Yours to Keep (ebook)

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CHAPTER ONE

David Tremayne slammed shut the door to his car and looked over its roof toward the café. There she was. He smiled to himself as he watched her fuss over one of her elderly customers, helping them to the door and giving them a gentle hug before they went on their way. He could practically feel the glow of happiness emanating from the old lady as she walked slowly away towards the waiting taxi. She seemed to have that effect on everyone.
He paused a moment to admire the waitress’s slender figure as she jumped up to reach something from a high shelf. He sighed. A big heart and a beautiful figure. What more could a man want?
He walked across to the café and his smile broadened at the sight of her cooing over a small baby. As he paused by the window, she looked up and his breath caught. He looked away abruptly and for a brief moment noticed his reflection, revealed by a poster in the window, and not for the first time was surprised at his contained, buttoned-up appearance. There was no hint of the smile he could have sworn he’d worn, no sign his heartbeat had quickened at the sight of her, no evidence he was in danger of falling for a woman because of the size of her heart.
But he wouldn’t, because he needed her. Without her support, his project would be doomed before it had begun and he couldn’t afford any more adverse publicity. No, there would be no falling for the beautiful woman with the big heart. He only needed her for a while and then he’d let her go. Seduce and discard. How hard could that be?
He pushed the door open, the bell jangled, and he stepped inside the café.

Amber Connelly looked up as the café bell jingled. She didn’t do it every time—that would have been plain crazy as the café was a busy place—no, only at five minutes past one every day, except for weekends.
She watched the tall, broad-shouldered man in the business suit—the only suited person in the café—walk past her without looking at her and take a seat by the window. He picked up a menu and studied it. Why, she didn’t know. He must have known its contents by now. And besides, he always chose the same thing.
She was about to collect her pen and paper as the door opened again and Gabe and Maddy entered, laughing and holding hands. She grinned to see her brother and sister-in-law so happy. The suited man raised an eyebrow at the noise, as if irritated by the distraction, before returning to peruse the menu. As Gabe walked by, he caught the eye of the man and Amber could sense a bristling—Gabe being protective, as usual.
Amber waved them to their usual table and walked up to the man. He was aware of her presence—she knew that even though he didn’t look up. She smiled to herself. He really intrigued her, even though he wasn’t anything like the type of guy she was usually interested in.
She smiled. “Good morning. How are you today?”
He looked up, and as usual, her heart nearly stopped. Surely it was indecent for a man to be endowed with such beautiful green eyes. “It’s afternoon,” he said.
“Oh! So it is,” she said, unable to focus on anything but those eyes.
“It’s past twelve, which is the middle of the day, so it’s afternoon. You were incorrect,” he added for good measure, as if she doubted his words. She didn’t. She only ever doubted herself. Everyone else—especially this man who she imagined would be incapable of error—she always accepted as being correct.
She grinned, and his eyes narrowed.
She chuckled at his response and he frowned.
She laughed out loud—he must be the straightest, most pedantic man she’d ever met—and he looked away, back at the menu, his frown deepening. She felt the brightness fade from the day as he turned his eyes away. She wanted them looking at her again.
“You’re right! Of course it’s afternoon. I should know, we’re serving lunch.” She ducked her head so he couldn’t hide from her gaze. “So what’s it to be?”
She was rewarded with another look from those green eyes, their composure once more intact. He handed her the menu. “Caesar salad with chicken. Keep the dressing to one side. Are the wholemeal rolls fresh?”
“Fresh?” Amber repeated the last word, hoping it would help her concentrate on what he was saying.
“Yes. The rolls. Are they fresh? I only want them if they’ve been freshly made today.”
Jeez, he was one out of the box. “Everything’s fresh. The bread was made this morning with my own fair hands.”
Those green eyes slid down to her hands and she suddenly felt self-conscious about the ring she was wearing. She wasn’t supposed to wear rings but must have forgotten to slip off the greenstone and silver ring she’d inherited from her mother.
“When I said ‘fair’ hands,” she began to blather, trying to slide the ring around and hide her hands under the notebook on which she was taking his order, “I meant, you know, reliable hands. Because they’re not that fair. Not really.”
