Kiss It Better (2 page)

‘Foreteller of trouble,’ she corrected. ‘I don’t cause the problems.’

‘No?’ He tilted his head, scepticism colouring his tone.

‘Of course, I could make an exception for you,’ she snapped.

He laughed.

Now, she wouldn’t admit it, but laughter was the big decider for her. She hated a guy who giggled. Nothing worse than high-pitched laughter from a guy. She detested snorts. Couldn’t stand hyena laughs or forced ha-ha-ha’s. But Theo Morrigan had a great laugh. It was low, amused and invited the world to join him. Or just her.

Unwillingly, she smiled.

‘Is that a smile?’ He lifted the hair away from her face, poking her nose with one finger. Accidentally.
Probably
.

She slapped at his hand. ‘No, it’s not.’

‘I see teeth,’ he said.

‘The better to bite you with.’

His own teeth flashed in a white grin. He let go of her hair and it fell over her eyes again. ‘Show me the factory, Cassie.’

‘I can’t, even if I wanted to. I can’t go in like this. No shoes.’ She waved a foot.

‘Are you difficult on purpose?’

‘Natural talent.’

‘You needn’t sound proud of it. All right. We’ll stand on the veranda and you can describe what we’re seeing.’ He was smooth, asking her for a favour and making it sound like his concession.

She wasn’t about to fall for that bit of manipulation. ‘Or I could introduce you to Leighton and he could show you around since you’re so set on a factory tour.’

‘Who is Leighton?’

‘Your tour guide.’

He waited, and his silence had a compelling quality.

She brushed her hair out of her eyes, holding it back in a scruffy ponytail, and glared at him. ‘Leighton is my cousin. He’s an accountant.’ And he and this Theo Morrigan deserved one another.

Damn difficult men.

Leighton preferred the title Financial Manager to Accountant, although that was his role at JayBay. He’d chosen to leave the city and return to the family business. He talked about quality of life, but he still seemed to measure it by the car he drove and the possessions he acquired. Aunt Gabby worried about her son’s materialism.

At least Leighton had a job.

Cassie spun on her heel. ‘I’ll introduce you to Leighton.’

Theo caught up with her. ‘In a tick.’ He used her own momentum against her, pulling her up off the path and onto the veranda. ‘First tell me what we’re looking at.’

She stared blankly in at the factory floor, far more conscious of how his bigger body blocked her in. She’d been right. He did smell of motorbike and road travel, leather and male pheromones. He smelled exciting and real. She pressed forward, hands against the cool glass, putting space between them and her insane desire to turn and launch herself at him.

One breath. Two. She focussed on the scene in front of her.

‘It’s Wednesday, so they’re mixing moisturisers.’ You couldn’t hear it through the thick glass, but she knew there would be the thwack and glug sounds of the churning vats. ‘The base mix will have different variations added, oils and herbs that sooth skin or calm the mood or energise. At JayBay it’s about more than skincare, it’s about health and happiness.’

She relaxed into a smile as the people she knew — more like family than employees — moved with casual assurance around the machinery. All wore white coats, hairnets and clogs. Filled bottles were stuck with labels, packed in boxes and sent on the conveyer belt to the stock room where George would unload and store them according to his unique system. George was a poet. He had his own way of doing things.

‘Dad wanted JayBay to nurture people. The conveyor belt doesn’t chug on to its own timetable. The people at the packing table trigger it and George, in the stockroom, can halt it whenever he wants. See, it goes through that window, like an airport luggage circuit.’ The last bit came out by habit. She was falling back into tour-guide mode, whether she liked it or not.

She shook herself. ‘How do you know Dad?’

‘We met at a conference.’

Which didn’t tell her much. Mick Freedom went to a wide variety of conferences all around Australia and the Pacific region, according to whatever interest he was pursuing. He believed, and said frequently, that nothing beat personal contacts for learning new things. And Mick liked learning new things. His latest project was in its early stages, more an exploration of what was feasible. He wanted to partner with Indigenous people here and in Australia’s northwest to commercialise production and use native plants that had health benefits. It was a complicated area. Intellectual property rights had to be asserted, protected and then utilised.

‘Are you Aboriginal?’ she asked Theo.

