With This Fling... (4 page)

‘Your box is here in the hall,’ she said, stepping back and opening wide the huge slab of petrified oak that doubled as a door. ‘I taped it back up for your convenience but you’re welcome to go through it while you’re here if you want to. It’s all there.’

The good doctor stepped into the hall and eyed the box balefully.

‘Okay, let me rephrase,’ she murmured. ‘Everything they sent me is in that box, and I’m really sorry if it’s not all there.’ Charlotte’s dismay hit a new low at the thought of Greyson
Tyler losing important possessions on her account. ‘Extremely sorry.’

Greyson Tyler studied her intently. Finally he put his hand to the back pocket of his trousers, stretching fabric tight across places no well-brought-up woman should be looking. Charlotte averted her gaze and watched the unfolding of the paper instead. He held it out to her. ‘I understand you have a fiancé working in PNG and that he and I share a surname.’

Charlotte took the paper from those long strong fingers and reluctantly scanned the email printed on it. The request was a simple one for a photo of the late TJ (Gil) Tyler, botanist, if there was one about. Just as Millie had explained it to her.

‘Thing is, PNG is a small place,’ he continued conversationally. ‘Especially for scientists. I know my colleagues. Your fiancé wasn’t one of them. I checked the records. No sign of him there either.’

‘It’s complicated,’ she said, queen of the understatement. ‘This email, for instance. Unfortunately, one of my work colleagues sent it on my behalf, without my knowledge, but with the very best intentions.’ Charlotte felt herself shrinking beneath that penetrating dark gaze. ‘To be fair, the information I gave her about my fiancé wasn’t quite correct.’

‘Exactly how wrong was it?’ he asked silkily.

‘You mean on a scale of one to ten with one being almost correct and ten being a whopping great lie with a momentum all its own?’

‘If you like.’ He could be droll, this man, when he wasn’t so busy being stern.

‘Ten.’

‘And the lie?’

Charlotte shoved her hands in her pockets and moved past him, back through the door so she could stand on the top step of the portico and look out over Aurora’s immaculately kept grounds. ‘My godmother was dying,’ she said, her voice surprisingly even. ‘She was the closest thing to family I’d ever had and she was worried about leaving me alone in the world. I invented a fiancé. A botanist, working in PNG. His name was Thaddeus Jeremiah Gilbert Tyler.’

‘You named your fiancé Thaddeus?’

‘It was 3 a.m. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight. Yes, I named him Thaddeus.’

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Aurora lasted another month. Gil became a regular topic of conversation.’

‘Gil?’ he queried.

‘Thaddeus.’ Charlotte closed her eyes, shook her head. Felt her lips curve in memory of some of those late night conversations with Aurora.
‘You were right about the name. No one called him Thaddeus except his mother when she was annoyed with him. I called him Gil.’

‘Go on.’

‘There’s not much more to tell,’ she murmured, coming back to the present with a start and shooting Greyson an apologetic sideways glance. ‘Aurora died. Two days later I did away with Gil, only by that time someone had told my work colleagues about him so the lie continued to grow. Everyone now thinks I’m mourning both Aurora
and
a fiancé. My colleague Millie went in search of a photo of Gil that I could put up somewhere. To help me grieve, or maybe to help me rejoice in the time I’d spent with him. Something like that.’

‘And then?’

‘Someone in PNG sent me an office.’ Charlotte risked another glance in his direction. Greyson Tyler was staring back at her as if reluctantly, unaccountably fascinated. ‘And here you are. I’m not usually this …’ She stopped, lost for words.

‘Batty?’ he said. ‘Irresponsible?’

‘Like I said, your belongings are in the box in the hallway,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll reimburse you for the cost of your airfare and your time. I’ll make a considerable donation to your research fund. There won’t be any more confusion. I’ll
be telling my boss and my colleagues the truth of the matter tomorrow. Your PNG colleagues too, if that’s what it takes. And then there’ll be no more lies.’ No more good reputation or friends either, but the devil would have his due and Charlotte only had herself to blame. ‘You’re not married, are you?’

‘No.’

‘Excellent,’ she said faintly.

He’d heard madder explanations. Not often, but it could be done. Grey vacillated between wanting to comfort the apologetic Charlotte and wanting to strangle her.

