Billionaire on Her Doorstep (19 page)

But then he moved, backing into his house so that a lamp somewhere nearby lit his face and she saw it - the heat, the half-smile, the blatant invitation. He held out an arm without a second thought and she went inside.

Now this is unexpected, Tom thought, considering that when he’d left her earlier that day he’d been an utter numbskull, as Alex’s seven-year-old would say.

Tom closed the front door. He watched in silence as she put down the papers and wine on a side table and wandered through his house. Her sharp eyes took in the artwork on the walls, the plump well-fed house plants and the understated elegance that he hadn’t been able to walk away from when he’d made the move from his home in the big smoke.

He was still getting used to the idea of Maggie in his house. Divorced. With a bottle of wine and a desire to celebrate. And the first p lace she had come was straight to him. It seemed he didn’t have as much time to sort his he ad as he’d been hoping. It seemed that he was going to have to come to terms with her one way or another tonight.

He caught sight of his reflection in the far window and realized he was dressed like a couch potato, not like a gentleman with a lady caller. He really ought to grab a pair of jeans. He glanced towards his ajar bedroom door, but it was a good twenty feet away. Too far. She was skittish enough to run the second he gave her the chance. And he wasn’t going to let that happen.

Not when she had come to him wearing a strappy top with a deep V back exposing acres of creamy smooth skin. Not when her hair was up in some sort of wavy, messy, precarious design that looked as though all he’d have to do was reach up into those smooth waves, remove the one pin holding it all together and it would all come tumb ling down. And not when she wore jeans more fitted than he’d ever seen her in before. Sexy jeans. Curve-hugging jeans. Dressed like that, he wasn’t planning on letting her out of his sight.

Maggie stopped at his fireplace, above which resided a familiar blue painting. It was already perfectly down-lit as Tom had simply replaced another painting which he now wished he’d put away rather than leaving out for any stray visitor to stumble upon.

She turned to him, noticeably taken aback. “You’ve put it up?”

The minute I got home,’he confessed.

“In the place of a DrysdaleV She glared at the classic

Outback painting by one of Australia’s most iconic artists, resting haphazardly against the side of his couch, and then back at The Big Blue again. She looked like a kangaroo caught in his Ute headlights.

He couldn’t help but laugh when she took a mental step backwards and asked, “You own a Drysdale?”

“And there’s a Nolan in my bedroom,” he said, pretty chuffed he’d finally found an opportunity to use that line.

Her eyes widened a fraction farther, first at his words and then at the all too clear intention behind them. Her fine chin darted a centimeter upwards before she seemed to remember that she was the one who’d come to him. With wine. And sexy hair. And divorce papers. Her ensuing smile was wry, but at least it was a smile.

“And if I’m not mistaken,” she said, reaching out to a bust hidden in a poky corner of the room, “that statue is a Rodin. A knock-off?” “

Tom shook his head.

“But it’s practically priceless! “she said, her tone accusatory.

“Not quite,” Tom said. “I managed to pick it up for quite a reasonable price a few years ago.”

He saw the wheels turning in her head as she calculated the lowest price that could have been. He knew he was bragging, but she was there now, and there was no denying he was loaded. The evidence was all around her. And the chance to see her flustered, and pink-cheeked, and on the back foot was too good to give up.

“It was a gift for my sister,” he admitted. Tess was the true art fanatic in the family. So to me it is priceless.”

Her eyes softened and she let out a small, sympathetic, “Oh.”

But, in that moment, Tom knew it wasn’t about Tess any more. Alex was right - it once had been. For so long everything in his life had been about his beloved little sister, and the wish that he could have been her miracle.

But this, right here, right now, was about him and the woman before him, and not one other thing. He moved further into the room.

“So while you were in Sydney you worked in renovations,” she said, head down, her work-roughened palms making themselves known to the marble, and the history, and the sadness, and the love associated with the small statue.

T did.”

“But you weren’t a labourer.”

‘No. I owned the company. I’m an architect by trade and my company became a very successful company, and before moving here I sold it all for a very healthy price,” he said, answering her next few questions so she didn’t have to ask them.

“And this house…” She waved a frantic hand around, taking in the vast open-plan, the slate floors, the industrial kitchen, the unimpe de d mo onlit v iew across the b ay. “D id you des ign this?”

He nodded. “Every last bit. I considered it my last great flight of fancy before retiring from the game.”

Maggie shook her head, waves of hair trembling about her dainty ears and the vulnerable image created a deep well of heat in the pit of Tom’s stomach.

“But Tom, it’s breathtaking. If you have it in you to create all this, how could you give it up?”

Tom moved closer, arcing around the lounge to get nearer to her. “When she realized what he was doing she moved away, subtly, but enough that he couldn’t get any closer, until they were practically circling one another about the room.

“Because it was a game,’he said. “Landing the biggest, the best, the most ridiculously expensive. The more you run with money, the more it falls your way. And it becomes all too important to keep playing faster, harder, longer until the game becomes your life.”

Her eyes widened and he knew she knew exactly what he meant. She’d known men like that before, men like the man he’d been on the way to becoming before it had all turned to a bitter taste in his mouth.

.’And then it’s too late, be fore you realise that the actual important things in your life have fallen by the wayside, while you were busy playing,” he said.

Her eyelids flickered and she tugged her bottom lip into her mouth with her top teeth. His gaze was drawn to her mouth, her overbite, her lips, and it took all of his strength to look back at her eyes as she said, “I always wondered if men like that could come to their senses and realise they were playing the wrong game all along. It seems some can after all.”

Tom nodded, lengthening his strides. She just looked so damned sexy. Haughty. Smoky-eye d. And in his house. It was an irresistible combination. “So I moved here to give my life over to something real. Good company, good food and working with the sun on my back.”

