The Boat Builder's Bed (16 page)

He twitched and sighed. She reared back, watching as he settled a little deeper into the cushions.

Silly idea Sophie. You’ll wake him, and he’s obviously desperate for sleep.

She rose and went back to her desk, deciding to check the flights north to Whangarei so she could call the shots on travel times.

She pulled a face at the orange curtains on the screen, changed them back to ivory, and navigated to Air New Zealand’s website.

Sophie had flown overseas exactly once in her life; Faye had taken her whole staff to a design exhibition in Melbourne two years earlier. Thrilling though it had been, the cost of getting a passport had put a severe crimp in her budget that month.

She’d had to forego two trips to see Camille, hating the lies she’d told her mother about the exhibition running over the first weekend, and about the flu she seemed to have picked up and preferred not to spread around during the second.
 

She glanced across to Rafe, still deeply asleep. She supposed he’d paid for her Australian air-fares and accommodation if Faye was so slip-shod with her accounting.

He gave a sudden shudder and his eyes shot wide open. Sophie felt relieved beyond measure she wasn’t leaning over him with a yearning look on her face, but it made her voice a little sharper than she intended.

“You need to get home and go to bed for a few hours, Rafe. Get some rest. Forget taking me out to dinner tonight. Let me come over later and bring some food from the deli so you don’t have to bother at all.”

When he started to object she jabbed a finger at him and added, “I’ll see you about seven-thirty. I want to check the color on the staircase walls under artificial lights anyway. Are you safe to drive?”

He blew out a long breath between pursed lips before pushing himself upright and leaving. “You’ll be one tough mother,” he grouched as he pushed the door open. “If you ever get around to it.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘One tough mother...’

She was no sort of mother at all. She was a very part-time mother, doing the best she could, and all too aware it wasn’t nearly enough.

Feeling uneasy and out of sorts, she sent Fran a text.

‘COFFEE?’

The reply arrived almost instantly. ‘CU SOON’.

She grinned at that, and her spirits rose a notch. Maybe Fran was already on her way? Just as well she hadn’t breezed in fifteen minutes earlier...

It was a bare sixty seconds before the stroller appeared, closely followed by Fran whose sharp eyes missed nothing.

“Wow. Who gave you those?”

Sophie glanced across at the orchids, but to her consternation Fran had pounced on the boxes of perfume beside the duty-free bag.

“It was
him
, wasn’t it?” She scooped the bag up and waved it at Sophie gleefully. “You said he had business in America for a while. So he’s back?”

Sophie tried to ignore her and instead hunkered down beside Lucy, talking to the little girl about today’s red hair-ribbon and the velour rabbit that seemed to be the week’s favored toy.

Fran examined each of the perfume choices in turn, making noises of approval. Sophie felt herself getting pinker and more embarrassed by the second.

They were interrupted by the telephone, but as soon as the enquiry had been dealt with Fran was in hot pursuit again.

“Four, and all expensive. He’s after you.”

“No way, Fran.”

“Lilies,” Fran said, holding up a finger.
 

“Champagne.” Another finger followed.
 

“Those dreamy orchids.” A third finger.

“No ...” Sophie protested.

“Yes,” Fran said, keeping the third finger up. “You didn’t think I knew about those, did you?”

Sophie shrugged.

“And now bucket-loads of perfume. He’s after you.” She held up a triumphant fourth finger.

“You forgot the pizza,” Sophie muttered. “You may as well make it the whole hand.”

“I forgot the coffee, too.” She bent to lift the holder containing two flat whites from under the stroller. “Okay, when was the pizza?” She set the coffees on Sophie’s desk.

“Tuesday night—when I went out to his house because he was going away early next day. It was business, Fran. But yes, there was a pizza so add it to your rolling total.”

“Bunny...” Lucy grizzled.

Fran reached down to retrieve it and gave it back to her.

“What are you going to do about him?”

