Читать книгу: «Falling for Mr. Mysterious»
Praise for Barbara Hannay
“Barbara Hannay’s name on the cover is a sure-fire guarantee of a good read.”
—www.cataromance.com
“Stories rich with emotion and chemistry.
Very layered and lifelike characters …”
—RT Book Reviews
“Barbara Hannay will take you on an unforgettable journey …”
—www.cataromance.com
A strangled laugh broke from Jude, and twin emotions of tenderness and desire waged war with his reasoning and common sense. “I think I may be the one who’s made the biggest mistake.”
“You?”
“For reinstating that crazy kissing ban.”
“Oh.” The word fell softly into the space between them. Still clutching at her dress, Emily frowned. “But this was meant to be purely for fun. You don’t want more complications in your life. You already have enough on your plate.”
“That’s true,” he agreed reluctantly. “And I don’t want to mess up your life either.”
He took a step closer, knowing it wasn’t wise, and Emily seemed to melt towards him. Their fingers brushed and he was zapped by fire. He heard Emily’s soft gasp.
“I’d rather not risk joining the list of males who’ve hurt you,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m sure that’s a risk worth taking …”
About the Author
Reading and writing have always been a big part of BARBARA HANNAY’s life. She wrote her first short story at the age of eight for the Brownies’ writer’s badge. It was about a girl who was devastated when her family had to move from the city to the Australian Outback.
Since then, a love of both city and country lifestyles has been a continuing theme in Barbara’s books and in her life. Although she has mostly lived in cities, now that her family has grown up and she’s a full-time writer she’s enjoying a country lifestyle.
Barbara and her husband live on a misty hillside in Far North Queensland’s Atherton Tableland. When she’s not lost in the world of her stories she’s enjoying farmers’ markets, gardening clubs and writing groups, or preparing for visits from family and friends.
Barbara records her country life in her blog, Barbwired, and her website is: www.barbarahannay.com
Falling For
Mr. Mysterious
Barbara Hannay
MILLS & BOON
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CHAPTER ONE
WHEN the train drew in to Roma Street Station, Emily checked her phone messages one more time. There was still nothing from Alex, so now she was officially worried—not only about Alex’s twenty-four-hour silence, but also about her own fate. She had no idea what she’d do if he wasn’t in Brisbane.
She’d rushed to the city in blind despair. She needed to see Alex, to stay with him and, yes, to pour out her heart to him. Of all her family, Alex would understand, and Emily had been so very desperate to get away from Wandabilla that she’d jumped on the train in the vain hope that Alex would return her call before she arrived.
Now, the train came to a stop with a wheezing sigh of brakes and, all around Emily, passengers were rising from their seats, gathering their belongings in a businesslike fashion, pulling on jackets and coats and heading for the carriage doors, eager to be out on the platform and gone.
They, of course, had somewhere to go.
Emily did not.
If Alex was away, she would have to find a hotel. She certainly wasn’t going to turn tail and head home to Wandabilla, to face the music, with everyone in the small country town knowing what had happened to her.
Besides, Emily told herself, there was still a slim chance that Alex was home. He might have a problem with his phone, or perhaps he’d let the battery run down, or he’d bought a new phone and changed his number and hadn’t got around to telling her.
Although her doubts about the wisdom of rushing to Brisbane were mounting fast, she rolled the magazine she’d been trying unsuccessfully to read and stowed it in her shoulder bag, then retrieved her suitcase from the luggage rack.
It was an unusually cold August afternoon, and a biting westerly wind whistled callously along the platform. Shivering, Emily buttoned her coat and turned up its collar, then she lugged her suitcase behind her and headed for the warmth of the pedestrian tunnel.
As luck would have it, she was in the depths of the tunnel, jostling with crowds of shoppers and commuters, when she heard the soft quack-quack, which was the silly ringtone she used to distinguish social from business calls. She grabbed her phone from her bag. It was a text message.
Em, sorry I missed you, and very sorry to hear about that @#$%$# of a boyfriend. Wish I could be with you now, but I’m in Frankfurt at a Book Fair. Please use the apartment tho. Stay as long as you like and use my room. I’ve checked with Jude and he’s cool, so he’s expecting you.
