The Girl he Never Noticed (9 page)

‘Do you always repeat what people say to you?’ he enquired.

‘No,’ she retorted.

‘You seem to do it a lot with me.’

‘That’s because you consistently take me by surprise!’ she countered. ‘What on earth—?’ She paused and stared at him. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to choose one with a pin?’

He laughed at her expression. ‘It’s not sacrilege, and since I don’t have a wife to do it for me, what’s left? Or why don’t you choose?’

‘Because I don’t have to live with it. Because I’m not…’ She stopped and stared at him as a vision she’d warned herself so often against entertaining raced through her mind.

‘Because you’re not my wife? Of course I know that, dear Liz,’ he drawled, and once again couldn’t help a certain tinge of irony.

She might have missed it yesterday, but Liz didn’t miss it now. She blinked as she became aware of a need to proceed with caution, of dangerous undercurrents between them that she didn’t fully understand—or was that being naïve?

Of course it was, she chastised herself. She could feel the physical tension between them. She could feel the heat…

They were standing facing each other, separated by no more than a foot. His shirt was open at the neck and she could see the curly black hair in the vee of it. She took an unexpected breath as she visualised him without his shirt, with all the muscles of his powerful,
sleek torso exposed. She felt her fingertips tingle, as if they were passing over his skin, tracing a path through those springy black curls downwards…

She felt her nipples tingle and she had a sudden, mind-blowing vision of his hand on her, tracing a similar path downwards from her breasts.

Worse, she was unable to tear her gaze from his—and she had no doubt he’d be able to read what was going through her mind as colour mounted in her cheeks and her breathing accelerated. She was not to know he could also see a pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, but she did see a nerve suddenly beating in his jaw—something she’d seen before.

She swallowed desperately and opened her mouth to say she knew not what—anything to defuse the situation—but he got in first.

‘You are a woman of taste and discrimination, wouldn’t you say?’ His gaze wandered up and down her in a way that she thought might be slightly insolent—why?

But it did help her regain some composure. ‘I guess that’s for others to decide,’ she said tartly, and for good measure added, ‘If you really want to know, I don’t like any of these ideas.’

She turned to look around at the veranda room. ‘It’s a room to be comfortable in—not stiff and formal, as these sketches are.’ She gestured to the drawings. ‘It’s not a room for pastel colours and spindly furniture. You need vibrant colours and comfortable chairs. You need some indoor plants. You need—’ She broke off and put her fingers to her lips, realising that in her confusion
and everything else she’d got quite carried away. ‘Sorry. That’s only my—thinking.’

He watched her with a glint of amusement. ‘Do it,’ he said simply.

‘What?’ She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Do what?’

‘Liz, you’re doing it again,’ he remonstrated. ‘Decorate it yourself, along the lines you’ve just described to me. I like the sound of it. I won’t,’ he added deliberately, ‘confuse you with a wife.’

Liz opened her mouth, but Mrs Preston intervened as she came into the room.

‘Liz—excuse me, Mr Hillier—I just wanted to check with you whether the barbecue is going ahead this afternoon?’

‘Oh!’ Liz hesitated, then turned to Cam. ‘I was going to have an early barbecue for the kids—round about five this afternoon, in my garden. We’ve done that a couple of times lately and they both really enjoy it. But you might like to have Archie to yourself?’

‘What I’d like is to be invited to the barbecue,’ Cam Hillier said blandly.

‘So I don’t need to cater for you this evening, Mr Hillier?’ Mrs Preston put in—a little hastily, Liz thought with an inward frown.

Cam raised his eyebrows at Liz.

‘Uh—no. I mean, yes. I mean…’ Liz stopped on an edge of frustration. ‘No, you don’t, Mrs Preston. Please do come to the barbecue, Mr Hillier.’

‘If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble, Miss Montrose?’ he replied formally.

‘Not at all,’ she said, with the slightest edge that she
hoped wasn’t apparent to Mrs Preston. But she knew she was being laughed at and couldn’t help herself. ‘We specialise in sausages on bread.’