Sophie closed her eyes and shook her head. “I have no idea in the world. I’d be kidding you if I didn’t admit he’s an absolute hunk. You can see that for yourself. But he’s my meal-ticket to getting Camille back. It sounds terrible saying it, but I need to keep working for him because he’s worth money to me. And his house will be an incredible boost to my reputation. It’ll establish me right where I want to be.”

“And...?” Fran cajoled.

“And
no.
How can I?”

“How
can’t
you, you mean?”

“No, I seriously can’t, Fran. That’d wreck everything. A hot little affair might be good for my ego, but once it’s over, working together would be impossible.”

“
Bunny!
”
 

“Poor Lucy—we’re ignoring you.” Sophie picked up the toy and snuggled it against the toddler.
 

She sipped her coffee again, took a deep breath and huffed it out, tempted and frustrated. “It’ll be weeks and weeks before all the work in the house is completed so it’s best not to start anything.”

“It might not end,” Fran objected.

“It doesn’t stand a chance. Believe me, there are issues.”

“Such as?”

“Such as his ex-wife for one. I worked for her, remember? And she’s not even his ex-wife—they’re only separated. He’s not available.”

“And?”

“Camille.”
 

“He’s Italian, Sophie. They love kids. He’ll adapt to her.”

“I don’t want my daughter ‘adapted to’, Fran. And anyway, he’s part-Maori and there’s a whole other story there.”

Fran raised her eyes in silent enquiry.

“He was
whangaied.
You know much about that?”

“Fung-eyed?”
 

“Given away to someone else in the family. Not an official adoption—apparently it happens quite a lot. And he’s still gutted about it. Really messed up.”

And I can’t reveal any more of his secrets. He told me about his family in confidence, I’m sure.
 

Sophie pulled down the corners of her mouth. “If he gets a whiff of Camille being packed off to Mom for years on end he’ll see it as the same thing and I’ll be off the scene. Money lost.”

Aping Fran’s former action, she held up a finger.

“Daughter not retrievable.”

She held up the second.

“Reputation ruined. Heart smashed too, I daresay.”

She raised fingers three and four. “What a mess.”

“But you like him?” Fran persisted.

More than I’m willing to admit, even to myself.

“Yes, of
course
I like him. He’s tall, dark, rich and gorgeous. What’s not to like?”

She sipped her coffee and sent Fran a sudden wicked grin. “And he’s built. You should have seen him the other night with his shirt off.”

“You said
nothing happened
?” Fran’s face had transformed into a study in disbelief and curiosity. “How did you get him out of his gear?”

“It was a very warm evening,” Sophie teased.

“Sounds more than warm?”

“He would have liked it to be.”

“And you?”

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “He turns me on more than anyone I’ve ever met. But I can’t let it happen. I
can’t
let it happen.”

She sipped her coffee again and eventually added, “We sat on his deck for hours the other night. He’s so damned dangerous I almost don’t dare be around him.”

She left a small silence.

“Which is probably why I’m taking him something to eat there tonight.”

Fran gave a whoop of triumph. “Sophie,” she squealed. “You go, girl.”

How do I get to her?
Rafe wondered.
She’s more interested in the house than in me. More thrilled to be given work than flowers or perfume. A twenty-buck pizza and a bottle of great French fizz made about the same impression as each other. She kisses me like she means it and then turns away.

He drew a deep breath and rubbed his eyes.

She’s Ms Independence. And then she comes over all warm and bosses me out of my suit or tells me I need to rest, as though she might actually care...

The late sun soaked into his chest and shoulders through the black T-shirt. He’d stripped off his travelling clothes, showered, and pulled on his old jeans. Then he’d hefted one of the timber chairs across to the deck railing so he could look up towards the road because he wanted to see her arrive.
 

He’d plummeted asleep of course. She’d been right.
 

But now he was drowsily awake, wondering quite what he was up against.

Rafe knew when a woman was interested. And he could tell whether his money or his body interested her more. These days the money always won.
 

