in a simmering pot on his cooktop, speared him on a primitive level.
My woman. Mine.
It churned up emotion so surprising, so intense that it slammed the breath from his lungs. The cliché—
barefoot and pregnant, in his kitchen no less—no longer seemed amusing. Because when she threw him
a smile and said, “Dinner’s ready in five minutes,” he wanted nothing more than to drag her into his bed.
“You didn’t have to cook.” His words came out sharp, borne from frustration and his apparent lack of
control.
“I like to cook,” she said calmly, her attention resolutely on the pot. “If you don’t want it, you don’t
have to eat it.”
Swallowing his retort, he sighted the groceries on the kitchen bench. “Did you order that in?”
She gave him an odd look. “No, I went to the supermarket.”
“Did you carry all this?”
She rolled her eyes at the dark suspicion in his voice. “No. Your mother pushed the cart then your
doorman delivered it upstairs.”
“I thought you went clothes shopping.”
“We did.” When she offered him a platter of carrot sticks, he took one, crunching it thoughtfully. “You
also needed food in your fridge.”
“I have food.”
“Wine, water, juice, coffee, cereal.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “No fruit, meat, dairy or
vegetables.”
She turned back to the pot and gave the sauce another stir, but when he remained silent she threw a look
over her shoulder. “What?”
He shoved down a myriad of conflicting thoughts, smoothing his expression. “How’s the nausea?”
She handed him a knife with a smile. “Gone until the morning, I suspect. Make yourself useful and cut
the feta?”
At his round dining table they ate in silence, an odd half tense, half expectant silence. Cal was fully
aware of every move, every sound as they devoured the spaghetti and Greek salad she’d made. The tiny
scrape of fork on plate, the gentle swallow of water being sipped only amplified the quiet. When he
spoke, it was like a shot.
“What did you buy today?”
She downed her fork with deliberate care. “Yes.”
Cal eyed her well-worn attire but said nothing.
“A few dresses,” she said stiffly. “Some jeans, shoes, skirts. A few tops and a jacket. Don’t worry,” she
added in a small voice. “I won’t embarrass you.”
Damn. He’d hurt her but didn’t know how to fix it, so he did the only thing he could. He let silence do
the mending.
“We’ve had some interview requests,” he finally said, placing the cutlery across his plate.
She sat back in her chair, digesting that information. “Do you expect me to give interviews?”
He shrugged. “Only if you want. There’s also a bunch of glossies angling for a spread—Vogue, Elle,
Cosmo, for starters.”
“Fashion shoots.” She shook her head. “That’s just…surreal.”
“You’re now a news item. You’re in demand.”
“But only as your fiancée,” she countered.
“I thought,” Cal said slowly, “women liked getting pampered, dressed up and photographed.”
“I don’t do ‘pampered and dressed up.’” She stood abruptly. “I’m practical, a simple country girl who
wears jeans and steel-capped boots. I clean the kitchen, I cook, I wash up. I work with dirt and dig a
veggie patch.” In quick jerky movements, she began to clear the table. “I’m not glamorous, I’m not
model material…I…I have crow’s feet and dry heels!”
Her delivery was so frustratingly honest that Cal swallowed his snort of amusement. He couldn’t tell if
she was simply explaining herself or warning him off.
“So doing girly things scares you.”
She shot him a look that lacked venom. “I didn’t say that.”
“Why not give it a go? You might like it.”
“Do you think I might also like some interviewer digging around in my personal life for a couple of
hours?”
“That,” he returned, following her into the kitchen with his plate, “is where my press office comes in. I
Needing movement, Ava wiped the sparkling benches while he stacked the dishwasher. But when
everything had been cleared, tidied and returned to its drawer or shelf, there was nothing left to occupy
her hands.
“Go sit outside,” Cal said as he reached for the cupboard. “I’ll bring you some tea.”
Once alone on the balcony, the rigid composure she’d been battling drained. The warmth of the patio
heater brushed her skin, a delicious contrast to the sharp bite of cold wind. She grabbed up the throw rug
and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her feet beneath her bottom as she sat.
Like Alice down the rabbit hole, everything had changed. Gone was peace and quiet, replaced by the
shiny boldness of newly acquired fame and fortune. Over lunch at a North Shore café, Isabelle had
bluntly described what to expect leading up to the wedding.
“You’ll be on everyone’s invitation list,” the older woman said in between bites of her smoked salmon
sandwich. “Parties, social appearances. Requests for fashion shoots and interviews. That’s the upside.
The downside is less delightful but just as important.”
“Rumor and innuendo?”
At Isabelle’s serious nod, Ava’s smile had dropped. “Yes. Imagine your worst doubts, your deepest fears
plastered on the front page of every newspaper in the country. If there’s anything you’ve ever done but
don’t want the press to know, they’ll find it.” She leaned back, fixing Ava with a steady look. “It’s how
you handle it that matters.”
