Bargain in Bronze (4 page)

Why?

Was it the cost? Jack had several business interests and knew how to find information. He plugged in a search and it was less than five minutes later when he had his answer.

Fire
.

No wonder she hadn’t liked the smell of burning food and had lectured him on the smoke alarms. The commercial kitchen she used had been gutted only a few weeks ago. So was she hunting for alternative premises now?

There were several methods of encouraging someone to do something you wanted them to. Jack Barnes was more of a carrot than a stick man. And he’d just thought of the best carrot for one Libby Harris.

Chapter Five

Someone was pounding on her door and Libby—currently lying face down on her bed—wasn’t in the mood.

“Libby? It’s Jack Barnes.”

The mattress squeaked as she sprang to all fours. She jumped right off the bed and glanced at her watch. Three hours since she’d shut the door in his face and she’d forgotten him, right?

Never.

She opened the door and her heart flipped. She’d thought her imagination had embroidered his fit-factor, but he was even more handsome than her memory reckoned. She drew in a sharp breath, aiming to restore order to her arresting vital organ, but it didn’t work. Time for evasive action.

She stepped outside to the landing and closed her door behind her. He wasn’t getting an invitation in.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, determined to be perfectly polite and never again let him know how much he got to her.

He smiled, looking so friendly and charming compared to when he’d first seen her this morning. “Tom’s missing the hazelnuts.” His shoulders lifted in a helpless gesture. “Do you think you can help out?”

He had to be kidding. “You’d like me to come and make more?”

“Yes, please.” His smile widened, so gorgeous that Libby was rendered incapable of speech.

“Are you going to make me grovel?” he asked with a soft tease after a long minute.

“It’s an appealing idea.” Libby admitted frankly.

“Okay I’ll grovel,” he stepped closer to her. “My brother is young and obsessive and right now the two things he’s obsessed about are rowing and your muesli. He doesn’t think he can do the former without the latter.”

Libby blinked and took a step back. She’d known Tom was a fan given he’d hunted her down, but that he was
obsessed
by her muesli? “He thinks it helps his form?”

Jack nodded. “It’s the thing that’s going to get him gold.”

Good grief. “So I need to do this for Queen and country, is that right?”

“Absolutely.”

Libby stared in silence, half spellbound by Jack’s vivid blue eyes. She didn’t believe him, but he was looking incredibly intense. And gorgeous.

“I’ve got a deal for you,” he tempted quietly.

“What?” She tried to keep her cool on, but couldn’t help her curiosity.

“And a reward.”

“What kind of reward?”

“Come down to the car and find out.”

She lifted her brows. “You’re not going to kidnap me. I’m good at ju-jitsu.”

“I’m guessing you learned that at the circus too.”

“That’s right,” she answered loftily, following him down the concrete stairwell.

The far-too-flashy convertible was parked right out front again—like he owned the place. He popped the trunk and stood beside it.

She stared at the open-topped box he’d placed in the middle of it. “How many bottles did you buy?”

“I wasn’t sure which sort you liked so I got all of them. Three of all of them actually. All organic of course.”

She stared at the bottles of bronze—delicious—syrup. There was a lot of money in the trunk and there was madness in his action.

“You’ve lost your production premises.” He didn’t ask, he
stated
.

She nodded.

“Fire?”

Had he spent the last three hours snooping on her? “You’ve been doing some homework.”

“Yeah,” he unashamedly admitted. “Have you found somewhere new yet?” he picked up one of the bottles and held it out to her.

“No,” she said firmly, carefully ensuring their fingers didn’t brush as she took the bottle from him.

“Were you just going to give up?”

“I’m still waiting on the insurance payment,” she said slowly, holding the bottle to the light. “They wouldn’t pay out until the cause of the fire had been confirmed and even though it has been they’re still dragging.”

“And they’ve investigated it?”

“They investigated me,” she answered harshly, glancing at him. Didn’t he know this already? Hadn’t he done his research properly?

His eyes narrowed. “It was an electrical fault.”

