Nobody but Him (12 page)

He checked out the room, trying to give himself time to think about something else. And that’s when it hit him. The dirty dancing renovation show meant one thing. She’d put her emotions aside and gone with the cold, hard business decision after all.

‘So, you’ve made your decision.’

Julia nodded.

‘You’re selling.’

‘Yes.’ Julia swiped her hands on the front of her jeans.

And he wondered, if she was so sure about it, why she couldn’t look him in the eye to confirm it.

‘So you’re doing it all yourself, judging by all this stuff?’

‘Mostly. Someone’s coming in next week to do the gutters. Painting I can handle, but don’t let me get near a drill or frankly anything else with a power cord. I become a very dangerous woman, mostly to myself.’

‘Well, if you need help, I’m around for a couple of days before I head up to Adelaide for some meetings. I have a driver’s licence for a drill if you need any … drilling.’

Julia regarded him and bit her lower lip.

‘There’s one thing I do need help with.’ She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.

His hopes were dashed when she pointed to the dining table.

Ten minutes later, it was stored in the third bedroom, and the living space was completely empty. They stood in it, taking a long look at each other. He could see the flush on her face again and she broke the look, concentrating hard on slapping off the dust and grime from her thighs. Then, before he could even think of looking away, she was whipping off her patchwork quilt windcheater. With her arms stretched above her head, tangling with her sleeves, he caught a glimpse of her bare stomach, pale and soft.
Jesus
. First a floorshow. Now a strip show? He turned back towards the door so she wouldn’t see the straining bulge in his jeans.

‘Well, I’d better go.’

‘Thanks Ry. Next time I need some man muscle I’ll remember to call you.’

He looked over his shoulder and back at her. There was something about her mouth and something in her glistening brown eyes that satisfied his very male ego. Her full and pale lips were slightly parted, as if she was on the verge of saying something but reconsidering. He watched her eyes as her gaze slid from his shoulders to his arse and then slowly back up again to his face. Oh yeah, she was checking him out.

‘Night JJ.’

The next morning Julia could barely move. Last night’s best upper-arm workout in the universe was today’s world of pain. She lay in bed a little longer, savouring the warmth and the ache, remembering last night. God, did she have to look like little orphan Annie every time she ran into Ry? Was she cursed to only ever see him when she was wearing the daggiest clothes imaginable? The jeans she’d been wearing? They were her mother’s high-waisted denims from the eighties. And even if they were back in fashion on the catwalks of Paris, they looked disgusting on a normal person, especially a normal person with hips.

She shuddered at the memory. Coming home had somehow turned her into a total fashion-free zone. What would Stella say? Julia hadn’t been out of Melbourne for more than a few days and her feet had already grown comfortable wearing ugg boots in the house and runners outside of it. She
hadn’t felt like putting on a suit or heels, swishing mascara over her eyelashes or blushing her cheeks. The effect would have been totally wasted here anyway.

The real question she couldn’t answer was why it mattered so much what she was wearing when she saw him.

And what about the pole dancing? She pulled the covers over her head. The past year had been tough and, for the first time in months, she’d wanted to let go, have fun and, yes, dance along with all the single ladies. How appropriate that song was for her life. She’d be damned if she was going to be embarrassed by that. Although she hadn’t been expecting an audience, judging by the expression she’d seen on his face, it was an appreciative one.

Despite the stiffness and the freezing cold, Julia finally edged out of bed, speared her feet directly into her ugg boots, reached for her dressing gown and shuffled out to the kitchen to make coffee and Vegemite toast.

Where she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of Ry Blackburn.

He was peering into the front windows, his form a shadow in the pale morning light. Wearing a navy coat and a gray scarf looped around his neck, he looked like he’d just stepped off the front cover of
GQ
magazine. While she, once again, was in her pyjamas. She blew out her frustration and swung the front door open.

‘What do you want now?’

‘Good morning to you, too. I come bearing fresh bread and coffee.’ Ry nudged past her and strode across the room to place a cardboard box on the kitchen counter. She’d always loved his long-legged stride and took the opportunity to observe him from behind. She found herself observing his behind with immense concentration.

