her concentration on work the next day. It made her acutely aware of every physical aspect of the man, especially his mouth and his hands. Even the cologne he wore—a subtle, sexy scent—was an insidious distraction, despite its being the same cologne he always wore. It didn’t matter how sternly she berated herself for imagining him in Steve’s place, the fantasy kept popping into her head, gathering more and more attractive detail.
It was terribly disconcerting. Thankfully, Jake didn’t notice how super-conscious she was of him. He seemed totally tied up with business, not even tossing her teasing remarks. Certainly there was no allusion to any wish to race her off and make mad passionate love, nor any suggestion it was on his mind.
Amy hoped her stupid boast to Brooke Mitchell would never reach his ears. Not that she’d meant it. It was purely a reaction to circumstances, not a real desire. She knew better than to actually want Jake Carter in her bed. In the flesh.
The only personal conversation came at the end of the day as she was preparing to leave. Jake stood in the doorway between their offices, watching her clear her desk. “Are you holding up okay, Amy?” he asked quietly.
She flushed at the question. “I am not suicidal!” she snapped, the conversation with Brooke all too fresh in her mind, plus everything else that had flowed from it.
Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “The thought never entered my mind.”
“Then why ask?” she demanded, dying at the thought he’d noticed how jumpy she was around him.
His mouth quirked. “Guess you’ve already had wellmeaning friends nattering in your ear.”
“You could say that.”
“Do you still plan to move house on Saturday?”
“Absolutely. Saturday can’t come fast enough.”
The quirk grew into a grin that seemed to say That’s my girl! and Amy’s heart pumped a wild stream of pleasure through her body, spreading a warm, tingly feeling.
“You seemed rather unsettled today,” he remarked with a shrug. “It made me wonder if there was too much on your plate. Moving can be a hassle if you intend to do it without the help of well-meaning friends.”
“I’ve got it all lined up,” she informed him, although it wasn’t quite true. She had spent the lunch hour on the telephone, organising what she could.
“Fine! If you need some time off, just ask. If there’s anything I can do to facilitate the resettling process…”
“Thanks, Jake.” She smiled, relieved he’d put her edginess down to her emotional state over Steve. “I think I can manage but I’ll let you know if I need some time off.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied. “One other thing, Amy. You know we’ve sent out brochures and invitations to the New Year’s Eve cruise on Free Spirit.”
“Yes.” The magnificent yacht came instantly to mind, pure luxury on water. The cruise, which would feature the fireworks display over the harbour on New Year’s Eve, had a guest list of potential clients, all of whom could be interested in chartering the yacht for either business or pleasure. As Jake had it planned, New Year’s Eve was the perfect showcase for Free Spirit.
“Well, if you’re not tied up that evening, I’d really appreciate your hostessing for me on the yacht. I know it’s work on a holiday night, but you would get a frontline view of the fireworks and they’re supposed to be the best ever.”
Amy barely heard his last words. Her mind was stuck on not tied up. Steve would certainly be tied up. It was his wedding night. He and his blonde bride would be…
“I’ll be happy to hostess for you,” she rushed out, welcoming any distraction from those thoughts and the curdling that had started in her stomach.
“Thanks, Amy. It should be a most productive evening.”
No, it won’t, she thought. The production was already in place. The only difference would be the wedding rings, holding it together.
“And a fun time, as well,” Jake went on.
Fun! Well, she could always fall overboard and drown herself. Except she wasn’t suicidal.
“You can count on me,” she said dully.
“Good!” He gave her a casual salute. “Happy packing.”
It was more a case of ruthless packing, than happy. In sorting through the contents of drawers, Amy discovered Steve had left behind all the photographs of their life together, as well as mementos from their skiing trips and seaside vacations. She threw them out. Threw out the clothes that reminded her of special occasions, too. If he could walk away from it all, so could she.
When tears occasionally fell over silly, sentimental things, she dashed them away, determined on not faltering in her resolution. It occurred to her that death would be easier to accept than betrayal. At least you were allowed to keep good memories when someone died, but all her memories of Steve were tainted now. She could never again feel good about him. Best to let him go. Let the hurt go, too.
Unfortunately, however hard she worked at achieving that end, she couldn’t make the awful sense of aloneness go. Even the strong connection she felt with Jake Carter was not enough to dispel it. That couldn’t be allowed to progress to real intimacy, so the pleasure of it was always mixed with a sense of frustration. Which added to her feeling of defeat, as though she was fated to be drawn to men who would never ultimately satisfy her.
She welcomed the weekend, eager for the move to Balmoral and the change it would bring to her life. No one except Jake knew about it. Easier to cut her losses, she’d argued to herself. Those who might try to contact her were all connected to Steve and she guessed that any caring interest would quickly fade once she was completely out of the picture. In any event, it was better for her to move on.
She did not regret walking out of the Bondi apartment for the last time on Saturday morning. It was a glorious summer day, an appropriate omen to leave gloom behind and fly off to the wide blue yonder. She smiled over her use of Jake’s company name. It did have a great ring to it, promising an adventure that obliterated the greyness of ordinary day-to-day life.
As she followed the removalist’s van across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, her spirits were buoyed by the sense of going somewhere new and exciting, and when she arrived at Balmoral, it was every bit as lovely as she remembered it. So was the apartment.
She did, however, have an odd sense of de´jà vu on looking into the master bedroom. The new carpet was turquoise, almost the exact shade as used in the offices at Milsons Point. Then she realised the paintwork was similar, too. It felt uncanny for a moment, almost as if Jake had left the imprint of his personality here. But the colours were easy to live with and an attractive combination. Anyone could have chosen them.
Having already planned where to place her furniture, Amy was able to direct the removalist men efficiently. They came and went in very short time. She spent the rest of the day, unpacking suitcases and boxes, exulting over how much space she had in cupboards and arranging everything to please herself.
When she was finally done, fatigue set in, draining her of the excitement that had kept her fired with energy. She was here, old shackles cut, bridge
