a stealthy airborne virus, recently the helpless female factor had followed him into more intimate relationships. Up-and-coming lingerie model Priscilla Lawson had seemed independent and resourceful when they’d met at that charity dinner. After three weeks together, their liaison had warmed up nicely, until Priscilla had tickled his chin one night and mentioned her family reunion… Would he mind booking her flight to Melbourne and, while she was gone, clean her pool and take her cat to its monthly check-up? It had liver problems.
His upper lip twitched.
He did not do cats.
But damn, he sure had liked that Rottweiler pup.
He was a busy man. His work was his life. However, while he had close associates at the firm as well as friends he knocked about with on weekends when he could spare the time, he’d wanted someone to come home to. Someone male who could watch football without a moan, not complain if he put his feet on the coffee table, who didn’t flutter eyelashes or resort to tears to get their own way. Someone who didn’t demand much time or emotion.
He gazed at his goggle-eyed companion.
A goldfish qualified.
The doorbell rang, echoing through the contemporary two-storey that enjoyed a privileged view of Sydney’s magnificent harbour. Mitch rolled the tension from his shoulders, then stabbed a finger at Kami. ‘Don’t move a fin till I get back.’
He opened the door and there she stood, looking unaffected and fresh, one long leg pegged out in those bun-hugging jeans, conspicuously busty in her white T-shirt with the pink swirly logo that said Great and Small. If forced to vote, he would go with Great rather than Small. In fact, she looked pretty darn hot—
Mitch slammed on the mental brakes.
Sweet blazes, what was he doing? Visualising this woman naked wasn’t going to help. In fact, it was highly inappropriate for more reasons than one.
Think ‘fish’, Mitch. Think ‘through with females’.
Clearing his throat, he gestured her in. ‘Thanks for coming so quickly. He’s over here.’
In the dining room, Vanessa Craig set her hands on her knees and inspected the patient while Mitch stood back, eager for a diagnosis. When the examination went on and her left knee bent more, which meant her right hip hitched up, he scowled and scrubbed his jaw. If she’d done that on purpose, he didn’t need the aggravation.
Finally she straightened, one hand on her lower back as she arched to stretch out her spine. Although Great jumped out at him, Mitch kept his eyes fixed firmly on hers.
Her question was sombre. ‘When was the last time he jumped?’
‘Just before you arrived.’
‘Before that?’
‘Ten minutes ago.’
Pensive, she stroked her chin. ‘Could be he’s still settling in.’
‘Or tomorrow morning I could wake up and—’
Ack. He didn’t want to think about it.
She crossed her arms. The letters G and T met at her cleavage. Not that he was looking. Same way he wasn’t looking when she nibbled her lip and searched for an answer. Her mouth was naturally pink and very full. The highly kissable kind with delicate dimples on either side, as he’d already noted with some consternation earlier today.
‘What if we try a bigger tank?’ she suggested.
Mitch blinked back to the immediate problem. Increased volume equalled decreased risk, which added up to no dead fish in the morning. ‘I like that plan.’
She moved towards the door. ‘Good. I brought one with me. It’s outside on your portico.’
Giving in to a smile, he followed. Clearly Vanessa Craig was intelligent, helpful, prompt as well as prepared. She was also a professional with her own business. Did her profit and loss sheets balance? Of course he was well aware trouble was not a gender specific trait. However, for too long now, it sure-as-Jack seemed that way.
He assisted Vanessa in with the larger tank and a few minutes later it was filled with the neutralising drops doing their work.
Hooking up the filter, she nodded almost shyly at the portrait on the wall. ‘Is that your family?’
His chest constricted with a familiar sense of fondness tinged with regret. The photo featured his tall, lean father sitting on a red chaise longue surrounded by his wife, their four girls and only son.
His hand slid along the rim of the tank. ‘My father passed away not long after that shot was taken.’ Only days before Mitch’s fifteenth birthday.
When she flicked on the filter, her hand accidentally brushed his. His heartbeat kicked as a live current spiralled up the cords of his arm to his shoulder, much the same heat-generating sensation that had claimed him this afternoon when they’d touched. Instantaneous and perilously pleasant.
Their eyes met—hers filled with perception as well as surprise before she dropped her gaze and edged a little away. ‘I’m sorry…about your dad.’
Setting his thoughts straight, Mitch collected his trusty net. ‘He was a good but old-fashioned man. A firm believer in tough love.’
Her mouth thinned. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child?’
‘Not at all. But, in our house, actions had consequences.’ How many talks about responsibility and putting those you cared about before yourself had he listened to? ‘We were loved, but you didn’t get away with much. In return, he gave us his undivided attention when we needed it.’
Her green eyes took on a sheen, reminding him of the leaves on the pavement this morning when he’d decided to get himself that pet.
‘You must all miss him very much,’ Vanessa said.
He nodded. Every day.
What would his father have done about the current family dilemma? Last night, Cynthia, the youngest at twenty-two, had announced her engagement to the sleaze ball of all time. Their showboating mother had crowed with joy, which had surprised him. Sleaze Ball might be a doctor but he was also a notorious gambler.
How on earth could he protect people who jumped feet first into disaster, tittering prettily as they fell into the abyss?
Groaning, he swirled the new water with the net.
Guess he’d sort something out. Or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe this time would be the time he let the women sort it out themselves. He couldn’t very well tell his sister who to marry, though he’d certainly like to tell her who not to.
Mitch stole a glance at his comely visitor as a gentle reflection from the water danced over her face. Did Vanessa Craig hold high expectations on the business front, or was she focused more on personal matters, like landing a good catch? Seemed his sisters could think of little other than having babies. What was the hurry? He was in no hurry at all.
He