So he did know. “Yes, my dodgy landlord hadn’t done the repairs properly.” But before that had been discovered, she’d been grilled for days—by arson investigators, police and her landlord. It had been hideous.

“So your payment should come through any day.”

“Even so, I’m struggling to find another commercial kitchen I can use at the right times to fit in with my day job.”

“Is that because of the fire again?”

“Possibly.” She flipped the bottle in her hands, focusing on the label.

“I have a place you can use.”

Oh she wasn’t going into his house ever again. “As jaw-dropping as your kitchen is, it’s not a commercial one.”

“I know. I have access to another—you may have noticed the bakery a couple of doors along from my building? You can use it to make your muesli at night. So long as you leave it pristine and ready for them in the morning.”

She almost dropped the bottle she was so surprised. “Of course I would.” Too excited at the thought of having a space to hide her enthusiasm behind a faux “cool”.

“It has certification of course.”

“So do I.”

He took the bottle from her hands and replaced it with one of the other brands. “So you can get into production again.”

She didn’t look at the new bottle, only at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because Tom believes your muesli has superpowers and he wants more. With hazelnuts. And he’s almost eaten the lot you left him this morning.”

“You’re kidding.”

Jack shook his head.

“He can’t possibly have eaten it all.” She’d used a mountain of apricots, and a
continent
of oats.

“Almost.”

“So you’re doing this for Tom?”

“Mostly. I’m doing it for you too. You can get it back into stores again. Get your company back up and running.”

“Why do you want to do that for me?” Her heart skittered dangerously.

“Because I want you to help Tom,” he laughed. “But there’s one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want you to
see
Tom.”

“You’re
kidding
.” She gaped.

He shook his head. “Stay away from Tom and you can use the kitchen.”

“What do you think I am? Some kind of cradle-snatcher?”

Amusement burst from him—his laugh, the vibrancy of his eyes, the ease of his body. Much more relaxed than he’d been this morning made him even
more
attractive. “How old are you?”

“It’s rude to ask a lady her age.” She studied the bottle so she’d stop staring stalker fashion at him.

“I guess I’ve got bad manners then.” He carelessly shrugged. “How old?”

“Twenty-four.”

“That’s hardly a cougar gap between you and Tom.”

She knew she shouldn’t ask, knew it had no relevance to this conversation, knew it was taking things a step towards the intimate. But she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling from her mouth. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“You act older.”

His gaze sharpened. “How old do I act?”

“Like a middle-aged, strict father. Stuck in his ways.”

“No youthful impulsiveness?” he asked wryly.

“None,” she declared. “And I’m not interested in Tom. He’s cute but he’s—”

“Cute?” Jack laughed. “You’re calling my elite-athlete baby brother cute?”

“He is cute. Kind of like a toy action figure. Very admirable too. But he’s not the man for me. No one is the man for me.”

“Is that right?”

She’d been wrong in reading his stance as relaxed. He moved so fast she didn’t even see it all—she was just in his arms all of a sudden. Her body pressed to his—the maple bottle a small hard lump between them. Her mouth parted on an instinctive gasp, but it wasn’t breath that filled her. It was Jack. Not a bruising, dominating invasion, but a simple kiss, then another. Firm brushes of hot lips—until she opened up more, lifted her chin higher. He had one hand on the small of her back, one hand lower, cupping her butt, slowly pressing her closer to him the deeper the kiss grew. His tongue flicked into her mouth—a tease before withdrawing. Stirred, she did the same, taking this moment of bliss for herself. Their tongues tangled, then took turns to explore. She kissed him every bit as fervently—lush and wet. Sensation swished through her like a tumbling waterfall. His muscular, broad body held hers, his hands still rocking her in small movements—closer, ever closer in time with the caresses of his tongue and lips and it wasn’t just the glass bottle that was digging hard into her now. She yearned not to rock but to thrust—
hard
. The ache opened in her womb, need knifing into her. Heat that could only be doused by him—deep inside.

