“I should dodge this. It’s not smart.” Brent’s words were an echo of Fiona’s thoughts.

And she wanted to know…“Why?”

He shook his head. “Maybe it’s those long, tall boots,” he murmured, and his hand closed around her upper arm. His lashes swept down over glittering green eyes.

Fiona’s senses stalled, and her heart stalled, and inside her the war hit a new level of anticipation and concern, of need to engage and need to retreat, and she thought, Now. He’s going to kiss me now.

And it was what she’d waited for, hoped for without wanting to admit it to herself, and would it be such a bad thing, even if it might cause complications for them?

But he stood there very still, and his fingers tensed where they held her. And then the moment was lost.

Brent uttered a harsh goodnight and dropped his hand—and left her standing there.

Dear Reader,

Fiona Donner is talented, insightful, open and giving. She is determined to reach her full potential as an artist, and is unaware of her beauty and appeal as a woman.

A man full of strength and shields, honor and vulnerability, potential and giving, Brent MacKay has faced abandonment and a physical condition that is his gift and his challenge. He is successful and grounded, has built a family with his brothers, but he will never marry or commit to a woman. That simply isn’t a place Brent can go.

How can these two people find their way to a happy ending when the odds seem impossible?

When I wrote this story, I needed to put Brent and Fiona together and let them explore family and support networks, disappointment, hope, ambition and guardedness. Together, can they discover that wonderful connection and excitement and relief that comes from finding a soul mate and realizing that, despite all the odds and obstacles, there is enough faith inside and enough love in each other to overcome all of it?

Do you believe a man and a woman can find a deep, calm happiness that is simply unbreachable, that all the world can see is forever? I do, and I think Brent and Fiona will too. But I’ll let you look for yourselves….

With love from Australia,

Jennie

JENNIE ADAMS

Australian Boss: Diamond Ring

Australian author Jennie Adams grew up in a rambling farmhouse surrounded by books and by people who loved reading them. She decided at a young age to be a writer, but it took many years and a lot of scenic detours before she sat down to pen her first romance novel. Jennie has worked in a number of careers and voluntary positions, including transcription typist and preschool assistant. She is the proud mother of three fabulous adult children and makes her home in a small inland city in New South Wales. In her leisure time Jennie loves long, rambling walks, discovering new music, starting knitting projects that she rarely finishes, chatting with friends, trips to the movies and new dining experiences.

Jennie loves to hear from her readers, and can be contacted via her Web site at www.jennieadams.net.

For David. For the sound of your laughter, and your uncaffeinated morning voice.

For the memories we’re building, for the teasing and for your strength and your love and your vulnerabilities.

For the best hugs in the world and for bringing me home the piece of my puzzle that I needed so much.

I love you with all my heart. This one is for you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

A LITTLE tingle went down Fiona Donner’s spine. It came from the impact of a pair of particularly appealing green eyes fringed with thick black lashes, focused utterly upon her as Brent MacKay made his job offer.

To compensate for that odd, unexpected reaction, Fiona used her best professional tone as she responded. ‘Thank you. I’m thrilled to accept your offer and yes, I can start Monday!’

The famous, fabulous, talented, highly private and intensely focused millionaire landscape designer Brent MacKay wanted her. That was reason enough for a shiver or two, wasn’t it? Fiona would be working with Brent for the next twelve months, with an option to extend if they were both happy with things by then. She knew already she would be happy. She’d just been offered the ultimate dream job!

Brent shifted in his executive office chair and his lean, tanned face creased into a smile. ‘You may find the pace challenging at first. I work hard across multiple projects at once and you’ll be providing input into all the major jobs I handle.’

‘I’m not afraid of hard work. In truth, I can’t wait for the challenge.’ She meant that with all her heart. ‘A chance at a job like this doesn’t come every day. It makes the past two and a half years of graphic design study worth every moment.’

And his offer was a true shot in the arm for her confidence in her artistic abilities. He wouldn’t want her if he thought she lacked the talent. She would work on computer graphic design for work proposals and job outlines. Original landscape paintings for the walls of his clients. Specialised photography for advertising and more. Fiona couldn’t wait!

See, Mum? I do have what it takes to survive in this field.

Fiona straightened in the comfortable black leather visitor’s chair and tugged at the hem of the pink and white checked jacket that covered her generous—well, okay, quite generous—curves, and tweaked the matching skirt into place.

She was five foot eleven in her stockinged feet, and Junoesque to go with it. Well, at least in this outfit she looked as good as she could look.

‘Here’s hoping you still feel as enthusiastic after your first week or so here.’ Brent’s glance lingered on her for just a moment before it moved to the bench-top storage that covered two of the walls in the room. Regimented rows of work covered their surfaces.

Fiona followed his glance, and followed it further, to the view of a busy outer Sydney suburb business street outside the ground floor window. A view of working class Australia going about what it did best. Working, and living.

If he wanted to, Brent could be in the heart of the city in a suite in a high-rise building with Sydney Harbour spread before him like an offering.

Instead, he was here in Everyman’s territory. A place Fiona knew she would be very comfortable because she loved its reality. Fiona murmured, ‘I will do everything possible to please you in every way.’

A beat of silence followed in which she realised her words could have been chosen a bit more carefully, and heat started to build at the base of her neck.

She hoped the blush stayed where it was and didn’t give itself away all over her peaches and cream face. Fiona’s hand rose to her high ponytail of blonde hair. She smoothed it in a nervous gesture before she could stop herself.

Her new employer stared at her intently before he dropped his gaze and said a low, deep, ‘I’m certain you will be everything that’s required.’

The fingers of his right hand drummed out a rhythm on the desk for a moment before he stilled them, became utterly still, and cleared his throat. ‘To date I’ve worked very privately on my projects at grass roots level, but I’m ready for this step now. You come highly recommended from the graphic design centre and, now that we’ve discussed the work, I very much want to bring you on board.’

To share in his creative process. It was a rather intimate thing. ‘I’ll respect your privacy, Mr MacKay. However you want us to work together, I’ll do my best to fit in.’

‘That’s appreciated, though I’m sure we’ll get along…fine.’

A few words followed by a calm glance that gave away absolutely nothing of his thoughts and yet somehow seemed to reach inside to a core part of her and find a connection anyway.

There was no reason for gooseflesh to break out on her skin, but it did. What was the matter with her? ‘I’ll work hard—whatever you feel will be helpful to the business.’

‘Thank you.’ He drew a breath. ‘I’d like to introduce you to everyone now. It’s a small office staff. Only about twenty people. Most of my employees are out on ground teams turning my designs into reality. You’ll meet one of the teams Monday, others as time goes on.’ Brent rose to his feet, crossed to her side and when she also stood, cupped her elbow to lead her to the door.

He was a tall man. Around six foot two, and all of it honed without an ounce of fat to be seen. Broad shoulders, slim hips, dark hair cropped short and with a distinct wave in it. His mouth was wide with a full lower lip, his teeth even and white. He had a straight nose that flared at the end.

And those gorgeous green eyes beneath winged brows. Eyes that seemed to watch the world with a combination of intensity and guardedness that Fiona found…compelling.

Employee to employer, that was. She found him compelling as a brand new employer. ‘It will be nice to meet everyone, Mr MacKay.’

‘They’ll all be excited to hear you’re coming on board,’ he said. ‘And please call me Brent. You’re going to be all over a work site with me Monday morning getting grubby, so I think we can do away with the formalities. I suggest you wear jeans for that, by the way.’

As he spoke, a worker stepped through the front door of the building. A brisk May wind followed the woman in. Winter would officially arrive in another month. Out here in this suburb, further from the Sydney coast, it would get cold. For now, the weather just had a slight edge.

Fiona glanced at her employer. He had dressed for that edge in a tan button-down shirt over charcoal trousers. Business-casual. He should have looked less compelling than he did, but an aura of leashed strength and intensity came from him, was stamped on his face.

Please let me be equally strong and focused so I can do well here.

At almost twenty-six years of age, it shouldn’t still matter so much to Fiona that she be able to prove herself. Perhaps if her family had been a little more supportive, or believed in her at all, it wouldn’t have.

‘Thank you…Brent.’ Fiona breathed in the sharp blue tang of his aftershave and tried not to notice the warmth radiating through her clothing from his fingertips.

Brent led her deeper into the open-plan office area. ‘You’ll want to move out here to live, I assume, rather than try to commute? From the address on your résumé, I gather you lived in central Sydney while you attended your course.’ He paused before the first desk, introduced Fiona and waited while she exchanged a few words with another employee.

As they moved on again, Fiona nodded. ‘That flat-share in the heart of the city was convenient while I attended the graphic design centre. But I’d prefer to live close to my work here.’ She liked the idea of migrating to this outer suburb. It would be an adventure.

It would bring her closer to several of her friends who came from out this way, too. And of course it would take her further from her family, who were all based on Sydney’s North Shore, but she couldn’t do anything about that.

The thought gave her a hint of something rather close to guilty relief. ‘I’ll start searching for a place immediately. Hopefully there’ll be something available through a local real estate agent, or a listing in a shop window—’

‘We’ll discuss that once you’ve met everyone.’ Brent guided her through the room, pausing at this desk and that desk to present her to his other employees.

She did her best to remember names and position titles as each person was introduced.

Finally Brent led her to the kitchenette at the rear of the open-plan area. Two men stood almost shoulder to shoulder there. The youngest wore a business suit, the older outdoor clothes. They both watched Fiona and Brent’s progress across the room.

‘Fiona, meet Linc and Alex MacKay, my brothers.’ Brent gestured to each of the men in turn. ‘Boys, I’d like you to meet Fiona Donner, the company’s new graphic artist as of about—’ he glanced at the watch on his wrist ‘—ten minutes ago.’

The way he addressed the men held pride and deep affection. She hadn’t known he had brothers, but then her research for this job application had yielded very little of a personal nature about Brent MacKay.

‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ Linc shook Fiona’s hand and let go. ‘I run the chain of nurseries that, among other things, acts as Brent’s key supplier.’

Linc was a tall man with dark hair, grey eyes and the same lean build as Brent.

No. Not the same build. He was deeper through the chest than Brent, thicker set all over. The impression of a shared leanness actually came from something in his expression, in a measure of guardedness in the backs of his eyes that Brent had also revealed.

Fiona murmured a greeting. ‘I’m having trouble guessing who’s the eldest. You seem very close in age.’ As she said so, the lack of true genetic similarities between the men occurred to her.

‘Brent’s the eldest. Most people don’t pick up on how close we are in age…’ Linc gave her a slightly surprised look as he trailed off.

Before she could think about that, the youngest brother extended his hand.

‘I’m Alex. I run an export business near here, but I’m also a shareholder in Brent’s company. I hope you enjoy working here.’

‘I can’t wait to start.’ Fiona shook the young man’s hand and released it. The third brother was substantially younger than Linc or Brent. Early twenties, she’d have guessed, though that was young to be running a business.

Blue-eyed like Fiona herself, Alex had a square-cut jaw, broad forehead and mid-brown hair and looked nothing like either of his brothers. He also had a glint in his eyes that probably had women chasing after him.

Fiona wanted to know the nature of this family, how they all fitted together.

As for eyes, and glints therein, she only had eyes for her employer.

Well, she meant she was only focused on him. She was focused on her new job! She didn’t have ‘eyes’ for men generally, anyway. Her role was that of ‘everybody’s friend’ and she liked that just fine. It was much less stressful than getting into a relationship that would only end up disappointing her. Or, worse, disappointing the man involved. Been there, not interested in repeating that. It was enough having her mother’s criticism of all the faults in her ability to appeal.

Fiona turned to Linc. ‘Maybe I could take photos at one of the nurseries some time soon. I’d love to get some background material to use when I start working with my computer designs for Brent.’

Linc’s shrewd gaze examined her as he inclined his head. ‘That can be arranged for you.’

‘When there’s time for us both to go,’ Brent inserted, and fell abruptly quiet. His head twitched to the right and a frown swept over his brow.

Linc’s eyebrows lifted and Alex stared at his older brother before both he and Linc looked quickly elsewhere.

Brent’s entire body seemed to freeze then.

Uncertain of what she was sensing in him, Fiona said slowly, ‘I don’t need to visit the nursery if that’s not convenient. It was just a thought.’

‘It’s not a problem.’ Brent pushed his hands deep into his trouser pockets. ‘I was just—’

‘Distracted,’ Alex put in.

‘He lost his concentration,’ Linc said at the same time, and clamped his lips together.

‘I was just thinking,’ Brent stated, and frowned again. ‘I’ll make a day for us to visit Linc’s nursery, Fiona.’ Brent seemed to make a conscious effort to move on from whatever that reaction had been. ‘I’ll make sure you get to do that. It’s a good idea for you to take those photos, and I visit the nurseries regularly anyway to inspect the stock, keep the inventory fresh in my mind and see what new things Linc’s managed to find for me. It’ll be convenient for us to go together, that’s all.’

‘Well, thank you. I’ll look forward to that when it happens.’ Fiona nodded and relaxed a little. She hadn’t committed a faux pax…

Which meant Brent’s reaction had been—?

Something she wasn’t going to be able to figure out right now.

So leave it alone, Fiona. You don’t have to understand everything about him.

In truth, she tended to want to delve too deeply into what made people tick. Well, her mother said so anyway.

A short silence fell before Linc cleared his throat and addressed his brother. ‘Have you discussed accommodation options with Fiona yet?’

‘That was next on my list.’ Brent turned to her. ‘You’re welcome to do whatever you like about your living arrangements, but Linc owns an investment property you might be interested in renting. It’s a one bedroom flat about a ten minute drive from here. The complex it’s in has courtyard parking for a car, if you own one.’

‘Are you serious? I thought I’d be looking all weekend and maybe end up staying in a pub or hostel before I managed to pin something down.’ Fiona tried to stifle her grin, and failed.

A smile lurked in the backs of Brent’s eyes in response, a beautiful, lovely smile. The man was lethal, and she didn’t understand the connection she felt towards him.

Fiona drew a steadying breath and turned to Linc. ‘How much are you asking for the flat per month? I’ll have to stick to a budget.’

Linc named the figure.

‘I’ll be able to afford that rent.’ That was a relief, and she simply needed to concentrate on the tasks and necessities at hand. Not on eyes that smiled at her through shields that made her think of her own life, its hurts and triumphs, and what Brent’s might have been and might be now. ‘When can I sign a lease agreement? I don’t need to see the place first. If you recommend it, that’s all I need to know. I don’t want to miss out on the opportunity to pin this down, if that’s at all possible.’

She smoothed her hands over her thighs and told herself to stop babbling.

Though Brent had remained silent during this interchange, his gaze followed the movement and she thought she heard him make a soft sound in the back of his throat before he glanced away.

If so, it was probably because she had drawn his attention to just how non-slim those thighs were.

On this lowering thought Fiona suppressed a sigh. Her body was what it was. There was no changing her build, or her height, or what she preferred to refer to as her curviness but her mother said was the result of far too much self-indulgence and couldn’t Fiona try to eat less?

She didn’t overeat. Her tiny mother couldn’t see that, though. To Eloise Donner, Fiona was the stork among the pigeons and someone needed to shrink her somehow. Preferably while shrinking her into a far more practical mould at the same time.

And Brent had simply followed her movement with his gaze. It was completely meaningless. It wasn’t as though her employer would be noticing her in that respect.

Which was a good thing, she reminded herself.

Linc drew a folded document and a set of keys from his back pocket and handed both to her. ‘Once you’ve read the lease, you can go ahead and sign it and leave it with Jaimie. She’ll pass it on to me the next time I’m here. Brent will explain where the place is and about getting you moved in, if you need help with that.’

The two brothers excused themselves and left then, and Fiona curled her fingers around the keys and lease and turned to her employer. ‘That was generous of you and your brother. Thank you.’

‘It was no trouble. Linc deals in a lot of that kind of property investment.’ Brent watched his brothers exit the room and the building before he allowed his gaze to return to his new employee. He hadn’t meant to follow the slide of Fiona’s hands down her thighs moments ago.

He hadn’t meant to notice her at all, but he had. She was a striking woman. Tall, beautifully built and curvy in all the right places. A woman who wouldn’t blow away in a strong breeze, who a man could hold in his arms without fear of crushing her.

She was also femininity through and through. From the dark blonde hair tied back from her face in a high ponytail to the robin’s egg blue eyes and fine arched brows, the straight nose and generous mouth, she looked softer than a flower, and equally as sweet.

The thoughts surprised him. Not the appreciation of her beauty. How could any man fail to notice that? But the intimacy of where his thoughts had taken him—thoughts of how it would be to hold her, of wanting to protect her from harm. Brent’s life had been all about protecting himself, his brothers. His father had put him in a place where he’d had no choice but to be strong. To hide his flaws from the world so they wouldn’t judge him as Charles had done. Brent hadn’t reached out to a woman for the kind of intimacy that would result in wanting to protect her as well as protect his own interests in a long time. Actually…he never had.

He never would do that. His limits would forever prevent that. And Fiona looked the kind of woman who would deserve exactly that kind of…care.

Which simply reminded him that he needed to appreciate her attractiveness from the distance of an unconnected observer.

Right. And he did. He’d simply become distracted for a moment. The same thing applied to the head twitch he’d experienced earlier. It wouldn’t happen again in front of her. He’d make sure of that as he did in all other circumstances.

Brent nodded in a completely concise, controlled manner as he came to this conclusion. If he felt somewhat relieved to have arrived back at a more known, comfortable place in his thinking, he told himself this was a good thing, anyway. ‘Let’s take you to Jaimie so you can sign your employment agreement and leave the lease with her.’

Once Fiona had done that, Brent gestured to his office area. ‘Would you like to hear about some of the projects I’ve got going? Some preliminary information to give you an idea of what’s in store for you?’

‘Oh, yes, please. That will give me a chance to think over the weekend before I start work officially on Monday.’ Fiona half-reached one hand towards him, dropped it self-consciously to her side, and her face pinked slightly.

His gaze locked onto that blossom of colour and his breath caught…

He pushed the door of his office open and stepped through to open the adjoining door. ‘You’ll be working in here. It’s a decent-sized room. I hope it’ll suit your needs.’

His voice was deep. Too deep. He cleared his throat.

Fiona’s gaze tracked around the long room, dodged his. ‘I’m sure it will. It’s a generous working space. There’s good light for my easel work, and plenty of desk space for computer monitors.’

‘I imagine there’ll be times when you’ll need all of that space.’

‘Is it okay to dress casually for when I’m painting? I realise there’ll be times when I need to look smart. Client discussions…’ A little ridge formed between her brows. ‘Perhaps I should just dress smart all the time, and wear a smock or something when I paint. I’m inclined to be a bit messy during that process, but I could try to change that.’

‘There’s a dressing room. I keep clothes here. You can do the same. Messy is fine, anyway.’ The thought of her using his changing room, shedding clothes and putting on new ones, wasn’t a place he needed to go.

So get on with it, MacKay. ‘On Monday we’ll be helping to finish up a landscaping project, and I’ll want you to take photos and think about a painting for the clients. They’re an elderly couple, very agreeable. They’ll be happy with whatever you put together. The photos will go into a Progress Album for the clients and our stock here for showing clients how we work. Nothing for newspapers or magazines, though. I accept the occasional interview to keep the media off my back but I’m selective, so if you’re ever approached I expect you to shoot the enquiry straight to me.’

‘I will do that.’ Her expression showed she didn’t understand the ‘why’ of it, but her acceptance was enough. ‘And I can certainly take the photos and also use them to help me create an appropriate painting for the clients.’

Fiona gave him a pleasant but firm look. ‘It’s not ideal to come in partway through and need to produce a painting in that way, but I’m sure that won’t happen in the future.’

Brent liked a woman—correction, a person—with enough spunk to say what they wanted.

From the distance of an observer. You like it from that distance. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be included in future planning. In fact, I have a project that’s been driving me mad for the last three weeks. The client won’t settle on a design. I’m hoping if I pull you in on that one it might get me the breakthrough I need.’

‘Okay, well, that’s good then, and I’ll be happy to try to help with your project.’ Her expression held the slightest sheepish edge before she squared her shoulders and seemed to decide it was best she’d been clear about her expectations.

Brent went on to explain the problems with the project he’d mentioned, and to discuss some other issues. Work was easy. He always felt at home with his landscape projects.

An hour later Fiona stood at the door of his office once more, bag in hand, and thanked him for his time. ‘I can’t wait to start work Monday. I’ll have some photographic equipment to bring out to the landscaping site, if that’s okay.’

‘That’s fine. Anything you bring will be safe there, though we should get your equipment added to the business’s insurance cover.’

‘Shall I phone the details in later today? Model numbers and so on?’

‘Do that. You can leave them with Elizabeth, my receptionist.’ With this issue resolved, Brent went on, ‘If you need help to move into your flat this weekend—’

Fiona smiled her thanks, but shook her head. ‘I can get Tommy to use his delivery truck to help me shift the larger items. My friends all knew I was coming for this interview, so they’ve been on standby, half-expecting this.’

So ‘Tommy’ was simply one of those ‘friends’? Brent couldn’t explain why he suddenly felt…lighter than he had a few seconds ago. ‘Okay, then I guess I should let you go so you can start making arrangements.’

Fiona made a little bouncing motion on the balls of her feet. ‘A new home, a new job and a new part of the city to live in. I can’t wait to take it all on. Thank you again, Mr MacKay—Brent—for this chance.’

‘You’re more than welcome.’ Brent said his goodbyes and then watched her leave the building, hips swaying with each step she took.

And then he immersed himself in landscape plans, where he could line up his ideas in neat rows and spend as long as he needed on each aspect of his work. His head twitched sharply to the right, but he was by himself now. He didn’t worry about trying to conceal the action.

At least the condition he lived with was good for helping him to focus on his work, and he had every right to keep knowledge of it from the world at large. It was in his best interests to do so. His father’s past behaviour had made that abundantly clear.

Brent dug into his plans and put thoughts of Fiona Donner’s lovely smile—of his new employee’s smile—right out of his mind…

CHAPTER TWO

‘A DOZEN shrubs for you, Russ.’ A worker placed the shrubs on the ground and moved away to collect another load.

It was Monday afternoon, towards the end of Fiona’s first day at the new job. Spending it out of doors helping to complete an actual work project as well as gather photographic resources for her painting and for the company to use to showcase its services had been a thrill. She smiled to herself as words continued to flow around her.

‘Hey, Phil. Can I use that mattock for the next ten minutes?’

‘Great job with the bougainvillea, Chelsea.’ This was Brent’s voice as he turned his head to check on one of the more junior members of the ground team. ‘Keep up the good work.’

The sun was shining and the ten-acre work site on the edge of a newish Sydney suburb was abuzz with activity. Brent was motivated and positive and determined, and the ground workers responded to his authority and encouragement by giving their absolute best. He was at home in this, and Fiona…found that knowledge of him perhaps a little too appealing.

‘We’re going to finish this job on time.’ The site boss, a man in his mid-thirties with a shock of carroty hair squashed under a baseball cap, paused beside Fiona to murmur the words. ‘I knew we would. The company hasn’t missed a deadline yet, even when things have gone pear-shaped, as they did with this project when some of the goods we ordered didn’t arrive three days ago.

‘That never would have happened with Linc’s nursery supplies. I’m guessing in future Brent will refuse to buy from anywhere else, even if it means asking his brother to import or source what it is that he needs.’

Brent had pulled in about a dozen extra workers from other job sites to work on this project. Fiona had done her share of carrying and carting and planting and fetching throughout the day, too. She was ‘grubby’, as Brent had predicted would happen. Mostly around the knees and seat of her jeans, and it was all good honest dirt. She’d learned so much about his process by getting her hands into it, and she’d had a ball getting dirty at the same time! ‘There doesn’t seem to be a lot left to do now.’

‘I’d say another half hour of work for everyone, if that.’ The boss moved on, and Fiona planted the last shrub in her allotment and dusted herself off.

She watched as Brent lifted a plant from a wheelbarrow and placed it in a prepared hole a few metres away with an efficient movement. In the early days of his business he had probably spent a lot of his time on this kind of thing.

He worked with a focused, economical efficiency. Her camera lens had tracked that focus again and again throughout the day. She itched to photograph him again now.

For their office files, Fiona justified. She glanced guiltily at the other nearby workers, but none of them seemed to be taking any particular notice of who or what she was studying.

Right now she needed to study landscape photo angles. She gathered her equipment. There should be a nice sunset soon, if she could find the right place on the property to photograph it. She fished her iPod out of her jeans pocket, placed the earphones in her ears and let the music and the lighting and the mood absorb her.

She truly was all about the work.

She was!

Brent found Fiona in a far corner of the property site, camera carefully placed on a tripod. She was waiting for something, he wasn’t sure what. And, while she waited, her body moved unconsciously to music only she could hear.

In her jeans and fitted red shirt, with dirt smears on her legs and other places, and her hair ruffled and half-falling from her ponytail, she looked…lived-in, girl-next-door.

He almost managed to convince himself she looked quite ordinary, in fact, until she made a small sound in the back of her throat, leaned in and took several photos before she straightened with a satisfied sigh, pulled the earphones from her ears and began to dismantle her equipment.

Because the truth was Fiona dressed in this way was anything but ordinary, and with the flush of achievement on her face she was anything but comfortable or girl-next-door.

Brent drew a deep breath and stepped forward. ‘Finished? Did you get the shots you wanted?’

‘Oh!’ Her hand rose to splay over her chest. ‘I didn’t realise you were there. I was photographing the sunset. I’ve taken around two hundred photos today. Not all of them will be used, of course, but I think I’ve gained a good overview of what a team of people can achieve on a site in a single session. But please tell me I wasn’t muttering or singing while I worked.’

‘You were soundless, I promise. I didn’t want to disturb your concentration so I waited, that was all.’ Their fingers brushed as he reached to take the tripod from her.

Just that, and Brent’s focus slipped. He froze on that slip. Came to a complete stop with his fingers closed over Fiona’s. Only a beat of time passed before he moved his hand, but that one beat was a beat out of his control and that concerned him.

That Fiona now studied him with her head tipped to the side and curiosity stamped on her face bothered him more. There were certain things about him that he kept to himself. He’d learned from a master instructor that doing that was necessary.

Most of all it bothered him that this one woman set off in him things to do with his condition that very few other people could make happen, no matter how much they impacted on him. His need to protect his privacy about that rose even in the face of his awareness of her. It wasn’t a comfortable combination.

‘I think I got a couple of great shots just now.’ She glanced up into the branches of the lemon-scented gum tree that towered over them. ‘Ones with the light spearing down creating a dappled effect. I hope to base my painting on that concept.’

‘That’s good.’ His thumb rubbed over and over against a ridged edge on the tripod. Brent forced the movement to a stop. ‘I’m glad you got the material you wanted.’

‘It only took a little while, a bit of waiting for that perfect moment.’ Fiona seemed about to ask him something.

Brent braced, but her glance shifted around the vacant lot, past him, swung left and right and finally moved to the outside perimeter where all the work vehicles had been parked.

‘I guess maybe I took longer than I noticed. The work’s finished.’ She seemed chagrined. ‘They’ve all left. I was so focused on what I was doing that I didn’t notice. How long did I keep you waiting?’

‘Not long, and I didn’t mind waiting.’ He growled it in a tone that quite likely made her believe the opposite. The truth was, he’d got value out of watching her work. ‘If you’re done here, we can leave now.’