“In what way are they ‘not fair’? They look perfectly fair to me. Well formed, and…” He hesitated, uncharacteristically. “Quite attractive.”
“Oh!” The single word slid out on a sigh. She wasn’t smiling any longer. Instead the curious low-key fizzing in her stomach she experienced whenever she saw him, stepped up a notch. “Thank you.” She held up her hand. “Yes, I suppose they’re not bad, are they?”
“No. So if you agree, what did you mean by they’re not fair?”
“Oh, that.” She shrugged and wrinkled her nose self-deprecatingly. “I just mean that I’m not that good a cook. Enthusiastic but by all accounts—well, by my family’s accounts—not actually that good.”
“And yet you’ve made the bread rolls. You’re not doing a good job at selling them to me.”
“I’m good at rolls. Anything with yeast is okay because I can give it a bit of a bash. Heavy handed, you see?” she said, slamming her hand on the table. Everyone looked around but the man himself didn’t move an inch. Instead he touched her ring, accidentally brushing the back of her hand as he did so.
“Heavy hands, maybe.” He looked back with eyes that had dropped the facade and made her melt deep inside. “But they’re beautiful ones.”
She took an involuntary step back, wondering if she’d heard right. This was the rude guy, yes? Not someone who flattered. She didn’t reply and turned abruptly.
“Excuse me!” he called after her. She stopped in her tracks, and turned slowly, wondering what on earth he was going to say. Was he about to tell her he was wrong, her hands weren’t in the slightest bit beautiful, or maybe that he didn’t want his lunch after all? Maybe she’d dreamed the whole thing.
“Yes?” she asked breathlessly.
“And a coffee, please. Short black.”
“Right,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Right. Coffee it is.” Coffee it was every day. If there was one thing that the green-eyed man who made her legs go weak was, it was predictable. But, as she walked over to her brother’s table, she considered the word. Predictable was a bit negative. Maybe regular, or ‘knows what he wants’ would be more accurate. Yes, that was infinitely better. Because he’d just turned out to be anything but predictable.
She brought out her notebook and poised her pen but her mind was full of the word ‘beautiful’. She turned the hand that was holding the notebook and studied it.
“What the hell are you doing, Amber?” asked Gabe. “Is there something wrong with your arm? Here”—he reached out in his best doctorly fashion—“let me take a look.”
She snapped back to the present and pulled her arm from Gabe’s hand. “No. Of course not.” She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the sensation on the back of her hand from where the green-eyed man had touched her, trying to focus on the present. It wasn’t easy—her family had always accused her of having only a weak grip on reality. She took it as a compliment.
“Then why do you look so goofy?”
Now that annoyed her. Goofy was the last thing she wanted to look at that precise moment. She glanced at the man but he was flicking away an annoying wasp from his table.
“Amber! You haven’t taken our order,” said Gabe.
She dismissed him with a wave of the hand. “In a minute.” She returned to Green Eyes’ table, leaned over and opened a window. With the aid of a menu, she carefully scooped up the wasp and flicked it gently out of the window. She pulled the window closed once more. She turned to see that he was completely still, his eyes focused intently on her.
“I’ll leave it closed.” She mimed a shiver. “It’s a bit chilly outside this… afternoon.” She grinned at the added emphasis.
He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “You should have one of those fly things to kill flies and wasps. They’re pests.”
Her grin faded. “They’re not. I’m not into killing things, and we usually have the windows open so things fly in, and then they fly right on out again.” She looked around defensively. “Anyway, do you see any flies?”
He cast a steady look around and pointed into a distant corner by the open front door. “There.”
“That’s not fair. That one’s just come in.” She pointed. “And look, it’s just gone out again.”
He shrugged.
“And what does that shrug mean?”
“Simply that I proved my point.”
“You did no such thing. Anyway, if you don’t like it, there are other cafés.”
