Unlocking The Millionaire's Heart. Bella Bucannon

gulp of air was followed by a short huff—an unsuccessful attempt at a laugh. ‘I don’t go there very often. They have full social lives, and I have my work and commitments.’

      It was an addition to her last statement, spoken as if those few special moments hadn’t happened.

      She glanced towards the city, took a step that way, and his regret was heightened at seeing her effort to regain composure.

      He fell into step beside her, leaving extra space between them and taking up the conversation where she’d finished.

      ‘In the Adelaide Hills? Apart from the firefighting trip, the only time I’ve been to South Australia was in my teens, when my family holidayed on the South Coast. Great beaches and surfing. My brother Sam, who’s with the air force at Edinburgh, reckons it’s a cool place to be stationed.’

      ‘I like it. Oh!’

      She gasped and he turned his head in time to see a speedboat and a yacht come close to colliding.

      ‘Does that qualify as extreme?’ he asked as the vessels swung away from each other.

      ‘Only the attitude of whoever’s steering the motorboat.’

      ‘If the yacht’s skipper reports him he’s in trouble. If not, I hope he’s had a sobering scare.’

      She didn’t reply, and he let the conversation lapse, thinking about their near-kiss and cursing himself for his moment of weakness. It might have screwed up any possible co-writing deal, and that was what this was about.

      He presumed Jemma was a stay-at-home girl—painting and writing syrupy love stories, never taking any chances outside her comfort zone. But, no, not quite. It took guts and willpower to send a manuscript to a stranger for assessment and possible negative feedback.

      Submitting had been his intention from the moment the characters and plot had first formed in his head. How long had Jemma dithered before pressing ‘send’? And why this strong attraction when there were gulfs of difference between them?

      * * *

      Jemma opted for a café with outdoor seating near the quay. She ordered a banana and caramel ice cream sundae and a glass of water—well-earned by all the walking she’d done today. Nate opted for sultana cake and coffee.

      Having him hold the seat she chose, and adjust the umbrella to shade her, was flattering and she thanked him.

      ‘My pleasure.’

      He sat on her left, shuffled along until their knees bumped, then pulled back. The contact sent a tremor up her leg, spreading to her spine. It didn’t seem to affect him at all.

      He’d told her he’d run over the bridge after lunch, which explained his damp hair when they’d met, and his change of clothes. It also signified that he was staying somewhere on the North Shore. With friends? A girlfriend? She didn’t want or need to know, but would be amazed if there wasn’t one. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, although... Not going there—it implied personal interest.

      ‘You run regularly? Apart from the bushfire training?’ An acceptable question as he’d initiated the topic.

      ‘I like to run or swim every day—sometimes both. There are some great hiking tracks near my home.’

      His phone rang. He turned his head and held it to his left ear. She averted her gaze to allow him privacy, concentrating on the passing pedestrians.

      ‘Hi, Dave.’ He listened for a while. ‘No, we’re good. Tess will be there Saturday night, so we’ll arrange it then.’ A shorter pause, then he said goodbye and tapped her arm.

      One side of his lips quirked as he peered over her shoulder ‘This looks positively evil, Jemma.

      * * *

      Leaning away to allow her dessert to be placed on the table, Jemma felt her eyes widen at its size. And Nate apparently found her dilemma amusing.

      She flashed him a fake warning glare and then, with a honeyed tone, thanked the waitress and asked, ‘Could we please have an extra spoon for sharing?’

      ‘Of course. I’ll bring one out.’ She set Nate’s plate in front of him and walked away.

      ‘Don’t worry about your figure, Nate, you can always run over the bridge again.’

      Her laughter slipped back into her throat as their eyes locked and the amusement in his slowly morphed into something deeper. Something perplexed and conflicted. Or was she transferring her own feelings?

      He blinked, and she found herself facing the sombre features he’d shown at their initial introduction, as if he’d reverted to his distrust of her. How could he switch so fast? And why?

      * * *

      Nate’s jaw tightened and his stomach clenched as Jemma’s mirth abated and her eyes softened and glowed, mesmerising him. He’d allowed his guard to slip, had forgotten how easily a woman could deceive with her inviting glances and enticing lips.

      He’d paid a life-changing price once, and wouldn’t ever risk the pain and humiliation again. This relationship must be kept casual and friendly—nothing more. Proximity had to be the reason for the desire Jemma aroused, and that would end when she returned home.

      ‘Water, a long black and another dessert spoon. Enjoy.’

      The waitress broke the spell and was gone in the time it took him to refocus. Jemma bent over as she picked up a spoon, her long hair falling forward to hide her face. She didn’t brush it away.

      They needed to set ground rules and fix boundaries for their own protection. Nate reached across the table and covered the hand dipping to scoop up ice-cream. Ignoring its trembling, he held on until she raised her head, her expression wary.

      ‘Trust me, Jemma, I don’t want you to have any regrets for the decisions either of us make.’

      Her lips parted and her eyelids fell, concealing her emotions, and her chest rose as she breathed in, drawing his attention, threatening his resolve. Her fingers fisted under his, and he became aware of his thumb caressing her knuckle.

      Then, with a sudden loosening of her fingers, a deep intake of air and a challenging message in her dark blue eyes, she replied in a clear, steady tone, ‘I won’t commit unless I understand exactly what’s required of me, and I’m sure I can deliver to your satisfaction.’

      Sensation akin to a lightning bolt shot through him at her ambiguous statement. Innocent or deliberate, it created mental images that would keep him awake tonight. Or give him memorable dreams.

      He released her hand, tore open two sugar sachets and stirred sugar into his coffee, his mind searching for a topic to discuss that would avoid personal revelation.

      ‘How do you rate a visit to Sydney against Melbourne?’

      Her hand froze centimetres from her parted lips and her eyes grew bigger, highlighting their colour. Hell, she was alluring—even when caught unawares. And she was smart, cottoning on to his diversionary tactic in an instant.

      ‘That depends on the season and the reason for going there.’

      A discussion followed, with inputs about Adelaide from Jemma, centred on the city’s central attractions and the entertainment value of international musical celebrities.

      Nate ate the remainder of her sundae without mentioning that he wasn’t fond of such sweet offerings. Nor did he protest when she checked her watch and said she needed to leave. He insisted on escorting her to the station, told her he’d be in touch, and shook her hand for slightly longer and with slightly more pressure than convention dictated.

      As he climbed the steps up to the bridge he remembered her gentle goad. Setting a steady-paced jog, he recalled their meetings, her reactions to the things he’d said and done and his own to her.

      A seagull flew past, soaring upward, and he followed its flight