Bargain in Bronze Page 7

  So he sat like he had the other nights and got on with his work. To his immense satisfaction every time he glanced up he caught her looking at him. So he stood and got himself some water from the fridge. Turning back he nabbed her snatching a look at his butt. Yeah, he had a number of nail marks proving how much she liked that part of him. He stood socially unacceptably near to her at the counter—watching her work. He’d see how long she could hold out for.

  “Where’s your younger sister?” She asked eventually, her voice a little shrill. Her cheeks were getting redder by the minute.

  “At university, thank goodness.” He didn’t step away, not when he saw the way she couldn’t help the downward flicker of her gaze over his body. He liked being this close—near enough to touch in a heartbeat.

  “Is she into rowing too?”

  “She wasn’t, for a long time. But now she’s a cox,” He wickedly emphasized the word, knowing from the quick touch of her tongue to her lips what she was thinking of. “It seems to be in the blood.”

  “It must have been hard for you.” She sent him another quick glance from beneath her cautious lashes.

  He bit the inside of his lip. People were curious—of course they were. Mostly he brushed it off, but with Libby he had an urge to be honest. “It wasn’t as hard as many other people have it. I was able to generate cash to get the business underway. And they were good kids. Well, as good as could be expected.” He frowned.

  Libby raised her brows. “Did they give you a hard time?”

  “Being the stand-in parent means you get the brunt of rebellion and resentment.”

  “You should’ve been out sowing your wild oats.” She sent him a look from under her lashes. “You still should be.”

  Jack tensed. Tom had said that recently, Anne too in her own way. But he’d figured that had been because the two of them wanted him off their backs. Now he wondered if they were right. He’d gotten in the habit of bearing responsibility and working so hard to make sure they had all they needed and to build the business. But stupidly, hearing it from Libby flicked his pride—his past hadn’t been completely boring.

  “I did okay,” he said. “It wasn’t all a desert in that time.”

  But none of those random hook-ups had given him the kind of experience he’d had with Libby last night.

  “No girlfriend could put up with the sullen teen sister or my work hours.” He couldn’t help explaining. He hadn’t had time to manage a relationship. Then he’d gotten used to the hours. Once his business interests took off, they increased more. He still didn’t have the time for anything serious. Fortunately Libby didn’t want anything long-term. They could enjoy this moment by moment—have a few laughs together over an oat-strewn counter.

  “I don’t believe you,” Libby said, measuring almonds. “There would have been girls lining up round the block to give you the kind of support you needed.”

  He laughed. “That’s a sweet thing to say but it’s not true.”

  “It’s true.”

  She was wrong. “I spent most of my time with building contractors, engineers and inspectors. It’s a reality that most of those people are not female. It comes down to sheer opportunity.”

  “Is that what I was last night?” Her eyes glinted. “Sheer opportunity?”

  It only took a moment to get his hands around her waist. He lifted her up onto the countertop. “What you are,” he said roughly, pushing her knees apart so he could press close and kiss her everywhere. “Is temptation.”

  She shook her head, taking his hand and bringing it to her breast, sighing in surrender when he tightened his fingers around the taut nipple. “That’s what you are.”

  He kissed her, boldly invading her mouth the second their lips connected. She opened instantly—her low moan making him even harder. None of the passion had been assuaged last night. In fact it was worse, knowing how hot it would be. Damn. He lifted her off the bench and into his arms. “My place.”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing?” He asked the next night. Bags of ingredients spilled all over the counter in a mess. Where was her usual “everything just so” approach?

  “Grainstorming.”

  “What?”

  She chuckled. “I’m trying to come up with new combination ideas.”

  He looked at the counter now straining under the weight of some of the oddest looking fruit he’d seen. “There are combinations and there’s just plain weird. That’s in the weird category.” He pointed to a yellow spike-covered fruit.

  “You’re afraid to try something new?” She shook her head. “So conservative, Jack.”

  “I can try new,” he countered wickedly. “I can be very inventive.”

  She used her wooden spoon to fend him off. “You’re not distracting me. I do need to grainstorm.”

  “It might help with your creativity,” he reasoned idly. “Plus, it will help you work up an appetite for your tasting sessions.”

  “Later.” She fluttered her fingers round the handle of the wooden spoon—a thoughtful look in her eye. “This is just, you know…”

  “A fling.” He nodded. “Of course.”

  Because neither of them had the time nor need for anything more.

  He sat on a stool and watched her play with the weird ingredients. She asked him about his day and he found himself talking through the plans for his newest property. Somehow that led him to talk to her about the troubles Tom had those few years ago when he fell in love and was crushed enough over the breakup to fall into a party crowd and almost lose his place on his rowing squad. And she listened and smiled and didn’t offer any platitudes, which he was grateful for.

  “What about muesli bars?” he asked, turning the conversation to her work—finding he was more and more interested in it. He was even thinking on it during the day, turning over ideas and ways in which he might be able to help.

  “Full of sugar and fat.”