‘Oh!’ Mrs Preston had turned away, but now she turned back, her face a study of consternation. ‘Oh, look—I can help out, Liz. You can’t give Mr Hillier kids’ food.’

‘I was only joking, Mrs Preston,’ Liz said contritely, and she put her arms around that troubled lady. ‘I’ve got—let me see…’ She paused to do a mental run-through of her fridge and pantry. ‘Some prime T-bones, and I can whip up a potato gnocchi with bacon and some pecorino cheese, and a green salad. How does that sound?’

Mrs Preston relaxed and patted Liz’s cheek. ‘I should have known you were teasing me.’

‘But were you?’ Cam Hillier murmured when his housekeeper was out of earshot.

‘What do you mean?’ Liz queried.

‘Were
you teasing her? I can actually see you deliberately condemning me to sausages on bread,’ he elucidated.

Liz gathered all her sketches and samples before gainsaying a reply. ‘Have you got nothing else to do but torment me?’

‘You
—’ he pointed his forefingers at her pistol-wise ‘—are supposed to be giving
me
—’ he reversed his hands ‘—a tour of all the great things you’ve done or plan to do for Yewarra.’

Liz caught her breath. ‘If—’ she said icily.

‘Hang on—let me rephrase,’ he interrupted humorously.

‘Don’t bother,’ she flashed.

‘Liz!’ He was openly laughing now. ‘Where’s your sense of humour?’

‘To quote you—flown out of the window.’ She stopped and bit her lip frustratedly, because the conversation where he’d used that phrase was the last thing she wanted to bring to mind. The day he’d told her that professionalism between them had flown out of the window…

She was saved by his mobile phone.

He pulled it out of his pocket impatiently, and spoke into it equally impatiently. ‘Roger, didn’t I tell you not to bother me? What? All right. Hang on—no, I’ll ring you back.’ He flicked the phone off.

‘You’ll be happy to know you’re released for the rest of the day, Miss Montrose,’ he said dryly. ‘Something has come up, as they say.’

‘Oh? Not bad news?’ she heard herself ask.

‘If you call the potential acquisition of another company via some delicate negotiations that require my expert touch bad news, no.’

Liz blinked confusedly. ‘You don’t sound too happy about it, though.’

He moved his shoulders and grimaced. ‘It’s more work.’

‘Surely—surely you could cut back?’ she suggested. And with inner surprise heard herself add, ‘Do you
need
another company?’

‘No. But it gets to be a habit. I’ll see you at five.’

Liz stared after him as he strode out of the veranda room and found herself prey to some conflicting emotions. Surely Cameron Hillier didn’t deserve her sympathy for any reason? But
was
it sympathy? Or a sort of admiration tinged with—? Don’t tell me, she reprimanded herself.

Surely I’m not joining the ranks of his devoted staff?

She sat down suddenly with a frown as it occurred to her that the frenetic pace her boss worked at might be a two-edged sword for him. He hadn’t sounded enthusiastic at the prospect of another take-over. He’d admitted it was habit-forming in a dry way, as if to say he did it but he didn’t exactly approve.

Did he have trouble relaxing? Was he unable to unwind? And if so why?

She blinked several times as it crossed her mind that she was not the only one with burdens of one sort or another. She blinked again as this revelation that Cam Hillier might need help made him suddenly more accessible to her—closer. As if she wanted to be closer, even able to help.

But what about what had gone—before she’d felt this streak of sympathy for him? What about the simmering sensual tension that had surrounded them? Where had it exploded from? In the month she’d been at Yewarra he’d given no sign of it during his visits, and she’d been highly successful at clamping down on her feelings. Or so she’d thought…

So how, and why, had it escaped from the box today, over an interior decorating issue?

Not that at all. It had been the mention of not being his wife, she suddenly realised. It was the thought of
being
his wife that had raced through her mind and opened up that flood of pure sensuality for her.

She looked around, looked at the samples and sketches she’d folded up neatly, and thought of her brief to redecorate the room. But none of those thoughts could chase away the one that underlined them. Why did she feel like a giddy schoolgirl with an adolescent crush?

