Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Pregnant by the Playboy Tycoon

Pregnant by the Playboy Tycoon
Anne Oliver
First one bombshell that rocked her world… When Anneliese discovers her life has been a lie she’s shocked to the core. Now she must rebuild herself and find her true family – but one man keeps getting in her way… Gorgeous businessman Steve Anderson feels duty-bound to protect his younger sister’s best friend – even if she has her frosty barriers firmly in place… Then another! There’s always been a simmering sexual tension between them, and Steve soon finds Annie’s deep freeze is on fast thaw – with super-steamy consequences!Steve has always made it clear he never intends to settle down…only Annie has just discovered she’s pregnant…


He appeared in the doorway in nothing but track pants.
Annie wished he’d put on a T-shirt at least, so she wouldn’t have to look at all that bronzed male nakedness.
‘Okay. What do you want to say?’
She sucked in a breath and forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘I’m pregnant.’ And, just in case he didn’t get it the first time, ‘I’m having a baby. Your baby. In about seven and a half months.’
Silence.
She watched, desperate for some sign, but it was as if Steve had turned to stone—except for his Adam’s apple, which bobbed once. His complexion had turned to a whiter shade of pale. And his wide-eyed gaze dipped to her waist.
She saw his emotion, held in check by rigid self-control. The tight fists and clenched jaw. And impossible to miss the wonder—and the fear—in his eyes.
‘Pregnant,’ he murmured. ‘Sweet heaven.’
When not teaching or writing, Anne Oliver loves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handy—her favourite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege…and a dream come true. Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children. Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com. She loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at anne@anne-oliver.com
You can read Anneliese’s sister Abby’s story in Anne Oliver’s previous novel:
BUSINESS IN THE BEDROOM

Dear Reader
I love digging into my family history. Looking at photographs of my pioneering ancestors. Reading their names on the family tree that on one branch stretches back eight hundred years to English royalty. I’ve enjoyed many happy hours of research, discovering snippets in century-old Australian newspapers and visiting old family sites in England. They’re part of me and I’m a part of them.
But how would I feel if I discovered I was adopted now? As an adult? If my biological family was a mystery and that sense of belonging was ripped away? Before I’d finished Abby’s story, in BUSINESS IN THE BEDROOM, I knew I had to create a sister to complete her happiness. Enter Anneliese Duffield—the wealthy, indulged daughter of a renowned heart surgeon, who’s about to have to deal with the trauma of losing her mother and learning she has another family somewhere.
The next step was to give Anneliese a worthy hero to accompany her on that emotional journey of discovery, and to teach her that family is not about blood but about love. And who better than Steve Anderson, self-made millionaire and her secret night fantasy? Not that Anneliese wants him anywhere near her, because she always seems to fall apart when he’s around. Sorry, Annie, it’ll be okay, I promise…
Anne
www.anne-oliver.com

PREGNANT BY THE PLAYBOY TYCOON
BY
ANNE OLIVER

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://wwwmillsandboon.co.uk)
To family
CHAPTER ONE
STEVE ANDERSON needed sleep. And the last thing he needed after a frustrating day investigating a glitch in a client’s security system was his resident night-time fantasy interrupting that sleep.
He scowled at the sporty Honda parked outside the family home he shared with his sister, Cindy, before parking his ute in the garage. Anneliese Duffield, daughter of Melbourne’s renowned heart surgeon, Dr Marcus Duffield, had dropped by. Cindy’s best friend.
And sleep interrupter extraordinaire.
He passed the late-model silver vehicle on his way inside—an extravagant twenty-first birthday present from her parents—and scowled again, annoyed that he still remembered that evening so well.
They’d barely seen one another in those past three years—Anneliese had been overseas with her parents for eighteen months and he’d been frequently interstate on business. When they had, on the odd occasion, crossed paths, she’d made it blazingly clear she didn’t enjoy his company. But he’d seen her laughing and relaxed when she hadn’t known he was watching…and there was something about her besides the hot pull of lust. Something that always tied him up in knots…
Stabbing his key in the back door, he reminded himself she tied everyone up in knots because she didn’t possess an ounce of responsibility. Any resulting problems were sorted out by Mum and Dad.
But he could always smell the fragrance she left in the air. French, he imagined, and distinctively unique, as if she’d had it bottled exclusively. And perhaps she had—wouldn’t that be just like her? Whatever, it always seemed to lodge in his nostrils and settle beneath his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
He could see now that his sister and her friend were engrossed in conversation and cheesecake in the kitchen and oblivious to him. He warned himself he should keep walking, head straight to his room. Take a shower. Something. Anything. Instead, he leaned against the door frame and watched Anneliese.
Sharp cheekbones caught the kitchen light. Deep auburn hair, styled in a blunt chin-length bob, framed an oval face. Curves in all the right places. Perfection.
But it was her eyes that drew him. Not quite green, not quite blue. The colour of blue gums on a misty day. Eyes that could haunt his dreams.
If he let them.
Irritated because on too many occasions to count they’d done just that, he pushed away from the doorway with a brusque, ‘Hi.’
Anneliese’s head swivelled to face him, eyes wide and wary, which irritated him all over again, but he tried for amiable. ‘Can a hungry man get some of that?’
And, yep, no prizes for guessing how she’d interpret that question, he realised as soon as the words left his mouth, because just like that her eyes cooled, her posture stiffened. The spoon slid from her mouth, leaving a smear of cream on her lower lip before he was aware he’d been watching her mouth pout into that little moue of surprise.
Another strike against him.
Unable to resist adding to her discomfort, he tapped his own lip on the corresponding spot, saw the tip of her tongue dart out and lick it off. Her gaze remained locked with his, like a stunned rabbit’s.
Cindy, completely oblivious, bounced out of her chair, her dark pony-tail swinging, then reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Of course you can. I was hoping you’d get here before Annie left. I’ll get another plate.’
And the view was clear again. Anneliese looked as sweet and innocent as icing on a wedding cake and he struggled against inappropriate images that fuelled his blood further. ‘How’s it going, Anneliese?’
‘Steve…’
She seemed to have trouble articulating his name. Her trademark perfume wafted to his nose like a summer-filled breeze. She was wearing well-tailored dark trousers and a soft-looking striped sweater in the colours of coconut ice. Gold highlights shone through her hair, courtesy of some expensive salon procedure, no doubt.
A flush tinged her cheeks and a frown formed between perfectly arched brows. She seemed to draw herself taller and retreat behind some kind of defence at the same time. ‘I better be go—’
‘Don’t let me interrupt whatever you were discussing. It sounded important.’ Steve held Anneliese’s eyes a moment longer, wondering what it would be like to break down that wall and—just once—see a smile directed at him that reached those eyes.
‘Here you are. Passion-fruit—your favourite.’
‘Thanks, sis.’ He remained standing as he took the plate Cindy held out to him. Carved off a mouthful of cheesecake from the box on the table with a spoon.
‘And it is important.’ Cindy addressed his comment. ‘Annie’s insisting on driving all the way to Surfers Paradise on Wednesday—alone—and I’m trying to talk her out of it.’
Steve caught Cindy’s concerned look. Good luck with that. From what he’d observed, Annie always got her own way. But he agreed with his sister—he didn’t like the thought of any woman driving across the continent on her own.
He told himself it wasn’t his problem, but it didn’t quite work. His jaw clenched in aggravation. ‘I imagine your father’s not keen on you driving halfway across the country alone.’
‘I’m twenty-four. Old enough to make my own decisions.’