He held her gaze for a long moment and she felt her irritation wobble and then flutter and dissolve into nothing, like a popped sigh, or a rain cloud evaporating under a hot sun. He might not be able to talk without provoking her but he sure could speak with those eyes, and she liked what they were saying. A loud ding sounded from across the café.
“I don’t want to go to other cafés because they don’t have you as a waitress.”
A small whimper escaped her lips and she touched her burning cheek. She never blushed—what on earth was happening?
The ding sang out again.
“Someone at the counter is trying to attract your attention.” He glanced across the café. “Yes, two lattes by the look of it.” He frowned. “Funny color, must be soy or something strange.”
She nodded and stepped back. “Right, I…” She turned and walked away, waving her hand as Gabe tried to attract her attention again. Once the two lattes had been deposited—and how the green-eyed stranger knew soy milk had been used, she had no idea—she went to take Gabe and Maddy’s order.
“What’s got into you, Amber? You’re acting all distracted. Well, even more distracted than usual.”
Amber pressed her hand flat against her chest, willing her heart to stop pounding, willing the heat that she could feel flooding her cheeks to subside.
“Are you having a panic attack?”
She took a deep breath and shook her head. “No,” she said, “I’m just…” She shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m just doing.” She flashed what she hoped was a reassuring smile at her big brother. “Now, what’s it to be, the same as usual?”
She glanced across at the green-eyed man once more. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. Gabe followed her gaze and frowned. “That guy’s been here every day this week.”
“Yeah,” agreed Amber. “And last week. You probably didn’t notice him last week.”
Gabe’s gaze narrowed as he turned to her. “Who is he?”
She shrugged. “No idea. He’s the guy who we saw running that time. You know, the guy I asked you to check out. But you didn’t, so I don’t know who he is.”
“I can’t go checking out every guy you fancy. For one thing, there’s too many, and for another it would look weird.”
Amber tutted. “So, thanks to you, I have no idea who he is.”
Gabe shook his head, defeated.
“He sure is hot,” murmured Maddy.
Gabe shot an indignant look at Maddy before glancing angrily at Green Eyes.
“So, have you got past the small talk yet?” Maddy asked, ignoring Gabe’s frowning glare.
Gabe looked from Maddy back to Amber, then back to Maddy again. “Small talk,” grunted Gabe. “Why would you want to bother?”
“Because he’s hot,” Amber and Maddy said together. It didn’t improve Gabe’s mood.
“I don’t think so.”
Amber and Maddy exchanged amused looks and Maddy leaned over and kissed Gabe. “That’s because you’re a man.”
“You women don’t know everything,” he said, a smile once more back on his face.
Maddy rolled her eyes. “Just because you’re the town’s GP doesn’t mean you know everything.”
“And in this case,” continued Amber, “you definitely don’t.” She paused for dramatic effect. It worked. Gabe’s mouth hung open slightly as if he had no idea what she was about to say. Amber liked that. She rarely had any of her family guessing. “He’s going to ask me out.”
“He’s what?” Gabe shot the stranger another look. “Has he been chatting you up?”
“No,” she said, trying to make herself heard above a noisy crowd who were just leaving the café. “Well, not unless you call asking me if the bread is freshly baked, or whether we use virgin or extra virgin—”
“Virgin?” Gabe raised his voice over the shouts of the departing diners. “He asked you if you’re a virgin?” Gabe stood up, but Maddy pulled his arm, and Amber squeaked with embarrassment.
“No, stupid brother, he didn’t. He wanted to know about the oil.”
“Oil? Maddy, tell me what she’s talking about.”
“Gabe,” said Maddy. “That guy over there has the hots for Amber and we’ve laid bets on when he’ll ask her out. I’ve lost already. I said yesterday. But Amber reckoned he’s going to wait seven days before asking. Apparently he’s some kind of accountant or something and does everything in sevens.”
Gabe looked at Amber incredulously. “An accountant? Really, Amber? Since when have you ever dated anyone who could count, let alone wear a suit.”
“Don’t be so damned rude. Astro could count. He had a steady beat going when he was playing the drums. Anyway, give me your order, I’ve got work to do.”