‘Yes. I’m done. Thanks.’ She hustled towards his utility truck.

Brent joined her, opened the passenger door for her and climbed in behind the wheel. ‘The office will be closed by the time we get back, but we’ll get anything from inside that you need. Then, if you’re not too tired, I’d like you to join Linc and Alex and me for dinner so they can hear your impressions of your first day on the job.’

They’d planned for this—to get Fiona’s impressions without giving her too long to think first and maybe fall back on more PC answers rather than simply giving her true impressions.

And it would be fine. Taking her to his brothers would be exactly what he needed to bring this—whatever it was that he experienced when he was near her—back into perspective.

It had probably just been too long since he’d spent time with a woman. There were always offers. They never meant anything more than what they were, and maybe he was starting to feel a little jaded about that.

Brent pushed the thought aside, because there was nothing else for him. And he wasn’t jaded, anyway. ‘Linc and Alex and I all hold shares in each others’ companies. So you’ll be reporting to all of us.’

‘I’d be happy to discuss the day with all of you. Actually, I’d like a chance to bat my reactions around with you, particularly.’ Fiona glanced down at her jeans. ‘I’m grubby, though.’

Brent drove into the traffic. ‘That won’t matter. We’ll be eating at home, and Linc and Alex know we’ll be coming straight from the site.’

‘Then I’m happy to come to dinner and “report in”.’ Fiona smiled. ‘Thanks.’

And Fiona was. Happy. Cheerful. Chatting about the other workers and Brent’s work projects generally as they made their way back to their suburb, where she collected her car from all day parking and followed him to his warehouse home.

‘It’s this way.’ Brent waited while Fiona exited her car in the large ground floor parking area and led her into the foyer of the converted warehouse building he and his brothers shared. It felt good to bring her into his home, and that was one more reaction he didn’t want to have to deal with.

Fiona stopped in the centre of the polished floor and her glance darted this way and that. ‘Oh. How gorgeous. And it’s so big and very private. I never imagined from the outside…’

‘That was what we hoped when we bought the place and converted it. An illusion of it being nothing special, but inside there’s space and…we know we’re not on display.’ He cleared his throat. ‘We like it, anyway.’

Brent laid his hand on the curved handcrafted staircase that led to the upper level, and watched her look her fill in this place where he felt…comfortable, where he owned his space.

One end of the foyer held a leather sofa and chairs. The art on the walls was bold and bright—blues and whites, yellows and greens and pinks on canvases large enough not to get lost on the huge walls.

Fiona’s gaze settled on those artworks for a long moment. Finally she said, ‘The colours and designs of those are fabulous. I don’t think I know the artist…’

‘Alex’ll be pleased you like his work.’ Brent was pleased. And proud. And way too conscious of her reactions altogether. ‘Let’s go find my brothers.’ He led the way up the staircase. ‘We all have separate homes within the warehouse. For tonight, we’re meeting in the courtyard area upstairs.’

‘I think it’s wonderful that you’re all so close.’ Her tone held a wistful edge she didn’t quite manage to conceal.

Yet she had a family, had referred to parents and sisters on the drive to the site this morning, and obviously, if they’d raised someone like Fiona, her parents must be special people.

Before Brent could consider that further, his guest made a beeline for the youngest of his brothers. ‘Alex. Your paintings are beautiful—’

‘Thanks.’ Alex turned from the barbecue with a modest smile and a wry twist of his mouth. ‘Brent brought your portfolio home over the weekend to show us. Your work is far better.’

‘Different,’ Fiona corrected. ‘Not necessarily better.’

Linc placed a bowl of salad on the long table. ‘Hiring a graphic designer was a big step for our brother. He’s accustomed to working his designs through on his own, but he felt the company was ready for it, that it would be a good thing.’

‘I hope it will prove to be.’ Fiona’s gaze encompassed all of them.

Brent glanced her way. ‘I’ve seen enough of Fiona’s work, and now seen her in action, to have no doubt I’ve made the right choice.’

At least she had managed that while she’d fought her reactions to this talented and complex man. And surely, in a day or two, when she’d settled into the job and become used to her employer, she would move past this consciousness of him.

‘I appreciate your faith in me, Brent.’ In truth it touched a deep place in Fiona’s heart that had been chilled the day she’d told her family she’d decided to follow her dream career, rather than the logical, safe one they’d steered her into when she’d first left high school at eighteen.

They’d been equally unenthusiastic when she’d phoned to say she’d landed this job and moved out here. She might as well have said she’d got a good bargain on bread this week at the supermarket for all the level of excitement or support she’d received in response.

So Brent’s attitude was a boost, even if her reaction to it didn’t exactly help her to feel blasé towards him.

‘It’s easy to have that faith. You’re talented, enthusiastic.’ Brent’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he gave a deliberately relaxed grin that soon became a natural one. ‘The company can only benefit from your input.’

‘Thank you.’ For the generosity of his words and the sincerity in his eyes as he delivered them.

He was a complex man—there was so much beneath the surface. She’d sensed that from the first moment of meeting him. Now, she simply wanted to know him all the more.

And, because Fiona felt a little emotional about that, and about his praise, she quickly cleared her throat and smiled. ‘It means a lot to work for someone who has such faith in me and who I can have total faith in as well.’

Fiona drew a deep breath and glanced at the feast spread on the table. ‘The food smells wonderful. I confess I’m a little hungry!’

They all took their seats at a picnic style table with bench seating. Linc and Alex sat on one side. Fiona ended up seated beside her boss on the other.

Focus on the meal, Fiona. On being an appropriate guest, or talking about work.

There were vegetable kebabs made of cherry tomatoes, courgette, onion slices and button mushrooms marinated in a wonderful herbed Italian dressing and cooked to perfection. Steak and sausages—Fiona left those to the men. Whole potatoes cooked in foil and served with sour cream and fresh chopped chives. And delightful seasoned ground beef patties.

‘Which of you is the chef?’ The outdoor area was set up with potted small trees and plants everywhere. It was enclosed, no view, and the overall feeling was one of security and…intimacy.

In a purely familial context!

‘I did the easy stuff. Rosa did the kebabs.’ Alex’s glance dipped to his plate. ‘Rosa’s our cleaner, mostly, but she does other things for us as well.’ He hesitated and his brows drew together as he considered the matter. ‘Sort of like a mother would or something.’

A mother these men didn’t have? Alex’s words made it sound as though they hadn’t ever known that.

Fiona’s thoughts returned to how dissimilar the men were. She shifted her gaze to Brent’s face but his eyes were shielded with those long silky lashes again.

Perhaps they’d all had different mothers? Or fathers? Or some of both? Perhaps family life had been a little complicated for them? Well, she knew all about that from her own family. Though she was the only one who would say that situation was complex. Her parents and sisters would say it would all be just fine if Fiona would simply make an effort to fit in better. ‘My compliments to Rosa, then.’

‘So tell us your impressions from today.’ Linc carved another piece of meat from his steak as he waited for her response.

‘I have some photos now that I believe will be good for general marketing purposes.’ She explained the thoughts behind those concepts, and was pleased when Brent started to nod and approval showed clearly on his chiselled face.

‘I also have photos for the idea I want to use for a painting for the clients.’ It was a great idea to add a painting into each landscape project, and Fiona was keen to get started on this one. ‘If the clients hang the painting in their home and talk to their visitors about the landscaping work Brent’s done for them, that can only be good for business. Working with my hands, helping to do actual planting, really helped me to get a feel for what Brent’s work is all about, too. I…valued that.’

She felt as though she’d been given an insight into him. Fiona glanced his way and for a brief moment their gazes met and she wondered if he sensed that connection in the same way she did.

Seconds later he blinked and looked away and the moment was gone.

‘I’d like you to create a better business logo for us, too.’ Was Brent’s voice a little deeper than usual as he said this? ‘I think we’re due for a change there. I’ve never been entirely happy with the logo we have. I want something timeless, with a style that won’t date, but what we have now feels a bit too pedestrian.’

‘I’m sure I can come up with some viable possibilities. You might want something with just a few bold lines. It’s surprising how effective that can be.’

Brent’s gaze narrowed as he considered the idea. ‘Yes. I can see that.’ Again, that smile kicked up one side of his mouth. ‘I like the way you think.’

‘Thank you.’

They ate and they talked and Fiona lost her over-consciousness eventually and relaxed and, before she knew it, they were batting ideas back and forth. So fast, in fact, that she was almost breathless with it.

The scent of barbecued meat and vinaigrette dressing and city in the evening filled the air around them and she leaned close to her employer and he leaned in close to her, two heads bent together in an almost conspiratorial huddle, until she realised just how close they were and her consciousness of him sharpened again.

As they fell silent and his gaze tracked over her and came back to rest on her eyes, a shiver similar to that very first one she’d felt tickled over her senses. There was warmth in his expression, and frank male interest…

Before he shut the latter down.

It stung. More than Fiona wanted to admit because she’d had this experience enough times in her life. She’d had it the one time she’d trusted a man enough to get truly close to him. That had been years ago now, but it had left its mark, had made her wary, and that wariness had proved accurate over the years.

And now her employer was doing the same thing.

But he was only her employer and that was what she needed to remember.

‘I’m looking forward to tapping into your vision.’ That was what they needed to talk about, to focus on. She swallowed. ‘For your work. Tapping into it and learning how to present it in its best light for each project. The emotion you convey…’

His expression became a mask and the fingers of his right hand drummed out a staccato rhythm on the table.

Moments later that rhythm stopped.

All of Brent stopped, frozen in time for a long moment as his gaze searched hers.

Finally he said, ‘All I do is make the best I can out of each project I take on. That’s just…work. Any emotion you put into it will be your own.’

His belief in this was in his eyes, in the closed conviction on his face. Belief and self-protectiveness.

Why wouldn’t he acknowledge that he poured himself into his work? It was so obvious to her.

She’d examined a lot of his projects over the past two years. Landscape design had fascinated her from the start of her course, and his work had held the most appeal to her purely because of what she sensed in it.

Strength and conviction, imagination and reaching out and…protecting himself. Oh, she had responded most of all to that. It was one of the things that drew her to him, even when she knew she shouldn’t and mustn’t allow herself to be drawn. She’d only get hurt and, anyway, he was the boss, out of her reach and her league!

‘I want to draw out what you’ve seen, your vision for each project.’ Fiona spoke carefully, took the diplomatic route in her reply. ‘But I’m certainly happy to add my own layering to that.’

‘That’s the best way to look at it.’ Brent seemed satisfied with this and the conversation moved on then, expanded to include all three brothers again.

After a time, Alex got to his feet. ‘I have phone calls to make to one of the company’s overseas contacts before it gets too much later. If you’ll excuse me?’

Linc stood beside Alex and a frown creased his brows. ‘I might head out to Cecilia’s. I wasn’t really satisfied with the discussion we had earlier today on the phone.’

Fiona watched the brothers disappear and turned to Brent with the quirk of one eyebrow. She asked lightly, ‘Woman trouble for your brother?’

Brent stood and began to gather dishes and utensils together. ‘Cecilia manages Linc’s largest plant nursery. Who knows what the issue is this time? They’re two strong personalities. They clash sometimes.’

‘Ah.’ Fiona got to her feet and helped gather the remainder of the dishes. ‘Where are we headed with these?’

‘My place.’ Brent led the way out of the courtyard area and along a hallway until they came to a recessed door. ‘It can all go in the dishwasher.’

‘And then I’d better leave.’ Fiona held the plates carefully and waited as he opened the door to his home within the warehouse building. ‘I enjoyed the meal and our talk. I hope your brothers were happy with my first day reactions.’

She’d all but forgotten the presence of the others at times as she’d focused her attention on her boss. Fiona knew she had to do better than that!

‘I think we were all more than satisfied. Kitchen’s this way.’ Brent strode at a brisk pace past a large living area and into a slate and white kitchen.

Was it the rich aroma of percolated coffee that drew him along so fast? She didn’t get the chance to more than half-glance around her.

Fiona stopped at the edge of the kitchen and then she did let her gaze take in the sight of three different coffee machines on the counter, and a myriad of other gadgets beside them.

Her lips twitched. ‘I take it you really like coffee. And gadgetry.’

‘Different blends for different times of the day. The coffee is on a timer, so I can make sure it’s ready for me when I want it. My evening dose is decaf.’ A slight smile creased his lips. Then his expression sobered as he examined the rest of the gadgets. ‘The way they all work interests me. I probably have bought more things than I really need.’

As though he’d said too much, he drew two coffee mugs from an overhead cupboard and raised them in question.

‘Yes, please.’ If it was decaf, it wouldn’t hurt to have it. She was intrigued by this small revelation into his personality, too. She would have liked to pursue the topic, maybe tease him a little about having an obsession about the way things worked.

A small memory flitted through her head as she thought this, of someone with similarities to her employer, but she lost it before it could fully form. ‘The coffee smells far too good to be caffeine-free, you know.’

‘It’s an imported blend. A bit self-indulgent of me all up, I suppose. Overall, my curiosity hasn’t always been welcomed, but I tend to indulge it nowadays, in my own setting, at least.’ He cut off the words and then seemed to relax out of whatever place they had taken him. He poured the rich blend and passed her one of the cups.

‘You’re hardly self-indulgent, and I think curiosity is a good thing. How else do we learn?’ The words emerged without her conscious volition. But he’d earned the money he had. If he wanted to import coffee and invest in gadgets he didn’t necessarily use, why shouldn’t he? Those things seemed very small indulgences and if he enjoyed exploring them at the same time…‘I mean great coffee is worth investing in.’

She put the mug to her lips and sipped, and the rich thick liquid slid down her throat so smoothly that she had to close her eyes and let a small sigh of satisfaction escape. ‘Oh, that is good. I think for the pleasure of that taste alone, all your curiosity has been well worth it in this case.’

‘You have a unique way of looking at things. Calling it that…’ Brent fell silent.

‘What else would it be?’ She opened her eyes and caught his gaze on her. Unshielded in that first instance, and somehow almost vulnerable.

And…edged with a consciousness of her that brushed across her senses like a touch.

This time he didn’t shut it down. Oh, he looked away, but the awareness was still etched on his face when he did that.

It echoed inside her, too. Fiona dropped her gaze to her cup again while her heart inexplicably pounded. It was a foolish reaction. One that she needed to quash because, even if he did find her attractive right now, that could change. In any case, he was her boss and it would be really far less than sensible for her to allow feelings towards him or to start believing he had any towards her.

Maybe he simply found her opinions interesting and she was imagining anything else.

They sipped their coffee standing right there, leaning against the kitchen counter. When the silence stretched, Fiona turned her gaze to Brent’s living room, to squashy chocolate leather sofas and chairs and long rows of magazines lined up like soldiers across a set of three coffee tables.

There were neat stacks of library books set exactly so, and other books and pieces of paper arranged carefully all through the area and beside armchairs positioned around the room.

‘I see you like to bring your work home, and you’re very orderly.’ Was this why he had rushed her past the area? Because there was something quite different about the way he’d laid out all that work?

His office space was similarly regimented, and it was different.

He rubbed his hand over the back of his head. ‘I sometimes have to work on projects until they’re finished, whether that means bringing things home or not. Once I get started, I get very focused and I can’t stop. I’ve always been that way. Some people…find that objectionable but it’s how I am. Core me. It’s not something that’s going to change.’

‘Nor should it.’ If he changed, he might lose some of the intensity that made his work what it was. Why on earth would he even consider such a possibility—? ‘I imagine there’ll be times when I’ll do the same. Get deeply involved in the work, I mean.’

He shifted on his feet, passed his empty coffee cup from hand to hand.

‘It’s time I went.’ One part of her didn’t want to leave, wanted to stay in his company longer.

To talk about work issues, she told herself. Instead, she put her empty cup down on the counter top and made her way towards the front door.

‘I enjoyed our talk this evening.’ Brent paced beside her. His words brought them back to business, and of course that was a good thing.

As she approached the door she noticed the photomontage on the wall. It was positioned so it would be the last thing he looked at as he left his home each day.

Photos of him and his brothers.

Fiona looked, and looked again. And the story embedded in those images hit her so deeply her breath stalled in her throat and for a long moment she couldn’t speak. She simply stood there, unable to shift her gaze.

When she finally found her voice it wasn’t to state the obvious. Not, You were all institutionalised. Or, There are no parents, are there? At least not for a very long time. Or, You’re not biologically related.

But, oh, they had created themselves into a family, first in that cold building in the background of several of the pictures, and later as they’d found their freedom and relocated here.

They were three men who’d become men before their time, and had stood up for each other. It was all there, captured in the stark stares and guarded expressions of young boys and the determination of young men, and the laughter and wry smiles and inner shields of the men they were now.

How had they all ended up alone? Parentless? In Brent’s case, extremely private, and she imagined the others had their issues with privacy, too. Just look at where they all lived.

His brothers must have changed their names through legal channels, or perhaps they’d all chosen the last name MacKay and adopted it at some point? ‘I thought from the beginning that you and your brothers were close. I hadn’t realised all the reasons why.’

Fiona didn’t have that closeness in her own family. It was a knowledge she lived with and tried not to think about. Right now it felt very blatant to her. Blatant and sad, and yet Brent and his brothers must have been through so much more. Indeed, the two things were incomparable.

‘We’re there for each other. The few people who’ve looked at those photos didn’t even realise—’ Brent opened the door.

‘That you’re a chosen family, not a “by birth” one?’ They were proof the former could be as strong as any example of the latter.

‘Yes. “Chosen” is the right word for it. For us, that’s better than where…we came from.’ He stepped out into the corridor with her. ‘I’ll see you back to your car.’

End of discussion, and fair enough. Though she might want to know more, he was a private man and this was obviously very private business to him.

They walked in silence. Moments later she stood beside her small car.

‘We have a meeting with a client at her home tomorrow.’ Brent rubbed his jaw with his hand. ‘It’s the troublesome client I told you about on Friday.’

Fiona mentally reviewed her wardrobe. ‘I’ll be ready for it.’

‘Perhaps between us we can get her to stop blocking the plans at every turn.’ Brent waited while she seated herself, and then he pushed her door closed.

She started the engine and rolled down the window.

He leaned in. ‘Drive safely. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight, Brent.’ He’d given her some things to think about. The family he had built and her questions about where he might have come from. His emotional guardedness. That regimented work lined up in his living room and in his office. The privacy he sought in his home and his work.

‘Goodnight,’ he murmured.

With a final wave and an odd reluctance to leave him, and with myriad questions flitting through her mind and no answers anywhere in sight, Fiona drove away.

CHAPTER THREE

‘MRS FULLER will either have to get on board during this visit, or we cut our losses and dump the project. The work is interchangeable with a dozen other projects that all need my attention. At some point I have to assess what’s going to be best financially for the company overall and, right now, letting her mess us around further isn’t.’ Brent murmured the words as he and Fiona waited in the formal sitting room of the woman’s ritzy Sydney home.

They’d been kept cooling their heels here for twenty minutes now with no sign of their hostess.

‘I agree. This isn’t a smart use of your time. The woman’s behaviour is insulting to you.’ And that insult made Fiona feel…protective towards her boss.

Which was fine, because she was his employee. She had the right to feel that way. Even if she had been somewhat too personally conscious of her boss initially.

The door to the room swished open and a maid entered with a tea tray.

Rose Fuller swept in behind her. ‘Thank you, Lilly. You may pour and leave us.’

Mrs Fuller waved a slender, well-tended hand towards the maid before she turned to greet her guests. ‘Oh, I see you’ve brought an assistant, Mr MacKay?’

A very lowly one, her tone seemed to suggest.

‘Mrs Fuller, meet my graphic designer, Fiona Donner. We were about to leave but, since you’ve managed the appointment belatedly after all, we’ll do what we can in the limited time we have left.’ Brent’s voice held just the right amount of firmness. He got to his feet to shake hands with the woman and stepped back so Fiona could do the same. ‘Fiona, meet Mrs Rose Fuller.’

The familiarity of name and face clicked into place when Fiona received a very practised smile and a rather limp hand to shake, though the woman had looked slightly chagrined by the end of Brent’s speech.

Husband in politics. Big aspirations. Lots of media coverage as they did their best to climb the ranks.

Ah…

‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Fuller. I’ve been studying the project plans Brent has drawn up for you.’ Fiona towered over Mrs Fuller by an entire head and shoulders. In the dainty room, with the maid pouring cups of tea into translucent china cups, Fiona had to fight off feeling oversized and, subsequently, unfeminine.

The two assessments did not necessarily have to go together, no matter what her mother may have said to the contrary at various times throughout Fiona’s life. ‘You must be pleased to have Brent on board for your landscaping work. He’s the best in the city.’

‘Well, of course I know Mr MacKay has a decent reputation, though he can be extremely elusive about contact outside of his work channels.’

‘I apologise for turning down the dinner invitation, Mrs Fuller.’ Brent’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I saw the write-up in all the major papers the next day.’

‘Yes, we made quite a splash.’ Mrs Fuller went on, ‘I’m afraid I just can’t decide on any one of the plans we’ve discussed. My husband is very exacting and everything has to serve our lifestyle and our business interactions perfectly.’ Their hostess gestured for them to take their seats, did so herself and waited while her maid handed out the teacups and left the room.

‘Of course.’ Fiona took a deep breath and turned her attention to the view from the bay windows for a moment.

The house was elevated and the grounds rolled away to a seemingly endless stretch of Sydney coast. The scene from this window once the design work was completed in the grounds below would make an ideal painting for the client. If they could get the woman to start cooperating.

‘Mrs Fuller, you’ve expressed what you want out of this landscaping project. Now it’s time to trust us to provide it for you.’ Brent placed his tea, untouched, onto the small table beside his chair and his fingers curled against his thighs as though he wanted to do something with them but was stopping himself.

Fiona took up the conversation where Brent had left off. ‘The exciting news for you, Mrs Fuller, is that you’ll be one of our first clients to have the benefit of an original artwork gifted to you at the completion of your project. I think a two metre by one metre canvas would work here. Of course, if you’re unable to settle on our plans we’ll need to move on. You’ll understand my employer is highly sought after, and my paintings are award-winning works that will always find a welcome home…’

‘That’s a substantial-sized painting. I wasn’t aware—What awards have you won?’ The woman’s eyes gleamed.

And Fiona ran with that. Just a little, and only because she truly did want her boss to get something back for the time he’d invested in this project so far. She named the prestigious awards.

Brent knew of them, of course. They’d been listed in her curriculum vitae and she’d included copies of the works in her portfolio.

‘I recall now.’ Mrs Fuller straightened her perfectly straight back even more. ‘You’re that Fiona Donner. One of the paintings was a landscape…’

‘Yes. They both were. It’s a favourite medium of mine.’ Fiona could almost see the cogs turning in their hostess’s brain.

She smiled at the woman. ‘At this stage we are utterly one hundred per cent informed of your needs, Mrs Fuller. You’ve discussed them in detail with my employer, and he has explained everything to me. Now you can let it go, take that burden off shoulders that no doubt have many other responsibilities. Your husband, your social engagements.’

A suppressed hint of sound came from Brent that could have been a snort, though a quick glance his way revealed nothing but the blandest of facial expressions.

‘It will be our pleasure to take care of the hard work and stress and decisions for you, Mrs Fuller.’ Brent offered this assurance with calm confidence. ‘All you need to do is enjoy the finished product when your landscape design is in place. Shall we discuss the original plans? I truly still believe they are what’s going to be best to meet your needs.’

They talked. Or, rather, Brent did most of the talking in a firm, determined way. Mrs Fuller occasionally tried to get off track or waffle about some aspect or another she wasn’t quite certain about. Invariably, Brent pulled her back.

Fiona sipped her tea until it was all gone while Mrs Fuller did the same.

Eventually, with all of his case put forward again as succinctly as possible, Brent leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, Mrs Fuller. What do you say? Do we have a plan, or do we leave this here, cut our losses and both move on?’

‘I’d like you to begin work, using the plan you originally produced, and providing a painting.’ Mrs Fuller replaced her teacup in its saucer with a small click. ‘It’s a pity you weren’t able to articulate things so clearly the first time…’

Several beats of silence passed.

Fiona didn’t know she’d moved until she realised she was on her feet.

Brent whispered into her ear, ‘Remember, the client is always right, even when she’s not.’ He’d risen with her and leaned in casually to give her those words while giving Mrs Fuller a businesslike smile.

Fiona bit her lip and bit back the words that wanted to pour out, telling Mrs Fuller exactly how offensive she had just been.

It would be unrealistic, Fiona supposed, to expect a complete turnaround from the woman and, in the end, Brent had achieved what he wanted.

So score one for Brent MacKay Landscaping Designs. With brief—and, Fiona thought in the circumstances, very constrained—goodbyes to their hostess, they took their leave.

Brent led the way back to his utility truck, opened her door for Fiona and got behind the wheel himself.

‘You have excellent people-handling skills, Fiona.’ A grin kicked up one corner of his mouth and spread until it reached his eyes. ‘I had a much easier time of it with you there to help me out.’

‘Oh, I didn’t do much. You’re the one who produced the ideas Mrs Fuller should have leapt at in the first place.’ Fiona brushed aside her part in things and did her best to brush aside her annoyance at the same time. ‘In the end it all worked out, I guess, and I think Mrs Fuller is someone who, despite all the difficulties with her up to this point, will talk your work up to the skies once it’s done for her.’

Fiona was doing quite well being upbeat and positive until she added a muttered, ‘I didn’t appreciate her insulting attitude to the importance of your time or the way she insinuated that her mucking around for weeks was somehow your fault!’

Brent laughed. ‘I caught that, and I appreciate you caring.’

He set the vehicle in motion. ‘You were very diplomatic with Mrs Fuller. I think you’d even manage to tame the crowd of people just like her who attend the Landscaping Awards nights.’

‘That’s one event you do attend each year.’ The words slipped out before she could consider how telling he might find them. ‘I mean, naturally you attend whatever functions you’re interested in—’

‘And I protect my privacy the rest of the time.’ He made no apology, simply stated it as fact.

‘The Deltran Landscaping Awards are prestigious.’

‘Yes, and I’m nominated for an award this year.’ Brent glanced her way. ‘I’d like you to attend the ceremony with me. It will give me a chance to showcase you as part of the company.’

‘I’d love to go.’ The invitation was unexpected, but her acceptance was instantaneous. Too fast, really.

Because she was a little too delighted. Because the thought of an evening out with him appealed a little too much. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling that way about him any more. Not since she’d thought that all through and concluded that she wouldn’t.

‘Then you can consider it a date.’ The moment the words left Brent, a frown creased his brow. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Consider it a business arrangement, I mean.’

Right.

‘I think it will be a very useful evening for the company.’ And, for that reason, it would be good to attend the evening with her boss.

‘Maybe I should do something similar for this dinner Mum’s roped me into attending with the family.’ There. That was good. A segue into a different topic by commenting on something that bore similarities to the first topic. ‘I could go for “safety in numbers” and take a friend along.’

‘It sounds like an obligatory family event?’ This seemed to surprise him.

No doubt because his interactions with his brothers contained none of the difficulties Fiona encountered at family functions. Her family tended to find her far too different and ‘out of the box’ for their tastes.

Ironic, really, when Brent was the one with the unusual ‘family’ structure.

‘I didn’t mean to make it sound as though family events are a chore for me. Even if they were,’ she added, and couldn’t keep the doubt from her tone, ‘the evening might be fun.’

