Heart of the Outback (12 page)

“Do you put work his way?”

Francey glanced sideways at him. “Not especially. I let him know if I think there’s a project he might want to tender for. That’s all. I don’t play favourites in business, unlike some of our colleagues. It can lead to problems I’d rather avoid.”

“Aahhh, you’re a wise woman, Francey Spinetti.” He was silent for a moment, then he added, “I think Tony Carlyle might have a project that suits Brett’s company’s size. I’ll talk to Tony on Monday.”

“Brett would appreciate that. They’re trying to pay as much as they can off their home loan before the baby comes.” She smiled her thanks at him. “Every little bit helps.” All at once she became aware of how close they were in the confined space of the galley. But, strangely, she didn’t feel crowded or threatened as she might with some men. With Aden, she felt … comfortable.

“I seem to recall you promising to tell me about that long ago relationship. The one,” he paused as his finger took hold of her chin to lift it so she had to look him squarely in the eyes, “that hurt you so much.”

Francey inhaled deeply, relishing the salty air. She shrugged her shoulders in resignation; he had to know sometime and now was as good a time as any. “Sure, why not. But it’s not particularly original or pleasant. I fell in love with my maths lecturer at uni, in my last year of study.” The way she said it
sounded casual, uncomplicated, but it hadn’t ended up that way. “Bryan was thirteen years older than me. He seemed worldly and sophisticated, gentle and caring too.” She gave a self-derisive laugh. “Corny, I know, but I thought we had the real thing. He said he lived with his mother, a sickly woman, so we never met at his place. There were other places though. Motels and sympathetic lecturers who loaned him their flat keys on special occasions. Somehow, we managed to see a lot of each other.”

She looked away for a moment, a rush of pleasure mingling with the pain. “I was so happy. Not just because my maths improved but because of Bryan. He seemed to be everything I wanted in a man. I saw my future with him. Commitment, family, the whole bit. For six months I walked on a cloud of … of … blinkered serenity,” she admitted with disarming frankness. Bryan Steinberg had — whether intentionally or not — helped mould Francey into the person she had now become. He had brought out her sense of humour, her warmth, the directness that was her trademark, and he’d given her confidence in her potential to become a talented architect.

“Unfortunately, my ideal of the man — I’d put him on some stupid pedestal — didn’t match the reality. As you can imagine, after a while it became impossible for some people not to know about our affair. Someone told his
wife.
I, of course, had no idea he was married until she introduced herself as Cathy Steinberg and confronted me on campus one day. God it was embarrassing! She wanted to know why I was trying to break her and Bryan up.” Her tone and expression hardened. “I found out that they’d been
married for seven years — they lived at Gosford and Brian commuted each day to university.” Her eyebrows lifted meaningfully. “There was no sick mother either. And he had two children, the rat!”

“But didn’t he want you rather than his wife?”

Francey shook her head. “Not enough to end his marriage. You see, his wife’s family is well off. She’s highly strung too. I heard that she had some kind of breakdown after learning of our affair. When her parents die Bryan and his wife will be independently wealthy. Bryan, frankly, inferred that I couldn’t compete with that. As well, despite his faults, his weaknesses, I could tell that he really loved his kids.” Her long, dark lashes blinked rapidly a couple of times. “I … my conscience wouldn’t allow me to come between him and the children. His wife, foolish woman, still loved him. It was easier,” God,
no
, it hadn’t been easy — it had been the hardest thing she’d ever done, “to walk away.”

“How I got through my studies and passed the finals, I don’t remember — it’s a blur. I did though, and somehow I survived.” Her parents hadn’t known what she’d gone through — only the O’Connors — she had managed to keep it secret from everyone else in the family. Just as well, she thought, her protective father may have gone after Bryan with a shotgun.

“Poor Francey.” Aden’s voice held a wealth of compassion.

“Not poor,” she said, and a determined sparkle came into her eyes. “I got wise and I’m getting wiser. I won’t allow myself to get hurt that way again.”

A passing speedboat’s wake caused the yacht to rock crazily in the swell. Aden took the opportunity
to lean towards her and touch her cheek with the back of his hand.

“You won’t get hurt with me, Francey, that’s a promise.”

