Memories of Love (2 page)

“All right, Caleb. Do that.” He noticed her and ended the phone call.

She stopped at the island bench as he prowled towards her.

“You okay?”

“No,” she said starkly.

“Right.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Stupid question.”

“No, I mean I don’t know how I feel.” She’d like another hug, but that was stupid. Ivan was her boss. That was all. She had no claim on him, despite his kindness, so it’d be suicidal to become dependent on his strength. “I just thought I’d say goodnight.”

“Would you like something to help you sleep? That drink you rejected?”

“A glass of milk.” Her throat was sore from the smoke.

“Milk?” He was close enough that even in the dim lighting she saw the deepening crinkles of the lines at the corners of his eyes.

“Milk helps you sleep. It has tryptophan in it.”

“Uh huh.” He brushed his cheek against hers in a funny, affectionate gesture before reaching beyond her and opening the fridge.

Her heartbeat accelerated. They’d worked together for a year, but he’d always been scrupulous about not touching her. She’d noticed and respected his zero tolerance for harassment. But everything in her warmed to the comfort of his nearness.

“Your milk.” He gave her the glass and their fingers brushed.

“Thank you.”

He held onto the glass till he was sure of her grip. “You’re welcome.”

She took an awkward sip, glad for an excuse to break eye contact. “I guess I’ll go to bed.”

“If you need anything in the night, I’m just down the hallway.”

“I’ll be fine.” She was nearly at the doorway before his voice caught and held her.

“I know you’ll be fine, Rita, but I’m still here for you.”

Chapter 2

Rita woke slowly, confused to find herself in a strange bed. Memory slammed back and she remembered the fire and all she’d lost. She buried her face in a pillow, but her ears were still working. She heard a woman’s voice, the rumble of Ivan’s, and then, a door closed.

Oh help. Now she’d intruded on Ivan’s personal life. She hoped the woman had gone. Whoever she was, Rita didn’t want to meet her.

Gorgeous women adored Ivan. It wasn’t that he was handsome. Instead he had a masculine power that was a perfect foil to emphasise a woman’s beauty. It didn’t hurt that he was also seriously rich. Alpha male in every way. She remembered the first time she’d seen him, at her job interview. Her heart had stuttered. There was something utterly compelling in a man so strong in himself.

She hadn’t thought to close the blinds last night and now the sun streamed in. It had to be late. Not just going-to-be-late-for-work late, but seriously overslept late. As much as she wanted to stay huddled in bed, there were things she had to do.

Last night’s merciful blankness about all she’d lost in the fire was gone, but she constructed a new wall against her emotions. Keeping busy and being practical had saved her before. She started a mental to-do list.

“Good morning.” She found herself walking into the kitchen at the same time as Ivan.

“I heard your door open,” he said. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

He added just the right amount of milk, stirred it and passed the mug to her. “I phoned Sonya and she brought over some clothes for you. She just left.”

“That was nice of her.” Sonya was a friend. She worked at Tamerlane Security. Like so many of the employees she was ex-police, although the vast majority of the men were ex-military.

Rita investigated the plastic bag Ivan indicated. Drawstring cotton trousers, flip flops, a t shirt, underwear and toiletries. “Well, that solves my immediate problem. Clothes.”

“The insurance assessor will meet us at your house at eleven.”

She didn’t even question how he’d gotten the appointment. Bending people to his will was a unique Ivan ability.

“We should have some idea by then of what caused the fire.”

She shivered and attempted to mask her response by gathering up the shopping bag. “I’ll get dressed.”

“You need breakfast. I’ll make toast.”

Ivan listened to the soft click of the guest room door and exhaled. Rita looked fragile. He wanted to hold her tight and fight her battles for her, but the proud tilt of her head said she needed her dignity. He gripped the edge of the granite worktop. He hadn’t the right to crash into Rita’s life and take charge, but she needed someone—and he needed it to be him.

