Real Men Don't Quit(8)

She laughed and kicked some more water at him, and for a moment he was sorely tempted to reach out and grasp her ankle. What would she feel like in his grip? How would she react if he slid his hand all the way up to the silken skin of her inner thigh? Before he knew it, his arm was stretching toward her.

“Mumma, I’m hungry,” Chloe said.

Luke sucked in a breath and dropped his arm back in the water.

Tyler squinted at the setting sun. “Oh, wow, I didn’t realize how late it was. Come on, Chloe, we’d better get going.” She rose to her feet, all long legs and wet skin and damp hair trailing over her shoulders. “Why don’t you come over for dinner?”

He realized she was talking to him. “Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner.” A teasing smile hovered on her lips. “As a thank-you for letting us use your pool.” She paused, then added, “I’m not a bad cook, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That wasn’t what worried him. He was more worried that he’d never rid his memory of her smile, her eyes, and that damn purple-red bikini clinging to her curves. That was what concerned him.

Being around Tyler turned him into a slave to his carnal appetites, and he didn’t like the loss of control. On the other hand, he hadn’t eaten all day, and the only things in his kitchen were some sourdough bread and a bag of apples. Besides, if he said no, he’d spend the rest of the evening wondering what was going on next door and regretting his decision.

“Sure, that would be great,” he said.

“Good.” She wrapped a beach towel around Chloe and picked her up before turning back to Luke. “Give me an hour to prepare and get this little one cleaned up.”

He watched them walk off. Chloe had her arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s neck, but she peeled one away to wave at Luke, giving him a tired little grin. He waved back before slowly climbing out of the pool and reaching for his towel. In the dry wind, the trees rustled as if sighing at his lack of judgment.



An hour later, he walked next door. Tyler’s place was an old timber cottage sitting in a straggling, overgrown garden. Shrubs and trees flourished unchecked, while a vigorous jasmine vine threatened to smother the front veranda. The house was well overdue a lick of paint but somehow retained a weathered charm. As he stepped onto the porch, several unusually shaped wind chimes—definitely Tyler’s work—tinkled in the evening breeze.

On his second knock, Tyler opened the door and ushered him inside. Some of the chaos of yesterday morning had gone, but her living room was still a jungle. The place wasn’t grubby or squalid, but there was so much stuff—couches, armchairs, cushions, rugs, side tables, lamps, cabinets. Yesterday he’d been too fired up to take stock, but now, as he stood there surrounded by a kaleidoscope of textures and shapes, he felt as if he could barely breathe.

“I vacuumed the whole house this afternoon,” Tyler said as she bundled a throw rug into a trunk.

Instantly he felt bad. She’d cottoned onto his reaction so easily. “Uh, you’re making me feel like a dick now.”

“Don’t be. I know my place seems cluttered to most people.” She gestured around the room. “I’m the first to admit I’ve got enough stuff to open a secondhand store.”

“Well, you do have some nice pieces.” He wasn’t just flattering her. Though worn and inexpensive, her furniture had an unusual charm. There was just too much of it, in his opinion.

“Thanks.” She grinned. “I think they suit this old house, too.”

“You renting here?”

She nodded, making a wry face. “Yup. There’s no way I could afford to buy this place. It’s the worst house on the best street. Luckily, my landlord isn’t interested in renovating or selling to make a quick buck.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “Come into the kitchen. Chloe’s finishing her dinner before she goes to bed.”

The little girl was at the kitchen table, one hand propping up her drooping mop of curls while she picked at a plate of vegetables. As soon as she caught sight of Luke, she perked up and smiled. “Hi, Mr. Luke! Can you sit with me?”

“How could I resist such an offer?” He pulled out a chair and sat next to her.

“Do you like carrots?” She held one up temptingly.

“Chloe,” Tyler warned. “Those carrots are for you.”

“But he wants them. Don’tcha?” The little girl aimed her blue eyes at him.

