A Little Crushed (16 page)

“Do you always run round in your slippers?” Frowning, he looked down at her feet. “No, don’t answer that. I have given up expecting the normal from you. There’s a towel on the rail in the bathroom. Go and dry your feet, and there’s a pair of my slippers on the shoe rack behind the door. I’ll see to pooch, here. Come on, mate.” Whistling to Wally, they disappeared into the kitchen.

“This is completely nuts.” Stomach churning over with the ferocity of a cement mixer, Rebecca headed for the bathroom. “And some weird déjà vu.”

Ten minutes on and with all her toes thankfully still attached to her feet, she shuffled into the living room to find Wally dozing by a roaring log fire, legs sprawled out flat in all directions and Mr. J. sitting on the sofa, head buried in what looked like—oh hell—her essays. Two mugs lay on the coffee table from which aromatic steam rose into the air.

“Ah.” He looked up and showered her in that smile again. “Just in time. Hot chocky’s ready. Wally couldn’t wait. Sit.”

“You gave him hot chocolate?” Picking up a mug, Rebecca sat as far away from him as she could.

“Well, I did ask, and he told me it would be okay.” A rakish grin stretched his strong features. “I left out the brandy top up though. I am not that irresponsible.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She sipped at her brew and then spluttered. Heat rushed to her face.

“Now I didn’t say I left out it out of yours. You looked as if you needed it.” Throwing back his head, he laughed.

Rebecca’s gaze fixed on his smooth, brown throat. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him there. Shit—what was she thinking? Not straight, for sure. Time to jump out of the whirlpool on to safe ground. Clearing her throat, she cast a feigned disinterested eye at the pile of A4 in his hand. “Are those my essays?”

“Sure are.” With an infuriating evasive smile, he stacked the papers and placed them on the coffee table.

“And?” She forgot to be cool.

“And some are A-worthy, some not.”

Rebecca wondered if she’d drunk too much brandy. Rebecca Harding never scored less than A. She felt like a tyre with a slow puncture. “Oh…okay.” He didn’t know it, but this was a first. If it had been anyone else, she would have thrown a hissy fit.

“I’m sorry.” He grinned.” I couldn’t resist it. When you get mad, your nostrils flare. Okay, joke over. Some A-worthy, the rest A plus.”

“Very funny.” She avoided his searching gaze, knowing her cheeks glowed and not only from the fierce heat kicked out by the fire.

“But we must strive for A plus plus.”

“There is no such thing,” she shot back, her heart hammering out a joyous beat.

“You could make it so. You’re good, Rebecca. Very good.”

A coil of pleasure unwound in the pit of her stomach. Funny how his praise meant the world; even more than her dad’s. She shivered. That was a scary revelation. Wally’s snoring fractured the tense moment, and they shared a moment of laughter.

“He’s a lovely dog.” Mr. Jackson cradled his mug in his hands, a tender smile parted—what was it Emma called them—oh yes, luscious lips.

“He likes you, but then, you’re good with animals. I can tell.”

“I didn’t have much choice.” Swivelling around, he rested one ankle on his knee. “As I said, I was brought up on a farm. Well, partially, anyway. My mother is a huge animal rights activist in Sydney, much to my father’s disgust, but that’s another story.”

Judging by the frown that flitted across his features, she guessed it was. The expression in his eyes grew distant, as if he’d disappeared into a not too happy past. Breath on hold, she silently willed him to go on. She was thirsty for knowledge. She wanted to know all there was to know about this man, her new love. Her breath caught in a dry throat. Panic took hold, and fear churned inside her veins. Could he read her inner thoughts? How she hoped not. Oh my God, it couldn’t be. She floundered in this emotional sea.
Love
? Rebecca Harding didn’t do love. She wouldn’t know where to begin. No, she hadn’t meant that. She didn’t love him because she didn’t know him, and that would mean it was nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, and she, Rebecca Harding, would never stoop so low. What she had meant to think was she
admired
him. Yes, that was it. Admire was a good word.

“Rebecca, are you all right?” He edged nearer. “You’re trembling.”

“What? No, I’m fine. Cold…my feet are still cold. So...” She took a welcome slurp of Dutch courage brandy chocolate. “Tell me about your mother. She sounds interesting.”