Her hands gripped the maple bottle so hard it was a wonder it didn’t shatter and slice her palms. She was so close to inviting him in. In seconds this had become insane.

She jerked back, out of his arms. His breathing was irregular, but was nothing on her embarrassing
panting
.

“Um, um…” Great. Kissed into confusion. Only one thought dominated her brain and it wasn’t one to be uttered aloud.
More
. “Um…”

“You’re good with words,” he teased—
so
cocky.

Pleased with himself, wasn’t he?

“Yes.” Libby clawed back her sensibility. “I’m a copywriter during the day,” she said primly.

His mouth twitched. “No wonder your website reads so well.”

He’d looked at it when he was researching what had happened to her business? “You are the suspicious sort aren’t you?”

“I prefer to think of it as
curious
. Just like you,” he answered calmly. “And in a way it’s a compliment.”

“You thinking I was some kind of scheming witch wasn’t a compliment,” she fired at him, needing to regain some distance.

“Okay.” He laughed. “It’s not that you’re a scheming witch. It’s that you’re so beguiling, any guy with the good fortune to be in your presence wouldn’t have a hope of concentrating on anything he was supposed to.”

“Oh that’s good and grovelly,” she breathed.

“Flattery works,” he said smoothly.

“You think?”

“You know, you were right about me. That kiss wasn’t impulsive. I’ve been plotting it for hours now.”

She licked her lips, swallowing to buy a moment and settle the reaction to those words. Because her reaction was too much. She really needed to get a grip. “So this is the real reason you’re offering me the deal?”

“It could be part of it. I’m serious about not distracting Tom though.”

“Are you hard of hearing?” she said tartly. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not interested in Tom?”

“I understand that, but you’re still a distraction to him. You’re a distraction to me. To any male in the vicinity.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t as welcoming as I could have been,” he added.

In what way was he thinking of welcoming her
now
? Hell, she couldn’t let that happen. Not when she’d been so sidelined by just a
kiss
. “Apologies work,” she nodded. She did want to help Tom, right?

“So it’s a deal?” Jack moved in closer.

“I have one condition,” she said swiftly.

“What’s that?”

“No more kissing.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” She’d have laughed, but it wasn’t that funny. She’d thought she might like a moment of hedonism—some sensual touch to provide a few seconds of respite, especially after the horror of the fire. What an idiot. In Jack’s arms just then? That had been more than hedonistic. That had been heaven. And it wasn’t happening again. A few more kisses like that and she’d be on the slippery slope to infatuation—and from there it might be only a skip from lust to love with a guy like him. Not just blessed with looks but with loyalty and kindness. His attitude towards his brother enriched his already extreme attractiveness. She refused to fall for him but judging from that one kiss, it would be easy. Love wasn’t in her future. Not after having seen it destroy her father.

He looked amazed and then the dreaded frown reappeared. “I thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m single. But that’s how I want to stay.”

It had been so painful getting out of her previous relationship when it had gotten too serious—she didn’t want anything like that again.

He relaxed. “You can be single and still kiss a bit.”

Yeah, there was that too—he had player tendencies. You didn’t get to be as good at kissing as he was without serious experience behind you. No doubt he had multiple women lining up for miles. And Libby wasn’t a casual fling kind of girl. She’d been three-months-max, but even that had turned out to be too long. So she’d decided she was best off without and focusing on her business.

“No kisses.” Then
she
frowned as an unsatisfactory though occurred to her. “Is your offer conditional on my being available for kisses?”

“Now who’s the one being uncomplimentary?” He challenged. “I’m not a jerk. And I’ve never coerced or needed to pay for it.”

No. She’d never really thought he would. Her chin lifted. “Then you’re fine with my condition.”

Slowly he nodded. “So it’s a bargain?”

She raised the bronze bottle in her hands—blocking him from coming close again. “Absolutely.”

Chapter Six

Three nights later Jack hovered in the bakery, waiting for Her Royal Hazelnuts to show up. He’d been trying not to think about her—but the rampant erotic dreams that surged every time he closed his eyes had made that impossible. He decided he’d embellished her cute factor—she wasn’t that hot, he’d just been without too long.

