Laurey Bright - The Heiress Bride

“Come upstairs again and I’ll get a plaster for it. Come on,” Alysia insisted as he looked about to argue.

She led him to the main bathroom, placed her bag on the floor and took a first-aid box from the cupboard under the hand basin. She unscrewed the cap on a bottle of disinfectant. “Is it dirty?”

“No. Just pour a bit of that on,” he said, holding his hand over the basin. “It’ll kill any lurking germs.”

He winced slightly as she did so, and she murmured, “Maybe we should have diluted this. It stings.”

“I noticed.” He seemed very close, watching her as she swabbed the wound dry with a piece of gauze and pressed a plaster over it. Although he shifted back a little while she replaced the disinfectant and plasters, she was conscious of him right behind her.

When she turned he didn’t move, and she found herself trapped against the basin. She raised wary eyes, and caught a strange look in his. A look that seemed attentive and faintly puzzled. Without speaking he lowered his head, pressing a quick, warm kiss on her mouth.

It was over before she had a chance to either reciprocate or protest, or even decide which she wanted to do.

“Thank you,” he said. And still he didn’t move away, his steady gaze questioning.

She stared back, refusing to evade the challenge.

He was too adept at finding vulnerable areas of her psyche. A reporter’s instinct, she guessed, that told him where to dig for what lay under the surface. For what people preferred to keep hidden.

He knew that since the kiss in the garden she’d been unwillingly attracted to him. No doubt the knowledge gave him great satisfaction. But that didn’t mean she’d give in to the attraction.

His smile widened a little, and then his head dipped again.

Alysia whipped her own head back, her hands clutching at the cold porcelain of the basin behind her.

Chase straightened. Alysia tried to keep her eyes steady and indifferent. She still felt a tingle of surprised pleasure on her lips. But mingled with the pleasure was hostility, resentment that this man could produce that sensation.

At last Chase took a step away, then another. Blocking the doorway, he cast a lightning glance over her, and she realized that she was taut as a bowstring, her body curved so that her breasts and hips were thrust forward. Hastily she readjusted her stance, releasing her grip on the basin to bring her arms protectively across her midriff.

Chase laughed then, his eyes going glittery. She must have imagined that fleeting tenderness, there was no sign of it now. The thought pierced her, unexpectedly poignant.

“That cocktail,” he said conversationally, “was it chilled?”

Alysia blinked at the non sequitur. “Yes. There was ice in it.”

“I thought so.” He stood there a moment longer, surveying her in a not unfriendly way but with a hint of sarcasm in his slight smile. Then he sketched her a salute. “Tell your father he ought to get a burglarproof catch on that window. Good night—I’ll find my own way out.”

She heard his quick footsteps on the stairs, and the forceful closing of the front door, and then the distinct sound of whistling as he went on down the path.

Pink and sweet—and cold. That’s what he thought of her, Alysia acknowledged irritably. Translated it meant insipid and uninteresting.

It didn’t matter. What Chase Osborne thought of her was a matter of total indifference to her. Wasn’t it?

Alysia and her father spent Christmas Day with his sister in Auckland. Aunt Patricia’s children were all married but some of them brought along their families for Christmas dinner.

Perhaps because she’d been an only child herself, Alysia enjoyed the children, willingly keeping them amused while their parents relaxed after a too-large midday meal.

At the end of the day she helped her cousin Valda pack children and their paraphernalia into the family station wagon.

Stuffing a teddy bear into a carry bag, Valda asked her curiously, “Do you really want to work at the Clarion?”

Alysia straightened from fastening a child’s safety belt. “Of course.”

Valda cast her a shrewd look. “To please your father?”

Alysia tucked an errant strand of her hair into its clasp. “To carry on the family tradition.”

“Robbie!” Momentarily distracted, Valda admonished her younger son. “Leave your sister alone!” Turning back to Alysia, she looked at her speculatively. “I wondered if you chose to study journalism in Wellington just for a chance to spread your wings. Between your father and my mother you’d led a pretty sheltered life.”

While Alysia was at university she had boarded with her aunt and uncle. Her father had vetoed her sharing accommodation with friends, seemingly convinced that student houses were both expensive and dens of iniquity. And Aunt Patricia had discharged her responsibility very conscientiously.

“I had a good time while I was at university,” Alysia said. “Your mother never locked me in.”

Valda laughed. “Good for you. Well, if you’re happy—Robbie, I said stop that! Where’s that husband of mine?”

“I’ll find him,” Alysia offered, and made for the house.

Between Christmas and New Year, Alysia drove to Auckland to help her university friends celebrate one of their birthdays.

Seated round a large table in an upmarket restaurant, the group bantered with the waitress, laughed at corny jokes and enjoyed being together again.

They had reached the dessert course when Alysia saw Chase Osborne across the room, dining tête-à-tête with a dark, sultry young woman wearing a slinky black dress that showed off her generously curved figure.

The woman was talking, using her hands for emphasis, showing off long, elegant nails painted a brilliant pink, and occasionally pushing at the riot of loose curls about her face. Chase smiled now and then at something she said, and once laughed outright.

That was when he noticed Alysia, his eyes catching hers across the room, laughter still on his mouth as he lifted a hand to her.

She felt the impact of that look like a small shock, and nodded to him, mustering a smile.

His eyes took in her companions and then returned to his partner. Alysia tore her gaze away. The birthday boy had called for another bottle of wine and was refilling glasses over laughing protests.

When the waiter carried in a cake ablaze with candles the party became even more lively, attracting the notice of other diners, some of whom good-naturedly joined in the singing of “Happy Birthday.” Determined not to glance in Chase’s direction again, Alysia was nevertheless acutely aware that he too had looked up at the cheers and laughter.

As the group left the restaurant, the host’s unsteady steps being hilariously directed by two other young men, Chase and his companion were in the foyer. With a word to the woman, he crossed to Alysia and drew her aside. “You’re not driving home tonight?”

“I’m staying with my cousin in Auckland.”

“Did you bring your own car to the restaurant?”

“No. What does it have to do with—”

“I can give you a lift.”

Astonished, she looked past him to where the sultry beauty waited. “Your girlfriend might object to that.”

“Your father might object to you being driven by some young idiot who’s over the limit.”

“My friends are not idiots. Donna doesn’t drink at all, and she’ll be driving some of us home. The others are taking a taxi. Not that it need concern you.”

He released her arm without apology. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ll be all right, then?”

“I’m not a silly teenager, Chase.”

“Okay. You go home tomorrow?”