‘No.’ He fielded the out-of-the-blue question without taking his eyes off the activity on the factory floor. ‘But I am interested in Mick’s ideas for work up north in the Kimberley. The Ord River development is opening up a lot of possibilities. I can understand his excitement. The factory here is working easily. No challenge for him.’

‘Dad always finds plenty to do.’ She contemplated asking him why he was there, what he did, but then he’d ask her. She flinched from the thought, and hated her cowardice. She’d always been a high achiever. To have nothing left her flailing.

Theo was oblivious to her emotional turmoil. ‘When you say Wednesday is for mixing moisturisers, does that mean you use the same machines for the different products?’

‘Mostly. They’re washed out and sterilised overnight.’

‘So if you wanted to ramp up production, the obvious change would be to increase the factory’s size and invest in single-use machines.’

‘You sound like Leighton.’

‘Do I? I think it would be a bad idea. Mick’s built JayBay’s brand on quality, not quantity. Multi-purposing the same machines protects against over-capitalisation. Although on the capital point — ’ He stopped and regarded the view. ‘— plenty of number crunchers would argue that prime beachfront land could be sold for a profit and the factory housed in some commercial lot.’

‘Number crunchers have no soul. Witness Exhibit A.’

Leighton walked out of the office, saw them and jerked to a halt. Unlike the other workers who were used to observers and ignored them, he frowned and marched to the kitchen.

Cassie grimaced. The kitchen, or staffroom, had a door out onto the veranda. As much as she’d threatened Theo with an introduction to Leighton, she didn’t want to greet her cousin. He was two years older than her, and had a tendency to rub in her sense of failure. She hitched up her trackies. The problem was she was absurdly, uncharacteristically vulnerable at the moment — and Leighton knew which buttons to push. Family always did.

Leighton’s polished black shoes struck an assured rhythm on the veranda as he approached them. His white shirt, subdued blue tie and black trousers reflected his insistence on ‘professional standards’ in the face of JayBay’s famously relaxed vibe.

Just by being himself, her dad had built a brand that stood for ethics, family and community. Theo seemed to get it, but Leighton refused to.

‘Good morning, Cassie.’ Leighton stared at Theo, forcing the introduction.

‘Theo Morrigan.’ Theo didn’t wait for Cassie’s response.

The men shook hands.

‘A friend of Cassie’s?’ Leighton rocked on the heels of his polished shoes. He’d always done that: rocked and looked superior. It didn’t quite work though, when Theo was several inches taller in his motorbike boots.

‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’ Cassie rolled her eyes at the seemingly automatic charm coming from the biker wannabe. Theo grinned at her. ‘I’m a friend of Mick’s.’

‘Uncle Mick’s not here.’

‘I told him.’ Cassie turned her back on the factory floor and leaned against a window. ‘He still wants to see the factory.’

‘How come?’

Cassie smirked at Theo. ‘And you thought I was unhelpful.’

She might as well not have spoken. Theo was studying her cousin, speculation and something more in his eyes.

An unpleasant shiver slid down her spine. She straightened from the window. Africa had taught her sensitiveness to atmosphere. When violence could erupt at any moment, you learned to pick up on vibrations. The vibe here wasn’t for violence, but tension was strung between Leighton and Theo.

‘Mick asked me here.’

Leighton ceased rocking on his heels. He stood balanced, ready to react.

To what? Cassie stared at Theo. Strip away his good looks, biker gear and casual charm, and what were you left with? Ruthlessness. The determination was there in the strong lines of his face. So why had her dad asked him here? And why did Leighton care? Why was he radiating suspicion, and even outright hostility?

‘Cassie thought you might show me around.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘I’ll wait for Mick then.’ Theo strolled back to the bench and collected his helmet and jacket.

‘Get rid of him,’ Leighton said under his breath. His skin had the unhealthy, pasty colour of someone who’d spent the winter inside. His breath stank of too many coffees.

‘Why?’

‘Just do it.’

‘I’m not your slave.’ A childish argument, but there was nothing childish in the anxiety gripping Cassie. She and Leighton watched Theo striding back. ‘What’s wrong, Leighton?’

‘Worry about your problems. You have enough.’ He walked off.

Theo watched him. ‘I guess the tour’s cancelled.’ But he made no move to leave.

‘Come and see the shop.’ The shop, Aunt Gabby’s domain, was a safe place in which to deal with her confusion. It always had been. Aunt Gabby carried serenity with her.

