Fearless Maverick (9 page)

 
          
‘So
it is. Happy anniversary.’ Her eyebrows snapped together. ‘You didn’t drive
here, did you?’ She’d told him this morning that another couple of days off
from civilian driving was safest.

 
          
‘Although
I’m sure I could,’ he told her, ‘I got a ride.’

 
          
‘A
taxi?’

 
          
‘Limo.’

 
          
Libby’s
head kicked back. Hardly the transport of a man who wanted to remain
inconspicuous.

 
          
‘I
thought you wanted to lay low?’

 
          
He
shrugged. ‘My accident is old news now.’

 
          
She
understood his point; today’s headline was tomorrow’s back page small print.
Although she couldn’t imagine any member of the paparazzi passing on the chance
to catch a celebrity of Alex’s stature off the clock.

 
          
Then
again Alex might have decided that now his arm was sling-free and stronger, he
wouldn’t mind a spot of
positive
publicity. Either way his rationale on that subject had less than nothing to do
with her.

 
          
Casually
inspecting her office walls—her degrees, photos and that black-and-white aerial
of Sydney circa 1960, predating the Opera House—he strolled further into the
room.

 
          
‘Are
you busy?’ he asked.

 
          
‘I’m
always busy.’

 
          
‘But
you’ll need to stop to eat.’

 
          
‘I
usually get in a sandwich,’ she said, vaguely suspicious now.

 
          
He
rotated to face her. ‘No sandwich today. Grab your coat.’

 
          
‘I
beg your pardon?’

 
          
‘I’m
taking you to lunch.’

 
          
Libby’s
hands fell to clasp the edges of the desk either side of her hips. Not for one
moment had she imagined this visit was linked to anything other than his
therapy. Since that day in the garage, she’d avoided any talk of a private
nature. Having him acknowledge a two-week anniversary was curious enough. Now
he was inviting her to lunch? She was near speechless.

 
          
She
shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s appropriate that our relationship should
include …’

 
          
But
her words trailed off. Was that a puppy-dog face he was pulling?

 
          
‘You
don’t want to hurt my feelings, do you, doc?’

 
          
‘Feelings,’
she announced, ‘have nothing to do with it.’ She rounded the desk and lowered
purposefully back down into her seat. When their eyes met again, that
knee-knocking smile had only spread wider.

 
          
‘Would
it help if I said please?’

 
          
‘I’m
sorry.’ Collecting her pen, she pretended to focus on her notes. ‘But I have
work to do.’

 
          
‘Client
appointments?’

 
          
‘Guest
speech.’

 
          
‘I’m
good with speeches. We can discuss it over lunch.’ From beneath her lashes, she
saw him saunter across and her heartbeat began to flutter. ‘Or I can organise
take-out. We can have a picnic in here.’ His attention zeroed in on a photo
framed behind her. He squinted, then chuckled. ‘Hey, that’s
you
.’

 
          
Libby
groaned.
This
is why she’d never
wanted him in here. Questions. The answers of which were her business and
nobody else’s.

 
          
Nevertheless,
she acknowledged what was obvious. ‘Yes, that’s me, but a long time ago.’

 
          
She
braced herself, waiting for him to ask about her current surfing habits again
like he had this morning; she’d rather not discuss it. Instead his gaze swept
over and he smiled.

 
          
‘C’mon,
doc. The limo’s waiting.’

 
          
She
reclined back and studied him for a drawn-out moment. Finally she huffed. ‘You’re
not giving up, are you?’

 
          
‘I’ve
done everything you’ve asked these past two weeks. We deserve some time-out.’

 
          
‘You’ve
done
everything
I’ve asked?’

 
          
At
her unconvinced look, he let slip a grin. ‘Well, sometimes you might’ve needed
to ask twice …’

 
          
A
runaway smile stole across her face. Then her gaze fell to her disarray of
notes. She’d vowed to have this first draft down by the end of the week. But
her stomach did feel empty. Maybe her brain would work better after a good
meal. And that was the
only
reason
she was going. Although to believe conversation wouldn’t vie toward the
personal was naive. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d heard from his sister
about his mysterious brother again.

 
          
Giving
in, she unfolded from the chair, raised her chin and stipulated, ‘One hour.’

 
          
‘One
hour?’ Alex broke into a broad smile. ‘We’ll discuss it over lunch.’

 
          
Twenty
minutes later, Alex’s chauffeur-driven limousine parked outside a
quaint-looking restaurant. The high-pitched ornate roof and rattan features
suggested an oriental bent. Then Libby caught a whiff of spicy aromas and saw
the establishment’s name.

 
          
Malaysian
Pearl.

 
          
As
the uniformed driver assisted her out, Libby sent Alex a look. ‘Is this place
supposed to be a hint of some kind?’

 
          
‘I
figure since I missed the race in Sepang I ought to enjoy some of the flavours
of the country I won’t get to visit this year.’