The barbecue, although Liz had been dreading another encounter with Cam Hillier, and was feeling tense and uneasy in consequence, was going smoothly—at first.

She’d loaded the brick barbecue with paper and wood, and ensured the cooking grid was clean. She’d put a colourful cloth on the veranda table, along with a bunch of flowers she’d picked, and she’d lit some candles in glasses even though the sun hadn’t set, to add a festive note to an occasion that the kids loved.

She’d showered, and changed into a grey short-sleeved jumper and jeans, and—as she usually did on these occasions—she’d devised a treasure hunt through the garden for Scout and Archie. Something they also loved.

As promised, she’d produced steaks, potato gnocchi and a salad, as well as sausages on bread. There was also a chocolate ice cream log waiting in the freezer.

Although all set to do the cooking on the barbecue herself, when Cam arrived with Archie Liz found herself manipulated by her boss into releasing the reins after he’d taken one shrewd glance at her. He’d brought a
bottle of wine and he poured her a glass and told her to relax.

She sat down in two minds at first, but the lengthening shadows as the lovely afternoon slid towards evening, the perfume from the garden and the birdsong got to her, and she found herself feeling a little better.

He was a good cook, and he handled the fire well, she had to acknowledge when the steaks and sausages were ready. Nothing was burnt, and nothing was rare to dripping blood. It was all just right. And not only Scout and Archie, sitting on a rug on the lawn, tucked in with gusto, so did she.

Then came the chocolate ice cream log, and with it an extra surprise. Liz had stuck some sparklers into it, causing round-eyed wonder in to the kids when she lit them.

‘Wow! Now it’s a real party,’ Archie enthused. ‘Don’t be scared, Scout,’ he added, as Scout stuck her thumb in her mouth. ‘They won’t hurt you—promise. Yippee!’ And, grabbing Scout by the hand, he danced around the garden with her until she forgot to be nervous.

But that wasn’t the end of the surprises—although the next one was for Liz. When the kids had finished their ice cream and quietened down, could even be seen to be yawning, although they tried valiantly to hide it, Mrs Preston and Daisy appeared, with the suggestion that Scout might like to spend the night in the nursery up at the big house tonight.

Scout said, ‘Yes, please—pretty please, Mummy,’ before Liz had a chance to get a word in, and Archie added his own impassioned plea.

So she agreed ruefully.

It was after she’d collected Scout’s pyjamas and was about to head up to the big house that Mrs Preston said, ‘You two relax, now. Oh, look—you haven’t finished the wine!’

Thus it was that peace and quiet descended on the garden, and Liz found herself alone with Cam and with a second glass of wine in her hand. A silver sickle moon was rising, and there was a pale plume of smoke coming from the barbecue as it sank to a bed of ashes. There were fireflies hovering above the flowerbeds, fluttering their delicate wings.

She frowned, however. ‘They didn’t have to do that.’

He grimaced, and went to say something in reply, she thought. But all he said in the end was, ‘They do get on well, the kids.’

‘I guess they have quite a bit in common. They’re pretty articulate for their ages—probably because they’re single kids, so they get a lot of adult attention. They have that in common. I think Archie is particularly bright, actually. And quite sensitive.’

‘I think he’s certainly appreciated having you and Scout around. He seems…’ Cam paused, then grimaced. ‘I know it sounds strange for a five-year-old, but he seems more relaxed.’

‘Except when he gets shoved around—but it hasn’t happened again. I’ve asked Daisy to watch out for it.’

‘They’ve probably established their parameters. Their no-go zones.’ He glanced at her. ‘As we have.’

Liz looked down at her wine and sipped it.

‘What would you say if I suggested we move our parameters, Liz?’

She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but that would be unworthy, she knew. In fact it would be fair to say their parameters had moved themselves of their own accord, only hours ago.

‘I—I thought it was going so well,’ she said desolately at last.

‘I
T IS GOING
well, Liz,’ he said dryly.

‘Not if we keep—’ She broke off, floundering.