“Hmm, well, I’d love to eat your carrots,” Luke said to her, “but these are special carrots your mum cooked just for you. They’re X-ray-vision carrots to help you see better in the dark.”

She wrinkled up her nose as if she didn’t quite believe him, then sighed and popped the carrot into her mouth. “All finished, Mumma,” she mumbled, holding up her plate.

There were still two carrots left, but Tyler kissed her daughter’s hair and lifted her up. “Well done. Bedtime, now. Say good night to Mr. Luke.” Glancing at him, she added, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Night, night, Mr. Luke.” Chloe waved tiredly at Luke as Tyler carried her out the kitchen.

“Good night, Little Miss Moppet.”

Alone in the kitchen, Luke saw the room was a lot more orderly than yesterday. The dirty plates and laundry had been cleaned up, the floor was swept, and an enticing aroma drifted out from a pot on the stove.

Still, Luke’s fingers itched to tidy up. Those plates on the drying rack could be packed away, that pile of freshly laundered tea towels needed folding, and those recipe books weren’t straight. But he contented himself with scraping Chloe’s dinner plate and soaking it in the sink. A solid-looking flip lock had already been fitted to the back door. It was placed high enough that Chloe would be twenty before she could reach it. Regardless of her housekeeping skills, Tyler had her priorities straight when it came to her daughter.

A minute later, Tyler returned. “That swim made her nice and tired. She was out in two seconds. Didn’t even need a bedtime story.”

“She’s a great kid,” Luke said.

Tyler picked the pot off the stove and carried it to the table. “Thanks.” She smiled. “Even if you’re just being polite.”

“No, I mean it.”

She smiled again, a luminous honey of a smile that sent a strange buzz through him. He blinked, wondering if he was imagining things, but the tingle lingered, fizzing to all his nerve endings.

“I hope you like paella,” she said, setting two full plates on the table.

He nodded. Right now, if she’d served him a pot of elephant testicles, he would have nodded.

“This is really good,” he said after a few mouthfuls. “I just realized I haven’t eaten properly since I moved to Burronga.”

“Do you cook much when you’re at home—your proper home, I mean?”

He lifted his shoulders. “I don’t have my own home.”

“What do you mean? Surely you’ve got your own place?”

“Well, I inherited my mother’s house in Goulburn, but even though it’s my childhood home, I don’t consider it my permanent abode. I haven’t had a fixed address in about four years.”

Tyler set down her fork and gazed at him. “What have you been doing all that time?”

“For a while I was studying an MFA in the States and writing my Kingsley Jeffers book. When it came out, the promo involved a lot of travel, both abroad and here. Since my mother died six months ago, I’ve been alternating between her house and a friend’s place in Sydney.”

“Your mother died recently? I’m sorry about that.” She paused, waiting for Luke to say something more about his mother, but he simply nodded. She continued, “So what, do you just load up your car and off you go?”

“More or less.”

A line appeared between her eyes. “Like a gypsy.”

“Gypsies have caravans. I just have my Range Rover. I can write anywhere.” At least, he used to be able to write anywhere. Now, for the life of him he couldn’t string one coherent paragraph together. “And anyway, most people are too attached to possessions.” Possessions got in the way, slowed a man down.

She tilted her head. “You’re a very unusual man, Luke,” she said thoughtfully, reaching for her glass of water. “But it’s not just about possessing things for the sake of having them—at least, not for me. For me, it’s about security, certainty, feeling grounded.”

“It’s different for you. You have Chloe to think about.” He’d had enough of talking about himself; it was time to change the subject. “So, does Chloe’s dad see much of her?”

She choked on her water. “What made you say that?” she spluttered as she set her glass down with a thunk.

“Writers are inquisitive creatures.” He paused as he took in her guarded expression. “Feel free to ignore me if you want.”

“I don’t need permission to ignore you.”

The unexpected bite in her tone made him blink. “Okay, then.”

Awkward silence swelled between them before she exhaled. “I didn’t mean to be so prickly. People don’t often ask about Chloe’s dad.” She sucked in her lower lip. “Not even Chloe.”