Extremely doubtful, but in the end you never knew, right?

Brent drew the truck to a stop in its space behind their office building and turned to face her. ‘I’ll trade. You come to the Awards night with me and I’ll be your “extra” for your family gathering. Assuming both these events aren’t scheduled at once. When is your family get-together?’

Not the same night, as it happened.

Fiona was still shocked by his offer, even as she answered him. ‘Th-thank you. I’d love to have you come along.’ She stuttered out the details while Brent climbed out of the truck and led the way into the building and through to his office.

His face was tight. Maybe he regretted making his offer. Should she try to let him off the hook? ‘If you don’t really—’

‘It’ll be a chance for me to meet your family.’ He picked up a handful of mail from his desk and began to sort through it. ‘I’m planning to have you working for me for a long time, so it’s strategic for us to do this.’

‘Oh. Of course. Well, that’s lovely, then.’ And it was. Absolutely. Lovely, and practical and, for goodness’ sake, why would she kid herself it was anything else? She would enjoy Brent’s company as her boss meeting her family for a one-off occasion. That would be no biggie. Not at all.

This might provide a chance for your parents and sisters to see you actually have a serious job working for Brent, not some ‘dangerously unstable artsy thing’ as your mother dismissed it on the phone when you rang to tell her the good news that you’d got the position.

And maybe they’d see that she was making progress in that job. Yes, it was still very early days but Brent seemed pleased enough with her so far. It was about time her family acknowledged that her choices and decisions in life, though perhaps not right for them, were right for her and could even be quite successful.

As for the fact she hadn’t entirely managed to quash her consciousness of Brent as a man…well, she would quash it.

Fiona hustled to the door so they could get on with some work.

‘You’re staring into space, Fiona! Do concentrate.’ Eloise Donner’s voice grated across Brent’s nerve-endings as she addressed her daughter. ‘You’re holding things up.’

‘I’m sure Fiona’s just taking time to think through how she wants to answer the game question.’ Brent battled to keep his tone unremarkable, polite.

He wanted to walk out, taking Fiona with him.

Her mother’s niggling wasn’t overtly vicious. In Brent’s opinion, it was worse than that because it was subtle, ingrained and would be very difficult for Fiona to fight.

Particularly if she didn’t want to get into an argument with her mother and have Eloise tell her she was overstating the problem or making much out of ‘nothing’.

Something told him Eloise Donner would be good at saying things like that.

It was Wednesday night, just over a week after Fiona had first started working for him, and they were at that obligatory family gathering he’d invited himself along to.

As her employer, he had wanted to meet her family. But curiosity had also motivated him.

He had wanted to see what her family were like. Maybe he’d wanted to be around a family that had parents in it, full stop?

You got over missing that a long time ago, MacKay.

His father had made that easy. Just dumped him and walked away…

Well, the answer to what Fiona’s family were like was ‘nothing he’d expected’.

With Fiona being so kind and sweet, he’d thought her family would be the same, people who would have brought out those things in her by their own example. Instead, they were clinical, critical, super-practical and unemotional people who almost seemed to lack…soul?

They certainly looked nothing like Fiona. Her mother and sisters were petite and brittle, where Fiona was tall and lush and vibrant. Her father was a ‘medium’ man. Medium height, build, medium brown hair, medium interest in life, it appeared. Fiona’s inner beauty was something that had obviously come from the core of her and flourished against the odds of her family influence.

Fiona glanced at the card in her hand. They were playing a board game. A particularly stultifying one, Brent thought. There were eight people at the table. Fiona’s family, Fiona, him, and a couple of extras.

Fiona cast an uncomfortable glance his way before she pinned on that smile she’d worked so hard to hold all night. ‘I don’t think I know the answer to this one, Mum. I’ll have to pass.’

‘You must know.’ Terrence Donner cast a slightly impatient glance his daughter’s way. ‘None of the questions in this game are unanswerable.’

‘For people who enjoy documentaries and nonfiction reading, perhaps.’ Brent’s knee brushed against Fiona’s as he shifted in his chair.

The jolt to his senses shouldn’t have happened. He’d made the choice not to notice Fiona in that way.

So why had he?

You’ve noticed her from the start. You’ve simply been avoiding your awareness of her.

Well, then, he could go on avoiding it. He had to go on avoiding it because she set off behaviours in him that he had worked hard for decades to subdue, and he wasn’t about to reveal those shortcomings to her. He guarded those things.

‘Nope. Sorry, Dad. I truly don’t have an answer to put up at this point.’ Fiona shrugged her shoulders and indicated they should move on to the next player, but her words were slightly breathless.

Brent reacted to that knowledge more than he wanted to.

The game ended. Brent got to his feet. He might not have all his answers, but he knew he’d had enough of this. And so had Fiona. ‘It’s been nice to meet you all, but we have a long trip to get home. I think it’s time we left.’

When they emerged outside the family’s house Brent breathed in the night air and thought of Linc and Alex and how lucky he was to have them. A chosen family, not a blood one. As if that mattered. He wouldn’t trade them. The thoughts helped him regain perspective and that put him in a better place to care for Fiona.

As a colleague and someone he’d begun to admire in that capacity…

He helped Fiona into his truck and talked about this and that as they made their way back towards her home.

If he talked, maybe she would forget the unpleasantness of the evening. And maybe he would forget how much he wanted to draw her into his arms and kiss her to take her mind off the fact that her family didn’t treat her the way they all should. That desire was not businesslike.

Words pushed past his lips anyway. ‘What’s wrong with them? They don’t—’

‘I’m glad you got to meet my family, that they got to meet my boss and hear a little about the work I’m doing.’ Fiona spoke over the top of him. Her words were deliberately upbeat as he turned the truck into an empty parking space in the apartment complex’s courtyard. Upbeat but edged with that same breathless quality as earlier, when their knees had brushed beneath the table.

She went on, ‘I hope that will have made my goals a little more real to them, a little more understandable.’

A little more acceptable? Her family made her feel abnormal when she was a great person in her own right. And that was clearly something that had been going on for a long time. That was Brent’s assessment and it was one that was…a little too close to the bone for comfort.

Brent turned off the truck’s ignition and strode around the front to open her door and help her out. ‘You have a good start in a job that’s in your chosen field. There are plenty of people out there who never manage to say that much. Your family should be proud of the way you’ve pursued and begun to obtain your goals.’

‘Thank you and…maybe they are.’ She spoke in a way that seemed to try to keep the uncertainty out of her tone. And gave a soft smile, no doubt aimed at easing the moment. ‘Well, I promise you I will do my utmost to support you in return when it comes time to go to the Awards dinner.’

‘Your company on the night will be more than enough.’ Brent all but growled the words. ‘I’ll walk you up.’

See her into her apartment safely and then leave. That was what he needed to do, not linger here wanting nebulous things he didn’t want to name but knew would get him into trouble if he went after them. Things that had to do with odd notions, such as comfort and closeness and acceptance.

What was the matter with him tonight? Where were these deep buried thoughts coming from?

When they reached the top of the staircase and made their way to her front door, Fiona put her key in the lock and turned to face him. ‘They didn’t pry too much into your business, I hope. When I was in the kitchen clearing away dishes.’

He pushed his hands into his pockets, frowned and took them out again. ‘They didn’t pry too much.’

She seemed to relax a little at that. ‘Would you like a coffee or something before you drive on? I’ve only got instant—’

‘No. Thanks. But I’ll see you inside.’ He had to know she was safely secured behind these walls. That was only common courtesy.

‘O-okay.’ She pushed the door open and walked inside.

Brent followed, closed it after him and glanced around.

A hand-woven rug brightened the floor. Those splashes of orange and sky-blue and red and green were echoed in throw cushions and the table lamp and an abstract Fiona Donner original on the wall.

She’d made a beautiful home, welcoming and individual and full of her life and vitality and sweetness. Brent wanted to sit on her sofa and just…be there among these things that held meaning for her. As though, if he did that, he’d…belong.

The inexplicable feeling washed through him, so much more than a simple awareness of her, even if that awareness had been causing him enough problems all by itself.

It took him enough by surprise that he hesitated in the centre of her small living room.

He should go.

He wanted to stay.

Since when had his emotions reached for such odd things? He didn’t even do that whole ‘feelings’ arena. Linc and Alex—he loved them, but that was it. His inability to maintain a relationship with his father had taught him what his limits were. The autism—he hadn’t been able to get past that. With Alex and Linc it was different, but they’d all come up together, had faced down their demons together.

With Fiona, Brent wasn’t even prepared to let himself be attracted to her. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship, and Fiona was someone who should be given that if a man was interested in her.

So say goodbye and leave. Do it now before any other temptation comes over you.

‘Well, thanks again.’

‘I should go.’

They spoke at the same time.

Fiona paused and her lashes fluttered over eyes the colour of the sky in the mountains on a warm summer day. Clear, sweet blue.

So lovely. He could appreciate the pure aesthetics of her, couldn’t he? Just appreciate that?

Yes? And where was the distance to go with that kind of remote appreciation?

Brent didn’t know the answer and, because he didn’t, and because he couldn’t quite make his feet take him to the door and through it, he addressed another issue that he did want answers to.

‘Your family made tonight all about themselves.’ Maybe she didn’t want to discuss this, but what if she needed to? What if he needed to talk with her about the way her family had treated her?

His fingers reached out and brushed the back of her hand. She had smooth, soft skin like the petals of a rose. Too late not to touch her now. He’d done it. ‘Your parents could have tried to be a bit accommodating of your tastes in terms of entertainment.’

‘They think I need to fit in, be more like them, but I’m just…not. I tried that. It didn’t work.’ Her soft sigh was a whisper between them. ‘But I love them, and they don’t mean to make me uncomfortable.’ She gestured with her hand to dismiss the topic. ‘Thank you for your company, anyway.’

‘You’re welcome.’ And he had to go.

Brent walked to the door and tugged it open and, with a low, ‘Lock it after me,’ he stepped through. On the other side, he waited until she did as he had asked, and then he walked to his truck and drove away.

What he thought about her family, about all this, didn’t matter in the end. Whatever he now knew of her, whatever empathy he felt for her, he had nothing to offer anyone, and especially not someone like Fiona.

That was what he had to remember.

CHAPTER FOUR

BRENT parked his truck and made his way into the club. Fiona had left her flat keys on her work desk, half-hidden away between two separate messy piles of paper. He had discovered this fact as he’d cleared chocolate wrappers from her work area.

Not wrappers from chocolates his graphic designer had eaten from the stash in her bottom desk drawer.

But wrappers from the chocolates he’d eaten his way through while he’d examined her design program. He hadn’t planned to eat the treats. He’d opened the drawer in search of a notepad and, though he’d told himself not to be tempted, somehow his hand had ended up in the drawer and the rest, as he focused all his attention on the nuts and bolts of her program and then on the work she’d done within it, had been, as they said, ‘history’. He’d have to replace the candy stash before she got to work on Monday.

She was on the dance floor. His gaze locked onto her and he quickly forgot his thoughts. Dear God, she looked magnificent. A black skirt that came to just above her knees, high-heeled boots and a scoop-necked cream top that clung to her curves as she moved all combined to make her a highly irresistible package of appeal.

When the number ended, Fiona smiled at her partner and moved off the floor with him. She stood half a head taller than the man. At just about the moment Brent forced himself to acknowledge he felt jealous of that man, they joined a large group of people seated at some tables pulled close together.

The fellow put his arm around one of the women in the group and dropped a kiss on her cheek.

‘Brent.’ Fiona’s exclamation came as he approached the tables. ‘What brings you here—?’

‘You.’ The word was low, husky and far too intimate, reflecting thoughts that poured through him, pushed past his defences.

In her boots with the three-inch heel, she stood almost nose to nose with him. Brent wanted to trace all her dips and curves with his fingertips.

It had to be his autism speaking, a need for a tactile exploration to feed his thought processes the answers they sought.

Sure. You believe that, MacKay.

‘Your flat keys. I found them on your desk after you left.’ That was his reason for finding her here. Only that. ‘You might have spares somewhere, but I didn’t know.’

‘I do have a spare set. In my desk at work. Oh, of all the silly things for me to do!’ Her gaze searched his face. ‘I’m so sorry you had to chase me down. I don’t have my mobile turned on, either. It’s a waste of time in here because I wouldn’t hear it ring. How did you know—?’

‘I heard you mention the name of this place when you were on your mobile phone as you were leaving. There’s no need to apologise. I couldn’t have left you without your keys to get into your home.’

Fiona’s mouth softened. ‘Thank you.’

Just two simple words, and he leaned towards her. Brent straightened and his head tipped to the right. ‘Ah—’

She was returning his glance, was as aware of him in this moment as he was of her, and Brent’s need to protect his privacy fought with his need…for her.

But for what? To explore physical attraction with her? Because that was all he could want, wasn’t it? For him, intimacy—true intimacy that involved opening up and letting someone else in was…out of the question.

And have you asked yourself why that is, MacKay? Why you’re so determined to keep people at arm’s length?

Brent knew the answer. He was different, and his ‘different’ wasn’t something people, generally, would be able to accept. So he kept it to himself. He was happier that way. Comfortable.

Safe?

It wasn’t about that. And he had every right to value his privacy, for whatever reasons he wanted to. And there was nothing else behind the way he felt. Nothing.

Fiona’s gaze searched his eyes.

Brent stared into deep blue irises until he felt the stares of some of her friends on him.

She looked past him and seemed to force a casual smile. ‘Everyone, this is my boss, Brent MacKay.’

A round of introductions followed. It gave Brent a chance to settle his reactions to her.

So why did they continue to simmer beneath the surface of every word, every exchange and glance? Rejecting those reactions should be as easy as deciding they weren’t in his best interests or, in fact, in hers. Brent had already decided that, so why…? ‘I should get going.’

‘Would you like to—?’ She stopped, clamped those soft lips together.

Brent drew her keys from his pocket and, when she held out her hand, dropped them into it.

‘Thank you.’ Her fingers curled over the keys before she snagged her bag from the back of a chair and dropped them into it. ‘Please, let me at least…I don’t know…Can I buy you a drink or something? I feel awful, putting you out this way. We could go to the bar. I see a few spaces over there. Most people are on the dance floor right now, I think.’

The bar stretched across the entirety of the far wall beyond the dance area. It was further from the music than the tables here. Brent’s voice emerged as a low growl of sound. ‘A drink would be…nice.’

He’d led her halfway around the dance floor before he registered that his choice might not have been particularly smart.

When they reached the bar, they ordered drinks and Fiona watched Brent from the corner of her eye in the bar mirror and saw the way they looked together.

A dark head and a fair one. A lean, strong face and a soft womanly one. They looked right to her, side by side this way.

The image reached past her defences, left them in the dust, left her wanting deep silent things she couldn’t want, couldn’t let herself admit.

What did Brent want?

Nothing you can pin hopes on, Fiona. Remember that.

‘I hope chasing me down with my keys hasn’t interfered with other plans of yours.’ She didn’t quite meet his gaze. ‘That is…it’s none of my business of course…I simply didn’t want to take you away from—’

A girlfriend? A lover waiting for him somewhere? The thought stung, yet it wasn’t her business, was it?

‘You might have come here with someone—?’

He spoke almost when she did, and then stopped, and their gazes met and held and the atmosphere between them thickened into silently acknowledged curiosity and a certain comprehension.

‘I don’t…’

‘There’s no one.’ Fiona’s heart began to beat more heavily in her chest.

They both lowered their gazes to their drinks, sipped.

Brent’s face tightened as he looked up at her again. ‘This—’

‘I’ve been thinking about the Doolan project.’ Fiona rushed the words out and took another fortifying sip of her lemon mineral water. If she made it all about work they could forget those moments looking into each other’s eyes in a mirror.

Could forget the warmth and consciousness in their eyes, the desire that when they faced each other in reality, they both worked hard to hide.

A part of her wanted to see it again, even though following that path with him could only lead to hurt for her because he would do what every other man had done.

He would go cold on the idea of her sooner or later. He’d already shown the capacity for that.

So talk about work, Fiona, and ease through these moments and then let him go. ‘I know the couple are at loggerheads with each other in their personal lives, but I thought I might have an idea to keep both of them happy with our project plans.’

‘Go on. I’m interested in any contribution you want to make.’ It was clear he meant this.

And perhaps equally clear that he welcomed the change of topic to a work-related subject as much as she told herself she must take the conversation there.

The little sting of hurt was foolish and incidental, and she did her best to ignore its impact. ‘If we use either of the couple’s suggested overall ideas for the project, one of them is likely to resent the result.’

‘It will be one more thing for them to argue about, and our company might get caught in the middle of that altercation.’ His lashes formed thick crescents against his cheeks as he briefly dipped his gaze.

There was something almost vulnerable in that sight, and that made Fiona vulnerable as she softened towards him.

Maybe they needed to be at loggerheads so she could stop being so conscious of him as a man. Because, whether she wanted to be or not, she was, and, though she felt that same vibe back from him, he was her boss and he seemed determined not to notice her even if he was noticing her.

Oh, she had to stop this analysing!

Brent cast a wry smile her way. ‘So do you think you and I could agree on something that might satisfy both of them?’

Far too easily.

So much for her idea of being at loggerheads for her own salvation. Fiona straightened on the stool. ‘Yes. I think we could do it, for the sake of the project and for the company’s overall good. It’s simply a collaboration of minds, after all.’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’ His nod was pure professionalism. The warmth in his glance was not, but he masked that quickly and she told herself to stop noticing. They sipped their drinks in silence before she spoke again.

‘To answer your question from earlier, I caught a lift here with Stacey but I think she’ll end up at Caleb’s place later.’ The couple had been one of her ‘fix it’ projects and had got back together after not speaking to each other for three months. ‘I’ll head off myself soon. I don’t want a really late night.’

They’d finished their drinks. Somehow they were both on their feet.

‘Thanks again for bringing my keys to me, for taking the time to do that.’

‘Do you need a lift home?’ He asked it in such a level way, yet his gaze was not level. It was thoughtful and cautious, offering and…almost braced for her to say no?

As if Brent MacKay would care whether she rejected or accepted him in anything. He was a self-made, very wealthy, highly eligible and extremely talented man. If anything, he had the whole world at his feet.

Yet that’s not what you see in the backs of his eyes at times when he drops his guard a little. That’s not what you saw in those photos with his brothers.

Well, what Fiona looked for and believed she ‘saw’ in those around her were things she had to guard. Her family’s discomfort with that side of her had proved that. She tried to respond in kind. ‘I left my car at Stacey’s place. I just need to get a taxi that far.’

‘What suburb?’

Fiona told him.

Brent nodded. ‘I’ll drive you.’ Decision made. ‘It’s on the way. It would be silly for you to wait around for a taxi and have the expense of it when there’s no need.’

‘Thank you. I just feel guilty for bringing you out when you must have had far better things to do with your time than chase after a designer who can’t even keep track of her apartment keys.’

‘You’re an artist. It is okay for you to forget things sometimes, you know. Some people would say it was almost obligatory.’ They drew near the tables of her friends and Brent waited while she bade them all a quick goodbye.

Once they were outside he quickly hustled her to his truck and got them on the road. They didn’t speak much at first. In the quiet of the night the truck’s cab felt isolated and enclosed and…intimate.

If only she could be a little less conscious of him, but that didn’t seem to be an option for her at the moment.

As he drove them towards her friend’s home, she turned to him and searched his shadowy face. ‘Were you at work late before you discovered my keys?’

‘Yes. I got…caught up there.’ His slight hesitation seemed to hold perhaps a hint of embarrassment. Or some kind of chagrin?

‘Well, now I’m going to owe you twice as much of an effort when I attend the Awards night with you tomorrow night.’ Fiona gave him directions as they neared Stacey’s home.

He drove the truck into an empty space on the street and killed the engine.

It was a quiet residential street and she’d parked her car underneath a street light.

‘Talk about your work for the company if that chance comes up. That’s all I ask.’ He climbed from the truck, crossed in front and opened her door for her. ‘Let’s see you to your car.’

When they got to her car she had her key ready and she turned to him and thanked him quickly and maybe that would have done it, except her nose bumped the side of his neck as she did that because he moved, and she moved, and she didn’t anticipate his closeness and suddenly all the resistance seemed pointless because all the awareness was there, wasn’t it?

He smelled good. Did she press her nose to his neck for the slightest split second?

Did he tip his head towards hers, encouraging that act?

Two deep breaths, one from him, one from her, and they were apart again, the silence an endless consciousness until his gaze met hers and she saw what had to be rare indecision inside him.

‘I shouldn’t do this. It’s not smart.’ His words were an echo of her thoughts.

And she wanted to know…‘Why do you—’

He shook his head. ‘Maybe it’s those long, tall boots. They’re as good to blame as anything.’ His hand closed around her upper arm. His lashes swept down over glittering green eyes that had gone from indecision to determination in…the blink of green eyes.

And Fiona’s senses stalled and her heart stalled and inside her the war hit a new level of anticipation and concern, of need to engage and need to retreat and she thought, Now. He’s going to kiss me now.

And it was what she’d waited for, hoped for without wanting to admit it to herself. Would it be such a bad thing, even if it might cause complications for them?

But he stood there very still, and his fingers tensed where they held her. And his head twitched once, hard, to the right and the moment was lost.

Brent uttered a harsh, ‘Goodnight,’ and dropped his hand, and left her standing there while he walked away.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘IT’S the autism playing out. Having that happen as much as it has lately in front of…other people makes me tense.’ Brent muttered the words to Linc as the two men stepped out of his home the following night and into the communal corridor.

He tugged at the collar of the starched white dress shirt. ‘You know how I feel about being in the public eye with that kind of thing.’

The loss of control of his condition in Fiona’s company—he’d known it was happening from when he’d first met her. Because of that fact alone, he could forget any chance of being intimate with her. Not that he would have tried to pursue that. She worked for him, for starters, and she deserved better than he could give her.

Why was he thinking this way at all, anyway? He didn’t want to examine his motives.

‘Your autism is barely noticeable. Even when it does “play out”, most people wouldn’t figure out the source.’ Linc drew a breath and his gaze searched Brent’s. ‘Are you sure that’s what this is about?’

‘What else would it be?’ Brent spoke quickly, a little too loudly.

A murmur of voices sounded in the foyer below. Voices Brent recognised. His brother Alex.

And Fiona. Alex must have met her on the way in, before she had a chance to hit the buzzer.

He told himself he wasn’t relieved to end the discussion with Linc.

‘Good luck tonight, anyway.’

‘Thanks.’ Brent bade Linc a quiet goodbye and headed down the staircase.

When Alex spotted him, Brent’s youngest brother excused himself from his guest, shared a brief word on the staircase with Brent and disappeared.

That left Brent and the woman at the foot of the stairs.

She was stunning. Utterly and completely stunning. The dress was creams and pinks and greys with a fitted top that left her arms bare and nipped in at her waist, then flared over shapely hips and thighs and fell to her calves in a soft swirl of fabric. It dipped into a discreet V front and back, caressing the curves of full breasts to perfection and revealing a lovely hint of the dip between her shoulder blades.

The dress showcased her beauty, but her beauty itself was what stopped his heart for a moment before a deep, warm feeling washed through him.

He couldn’t explain it. Only that Fiona was soft and curvy everywhere. He wanted to immerse himself in that softness, body, mind and…something even deeper that he didn’t fully understand that had something to do with all the softness there hadn’t been in his lifetime.

Okay. So that was fine. Any man would want that softness anyway. It didn’t need to mean anything particularly deep. Brent’s body tightened.

‘Good evening. You look wonderful.’ Husky words, his gaze locked probably too intimately and directly on hers as he battled to pull his thoughts and reactions into place.

‘Good…good evening, Brent. And thank you. I thought about not wearing heels but you won’t mind if I’m eye to eye with you?’ She stepped forward on the killer high heels in question.

Her hair was piled onto her head and pinned back with some kind of butterfly clip. Wisps kissed her nape, and she looked tentative and a little uncertain of herself, and the way she walked in those heels…

Why would she see herself as anything other than stunning? Brent’s gaze rose slowly to her face and locked there. ‘I won’t mind.’ He might go mad from the results of all that not minding, but no. He wouldn’t mind.

Some of the tension seemed to leave her and her gaze shifted to encompass all of him in a swift examination.

Brent had just started to relax himself when she did that, and the blue of her eyes deepened. Her smile wobbled and she hesitated there in his foyer while a delicate flush rose in her cheeks. Desire flared, a small flame burning brighter, back and forth between them.

‘You look wonderful, Brent.’ Her quiet words held conviction, and unease, and a wary consciousness. ‘I hope I’m not too early. Alex let me in. I’ve kept the taxi waiting, as you suggested.’

‘The timing is perfect.’ Everything about her right now was perfect and, because that was so, it seemed a good idea to get out of here and get his focus onto the business of the evening. ‘I’m sure tonight will be a good PR exercise.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’ Fiona chatted on about it as they made their way outside, almost as though she too felt the need to distract herself. ‘The guest list should provide some opportunities to mingle both with industry professionals and also members of the public who appreciate what we do.’

‘Those contacts will make the night worth it,’ Brent agreed.

Worth stepping outside his usual guardedness, worth letting people see past his privacy and defences to a little of the man beneath.

Brent guided Fiona to the outer door with a hand on her elbow. She trembled beneath his touch, just slightly, just enough to make it impossible to think of anything but touching her.

When they climbed into the back of the taxi, closed themselves into the confines of that rear seat that somehow seemed so isolated despite the driver right in front of them, Brent noticed that intimacy again.

It was there in the knowledge of his body close to hers, their thighs touching where his legs sprawled and hers were folded neatly in front of her.

‘I’m excited to have the chance to attend the Awards ceremony with you.’ Fiona smiled as she turned her head to search his gaze. Smiled with an edge of awareness that he should have wished wasn’t there.

Instead, a part of him that just didn’t want to obey him revelled in her reaction, even as he thought of all the things he wouldn’t like about the evening. ‘I don’t exactly adore public events, but this one is important for my work.’

‘I could take them or leave them most of the time myself,’ Fiona admitted, ‘but I’m excited about tonight. I want your nominated design to win. I’ve studied all the candidate works and yours is by far the best.’

Her faith in him made him smile. ‘I appreciate your confidence in me, though there are several other very talented contenders.’

They discussed the other works and their designers for the rest of the journey. Brent talked, but he never lost his awareness of her. She smelled of soft woman’s skin, of subtle perfume that made him think of a tropical stretch of beach at midnight at the height of summer.

As they arrived at the converted mansion that would house the Awards ceremony, Fiona vehemently assured him there was no chance anyone else would be the winner tonight.

Brent wanted so very badly to lean forward and kiss the passionate declaration right off her lips. He allowed himself one brief touch of her forearm with his fingertips instead and they climbed from the taxi and made their way past several function rooms to the largest one, reserved for the ceremony. He had to do better than this and yet, with each passing moment, his determination to keep at arm’s length from her became more and more difficult to follow.

The venue was busy, with multiple functions taking place in a variety of rooms. Brent turned his attention away from all of that and focused on the woman at his side. On their joint interest in the night’s events, he meant!

‘Oh, why can’t he stop droning on and hurry up and just announce it?’ Fiona couldn’t hold the words back any longer. She whispered them against Brent’s ear where they sat at the table with a number of other guests.

