Out of Bounds (23 page)

The corners of her mouth curled up in an
answering smile. “I bet Gran’s letter had you worried?”

He blew out a long breath. “Stopped me dead
for an hour or two, but then I managed to tie Horrie down. Demanded
the truth. And one thing led to another.”

The waiter arrived with their coffees and
apple pastries. Jetta pushed the sugar and creamer back into a neat
line. “So tell me the rest of the story,” she said once he’d
departed. “Who was the mysterious Arthur? How did his name get on
your birth certificate? Why didn’t Horrie and your mother ever
marry? Why did we get half the house each?”

“Okay—the mysterious Arthur
was
your
Grand-dad, in a twisted way.”

Jetta flinched, and sharpened her
attention.

“I think your Gran somehow got wind of their
plan and misinterpreted.” He reached over and smoothed the back of
his hand down her face. “Horrie is Horace Arthur. Your Grand-dad
was David John. They were obviously good friends—and they cooked up
a composite man called Arthur John Haviland. He went along to the
Births, Deaths and Marriages Office to register my birth—to save
Horrie being implicated at all.”

“Oh my God,” Jetta breathed. “Poor Gran. How
long did she have it wrong? I hope it was only something she
decided once her mind was slipping.”

“I suspect,” Anton added, “Horrie got into a
bit of mild forgery. He was very cagey about something. Possibly
fudged where the Child Support payments came from.”

Jetta rolled her eyes. “Son of a forger,” she
teased.

Anton aimed a mock-punch at her jaw.
“According to Horrie, if a man claimed paternity, no-one was too
fussy thirty-odd years ago. I guess computers have made ID tracing
a lot more accurate these days.”

He heaved a sigh and she squeezed his hand.
“They’ll never marry,” he added. “Mom enjoys her independence, and
Horrie still has his wife, anyway.”

“Sounds like they’re going to be Charles and
Di and Camilla forever,” she mused.

He rubbed his chin. “I think they’re long
done with anything romantic. Certainly I’ve never seen Horrie at
Mom’s. But some of his money went into my foundations to bridge the
gap. And as to why we got half the house each, he swung a deal with
your Grand-dad so he could leave me some sort of inheritance. He
has two daughters who’ll eventually get the family home, and his
wife will never know.”

Jetta pounced on that. “You have sisters
then?”

“Half sisters anyway. One living in London,
one in Germany. Horrie doesn’t seem too keen we should meet, but he
showed me photos.”

“Time does heal rifts.”

He nodded, past giving a damn about other
people. All that mattered was Jetta. “And what about us?” he asked,
zeroing in on her eyes. “It nearly killed me, discovering you’d
gone. No-one would tell me where. Your flat-mates were tight as
clams, even after I explained we weren’t related. I finally thought
to ask one of the Severino staff.”

He watched as she took a sip of coffee, then
another. Her silence unnerved him. “So— my question again; what
about us?”

Jetta stared at him, apparently nonplussed.
“What do you want me to say? What are you really asking?” She tried
to withdraw her hand.

Anton tightened his grip. “I’m saying I miss
you like crazy. That being without you is hell. That we ought to be
together and see where it leads.”

“Oh,” she said, letting her hand relax in
his, sending him a tiny grin, and setting down her coffee cup.
“That’s quite a lot.”

His tight-strung nerves stopped their
jangling. Maybe things would be okay?

“Do you remember when you pulled over on that
bus stop and kissed me?” she asked.

His cheeks heated, and he prayed she wouldn’t
notice. “Uh-huh…”

“You told me not to fall in love with anyone
else.”

“Oh. Well...” The heat in his face
intensified. Geez—talking about love wasn’t his thing.

“So I haven’t,” she said. Her tiny grin
blossomed into a full-blown smile. “I was already in too deep with
you to ever consider anyone else. I’ll be home in another two
months. Will you have somewhere for us to live by then?”

His whole body slumped in relief, and his
brain fixed upon the bright point in the future when he’d have her
back in his life again. “Why does this matter more to me than the
entire apartment project?” he asked, truly puzzled.

Jetta leaned close and nudged his shoulder.
“Because maybe you haven’t fallen in love with anyone either?”

