The Boat Builder's Bed (15 page)

“And speaking of the garden centre, I’d better bustle to get there on time,” Nancy added with a sigh. “There’s a picnic lunch in the fridge for my girls. I thought you might like to take it to the park seeing it’s so warm today.”

She cast around for her bag and gave them both a kiss on the cheek. “See you at the ferry terminal just after five.”
 

Later that day the three of them sat sipping fruit juice while excited passengers milled around them.

“Busy afternoon at work?” Sophie asked.

“It’s always good on a fine Sunday. I think they’re pleased enough to have me for the extra time, and it’s another few hours’ pay.”

Sophie bowed her head. She knew her mother sacrificed a lot to care for Camille.

“I don’t know how many bedding begonias went out the door today. Dozens and dozens, and a lot of new
buxus,
too. Those little box hedges are so popular now.”

“Buxus, buxus, buxus,” Camille’s treble voice chanted, pleased with the new word she’d learned.

“But it means I don’t get to see so much of
you
any more, Mum.”
 

“You come to see your daughter, not to see me.”

“Both of you!”

“Ah well. Maybe not for much longer if your business goes as well as you hope.”
 

“And then you can come and see us instead. Why not come over anyway? Check out the actual studio—the photos don’t show everything. See a bit more of Wellington and enjoy the shops now they’re filling up with Christmas goodies.”

Nancy nodded agreement. “Perhaps over and back one Thursday/Friday if I can get a couple of mornings off? Not for a week or two because Maureen’s had that wrist operation I told you about.”

“Fine,” Sophie said, just as the announcement came on to inform passengers booked on the five-past-six sailing to Wellington they could now embark.

Three more hours of sitting down. She hoped her book would last that long. Hoped the sea would be calm. Hoped most of all the weekly time-consuming ferry crossings would soon be at an end.

“See you next Sunday, gorgeous girl.” She stroked Camille’s long blonde hair until the last possible moment, and then rose to leave. There were kisses all round and tears in both women’s eyes as Sophie grabbed her bag and crash-helmet and walked away fast.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

She’d expected another phone-call so she could thank Rafe personally for the orchids, but there were only several short and businesslike emails.

That was it? She was just the designer?
 

Probably I didn’t seem interested enough; well, I’ve only myself to blame.
And really it’s best this way
.
If I’d fallen for him and we’d had an affair I’d be hurting big-time now.
 

Instead of only medium-big.

But their passionate embrace at the foot of the stairs had burned itself into her brain. And memories of his possessive and protective behavior when he’d walked her to her door had thrilled her again and again.

His emails seemed cold by comparison, so she was unprepared for his sudden appearance in the studio mid-afternoon on Wednesday, duty-free bag dangling from a long brown finger.

“Rafe!” she squeaked, rearing up in her chair and clicking the mouse when she hadn’t intended to. The ivory bedroom curtains on the screen turned bright orange.

“Sophie.”
 

His warm voice wrapped around her in a drugging mist.

So she wasn’t quite off the menu? Should she be pleased or annoyed?
 

He lowered the shiny bag onto the desk beside her and bent to brush a swift kiss over her astonished and trembling lips. “I bought you perfume.” Then he turned away and dropped onto the sofa, apparently exhausted.

She grimaced at the alarming orange curtains and rolled her chair back from the desk. “Thank-you. You didn’t have to do that to get a good job out of me, you know.”

Rafe seemed too tired to react. He simply said, “That was one pig of a trip. Thank God it’s over.”
 

She rose, took half a dozen shaky steps across to him and peered down. The laugh-lines around his normally joyful dark eyes looked more like worry-lines today. The devil-may-care tycoon was human after all.

“What was so bad?”

And why did I throw him such an ungrateful comment about the perfume?

He blew out a frustrated breath. “One accountant trying to fiddle the books, as I suspected. Nasty scenes. Sad when you trust someone. One inept salesman who nearly wrecked a huge deal. I pulled that back, by a miracle.” He reached out for her hand and grasped it. “One jumped-up Gelcoat rep who needed shooting. One cute little designer who
wasn’t there
.”
 

