say hi back, and the world will keep spinning. The same as it did yesterday, the same as it will tomorrow.
The only difference was, yesterday she hadn’t acknowledged that she was still in love with Tyler. Seeing him this morning, looking into his face with all those feelings of grief and rejection so close to the surface … It was going to be hard. Damned hard.
“Morning, Gab. Anything I need to know about?” Tyler asked from the doorway.
She took a moment to compose herself before facing him. Tyler must never know how she felt. Ever.
“All good here, chief,” she said, a bright smile on her face.
“Bloody hell. What have you done to your hair?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“It looks like a helmet. Or that snap-on plastic hair they have for Lego figurines,” Tyler said, moving closer to get a better look.
For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about, then she remembered she’d pulled out all the stops for Jon this morning, including gluing her hair down with gel and creating a ruthlessly straight side part.
“Is that hair gel?” Tyler asked.
“I’m trying something different.”
“Like what? Sculptural hair? I could carve this stuff.” He tapped her hair experimentally.
Gabby pushed her chair back out of his reach. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you have no idea how rude you’re being right now.”

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