The next instant his lips were pressing against hers. Warm and firm, not dominating, a gentle exploration of hitherto uncharted areas. His arms came around her to draw her close to him and through his thin shirt the heat radiated into her body. They drew back from each other, both breathless, both surprised at the pleasures awakened.

“I’m not sure …”

He cut her off with another quick kiss. “What? Not the boss and the employee thing?”

“Partly.” More than that though she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure she was ready for the next step. Life was simpler, more peaceful if she kept her heart intact. Besides, she had worked hard to make a niche for herself at Nicholson, Drew and Carlyle; she didn’t want to see it come to an end with an ill-timed, perhaps ill-fated relationship. Most of all, and she admitted the truth of it, she didn’t want to get hurt again.

“We’ll take things slow,” he promised, smiling.

There had been many women in Aden Nicholson’s life. Some light-hearted affairs, others more serious and he’d even wanted to marry one woman. With Francey he already had the feeling that this was it. He knew that because of the past hurt she’d become skittish about romantic involvements and judging by the expression in her eyes as she’d spoken about Bryan, her heart had been badly bruised.

“We’ll be discreet. No-one in the firm needs to know we’re seeing each other socially. It’s none of
their business anyway.” Out of the corner of his eye Aden saw Brett coming towards the galley. His arms dropped away from her.

“Wind’s come up, freshening too,” Brett said as he popped his head around the cabin doorway. “Aden, we might as well make the most of it.”

“I’d like to help with the sails,” Francey said impulsively, smiling at Aden. “Otherwise I’ll never learn how to do it properly.”

Brett winked at Aden. “We never say no to extra crew, do we, mate?”

“Not when she looks like Francey. I’ve crewed with some pretty ugly guys over the years. She’s a nice change.”

Francey’s eyebrow rose in question. “I think that’s a compliment, but perhaps you should reserve your enthusiasm until you see me work the sails.”

“Will do.”

Aden Nicholson listened as the man on the other end of the phone line finalised their conversation. Then, replacing the receiver he stared at the blank wall in front of him. Interesting. Damned interesting. Within five minutes his private fax line spewed an official letter confirming what had been discussed. As he read the text he shook his head in wonder at the power of the media. Sue William’s article on Francey winning the national body’s architectural award had led to her being the cover story in
The Australian
which had created media interest and an interview on the
Today Show
and
A Current Affair.
This was the kind of free publicity some businesspeople would kill for. And yesterday the editor from the
Women’s Weekly
,
looking for the rags to riches angle, had phoned for an interview. More projects were coming in and the new clients wanted Francey to design for them. As he’d predicted, her award was going to be a financial bonanza for the firm. His expression took on a sardonic twist. He’d probably have to keep a look out for head-hunters trying to poach her away from them too.

The letter trailing in his hand, Aden rose from his desk and made his way to Francey’s office.

“It seems that lately I’ve made a habit of bringing you good news,” he said as he entered and took up his usual position on the corner of her desk. “What do you know about CJ Ambrose?” he asked out of the blue.

Francey blinked as her concentration disengaged from the floor plan of the multi-storey office block on which she had been working. She swivelled away from the drawing board to look at him. “Ambrose?” She pursed her lips for maybe ten seconds, thinking. “He’s that Queensland man who franchised shoe stores.”

Aden grinned and then shook his head. “Not quite. That’s R.M. Williams. CJ Ambrose is one of the wealthiest, most influential men in Queensland. Has huge cattle interests and —”

“Oh, yes,” the penny dropped. “I remember. He’s into all sorts of things. A resort island, condominiums at Surfers Paradise, exports, foreign investments … Does business from his cattle station somewhere up north. I read about him in a recent edition of
The Bulletin.
”

“Good girl!” his grin widened. “I’ve just talked to his CEO, Les Westcott. CJ wants you to tender a
design for some sort of building for him. A mini conference centre on his property. Interested?”

Francey blinked again, a habit she had when she was deep in thought and then, having taken it in, her eyes widened with delight. “Of course. Why me in particular?”

“Publicity from the award, I guess. You’re the architectural flavour of the month. How are you placed, work-wise?”

Blue-green eyes twinkled at him. “Well, if I work day and night for the next eight days or so I could clear most of my projects. Eddie, in the draughtsman’s pool, can do the basic section plans. But,” she added with a cheeky smile, “it means cutting out sleeping, eating, dates and all leisure time.” The corners of her mouth tucked in to control the smile as she saw his disconcerted expression. “Why? Is the Ambrose project urgent?”

