Her Wealthy Husband. Margaret Mayo

      Was a boat engine like a car engine? Lara wondered, and then cursed. Dammit, she hadn’t wanted to think about Roger again. Why did he keep intruding into her thoughts? It was the phone call, of course, one she could have easily done without. And until she rang her mother she wouldn’t know exactly what he had said—and he would continue to plague her.

      She watched as Bryce lifted the engine cover and fiddled with leads and wires before he tried it again. Still no joy. But at least he looked as though he knew what he was doing. When the engine finally sprang into life he gave a grunt of satisfaction.

      ‘What was wrong?’ she asked.

      ‘I suspect the fuel pump. It’s not the first time it’s done this on me. In fact…’ He let his voice trail away.

      ‘In fact what?’ she asked with a frown.

      ‘I think I should pull into shore and check it out. Better to be safe than sorry.’

      All Lara could see on the shoreline were private houses, large exclusive mansions worth millions of dollars with steeply terraced gardens leading down to the water’s edge. She’d been studying them as they’d eaten their lunch, wondering what sort of people lived there.

      ‘I can’t see anywhere you can tie up.’

      ‘That’s simple. I live there.’ He pointed to one of the elegant properties.

      Lara frowned. ‘What do you mean, you live there?’ Dread filled her. He would need to be fantastically rich to live in one of those houses. And if this was the case why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t Helen told her? Bryce had convinced her that he was a man she could trust; she had begun to relax with him, feel happy in his company—and now this!

      Bryce saw her changing expressions and laughed. ‘I live in a converted loft above that boathouse.’

      Lara followed his pointing finger. And there, poking out from behind a fancy cruiser, she saw it. ‘You mean you—rent the loft?’

      ‘Actually it comes free with the job,’ he admitted, sounding a trifle self-conscious.

      ‘It must be some job,’ she said, her eyes widening with surprise at the same time as relief washed over her. ‘What are you, a permanent handyman there?’

      ‘In a manner of speaking, but I also tinker about with boats. They’re my driving passion. This guy owns a fleet. He keeps me pretty busy.’

      ‘For the moment, you mean,’ she said with a laugh, realising how wrong she had been to mistrust him. ‘Until something else takes your fancy.’

      ‘How well you’re getting to know me,’ he answered, with a laugh of his own.

      ‘Your boss must be fabulously wealthy to live in a place like that.’ It was easily the largest house in the area. She wondered what he was like, this man Bryce did so much work for. Had wealth gone to his head, made him feel he was better than anyone else?

      Bryce’s boat looked like a poor second cousin as he tied up beside the handsome cruiser. Perhaps it wasn’t even his. Perhaps it too belonged to the owner of the house. And he certainly couldn’t be too much of an ogre if he let Bryce live here rent-free.

      He helped her out and as their hands locked Lara felt a surge of desire flood through her. She tried to ignore it, didn’t even snatch away, although she was tempted. Instead she kept her eyes down and prayed Bryce hadn’t noticed her reaction. She suspected that he wouldn’t need much encouragement.

      When he let her go she drew in a painful breath of relief, annoyed with herself for letting such feelings surface. And yet, how could she have stopped them when she hadn’t known they existed? Nothing had happened today to stimulate such desire. Bryce had been the perfect gentleman. So where had these feelings come from?

      She was given no time to dwell on it. Bryce led the way up some steep wooden steps to the converted loft space. The main house itself was on the hillside above them and couldn’t be seen.

      ‘What a lovely spot,’ she declared enthusiastically. ‘You’re so lucky.’ And she deliberately pushed all other thoughts out of her head.

      ‘It suits my purpose,’ he agreed.

      ‘It would suit me, too,’ she informed him. ‘I’d never look for anywhere else to live.’ The walls and ceiling were timber lined; the floor was wooden too with scattered rugs. A counter unit divided the huge living area from the kitchen, and an open staircase led to an apexed, galleried bedroom with a bathroom leading off. Only the bathroom had any privacy. But for one man on his own it was perfect.

      It was definitely a man’s place: simple, clean, uncluttered lines; solid, practical furniture. Everything had its use; nothing was allowed in that didn’t serve a purpose.

      ‘Help yourself to a drink while I see to the boat. I shouldn’t be long.’

      ‘Maybe I could help?’ she suggested hopefully.

      ‘And get those beautiful hands dirty. I don’t think so. This is men’s work.’

      Lara stuck her hands on her hips and looked at him fiercely. ‘Is that chauvinism? You’re forgetting my brothers. I was one of them or I was out. I can do anything a man can do.’

      ‘Really?’ Her outburst sent his lips curving in amusement. ‘I’ll remember that one of these days. For the moment, though, sit down and look beautiful. I shouldn’t be long.’

      But Lara couldn’t relax; she stepped out onto the veranda that ran the width of the loft and looked down at Bryce. Her breath caught in her throat. He’d stripped off his shirt and as he leaned over the engine powerful muscles flexed beneath darkly tanned skin. His shoulders were wide, his hips narrow, and she saw a power and strength that she’d only guessed at. It did strange things to her, knotting muscles and quickening pulses, and it became increasingly clear that Bryce Kellerman was beginning to creep beneath her skin. She turned back into the room, needing to escape while she could still breathe.

      It was a perfect place to live. Why would anyone want to buy a huge house full of rooms that were rarely used? This was spacious enough to entertain and yet small enough to look after with the minimum of fuss.

      Even in the kitchen there was everything to make life easy, a huge fridge and freezer standing side by side, a dishwasher, washing machine, microwave, a double oven with separate hob. It was a dream kitchen. I could work in here, she thought, and never want for anything.

      So engrossed was Lara that she didn’t hear Bryce come up the stairs and enter the apartment, wasn’t even aware of his presence until she turned around—and cannoned into him.

      Instinctively she put her hands out to steady herself and felt firsthand those powerful muscles, felt the hardness and warmth of his body. And again desire flared through her—hot, instant desire. It ripped through her body like an exploding firework.

      Involuntarily she looked up into Bryce’s face—and saw her own raw need mirrored there. Move, before it’s too late, she ordered, before something happens that you’ll regret, but she was incapable even of speaking, much less retreating.

      It felt like for ever that she stood there touching him, her palms burning, her heartbeats racing, her eyes locked into his. And even when she heard him groan, saw his head bow down towards her, she could do nothing about it except wait for the inevitable.

      When, with another groan, one sounding like despair this time, he backed away from her, shot away in fact, it came as a distinct shock. ‘Why did you have to do that?’ he asked harshly.

      Lara felt bemused all of a sudden and shook her head. ‘Do what?’

      ‘Touch me like that, dammit.’

      Bryce’s belly was on fire, his pulses jerked uncontrollably, and it had taken every ounce of his not inconsiderable will-power to back out of the situation that had begun to look so promising.

      He knew that Lara would