Unlocking The Millionaire's Heart. Bella BucannonЧитать онлайн книгу.
holiday to inspire a romance novel? Maybe one day she’d take one.
A brochure she’d picked up on the way showed it wasn’t far from here to the historic Rocks area. If she hadn’t heard from Nate by the time she’d explored the old buildings she’d catch the next train to North Ryde.
* * *
Did he like Jemma? Way too much. Nate had kept his emotions under tight restraint since he’d narrowly escaped being duped into a sham marriage, but he’d had trouble curbing them around her. She’d had doubts concerning him on sight, which had him wondering who he reminded her of.
Did he trust her? Not yet. Experience in dealing with the darker side of life had taught him that trust had to be earned rather than given freely.
Did he want her? His body’s response to any thought of her gave him an instant reply. But that didn’t mean he’d follow through.
Mental arguments for and against dual authorship had got him nowhere, and he was still uncommitted as he reached the waterside. Swinging left, he took the steps leading up to the bridge walkway. After skirting a group of photo-snapping tourists, he took a deep breath of salty air and began to run.
He maintained a steady pace until he reached the apartment block at North Sydney. His grandfather had bequeathed a twenty-third-storey unit jointly to him, Sam and Alice, and all three of them had lived there, alone or together, at various times. It was always available for family and friends when they came to the city.
A long, refreshing shower cooled his body, but didn’t clear his mind. Dressed in fresh clothes, and with a stubby of cold beer in his hand, he stood on the balcony, staring at the buildings around him. Not far away by foot was the office block housing the family brokerage firm, which had offered him a lucrative job for life.
Far away up in the mountains was the home he’d designed, with an architect’s help, to suit the lifestyle he planned to live. Mostly solitary, with occasional guests, pleasing only himself. Closing his eyes, he pictured the view as he woke in the morning, ate his meals and chilled out in the evenings. And in that instant his decision was made.
Somewhere in the thriving metropolis across the bay was the woman Brian believed could help him realise literary success. All he had to do was have faith and stay in command of his libido.
But before he committed to a trial partnership he needed to reinforce the life oath he’d made years ago, during the lowest point of his life. He took the dog-eared leather notebook he always travelled with, flipped it open to a coded page, and read the vow he’d made never to get involved out loud.
Then he phoned Jemma Harrison.
It took three rings for her to answer, and he heard traffic and the rattle of a train in the background.
‘Hi, Jemma, where are you?’
‘Taking photos from the Harbour Bridge.’
He surprised himself with a spontaneous burst of laughter.
‘What’s so funny?’ There was a spike in her voice, though she didn’t sound offended.
‘I ran over it on the way here. Which end are you nearest?’
‘Um... I guess I’m about a third of the way along from the quay.’
‘Keep coming north. Don’t rush. I’ll meet you at the steps going down to the road. We can sit in the park nearby. Would you like me to bring you a hot or cold drink?’
‘No, thanks. I have a bottle of water.’
‘Okay, see you soon.’
He grimaced at the screen after disconnecting, and then went to put on socks and sneakers. Having his pulse hiking and his mouth drying, even his palms itching, was something he might have to become accustomed to if they were going to be in regular communication.
Anticipation of seeing her had him moving faster than normal. It was not the way he wanted to feel.
* * *
Nate saw Jemma approaching as he reached the top of the steps so he waited, admiring the natural sway of her hips as she came towards him. The extra bag in her hand and the bulge in the one over her shoulder, proved she’d been shopping. Her smile as they met had him steeling his arms at his sides to prevent greeting her with a hug, and the sunglasses hiding the expression in her beautiful blue eyes was a disappointment.
‘Hi—would you like me to carry the bag?’
‘Thanks, I’m fine.’ She waved her arm in a wide sweep. ‘I’d love to sit and view all this on a stormy day—or preferably night.’
‘You like thunder and lightning?’
She laughed, causing an unfamiliar and yet not unpleasant effect over his skin. Causing him to take a quick breath. Causing him to fortify the reason he was meeting her. To get his book published.
‘From a safe vantage point—oh, yes.’
‘They can give you a spectacular display in the mountains—especially when watched from a heated room with a beer or glass of wine at your side.’
Berating himself for conjuring up an image of them sharing wine and nature’s dramatic show, he guided her down to the ground and across to the lawn area at the edge of the water. Partial images of the Opera House and the southern side of the bay were visible through the semicircle of palm trees. A small oasis of green surrounded by acres of concrete and buildings was behind them, and the expanse of deep water in front.
Jemma placed her bags on the ground, sat and curled her legs to the side. He joined her, leaning on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. For a moment or two there seemed no need for conversation. The serenity of the small area compensated for the traffic noise from the bridge.
Having resolved his mental conflict, and acutely aware of her beside him, he accepted that she’d now be a presence in his life. How prominent depended on how often they had to meet in person.
Few women he knew would wait so quietly, so patiently, for a man who’d told her he needed to consider his options, expected her to hike across the bridge, and then didn’t initiate conversation. Another difference from the women he dated.
Her profile was as appealing as her full face. Delicate smooth skin invited a caress, thick brown lashes enhanced the dark blue of her eyes, and her slender neck with its curtain of...
Where the heck had all that come from? And where the hell had it been when he’d tried to write such descriptions on the computer?
‘Jemma?’
His raspy tone came from the absence of moisture in his throat, exacerbated by the expectancy in her eyes as she faced him. He coughed, swallowed and retried.
‘Do you have full virus protection on your computer?’
Her chin lifted and her eyes narrowed in umbrage. ‘The best—and regularly updated.’
‘Would you be willing to send me some examples of those scenes Brian claims will improve my novel to a marketable level? I’m aware it means one-sided trust, but—’
Her laughter—natural, musical and matched by the sparkle in her eyes—cut him short.
‘My text is less than fifty thousand words, a fair proportion of which need cutting or rewriting. Most of your...’ She tilted her head and her eyebrows rose in query.
‘One hundred and ten thousand.’
‘Not only pass muster but have earned Brian’s praise. You have the right to be protective. How about I email three chapters?’
He puffed out what little air was left in his lungs. This could either be the start of a new career or the most turbulent phase of his life. Even seeing her face-to-face online would test his tenacity.
* * *
Jemma tried to hide the elation coursing through her. If he approved of her