tore her eyes away from the chocolatey depths of his and instead concentrated on the knot of his tie.
‘Byron, I don’t wish to be rude, but I think we should stop this right here and now. Your…your offer to help is a very generous one, but I’m afraid I can’t meet the terms.’
She saw his throat move up and down in a swallow and lifted her eyes slightly. He was frowning at her darkly, the line of his mouth hard.
‘So you’d rather lose everything you own in the world rather than resume a temporary relationship with me?’
‘Temporary?’ Cara blinked at him uncomprehendingly.
‘Of course temporary,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t want it any other way, would you?’
‘I…No, of course not,’ she said, looking away.
‘Well, then,’ he continued. ‘Let’s look at your options. You can come with me now, or you can ask me to leave. It’s as simple as that.’
Cara couldn’t speak. Thoughts were tumbling about her brain like clothes in a dryer. One thought kept tangling around the others until her head started to pound with the effort of keeping control of it.
‘What’s it to be, Cara?’ he asked. ‘Bankruptcy is no picnic. It’s like a scar that has to be worn for the rest of your financial life.’
She knew all about scars. How intuitive of him to use that analogy! She so wanted to resist his offer, but a vision of the balance sheets swam before her eyes. She imagined herself trying to approach a bank for a loan in the future. It would be hopeless; she’d be considered a risk through no fault of her own other than naïvety.
In an attempt to escape the past she’d thrown everything into her career. She’d clawed her way through her course with high distinctions, finding solace in restoring older houses to their former glory. She’d decorated new houses to offset the wonderful designs that came across her desk, using to advantage every colour, every fabric and drape to make a lasting impression. Now all her hard work was going to go to waste unless she agreed to one small condition. Not so small, she reminded herself. Not small at all.
‘Cara?’
She looked up at him once more, her throat tight with emotion.
‘Could…could I see the house first?’
His brow furrowed into an even deeper frown.
‘Why?’
She swallowed the restriction in her throat before answering.
‘I’d like to see the house, that’s all.’
‘So you can weigh up the benefits?’ His voice was hard with cynicism.
She turned away from the dark glitter of his eyes.
‘I no longer make hasty, emotionally driven decisions,’ she said in a cold, detached tone. ‘I like to see things from several angles first.’
‘Wise of you,’ he commented, watching her closely.
She schooled her features into impassivity and reached for her handbag.
‘Shall we go?’
The house was huge. Cara took a deep breath as Byron opened the front door and she stepped into the large foyer before him. A magnificent wrought-iron balustrade staircase swept the path of her eye upwards to the landing above where bright sunlight shafted through tall windows. The creamy marble floors in the living areas were interspersed with a toning plush crème carpet, creating added warmth.
She so wanted to do this house! It had an atmosphere like no other she’d ever been in.
‘What do you think?’ Byron spoke from behind her right shoulder.
She turned to face him, her eyes wide and expressive.
‘It’s…breathtaking.’
‘Come and look at the view,’ he said, leading her to the nearest window overlooking Neutral Bay.
She looked down on to the marina, beyond that to Kirribilli, and watched as the sunlight caught the mast of a passing yacht.
‘From the master bedroom you can see Shell Cove,’ he said into the silence.
‘It’s lovely, Byron.’ She turned to him once more. ‘It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.’
‘Praise indeed.’
She couldn’t distinguish his tone. His expression was masked, as if he didn’t want her to see what he was really thinking. She looked into his eyes, looking for reassurance. She found none. His eyes were like cold, deep pools—unfathomable, unreachable.
She moved away from the window and stepped down into the sunken lounge, her footsteps echoing along the floor. A large open fireplace took up almost one wall, and she imagined cosy evenings curled up on comfortable leather sofas, watching the flickering flames.
She was startled out of her reverie by the sound of Byron’s approach. She swung away from the fireplace and headed for the kitchen, uncomfortable with being in the same room as him for too long.
‘The kitchen, as you can see, has already been decorated.’ Byron spoke from his leaning position against the doorframe.
‘It’s very nice,’ she offered, running a hand across the black gleam of the granite countertop.
Stainless steel appliances added to the modern effect, and she knew she would have chosen exactly the same. She wondered if he’d chosen the design himself, or if perhaps his sister Felicity had helped him.
‘I thought it would be best to get a head start on this. You can choose the colours for the rest of the house—the carpets and furniture and drapes and so on. Do whatever you think. I won’t balk at the price.’
Cara’s hand fell away from the smooth countertop as he stepped towards her.
‘Byron, I—’
He cut off her speech with a long lean finger pressed gently but firmly against the soft swell of her lips.
‘No, Cara,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t want to hear your final decision yet.’
Her eyes communicated her distress.
‘You haven’t made up your mind, I can tell,’ he continued, his dark eyes never once leaving her face. ‘But you’re sorely tempted—aren’t you, Cara?’
She tried to shake her head, but couldn’t move under the caress of his finger, tracing the line of her bottom lip on a path of rediscovery that sent tremors of feeling to her curling toes and back.
‘You want the house but you haven’t quite made up your mind about all that comes with it, have you?’
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.
‘I’ll
