The Baby Deal

‘Shut up, Leth!’ he bellowed, turning his head to view the bottom of the staircase leading to the upper-level apartment and willing his cousin to respond to the ongoing racket from dog and horn.

After several seconds of the continued ear-splitting duet and no sign of the presumably still sulking Savannah, Reb let out a frustrated curse. At this rate he’d be lucky to get out of here in time to have one beer by midnight, much less make it to Gunna’s party. Shoving the trolley out from under the car, he jackknifed to his feet.

‘Can it, Lethal! You brainless mutt!’ The barking stopped, but the dog continued to jump around on its hind legs like a demented giant rabbit then plunked his paws on Reb’s shoulders to eyeball him with a play-with-me grin.

‘Lord save me from slobbering canines and moody, petulant females,’ he grumbled, before saying, ‘Down, Lethal.’

The firmness of the command brought an immediate response, and one finger pointed in the direction of the canine trampoline sent the dog scampering there. Of course the cessation of the dog’s antics made the ongoing blaring of the horn that much more obvious and grating to Reb’s day-worn temper.

‘Yeah, right-oh, mate!’ he bellowed, wiping the grease from his hands down his overalls as he strode from the workshop. ‘Keep your shirt on! Just ’cos you drive a sports car doesn’t make you—’ His outburst was stalled by the same shocked disbelief that brought his legs to a standstill.

To say he was stunned would have been the greatest understatement since Creation. In fact the only other person he’d have been more surprised to find sitting behind the wheel of the sleek midnight-blue imported convertible gracing the driveway of the Browne Bike and Auto Emporium was Elvis. Presumably, though, Elvis was dead, which explained his absence, but not the beautiful, spoilt and extremely wealthy Ms Amanda-Jayne Vaughan’s presence.

In the minuscule fraction of time between her swinging her Titian-haired head in his direction and the almost electrifying effect of her gaze touching him, the horn was suddenly defeated by a silence so loud Reb could have sworn his body vibrated from it. He told himself the sudden increase in his body temperature was the result of leaving the semi-coolness of the workshop and the fact he was wearing heavy cotton drill overalls in the peak of the Australian summer. His brain, however, immediately dismissed that explanation as the load of bunk it was, because as usual Amanda-Jayne Vaughan looked like every man’s fantasy and Reb was unfortunately male.

Her hair was loose, restrained from her face only by the undoubtedly designer-brand sunglasses pushed onto her head, and the copper-red tresses complemented her exquisite classical beauty as Reb could imagine no other colour doing. A faint flush tinted her fair, creamy skin, but whether it was caused by irritation, the heat or self-consciousness Reb couldn’t guess—although the notion that it might be the latter was downright ridiculous. As if the Vaughans had ever been averse to being the centre of attention! More likely Amanda-Jayne was peeved because she’d had to wait for service and was embarrassed by the events and her behaviour the last time they’d met.

Unbidden, memories of that encounter drew his gaze to the subtle swell of her breasts beneath her knit vest top and sent his arousal meter soaring. There wasn’t a real lot of Amanda-Jayne Vaughan compared to the women he was usually attracted to, but for all her understated physical attributes, her highfalutin’ ways and her stuck-up attitude he had to admit that she had the hottest mouth and the smoothest skin he’d ever encountered. Just the notion of exploring them both again sent his taste buds and fingers into flashback mode.

Amanda-Jayne scrambled to remember what opening line she’d used when she’d been rehearsing this moment on the drive over, but it eluded her. So too did every other bit of the calm, businesslike request she’d come here to make. She swallowed, trying to pacify both her mind and a nervous stomach that wasn’t helping the situation. She also tried to ignore the fact that the convertible offered her no protection from the eyes of the man towering beside it on the passenger side. It didn’t work. His insultingly slow perusal of her body ignited inner sparks which had her squirming in her seat. It was only after endless seconds of his scrutiny, when she managed to pull her own gaze from him, that she noticed her sarong skirt had fallen open and was exposing the full length of her left leg.

‘Oh, my God!’ She jerked the ends of the fabric together.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Don’t sweat it. Truth is, A.J., I could stand here all day looking at you.’ His smirk was pure lust.

‘Well, I can assure you I didn’t come here to be leered at by you!’

‘I can’t leer, huh? Damn,’ he murmured, his expression rueful as he brought it back to her face. ‘Guess that probably eliminates us having hot, torrid sex from your agenda too, huh?’

It was all Reb could do not to laugh as thick-lashed brown eyes widened in a now almost beetroot face, her sexy mouth opening and closing without emitting a word. In one respect it was a disappointment because the husky timbre of her cultured voice and precise diction fascinated him—especially since he’d discovered that years of elocution hadn’t limited her conversation to giving orders and civilised put-downs. Ah, no, the publicly polite Ms Vaughan’s vocabulary could get real earthy in the heat of passion. However, since he was about as likely to get a second exposure to that passion as he was to be nominated as the next Prime Minister, Reb would take his fun when and where he could get it. Right now that was in the driveway of his garage and it was obvious from his unexpected customer’s two-handed grip on the steering wheel and rigid posture that she wasn’t comfortable, or happy about being there.

Well, all joking aside, nor was Reb.