“She is.” He eased back into the soft cushions and a semblance of order returned to her world. “I think you and she would get on like a house on fire. She is a tad eccentric.”

Rebecca giggled; somehow she knew he meant it as a compliment. “And what about your father? Is he a farmer?”

Mr. J. threw back his head and laughed so loud, Wally sat up and growled. “Oh dear God, he’d have a coronary if he heard that. Sorry, my dear Rebecca, but my father hates the country. He’s city born and bred.”

Rebecca didn’t care that he laughed at her; he’d called her dear. “Well when you said farm—”

“The farm belongs to my mother’s family. We moved there permanently when my parents divorced. My father never forgave me for choosing my mother over him, but in my defence, I was only ten at the time.” He stared into the fire, expression sad, as if lost in unhappy thoughts. “My dad could have tried to spend more time with me but no. Always work with him. No time for family. He spends all his time in Sydney as I now do. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not from the outback. I’m quite sophisticated really.”

Hot chocolate went down the wrong way, and she coughed. Was he ever going to forget? “So, you and your father are okay now?”
Oops— too presumptuous, Becs. Why would he want to discuss his family with you?
Sure enough, his eyes darkened. “I’m being nosy.”

“No, it’s fine.” He gave a rueful smile. “It’s just that I try not to think about my father too much. We don’t have too much in common. Actually, we have nothing in common. He’s one of the reasons I left Australia. He wants me to join him in the family business, but we spend all our time arguing. I don’t agree with a lot he stands for. I doubt my father and I will ever be okay. He is also one of the reasons Kate and I argue so much.

“Kate?”

“My fiancée.”

“Oh.” Rebecca sat up, fingers gripping her mug. Her gaze drifted to the picture on the mantelpiece. “So, you’re still engaged then.”

“Last I knew,” His expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and amused. “Any reason for asking?”

Way to go on opening Pandora’s Box, Becs.
How the hell was she going to explain? The only way she knew how; honestly. “There’s some gossip going around school…about you and Miss Holmes. People are saying you are—well, you said you were engaged and—”

“Let me stop you right there.” He stood, mouth set in a hard line. “Finished?” Without waiting for her answer, he took her mug and left the room, leaving her feeling so stupid and wishing the floor would swallow her whole. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut?

“Don’t look so tortured. Contrition doesn’t suit you.” He returned with a hint of a smile back on his face. “Besides—” he slumped back down by her side, “I’m not cross with you. I forgot how curious and gossip-hungry kids can be, but you are not a child, Miss Harding. I will not insult you by treating you like one. If anyone deserves an explanation, it is you. You did me the honour of sharing your secrets, so I want to return the compliment.”

Rebecca wriggled in her seat as a warm glow surged through her body with jet engine ignition ferocity. “It’s okay. Really. What you do in your spare time is your business.”

“True.” Arms folded behind his head, he studied her, eyes half-closed as if debating whether to go on. “However, for some bizarre reason, your opinion matters to me. Tell me, Rebecca. Do you think I am the kind of man who would cheat?”

Okay, now he put her on the spot. Her experience of men, cheating or otherwise, was at zilch on the street savvy scale. She forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes mesmerised her, warm and engaging, and if she wasn’t being fanciful, tinged with…hurt? “No.” She turned away before he sucked all reason from her. “I think you’re too honest for that.”

“Thank you.”

His murmur brushed her ear; one simple word but charged with unspoken emotion.

“You’re right, of course.” He grinned, the easing of his tension so palpable, she imagined she saw it sliding from his shoulders and pooling at his feet. “Miss Holmes and I are just friends. An over-worked cliché but one that happens to be true. Kate is aware I have been spending time with her.”

“Oh.” Rebecca had no come back. She didn’t think it would do to enlighten him as to Miss Holmes’s predatory tendencies.

“Miss Holmes knows I am engaged, Rebecca, to address the question I can see running around in that beautiful little mind of yours. Do I realize she, perhaps, would like more from me? Yes, I do. I am not naive.”