She was softness to his harshness, a peace-maker to his delivery of justice. He’d wanted her since she’d walked into her job interview wearing a light grey suit with a skirt that discreetly displayed a knock-out pair of legs. But it was her eyes that had gotten him. Warm brown eyes the colour of jarrah honey and long hair a shade darker. All right, and her mouth which was lush and full and made for loving.

Hell, he’d just plain wanted her, and the need had grown.

She was nice, and he hadn’t guessed how sexy nice could be. She baked cakes and brought them into the office. She kept a vase of flowers on her desk, growing them herself. She remembered people’s birthdays and organised celebrations when people had babies or got engaged. She’d become the heart of his business.

All that had stopped him breaking his own rule against office romances was one undeniable fact; only a bastard would bring his sort of darkness into her life.

War took its toll on a man, and the same skills that had enabled him to build Tamerlane Security also made him unfit for a long term relationship. Except short term sex without commitment no longer did it for him. He wanted Rita—and she was in his apartment, needing him to get his act together.

Ivan made toast.

Rita thought she’d braced herself for the sight of the ruined house, but the reality surpassed any nightmare. It was a burned-out, broken shell. The rosebushes by the front steps were blackened stalks. The lawn was a muddy, sooty mess.

Ivan parked his car on the street and squeezed her knee. “We’ll get you through this.”

“I don’t see how.” Hysteria bubbled up, tensing her muscles and making her breathing quick and shallow.

A large hand cupped her jaw and turned her to him, removing the view of the house. “You’re not alone. We’ll fix this.” Blue eyes looked hypnotically into hers. His thumb smoothed over her skin. His very restraint emphasised his strength. “Whatever you need, ask me and I’ll sort it.”

She shook her head, but that just turned her face into his light touch, and her lips brushed against his hand. She stilled.

“Hell, Rita.” He moved his hand slowly and lowered his head to hers.

It was a brief, chaste kiss of heart-shaking tenderness.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and stumbled out of the car before she succumbed to the madness of believing what that kiss promised. Caring, devotion, being there.

“Hi, Rita. How are you, chickie?” Tony gave her a one-armed shoulder squeeze. “Keys.”

She closed her hand over car keys. “They survived?” She was incredulous that anything had survived the blaze.

“Nope, but Ivan organised a replacement set. The car guy came by earlier.” He looked beyond her to Ivan. “The arson investigator and insurance assessor are poking around now. They reckon it was an electrical fault.”

“But I just had the house rewired.” She was shocked into protest. “All the electrical wiring is new.”

“Bloody electrician,” Ivan growled.

He growled it again when the insurance assessor spoke with them.

“The fire started in a wall of the kitchen, behind the refrigerator. By the time the smoke alarm sounded, it would have been well and truly alight, smouldering internally. You’re lucky you got out, Ms Jordan. These old houses are fire traps.”

Ivan clamped her to his side. Everyone else departed, including Tony, and she and Ivan poked through the ruins of the house. She found a few things, and Ivan produced a box from the back of his car. She put the few ornaments and heavy silver cutlery in the box. It was surreal to see her furniture as blackened blobs.

“I don’t care.” She straightened up suddenly from picking through the remains of her lounge room. “If there’s anything else here, it can rot.”

The fire had been fierce and comprehensively destructive. She was deluding herself to think there was anything left to salvage.

“I need new clothes. I need to go and buy them. I need to organise accommodation.”

“You’re staying with me.”

“No.” She kept going. “I need to see about securing the site. I don’t want kids climbing around and hurting themselves.”

“I’ll call a fencing company, and you are coming home with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ivan.” She embraced her anger, enthusiastically. It was safer than feeling bereft and confused. “You’re my boss.”

“I’m your friend.”

“I’ve got my car. I can be independent.”

“There’s independence and there’s stupidity.” He was suddenly in her space, ash swirling around his feet. “You’re going to come home to my place, tonight. You’re not going to try to solve all your problems, all at once, on your own.”

“I am on my own.” Her soft scream echoed on the silence.

“Only if you insist on being stubborn.”

She knew him in this relentless mood. He’d keep on being reasonable until he got his way.

“Promise me you’ll come back to my apartment,” he said.

