Chapter Two #2
Something shivered out of her as she exhaled. Relief replaced that terrible wound-too-tight feeling. He was drawing a line under what had happened and moving on.
He took the other stool, sitting close but not too close, and she made herself look away, for the first time taking in the spread before her.
‘You didn’t get that from a corner takeaway shop.’
There was a tub of thick Greek yoghurt, studded with fresh berries and pistachios. There were slices of sweet pineapple, looking like summer, halved passionfruit, mango slices and, her favourite, gleaming red cherries. Plus a large plate of fresh pastries.
The scent rising from the warm pastries and the tangy pineapple rivalled that of the coffee. Greer had a sudden, inexplicable sense of happiness. Of warmth and well-being.
She imagined she felt the sun’s heat on her shoulders, the echo of water lapping nearby, and a feeling of utter contentment. She clung to the illusion, surprised to hear the raucous call of gulls overhead.
The illusion of being by the water faded, but that sense of contentment lingered. What was that? A memory? Or just a hope for better times ahead?
She stirred and turned to Conall. But he wasn’t watching her face. She followed his gaze and noticed she was rubbing one finger over another, a fidgeting habit she had when distracted.
He’d brought some of her favourite breakfast foods.
As he had the morning after she’d come out of hospital.
She couldn’t remember telling him what she preferred to eat, but her memories of hospital weren’t completely clear.
However he’d divined the information, it was kind of him to go to such effort.
‘Thank you, Conall.’ Self-conscious, she reached for a mug, taking an appreciative sip. ‘This definitely is first-class coffee.’
‘Only the best. Now, what are you going to have first?’
‘Fruit then yoghurt.’ Yet it was the cherry Danish she grabbed, plonking it onto a plate and putting it beside her. ‘Just making sure it’s still there when I want it.’
Conall was an energetic man who burned calories quickly. They’d shared enough between-meeting lunches for her to know it was best to claim what she wanted quickly.
She heard his huff of amusement as he added a sultana-studded scroll to his plate. ‘In that case, the snail is mine.’ Then he reached out again. ‘And the cheese twist.’
Greer’s mouth curled into a smile. It felt like a wall tumbling between them. The wariness she’d felt easing into something more comfortable.
Was that the worry that had dogged her since she’d woken in hospital finally lifting? That would be a blessing.
She tried not to wonder if that meant her memory might be restored soon. Thinking about that stressed her and she’d resolved not to go there.
Conversation was relaxed. Conall spoke about a possible trip to Singapore and made a few observations about the share market. Easy stuff that didn’t require much effort from her.
She was surprised at how suddenly hungry she was when lately nothing much had appealed. Apart from the comfort of late-night chocolate bars.
Finally, the meal was over and she rose to tidy up. Scraping flakes of pastry off the plates, she said, ‘You said you want my input. On what?’
He had his back to her as he shrugged so she indulged herself, letting her gaze linger on the lift of his wide shoulders. She shouldn’t. It only fed that longing she’d resolved to conquer.
Okay, that’s absolutely the last time. Right?
‘There’s an investment I want your opinion on.’
Greer stilled, pleasure rising. Increasingly Conall sought her input on projects, using her as a sounding board. He said her accountancy training gave her a good eye for detail. His request now meant he really had put last night’s contretemps behind him.
His investment business didn’t hinge solely on major stock market companies.
He also had interests in a range of start-up companies, most innovative and some surprisingly tiny.
She’d been fascinated to see him back people, and occasionally communities, that needed an investor to help achieve smaller-scale goals.
Unlike his father, it seemed he was interested in benefit to the community as well as reaping financial rewards.
‘What is it? I’m all ears.’
Dark eyes met hers and she reminded herself she was inured to their impact. ‘Soon. I want to take you to see it. Do you have a hat?’
She blinked at the change of subject. ‘Yes.’
‘Then get it and we’ll be on our way.’
Greer frowned. In the past there’d been reports, interviews of company directors and financial analyses when considering possible investments. There’d been some site visits but that was usually later in the process.
‘On our way?’
‘Yes. This cost-benefit analysis is best done in person.’ A ghost of a smile curved his mouth and something inside her loosened. ‘You get ready and I’ll finish here.’