Reticence thrown out of the window, Rebecca wanted her curiosity itch scratched. “Mr. J-Jackson, I mean, I don’t understand. When people get engaged, don’t they usually want to be together? Why are you here and she—”

“Oh dear.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “American teen movies…so much to blame them for. Life is not always how we want it to be. Kate and I, we’ve been having problems, but because we think what we have is worth working at, we are trying to figure things out. We are giving each other space. Kate was offered a job in the field in Peru for a year, so when Tom offered me the position here, it seemed the perfect compromise. To be fair to Kate, a lot of our problems lie with me. Kate and I, we’re so different. She is ambitious, whereas I, for the moment at least, am content to plod through life. She accuses me of having no direction, a theory she shares with my father.”

Rebecca decided there and then she didn’t like Kate. Drawing a cushion on to her tummy, she hugged it and waited for him to continue. He had the most melodious voice, and she could have listened to him talk all day.

“I frustrate the hell out of her. Even when we were up at Oxford together, she was always on my case. It was a huge bone of contention between us that I sailed through university life with the minimum of effort while she had to burn the candle at both ends to keep on top of her course work. In all fairness, I did spend too much time in the pubs with Tom and Fiona.”

He grinned, allowing her to see the glimpse of the rebel youth he must have been. “So you were at Oxford?” Forgetting she was not at home, she slipped off the slippers and pulled her feet up onto the sofa.

“Guilty as charged.” He rubbed at his chin. “Don’t sound so surprised. They are accepting colonials these days.”

“You’re not going to let me forget that first day, are you?” She glared.

“Not until it stops being fun.” He grinned. “And, for the record, your Aussie accent is crap.”

Rebecca’s jaw plunged to her knees. “How did…”

“I have my ways.” He wagged an admonishing finger at her. “I do love winding you up. You get all bristly, and then you jut out your chin like a spoilt five-year-old. You fell right into that one. I’ve never heard you take the micky out of me, but now I know you do, I will keep you under observation.”

She remained on shut down, too nettled and all out of words.

He burst out laughing. “You’re doing it. Your nostrils are flaring again.”

“They are not!” If Peter or Simon had been sitting opposite her, she would have kicked them, but she didn’t really think she could do it him and live to tell the tale. Truth was, she kind of liked his teasing.

“Truce?” He made the peace sign.

“Truce.” A quick change of subject was called for. “So, after Oxford, what did you do?”

“Not what Kate wanted, that’s for sure.” He grimaced. “Kate thought I would creep and crawl back to my father and take my ‘rightful’ place at his side, but that will never happen—not until hell freezes over.”

Oops, a few family skeletons, she wagered. “Would it be so bad if you did? What does your father do?” Rebecca half-expected him to say meat-packing or something equally mundane; hardly challenging for his cerebral skills, but his answer blew her away.

“My father is in publishing.” His response verged on a sneer.

“As in books? That can’t be too bad.”

“Books.” He laughed again. “Well, I suppose my father may have the odd legitimate publishing company lurking amongst his business acquisitions, but his main focus is in media—newspapers, magazines, television, radio and so on.”

The penny dropped. It all made sense; the expensive suits, flashy car. Rebecca stared at him in awe. “Your dad is
the
Jackson Media.”

“You’ve heard of him? What am I talking about? Of course you’ve heard of him. He is a legend. My father gives new meaning to the words sleazy journalism. I told him I refuse to join him unless he does some serious company restructuring. I will not compromise my moral and ethical code just for the sake of raking in a few extra millions. It’s not as if we need the money, but for my father, it’s all about the thrill of the chase. He’s a financial marauder. He moves in on flagging companies and swallows them, strips them clean and spits them out.”

“Actually, my father said the exact same thing. He says—it doesn’t matter.” She thought it best not to repeat her father’s scathing remarks. “But, I don’t understand. If your fiancée knows you feel this way, why is she so anxious for you to join him? I know I am no expert on love.” She rubbed at her nose. “Quite honestly, I find it all a bit daft, but if she loves you, why ask you to do this?”

“As I said before, Kate is ambitious.” He took a deep breath, as if deliberating whether to go on. “And I don’t think Kate loves me as much as she thinks she does. She’s more in love with the idea of me.”

“Am I supposed to understand that?”

He answered with a wry smile. “Let’s just say my family’s money and position impress Kate. Although her family is comfortable now, it wasn’t always that way. Kate is very conscious of her humble beginnings, so when she met me at Oxford and found out who my father was…well, I suppose it was easy for her to fall in love with me.”