Keeping Her Up All Night (8 page)

Guy noted the chorus of mixed responses. It seemed not everyone thought the matter should be handled in a public forum. Thank God there were a few good people who murmured dissent. He studied the guy handling the discussion. What was going on here, really? Why publicly embarrass one of his tenants? There had to be a hidden agenda.

Conscious of feeling under attack, Amber noticed to
her eternal gratitude that some people sprang to her defence. Even the fruiterer spoke up.

‘Mate, give the girl a break. She’s only had the reins a few weeks. Let her find her feet. We can all wait a little longer.’

Though not all her friends acted like friends.

‘No, people.
No
. That is
so
not the point.’ Marc sprang to his feet and clutched his sideburns in agitation, his huge dark eyes showing their whites. ‘This is the moment to strike. We all need certainty that this issue is being dealt with. I for one need
closure
.’

In shock, Amber gasped,
‘What?
Closure of my shop?’

‘I’m afraid I agree with some of what Marc says,’ Roger said. ‘With all due respect to your recent situation, Amber, people here have a legitimate right to expect certainty. Are you prepared to meet your obligations to us all and have your premises renovated within two months?’

Amber stared at him. She tried to swallow, but her saliva evaporated. It was mortifying, hearing the pleading note in her own voice. ‘Oh. Does it
have
to be within two months?’

‘I’m afraid it does. With respect, we tried for several years to negotiate with your mother to do the same thing. I’m afraid our patience has run out. Other owners are expressing their concern about the lack of an appealing entrance at that end of the mall.’

Guy almost felt the flinch in Amber’s face as a small vociferous group swarmed with offers to take over her location.

‘It’s so dreary down there I’m ashamed to be seen coming in that way,’ one woman declared.

‘Oh, I know,’ one heavily made-up harpy drawled, with posh, plummy vowels. ‘If
I
had the location Madame would have a stunning, very chic display. I’d want it to
be
vibrant
.’ She flung out her bejewelled hands. ‘Eye-catching enough to attract the traffic trade and pull customers in from the street.’

The approving smirk the manager turned on the woman opened Guy’s eyes as to what might be going on.

He flicked a glance at Amber. Sure, none of this had anything to do with him. He was here purely to smooth things over with her, not to get involved in the politics of the place. Still, the eye messages he caught passing between some of the stakeholders made him realise he was witnessing an ambush.

Did these jackals have any idea of the damage they were doing?

The old Guy must still be in him somewhere, because he burned to spring up, stride across the room and punch the disgraceful manager in the face for encouraging this free-for-all. If he could have knocked a few of the scavengers flat on their faces at the same time he’d have relished it.

Then he wanted to grab Amber O’Neill and remove her from the brutality.

Take her somewhere quiet and green, by a flowing stream. Soothe her, stroke her beautiful proud face and neck. Hold her to him. Ease her down on the soft grass.

Kiss her.

Rock her in his arms.

Amber heard the insults flying thick and fast in horrified disbelief. Surely she was in a nightmare? People she’d thought were her mother’s friends were scrabbling now for her location before she was cold in her grave.

‘Of course it’s up to you who you decide to give it to, Rog.’ That was Di Delornay, beaming at Roger. ‘It’s pretty clear Amber isn’t capable of doing it justice.’

Incensed, Amber sat upright, straightened her shoulders.
‘Now, wait just a minute there, Di. While I hold the lease it’s up to me. I
can
do justice to it. I fully intend to open Fleur Elise’s doors to the street.’

Marc rolled his eyes. ‘We’ll believe that when we see it, sweetikins.’

The heat rose in Amber’s cheeks, along with her blood pressure. ‘You
will
see it. You would have before, except … Well, Mum always intended to do that too, but Ivy said … And Mum … Well, she had difficulties …’ Her throat thickened and her voice wobbled. ‘It wasn’t—easy for her, with everything she had to … And then when she got sick …’ Predictably, her eyes swam, and she had and stop to struggle for control.

