By Request Collection 1. Jackie Braun

while Blake signed and passed the pen back. With a smile. The knot was hunger, not jealousy. Good heavens, she couldn’t begin to imagine how many women Blake would have been with over the years, no doubt all as glamorous as Miss Sunshine here.

      Then Deanna smiled at Lissa as if suddenly remembering she was there and handed her the pen. ‘Melissa. Your turn, sweetie.’

      Sweetie. Condescending cow. Lissa stretched her lips into a smile over her clenched teeth as she took the pen and signed.

      Blake dropped her at the Sunshine Plaza with her new personal debit card. The arrangement was that she should catch a cab to the address on the card he’d given her when she was done and they’d meet at five-thirty.

      She headed into the mall to buy her blues away. She refused to get carried away however, knowing she needed to repay whatever she bought at a future date. Sticking to basics, she purchased underwear, toiletries, casual wear, a couple of business suits and skirts and a cream jacket. and, of course, the obligatory little short black dress.

      She couldn’t resist a tiny bottle of her favourite perfume and a couple of CDs—for therapeutic reasons. At an art shop she bought a new sketch pad, charcoals and pencils so that if she arrived at the premises before Blake she could keep busy. If she was busy she wouldn’t think about the boat.

      Fighting the dull pain that had been throbbing away at the back of his skull for the past couple of hours, Blake walked towards the shop. Standing across the road, he watched the lowering sun paint the upper half of the unique building a burnt orange. When he’d bought it, he’d been impressed right off with its central location—near other businesses but not overcrowded—and the interesting canted windows out front. Dodging a steady stream of slow-moving traffic, he let himself in with a takeaway meal, drinks and cutlery in a cardboard box.

      The empty interior still blew him away. A gleaming expanse of polished floorboards flowed like a golden lake to cream walls on all sides. But the feature that really sold it for him was the main source of illumination. Two metal wheel-like structures a good couple of metres in diameter studded with down-lights and suspended at an oblique angle to each other and to the floor.

      The building had a vaulted wooden ceiling and odd-shaped windows. Their topaz and sapphire glass threw out a rich palette of colours, glinting on the brass rail of the spiral staircase to one side, which led to a mezzanine level, which in turn floated above the rear third of the cavernous space.

      It might have reminded him of a church except for the sound of a CD player crackling away with the unmistakeable voice of Robbie Williams from somewhere up those stairs.

      With his box under one arm, he crossed the floor, appreciating the warm ambience. What better venue to launch an interior design business? With his mother’s contacts and Lissa’s obvious expertise, they couldn’t lose.

      But when he reached the top of the staircase he came to a silent halt.

      Lissa was dancing, bare feet moving lightly in time with the song. A pad of some description lay open on the floor beside her. She’d been sketching. something. Didn’t matter—he didn’t even cast his eyes in the pad’s direction. It was the woman he wanted to feast his eyes on.

      The day’s last vermilion beams lasered through the only upstairs window high above them, turning her magnificent crown of hair to flame, painting her limbs gold and leaving the shadowed spaces a dusky purple. He stood, transfixed in the stairwell’s dimness. Held his breath, though he doubted he had any breath left in him to hold.

      She’d changed into a loose white top that dipped low at the front. Beneath it she wore short white shorts leaving her legs bare.

      Those feet moved fast and light, as if she were dancing on air, but her arms moved above her in a graceful arc, her gaze wholly focused at some point in the middle distance, her lips turned up slightly at the corners as if delighting in the moment.

      It was like watching an angel.

      Would she wear that same expression if he were lying beneath her? Would she make love with that wholly focused gaze and delight?

      He shook his head to clear the lusty thoughts. Angels were supposed to be pure asexual beings, weren’t they? And as far as he knew, they didn’t make love. Virginal. But he could have watched for an eternity, absorbed in the beauty of the moment—and her—but she turned and saw him and that golden moment was gone.

      For a breathless heartbeat she watched him with those wide clear eyes. Then she blinked as if coming out of a trance and slowly lowered her arms. Perspiration dewed her skin and her breathing was elevated, drawing his attention to her breasts as they rose and fell. He couldn’t look away.

      ‘Hi.’ He kept his voice casual, breaking the sudden tension.

      She lifted a self-conscious shoulder and colour rose up her neck. ‘Hi.’ Bending so that her hair curtained her face, she flipped the pad shut, creating a draught across the floor, and he caught the fragrance of some exotic perfume she’d not been wearing earlier today. It reminded him of midnight madness on a moonlit beach.

      ‘I found an old CD player someone left behind.’ She moved to it, squatted down and lowered the volume. ‘Have you been standing there long?’

      ‘Not long.’ Not long enough. Too long.

      ‘Dancing’s my stress reliever of choice. And chocolate, of course.’ She helped herself to a four-square row from the half-eaten block beside the player. ‘I guess I got carried away.’

      ‘You don’t share?’

      ‘Sure, sorry.’ She grabbed the bar, held it out. ‘Help yourself.’

      ‘Not the chocolate.’ He gestured towards the pad. ‘Your art or whatever you were sketching there.’

      ‘Ideas for your living room. But you don’t get to see them until I’m done.’

      With the tip of her tongue, she licked a small fleck of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. He watched her, wishing he could’ve been the one to sample that sweet taste on her mouth. Then she wiped the spot with a finger for good measure and said, ‘What have you got there?’

      He’d forgotten all about the box. He withdrew the aromatic bag, held it up. ‘I thought you might be hungry but I see you’re already well supplied.’

      She shook her head. ‘Chocolate doesn’t count. I’m starving. And that, whatever it is, smells delicious. Let me guess.’ Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly. ‘Mmm … Indian.’

      ‘Hope you like butter chicken. It’s full of calories and comes with jasmine rice and assorted delights.’

      ‘Ooh, yes. Hand it over.’

      She reached for it but he lifted it higher. ‘Not quite yet.’

      She did the pout, her hands on her hips, but a glimmer of a smile teased the edges of her mouth. ‘Hey, that’s just mean.’

      ‘First, answer a question for me. Earlier today you said you hated me. Is that still true?’

      ‘I … No.’ The tiny smile vanished and she frowned. ‘Did I say that? I don’t remember saying that. Of course I don’t hate you.’

      ‘Good. I don’t hate you either.’

      ‘Even though I’ve been such an idiot?’

      ‘You’re n—’

      ‘But I am. I hold myself responsible for the mess I’m in and … and the trouble I’ve caused you.’

      ‘And now we’ll move on.’ He mentally kicked himself for bringing up this morning’s disaster and wiping away her smile just because he wanted some sort of petty reassurance. What the hell was wrong with him?

      ‘That’s a relief, since we just signed an agreement to work together, but can we have the rest of this conversation after we’ve eaten?’

      He moved closer