“I can get a hotel room. Or I can stay with Sonya.”

“You’re staying with me.”

And there it was. For whatever reason, he’d assumed responsibility for her. He probably, no definitely, pitied her. He came from a large family. His parents were Croatian migrants back in the Sixties. Their extended family rambled endlessly. She knew because she listened to his grumbles about family get togethers. Plus he had two brothers and a sister. He never had to face the world alone.

“I hate pity,” she said.

“Then try some commonsense.” Ivan didn’t give an inch. “Take advantage of having a place to stay while you get yourself sorted.”

“All right.” She gave in, but glared at him so he’d know she wasn’t happy about it.

“All right what?”

He was so suspicious.

“All right I’ll stay in your apartment today and tonight, and thank you.”

His mouth twitched at her gratitude, which did actually sound more like ‘and damn you’.

“The security card to the apartment and the code.” He handed both over to her. “I have to go into the office for a bit, but I do not want to see you there.” He spaced out the last few words. “Shop. Go back to the apartment. Have a soak in the bath.”

“You are so bossy.” She zipped the card securely inside her handbag.

“That could be because I
am
your boss.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, something she wouldn’t have dreamed of doing yesterday.

He laughed and lifted her into a quick hug. “Good to see you’re recovering.” He carried her, still in a modified hug out of the ruins of the house and deposited her near the garage.

The garage was old, set back in the corner of the yard and made of asbestos. She’d been going to replace it, not liking the thought of asbestos anywhere, but its inflammable nature had probably saved her car and the odds and ends of tools and junk stacked in there with it.

She unwound her arms from his neck. How did they get there?

“I’ll wait for you to start the car, just to check everything’s working as it should.” He released her slowly, one hand running down her spine.

“You’re being really nice.”

“That’s me. A nice guy.” Irony dripped from the words.

No, he wasn’t a nice guy. Nice was for wimps. But he was a man you could rely on, a man it would be all too easy to give your heart to. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so nice to me.”

“What?”

But she was ducking away, getting into her car and reversing out. Ivan slapped the roof of the car and she braked.

“You’d better be in the apartment when I get back from the office,” he said.

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Or I’ll show you just how not nice I can be.” He strode away to his car. Bemused, she watched the denim of his old jeans stretch and mould to the muscles of his butt and thighs. Normally he camouflaged his raw power in business suits, but this was Ivan in his essence.

“I think I’m in trouble.”

Chapter 3

Rita didn’t hear the apartment door open, but she did hear Ivan’s steps as he roamed around it and finally tracked her to the tiny laundry room.

“I told you to relax.” He stood in the doorway, large and exasperated.

She finished transferring her new clothes from the washing machine to the dryer. She’d never owned a dryer. She’d always pegged her washing to the line in the back yard, near the old lemon tree. She hesitated a moment, checking the simple options for drying clothes, then pressed ‘start’. “I don’t like wearing new clothes till they’ve been washed.”

“I guess I should be grateful you used my machine and didn’t go to a Laundromat.”

She concentrated on straightening the laundry basket. She had actually considered a Laundromat before realising the ridiculousness of such an action of independence.

“I need a beer.” He stalked off to the kitchen, opened the fridge door and stopped.

“I hope you don’t mind.” She darted around him to stir the sauce simmering on the stove. Tomato and basil. She’d found both at the supermarket. So much better than bottled sauces. “I thought I’d make dinner, as a kind of thank you. I hope you like ravioli? It’s spinach and ricotta.”

“Fine.”

“I bought a Greek salad and there’s chocolate gelato and strawberries for dessert.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Yes. It took me ages to find some clothes. I didn’t want to buy things that I’d never wear again. So now I have enough to get me through a few days. I can buy more in my lunch hours.”

The frown that had been lifting from his face, descended again. “You can have as much time off as you need.”

“I’ll manage.”

He looked like he’d like to argue, but instead turned back to the fridge. When he straightened, he held a bottle of champagne. “Since I’m getting a home-cooked meal, this is better than beer.” He nudged her out of the way with a hip as he reached for glasses.