There was an embarrassed pause, then people started shuffling and coughing. Some of the same people who’d been standing beside her at her mother’s graveside only eleven short weeks before. Some of them had been weeping too. Some of them had had their arms around her, while others had patted Ivy and tried to soothe her hoarse, inconsolable sobs.

Roger cleared his throat. ‘I’m sure we all sympathise, Amber, but I have to be fair to
all
tenants. Before we can approve an extension to your lease I need to know what you have in place to improve your shop’s performance. If anything,’ he added grimly.

‘Well …’ Blinking fast, she twisted her hands in her lap.

There was an excruciating pause. People were avoiding meeting her eyes.

Guy held his breath. He saw the red tide of shame rise to Amber’s hairline. With a sharp twist in his chest he recognised exactly how Amber O’Neill felt at this moment. Her brave, straight back, her dignified, distressed face transported him with painful immediacy right back to a moment in time he’d never wanted to revisit.

With grim finality he closed his keyboard and opened his briefcase, the clicks of the catches loud in the expectant silence.

Terrified her tenancy was slipping away from her, Amber knew she had to say something.
Anything
. She drew a shaky breath.

‘I intend to expand the range of our stock and to make a stronger impression. I’ve only been here a few weeks, and I just need time. To paint it and everything. I know it needs brightening up, and you all have a right to feel … But—I
am
—I’m doing everything I can to—to …’

The honest truth was she had a million ideas a day. But right at this moment, when she had to produce them under intense pressure from a gang, in a life-or-death situation with the heat on, her brain completely dried up. As did her words.

‘I—I really am doing
everything
…’

Her tortured croak hung on the air, substanceless, unconvincing. Her bread and butter, her commitment to Serena and Ivy, teetered on the edge of a cliff.

Then from out of the haze Guy Wilder’s deep voice cut through the strained vibrations with sure, casual clarity. ‘Don’t forget the advertising campaign we’ve planned, Amber. That kicks off after you’ve done the interior. And you’re starting that next week. Isn’t that what you told me you’d decided?’

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Heads swivelled around to him in surprise. With measured calm he got up from his desk and strolled around to join Roger, his tall, lean frame stealing Roger’s space.

He held out his hand with cool authority. ‘Did you say you have a copy of that agreement, Roger? Mind if I take a look?’

‘It’s all absolutely above-board,’ Roger said huffily as
Guy neatly whipped it from Roger’s open folder and perused it. ‘If you have any legal training—as
I
have—you’ll see it’s a standard agreement used by all mall managements. Everyone else has seen fit to sign. I’m prepared to witness Amber’s signature now, if she really
is
taking steps …’

The owners broke into a murmured hubbub while Guy took his time, examining the document thoroughly with a meditative frown.

After a minute or so he gave an easy shrug and strolled with the document to where Amber sat hypnotised on her chair. ‘Might as well, Amber,’ he said. ‘Now’s as good a time as any. Have you read this? All this stuff is totally in line with your plan.’

She looked hard at him, fascinated. ‘Is it? My …?’

He smiled. ‘Your plan to hire
me
. Of course.’

T
HE
Kirribilli Mansions lifts were far too cramped. Especially when shared with six feet or so of unscrupulous, scheming man.

Guy Wilder leaned against one wall, nonchalant, hands shoved in pockets, while Amber leaned against the opposing one. Contradictions wrestled for supremacy in her bamboozled brain. He didn’t want any ties, yet he seemed to be pursuing her.
Seemed
to be. Even after she’d rejected him. She’d never forgive him—
couldn’t
if she had any pride—but he’d rescued her from a nightmare.

Was it some ploy? Some devious opportunistic trick to get her back on Jean’s sofa?

Arousing though that image might be, she must not allow herself to forget. Essentially he was a cold, cold man.

Though hot.

Smoking hot.