‘Finding ourselves wanting each other? So I wasn’t imagining it earlier?’

She glinted an ironic little glance at him.

‘Dear Liz,’ he drawled as he interpreted the glance, ‘you’re not always that easy to read. For example, I arrived in your garden tonight to find you in chilly mode—prepared to hold me not so much at arm’s length but at one hundred feet down a hole. Or—’ he paused and inspected his glass ‘—prepared to scratch my eyes out if I so much as put a foot wrong.’

Liz sat up with a gasp. ‘That’s not true!’

He shrugged. ‘Uptight, then. Which made me wonder.’

She subsided.

He watched her thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you think it’s about time you admitted you’re human? That you may have had good cause to freeze off any attraction under the weight of the betrayal you suffered but you can’t go through the rest of your life like that?’

‘So…so…’ Her voice shook a little. ‘You think I’m being melodramatic and ridiculous?’

‘I didn’t say that, but it is a proposition I’m putting to you. Take courage is what I’m really trying to say.’

‘By having an affair with you?’ She said it out of a tight throat. ‘I—’

‘Liz, I’m not going to get you pregnant and desert you,’ he said deliberately. ‘But we can’t go on like this.
I
can’t go on like this. I want you. I know I said I wouldn’t but—’ He stopped frustratedly.

‘It will spoil everything, though.’

‘Why?’

She licked her lips. ‘Well, it would have to be sort of clandestine, and…’

‘Why the hell should it be? You’re probably the only one around here who doesn’t believe it might be on the cards.’ He lifted an ironic eyebrow at her. ‘Why do you think we’ve been left alone in a romantically moonlit garden?’

Liz’s eyes widened. ‘You mean Mrs Preston and Daisy…?’

He nodded. ‘They’ve both given me to understand you and I would be well-suited.’

‘In so many words?’ Liz was stunned.

He shook his head and looked amused. ‘But they never lose an opportunity to sing your praises. Bob’s the same. Even Hamish.’ Hamish was the crusty head gardener. ‘He has allowed it to pass his lips that you’re “not bad for a lass”. Now, that’s a
real
compliment.’

Liz compressed her lips as she thought of the gossip that must have been going on behind her back.

‘And Scout and Archie are too young to be affected,’ he went on. ‘If you’re happy to go on in your job there’s no reason why you shouldn’t.’

Liz got up and paced across the lawn, with her arms folded, her glass in her hand.

He watched her in silence.

She turned to him at last, her eyes dark with the effort to concentrate.

‘Liz,’ he said barely audibly, ‘let go. For once, just let go. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.’ He put his glass down on the lawn and got up. ‘Give me that.’ He took her glass from her and put it down too. Then he put his hands around her waist loosely, and drew her slowly towards him.

Liz stiffened, but as she looked up into his face in the moonlight she suddenly knew she couldn’t resist him. She raised her hand tentatively and touched her fingertips to the little lines beside his mouth—something she realised she’d wanted to do for ever, it seemed. Just as she’d wanted to be drawn to the flame of this tall, dangerously alive, incredibly exciting and tempting man for ever…

He turned his head and kissed her fingers, ran his hands up and down her back, then down to the flare of her hips. She breathed raggedly as her whole body came alive with delicious tremors.

He bent his head and started to kiss her.

Some minutes later, he picked her up and carried her to the swing seat, sat down with her across his lap.

‘Forgive me,’ he said then, ‘but I’ve been wanting to do this for some time. And so have you, I can’t help
feeling. Maybe that’s all we should think of?’ And he cupped her cheek lightly.

Liz was arrested, with her lips parted, her eyes huge. And if she thought she’d been affected by him on a hot Sydney pavement, in his car, in his office, in his veranda room it was nothing to the mounting sensations she was experiencing now, in his arms.

She could literally feel her body come alight where it was in contact with his. She felt, to her astonishment, a primitive urge to throw her arms round his neck and surrender her mouth, her breasts, her whole body to him, to be played in whatever key he liked. But what she would really like, she knew, would be for him to mix his keys. To be gentle, although a little teasing, to be strong when she needed it, to be in charge when she was about to explode with desire—because she just knew he could do that to her…make her ignite.

