brushed past. Especially ignoring those nerve endings that let up a cheer at his proximity.
“I’m going for a run,” she muttered. “Make yourself at home.”
Ten minutes later she descended the stairs dressed in a T-shirt and running shorts, her curls tucked under a worn blue cap.
With arms crossed, Luke watched her charge down the hall and slam out the front door.
Just what are you playing at, mate? First that thing in the plane, then the flirting. Now you’ve moved in. Next, you’ll be kissing, and you know where that’ll lead.
He swiped back his hair with a quick jerk. No. She had told him loud and clear she wasn’t interested. Except…he found himself wanting to believe that the surprised desire in those expressive eyes wasn’t just his imagination.
He thought about her mouth, how soft it had looked. How her skin felt, as smooth and unlined as the downy softness of a newborn. And how those mossy-green eyes had tugged at his common sense, dragging him under like a floundering swimmer at the beach.
Luke shoved those thoughts away and went to the foot of the stairs. Work and career had always been his prime objective, even before this mess. Even before he’d entertained the thought that he might make VP one day.
Before Gabrielle?
The faint twinge twisted low before he forced it away. Yeah, even before then. His brief disastrous marriage just proved his theory: you couldn’t have a demanding career and keep a relationship alive. One always had to suffer.
No, he liked his life just the way it was. And if he needed sex, he could always rely on a few willing female colleagues who were just as focused on their careers.
No-strings sex. Yep. Nothing like it.
If Luke had been looking in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, he would’ve been surprised to see a dark scowl blooming across his face.
Now he stood in the middle of the living room, casting an eye over the spread and cataloguing the details. There were two entrances: one from the short hallway and one via the kitchen. The faint aroma of coffee lingered, mingling with some fresh lemony, floral fragrance. Sunshine streamed through the huge bay window ahead, illuminating sunflower-yellow walls, two overstuffed couches and a coffee table in the center of the room. A small TV, open fireplace, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and an exposed-beam ceiling completed the comfy look, with colorful rugs spread on polished wooden floors.
This place held nothing of Gino and everything of Beth, which made his mistress theory an even longer stretch.
Luke went over to the photos he’d noticed on a bookcase yesterday. Beth and another female grinning outside a storefront. A shot with beach scenery. And an old black-and-white studio portrait of an icy blonde with a come-hither smile.
In thoughtful silence he picked up an unusually shaped candle in a blue glass holder and sniffed. Beth. Quickly, he replaced it.
He’d left his high-rise Brisbane apartment—a three-bedroom homage to every technological advancement—for this. Despite his perfectly decorated rooms, the massive plasma-TV screen and the appliance-ridden kitchen he only used for entertaining clients, there’d been no soul to the place. No warmth, no garden, and now, thanks to the reporters camped on the block, no privacy.
And for the second time in his life he was in a house Uncle Gino had provided.
But you’re not fifteen anymore. Not an angry, sullen teenager torn apart by the fury of his parents’ pointless struggle and the guilt of hating them for it .
He tilted his head and read the book titles on the shelves. Handbook of Aromatherapy , The Healing Body , The Small Business Owner’s Guide . The Complete History of Cartoons . And a bunch of sci-fi novels, their spines bent and cracked from use.
He cast another eye around the room and a vague, warm feeling settled over his shoulders. This was a home. A lived-in, occupied home. If all his stuff went up in smoke tomorrow, it could all be
“I’m going for a run,” she muttered. “Make yourself at home.”
Ten minutes later she descended the stairs dressed in a T-shirt and running shorts, her curls tucked under a worn blue cap.
With arms crossed, Luke watched her charge down the hall and slam out the front door.
Just what are you playing at, mate? First that thing in the plane, then the flirting. Now you’ve moved in. Next, you’ll be kissing, and you know where that’ll lead.
He swiped back his hair with a quick jerk. No. She had told him loud and clear she wasn’t interested. Except…he found himself wanting to believe that the surprised desire in those expressive eyes wasn’t just his imagination.
He thought about her mouth, how soft it had looked. How her skin felt, as smooth and unlined as the downy softness of a newborn. And how those mossy-green eyes had tugged at his common sense, dragging him under like a floundering swimmer at the beach.
Luke shoved those thoughts away and went to the foot of the stairs. Work and career had always been his prime objective, even before this mess. Even before he’d entertained the thought that he might make VP one day.
Before Gabrielle?
The faint twinge twisted low before he forced it away. Yeah, even before then. His brief disastrous marriage just proved his theory: you couldn’t have a demanding career and keep a relationship alive. One always had to suffer.
No, he liked his life just the way it was. And if he needed sex, he could always rely on a few willing female colleagues who were just as focused on their careers.
No-strings sex. Yep. Nothing like it.
If Luke had been looking in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, he would’ve been surprised to see a dark scowl blooming across his face.
Now he stood in the middle of the living room, casting an eye over the spread and cataloguing the details. There were two entrances: one from the short hallway and one via the kitchen. The faint aroma of coffee lingered, mingling with some fresh lemony, floral fragrance. Sunshine streamed through the huge bay window ahead, illuminating sunflower-yellow walls, two overstuffed couches and a coffee table in the center of the room. A small TV, open fireplace, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and an exposed-beam ceiling completed the comfy look, with colorful rugs spread on polished wooden floors.
This place held nothing of Gino and everything of Beth, which made his mistress theory an even longer stretch.
Luke went over to the photos he’d noticed on a bookcase yesterday. Beth and another female grinning outside a storefront. A shot with beach scenery. And an old black-and-white studio portrait of an icy blonde with a come-hither smile.
In thoughtful silence he picked up an unusually shaped candle in a blue glass holder and sniffed. Beth. Quickly, he replaced it.
He’d left his high-rise Brisbane apartment—a three-bedroom homage to every technological advancement—for this. Despite his perfectly decorated rooms, the massive plasma-TV screen and the appliance-ridden kitchen he only used for entertaining clients, there’d been no soul to the place. No warmth, no garden, and now, thanks to the reporters camped on the block, no privacy.
And for the second time in his life he was in a house Uncle Gino had provided.
But you’re not fifteen anymore. Not an angry, sullen teenager torn apart by the fury of his parents’ pointless struggle and the guilt of hating them for it .
He tilted his head and read the book titles on the shelves. Handbook of Aromatherapy , The Healing Body , The Small Business Owner’s Guide . The Complete History of Cartoons . And a bunch of sci-fi novels, their spines bent and cracked from use.
He cast another eye around the room and a vague, warm feeling settled over his shoulders. This was a home. A lived-in, occupied home. If all his stuff went up in smoke tomorrow, it could all be
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