The lean solidity of his hard-muscled person was hard to ignore. Up this close, and seemingly accessible, naturally he exerted a strong magnetic pull.

A treacherous flame licked through her insides and warmed her intimate parts. Well, she was only human. With his pleasantly clean, masculine scent taunting her senses, the crispness of his hair and eyebrows making her fingertips itch, Ms
E
. Vye was hovering over her shoulder.

She met his grey gaze. ‘Why did you do it?’

His brows lifted. ‘Do what?’

‘Make up that story? About me hiring you?’

He gave a lazy shrug. ‘I didn’t like that Roger’s face. People who smirk always worry me.’

The lift stopped at the ninth floor and the doors cranked open. It took a second for their arrival to register with her, so caught up was she in the moment.

Once she’d extracted herself from the confined space, she turned to him in the hall. ‘No, really. Why did you?’

He flickered a considering glance over her, then dropped his eyes. ‘Maybe I don’t like to see someone being bullied by a gang.’

Her heart clenched in acknowledgement. There was truth to his words. That was exactly how she had perceived the event herself. Violent. Uncivilised. People she’d liked and trusted leaping onto the bandwagon to attack. But could she bear sympathy from him?

‘But it wasn’t everyone,’ she said quickly. ‘Only a few.’

‘An influential few.’

She flushed as though the shame was hers, and Guy was reminded of how he’d felt after his public evisceration. There was nothing more humiliating than that look of pity in a would-be comforter’s eyes. Pity could feel so dangerously close to contempt.

‘Maybe.’ Amber lifted a shoulder. ‘I certainly wasn’t expecting any of that. But I hope you weren’t thinking I was some kind of victim?’

‘Hell, no.’

Each of their apartment doors was close at hand. She hunted around in her bag for her keys, her skin prickling with awareness of him. At least the ice had been broken. She supposed they could be on normal speaking terms now.

Normal for neighbours, that was. Not for sleeping partners. Though sleeping,
per se,
had never happened between them. Only sex. And the sex could certainly never be repeated. Even if he had saved her life from a horde of butchers waving knives. Not unless he came up with a corker of a satisfactory explanation for his poor performance in the afterglow department.

In fact it would be best not to think about him in that way at all. Forget the sex and how it had felt skin to skin with him. Chest to chest. Eliminate all that. All thoughts of kissing.

She paused to level a firm glance at him. ‘We O’Neills can defend ourselves.’

‘Oh, I know that.’ He made a wry face. ‘Actually, I was impressed by the way you stood up to them. Reminded me of a warrior princess.’

‘Oh, right.’ She rolled her eyes. Might even have laughed except that right then, despite her warrior tendencies, she seemed to be seized with a fit of the shudders.

‘Are you all right?’ He moved a little closer to her.

He looked serious, concerned, even, as if he thought she might be about to keel over. His hands twitched towards her, then changed their minds and curled into fists.

‘Of course.’ She rubbed her arms to warm them, and his frown deepened.

‘You’re probably in shock. You should have a hot drink.’

‘Shock?
No
. I’m fine. Just a bit empty. Haven’t eaten much today.’ Oh, God, why tell him that? Why not just tell him outright that since he’d inflicted the wound on her soul she couldn’t eat, think or concentrate properly on anything but him? And on passion, pain, and what it meant about her that she was attracted to people like him? ‘I’m just getting over how vicious some people were.’

‘Mmm.’ He was still looking her over with concern.
Well, it looked like concern. Unless she was reading too much into things again. ‘Greedy is the word that springs to mind.’

Again, his words struck a chord. That was exactly how she’d viewed it herself. ‘Really? Did you think so?’

‘Of course,’ he said warmly. ‘They were just trying to get their grubby hands on your location. How long since you’ve had the shop?’

‘Ten weeks.’

He curled his lip in disgust. ‘So they decided this was their chance? Before you had time to settle in?’