Ava shuddered. It was one thing to think the worst of herself, to harbor that black cloud of failure, but to
have her insecurities publicly aired for everyone to see?
That was not going to happen.
The moment was broken by the door swooshing open. Cal stepped outside with two steaming cups and a
sheaf of papers.
The contract.
He placed it and a pen in front of her, then the cup. With outward calm, she picked up the papers and
flicked through them. He’d efficiently tagged the places for her signature but instead of blindly signing,
she tucked them beside her on the couch. “I’ll have to read this over.”
He nodded, settling in the one-seater across from her, a casual version of the previous night. “Of course.”
Ava snagged her cup and for a few minutes they remained silent. She’d never felt the need to fill a lull
with inane chat, but Cal’s presence made her acutely aware of her own, the way she looked, dressed,
acted. He made her as nervous as a teenager on her first date.
“Your mother loves to shop,” Ava ventured lamely.
“My mother believes shopping is a great icebreaker.” He smiled, shifting his large bulk more
comfortably in the seat. “It’s her great people leveler.”
“We did talk a lot.”
“About?”
“Mostly me. The wedding.” She deliberately omitted the topic of Cal’s childhood, unwilling to betray
Isabelle’s generous openness. “I had no idea there were so many bridal magazines on the market.”
He couldn’t hide a wry grin. “I always suspected Mum was a closet wedding freak. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind,” Ava said truthfully. The woman’s enthusiasm had been appealing when she
’d gifted her
with a bunch of current bridal magazines in the car. Cosmopolitan Bride, Vogue Bride, Australian Bridal
Directory, The Bride’s Diary…the sheer volume of what Ava had assumed was a narrow topic made her
head spin. At first it had taken all her acting skills, pitiful as they were, to smile and thank her for the
gift. But Isabelle had sensed her less than enthusiastic response and had clamped a lid on her excitement,
instead changing the topic to their day ahead.
And as the day passed, Ava had managed to banish the heavy reality that had settled like cement in her
chest and instead found herself enjoying the outing. The subversive shine of the city had already begun
to leach in, the bustle and movement exciting her in a way she’d not felt in ages.
“We have two formal functions Thursday and Friday night,” Cal said, bringing her back to the present.
“I assume those dresses you bought are appropriate?”
She took exception at his tone. “Cal, I’m not completely clueless. I do know how to dress.”
“Yes.” His eyes ran over her, warming her more thoroughly than the tea ever could. “I believe you do.”
Then he glanced away. “It’ll be your first public appearance as my fiancée, so be prepared. There’ll be
cameras, as well as questions.”
“Ones you’ll be expected to know as my fiancée.”
“Like what?”
“Well, what would you want to know?”
That threw her for a second and she scrambled. “Umm…why don’t you have a computer at home?”
He shook his head. “Don’t need one when I have this.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and handed
it to her. “The new V-Fone. It’s a computer, scheduler, GPS and phone in one, all operating with One
Click software. It integrates with my work computer so I’m always contactable. We’ve had a onehundred-
percent customer satisfaction rating since its launch three months ago.”
She ran her hand over the smooth, cold surface, marvelling at the power in such a tiny device, before
handing it back. “What are your working hours like?”
He made an offhand gesture. “Long and filled with meetings, budget reports, investment strategies.”
“Do you like what you do?”
“I get to travel the world and make million-dollar decisions.”
“But do you like it?” She probed. “I’m assuming one day you’ll be doing Victor’s job. That’s pretty
different than developing software.”
His smile was brief and humourless. “I’ve worked damn hard to earn the right. VP Tech has been my
goal since I was seventeen.”
“I see.” He still hadn’t answered her. And was it her imagination or did she sense hesitation in that
smooth reply?
“I work twelve-to fourteen-hour days, Monday to Saturday,” he added, almost as if trying to justify his
non-answer.
“Not Sunday?”
“Sundays are for…relaxing.”
She flushed at the deep timbre of his voice. “What’s your favourite meal?”
“Lamb roast.” The muscles in his face relaxed. “My turn.” He paused, assessing her, and for a moment
Ava’s insides twisted at his complete and utter focus.
“What is…” he paused, “your favourite childhood movie?”
Her mouth tilted. “The Sound of Music. Yours?”
“The Great Escape. What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“A ballerina—but I wasn’t skinny enough.”
His eyes grazed her and even beneath the throw rug, she felt her body leap in response. “You look
perfectly fine to me.”
He was flirting with her. But why? He’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t to be trusted, yet here he was,
handing out little snippets of his inner self like party favours. It wasn’t in her to question why the sudden
good fortune. She just went with the flow.