‘Excuse me for a moment,’ he muttered, and headed back inside towards the box. The tape gave way easily beneath his hands. Probably his temper showing. Clothes came first and he tossed them aside as befitting their importance. Hard copies of various research papers came next—it looked as if they were all there. He pulled out his laptop and his back-up drives. Reference books, all of them. It was all there.

‘What’s missing?’ Associate Professor Charlotte had joined him, she of the velvet voice and excessive imagination. The horror of losing work was something she appeared to understand.

‘Nothing,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve decided not to strangle you.’

‘You’re a rare and generous man,’ she said.

‘I know.’

‘Humility too.’

Sexy velvet voices could be dry as dust and
still
make his blood stir. Who knew? ‘Let’s not get carried away.’ A warning, and not just for her. He started piling books and references back in the box. The good Charlotte retrieved his clothes and handed them to him at the end.

‘I’ve packing tape in the library,’ she said, and Grey glanced down the hallway towards the innards of the house. The library. Of course. It was the kind of house that ran to libraries, a billiards room, conservatory, tennis court, pool and gym. Family estate, he figured. Unless she’d made her fortune
before
embarking on a career in archaeology. Possibly as a novelist.
Thaddeus.
Grey snorted. Possibly not.

‘Don’t worry about the tape. You’d do better worrying about how your work colleagues are going to react when you tell them there’s no fiancé, dead or otherwise. You
do
realise that your personal and probably your professional integrity is going to be called into question? Assuming you had some in the first place?’

Charlotte’s eyes flashed. Temper temper, and it looked very fine on her but she held her tongue. Not a big woman, by any means, but fragile wasn’t a word he would have used to
describe her either. Slender, she was that, but she had some generous curves and an abundance of wavy black hair currently tied back in a messy ponytail. She also possessed a heart-shaped face and a creamy complexion that would put Snow White to shame. A wanton’s mouth. One that turned a man’s mind towards feasting on it. Big doe eyes, with dark curling lashes. ‘Are you
really
an archaeologist?’

‘Yes,’ she said grimly. ‘And before you start making comparisons between me and a certain tomb-raiding gun-toting female gaming character, I’ve heard them all before.’

And been neither flattered nor amused, he deduced. He hefted the box. She held the door open for him.

‘Do you need any travel directions to wherever it is you’re heading?’ she asked. ‘Provisions, so you can be on your way? Can of drink? Box of crackers?’

‘How did he die?’ asked Grey. ‘This
fiancé.’

‘Heroically. Very honourably.’ No need for details, decided Charlotte. Details were bad. ‘It was the least I could do.’

‘Has anyone ever told you that your grip on reality’s a little shaky?’ he murmured.

‘Hello,’ she said dryly. ‘Archaeologist. It’s part of the job description.’

A smile from him then. One that chased the
sternness right out of him and left devilry in its place. Charlotte stared, drinking in the details. Greyson Tyler was a dangerously handsome man when he wanted to be. Handsomer than Gil.

‘Hnh,’ she said.

Greyson’s smile widened. ‘You’ll let me know if anything else of mine happens your way?’ he said.

‘Of course.’

His gaze had shifted to her lips and his smile was fading. Something else started moving into place. Something fierce and heated.

‘Will you be staying in Sydney long?’ she all but stuttered. ‘Is there a contact number or address I can reach you at?’

‘I’ll be here for a while,’ he said. ‘And yes, there is.’ Not that he seemed inclined to part with that information. ‘This predicament you’ve got yourself in …’

‘Which one?’

‘The fake dead fiancé. The lie that just keeps getting bigger.’

‘Oh. Right. That predicament.’

‘There
is
a way around it without necessarily having to come clean about the lie,’ he offered. ‘You’d be indebted to me, of course, but I figure that’s a small price to pay, and I do happen to know of a way in which you could repay me.
All strictly above board and harmless, more or less.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Resurrection.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You’re not the only one with an ex-fiancé,’ he murmured. ‘Although mine happens to be real and she’s not yet dead. She’s also been welcome at my parents’ place since childhood. She’s part of the family, the daughter my mother never had.’

‘No wonder you went paddling up the Sepik afterwards,’ said Charlotte. ‘Who ended the engagement?’

‘I did.’