‘Seems that way. Though they probably thought they had right on their side. The shop could certainly do with a make-over. Somehow I’ll have to organise that now.’ She heaved a worried sigh. Now all she had to do was find a way to fulfil the contract she’d signed.

‘Can I have those?’

She was too surprised to react. He just casually slipped the keys from her grasp and unlocked her door.

‘Do you have any tea in here?’ He was already half inside, holding the door wide.

‘I do. But, look, don’t
you
worry. I’ll be …’

He didn’t appear to hear her protest. He urged her in, clearly intending to come along. Her trouble was her mother had instilled manners into her. Even if a rattlesnake had insisted on hustling her into her flat five minutes after it had seen off her enemies, she would probably have complied gracefully.

While in
his
case …

Well, it was impossible to be deliberately rude to a man who’d just saved her bacon—even him. Before she knew it she was politely pointing out the easiest route around and over the furniture in the hall. Lucky he couldn’t see
her face. Her mouth and jaw were locked into a grimace of discomfort.

She absolutely
prickled
with the strange and disturbing sensation of seeing Guy Wilder opening her cupboard doors, wresting the kettle from her nerveless grip and taking charge of her kitchen.

Her very small kitchen. Smaller than it had ever been before.

She sat tensely at the table. While boiling water was poured, milk and sugar located, strange and disturbing notions of what he might be up to assailed her brain.

On the surface he was all cool efficiency. He gave no clue as to whether he was intending to throw her onto the nearest sofa or not. Just as well, because hers was in the hall, buried under a pile of stuff. He’d have to resort to her bed, unless he was considering this very table.

‘Do you have any sweet biscuits?’

‘On the third shelf. There, under the yoghurt.’

Was he trying to reclaim some credit with her? No way could she sit at a table and drink tea with him as if everything was suddenly hunky-dory. Perhaps he felt the same, because while he sat down too he only half shared the table, his chair partly turned away as if he might need a quick escape. He bypassed the tea and biscuits altogether.

She warmed her ice-cold fingers on her cup. ‘You don’t drink tea?’

‘Not just now. I’m not the one with the shakes.’ His glance drifted to her mouth and his brows edged together.

She frowned too, wishing her lips wouldn’t turn dry at the merest hint of—anything. ‘Oh, that. It was nothing. Just a low blood sugar thing.’

Though, really, the tea was very welcome. She only gave the biscuit a token couple of nibbles. It was hard to
eat with an interested protagonist seated directly opposite her. What if chocolate adhered to her lips?

Even though his eyes were veiled, her body was alert to his powerful masculine pull. Seemed as if all her nerves were crackling in awareness and it affected everything. Her breasts, her insides, her general steadiness.

It was the age-old problem. Intense physical attraction seemed designed to be unbearable. Surely that was a flaw in the blueprint?

It even occurred to her, watching his body language, that he was feeling the discomfort as keenly as she was. Good. Great. Let him suffer.

‘That’s better,’ she said after a couple of gulps. ‘Thanks. Anyway … It was really—good of you to intervene at the chopping block. You’ve bought me some breathing space, at least. I appreciate it. Thanks very much.’

He shrugged. ‘My pleasure.’ The edges of his sexy mouth curled up a little, and she tried not to think of how those lips had tasted. So firm, so warmly arousing and addictive. If things had been different …

No
. Exile the thought. There’d be no biting of lips—gently or otherwise. No sexy little lip-tugs between lovers. This guy didn’t do loving.

‘Right,’ he said authoritatively. Straightening his chair, he faced her directly, clasping his hands on the table before him. His dark brows edged together, his eyes taking on a serious focus. ‘We need to start at once. Those jackals haven’t given you much of a timeframe.’

‘Sorry?’

He gestured. ‘Planning. The campaign. Your ads for Fleur Elise.’

A dim understanding began to penetrate her fog. She widened her eyes in surprise. ‘You mean you were serious about that?’