Hugs,
Alex xxx
Emily had to read this twice, standing rock still in the tunnel while commuters steered somewhat irritably around her. She needed a moment to take the message in, to deal with her see-sawing emotions of relief that Alex was OK, and her disappointment that he was so far away.
Very quickly, overriding these initial reactions, rushed a flurry of questions. Who was this Jude person? When had he arrived in Alex’s life? And … would he really be as cool as her cousin suggested about her sudden appearance on his doorstep?
She felt awkward about imposing on a stranger and she wondered, briefly, if she should continue up the coast to her grandmother’s instead. Granny Silver was as understanding and welcoming as Alex, but she preferred to see the world through rose-coloured glasses, so Emily rarely burdened her with her problems.
Also, if this Jude fellow was expecting her, and if he was anything like Alex—which he probably was, remembering Alex’s former housemates—he’d probably already jumped into host mode.
Jude could well be whipping up something delicious for their dinner right now, so it would be rude to simply not turn up. Emily headed to a nearby bottle shop, bought a good quality red as well as a white, because she didn’t know Jude’s tastes, then went to the taxi rank. But as the taxi sped towards West End, crossing a bridge over the wide Brisbane River, her impulsive dash to the city began to feel more foolish than ever.
She’d been so self-absorbed, so totally desperate to get away from prying eyes, that she’d seen her cousin Alex as her one safe haven. She’d had visions of crying on his shoulder, of sitting with him on his balcony, looking out over the river and the city skyline, drinking wine together while she told him all about the whole sorry mess with Michael.
Alex was such a wonderful listener, way better than her mum. He never trotted out I told you so, or kindly but firmly pointed out her mistakes. Best of all, once he’d sympathised and mopped her tears, he always made her laugh.
Man, she could do with a laugh right now, but she couldn’t expect sympathy, wine and cheering up from Alex’s new flatmate. As the taxi drew up outside the apartment block, she told herself that the best she could hope for was friendly tolerance from this perfect stranger, and a little privacy in which to nurse her wounded feelings.
At any rate, it was reassuring to know that she wouldn’t have to negotiate any of the bothersome boy-meets-girl nonsense. She’d had enough trouble with men to last her a lifetime, but she could rely on the fact that any man living with Alex would be gay and totally safe to live with.
Jude Marlowe was still typing at his laptop when the doorbell rang. He was in the midst of a thought, a decent thought, one of the few he’d come up with that day. He was trying to get it onto the page so he continued typing, despite the doorbell, knowing that if he stopped, the precious words would be lost, never to be recalled.
The bell rang again, with a slight air of desperation. Fortunately, the last sentence was captured and Jude saved his work and pushed away from the desk. Taking off his reading glasses, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, then stood unhurriedly and stretched, rolling his shoulders in a bid to ease the tension that always locked in when he became too absorbed in his writing.
The caller would be Alex’s young cousin. Jude had received a garbled message that she needed a bed for a few nights and so he’d manfully hidden his reluctance to socialise and assured Alex that he’d oblige. Apparently, she’d had boyfriend trouble and was suffering from a broken heart.
Another of Alex’s lame ducks, Jude thought wryly, knowing he was one, too.
He was in the hallway, blinking at the darkness—was it really that late?—before he gave a thought to his appearance. Still in the clothes he’d dragged on in the morning, he was wearing old, badly ripped jeans and a baggy, ancient football jersey, stained at the neck and worn at the elbows. Not exactly suitable for receiving Alex’s houseguest, but it was too late to do anything about it. The girl at the door would be getting impatient.
Jude turned on the light as he pulled the door open and a yellow glow spilled, golden and honey-warm, over the chilled figure outside. At first sight of her, he felt deprived of oxygen.
Later, he asked himself what he’d been expecting, and he realised that if he’d given Alex’s lovelorn country cousin any thought at all, he’d mentally classified her as frumpy and miserable. An unfashionable, possibly plain, country mouse.
How wrong he was.