The cheesecake turned sour in Steve’s mouth. Some people were never old enough—make that mature enough. Didn’t it matter to Anneliese that her mother had died not five weeks ago and her father might need her here? Queensland’s Gold Coast was a bustling tourist strip—in his opinion not a place you’d go to contemplate your life or heal the hurts. And she should be doing those things here, with her father, not flitting off interstate.
He fought the impulse to sneer, scraped his spoon across the bottom of the cake box. ‘Some decisions should be made after careful consideration to others’ needs.’ He schooled his voice to neutral except it didn’t come out the way he’d intended.
For a flicker of time he saw something deeper than pain cross those misty eyes, but he didn’t have time to ponder because Cindy spoke.
‘Steve…’ she said quietly, turning into him and touching his arm. ‘You know Annie’s dealing with serious personal issues right now. She’s fragile. Be gentle.’
His gaze slid over Anneliese’s curves beneath the soft sweater and his hands curled around the tingle. Gentle. He could imagine being gentle with Anneliese a little too vividly.
Cindy patted at his arm again. ‘I know you’re flying to Brisbane in the next week or two for work and I’ve come up with an idea… You’ve got reliable staff here to cover for you, so if you’re not in a hurry you could drive with Annie, look out for her…’
A choked sound bubbled up from Anneliese’s throat as he stared at Cindy. He was momentarily speechless. Obviously her friend was, too. Look out for Anneliese? As in personal escort? He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Just the two of them. All the way to Queensland. Presumably in her sporty car that was way too confining for his six-foot-plus frame.
Cindy must have intuited his answer because she cajoled and patted some more. ‘Please, Steve. I’d go myself but I’m trying out for that promotion and I can’t get the time off work.’
He turned to Anneliese, who looked as gobsmacked as he, but aimed his question at Cindy. ‘Don’t you think you should be asking Anneliese what she has to say?’
‘She’ll do it for me.’ Barely a glance at her friend. ‘Won’t you, Annie? There. It’s done.’
He let out a long slow breath. He must have nodded or something because Cindy smiled up at him, and it seemed the arrangement was final.
‘Hey,’ she soothed, moving to Anneliese’s side and rubbing her back. ‘He’s my big brother, Annie. The one guy you can trust is Steve. He’ll look after you. There’s no need to worry.’
‘I’m not worried.’ Anneliese cleared her throat, her eyes reverting to that familiar frigid blue. ‘Thanks all the same, but I don’t need a passenger cluttering up the journey with unnecessary conversation. Nor do I need someone holding my hand and tucking me into bed at night.’
Steve blinked at the image. ‘I’m not the talkative type.’ As for the rest… Their eyes met and he could’ve sworn they were seeing the same image. Two naked bodies sliding over crisp white sheets, her long legs gripping his hips, impatient feminine sighs filling the air…
She averted her eyes, biting down on her bottom lip as the flush in her cheeks spread to her neck.
Stick to the matter at hand, Steve. And Cindy was right. The girl needed a bodyguard. If he didn’t offer… Resigned to his fate, he set his plate down. ‘I have a few security systems to install up north and some prospective clients to see. If you’re worried about space, I travel light. I can send the equipment I need by air to Brisbane and…’ He paused at a sudden ruckus emanating from the laundry. ‘What the heck is that noise?’
‘Fred. My magpie. Cindy’s going to babysit him for me while I’m away.’ Anneliese tipped up her chin. ‘I’m not going to Brisbane. I’m going to Surfers.’
He smiled at her cool disdain. ‘My timetable’s flexible and Brisbane’s only an hour’s drive farther on.’
Cindy hugged Anneliese. ‘I’d rest so much easier with Steve going, too, and knowing you were in safe hands.’
Steve hitched a shoulder inside his flannel shirt and tucked his ‘safe’ hands in the back pockets of his jeans.
Anneliese’s nostrils flared as she inhaled a deep breath, then she looked at Steve and said, ‘Very well. Wednesday. And I want to get an early start. 6:00 a.m.’
He held her gaze, saw doubts and schemes stir in the depths, but he only nodded. ‘See you at your place at five forty-five. My mobile number.’ Without breaking eye contact, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his business card, set it on the table in front of her: Angel-Shield Security Systems. ‘In case there’s a change of plan.’
One hand rose to her throat, drawing his attention to the way her breasts rose and fell as if she was having difficulty catching her breath. She pushed up from the table with a mumbled, ‘Excuse me…’
Anneliese barely got the words past her lips while her gaze remained locked with Steve’s. Her feet stayed glued to the floor for what seemed endless moments before she could unfreeze her brain, order her legs to move and escape to the sanctuary of Cindy’s en suite bathroom.
Breathless, she leaned back against the door. Her legs still felt weak, her hands clammy as she slid them over the front of her trousers.
Steve Anderson. Her best friend’s brother. Worse, the man she tried her utmost to avoid. Why did he have to turn up right now?
Since the night of her twenty-first party she’d managed—mostly—to give him a wide berth, which made the memory of the last few moments all the more intense. She blinked, but his image was still there, lounging insolently between her eyes. Six-foot-plus of disarming man in faded black jeans and hiking boots.
He had hair the colour of teak and permanently in need of a trim, dark eyes, tanned skin. Still wearing his old padded vest—a sleeveless, shapeless black thing with a red logo of some car manufacturer or other on the back.
Did he ever take it off? No. She didn’t want to think about him taking it off. Because then she’d start thinking about that soft flannel shirt beneath and how it would feel if she touched it. Touched him. Right there in that V of flesh where a few masculine hairs curled over the collar.
She bit back a moan, moved to the basin and wrenched on the tap, letting the cold water flow over her hands. She’d rather die before she succumbed to that temptation. When she needed a partner for social occasions the men she associated with treated her with respect, dropping her home with a chaste kiss at the door. As she expected. As she preferred, she reminded herself.
Steve Anderson wouldn’t stop at the chaste kiss. Or the front door.
She had an even more disturbing feeling that she wouldn’t try to stop him either.
He was…dangerous.
His deep voice vibrated all the way up the passage and through the bathroom door. She heard Cindy’s laugh, then…silence. She breathed a sigh of relief.
She flicked water over her neck and checked her hair but avoided looking too closely at her face, afraid of what she’d see—tell-tale flushed cheeks and too-wide eyes that would confirm what she’d spent more than the past three years denying: for some inexplicable reason Steve Anderson called to her on some primal level. Inexplicable because why she’d be attracted to someone who changed women as often as he changed underwear, she didn’t have a clue.
So she had no intention of letting him accompany her halfway across the country. She was leaving Tuesday. Tomorrow. Staying one day ahead. ‘Sorry, Cindy,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t care how trustworthy you think your brother is, or how concerned you are for me.’
Discovering the real Anneliese, taking charge of her life was something she needed to do alone. Avoiding hot-looking men that unbalanced her equilibrium while she searched was another.
Only a few stars pricked a sky heavy with clouds as Anneliese loaded the last bag into her car early Tuesday morning and closed the rear door on the hatchback.
‘Bunnykins.’
She turned at the familiar name, her heart aching at the sight of her father in his striped pyjamas framed by the light spilling from the hallway onto the veranda. His greying hair stood up in spikes, his breath fogged the crisp pre-dawn air.
‘Daddy, it’s freezing and you haven’t got your dressing gown on. Go back inside. I told you last night I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Go on, Dad,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ As she watched him shuffle back inside guilt flooded her and she considered forgetting the whole thing. Until five weeks ago her life had been on track, her world safe and secure. She could never have imagined leaving the sanctuary of her parents’ love and the only home she’d ever known to travel seventeen hundred kilometres to a remote place she’d never seen.
But that safe, secure world had crashed.
Her whole life had been a lie.
