at her eyes again. ‘Damn waterworks. You’ve set me off again.’
Lucy sniffled. ‘Dry your eyes. I have a hankering for your signature lemon tart when I return so start baking.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see a man about a plan.’
And a garden.
And a pact that would see her pose as Cash Burgess’s girlfriend for a long seven days.
Desperate times indeed.
THREE
Lucy spied Cash sitting on the back patio the moment she rounded the side of the house.
He had a stack of manila folders scattered on the table, an open laptop and a mobile phone. But he wasn’t working. Instead, he stared into space, a frown grooving his brows.
Gone was the über-confident air he wore like the finest designer suit. He looked like a guy with mega problems.
She knew the feeling.
Even now, thirty minutes later, she was still reeling from the news of her grandfather’s gambling addiction.
Not once had she suspected he had a problem. He’d worked hard his entire life at the local paper-mill factory, had given her and Gram a secure home, food on the table and the occasional holiday to Sydney.
Hers hadn’t been a Spartan upbringing but they hadn’t been flush with cash either. She wondered later, after her marriage went pear-shaped, if that had been a major attraction with Adrian. Not that she married him for his money. In fact, she hadn’t known the extent of his wealth until they’d been dating a few months and by then she was head over heels. But the money had been a welcome bonus after her frugal family life.
After he’d retired Pops had played lawn bowls, hung out at the pub with his mates to watch the horse racing on a Saturday arvo and gone into town weekly for lunch with his poker club.
Now, those outings took on a whole new meaning. Rather than having a beer with his cronies, he’d probably been gambling heavily, losing his hard-earned savings, then borrowing on the house he’d paid off years earlier.
Poor Gram. Lucy admired her resilience. And her pride. She didn’t blame Gram for not wanting to move in with her. The small outer-city weatherboard house she’d bought after the divorce was cosy on a good day. She loved its quaintness and what the house lacked in size, the garden more than made up for.
It had been the major attraction when she’d been house hunting and she’d fallen in love with the English cottage garden gone wild and the massive veggie patch.
The house could’ve been a shack for all she cared once she’d seen the garden but, thankfully, the Californian-bungalow-styled house was perfect for her needs.
Having Gram sell her house and move in had seemed like the only option at the time when she’d heard of her grandfather’s treachery.
But there was another solution to Gram’s financial woes and Lucy was looking straight at him.
She bounded up the steps, intent on being friendlier. Because if Cash had found a replacement fake girlfriend in the last half-hour, she was screwed.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but do you have a minute?’
He glanced at her hands and raised an eyebrow. ‘No unspoken castration threats via gardening tools this time?’
‘My idea of a joke,’ she said, sitting in the wrought-iron chair opposite without waiting to be asked. ‘Probably a touch of sunstroke. Gardeners’ occupational hazard.’
The corners of his mouth eased into a smile that slugged her to the gut. ‘But it’s cloudy today.’
She smiled at him in return. ‘Can’t you give a girl a break?’
‘I will if you do that more often.’ He leaned forward and traced her mouth, his fingertip doing crazy things to her insides.
Considering they had to fake it for the next week, her reaction to the charmer? Not good.
She leaned back, out of touching reach. ‘Trust me, I’ll be all smiles if I’m your girlfriend for the week.’
His eyebrows shot up so fast she laughed.
‘Yeah, I changed my mind.’ She held up a finger. ‘With one stipulation. Your garden quote increases to fifty grand.’
His eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘For that price I could hire every PR firm on the eastern seaboard to make me look good.’
‘Yeah, but you wouldn’t have an amazing garden at the end of it or have me on your arm playing the devoted girlfriend doing whatever I’m supposed to be doing.’
She made it sound like an offer too good to refuse when in fact she’d be getting a lot more out of this bizarre arrangement than him.
Payment for the garden refurbishment would clear Gram’s debt and keep her cottage safe, while the huge boost to her profile in the landscaping business would ensure other wealthy clients would hire her. And that in turn would enable her to set up a healthy nest egg so Gram could see out her days in peace.
Gram deserved that safety net, after raising her.
He continued to study her, coolly assessing. ‘What made you change your mind?’
‘Would you believe a woman’s prerogative?’
‘No.’
‘I need the money.’ A half-truth that would have to suffice. She didn’t know Cash Burgess—had no intention of getting to know him. Theirs was a mutually beneficial business arrangement. End of story.
The fact she was a teensy-weensy bit attracted to him? Irrelevant. Besides, she had little doubt that spending a week in his obnoxiously superior company would cure her of that.
After what felt like an eternity, where he seemed to study every freckle on her nose, he nodded. ‘You pose as my girlfriend for a week. Attend a few PR functions. Boost my profile. No romantic entanglement whatsoever. And I’ll pay you fifty grand to remodel my garden. Deal?’
He held out his hand and she shook it. ‘Deal.’
But rather than let go of her hand, Cash held it firmly, tugged hard, and pulled her half across the table to meet his lips.
This was so not part of the plan.
* * *
Damn. Cash had wanted to rattle Lucy’s customary cool exterior. Had wanted to see if he could get a reaction out of her other than a smart-ass comeback.
The impulsive kiss had been about making a dent in her impenetrable armour.
It hadn’t been about making him want more, to the point where he could easily have devoured her.
He’d expected a rough shove away