He was up to something. She could tell by the glint in his eyes. Mentally she shrugged. She was intrigued and would play along. So instead of protesting that there was no need for him to clean up, she headed for the bedroom. If he wanted to tidy her kitchen, she was happy to let him.
She was crossing to her wardrobe when he said from close behind her, ‘Bring sunscreen too, if you have some.’
She swung around to find him in the doorway, sweeping the bedroom with his gaze as if looking for something. She paused. She was only metres from the kitchen. There’d been no need to follow to ensure she heard him.
Greer stiffened, acutely aware of the unmade bed between them. Crazy how those rumpled sheets made his presence feel…personal.
She was overreacting. She hadn’t had enough sleep and her reactions were askew.
Yet her eyebrows lifted at his comprehensive inventory of the room. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘Can I use your bathroom? I’ve got sticky hands.’ He was already turning away when she nodded.
Greer frowned as she opened her wardrobe. That interchange had felt strange, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.
It was only as she slipped on sandals and left the bedroom armed with sun cream and a hat that she realised Conall could have washed his hands at the kitchen sink.
Maybe rich people don’t like to dry their hands on kitchen towels.
The idea made her smile. Conall might be rich, but despite his privileged background, she’d always found him down-to-earth.
‘Ready?’
There he was, near enough that she felt the sharp drag of air into tight lungs, her heart leaping before settling into a steadier beat.
‘Of course.’
She ignored the voice warning that spending time outside the office with Conall Abercrombie was asking for trouble. At least until she worked out a way to inoculate herself against her unwanted feelings for him.
‘Okay, I’ll play. What are we doing here, Conall?’
Here being the exclusive marina tucked deep into the curve of Rushcutters Bay on the south side of Sydney Harbour.
She might be from the other side of the country but Greer recognised the yacht club from countless news reports.
It hosted the launch of the world-famous Sydney-to-Hobart yacht race each year.
The landward end of the bay was green parkland, the sides all expensive houses and apartments. The other end of the bay was open to the broad expanse of harbour.
‘I told you. We’re here to view a possible investment.’ He gestured for her to walk with him. ‘This way.’
Greer’s eyebrows rose as this way became a pier between vessels. What was he up to? She couldn’t imagine any business investment here.
Still, the warm sunshine and salty air were invigorating. The gentle ding, ding sound from the rigging of moored yachts seemed almost welcoming, even to someone who knew nothing about sailing.
Finally he stopped beside a white yacht that looked streamlined and sleek. He looked from it to her. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think it’s not an investment that will give you a solid return on your money.’
He chuckled, the sound trickling through the hidden barriers she’d erected to keep herself safe from his charm. ‘Ever the pragmatist, eh, Greer? That’s one of the reasons I value you so highly. But we both know not all investments are about financial returns.’
Slowly she nodded. A small but increasing amount of his funding went to what he called his conscience projects, supporting communities.
But a boat couldn’t be one of those, could it?
She frowned. ‘What are you planning? A sailing school?’
There’d been a couple of schemes to help unemployed people, particularly young ones, develop job skills. Was there a need for yacht crews? Greer had no idea.
‘You know, I hadn’t thought of that.’
He led the way aboard, then stopped to reach out his hand for hers as she stepped onto the boat.
Something skittered along Greer’s senses as his hard, warm hand closed around hers. She was unaccustomed to his touch. That must be why it felt so momentous.
Drawing air into cramped lungs, she fixed on a smile, nodding her thanks but not meeting his eyes as she stepped onto the deck. She turned as if to survey the vessel but in reality the movement was an excuse to slide her hand free.
Because she’d had the bizarre urge to return his firm grip and keep holding.
‘Would I go down too far in your estimation if I admitted I’m interested in buying it for myself?’
‘A personal investment then?’
Her brow knitted. As far as she knew, all his investments were about delivering results, usually financial, though sometimes charitable.
She couldn’t remember Conall ever making a major purchase as an indulgence.
For a rich man he lived a fairly simple life.
He worked long hours and from what she gathered, much of his social life related to business.
‘You don’t approve?’