He glanced out the window and simultaneously smiled and frowned. The frown claimed dominance after a moment. She was in jeans again—absolutely hotter than he remembered—but she was wheeling a giant suitcase behind her and the pack on her back dragged her down, the straps cutting into her fine-boned shoulders. With her flushed cheeks and strained features, she looked hot and bothered. Ironic given that’s how she made him feel. But had she just lugged all this on the Tube? Irritated, he stepped out and took the suitcase handle from her.

“You should have told me you had all this, I’d have picked you up.” He hauled it inside. No wonder she looked fed up, the bag was heavier than an Olympic “clean and jerk” barbell.

“It wouldn’t fit in your car anyway.” She eased the pack off her back and rolled her shoulders.

“It would fit in my other car.”

“Well, I’ve got it here now,” she clipped, carefully looking around the kitchen.

“You’ll be getting more ingredients soon though, right?”

She nodded.

“Then either have it delivered or I’ll collect it.”

She finally met his eyes—firing him a look that spoke volumes. He met it with an equally unwavering one. He wouldn’t apologize for being sensible. Would it hurt her to accept some very minor assistance?

“Okay.” She turned and looked around the kitchen again. “Is there no one else here?”

“Who else would be here?”

“The bakery owner? Shouldn’t I meet…” she trailed off.

“No need for that,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I own the place.”

“The bakery?”

“The building.”

“You own the whole building?” She looked horrified.

He decided not to tell her he owned the two on either side of this one as well. “Don’t worry, I have a really good maintenance team.”

Her color ripened. “You’re going to be here every night to open up for me?”

“And lock up.”

“Am I not to be trusted with a key?”

“Not at this stage.”

“Even though you’ve done all your snooping and know everything about me?”

“It was a quick Google search,” he answered easily. And he didn’t know nearly enough. “You didn’t do one on me?”

“No.” She said it like she’d never think of it.

“Really?”

“Does that bruise your ego?” Her eyes kindled—enhancing that smooth skin and fresh-eyed look—the picture of vitality. Maybe there was something in the muesli after all.

He sensed her holding back a laugh and only just suppressed his own. “I’ll live.”

Her smile burst forth and she unzipped her suitcase. It was immaculately packed—plastic bags neatly arranged like a jig-saw puzzle to maximize use of every inch of space. It took five minutes for her to take out what she needed.

Only then did she glance at him again—her smile dying. “Are you staying?”

“Of course.” He went back to his spot at the bench where he had his iPad and phone out.

“I’m not going to set fire to the place if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That wasn’t why he was staying. “Is that what they implied?”

She nodded.

“It must have been horrible being under suspicion.”

“Not as bad as being there.”

“You were there when the fire started?” Goose bumps rippled over his skin.

“I got out, obviously, but I lost lots of things. And there was a lot of toasted muesli,” she quipped.

“It’s not funny.” No wonder she’d frozen in the face of the burned nuts the other day. And flipped about the alarm. “Were you hurt at all?”

“No. But I lost my computer.” She looked rueful. “How to learn the ‘always back your stuff up’ lesson the hard way.”

“You lost important data?”

“Photos.”

“No,” he groaned in sympathy. “Can you get copies?”

“For some. Not all.”

He heard the desolate note—she’d lost precious things, memories? Sorry for bringing it up, he sought a way to lighten it. “Have you got a replacement computer yet?”

“Soon.”

“So
that’s
why you didn’t Google me,” he joked to bring her smile back.

“Yeah,” she went along with it. “And you weren’t worth breaking the ‘no personal Internet use’ rule at work for. So no cyber stalking for me.” She scrubbed her hands and got out several chopping boards and that stupidly small knife. The dried apricot dicing began.

“Why cut by hand?” He pointed out the industrial food processor.

“It’s better chopped by hand. One too many presses of the pulse button of that machine would make it pulp rather than bite-size pieces.”

