Dreaming Of You: Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep / Outback Bachelor / The Hometown Hero Returns. Margaret Way
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out, ‘not all.’
‘There was only Anita and Dianne left. Mr Sears poached Anita for the bakery…’
‘Which left Dianne.’ She swung back to Connor. ‘Not the same Dianne who…?’
‘The one and the same.’
Oh, that was just great. ‘She made her feelings… clear,’ she said to Richard.
Richard gave his watch an agonised glance.
‘You don’t have time for this at the moment, do you?’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, but I have appointments booked for the next couple of hours and—’
‘Then go before you’re late.’ She shooed him to the door. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She would be.
‘I’ll be back later,’ he promised.
Then he left. Which left her and Connor alone in the dim space of the bookshop.
‘So…’ Connor said, breaking the silence that had wrapped around them. His voice wasn’t so much a cooling autumn breeze as a winter chill. ‘You’re still not interested in selling the bookshop to Mr Sears?’
Sell? Not in this lifetime.
‘I’m not selling the bookshop. At least not yet.’
Connor rested his hands on his hips and continued to survey her. She couldn’t read his face or his body language, but she wished he didn’t look so darn…male!
‘So you’re staying here in Clara Falls, then?’
‘No.’ She poured as much incredulity and disdain into her voice as she could. ‘Not long-term. I have a life in the city. This is just a…’
‘Just a…’ he prompted when she faltered.
‘A momentary glitch,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll get the bookshop back on its feet and running at a profit— which I figure will take twelve months tops—and then I mean to return to my real life.’
‘I see.’
Perhaps he did. But she doubted it.
CONNOR met the steeliness in Jaz’s eyes and wished he could just turn around and walk away. His overriding instinct was to reach out and offer her comfort. Despite that veneer of toughness she’d cultivated, he knew this return couldn’t be easy for her.
Her mother had committed suicide only four weeks ago!
That had to be eating her up alive.
She didn’t look as if she’d welcome his comfort. She kept eyeing him as if he were something slimy and wet that had just oozed from the drain.
The muscles in his neck, his jaw, bunched. What was her problem? She’d been the one to lay waste to all his plans, all his dreams, eight years ago. Not the other way around. She could at least have the grace to…
To what? an inner voice mocked. Spare you a smile? Get over yourself, Reed. You don’t want her smiles.
But, as he gazed down into her face, noted the fragile luminosity of her skin, the long dark lashes framing her eyes and the sweet peach lipstick staining her lips, something primitive fired his blood. He wanted to haul her into his arms, slant his mouth over hers and taste her, brand himself on her senses.
Every cell in his body tightened and burned at the thought. The intensity of it took him off guard. Had his heart thudding against his ribcage. After eight years…
After eight years he hadn’t expected to feel anything. He sure as hell hadn’t expected this.
He rolled his shoulders and tried to banish the images from his mind. Every stupid mistake he’d made with his life had happened in the weeks after Jaz had left town. He couldn’t blame her for the way he’d reacted to her betrayal—that would be childish—but he would never give her that kind of power over him again.
Never.
She stuck out her chin, hands on hips—combative, aggressive and so unlike the Jaz of old it took him off guard. ‘Why did you change the sign? Who gave you permission?’
She moved behind the sales counter, stowed her handbag beneath it, then turned back and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’ She tapped her foot.
Her boot—a pretty little feminine number in brown suede and as unlike her old black Doc Martens as anything could be—echoed smartly against the bare floorboards. Or maybe that was due to the silence that had descended around them again. He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and told himself to stay on task. It was just…that lipstick.
He’d once thought that nothing could look as good as the mulberry dark matt lipstick she’d once worn. He stared at the peach shine on her lips now. He’d been wrong.
‘Connor!’
He snapped to and bit back something succinct and rude. The sign, idiot!
‘I’m simply following the instructions you left with my receptionist.’
She stared at him for a long moment. Then, ‘Can you seriously imagine that I’d want to call this place Jaz’s Joint?’ Her lip curled. ‘That sounds like a den of iniquity, not a bookshop.’
She looked vivid fired up like that—alive. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t felt alive in a very long time.
He shifted his weight, allowed his gaze to travel over her again, noticed the way she turned away and bit her lip. That was familiar. She wasn’t feeling anywhere near as sure of herself as she’d have him believe.
‘I’m not paid to imagine.’ At the time, though, her request had sent his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. ‘Eight years is a long time. People change.’
‘You better believe it!’
He ignored her vehemence. ‘You told my receptionist you wanted “Jaz’s Joint” painted on the awning. I was just following your instructions.’ But as he said the words his stomach dipped. Her eyes had widened. He remembered how they could look blue or green, depending on the light. They glittered blue now in the hushed light of the bookshop.
‘Those weren’t my instructions.’
His stomach dropped a notch lower. Not her directions… Then…
‘I just requested that the sign be freshened up.’
He swore. Once. Hard.
Jaz blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Her tone almost made him grin. As a teenager she’d done all she could to look hard as nails, but she’d rarely used bad language and she hadn’t tolerated it in others.
He sobered. ‘Obviously, somewhere along the line a wire’s got crossed.’ If his receptionist had played any part in the Jaz’s Joint prank he’d fire her on the spot.
Jaz followed his gaze across the road to Mr Sears’s bakery. ‘Ahh…’ Her lips twisted. ‘I see.’
Did she? For reasons Connor couldn’t fathom, Gordon Sears wanted the bookshop, and he wanted it bad.
She sprang out from behind the counter as if the life force coursing through her body would no longer allow her to coop it up in such a small space. She stalked down the aisles, with their rows upon rows of bookcases. Connor followed.
The Clara Falls bookshop had been designed with one purpose in mind—to charm. And it achieved its aim with remarkable ease. The gleaming oak bookcases contrasted neatly with wood-panelled walls painted a pale clean green. Alcoves and nooks invited browsers to explore. Gingerbread fretwork lent an air of fairy-tale enchantment.