 
          
‘You’re
a fan of Malaysian food?’

 
          
Joining
her, he set his palm lightly on the small of her back and winked. ‘The hotter,
the better.’

 
          
Libby
moved away from his touch. She wasn’t certain he was speaking about curries.

 
          
They
moved up the timber plank path, past the peaceful trickling of a rock pebble
water feature. Inside they were seated in a private corner, which was cloaked
by palm fronds, bamboo dividers and bordered by generous windows overlooking
the blue silk-stretched waters of the bay. The interior reflected Eastern
symmetry, simplicity and serenity—a smiling Buddha sat on a podium facing the
entrance, authentic wooden lamps featured on each table and background music
offered the tranquil strains of flutes and tinkling bells.

 
          
Settling
in, Libby set her bag aside. ‘You enjoy your stays in Malaysia?’

 
          
‘I
don’t usually see much outside of Sepang. That’s the town and district where
the race is held each year. It’s a hop from the international airport to the
circuit.’

 
          
Alex
sat back while a waiter, who had already seen to the placement of Libby’s linen
napkin, now laid a starched white square on the gentleman’s lap. As Libby took
in the surrounds and her compelling company, a thought struck her. This was the
first time she’d been with Alex in public and she sensed others in the room
absorbing and reacting to his appealing air of authority too.

 
          
Was
it that some people in the restaurant, including the waiter, recognised Alex
out of his racing gear? Or was it as she suspected? That no matter where he
might be, Alex Wolfe radiated a presence that commanded attention. Even
deference.

 
          
As
the waiter moved off, Alex continued. ‘I plan to visit Malaysia purely for a
vacation one day.’

 
          
‘Ever
get tired of living out of a suitcase?’ she asked, feeling the beat of her
pulse increase at the way his big tanned hand brushed the white tablecloth. His
eyes searched hers and he considered her words.

 
          
‘That’s
an interesting question coming from one who would know about such things.’

 
          
A
wistful feeling drifted through her. She didn’t think often of those days,
travelling the world over for her sport. Better to concentrate on the blessings
she’d kept and new opportunities she’d created. But she could easily admit, ‘I
loved the travel. Around Australia as much as around the world.’

 
          
His
grey eyes glittered. ‘Your favourite port?’

 
          
‘Brazil
is awesome. Malibu for the nostalgia. But … Maui.’ Remembering the thrill of
riding those two and a half metre barrels, she smiled. ‘Yeah. Definitely Maui.’

 
          
‘Sounds
as if you were Australia’s answer to
Gidget
.’

 
          
She
smiled at the connection. ‘A lot of people don’t realise the girl from that old
movie and series was based on a real person.’

 
          
‘The
first female world champion?’

 
          
‘
Gidget
was written in the fifties.’
Libby still owned the copy she’d picked up at a second-hand store the summer
she’d turned thirteen. ‘The first female championship wasn’t until 1964. Won by
a Sydneyite,’ she noted with pride. ‘She was awarded two hundred and fifty
dollars, a new surfboard and several packets of cigarettes.’

 
          
He
laughed, an easy sound that made Libby feel as if they’d known each other for
years. ‘The things you learn on a date with your physio.’

 
          
Libby’s
smile fell at the same time her heart rolled over. This wasn’t a
date
. This was lunch with a client. A
handsome client with incredibly strong features and soft grey eyes that seemed
to be inviting her in.

 
          
Shifting
in her chair, Libby collected her food menu, although she suddenly felt so
flustered she couldn’t concentrate on the words.

 
          
Alex
collected his menu too, and after a time commented, ‘I rang my brother.’

 
          
Her
gaze shot up and menu went down. ‘Jacob?’

 
          
‘Think
I told you we haven’t seen each other since he left all those years ago.’

 
          
‘That
must have been hard. Your oldest brother leaving without a word.’

 
          
‘I
don’t think he had any option.’

 
          
When
he beckoned the waiter over, Libby leaned forward. Elbows on the table, she
laced her fingers and rested her chin on the bridge. After that day in his
amazing garage when she’d learned Alex knew of her surfing history, she’d been
taken so off guard, had felt so undercut, she vowed never to talk personal
again. And she’d stuck to that.

 
          
But
so what if the fact she’d had an accident happened to come up? It would make no
difference to her attitude or commitment to their sessions, and shouldn’t she
give Alex the benefit of the doubt that he would still value her abilities as a
physio? As a human being?

 
          
And
what harm could come from hearing more about the mysterious Wolfe clan? In
truth, she was beyond intrigued. A father nobody missed. A brother who’d
escaped in the dead of night. Eight siblings in all, one of whom was Alex’s
twin, the sister who’d contacted him before his terrible crash.

 
          
After
Alex ordered a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, Libby said, ‘You and your brother
must have had a lot to talk about.’