‘Were you heartbroken?’

‘Do I look heartbroken?’

‘I really don’t know you well enough to tell. Was
she
heartbroken?’

‘The engagement was a mistake,’ said Greyson Tyler curtly. ‘Sarah wants a conventional husband. One who’s home more often than not. One who’s ready to settle down and start a family.’

‘How unusual,’ murmured Charlotte and wore Greyson’s steel-eyed glare with equanimity.

‘That’s not me. I don’t know if it’ll ever be me, only Sarah—’ He gave a tiny shake of his
head. ‘Sarah wants to pick up where we left off. With my family’s blessing.’

‘You’re a big boy. Just say no.’

‘I have. No one seems to believe me. No one
wants
to believe me. I’m running out of gentle
ways
of saying no, but maybe you can help me. Maybe I can help you.’

‘How?’

‘I need a woman at my side for a family barbecue next weekend. Preferably one who’s ecstatic about me, my way of life, and what I can give her—which is, needless to say, not a lot. A free spirit who can make Sarah and my family believe that everyone should just move on. In return, I’ll play your back-from-the-dead fiancé whom you can produce, bicker with, and shortly thereafter cut loose in good conscience. No need to admit your original lie at all. Do we have an agreement?’

Charlotte hesitated, a twinge of something that felt a whole lot like wariness riding her hard. An ex-fiancée who wanted Greyson still, maybe even loved him still. A barbecue at which he—they—would dash her hopes as gently as they could. Except that there would be nothing
gentle
about his ex-fiancée coming face to face with proof positive that Greyson was indeed serious about Sarah needing to move on. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather
have another shot at discussing this between yourselves?’ she said. ‘Somewhere nice and private? Bring out the steely resolve. Maybe you could say no louder this time.’

‘I have,’ he said darkly. ‘It’s not working. Bringing you along might.’

And still Charlotte hesitated.

‘Never mind.’ His face was closed, his voice clipped. ‘Bad idea.’

‘Wait,’ she said tentatively. ‘How long is it since you broke up?’

‘Two years.’

‘And you really think there’s no other way to dissuade her?’

‘Look, I don’t want to hurt Sarah. I don’t want her to feel that she’s no longer welcome at my parents’ place. I just want her to see …’

See
being the operative word.

‘Couldn’t you just
tell
her that you’ve found someone else?’

Silence from Greyson Tyler. Silence and a bleak black glare. ‘You already have,’ said Charlotte slowly. ‘And now you have to produce her.’

Bingo.

‘You’re as reality challenged as I am,’ she said next.

‘Hardly.’

‘Oh, give it time.’

Another glare from the behemoth. The one who was offering to help with
her
fiancé problem if she would only help him with his. ‘I don’t do animosity,’ she said firmly. ‘If we do this, we do it with as little
hurt
as possible.’

‘Agreed.’

‘You arrive at my office tomorrow and things seem a little strained between us,’ she continued. ‘I can take it from there. I attend your family barbecue next weekend, thus providing Sarah with visible evidence that you’ve moved on, and you can take it from there.’

‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘So do we have a deal?’

More lies aside, Greyson Tyler’s suggestion really did seem to solve a multitude of problems. ‘We do.’

T
HERE
was something about waiting for the eminent Dr Greyson Tyler to arrive at her workplace that set Charlotte’s jaw to clenching. Correction: the waiting part wasn’t the problem. He set her on edge regardless.

She’d been expecting a scientist—a no-nonsense man of formidable intellect and optional physical prowess. Instead she’d encountered Action Man in the flesh, a man so physically fine, quick thinking, and composed in the face of complications that a woman couldn’t
help
but wonder what life would be like with a man like that in it. Not steady and predictable, she wagered. Anything but.

Not boring or empty either.

Greyson Tyler was a living, breathing reminder of a life she’d left behind in her quest for inner contentment, security, and peace of mind. Hardly his fault that for all her efforts to settle down, the jury was still out on whether
staying in Sydney was making her happy. Where the hell
was
he?

Charlotte had plenty of work to be going on with. Satellite images to look at for a dig site that showed promise. Third-year essays to correct, a lecture to prepare, and no patience this morning for any of it. Greyson was twenty minutes late already. He’d been late yesterday too. The man had a punctuality problem.