Her parents, the two people she’d trusted, who’d taught her that truth was gold, had lied to her. Betrayed her. Lying by omission was still a lie. She owed it to herself to uncover it all before she talked to her father.
She found him in the kitchen emptying the teapot to make a cup of tea. ‘Let me do that.’ Taking the pot from his hands, she opened the tea caddy and dumped in two scoops of leaves. ‘Remember, I’ve cooked up a dozen meals. They’re labelled and in the freezer for you. I’ve done all the ironing and stocked the pantry.’
‘Your mother would be so…’ He trailed off, spreading his hands.
‘Don’t, Daddy.’ Tears pricked at her eyes, hot points of pain. Snuggling against his chest, she curled into his warmth and familiarity one last time. She’d have done anything to spare him pain, but she was hurting, too. Hurting because she couldn’t yet tell him the truth about why she had to leave. Aching because that made her as guilty as he. But she had to do what she had to do, and it had to be now.
‘When I come back, we’ll talk.’ She straightened. ‘I have to go now to beat the traffic. I’ll be careful, Daddy. I’ll be okay.’
‘I know you will, Annie.’
He sounded more convinced than she was herself, and she breathed a sigh of partial relief in his confidence and kissed his cheek. I love you hovered on her tongue, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say the words that had always come so easily.
He squeezed her arms, stepped back.
She picked up her handbag, then walked through the house, not allowing herself even a glimpse of the antique furniture and the porcelain art pieces in the formal lounge, the crystal chandelier gracing the entrance hall. Not even her mother’s straw gardening hat on the stand by the front door. Especially not her hat—one of the few items Anneliese hadn’t been able to remove when clearing out her mother’s things.
She climbed into her car, took a breath as she set the vehicle into motion, pressing the remote to open the gate as she followed the curved lawn-edged drive.
Could she really do this? All those kilometres. All by herself. She’d never had to be independent. But she’d wanted to be—needed to be—and she was starting right now. Her heart sat like a lead ball in her chest, but she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and focused on the view ahead.
That was when she saw the figure of a man in the middle of the driveway as the gates swung open. Her headlights caught the glint of dark hair, the outline of long muscled denim-clad legs, brown eyes…and that familiar black vest. He smiled and his teeth gleamed in the light’s beam as he bent down and swung a backpack over one shoulder.
Oh, no. Her breath catching, she hit the brakes. He set his hands on the bonnet of her car. Strong and tanned and big, and she had the weirdest sensation that Steve Anderson wasn’t putting those hands on the curves of her car so much as laying claim to her body.
CHAPTER TWO
STEVE had the passenger door open and was tossing his bag in the back before Anneliese could lower her window to tell him to get out of her way. Scooping her jacket and handbag off the seat before she could think about where the accelerator was, or remember to lock the passenger door.
‘Good morning, Anneliese.’ Grinning at her, he checked his watch. ‘Right on time. Two minutes past six. I like a woman who’s punctual.’
‘It’s Tuesday.’
He smelled of the wind, damp and male and she knew his jaw would feel cold and bristly against her palm if she slapped it right now as she wanted to. Or if she curled her fingers around it and simply felt.
When he didn’t reply, she gritted her teeth. ‘We were leaving on Wednesday.’
‘But you changed the schedule, I see.’ With that grin still in place, he hauled the seat belt over his shoulder. ‘Well, then, let’s get going—we want to beat the rush hour. Or are you waiting for me to drive?’
‘Oh, no. You are not getting your hands on this baby.’ She blew out a breath, super aware of the silence and his gaze on her, as if he were asking whether she was referring to her car or her person. Both, she thought, pressing the remote to close the gates behind her.
He didn’t speak again, which gave her time to get her brain into gear. And perhaps it was better this way. She wasn’t alone any more. Already her anxiety had slipped a notch. If he kept to his side of the car and didn’t talk to her in that sexy deep voice, she could handle it. If nothing else, Steve Anderson’s presence alone would divert her focus away from all she was leaving behind.
She told herself she was calm, calm, calm. But she accelerated, turning into the road with a screech of tyres on bitumen, and felt the sudden movement as he gripped his seat belt. ‘And no handy hints on how to drive.’
A few moments of silence prevailed. ‘Just an observation…’ he ventured. ‘We should’ve turned right at the last intersection if you want to get onto the interstate before lunch.’
And she realised the waver in his voice was more of a vibration. Of amusement. ‘Habit,’ she muttered, checking her rear-vision mirror and furious with herself for allowing him to make her forget. She turned off, then doubled back.
‘I imagine it is,’ he drawled. ‘All those exclusive Toorak Road boutiques just down the way.’ She felt his gaze slide over her lemon silk blouse and grey light wool trousers. There was probably a sneer somewhere in there, but it was hard to tell because she was so engrossed with the sound of his deep voice rumbling in his chest.
‘The way to my father’s consulting rooms,’ she corrected icily. ‘Where I work.’ And desperately switched the conversation to him. ‘I imagine this trip is seriously impinging on your social life.’
‘Not at all,’ he said comfortably.
Was he between relationships, then? Did he even do relationships, or were they all one-night stands? She felt her face heat and changed topics fast. ‘So you camped outside my house all night?’
‘Heck, no. But I had this gut feeling you might change your mind about the day and forget to call me. Weird, huh?’
Her cheeks heated further and she was grateful for the semidarkness. One hand crept to fiddle with the top button of her blouse, and she wished she could flick it undone to cool the sudden hike in air temperature.
Sweat sprang to her palms and she kept her eyes on the rear lights of the car in front. She could try turning down the car’s heating, but that would be like admitting he’d made her hot. Which wouldn’t have happened if she was alone.
‘Except you didn’t forget, did you?’ he continued in that rumbly voice. ‘You had no intention of calling me.’
‘I already told you, I don’t need a passenger. You could travel at your own speed and convenience. Fly like most business people. It’s not too late. I can—’
‘Maybe I don’t need a driving partner either.’ He cut her off, his tone sharp, all trace of humour gone. ‘Have you considered that maybe I only agreed to this because I want to put Cindy’s mind at rest, not to mention your father’s?’
Guilt stabbed at Anneliese. She’d been so caught up in her own problems she hadn’t given Cindy a thought.
They came to a snarl in the traffic and she slowed to a stop. ‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry. Perhaps you should call her. Tell her not to worry, big brother’s got everything under control.’
‘Too early yet. But I sent her a text before you opened the gate.’ The humour seemed to be back in his voice as he stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and steeled herself to look at him. ‘So sure of yourself, aren’t you?’
He nodded. ‘Pretty much. Whereas you…’ He turned to her. ‘You’re not—never have been. Your face is an open book. A very pretty book, but open nonetheless.’
His look was so potent, so knowing she wanted to shrivel up and die of embarrassment. Because he was right. Instead of the mask she usually retreated behind, anger bubbled up and she stared right back. ‘Maybe I wanted you to read the message that said: I don’t want you with me.’
‘True,’ he said slowly. ‘But then I’d have to ask myself why that is.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth, a glide of sensation as if his fingers were tracing the outline and texture.
A tingle danced down her spine. How would his fingers feel against her lips? Warm or cool? Light and gentle or rough and sure? Would they feel the same on other parts of her body? No. She tipped up her chin. ‘Let me fill you in on why. You’re arrogant and intimidating and…earthy.’
Oh, Lord, had she really voiced that last thought aloud? The corner of his mouth twitched. Yep, she’d said it.
‘Not the suave and sophisticated type you’re used to, Anneliese?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ She refused to think about the earthy dream she’d had last night involving heat and hands and lots of body lotion. And Steve… ‘I don’t want company because I have a personal and private matter to take care of,’ she snapped, flushed and furious that they were having this conversation but unable to look away. It was as if he held her gaze with some sort of magnetic force.
