If You Can't Stand the Heat... (Harlequin Kiss) (9 page)

Ellie’s hand stilled on the cake as a panicked thought jumped into her head. She wanted him to go—now—tonight. She wanted him to go before she started imagining him in her bakery, in her life...before she started dreaming of a clear mind to keep her focused, a steady hand to prod her along, a hard body to touch and taste, then to curl up against at night.

Ellie fisted her hand and had to stop herself from punching the cake. She was suddenly ridiculously, outrageously angry at herself. Why was she even letting thoughts like those into her head? Considering what-ifs and maybes? Yes, he was a good-looking guy who gave her a buzz, a man nice enough to help her out, but there was no call to start thinking that he was anything more than a transient visitor. He was nothing but her father’s friend, a brief acquaintance, and realistically she wasn’t his type.

Oh, she was attractive enough for a brief fling, but she wasn’t stupid enough to believe that she could ever be more than that.
Nobody will give up their freedom and time for monogamy with you...

Jack had got up, rested his hand on her clenched fist and forced her fingers open.

Ellie twisted her lips and blew out a breath, but kept her eyes fixed on the cake.

‘I think that’s enough for now. We need pizza and beer and to chill,’ he said.

Ellie pulled her hand out from beneath his and brushed her hair off her forehead with the tips of her fingers, leaving a trail of red icing on her forehead. ‘This cake...’

‘Will still be here tomorrow.’ Jack took her hand again and pulled her away from the table. He leaned forward and his voice was low, seductive and sexy in her ear. ‘Beer. Pizza.’

Ellie looked at the half-white, half-red train. Beer, pizza and conversation with an interesting man versus a stupid train cake...? No contest.

* * *

The woman amazed him, Jack thought. Twenty minutes ago Ellie had looked as if she was about to collapse, but now, sitting across from him at a table on the deck of an admittedly fake, slightly scruffy Italian restaurant, she looked sensational. She’d pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail which highlighted her amazing cheekbones and painted her lips a glossy soft pink. She’d sorted out the smudged make-up around her eyes and she looked and smelled as if she’d just stepped out of a shower.

He, on the other hand, felt as if he’d spent the day hauling hay and cleaning out stables. He took a long sip of his beer and sighed as the bittersweet liquid slid down his throat. The night was warm, the surf was pounding, he had a beer in his hand and a pretty girl across the table from him.

The only scenario that sounded better was if he’d had pizza in his belly and the girl was naked beneath him.

‘There’s that smile again,’ Ellie murmured.

‘Huh? What smile?’

Ellie rested her chin in the palm of her hand. ‘You get this secretive, naughty, sexy smile...’

‘Sexy?’ The light on the deck was muted but Jack grinned as he saw her blush.

‘Yeah, well...anyway. So, I’m starving.’ Ellie looked around, not trying to hide the fact that she was looking to change the subject. ‘Where’s that pizza?’

Jack decided to let her off the hook—mostly because flirting caused his pants to wake up and start doing its happy dance.

He looked around and narrowed his eyes. ‘Have you had any more thoughts about the bakery?’

Ellie wrinkled her nose. She took a sip from her glass of wine and glanced at the ocean. ‘Moving it, you mean?’

‘Mmm.’

‘I have an idea that I’m working on,’ Ellie said mysteriously.

His curiosity was instantly aroused. ‘You can’t leave me hanging!’ Jack protested when she didn’t elaborate.

Ellie smiled. ‘There might be a property that could work.’

‘You don’t have much time,’ Jack pointed out.

‘I know. Six months.’

Under the table Jack felt Ellie crossing her legs and he heard her sigh.

‘I want to hyperventilate every time I think about it.’

‘Call your mother and tell her to come home. It’s her business too, El. You don’t have to carry this load alone. Tell her about having to move. Tell her that you need help.’

‘I can’t, Jack. She’s been working in that bakery for ever, never taking time off. Now she’s living her dream and having such a blast. I can’t ask her to give that up. Not just yet. And...and I feel that if I do I’m admitting failure. That I need my mummy to hold my hand.’

Jack shook his head. ‘So you’d rather work yourself to a standstill, knocking yourself out, instead of asking your friend to come back to work and your mother to come back and help you?’

‘Making sure that the people I love are happy is very important to me, Jack.’

‘Not if it comes at too high a price to
you
.’

She’d inherited Mitchell’s irritable, don’t-mess-with-me stare.