The girl standing before Jude in a stylish white wool coat and knee-high brown leather boots was a stunner. Her red-gold hair flowed softly over her white lapels, making him think of fire on snow. Her face was delicate yet full of character.
And while there was a hint of sadness about her blue eyes, her skin showed no sign of country mouse freckles. Her complexion was fair and smooth, her chin neat, her mouth curving and smiley.
She looked, at first glance, like all Jude’s female fantasies rolled into one hot package.
He found himself silenced to the point of stupidity.
‘You must be Jude?’ she enquired, tilting her head to one side and smiling cautiously.
‘Sure.’ Somehow, he remembered his manners. ‘And you must be Emily.’
‘Yes. Emily Silver, Alex’s cousin.’ She held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Jude? Alex said he’d warned you about me.’
‘Yes, he rang.’ But the warning had been totally inadequate, Jude realised now. He’d planned to offer the barest courtesies as a host and then leave Emily Silver to mend her heart in whichever way she needed to. He still planned to do that, but already he knew she wouldn’t be easy to ignore.
‘I must say it’s very kind of you to take me in at such short notice.’ She shook his hand, and it was a ridiculously electrifying experience.
‘You’re very welcome.’ Jude spoke gruffly to cover his dazed dismay. Then he noticed her suitcase. ‘I’ll get that for you.’
‘Oh, thanks. And I’ve brought wine.’ With a dazzling smile, she held up a brown paper bag. ‘A bottle of each.’
There was a slight shuffle in the doorway as he stepped forward to reach for the luggage while Emily came inside. Their bodies brushed briefly. Damn. Jude couldn’t believe he was reacting this way. He’d had more than his fair share of girlfriends, but this evening his body was reacting as if he’d been cast away on a desert island and Emily was the first woman he’d seen in two decades.
‘Oh, it’s lovely and warm inside,’ she was saying.
Jude nodded, adding grouchily, ‘Alex’s room is down the hall, as I’m sure you remember. First on the left.’
In the doorway to the master bedroom, Emily paused and sent a dimpling smile back to him over her shoulder. ‘Wow. I’ve never stayed in this room. I’ll be able to enjoy the amazing view of the river from Alex’s bed.’
‘No doubt.’ Jude set the suitcase on the floor just inside the doorway, angry that the mere mention of the word bed set his mind diving into fantasy land. Refusing to meet her animated gaze, he said tersely, ‘You settle in. I’ll … ah … be in the kitchen.’
In the kitchen, he stared disconsolately at the contents of the refrigerator while he rated himself as several versions of a fool. It made absolutely no sense that he’d been sideswiped by Alex’s country cousin.
Sure, she was a looker. But her beauty was irrelevant in this situation. She’d come to the city to escape from a low-lying jerk of a boyfriend, while Jude had problems of his own. He was in the city for medical tests that freaked the hell out of him.
And yet, when he’d seen Emily on the doorstep, there’d been an out-of-this-world moment when he’d forgotten all of this. Now, he’d plummeted back to earth. And to common sense.
Emily was sharing this apartment, and yes, he’d promised Alex that he would keep an eye on her. But that could be covered by token exchanges. A few courteous words. Now and again. Nothing more than the most superficial hospitality was required.
He was grateful to have that sorted. He need show no more than cursory interest in this guest, which was just as well, considering everything that lay ahead of him.
Emily wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake as she sank onto the edge of Alex’s king-size bed.
She was imposing on Alex’s flatmate, and she could tell from the moment she’d first seen Jude that he wasn’t thrilled about her sudden arrival. Now cold hopelessness washed over her as she saw her flight to Brisbane as just another mistake among the many mistakes she’d made lately.
She would have to reassure Jude that she wouldn’t stay. Problem was, she wasn’t ready to go back to Wandabilla, either. So, in the morning, she would have to check out accommodation options.
In the meantime … she would try to be as little trouble as possible for Jude.
He was very different from Alex. She’d seen this immediately. Physically, the two men were poles apart. Her cousin shared her auburn colouring and he was slim and scholarly-looking, while Jude was tall and dark, with the broad-shouldered, lean-hipped build of a man of action. Not too rugged or too chiselled, his looks were nicely in between.