Aden’s shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “As with our Mr Monroe, I’ve found it a wise policy not to keep excessively wealthy clients waiting. They’re used to first-class attention and get impatient if they don’t get it.” He studied her desk with its mess of rolled up plans, clients’ folders and architectural manuals. “Maybe we can lighten your load a bit.”

Another multimillionaire. It seemed that the richer they were the more difficult they became. Then a thought came to her. “Where do I have to go?”

“Les Westcott has offered to fly you up in Ambrose’s private jet. You’ll board at Mascot and be there in a couple of hours. Murrundi Downs station, Ambrose’s headquarters, is south-east of Mt Isa.”

For a moment she was flattered by the unexpected attention, then she said, “That far! I’ve never been farther north than Dubbo.” She had an uncle, Guiseppe Favorito, on her mother’s side, who owned a cafe in the township. Twice a year Carlo and Lucia closed their fruit shop on Sunday and left before dawn to visit him. Guiseppe, a widower, was getting older and all his children had moved to the city and were increasingly busy with their own lives.

Unlike most of her contemporaries, Francey hadn’t travelled or holidayed much since finishing university and getting a job with Nicholson, Drew and Carlyle. She had saved every dollar she could put her hands on until she had enough for a deposit on a modest one bedroom unit at Potts Point. Getting ahead career-wise and having the security her parents still strived for as they approached old age, drove her need.

“Okay.” Aden handed over the faxed letter. “Read it. It’s self-explanatory as to what Ambrose wants. I’ll get you a copy of what we have on him in the VIP future customers file — my secretary’s brainchild of an idea. Hopefully the more you know about the man, the better you’ll deal with him.”

“Good idea. Pity it didn’t work for Monroe though.”

“Yes, well … there are exceptions.” He sighed. “It shouldn’t take you more than a few days, a week at the most, depending on how finicky Ambrose is.” His hand moved to the pile of folders. “Now, which projects can wait till you get back and which ones have to be dealt with expeditiously?” Then, in a softer tone he added, “There’s no way you’re getting out of tonight’s dinner date. Right?”

“You’re the boss.” As she smiled she couldn’t control the touch of colour that warmed her cheeks. They’d been dating twice a week for a month now and it was delightful. No, Aden was delightful. But she conceded that she was the one continuing to hold back from taking the final step of moving into a full relationship with him. Damn Bryan Steinberg and the memories. When would she be free of him and the pain? She thanked God that Aden was a patient man; he hadn’t pressured her to sleep with him but she knew he wanted to, very much. What had her friend Meredith said once? That some women loved too much, and too deeply. She had wondered from time to time over the past few years whether she was such a woman. Contrarily, part of her hoped so, and part of her hoped not.

Grey eyes followed the naked woman’s progress as she padded over the tiled floor of the Mirage suite. Of average height, she had a near perfect figure, nipped and curved in all the right places. Shoulder-length brown hair bobbed up and down as she walked, as did her firm up-tilting breasts. Bending and at the same time revealing perfect, round buttocks, the woman picked up a pile of discarded clothes. The response to the view was instantaneous. A heavy throb began low in the stomach and long, tapered fingers twitched in anticipation of caressing the woman’s bare skin and bringing her passion to fever pitch.

“You’re up early,” Natalie said. She stifled a yawn as she plumped herself up on an extra pillow.

“Thought I’d go for a jog, then maybe a swim, before it gets too hot,” Trish Pentano replied.
Automatically she folded Natalie’s slacks over the chair.

“You and your physical fitness program. You’re supposed to be on holiday.”

Trish laughed. “I know.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m not going to the gym for a two hour work-out, just a jog. For me that’s being indecently lazy.”

Natalie moved forward and put both hands around Trish’s neck. She pulled her forward and kissed her, teasing Trish’s mouth with her tongue until she responded. At the same time one hand strayed to her breast to stroke and caress the softness, moulding and working the nipple until it hardened. In a whispering tone, Natalie coaxed, “Stay here. I’ll give you an indecent
work-out
and,” she laughed throatily, “you’ll enjoy it more than a jog around the hotel grounds. I promise.”