‘You’re really sexy when you’re irritated,’ he commented idly, unfazed.

‘I suspect that you can be annoying...’ she paused for a beat and bared her teeth at him ‘...all the time.’

Jack grinned at her attempt to intimidate him. She looked as scary as a Siamese cat with an attitude disorder.

Ellie rubbed her temple with her fingertips. ‘Can we not talk about the bakery tonight? I’d like to pretend it’s not there for five minutes.’

Jack agreed and sighed in relief when he saw a waiter heading their way with pizzas. It wasn’t a moment too soon. He thought his stomach was about to eat itself.

‘So, why war reporting?’ Ellie asked, when they’d both satisfied their immediate hunger.

Ellie wound a piece of stray cheese around her finger and popped it into her mouth. Jack nearly choked on the bite of pizza he’d just taken.
Hell...
He quickly swallowed and pulled his mind out of the bedroom. She was getting harder and harder to resist. And he
had
to resist her...mostly because she
was
so damn hard to resist.

Ellie repeating her question wiped the idea of sex—only temporarily, he was sure—from his brain.

‘When I was about fifteen I watched a lot of news, and Mitch and other war reporters were reporting from Iraq. I was fascinated. They seemed larger than life.’

‘He was. Is.’

‘Then he was interviewed and he spoke about the travelling and the adrenalin and I thought it was a kick-ass career.’ Jack bit, swallowed and grinned. ‘I still think it is.’

Ellie’s eyes were a deep blue in the candlelight and Jack felt as if she could see into his soul.

‘How do you deal with the bad stuff you’ve seen? The violence, the suffering, the madness, the cruelty? How do you process all of that?’

Jack carefully placed his slice of pizza back down on his plate. He took a while to answer, and when he did he was surprised to hear the emotion in his voice. ‘It took some time but I’ve programmed myself to just report on the facts. My job is to tell the story—hopefully in a way that will facilitate change. I observe and I don’t judge, because judgement requires an emotional involvement.’

‘And you don’t get emotionally involved,’ Ellie said thoughtfully. ‘Does that carry over into other areas of your life?’

Jack stiffened, wondering where she was going with that question. ‘You mean like relationships and crap like that?’

‘Yeah—crap like that.’ Ellie’s response was bone-dry.

He had to set her straight. Right now. Just in case she had any ideas...

‘Like your father, my life doesn’t lend itself to having a long-term relationship. Women tend to get annoyed when you don’t spend time with them.’

‘Yep, I know what that feels like. Any woman who gets involved with a war reporter is asking to put her emotions through a meat-grinder,’ Ellie replied. ‘God knows that’s exactly what Mitchell did to me.’

She didn’t give him time to respond and was frustrated when she changed the subject.

‘So, how is the book coming along?’

Ellie pushed her plate away and Jack frowned. She’d barely managed to eat half her medium pizza and he had almost finished his large. ‘Well, apart from the fact that I can’t get a certain reporter’s daughter to sit down and answer my questions, fine.’

He saw guilt flash across her face. ‘Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry! You probably want to leave, head home, and I’m holding you up—’

Jack shook his head. Where did this need to blame herself for everything come from? She was so together and confident in some ways—such a train wreck when it came to her need to please.

‘Ellie, stop it!’ Ellie’s mouth snapped shut and Jack thought that was progress. ‘Firstly, if I wanted to leave I would’ve made a plan to go already. Secondly, as I said, I like your house, I like this area, and when I start feeling pressurised for time I’ll tell you and we’ll get down to it. As long as you do not want me out of your house we’re good.
Do
you want me to leave?’

‘No, you’re reasonably well house-trained,’ Ellie muttered.

Jack grinned.

‘So, why aren’t you prepared to write your story? Mitchell said that you were asked to.’ Ellie picked up the thread of their conversation again.

Because my story isn’t just my story and it’s a lot more complicated than people think.
Jack swallowed those words and just shrugged.

Ellie picked an olive off her pizza and popped it into her mouth. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, until Ellie spoke again. ‘I think I know why you are reluctant to tell your story.’

This should be good. A little armchair analysis. ‘Really? Why?’

‘In light of what you said earlier, digging into your own story, analysing your life choices, would require emotional involvement. You can’t stand back and just observe your own life. You can’t be objective about yourself. Then again, who can?’

It was Jack’s turn to stare at her, to feel the impact of her insightful words. He couldn’t even begin to start formulating an argument. There wasn’t one, because her observation was pure truth.

