One Night Before Marriage. Anne OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.
my family.’
‘That’s tough,’ he said, and meant it. He knew all too well about losing the people you loved.
‘I do just fine on my own.’ The unconscious lift of her chin told him she had to work hard at it. It was obvious she needed money.
She glanced at her watch. ‘I have to go out for a while. There’s cake and coffee in the kitchen. Don’t use the sink. You’re free to use the kitchen, but the rest of the house is private, just as I’ll respect your privacy. That way we can keep out of each other’s hair.’
‘Okay.’ He nodded, but keeping his hands out of that tangle of gold was going to be a serious exercise in restraint.
She pushed up. ‘I’ll be back in time to cook tea, if you want to settle in.’ She slid open a drawer, took out a set of keys and put them on the table. ‘Back and front doors. And you can park that bomb you call a car in the garage; it’s empty for now.’
‘Hey, that’s a fine car. Paintwork’s a bit dodgy but the engine’s reliable—so they tell me. We’ll have to take a drive some time, see if they’re up to their word.’
She didn’t reply to that, but knotted her fingers at her waist. ‘Rent’s payable up front, two weeks in advance.’ She paused, and twin spurts of colour sprang to her cheekbones. ‘And, please, knock off the money I borrowed this morning. I intended to drop it off at the hotel.’
‘No,’ he said quietly, drawing out his wallet. He counted the notes and held them out. ‘It’s yours.’
‘Okay. Thanks…um, Ben.’ She took them, carefully avoiding contact with his hand.
He was tempted to cuff her wrist and test the beat of her pulse, but thought better of it. Business was business.
As she closed the door behind her he pulled out his keys. He’d head back to the city and grab his gear. Then maybe he’d take a stroll to the beach, a few minutes’ walk away from here, and make some short-term plans.
Plans that might or might not include Carissa Grace.
As expected, Melanie leapt off the couch with a ‘Wow!’ the moment Carissa entered the living room.
‘Yeah. Wow,’ Carissa mimicked less enthusiastically as she snatched up a fabric band from the piano and dragged her hair through it. ‘Who was on the phone?’ she asked as casually as she could manage.
‘Didn’t say. I told him you were out, said he’d ring back. So, come on, Carrie, you were going to knock back his offer, for goodness’ sake. You wouldn’t say no to the extra income from a gorgeously handsome guy. What’s going on with you two?’
Her stomach jittered. ‘Nothing’s “going on”.’
‘Don’t give me that. I saw the way he looked at you. Hot.’
‘I didn’t notice.’ She glared at Melanie, but she could still feel that flash of heat on her skin. ‘Wipe that smirk off your face.’ It was making her nervous. She could feel her face flaming, so she began collecting the scattered sections of yesterday’s newspaper.
‘The piano tuner?’ Melanie murmured.
‘Stop it, Mel.’
‘Okay, but look at the points in his favour. He’s a hunk, you have to agree.’ She held up her fingers as she checked them off. ‘He’s available, he must be loaded, he’s here—’
‘That’s just it,’ Carissa interrupted. ‘He’s here. If I wanted a one-night stand, would I choose my lodger? Someone I see day in, day out?’ And felt hot all over again.
‘I don’t know—would you?’
Carissa looked up to see Mel’s eyebrows arched and a speculative gleam in her eyes. ‘And five, he’s interested. You want someone to tickle your ar…peggio—he’s a songwriter and musician. What better credentials?’
‘I don’t know why I’m still talking to you, but stay for tea, Mel. Help me out here.’
Mel shook her head, setting her long hair swinging. ‘You don’t need any help from me, sis. And Adam and I made plans to go bowling tonight.’
‘Bring your sexy and available flatmate too. The more the merrier.’ And safer.
‘Not tonight. You’re on your own with this one.’
‘Traitor,’ Carissa muttered, tossing the paper on the coffee-table and throwing herself onto the couch.
Melanie grinned, picked up her bag and swung it over her shoulder. ‘You’ll thank me later. Gotta go.’ But she paused at the door. ‘You’re not still thinking about Alasdair, are you? If you want to talk, I’m always free, or if you want to kick something, Adam’s available.’
Carissa couldn’t help smiling back. ‘I’ll tell Adam you offered him. And, no, I’m not thinking of Alasdair.’
When Melanie had gone, Carissa slapped on her floppy old hat and stepped out into the zap of a white summer’s afternoon. The heat seared her exposed skin and baked the ground to biscuit, burning the soles of her worn sandals.
She welcomed the distraction. First up he’d walked into her piano bar. What were the odds of that same man walking into her home? Her life? She lifted the sprigs of lavender and rosemary she’d picked from her miniature herb patch, inhaling their calming scent as she walked.
She wanted alone. She liked alone. The desperate need for money was the only motivation for letting some of the spare rooms, not any desire for company. Now she had someone she neither needed nor wanted in her space.
Well, he wouldn’t follow her here. A row of tired casuarinas shaded the tiny graveyard behind the old church. The gate registered her arrival with a mournful screech of rusted metal. She walked straight to her grandmother’s grave.
‘Hi, Gran.’ She arranged the herbs in the earthenware pot, then sat, tossing her hat to the ground beside her. Her father and Mel’s mother’s grave lay a couple of rows away. Her own mother had been out of Carissa’s life longer than she could remember.
She’d been visiting her grandmother’s grave for fourteen years. It was Gran she talked to when she wanted to get something off her chest. No one interrupted here. She made important decisions under these trees. Solved problems, answered questions.
The peace of the hot afternoon lay over her like a languid blanket. Closing her eyes, she tuned her senses to her surroundings. The kiss of warm air on her skin, the scent of herbs and casuarina needles, the drone of a plane.
She opened her eyes and traced the grooves of her grandmother’s name. ‘Gran, I’ve done something I’m not sure you’d approve of. I met a man.’ She found her heart thudding louder and rubbed the heel of her hand over it. ‘You know the type—tall, dark and deliciously dangerous. We had a drink and I gave him my virginity. I’d known him an hour.’
She clasped her hands around her knees, conscious of her breathing, a little faster than usual, skin newly sensitised, the tingling in her breasts as the memories flowed back, clear and fluid.
‘And you know what else? I’m not ashamed of it. Even knowing there’ll never be anything between us. He didn’t seduce me. I went in with my eyes wide open. I used him, knowing I’d never see him again. How’s that for women’s rights? Except now…now he’s living under my roof.’ She heard the tremble in her own voice and stood up.
‘The moment I saw him standing at my door it was all I could do not to lay my lips on his and take.’ She shoved her hands in the pockets of her shorts and frowned at the ground. ‘But that’s not going to happen, I made it quite clear. I think.’
A car whizzed by, a blur of sound. The air stirred, thick and heavy with summer scents.
‘How am I going to face him over the kitchen table knowing what we’ve done?’