It irked him all ends up that the stuck-up little snob, who’d first caught his attention back in the days when she’d spent vacations from her posh boarding-school toting spoilt rich boys around town and driving poor local guys like him out of their lusting minds, could still get him all hot and bothered. Oh, sure, she was even more beautiful and sexy than she had been at fifteen, but Reb figured that, having recently received a shot of her charms, he should have been immune to her. That he wasn’t didn’t sit well with him.

Especially not when she was sitting in his driveway, in her expensive car, and looking as if she’d been thrust into her worst nightmare. Then again, having to pass through, let alone stop in this part of town was probably enough to send a Vaughan into months of psychiatric counselling.

‘Gotta say this is a surprise, A.J.—’

‘My name is not A.J.’

‘So what’s the deal? Your family just heard a bridge got put in in the twenties and curiosity had you itching to see how the other half of Vaughan’s Landing lived?’

‘No, I—’

‘Nah,’ he cut in. ‘I didn’t think so. Your lot can’t even bring themselves to acknowledge there is another half. I reckon the last time any of the illustrious Vaughans crossed into this part of town must’ve been on horseback in the 1890s, when old Walter Vaughan founded the place.’

Her expression was a combination of impatience, condescension and definite discomfort as she flicked her gaze from the deserted road around the equally deserted petrol station. He could tell she was mentally calculating how many rungs her social status would slide if anyone happened to see her here. The urge to delay her for as long as possible in the hope that Mrs Kelly, the root of the town grapevine, would arrive to pick up the FJ while she was here was strong. But so too was the desire to get rid of her as soon as possible and once again relegate her to the deep recesses of his memory. The women at Gunna’s party might lack the cool, elegant class of Amanda-Jayne Vaughan, but they would also lack her icy, superior attitude.

‘So what do you want?’ he asked, blocking out an egotistical voice reminding him he’d once managed to very thoroughly thaw A.J. ‘Petrol or water?’

‘Neither. I’m here because—’

‘Never mind,’ he said, now spying the worn offside rear tyre on the car. ‘I can see why you’re here.’

She seemed so comically astounded by his statement, Reb was more amused than insulted by her reaction. After all, in her social circle it was automatically accepted that people of his ilk uniformly had double-digit incomes and single-digit IQs and nothing he said would ever change that opinion. Not, he reminded himself, moving to inspect the tread wear on the front tyres, that he gave a stuff about changing that opinion.

Bracing the driver’s-side front wheel in his hands, he gave it a solid shake. The action brought a female yelp of, ‘Reb!’

The sound of his name froze him rigid, all interest in the wheel’s stability instantly fleeing. His reaction was partially due to the fact that she’d finally used his name, but also because the bemused, startled tone was a blood-stopping reminder of another occasion when she’d gasped his name.

‘Reb…wh-wh-what are you doing?’

He straightened, wondering if he’d imagined the faint uncertainty in her tone. The tight-lipped glare she shot him down with when he chanced a wink and said, ‘Why? Shaking you up a bit, am I?’ pretty much labelled his imagination as uncontrollable even before she snapped,

‘Don’t try and be smart!’

‘Gosh darn,’ he drawled facetiously, more angry with himself than her. ‘There I go forgettin’ my lowly station in life again. I sure am sorry, ma’am.’

Her chest rose on a long, exaggerated indrawn breath and Reb couldn’t pull his gaze from it until it lowered on an exasperated exhale. ‘If you’re quite through acting the comic,’ she chided, ‘you might be ready to hear why I’m here.’

More like I was acting the fool! he berated himself, before saying aloud, ‘Like I said, I can see why you’re here.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re paying your regular mechanic to maintain this baby, but, sweetheart, he’s ripping you off. Your two rear tyres are as bald as bowling balls and the front ones are barely legal. You’re in desperate need of a wheel alignment and balance—’

‘What?’

‘I don’t have the time to do that now, but swing the car into the workshop and I’ll fit the new tyres.’

‘But…but I don’t want new—’

‘Look, sweetheart, I know you wouldn’t be familiar with the saying beggars can’t be choosers, but the fact is it’s after closing time on New Year’s Eve and there’s nowhere else round here you’re going to get tyres fitted before Monday.’

‘Would you please not interrupt me and listen? I don’t need any tyres!’

‘Ha, don’t kid yourself! Sweetheart, I’ve seen erasers with more rubber on them than this car! Now, I don’t doubt you can afford the price of a defect fine, but the bottom line is those wheels are going to cause you a serious braking problem, or worse, real soon.’

He grinned. ‘But lucky for you I have this thing about protecting fools from themselves, so I’m going to help you out. Now, swing your car over there and—’

‘I will do no such thing,’ she said hotly. ‘I already know that what meets your standards of protection don’t meet mine!’

‘Oh, right, like your knowledge of tyres extends beyond knowing they’re made of rubber and should be kept round,’ Reb said dryly, resenting having his mechanical reputation and skills called into question.

‘For your information, Ms Vaughan,’ he continued, wondering why he simply didn’t just tell her to take a hike, ‘I never use anything but top-of-the-line tyres on my vehicles! The only reason I don’t stock your brand of choice is there’s no point me carrying expensive brands that none of my regulars can afford to buy. I do, however, ensure that those I stock offer excellent protection under emergency braking conditions. Something yours won’t—’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! I don’t care a whit about what sort of budget tyres you use! It’s your choice of inferior personal protection that’s a problem!’

Reb felt himself stagger. ‘My what?’

‘You heard me!’