“But it takes so much time.”

“I have time.”

Really? When she worked full time and ran her business on the side? “Then how do you fit in time for—” He broke off, temporarily blinded by the dangerous glitter in her eyes.

He got the no kisses rule, but did that mean personal talk was a no go area too? “Your commitment to the
circus
,” he finished slyly. “Knife throwing and stuff with strong Serge.”

She almost smiled. “I’ve retired from the circus.”

Had she now? Serge too? He reached forward and snaffled one of the dried apricots. It didn’t look like a normal orange apricot to him, but was a much darker color. “Why’s that? You get hurt by the knife or the strong guy?”

“Why think I was hurt?” She chopped faster, louder. “Maybe it’s just that I’m too busy.”

“Taking all the time to dice dried apricots by hand? That’s not too busy, that’s extreme avoidance.”

“It’s dedication to making the best product I can.”

It was avoidance. Why did she have knife-edged barriers up when she’d been as into that kiss as he had? The incandescent reaction between them was only going to worsen the more they saw each other. It was stronger already—he couldn’t believe it wasn’t the same for her. And he planned to do something about it. Soon.

He didn’t have time to put into a relationship. It wasn’t fair on a girlfriend. And frankly, he knew loss—intimately—and he didn’t want any more of that. Keeping an eye on Tom and Anne was more than enough. But what he hadn’t had—in too long—was a little fun. There hadn’t been time. He’d abandoned his degree and gotten on with work, taking over the family art and antiques store. Then he’d bought his first building and refurbished it, spearheading the revitalization of that block and beginning his commercial property portfolio. He’d worked crazy hours. Through half the night while his siblings slept, rousing Tom to go to training in the early hours before snatching a couple of hours sleep before getting his sister up and on track for school. It wasn’t a time he wanted to revisit. He’d been so tired. But he still worked hard, caught in the habit—and the drive to achieve security for his family still pushed him. So there’d only been one-nighters, the briefest of flings, and nothing in recent months.

Now Libby Harris had him thinking about fun. All the time.

“How much can you make in a night?” he asked.

“A couple of batches. Enough for Tom.”

“What about to fulfill your orders at the organic supermarkets?”

“That’s going to take a little longer.”

Good. He wanted more time. “You can’t give up the day job?” He grabbed another apricot. “Copywriting?”

She nodded. She was definitely avoiding looking at him. “Local council.”

“No wonder you’re good at telling tales in tight situations,” he teased.

It drew a smile from her. “The tales I get to tell at work aren’t nearly as exciting. It’s puff pieces on litter collection or something.”

“So you invent to make them more entertaining?” He laughed. “I bet you come up with some crazy stuff.”

“Most boarding school girls have good imaginations,” she said mock primly. “Sometimes it’s the only way to survive.”

Boarding school girl? He glanced at her and for once their gaze met, meshed—
clashed
.

Heat unmistakably flared, the charged silence thickened. But then she turned away. He was sure she wanted him. But didn’t want to want him.

Jack pulled up a stool and sat, flicking through his emails on his iPad. He was confident enough in himself—in that
kiss
—to know it wasn’t him, but something within her making her skittish. He was going to have to take it easy, but keep up the tease until she couldn’t resist it any longer. He was sure it would happen…sure he wasn’t alone in feeling this pull. All good things came to those who waited, right? And he’d be waiting right here.

…

The second night he arrived before her. Wearing jeans and tee again—the casual outfit emphasizing his flat abs, long legs, and a butt meant for grabbing. Libby inwardly groaned. Spending four hours in his presence last night had been hard enough. She’d tried not to look at him too much but it was difficult when he kept chatting and laughing and being the ultimate in charming. She’d hardly slept. Remembering his smile, his gentle teasing.

