intoxicating woodsy scent, she slid farther away. “I haven’t forgotten anything.” Including the fact he’d approached her with that ludicrous offer of marriage at Marc’s funeral.
He looked past her and frowned. Oh, great. He’d spotted the bills. When he swept them up—an obstinate man with a mission—more than instinct said it was a waste of time to protest. She assumed an unconcerned air while her heartbeat clattered wildly.
Finally he set the bills down. “Do you have anywhere to go?”
She forced a laugh. The sound came out more strangled than amused. “It’s not as bad as all that.”
His bland expression let her know he didn’t agree.
As tense seconds ticked by, the walls pressed in, and as much as it pained her, Tamara was forced to face the hard, cold truth. Aside from Marc, she didn’t have anyone close. Melanie and Kristin, and a couple of university buddies, but she didn’t have any let-me-crash-on-your-living-room-floor-type friends.
Her mother lived in Melbourne, but they rarely communicated, which both saddened and appeased her. How strange to love someone in whose company you felt, more times than not, invisible. Once she would’ve performed somersaults to get her mother’s attention. Later it seemed wiser to save her energy. Elaine Kendle had been stuck in a deep dark “if only” hole—probably was still stuck—and there was little Tamara could do about it.
Slapping his muscular thighs, Armand pushed to his feet. “I won’t argue. If you want to stay ’til they come to evict you, which must be any day now, that’s your choice.”
He headed off and her mind froze. The walls that only a moment ago suffocated her, had receded until all she saw was Armand reaching for the tarnished knob. Opening the door. Walking away.
Her throat closed over.
“Wait!”
He pivoted back and their gazes fused. But she couldn’t speak or move. Dammit, she wasn’t used to accepting help.
From across the room, the light in his eyes changed from calculated disinterest to anticipation. In a measured gait, he returned and carefully reached out. She hesitated, then blew out a defeated breath and placed her hand in his.
As his fingers curled and swallowed hers, his warmth suffused her skin and swam up her arm, making every nerve ending skip and tingle. A smile lifted one side of the mouth. A masculine, sexy, wonder-how-it-feels mouth.
“Tell me what you need to take,” he said, helping her up.
She nodded and together they collected a few things—some clothes, her books, and Einstein, her plant. But their movements, her situation, this handsome, insistent man…it all seemed surreal.
When the door clicked shut fifteen minutes later, she was still in a daze. Once more, her life had taken an acute, unexpected turn. She studied Armand, strong arms full of her “stuff” as he negotiated the stairwell, and wondered which of her barriers he’d attempt to break down next.
A big, baggy, chocolate-brown gaze, and breath that would bring water to a garlic clove’s eye greeted Tamara.
Kneeling in Armand De Luca’s enormous kitchen, she mentally blocked her nose and ruffled the sleepy bloodhound’s ears with her good hand. “How long have you had Master? Since the last ice age?”
One hip propped against the island bench, shoulders set at an angle, Armand concentrated as he shuffled through mail he’d swept off the black granite counter. His gaze flicked up and he grinned a lopsided smile that made her stomach muscles flutter.
“Don’t know about ice age,” he said, attention returning to the mail. “Maybe around the time I started wearing long trousers.”
Tamara’s eye line slid down. “Long” by no means covered it. Nice in trousers, but delicious in the low-riding indigo-rinse jeans he’d changed into soon after they’d arrived home. And home, for the time being, was a magnificent Mediterranean-style residence in Sydney’s most exclusive neighborhood.
Visible through an adjacent floor-to-ceiling window, towering pines decorated vast stretches of emerald-green lawn—foreground to a priceless harbor view, complete with colorful yachts and distant opera house shells. Inside, marble floors, stone columns, ornate skylights… the very air proclaimed unsurpassed extravagance and echoing space.
“This place is so big,” she murmured. And quiet. She ruffled the dog’s ears again. “I wonder if Master gets lonely.”
There was no doubt that Armand spent most of his time at the office, and anyone could get lonesome, even a dog.
When Armand dropped the letters and moved toward her, Tamara held her bandaged wrist and reminded herself to breathe. His gait was predatory, but also languid, like a panther who wasn’t the least concerned its kill would get away.
“The groundsman and Master have been friends for years. And he loves my housekeeper. You’ll grow to love Ruth, too.”
She’d met Ruth Sherman earlier and she did seem nice. But Tamara didn’t plan on developing a relationship. She pushed to her feet. “I won’t be here that long.”
He knotted powerful arms over an equally powerful chest. His hanging shirttails taunted her to come close and touch the washboard abs she felt sure lay beneath.
“So, you must have a plan.”
Gaze snapping up, she focused. “Of course.”
Crossing back to the gold-rimmed bench, he retrieved two steaming cups, one raspberry leaf tea (she carried a small supply in her handbag these days), one coffee freshly brewed in a contraption that probably cost more than a decent vacation. “Let me guess. Your plan is to find another job.”
Her chin lifted. “Until recently, I’ve never been out of work.”
“Not since leaving school at junior level.”
His high-born barb pricked, but he’d seen the university textbooks. She was close to finishing a business degree, which, admittedly, had been a challenge, particularly her current unit of study; her second attempt at data analysis wasn’t any easier than the first. Nevertheless she’d concede his point.
She moved to a meals table, which was tucked away in an all-glass bay window decorated with hanging baskets of lush maidenhair fern. “Yes, I did finish school early. And eventually went on to own my own company.”
“Exemplar Events, an events coordination enterprise.” Black glazed cups and saucers in hand, he joined her. “A hairdresser by trade, you found your true calling by accident after offering to organize events for friends and charity.”
Forgetting to be annoyed at his detective work, she remembered back and smiled. “Christmas parties, school fetes, a couple of dinner fund-raisers.” She had been so over mixing dyes and sweeping hair, and those events had been such fun.
“But the step up to corporate events was a steep one,” he continued.
Full-scale pyrotechnics, first-class catering, together with clients’ diverse special needs—each job had been exciting and she’d done well on her own…for a while. Ultimately, however, lack