As the hour ticked by into the next, they shared personal likes and dislikes—he liked action movies, she
romantic comedies, they both hated cabbage and pumpkin but loved tropical fruit. After retouching on
Cal’s career highlights, they landed on the topic of exes.
“I’ve dated, no one serious,” Cal said, swirling the dregs of coffee around in his mug.
“Your mother mentioned Melissa…” She paused at his sharp look.
“What did she say?”
“Just that you were engaged but called it off.”
“I see.” He placed his cup on the table and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His face became
stony and she wondered what the other woman had done to make him so defensive. “And what about
you?”
Ava shrugged. “A boyfriend in high school, a couple more when I was working in Jillian’s coffee shop.
Since I moved back home there’s been no one. Gum Tree Falls isn’t exactly teeming with eligible
bachelors, not like…” She snapped off, too late.
“Like Sydney.”
When his eyes narrowed, she could’ve kicked herself. That’s a record for you, Ava. Undoing all that
good work in two seconds flat.
Cal did not trust her. The sooner she realized that, the easier this would be. Yet pride couldn’t let her
escape without clearing this ridiculous preconception.
“I came to Sydney for a girlfriend’s birthday,” she said stiffly. “It was my first time in the city. We had
dinner at the Shangri-La then went on to their cocktail lounge. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend or a onenight
stand or anything else that night.”
“But you found me.”
She rose, her face warm. “You approached me.”
“True. But you didn’t say no.”
Cal watched the way her face flushed as she threw off the rug then folded it with swift efficiency.
“So now it’s a crime to be flattered by a man’s attentions? I just wanted one weekend, one night to
forget about the money, the pressure, the responsibility. For one night I wasn’t Will Reilly’s daughter,
the disappointment, the screwup. The reason for—” She bit off the rest of that sentence, as if realizing
she’d said too much. Her eyes, panicky and wide, met his for one fleeting moment, then away.
“It’s late,” she finally mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze as she reached for the door. “I’m off to bed.”
“Ava.”
His command fell on deaf ears because with one small click, he was suddenly alone.
Cal remained still for what felt like hours, although his sleek Urwerk watch indicated only minutes.
When he’d caught her in that slip there’d been indignation, and hurt. Could she be that good an actress?
Reluctantly, he cast his mind back to that night at the bar, searching through the events to shed some
light on his confusion.
At first she’d been wary, even suspicious. His smooth offer to buy her a drink had been met with
reluctant acceptance. As they’d shared flirtatious but cryptic details about themselves, she’d gradually
warmed to him, enough to have her willing and eager in his bed.
For one crazy second, he let himself indulge in the remembrance of her smile that tilted her mouth into
kissable curves, her husky feminine laugh.
What the hell was he supposed to believe?
With a low curse he sprung to his feet and slammed back inside. The cool shower didn’t bring clarity,
nor did lying in bed, staring at the LED clock hands as it ticked off the minutes until sunrise.
Six
A t one-thirty the ne
xt afternoon, Cal braked his car with an irritated yank out the front of his
apartment building. He may have stopped grilling Victor about this marriage ultimatum but the man
wasn’t off the hook yet. Throughout their mid-morning meeting Cal had been icily distant, and as a
result the other board members had picked up on the tension. Yet afterwards, instead of calling him on
it, Victor had left as swiftly as he’d arrived.
Dammit. With a grunt, he rubbed his temples then glared across at the double glass doors. His normally
austere doorman was chatting with a gorgeous dark-haired woman, the old Scotsman sporting a look of
rapt adoration on his weathered face.
Then Ava glanced across and spotted him.
All thoughts fled as last night came crashing back, rolling waves breaching his temporary sandbank.
If he’d been enthralled yesterday in the early morning light, now he was riveted. Like some slow-motion
teenage movie close-up, the afternoon sun captured her in its singular glow as she walked out to greet
him. She looked like every man’s fantasy, from the toes of her black knee-high boots up past the flippy
hem of the black skirt barely grazing her knees to the scooped neck of her clingy black sweater. A bright
sky-blue trench coat flapped loosely like she’d just flashed someone and her hair bounced over her
shoulders in twin shiny black waves, catching the sunlight in raven glints.
His throat went dry, his mouth curving into an automatic smile until he caught sight of an expensively
suited man unashamedly eyeing her butt as she walked past. A fierce bolt of ownership surged up,
ending in a possessive growl as he glared at the man. The starer merely shrugged, smiled apologetically
and kept right on walking.
Ava’s glossy smile curved shyly as she reached for the door handle. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” Even with eyes hidden behind fashionably round sunglasses, he sensed the unease as she
buckled up. “You look…”
“Acceptable?”
“Gorgeous.” Cal checked his rear vision mirror, barely catching her flush. “You should dress like that
more often.”
“Unfortunately, Jindalee isn’t too kind on dresses and suede.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re in Sydney until the weekend. Give those jeans and steel-capped boots a