Every interaction sharpened her attraction like long strokes of a knife on steel—the pull tightened her nerves and pushed her towards succumbing to the heat. She sighed, trying to push out the tension and gather her self-control. She didn’t want to have to walk away from this opportunity with the kitchen. She wanted to do something with her life—to help someone, lots of people ideally. She wanted to give something to society. Because she wouldn’t fall in love. She wouldn’t have a family. She’d make a difference in another way. Helping Tom would be something. Getting her product back on the shelves would be something more. It was a healthy option. People might benefit and that would be wonderful.

But Jack made her think about other things—intimacies and personal pleasures that she’d denied herself for a long time. She didn’t want to open up that part of herself to someone so overpowering.

“If you’re going to insist on staying here while I work, the least you can do is make yourself useful,” she said firmly, deciding to take control of the situation tonight. There’d be no swapping secrets or life stories—or worse, flirting.

“I have my own work to do, thanks,” he held up his iPad.

“Do you have to do it here?” Why couldn’t he leave her to get on with it and come back to lock up at a fixed time?

“Yeah. I do.” Mr. Uncompromising.

Because he still didn’t trust her?

“Does my being here bother you?”

She swallowed. “Of course not. I just thought if you have work to do…”

“I can do what I need to here.”

She shouldn’t have started this conversation—it was going nowhere anyway. He just being all immovable man. Damn. Because just
looking
at him had her coming over hot.

“You don’t have a business partner?” he asked once she was underway.

“No,” she said. “My uni friends love my muesli but they think I’m mad for putting so much into it.”

“Any sort of success requires sacrifice at some level,” he said. “Is that why you’ve no boyfriend?”

She looked at him, trying to stay cool. “Possibly.”

“There must be an endless queue though.”

“There’s no need for the flattery.” She tried to shut the topic down. “I’m making enough muesli to last Tom ten years.”

“But there must be.” He ignored her and insisted.

She picked up a cloth and wiped some spilled syrup from the bench. “No, there was only the one.”

“One?”

“At university. I finally got out of the all girls’ boarding school and found some freedom.”

“I thought the all girls boarding schools were where it was all at.”

“It’s not like those bad movies you know. They’re just a male fantasy.”

“Tell me more.” He came round to her side of the counter.

“There’s nothing to tell.” She wiped the top more vigorously. She didn’t need him standing so close—she could smell the soap he’d used. She could sense his heat—and she could remember his strength.

It made her weak.

“Of course there is. Why did you break up with him?”

“It was getting too serious.”
Good, remember the mess it had been. Remind yourself you don’t want a fling.

“He was getting too serious?”

She stopped wiping. “Yes.”

“Serious how? He wanted to marry you?”

She nodded.

“So he proposed and you broke up with him?”

Why did he look so surprised? “We wanted different things,” she said firmly. “It was for the best.”

“So you don’t want serious?”

“No.”

“Why not? Most women are searching the world for serious aren’t they?”

“Not everyone, no.”

His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t one of your tall tales?”

How totally insulting. “Why is it that men have sole dibs on just wanting fun? On not wanting commitment?”

He ignored her sarcastic tone and weighed the question seriously. “I think most men who don’t want commitment have serious reasons for not wanting it.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Such as?”

“Fear. Bad experience. So they don’t want to be hurt or betrayed again.”

Libby’s curiosity soared. Had anyone betrayed him? She couldn’t imagine any woman being so stupid. “Maybe it’s just that they can get it easily from any number of women so why should they just settle for one?” That was way more likely in his case.

“I don’t think there are many men who actually want that for long. Casual isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

That shocked her—he was a no commitment guy wasn’t he? “What is it that stops you from the c-word?”

“Inconvenience,” he answered bluntly. “This isn’t the right time in my life. I’ve still got too much else I need to do for my business and for the family I have.”

She’d been right. “So it’s not that some woman once minced your heart with her stilettos?”

He chuckled. “No. There hasn’t been a girlfriend who meant that much to me.”

Oh. She frowned. The guy was twenty-nine and he’d never had a serious girlfriend?

She pulled the muesli from the oven—perfectly toasted. She stirred the hazelnuts through—picking up a spare that had fallen on the bench and tossing it up to catch it in her mouth.