up into his eyes, the flecks glowing cobalt, she knew there was only one answer she could give him: the sensible one.
He dropped his hands as she nodded slowly. ‘Okay. Thanks for the offer.’
She could have sworn he sagged with relief, and the depth of his caring struck her anew.
‘Great. Ready to go?’
‘Actually, I need to finalise some stuff before tomorrow, so why don’t you go ahead, and I’ll swing past your place later?’
‘No, I’ll wait.’
She laid a hand on his arm, hoping to convey her thanks at his chivalry. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s still early. There are people everywhere, and I’ll be sure to leave before dark.’
His gaze flickered to her hand, shaded and inscrutable, before slowly rising to meet hers. ‘You sure?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
Indecision warred with stubbornness across his face as she squeezed his arm. ‘Go. I promise I won’t be long behind you.’
After a long moment, he covered her hand with his. ‘Ring me if you need someone to walk you out of here, okay?’
Smiling at his overprotectiveness, and feeling suitably warm and fuzzy because of it, she said, ‘Okay.’
‘I live in the Eureka Towers on Southbank. Apartment 8801. I’ll buzz you up when you get there. Take care.’
Dropping an all-too-brief kiss on her cheek, he sent her a half-salute and walked away, leaving her with the craziest urge to run after him.
CHAPTER FOUR
CAMRYN stared at the elevator buttons in confusion.
‘This can’t be right,’ she thought, wondering if she should pop out to the doorman and ask him to re-buzz Blane and double-check.
According to the fancy engraved writing above the gold buttons there was only one apartment, 8801, on the entire eighty-eighth floor of the swanky Eureka Towers. Only one? Considering the building was ninety-two storeys, and the eighty-eighth was the highest anyone could access, she’d hazard a guess Blane lived in the penthouse.
A penthouse which covered a whole floor?
Shaking her head in disbelief, she hit the button for 8801 and backed against the rear of the elevator, finding small comfort in the feel of hard, cold, gold-plated steel panels at her back, while her startled reflection stared back at her from surrounding mirrored glass.
Either he made an absolute fortune out of building or he was house-sitting for someone. And if so, he certainly moved in higher circles than she did.
She vaguely remembered the publicity surrounding the Towers when it first opened, about it being the tallest residential tower in the world and a penthouse costing around seven million dollars. The figure alone made her feel faint, exacerbated by the nine-second ride to the eighty-eighth floor.
Blinking as the doors soundlessly slid open, she stepped out, pulling a small wheelie suitcase, and caught her breath at the pale-gold carpets embossed with cream swirls, the filigree around the down-lights and the incredibly detailed cornices.
This place was stunning, and she hadn’t even made it into his apartment yet.
Pressing the doorbell, she smoothed her skirt, her belly churning with nerves.
It had nothing to do with this place and everything to do with the man about to open the door, a man she couldn’t stop thinking about, a man with the potential to distract her from her number one goal: to make the Niche the best café in Melbourne.
She didn’t do distractions.
She couldn’t afford to.
Her success in the city was the only thing that kept the loneliness demons away, kept her focused enough to not lament the loss of her husband, a possible baby and a family that had betrayed her trust in them.
As the door swung open, she fixed a smile on her face and forced her hands to her sides. If she smoothed her skirt any more it would look as if she’d spent the last hour ironing. And it was bad enough she’d decided to change without him thinking she’d gone overboard.
‘Hey, Cam. Come on in.’
Easy for him to say. How was a girl supposed to walk when her knees started shaking the moment she caught sight of him in sand-coloured chinos, casual white shirt and barefoot, looking laid-back and slightly mussed and sexy all at the same time.
Willing her knees to behave—lock, lift, flex—she walked past him, his fresh-from-the-shower scent not playing fair with her poor wobbly legs.
‘Nice place. Though kind of small, isn’t it?’
He chuckled, took her suitcase, propped it near the door and propelled her into the monstrous lounge area with a gentle hand in her back, an innocuous touch that had no right playing havoc with her body.
‘I like my space.’
‘It’s yours?’
She stopped at the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, her breath catching at the incredible view of Melbourne and its surrounds spread out like a fairy-tale city in the dusk.
‘Yeah, I bought it off the plan when they were building this place.’
With a superhuman effort she bit her tongue to stop from blurting what she was thinking: how could he afford a place like this?
Instead, she focused on identifying landmarks, taking in the sweeping vista from the Blue Dandenongs mountain range to Port Phillip Bay, from the beautiful Botanical Gardens laid out like a lush green carpet to the sparkling waters of Albert Park Lake.
And she thought she had great views in her tenth-storey Docklands apartment!
‘You’re curious, aren’t you?’
‘About?’ she returned pseudo-casually.
Gesturing to a Chippendale sofa for her to take a seat, he smiled. ‘About this place.’
Sinking into the deep leather, she crossed her legs, grateful she’d gone with the mid-calf pencil skirt and not her favourite above-the-knee mini which she always slipped into after work.
‘I’m a little intrigued,’ she admitted.
Taking a seat next to her, he rested his arm across the back and leaned towards her.
‘With me or my place?’
Overwhelmed by his nearness, she took a deep breath, his aftershave filtering through her senses, the intoxicating scent of pure Blane encouraging her to bridge the short gap between them and bury her nose in the crook of his neck. Right on the tempting spot where his collar rested against his neck, where his impressive tan dipped away to broad shoulders covered in cotton, the sensitive spot she knew for a fact would drive him wild if she nipped