She groaned and closed her eyes, and when she felt his mouth on hers she did put her arms around his neck and draw him closer.

He did just as she’d wished, as if he’d read her mind. He ran his fingers through her hair, then down her neck and round her throat, and that was nice. It made her skin feel like silk. But when he slipped his hand beneath her jumper and beneath her bra strap it was more than nice. It was exquisite. And tremors ran up and down her because it was almost too much to bear.

As if he sensed it, he removed his hand and stopped kissing her briefly to say, ‘This can be a two-way street.’

A smile curved her lips, and she freed her hands and slid them beneath his shirt.

It was glorious, she found. A glorious warmth that came to her as she held him close. It was a kinship that banished the lonely years—but a kinship with an exciting, dangerous edge to it, she thought. A blending of their bodies—a transference, as his hands moved on her and hers moved on him, of lovely sensations and rhythms that had to lead to the final act they both not only sought but needed desperately.

But that was where the danger lay, she knew. Not only because of the consequences that could arise—she would never allow that to happen to her again—but could she afford the less tangible consequences? The giving of her soul into a man’s keeping with this act, only to have it brutally returned to her?

She faltered in his arms.

He raised his head. ‘Liz?’ Then he smiled down at her. ‘Not an Ice Queen at all. The opposite, if anything. I—’

But he never did get to say it, because she freed herself and fell off his lap.

‘Liz!’ He reached for her. ‘What’s wrong?’

She scrambled up, evading his hands and smoothing her clothes. ‘You make it sound as if I’m in the habit of doing this.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You didn’t have to.’ She dragged her fingers through her hair.

‘Liz.’ He pushed himself off the swing seat and towered over her. ‘You are being ridiculous now. Look, I
know you might have cause to be sensitive about what men think of you, but—’

‘Oh, I
am
.’ She retreated a few steps. ‘Sorry, but that’s me!’

‘Despite the fact you light up like a firecracker in my arms? No,’ he said as she gasped, ‘I’m
not
going to sugar-coat things between us just because you had one lousy experience.’

‘Sugar-coating or not, you’ll be talking to yourself. I’m going in!’ And she ran across the dew-spangled lawn and into the house.

He made no attempt to follow her.

The next morning she studied herself in the bathroom mirror and flinched.

There were dark shadows under her eyes, she was pale, and she looked—not to put too fine a point on it—tormented.

She took a hot shower and dressed in navy shorts and a white T-shirt. She didn’t even have Scout to distract her, she thought dismally, as she made coffee and poured herself a mug. But coffee would help, she assured herself as she picked up the phone that had a direct line to the house. Help her to do what she knew she had to do.

Two minutes later she waited for Mrs Preston to put the house phone down, then she slammed hers into its cradle and wouldn’t have given a damn if it never worked again.

She took her coffee to the kitchen table, and to her horror found herself crying again. She licked the salty
tears from her lips and forced herself to sip her coffee as she wondered what to do.

Her plan had been to offer her resignation to Cameron Hillier via the telephone, and not take no for an answer. That was not possible, however, because according to Mrs Preston he’d driven away from Yewarra last night.

Had he left any messages? Any instructions? Had he said when he’d be back? No, no and no, had been Mrs Preston’s response. All he’d left was a note, telling her what he’d done. There’d been a puzzled note in Mrs Preston’s voice—puzzled and questioning at the same time. Liz had understood, but had had no answer for her.

Typical of the arrogant man she knew him to be, she thought bitterly. How could he not know that with one short observation he’d made her feel cheap last night? How could he not know that, for her, when she gave herself to a man it could never be just sex? It was a head over heels, all bells and whistles affair for her. It was the way she was made and it had taken one awful lesson to teach her that.

On the other hand, was he entitled to be angry with her? Had she overreacted?

She paused her thoughts and got up to look out of the kitchen window. It was an overcast morning, as grey as she felt. Not only grey, but down in the dumps and…hopeless.