‘I’m only your travelling companion,’ he said without taking his eyes off her. ‘Traffic’s moving.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Jolting out of her semi-trance state, Anneliese returned her attention to the road. From the corner of her eye she saw him settle back in his seat as she inched the car forward again and said, ‘I don’t need your conversation taking my focus away from my driving.’ She didn’t need his conversation, period. The road cleared and she planted her foot on the accelerator.
‘By all means, focus away.’ He crossed his arms. ‘And we’re not trying to break any world speed records here. You might want to ease your dad’s worry and let him know I’m along for the ride.’
Who was he to remind her of her responsibilities? Anneliese took a deep breath. Counted to three, let it out slowly, then said, ‘I intend to, as soon as we stop. Have you forgotten it’s dangerous, not to mention illegal, to use the phone while behind the wheel?’
‘No. Speaking of dangerous and illegal…do you always travel at this speed?’
‘When I’m under pressure, yes.’
And no doubt Daddy paid her fines as well. Barely turning his head, Steve studied her covertly. What he was imagining doing to her right now was definitely dangerous, and no doubt illegal, too. But those neat little buttons on her prim little blouse begged to be popped. All the way to her navel. And when he’d eased down her bra and finished exploring her delectable body, he’d just bet that navel was as neat and prim as the rest of her…
He closed his eyes. Quit now. She’s just your travelling companion.
Not by choice, he reminded himself, for either of them.
And she didn’t know it yet, but what she got up to when they arrived in Surfers Paradise was still his business. For the sake of Cindy and Marcus and the fact that Steve didn’t trust her not to get into trouble he’d just made it his business.
Her perfume wafted beneath his nose and he felt the subtle air movement as she reached over the console to turn on a CD.
Clean, crisp classical violin.
He groaned inwardly. He might have guessed. This did not bode well for a long trip. Feeling constricted, tight, trapped, he yanked the zipper of his vest down. Yep. A very long trip.
When he opened his eyes again the music was still classical but she’d turned the volume down and the landscape had changed from suburban to rural. Farming and grape-growing land. Rubbing his eyes, he checked his watch and their speed. If his estimation was correct they were somewhere in the Goulburn Valley. Signs of a town in the distance stirred his hunger. ‘Time for breakfast,’ he said, stretching out the kinks. ‘I’m thinking sausages, hash browns, bacon and eggs washed down with a hot frothy cappuccino.’
‘Better make an appointment to see Dad when you get back.’
He turned to look at her to see if she was as serious as she sounded. She’d put on sunglasses so he couldn’t be sure. ‘I work it off. Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who skips breakfast.’
‘Of course not. But all that oily food… You’re hardly going to work it off sitting in a car all day. A balanced—’
‘I don’t need the lecture.’ Obviously she knew it by heart, living with an eminent heart surgeon. ‘I’ll jog when we stop for the night.’
Tonight. He andAnneliese were going to be sleeping… Close.
Disturbing—he might need to lengthen that jog this evening.
‘So you like the classics,’ he said, more to block out the direction his thoughts were taking than anything else.
‘Yes.’ Her answer was automatic, her eyes on the road.
‘Any other music? Rock and roll?’ he asked, hopefully. ‘Country and Western? Elvis?’ Heavy metal?
‘We only have classical at home.’ A statement, flatly spoken.
‘Yeah, but do you like it when you’re on your own?’
‘Mummy says classical’s…’ She trailed off, biting her lower lip and blinking rapidly. Swapped the CD in favour of the radio. When the speakers spat out static she turned it off.
Hell. His fault. Please don’t let her cry. But Steve felt her heartache all the way inside. His own mother hadn’t been a part of his life in for ever. Circumstances might be different—Marlene Anderson had walked out on her husband and two kids twenty years ago—but he still remembered the pain. ‘Hey…’ he said softly, reaching out to soothe a thumb over her shoulder.
A micro-moment as his fingers skimmed over the skin-warmed silk, feeling bone beneath flesh, a ridge of bra strap.
A scant second for the jolt of that first contact to rewire his brain.
He pulled away at the same instant she stiffened and drew a sharp breath. Well, he decided, curling a fist around the unexpected heat, that was something to think about. Or not.
‘It’ll heal with time,’ he said into the silence, and rather than look at the rigid woman beside him, he watched the scenery.
The jolt was still vibrating along his bones. Attraction. Hell, he already knew that, but it was more than he’d imagined, and he’d imagined quite a lot. And different. No other woman had ever managed to…what? Well, he knew better now—he wouldn’t be so quick to touch her again.
They travelled the rest of the way to the town in silence.
‘We’ll stop here, then I’ll drive for a while,’ Steve said as they cruised down the main street.
Anneliese didn’t reply; she seemed to be deep in thought. She parked outside a bakery and they found a clean laminated table with the colour scrubbed out of it.
He ordered his big breakfast while Anneliese ordered coffee and a salad roll. They sat opposite each other to wait for their order.
‘You okay?’
Her reply was a tight-lipped, ‘Fine, thanks.’
No more than he expected. But she looked fragile, as Cindy had said. And it wasn’t just her mother’s passing—he saw more than grief in her eyes. He saw anger and disillusionment for starters. Serious personal issues.
This time he resisted offering her the comfort of touch, but it went against his nurturing nature and left him feeling inadequate and hollow. ‘If you want to unload…’
He didn’t think she even heard him. When they’d eaten they used the town’s public conveniences, then met up back at the car. ‘Sure you don’t want to stock up on chocolate before we hit the road? Chocolate’s a good comfort food.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Okay, but don’t tell me I told you so when I break open my giant block of Caramello.’ He pulled his sunglasses from his vest pocket. ‘I’ll drive.’
‘Uh…wait up…’ She bit her lip, hesitated a second, then dropped the keys in his hand and took off up the street again.
He watched her go, her low heels clicking on the footpath while his thumb stroked over her keys still warm from her hand. She was compact, he thought, eyeing her cute bottom in those hip-hugging trousers and that demure blouse he couldn’t seem to stop fantasising about. Neat.
And all zippered up like her expensive gold chain-mesh key-holder.
Scowling, he unzipped it, unlocked the door and yanked it open. He was used to girls who were open, flirtatious, and knew how to have fun. Girls who understood the ground rules: nothing serious. When it wasn’t fun any more, for either party, it was time to move on. A girl like Anneliese wouldn’t know fun if it laid her on her back and tickled her tummy.
And why he’d come up with that analogy was beyond his comprehension.
A couple of minutes later she was back with something in a slim carry bag. Somewhat breathless, she slid into the passenger seat. She seemed different. Brighter, lighter, as if she’d shed a little of that load off her shoulders. He couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but a tiny Mona Lisa smile tipped up the corners of her mouth.
Perhaps he’d been wrong about the tummy tickle. Perhaps she didn’t know how to have fun because no one had shown her. A flash of heat zapped through his veins, quickly doused. What in hell was he thinking? No, he was sure the ice-maiden act was reserved for him alone—perhaps with another man…
He jerked his gaze straight ahead and slid the key into the ignition. ‘All set?’
‘Let’s go.’
They drove out of town, heading northeast. The sky was lowering, darkening with threatened rain. The trees tossed in the strengthening wind.
Steve was happy to oblige her earlier request for little conversation. After all, what could they possibly have in common?
Except the intense physical awareness of each other.
Yeah, she was aware of him all right. If she’d shifted any farther left, she’d be out the door.
Not that he was looking.
He didn’t need to look to know that her blouse had stretched tighter over her breasts when she’d pushed her hair behind her ears. He couldn’t help hearing her soft sighs when she wiggled her bottom to find a more comfortable position. And all the while her fragrance teased his nostrils.
