Real Men Don't Break Hearts(8)

A sleek sports car sat outside her shop. She hesitated, her heart breaking into a quick trot. Was there someone in the car staring at her? She caught a movement inside the darkened interior of the car and backed away toward her front door. Silly to be nervous. Crime was low in Burronga, but a single woman on her own couldn’t be too careful.

A dark figure unwound from the sports car. “Ally, it’s me. Nate.”

She let out an exasperated puff. “What are you doing lurking in the dark like that?” Her heart wouldn’t stop pattering even though she now knew the threat was non-existent.

He moved closer, stepping into a pool of light provided by a street lamp. The yellow glow turned his face into a contrast of paleness and shadow, cutting the planes of his cheekbones into sharp angles.

“I wasn’t lurking,” he said. “I was waiting for you to come home.”

“Oh.” She peered at him through the dimness, unable to fathom his expression. “How long have you been waiting?”

“About half an hour.”

Nate Hardy had been waiting for her for half an hour? She tipped up her chin. “You should have called. You could have been waiting for hours, seeing as it’s Friday night.” Yeah, and she had so many places to go.

He gave her a faint smile, as if he knew as well as she how she spent most of her Friday nights. “I did call. I got your voice mail. But I wanted to see you in person anyway.”

“Now? Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow morning?”

He cocked his head toward the door leading to her apartment. “D’you think we could discuss this upstairs?”

“You want to come into my apartment?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

The keys dug into her palm. Why did he seem so conciliatory? So different from this afternoon?

“Okay,” she said, still filled with suspicion.

She unlocked the door and led the way upstairs to her apartment. Nate walked in and inspected his surroundings, not bothering to hide his curiosity. One of her grandmother’s handmade afghans adorned the back of the couch. Her parents’ oak dining table stood in an alcove. She’d always thought her apartment cozy, but now she wondered if to Nate it seemed fussy, spinsterish.

“Nice place you’ve got,” he said.

What was he up to? Just a few hours ago he’d traded insults with her, and now he was complimenting her decor? “Are you thinking of increasing the rent?” She folded her arms. “Because I have to tell you the stove has a habit of going on the fritz and the windows—”

“No, nothing like that.” Looking a little irked, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers and jingled some change. “I wanted to talk to you because…well, when I came by this afternoon I didn’t know about Seth’s wedding. I only heard about it this evening. If I’d known I wouldn’t have come barging in like I did. It was bad timing on my part, and I apologize.”

His eyes had softened, but she didn’t like them any better. The last thing she needed was his pity. She ran her fingers through her curls and flicked them back to glower at him. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“By chucking bars of soap around?”

The twitch of his lips caught her by surprise. When she thought about it, it was pretty funny the way she’d made him duck and dodge. Not that she’d admit it. “The soap was aimed at you, not at Seth,” she retorted. “I told you. I’m over him.”

The fleeting amusement faded from his face. “If it’s any consolation, I told him off for having the wedding here, but apparently Paige insists on it, and what she wants she usually gets.”

A simmering, indigestible sensation spiked her stomach like chili. Why was she letting Nate get her all hot and bothered?

“It’s no concern of mine.” She took off her jacket and draped it over a chair before moving to the windows to draw the curtains. “Seth can get married wherever he wants. It has nothing to do with me.”

“You don’t have to be so magnanimous, you know. You can vent your feelings a little.”

Perhaps, but not in front of Nate. She needed him to see her only as graceful and cool. Adjusting the collar of her shirt, she gave him a sickly sweet smile. “I’m fine, honestly. You really didn’t need to wait downstairs for half an hour to tell me all this. I’m sure you have better things to do on a Friday night…” She let her voice trail off, the hint that he should take off blatant in her silence.

His caramel eyes ran up and down her body, a curious expression playing across his features, as if for the first time in his life he were seeing her, really seeing her. At his scrutiny a tremor ran through her. He’d always had this effect on her, and she’d always told herself it was because she couldn’t stand him. He was an amoral rogue who took what he wanted without thinking, a sensual, sexy guy with zero desire for any kind of commitment. The type of guy she avoided like the plague. But now she had to admit it wasn’t revulsion that made her shiver when Nate stared at her. It was…fascination. Fascination with the forbidden.

But maybe he wasn’t such forbidden fruit anymore. Maybe it was time to change her whole outlook on life. Maybe Nate was just the kind of man her sister had in mind when she’d advised her to “have fun.”

Play around with Nate? The idea sent a zing through her veins. She studied his quirked lips, the fine shirt tight across his broad chest, the trousers brushing against muscular thighs, and heat began to gather in her pelvis like curling smoke. Oh, he was sexy all right. Enough to make her mouth dry and her extremities tingle. But then she looked into his eyes, and the kindling fire in her fizzed out.

She might be in need of a little adventure, but messing with Nate would be more like a suicide mission. She’d heard all the stories about how he operated. Any woman who fell for his charms had to be prepared for a quick and brutal heave-ho. When Nate tired of a woman, he cast her off smartly, like a snake shedding an unwanted skin.

She needed to change her image, to shake herself out of her rut, but getting tangled up with Nate would be the worst way to do it. And besides, who said he’d be interested in her? His taste in women ran to the flashy, sassy type who knew the score when it came to men. Not someone like her.

“So you’ve been living here in Burronga all this time?” Nate asked, breaking into her agitated thoughts.

She leaned against the back of her couch, concentrating on her breathing. “Some of us like it here.”

“Uh-huh. Running the family business?”

“Not all the time.”

“Oh?” He cocked an eyebrow, appearing genuinely interested.

She shrugged. “I worked at the Dumfries Resort for a while, but my nana developed heart problems, so I started helping her out at The Giftorium.” At that point she’d been toying with the idea of going to university in Canberra. Her grades were good enough, but no one in her family had ever done something like that, and in the end her grandmother’s health had squashed any ideas of university study. But the notion still lingered, and every now and then she wondered if it wasn’t too late.

“Care to join me for a drink down at the Red Possum?”

She felt her eyes widen. “A drink? Now?”

“It’s not even ten o’clock,” he said in a way that made her feel twice her age. “Surely it’s not too late for just one drink?”

“What makes you think I’d want to have a drink with you?”

Nate spread his hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to make things right here.”

“Oh, so you think just a quick sorry is all it takes and suddenly I’m supposed to forget everything?”

He gave her a smile that sent a sizzle through her veins. Oh, he had a dangerous smile, filled with illicit promise. “You don’t strike me as someone who holds onto a grudge no matter what. We’ve had our differences in the past, but why make a tricky situation worse? I’m going to be your landlord, you’re going to be my tenant. Isn’t it in both our best interests to at least try to get along?”

Her lips clamped together. Forget about his sexy smile. He thought just one brief apology made everything okay between them? Well, she wasn’t going to fall for his laid-on charm just to make things easier for him.

“Sorry, it’s too late,” she said crisply. “Much too late.”

She held his eye, hoping the cool dismissal in her gaze was too obvious for him to miss. His mouth flattened before his expression tuned aloof and distant. He lifted his shoulder.

“You’re right. It is too late. Good night, Ally.”





Chapter Four

“The leaded glass lampshades?”

“Going.”

“The beeswax candles?”

“Staying.”

“The Angora sweaters?”

Ally hesitated. “Um…”

“Come on, they’re overpriced and hideous.” Tyler held up one of the fluffy, cotton candy–like garments against her chest and pulled a face. “Perfect if you’re going to tea with the Bishop, but useless in Burronga.”

“Nana will never let me hear the end of it if I drop the Angoras. She and Carol go a long way back.”