Outback Baby

‘I didn’t think you’d be interested,’ she answered stiffly.

His eyebrows rose the tiniest fraction. ‘I don’t need a travelogue, but I’d like to know whether you found what you were looking for.’

The coffee cup in Gemma’s hand rattled against its saucer. ‘I went to London for two years’ work experience.’

After a little, Max said, ‘I suspected you were running away.’

He’d dropped the charm and reverted to Big Brother mode and Gemma’s sense of relaxation was falling away at breakneck speed. She should have known the truce had been too good to last. ‘What would I have been running away from?’

He frowned. ‘You and Dave were so close for so many years. Everyone in the district thought of you as a couple.’

‘Yes, but I’m sure everyone knew it wasn’t serious.’ She was stunned to think that Max might have thought she’d been pining after Dave. ‘Heavens, Max, Dave and I just sort of hung out together out of habit. I mean—being with him was always fun and sweet and everything, but when we parted it was quite painless and definitely for the best.’ She added quietly, ‘There was something missing in our relationship.’

Heat leapt into her cheeks. She didn’t add that there had seemed to be something missing in every relationship she’d attempted. Gemma had a dreadful suspicion that there was something missing in her own personality. She feared she just wasn’t suited to romance. No matter how handsome and charming and eager to please her the young men she’d met had been, none of then had ever once made her feel giddily, genuinely in love. Not the kind of love she was hoping to find.

‘You thought you would find that missing something…in London?’ Max’s eyes were lit with a puzzling intensity.

Blue fire.

The way their gaze locked onto hers robbed her breath. This man of all people shouldn’t be asking her such questions.

‘No, I wasn’t hoping for that,’ she said at last, and prayed that he couldn’t guess she was lying through her teeth.

‘No suave English gentleman swept you off your feet?’

It was time to finish this conversation. Gemma didn’t like it at all. She especially didn’t like the way her heart began beat so frantically when Max looked at her.

Unless she put an end to this now, she might end up admitting to him that although she’d met plenty of nice young men, none of them had captured her heart. And the very last thing Gemma wanted was for him to continue this line of questioning and uncover her embarrassing secret.

None of her family or friends knew the truth about her love life. Or rather her lack of a love life. Gemma was quite certain that she was the only twenty-three-year-old female outside a nunnery who was still a virgin.

She lifted her chin to what she hoped was a challenging angle. ‘There were several men,’ she told him. ‘But, Max, you’re not my big brother. I’m not giving you an itemised account and you don’t need to keep watch over me. It’s none of your business how many men I’ve met or—or how many affairs I’ve had.’ Pushing back her chair, she jumped to her feet. ‘I haven’t asked you one tiny question about your breakfast companions.’

He stood also and looked down at her from his menacing height. ‘What would you like to know?’ he asked while a poorly suppressed grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

‘I have absolutely no interest in your philanderings.’ She spun on her heel and began to stomp away from the table. Then she stopped abruptly, remembering her manners. ‘I’ll help you clear the table and tidy the kitchen,’ she mumbled.

‘Thank you, Gemma,’ he replied with a studied politeness that annoyed her.

In silence they worked, Max gathering up the plates and cutlery, Gemma collecting the cups, place mats and serviettes. Together they walked into the kitchen and set their things down at the sink. They both reached for the tap at the same time. Their hands connected.

As if she’d been burnt, Gemma snatched her hand away from the contact, but Max’s reaction was just as quick and he caught her fingers in his strong grasp.

His thumb stroked her skin once, twice…and she felt her blood stirring in response. Her hand trembled.

She wanted to pull away, but she was too fascinated by her body’s astonishing reaction. Never had she felt so unsettled, so fired up by a man’s simple touch. She didn’t dare look at Max. She stood by the sink, mesmerised by the sight of her slim white hand in his large, suntanned grip. She could see little hairs on the back of his hand, bleached to gold by the sun. A faint trace of the fresh, lemon-scented soap he’d used in the shower still clung to his skin and his work-roughened thumb continued to move slowly over her hand, making her feel shivery and breathless.

