The Man Who Saw Her Beauty. Michelle Douglas
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weren’t you? About making it up to Stevie?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Words are cheap.’
He saw then that she was right. He could repeat over and over again until he was blue in the face that he had faith in her, he could say it till the cows came home—and he would the moment he got home—but the only way to truly reassure Stevie, to prove that he believed in her, was to support her in a material way. Like co-ordinating her fundraising efforts.
On the up side, being involved did mean he’d have a chance of protecting her against the more unsavoury aspects of the pageant, the competitiveness and bitchiness and constant undermining of one’s self-esteem …
‘It looks as though you have yourself a deal, city girl.’ He could have sworn, though, that when he extended his hand she was curiously reluctant to take it.
Blair might act all haughty and aloof, but somehow he knew he’d needled his way in under her skin. The thought made him grin. It made him hold her hand for longer than custom demanded.
When he finally released her the colour in her cheeks was high and a purely masculine satisfaction settled in the pit of his stomach.
Game on.
CHAPTER THREE
THE moment Nick realised where his thoughts were headed he snatched them back. He wasn’t messing about with a woman like Blair Macintyre. He’d allowed one woman to dash all his dreams. He wasn’t giving another one that same opportunity.
He’d achieved what he’d set out to—he’d apologised to Blair and made sure she’d still help Stevie. He’d done what he could to put things back to the way they’d been before he’d so stupidly interfered.
Yet he found himself curiously reluctant to end this meeting, thank Blair, and leave. The colour in her cheeks had receded. He wanted to see—to make—that colour high again.
Her teacup clattered to her saucer as if the way he studied her unnerved her.
Because he wasn’t just studying her—he was staring!
He forced his gaze down to the table and drained what was left in his tiny teacup. Glory would have given him tea in a mug, but Blair had sophisticated city ways. She had gloss and elegance. Would she offer him another cup?
‘So Stevie really socked it to you, huh?’
‘She cried.’ Bile churned in his throat. ‘And she hardly ever cries.’
He risked a glance at her—no staring—and found her delectable lips pursed and her eyes soft with sympathy. He memorised every curve of those lips before lifting his eyes. Their gazes locked and held. His heart slowed and then surged against his ribs.
Blair shot to her feet as if in sudden panic, as if to race away.
He sat back, blinked, and did his best to dislodge his heart from his throat. And then her panic, if that was what it had been, was wiped away and replaced with a thrust out chin and hands planted on slender hips. He wondered if he’d imagined the panic.
He didn’t think so.
He stared at the determined picture she made now and found his muscles bunching. He couldn’t make head nor tail of this woman.
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’
He rose to his feet at her regal tone. ‘Waiting for?’ he ventured.
‘Don’t you want to make things right again for Stevie as soon as you can?’
Sure he did, but … ‘Stevie won’t talk to me until at least dinnertime.’ Which was hours away yet.
‘Which serves you right. But I expect she’ll talk to me.’
His shoulders unhitched. ‘You’ll talk to her?’
Her lips twisted as if she was trying to hold back a smile. ‘Of course I will.’
‘I …’ He couldn’t think of a darn thing to say to that, so he followed her out through the door and waited while she locked it.
‘You deserve to stew for a while yet, country boy, but Stevie doesn’t.’
‘I could kiss you,’ he said fervently.
She took a step away from him. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
She could do ice queen as if it was second nature. She grinned suddenly and ice queen transformed to temptress. His blood, and other parts of him, heated up. She rubbed her hands together before motioning to him to lead the way.
Glory’s house was only two streets away from where his automotive workshop fronted the town’s main street. The weatherboard cottage he called home was out at the back.
‘Everyone in town is going to know about your turnaround in relation to the Miss Showgirl quest now. It’s going to be beautiful to watch.’
Her relish had his mouth kicking upwards. ‘Not going to work.’
She widened her eyes, mock innocent. ‘Work?’
‘You’re not going to get a rise out of me that easily, princess.’
‘Peasant.’
Energy fired through him. He found it suddenly easy to laugh. Then he frowned. When had it become hard to laugh?
‘So tell me …’
He shook the sombre reflection aside and readied himself for her next thrust.
‘What approach are you going to take with the fundraising?’
As far as thrusts went it wasn’t bad. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Oodles—and for every three you come up with I’ll give you one.’
He tried to look injured. ‘That hardly seems fair.’
‘It’s called penance.’
He threw his head back and let loose with another laugh. ‘Why don’t you really stick the knife in? I’m sure there’s a spot here somewhere …’ he pointed to his chest ‘… that you’ve missed.’
She grinned back, and it occurred to him that she was enjoying their exchange as much as he was.
He ushered her though the back entrance of the repair shop, opening the tall gate for her. He watched her take in the large galvanised-iron shed to the left and the neat weatherboard house opposite. The space between was hard-packed earth. There was an outdoor table setting against the far wall. No garden. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
It unsettled him to find he cared what she thought. Light—he had to keep it light. ‘Slave-driver,’ he muttered.
She tossed that long blonde hair of hers. ‘Grease monkey.’
Her good-natured insult released his tension and another laugh.
‘You’re a mechanic, huh?’
‘Yep.’
‘My car needs a service.’
He wasn’t a run-of-the-mill mechanic. He restored classic cars. He had a national reputation for it. These days he could pick and choose what projects he wanted to work on.
None of that stopped him from saying, ‘Bring it in on Thursday or Friday.’
‘Thank you.’
‘No.’ He touched her arm before she could set off towards the house. ‘Thank you for coming here to see Stevie, and for showing me how to make it up to her. I still don’t approve of this preoccupation with looks and fashion, but I do appreciate you coming here.’
She took a step away from him, out of his reach so his hand dropped back to his side. She hitched her chin in just that way.