It was like an endurance test.
They stopped for a late lunch, then a major accident and a hailstorm held them up. Darkness fell suddenly, like a wet blanket.
They’d swapped driving duty an hour ago, which gave Steve nothing to do but concentrate on not thinking about his proximity to Anneliese. The radio had dropped out fifty kilometres back and the silence inside the car was beginning to grate on Steve’s nerves. It was past 10:00 p.m. ‘We’ve got to stop somewhere tonight,’ he said. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Ah…I…was hoping we could drive straight through—’
‘Nope.’ He’d expected that. ‘I need a few hours of horizontal.’
‘Take a nap now, then. I’m right for a while.’ Without taking her eyes off the road, she set the open map on his lap.
He’d hardly closed his eyes when he woke feeling vaguely disoriented. He checked his watch. One hour. Something wasn’t right.
She caught his glance and her frown mirrored his. ‘I expected we would’ve been near Moree by now… I think maybe we took a wrong turn somewhere…’
‘We?’
‘I thought—’
‘The general condition of this road gave you no clue?’ He gestured at the view beyond the windscreen, switched on the car’s interior light. ‘Why didn’t you wake me? Pull over to the side of the road.’
She complied without a word.
‘This is where we’re headed—were headed…’ Taking the map from his knee, she spread it out on the dashboard.
‘Anneliese. No.’ He remained calm—was calm, he told himself—as he reorientated the map ninety degrees, pointed to their route. So it was true what they said about women and maps. ‘I’ll drive.’
‘No.’ She set the car into gear, turned and headed back the way they’d come. ‘What’s that noise—?’
‘Just what we damn well need—’
They both spoke at the same time.
‘Pull over again,’ he ordered.
A chill wind wrapped around him as he climbed out. He confirmed the problem, then poked his head inside to give Anneliese the good news. ‘We’ve got a flat.’ He zipped his vest as high as it would go. ‘Guess we can be thankful it’s not something serious or we might be stuck here for hours.’
CHAPTER THREE
A FLAT.
As in tyre.
As in we need the spare.
The spare with the three-month old puncture she’d forgotten about.
Taking a deep breath, Anneliese closed her eyes. A hole seemed to open up in her stomach and she wished she could just crawl into it and disappear. So much for being independent.
‘Switch off the engine and help me unload your gear from the boot and I’ll change it,’ she heard Steve say. ‘Maybe we can still make Moree this side of midnight.’
She switched off the car but remained where she was. A muffled ‘um’ escaped from between her tight lips.
When she opened her eyes she found Steve leaning over the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on hers. ‘Tell me you have a jack.’
‘I do.’
‘Thank heavens for that, then,’ he said, backing out again. ‘For a moment there, I—’
‘But the spare’s…punctured.’
‘The. Spare’s. Punctured.’ He enunciated each word as if he needed time to absorb the meaning.
‘I never got around to…’ she looked away; she didn’t think he’d appreciate her bringing into it the fact that Dad considered it a man’s job and took care of her car. ‘…getting it repaired.’
‘You planned to drive seventeen hundred k’s without having your car checked over first.’ She flinched at the sound of a frustrated palm slapping the car’s roof. ‘I bet you didn’t forget your perfume, did you?’ He shut the passenger door with a firm thud.
‘For your inf…’ Forget it, he can’t hear you. He doesn’t want to hear you.
And what he’d said was no more than the brutally honest truth.
She watched him in the car’s headlights as he walked away, his unkempt hair whipped by the wind. He turned into the glare and motioned her to turn off the lights as he pulled something out of his pocket.
What in heaven’s name would she have done if she’d been alone? Exactly what he was doing, she thought, watching him punch numbers into his mobile. But she breathed a sigh of relief that he had everything under control and slumped down in her seat.
Except hadn’t she sworn to take control of her own life? She jackknifed up again. Wasn’t that why she’d begun this journey? To make changes? Forget that if she’d been responsible he wouldn’t be making calls on a lonely road in the middle of the night. Someone else taking charge. Again. Worse, it was Steve, the man she always seemed to fall apart in front of.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Ratty vest aside, he was…what? She’d never been so aware of any man the way she was aware of Steve. Because he was different? Because he didn’t treat her the way her usual dates did?
Her mind spun back to her twenty-first party at an exclusive Melbourne club. Most of the guests had left and he’d turned up late to collect Cindy and somehow Anneliese had found herself alone in the car park with Steve…
‘Happy birthday, Anneliese.’
His deep-timbred voice resonated along her bones, sending excitement fizzing through her veins like the celebratory champagne she’d been drinking all night, and she quite simply froze.
‘Thank you,’ she managed—barely—mesmerised by a smile that was as potent as the intensity of his dark eyes. She’d have walked past him, but even motionless he seemed to be blocking her way. Her feet remained glued to the concrete.
His hair stood up in spikes, and that facial fuzz had to be at least three days old. There was a smear of grease on his arm, as if he’d been playing mechanic. In tattered jeans and sneakers and a black T-shirt that looked as if it had been spray-painted over that mile-wide chest, obviously he didn’t care that this place had a dress code, even if he was only on driving duty.
And yet her pulse took no notice of the fact that this was the type of man she avoided.
‘You look sensational tonight,’ he said when she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just stood like a statue in her filmy white organza gown, eyes fused with his while his body heat radiated across the too-close space between them. ‘Thank you again.’ She cleared her throat and attempted to paste a smile on her stiff lips. ‘Cindy’s inside.’
‘Sorry I’m late—I’ve been working on her car.’ He hesitated a beat before saying, ‘Do I get a birthday kiss?’ He must have presumed she’d comply because he promptly stepped in and she got a whiff of motor oil and healthy sweat.
Her heart thundered; her breath stalled. Terror invaded her body. Terror that she’d fall at his feet in a mindless quivering heap. She flung out a hand in front of her. ‘Touch me and I’ll…’ She trailed off. Already her lips were tingling, her hand falling limp to her side, her body swaying towards him.
Her numbed brain registered a flicker of hurt behind the heat in his gaze. ‘And you’ll…what, Anneliese?’
She could feel the vibration of his lips, his breath, in the air between them and closed her eyes for the final assault.
Then…nothing.
‘No. On second thoughts, I don’t think so,’ he murmured. ‘You’d just spend the rest of the night awake and restles and wishing for more than just a kiss.’
She gasped as her eyes snapped open. His mouth was still a whisper away from hers. But not close enough.
Never going to be close enough.
Her cheeks stung with humiliation while her hands itched to slap that arrogant smile off his face. And her lips still ached.
Straightening, he stepped away. ‘And you’d hate yourself in the morning…’
Anneliese relived the emotions as she watched him through the windscreen. On the few occasions they’d run into each other, neither of them had mentioned that evening again. But it was always there, a silent wall between them.
So of course he hadn’t invited himself on this trip. He’d done it for Cindy’s peace of mind, and her father’s. She watched him rake a hand through his over-long hair and promptly dismissed the image of that hand touching her with the same wild abandon.
He looked thoroughly untamed right now with the wind flapping against his vest and the threadbare patches in the knees of his jeans. Some women went for that look. A lot of women apparently. A disconcerting blip interrupted her pulse… That was how she knew it wouldn’t be a chaste kiss at the front door.
As for her birthday non-kiss… Well, she’d never know.
He turned and headed back to the car and even in the night’s dimness she didn’t miss the impatient snap in his long strides, the grim face as he shoved the mobile in his jeans pocket. Chill air bowled into the car, sweeping away the residual warmth from the car’s heating as he swung the door open and slid inside. He smelled of spice and winter grass and she had to force herself not to gulp it in.