But, of course, Alex always had good taste in men.
After taking off her coat, but not bothering to unpack, Emily went through to the kitchen and discovered another difference from Alex. Jude was no cook.
There was absolutely no action at the stove. In fact, Jude was standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the open pantry cupboard and scratching his head.
When he saw her, he gave an offhand shrug. ‘I’m afraid I never think much about food when I’m caught up with my work.’
‘Please, don’t worry about feeding me,’ she assured him. ‘I’m happy to look after myself.’ The last thing she wanted was to be any bother, but curiosity prompted her to ask, ‘What sort of work do you do?’
Jude frowned, then spoke with obvious reluctance. ‘I’m a writer, so I work from home, but I’m totally disorganized when it comes to meals. Sometimes I heat up a tin of soup for my dinner, but since I’ve been here in West End, I’ve mostly eaten takeaway.’
Emily guessed he was missing Alex’s gourmet cooking. ‘Honestly, I’m happy with takeaway,’ she insisted. ‘I know there’s a host of great restaurants here. I could pop out now, if you like, and get something for both of us.’
She smiled, hoping to show Alex’s flatmate that she really wanted to fit in as smoothly as possible. But smiling didn’t seem to work with this man. His gaze darted away.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I promised Alex I’d look after you.’
She almost told him not to bother. She was perfectly capable of walking a block or two to the shops, but she didn’t want to start off on a bad footing. ‘OK. I’ll grab my coat and a scarf.’
They met again in the hallway, and Emily saw that Jude had changed lightning-fast into less tattered jeans as well as outdoor boots and a thick black woollen sweater.
Gosh—he was actually rather good-looking. Lucky Alex. Under other circumstances—circumstances in which she wasn’t totally ‘over men’ and Jude Marlowe wasn’t gay and standoffish—she might have taken second or third looks at him. And more, right now, she would have been far happier if he’d been less attractive, but empathetic and warm, like Alex.
Clearly this wasn’t the case, and she would have to nurse her sorrows on her own. At any rate, she was relieved to be in the company of a man she could trust not to make a move on her.
Outside on the footpath, the wind made their cheeks pink, but Emily was snug in her coat and the air was in-vigorating—a beautiful clear and crisp winter’s night in the city.
She was starting to feel a tiny bit better already. Of course, there was still a sickening ache in her chest whenever she thought about her former boyfriend, Michael, and a stomach-churning twist of appalling guilt whenever she thought about the wife and children he’d conveniently forgotten to mention. But just getting away from Wandabilla had helped. At least no one knew her here in Brisbane and she didn’t have to face the gossip and curious glances.
The restaurants were filled with diners, talking and laughing and generally having a good time, and as Emily passed each doorway, she caught snatches of music and chatter and sensational appetising smells.
She came to a stop outside an Indian takeaway.
‘Is this what you fancy?’ Jude asked.
‘I would love a curry. We only have Chinese in Wandabilla, and I adore Indian.’
‘Indian it is then,’ he said, stepping inside. ‘Too easy.’
‘Are you going out of your way to oblige me, or are you always this easy about meals?’
Jude’s eyes shimmered. ‘When it comes to food, I’m a pushover.’
They ordered two kinds of curries—one meat and one vegetarian, as well as steamed rice and naan bread.
‘And samosas,’ said Jude. ‘For entrée.’
Heading back to the apartment with their mouthwatering packages, he suddenly took a left-hand dive into a supermarket and emerged moments later with an armful of bright yellow daffodils.
‘Wow—’ Emily swallowed her surprise as he handed the sunshiny blooms to her ‘—what are these for?’
‘I’ve heard you need cheering up.’
‘Oh.’ It was the lovely sort of thing Alex would have done. Perhaps Alex had given his housemate instructions.
‘That’s so sweet,’ she told him, feeling suddenly, unexpectedly grateful, and just a tiny bit weepy. Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and gave Jude a kiss on the cheek. To her surprise, a dark tide of colour stained his neck.
Afraid that she’d embarrassed him, she quickly changed the subject. ‘Should we get something for breakfast while we’re out?’