She stopped when she reached the tinted double pane windows and turned to look out over his perfectly groomed backyard. She crossed her arms and took in a deep breath.

“I didn’t mean to let you think otherwise,” he said, “but it just never seemed like the right time to bring all this up.” He moved in behind her, all the better to wrap himself in her heavenly scent.

“I understand,” she said, her voice lilting and sounding a little bit sad.

“So why do I get the feeling you’re disappointed?”

“Because maybe I am. A little.”

He laughed, his breath ruffling the fine hair at the back of her neck, and he heard her deep intake of breath as she realized how close he was.

“You are one funny woman, Maggie Bryce,’he murmured. “M ost pe ople are pleasantly surprised to discover that I am not quite the beach bum.”

“I liked the bum,” she whispered.

And he knew just what she meant. Tom the handyman was fair game. A larrikin. Fling material. The perfect transition guy. Heck, he’d loved being Tom the handyman for several years as much as she’d wanted him to be that person.

But Tom the billionaire was unknown. Intimidating. Self-aware. And perhaps too much of a throwback to the life she had once known. But this was not the moment he wanted her pulling away from him.

“Seeing you driving through town in your bandanna and dirty jeans, nobody would think you are one of this country’s pre-eminent fine artists, Maggie.”

She let her breath go. “I know. But I just thought - “

She turned, looked him dead in the eye, and he saw exactly what she thought. She’d thought he might be an uncomplicated way to blot out old hurts. But being here, seeing another side to his personality, meant that he was becoming more real to her by the second.

Well, that was just too bad, for she was already real to him.

He’d seen through her cool shield to the warm heart beneath. He’d seen the way she struggled over her painting because she so wanted to give pleasure to whomever ended up with it hanging proudly in their living room. He’d seen the way she so wanted to be strong and independent when really she had no idea how strong she already was.

And he’d seen his own desire reflected in her eyes. For days. Forbidden desire. But now there was nothing holding them back. So, before she had the chance to think all that natural desire away, Tom took her cheeks in his hands, leaned in and kissed her.

With a soft, resigned sigh and a delicious shiver that Tom felt rumble through her limbs and then his, she shifted in his arms, her long, lean form soft and round against him, as she kissed him right on back.

She threaded her hands through his hair, achingly slowly, pulling him closer still. And Tom couldn’t even hope to suppress his groan.

He reached around her waist, taking his time, relishing every touch, every inch of her until his hands found her bare back. She was warm, so very warm. Her skin so soft. He ran his fingers along the bumps of her ribs until they met in the middle and then he simply gave in to his deeper needs and wrapped so tight around her she could have no doubt of how much he wanted her.

Her kiss was so giving. And so trusting. It was instinctive, hot and addictive. The more he had of her, the more he wanted of her. She tasted so sweet. She smelled so sexy. She felt so hot. Tom found himself fast losing his mind.

Finally they came up for air. How long they’d been intertwined he had no idea. All he knew was that he was enamoured. He was taken in. He was completely attached to this w o man. I f he” d tho ught hi mse If exp ose d e ar lie r, ope n and raw and asking for a world of hurt, he’d had no idea. In that moment he was hers to do with as she pleased.

Tom,’she murmured, her voice weak, her eyes still closed.

“Yes, Maggie?” he said, pulling away just enough so that he could see her face, her lovely, sweet, delicate face.

Her eyes flickered open, full of shock and wonder. And his heart threatened to burst from his chest.

““What can I do for you, my sweet?” he asked.

But, inste ad of saying anything, she moved on to her tiptoes and kissed him once, softly, gently, endearingly.

“When she pulled away, Tom ran a hand over her chee k, revelling in her soft, warm skin. “Maggie, you should know that I have wanted this since before I even laid eyes on you.”

Her brow furrowed ever so slightly and Tom leaned down to kiss the creases of worry away. “Since that first morning when I walked into your house to be greeted with a most unladylike barrage of language.”

A b lush crept up her cheeks. “You he ard that?”

“And plenty more since. I’ve never heard anyone swear in such a sexy manner.” He kissed the tip of her nose. Her cool patrician nose.

“I want you too, Tom,” she said, her voice ragged and wavering. “I’ve wanted you since that first day, since you walked into my house with your to ol belt and pink pillowcase. Since that first smile that made my toes curl.”

She reached up and ran a soft finger over his lips, her eyes dark and languorous and deep with desire.

That was all the consent Tom needed.

He reached down and scooped her up in his arms. She cradled her head against his chest, snuggling closer, her soft hair tickling at his chin, her warm breath creating goose-bumps along his neck, and he found he wasn’t even all that worried that she might hear how loud his heart beat for her.

He walked her across the lounge room and into his huge master bedroom. He’d always loved the size of that room, all that dark wood and coffee-co loured linen, the earthy colors of the simplistic yet brilliant Nolan on the wall contradicting the cool feel of the abundant garden outside his ceiling-to-floor windows. But right now he wished he’d designed it with the bed a heck of a lot closer to the door.

Finally he reached the bed and he let her slide from his arms and to the floor. Slowly, gently, with reverence.

She blinked up at him, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. Ready, but shy. Nervous.

Hell, he felt as if this was his first time. With this beautiful, graceful woman for whom he had such strong, contusing, conflicting feelings, all but beckoning him with her dazzling eyes, he suddenly felt all thumbs, with two left feet and no experience.

He stood there and just stared, not having a clue as to what to do next.

And then Maggie, her eyes on his the whole time, let go of him, undid the ribbon at her lower back and, one strap at a time, pulled her dainty top off her shoulders until it fell into a tiny heap at her toes. Her neat long toes with their tiny splatters of blue paint.