  “The health thing is that important to you?” he asked. “It’s not that you’re on a food trend or wanting to cater to such an exclusive corner of the market?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I wish it wasn’t exclusive. I wish there was a way to make it cheaper so more people could benefit from a healthier breakfast, not some sugar and salt laden cereal.”

  “You really want to make a difference?”

  “Of course,” she looked up from her contemplation of the assorted ingredients. “Don’t you? Heart health matters.”

  “Why does it matter so much to you?” It wasn’t personal, right? She didn’t have any scars—he knew because he’d licked every inch of her body. But there must be a scar somewhere, because he saw her face fall.

  For a long moment he didn’t think she’d say anything, but then with a soft sigh and a very small voice, she told him.

  “My mother died of a heart condition when she was thirty-five.”

  His blood froze. “Oh Libby, I’m sorry.”

  “It gets worse,” she added, suddenly more spirited and even faking a smile. “My father died of a heart attack less than two months later.”

  She might have been trying to lightly joke it off, but failed miserably. He put his arms around her, ignoring the bowl she held. She leant forward and rested her forehead on his chest for a moment. He liked it.

  “I think it was a broken heart in some ways.” She was back to the whisper. “But in others it was simply poor health. I didn’t know at the time but his blood pressure was bad, his cholesterol, his stress…” she trailed off. “It was one of those ones you read about in the paper. Reasonably fit guy in his early forties goes for a run and doesn’t come back.”

  “Where were you?”

  “With him.”

  He swore beneath his breath.

  “I’d encouraged him,” she said. “He’d withdrawn so much after Mum died. I thought some fresh air would be good. That it would be good for him to get a little fitter.” She stopped talking.

  Horror rendered him speechless—
the poor girl had to carry that with her? His heart tore.

  Even though she remained standing in his arms he could feel her withdrawing—as if she regretted what she’d told him, as if she didn’t want to delve any deeper into wounds that had left far more than skin-puckering scars.

  “Were you angry with him for leaving you?” he asked quietly.

  She was still for a long moment. And then nodded, a sharp jerk of her head. “With both of them.”

  “I was angry with my mother,” he said painfully. Usually he resisted thinking about that time in his life, and almost never talked about it. But he wanted to reach Libby now—to let her know he almost understood. “Like she could help getting cancer?” He half-mocked his own devastation. “But I was so angry.”

  “And then your father remarried.”

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t a betrayal,” he said, reassuring. “She was lovely. She was great to me. There was no wicked stepmother nightmare. She and Dad were happy and it was good to see that when he’d been so sad. But then Tom got sick.” And that had been a whole other nightmare. He breathed in, aiming to lighten the pressure in his chest. “You don’t have brothers or sisters?”

  She shook her head.

  “And there wasn’t really a circus troupe?”

  “Actually there was.” She suddenly smiled, finally looking up at him. The bruised edge in her eyes smote his heart all over again.

  “I went to boarding school after they died, and in the holidays I’d stay with my aunt in a seaside town in Devon. Every summer the circus came and I spent every day down there. I used to sit in school and dream of running away to the circus. But I never did learn to throw knives.”

  “You couldn’t live with your aunt?” he asked.

  “She was older, never had children and didn’t really want them. She felt boarding school was best. In some ways I guess it was.” She paused. “You didn’t send Anne and Tom to boarding school.”

  “We needed to be together,” he said softly. “They’d been through enough. I was paranoid about Tom having a relapse and Anne was young.”

  “I wish I’d had a brother like you.”

  “Libby,” he pulled her closer and let his hands go beyond polite boundaries. “I’m really glad I’m not your brother.”

  Laughing, she tilted her chin for his kiss.

  …

  “You know you don’t have to stay here each night,” Libby said three nights later. “You still don’t trust me?”

  “It’s not safe for you to be here alone after hours.” He didn’t even look up from his infernal emailing as he spoke.

  “Why, what am I going to do?”

  “It’s a Saturday night, drunk jerks walk past every other minute—they spot you?” he shook his head. “I wouldn’t leave any woman alone in here any night of the week.”

  So it wasn’t about spending time with her? It was just for her safety? Any woman’s safety? She sucked in a small breath. Good to know. She swallowed and braced herself for his reaction to her news. “I’ve had a letter from my insurance company.”

  He looked up then. “And?”

  “Check attached.”

  “That’s great.” His whole face lit up.

  “I’ll be able to rent new premises and increase production.” Libby forced a smile. She was pleased about it. Really pleased. She’d been validated and vindicated. And she wouldn’t have to use this bakery after hours for much longer.

  “That’s fantastic news.” Jack looked at her and then back to his iPad. “You’ll be rebuilding the business in no time.”

  So there she had it. He wasn’t bothered about her time here coming to an end soon. Well, good. Because neither was she.

  She looked at where he sat opposite, still working on his damn iPad. Other than when he was inclined to play with her, he always sat fully focused on whatever it was he was checking. All of a sudden it really ticked her off. “Do you ever not work?”

  He glanced up and looked at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

  “Like when did you last have a holiday?”

  “When did you?” he countered. “I think the pot is calling the kettle here.”

  “That’s only because I’m starting up. I still know how to have fun.”