They rounded the oblique corner of the building and confronted the beauty of her aunt’s wildflower garden. Winding paths encouraged visitors to wander among the shrubs and groundcovers. Native orchids peeped out shyly, their colours subdued. Cute orange catspaws, small cousins of kangaroo paws, blazed cheerfully. A graceful silver gum, its slender branches bent beneath the bright burden of deep pink flowers, sheltered a bench made of driftwood.

Cassie paused a moment to sniff the tiny, bell-like flowers of a boronia. The scent was so rare and elusive that it was her habit to enjoy it during the short flowering season. She’d missed it last year. The delicate perfume wove subtle hints of eucalyptus, rose and mint.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Theo said.

Still cupping the flowers, she agreed. Couples had even had their bridal photos taken here. Aunt Gabby’s love for the garden shone through. ‘JayBay is special. It’s not just Dad’s company. Everyone loves it and feels as if a bit of it belongs to them. It really is like a family, with everyone doing a bit extra. As with Aunt Gabby’s garden, it’s about more than money.’

‘I know, Cassie.’ Theo shed the air of tension and threat that had coloured his dealings with Leighton. ‘I like and respect your dad. I know how generous he is sponsoring charity initiatives and scholarships. It’s generated a lot of goodwill for the JayBay brand, even if that wasn’t his reason for it. JayBay Beautiful has fast become an iconic Australian company because people feel the honesty of it.’

‘The love,’ she said.

‘Love can break your heart,’ Theo said.

Their gazes met and held. She thought of how much she’d loved her work and how its loss had broken her.

So deep did she fall into her thoughts that his touch to her cheek surprised her. She froze for a moment, caught by the gentleness of the caress and the aching need for tenderness it woke in her.

Then his mouth twisted and he dropped his hand.

She turned away clumsily, opening the door with the sharp jerk the handle required and gesturing him in

‘After you.’ He put a hand above her head on the edge of the door, making it clear that she should go first.

His greater height, size and the respectful courtesy all hit her with renewed sexual impact. The scents of the shop and the factory swirled out and surrounded them.

Theo’s motorcycle boots and her bare feet exaggerated the difference in their heights. She’d have to go on tiptoe to put her nose to his throat and breathe in the scent more compelling than any beauty product: raw man.

Or she could be sane and scoot inside.

She scooted. The familiar clutter and colour of the shop gave her a chance to reach for common sense just as she huddled inside her dad’s old sheepskin coat. She might be superficially attracted to Theo, but she wasn’t at the mercy of her hormones — and he wasn’t attracted to her. He was kind, charming and sexy, but he had his own agenda. He had a reason for being here, one that he wasn’t willing to share. One about which Leighton entertained suspicions.

And that moment on the veranda where he’d touched her with tenderness?

Cassie buried it.

Fortunately, in the JayBay shop it was easy to find a distraction. The shopfront overwhelmed every sense. The colours were brighter than those in the garden. JayBay’s products had a retro style, picking up the vibrancy of Art Deco era posters and adding a modern flair. Among the shelves of products were scattered scarves and cushions, tea towels and aprons, all the impulse buys beloved of tourists.

Even after all the years, Cassie couldn’t distinguish the myriad scents in the air. JayBay used organic oils and not only the shop products, but the scents from the factory floor were embedded in the building. After a while you didn’t notice, but just for now, she seemed to be supersensitive.

Theo moved around her, stepping up to a display that encouraged visitors to touch and smell and even taste JayBay’s products.

Music played in the background; not muzak. A violin joined the purity of a flute, and the two chased each other through an intricate piece.

Aunt Gabby glanced up from serving a group of customers: two elderly couples festooned in cameras and with maps and tourist books peeping out of their pockets. ‘Cassie, why are you wearing Mick’s revolting coat?’

Aunt Gabby was a darling, but she wasn’t subtle.

‘It matches my trackies,’ Cassie said. She heard Theo’s snort of laughter.

The customers smiled uncertainly and hurriedly finished their purchases.

Aunt Gabby appeared plump and cuddly as always in a cream and brown alpaca-knit sweater over a mottled pale blue skirt and comfortable shoes. Her silvering brown hair was plaited and tied with a matching blue ribbon. She’d grown up with the hippie style and never changed it. She hugged Cassie, ugly coat and all, and whispered, ‘Is that gorgeous boy yours?’