The aroma of the coffee instantly overruled any objection she had to his presence.

‘I hope you like a café latte. I took a punt.’

Julia graciously accepted the steaming takeaway cup he handed her. ‘Thank you. It’s my favourite.’

‘As my piano teacher used to say, “Every Good Girl Deserves Coffee”. Or maybe that was something about fruit. I can’t remember.’

Julia sipped the brew and considered it. Okay, it wasn’t Lygon Street but it wasn’t bad at all. It warmed her through and the smell of the bread was tantalising.

‘So, Ry, as much as I appreciate the breakfast, what are you doing here?’

He grinned as he unlooped his scarf and shed his coat, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath. It looked so soft and lived-in that Julia instantly wanted to feel it under her fingertips. It hugged his chest and draped over his stomach. She swallowed hard and tried not to look.

‘Let’s get started,’ he announced.

‘Started with what?’ she asked, still sleep fuzzy and distracted by the sight of him in that T-shirt.

‘The painting. I’m here to help you.’

He was what?
Every bone in her body knew this was a bad idea. Hadn’t they resolved to stay as far away from each other as possible? As it was, she’d been struggling to keep her eyes off him and if they spent any more time together, she’d be struggling to keep her hands off him as well. Which probably wouldn’t go down very well with The Princess.

‘Ry,’ she said, trying her damned best to sound casual. ‘Really, it’s not necessary. Don’t you have some properties to develop or some office blocks to build?’

‘I have good people doing that while I’m down here and besides, I think I owe you one.’

He owed
her
one? ‘Why on earth would
you
owe
me
?’

‘I did sack you.’

‘Ry, I can’t–’

‘Julia, I want to.’

The warmth in his expression was so true and so honest that she couldn’t argue with him anymore. Julia used her mind’s eye to take a snapshot of his face, capturing the exact way he looked as he gazed down at her, and she filed it away in her memory bank. It was a keeper.

Two hours later they’d completed the first coat on the ceiling in the open plan living area. Ry had rinsed the rollers in the kitchen sink so they didn’t dry up with paint, and when he walked back into the main room he could see Julia surveying the crisp freshness of their work. She was still, her hands on her hips, her shoulders rising and falling with her deep breaths. Then she lifted her arm to wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt.

It must hurt, he realised. She was removing, bit by bit, the special things
that made this her mother’s house. He debated what to do and once again, when it came to Julia, lost the battle with his commonsense.

‘You okay?’ he said quietly, keeping the distance between them.

Julia nodded and then turned to him. Her caramel brown eyes glistened with tears. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up and her hair was a tousled mess, half in and half out of a ponytail. Her daggy old jeans and shirt were splattered with paint, her body camouflaged in their folds and there was a smudge of white on her left cheek.

She simply took his breath away.

Julia held his eyes. He could see her breasts rise and fall with a sharp intake of breath.

‘Why are you helping me?’ she finally asked.

That was a question he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. ‘Because we’re old friends and that’s what old friends do.’

‘Old friends, Ry? Is that what we are?’

He could only nod.

‘Okay.’ And Julia smiled through her tears.

They’d brewed a coffee and had eaten the rest of the fresh bread for lunch while the ceiling was drying and were now ready for the next stage: another coat on the ceiling and a fresh coat for the walls.

Julia was on her knees, gripping a widget and prising open the lid of a fresh tin. She rounded the lid with a final twist, and gently eased it off before laying it upside down on the plastic drop sheet covering the floor.

‘Ta da!’

Ry stood at her side and bent over to peer into the paint. They both stared at the inky black swirls sitting on the surface like oil in a puddle.

‘That’ll need a stir.’

Julia looked up at him with wry smile. ‘No shit, Sherlock.’

‘Are you sure about that colour, Julia? It’s a little boring.’ They took another look at the white paint.

‘Not boring, Ry. Stylish. A blank canvas, so Stella tells me. You ready?’

Ry looked up. ‘What about I do the second coat on the ceiling and you can start cutting in on the walls behind me.’

‘You’ve done this before?’

He shrugged his shoulders, grinned. ‘Yeah, maybe once or twice.’

