Bargain in Bronze

“Soon.”

“So that’s why you didn’t Google me,” he joked to bring her smile back.

“Yeah,” she went along with it. “And you weren’t worth breaking the ‘no personal Internet use’ rule at work for. So no cyber stalking for me.” She scrubbed her hands and got out several chopping boards and that stupidly small knife. The dried apricot dicing began.

“Why cut by hand?” He pointed out the industrial food processor.

“It’s better chopped by hand. One too many presses of the pulse button of that machine would make it pulp rather than bite-size pieces.”

“But it takes so much time.”

“I have time.”

Really? When she worked full time and ran her business on the side? “Then how do you fit in time for—” He broke off, temporarily blinded by the dangerous glitter in her eyes.

He got the no kisses rule, but did that mean personal talk was a no go area too? “Your commitment to the circus,” he finished slyly. “Knife throwing and stuff with strong Serge.”

She almost smiled. “I’ve retired from the circus.”

Had she now? Serge too? He reached forward and snaffled one of the dried apricots. It didn’t look like a normal orange apricot to him, but was a much darker color. “Why’s that? You get hurt by the knife or the strong guy?”

“Why think I was hurt?” She chopped faster, louder. “Maybe it’s just that I’m too busy.”

“Taking all the time to dice dried apricots by hand? That’s not too busy, that’s extreme avoidance.”

“It’s dedication to making the best product I can.”

It was avoidance. Why did she have knife-edged barriers up when she’d been as into that kiss as he had? The incandescent reaction between them was only going to worsen the more they saw each other. It was stronger already—he couldn’t believe it wasn’t the same for her. And he planned to do something about it. Soon.

He didn’t have time to put into a relationship. It wasn’t fair on a girlfriend. And frankly, he knew loss—intimately—and he didn’t want any more of that. Keeping an eye on Tom and Anne was more than enough. But what he hadn’t had—in too long—was a little fun. There hadn’t been time. He’d abandoned his degree and gotten on with work, taking over the family art and antiques store. Then he’d bought his first building and refurbished it, spearheading the revitalization of that block and beginning his commercial property portfolio. He’d worked crazy hours. Through half the night while his siblings slept, rousing Tom to go to training in the early hours before snatching a couple of hours sleep before getting his sister up and on track for school. It wasn’t a time he wanted to revisit. He’d been so tired. But he still worked hard, caught in the habit—and the drive to achieve security for his family still pushed him. So there’d only been one-nighters, the briefest of flings, and nothing in recent months.

Now Libby Harris had him thinking about fun. All the time.

“How much can you make in a night?” he asked.

“A couple of batches. Enough for Tom.”

“What about to fulfill your orders at the organic supermarkets?”

“That’s going to take a little longer.”

Good. He wanted more time. “You can’t give up the day job?” He grabbed another apricot. “Copywriting?”

She nodded. She was definitely avoiding looking at him. “Local council.”

“No wonder you’re good at telling tales in tight situations,” he teased.

It drew a smile from her. “The tales I get to tell at work aren’t nearly as exciting. It’s puff pieces on litter collection or something.”

“So you invent to make them more entertaining?” He laughed. “I bet you come up with some crazy stuff.”

“Most boarding school girls have good imaginations,” she said mock primly. “Sometimes it’s the only way to survive.”

Boarding school girl? He glanced at her and for once their gaze met, meshed—clashed.

Heat unmistakably flared, the charged silence thickened. But then she turned away. He was sure she wanted him. But didn’t want to want him.

Jack pulled up a stool and sat, flicking through his emails on his iPad. He was confident enough in himself—in that kiss—to know it wasn’t him, but something within her making her skittish. He was going to have to take it easy, but keep up the tease until she couldn’t resist it any longer. He was sure it would happen…sure he wasn’t alone in feeling this pull. All good things came to those who waited, right? And he’d be waiting right here.

…

The second night he arrived before her. Wearing jeans and tee again—the casual outfit emphasizing his flat abs, long legs, and a butt meant for grabbing. Libby inwardly groaned. Spending four hours in his presence last night had been hard enough. She’d tried not to look at him too much but it was difficult when he kept chatting and laughing and being the ultimate in charming. She’d hardly slept. Remembering his smile, his gentle teasing.

Every interaction sharpened her attraction like long strokes of a knife on steel—the pull tightened her nerves and pushed her towards succumbing to the heat. She sighed, trying to push out the tension and gather her self-control. She didn’t want to have to walk away from this opportunity with the kitchen. She wanted to do something with her life—to help someone, lots of people ideally. She wanted to give something to society. Because she wouldn’t fall in love. She wouldn’t have a family. She’d make a difference in another way. Helping Tom would be something. Getting her product back on the shelves would be something more. It was a healthy option. People might benefit and that would be wonderful.

But Jack made her think about other things—intimacies and personal pleasures that she’d denied herself for a long time. She didn’t want to open up that part of herself to someone so overpowering.

“If you’re going to insist on staying here while I work, the least you can do is make yourself useful,” she said firmly, deciding to take control of the situation tonight. There’d be no swapping secrets or life stories—or worse, flirting.

“I have my own work to do, thanks,” he held up his iPad.

“Do you have to do it here?” Why couldn’t he leave her to get on with it and come back to lock up at a fixed time?

“Yeah. I do.” Mr. Uncompromising.

Because he still didn’t trust her?

“Does my being here bother you?”

She swallowed. “Of course not. I just thought if you have work to do…”

“I can do what I need to here.”

She shouldn’t have started this conversation—it was going nowhere anyway. He just being all immovable man. Damn. Because just looking at him had her coming over hot.

“You don’t have a business partner?” he asked once she was underway.

“No,” she said. “My uni friends love my muesli but they think I’m mad for putting so much into it.”

“Any sort of success requires sacrifice at some level,” he said. “Is that why you’ve no boyfriend?”

She looked at him, trying to stay cool. “Possibly.”

“There must be an endless queue though.”

“There’s no need for the flattery.” She tried to shut the topic down. “I’m making enough muesli to last Tom ten years.”

“But there must be.” He ignored her and insisted.

She picked up a cloth and wiped some spilled syrup from the bench. “No, there was only the one.”

“One?”

“At university. I finally got out of the all girls’ boarding school and found some freedom.”

“I thought the all girls boarding schools were where it was all at.”

“It’s not like those bad movies you know. They’re just a male fantasy.”

“Tell me more.” He came round to her side of the counter.

“There’s nothing to tell.” She wiped the top more vigorously. She didn’t need him standing so close—she could smell the soap he’d used. She could sense his heat—a

nd she could remember his strength.

It made her weak.

“Of course there is. Why did you break up with him?”

“It was getting too serious.” Good, remember the mess it had been. Remind yourself you don’t want a fling.

“He was getting too serious?”

She stopped wiping. “Yes.”