Billionaire on Her Doorstep (11 page)

Finally she found an electronics shop that stocked mainly digital cameras and paraphernalia to cater to the tourist trade. But up the back it had a small section of TVs and stereos. They cost more than she’d expected. And she hesitated.

Maggie hated that she hesitated. It had been such a fun afternoon until she hesitated. Why did she have to do that all the time? Second guess herself? Her choices? Her decisions? Her desires? Especially now, as a particular gentleman had pointed out to her, when living alone she answered to no one bar herself.

And then the back of her neck prickled as she remembered something else Tom had said: Nothing ever turns out how you expect it to in life. Ever. So I’ve learnt not to expect anything.

She’d thought it a sad kind of statement at the time. But as she stood staring at the stereos, playing the kind of soft rock music she could imagine Tom listening to while working in the sun, she wondered if she’d been looking at it all wrong. Maybe the whole point was to stop expecting everything to go belly-up. Two moments of sheer spontaneity had led her to move to Portsea. And she was still standing. Maybe the key was to continue how she’d begun.

Within five minutes Maggie had bought herself a stereo. Then, in the post purchase flush, she realized she needed somewhere to put it, so she picked out a rustic mahogany entertainment unit, which would look pretty silly without a TV, so she picked out one of those as well.

An hour later, she headed down the hill, feeling a little lightheaded about the amount of money she had spent. But it was a good kind of light-headed. A hopeful kind of light-headed. A raspberry in the face of her past kind of light-headed.

At the bottom of the hill she found herself standing outside The Sorrento Sea Captain, a rustic pub on the ground floor of a comer hotel, across the road from the beach. It was early evening and she’d eaten little more than her usual coffee-rich diet. The idea of fish and chips actually sounded pretty fine, in spite of the fact that she’d once accused Tom of frequenting the place against his better judgment.

She walked inside to find the place was full of senior citizens on a bus tour, and some familiar faces from her few and far between outings into town. She even received several waves, a couple of hellos and half a dozen smiles, which made her blush to her roots when she thought of how little she had done to get to know any of them.

Standing alone in the doorway, she felt as if everyone was looking at her. The hustle and bustle of the place, the sharp scraping of chairs, clinking of billiard balls and screeches of people laughing uproariously in the far bar was somewhat overwhelming considering the peace and quiet she was used to at home.

Her lightheadedness began to morph into a headache. Maybe this was too much too soon; maybe she’d been kidding herself when she’d thought she could loosen up, fit in, be happy. Maybe she ought to just get back to her painting, the one place where she could be herself and no one could judge her…

“Table for one?” asked a skinny young girl, all in black, an oft washed apron, and chewing gum in the side of her mouth.

A table for one? Maggie couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten out alone. If ever. Surely that was one old habit it was time to break.

“Ma’am?”

“A table for one would be fantastic,” she said, and she wasn’t all that surprised when the teenager looked at her as if she was crazy to be so excited about that fact.

Tom strolled back towards his car from the old Sorrento Baths cafe where he’d been organizing a future date to re-stain their deck.

The scent of grease and overcooked steak wafted from the restaurant on the corner. He glanced absent-mindedly inside and his feet came to an abrupt halt when he saw Maggie sitting behind a large rickety table reading a menu. She was alone, and by the deep look of concentration on her face the menu may have been written in Sanskrit.

Considering the day he’d just had - a day when even fishing off the sand at dawn, rereading a worn old Dick Francis novel in the hammock by his beach hut, jogging ten miles and playing Playstation with Alex’s girls had done not a thing to relax him - he knew he ought to just keep walking.

Heck, he’d actually gone to the Sorrento Baths asking for work, trying to prepare for life beyond Maggie’s garden - beyond her tempting lips, her earnest eyes, and beyond the fact that, for two decent people, they had come very, very close to cheating on her husband.

Okay, so he’d go in, be polite, say hello, make like everything was A-okay, and then leave her to her dinner. Then the next week would fly and they’d get on with their lives. Tom almost convinced himself the sudden uncomfortable churning in his stomach was hunger.

“Here goes nothing,” he said, before walking over to her table and sitting down. Maggie blinked up at him, those great grey eyes of hers all confusion for a brief second, before they brightened, turning to molten silver.

His head knew she only looked so darned happy to see him because it meant she wouldn’t be sitting there alone. But his heart obviously hadn’t received the memo that she was off the market as it missed a beat in response. He mentally told it to get a grip on itself.

““What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you’d be out fishing.” Which, is why I braved coming into town, her eyes said, even if her words did not. At least one of them was prudent.

“Been there, done that. Have you ordered yet?” he asked.

He grabbing a spare menu from the next table. So much for saying hello and heading off. It seemed his hands and voice box had joined the rebel side along with his feet and his heart.

“Ah, no,” she said, sitting on her hands and looking sheepish. “I’ve been here for about twenty minutes and I think I may have been forgotten.”

That’s because you’re meant to order at the bar.”

“Oh.” Her eyes grew wide. Her cheeks grew pink.

Tom sat on his own hands to stop himself from reaching out and cupping her cheek and telling her that he wasn’t such a nice guy after all and he could forget about her husband if she could.

“Then do you mind watching my handbag while I order?” she asked.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

She grabbed her wallet and slid out of the booth seat, knocking knees with him and giving him a shy smile by way of apology.

It’s nothing more than an accidental knee knock! he told himself, but his skin felt a degree warmer all the same. “And while you’re there order me the crumbed fish and fries,” he said. “Extra slice of lemon.”

“You’re staying for dinner?” she asked. He’d imagined that she would find a kind way of telling him to leave, but instead he caught a flare of hope in her eyes.