He gave a swift tug and Sophie overbalanced onto his lap.

“Better,” he said, sliding his arms around her to confine her. He kissed her again—with much greater thoroughness this time, and in full view of anyone who wished to look through the studio windows. Somehow she didn’t have the strength to fight him off. She wondered if she was even trying.

No, not trying at all. Fingers running through his inky hair now. Tongue sliding into his hot sweet-tasting mouth. Heart beating like a bongo drum. Thighs losing all muscle tone. Damn...

“Stop it Rafe,” she finally managed, making a half-hearted effort to struggle free. Her white linen skirt had rucked up to indecent heights, one shoe had fallen with a thud onto the oiled floorboards, and at least half her hair had escaped from its feathery top-knot.

“Don’t
want
to stop it.” He assumed a petulant-little-boy expression which teased a reluctant grin from her. “How’s business?” he asked in another lightning-fast change of topic.

“Let me up and I’ll tell you.”

“Kiss me again and I might.”

“Promises, promises.” She leaned close enough to nibble his bottom lip and then wriggled away to pull her skirt down into place. How could he apparently switch off like that? Her hands wanted to rip his shirt apart so she could bury her nose against him, and smell and taste all that golden skin. She itched to peel him out of his conservative business clothes and help him raise a sweat—right there in front of arriving customers, if need be.

She shook her head in an effort to clear it of such incendiary thoughts.

Resist him, resist him. Don’t risk messing up the house deal whatever you do.

She breathed out quietly, hoping for calm. “The business is slow but steady. Better than I was expecting. Every day someone new wanders in or phones up and makes enquiries.”

Or ravishes me on the couch.

“Not rushed off your feet?”

“Not yet for a bit. I didn’t expect to be.” She reached out for his hand to steady herself, and stood on one leg while she pushed her other foot into the shoe that had fallen off when he’d tumbled her into his arms.
 

“So you’ve got time to be my personal consultant?”
 

He tightened his grasp on her hand to stop her moving away, and his dark brown eyes locked with her grey ones. It was a long intrusive candid invitation, and it was Sophie who looked away first.
 

What had he really asked? The words were innocuous enough but his gaze burned deep into her soul. His personal consultant? Surely she was that already? She shrugged and decided to take his query at face value.

“What do you think of the house progress?” she asked, trying to extricate her fingers from his warm grip. “Do you like the staircase walls?”

“I’m straight off the plane—haven’t been home yet.”

She bit her lip at that. The house was much closer to the airport than her studio. He should have gone home first; unpacked, grabbed some sleep, whatever he needed to help him wind down and relax.

 
“Not talking about the house, Sophie. I’m talking about
me.
” He finally released her and leaned back into the cushions, arms behind his head, legs slightly apart to accommodate the visibly distended trouser fabric between his thighs.
 

“You mean ‘me, Rafe Severino? Me the man’?” she teased, wanting to keep it light, trying not to let him see she’d noticed how aroused he was.

“Me the man,” he agreed, eyes following her hands as she gathered up her hair and attempted to tidy it. “You the woman. How about a weekend in the tropical north? I need to visit the boatyard up in Whangarei.”

Panic whispered over every nerve-ending.

He’s still hoping I’ll sleep with him, even though I’ve tried to explain why I can’t.

She sought for a cool neutral tone—not easy with that blatant bulge on display—the place her eyes kept sneaking back to, even as she willed them to stay away.

“A weekend away with you?”

“Change of scenery, nice hotel. You’d enjoy it.”

Sophie knew she would. And knew just as certainly she couldn’t let it happen.

She shook her head.

“Sorry Rafe, Sunday’s out for me. I already have a family commitment.”

“I thought you were interested in design work on the boats?”

Was that another attempt at persuading her into his bed?

“I certainly am, but wouldn’t a weekday be better?” This time she managed to stare him down.

The ends of his mouth twitched in the tiniest of grins.

“I own the place, Sophie. I have the key and the security code. I can show you around any time at all.”