Yes, she shouldn’t have leaned in so close and let her lips touch him that way, and no, she simply couldn’t care about that fact right now.

They’d done all the right things all night, had mixed and mingled and every other thing they had to do. And all the while, through everything, the awareness of each other had simmered. Something had changed. Maybe it was Brent, maybe it was Fiona herself. Or perhaps it was both of them, striking sparks off each other in this different setting.

If he truly was attracted to her, if he was the exception rather than the rule…

A short bark of stifled laughter came from her employer’s lips. He turned to smile at her, turned his head quickly enough that her lips brushed fully across his ear before she pulled back.

His smile turned to sensual consciousness between one breath and the next.

Fiona’s senses fluttered as their gazes caught and held. A moment later she sat straight in her seat again and Brent sat straight in his and the keynote speaker continued his spiel about the history of the award. There’d been no break in proceedings, but her heart was pounding. That expression in Brent’s eyes…

‘The award.’ She murmured the words beneath her breath. That was what was important right now. She shouldn’t have said anything about the keynote speaker going on too much. She should have waited patiently and then she wouldn’t have ended up with her mouth pressed to Brent’s ear.

Well, right now patience wasn’t her strong suit. Her senses were all out of whack because of what had just happened. And she wanted that award for her boss!

Are you sure you don’t just simply want your boss?

Tonight, in formal suit, white shirt and bow tie, he looked better than James Bond. She could attribute his impact on her to the flattering clothing and the tie that exactly matched the colour of her eyes.

Her eyes. As though he’d chosen to wear it to complement her, not himself.

That’s rather whimsical, don’t you think, Fiona?

And attributing his appeal to any of those surface things simply wouldn’t be honest, and she knew it.

Brent bent his head to hers and whispered, without getting too close to the shell of her ear, ‘Whether I win the award doesn’t matter one way or the other, you know.’

To a degree he was right. He would still be the highly successful landscape designer he was. But she wanted the industry recognition for him, believed he’d earned it, and wanted his peers and the various connections here tonight to see him win.

Fiona was about to explain those things when he reached out to cover her hand where it rested on the snowy linen of the tablecloth.

His deep voice whispered into her ear again. ‘Don’t stress, okay? We’re fine here and look on the bright side. Whatever the outcome, we got a nice meal out of it.’

‘We did, didn’t we?’ She laughed, as he had no doubt expected she would. And her hand turned. Her fingers curled around his and held on.

‘For luck,’ she murmured, and knew it was far more than that.

Brent made no attempt to break away from their joined touch. Instead, his fingers repeatedly stroked over hers as the speaker finally announced the third place, and a runner up, and finally, after a pause in which the whole room seemed to wait breathlessly…

‘And the winner of this year’s Deltran Landscaping Award is…Brent MacKay of Brent MacKay Landscaping Designs, for his design of Tarroway Gardens!’

‘Oh, I knew they’d give it to you. I’m so proud, Brent. Congratulations!’ Somehow Fiona ended up with her arms around Brent’s shoulders.

By itself that would have been okay, but his arms closed around her in return and she felt the touch of his fingers against the flesh between her shoulders, the press of strong forearms covered in suit cloth against her upper arms.

The scent of his aftershave and his skin filled her senses and his mouth pressed against her hair. The moment of congratulation and excitement became something more, became a promise of what she had wanted all through this public night.

But people clapped, and the room and their surroundings came back. Brent got to his feet and gripped her hand and used that grip to tow her onto the podium with him. He introduced her and her role in the company, said a little about his work as he held their tucked hands at his side.

His acceptance speech was short and succinct and witty and wry. He stopped once in the middle and his shoulders tensed. His hand squeezed around hers before he seemed to relax and everything seemed all right again.

And then, award gripped in his other hand, he returned to their table and to a round of congratulations as the formality of the evening dissolved into industry talk, mingling and people drinking one last glass of wine while others lingered over pungent coffee served by waiting staff in smart grey coats.

There were some people like Brent’s difficult client, people with certain aspirations, who now suddenly found Brent’s business most interesting indeed.

Brent handed them business cards and let them know that if they wanted to book appointments to see him they’d be waiting at least a month. Fiona stayed at his side and simply gave herself the pleasure of watching people acknowledge his success. Pride in him joined other feelings and blended together inside her.

Finally they left the function room and made their way through the building’s long winding corridors towards the front exit.

The doors to another of the function rooms just ahead swished open. Two men stepped through, one garrulous and talking a mile a minute, the other with his face turned half away, doing his best to ignore that man’s effusiveness if his body language was anything to go by.

Fiona observed this and leaned on Brent’s arm to peer across his body at the award statuette. ‘It’s a rather elegant tree, really. Sort of “eternal life-ish” in appearance, don’t you think? I’d like to display it in a glass-fronted cabinet in the reception area at work.’

Brent seemed distracted by the men before them, but he forced a nod. ‘We’ll put your awards up at the same time—’

The men in front of them glanced their way as they drew closer. Probably they heard every word being said, but they weren’t private words really so it hardly mattered, did it? So why did Fiona feel uneasy suddenly?

‘Displaying all the awards would be nice,’ Fiona murmured.

She would simply have walked on, but something about the stillness of one of the men drew her attention and she looked his way just as Brent drew a deep breath and did the same.

As they all drew level, Brent wrapped his free hand around her wrist, a gentle touch that guided her to a stop, yet his expression when she looked into his eyes was not gentle, but oh, so determined and guarded and…braced. For what?

Fiona left her wrist in his hold. She wasn’t sure if he even knew he had it clasped there.

Brent could have done without this, but he looked into the face of one of the two men before him and waited for recognition to dawn. Oh, not for himself. He’d recognised Charles immediately. But for the older man—God, for his father—it was apparently taking longer.

Memory hit Brent. Of his father frowning, pushing Brent into a car, muttering that he couldn’t be the father of a freak. Brent had tried so hard as a child to control the outward signs of his condition. He couldn’t remember any other way. Even now he could feel his body tightening, trying to make sure nothing of the autism showed.

Well, it had been too late then. Tight-lipped and silent, his father had taken him to the orphanage, signed him over and walked away.

‘It’s been a long time.’ Brent was proud of the flat, even tone of his voice. He hoped that calm extended to his expression, even if his body was braced.

Charles was older, his hair was grey, but the dawning expression in his eyes was the same. Displeasure, discomfort, rejection.

For a moment Brent thought the older man might simply walk on, not speak, and in that moment Brent knew he would not allow that. This time he wouldn’t be ignored, brushed off. He opened his mouth to speak again.

‘If I’d realised you’d be here—’ Charles broke off, glanced at his companion and his frown deepened.

Brent recognised that look, too. It was amazing just how much came back to him. He’d thought it almost all forgotten. A twitch built at the base of his neck. He banked it down.

Fiona’s glance made him wonder if she’d sensed that tension building. Her hand turned and her fingers closed around his wrist, and he thought she murmured, ‘I know now where I’ve seen that before…’ before she leaned into his side.

Then she gave a polite, plastic smile and said in a normal tone, ‘Won’t you introduce me, Brent?’

‘Fiona Donner, meet Charles MacKay.’ He didn’t explain Fiona to Charles. He didn’t explain his father’s identity to Fiona.

Fiona’s nostrils flared and the sparkle in her eyes flattened out until they were pure blue, expressionless chips. Her gaze turned to his and came back to his father and a thick silence fell.

Into that silence, Charles’s companion spoke.

‘You’ve won an award. Congratulations.’ The man stepped forward and leaned in to examine the award, either oblivious at this point to the tensions in the air, or convinced he could actually do something about them. ‘Oh, I see that’s the landscaping industry award. I read about that in the club notices a few weeks ago. What do you think, Charlie?’ He turned to address the question to the second man.

And what did ‘Charlie’ think? Was he surprised by Brent’s success? Pleased by it? Discomfited by it?

Why care? His opinion means less than nothing. It’s meant less than nothing for a long time now.

‘The family resemblance is strong.’ Fiona’s words were low, the unspoken words written all over her.

This was the man who had given his son away. Somehow she understood so much. That knowledge hit Brent while a raft of emotions washed through him.

Old rejection. A need to understand.

His father’s rejection, Charles’s inability to love the child he’d helped create?

Brent pushed it all away before it could go any further. It was all past news. There was no point revisiting, though he couldn’t be sorry this meeting had happened. At least he could say it was done now, and let go of the feeling he’d carried around of waiting to stumble across this man.

Yeah? So why didn’t Brent feel any better or more resolved?

Because Charles was acting just the same, and some deep down part of Brent had maybe hoped, just the tiniest bit…

‘Yes, we should be going, Fiona. I think we’re done here.’ As he spoke the words, Brent became truly aware of the curl of Fiona’s fingers around muscles that had set like concrete. His free hand came up to close over Fiona’s, to register the tension in her fingers.

She gave a sturdy tug, as though to shepherd him away from there, and her entire body pressed into his side.

The level of protectiveness he sensed in her in that moment stunned Brent and touched him in ways he couldn’t define.

‘Wow.’ The jolly man’s mobile face worked.

No doubt in another moment he would voice his conclusion that Brent and Charles were ‘father and son’.

How would Brent’s father explain that? He’d done such a good job of ignoring the fact that Brent had ever existed.

How had Charles MacKay dealt with that? An inconvenient accident that had taken his son so soon after the death of the older man’s wife? If so, Brent was rather inconveniently ‘resurrected’.

‘If you’ll excuse us.’ The blandest of bland phrases. Brent decided it was somehow fitting.

He steeled his muscles to keep under his command. There would be no twitching of his head to the side, no drumming of fingers or anything else. Not in front of this man. No exposure. Brent started to turn away.

‘Surely you’d have realised the major industry event in my calendar year was at this venue tonight.’ His father’s words stopped him. The displeasure and self-centredness in them was clear. ‘You should stay out of the limelight altogether. I can’t have—’

‘I do what suits me. I’ve been in charge of myself for a long time now.’ Anger made its way through Brent’s reserve. That, too, he squashed down. It really wasn’t worth it, was it?

Charles couldn’t be proud of his success. The older man couldn’t see past the shame he felt in Brent’s existence.

You let Charles’s shame impact on you, on how you live, how you present yourself.

Had Brent done that? Would he have looked at his autism differently if Charles had done so?

Well, Charles hadn’t done, and that hadn’t changed. Brent spoke with that thought fresh in his mind. ‘If that doesn’t appeal to you, you’re welcome to stay clear of anywhere you think I might show up.’

As for Charles’s business activities, Brent had little clue and planned to keep it that way. If they crossed paths again, so what? Brent wasn’t about to actively keep away from anything for the sake of avoiding this man. What could Charles do, after all? Reject his son?

Been there, lived that, got the new and better, loving, close-knit family with Linc and Alex to prove it.

With that thought calmness came back to him. He did have Linc and Alex and they were what he wanted. Not the cold stranger in front of him.

‘Good evening. Don’t feel it’s necessary to speak the next time we meet—’

‘You must be highly medicated to succeed at hiding your flaw, even temporarily, for something like this evening.’ His father’s words held ignorance, accusation, harshness and confusion. ‘I didn’t know autis—’

‘Obviously you don’t know much.’ Brent spoke over the top of the older man. ‘Goodbye.’

He whisked Fiona away then. And he noted with some almost detached part of himself that his body responded perfectly to each of his commands.

Grip Fiona’s hand. Lead her around the two men. Nod politely at the goggle-eyed companion in passing.

Stride away, relying on the length of those beautiful legs of Fiona’s to allow her to keep up with his pace until they got outside and he sucked in a deep breath of cleansing air.

‘There’s a taxi. We’re going. We’re getting right away from here and from that—’ Fiona’s words were shocked, shaken. She flagged the cab forward with a hand that visibly trembled.

Brent turned his gaze to her and something deep and protective came to life in him. His voice was soft as he spoke, deep and gentle…‘Don’t worry. Everything’s fine—’

‘No. It’s not.’ She shook her head, a decisive shake that said she wasn’t about to be convinced.

And what else had she registered? Charles’s final word? That Brent had autism?

Moments later they were ensconced in the back seat and her shoulder was pressed to his, their bodies tucked as close as she could get them as she gave her address to the driver without sparing him as much as a glance.

All her attention was for Brent. In part that made him uncomfortable, and yet…

‘I should explain.’ Brent cleared his throat. ‘He’s not…I don’t…’

‘What? He isn’t important? You don’t care that he rejected you because you’re autistic?’ The words burst out of her and then she chewed her lip. ‘I’m sorry. I heard him, but I’d already wondered.’

It shouldn’t surprise him that she’d come halfway to figuring it out. But now, thanks to Charles, Fiona completely knew the one thing that Brent had worked to keep to himself, where he could guard it and control it…and no person could judge him for it.

‘Yes, I have a form of autism. It’s less of a challenge physically or in other ways than many people live and deal with daily, but it’s still an inherent part of me.’

The mix of emotions he felt as he told her this was difficult to define.

Fiona’s face tightened and she whispered, ‘How could he treat you like that?’

And Brent realised that for all he’d believed he’d resolved this in his heart and mind long ago, there was still…something there. ‘I—don’t know. I don’t know how he could have done that.’

The glitter in her gaze was anger and other emotions mixed. It made something inside him clench. He curled his fingers because suddenly he wanted to lace them with hers.

‘This explains your ability to concentrate your focus so intensely when you’re producing those amazing landscape designs.’ Fiona drew a determined breath, deliberately seemed to calm herself. ‘I’ve thought that was amazing. Now I understand it.’

She turned Brent on his ear by addressing his condition as though it were of benefit.

God, she was amazing, even if she wasn’t seeing the whole picture. ‘Well—’ Brent realised he was simply sitting there, soaking in her warmth. He would have drawn away from Fiona then. He had to get this back to some kind of ordinary footing before his body started leading the rest of him, short-circuited what his brain knew he had to do, namely leave her alone, and got him in trouble.

‘Please don’t…shift away yet. I need…’ Her words were low, a blend of anger and hurt and heart.

She had a generosity in her nature that Brent couldn’t seem to help responding to.

‘I know…that man revealed something about you that you obviously feel wasn’t my business.’ Her words were low, careful. ‘He had no right to do that, but you can trust me with the knowledge. I’m just…furious about…’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Yet he couldn’t deny his anger and old resentment. ‘I don’t need Charles MacKay’s approval.’

‘Maybe not, but you deserved his love and acceptance.’ Fiona turned to fully face him and all her fury was in her eyes. Her fingers gripped his once again. ‘You probably don’t even want to think about him. We’ll talk about the award. The night we had. It was a good night. You deserved to win. I said you’d get it, didn’t I?’

She probably would have kept going, but he squeezed her fingers and laid them against his thigh and covered her hand with his. Set the award on the floor of the taxi so he could focus solely on her. ‘I dealt with my father dumping me a long time ago.’

‘What happened so that it was only your father making the decision to…stop parenting you?’

To reject Brent? Pass him off into strangers’ hands because he didn’t want to deal with a child who was different? ‘My mother died. I was young. All I remember was he couldn’t cope with my issues. Now he’s got the problem that I grew up, made something of myself, and he doesn’t want to have to acknowledge my existence.’

‘He’s the one who should be ashamed to exist.’ Fiona uttered the words and let him see in her gaze all she was feeling. Her protectiveness towards him that was so sweet when he was perfectly capable of looking after himself.

Yet something down inside him admitted it would be nice. To have a woman’s care.

Well, he couldn’t do that, could he? He couldn’t let himself care or wish to be cared for. Brent could take the hard knocks of life. But setting himself up for the embarrassment of rejection because of his condition—

That was one ‘been there, done that’ he didn’t want to repeat.

Are you sure it’s only about that, MacKay?

Tension pooled at the base of Brent’s neck and he frowned. Of course he was certain. What else would there be?

‘Here we are.’ The driver’s voice interrupted Brent’s thoughts and he realised they’d arrived at Fiona’s block of flats.

Brent still had Fiona’s fingers pressed to his thigh, could feel their warmth. Her body remained pressed to his. Consciousness of her swept over Brent then, and pushed past his guardedness about his condition. His instincts took over and at this moment his autism didn’t come into it. Brent’s hand caressed over Fiona’s. His fingers stroked hers.

A dozen different thoughts buzzed in Fiona’s head, with as many accompanying emotions.

When Brent instructed the driver to wait, climbing from the taxi with her to start the short journey to her flat, those thoughts distilled into pure feeling. The touch of his fingers at her elbow as he guided her along the path, up the staircase and along the balcony that led to her flat.

The beat of her blood in her veins as she tried to decide whether to invite him in, say goodnight, talk about their night, the award, the good parts of the evening.

Of all of it, the trip back here in the taxi with their bodies close to each other had been the best. And for her, she had to admit, the most emotional.

His father had rejected him, abandoned him, all because Brent had a condition he had learned to live with and, indeed, to use to his advantage in business, in his work. His uniqueness only made him all the more appealing.

And right now he had his hand at her elbow and Fiona’s heart was beating a little faster because…she liked that touch.

Liked it too much for her safety? Attraction, that was easy to deal with, but was she more than attracted? Were her emotions involved? Because she really mustn’t let that be the case.

He was her boss. She should say goodnight and walk inside…‘Brent, thank you for tonight—’

‘Thank you for attending the Awards ceremony with me.’ He paused. ‘You got more than you bargained for with our exchange of a family night for the Awards night.’

‘My family situation isn’t even worth words in comparison to what happened tonight.’ She shook her head. How could she even think her paltry difficulties with her family mattered now? ‘Brent, I just don’t know how to comfort—’

‘Don’t feel sorry for me.’ Though he interrupted her, he did it gently, wrapping his fingers around hers where she’d been toying with her keys. ‘My past is what it is. I’ve moved on from it.’

‘Maybe, but you went on trying to conceal a part of yourself that you shouldn’t worry about that way.’ She bit her lip. Her breath stuttered in her throat and she whispered, ‘I can’t talk—’

About it any more? Brent certainly didn’t want to.

‘Then we won’t talk.’ He uttered the words with an accepting edge. ‘I’d rather do this, anyway.’ He bent his head to hers.

Touched his lips to hers.

A soft, seeking, giving and taking exchange. Lips to lips. How could it be all of this between them? And yet, somewhere inside herself, Fiona had wanted and needed his kiss and not even known how much she did.

Now she knew.

A taste of delight and sweetness and desire and pleasure. Her fingers wrapped around his forearms, and his hands were about her waist.

It felt good and right to have his mouth over hers, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her waist. For a few wonderful moments, she lived in the sensations of kissing him.

His mouth caressed hers as though he needed and wanted to kiss her this way. Their gazes were locked, his lashes dusky crescents that fanned against his cheeks as he focused wholly on her. And then those lashes swept down fully and her eyes closed too, and it was all sensation and feeling and the beat of her heart in her breast and the spread of such warmth all through her.

That warmth told its own story. She had invested emotionally in him, at least to a degree, even when she knew that was dangerous. A little hint of panic surfaced as Fiona made this realisation.

And the moment that panic hit, she realised something in Brent had changed as well.

He ended the kiss and dropped his hands away from her. Stepped back, and some kind of regret showed in his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. It can’t go anywhere. You and I can never—’

He cut off the rest of the sentence, but he didn’t need to finish it. Fiona could do that herself.

Now that he’d felt the reality, had touched the reality of her generous curves, he did not want her. The house of cards that had been desire and pleasure and closeness and a hope she should never have allowed, crumbled down.

Fiona tipped up her chin and told herself it didn’t matter. It absolutely, fiercely did not matter. ‘Goodnight, Brent.’

‘Goodnight. I’m—’

Sorry.

At least he didn’t say it.

With one last glance from a troubled green gaze, Brent walked away.

CHAPTER SIX

REPEAT after me: I am a professional, I am a professional, I am a professional. I’m focused on my work, my career, my ‘five year plan’ and my goals for success…

Fiona attempted, yet again, for the umpteenth time, to figure out what was wrong with the feature plants in the painting she was working on. If she could feel settled or focused about anything at all, it might help her make a decent assessment of the problem.

And how could she feel settled when all of her was utterly distracted and had been since the night Brent had kissed her and walked away straight afterwards?

‘Stupid thing.’ She grabbed the open container of ochre paint from her work shelf.

Perhaps, if she blended a little white into it, she’d overcome the toning issue she had going on. If indeed the problem actually was a toning issue. The colour wasn’t right. That much she’d known from the start. She just wasn’t certain if that was the entire problem.

‘I shouldn’t call the painting names. I’m the problem, not it.’ She muttered the words, set the container on a small work table and set about mixing the white in.

Overall, this painting was not going well. That much she could say for sure, and that was a problem because the client expected to receive this artwork on Monday.

Brent was in the next room, working on something. Well, she assumed so. He’d had the door pushed across all morning so she couldn’t be certain of anything, really, but she doubted he was having the same difficulties concentrating as she was.

In fact, he seemed just fine ignoring what had happened between them after the Awards night dinner. All of it. The revelation of his autism. The meeting with his father. Their kiss. His regret and rejection after it. Maybe it had been a sympathy kiss—for her sake. She had been very upset on his behalf and he was a kind man.

The thought made her cringe because to her it had been anything but that.

But he’d backed away from it, had clearly been put off by it. What other conclusion could she draw?

Fiona gave her paint one last vigorous stir. She would simply have to get on with her work, that was all. Take a leaf from her boss’s book and only focus on the responsibilities they shared here. That was smart anyway. The only sensible thing to do, really, in the face of the fact that Brent didn’t…want her.

So there. That was decided. Fiona snatched up her newly blended paint, briefly admired the glossy consistency of it and swung about to carry it to her easel.

‘I need to go up into the mountains. This project—’

‘I’m going to just focus on work…Oomph.’

As their words crossed each other, Fiona came up against a solid wall of chest. Paint hit that chest in a broad, gooey blob, slopped over her hand and splashed its way down until drips hit the floor.

‘Oh, no.’ The paint container wobbled in her hand. Fiona got it upright, but that was pointless now.

‘I guess I should have knocked first or something.’ Brent spoke in a slightly dazed tone while his fingers rose to his chest.

‘It’s my fault. I should have been looking at what I was doing.’ Fiona’s hand rose, too. She brushed at the dinner-plate sized splodge soaking into his shirt, sticking it to the firm muscles of his chest.

And then she stilled as Brent’s fingers explored the paint, sliding back and forth through it, not to clear it off, but to get the full tactile experience of it.

The sight of that exploration was one of the most beautiful, sensual things Fiona had ever seen. Maybe he caught her staring because his fingers came to a standstill and very green eyes searched her gaze while heat coated his cheekbones.

Embarrassment, but why?

Because that’s his condition speaking.

‘You must think I’m strange—’

‘I’m sorry I stared. It was just that you looked so—’ She couldn’t complete the words. Couldn’t tell him that his expression had made her imagine his hands stroking her skin that way.

‘I…um…I’ve ruined your shirt.’ Her mouth pointed out the ridiculously obvious while the rest of her tried to catch its breath. ‘I was trying to fix a problem with this artwork. The colour change probably wouldn’t have fixed it, anyway. I need to see the particular seed pod that grows on the plants I’ve used in the painting. The trouble is they don’t go to seed pods until they’re quite mature. I won’t find what I need at any young plant nursery.’

Brent’s glance moved to the half finished painting. ‘What you have there looks…okay.’

‘Yes, and that’s the problem. Okay is synonymous with “average”. It isn’t good enough.’ Fiona frowned at the painting. ‘I need the real thing.’

He looked from her to the painting and back again. ‘If you can’t fix this it’s going to drive you crazy, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but how do you—?’

‘Know how that feels?’ He shook his head. ‘Because I’ve just spent all morning working on a project and not getting it where I need to because the one part of it that’s vital to the design I can’t perfect until I study rock formations in the mountains. And, as it happens, the rock formations I have in mind are the only place I know of where you’ll find your plants, complete with seed pods. It’s where I spotted the plants before I incorporated them into that landscape design in the first place. They aren’t normally stocked in nurseries. Linc sourced some young plants for me when I needed them.’

‘If you could get me a look at some…’ Without thinking about it, she took his hand in hers and used the base of his shirt to wipe as much of the paint off his fingers as she could. ‘I hope that shirt didn’t have sentimental value. I’ll replace it, of course.’ Her fingers worked at the buttons on the shirt. She got through three of them before he shackled her wrist.

‘Don’t—’ He broke off. ‘You’ll get it all over yourself.’

‘It’s too late to worry about that.’ It was too late to worry about a few things, Fiona realised, including the impact of revealing his chest to her gaze, even if she could only see a little of it. She dropped her glance so he wouldn’t see the expression in her eyes.

He probably liked petite women with dainty feet who didn’t have issues about plants, with or without seed pods on them…‘You should shower. There’ll be residue soaking through onto your skin. At least it’s not the most expensive brand of paint, but I’m sorry it got wasted.’

‘Don’t worry about that, and don’t worry about the shirt.’ Brent hesitated as he searched her face again. ‘You’ve been putting in long hours, trying to get this painting pulled together. I shouldn’t have asked you to produce something on demand for a project you weren’t in on from its conception. I said I wouldn’t let that happen more than once.’

‘It’s all right—’

‘No, it isn’t, but we’ll make it right.’ He wiped his hand on his shirt again. ‘I came in to tell you I’m going into the mountains to study rock formations. Maybe you should come with me, see these seed pods, take photos, draw them, whatever you need.’

‘A day trip.’ A day to spend time with him. No. It wasn’t about that. It was for work, had to be for that reason only. And Fiona had to look at it from that perspective. ‘I’m a professional. I have to be able to produce the goods on demand, without special trips or anything else.’

‘No. You don’t have to be able to do that. I’d never expect that of myself and I don’t expect it of you.’ Brent’s gaze became very focused as he said this. ‘Finish up here in the office while I take my shower. When I’m done, we’re going to swing by your place and my place for clothes and then we’ll go. Bring the work boots you wore on site. They’ll do for the trail I want to take you on.’

‘O-okay.’ What else could she do but agree? And be grateful, Fiona added silently as she glanced once again at her stalled painting.

‘Good.’ Brent gave a nod and turned away to head for the shower. ‘Oh, and we’ll be gone overnight.’

He walked off before she could even collect her thoughts.

An overnight stay in the mountains with her boss…

‘And that’s a square-tailed kite. See it?’ Brent pointed into the branches of a tree to the left on the trail in front of them.

They’d been flora and fauna spotting for the past hour, indulging in guesswork when they didn’t know what they were seeing, though in Brent’s case he recognised most things, right down to a gold and white daisy Fiona hadn’t seen in exactly its type anywhere before.

Fiona had photographed and sketched her seed pods. More importantly, she’d spent time simply studying them. Examining them from every angle, exploring the texture with her fingertips, feeling their weight and the roughness of their shells.

Brent’s response to bush walking like this was very tactile, too. He would stroke his fingers over the spiky leaves on a bush, or stop to carefully examine a bottlebrush or some other native flower. That attention to detail carried through into his work as much as Fiona needed to carry it to her work. Fiona didn’t doubt it was part of the reason his designs were so successful. She shouldn’t wonder if that tactility would carry through into other more personal parts of his life, because those thoughts were adding to her consciousness of him.

His autism made him unique and special, and yet he seemed determined to dislike it and hide its existence from the world if he could.