What the heck did the two of them think they were playing at? There was no way Tom could leave now without finding out. He leaned back and rested an arm along the edge of the booth seat.

Thank you. I’d love to.”

“Good,” she said, blushing even deeper. “I’ll get the same as you. Though I think I’ll order my fish beer-battered.”

Beer-battered fish? Why did that just have to be another thing for Tom to like about her?

“You’re living on the edge tonight, Ms. Bryce,” he drawled. “Fish and chips, dinner in town, no paint stains. I hardly know you.”

“You know me just fine,” she said. Then she half smiled, half frowned, looked as though she was about to say something, then shook her head, spun on her heel and walked away.

Tom let out his breath in a great whoosh of air as he watched her willowy form slinking between the closely stacked tables.

When she disappeared behind a pillar, he rubbed both hands over his face. Hard and fast. He should have been paying closer attention to the reasons why she was all wrong for him. It hadn’t been a hard task at other times, with other women. When he’d ever felt as if he was getting too close, he’d pulled away. Simple as that. So why couldn’t he simply switch it off with Maggie?

Maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t have her that was making her that much more desirable. Hunting, gathering and survival of the fittest. The instinctive desire to be the dominant male.

Tom laughed. Out loud. While sitting all on his lonesome. Heads turned. He smiled and waved to the octogenarian Clements, who were glaring at him as though he’d sworn in church.

Since when had he become an expert in animal husbandry? Since never, that was when. Even he could see that he was getting desperate. But he’d learnt to live without the priorities that were part and parcel of a city life. He could live without merlot and lobster. And he could live without Maggie Bryce.

“Tommy Boy!”

Tom looked up to find his cousin sliding into the seat Maggie had recently vacated. “Hey, Alex. “What are you doing here?”

“On a date with Marianne.” Alex motioned over his shoulder to his long-suffering wife and the table full of daughters.

Tom waved to Marianne, who grimaced back. “You romantic old dog, you.”

Alex grinned. “So what’s with you and Lady Bryce? Don’t tell me you’re on some sort of date yourselves.” Alex leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “She is married, you know.”

Tom laughed so loud he felt it rumble through his shoes, but this time he didn’t much care who was staring at him. “So I’ve recently discovered. How did you find out?”

The Barclay sisters told me when I picked up something for Marianne at their shop a couple of days ago.”

“Of course they did. And you didn’t think to pass that news on to me?”

Alex shrugged. “I wasn’t aware it was a concern.” His eyes narrowed. “Is it? A concern?”

Tom glanced at Maggie, who was three rooms away, leaning forward and pointing to something on the menu above the cashier’s head.

“She’s getting divorced,” he said.

“Not good enough. Tommy Boy.”

“I know,” Tom said, the wistfulness in his voice a surprise even to him as Maggie turned, weaving her way back through the crowd, shyly smiling at anyone who caught her eye.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Alex warned, getting out of the chair.

Tom didn’t get the chance to make that promise. Maggie’s eyes had already zeroed in on his. She smiled. It was a half smile. A cautious smile. But still he couldn’t help but smile back.

It took some kind of superhuman concentration for Tom

W P r t - i o k o z

I u o g

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CHAPTER SEVEN

After another hour of gossiping about the locals, about Tom’s poor cousin Alex and his band of merry women, and the elderly diner who thought “handyman” was code for Lothario and wouldn’t give Tom the time of day, Maggie’s cheeks hurt from laughing. And from pretending that she was having fun.

Tom, in dark jeans, soft olive-colored sweater and not a lick of sweat on him, seemed even more overwhelmingly masculine than he did bare-armed and reeking pheromones with a chainsaw in his hands. And she could no longer deny that something vital had shifted inside her last night when Tom had whispered sweet nothings in her ear - an awareness, a need, a longing.

And the longer their feet kept bumping beneath the table, sending her nerves into a permanent twitch, the more she came to realise that just saying “no’wasn’t going to be enough to shift everything back.

Finally, one moment, late in the evening, when their conversation hit a lull, Maggie couldn’t stand it a second longer. “We need to talk,” she blurted out.

The last thing she expected was for Tom to groan dramatically and lower his head until it thunked on to the

% table. It made her laugh. For real. But the pleasure that came from laughing only added to the tension building inside her.

Tom lifted his head and rubbed his hands up and down over his face until he looked at her from between his long fingers. “Don’t you know those are the four words every man dreads more than any other?”

“Apart from what are you thinking!” Maggie said, smiling despite herself.

Tom slowly lowered his hands and he was grinning. Her skin warmed a full degree. Dammit! The fact that she was officially married didn’t mean the affect ion she felt for Tom was going to go away.

To-o-o-m?” she begged, shaking the table and.sounding like a whining teenager.

He nodded. Then said, “Right. Okay. But maybe here’s not the best place for it. These walls have ears.” He winked at someone over her shoulder to tell them the table was about to be freed up.

She could feel his presence all the way to the bistro’s front door. She knew his hand hovered at her lower back. She knew his eyes followed her as she walked ahead of him. She could sense it all as they walked together out into the lonely moonlit street, the light sea breeze thankfully cooling her heated skin.

“We need to talk about last night,” she said the second they were out of earshot of the noisy diners.

“Hang on,” Tom said. His hovering hand landed upon her back and gave her a little forward pressure in the direction of the beach. It would only have to move about three inches to the right before he would officially have his arm around her waist. But when they hit the shrouds d pathway, huge dark pine trees towering above them, covering the pathway in dead brown pine needles, Tom spun her to face him and then his handslipped away.

“Nothing happened last night,” he said. His expression was hooded in the low dusk light. Watchful.