‘Of course. Sorry. I’ve been a bit distracted lately.’
For the briefest moment, Emily saw something else in Jude’s grey eyes—just a flash of a darker emotion that might have been anxiety or fear. It was gone almost as soon as it arrived, but it made her wonder if he’d been distracted by more than his work.
She couldn’t exactly quiz him about it, so she turned her attention to their shopping, choosing food she thought a guy might like—eggs and bacon, and then a punnet of blueberries, a tub of yoghurt and a bag of good quality coffee. At the cash register, Jude insisted on paying, warding off her protests with a grim fierceness that was hard to fight.
A slight awkwardness descended as they hurried back to the apartment, laden with their purchases.
In the kitchen, Jude set the takeaway tubs on the table, then found cutlery and plates.
‘Where do you normally eat?’ Emily asked, not at all surprised when he frowned again. She’d already decided that his thoughtful purchase of flowers had been an aberration, and from now on she should probably expect frowns and grimness.
She half expected Jude to tell her that he preferred to eat on his own, hidden away in his room in front of his computer.
But he said, ‘Here’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘Of course.’ Emily tried not to look too surprised or pleased, but she couldn’t deny that she would prefer his company to being left alone with her own unhappy thoughts. She shot him a cautious smile. ‘What about wine? Would you rather red or white?’
‘Actually … I’m not drinking alcohol.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve given it up. Temporarily.’
Once again, she thought she caught a flash of emotion, as if there was something else, a deeper worry that haunted Jude. For a second she thought he was going to say more but, if that was his plan, he quickly changed his mind.
‘I won’t have wine, either, then,’ she said. ‘It’s not a great idea to drink alone.’
‘But you’re not alone.’ Jude was insistent. ‘Go on. Have a glass. It’ll do you good. You want to drown your sorrows, don’t you?’
If only she could just drown her sorrows and be rid of them. But the pain would still be there when the effects of the wine wore off. Just the same, as Jude peeled silver foil from the wonderfully aromatic tubs of curry, Emily poured herself a glass of white and gratefully flopped down in a seat.
‘That smells amazing. I didn’t eat lunch.’
‘Neither did I. I’m starving.’
At first they were both too ravenous to bother with conversation, but there were plenty of appreciative groans and nods of approval as they helped themselves to the food. Emily, however, hadn’t been able to eat much since she’d found out about Michael, and it wasn’t long before she had to call a halt.
‘My eyes were bigger than my stomach,’ she said as she watched Jude help himself to more curry. She sipped her wine instead, then because he was starting to look more relaxed, she gave in to her growing curiosity. ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how long have you known Alex?’
He looked surprised. ‘Why would I mind? I’ve known him for about five years. As I said earlier, I’m a writer. Alex is my agent.’
‘Oh? Really?’ So they had a business relationship as well as a personal one. ‘That’s a handy arrangement.’
Jude frowned at her, as if, yet again, he found her comment puzzling. ‘Yes, it is. Very handy.’
‘What do you write?’
‘Thrillers.’
She gaped at him. ‘As in thriller novels?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘How amazing.’ Now it was her turn to be surprised, and she stared at her mysterious host with new respect. ‘Should I have heard of you?’
‘Not unless you like reading thrillers.’
Emily liked reading crime novels, and she didn’t mind a thriller plot, but she mostly read books written by women writers because they had more female characters in their stories. ‘I’m not keen on the really blokesy books,’ she said.
Jude actually smiled at that. ‘To be honest, neither am I. In fact, I always include at least one major female character in every story.’
‘Well—’ her respect for him was growing by the second ‘—I should be reading your books then, shouldn’t I?’
His head dipped in a mock bow.
Before Emily could ask anything else, he held up a hand as if to stop her. ‘I think that’s enough questions about me.’
‘Ah …’ Emily pulled a face. ‘So now we talk about Alex? Or world affairs?’
‘Or you.’
‘Believe me,’ she warned him darkly, ‘you don’t want to go there.’
While she’d come rushing to the city to tell Alex everything about Michael, she couldn’t imagine ever confessing her personal problems to Jude. The very thought of telling him about her cheating boyfriend made her face burn. She took a swift and, hopefully, cooling gulp of wine.
