think I could manage not to ask that.’ That would be like her mum painting, or Auntie Edie working with her pottery, and Lally demanding an account of the time they’d spent.
Lally cast another glance at Cameron Travers. He shared her dark hair, though his was short and didn’t grow in waves, unlike her own corkscrew curls that flowed halfway down her back.
He had lightly tanned skin, and ‘come lose yourself in me’ eyes; now that she looked closely she saw very permanent-looking smudges beneath those beautiful eyes.
So, the man had a flaw in his appeal. He wasn’t totally stunning and irresistible to look at.
If you could call looking weary a flaw. ‘Will I be helping you to get more rest?’ That hadn’t exactly come out as she’d intended. ‘That is, I don’t mean to suggest I’ll be boring you to sleep at the dinner table or something.’ He probably had a girlfriend to fuss over him anyway. Or maybe one tucked in every port, just like Sam had.
Well, Sam had had a wife.
And Lally.
She was not going there.
Sam was a topic Lally rarely allowed to climb all the way to the surface of her thoughts. It annoyed her that it had happened now—twice, really, if she counted that earlier memory of the mess she’d made of her life, and several others in the process.
Lally stiffened her spine and firmed her full lips into what she hoped was a very businesslike expression. ‘I’ll help you in any way that I can. It’s just that you look a bit exhausted. That’s why I asked the question.’
‘Your help would allow me to focus my energy where I need to.’ His gaze searched hers. ‘That would be as good as helping me to get more rest. I don’t sleep much.
‘Now, are you ready to toss the sand-bundle overboard for me? It’s quite a few kilos in weight. I do need a woman to throw it, as the “passenger” in the boat, but I hadn’t stopped to think…’ He hesitated and his gaze took in Lally’s slender frame.
‘I can manage it.’ Lally flicked her hair over her shoulder where it wouldn’t get in her way.
She might be slender but she was five-foot-seven inches in height and she had plenty of strength. If she could lift her nieces, nephews and little cousins of various sizes and ages, she could toss a packet of sand. ‘Any time you’re ready. Shall I stand and drop it like a bomb—hurl it from a sitting position? Do you want a plop or a splash, water spraying back into the boat?’
‘Hurling would be fine, thank you. Preferably far enough out that we don’t get drenched in the process.’ Did Cameron’s lips go from a twitch to a half-concealed grin? ‘I think you should be able to throw the packet from a standing position, if we’re careful. I do want to try that.’
He clasped her hand to help her come upright, and there went her resolve not to notice him in the slide of warm, dry skin over her palm, in the clasp of strong fingers curled around her hand.
Lally braced her feet and gave a slight cough. ‘I’m, eh, I’m fine now, thanks. I have my balance. You can let go.’
He did so and she stifled a reaction that felt as much like disappointment as relief. It was neither, of course, because she wasn’t fazed one way or the other by his touch.
Really, how could the clasp of a hand for a couple of seconds, a down-bent gaze as he helped her up, a curve of a male cheek and the view of a dark-haired head, make her heart beat faster?
How could his gaze looking right into her eyes, and his expression focusing with utter totality on her for one brief blink in time, make her feel attractive to him, for Pete’s sake?
Trust me, Lally, you are not necessary to his very ability to breathe. You’re looking like a solid possibility as a temporary employee, maybe, but the rest?
‘Ready?’ Cameron met her gaze with raised brows.
Lally uttered, ‘Yes.’
He put the packet into her hands. It was heavy, but she invested all her effort into tossing it.
It landed several feet away with a satisfying splash and she eased back into her seat while Cameron’s eyes narrowed. He mentally cata-logued the impact—the upward splash of water droplets, water rippling out, the way the mist seemed to swallow everything just moments after it happened.
Lally watched Cameron, then realised what she was doing and abruptly looked away.
‘Thank you. At least I know now that with two in the boat, even if he’s otherwise occupied, she can toss the package over without drawing too much attention.’ He stopped and smiled. ‘Now that we’ve taken care of my research, tell me about your previous work-experience.’ Cameron’s words drew her gaze back to his face.
And put everything back in to perspective as an interview, which was of course exactly what Lally wanted.
‘You don’t need to make notes?’ Well, obviously he didn’t, or he would be doing so. She waved away the silly question. ‘I’ve worked for the past six years for my extended family, doing all kinds of things: housekeeping, bookkeeping and cooking. I’ve been a waitress at my father’s restaurant, Due per. It’s small, but the place is always packed with diners.
‘I’ve worked at my uncle’s fresh-produce store, and another relative’s fishing-tackle shop. My mother, several of her sisters and a couple of brothers are all Aboriginal and Torres Strait artists of one description or another. I’ve helped them at times, too, plus I’ve done nanny duties for my three sisters, and my brother and his wife.’
Lally drew a breath. ‘I’ve travelled with Mum on painting expeditions. Anything the family’s needed from me, I’ve done.’ Except she had avoided Mum and Auntie Edie’s attempts to get her to paint. Lally somehow hadn’t felt ready for that, but that wasn’t the point.
She fished in the deep orange, crushed-velour shoulder-bag she’d tucked beneath her seat and pulled out her references. Lally fingered the threeinch thick wad of assorted papers. ‘I gave the employment agency three, but these are the rest. I have everything here that you might want to see in relation to my work experience.’
A hint of warmth crept into Lally’s high cheeks. ‘I probably didn’t need to bring all of them.’ But how could she have cut it down to just a few, chosen just some of them over the others?
‘Better too many than not enough. May I see?’ He held out one lean hand and Lally placed the papers into it.
Their fingers brushed as they made the exchange. One part of her wanted to prolong the contact, another worried that he’d know the impact his touch had on her. The same thing had happened when he’d helped her into the boat this morning.
Cameron flicked through the pages, stopping here and there to read right through. Aunt Judith had written her reference on an indigenous-art letterhead and added a postscript: Latitia needs to pursue art in her personal time before she gets a lot older. At least Aunt Judith hadn’t labelled the reference with ‘B-’. That was what Lally got for having an aunt who’d been a schoolteacher before she left work to paint full-time.
Cameron’s mouth definitely quirked at one corner as he read Aunt Judith’s