And Fiona needed to hide the existence of how attracted to him she was. She truly should have turned down the offer of joining him on this trip but, once decided, Brent had been set on the idea, convinced it would be good for both of them. And so far it had been. They were…enjoying themselves. It just worried her how much she struggled to do that without letting her emotions and feelings for him carry her in directions she shouldn’t go.

‘Is it really a square-tailed kite or are you making that up?’ She was proud of the slight teasing tone she produced, the relaxed humour as she went on. ‘I think I’ve heard of those, but I’m a city girl…’

‘It really is one.’ Brent’s mouth quirked up at one corner, as though he understood that edge of humour and enjoyed it.

But their gazes caught in that moment and she lost herself in moss-green irises and in an instant the relaxed state of their interaction changed.

Part of her welcomed that, was fiercely glad that he hadn’t managed to completely lose his awareness of her, after all.

The other part warned her not to think like that. She would only open herself to hurt from him all over again, though she knew he hadn’t set out to hurt her.

Brent’s head twitched to the side. It was only a little twitch in the scheme of things, but his gaze searched hers after it happened and suddenly every feeling she’d had the night they’d run into his father rushed to the surface to join with the rest of her confusion and interest in him that she needed to stifle, yet couldn’t seem to.

‘Families should love each other unconditionally.’ The words burst out of her. ‘There shouldn’t be any question about it. That should simply happen as a matter of course. Your father was very wrong to reject you the way he did. He should have seen that you were unique and special, not less in any way.’

‘Not less, perhaps, but I am different.’ A lookout appeared on the trail to their left. He led the way down to it over steps hewn from dirt and rock and leaned his arms against the chest-high railing to look out over the gorge spread before them. ‘I made a family for myself with Linc and Alex and I’m happy in that.’

Happy with his brothers—yes. Fiona believed that, and it was wonderful. ‘It’s just that you’re very guarded—’

‘An institutional training ground will do that. Linc and Alex are the same. I’m afraid that’s something all three of us are going to be stuck with.’

‘I can understand why that would be true, but people can change…’ She was stepping over the line again, wasn’t she? It happened because she cared about him, and that in itself was a cause for concern. Fiona turned back towards the trail and couldn’t help her one final comment. ‘Well, I believe your autism only makes you more special, and your work richer and more amazing for all you bring to it. I think that’s something to celebrate about you.’

‘You have…a very open heart and I appreciate you saying that.’ Appreciated and felt disconcerted by her openness, if his torn expression was any indication.

They continued their walk in silence. Her outburst had probably been too much, she supposed, but his situation hit a particularly raw spot with her.

Because aspects of it bore an unpleasant likeness to her treatment at the hands of her family. She’d said there was no comparison, but she couldn’t ignore the similarities.

Fiona listened to the swishing of grasses and shrubs and the leaves of trees in the wind. Small birds and insects making their sounds, larger ones filling the air with clarion calls and sharp cries and warbles.

And she glanced at Brent and let the conversation move on because there didn’t seem to be much choice. ‘Thank you for this. I think I’ll be able to do what I need to with my painting now.’

‘I’m happy with my rock formation study, too. I consider the time well spent. We’ll head to the house now.’ As they completed their circuitous walk and approached his truck, he explained how he’d purchased the house in the mountains that he and his brothers now visited whenever they wanted to get out of the city.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing the place.’

Brent started the truck and turned to face her while the engine idled and, oh, those beautiful deep green eyes were guarded and interested and thoughtful and self-protective all at once. Fiona longed to break through every barrier he had erected and know the man inside.

Yes, she wanted that even if it was dangerous to. Even though he had kissed her and then not wanted to be near her that way again.

‘Seat belt.’ Brent waited while Fiona strapped herself in. Her knowledge of his autism made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t deny that. In his adult life, his brothers had been the only ones who knew of it. He didn’t want Fiona to know of it, yet she did.

But it was more than that which had put lead in his stomach. The sinking feeling came from a very old, very deep conditioning that his father had handed to him.

Brent forced himself to admit it. Charles had done a number on him and Brent hadn’t managed to process and deal with that in the way he’d wanted to believe he had done.

‘Sorry. I’m ready now.’ Fiona gave a wry smile. ‘I guess I was sitting there daydreaming.’

‘It’s no problem.’ Brent’s thoughts turned back to the woman at his side. Strands of hair lay in soft wisps against Fiona’s face and neck. Their walk had put a soft flush in her cheeks.

She was lovely inside and out, and that was an ongoing problem for him. He’d helped her along the pathway and known he would have found some excuse to touch her even if there hadn’t been a practical reason to do so.

Even choosing to bring her on this trip, he could have done things differently. He could have told her to forget about the painting…

He’d been a repeat offender where resisting Fiona was concerned. After the Awards night he’d kissed her. He hadn’t even thought about not doing that at the time, let alone given himself a chance to decide against it. He’d simply leaned in and covered soft, warm lips and taken what, deep down, he had wanted from the first day they’d met.

He still wanted her. That was his problem. He wanted her and her gentle attitude about his autism, her determination to be accepting, even if she didn’t truly understand the issues, didn’t help him to resist. Brent’s fingers drummed out a rhythm on the steering wheel.

‘Is it far to the house?’ Fiona gazed out of the window as they made their way along the road.

‘Not far, but it’s just as well we finished our walk when we did. Night falls earlier here, and there’s often thick fog late in the afternoon. It’s best not to be on the walking trails then.’ He drew a breath. ‘There’s a small township between here and the house. We’ll stop there and buy some groceries, and something ready to go to have for dinner tonight.’

They had to eat. It was too late to return to Sydney now. All he needed to do was treat the situation as though it were nothing out of the ordinary, and that was what it would be.

With this decision made, Brent drove them to the township. They shopped in one of those ‘all things for all occasions’ long narrow stores with foodstuffs lined along each outer wall and a single row up the middle. A barbecued chicken, a creamy potato bake and a big fresh salad air-sealed in a bag all made their way into the shopping basket. Breakfast items and fresh milk, and a glazed fruit and custard flan followed.

‘I’ll put on a hundred pounds if we add any more food like that.’ Fiona made the comment half jokingly, but her eyes weren’t laughing. ‘Mum would have a fit if she saw—’ She cut the words off.

But she’d said enough. Her mother had made a comment on the night he’d met her family.

I hardly think that’s appropriate clothing for someone your size, dear.

Brent had assumed the comment was ill-thought out and something to do with fashion choices and Fiona being tall.

But it hadn’t been that at all, had it? Fiona’s mother had been criticising her size. As though Fiona could do anything about being voluptuous.

As though she should want to!

‘You don’t need to worry about food intake. You obviously eat appropriately. Your size is right for you.’ He growled each of the words more harshly than the last. And he piled apples and bananas into the basket, and some high nutrition, slow energy release snacks.

Fiona gave him a thoughtful, slightly arrested glance and then walked ahead of him through the store.

Brent dragged his gaze from the view of her bottom swaying in form-fitting jeans, tossed a few more items into the basket and followed her to the cashier’s counter. His fingers drummed on the counter as the cashier processed his payment.

This time, he didn’t even try to stop the incessant movement. Let Fiona look at it, think about what it meant.

She needed to start seeing his condition for what it was, not through rose-coloured spectacles, even if it was very kindly meant.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘I SHOULD set up my easel and have another go at this painting now.’ The enthusiasm and inspiration was there inside Fiona, but she was also relaxed and mellow from the meal and the time spent chatting about nothing while they’d eaten.

She’d thought they’d be tense together but somehow they’d drifted into relaxation. Drifted in such a way that it was more dangerous than consciously thinking about it. ‘I think I know where I want to go with the painting now. It’ll mean starting over and I’m still considering a couple of aspects, but I brought a blank canvas—’

‘Not tonight.’ Brent’s words were low, but firm. ‘Rest tonight. Tomorrow you can paint.’

‘What about your work?’

‘I’ve got what I need.’ He tapped his temple. ‘It’s in here. I’ll let it churn in there for a day or two before I try to do anything more with it.’

And, when it had finished churning, something amazing would come out. His creative ability was something Fiona found extremely…appealing.

Brent seemed relaxed himself right now. Really relaxed. Maybe that was because they’d done nothing but potter in the kitchen and get settled into their rooms before they stared out of the living room windows and watched the fog roll in until it obscured everything. Maybe Brent had relaxed because she’d stood back and left him to it while he’d organised their foodstuffs into regimented lines in the pantry and refrigerator just so.

Yet she got the impression he was deliberately allowing himself to do some of those things to prove something to her, rather than simply giving himself the freedom of them because he didn’t need to keep secrets from her any longer.

‘We could put on that MP3 disc you brought with you, listen to some music.’ Brent raised his brows. ‘If you want.’

‘I would like that. I’ll go get my music. I left it in my room in case I wanted to listen later when I’m going to sleep.’ A little music, a little more relaxing. That would be a…nice way to round off the day.

A nice safe way.

She walked the length of the living room and corridor and went into the bedroom she’d been given, with its deep maroon and pale gold curtains. Fiona collected her music and went back out.

They sat on the sofa and listened and talked in a desultory fashion for the first hour. Made tea and drank it, and then the songs segued into a selection of dance tunes.

Two things happened. Fiona, who’d just carried their cups to the kitchen and left them there, danced her way back without thinking about what she was doing.

And Brent, who’d followed her with an opened package of cookies he’d placed away in the pantry cupboard, locked his gaze on the sway of her hips and a wave of male awareness rolled off him and over her.

‘I…well…did you want to listen a bit longer or go to bed?’ She uttered the words and then could have bitten her tongue out.

Oh, good way of putting it, Fiona! Heat blazed in her cheeks as she looked everywhere but at him.

She sank onto the sofa and lowered her gaze away from his. She didn’t know whether to feel awkward for putting on that unplanned dancing display, or unsettled because her boss appeared to have enjoyed it. Or just purely embarrassed by what she had blurted afterwards.

‘What I’d like is to dance with you to some of these tunes.’ His words seemed to surprise him as much as they did her. He cleared his throat and took his seat on the sofa again and pushed his hands into his pockets.

Fiona understood that action now. If his hands were contained he wouldn’t drum his fingers on things. How much self-control must it take not to do those things that must want so desperately to be done?

‘I’d love to dance with you—’

‘I don’t often dance—’

Because of his autism? Did it cause problems with coordination? She hadn’t seen that in other circumstances. And she shouldn’t have made it sound as though she was begging for him to dance with her. ‘You don’t need to—’

Brent stared at her for a long moment through a screen of silky lashes before he got to his feet and held out his hand.

Fiona rose and put her hand in his.

For starters she kept her hand in his while they moved a little to the music.

It was…nice. A thread of excitement ran beneath the calm and she let that be there and relaxed without meaning to because, in the scheme of things, what more was this than Brent enjoying himself and not seeming stressed and Fiona just wanting to enjoy the moment, too?

‘I’m guessing you probably danced with several of the men in your group that night at the club.’ His words were a quiet murmur. ‘Really danced, that is. Not…like this.’

‘I’m lucky that group all enjoys dancing with anyone rather than sticking to partners only.’ She did feel lucky—and safe. Accepted for herself. Well, for herself and for lending a friendly ear to all their lovelorn problems.

But she didn’t want Brent to think this experience was second rate. It was not. ‘I’m enjoying this, too.’ The words were perhaps a little breathless, a little more revealing than they could have been.

His fingers tightened over hers. That was all, and yet it felt like a complete change from where they’d been, to the promise of something more.

Brent left her for a moment to close the curtains. A moment later her hand was back in his—both her hands were in his and they were swaying to the music.

‘The night I brought your keys to you, I thought you were with the guy on the dance floor.’ As Brent spoke the words, the light overhead flickered once, and again.

They both glanced up just as the bulb died. The music kept going, but now the living room was nothing but shadows.

‘I don’t know if there are any spare light globes here.’ Brent’s words sounded deeper in the near darkness. ‘I don’t remember seeing any in the cupboards.’

‘It might make more sense to search for them in the morning, anyway.’ When it was daylight. Fiona went on. ‘It’s ages since I’ve danced in the dark.’ A very long time, and never like this. She worked hard to hide the breathless edge in her voice that had nothing to do with exertion. ‘I used to do it with my girlfriends sometimes in the “silly” teenage years. It was a way to dance however we wanted with nobody to judge or see.’

‘Then dance in the dark.’ He drew her closer until his hands were around her waist. ‘And I’ll…be here with you while you do it.’

Fiona’s arms rose naturally to his shoulders. It felt…right to move closer, to sway in his arms while he held her. She let herself have the moment.

Brent’s eyes had adapted to the shadowy dimness. Enough that he could read the dreamy quality in Fiona’s eyes and the softening of her mouth that told him they had taken this to a place he shouldn’t have allowed it to go. He knew what he could and could not have with her. This…closeness didn’t come under the ‘could have’ category.

He should release her—now—and leave the room.

He didn’t do that.

He didn’t want to do that and, for once, he was going to give himself what he did want. For a little time, a safe amount of time. Five minutes. Ten at the most. What could that hurt? Just to hold her while she danced? That wasn’t the end of the world. That didn’t have to get them into any trouble at all.

And if his urge to hold her was more need than want—

It wasn’t.

Of course it wasn’t.

A twitch built at the base of Brent’s neck, and that was something else he didn’t want to think about right now. The manifestation of his condition that made him different from others. Instead, Brent focused his attention on the feel of Fiona’s waist beneath his hands. He held her close and breathed in her scent and felt her softness and they danced. For that period of time Brent set aside his issues and just…was.

They danced for hours, or at least it felt that way to Fiona. Brent’s gaze held hers in the dimness, unmoving, so focused.

The music slowed to a dreamy number and Brent took a step closer to her and murmured, ‘You put your whole heart into it when you dance. It’s…beautiful.’

His hand rose from her waist, up, until he had her hand clasped in his. He lifted her hand from his shoulder, moved it to his chest and cupped it there.

And, oh, it was the most wonderful feeling to have that one small connection with him and know he’d sought it, that he wanted it. That here in the shadowy room, for just a moment, he wanted this.

She curled her fingers into his and let the beat of his heart guide her while they swayed to the music.

Just trust me, Brent. Dance with me and trust me so you can be all of yourself with me.

Her heart ached with the need for him to do that. To relax with her and not modify anything about himself. And maybe she ached just as much for her own need.

‘You dance beautifully, too.’ She wanted him to pull her even closer so their bodies were flush against each other.

Yet keeping a little distance held a certain safeness for her because, even though she knew herself, knew her body size and her shape and her height and all the times she’d accepted she wasn’t the build most men found appealing, if she and Brent didn’t get too close then he wouldn’t be too confronted by those things about her this time…

Oh, what a way to think!

The song ended and another began. A slow song from a popular romantic movie. Brent tugged her forwards and their bodies brushed and she couldn’t think. Not while they were chest to chest, thigh to thigh and his arms were around her. They danced for real. Two people on a polished board floor in a living room in a house in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, dancing as potential lovers would.

How could she think of work in this moment? How could she see him as her boss when his arms held her and all she wanted was to lay her head against his shoulder and feel those arms close around her even more securely?

They danced like that through one song and another and another until Brent finally lifted one hand to the back of her head and spoke. ‘I meant to stop after ten minutes. I didn’t know I could do this at all. I thought—’

He’d thought he would do something that made him feel uncomfortable or embarrassed?

‘I like the way you dance.’ I like the way you do so many things.

He pressed her cheek to his and swayed with her to the music. ‘I like this with you. You dancing.’

‘Us dancing. Together.’ There. She’d said it. Named it. And they were. Body to body, her heart to his heart as the music swept them away and she had what she had wanted. More closeness. A deeper closeness with him.

Fiona couldn’t say just when they ceased to dance, or whose arms rose first to change the dance to an outright embrace.

It just happened and it felt right. Fiona didn’t want to think about any of it or all the negative things her family had fed into her mind over the years about her size and her personality.

When she lifted her gaze to search his eyes, Brent let her see the glitter of need and awareness and attraction in their depths. There was a question, too, and she answered it in the tilt of her chin as his mouth lowered to hers, in the angle of her head to accommodate that melding of lips upon lips.

He stood perfectly still and kissed her.

His fingers dug into her back in a kneading motion, and he kissed her.

The pads of those fingers rubbed across and back over her upper arms beneath the loose sleeves of her shirt, and still he kissed her.

These were the reactions he worried about, that slipped through his control now, perhaps because he wasn’t controlling himself.

To Fiona they were pure beauty because they told her he enjoyed touching her. She melted into his embrace and his arms and his mouth and his attention and loved all of it.

She lifted her hands and cupped his face with her fingers and breathed in the scent of him and wanted his kiss to never end.

When he drew her closer still, his body unashamedly craving hers, Fiona melted all over again.

‘Let me…I need…’ His words were deep, disjointed, hungry.

Anything. Whatever he wanted…

‘Fiona…’ He said her name and buried his face in her hair where it lay against her nape, and he breathed harsh and deep while a wave of tension built in his body, locked his muscles, even as he locked her to him.

‘Brent.’ She raised her hands to his back, rubbed them across those locked muscles and tried to soothe the tension from him.

His neck twitched. Once. Again.

He sighed and his hands tightened on the balls of her shoulders and he straightened and put distance between their bodies, and dropped his touch away from her.

Brent’s guard went up, even as she watched him.

He closed his eyes and took in a single deep inhalation and held it. When his eyes opened again it was to look deep into hers before he spoke.

‘You think you can accept my autism, but to you it is nothing more than a few random things that don’t seem so unusual.’

‘They’re not so unusual. Lots of people have similar things about them.’

‘You haven’t seen what my father saw.’ As though his words had surprised him, Brent stopped abruptly. ‘I have nothing to offer in a…normal relationship. For my brothers I’ve found affection, appreciation, caring, but they have all of me that there is to give. I don’t want to hurt you. That would happen if I…let you close and then couldn’t give you those things. You deserve those things. This isn’t because of you…’

But wasn’t it? Oh, it was clear Brent believed what he was saying about himself, his capacity to care for others. Given his upbringing, the guardedness she’d seen in his eyes, in his history, Fiona could understand that. It was good that he could see this much of himself, that it went deeper than purely the fact that he had autism.

But in the end Brent was rejecting Fiona in the same way his father had rejected him. She had no defence against that, other than to walk away from that aspect of him and her and…try not to look back.

‘You’re right. We wouldn’t be suited. I can see that now. I’m…grateful you put a stop to things when you did. We’ll both be careful to keep things strictly on a business footing from now on. That’s all we need. And…to stay away from this kind of situation.’

She whispered goodnight, left him to worry about the stereo system and walked away through the darkness to her room at the end of the corridor.

At her door, she turned and spoke through that darkness to him one more time, with all her effort focused on how she needed to come across to him, whether she hurt down inside right now or not. ‘I think I’ll be ready to paint in the morning. That’s why we came here, after all. That and for you to study rock formations so you could nut out your new design in your head. Maybe you’ll get a long way with that now, too.’

In fact, Fiona knew she would be ready to paint in the morning. She was no longer blocked. Because she’d found what she needed. She’d found the emotions that needed to go into her painting.

She’d found warmth and pleasure and hope and connection.

Brent had tried to shut them all down, but they hadn’t gone away for her. So she would take them to her art and release them there.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FIONA did get up and paint. She painted her heart onto the canvas and painted Brent’s heart as she perceived it without censoring herself or trying to understand all of what it was she believed she knew of him. Only that he was complex and giving and guarded and restless and still and so many things all rolled into one, and that he had made his choice against intimacy with her, at least believing it was in both their best interests for him to make that choice.

He had probably saved her from a great deal of hurt further down the track by taking this step now.

Right. She should feel very resolute at this point.

So why didn’t she?

Fiona handed the painting to the clients and they seemed more than pleased. A week passed. Brent spent much of it shut in his office or, when he wasn’t sequestered in there, working from his home and leaving Fiona to her own devices.

Their personal situation was one thing. A good, workable business relationship was another and currently that relationship was suffering.

That side of things had to be addressed and Fiona was about to address it.

Well, if indeed he was actually ignoring her and not simply busy and focused and home surroundings were working best for him at the moment…

Fiona parked her car, hefted her half-finished painting in her hand and walked the short distance to the front of the MacKay brothers’ warehouse home. She reached for the buzzer.

As she did so, her mobile phone rang.

‘I’ve been working on my ideas for the project we discussed on the phone on Friday.’ Brent’s low voice filled her ear. ‘I have the results spread out at home and I…would like you to take a look. Are you on your way to the office? Could you swing by here first?’

‘Well…yes.’ Most of Fiona’s whipped up determination to force Brent past avoiding her evaporated. He’d probably just been busy thinking through project ideas anyway. Rather arrogant of her to put it down to him trying to stay away from her!

‘I have a painting started that I want to show you for the same reason.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Actually, I’d decided to stop by with it. I’m standing outside your door now. I was about to press the buzzer.’

Given she felt a little silly now, she hoped he would assume it was nothing more than enthusiasm for the project that had driven her actions this morning.

There was a short beat and then Brent said, ‘Good. I’ll come down.’ He let her in moments later and for one brief second his gaze searched her face and seemed to take in all of her at once.

‘Come upstairs. I should have brought you in on this last week.’ He kept walking, didn’t meet her gaze as he went on. ‘I’ve needed your input.’

‘We need to maintain a good working relationship.’ Fiona forced the tentative edge from her tone. ‘Anything else aside.’

‘Exactly.’ He nodded. ‘All the rest…aside.’

And, that easily, Fiona felt so much better. Even though feeling better because he sounded as unconvinced as she felt wasn’t exactly sensible.

They climbed the stairs and entered his home together. Brent had the materials for the project spread in a long, neat line from one end of the floor space in his living room to the other.

He stopped abruptly and ran his hand over the back of his head, frowned and then dropped his hand to his side. ‘It makes the most sense this way.’

‘And that’s perfectly fine. It looks the same as the work laid out in your office.’ She said it without inflection and was rewarded when his shoulders lost some of their tension.

‘Let me take that for you. I want to see it, too.’ He took her painting from her hands and propped it onto a lounge chair he turned to face them.

Then he stared at the work she’d done while she gave her explanation and the more she explained and he looked, the more he nodded and comprehension sparkled in his gaze.

He touched her for the first time in days, then. Pressed his fingers to her forearm as he smiled finally and turned her to look at the first of the materials spread across his floor. ‘I thought I’d handled the concept the right way. Now that I’ve seen your painting, I’m certain of it. We make—’

He didn’t complete the sentence, but Fiona looked at his work and knew what he’d been going to say.

They made a good team.

And they did. If only…

No. No if onlys. There was this, and it had to be enough. Fiona dropped to her knees on the floor to look at his drawings, the images he’d taken from books and arranged into a collage with notes between.

His entire vision was there, and her vision was there with it, the perfect complement to his work, and somehow that was just as intimate to her as anything that had passed between them.

She pored over his plans. That led to questions, lively discussion, and to her forgetting for a moment her other concerns as she immersed herself in the work, until finally she understood the entire concept—and was so impressed by his vision for it.

‘I’m glad you can see where I need to take this, that you saw the same potential I have.’ Brent held out his hand to draw her to her feet.

Fiona stifled a second set of if onlys and clasped his hand. She tried not to think of it as anything other than a courtesy to help her rise.

Her knees were all but numb and she glanced at the clock on his wall. ‘I didn’t notice so much time had passed. They’ll be wondering at work where on earth we both are.’

Brent’s fingers tightened around Fiona’s hand as he helped her to her feet. She’d been crawling around his floor, automatically respecting his need to have his plans laid out in that long straight line he hadn’t even thought about when he’d decided he needed her to come and look.

Had he really needed that so desperately this morning? Or had he needed this? He glanced down at their joined hands. This touch of her? This closeness to her? This reconnection through their work, through the emotions she took to her work and claimed he took to his work? He was starting to think maybe she was right about that, that he did, indeed, give parts of himself to his creative process that he otherwise tried to hold back elsewhere.

And here was Fiona, respecting his autism and the ways it affected him. And putting her whole heart out there as she always did, even while she tried to protect it.

He had to stay emotionally detached from her. He’d let down his guard enough with Fiona that he hadn’t considered what she’d think of the way he prepared his materials, of his obsession with the project overall. That knowledge unnerved him.

It also didn’t help him fight his growing attraction to her, and he didn’t know where to go with this. The consciousness of each other remained, a constant ripple of unspoken thoughts and responses between them. They were both doing their best to ignore it. He’d told her he was determined to ignore it, but his actions weren’t proving out those words right now.

He’d wanted to make love with her when they’d been away in the mountains. With Fiona it would definitely be too intimate and intense for him to be sure he could manage and control his responses.

And why was he thinking of making love with her anyway? That wasn’t something that could ever happen.

Brent’s lips tightened.

‘We should head into the office.’ He should probably not have asked her to come here, shouldn’t have spent so much time with her, utterly absorbed in this one project and oblivious to anything else in existence. Except Fiona herself, and that was even worse. ‘You’d probably like to get some other work done before the day disappears completely.’

‘I think you’re right.’ She dusted her hands over her knees and gathered her painting. Perhaps she realised belatedly, too, just how distracted they’d allowed themselves to become, how easily they’d fallen into an intimate rapport with each other.

Yet they had to work together and do that well. Where did that leave them? He couldn’t keep avoiding her the way he’d done in the past week. ‘Fiona—’

‘It’s good that we’re back on a better footing.’ Her smile was full of determined good cheer that didn’t quite erase the tinge of…sadness in her eyes? ‘After getting slightly…off course while we were away. Circumstances, surroundings, can put people in that place, but we’ve sorted ourselves out now, haven’t we?’

Right. And yet the attraction was still there between them. Still just as strong.

It would go away eventually as they both accepted what their roles with each other needed to be. Wouldn’t it? He should be grateful for her determination, not feel as though both of them were somehow being shortchanged in this.

‘I’ll head away now and see you when you get to the office.’ Fiona moved towards the door and Brent…let her.

This was best, after all.

His mobile phone rang then. It would have been easy to ignore it but he’d trained himself to always check the number in case either of his brothers needed him. Brent checked and quickly answered. ‘Linc. What’s up?’

‘There’s a warehouse fire. I saw it on the TV Cecilia had on in the staff area at the nursery just now.’ Tension edged his brother’s tone. ‘I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like Alex’s warehouse. The street and the location—I’m headed back to the city now, but it’s going to take time for me to get in.’

‘I’ll go straight there.’ Brent snatched his keys from the stand inside the front door and strode forward still talking. ‘You’ve tried to contact him?’

‘Yes, and I can’t get him either at the warehouse or on his mobile.’ Linc cursed. ‘Look, I have to end this call. There’s fog here this morning and I’ve already had one closer encounter with a kangaroo on the road than I would have liked. Even speaking on hands-free, I can’t afford to be distracted.’

‘Keep safe, Linc.’ They ended the call and Brent was out of the door before he realised Fiona was right on his heels, painting clutched in her hands.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘We’ll go down while you tell me.’

They hit the stairs at a ground-eating pace as he explained the situation. A ball of tension had lodged in his gut. ‘I have to find Alex. I have to make sure he’s safe.’

Nothing can happen to my brother.

The thought came to him uncensored, an outpouring of how much he needed Linc and Alex. Of how much he loved them both. They may not have been born of the same blood, but they were bonded in all the ways of family. There were two people in the world who hadn’t rejected him, condition and all, and who let him love them just as much, and Brent…needed them.

Fiona doesn’t want to care about your condition, either, and you know your hesitations go deeper than that.

