Read Online Australia’s Most Eligible Bachelor by Margaret Way - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Way
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in.”
She thought of something to distract her attention away from him. “Let me get the glasses.” She rose swiftly on her small bare feet. “Zara and I often eat in here. In fact, we’ve had many an enjoyable late-night supper.”
“She tells me you get on wonderfully well together.” He lowered his handsome dark head to look into the well-stocked refrigerator.
“She’s my honorary big sister.”
He turned back, champagne bottle in hand, black eyes glittery. “Just don’t make me your big brother.”
She was surprised by his tone. “Why not?”
“I don’t feel like your big brother.”
His body language confirmed it. She felt a rush of emotion that was the equivalent to a huge jolt of adrenalin.
How can he possibly look at you like that if he doesn’t like you?
Get real! Don’t you mean he’s attracted?
In the past few months, with all the socialising she had been doing, she had been made aware men found her very attractive. Viscount Walton, the famous ladies’ man, for one. Now, for the first time, was there a tension and an intimacy between them? Maybe it was the lateness of the hour? The months of separation? All she knew was there was a star-bright, bursting sensation in her chest, as if sparkling, spinning, Catherine wheels were going off.
So what role does he want?
Don’t invite disaster.
She tried to ignore her voices, reaching up to grasp two beautiful crystal flutes. They were kept on the shelf above other crystal wine glasses of varying sizes. Sheer nerves and a surfeit of emotion made her fingers uncharacteristically clumsy. To her utter embarrassment, the flute she had just barely grasped fell from her hand onto the tiled floor. The long stem remained intact, but the bowl shattered into glittering fragments that covered a surprisingly wide area.
“Oh, no ! Sorry, sorry—I’m so sorry.” She apologised over and over. Emotion was her undoing. “How could I have been so clumsy?”
Corin moved in very quickly. “Stand right where you are,” he instructed. “The glass has gone everywhere. Amazing how it can do that! You’d think the chandelier had fallen.”
“I’ll replace it.”
Corin sounded totally indifferent to the damage. “Forget it, Miranda. It’s only a glass.”
“A very expensive glass.” Her voice conveyed her distress and agitation.
“I said forget it,” he responded rather tersely, as though her evident upset was getting to him. “Rather a broken glass than you cut your pretty feet. No slippers?”
“Extra quiet on the stairs,” she explained shakily. “You could have been a burglar. Anyway, I’m fine. I’ll get the broom.” She unfroze, determined to sweep up the fragments, only Corin shocked her by reaching out for her and lifting her clean off her feet.
“I said stay put.”
Her breathing had escalated to such a pitch it was darn nearly a whistle. “No need to turn cranky.”
“I’m not cranky.” He laughed.
“All the same, I was clumsy.”
“You and clumsy don’t go together.”
It was precisely then that the silk sash of her kimono slid out of its knot and unfurled, making its sinuous way to the tiles, thus exposing Miranda’s flimsy nightgown: fine white cotton caught by a deep V of crocheted lace that was threaded with blue satin ribbon. She had never felt so naked in her life.
“You can’t hold me.” Her nerves were coiled so tight they were about to snap.
“Does holding you change things, Miranda?” The amusement had gone out of his voice. It was oddly taut, as were the muscles in his lean, powerful body. Even his eyes were filled with a daunting yet exciting masculine intensity.
“I mean I must be h-heavy.”
“You’re a featherweight.” He hoisted her higher, to prove his point, carrying her back to the table. “There—you can relax now!” He set her atop it, with a big blue pottery bowl filled with fat, juicy lemons just to her right. “Stay there. That’s an order. I’ve opened the champagne.
She thought of something to distract her attention away from him. “Let me get the glasses.” She rose swiftly on her small bare feet. “Zara and I often eat in here. In fact, we’ve had many an enjoyable late-night supper.”
“She tells me you get on wonderfully well together.” He lowered his handsome dark head to look into the well-stocked refrigerator.
“She’s my honorary big sister.”
He turned back, champagne bottle in hand, black eyes glittery. “Just don’t make me your big brother.”
She was surprised by his tone. “Why not?”
“I don’t feel like your big brother.”
His body language confirmed it. She felt a rush of emotion that was the equivalent to a huge jolt of adrenalin.
How can he possibly look at you like that if he doesn’t like you?
Get real! Don’t you mean he’s attracted?
In the past few months, with all the socialising she had been doing, she had been made aware men found her very attractive. Viscount Walton, the famous ladies’ man, for one. Now, for the first time, was there a tension and an intimacy between them? Maybe it was the lateness of the hour? The months of separation? All she knew was there was a star-bright, bursting sensation in her chest, as if sparkling, spinning, Catherine wheels were going off.
So what role does he want?
Don’t invite disaster.
She tried to ignore her voices, reaching up to grasp two beautiful crystal flutes. They were kept on the shelf above other crystal wine glasses of varying sizes. Sheer nerves and a surfeit of emotion made her fingers uncharacteristically clumsy. To her utter embarrassment, the flute she had just barely grasped fell from her hand onto the tiled floor. The long stem remained intact, but the bowl shattered into glittering fragments that covered a surprisingly wide area.
“Oh, no ! Sorry, sorry—I’m so sorry.” She apologised over and over. Emotion was her undoing. “How could I have been so clumsy?”
Corin moved in very quickly. “Stand right where you are,” he instructed. “The glass has gone everywhere. Amazing how it can do that! You’d think the chandelier had fallen.”
“I’ll replace it.”
Corin sounded totally indifferent to the damage. “Forget it, Miranda. It’s only a glass.”
“A very expensive glass.” Her voice conveyed her distress and agitation.
“I said forget it,” he responded rather tersely, as though her evident upset was getting to him. “Rather a broken glass than you cut your pretty feet. No slippers?”
“Extra quiet on the stairs,” she explained shakily. “You could have been a burglar. Anyway, I’m fine. I’ll get the broom.” She unfroze, determined to sweep up the fragments, only Corin shocked her by reaching out for her and lifting her clean off her feet.
“I said stay put.”
Her breathing had escalated to such a pitch it was darn nearly a whistle. “No need to turn cranky.”
“I’m not cranky.” He laughed.
“All the same, I was clumsy.”
“You and clumsy don’t go together.”
It was precisely then that the silk sash of her kimono slid out of its knot and unfurled, making its sinuous way to the tiles, thus exposing Miranda’s flimsy nightgown: fine white cotton caught by a deep V of crocheted lace that was threaded with blue satin ribbon. She had never felt so naked in her life.
“You can’t hold me.” Her nerves were coiled so tight they were about to snap.
“Does holding you change things, Miranda?” The amusement had gone out of his voice. It was oddly taut, as were the muscles in his lean, powerful body. Even his eyes were filled with a daunting yet exciting masculine intensity.
“I mean I must be h-heavy.”
“You’re a featherweight.” He hoisted her higher, to prove his point, carrying her back to the table. “There—you can relax now!” He set her atop it, with a big blue pottery bowl filled with fat, juicy lemons just to her right. “Stay there. That’s an order. I’ve opened the champagne.
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