wrote romance. She’d be a sentimental believer in happy-ever-after who deserved flowers—hell, she even painted them—and love tokens. She’d want commitment, and would no doubt one day be a devoted wife and mother.
He might fantasise about her, might desire her, but the pitfalls of sexual entanglement had taught him to maintain control. Whatever feelings she aroused now, they would pass once they’d parted company.
She sipped her wine and made a lingering survey of the room, before facing him with enigmatic features. Not one to open up willingly to someone she didn’t know. He waited patiently. As things stood now, his literary career wouldn’t be taking off any time soon.
‘Poems and short stories since childhood—most of the earlier ones consigned to the recycling bin. A computer file of thirty thousand-word partial manuscripts with varying degrees of potential, plus this finished one.’
‘Which Brian deems in need of drastic revision?’
‘Ditto, Mr Thornton. Is this your first effort, or are there others waiting for your help too?’
She gave a sudden stunning smile that tripped his pulse, shaking his composure.
She rattled it even more when she added, with unerring accuracy, ‘No, you’d see any project through to the bitter end before starting another.’ Leaving him speechless.
He scooped out the last oyster, trying to fathom why a woman so dissimilar from those who usually attracted him was pressing his buttons with such ease. Down to earth rather than sophisticated, she had that indefinable something he couldn’t identify.
Shelving it to the back of his mind, he pushed the tray of empty shells aside. ‘Point conceded. And the name’s Nate. Unless you’re trying to maintain a barrier between us?’
The soft flush of colour over her cheeks proved he was right. His own rush of guilt proved that his conscience knew his curtness was partly to blame.
He drained his wine glass, set it down, and thanked the waitress who cleared away the dishes. A new topic seemed appropriate.
‘How well do you know Brian?’
* * *
Jemma blinked as he switched topic again. This was almost like speed-dating—which she’d never tried, but she knew women who’d described it. Except she and Nate weren’t changing partners, and she definitely wasn’t in the market for one.
‘Mostly by email, but I trust him. He read my novel, then when I came to Sydney in December we met in his office. Not my happiest encounter ever, as he gave me an honest, concise appraisal of my writing proficiency. Unlike you, my inept storyline passages way outnumber the good scenes. You?’
‘Similar scenario. You’re not bothered that agreeing to his proposal means putting your novel on hold while you work on someone else’s?’
‘No, I’m dumbfounded by the offer, terrified of the implications if I fail, and thrilled that he believes I’m worthy of being part of something he seems keen to see published. If you’re as good as he’s implied, adapting those scenes yet keeping them true to your characters and story will be beneficial for my career too.’
‘Hmm.’
He appeared to be considering her declaration as their mains were served, pepper offered and accepted by Nate, and their wine glasses refilled. She waited for him to continue, but instead he began to eat.
The fish was delicious, and her mmm of pleasure slipped out. Glancing up, she found Nate watching her with a sombre expression.
‘How does this chef’s barramundi compare to your mother’s?’
‘As good as—though I’d never tell her. It’s different, and I can’t pick why. I prefer the natural taste of food, so I don’t use many herbs and spices and I can’t always identify their flavour. How’s your salmon?’
She hoped her answer would satisfy him, and save her from having to admit that her limited cooking knowledge came from her aunt and recipe books, because her parents claimed they didn’t have time to teach her.
‘Up to the usual excellent standard. I’ve never had a meal here that wasn’t.’
They ate in silence for a few minutes, with Jemma wishing she had her sister’s gift to attract and charm people of any age. Apart from when she was with close friends Jemma hid behind a façade of friendly courtesy. Though she had her moments when she couldn’t hold back—like when someone irked her as he had a few times. Or when her curiosity was aroused. Like now.
‘How do you make a living while you’re waiting for the book sale royalties to come flooding in?’
Nate’s head jerked up, his face a picture of astonishment. Instead of the comeback she’d assumed he’d give, he chuckled, and the deep sound wrapped around her, making her yearn for a time when trust had come easy.
‘I’ll let you know when they do and we’ll celebrate.’
The memory of a similar pledge slammed through her, taking her breath away and freezing her blood.
I’m expecting good news. When it comes we’ll have a special celebration.
Two days later she’d found out that the man she’d believed loved her and intended to propose was sleeping with a female colleague to gain promotion. He’d even gone to meet her after taking Jemma home that night.
‘Jemma, are you all right?’
She shook her head, dragged in air and looked into concerned grey eyes.
‘You’re white as a ghost.’
‘The ghost of a bad memory. Best forgotten.’ She managed a smile and he relaxed into his seat, keeping watch on her pale face. ‘Truly, I’m fine.’
‘I’m not so sure, but...’
He let out a very masculine grunt and she was totally back in the now, reaching for her wine, sipping it as he gave her a serious answer.
‘I was a reporter. Now I’m an investment advisor.’
‘A good one?’
‘Good enough to pay the bills.’
Jemma pondered on his succinct job description. She could visualise him investigating a story, chasing information to find the truth, but the switch to an office job didn’t gel.
‘Why the career move?’
She watched his chest expand under the tan sweater, hold then contract. He seemed to be deliberately assessing how much to disclose. Preparing to keep secrets and lie like her ex?
‘Things happen and you make choices. My gap year—travelling in Europe with a friend after we graduated from uni—became a rite of passage lasting seven years that made me who I am now.’
She empathised, and was convinced his matter-of-fact tone belied his true feelings. Her parents selling their house—her home—to invest in a restaurant, and her ex’s betrayal were the two events that had forced her