Because, in the end, could Charles MacKay have rejected and abandoned Brent solely because Brent had what was for him a manageable condition that shouldn’t have mattered to a parent? That in fact should have made that parent care for him all the more?

Something deep inside Brent shifted as he absorbed this thought.

And Fiona’s history—her family not caring for her the way they should have? She was perfect…

‘Hurry, Brent. We have to make sure Alex is okay.’ Fiona climbed into the utility truck beside him and tossed her painting into the back with scant concern for its care.

He hadn’t anticipated her company. Hadn’t taken the time to think about it at all. Now, he turned to her while his heart seemed to soften at the expression of concern on her face. And his fears for Alex came back full force, driving, for now, everything else out. ‘You don’t have to—’

‘Yes. I do.’ Fiona interrupted her boss without any compunction whatsoever. She had to be here with Brent, to be at his side while he located his brother. That was all there was to it. She couldn’t change what she needed. She wasn’t about to be denied this, either. So he could just get over that idea! ‘Drive, Brent.’

Brent drove, his hands gripped around the steering wheel.

There was such love for Alex in Brent’s focus, and Fiona couldn’t help but be moved by that.

Any time Brent was focused intently it seemed to come back to things that touched his emotions. Her boss might not want to admit that, but its truth spoke for itself. He was a man capable of deep feeling. This morning, for reasons she wasn’t sure she should try to define, Fiona needed to know that.

‘Alex caused me a few grey hairs when I first got him out of the orphanage. The moment he turned sixteen, he came to me. To me and Linc, but I was the eldest, and a bit better set up at that stage.’ His mouth turned up in wry remembrance. ‘Alex and his bags of attitude. He settled down, though. I’ve got used to things being easier the last few years. Financial security for all of us. Safety…’

Both those things would have been hugely important for three men who’d had little control over their destinies for many years. And they’d no doubt used their earliest resources to buy a home they could all share, so they could stick close.

Yes, they were a true example of how family should be and for Brent, at least, he’d built that new world over the top of some very unhappy ashes.

Fiona thought of her own upbringing. ‘I wish I could say my family were like you and Linc and Alex, but they’re not.’

Her family did lack what should be there for her automatically, simply because she was theirs. But couldn’t it be there, simply hidden away? Maybe they needed a little more encouragement to come to realise she needed them to love her simply for herself? Maybe she just hadn’t tried hard enough, reached out to them enough? If she poured out her love to them, surely they would respond?

Brent parked the truck and they climbed out.

They’d had to park some distance back. He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and guided her at a half jog past bystanders, through the crowd of inevitable onlookers.

As they drew closer, he sucked in one long, deep breath and blew it out. ‘It’s not his building that’s on fire.’

He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket then and speed dialled it again as they hustled along. ‘Still no answer.’

They reached the cordoned-off area in time to see several soot-smeared fire personnel emerge from the burning building. It was a terrifying sight. Men in full hazard gear, two of them with warehouse workers in their arms. Flames crackling, the roaring sound of a burning blaze as it consumed a path of destruction.

‘There he is. Thank God. He could have been killed.’ Brent uttered the words as he strode forward. ‘This isn’t the same as him listening for the rush of wind that comes before a train roars around a blind corner in a tunnel, giving you just seconds of warning to get out of the way. There’s no predicting fire.’

He grabbed Fiona’s hand and plunged them beneath the cordon.

‘Alex did that?’ she asked, but, from Brent’s ‘grey hairs’ comment, she already knew the answer was yes.

Someone called for them to stay back, that they weren’t allowed in.

If Brent heard, he ignored it. His focus was on his brother.

Alex had just finished giving water to a woman prone on the ground. His suit, face and hair were covered in soot. He laid the woman’s head gently back down, spoke a few words with her and, when an ambulance officer approached, stepped back.

‘You know most people undergo training before they start rushing into burning buildings.’ Brent’s words were low, gentle and raw at once, though Fiona could see he was working very hard to hide the latter emotion.

Even so, he clasped Alex into a bear hug for a long moment before he held him at arm’s length and searched his brother’s eyes, face. ‘You’re not injured? How did you end up in there?’

‘Should have figured you’d find me before I had a chance to clean up.’ Alex gave a lopsided grin. ‘At least you’re not hauling me away from trains and tunnels—’ He broke off, glanced sheepishly at Fiona.

‘I just mentioned that to Fiona, actually.’ Brent shook his head, but his eyes were warm as they searched Alex’s face again.

Certain aspects of Alex’s paintings, colour choices, style came to Fiona’s mind—came together with those comments about trains and tunnels. Graffiti art…‘I think you gave your big brother some tough moments while you were exploring your…er…talents, Alex.’

‘Something like that.’ He ducked his head with a self-conscious cough that quickly turned into the real thing.

Brent gave the younger man’s shoulders one firm shake. ‘Have you been checked out by the medical staff?’

‘Yes, and they said I have to take today off work, which is stupid. It’s just a cough. All I need is a shower and change of clothes before I go back to it.’ He paused and gestured towards the building. ‘They have everyone out now, at least. They got the last two just as you arrived.’

‘And now you need rest and…’ Brent hesitated and his brows came down. ‘Rosa. You need Rosa. She’ll know what to do to look after you.’

A short debate followed about how much Alex did or didn’t need to be off work or babysat. That took them all the way to Brent’s truck, where Fiona climbed into the back so the brothers could be together in the front.

Brent made the call, so whatever Alex wanted was apparently, at this point, irrelevant.

Fiona hid a smile.

She looked at the backs of those two heads; saw the set of Brent’s shoulders and the way his head ticked to the right as he glanced once again at Alex, as though to reassure himself the youngest MacKay really was okay.

And emotion welled up out of nowhere and flooded through her. Emotion for this man who had made a family out of nothing, and made it work better than her ‘real’ one ever had. She didn’t have a ‘work only’ attitude to Brent. Somewhere along the line that had changed, despite her belief that she couldn’t allow that to happen.

And maybe she needed to at least admit that fact to herself, even if doing so couldn’t change anything between them.

‘Tell me how the fire started.’ Brent dropped the topic of Alex’s health as he headed for their warehouse home. ‘And how you ended up in the middle of things like that. I’d like you to say you weren’t even in the building but, from the look of you, I’d say multiple trips without any safety equipment or protective gear is more likely.’

‘Half a dozen trips. I was careful.’ Alex explained he’d spotted the start of the fire from his own office window, called it in and headed straight there.

And Brent listened and nodded and was clearly trying very hard not to let his head explode over all the things that could have happened to his brother and, thankfully, hadn’t.

He drew the truck to a stop inside the warehouse’s garage area and turned to Alex once again. ‘I understand you couldn’t have done anything differently. You no doubt saved lives today. How can I chide you for that? I’m just glad you’re okay, that’s all.’

As they all got out of the truck, Brent drew out his mobile phone and hit a speed number. ‘Linc. Yeah. I’ve got him. He’s got a chest full of smoke fumes and a couple of singed patches, but he’s okay. Meet us at home, okay?’ He ended the call.

Fiona hesitated as the two brothers headed for the staircase. ‘I can head to work now, put in a belated showing for at least one of us since we haven’t been in yet. I don’t want to intrude on your family time—’

‘Stay.’ Alex uttered the single word while his gaze shifted from her to Brent and back again. There was something in his expression—a question and perhaps even hope—that Fiona didn’t understand.

Brent’s mouth tightened and he headed for the stairs. To Alex he said, ‘Fiona and I were working on a landscaping outline here earlier this morning, so neither of us has been into the office yet.’ He turned to Fiona and added, ‘We might as well go at the same time when we do go.’

‘At least my car’s in all day parking.’ Even if it hadn’t been, Fiona would have forgotten about it one way and another this morning!

The change in Alex’s expression was subtle.

The statement in Brent’s was a little less subtle.

Fiona caught on at last and her face heated as she realised what their exchange had been all about. Alex had thought she and Brent had spent the night together and, from his expression earlier, he’d hoped that might have been the case.

Why?

Well, bachelors being bachelors, maybe she was better off not knowing why!

They went straight to Alex’s home. He tipped out his smashed mobile phone from his trouser pocket. That explained the lack of communication earlier.

‘Did you get cut when that happened?’ Some deep ingrained mothering instinct rose up in Fiona as she waited for Alex’s answer. She wanted to insist he go check on that right this moment.

Brent turned his head when Fiona asked this question and sharp eyes examined Alex once again.

Alex shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ll check it when I clean up. Shame about the phone, though. I really liked that one.’

The door pushed open and Linc stepped through. He strode straight to the living room where they stood. ‘Reminds me of the time we got locked into the orphanage while that fire raged next door. I thought we were all going to burn, shut in there, before they decided it was “safe” to let us out.’

As he talked, he examined his brother through shrewd eyes. ‘You’re all right, then?’

‘I want him through the shower, cleaned up to get the smoke off him.’ Brent uttered the words before Alex could respond for himself. ‘When she gets here, Rosa can go in there and check—’

‘No. Rosa can not go in there and check. Anything,’ Alex added, and sighed as the door pushed open yet again and a middle-aged woman bustled through it, shaking her head all the way. ‘And yes, Linc,’ Alex added, ‘I’m all right.’

‘Alex, Alex. You look a mess.’ Rose made a tutting sound. ‘Get those clothes off and take a shower!’ She had a large carrier bag in one hand and headed for the kitchen with it while the men all sort of shuffled their feet and stood there. ‘Well? Get going, Alex. I want you back out here by the time I’ve heated the chicken soup.’

Fiona stifled a smile in her chin, but Brent caught the edge of it as she turned her head.

‘Rosa lives close to here,’ he said, as though that explained everything. And then he fell silent.

Alex dutifully disappeared to shower. Linc filled the silence with his questions. What had happened? Was Alex truly okay? Had he honestly had appropriate medical attention?

When the youngest brother reappeared, Fiona couldn’t help her words, either. ‘Were you cut?’

‘No cuts, just some bruises and, like Brent said, some singed bits. My hair, mostly.’ He gave a weary, cheeky grin. ‘I hate that. I have to look good for the girls, you know.’

Fiona laughed.

Rosa got a glint in her eyes and said she’d take care of Alex’s hair problem. She fussed until Alex sat on the couch, and then put a bowl of fragrant soup into his hands with the promise that she would wield a pair of scissors on his behalf shortly.

The woman was a treasure. Fiona could understand why all three men valued their ‘cleaner’, who obviously had a wonderful mother’s heart towards all of them.

‘I’ll be fine now.’ Alex’s embarrassment at being fussed over was clear on his face. ‘Really. You should all go back to work, and Rosa, you don’t have to stay. I might…I’ll have a sleep or something.’

Somehow, Fiona doubted that, but she understood from his expectant expression that he hoped they would all clear out of there now.

‘I will stay all afternoon.’ Rosa indicated her cavernous bag again. ‘I brought my knitting. I’ll call you at the office, Brent, if anything worries me.’

‘Right. Thank you. It’s been a few years since we did this, hasn’t it, Rosa?’ Brent smiled and gripped his youngest brother on the shoulder. ‘Just put up with being fussed on, okay? At least Rosa knows how to do that properly.’

‘Yes, do take care, Alex.’ Fiona turned with Brent.

As she turned away, Linc took his brother in his arms and dropped a kiss on the top of his head, as though he were a small boy, and as quickly pushed him away again.

It hurt, somehow, observing the love they all shared, the depth of it. The guardedness that went with it, and the reasons for that guardedness…

Because they’d been institutionalised. Because they’d been abandoned by the ones who should have loved them.

Brent had more to contend with than being autistic. His father’s rejection, a whole history of things. Could he ever get past it all?

Did she want him to reach for that with her?

No. Of course not…

Because wanting that would be stupid, Fiona!

Anyway, Brent and his brothers treated Rosa’s involvement in their lives as something exceptional and, in truth, what little involvement might they have had with women overall in any caring capacity over the course of their lives?

Could any of them be capable of that kind of love with a woman? Be able to learn how to give and receive it?

The thoughts were a little too deep for comfort—

And Brent hasn’t given any indication that he is emotionally invested in you at all!

Nor was she invested in him that way. After all, it wasn’t as though she loved Brent or anything. She liked him. She was aware of him as a man. Those were enough complications, thanks very much, and they’d drawn their lines anyway, so that was that.

With last words of advice to the man who really did not want to be an invalid but looked as though he needed to take care of himself for at least the remainder of the day, they all left.

CHAPTER NINE

‘ALEX recovered without any difficulties, which is wonderful. He was very brave to go in to help all those people inside the building.’ Fiona was in a coffee shop in the city with her mother and sisters. It was after working hours, Friday, a regular gathering for the women in her family, though it was a long time since she’d been invited along.

This time she’d invited herself and in a gap in the conversation had started to explain about her new job, her progress now she’d been there a while, how much she was enjoying the work. That had led to an account of Alex’s involvement in the warehouse fire, but she’d lost them some time ago, really. The disinterest was on all their faces, and the joy went out of the telling for Fiona.

She had tried so hard during this gathering to make all the right connections, to make it clear how much she loved Mum and Kristine and Judy. And she had hoped to get something back other than their usual Who is this alien among us? response, but she hadn’t.

Brent had told her he had work over this way for this afternoon. Fiona had made the decision to try one last time to connect with her family, if Brent didn’t mind her taking that final hour out of her working day.

He hadn’t minded, of course.

Well, her efforts had been a waste of time so far.

Fiona fell silent.

‘I heard your old job at the Credit Union might be coming vacant again.’ Her mother took a sip of her latte and examined Fiona over the rim of the cup with an expectant expression that was so devoid of any grain of true understanding of her daughter that Fiona stiffened all over before she could stop herself.

‘I hope they find someone good to fill the vacancy.’ She squeezed the words out somehow. Maybe it wasn’t fair of her to feel that her mum and the others hadn’t paid enough attention while she’d talked about her job, her employer and his family.

The difference being—your mother is trying to force you back into a mould more to her liking than the one that actually fits you.

Brent would be drumming his fingers if he were here. Fiona wasn’t sure how she knew that, she just did.

Mum looked at her watch and gathered her handbag into her lap. It was a signal that she intended to leave, and Fiona sighed. She’d be standing outside waiting for Brent for a good ten minutes if they left now.

‘Before you go, Mum, I brought you a birthday gift.’ Fiona reached for the wrapped painting beside her chair and placed it in her mother’s hands. She’d put her heart into the painting for her mother. A landscape of soft restful colours that would match the decor in her mother’s living room. ‘I know your birthday isn’t until next week, but I wanted you to be able to hang it on the day—’

‘You are somewhat early.’ Her mother peeled back an edge of the wrapping. She glanced at the corner of painting revealed—less than a ten centimetre area—and covered it over again. ‘Oh, it’s one of your pictures. I don’t know what I’ll do with it…’

Hurt washed through Fiona. The urge to pull the painting out of the wrapping, explain it, point out its meaning and tell Mum the time and effort that had gone into it was strong. But she couldn’t make her mother appreciate something like that.

Her efforts weren’t ever going to be good enough, were they? Because they were different, and no one in her family wanted different. Fiona had tried to ignore and gloss over that fact for a very long time. How much more had Brent been made to deal with these feelings over his father? How could Fiona hope Brent would ever reach out for more when he had that hurt to contend with?

And, yes, a part of her had apparently secretly longed for that kind of connection with her boss…

Fiona forced a smile and stood as they all stood. She dutifully paid for her lunch at the register with them, and watched them hustle off in their different directions the moment they emerged onto the city street.

Her chest hurt. Right down inside where she’d been trying so hard for so long to ignore the fact that her family weren’t exactly warm people when it came down to it. Well, they weren’t. Not to her and, in reality, not to each other, either. It was just that they all felt perfectly secure in that emotionally stunted environment, while Fiona felt insecure and left out. At least she could now admit that fact to herself.

‘Fiona?’ Brent’s hand closed over the ball of her shoulder and his head bent to hers. ‘I’m early. I thought I’d have to wait for you.’

‘I didn’t see you there.’ She hoped he hadn’t seen too much inside her in those unguarded moments just now. She didn’t want to be caught feeling sorry for herself. She didn’t know how to address what had just happened and where it put her in terms of how she felt about him either. ‘You finished your business?’

‘Yes. It didn’t take as long as I’d estimated. I’ve been window-gazing since then.’

Fiona tipped up her chin and pasted a smile to her lips. ‘Well, thank you for waiting for me. I’m ready to go now. Thanks for bringing me over with you so I could do this.’

‘It was no trouble.’ His voice was deep. Too deep. The kind of deep that said he sensed there was something amiss in her and that he cared about it.

That one grain of caring, not even openly expressed, went straight to that same hurting place inside her, and Fiona felt caught off guard all over again. She turned her head so he wouldn’t see the emotion in her eyes. Instead, she started to walk blindly back towards his truck.

They walked the half block in silence and she used the time to try to pull herself together. She thought she’d done all right, too, until Brent spoke.

‘So are you going to tell me, or do I guess?’ They’d climbed into the truck, but Brent hadn’t started the engine. He rested his hand on the steering wheel and searched her face and just…waited.

‘Mum took a corner of the wrapper off the painting, glanced at it, covered it back up and made it clear that a more practical gift might have been good.’ What was the point of hiding the facts from him? He’d already worked out something was wrong anyway. ‘She also wasn’t impressed that I pre-empted the actual date of her birthday by a week. Nothing I do “fits” with my family, I’m afraid. I’m too different from them and they can’t accept that about me.’

‘It was a good painting and it had your heart in it, and early birthday gifts are nice.’ Brent’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel and his head twitched once, twice before his mouth tightened and he said, ‘Your mother should have liked it. She just should have—’

‘Like your father liked and accepted all of you?’ Fiona glanced towards the street at the small throng of people queuing to enter a nearby restaurant dance club. ‘My family are all practical and they have a hard time relating to me because I’m…not, in a lot of ways. My choice of gift didn’t appeal. I should have anticipated that fact and chosen something different. Next time, I will.’

She drew a tight breath. ‘But, you know, I learnt a lesson just now. There are limits in my family. I have to accept that. It’ll be easier for me in the future if I do.’

‘That’s not a lesson someone like you should ever have to learn.’ His mouth was tight, angry and protective for her sake. ‘You’re soft, kind. You deserve for them to love you like they should!’

‘Yet Charles’s treatment of you has put you in the same place, only much more so. It’s impacted hugely on core parts of your life, your outlook, what you’ll—’ She’d been going to say reach for but stopped herself.

Brent’s expression was a combination of surprise, discomfort, comprehension and a certain kind of need that made her want to hold him for ever.

She wanted to bury herself in his touch and hold him and forget all of the world for a while. Because those feelings were intense and based in emotions she felt towards him that were far from safe and that he had denied her from himself, she did her best to let the topic go. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. We should go.’

Brent hesitated before he gestured towards the club in front of them. ‘Actually, do you feel like a meal? We’re a fair way from home, and Linc’s been to that club. He said the seafood is good. Fresh as an ocean breeze.’

If there had been even a hint of pity in his expression now or earlier she would have turned him down.

But there was only the desire to prolong their time together, even if he did feel uncomfortable about the need to do that.

And Fiona felt just restless enough to consider his offer, even if it might not be a smart thing for her to do. At least he wanted her company!

‘Are you a seafood fan?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He nodded. ‘Crab, lobster, prawns, mussels, you name it.’

‘Then, yes. Dinner would be nice. Just because…we are quite a way from our homes and it’ll be late when we get back.’ They could spend time together and, no matter how guarded he was, he would never be cold like her family. And right now Fiona did long for warmth…

‘Then we’re agreed.’ Brent felt the corner of his mouth kick up as he spoke the words. He was pleased, whether he should be or not.

But he wanted this time with Fiona. Just to be there for her, to be beside her while she adapted to this next step in the road when it came to dealing with her family. Brent could do that for her.

And for yourself? Have you adapted to Charles’s rejection? Or have you just been avoiding it all this time?

Fiona bit her lip as though she wondered if her response had been too enthusiastic. But she’d said yes. Brent wasn’t letting her off now.

So what if they ate a meal together? Tonight she needed company. He could be that for her. Why not?

‘We’re still in our work clothes,’ Fiona pointed out, but it didn’t matter.

Brent wore tan trousers and a navy shirt, and Fiona was in one of those silky, swirly skirts of hers and a pink blouse that hugged her curves. She looked—

‘I guess we’d do, wouldn’t we?’ Her eyes shone with the beginning of anticipation. ‘Unless you’ll need a tie to get in…’

‘I most likely will.’ He reached over her and popped the storage compartment and drew out a navy tie, held it aloft. ‘Emergency supplies. It’s Linc’s. He’s always got his eye out—’ He broke off and cleared his throat. ‘He sometimes borrows the truck.’

He wasn’t sure, but he thought Fiona hid a smile before she reached for the tie and gestured for him to lean forward. ‘I’ll do this for you, if you like.’

Brent liked.

The feel of her fingers against his neck as she tied the tie and settled it into place, patted it with an expression of satisfaction and an edge of consciousness of him.

Yes. He liked that, and he liked that she’d done it without thinking about it, let herself have the moment because that was part of what was inside her, a spontaneity and ability to reach for what she truly wanted.

You shouldn’t be happy if you think she really, truly wants you, MacKay. You should be worried about that and backing off.

Brent’s brows drew down. He threw his door open and got out. This die was cast. They were going in. He didn’t want to psychoanalyse it or overrate it. He just wanted to do it.

Minutes later, they’d entered the club and been shown to a dining table near the edge of the dance floor. The floor was empty, but Brent could imagine what it would be like later with people dancing. He could picture Fiona there, could imagine every movement, every motion as she gave herself to the beat.

‘Seafood for two? There’s a few different ones.’ Fiona turned the menu to show him.

They bent their heads over the list until a waitress came along with her pad and a stub of pencil and her grey apron tied tight over fitted black jeans.

‘This one.’ Brent pointed to their selection, adding a distracted, ‘Thanks,’ as he turned his attention back to his—to Fiona. She wasn’t his date.

No? Then what was dinner and dancing if not a date? And since when had he suddenly started to assume there’d be dancing for them?

A small slice of warning actually got through to him in the moment he asked himself that question. His body tightened in reaction to the corresponding tension that formed inside him.

But the reaction settled down a moment later, and he glanced up and smiled at Fiona. She seemed happier. That was the main thing, wasn’t it?

Brent’s gaze locked with hers and a silent communication passed between them that made Fiona’s skin tingle and her breath catch in her throat. She had so many conflicting emotions right now. Disappointment over her family, thoughts about Brent’s situation, happiness for being in his company, warning bells because of that same happiness.

He’d drawn back the last time. That night when he’d kissed her. He hadn’t wanted…

And if he wanted now? Would she also want? The emotional risk of letting herself care about him when she wasn’t certain he truly could feel the same? If he was attracted to her on some level, but in other ways wasn’t, did she want to have to deal with that?

As though there’s a choice, Fiona? As though you can decide whether you want to have feelings for someone or not.

That system had worked for her until now. She’d thought she was safe. She was safe. This was just tonight, a one-off thing. He’d asked her because he empathised over her mother’s behaviour, and it was dinner time, and they still had travel ahead of them. There was nothing remotely romantic about any of that.

And, yes, Fiona might like to speak with him about his own situation, try to get somewhere with that, because she was getting more and more convinced that he hadn’t addressed it. Not truly.

‘You love music, don’t you? It’s deep down inside you.’ Brent’s words broke through her reverie.

She realised she’d been swaying in her seat, and smiled and gave a slight shrug. ‘I do love music. All kinds from all eras.’

His gaze narrowed as he absorbed this information. Then their meal arrived and Fiona laughed at the sheer size of it, and he gave a wry grin.

‘Don’t say we’ll never get through it. You haven’t seen the amount of food I can put away.’ His fingers toyed with the lobster-cracking tool at the edge of the tray. ‘I don’t think you noticed there wasn’t a shred of food left by the time we left the house in the mountains after our hiking and painting trip.’

Fiona hadn’t noticed. ‘You must have eaten some of it during the night…’

‘Yes. I’m a three a.m. grazer, I’m afraid.’ He popped a Tasmanian scallop into his mouth. ‘I get hungry a lot.’

‘And eat people’s chocolate stash.’ The teasing words shot from her mouth and she bit her lip. ‘I didn’t mind, and I wouldn’t have even noticed, except you bought some extras for me…’

His gaze locked on hers. ‘I didn’t realise what I’d done until the pile of empty wrappers impinged enough for me to notice them.’

‘You ate them while you explored my graphics program?’ She sipped her wine and wondered if he realised the significance of him discussing the impact of his condition with her this way. ‘I should have walked you through the program when I first started there.’

‘I enjoyed looking, anyway.’ Brent did eat a lot of the food, and they talked while they shared the meal. It felt…good, and she relaxed and stopped wondering about what he might be thinking or not thinking, and just let herself enjoy the moment for whatever it was.

‘Come and dance.’ He got to his feet, held out his hand for hers and, when she placed her fingers against his, wrapped her up in the strength of long fingers and led her onto the floor.

Her senses were consumed in that touch, in the way they matched each other in height as they made their way to a space on the floor.

Brent held her hands and they…danced. And, after a while, he rested both hands on her hips and stood almost still as she swayed in his hold with her hands on shoulders that flexed beneath her touch.

Fiona closed her eyes and let one hand slide until it rested over his heart. And she gave herself to the music and his heartbeat.

Only for a moment. That couldn’t hurt…

CHAPTER TEN

BRENT’S hands flexed against Fiona’s hips and he watched her dance with her eyes closed and all her enjoyment clear to see on her softened features.

She was so beautiful, and he…wanted her so much. He battled his way through some physical twitches that built in his body and lodged in his shoulders, and eventually got those under control and was able to enjoy her touch on him, the sight of her.

Her hair smelled of peaches and fell loose about her cheeks and neck in a glossy curtain. He bent his head just enough to inhale the scent of it and breathe it deep into his lungs. He liked her at the end of the day this way, with her lipstick long gone and a wrinkle or two in her blouse. He liked her dancing for him, and he liked her dancing with him.

Somewhere along the line, this evening had progressed away from his core plan and he had to admit he was responsible for that.

He might have stood and casually asked her to dance, but there’d been nothing casual in his need to hold her. He might have wanted to comfort her after her episode with her mother, but he hadn’t said a word about that since they’d come here.

When Fiona’s hand brushed his thigh as she moved, Brent drew her into the lee of his body. Not touching, not really. Just her hands against his heart and his shoulder, and his hands on her hips and a lot of…closeness.

But they were touching. He felt every movement she made, every sensual twist and sway through those points where their bodies did connect. Her eyes sparkled as she lifted her gaze to his. The rest of the patrons faded from his notice and his focus homed absolutely on the woman dancing with him.

‘I like the way you dance.’ Fiona spoke the words against his ear. Her breasts brushed his chest and Brent drew a breath and his arms somehow got all the way around her and held her close until they were both swaying to the music and he felt…as though he held home in his arms, even though he didn’t know what home was, except for Linc and Alex and survival.

‘I like the way you dance better.’ His lips brushed her ear, lingered long enough to explore the feel of the soft, shell shape in a butterfly kiss.

Such a fine line. So easy to step over it because it felt so right.

The sigh of her breath brushed his cheek. That whisper was all about her pleasure in his touch, in what they were doing.

