An Exception to His Rule

‘Look—’ he studied her ‘—sit down and have another cup of tea—no, I’ll pour it—hang on, I’ve got a better idea.’ He guided her to a chair at the dining table and pulled it out for her. ‘Sit down and study some of my mother’s incomparable collection; it might calm you. While I pour us a drink.’

He turned away towards a cocktail cabinet.

Harriet drew a deep breath and combed her hair with her fingers but she couldn’t find her ribbon so she had to leave it loose. She took a hanky out of her purse and patted her face. Then her attention was drawn to an exquisite cameo in an old-fashioned rose-gold and pin-point diamond setting and she forgot about the wreck she might look as she stared at it rapturously. And Damien Wyatt put a glass of brandy down beside her and pulled out a chair opposite to sit down with his own drink.

‘Cheers,’ he said.

Harriet hesitated.

‘Don’t think about it; just drink it,’ he advised.

So she took a couple of sips and felt the brandy slip down and a warm glow of—what was it? Some confidence?—rise in its place.

But, before she could formulate anything sensible to say, he spoke. ‘How well do you know Arthur?’

‘Hardly at all. I know Penny better. We were at college together for a while, although she’s a few years older. Then we lost track of each other until I came up to Ballina. It was quite an amazing coincidence. I literally bumped into her—no,’ she said with her lips quirking suddenly as his eyebrows flew up, ‘not the way I bumped into you. This was on the pavement as we were walking along.’

A gleam of amusement lit his eyes. ‘I’m relieved to hear you say so. Go on.’

She looked rueful. ‘So we had coffee and compared notes. She told me about Arthur and how they’d moved from Sydney to Ballina to get out of the rat race. She told me she’d started a picture-framing business and a small art gallery and how Arthur still dealt in art—he was born up here apparently.’

‘Yes. He was a friend of my father’s; more than that, he helped Dad establish his collection.’

‘So I told her I’d also decided to get away from the rat race and I was looking for a job. That’s when she grew thoughtful and finally dragged me off to meet Arthur.’

‘I see.’ Damien swirled the liquid in his glass. ‘So they didn’t know—’ he lifted his dark gaze to her ‘—about your brother?’

‘No.’ Harriet traced the rim of her glass with her forefinger then took another sip. ‘I know it seems a bit deceitful, but I find it hard to deal with people feeling sorry for us.’

He was silent for a time, then, ‘What were you doing up here two months ago, when you bumped into me?’

‘I was checking out this rehabilitation centre. It was the first time I’d been to this area—another reason I was a bit dithery, I guess; I didn’t know my way around.’

‘It’s not exactly a metropolis,’ he said wryly then gestured as if to delete the comment. ‘But you’re living up here now? Your brother’s in the rehab centre?’

Harriet nodded.

‘Where are you living?’

She hesitated then took a sip of the brandy and shrugged. ‘In a rented caravan in the caravan park. I do have a job—it’s waitressing, so it keeps the wolf from the door, but—’ She broke off.

‘Only just?’ he suggested.

She didn’t respond but stared a bit blindly down at her glass.

‘OK,’ he said quietly, ‘no more interrogations. The job is yours if you want it but what are we going to do?’

‘Do?’ she repeated.

He set his teeth. ‘Yes, do! About the rest of it?’

Her deep blue eyes widened. ‘The rest of it?’

He grimaced. ‘You must have a short memory span as well as being accident-prone. Or do you often go around kissing guys like that?’

The confidence she’d got from a few sips of brandy ebbed a little at the same time as her eyes widened as the full memory of their passionate encounter hit her.

She took a larger mouthful of brandy.

‘You had forgotten,’ he marvelled.

‘No. But we did get interrupted,’ she responded tartly. ‘I don’t know about you, but I found it extremely embarrassing. Enough to make the rest of it, well...’ She broke off as she searched for the right words.

‘Pale into insignificance?’ he suggested dryly.

‘Not exactly,’ Harriet denied and took another sip of her drink. ‘But it did—move it back a bit if you know what I mean.’ She paused and shrugged. ‘It probably put it into its right perspective.’

‘What would that be?’

She glinted him an assessing look from beneath her lashes, then thought—why should I try to spare his feelings? ‘It was just something that happened in the heat of the moment, wasn’t it?’

‘Go on.’

Harriet hesitated, unable to read his expression but feeling a prickle of apprehension run through her. ‘Well, you insulted me, I responded—’

‘With a blow, allow me to remind you.’ He looked sardonically amused.

Harriet compressed her lips. ‘I’m sorry. I believe I had cause, however. Look—’ she paused ‘—I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t still furious with me over your car.’

‘Not to mention my collarbone. There are still some things I can’t do. I’m not still furious, however.’ Damien Wyatt crossed his arms and leant back with a frown growing in his dark eyes. ‘Well, I may have been a bit annoyed but I have to say I’m mostly confused now. In fact I’m beginning to wonder if I’m hallucinating. Did you or did you not kiss me back almost like a woman starved for—that kind of thing?’

Harriet stared at the cameo for a long moment then looked at him squarely. ‘Maybe. But it’s best forgotten.’

‘Why?’

Harriet pushed her glass away and stood up. ‘Because I have no intention of getting involved with you, Mr Wyatt. Please don’t take that personally. I’m...I’m...happy to be fancy-free, that’s all.’

He stared at her and she was suddenly conscious that not only was she completely unable to read his thoughts but, more than that, it troubled her.

Why? Why should she care one way or another about what he thought of her? The sensual response he’d managed to draw from her had come about because he was experienced and worldly—she had little doubt of that—so why should she invest it with any special meaning or depth?

Well, she amended her thoughts, she had to take some responsibility for her reaction, surely? Starved? Perhaps—but she didn’t even want to think about that...

‘Would you mind if I went now? I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time but I honestly don’t think it could work.’

Damien stayed absolutely still for a moment longer then he straightened and stood up, leaning his fists on the table. ‘Yes, I would mind,’ he said dryly, ‘and I’ll tell you why. I don’t propose to have you on my conscience for a moment longer, whether I realise it or not, Harriet Livingstone.’

‘You don’t have to have me on your conscience!’ she objected.