story that she needed an extra wasn’t a lie to get her out of an embarrassing situation. Not that he’d believed her for a second and she cringed at the memory. Why the heck had she bothered? Her pillow worries wouldn’t even register on his horizon—not after seeing him downstairs in the darkness.
Hurting and alone and determined to stay that way. She’d heard him cry out. And for a moment she’d thought maybe she’d helped a little until he’d dropped his hands from her shoulders as if the touch of her skin had burned him. His curt dismissal had stung, especially when for a heart-trembling moment earlier she’d thought he was going to kiss her.
Which only proved she still had zero understanding when it came to men.
She would not take it personally. If she remembered anything about Blake at all, he’d have refused anyone’s help. Except she hated seeing anyone hurting like that.
As soon as the boat was repaired she could be out of his house. Right away from him. Away from temptation.
Except for his claim that he owned the boat.
That wasn’t a problem she could sort on her own so there was no use dwelling on it now. She threw back the sheet and rose. The storm had passed, leaving the sky a glorious violet-smeared orange. She opened the window to enjoy the bird’s dawn chorus and early humidity.
Leaning on the sill, she looked out over the palatial homes and their moored million-dollar yachts and reflections on the river. A private helicopter circled further up the river then landed on its helipad.
She could hear a steady splash beyond the high concrete fence. Their next-door neighbour, Gilda, whom Lissa had met and spoken to a few times, was taking her regular early-morning dip in the pool.
Gilda Dimitriou was a well-known socialite, heavily involved in charitable works. Her husband, Stefan, was some bigwig in finance and they frequently entertained. Lissa was probably the only person within a hundred-kilometre radius without a high-flying job and a bulging bank account.
A fact that Blake Everett did not need to know. No one knew about her financial situation. Not even her family. Especially not Jared. She didn’t want or need his help. Hadn’t she spent the past year and a half proving that she could manage just fine in Mooloolaba on her own? Mostly.
Except that the interior design shop she’d worked for had gone out of business due to a dodgy accountant, leaving her with no income apart from a casual three-hour-per-week stint cleaning a couple of local offices. She’d had to put off the repairs out of financial necessity.
She’d hit a little bump in the road, that was all. She collected the clothes she’d brought with her. Determined not to see Blake until she’d showered and tamed her hair, no matter what dire circumstances and humiliations she was about to face, she headed for the en-suite.
And what an en-suite. It was as big as her entire houseboat. White tiles, gold taps, thick fluffy towels in marine colours of aqua and ultramarine. She breathed in their new and freshly laundered scent and switched on the shower.
After the boat’s mere trickle, the water pressure was an absolute luxury and she took her time, pondering her bump in the road. She still wanted to start her own business. It had been a bitter source of tension between her and Jared which had led to her moving here. She so badly wanted to prove she was capable.
Mooloolaba was a wealthy man’s town on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. Plenty of people here would think nothing of paying exorbitant prices for a home makeover. She just needed to find them and convince them they needed her services.
Somehow.
For months now she’d taken cleaning jobs while scouring the papers and searching the Internet for the kind of work she wanted. Nothing. She’d had no response to her ads in the paper and on the net. The locals went for the services of the big, well-known, well-respected names. Lissa needed to come up with something different, something unique, get out there and make herself known.
Yes, she could drop Jared’s name. His reputation for building refurbishments was well known around these parts. She wrenched off the taps and swiped the towel off the rail. No way. Absolutely out of the question. Because that would be admitting to Jared that he’d been right, that she couldn’t do it on her own. And after walking out the way she had, she was too … ashamed.
So she’d have to settle for second best for a while longer. Which meant finding a full-time job—of any description. Which were few and far between. Back to square one.
And right now she had to face breakfast with a man she didn’t know how to react to this morning.
SHE had the toast buttered, coffee freshly brewed when Blake appeared in the kitchen on the stroke of seven. She just knew he’d be one of those super-punctual people. Always on time. Ruthlessly organised. Socks always paired and rolled together. How did he live with himself?
The only reason she was ahead this morning was because she’d been too wound up after their recent rendezvous in the living room to relax. She’d spent the time familiarising herself with the spectacular wood-panelled kitchen and every modern appliance known to man.
She’d psyched herself up for seeing him but the first glimpse still packed a punch as he walked to the kitchen table, leaving her breathless and feeling as if she’d run a cross-country marathon. He’d changed into a khaki T-shirt with some sort of blood and tar design all over the front but he still wore the same kind of snug-fitting jeans he’d had on last night.
He seemed more relaxed. His eyes weren’t the haunted ones she’d glimpsed last night, even though they were still somewhat aloof, but, hey, this was Blake Everett and aloof was his trademark. Whatever his demons last night, he’d apparently shrugged them off. He’d showered and smelled as fresh as the new day.
Yes, a new day, she thought. Best to pretend last night never happened.
‘Good morning.’ Her smile was automatic, unlike his stern expression, as she lifted the coffee plunger and concentrated on pouring a mug without spilling it all over her hand. ‘Coffee?’
He set a couple of those sailing brochures she’d seen on the table. ‘Never touch the stuff. But thanks,’ he added in what sounded like an afterthought.
His gravelly morning voice did strange things to her insides as he moved to the cupboard, pulled out an unopened box of Earl Grey tea. Real leaves, not the tea-bag kind. She watched him reach for a teapot on the bench, dump in a large fistful of leaves.
‘Kettle’s just boiled,’ she said, wanting to be helpful and desperate to break the awkward silence that seemed to crowd in on them. She should have stayed right away last night. Stuck her head under the pillow or something.
‘Not a morning person?’ she said, briskly. He shot her a glance as he poured water into the pot. ‘That’s okay, I am. So that kind of balances it out, wouldn’t you agree?’
He lifted a brow. ‘I’m up at five a.m., rain or shine, how about you?’
Oh. She stared at him a moment. ‘I’ve been known to drift home around that time.’
That earned her a look and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘On weekends. Some weekends. As a matter of fact, if you’re free, there’s a party tonight down on the beach …’ She trailed off as his jaw tightened. ‘Maybe not.’
And not for her either. She studied him as she sipped her coffee. No, she wouldn’t imagine he’d fit in with the party scene. She needed to forget her teenage crush, pull herself together and remember that he wanted her boat. ‘How does the damage look this morning?’
‘Haven’t checked it out yet.’ He poured his tea, already thick and black as molasses, and added two sugars, then took a seat opposite her at the table. ‘After a closer inspection last night, I turned off the electricity, locked up and came