"I expected nothing less from you."
Surely she was mistaken in thinking the glint in his eyes might be admiration.
"But when I do something, I do it properly."
And suddenly she was remembering how thoroughly and well he had loved-no, not loved, pleasured-her the night of Melody's wedding.
Callie glanced at the clutch of reports in his hands. "Let's get this over with." Stepping away from his latent intensity, she led the way to the villa's cool kitchen, acutely aware of his presence behind her, of his scrutiny.
"Nice place."
"I rent it." She'd been here nearly a year, and loved the villa's spacious Old-World charm. It was far enough out of the city that visitors didn't often call. She liked that about it too.
"Who from?" The interest in his voice, in his eyes, seemed genuine, and she had to guard against it.
"A neighbor. Who, sadly, wants to sell it in six months." She glanced back, saw that Nick had stopped in front of a painting. It was one of her own, abstract, completed entirely in varying shades of blue and green.
"It reminds me of the sea."
Callie paused, then told herself it was no big deal. Art spoke to different people in different ways.
"Of the water at Cathedral Cove," he added thoughtfully as he studied it. "I visited an American colleague holidaying in that area last month."
A shiver passed through her.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She shook her head and started walking again. "Nothing."
"Did you do it?" His voice was nonchalant.
"Yes." Given the state of her shirt, there was no point trying to hide the fact that she painted. But her art was personal, not something she liked to share. It was her version of therapy, colors expressing her moods and emotions. Six months ago she'd had a ceremonial burning of the awful, somber ones she had painted after her breakup with Jason. Today, fiery oranges and reds had dominated.
She pulled open the refrigerator. "Can I get you a drink?"
When he didn't answer she looked around the fridge door, to see him studying another of her paintings. Slowly, he turned toward her. "No, thanks."
And if she was going to be polite he could jolly well do the same. She pulled a jug of water from the fridge. "If you're going to be my business partner then we at least need to be amicable in each other's company."
"This is amicable." He dropped the reports onto the breakfast bar.
Resisting the urge to snort, she tilted her head to the side and regarded him. "All the veiled threats were amicable?"
A faint smile lifted his lips. "It's all in the interpretation. Solitude or loneliness, threat or opportunity."
Solitude or loneliness. She knew only too well where that had come from, and she didn't want him going down that track. "Please don't remind me of that night. I try never to think of it." She wasn't particularly successful, but she really did try.
He regarded her thoughtfully. "Whereas I take great pleasure in remembering it."
Callie's throat ran dry. Just looking at him, the green of his eyes, the smile that lurked there, the small V of skin revealed by the few undone buttons … . "You shouldn't. We're business partners."
"Don't you sometimes remember it? Perhaps when you're supposed to be thinking of something else entirely, you find yourself instead remembering how we-"
"No. Never." She had to cut him off, because there was something about him, something enthralling, that slipped through her self-possession, her determination. He was more relaxed today, and that made him all the more dangerous.
He met her gaze and knew she was lying.
She looked away and poured ice water into two tall glasses. "Thank you," he said with a hint of irony.
She gritted her teeth. "I need to change my shirt. You might like to wait on the veranda." She had planned on them sitting at her dining table, but she suddenly didn't want to be in a confined space with him.
He shook his head. "I'm fine here."
"And it might be construed as ill-mannered to stay in someone's kitchen when quite clearly they don't want you there."
"The veranda you say?" The small smile stretched, revealing the satisfaction he got from unsettling her.
"It's shaded and cool."
"And presumably I should take my drink?"
"Yes."
Still smiling, he gathered up the reports and strolled back the way they'd come. Stalling for time, Callie washed her hands and changed her shirt, vacillating over her decision. The clothes and makeup she wore during the week were her armor, and if ever she'd needed armor it was now. But on the other hand, she didn't want Nick reading insecurity or a desire to impress him into her choice. In the end she opted for a T-shirt and her favorite jeans.
All the while her thoughts were on Nick, outside, waiting. And his smile. Did he know how it weakened her?
She shook her head. This was a simple business meeting; nothing she couldn't handle. It was on her territory, it was about her business, and she would be able to answer any questions he had. Though it would help if she had some idea what those questions might be.
And it would help even more if she didn't still have that other worry-the one about her now undeniably late period-hanging over her head. She'd gone so far as to buy a pregnancy test kit. It sat unopened in her bathroom cabinet. But as long as it remained unopened she could believe-hope-she was safe.
Nick stood on the veranda and surveyed the rolling hills that surrounded Callie's place, so much greener than those back in Australia. He saw again the neighboring vineyard, the grass around the vines still too long. The only sound was the rustling of leaves in a nearby stand of poplar trees. Some of the tension he hadn't realized he was carrying seeped from his shoulders. He could see why she liked it here.
At the sound of the door opening he turned. Clutching her glass of water as tightly as she had her champagne the night of the wedding, Callie stepped onto the veranda. Her dark curls were loose about her face, jeans, faded with washing, molded to the flare of her hips, a white T-shirt skimmed oh so gently over her curves, its neckline at the base of her throat.
He'd never before met anyone who could make demure look so utterly sexy.
Business. This was about business, he reminded himself forcefully. He was good at compartmentalizing.
Usually.
She met his gaze calmly, but her throat betrayed her with small, nervous swallows. Nick smiled. Complacent. If the business at hand happened to give him a little advantage over Calypso Jamieson, helped her see that he wasn't someone to be trifled with, then so much the better.
Yet so much about her resonated with him. The work she'd done on the Cypress Rise account had captured the essence of the winery. What he had been able to glean about the way she ran her business struck a chord of familiarity, the paintings that hung in her home spoke to him, the depths in her chocolate-colored eyes haunted him. Even that smudge of red she'd missed beneath her jaw affected him, made him want to reach out and touch it. Touch her. As though it was his right.
He couldn't shake the feeling that stirred whenever he saw her, a feeling of connection.
Acting on that feeling had caused this mess in the first place.
He could make her regret walking out on him, but knew that the distance she wanted to keep between them was for the best. She wasn't the type of woman he got involved with. Contrary to what he'd thought the night of the wedding, she was long-term, the sort who made deep and permanent connections. Many of her clients had been with her from day one. And she was a nester. It was obvious in the way she'd used personal touches to turn this rented villa into more of a home than the designer apartment he'd owned for six years.
Nick had believed both Jason's and Callie's assurances that there was nothing left between them. But he didn't quite trust his own need to believe. That was one of the reasons he'd bought the share of her business. There was logic in having that insurance policy, even though the part of him that insisted on honesty told him there was more than just that to his decision.