Greer surveyed the gleaming yacht. Even to a landlubber it looked beautiful. Her gaze went to Conall, feet planted wide on the deck, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners in the hint of a smile that made her breath hitch.
They looked like they belonged together, this powerful vessel and the man so at ease here. His stance, with his hands planted on his hips, seemed to emphasise the width of his straight shoulders and the power in that tall form.
She shook her head. ‘It’s not for me to approve. If you want to buy a yacht, you can. What’s the point of having money if all you do with it is make more money?’
His response was a bark of laughter. ‘Obviously, you don’t know my father. Making money and thereby accruing more and more influence and power can be an end in itself.’
‘But not for you.’
Conall had the skills and determination to succeed and he used them to great effect.
His reputation for nosing out solid investments was well-deserved, and then there were the riskier opportunities, less certain but with great rewards when they succeeded.
He had an instinct for those and a reputation for success.
It struck her that from everything she’d seen, influence and power weren’t what drove him.
What did? She wished she knew. But his motivation was none of her business. No matter how much he intrigued her. She brushed aside that dangerous thought. She worked for him, that was all. She needed to remember that.
But it was hard to do when he stood there looking like some sexy, modern-day pirate, his eyes glowing with a hint of laughter and his powerful body exuding competence and charisma.
Deliberately Greer surveyed the boat. ‘What would you do with it if you buy it?’
‘Sail her, of course. I always liked yachting but haven’t done much lately.’ His gaze touched hers and held it. ‘I’ve been thinking about how unpredictable life is and decided it was time to get out and do some of the things I enjoy. There’s no point waiting.’
Despite her best efforts, Greer’s eyebrows rose. This was the man who worked seven days a week. Who rarely took a holiday.
But looking into his eyes, she knew he meant it.
He’d realised life was unpredictable. Because of her accident?
It seemed likely. One moment she’d been walking on the footpath and the next she’d been on her way to hospital, unconscious. When she’d woken the last several months had been a black hole.
The idea that her situation had impacted him felt troublingly personal. She’d been grateful for his kindness since the accident but it hadn’t occurred to her that her disaster might change him too.
‘Would you like a tour before we go?’
‘Go?’
He nodded. ‘I’m thinking of buying her, so we’re going out on the harbour to try her out.’
Greer stiffened. ‘But I don’t know anything about sailing. I’ve never been on a boat, just a canoe.’
There’d been no sailing boats in her childhood. That was for rich people. She’d been a netball girl, member of the local team in whichever town she and her mum found themselves.
Conall moved nearer and her pulse ramped up.
‘You’ll be safe. I know what I’m doing and you’ll have a life jacket.’ He paused, watching her closely. ‘I thought it would make a nice change from being cooped up indoors. To do something fun. I can only guess how difficult the last weeks have been for you, Greer. But if you’d rather not…’
Stunned, she shook her head. He was doing this for her? Not buying the boat, of course, but planning today’s outing. To give her something to take her mind off the amnesia?
Alarms rang. She’d always been careful to keep some distance from Conall, hiding how he dazzled her.
Since her amnesia she’d had to work at that even harder.
Her defences were low and she felt vulnerable, as if every emotion sat too close to the surface.
She couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing that.
But how could she pretend to aloofness now? The idea her well-being was so much on his mind stifled any objection.
Reluctantly she felt her lips curve into a smile. ‘It sounds tempting, lolling on a billionaire’s yacht.’
A long dimple scored one tanned cheek and it was as if he’d dragged tight a cord that stretched from her throat to her womb. She felt that smile in every needy part of her body.
Silently Greer cursed her weakness for this man. The attraction nothing seemed to budge. Despite all her caution and her determination, it was getting worse, not better.
‘It’s not mine yet, Greer.’ He paused and she fought not to react to the sound of her name on his lips. ‘But I would like your impressions. There’s a gourmet lunch in the galley and I know a secluded cove perfect for a picnic. What do you think?’
It was the worst idea she’d heard in forever.
An outing, just the two of them alone. On an impossibly perfect day. With a man whose smile made her hanker after things she couldn’t let herself want. He was her boss. She’d be mad to agree.
The knock to the head must have messed with her sense of self-preservation because she heard herself say, ‘Thanks, Conall. I’d love to.’