Pregnant by the Playboy Tycoon. Anne Oliver
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from the box on the table with a spoon.
‘And it is important.’ Cindy addressed his comment. ‘Annie’s insisting on driving all the way to Surfers Paradise on Wednesday—alone—and I’m trying to talk her out of it.’
Steve caught Cindy’s concerned look. Good luck with that. From what he’d observed, Annie always got her own way. But he agreed with his sister—he didn’t like the thought of any woman driving across the continent on her own.
He told himself it wasn’t his problem, but it didn’t quite work. His jaw clenched in aggravation. ‘I imagine your father’s not keen on you driving halfway across the country alone.’
‘I’m twenty-four. Old enough to make my own decisions.’
The cheesecake turned sour in Steve’s mouth. Some people were never old enough—make that mature enough. Didn’t it matter to Anneliese that her mother had died not five weeks ago and her father might need her here? Queensland’s Gold Coast was a bustling tourist strip—in his opinion not a place you’d go to contemplate your life or heal the hurts. And she should be doing those things here, with her father, not flitting off interstate.
He fought the impulse to sneer, scraped his spoon across the bottom of the cake box. ‘Some decisions should be made after careful consideration to others’ needs.’ He schooled his voice to neutral except it didn’t come out the way he’d intended.
For a flicker of time he saw something deeper than pain cross those misty eyes, but he didn’t have time to ponder because Cindy spoke.
‘Steve…’ she said quietly, turning into him and touching his arm. ‘You know Annie’s dealing with serious personal issues right now. She’s fragile. Be gentle.’
His gaze slid over Anneliese’s curves beneath the soft sweater and his hands curled around the tingle. Gentle. He could imagine being gentle with Anneliese a little too vividly.
Cindy patted at his arm again. ‘I know you’re flying to Brisbane in the next week or two for work and I’ve come up with an idea… You’ve got reliable staff here to cover for you, so if you’re not in a hurry you could drive with Annie, look out for her…’
A choked sound bubbled up from Anneliese’s throat as he stared at Cindy. He was momentarily speechless. Obviously her friend was, too. Look out for Anneliese? As in personal escort? He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Just the two of them. All the way to Queensland. Presumably in her sporty car that was way too confining for his six-foot-plus frame.
Cindy must have intuited his answer because she cajoled and patted some more. ‘Please, Steve. I’d go myself but I’m trying out for that promotion and I can’t get the time off work.’
He turned to Anneliese, who looked as gobsmacked as he, but aimed his question at Cindy. ‘Don’t you think you should be asking Anneliese what she has to say?’
‘She’ll do it for me.’ Barely a glance at her friend. ‘Won’t you, Annie? There. It’s done.’
He let out a long slow breath. He must have nodded or something because Cindy smiled up at him, and it seemed the arrangement was final.
‘Hey,’ she soothed, moving to Anneliese’s side and rubbing her back. ‘He’s my big brother, Annie. The one guy you can trust is Steve. He’ll look after you. There’s no need to worry.’
‘I’m not worried.’ Anneliese cleared her throat, her eyes reverting to that familiar frigid blue. ‘Thanks all the same, but I don’t need a passenger cluttering up the journey with unnecessary conversation. Nor do I need someone holding my hand and tucking me into bed at night.’
Steve blinked at the image. ‘I’m not the talkative type.’ As for the rest… Their eyes met and he could’ve sworn they were seeing the same image. Two naked bodies sliding over crisp white sheets, her long legs gripping his hips, impatient feminine sighs filling the air…
She averted her eyes, biting down on her bottom lip as the flush in her cheeks spread to her neck.
Stick to the matter at hand, Steve. And Cindy was right. The girl needed a bodyguard. If he didn’t offer… Resigned to his fate, he set his plate down. ‘I have a few security systems to install up north and some prospective clients to see. If you’re worried about space, I travel light. I can send the equipment I need by air to Brisbane and…’ He paused at a sudden ruckus emanating from the laundry. ‘What the heck is that noise?’
‘Fred. My magpie. Cindy’s going to babysit him for me while I’m away.’ Anneliese tipped up her chin. ‘I’m not going to Brisbane. I’m going to Surfers.’
He smiled at her cool disdain. ‘My timetable’s flexible and Brisbane’s only an hour’s drive farther on.’
Cindy hugged Anneliese. ‘I’d rest so much easier with Steve going, too, and knowing you were in safe hands.’
Steve hitched a shoulder inside his flannel shirt and tucked his ‘safe’ hands in the back pockets of his jeans.
Anneliese’s nostrils flared as she inhaled a deep breath, then she looked at Steve and said, ‘Very well. Wednesday. And I want to get an early start. 6:00 a.m.’
He held her gaze, saw doubts and schemes stir in the depths, but he only nodded. ‘See you at your place at five forty-five. My mobile number.’ Without breaking eye contact, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his business card, set it on the table in front of her: Angel-Shield Security Systems. ‘In case there’s a change of plan.’
One hand rose to her throat, drawing his attention to the way her breasts rose and fell as if she was having difficulty catching her breath. She pushed up from the table with a mumbled, ‘Excuse me…’
Anneliese barely got the words past her lips while her gaze remained locked with Steve’s. Her feet stayed glued to the floor for what seemed endless moments before she could unfreeze her brain, order her legs to move and escape to the sanctuary of Cindy’s en suite bathroom.
Breathless, she leaned back against the door. Her legs still felt weak, her hands clammy as she slid them over the front of her trousers.
Steve Anderson. Her best friend’s brother. Worse, the man she tried her utmost to avoid. Why did he have to turn up right now?
Since the night of her twenty-first party she’d managed—mostly—to give him a wide berth, which made the memory of the last few moments all the more intense. She blinked, but his image was still there, lounging insolently between her eyes. Six-foot-plus of disarming man in faded black jeans and hiking boots.
He had hair the colour of teak and permanently in need of a trim, dark eyes, tanned skin. Still wearing his old padded vest—a sleeveless, shapeless black thing with a red logo of some car manufacturer or other on the back.
Did he ever take it off? No. She didn’t want to think about him taking it off. Because then she’d start thinking about that soft flannel shirt beneath and how it would feel if she touched it. Touched him. Right there in that V of flesh where a few masculine hairs curled over the collar.
She bit back a moan, moved to the basin and wrenched on the tap, letting the cold water flow over her hands. She’d rather die before she succumbed to that temptation. When she needed a partner for social occasions the men she associated with treated her with respect, dropping her home with a chaste kiss at the door. As she expected. As she preferred, she reminded herself.
Steve Anderson wouldn’t stop at the chaste kiss. Or the front door.
She had an even more disturbing feeling that she wouldn’t try to stop him either.
He was…dangerous.
His deep voice vibrated all the way up the passage and through the bathroom door. She heard Cindy’s laugh, then…silence. She breathed a sigh of relief.
She flicked water over her