She walked past Green Eyes, pausing to give an adjoining table an unnecessary wipe. She turned to face him with a smile on her face, but he was frowning at his phone. Her smile faded as she returned to give Gabe and Maddy’s order to the chef, keeping Green Eyes’ order to herself. She waved it at the chef. “I’ve got this.”
She cast a surreptitious glance at Green Eyes as she put together the salad, adding the leanest cuts of chicken before tossing it in the dressing. She was about to take it over when she turned and went back again. Dressing on the side! How could she forget? She repeated the exercise, before carefully pouring the dressing into one of the dinky white cream jugs. She stood back, looking with an artistic eye, before tearing off a few sprigs of coriander which was growing on the window sill, and sprinkling it artfully over the salad. There. She loved coriander.
She picked up the coffee and took them both over to the green-eyed guy.
“What’s that?”
“Coriander.”
“I didn’t ask—”
She smiled. “You don’t have to. Is there anything else?” She put her hands behind her, twisting her greenstone ring, hoping that this might be the moment. The end of the second week. Two lots of seven. It might be auspicious to someone into numbers. She had no idea. She made a mental note to check her numerology book later.
“No, nothing else, thank you.”
“Right… right,” she repeated, unable to think of anything that could keep her staring at the man who lingered in her mind long after he’d left the café. And at night, when she couldn’t sleep in the hot small hours when she sipped her water, trying to cool her body and her mind. Water. She twisted mid step and picked up a carafe of water from the table. She turned back to him with a smile to top up his water. The smile faltered when she realized he hadn’t drunk any. She topped it up anyway. A drop spilled on the table. She wiped it away with a cloth and then noticed that he’d piled all the coriander to one side.
“Don’t you like coriander?” She felt strangely hurt. You didn’t normally get coriander in a Caesar salad.
“No. It takes like soap.”
“Soap? No, it doesn’t. I wouldn’t have given it to you if it did!”
His look softened slightly at her words. “It’s genetic. Coriander tastes like soap to some people. And, no, I dare say you wouldn’t. You don’t look the type.”
“Type?” Amber shifted her weight from one of her hips to the other, the personal comment making her indignation disappear. “What type do I look?”
He didn’t answer for a moment and she felt the burn of his eyes on every part of her as his gaze swept over her. “You look the helpful type.”
The burn lessened instantly, deflating the sensuality that his gaze had made her feel. “Helpful? I look helpful?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “Is there something wrong with that?”
She felt her lips tighten and she gave the table another quick, unnecessary wipe and picked up his half-drunk coffee. “Of course not. Nothing wrong with that, I’m a waitress and waitresses should be helpful.”
Then she felt his hand over hers and she drew in a sharp breath, their eyes hot on each other. “But you’re also an artist.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw your work in the gallery.”
“How did you know it was mine?”
“It had your name on it.”
“You know my name,” she breathed.
He nodded to her name tag. “Yes.”
“Oh. Did you like them?”
“Very much.”
“Which ones did you like the best?”
“The flowers. The small ones. They’re a series.”
“Oh yes.” She grinned. “They’re all sold. The gallery owner said…” She trailed off.
“Yes, I bought them.”
“All?”
“All.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t figure out if this was flattering or vaguely creepy. She tried to pull her hand, which held the coffee cup, away from his.
“No,” he said firmly. She tried to stop her hand from trembling under the enveloping strength of his touch. From the way he glanced at her hand, she doubted she’d succeeded. “I haven’t finished my coffee yet,” he continued.
She looked down at the half-full cup and relaxed her grip. “Of course.” She walked away, confused and aroused by the touch of his hand on hers, and the look in his eyes—as if she appealed to his taste buds infinitely more than coriander. He was all contradiction: one minute slightly grumpy and critical, the other, devouring her with his eyes and revealing that he liked her art. He liked her art, she repeated to herself. It meant more to her than anything. Flattering, nice, and definitely not creepy, she decided.
She glanced back at him when she reached the counter. He was finishing his salad. When his phone beeped, he lifted it and, without answering it or even glancing at the screen, flicked it to silent and continued to eat his lunch. How did he do that? There was no way she would have been able to stop herself at least checking to see who was calling her. Such discipline. She shivered as her thoughts drifted and she tried to focus on the tasks at hand.