‘You’ve got a deal.’

Julia loved watching him as he painted, admiring the way his body worked, the muscles in his strong arms flexing as he moved the roller back and forth, his long neck exposed as he looked up to watch the movement. She savoured the sight of his flat belly, exposed as his T-shirt rode up. His skin there was tanned and shadowed with fine hair low on his stomach and, if she looked hard enough, which she definitely was doing, she could just make out the strong veins, like lines on a map leading down from his belly button. Down to … Julia felt a tremble in her stomach and lower. He was beautiful, always had been. There wasn’t a woman — or, let’s face it, a gay man — alive who wouldn’t appreciate the view from where she stood.

The only sound in the room was the squish of the roller on the ceiling and then she heard it. Ry was singing quietly under his breath. She couldn’t make out the words to the tune, but he was singing to the rhythm of it, humming the bass beat of what sounded like an old blues song. Her heart beat faster in her chest as his low, sexy voice became louder and a few words carried across the room to her. Something about howling at the moon and being stuck like glue.

His blue eyes were laughing as he sang, creating adorable crinkles in the corners. The shadows she’d noticed previously looked less obvious today. Another snapshot to file away in her memories of this time back in Middle Point.

‘So, Lizzie says you’re some kind of big-time property developer. Is that what you do now?’

Ry covered the roller in paint and lifted it to complete the next section of ceiling.

‘That sounds kind of wanky, don’t you think? I run BSD. Blackburn and Son Developments and we own and manage properties in the city.’

Julia considered what he’d told her. ‘So with a name like Blackburn and Son, I’m assuming you work with Your father?’

‘I did until he died five years ago.’ Ry paused. ‘Now there’s only Son … and thirty staff. I didn’t want to change the name.’

They shared a look and held it.

‘That must have been hard for you.’

‘You know what it’s like. You do what you’ve gotta do.’

Julia steadied the ladder before climbing it, a brush full of paint in her hand. When she reached the second to top rung, she leaned up and pressed the bristles to the wall, slowly and surely creating a fine line where the wall met the cornice of the ceiling, her hand steady as she began cutting in.

‘So the business is in Adelaide but you live here? Or do you come back and forth?’

Ry gave her a sly look over his shoulder.

‘What’s with the twenty questions? Am I on trial here, Your Honour?’

Julia smiled up at the wall. ‘For all I know, the gorgeous young guy I once knew could have turned into an axe-wielding maniac and here I am letting you paint my house. A girl can’t be too careful, you know.’

‘Well, lucky for you, I didn’t become an axe-wielding maniac. Although I’m only thirty-five and there’s still a possibility if you piss me off. When I saw the pub was up for sale, I couldn’t resist. I was down here to inspect it and I happened to drive past the beach house. I saw the “For Sale” sign out front and bought them both on the same day. They’ve got great potential for real capital gain in the next decade or so.’

‘So that’s how you came to own the ugliest house in Middle Point.’

The conversation was cut abruptly short. Julia looked down at Ry. His jaw twitched and he breathed in sharply, as if he was trying to stop something coming out of his mouth that he might regret later. He lowered the roller into the paint tray, held on to its pole and widened his stance.

‘The ugliest house in Middle Point? Is that what you said?’

‘That’s what people here are calling it. Face it, Ry, it’s huge and it’s kind of hideous.’

‘Is that what you think?’ She could see this was serious for him.

‘Well …’ and she realised she’d been as quick to rush to judgment as the rest of the town. ‘It’s the weekenders, Ry. People like you, who drive down in your European cars, splash out a million dollars on an old shack, knock it over and spend another million building a concrete-and-glass castle.’

‘While the people who live next door can’t even afford to replace their gutters.’

‘Something like that, yeah,’ Julia admitted.

‘Wow. If people hate my house, what do they think of the guy who owns it?’

‘People here think you’re rather nice, as it happens.’

Ry lifted the wet roller and resumed his work. ‘People … what people would they be?’

‘I can’t reveal my sources.’ Julia looked down from the ladder to watch him and he simply looked happy. Not stressed, not angry or sad. Not furious with her or frustrated. Just happy.