Nick had towelled in a hurry and he wasn’t quite dry. His bare tanned chest was still wet. More, it sort of glistened under the hall light. This was a male body which belonged…which belonged somewhere else but in her universe.
‘H…hi,’ she managed, and was inordinately proud she’d made her voice work.
‘It’s Miss Lawrence,’ Bailey told Nick unnecessarily. He was still jiggling. ‘I told her we’re getting a dog.’
‘Why are you here?’ There was a pause, and Nick seemed to collect himself. It was possible he hadn’t intended to sound as if she might be a child-snatcher. He took a deep breath, started again. ‘Sorry. Obviously I need to get used to country hours. So…’ He hesitated and tried a smile. ‘You’ve already milked the cows, churned the butter…’
‘Swilled the pigs and chewed the buttercups,’ she agreed, managing to smile back. She might be disconcerted, but Nick looked even more disconcerted. Which was kind of…nice. To have such a body disconcerted because of her…
Get serious, she told herself, but it was really hard to be serious in the face of those pecs.
‘It’s me who should be sorry,’ she managed. ‘Ketchup woke me at dawn and I’ve been thinking. Actually, I was even thinking last night.’
‘Thinking?’
‘That maybe I was wrong to knock Bailey back so fast.
‘That maybe it’s not a bad idea at all. That maybe it might suit us all if you share my house.’
Silence.
More silence.
Whatever reaction she’d expected, it wasn’t this. Nick was staring at her as if he wasn’t quite sure who-or what-she was.
As well he might. He’d only met her yesterday. What sort of offer was this?
But they didn’t need to be friends to be a landlady and tenant, she reminded herself. They hardly needed to know each other. This was business.
Still there was silence. She wasn’t quite sure how to break it, and finally Bailey did it for her. ‘We can live with you?’ he breathed, and his question hauled her straight down to earth.
Uh oh. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This was not strictly business. Here was the first complication. A basic principle of teaching: don’t make children excited before plans are definite. She and Nick should have had this conversation out of Bailey’s hearing.
What had she been thinking, just to blurt it out?
She knew what she’d been thinking about. This was all about Nicholas Holt’s wet, glistening body. It had knocked the sense right out of her. Understandably, she decided. There was something about Nicholas Holt that was enough to throw any right-minded woman off balance.
‘If your father thinks it’s a good idea,’ she managed, struggling to make it good. She allowed herself to glance again at that glistening body and she thought maybe she’d made a king-sized fool of herself.
He was still looking at her as if she’d grown two heads. That was what she felt like, she decided. As if there was the one-headed Miss Lawrence, the woman who made sense. And the two-headed one who was making all sorts of mistakes.
No matter. She’d made her offer.
If he wanted to live with a two-headed twit then she’d left herself open for it to happen.
She was asking him to live with her?
No. She was asking if he’d like to rent the spare side of her gorgeous house.
Nick was cold. This house was cold.
He’d tried to make toast and the fuse had blown. Half the house was now without electricity. He’d checked the fuse box and what he saw there made him wince. This house wasn’t just bad, it was teetering on unsafe.
There were possums-or rats-in the roof. He’d lain awake all night trying to decide which.
A breeze was coming up through the floorboards.
This was not a suitable house for Bailey. He’d made that decision at about four o’clock this morning in between muttering invective at possums. He needed to go find the letting agent, throw back his keys, threaten to sue him for false advertising, find somewhere else… Before tonight?
But here was Misty, warm and smiling and friendly, saying come and live in her house, with her squishy old furniture, with a veranda that looked over the sea, with Misty herself…
Um…take Misty out of the equation fast, he told himself. This was a business proposition. A good one?
Maybe it was. It’d get him out of immediate trouble. To have his son warm and comfortable and safe…
He wouldn’t need to get a dog.
He looked down at Bailey. Bailey looked up at him with eyes that were pure pleading.
A comfortable house by the sea. No dog. Misty.
This was a very sensible plan.
‘We accept.’
He accepted? Just like that? The two words seemed to make Misty’s insides jolt. What had she just done?
But Nick was sounding cautious, as well he might. She was feeling cautious. What sort of crazy impulse had led her here?
For, as soon as he accepted, complications crowded in. Or maybe as soon as she’d seen his wet body complications had crowded in, but she’d been so overwhelmed she’d made the offer before she thought. And now…
Now he’d accepted. Warily. So where to take it from here?
This was still sensible, she told herself. Stick to business. She needed to avoid looking at his body and remember what she’d planned to say.
‘You might need to think about it,’ she managed. ‘You…you’ll need to agree to my rent. And we’d need to set up rules. We’d live on opposite sides of the house. You’d look after yourselves. No shared cooking or housework. Separate households. I’m not turning into your housekeeper.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’ He raked his fingers through his damp hair, looking flummoxed. ‘You’re serious?’
‘I think I am.’ Was she serious? She was probably seriously nuts-but how did a girl back out now? She couldn’t.
A sudden gust of wind hit the outside of the house and blew straight through the floorboards. This house was colder inside than out, she thought. Bailey shouldn’t be here and Nick knew it.
‘Would there be gossip?’ he asked.
So he knew how small towns worked. He was right. In most small towns, gossip would be an issue.
But there was never gossip about her, Misty thought, feeling suddenly bitter. She was Banksia Bay’s good girl. It’d take more than one man and his son to mess with the stereotype the locals had created for her.
‘It’ll be fine,’ she told him. ‘The town knows I’m respectable and they know I’ve been looking for a tenant for months. And people already know about Bailey. Believe it or not, I’ve had four phone calls already saying how can you-you, Nicholas Holt-take care of a recuperating child in this house, and why don’t I take pity on you and ask you to move into my place?’
And every one of those calls had been engineered by Fred. The old vet was a Machiavellian busybody.
She loved him to bits.
‘So all I need to do is tell the people who’ve suggested it how brilliant they are,’ she added.
And keep this businesslike, she added to herself, because, respectable or not, any sniff of anything else would get around so fast…
But, in truth, Banksia Bay might decide anything else was a good thing, she thought, letting herself wallow in bitterness a bit longer. The locals knew of her dreams, but they flatly rejected the idea she could ever leave. They’d approve of anything that kept her here.
Despite that, she was still fighting to get herself free. And this could help. Having people share her house. Share Ketchup.
Businesslike was the way to go, she told herself again. Adonis or not, involvement messed with her dreams.
As did the sight of Nicholas Holt’s bare chest.