‘First off, I apologise,’ he clipped. ‘That gibe about the perfume was uncalled for.’
She inclined her head. ‘You called it as you see it. What now?’
‘Can’t get a signal.’ He closed his eyes briefly, then turned to her, his jaw tight and shadowed with the day’s stubble. ‘I’ll try again later. Unless a car comes by, we’re stuck here. And since we’ll need a tow, we’re here for the night in any case.’
She told herself the tight clench in the region of her stomach was because she hadn’t eaten, that the only reason her skin prickled was because she was cold. But it was more than that. Her irresponsibility had got them into this mess. And now they were stranded. Together. Close together. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘These things happen.’ He squeezed her shoulder in a totally non-sexual way and his expression relaxed a little, but warmth spiralled from his touch down to her fingertips.
She’d just bet these things didn’t happen to Steve.
He blew on his hands. ‘Do you have a rug, or something we can share while we wait?’
Share body heat with Steve Anderson? Her pulse accelerated and her skin prickled anew and she shivered involuntarily. For a moment she considered saying no, but that was about as dumb as travelling without an inflated spare tyre.
‘There’s a quilt in the boot.’ Scrambling out, she hugged herself against the wind as she headed to the back of the car, then began pulling out bags.
Steve appeared at her side, shrugging off his vest. ‘Here. You’re shivering.’ Before she knew what he was about, he’d slung the vest around her shoulders, enveloping her in his spicy warmth.
She didn’t need it. She didn’t need to feel the slippery sensation of the lining against her breasts through her jumper, didn’t want to be surrounded by his masculine scent. ‘No… I’m okay.’
Irritation and impatience sparked in his eyes as she looked up at him. ‘Keep it, I don’t feel the cold,’ he said, pulling the quilt out. ‘Get back in the car, I’ll finish up here.’
She did as he requested, dragging her arms through the openings in the vest on the way. Steve joined her a couple of minutes later with the quilt—her bedroom quilt with the extra down filling that seemed to shrink the limited space even further.
‘Slide your seat back.’ His breath tickled her ear and his hands looked big and dark and masculine on the familiar pink floral fabric as he adjusted it over them both.
Whoa. Her whole body went rigid; her heart stalled. It was like being in bed with him. She only had to lean a little more to the left to find out how his lips would feel against hers, and she was tempted. She’d never acted out anything like that in her life.
‘The steering wheel’s going to get in your way,’ he said patiently. ‘And if we want to maximise the quilt’s effectiveness we need to be close.’
‘Close?’ she repeated, her eyes drifting to his mouth again. Her voice came out as a whisper.
Then she realised he was waiting for her to oblige with the seat. She slid it back a couple of notches so that they were shoulder to shoulder. His heat burned through her jumper where they touched. Only the handbrake prevented their thighs from abrading. Thank heavens. She remained rod-stiff, closed her eyes and counted. One, two—
‘I won’t hurt you, Anneliese.’
The tenderness and absolute sincerity in his voice slid over her like the finest silk on polished wood. ‘I know that. You’re Cindy’s brother.’
A pause while he shifted—probably to a different angle—bumping her shoulder, but she wasn’t looking, so she didn’t know. Except…she could feel his gaze on her face, could hear the slow rise and fall of his breathing.
‘Do you only ever see me as Cindy’s brother?’ he said into the silence.
Oh, not a fair question. ‘Since I only see you when I’m with Cindy, the answer’s yes.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Isn’t that how you see me? As Cindy’s friend?’ She opened her eyes to find herself looking into direct and piercing eyes, his normally amber gaze coal-dark in the dimness, and swallowed.
‘We’re not with Cindy now.’
Anneliese’s heart stumbled against her ribcage and she looked away, into the night. That was his answer?
Whatever it was—a mistake, a slip of the tongue, an accusation—seemed to snap his patience. He shifted abruptly and his tone changed yet again. ‘I often wonder how it is that the two of you hit it off so well.’
Her gaze swung back to him. ‘I often wonder how you two can be brother and sister.’
He smiled. And, oh…my… The corners of his eyes crinkled, his mouth tipped up boyishly, revealing an endearingly crooked tooth. She’d never noticed that before, she thought hazily. Something stirred along her skin, fluttered in her breast, and she found herself smiling back.
‘I’ve wondered the same thing myself.’ He shook his head, warmth and affection for Cindy radiating from those twinkling eyes. ‘Maybe I was adopted.’
Anneliese’s smile froze. Her veins turned to ice. The almost relaxed warmth she’d been enjoying seeped away, leaving her chilled to the bone. She was elbow-jostling and knee-bumping and breathing the same air with another human being, yet she’d never felt so desolate.
‘Hey. What’s wrong?’ His own smile faded, his eyes narrowed and he reached out, touched a finger to her cheek.
The sensation of being touched, of normal human contact, tempered the pain of the past moment, but she stiffened and drew back, afraid of her own unstable emotions. Afraid of him. His heat, his proximity, his potent and unfamiliar brand of masculinity.
She didn’t want Steve getting in the way of what she had to do. She didn’t want Steve, period. She just wanted to reach her destination.
‘Nothing’s wrong. My stomach’s talking to me,’ she lied, patting her middle. ‘In fact it’s howling.’ She summoned up a casual demeanour and voice to match. ‘I’m going to have to admit you were right and beg a couple of squares of that chocolate you so prudently purchased this morning.’
He studied her as if trying to read meaning into her sudden turnabouts of the past few moments, then his mouth quirked and he said, ‘You mean that calorie-laden one with the delicious caramel filling? All we’ve got to eat between us until mid-morning at least?’
She bit her lip, her mouth already watering as she suddenly realised she was hungry. ‘Yes. I have a half a bottle of water. I’m willing to share if you are.’
‘Deal.’ He switched on the interior light, opened the glovebox and withdrew a well-depleted block. ‘Let’s see.’ He peeled back the wrapping. ‘Six squares. That’s two now, one each for breakf—’
‘Only six?’ She stared at him, incredulous. ‘How many were there?’
‘A lot more,’ he said with a rueful shake of his head. ‘I’m afraid chocolate’s my number one indulgence.’ He broke off a couple of squares, lifted them to her lips with a grin. ‘Shall we indulge together?’
Her mouth dropped open in shock and suddenly the air was thick with all the possibilities that conjured. The image smouldered in her brain and took hold. She just had to reach out to slip her hand inside the open neck of that disreputable shirt. To pop the top button and climb on top of him and lay her caramel-coated tongue along his collar-bone while he returned the favour with his hands. Inside her blouse, beneath her bra, then—No!
Panic-stricken, her eyes shot to his. The heated gleam in his dark gaze told her all she didn’t need to know—shared fantasy. Her nipples hardened, the pulse in her neck beat double time. Without thought, she ran her tongue around dry lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth. ‘You said one square each…’ It was a sultry voice she’d never heard before coming out of her mouth. ‘That’s two.’
‘It’s too soft to break further without making a mess.’ His voice was deeper, too, as he touched the chocolate to her lips. ‘Bite off your half.’
She did as he asked and couldn’t control the murmur of delight as the smooth creamy texture flowed over her tongue. Then she saw him pop the remainder into his mouth. His eyelids dipped and she heard his low growl of approval as he savoured the experience. The same way he might when being worked over by a lover…
Heat spread through her body and her mouth went dry. She swallowed, barely managed to say ‘water?’ as she withdrew the depleted bottle from the door’s pocket.
‘After you.’
She unscrewed the top, downed a self-conscious mouthful while he watched. Sucked in a breath while he watched her wipe the moisture from her lips with her fingers. She handed the bottle to him, careful to avoid contact because right now sparks were a high—and dangerous—possibility.