Maddy raised her eyebrows and nodded toward Green Eyes. Gabe looked around, wondering what was going on. Amber did a silent squee and gave a thumbs-up to Maddy, followed by an anxious look at Green Eyes, but he was looking steadily out the window at the sea.
Amber hummed to herself as she tidied the counter. Most of the lunch customers were beginning to leave—regulars, who she’d known all her life, and she chatted easily with them, catching up on the minutiae of their lives, which were as important to her as her own.
Her stomach flipped as the elderly couple she’d been talking to moved away to reveal Green Eyes, unraveling himself to his full height and walking purposefully towards her. She had to raise her head to meet his gaze. He was unsmiling as he nodded to her and withdrew his wallet.
She smiled. “I hope you enjoyed your lunch.”
“I did, thank you.” His green eyes seemed to caress her. She wondered if they only caressed on a full stomach because when he’d entered the café he’d looked distinctly grumpy.
He plucked out a crisp note and handed it to her. She took it between her fingers and for a brief moment they were both holding on to it. Then she tugged it and he looked momentarily surprised before he released it.
She counted out the change as she took it from the till and counted it out again as she placed it in his hands. They weren’t worker’s hands, no calluses that she could see, but they were large and firm and strong. She sighed and looked up into a frown.
“What? Did I get it wrong?” she asked. It was usually the case when she met a frown.
“No. Nothing wrong. Certainly nothing wrong at all. It’s just… Just that I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
She sucked in a small gasp. Not only was that nearly an admission that he was attracted to her, but it was also the longest sentence she’d ever heard him speak. That could only mean one thing—the moment had come. “How do you mean?”
“The way you count out the money.”
“Oh,” she said, her smile fading. She felt as if she were a yoyo, being swept up into a dramatic, intense grasp, only to be let fall again, plummeting to the ground. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m less likely to make a mistake that way. EFTPOS is easier. No counting, you see. No mental arithmetic to trip me up.”
“Ah,” he said. “Well…” He sucked his teeth as if trying to work out how he could delay himself. “I’d best be going.” He turned and began to walk away, which sent a blast of panic shooting through her, against which neither dignity nor self-preservation stood a chance.
She couldn’t take any more U-turns. He’d bought her paintings for goodness’ sake, and even she knew they weren’t her best work. He liked her—he had to like her, there could be no other explanation for his frequent lunches at the café, for their weird conversations—and she liked him, and it appeared that if she didn’t do something about it, nothing would happen.
“Would you like to have dinner with me one evening?” she shouted at his back. The café went quiet.
He came to an abrupt halt and twisted around. “What?”
She blushed as she felt all eyes on her. She wished he’d come closer so she didn’t have to continue to make a fool of herself. But it seemed there was no moving him.
“Dinner,” she said more loudly. “I wondered if you’d like some.”
She heard a splutter from Maddy and an expletive from Gabe but refused to look their way, in case she lost her nerve.
“I’ve just had lunch,” he said.
“I’m not talking about lunch, I’m asking you to dinner.” She cleared her throat. “Tonight. At my place. Would you like to come to dinner?” Surely he understood now. She couldn’t make it any plainer unless she added what she’d like to do to him after dinner. But even she had her limits to what she said in public.
“No,” he said.
Her mouth fell open in shock; she felt as if she’d been stabbed, gutted, winded. “You said ‘no’?” She swayed and gripped the side of the bench for support.
“Yes, I said ‘no’.”
“Oh.” She tried to smile but her mouth wouldn’t work. She didn’t understand it. Had she really misread all that body language? All those surreptitious glances? All the waves of attraction which had surged between them? “Oh,” she repeated faintly, as she took a few steps back. “Why… why not?” She had to know.
“Because I don’t like eating at the houses of people I don’t know.”
Her eyes widened. “But you… kind of know me…” She trailed off, realizing that he probably didn’t; that all the connection could, quite possibly, be in her head.