As if he’d sensed her sudden panic, he said, ‘I was wondering what sort of work you do.’
This, at least, was easy to answer. ‘I work in a bank.’
‘As a teller?’
‘As a manager.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ His intelligent grey eyes narrowed. ‘Do you mean you’re a bank manager?’
‘I do.’
Jude blinked at her.
‘Don’t you believe me?’
His smile was sheepish. ‘I’m very sorry if I looked surprised, Emily. It’s just—’ Pausing, he took a breath and clearly made an effort to stifle another urge to smile. ‘I’m fascinated, to be honest.’
‘Most men find my work boring.’ Or threatening.
‘Perhaps you’ve been talking to the wrong men.’
Well, yes, Emily had discovered this the hard way, but she wasn’t prepared to admit it now.
‘I’d love to hear how you’ve done so well so quickly,’ Jude prompted.
‘By a rather roundabout route, to be honest.’
‘The best stories are never straightforward.’
He managed to look genuinely interested, and Emily decided that Alex would be very pleased with his housemate’s efforts to play the attentive host. At least talking about her job distracted her from other thoughts.
‘The thing is, I never planned to work in a bank,’ she said. ‘I was always going to be a famous ballerina. After high school I went straight to Melbourne, to study ballet.’
‘A dancer. That explains …’ His voice tapered off.
‘Explains what?’
‘Why you’re so graceful,’ he said simply, but he looked unhappy, as if he wished he hadn’t said that.
‘I certainly loved everything about ballet. I loved the discipline, the music and the opportunities to perform. But—’ she twisted the stem of her almost empty wine glass ‘—after a couple of years, I ran into problems with a choreographer.’
‘A male choreographer?’
‘Yes.’ Looking up, her eyes met Jude’s and she saw that he was watching her with another thoughtful frown.
‘Let’s just say I have bad luck with men.’
She let out a sigh. Just being here in Alex’s kitchen reminded her of all the other times she’d been here, confiding in Alex. There was something about this setting, and the warm, exotic food and relaxing wine that seemed to encourage confidences.
And the man sitting opposite her might not be Alex, but he had the loveliest smoky-grey eyes. Right now they looked soulful and understanding, almost as sympathetic as Alex’s. Poor fellow. He felt obliged to fill Alex’s shoes.
With a shrug, she found herself saying, ‘When it comes to men, I make really bad choices. Or they make the bad choices. I don’t know. I just know I always end up miserable and running away.’
‘Is that what you’re doing now?’ Jude asked with surprising gentleness.
‘Of course.’ She lifted the glass and drained the last of her wine.
Then she jumped to her feet. ‘Now, let me clean this up, seeing as you so kindly paid.’
‘I won’t argue with that.’ He was on his feet, probably relieved to escape.
‘And, Jude,’ Emily said, as he turned to head out of the kitchen.
He turned back to her.
‘I’ll head off in the morning.’
His eyes grew cautious and he frowned again. ‘Do you have somewhere to go?’
‘I can easily find somewhere. I’ll be fine. Coming here was a spur of the moment thing. I had no idea Alex wasn’t home. Tomorrow I’ll leave you in peace.’
After a beat, he said, ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am, truly.’
It was totally silly of her to be disappointed when Jude nodded, then retreated, wishing her goodnight and muttering something about checking his emails.
Shortly afterwards, with the kitchen tidied, Emily went to Alex’s room and, out of habit, she retrieved her phone from her bag. Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t bothered.
The first message was a text from a girlfriend in Wandabilla.
Is it really true about Michael? OMG. How awful.
Already, the gossip was spreading.
Emily’s mind flashed to the photo she’d seen on Facebook just yesterday, a shot of Michael, her boyfriend of twelve months, with his pretty wife and two cute children, a little boy who looked just like him and a baby girl with golden curls.
Pain washed through her, an appalling tide of anguish and grief. How could he do that? She’d given him a whole year of her life, and she’d been ready to spend the rest of her life with him.
How could she have been such a fool?
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