“It would probably be helpful to see it while your staff are working?” she tried.

“No, much better on a weekend. We’d never hear each other over the music and power tools. They all wear ear-protectors, so you won’t be chatting to anyone except me.”
 

“Or we could visit your Wellington yard—”

She saw his slight grin blossom into a full high-voltage smile.

“—and see everything there?” she suggested, knowing it was a lost cause from the expression on his face.

“Composite and carbon-fiber repairs? Not what you need, Sophie. I want to show you the
big
boats, the ones that make the money.”

He eyed her speculatively. “Money doesn’t really do it for you, does it? Faye used to grab it with both hands. You haven’t even looked at your perfume.”

Sophie turned aside and obediently reached for the duty-free bag.

“I’ve looked at my orchids every day,” she countered, glancing at the ethereal bouquet drinking from its crystal column on a side-table. “They’re amazing. I’ve never had anything so beautiful or extravagant.”

“But a bunch of daisies would have pleased you just as well?”

“Maybe
two
bunches,” she suggested with a small smile.
 
“Sorry about before, Rafe. You surprised me, arriving out of the blue like that. And you looked exhausted so I was worried. I didn’t mean to ignore your gift.”

She pulled her chair forward, sat, and dug into the bag. “Er, gifts, plural.” She stared at him, astounded, and then lifted out four elegantly decorated boxes, each containing a different French perfume. She lined them up beside her keyboard.

“I didn’t know which one you’d like.”

She swallowed. Never in her life had she been bought such luxury. “So you bought the whole store?”
 

He shrugged and grinned, unrepentant.

A warm blush pricked up her neck. She’d never be able to repay his generosity.

“I still won’t go to Whangarei with you.”

“I’m not trying to buy you.” A shadow flickered across his face, chasing the grin away.

Sophie sighed. “I never thought for a moment you were. But I can’t. As I said, Sunday is reserved for something else.”

She wondered if this might be the moment to admit to Camille’s existence. The words trembled on the very tip of her tongue but somehow didn’t emerge. What if he thought really badly of her for giving her daughter into her mother’s care, just as he’d been given to his own mother’s mother? If he cancelled her work on his house she’d be scrambling for enough money for the bigger apartment she’d need, the after-school care, and all the extra expenses of tending to a young child.

“Okay, your call,” he conceded, leaning back into the sofa cushions again.

“I
could
do a weekday,” she repeated. And then cursed her runaway tongue.

“Up and back the same day? Doesn’t give us much time? I suppose I can’t take you away from your new enterprise for too long, can I?”

“No.” She was pleased he’d thrown her that lifeline. “But I can manage one day. A weekday would be good. Anyway, you need to rest up a bit and get over your jet-lag.”

“And that’s
really
going to happen. God knows what sort of chaos has broken out here while I’ve been gone.”

She watched as he stretched and then relaxed. His eyelids drooped...his eyes slowly closed...his breathing calmed and his head slumped a little to one side. As fast as that, he slept.

Without thinking too much about it she reached into her nearby briefcase for the ever-present camera, turned off the auto-flash, framed him and clicked. He didn’t stir.

She returned the camera to her bag and crept closer.
 
She’d always loved watching Camille sleep—so trusting and unguarded and abandoned. Totally relaxed, with only tiny snuffles and twitches. These days Sophie enjoyed that pleasure very rarely; during her Sunday visits to Picton her daughter was a bundle of energy, and seldom off her feet.

And here was Rafe similarly abandoned to her care. She knelt beside him, finally able to gaze her fill.
 

His Native American heritage was obvious in his high cheekbones, long almond eyes, and almost straight black brows.

She presumed his Maori grandmother’s genes had reinforced his glossy black hair and golden skin. Maybe his long aquiline nose was from her as well? The Maori people varied from heavy-set with broad features to lean and haughtily aristocratic, depending on which tribe they descended from. Rafe resembled the latter far more than the former.

And his beautiful, sharply-defined mouth simply had to be Italian. She leaned a little closer, wondering if she dared drop a soft kiss on his lips while he drowsed.