“Amber!” Gabe called from just over her shoulder. She turned around to see Gabe looking daggers at Green-Eyes.
“Yes?”
“Dad’s just called and wanted to know if you’re still going to Belendroit.”
“Of course I am. I told him I am.”
“He wants you to call him back,” Gabe insisted, glancing between the two of them.
Green Eyes was either ignoring, or oblivious to, Gabe’s glare. He pocketed his wallet, nodded at Amber, and walked out the door without a backward glance.
Amber let a long, slow breath slide from her body, and looked around to find the few remaining lunch customers quickly looking back at their plates, except for Gabe, whose angry gaze was following Green Eyes out the door.
Amber walked without thinking to Maddy and slid into the seat next to her.
“Oh, Amber!” Maddy said, her beautiful face puckered into a frown.
“Bastard,” muttered Gabe, taking his seat opposite Maddy.
“No, he’s not,” said Amber automatically. She knew he wasn’t, or at least she thought she knew he wasn’t.
“Yes, he is!” said an indignant Gabe. “Anyone who treats my sister like that is a total and utter bastard. And next time I see him, I’ll tell him.”
“No!” said Amber.
“You’ll do no such thing!” Maddy added.
“Come on, he’s rude and obnoxious.”
Amber opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t think of anything to counter Gabe’s claim. “I know he comes across like that, but I see something different in him.”
Gabe scoffed. “What you see is an athletic body.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” asked Amber.
“Nothing is wrong with that.” He sighed and took her hands. “All I’m saying is that I can see him for what he is. I’m not blinded by pheromones.”
“Pheromones are important,” said Amber. “They are probably more truthful than words.”
Gabe sighed and sat back in defeat.
“And he bought my paintings.”
Gabe’s eyes opened wide. “He…”
“Bought my paintings. He told me he did.”
Neither Gabe nor Maddy spoke.
“Anyway.” Amber chewed her lip. “It was probably the coriander.”
Maddy tilted her head to one side. “Coriander?”
“Yes. He doesn’t like it.”
“Nor do I,” said Gabe.
“Yes, you do. I always give you some.”
“And I eat it because I know you think you’re being generous. Anyway, what’s that to do with anything?”
“I gave him some, too.”
“And Green Eyes over there—” Gabe waved towards the man’s retreating figure through the window. “Did he eat it?”
Amber pouted, rose and took their plates. “It doesn’t matter now.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve ruined it.”
“Amber!” said Maddy and Gabe in unison, rising to follow Amber to the till.
As Gabe paid, Maddy put her arm around Amber. “You’ve done nothing to ruin it. Green Eyes is obviously, well, a little different to most people.”
“He is, isn’t he?” said Amber, her interest piqued once more. “I think that’s what I first noticed.” She shook her head as she glanced through the window at the retreating broad shoulders. He’d stopped for a few minutes to check his phone. “No, who am I kidding? Gabe was right.” She sighed. “Just look at him.”
Both Maddy and Amber watched Green Eyes flick the lights of his sleek Jaguar and open the door, without glancing around.
“He certainly looks as if he’s in his own world. Sort of single-minded, focused,” mused Maddy.
“Um. And when he’s focused on you, it’s like…”
Maddy’s gaze shifted and settled on Gabe. “It’s like the best thing in the world.”
Amber smiled to herself to see Maddy and Gabe exchange looks. She loved love; it was that simple, particularly when it came to her family. And slowly her brothers and sisters were finding it. Lizzi, Rachel, Max and now Gabe—all married. That only left her two brothers, Rob and Cameron—neither of whom she could see settling down any time soon—and her. And her inability to spot a bastard looked like she’d end up the spinster aunt, doting on her nieces and nephews with only regrets and ‘what-ifs’ to fill her lonely evenings and nights.
Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror, red hair escaping her plait in curls around her face, blue eyes bright, and she smiled at her reflection, her optimistic nature refusing to be suppressed. So what if Green Eyes had got away this time? There would be others. And she’d make sure next time that he wouldn’t get away so easily. There would be no repeat of the coriander incident.