It was almost a relief when they’d both finished, he’d switched off the light and they’d settled an arm’s space apart beneath the quilt’s warmth in the semi-darkness. She couldn’t help the sigh that escaped.
‘Are you tired?’ Steve asked. ‘You can nap—I’ll keep watch.’
Yes, she was. But she doubted she could sleep even if she wanted to, and no way was she going to let herself succumb to unconsciousness with Steve watching. ‘I’m fine.’ Though it might be preferable to this silent awareness that surrounded them. Outside the wind whistled around the car, leaves swirled along the rough road, but inside their shared warmth beneath the quilt created an intimacy that bordered on pain.
‘Okay. So, I’ve admitted mine—what’s your weakness, Anneliese?’
His question caught her unawares and took her a moment to think past the first thought that flared in her mind—you—which was crazy, and not one she wanted to think about. Especially now, if ever.
‘Red shoes,’ she said finally. ‘And teddies…ah…not to be confused with underwear… I mean the soft furry abandoned kind. You know.’
A knowledgeable experienced smile played around his mouth. ‘I do.’
‘Yes. Well.’ She swallowed. ‘I can’t go past a second-hand or antique shop without checking if there’s one lying in a box somewhere wondering why they were abandoned…’
Her voice broke and she gazed at the windswept vista beyond the windows. Not something Steve Anderson needed to know about. With a deliberate throat-clearing, she brightened her voice, attempted a smile and turned to him. ‘I have sixty-seven at the last count.’
His brows rose. ‘Shoes or teddies?’
‘Teddies. You don’t count your shoes—that’d take all the enjoyment out of shopping for more.’
‘Shopping,’ he murmured, with something like contempt and the heat she’d seen in his eyes moments ago cooled. She could read his expression, could almost hear the words forming in his mind. Spoiled rich chick.
‘It’s a girl thing,’ she said in her defence. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Here’s something I don’t understand,’ he said slowly with that same remote detachment. ‘Tell me why Dr Marcus Duffield’s only daughter is so set on leaving her father when he needs her most and driving to Surfers Paradise.’
Anneliese swallowed over the ball of pain that lodged in her chest, expanded and crept up her throat. She curled her fingernails into her palms till she was sure they’d draw blood to stop herself from the urge to slice into him the way he’d so neatly and precisely sliced into her. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I called on your dad last week. Apart from the grieving process, he’s worried about you, and I don’t think his own health’s a hundred per cent.’
‘I’m—’
‘He doesn’t need the added stress and it concerns me.’ He steamrolled ahead. ‘He gave Dad a new life. He’d still be alive if not for the accident.’ His voice remained low-pitched and reasonable. ‘Marcus doesn’t deserve what you’re doing.’
Steve the expert, laying the guilt at her feet with exasperating calm. ‘So you’re an authority on other people’s family business now?’ She shook her head, the tears she’d been fighting blurring her vision. ‘You know nothing about it.’
‘Then tell me. Explain why you’re so obsessed about inanimate objects like stuffed toys and shoes when you should be directing your concern towards your father at this time.’
‘Because my mother left me, that’s why!’ The anguished words left her lips before she could call them back.
‘Your mother passed away, Anneliese, she didn’t—’
‘Stop!’ Slamming a fist on her knee, she bit down hard on her lip, furious with herself for the momentary lapse. But the truth was out there: Patricia Duffield wasn’t her mother. For twenty-four years Anneliese had been lied to. Kept in the dark. Cheated. Pain hammered through her veins with every beat of her heart.
Suddenly the air inside the car was thick, confining. She wrenched open the door.
She wasn’t Anneliese Duffield.
Her birth name was Hayley Green and she was adopted.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘ANNELIESE…’ Steve reached for her but she was already out of the car, yanking off his vest. She left it where it dropped and began running.
He cursed himself as he watched her. But as he reached for the door, he held back, fingers tightening on the handle. Give her a moment.
His eyes narrowed but remained glued to her receding figure. Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone so hard on her; she was obviously distressed. His fault, damn it. The instinctive urge to offer support overrode other concerns—such as her anticipated resistance to him.
He climbed out, retrieved his vest from the road and started after her. ‘Anneliese, wait!’
She picked up pace at the sound of his voice; he saw her ankle crumple in those damn impractical shoes. ‘Leave me alone,’ he heard her snap. He couldn’t see her face so he couldn’t read her expression, but he heard the struggle, the dismay behind the steel in her voice.
‘No.’ He reached her in less than thirty seconds, felt the tension tremble through her as he turned her around. Her eyes, wide moist pools, looked up at him, vulnerable yet defiant, momentarily stirring emotions he reserved only for his sister. The chill night breeze lifted her hair, bringing her fragrance to his nose.
‘Here.’ He laid his vest around her shoulders. Again. She shrugged at it, at him. ‘I told you to leave me al—’
‘And I said no.’ He held the vest firm but not too firm, his hands easily gripping her slim shoulders. ‘Not until I know you’re all right.’
‘Of course I’m not all right. You!’ She pushed at him, self-disgust colouring her voice. ‘You make me say things I’d never say in my right mind.’
He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he said, ‘There’s your answer, then.’ He tugged the zip on his vest up, taking care not to notice as his fingers brushed the swell of her breasts. ‘And I’m not leaving you alone till you are all right.’
He waited till the fight drained out of her, then drew her shivering body against his. Her warmth curved into him, her sigh drifted across his neck. He didn’t know what to say so he waited and said nothing while the trees whispered and something scuffled in the roadside vegetation.
Only Anneliese would see her mother’s death as some sort of betrayal. Something that hadn’t gone her way for once. But she was hurting, and bringing all the emotion to the surface was his fault.
‘Come back to the car,’ he said to the top of her head.
She leaned back a fraction and looked up at him, her face pale and shadowed with fatigue. A strand of her hair blew across her face and caught against her lips.
Catching the silky strands, robbed of their glorious colour in the night’s light, he rubbed them between thumb and forefinger before smoothing them back into place behind her ear. He left his hand there, wanting to feel her skin against his palm. Wanting to tell her everything would be all right. That he was here.
So it seemed natural to lean down and touch his lips to hers. To reassure, to soothe. But as he skimmed her mouth and tasted the tears she hadn’t allowed him to see and the sweetness that bloomed through the salt he wasn’t reassured. Or soothed.
Beyond the casual flirtations, the odd romantic weekend getaway, he didn’t get involved with women. He didn’t allow himself to be suckered into their problems or their plans. Not any more. He’d learned the hard way.
But somehow his arms were around Anneliese and hers were on his chest and she was kissing him back, and not getting involved was history. There was an urgency in the way she grabbed fistfuls of shirt and clung. A passion fuelled by anger and hurt and heaven knew what else.
His own passion flared, fuelled not by anger, but by the sensation of her body as it moved up against his, and those little buttons on her blouse… It sparked along his veins as he urged her mouth to give a little, an enticing hint to the secrets within. The taste of caramel, her own rich texture as his tongue slid briefly against hers.
She released his shirt to spread her hands over his chest, every fingertip touching. Tantalising. Then something changed. Her lips remained locked with his but she pushed at him as if she were engaged in some sort of war with herself.
His arms tightened around her a moment more before he willed them to go slack. If only other body parts would follow suit as easily. He remained perfectly still, giving her the option to pull away when she chose. Perfectly still, because any movement was likely to cause pain or embarrassment, or both, and this was about her, not him.
She pulled back, pressing her lips together as if to deny what they’d done, but even the night’s shadows couldn’t dim the heat of their brief but passionate encounter in her eyes. ‘Why did you kiss me? I’m not one of your… I’m not your kind of woman.’