He wondered briefly how long it would be before he lost this calm feeling and had to work to keep his movements controlled again. For now he just…was in this moment with her.

It seemed right to hold her so their bodies brushed chest to chest and thigh to thigh as they swayed to the music. So he did. He wanted to close his eyes and feel her movements and just absorb them, so he let himself.

Somewhere between wanting to take her mind off her mother’s hurtful behaviour and now, Brent had dropped his guard, had done it thoroughly, even if as quietly as a whisper.

The scariest part was that he couldn’t find the concern over that which he should be able to find.

They danced, and Brent never did dance more than swaying his body while she did most of the work, but, oh, it was the best experience of Fiona’s life. Because he danced with her, with his gaze fixed on her and never looking anywhere else. He danced with all of his focus, just for her.

It was probably inevitable that he held her closer, that she moved closer. That the songs went from slow to fast and back again without them changing their dancing at all until they were heartbeat to heartbeat with each other and finally, finally he pressed his cheek to her cheek and his hands stroked up her arms and over her shoulders to the dip between her shoulder blades and down to the dip of her waist.

The hurt of her mother’s actions, of her own failure yet again to get what she needed from her family, receded to the background as Fiona lost herself in Brent’s attention.

Doubts still hovered. They did. Because Brent’s acceptance of her wasn’t all-seeing, all-knowing and all-encompassing, either. He accepted her artistic side. Understandable, given he shared similar tendencies.

She liked to think he liked her as a person, overall. But he also held back from her. And seemed uncertain of whether he wanted to accept the attraction he felt towards her or not.

For now he was accepting it, and she was letting herself hope probably more than she should that he would continue to accept it. But she hoped anyway.

Fiona wound her arms more tightly around his neck. They didn’t talk. They didn’t say anything at all. Eventually their gazes simply locked and their dancing stilled and he clasped her hand in his and led her off the dance floor while her heart started a slow, deep rhythm in her chest and she couldn’t catch her breath any more and could only walk with him into the night, to his truck, and get in.

He reached for her hand once they were on the road. Tucked it against his thigh and held it there.

‘I set out to talk to you about your family—’

‘Won’t you talk to me about Charles—?’

He turned the truck into her apartment complex’s car park and they both fell silent. The need to talk warred with other more instinctive needs. Fiona didn’t know where to go with either instinct so she fell back on good manners.

‘Thank you…thank you for a lovely evening.’ Her fingers fumbled as she opened the truck door and climbed out.

Brent had taken advantage of an empty space towards the end of the courtyard parking. It was silent, shadowed, isolated.

He came to her side of the truck, pushed her passenger door closed behind her after she alighted.

‘What are we doing, Fiona?’ Did he open his arms?

Or did she step into them of her own accord? Did it even matter? Either way, it was inevitable really that she would melt into him.

‘I don’t know what we’re doing.’ She looked into his eyes as she said it. ‘You hold back because Charles rejected you. You give him power over you through that. It’s not only about your autism. That side of you—it’s just part of you. It’s…a beautiful part of you.’ Everything she wanted from him came out in those words—things she knew within herself and things she only knew instinctively.

Brent shook his head. ‘The beauty is within you, within your generosity and your capacity to see the best in people.’ Maybe Brent didn’t want to talk about the rest. Maybe he reacted purely on an instinctive level to what she said to him.

Because his arms locked around her and his lips parted on a breath of desire and then there was no space between them, only his mouth on hers, taking and giving, offering and accepting as they both yielded.

Fiona acknowledged her need and held on. Arms around his neck. Body pressed close. Lips soft beneath his, absorbing and responding as his hands traced up and down her back, over the curve of her lower spine, and lower still. It was a kiss of tenderness and pleasure and sweetness, and she took it down into herself and held it there.

It changed so gradually. She was deep into that change before she even realised. Gentle kisses had become demanding, a play of tongues and desire that still somehow managed to coil around her emotions.

The strength of his body against her softness played through her senses and her heart whispered to be careful. Be so very careful because her soul could enter into this and what would she do if that happened?

‘I want you closer. Closer.’ Brent whispered the words and covered her mouth again, and his arms closed tight and strong about her and she felt safe with him. Safe and hungry and scared and desperate all at once.

She needed to be even closer, not only physically but to all that was within him. That truth was confirmed in each shaken breath she took. She’d sought such closeness from the start as she’d searched for his emotions in his work. Maybe even then something inside her had known she would come to care for him this way.

It was rumoured he was eccentric. Instead, he was brilliant, talented, unique, charming and intense and sweet and strong.

‘Fiona. If I keep going with this I won’t be able…I can’t…I don’t know…’ He buried his face in her hair and his breath heaved in and out and his shoulders locked as he fought himself, fought what he wanted from her and maybe fought other reactions and responses in his physical make-up as well. ‘I told myself this was safe. We’re in a car park, for God’s sake.’

It impinged on her slowly that they were. Right out here in the car park, which, while admittedly quiet right now, couldn’t be guaranteed to stay that way.

And she had forgotten that, had lost all sense of time and place. Had immersed herself so fully in the moment and in his arms that she hadn’t given a thought to their surroundings.

She should step away from him. Any moment now she would gather the strength to do that. Because…

Because they needed to talk. Didn’t they?

Brent stroked his hands up the length of her spine and his fingers found their way into her hair and whatever reasons there might have been disappeared on the whisper of her breath.

Her mouth softened and her hands bracketed his face and if he had indicated in any way that she wasn’t welcome…

A sound rose in the back of Brent’s throat as his mouth covered Fiona’s once again. She gave herself to the kiss in the same way she did everything—with generosity and openness. When he dipped his tongue into the cavern of her mouth, hers followed him home again, stroked, tangled.

He crushed her close and loved the way her body fitted his so perfectly. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind of her legs wrapped around him.

How they ended up outside her apartment he couldn’t have said, but she had her bag in her hand and he vaguely remembered that ending up on the bonnet of his truck when he’d first taken her mouth out there.

Now she fumbled in the bag for her key while they snatched kisses, and a moment later they were inside her home.

A lamp burned on a corner table in the living room. That circle of muted light was the only thing that even half registered as he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers.

Slow down. You have to slow this down.

But it was a train on a downward slope. Gaining pace and out of control.

How could he need this so much? Brent sought the answer in the warm recesses of her mouth, in the press of her lips against his, in the touch of her fingers where they stroked his arms, his chest.

His tie drifted from her fingers onto the edge of the sofa and slipped to the floor. Then they were on that sofa, arms around each other, mouths melding together.

He cupped her breasts through the cloth of her blouse, absorbed the softness and the shape of her…

Brent caught one glimpse of warm welcome in her eyes and wondered what she saw in him, and then he couldn’t think any more, only experience and feel and need, with his senses and with pieces of himself that he’d worked so hard to protect from the world for so long.

Pieces that had taken the pain of Charles’s rejection and buried it so deep that even Brent himself hadn’t realised where he’d gone with all of that.

That one thought pushed through until it hit the surface of his mind and the warnings he’d tried to give himself earlier finally took hold. Brent’s shoulders tightened as he faced just how much he was letting her in right now—he could not do that.

So totally couldn’t do that. Tension criss-crossed his chest and rippled through his muscles and settled in his neck. Tension that he couldn’t control. He broke away from her and his head twitched before he got to his feet in a movement that felt uncoordinated, uneven and aching.

He’d wanted to make love to her. It would have ended in that. The truth was in what they’d done, in the blur of blue eyes softened and confused and struggling to comprehend the loss of his touch as she, too, slowly rose from the sofa.

Everything in him ached to take her back, to hold her against his heart because there was a tension and lost feeling there that only doing that would ease, but Fiona couldn’t be his saviour. He had to be that for himself, survive by himself, protect himself the way he always had done. Protect that part of him that Charles MacKay had done his best to crush so many years ago.

Brent had to do all that. Didn’t he?

‘I’m sorry, Fiona.’ God. His voice was raw gravel. ‘This…got out of control. I told you I wouldn’t go here again. I meant that. For your sake—’

‘Yes. You told me. Foolishly, I thought—’ She broke off. Drew a breath. ‘I should have learned the first time.’ She took his tie from the floor, folded it, handed it to him and made her way to the door with steps that weren’t as smooth or coordinated for her as they usually were.

She opened that door. Waited with her teeth over her lower lip and all sorts of defences wrapped around her, even as her arms wrapped around her waist.

‘I don’t know…’ What she meant by her words. Why her dismissal of him felt like a dismissal of herself.

In this moment Brent knew nothing—how did he deal with that?

He hesitated and faced her. ‘Fiona—’

‘It’s all right. You need to go. We both need for you to do that. This…’ She hesitated. ‘You thought you wanted me, but the reality…And I…It would be too much. I’m not ready.’

To deal with all of him? If not with the signs of his autism, with the emotional limits he carried that went far deeper than dealing with them?

How could he expect her to be ready to deal with such obstacles when he didn’t know how to deal with them himself?

Brent crushed the tie in his hand and let his tension focus on crushing the fabric over and over.

And he searched her eyes one last time before he walked away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THEY worked. Interacted for the good of the company. Made progress on one project after another. Melded their ideas and their strengths and all they had to bring, combined, to the table.

Winter weather closed in. Chill winds and grey skies and morning rain. Fiona dressed warmly and worked as the consummate professional and told herself she wasn’t unhappy, didn’t feel unfulfilled, didn’t need anything from Brent beyond their relationship as employer and employee.

And she decided she simply was best off just being ‘everybody’s friend’, sticking to her known ground and not stepping beyond it where she couldn’t feel safe.

She was good at being a friend. She did great pet minding and pot plant watering and advice to the lovelorn.

At that last thought, Fiona’s mouth pulled tight. Some advisor. She certainly couldn’t sort out her own issues. They were all still shuffling around in her head over and over.

As for her relationship with her family, she’d made her decisions about that. It would always hurt that they didn’t accept her and love her for herself, but she could learn to be a step back from that hurt. She could protect herself.

If she needed to do that, how could she expect Brent to do anything other than protect himself in his life as much as he felt was necessary?

She rapped on the door of Brent’s home inside the warehouse and forced herself to draw some deep even breaths as she waited for him to answer.

He wasn’t expecting her but she couldn’t do anything about that. The manila folder clenched in the fist of her left hand was proof of that. He’d left it in her car when they’d used it yesterday to attend an initial client discussion on site.

The file the client had given them held photos that covered the history of the area and its landscaping back over a hundred years, and Brent had told her he planned to work on that project, from home, all day today.

So…he needed the file.

And she was fine about delivering it.

Hand it over. Wish him a good day. Leave.

It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t answered his phone. At least she’d managed to slip in as Alex was going out. As though in response to her first thought, Fiona’s phone beeped out a message and she drew it out of the bag slung over her shoulder.

Brent might not have been at home, of course, but he’d said he would be and maybe he had his mobile turned off and had let the home phone battery go flat. His receptionist was always at him to hang his cordless phone at work back on its cradle, not leave it lying on his desk.

Fiona thought she heard the click of a door catch somewhere inside Brent’s home and turned her attention quickly to reading her phone message. It was from her mother.

I’ve spoken to the boss of your old job and she’s prepared to take you back. Consider it, dear. Haven’t you had enough of playing at this other career? You know it won’t get you anywhere.

Anywhere except in love with Brent.

Oh, God.

Of all the thoughts to surface. Not, It would get her where she wanted to be in her career path. Not, It was what she wanted to do.

Not even, I’m sorry, Mum, but this is me and I’m over you not accepting and loving me just as I am.

All those thoughts were valid and real and true. None of them even compared to the one thought that filled her so utterly.

She loved Brent.

The knowledge hit her hard and deep. This was the reason she couldn’t forget those moments that had come so close to a culmination in lovemaking.

‘Fiona. Hi. I thought you must have been Alex and he’d forgotten something again…’

Brent’s words trailed off and Fiona lifted her gaze from the message on the phone screen and stared with a brand new, shocking, devastating knowledge pulsing through her.

Brent was bare to the waist. That was what registered first. Steam wafted from the open bathroom door behind him. That registered second. Moisture beaded on his chest and his hair was freshly washed and still damp. He had jeans on with the top snap unfastened. She really shouldn’t be looking but she had dreamed of him, of seeing him like this, and her heart was in her throat and her pulse and each breath she took.

Her gaze climbed his chest before it reached his face and looking into his eyes wasn’t any better. They burned. A deep, slumberous green that sent hot and cold chills down her spine and fire licking along her nerve-endings, and all she could do was let love and need wash all through her.

‘Um…Alex drove away.’ Right. And that piece of information was completely vital, of course. As well as being coherent and oh, so eloquently put. She had to get hold of herself. Had to hide these feelings from him!

‘Did you have a message for me?’ Brent gestured towards the phone. His jaw was clenched. His gaze swept over her, from the hair in a ponytail high on her head, over the cream T-shirt and chocolate-brown pants. And returned to her face, lingered on her mouth, caught her gaze and locked there as though he couldn’t stop himself.

Then why do you have to stop yourself, Brent?

She loved him. Was in love with him. She wanted the opportunity to express that emotion.

Even if he can’t give it back to you? Even if, because of his father’s rejection, he will always be emotionally unable to give all of himself?

But Brent wasn’t asking for that from her…

‘It’s not a message for you. Mum said she can get my old job back for me.’ She dredged up the answer from the part of her that had remained aware of anything other than how much she desired and wanted and…needed him. His arms around her, his mouth on hers. Her love being given to him.

‘You’re not taking your old job back.’ His words were anger and protectiveness wrapped into one. ‘This job, working with me, it’s right for you. It’s the work you deserve, not some clerical job designed to turn you into the rest of your family. I don’t want you to…’ He stopped the words there, but his gaze expressed his thoughts.

Not only that he didn’t want her to be hurt by her mother’s words and behaviour, but that he didn’t want to lose contact with her.

Because of the work they shared. She told herself this. It wasn’t because he loved her, for goodness’ sake.

Even so she told him, ‘Don’t worry. I signed a contract for the next twelve months with you, and I want even longer, a long-term career path with you, if that’s possible.’

I don’t want to stop seeing you, Brent. Not now. Not in the future. I have no idea how I could cope with that if it happened.

The discovery that she loved him was too new and raw for her to imagine not seeing him, career path or otherwise. How could she have let herself come to this? Have fallen for him so utterly?

Yet how could she have stopped it? She’d responded to his heart, in his landscaping designs that she’d studied, before they’d even met. When she’d met him face to face, some part of her deep, deep down had known that he would come to mean all of this to her. Otherwise, why would she now feel this utter acceptance, even in the face of all her uncertainties and fears?

But she did have those uncertainties and fears and, because of them, Fiona tried to pull herself together so she could deal with the reason she had come here, and take herself out of here, where she would have a chance to gather some defences and figure out how to go forward with these new feelings without revealing them to him.

She shoved the phone away into her bag and held out the folder gripped in her other hand. ‘Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. You left this in my car. You’ll need it. I couldn’t get you on either of your phones. Obviously you were in the shower.’

She passed her free hand down her thigh. Nervous gesture. She hadn’t done that since she first started working for him.

‘Thanks.’ His hand closed over the folder. ‘If I’ve made you feel awkward because I kissed you—’

‘No. Oh, no.’ Their kisses had unlocked things in her. She couldn’t do anything about that but she couldn’t regret it, either. Regret…just wasn’t an option she could even consider.

‘Good. That’s good.’ There was relief in his glance—more than relief—and somehow he was tugging on that folder and she still had her hand clenched around it and the momentum brought her through the door and into his home and he closed them in there while her gaze took in the extremely close view of a great deal of tanned male skin.

It was a very beautiful chest, the skin stretched tight over well-formed musculature, a light dusting of dark hair across it and arrowing down.

Not looking down again. That was a mistake the first time.

Brent seemed to become aware of his half-dressed state, too. He gestured towards the kitchen. ‘You can get a coffee, if you like. I’ll just…yeah, I’ll be back in a minute.’

He disappeared into what must obviously be his bedroom and Fiona stood there with the folder still clutched in her hand because he’d left her with it, hadn’t he?

What was she doing? What were they doing? Coffee while he threw some more clothes on? Would that help her at all, him covering up?

She walked to the kitchen and laid the folder on the bench and made her way towards his front door on wobbly legs, determined to get that wobbliness back to strength somehow. To leave before she did something that gave away how she felt.

Brent stepped into the hall from his room and she walked straight into his chest. Her arms came up, forearms against that chest, which was now, indeed, covered very discreetly with a button-down navy shirt.

That’s right, Fiona. You notice that while you’re staring stupidly at him and all your feelings are probably right out there for him to see.

‘I don’t know how to do this. I’m better in the “friend” role,’ she blurted, and his hands made this odd touch her—don’t touch her motion at his sides for a moment before they closed over her elbows.

He could have pushed her away. Maybe he intended to.

She could have used his touch to lever herself away. Maybe she might have.

But the irises of his eyes darkened to a deep, moss-green and his breath drew in on a sharp inhalation. ‘I want—’

‘Then take what you want.’ The words burst from her because it was what she wanted, too, and couldn’t he see that? ‘Take what we both want, Brent.’

Her heart spoke for her, whether she could handle the fallout or not.

‘God, Fiona. I can’t fight this again. I just…can’t.’

When his fingers tightened on her elbows, she leaned in to his touch, let it become an embrace, and breathed a sigh of relief and pleasure when he drew her in against his chest and cradled her there, heartbeat to heartbeat as his mouth came down on hers.

She had needed this, and her heart ached at the chance to have this. That ache warned her of all she would invest in loving him this way and of how much it could come to hurt her because, for her, it was love. For him…desire, need, perhaps, but those were all.

Even then, she could not turn back.

And Brent, oh, she hoped and prayed Brent would not turn back.

He gave her lazy kisses first. Long, slow, drugging kisses that reached inside her and let her immerse herself in pleasure.

He stroked his fingers up and down her arms, caught her around her waist and held her gently as his mouth took hers. Tremors passed through his body and for a moment he stilled, forehead to her forehead, as he breathed deeply.

This was his condition, and she stroked his back and murmured how much she enjoyed his touch, and he relaxed and the tension left him and he kissed her again.

And again and again.

He must have done this at other times, with other women. Yet she couldn’t let herself think of those times, didn’t want to think of her own past experiences, of trying to find a connection, only to discover there was nothing there.

With Brent it was all there. For her, it was, and she didn’t think about what he might feel for her. Surely he must be in a better place within himself if he could reach for this with her this way…?

‘You know what you want, what you’re able to have.’ She murmured the words and his gaze locked with hers and for a moment doubts bruised his eyes before they were blinked away.

So it was fine. Wasn’t it?

They found their way onto his sofa.

Brent didn’t know how that happened, only that he had his arms full of Fiona and his heart was hammering and when he drew a breath it was filled with the scent of her and he wanted to press his nose to her neck and just inhale the sweetness of her.

He did that, and she shuddered and a soft yearning sound came from the back of her throat and she tightened her arms around him and held on.

Just held on while Brent held onto her, too, and his reasons for holding back disintegrated in the face of his need for her. Was it necessary for him to try to reason through that, understand it or define it? Couldn’t this moment be enough in itself?

‘I need this with you, Fiona. This once, if you can allow it.’ Just once. If she understood that at the start and he understood it…

Brent’s expression showed his concern for Fiona, his confusion and uncertainty and, over it all, his need.

If he’d said he wanted this, wanted but didn’t need, Fiona might have made a different choice. ‘Then we’ll have this, Brent.’ It wasn’t even a decision for her. It was a beat in her heart that matched the beat in Brent’s heart. It was all of her that had to do this, to be with him this way.

If a part of her desired so much more than that, well, she was used to having less than she wanted. Life was like that. She would take this moment and immerse herself in it and live it and give all of herself to it, and that would be fine.

Just fine.

Fiona pushed the element of sadness away and focused her attention on the man in her arms. She’d sought his emotions. Maybe, in these moments, if she were very lucky, she would have them, even if they were only hers to keep for a very little while.

Brent took Fiona into his bedroom. His need outstripped his doubts and concerns. They were still there but, even so, he drew her into his arms beside the bed and looked deep into her eyes and let his touch and his reverence tell her all the things that were locked inside him, that he couldn’t say and couldn’t own and yet they were there.

They drew clothes from each other and tossed them on the floor until there was just them and the quietness and the sunlight slanting in through the gap at the edge where the curtains met the window.

His gaze roved her body and his hands followed, and he drew her onto his bed and touched every part of her until she took the foil packet from his bedside table and drew him home.

There was an aching need in the centre of his chest. Brent registered this as his body arched into Fiona’s and longing and sensation rushed through him.

His throat hurt and he kissed Fiona blindly, emotions wrapped into it, control…lost with all cognizant thought other than to please her, to make this the best for her that he could. Somehow he crossed the line into instinct. The acceptance in her eyes took him there and he pushed back every other thought and made love to her with everything he had to give.

Not enough, his mind told him, and yet his body and his emotions told a different story.

No. Not his emotions. Brent pushed that possibility out, even as his hands worshipped her soft skin and his eyes gazed into hers, letting her in and taking her into himself in return.

At the last moment, she cried out and his control mechanisms fractured.

His body shook and he kissed her mouth and her eyelids and buried his nose in her neck and inhaled her scent. His arms locked around her, all the way around her shoulders and back and he…held onto her and his fingers stroked her damp skin.

Over and over and over.

She wrapped her arms around him, too, and her hands stroked over him and she made a sound that was pure pleasure. ‘I love…your touch.’

And though Brent should assess what had just happened, think about his loss of control from the broadest perspective, think about a lot of things, her gaze was dazed and slumberous and he didn’t let himself think about any of those things.

Instead, he made love to her again until they lay on the bed with streams of sunlight filtering onto the wall.

Only then did his actions begin, finally, to impinge. His fingers digging into her back in a kneading motion as he held her. Thumbs stroking across her collarbone repeatedly.

Burying his nose in her neck and inhaling the scent of her skin until his body was filled with it. ‘I shouldn’t have…I didn’t expect…That wasn’t what I wanted to see revealed.’

All the idiosyncrasies that went with his condition. All the…insecurities about them that Charles MacKay’s words and actions had left Brent with for all these years.

Maybe she finally thought about that, too, about all the ways this hadn’t been normal for him and…never would be.

Because she drew her hand away from his chest and sat up, took the sheet from the base of the bed where they’d kicked it and wrapped it around herself. There were shadows in her eyes as she got to her feet and started to gather clothes off the floor.

Brent also stood, pulled on his jeans and felt now even more vulnerable than he had at the height of loving her, when all his defences had been down.

Fiona pressed her clothing to her chest. ‘This…I still have to go to work. I have work…’

She turned and shut herself in his bathroom.

Brent dressed and left the warehouse then. Just got in his utility truck and drove away because he didn’t know what to say to her and he didn’t want to face his thoughts and he wasn’t sure where doing that would take him anyway.

He was still the same person Charles MacKay had rejected and he still didn’t have enough to offer a woman and particularly one like Fiona, who deserved so much.

That was all still the case.

Wasn’t it?

CHAPTER TWELVE

THEY’D made love. For Fiona it had been the most beautiful experience of her life…until Brent had come to himself enough to regret what they had done.

She loved him. Loved him deep inside herself in a way she knew she would never love again. All her life, she had searched the world around her for the emotion she needed.

Now she saw inside her own heart and knew that this was the one and only deep love she would ever have.

But Brent didn’t share those feelings. He’d proved that through all the things he hadn’t said at the end of their time together.

He hadn’t even waited around to speak with her after she’d got dressed.

And she had to come to terms with that silence somehow and know how to go on.

She didn’t want to lose his presence in her life.

Did that make her weak? That she couldn’t imagine walking away from him, even if he couldn’t love her or feel the things for her that she felt for him?

She’d gone straight from his home to work, and then she’d lost her nerve, made an excuse and gone from work up here into the mountains. She’d needed time to think, and hadn’t been able to trust herself to do that in front of the others in their office space.

But eventually she was going to have to go back and face Brent. Somehow. Fiona didn’t know how.

Oh, why couldn’t he admit how much his past had hurt him? If he would accept that, maybe that could be the start of him being able to accept…her.

You’re a fool, Fiona Donner. Making love is one thing. Yes, he seemed to enjoy that and seemed to be over any issues he might have had about your generous body size or anything like that, but he’s not in love with you. Don’t kid yourself into thinking otherwise. That was a one-off experience for him. No doubt he’s totally over it already.

Right. And Fiona needed to be ‘over it’ as well. And just as soon as she got her emotions sorted out and felt she could face others without revealing them, she would be.

For now, cold stung her cheeks. Damp air filled her lungs and the scent of bush land closed around her. Fiona had the walking trail to herself and was photographing flora for a montage she wanted to use as a backdrop for her computer graphic work on one of Brent’s projects.

If she focused her thoughts enough, she would make a success of this trip. It wouldn’t be wasted. She wouldn’t have to admit it had been as much about escaping having to face Brent as anything else.

Fiona worked on and eventually decided she had done all she could with the photography. The light wasn’t as good now and there was a heavy stillness in the air that rather matched her mood.

Wetness formed on her cheek and her mouth tightened. She brushed her fingers over it, but other wetness caught on her eyelashes at the same time and she realised she hadn’t given way to the emotion she’d been holding back this last week.

Snow was falling.

Unseasonably early, unexpectedly thick and getting heavier by the moment. White, pure flakes of snow that would obscure the trail she’d taken if it continued.

She had to get back to her car. Fiona packed her photography equipment into her backpack, gave thanks she hadn’t tried to bring a tripod with her and began to retrace her steps.

Walking through that flurry of innocent-looking white flakes, Fiona told herself she would be back in the car park safe and sound in no time. And, if anything happened, the office knew her location. She didn’t have her mobile with her. It was in the car in her bag. She hadn’t wanted to carry any extra weight. Well, that had been a poor choice to make, but there was no point worrying about it now.

A bush parrot appeared briefly out of the flurrying snowfall and disappeared again. And Fiona hurried along and thought of Brent. Even now, she couldn’t push the thoughts away.

For a short frame of time she had felt she’d held Brent’s attention and focus and maybe even…his heart. That he had given all of himself to her, was trusting her with all of him. She had let her own guards down, all the way down, had believed, foolishly, that he could find as much fulfilment in her as she had found in him.

Obviously, that hadn’t been the case and she understood his need to protect himself. She did! Within her family she had felt the same way. Not loved for all of herself, not understood. But the whole world wouldn’t be like Brent’s father to him. Fiona would never be that way to him.

The snow thickened and Fiona realised she could be in real trouble for other reasons. She had to get out of here before she lost the ability to see the trail. She put her head down and walked as fast as she was able and prayed she wouldn’t end up lost in the bush…

‘Fiona? Fiona!’ Brent shouted Fiona’s name again, and again received no response. He walked the trail in jerky strides while snow coated his back and shoulders and brushed against his face.

It was cold. The snow had been falling for over an hour. And Fiona was out in it. He had to find her. Already he was struggling to be certain he was still on the trail. If he hadn’t walked it before…

Fiona had left her plans at work but Brent had stayed out of the office until well after lunch. He’d dodged making contact with Fiona, and this was the result.

All because he hadn’t known how to address the concerns at war inside himself, but now he’d worked that out and he needed to speak to her.

He needed first of all to be certain she was safe!

Brent pushed on and tried not to imagine Fiona lost in this.

Please stay on the path until I find you, Fiona.

