Tempted by the Billionaire: A Hometown Hero Series Novel (5 page)

Well, almost. There was just one last thing he wanted to take care of in Haymarket Bay. And she was standing about ten feet away, behind a wall of glass and a thick curtain.

Willow and he had unfinished business, and he didn’t intend to leave town until he’d dealt with that.

* * *

His arms glistened in the midday sun. A combination of perspiration, sunblock and the haze from the kitchen window. She swallowed. Two days had passed since their abortive lunch, and still her mind hadn’t stopped focussing on him. She made a sound of frustration, but didn’t back away from the kitchen window.

Apparently, he’d progressed from painting the guest room to oiling the deck. And he’d chosen to start with the slats right across from her place. Willow bit down on her lip, trying not to drool as he bent down and wiped his forearm across his face, mopping the heat from his skin. Then, he leaned down, dipped the brush in the pot, and stroked another piece of timber.

He’d been working at it for over an hour, and somehow, Willow’s coffee break had turned into a complete perve session. She thought guiltily of the chapter she’d left languishing in her office. It was action packed and loaded with drama, yet she couldn’t return to it. She simply couldn’t walk away.

Her dark eyes drank in the sight of him, as though she was drowning and he was her lifeline.

He stopped again, lifting his arm to his forehead and wiping it, then, he stood up straighter. Unexpectedly, his eyes turned to her house, and without any preamble, locked to her shadowy figure in the kitchen. She made a sound of surprise, but didn’t move.

Across two gardens, separated by a fence, and a cat, his eyes had the power to smoulder into hers. She felt her body temperature rising as a sardonic grin tilted his handsome lips. Wordlessly, he lifted a hand in a gesture of greeting.

She followed suit, lifting her arm and waving her fingers. Her heart was pounding.

What had got into her? This man was just a friend of Ike’s. That was all. Why did he have this ability to unnerve her so? Worse than simply finding him utterly sexy was the discovery that what she knew of his story had captivated her.

She bit down on her lip, her eyes still connected to his.

His hand, which he had raised in a salute, he turned now, to make the silent, universal sign of beckoning.

Come here
, his lips said. And her heart, her body, longed to agree.

But what for? She frowned. The lunch they’d shared two days ago had been cut short. By him. He was gorgeous, but he was also trouble. She shook her head slowly from side to side, and lifted her fingers, to mime an invisible keyboard.

He nodded, but the look on his face told her everything she needed to know.
Coward
, his expression seemed to say. She narrowed her eyes.
He
was the coward. He was the one who’d put a swift and clunky conclusion to their lunch. She put her coffee cup down on the bench and, using every fibre of will-power she possessed, turned away from him.

She would not be played with by a man like him. Like Ashton. She straightened her spine and flicked her plait over her shoulder. She had been an innocent twenty one year old when she’d met Ashton. Now, she was twenty-five. Successful. Happy. Financially secure. She’d meet a guy one day, but he’d be nothing like Mattias. Nothing like Ashton. Willow respected herself too much to go down that path again.

And yet… she frowned, and guiltily, flicked one last look over her shoulder. Matt had returned to the deck, bent forward, his vest and jeans separated in the middle. Just enough to expose several inches of tanned, muscular midsection. She groaned. Matt wasn’t necessarily anything like Ashton, was he? Apart from super good looking, what reason did she have to believe that he was as capable of duplicity as her ex had been? Ashton had been married, and he’d set out to seduce her. An innocent, naïve, trusting kid, who’d lived half her life in the fictional worlds created by authors long since dead. All she really knew about Matt was that he’d lost his father in the twin towers, and had gone to war to fight a battle he had no hope of winning. That he’d risked his own life in three tours of duty in the hopes of making the world a better and safer place.

Wasn’t that the kind of hero quality she wrote into her books?

Didn’t that make him inherently good?

She sighed loudly – what was the point of sighing if not with your whole body? – then went back to her computer. She managed to reclaim the threads of her story, but after several hours of tapping away at the keyboard, she knew she could ignore her own desires no longer.

Willow loved coffee, but she had a penchant for collecting wines. Admittedly, her collection habits were something serious wine-snobs would laugh at. She went by the label. She chose whichever artwork she thought prettiest or most compelling, and bought those. She opened the door to her spare room, and glanced across the shelves. So many beauties to choose from, yet she was drawn to a five year old Napa Shiraz, boldly pronouncing itself
DreamState.
She picked it up and clutched it in both hands. Pausing only to check her reflection in the hallway, she wrenched open the door and strode purposefully towards the Berries’. Their porch light was on, the windows were open, and a beautiful aroma became stronger the closer she got.

She stepped onto the porch and then squawked, when she remembered that Matt had spent the day oiling it. To her relief, she saw the different shade began several feet to her right. She breathed with relief and resumed her course to the front door.

“Hello?” She called down the hallway. Anna poked her head around the corner of the kitchen, her expression transforming into a broad smile when she saw her best friend.

“Hey! What are you doing here, Willow?”

Willow lifted the wine above her head at the same time that she kicked her shoes off and stepped inside the front door. “Just finished a chapter and I thought we could have a catch up.”

Matt stepped out from behind Anna, decked out in one of the prettiest floral aprons she’d ever seen. Ridiculously, even in a garment Laura Ashley would have found too feminine, he looked heroic and powerful. “We’re having chicken and slaw for dinner. You gonna join us?” Over Anna’s pretty blonde head, his ice-blue eyes held a challenge.

Her mouth felt dry, her tongue thick and heavy. She nodded, and forced a smile to her face. It was stiff, but not because she wasn’t happy. Because her body was overrun with other sensations.

“I’d like that, thanks,” she said, finally, her tongue thick in her mouth.