No, she wasn’t, but the way she’d responded had left him breathless. ‘It wasn’t a one-way street, Anneliese. You kissed me, too.’
She took another step back, hugging his vest around her, and if it had been daylight he knew he’d have seen the blush on her cheeks. Then, to his surprise, she looked down and made a point of staring at the bulge in his jeans. ‘What were you going to do? Lay me down on the road and do it?’
Her graphic accusation stunned him. Even if his imagination had run away on its own course. ‘I can’t control my body’s response,’ he said tightly. ‘You’re an attractive woman. If you think I’d take advantage of your distress you don’t know me at all.’
‘I don’t. Know you. Except as Cindy’s brother.’
‘Ah, yes.’ And that was beginning to annoy him. ‘Because you make a habit of disappearing whenever I come home.’
‘That’s not true.’ But they both knew it was. It was there in her gaze as they eyed one another. She cleared her throat. ‘I apologise, I shouldn’t have said that.’
Yeah, he thought, it cost her to say that. ‘Accepted.’
‘Even if it was true.’
With the evidence in his jeans what could he say that he hadn’t already said? He shrugged, looking away to the low hills in the distance, freeing himself from the spell her eyes seemed to cast over him. ‘So we shared a kiss—no big deal—don’t beat yourself up over it. In fact, forget it, if it makes you feel any better.’
‘I already have. It never happened.’ Liar, Anneliese admitted to herself, her lips still throbbing with Steve’s taste. His scent was imprinted on her brain.
That single solitary kiss would keep her awake and edgy for the next century. Just as he’d said three years ago: You’d just spend the rest of the night awake and restless and wishing formore than just a kiss. Oh, she remembered, word for word. Worse, Steve knew it. She knew he knew it.
‘I’m going back to the car. It’s freezing out here. Are you coming?’ He turned around and began walking.
Anneliese watched him stride away, his shirt flapping in the wind. He hadn’t even checked to see if she was following. How could he be so casual when they’d just shared such a mind-blowing kiss?
Except that was the kind of man he was; he probably had forgotten about it. So she did not want to be some place alone and relive it, she was not going to think about Steve that way at all.
‘Chocolate.’ He broke the last four squares in half—without crushing them—and offered her two. They were back in the relative warmth and comfort of the car. Steve had taken the driver’s side, leaving Anneliese with the edge of the quilt that still held a hint of his residual heat, the lingering scent of his aftershave—not good for her decision not to think about him.
‘I thought that was breakfast,’ she murmured.
‘Take my share—I’ve had more than enough today. Comfort food,’ he reminded her when she made no move to take it.
She nodded, appreciating the simple gesture since there was nothing else till they found a roadhouse, wherever and whenever that might be, and held out her cupped hand. ‘Thank you.’
‘Okay,’ he said slowly, when she’d finished. ‘Have you discussed how you feel about your mum with your dad?’
Dad. The memory of him standing on the veranda this morning, looking smaller, frail, as if he’d shrunk somehow. Dad. The man who saved lives, the man who’d given her every opportunity to experience her own life to its fullest. The father who loved her.
The father who’d lied to her.
Not her father.
‘No.’
‘Don’t you think you should have?’
‘It’s personal. Besides, what would that do to his stress levels?’
He looked at her, his gaze incredulous. ‘You’re going to Surfers Paradise—alone—you don’t think that’s adding to it?’
She sucked in a lungful of air. Her sister lived there. Her biological sister. She’d had a sibling for twenty-four years and had no idea what she looked like, who she was as a person. And, no, she wasn’t going to open up to Steve, no matter how badly she wanted to unburden her secret. Especially not to Steve. She didn’t want to be any more vulnerable to him than she already was.
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ His tight voice dragged her back, and she looked into a pair of razor-sharp eyes. Eyes that held definite traces of anger, bitterness and old hurt.
A half-laugh bubbled up, then sobered. Did he have a child out there somewhere from one of his affairs, someone he wondered about? ‘Not that it’s any of your business but, no, I’m not pregnant and I wouldn’t be careless enough to get myself in that situation. There are enough unwanted kids out there,’ she finished with her own bitter thoughts of the mother who hadn’t loved her enough to keep her.
Her life was in such turmoil, how could she bring another life into the world and give it the happiness it deserved? But if she was… Oh, to have someone that came from your own flesh. To belong. And she was travelling halfway across Australia to find that blood connection. Yet she hadn’t replied to the woman called Abigail Seymour she’d found on the Internet adoption site and who worked in a boutique hotel in Surfers Paradise.
And wasn’t that the ultimate irony? She couldn’t bring herself to take that step. To cross the boundary between Anneliese and a girl called Hayley.
She became aware of Steve’s silent scrutiny. And the narrowing of his eyes, the tightness around his mouth. Then he looked past her, his gaze clouded and dark. ‘Are you saying a child of yours would be unwanted? That you’d do whatever it took to be rid of the problem?’
‘I don’t think that’s relevant since I’m not pregnant. This trip’s important,’ she said into the silence. ‘It’s something I have to do.’
His gaze swung back to her. ‘And you’ve chosen to do it away from any kind of support network. Your father loves you and you’re pushing him away.’
At his words, she felt the shivers ripple through her and hugged her arms around her middle, closing her eyes to hide the tears threatening to spill over. ‘Butt out of my business, Steve.’
But Steve heard the desperation behind the tough talk and couldn’t not touch her. He shifted sideways, slipped his arm around her shoulders…and felt an overpowering need to protect. That protective instinct had cost him his happiness once before, but he didn’t let himself think about that now.
For the short time they were here, he cleared his mind of old mistakes and focused instead on Anneliese. On the texture of her hair against his hand, her fragrance, the way she held herself stiff and rigid against his arm. ‘Relax. I’m not going to jump you.’ But that kiss was still smouldering in his mind…and other parts of his anatomy.
‘I know that.’ She rolled her shoulders, leaned a little more loosely against his arm, but her voice came out slightly strangled, as if she was only half convinced.
Her head fell back against his arm, exposing her smooth white throat. ‘I know how you feel…what you think about me.’
Think? Maybe. Feel—that was a different matter altogether. ‘And what do I think?’
‘That I’m a pampered princess like those rich chicks you see in the media, whining because she isn’t above the law when she gets caught drink-driving. Expecting her parents to sort the mess out.’ She made a quick jerky movement with her hand. ‘And now, just when I’m trying to reclaim some control over my life and be independent and take some responsibility for myself you come along and rob me of that chance.’
‘I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Anneliese. Coming with you was Cindy’s idea, remember? There’s independence and there’s independence. And a responsible girl would know the difference.’
‘Are you saying I’m irresponsible?’
‘No. Not intentionally at any rate.’
‘So you are saying I’m irresponsible.’
‘I don’t want to play word games with you.’
But a different kind of game…one involving that delectable mouth currently thinned in vexation and tilted towards him…the one he’d soothed and wanted to explore further, for pleasure this time…
Hell.
Frowning, he peered at his watch. Drummed itchy fingers against the steering wheel. Too many hours to count. He switched on the ignition and fiddled with the radio, trying to get some reception to fill in the time, but all he got was static.
Then Anneliese reached into the passenger door’s side pocket and pulled a selection of CDs out of the bag she’d bought earlier in the day. ‘Try these.’
He frowned at the covers: one with a collage of street violence and wilderness, another with a humanoid form emerging from the jawlike petals of a metallic rose. ‘ “Urban Plunder” and “Metamorphosis”?’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/anne-oliver/pregnant-by-the-playboy-tycoon-42501887/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.