Jack drained the last inch of beer in his bottle and threw his serviette onto the table. ‘You ready to go?’

Ellie nodded, pushed her chair back and pulled her purse out of her bag. He ground his teeth as she placed cash under the heavy salt cellar. Where the hell were his new bank cards? He was sick of not having access to funds.

He stopped at the cashier on the way out and asked for a receipt, and he knew without looking at Ellie that she was rolling her eyes at him.

‘Jack, you worked in the bakery. I’ll pay for dinner.’

‘No.’ Jack took the printed bill from the manager and shoved it into his pocket.

‘Stop being anal.’

Jack gripped her ponytail and tugged gently. ‘Stop nagging. I thought we agreed that if I’m living in your house then I’ll pick up the tab?’

She tossed her head. ‘We never agreed on anything!’

Jack’s grin flashed. ‘It’s easier if you just do it my way.’

‘In your dreams.’

* * *

It was shortly after six the following evening when Jack returned from a trip to Robben Island, the off-coast prison that had housed Nelson Mandela for twenty-four years, and his mind was still on the beloved South African icon when he walked into Ellie’s kitchen.

He kicked off his shoes, dumped the take-away Chinese he’d picked up on the way on the kitchen table and tossed his brand-new wallet containing his brand-new bank cards onto the table. Inside was enough cash to reimburse Ellie for everything she’d paid for so far. Thinking about Ellie, he wondered where she was.

Jack walked back into the hall and stood at the bottom of the stairs, calling her name. Her bag was on its customary hook and her mobile sat on the hall table. Jack walked back to the kitchen, onto the back deck, and finally found her, sprawled out on a lounger in the shade of one of the two umbrellas that stood next to her pool.

She was asleep, with an open sketchbook on her bare, flat stomach and a piece of charcoal on the grass below her hand. She was dressed in a tiny black and blue bikini and he spent many minutes examining her nearly-but-not-quite naked body. Her long damp hair streamed over her shoulders and across the triangles that covered her full breasts. She had a flat, almost concave stomach, slim hips and long, smooth legs with fine muscles. The tips of her elegant feet were painted a vivid pink that reminded him of Grecian sunsets.

Very alluring, very sexy, Jack thought, sinking to the grass next to her chair. In order to stop himself from undoing those flimsy ties keeping those tiny triangles in place, he picked up the sketchpad and flipped through the pages.

The sketches were rough, jerky, but powerful, full of movement. She’d sketched her house, capturing its fat lines and bay windows, and there was a sketch of her dog, head on paws, his eyes soulful. There was a rather bleak landscape of cliffs and shadows which oozed sadness and regret.

Jack gasped at his likeness, grinning up at him from another white page. She’d captured his laugh and, worse, the attraction to her he’d thought he was hiding so well.

‘Snoop.’

Jack snapped the book closed and looked up into her face. Her eyes were still closed and her eyelashes were ink-black on her face.

‘I thought you were still asleep. I was trying to be quiet.’

‘I’m a really light sleeper,’ Ellie said, and held out her hand for her sketchpad.

Jack reluctantly handed it over. ‘These are good—’

‘It’s something I do to pass the time.’ Ellie tossed the pad on top of a box of charcoal sticks and sat up, covering her mouth as she yawned. ‘Talking of which, what
is
the time?’

Jack looked at his watch. ‘Half-six.’

Ellie looked horrified. ‘I went for a swim around five and thought I’d take fifteen minutes to chill... I must’ve dozed off.’

Jack drew his thumb across the purple shadow under her eye. ‘It looks like you needed it. What time did you finish last night? I saw your light was still on after midnight.’

‘One? Half-one? I finished the VAT return and paid some creditors.’ Ellie swung her legs off the sunchair, her feet brushing Jack’s thighs. ‘I’ve got a couple of hours’ work tonight and then I’ll be caught up. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep...I meant to work after my swim.’

Jack clenched his fists in an effort not to reach for her. She looked so tired, so young, so...
weary
that all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and ease her stress. He shoved his hand into his hair.
She tries to hide it
, he thought
, but she’s wiped out in every way she can be by the responsibilities of her business.
He wished there was something he could do for her. Dammit, was he starting to feel protective over her? He didn’t know how to handle her, deal with her. He was used to resilient, emotionally tougher women, and Ellie had him wanting to shield her, shelter her.