‘Gem.’ His gruff voice barely reached her over the savage drumbeat in her ears.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

‘Gemma,’ he said again, and his other hand reached under her chin, forcing her head up until their eyes met. Max was looking as startled as she felt. His breathing sounded just as hectic.

When his fingers began to trace ever so gently the outline of her face, she could feel her skin flame at his touch.

‘Gemma Brown,’ he whispered, ‘whether you like it or not, I’m going to keep watching you…just like I always have.’

And the moment was spoiled. Gemma was embarrassingly disappointed.

‘For Pete’s sake!’ she exclaimed, wrenching her hand out of his grasp and pulling right away from him. She was fearfully angry with him and she wasn’t quite sure why. ‘You are not my brother, my bodyguard or my guardian angel!’ For a dreadful moment she thought she might burst into tears. ‘Go paint some more walls. Get a life, Max, and leave me to get on with mine!’

This time she didn’t care about good manners. Gemma rushed out of the kitchen and left him with the dirty dishes.

CHAPTER THREE

THE grimy dishes were still sitting on the counter top waiting to be washed when Gemma walked into the kitchen the next morning. Added to last night’s pile were an extra-greasy frying pan, a mug and more plates—things Max must have used for his breakfast before he headed off at sunrise.

‘Who does he think he is?’ she asked Mollie as she surveyed the dreary mess. Mollie merely whimpered and rubbed her face against Gemma’s shoulder. She’d been restless during the night and still seemed rather fragile this morning. Having slept very fitfully, Gemma wasn’t feeling too chipper either. In their own separate ways, both Max and Mollie Jardine had kept her tossing and turning for hours.

She set Mollie down on the floor while she hunted through Max’s cupboards for a saucepan to boil their eggs, but Mollie began to cry almost as soon as Gemma walked away from her.

‘Aren’t you going to let me do anything this morning?’ Gemma sighed. She tried to cheer the baby up with clucking noises while she set about making their breakfast.

After popping two eggs into a pot of water, she slid bread into the toaster and boiled the kettle for a mug of tea for herself. The phone rang. Gemma glanced at Mollie, who was still making miserable little whimpers and she deliberated whether she should let the answering machine deal with the call. Then, having second thoughts, she handed the baby a saucepan lid, hoping it would keep her happy while she dashed to the phone.

The call was from Brisbane—the printers were wanting to clarify some final details about the pamphlet—so Gemma was glad she’d answered. But when she returned to the kitchen, her heart sank.

Max stood in the middle of the room, with his hands on his hips, staring in dismay at Mollie, who was howling loudly and banging the saucepan lid on the floor in time to her wails.

She dashed into the room and swept the baby into her arms. ‘Why didn’t you pick her up?’ she challenged Max, deciding to attack him before he could begin to accuse her of neglect.

But he clearly didn’t react well to being scolded. His eyes narrowed. ‘Where were you?’ he asked.

‘Where was I?’ She knew she sounded shrewish, but was too frazzled to care. ‘After pacing the floorboards all night, trying to calm your niece, I was answering an important business call. Where were you?’

‘I’ve had one or two things to attend to,’ he snapped. ‘I need to talk to my men—delegate more jobs now that I have other responsibilities.’

‘Who are you trying to kid?’ Gemma cut in. ‘You wouldn’t recognise a responsibility if it was formally introduced to you. Who rocked Mollie back to sleep when she wouldn’t settle last night? Me! Who waltzed off this morning without a care in the world and left the kitchen covered in grease? You did!’

‘I’m sorry you had a bad night,’ he replied with annoying composure, ‘but calm down, Gemma.’ He reached over and lifted the miserable Mollie from her arms. ‘I had every intention of doing the dishes—same as I always do them—at lunchtime.’

‘Lunchtime?’

Gemma might have launched into another tirade, but she noticed that Max’s nose had begun to twitch. Was he feeling angry or just very guilty? Neither of the above, she realised with dismay as the acrid smell of smoke reached her.

‘It seems you’ve burnt the toast,’ he said quietly.

Black smoke billowed from the corner of the kitchen and Max, with Mollie on one hip, lunged across the room, switched the toaster off and flung its doors open.