“Not until now,” he agreed, cupping her face up in
both hands and smoothing his thumbs over her cheekbones. Then he
folded the brim of her hat back so he could stamp a true kiss of
ownership onto her sexy mouth.

Epilogue

Jetta rolled the big bi-fold glass doors
aside and stepped out onto the balcony. Everything around was
chaos. Driveways were unsealed and garden boxes unplanted.
Scaffolding still encased the rest of the apartments, and
tradesmen’s vans and pickup trucks clogged every available parking
space.

Only at Number One, Ballentine Park Mews, did
peace and tranquility reign. Anton had moved mountains to get their
home ready in time for her return from New York. Here, the plumbing
worked faultlessly, the tile gleamed, the carpet glowed like
velvet, and the walls provided a freshly painted backdrop for
Gran’s old watercolors, the long grey suede sofa, and the oversized
TV.

She leaned her elbows on the balcony railing
and scanned the site for his tall frame. Somewhere there he’d be
togged up in a hard hat and fluorescent construction vest.

She drew her cardi fronts together and folded
her arms. She’d barely left New York’s chilly spring behind and now
she was back into Kiwi winter. Bad planning on her part, but the
sun poured in to the apartment all day, keeping it toasty warm.
She’d hadn’t switched the heating on for the entire week she’d been
home.

A noise behind made her turn. Anton—hat in
hand, garish vest over jeans and thick jersey, and a huge grin just
for her.

“I was looking for you,” she said, stepping
inside again and gliding the big door shut.

“And you’ve found me.” He pulled her in for a
full-body hug, nipping her ear, sliding his lips down her neck
until he reached her collar. “You’re going to need something warmer
than this where we’re going.” He eyed her shoes. “And lower heels
for walking.”

“Why the mystery?” He looked like a small boy
with a huge secret.

“Five minutes and you’ll know.” He loped up
the stairs to their bedroom, returning almost instantly in his
overcoat and scarf, and handing over her heaviest jacket and
favorite New York boots.

She humored him by putting them on, enjoying
seeing him so animated after the construction worries of the
day.

They threaded their way out through the mess
and across the street to Ballentine Park.

“She’s nearly there,” Anton said, turning to
inspect his huge baby.

“It’s quite something you’ve taken on.”

“Ah well, no pain, no gain. Come on—I want to
show you the next project.” He took her hand, towed her along the
sidewalk, and onto one of the graveled paths that crossed the park.
They passed beds of pink, white, and red camellias, clumps of
fragrant jonquils and drifts of pansies. Tall trees stretched bare
branches into blue sky. It was a perfect day for a stroll.

Anton wasn’t strolling though. He hurried her
along—right across the park, across the street, and in through half
closed gates to an immense overgrown garden surrounding a
magnificent old house.

“Anton—you can’t knock this down!” She stared
at him, shocked he’d desecrate such a piece of history.

“Big job,” he said, tucking an arm around
her. “I’ve got the keys. Come and have a look.”

She accompanied him unwillingly up the path,
admiring the steep pitch of the terracotta-tiled roof, the quaint
attic windows with their diamond panes winking in the sun, the
peeling paintwork, the life-size plaster lions flanking the steps
to the grand front door. The thought of him demolishing it appalled
her. Someone had built this house with real love and a lot of money
at least a century ago.

Anton released her and inserted the key. The
door swung open with a protesting squeal. He turned and scooped her
up. “Gotta do this properly—carry you over the threshold and so
on.”

What???

He stepped into the impressive but freezing
entrance vestibule. “I told you these old houses were full of
wasted space and weren’t energy efficient,” he added, cuddling her
close. “She hasn’t been lived in for a while. So, first thoughts,
Ms Rivers. Can you see yourself setting up home here?”

She had no words. Just gazed into his
laughing blue eyes, and stretched up and kissed him. “Really?” she
finally managed.

“Really. She’s got good bones but needs a
heap of work. I’d peel the linings off and insulate properly. Put
decent heating in. Open up the back with a lot of glass and let the
sun through. You wanted a garden and a view over the park.
Yes?”