He blinked. ‘Well, sure I was. What did you think? You’ve signed their agreement now. You have to do
something
. And fast. And, from my own point of view, my professional reputation is at stake here. Just think. More than thirty people are now witness to the fact that you and I have struck a deal. Luckily I’ve a little leeway with my schedule this month. We can get things underway right now or …’ He appraised her with a glance, then looked at his watch. ‘It might be best done over dinner. You can outline your operation for me, and the goals you’ve set.’

‘Goals?’
She lifted her brows. Heck. Goals. It wasn’t that she was especially slow. Well, she probably was in a business sense. No, it was more that he was
fast
. Rushing her into things before she’d had time even to get used to the idea she was actually talking to him.

How the world had changed in a short time. Here he was,
in her kitchen
, when she’d resolved never even to think about him again.

‘What are you saying? Heavens, I can’t possibly accept
charity
. From y—anyone.’ She went hot just thinking about it.

His eyes glinted. ‘No. Course not. You are an O’Neill, after all.’ His tone was gently mocking. ‘But no need to panic the rugged old ancestors. I’m not offering charity. We’ll do it strictly low-budget, using resources we already have. Then, once you start to turn a decent profit, you can pay me for any small costs that accrue along the way. It’s my version of working
pro bono
.’ He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Works for me. Okay?’

It sounded good. Maybe that was why her alarm bells were clanging.
Good
was too good to be true. What was in it for him? He had to have a motive. Everyone had a motive, it seemed. And his offer might not be one of charity,
altogether, but whichever way she looked at it she’d owe him.

She couldn’t help noticing he was looking far more relaxed now he’d switched into his ad man mode. Crisp. Bristling with confidence and know-how. Well, naturally. He had all the answers.

Whereas she … Did she want to be under an obligation to him?

He was studying her, reading her wariness, a wry twist to his mouth. ‘You have two months, Amber.
Two months
. It isn’t very long to mount a campaign. Most of ours take double or triple that in the planning, what with the research and the artistic work. This one will have to be realised in a matter of days. I’ll have to snatch a few hours here, a few there—whatever I can fit in with my current schedule. If it’s to work you’ll have to open your mind to the possibilities and go with the flow.’ He added softly, ‘That’s if you’re serious about wanting to improve your shop’s performance.’

‘I am, of course. But …’ It was no use. A massive elephant was towering between them and she couldn’t continue to pretend it wasn’t there. ‘Are you
using
this situation? Does this have something to do with the other night?’

She met his eyes full-on. Though only for an instant. Because after that one charged instant he slid his away from her and screened them with his lashes.

His brow creased. A muscle shifted in his jaw then he said, so gruff his voice was a growl, ‘Look …’ He made a constrained gesture. ‘About that. I understand I hurt your feelings. I regret it intensely. I’m honestly sorry if I made you feel …’

He appeared to be gazing through the glass at her mother’s precious china teapot collection, but from the rigidity
of his posture, the taut tendons in his bronzed neck, she doubted he was thinking about china.

‘I’m ashamed to have bruised your feelings. I’m hoping we can put it behind us and forget it ever happened.’

A savage pang sliced through her. What with the pricking at the back of her eyes it took her a second to bring out an answer. Without the liberating fuel of anger, openly referring to the distressful matter wasn’t easy. But at least there was some relief in recognising the ring of sincerity in his apology.

‘Yes, well …’ Her own voice was gruff. ‘I suppose we can all be wrong. All right. We’ll put it behind us.’

He glanced at her. ‘Accept it was a mistake. All of it.’

She nodded, eyes lowered.

His voice was smoother. A little warmer. ‘Maybe we both got carried away with excitement. Out of our comfort zones.’

She shrugged acquiescence. Of a sort. There had been some moments there when she’d been right within hers. Best not to revisit that. ‘Let’s just forget the whole thing.’

‘Fine.’ He frowned, serious and meditative, as sober as a bank manager. ‘We’ll write it off to experience, then. Deal?’ He held out his hand.