What if she’d said yes? Would she have spent her life feeling as if she was treading on eggshells in case it didn’t last and he turned to some other woman? After
all, despite his explanation of the situation that had developed between him and Portia Pengelly, she couldn’t help feeling a streak of sympathy for Portia.

She also flinched inwardly because she knew herself well enough to know that she might
never
feel safe with a man again, despite the irrationality of it. It too was the way she was made. No half-measures for Liz Montrose, she thought grimly. Could she change?

But even if she did there was something holding her back—something she couldn’t quite pin down in her mind. Unless…?

She stared unseeingly out of the window and thought suddenly,
Of course!
It was her reputation that was troubling her so deeply. Living with a man in an informal relationship, as opposed to Scout’s father who was solidly married—could she ever feel right about that? Not so much not right, but secure in her position as the most suitable parent for Scout?

She folded her arms around her, trying desperately to find some comfort and some solution.

If she didn’t agree to move in with Cam Hillier, what on earth was she going to do? Walk away? Uproot Scout? Leave Archie? Go back to living with her mother—who definitely had a man in her life and was loving every minute of it, as well as her costume-designing project?

But how could she stay…?

She reached for the other phone, the one with an outside line, and rang Cam Hillier’s mobile. She couldn’t allow things to simply hang, but perhaps she could offer
him a week’s notice so as not to destabilise his household completely?

What she got was a recorded message advising callers that he was unavailable and they should contact Roger Woodward if the matter was urgent. It wasn’t even his own voice. It was Roger’s.

She pressed her lips together as she put the phone down, and thought,
All right!
She had no choice but to go on as usual—for the time being.

Several days later Cam stared around his office in the Hillier Corporation’s premises and knew he was in deep trouble.

He’d just signed the final document that had acquired him another company and he couldn’t give a damn. Worse than that, he hated the drive within him that had seen him add another burden to his life—a life that was already overburdened and completely unsatisfactory.

He’d been more right than he knew when he’d posed that question to himself—what if a tortured Ice Queen was the one woman he really wanted and couldn’t have?

What if?

He’d turn into a more demented workaholic than ever. He’d turn into a monster to work for. He’d…

He threw his pen down on the desk and ground his teeth. There had to be a way to get through to Liz. He knew now they set each other alight physically—it certainly wasn’t one-sided—but how to make her see there was so much more they could share? How to make her see he needed her?

He shrugged and thought with amazement that Liz Montrose had planted herself in his heart probably from the moment he’d caught her climbing over his wall. That was the way it had happened, and he was helpless to change it.

And the irony was she loved Yewarra and Archie, and Scout loved…

He sat up suddenly. Archie and Scout—would they get through to Liz where he had failed?

He came back with a house party.

It was an impromptu party in that it had somehow been missed in both his office and the Yewarra diary until it was too late cancel. And Liz and Mrs Preston had only had a couple of hours and their work cut out to have everything ready for six overnight guests.

As for her own
contretemps
—how she was going to face Cam Hillier—Liz had no idea. But she comforted herself with the thought that at least she could stay very much in the background, as she usually did when there were guests.

An hour before dinner was due to be served she learnt that she was to be denied even that respite.

She got an urgent call from Mrs Preston with the news that her offsider, Rose, who acted as a waitress, had cut her hand and wouldn’t be able to work. Could Liz hand Scout over to Daisy for the night and take her place?

Liz breathed heavily, but she could tell from Mrs Preston’s voice that the housekeeper was under a lot of pressure. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Give me half an hour.’

She showered, and changed hastily into a little black dress and flat shoes.

She hesitated briefly in front of the bathroom mirror, then swept her hair back into a neat, severe pleat and applied no make-up. She thought of replacing her contact lenses with her glasses, but decided she didn’t need to go to extremes.

Then she gathered up Scout, and everything she needed, and ran over to the big house. Archie was delighted with the unexpected change of plan, and proudly displayed the latest curiosity Cam had brought home for him: a didgeridoo that was taller than Archie himself.