“Yes, but…”

“Come and look.” He set her down and led her
up the wide timber stairway, giving her no time to protest. “I’d
strip out the top floor first. Use the master bedroom as living
space. It’s plenty big enough. Four more bedrooms—one for us, an
office each, a spare for guests.”

“But…”

“Yeah, no kitchen up here,” he said as they
reached the top of the stairs. “But there’s a big sun porch I could
convert as a temporary solution.”

“Anton!”

“Bathrooms need a total refurbish. I don’t
mind if you want to style them so they look original as long as
everything’s replaced and working well.”

She set her hands on her hips and sent him a
mock glare.” And when is this all going to happen? How can you
afford it, anyway? You’re up to your ears in debt.”

He reached over and cupped her face. Smiled
his most disarming smile. “If it’s what you want, we’ll manage. The
big reception rooms downstairs will make a great design studio and
architects’ office to be going on with. We can tear out some of
that overgrown garden for customer parking. And…if…” He lost his
momentum and ducked his head for a few seconds. “Um…if there were
children later on…well…plenty of space for all that.” Suddenly he
looked like a shy schoolboy.

Jetta took a moment to let everything sink
in. This was so big her brain refused to process data at normal
speed. “So,” she said slowly, “You’re saying you want to live here,
with me, work from here, maybe have a family together?”

He nodded, and swallowed. His Adam’s apple
slid up and down. He was nervous! Her super-confident, gung-ho man
had a vulnerable spot after all. And it was
her
. She turned
her face against his palm and kissed it. “And we’d live at Number
One while this top floor was remodeled?” she asked, turning and
surveying the top gallery with its extravagantly carved
balustrades.

“Hell, yes. It’s too cold here yet.”

“And maybe move in for summertime?”

“The apartments will be finished in a few
weeks. I know it looks like an ongoing mess, but it’s only final
details now.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and paced
a few steps away, a few steps back. “And the money will be okay?”
she asked. “You’ve enough to repay everyone you borrowed from for
the apartments?”

“More than. Enough to pay for quite a chunk
of this house, too.” He gathered her into his arms. “What’s with
all the questions?”

“And the upgrading here?” she pressed. “How
are you going to cover that?”

“Details, baby. I’ve made it work once, and I
can do it again.”

Jetta’s heart banged and fluttered about
behind her ribs. He’d do this for her?

“But you don’t like old houses,” she
objected.

He sent her a sizzling grin. “But you do. And
what my woman wants, she gets.”

Jetta thought of her untouched trust fund,
and silently thanked her grandfather and Horrie for their good work
on her behalf. “I might be able to help out on the finance front,”
she murmured. “Some dear old men made some sensible investments for
me a long time ago.”

She enjoyed watching his mouth drop open. Enjoyed
even more stretching up to nip his bottom lip and then turning her
teasing into a deep and loving kiss.

The End

Also by Kris—

The Boat Builder’s Bed

The Wrong Sister

Four Stars HOT, RT Review

Taken by the Sheikh

Seduction on the Cards

The Boat Builder’s Bed

by Kris Pearson

A windy day...a flyaway signboard...a hideous
crunch. Sophie Calhoun can't imagine how she'll pay for the damage
to the luxurious car. Already cash-strapped, she's struggling to
launch her new interior design studio and make a home for her
daughter. She's only days away from disaster.

Out of the sleek black Jaguar storms
super-yacht tycoon Rafe Severino. Steaming mad. Totally gorgeous.
And desperately in need of a top-line decorator for his spectacular
new harborside mansion.

Sophie fears her dream contract comes with
strings that tie her to the boat-builder's bed. No matter how she
tries to escape, he's always there - implacable and irresistible.
She knows he doesn't want a preoccupied single mother, but
concealing her daughter's existence from the man she's falling in
love with is getting harder and harder. If he discovers her lies,
she'll instantly lose everything.

Warning: contains one determined golden-skinned man
who knows his way around boats, bodies and bed-sheets.

Chapter One

Rafe Severino pounded his fist on the
steering wheel in time with the old Rolling Stones anthem. The
Stones weren’t getting any ‘satisfaction’ and neither was he. His
company, Severino Superyachts New Zealand, seemed unstoppable.
Personally though, Rafe was lost in the desert.