When the snow covered the path completely he started to call her name again in earnest. He should have called in a search and rescue team, not tried to find her by himself.

He shouldn’t have walked away this morning and left her to find her way out of his home by herself, left things unresolved between them.

And do you know what you want now, MacKay? And, more importantly, whether you have the right to try to have it?

Brent didn’t know. Not entirely. He wanted Fiona as more than an employee. That much he now fully understood and admitted. He wanted her…as a lover. For however long they could make that work. If they could make that work…

For now, he needed to make sure she was safe.

Brent hadn’t imagined this snowfall. Who heard of this kind of snow at this time of year here? It just didn’t happen.

But today it was happening.

‘Fiona!’ His voice echoed. There was no response.

Brent pushed on, decided he would give himself another ten minutes and then get on the phone to Linc, ask him to organise help.

When Fiona hiked out of the snow straight at him, her face pale and anxious, all Brent’s well-considered thoughts about the future, about speaking carefully and working things out in some way to buy them some time together and avoid hurting either of them when that time inevitably came to an end fell away.

He simply snatched her into his arms. ‘You’re all right? I thought you might have gone off the path. It’s completely obscured now.’

His arms shook as he held her at arm’s length so he could examine her. Brent registered that knowledge and couldn’t do a thing about it.

She had a coat on, no hat. Her backpack and hair were covered in snow and, as she stared into his eyes, her mouth trembled for a moment before she pressed her lips together and tried to smile all at the same time. ‘I’m okay. I was hoping I wasn’t too far from the car park, but I’ve lost track of where I am.’

‘It took me over an hour to get this far.’

‘I thought I heard you calling me once, but I thought I must have imagined it because I wanted—’ She broke off and shivered.

Brent pulled her in close again to his body. ‘You’re half frozen. I have to get you out of here.’ His head twitched but he managed to hold on to her through it, and then he covered her in the second coat he’d worn for that purpose and started back along the trail the way he’d come.

He had her hand. He wasn’t letting go.

He never, ever wanted to let her go.

The thought washed over him right there, closed in with swirling white, and his fingers squeezed hers as he faced what was behind the desperation and concern that had driven him to rush here to find her when he’d heard the weather report for the region. More than the same concern he would feel for just anyone.

Because this wasn’t just anyone. This was Fiona. And Brent had fallen in love with her. Fallen totally and utterly all the way in love with her, in the way people would do who wanted now and forever and a picket fence. The way people would who wanted normal and believed they could have it.

Brent had never been normal.

How could he have done this? How could he even know how to love her in such a way? How could he make a success of loving her like that? How could he ever be someone she would be able to love like that?

‘I didn’t notice what was happening with the weather.’ Her teeth chattered as she tried to speak.

‘It doesn’t matter. I found you. That’s all that matters.’ He drew her alongside him and chafed her hand with his, trying to warm her while the knowledge of what was in his heart for her spread through him.

He couldn’t live without her. Her safety and security meant more to him than anything else in the world. The feelings were more intense than the…love he felt for Alex and Linc, the only two people in the world he had ever connected with.

He’d bonded with Fiona on some deep level. He…loved her. But not even just in the way he loved Linc and Alex, which was more than he had ever loved any person.

He loved her man to woman. Wanted her at his side for ever—

Later, that knowledge would burn him as he faced the impossibility of it. For now, he had to get her safe from this storm. He had to focus on that! ‘Save your energy for getting out of here, okay?’

She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself.

Brent couldn’t have Fiona that way, should never have made love to her in the first place when he knew there was no way things could work between them.

How could he ever expect her to accept all of him? His own father hadn’t been able to do that. His father had rejected him so deeply and thoroughly that there’d never been any going back. Going forward, for Brent, had been something he had to do alone when it came to relationships, other than with the two men who’d been through the same rejection Brent had been through.

Brent promised himself he would get her out of here, into safety, make sure she was well, and then he would step carefully back into the role of employer. He’d been tempted. He’d allowed himself to dream some big dreams, but those dreams were not realistic.

The snow got heavier and he was thankful when they reached the part of the track where the trail was hewn out of rock face. Tracking it with their hands slowed them down even more, but it kept them on the path and that was vital.

Finally they climbed the last steps into the tiny car park. Her car was there but he put her into his utility truck with the engine running and the heater on and a blanket wrapped around her. It only took a minute to stick a note inside the windscreen of her car with his phone number and the message that the car’s owner was with him at his home. He grabbed her handbag and took it to her, laid it on the floor of the truck at her feet.

‘I’ve caused a lot of trouble.’ She glanced at the bag and away again. ‘I should drive the car out of here.’ But she could barely get the words out, let alone carry out such a task.

‘I left a note. We’ll get your car later.’ There was no way Brent would allow her to try to drive in these conditions. On top of that, his arms ached to hold her; his whole system ached with that need. He felt out of control and words wanted to push up from inside him and burst out, telling her again how worried he’d been and how relieved when he’d found her and so much more. The so much more was the biggest worry of all.

Instead, he strapped her into her seat belt and tucked the blanket around her. ‘Hold tight. We need to get out of here.’

The drive that should have taken ten minutes took thirty, but they reached the mountain house and he turned the heating up high and brought out towels from the bathroom and warmed them before the heater outlet.

‘I can take the wet things off.’ But her fingers wouldn’t work.

He brushed them aside and stripped her to her underwear and wrapped her in one of the towels. He took care only to let her feel efficiency in his touch, though he hated the knowledge of her chilled skin beneath his fingers as he helped her.

Brent took her into the bathroom and set her in the shower and adjusted it to slowly get her thawed out. She gritted her teeth against even the lukewarm water at first, but slowly she warmed up.

‘Your hands are cold. You must be frozen yourself.’ She clasped his hands to stop his movements where he’d been guiding the shower spray over her back and arms. ‘Let me get out and you can get in.’

He searched her face for long moments. She had colour in her skin again, a soft flush in her cheeks that may have been from the warm shower or from the intimacy of what they were doing. Brent didn’t know which, but the thought lodged in his mind and he became aware then of exactly how intimate this was.

To be bathing her, even if he’d left her in her underwear. Her beautiful body was still revealed.

‘I don’t need a shower. I dressed for the conditions.’ Yes, his hands and feet were chilled but a few minutes in front of the heater would fix that. ‘Come out and I’ll dry you off.’

She submitted meekly enough to being towelled mostly dry and then she took the towel out of his hands and tucked it around herself and said, ‘I hope you have some pyjamas here or something because I’m not staying in this wet underwear.’

And she said it firmly enough that some of his tension and worry about her eased. Some of it.

‘Right.’ He wheeled about and went to his room, ransacked it for something suitable, brought her a pair of drawstring sweat pants, boxers and a flannelette shirt and a thick cable-knit jumper and two pairs of socks. ‘Do you need help to dress?’

‘No, Brent. Really, I’m fine.’ She half pushed him out of the bathroom and closed the door in his face.

Tension built in the base of Brent’s neck then. He didn’t have the capacity to control it right now. He submitted to the twitchiness and the obsessiveness as he changed into dry clothes himself and then paced the living room floor and told himself that now was the time to back off. To pull this back somehow.

The problem was he had a snowball’s chance in hell of doing that. To quote the weather and the drive of absolute need inside him right now…

Fiona emerged from the bathroom just as he turned to pace the length of the floor again.

Instead, he froze in the centre of the room. She looked so beautiful in the borrowed clothes with her face shiny from the shower. She looked healthy, strong enough to fight off any after-effects of being thoroughly chilled.

She also looked embarrassed and there was something in the backs of her eyes…‘I’m sorry you needed to rescue me, but I’m glad you did. I don’t know if I’d have been able to make it out on my own. I admit I was starting to get really scared, and I’d left my mobile in the car. That was a huge mistake.’

‘You couldn’t have known the weather would turn.’ He explained why he hadn’t known of her plans sooner. Almost, he could tell himself that discussion led them back to a more work-related basis.

Except it didn’t feel work-like to want to pull her into his arms and never let her go. ‘I shouldn’t have walked away this morning, and I didn’t do much rescuing just now. I just got in the truck and got on that trail and prayed you’d stay safe until I found you.’

‘And put me through the shower when we got back here.’ This time she dropped her gaze, didn’t meet his eyes. ‘I should have done that myself. You didn’t need to see me. I know my body is larger—’

‘I’ve seen you.’ Every beautiful part of her. ‘Fiona, you shouldn’t ever feel—’

‘We should focus on what happened today. I’m so sorry, Brent.’ She tipped up her chin as though a brave smile was as necessary as a change of subject.

He wasn’t sure which topic concerned her the most. Getting caught in such dangerous weather or the topic of her appeal. Maybe he should let that issue go, but how could he when he needed her to understand how beautiful he found her? ‘Don’t ever think you’re less than completely—’

‘I’ve caused you a lot of trouble.’ She’d heard him. Her gaze admitted that, but it equally told him she didn’t want to revisit how he might have formed his opinions. ‘And all because I didn’t stop to think I should get a weather report before I headed onto that trail. I wondered why it was completely deserted, but the solitude suited me and I didn’t think…’

‘How could you have known?’ Brent left the other topic for the time being and focused on reassuring her.

He drew a deep breath and realised he was running his fingers repeatedly over the cable pattern on the shoulder of the jumper he’d loaned her. How long had he been doing that without so much as a by your leave?

Brent dropped his hand away.

And Fiona moved towards the door of the house. ‘You have chains and four-wheel drive. The snow has stopped falling. It can’t be more than six inches deep. We should get back to Sydney. I’ve caused enough trouble and I want to get back to my work.’

To forget all about them? Wasn’t that the conclusion he’d come to eventually too? So why did his chest ache as though something sharp had been driven through it?

‘We’ll go.’ There was no reason to stay on.

Brent turned off the heater and led the way to the door. ‘Your car will have to stay where it is. It can be collected for you.’

‘I appreciate that.’ Fiona didn’t argue with Brent. Her car didn’t have four-wheel drive or chains on it. And she wanted to get back to the city.

So they went.

Fiona settled into her seat and pretended to sleep.

Brent might want to reassure her, but that made no difference to the fact that she loved him and he didn’t return those feelings.

Well, she had survived today. She would regroup and survive whatever else was ahead of her, too.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘DO YOU WANT to tell me what’s wrong with you, or are you going to just keep snarling at everyone who moves until you get it out of your system that way?’ Linc tossed the question Brent’s way while Alex turned his back at the barbecue and focused on cooking the bacon and eggs.

Brent rammed his hand through his hair and started to compulsively straighten everything on the table. It was Saturday morning. They were outdoors in the courtyard area of their warehouse home preparing a cooked breakfast to share.

Yes, it was somewhat cold this crisp morning. Yes, his brothers hadn’t entirely expected him to bang on their doors and demand they come out and eat breakfast with him.

Brent hadn’t cared. He’d wanted to eat out here where he didn’t feel stifled and unable to breathe, and…he’d wanted Alex and Linc’s company while he did it.

His brothers had looked at his face, donned jackets and said very little one way or the other.

Until now.

And Brent had deserved Linc’s rebuke.

‘I’m sorry, Alex.’ When Alex turned his head, Brent met his brother’s gaze and went on. ‘Your company business is yours to run as you please. I’ve got no right to shove my opinions down your throat or say you don’t know what you’re doing. Obviously you do. I don’t know why I ever got started on that.’

‘If I thought your attitude was about me just now we’d have a problem, but I don’t think that outburst had anything to do with me.’ Alex put the cooked eggs and bacon onto the platter and carried them to the table. His gaze was shrewd, too knowing. ‘I’d just like to know what it was about. Are you well? If your condition is causing problems—’

‘Yes. We both want to know the answer to that, Brent.’ Linc joined them there at the same time.

Both brothers stared at the plates, condiments and cutlery lined up like soldiers right along the centre length of the table.

‘You haven’t done that with the table stuff since that time in the orphanage when we were about eight years old.’ Linc shook his head. ‘What’s going on, Brent? Do we need to be worried about you?’

Both older brothers had borne the strap over that performance at the orphanage because Linc hadn’t let Brent take responsibility for it, had said they’d done it together, that they’d made up a game to entertain themselves.

Alex had been too young then. They’d all been too young, damn it. To be abandoned the way they had been, in Brent’s case by a man who was no man at all, because what kind of man dumped his child that way and never looked back?

‘They should have kept us and looked after us.’ He uttered the words and realised Fiona was right about that. She was so right about that. ‘Our families. They should have wanted us. Loved us exactly how we were.’

Fiona’s family should love her that way, but they didn’t. Why should Alex have been put into a shopping bag and dumped, or Linc knocked around and given up on? Why should Brent have been given up on because he had some perceived fault?

People lived with autism and didn’t care who knew they had it. Brent had spent his life trying to hide it.

Trying to hide from it.

Wasn’t that what he’d done?

He had, hadn’t he? He’d held Fiona in his arms, had been given the gift of loving her, and all he’d done was worry about a condition he was lucky wasn’t life-threatening. A condition that didn’t limit his work capabilities, that was compatible with his design work. That Fiona said only made him appeal to her all the more.

She saw his autism as a gift, something that made him unique.

So he was different?

Fiona’s family treated her that way and her only crime was loving deeper and more, living life with her heart open to others.

Brent had loved her in his heart, but he had rejected that love the moment he acknowledged it. He hadn’t let her in. And, by keeping that door closed, he’d robbed both of them of any chance of being together.

What if she wanted that? What if he could convince her to take him on? What if the way she had loved him, given herself to him, had come from her heart as well as her senses? He could do this. He wasn’t Charles MacKay, nor should that man’s attitude and behaviour decide Brent’s future!

He’d made a huge mistake. Was it too late to try to fix it? How could he fix it? Brent’s mind began to focus on the possibilities…

‘What’s going on, Brent?’ Alex’s broad shoulders hunched like the boy he’d been not so very long ago. That young-old child who’d got into trouble and needed his brothers so desperately, had needed to be out in the world with them, not in the orphanage waiting for Brent to get it together to rescue him.

Brent had done his best, Linc had done his part, too, and they’d all made it. What if Brent and Fiona could make it, too?

Linc leaned forward in his seat and his gaze searched Brent’s. ‘Alex is right. You’ve been a lot more off-kilter than usual lately. If you need a doctor—’

The worry in Linc’s tone brought the words out of Brent when everything else wouldn’t have. ‘The only doctor I need is a “love doctor”.’ When his brother looked at him blankly, he went on. ‘Relationship advice.’

Brent dismantled the items he’d lined up down the centre of the table, systematically set them back where they should be.

‘You fell in love with someone.’ Alex made a statement of the words, as though he wasn’t surprised at all.

‘Fiona. I’m in love with Fiona.’ Brent stabbed several pieces of bacon with his fork and slapped them onto his plate, dumped some eggs beside them, then pushed the whole lot away from him.

‘If you love her, you should go after her.’ Linc leaned forward across the table. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t. Not a single reason.’

‘What do I know about women or relationships?’ What did Brent know about trust, or whether he could reach out? But he wanted to. Oh, he wanted to.

‘You told us we could work it out if we found the right woman.’ Alex pointed this out and pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘We’ve had Rosa in our lives. She’s a woman.’

‘Rosa’s great, but knowing her doesn’t exactly qualify me for loving Fiona and doing a good job of it.’

‘Everyone has to learn how to love.’ Linc’s words were surprisingly revelatory. As though he truly knew what he was talking about in this. ‘We’ve all…loved each other. How we are hasn’t mattered.’

That was true, and Brent had been stupid not to acknowledge that fully a long time ago. He’d let Charles’s rejection of him convince him that no one in the world, aside from these two brothers, would ever be able to give and receive love with him.

He’d told Fiona that he and his brothers would always be guarded, but with each other they weren’t. So maybe they wouldn’t be with other people. Significant people. People they…loved.

‘I never should have pushed you both out of that part of me. The autism. I shouldn’t have worried about hiding it at all. It’s not an indictment. It’s just part of me.’

‘At least you realise that now.’ Alex clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We have tried to show you that.’

‘I know.’ They’d tried, and he had pushed those efforts away until they’d given in and pretended to ignore the whole issue. ‘I just didn’t want to see. Now there’s Fiona. I have to figure out how to do this, and then I have to go find her.’

He needed to go shopping. Urgently. And he knew exactly where he needed to shop.

Brent walked away without thinking to say goodbye.

His brothers didn’t seem to mind.

Fiona had been painting in her living room listening to music when she received Brent’s mysterious call to meet him at the lookout on their favourite mountain trail.

Well, it wasn’t their anything and she didn’t know where that thought had come from. But Brent wanted to discuss a new project. Perhaps he needed to show her some local flora or something in relation to it. At any rate, she’d made the trip, had been grateful to see pale blue sky above and no sign of snow. And now here she was, walking towards the lookout in jeans, a soft pink blouse, cream jacket—and with her mobile phone in her back pocket because she’d learned that lesson!

Brent had come after her in these mountains, had worried about her safety. He’d been gentle and focused and she’d run because he’d seen her in her underwear and all her old fears and uncertainties had surfaced and she just hadn’t been able to take it. She’d loved him too much. And he didn’t care for her in the same way.

Fiona took a few more steps and contemplated turning around and leaving. It was Saturday, after all. She didn’t have to work today, even if her boss had asked her to make an exception and give up this time for him.

Her heart hurt. She loved her boss and she wouldn’t turn around because she worked with him, and she needed to be his employee and do a great job of that, just like being a ‘friend’ was something she did so well, giving out advice about relationships…

Well, she wasn’t good at relationships and it was a wonder she’d ever thought she knew anything about them. She would resign from that particular position among her friends. From now on they would just have to work out their problems for themselves, because Fiona was not qualified to help them.

Fiona trod the final stretch of path and caught sight of Brent standing at the lookout railing, his face turned towards the view. At the sound of her footfalls, he turned to face her. One hand was deep in the pocket of his brown leather jacket. The collar of his tan shirt wasn’t quite straight and he looked…both focused and uncertain at once.

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come.’ Brent’s low words washed over her senses.

‘You said you wanted to discuss a project.’ Why discuss it here? Her heart couldn’t define the answer, could only take in his presence as she joined him at the railing and a deep, strong beat registered in her chest, as though being with Brent had brought her fully back to life when she’d only been existing before.

‘A project of sorts, yes. Did I disturb anything important when I rang you?’ Brent’s gaze searched hers.

Behind them, mountains and valley glowed in gentle winter sunshine. Mist particles clung to tree branches and bushes and hung in the air, turning the panorama a beautiful warm blue-grey. Fiona nervously ran her hands down her thighs and forced herself to stop the motion. ‘I was just fiddling with a painting. If I could capture the beauty of this…’ She gestured towards their surroundings.

‘That’s why I chose…here for this.’ His gaze shifted to the view, and returned to her. ‘I knew at this time of the day the colours…would complement your eyes and that it would be beautiful, like you, and it’s quiet here, peaceful and tranquil, the way you make me feel inside myself.’ He stopped speaking, couldn’t seem to find what else he wanted to say.

Fiona didn’t know what to say. His words made her feel beautiful.

A moment later he cleared his throat. ‘Tell me what you were painting?’

‘Nothing specific. I was just seeing what emotions I could get out onto the canvas.’ So she could get them out of herself. And now he had said things that brought all those emotions to the surface once again. Her voice quavered a little as she went on. ‘Why did you ask me to meet you here, Brent?’

Why here, specifically, as opposed to anywhere else? He’d said it was because of the colours and a lot of other things that didn’t seem to relate to business.

And if they didn’t relate to business—

‘A similar reason to why you were painting.’ He hesitated and his gaze searched deep into her eyes. ‘Bringing you my emotions way too late and hoping…you might welcome them if I brought them to you here, where we could be by ourselves with nature and I could focus on you and be surrounded by plants and trees, things that help me feel calm and centred.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Her heart had leapt at his words, but she couldn’t rely on that particular part of her. It had led her into loving him, but it didn’t know how to make her stop.

She didn’t think she could stop.

Maybe he was finally ready to speak about his relationship with his father. That was emotional. Maybe Brent needed to unload that and it had nothing to do with…them. If so, Fiona would still listen. ‘Charles—’

‘Hurt a very small boy deeply, enough that it almost crushed that boy.’ Brent drew nearer, reached for her hands, gripped them in his and his thumbs stroked her skin over and over. ‘Enough that when that boy grew up, he told himself he couldn’t have normal relationships and blamed that on a condition instead of the hurt that was handed out long ago and blamed on that condition by the man who abandoned him.’

‘Charles walked away because he was too weak to be a father to you.’ Fiona’s mouth trembled as she spoke the words and her hands gripped his. She couldn’t help her reaction. She wanted to draw Brent’s head to her chest and hold him. Just hold him. ‘Not because he couldn’t cope with your condition.’

Brent dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘That’s right.’

‘There’s no reason why you couldn’t have…all sorts of relationships.’ She tried not to sound as though she needed him to think about a relationship with her. ‘You can have whatever you want.’

He dipped his gaze to where his fingers stroked hers, clenched his teeth and stopped the motion. Only to shake his head and start it up again, as though he’d chosen to let himself, or to give her that touch that was uniquely his. ‘There’s only one person I want to build a relationship with now.’

‘Who…who is it?’

‘I think you know the answer to that, but I want to tell you anyway.’ His voice deepened as he went on and he released one of her hands and pushed his into his trouser pocket. ‘I don’t know how to tell you how I feel, or what you might feel in return. I’ll try to express it. I bought something…I’m hoping you might be able to feel something for me. I’m hoping you might be able, over time, if we spend a lot of time together and I work to show you how much I need you and love you…’

An insecurity of hers that she’d thought she’d conquered rose unexpectedly. ‘My body shape and size…After we made love you didn’t like…’

‘I didn’t like what I’d done. Losing control, exposing aspects of my autism. Those stroking and kneading motions, the way I inhaled your scent over and over.’ His hand rose until it cupped the soft flesh of her upper arm in the most gentle of touches. ‘But you…you were so beautiful. You know that’s how I felt and what I saw. You have to know.’

Fiona looked into deep green eyes and wanted to believe him. Oh, she did. ‘I’m large. There’s no getting away from it. I’ll never be dainty or petite or small. I try to dress in things that suit me, but Mum says—’

‘Your mother’s got no right to say anything other than how lovely you are, inside and out.’ Brent made a sharp sound in the back of his throat. ‘I don’t want them to hurt you any more, Fiona—your family. There must be some way—’

‘There is.’ She’d been thinking about that, too, and she’d taken her first steps. ‘I’ve called a family conference so I can tell them they’re not…meeting my needs. If they can’t hear that, can’t respond as I need them to, I’ll begin to draw some lines regarding my involvement with them. I’ve let that situation hurt me long enough.’

‘I want to come to that meeting with you.’ He wished he could protect her from having to do it, but he understood why she had to. And there was something he could do for her. ‘When it’s over, we’ll have a meal with Alex and Linc. They will love you, Fiona. If you…can be part of us? Of our family? If you can let me love you with all my heart and soul?’

He realised he was getting ahead of himself and tried to explain. ‘I want…all that with you. For us to be a family. When we made love, I didn’t understand the feelings I had for you then, all the need and desire and tenderness wrapped up inside me and welling in my heart.’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘I lost control—because of the autism. Because I wanted you so much. I thought there was no way you could have…been okay with the repetitive touching, the way I smelled you.’

Brent drew a breath. ‘Even when I thought maybe you were okay with those things, I thought back to how Charles had pushed me away. I got…angry. And resentful. All these old hurts that I’d never addressed rose to the surface and I realised I’d pushed them all down.’

‘Maybe you should take some steps where he’s concerned as well.’ Fiona made the suggestion with gentleness in her gaze, with nothing but acceptance and, dared he hope, with total love?

Brent had made the same decision. ‘There’s no chance of reconciliation and, truthfully, I’m not prepared to open myself to him a second time when I see no chance of him changing at all. For me it’s more about putting his rejection in perspective. He had no right to abandon me the way he did; I didn’t deserve that. There’s a service available for separated family members; it’s government run. I’m going to make contact and book an appointment. I want the chance to tell him, that’s all—’

‘I’ll go with you.’ The words burst out of her. ‘I’ll go with you and when it’s over you’ll come home to me, to be with me. I love you, too, Brent, with all my heart, with all my soul. I spent…my life looking for you. I looked in paintings and artwork and faces and the world around me. I think somewhere deep inside I knew what I’d found when I first looked at your landscaping work. I knew I’d found…what my soul needed.’

Brent squeezed her arm gently beneath his fingers, and his fingers shook as he touched her. His voice shook, too. ‘I love you, Fiona. I love you with all my heart. I want us to be together. I want to be at your side for the rest of your life.’

He drew his hand from his pocket and there, at the edge of a lookout in the mountains, with towering trees all around them and mother nature providing a soft background of bird calls and the whisper of the wind rustling through grasses and leaves, Brent dropped to one knee before her.

Between his fingers he held a diamond ring. Behind them, as he glanced from the ring up into her face, the sun brightened suddenly and gilded the mist that filled the air and kissed the treetops until everything turned golden and the ring glittered and sparkled while Fiona held her breath and kept on holding it.

‘I went to a jewellery store in the city.’ Brent’s fingers tightened on the ring and the green of his eyes deepened. ‘That day I waited for you to finish visiting with your mother and sisters, I saw this ring in the window and thought how pretty it would look on your finger. The diamond…it’s cut and set to look like a particular type of everlasting—’

‘Daisy. The one we spotted here, with the golden spiky petals around the outside and the lovely white centre.’ Fiona completed the sentence for him. Indeed, they had spotted exactly those flowers when they’d first walked this mountain trail. She’d paused to admire the tiny sturdy blooms that managed to look delicate and yet were so enduring.

‘I wanted something that reminded me of you, and that would tell you how I feel about you.’ Brent’s gaze softened as he spoke the words. ‘You’re those daisies to me. Delicate and beautiful, steady and strong and I want to be what they represent, to you. I want to give you my love for ever, unfading, everlasting.’

‘I love you, too, Brent.’ With all her heart—for better, for ever—she loved him. Oh, she did!

‘You’re a good friend and a beautiful person.’ He took her hand in his and laid her fingers in his gentle clasp. ‘Inside and out. To me you are perfect.’

Fiona finally believed it. A soft warmth swept into her cheeks. ‘I loved the things you…did when we made love. All those things. You don’t need to worry about that because you entrance me. Your focus and all of those things that are unique to you.’

‘Then…’ He drew a deep breath and his gaze held hers, deep moss-green to her robin’s egg blue. His fingers squeezed hers. ‘Will you marry me, Fiona? And live the rest of your life at my side in all the ways there are? Will you wear this ring for me and wear a wedding ring for me, and let me wear a ring for you? I don’t know how to do marriage. I don’t know how to manage even a serious relationship, but I love you and I’ll learn.’

‘Oh, Brent.’ Fiona stayed very still as he took in the expression in her eyes and slowly slipped the ring onto her finger and got to his feet still holding her hand.

She slid her arms up and her hands cupped the sides of his neck and she sighed as his arms closed strongly around her. ‘Yes. Yes, I will marry you and we’ll learn together.’

The ring caught the sun’s rays and reflected golden light from every facet of the diamond, and Fiona knew this was indeed the beginning of their everlasting love. Hers and Brent’s together.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-5222-0

AUSTRALIAN BOSS: DIAMOND RING

First North American Publication 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Jennifer Ann Ryan

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