Bella Bucannon - Unlocking The Millionaire's Heart

Her mood altered in an instant and she moved away towards the city. He walked by her side, seemingly oblivious to the word that had rendered her speechless and torn at her heart. It marked him as a man who used endearments as a matter of course, making them meaningless; it had been a habit of her ex.

Glancing at him, she caught his lips curling as if she’d amused him and the penny dropped. He’d listed the extreme sports he’d participated in, was prepared to risk his life for the so-called ‘rush’ she’d heard people rave about. Nothing they’d said had ever convinced her to try any, and she doubted reading about them—they had to be part of the action in his novel—would change her mind.

Was he even now classifying her as boring, doomed to fail in her attempt to revise some of the passages in his high-adventure book?

She stopped and swivelled to face him, square-on. ‘You’ve done all those activities?’

* * *

Nate couldn’t deny the accusation. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded. ‘Multiple times—plus a few others over the years, here and abroad.’

If they stayed in touch for a lifetime Nate figured he’d never get used to the way she breathed slow and even, her lips slightly parted and her eyes wide and focussed as they studied his face. It made him feel virile, yet vulnerable at the same time—a totally alien sensation.

Better she didn’t know that some of those activities had been to gain access to high-risk areas, following leads for stories. Others had been for the adrenaline rush—to prove he was capable of feeling after the sights he’d been exposed to had completely numbed all his emotions.

Racking his brain for something to divert her attention, he saw it over her shoulder. ‘Where does sailing qualify?’ he asked, gesturing towards the water.

She twisted to follow his gaze. A few yachts had emerged from under the bridge and were tacking from side to side, skilfully avoiding impact.

Moving to the mesh protection, she craned her neck to watch. ‘Mixed. My sister and brother-in-law in Melbourne own a yacht, and I’ve sailed with them. I love the wind in my hair, the smell of salt water and the sense of the ocean below us as we skim across the waves. Wearing life jackets. Ocean-racing in rough weather—like the Sydney to Hobart some years—is out.’

He’d bet any advance he might get on his book that she had no idea how captivating she looked: features animated, eyes sparkling and hands gesturing. Or how the inflections in her voice proved that she wasn’t immune to the thrill—no matter how much she said so.

CHAPTER FOUR

NATE DIDN’T DO YEARNING, or hankering for unattainable dreams. So why did the image of him standing on a boat, his arms on either side of her, guiding her hands on the wheel as they sailed along the coast, imprint itself into his mind?

There had been no conscious thought to move nearer. Had he shifted? Or had it been she who’d taken a step? He’d swear there’d been an arm’s length between them a moment ago.

The uneven breaths he took filled his nostrils with her subtle aroma. Time froze. Sounds blurred. And Jemma’s face filled his vision. The strong-minded man he believed he was might have fought the urge to kiss her. Here, in this moment, there was no option and he bent his head.

With a shudder she jerked away, remorse replacing the desire in her eyes. Guilt and wanting warred for prominence inside him. Neither won nor lost, and his mind was blank of any words to appease her.

Her gulp of air was followed by a short huff—an unsuccessful attempt at a laugh. ‘I don’t go there very often. They have full social lives, and I have my work and commitments.’

It was an addition to her last statement, spoken as if those few special moments hadn’t happened.

She glanced towards the city, took a step that way, and his regret was heightened at seeing her effort to regain composure.

He fell into step beside her, leaving extra space between them and taking up the conversation where she’d finished.

‘In the Adelaide Hills? Apart from the firefighting trip, the only time I’ve been to South Australia was in my teens, when my family holidayed on the South Coast. Great beaches and surfing. My brother Sam, who’s with the air force at Edinburgh, reckons it’s a cool place to be stationed.’

‘I like it. Oh!’

She gasped and he turned his head in time to see a speedboat and a yacht come close to colliding.

‘Does that qualify as extreme?’ he asked as the vessels swung away from each other.

‘Only the attitude of whoever’s steering the motorboat.’

‘If the yacht’s skipper reports him he’s in trouble. If not, I hope he’s had a sobering scare.’

She didn’t reply, and he let the conversation lapse, thinking about their near-kiss and cursing himself for his moment of weakness. It might have screwed up any possible co-writing deal, and that was what this was about.

He presumed Jemma was a stay-at-home girl—painting and writing syrupy love stories, never taking any chances outside her comfort zone. But, no, not quite. It took guts and willpower to send a manuscript to a stranger for assessment and possible negative feedback.

Submitting had been his intention from the moment the characters and plot had first formed in his head. How long had Jemma dithered before pressing ‘send’? And why this strong attraction when there were gulfs of difference between them?

* * *

Jemma opted for a café with outdoor seating near the quay. She ordered a banana and caramel ice cream sundae and a glass of water—well-earned by all the walking she’d done today. Nate opted for sultana cake and coffee.

Having him hold the seat she chose, and adjust the umbrella to shade her, was flattering and she thanked him.

‘My pleasure.’

He sat on her left, shuffled along until their knees bumped, then pulled back. The contact sent a tremor up her leg, spreading to her spine. It didn’t seem to affect him at all.

He’d told her he’d run over the bridge after lunch, which explained his damp hair when they’d met, and his change of clothes. It also signified that he was staying somewhere on the North Shore. With friends? A girlfriend? She didn’t want or need to know, but would be amazed if there wasn’t one. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, although... Not going there—it implied personal interest.

‘You run regularly? Apart from the bushfire training?’ An acceptable question as he’d initiated the topic.

‘I like to run or swim every day—sometimes both. There are some great hiking tracks near my home.’

His phone rang. He turned his head and held it to his left ear. She averted her gaze to allow him privacy, concentrating on the passing pedestrians.

‘Hi, Dave.’ He listened for a while. ‘No, we’re good. Tess will be there Saturday night, so we’ll arrange it then.’ A shorter pause, then he said goodbye and tapped her arm.

One side of his lips quirked as he peered over her shoulder ‘This looks positively evil, Jemma.

* * *

Leaning away to allow her dessert to be placed on the table, Jemma felt her eyes widen at its size. And Nate apparently found her dilemma amusing.

She flashed him a fake warning glare and then, with a honeyed tone, thanked the waitress and asked, ‘Could we please have an extra spoon for sharing?’

‘Of course. I’ll bring one out.’ She set Nate’s plate in front of him and walked away.

‘Don’t worry about your figure, Nate, you can always run over the bridge again.’

Her laughter slipped back into her throat as their eyes locked and the amusement in his slowly morphed into something deeper. Something perplexed and conflicted. Or was she transferring her own feelings?