The Seduction Season. Helen Bianchin
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‘You waltz over here and begin hammering shortly after dawn?’
‘Dawn was five-thirty, daylight saving time,’ Sebastian informed her mildly.
‘I don’t give a tinker’s cuss when dawn was.’ She advanced a step, and crossed her arms across her chest. ‘I want you to stop hammering so I can get some sleep.’
‘Ask me nicely.’
Her jaw went slack. ‘I beg your pardon?’
His lips twitched. ‘Ask me nicely,’ he reiterated.
So he was amused. Well, she’d wipe that smile right off his face! ‘You can go—’ she enunciated each word carefully ‘—jump in the ocean.’
The phone rang, its peal issuing an insistent summons she chose to ignore. Temporarily.
‘That’ll probably be Vivienne.’
It didn’t help any that he was right. Elise was stable; the unborn twins were fine. However, Elise would stay in hospital, probably until the twins’ birth, anticipated prematurely. Naturally Aunt Vivienne would remain in Cairns.
‘I’m so sorry.’ The older woman’s voice was achingly sincere. ‘I feel a little easier in my mind knowing Sebastian is close by.’
A sentiment Anneke didn’t share.
‘You’ve met him, of course,’ Aunt Vivienne continued. ‘Such a thoughtful, caring man. And so handy. Oh, dear, I almost forgot—”’ She broke off, paused, then launched into an explanation. ‘I have an arrangement to prepare his evening meals. Anneke, could you?’ A hesitant apology swiftly followed. ‘I hate to ask, but would it be too much of an imposition?’
Yes, it would. If she never saw Sebastian Lanier again, it would be too soon! The thought of preparing a cooked meal for him every night was unbearable.
However, being Aunt Vivienne’s guest, enjoying her aunt’s home, made it difficult to refuse. ‘I’ll organise it with him,’ she agreed, hiding her reluctance.
‘Thank you, darling.’ Aunt Vivienne’s relief was palpable. ‘You’re such a good cook, far more adventurous than me. He’s in for a gourmet feast.’
The word ‘gourmet’ struck a responsive chord, and Anneke allowed herself a slight smile. If Aunt Vivienne wanted her to prepare Sebastian’s evening meals during her sojourn here, then she would. However, meat-and-potatoes-with-vegetables would definitely be off the menu.
A contemplative gleam entered her eyes. Sautéed brains, stuffed pigeon, pig’s trotters. She gave a silent laugh. Maybe this might be fun, after all.
‘I’ll take care of it, Aunt Vivienne.’ Oh, she would, indeed! ‘Is there anything else you’d like me to do?’
‘No, sweetheart. Thank you. I’ll ring again in a day or two, or before if there’s any news.’
‘Give Elise my love.’ Anneke replaced the receiver, and noticed the absence of hammering.
Had Sebastian finished? Or was he merely being courteous? She moved towards the back door and saw his lengthy frame bending over a stack of neatly piled wood.
Nice butt, she acknowledged. Some men looked good in tight, worn denim, and he was one of them. As she watched, he straightened and turned to face her.
‘Good news?’
She was on the verge of retorting that it was none of his business, but managed to catch the words in time. ‘Elise is stable; the twins are expected to deliver prematurely.’
Succinct, with just a touch of resentment, he mused, wondering how she would react if he took all that fine anger and turned it into passion.
Probably try to hit him. He banked down a silent laugh and deliberately drooped his eyelids so the gleam of humour was successfully hidden. It might even be interesting to allow her to score the slap.
Anneke regarded him through narrowed eyes, unable to read him. And the inability didn’t sit well. Usually she had no difficulty in pegging the male species. Smooth, charming, vain, arrogant, superficial, blatant. Whatever the veneer, the motive remained basic.
Yet instinct warned that this man didn’t run with the pack, and that made him infinitely dangerous.
Damn his imperturbability. She wanted to shake that unruffled calm. ‘Is six o’clock convenient for your evening meal?’
One eyebrow slanted, and she could have sworn she glimpsed a gleam of amusement in those dark eyes. ‘Vivienne frequently shared dinner with me.’
She drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly. She even managed the semblance of a smile, albeit that it held a degree of cynicism. ‘An example I have no intention of following.’
‘You have an aversion to friendliness?’
Anneke could feel the anger rise, and didn’t try to contain it. ‘An aversion to you.’
His expression didn’t change, although anyone who knew him well could have warned the stillness held ominous implications.
‘You don’t know me,’ Sebastian intoned softly.
‘Believe I don’t want to.’
‘Feel free to stow your bag in the boot of the car and drive back to Sydney.’ His eyes were level, and resembled obsidian shards. ‘The loss of a prepared evening meal won’t negate my obligation to complete necessary chores for Vivienne.’
She drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly. She could, she knew, easily do what he suggested. Aunt Vivienne would accept she’d changed her mind, and be concerned about her ambivalence.
Except she didn’t want to return to the city. Given a choice, she’d have preferred her aunt’s company, her wisdom. And the solitude of a sandy stretch of beach in a gently curving bay where she could walk alone, meditate, and allow fresh emotional scars to heal.
A solitude she wouldn’t gain if she went back to her small city apartment. Friends, concerned for her welfare, would ring and try to entice her to join them at any one of several parties, or attend the cinema, the theatre. Suggest lunch or dinner and attempt to play amateur psychologist.
Unburdening her soul and having her every word, every action dissected and analysed didn’t form part of her agenda.
‘I intend to stay,’ Anneke responded with equal civility.
Sebastian hadn’t been aware the small knot of tension existed until it suddenly dissolved in his gut. Nor could he explain the reason for its existence.
Sure, Vivienne’s niece was a sassy, long-legged blonde whose captivating green eyes invited a second glance.
His mouth formed a slightly bitter twist. He’d known several sassy, long-legged women in his time, and bedded more than a few. Only to discover they’d coveted his wealth first and foremost. With the exception of Yvette, with whom he’d shared one precious year. In an unprecedented twist of fate, she’d been victim of a random road accident on the eve of their wedding.
For two years he’d buried himself in work, diced daringly in the world of high finance, only to wake one morning and opt for a complete change of lifestyle.
He owned apartments, houses, in several major capital cities around the world, and for a while he’d lived in every one of them.
It was in Paris, the country of his birth, where he’d first begun to pen a novel, the idea for which had niggled at his brain for months. The state-of-the-art computer which linked him to his various business interests had acquired a new file.
A file which had grown and totally absorbed him. His path to acceptance and publication had been a dream run. At a time when virtual reality teased the readers’ senses, his futuristic upbeat plots had been a hit. International success soon followed, and in a bid for anonymity he’d returned to Australia,