Anna looked at her best friend’s face. What she saw there was confusing. Usually infallible, unshakable, and untouchable, Willow seemed… very shaken, and very touched. “I’ll get some glasses.”

Willow moved down the corridor, and by the time she reached the open plan kitchen and dining area, Anna had laid out three long-stemmed glasses.

“Ike not here?”

Anna looked at Matt and laughed. “Isaac has hardly been home for days.”

“Because of the little girl?”

“Annabeth, yes.” The whole country had covered the case of the little girl who’d disappeared into thin air. Her small face with shining blue eyes and fair hair had been plastered over every paper and news station. Isaac had been interviewed, and Willow knew he would have hated that. He hated publicity. Hated press. But they were a necessary evil in his job. Especially at times like this.

“Any news?”

“None.”

“Allow me,” Matt said quietly, reaching over and taking the bottle from Willow’s hands. His fingers brushed hers, and she felt the now-familiar cluster of electricity bunch beneath her skin. Her eyes met his unflinchingly. Yes, there was something between them, and she wanted to explore it, if he did. The phone began to rang and Anna threw an apologetic look over her shoulder. “Sorry, I’ll be right back. It’s bound to be mum,” she added with a laugh. Her mother lived in the neighbouring town, only a thirty minute drive away, and still she called Anna every night at around this time.

“Thank you,” she murmured, watching appreciatively as his strong fingers wrapped around the bottle and untwisted the lid. He poured three measures into the glasses and lifted two.

“I’m surprised to see you,” he said honestly, handing her a glass. He stood so close to her that she could almost feel the warmth emanating from his body.

“Are you?” She pretended confusion. “Why’s that?”

His grin was laced with sardonic mirth. “You seemed to be avoiding me lately.”

“Do I?” She asked quietly, cradling the wine in her hands.

He made a noise of assent. “Cheers.” He lifted his glass by way of salute, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her bones weak.

She didn’t say anything. There was no need. Some silent understanding was passing between them. She lifted her wine and sipped it, grateful for the burning sensation as it passed through her lips, and down her insides.

“It’s nice,” he complimented, after he’d tasted it.

“Thanks. I chose it because I liked the picture.”

His laugh was a smooth rumble. “Isn’t that against the rules? Something about judging books and covers?”

She nodded. “It’s how I buy wine.”

“I see.” He sipped his wine thoughtfully, then stepped back, to lean against the bench opposite. “Do you judge many things by their looks?”

She swallowed. His meaning was clear. Willow dropped her gaze. “You can tell a lot about things and people from appearances,” she hedged quietly.

“Not always.”

She lifted her eyes speculatively to his face. “You think I’ve got the wrong idea about you?” She challenged.

He lifted his brows in obvious surprise. “You don’t beat about the bush, do you?”

She shook her head. “Not when I’m being accused of something.”

“Sorry! Mom.” Anna said, breezing into the kitchen with no idea that she was interrupting anything.

Willow dragged her gaze away from Matt’s face. “How is Amelia?’

“Same old. Man, this smells good, Matt. What can I do to help?”

Matt’s expression was impossible to read. “Nothing, ma’am. Just get that husband of yours home for a feed tonight.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “I wish! I’ve never seen him so little as this past fortnight.”

As if perfectly scripted, the front door banged, and Isaac walked down the long corridor, rubbing his hands through his crop of auburn hair as he went.

He stopped in the kitchen and sighed wearily.

“Tough day?” Anna asked sympathetically, putting an arm around his waist. She looked up at his face as though he were the only person in the room; the only person in the world.

His smile was thin. “Same old, same old.”

“Nothing on Annabeth?” Willow asked, her skin tingling with sadness for the girl and her family.

“Nothing. Except the usual psychics champing at the bit to get their two minutes of fame.”

“You didn’t talk to any of them?” Anna asked.

“Nah. Load of hooey.”

“I don’t know,” Willow contradicted with a shrug. “I read an article a while ago that said psychic involvement has, on occasion, been proven to lead to some new information.”

“I read the same story,” Isaac said with a nod. “But it’s because the psychics are either personally involved and want to gloat, or because they know someone who is involved. Not because they have some super intuition.”

“Sometimes there’s dumb luck too,” Matt pointed out with a teasing grin.

“You guys are a bunch of sceptics,” Willow said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You saying you believe that stuff?”

She looked at Matt with a thoughtful frown. “No. Not necessarily. But I don’t
not
believe.”

“You’re a fence sitter,” Matt teased, turning to the oven and pulling out a tray. He placed it on the stove top, then pulled out yet another tray.

She was distracted from their conversation by the sheer quantity of delicious food spread out before her. “God, Matt. You’ve made enough for an army.”

He laughed. “Only way I know to cook.”

“I’m surprised you know how to cook at all,” Willow observed under her breath, when Anna and Ike moved to set the table.

He leaned down, his lips close to her ear. “Isn’t that judging a book by its cover yet again?”

Her whole body began to reverberate with waves of pleasure as his warm breath fanned down her neck. She startled a little, and when she locked eyes with him, the wave of desire almost threatened to overpower her.

His blue eyes were conflicted. She couldn’t understand him. There were nuances of emotion in his face that she simply didn’t fathom. Her lips parted on a breath, as her eyes raked his face.

“What is this?” She whispered, her fingertips aching to reach out and touch his chest.

His smile was tinged with wistful remorse. “Fried chicken and chilli sauce,” he said with a slow, suggestive grin, but his eyes didn’t leave hers.

If they’d been alone, she would have kissed him. She would have pressed her body to his, and let her hands run over his back. She wanted him, and she was pretty darned sure he felt the same way. But Anna and Isaac, their best friends, were just across the room.