There's Something About a Rebel- (2 page)

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

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

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

‘Don’t bother. I’m fine.’

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

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

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

‘Thanks.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His head was saying something else entirely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’ll take care of it.’

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

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

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

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

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

It took them a few minutes to pack everything up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They offloaded the stuff in one corner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You’re going to cook?’

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. ‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight. And be careful.’

‘I’m always careful.’

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

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

‘That makes it easy, so do I.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Everything okay here?’