Sure, Sophie was interested in his money, but apparently only in return for her work. She seemed more taken by his body. He’d seen the looks. The covert admiring glances. The small, quick, assessing inspections when she thought he wasn’t watching. He’d been checking her out in return, with his eyes, and with his hands whenever possible.

Although she sent enticing signals she still shied away whenever he got too physical. What the hell was holding her back?
 

There’d been a lot of women, but he was no longer a randy kid. These days he could wait for what he wanted. And what he wanted was a determined little decorator with a pink motor scooter and long blonde hair.
 

A girl in love with his house but resisting its master.

A girl who coped easily with fractious Lucy even as she professed to be interested only in business success.

He could measure their acquaintance in days; the time they’d spent together in hours. It was downright crazy to be so affected.

He turned his head to distinguish the puttering buzz of her Vespa from the swoosh of the waves below. Yes!

He burst out of his contemplative bubble into full energetic wakefulness, strode across the deck to the cable-car and started it climbing. Standing spread-legged for balance, he punched one fist into his other palm over and over as though it would hurry his progress to the top.

When the carriage stopped he saw she’d set the scooter on its stand beside the big rusty shipping container and the framed-up garage. She pulled her crash helmet off and reached for a bag. He was there before she had time to take a single step in his direction. And while both her hands were full he moved in close, cupped her face up and went for broke.

“Mmmmfff,” she responded as his mouth claimed hers.

Rafe knew she didn’t intend that as encouragement, but she tasted so good and smelled so damn female that stopping wasn’t any kind of option. Even though he’d not broken through to her yet, forbidden fruit was always the sweetest, and Sophie was as sweet and forbidden as he’d ever found. If he had to push a little to enjoy an illicit slice of paradise he was up for the challenge.
 

He held her immobile by tangling one hand into her soft hair and grasping her around her hips with the other, dimly thinking that the denim of their jeans must be close to spitting sparks.

Fireworks exploded somewhere. White explosions in his brain pulsed in time with his tongue as it slipped and slid against hers in the hot cavern of her pretty mouth.

His hand dropped lower—a perfect fit around one cheek of her peachy butt.
 

And she hit him hard on the thigh with her helmet.

He jerked back, aware he’d almost lost control again. How the hell did this happen?

“You obviously got some sleep then,” she needled, regarding him with narrowed eyes.

He stood there half as big again as she was, feeling like a shambling mutt of a dog who’d just been zapped across the nose by a feisty kitten.
 

“Yeah, I crashed out in one of the chairs on the deck while I was waiting for you. Maybe I’m still asleep and dreaming.”

“You looked half-dead in the studio, so that’s an impressive revival you just demonstrated.” She cast an amused glance down at his straining zipper.

He saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

“Are you making fun of me, Ms Calhoun?”

She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t look like fun to me.”

Rafe privately agreed. It felt no fun at all being so turned-on with no definite prospect of release.

“Use your wandering hands for something useful and carry the dinner,” she suggested as she passed him the bag. “And don’t give the cheesecake the same treatment you were giving my backside.”

He watched her turn away from him—black jeans, blue-and-white striped T-shirt, black leather bomber jacket, pink crash helmet and half a yard of tousled blonde hair.

What was it about her? What the hell
was
it?

“Garage is coming on well,” she said.
 

Sophie locked her knees to steady herself as the cable-car dropped down the cliff-face. She clung to one of the corner-posts and stared across the water, mind whirling.

Every time he kisses me I slip further into danger. And I like it. I like
him
. But there’s too much at stake. I don’t dare, however much I want...

“Sorry I hit you.” She sent him an embarrassed glance. “I’ve never hit anyone before in my life.”

What a stupid reaction it had been. She didn’t know which was worse—hitting a really lovely man or hitting a client. A client! No way to ensure business success...

“It was only a bump.”

“It was the hardest bump I could manage.” She looked up again and found herself trapped by his lively dark eyes.

“I’ll live. To fight another day, I suspect.”