  “You’re spinning stories again.” He put the iPad on the bench. “When was the last time you went to a concert or a play or a football game? When did you last go clubbing? When did you last go to the pub on a Friday night with your workmates? When did you last have fun?”

  She met his amused eyes and flicked her brows. His expression matched her wickedness in a heartbeat.

  She shouldn’t do this. She should definitely end it now. She’d meant to after that first night. But when a guy this gorgeous tempted? And when she knew how amazing it was? And when it would only be for another day or two…

  And it wasn’t just for her. He’d had such a lot to deal with—the responsibility of two siblings, the finances, the company. Then there was the loss he’d suffered. Twice over—first his mother, then his father and stepmother. She knew exactly how much that hurt. How reluctant he probably was to be vulnerable to that kind of pain again. Empathy flooded her. So did the desire to see him laugh. She couldn’t help but want to give him some fun.

  Just once more. She mentally stuffed away the worried whisper in her soul and lifted the bottle of maple syrup from the bench. “I know what you really want me to do with this.” She shimmied up to him.

  “You think you do, huh?” He reached out and ran a finger down her arm, encircling her wrist.

  She nodded. “Quite certain of it.”

  He kept a firm hold on her wrist and took the bottle from her with his other hand. “But do you know what I want to do with the maple syrup?”

  He led her home—to the shower, stripping himself then her and flicking the taps so it was steaming in no time.

  Biting her lip, Libby stood before him as he drizzled the runny syrup over her breasts. But any desire to laugh disappeared the second he stroked his fingers through the slick stickiness. Have mercy, who’d have thought the sensation could be so enhanced? Her knees weakened, her lungs struggled to draw in enough oxygen in the sultry atmosphere.

  “This is a terrible waste of high priced maple syrup,” she muttered.

  “It’s not a waste.”

  She quivered as he caressed and then kissed. “I might discover it has skin rejuvenating properties.”

  “You could expand your business,” he licked—so sublimely. “Luxury skincare with maple syrup as the secret ingredient.”

  “Either that or a maple-flavored lubricant,” she panted.

  “From cereal to sex-aids,” he chuckled, reaching for the shower nozzle. “One woman’s leap in business.”

  He spun her away from him and then drew her down, kneeling behind her at the same time and encouraging her to use him as her “chair”. She slid onto him—wet and ready to ride. He groaned delightedly against the back of her neck as she bowed her head, closing her eyes in ecstasy. He held the nozzle, raining water on her shoulders and breasts as they moved—slick and fast and so carnal. Then he changed the direction of the waterfall, pointing the jet of water between her legs and thrusting even harder into her. The pressure of the warm water enhanced every sensation. His other hand cupped and slid over her maple-sticky breasts. Oh, he could be very inventive.

  All Libby could do was cry out, quiver and come.

  Chapter Nine

  “You’ve never been rowing?”

  He made it sound like she was as deprived as a child who’d never had an ice cream on a summer’s day.

  “No.”

  It was a glorious Sunday morning—absolute ice-cream weather—and she’d found his suggestion they stroll along the Thames river walk irresistible. Just today. One more day.

  London was tourist dense ordinarily, but this morning it was like one giant fairground. Hordes of people were out and about and bunting was strung everywhere. Brightly colored tourist kio
sks had popped up, adding to the effervescent, energetic atmosphere. The city was alive and humming.

  “Come on. I’ll take you to the club, we can go double sculls.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. It’ll be fun.”

  Libby didn’t think rowing looked all that much fun—it looked like damn hard work. You had to have mega-muscles and more stamina than anyone. “You used to compete?” she asked as she walked alongside him.

  “Back in the day.” He nodded.

  “Why didn’t you keep going?”

  A wry smile tweaked his lips. “There were other things I needed to do.”

  “You had to look after the other two.” Libby’s heart pulled.

  “I did, but don’t go thinking there was any great self-sacrifice or anything.” He sent her a laughing look. “The fact is I wasn’t as passionate about it as Tom is. I never had the same kind of drive to succeed in it as he did.”

  But he had the same drive to succeed in another area—in getting the financial security for his family. He’d gone from young man to father and breadwinner to his siblings overnight. Libby had no doubt that he was every bit as driven as Tom. He might not have the medals but what he’d achieved was every bit as much of an Olympian effort.

  “So you don’t wish it was you?” she asked quietly.

  “Sure, part of me has that Olympic fantasy—most people do, right?” he admitted. “No matter how improbable it might be. It’s like the lottery fantasy. We all dream of winning. But I know the sacrifices Tom’s made. I made sacrifices too, but I have the reward already. I see Tom now healthy and happy. I see Anne off at university and studying her passion. Tom’s given up so much for his sport but he may not get the reward. I hope for his sake he does. He deserves it.” He stopped outside a building. “Come on.”

  The second they walked into the clubrooms at least five fit-looking rowers bounded over.

  “Jack!”

  Libby watched as they laughed and caught up and discussed who they thought were Tom’s rivals in the upcoming competition.

  “I’m going to take Libby on the water,” Jack said eventually, taking her hand. “It’s her first time.”