Captivated By The Enigmatic Tycoon. Bella Bucannon
Читать онлайн книгу.
rel="nofollow" href="#u6db314c8-1648-5d21-ad6a-7599205f090f">CHAPTER ONE
JACK RANDELL GRINNED at the sound of Strauss, his Aunt Mel’s favourite composer, as he reached the back door. Hopefully this meant her feisty spirit was resurfacing as she’d rarely listened to any music she could dance to since the accident three months ago.
Although she was technically his great-aunt, he could never envision her as being that extra generation older. She and Bob had given him unconditional support during his teenage years when understanding between him and his parents had seemed irretrievable. This house had become his sanctuary, still was even at the age of twenty-eight.
His spirits lifted in anticipation that she’d also begun baking again, and that the kitchen would be filled with mouth-watering aromas. He automatically inhaled as he stepped across the threshold.
No tempting smells and no sound of human activity. He wasn’t surprised at the lack of heating; Mel rarely turned it on until the sun began to set. While he’d been visiting his parents in Brisbane, he’d thought July’s bitterly cold days in Adelaide might have changed her mind. Another reason to believe she was active again and didn’t need it.
After glancing into the kitchen, disappointingly neat and clean, he was about to call out when he heard a scraping sound from the family room on his right. He walked in and stopped, breath caught in his throat and heart skipping intermittent beats.
An enticingly filled-out pair of denim jeans occupied the space in front of the heavy coffee table now placed in the far corner. Definitely not Mel, who declared denim was for the young. His tightened as the pleasing form leaned in further, angling past the bookcase that had been pushed almost to the table, partly blocking the window.
He heard a triumphant huff, followed by a pained, ‘Ow.’ The taut bottom jiggled, and he became decidedly uncomfortable. Mesmerised and immobilised, he watched as the wriggling continued towards him.
A long-sleeved navy woollen jumper appeared, followed by a cap of cropped black hair. The woman snaked onto her haunches, holding up a small object. Her light harmonious laugh rippled through him as she rubbed a spot on the top of her head.
‘Got you. I’ll sew you back on later.’
‘Cassie, coffee time. I’ll... Jack, I didn’t expect this early surprise!’
Fixated on the figure in front of him, Jack didn’t react to his aunt’s voice. He was spellbound as the head spun, dark hair flew and a hand hit the floor to prevent toppling over. Scrambling to her feet, she twisted towards him and he found himself fighting for air again.
Walnut-coloured eyes framed by long black lashes widened as a delightful pink hue tinted her cheeks. Natural red, not quite symmetrical lips parted as she sucked in a deep breath and glared at him as if he’d been the cause of her injury.
Holding her gaze, he suddenly jerked back as Mel’s face loomed into his vision, eyebrows raised, perceptive smile in place. A great improvement since he’d said goodbye sixteen days ago.
‘Remember me?’
He wrapped her in a bear hug and kissed her cheek, thankful she’d regained her normal happy disposition.
‘Great timing as always. Coffee in the lounge, and you can tell me how your parents are. Oh, by the way, this is Cassie Clarkson. Cassie, my great-nephew, Jack Randell.’
She walked out with a slight hint of a limp, paying no heed to his dropped jaw. Who the hell was Cassie Clarkson, and what was she doing here when Mel had family who’d willingly come any time she needed help? Had she provided references for whatever she did, and had they been checked?
Hadn’t his aunt learnt from previous attempts to cheat her, two of them by so-called friends? An older woman on her own was considered an easy target by unscrupulous people. Even he had been duped by an attractive friend of his sister. He’d lost unpaid rent, plus his own time getting the damaged property fit to let again.
The young woman who was pinning whatever she’d picked up onto a coat hanging on a clothes rack—he now became aware of it, plus two by the window—was delightfully curved and a perfect height to nestle her head cosily on his shoulder.
Which he really should not be imagining when he had no idea who, why or what as far as she was concerned. Good looks and toned bodies might attract but they could also mask a desire for the lifestyle and prestige marrying into a wealthy family offered. Hard lessons learnt weren’t easily forgotten.
Ignoring the acceleration of his pulse and the warmth spreading through his body despite the cool air, he stepped forward. She looked up, and he had a hankering for warm Christmas brandy heated by the glow in her eyes. Instantly tempered by his self-imposed wariness of mere physical attraction. He took another pace and held out his hand.
‘Hello, Cassie.’
She wiped hers on her thighs before accepting.
‘Dust. Hello, Jack. Mel’s mentioned you a few times.’
She kept their touch brief, barely polite, and removed her hand smoothly so she couldn’t have felt the zing that shot through him. Neither did she sound as impressed as he’d like her to be, though there was no reason for him to care. Or for his fingers to involuntarily try to hold on. He definitely liked the slightly rough edge to her voice.
‘And you don’t approve. Any particular reason?’
She laughed again, triggering the same response. ‘I never make hasty judgements. I admire the way she portrays you, your siblings and cousins as paragons of virtue; I’m just convinced she’s oblivious to your faults.’
He suspected she was baiting him, didn’t rise. ‘She brings out the best in us. Who exactly are you and what are you doing here?’
‘I’m a declutterer.’
‘A what?’
* * *
Cassie wasn’t fazed by his bewilderment, and quite liked the baffled expression on his handsome rugged face. Payback for not letting her know he was observing her ungainly exit from under the table. She’d caught her breath as they’d made contact and wondered if he’d felt the same electrical spark that zapped up her arm.
‘I help people sort out and downsize their belongings.’
‘Mel’s not a hoarder.’ Quick and sharp.
‘No, she’s not, and she’s expecting us for coffee.’
She walked past him and went to the kitchen to wash her hands. The tingle on her nape told her he’d followed. She dismissed it, refusing to gush over cowboy hero features and eyes the colour of buffalo grass after spring rain. Or to surrender to the urge to finger comb his ruffled light brown hair. Even if his voice was deep and smooth like the old-time crooners on her mum’s CDs.
‘So she’s hired you. Why keep it quiet?’
His sharp tone irked. Counting to fourteen before turning rather than the universal ten was her safety valve. Failing to get any employer’s relative onside could backfire on her.
She enjoyed her work and satisfied customers spread the word, ensuring she rarely had to advertise for clients. He was the first of Mel’s relations she’d met, though a niece had visited prior to her arrival this morning, and there’d been a few phone calls.
At her interview, Mel had explained her family regularly checked up on her since she’d insisted she no longer needed a live-in carer. Her hairline fracture had healed with minimal after-effects, and she took care moving around. She still slept in a made-up room downstairs and never went to the second storey when alone.
Today, as they’d worked, she’d chatted about the younger generation, and the way they fussed over her. Cassie’s heart had clenched at the thought of having numerous relatives who cared.
Running her hand over her hair, she turned to find Jack almost within touching distance.
If