Australian Boss: Diamond Ring Page 9

‘Not tonight.’ Brent’s words were low, but firm. ‘Rest tonight. Tomorrow you can paint.’

  ‘What about your work?’

  ‘I’ve got what I need.’ He tapped his temple. ‘It’s in here. I’ll let it churn in there for a day or two before I try to do anything more with it.’

  And, when it had finished churning, something amazing would come out. His creative ability was something Fiona found extremely…appealing.

  Brent seemed relaxed himself right now. Really relaxed. Maybe that was because they’d done nothing but potter in the kitchen and get settled into their rooms before they stared out of the living room windows and watched the fog roll in until it obscured everything. Maybe Brent had relaxed because she’d stood back and left him to it while he’d organised their foodstuffs into regimented lines in the pantry and refrigerator just so.

  Yet she got the impression he was deliberately allowing himself to do some of those things to prove something to her, rather than simply giving himself the freedom of them because he didn’t need to keep secrets from her any longer.

  ‘We could put on that MP3 disc you brought with you, listen to some music.’ Brent raised his brows. ‘If you want.’

  ‘I would like that. I’ll go get my music. I left it in my room in case I wanted to listen later when I’m going to sleep.’ A little music, a little more relaxing. That would be a…nice way to round off the day.

  A nice safe way.

  She walked the length of the living room and corridor and went into the bedroom she’d been given, with its deep maroon and pale gold curtains. Fiona collected her music and went back out.

  They sat on the sofa and listened and talked in a desultory fashion for the first hour. Made tea and drank it, and then the songs segued into a selection of dance tunes.

  Two things happened. Fiona, who’d just carried their cups to the kitchen and left them there, danced her way back without thinking about what she was doing.

  And Brent, who’d followed her with an opened package of cookies he’d placed away in the pantry cupboard, locked his gaze on the sway of her hips and a wave of male awareness rolled off him and over her.

  ‘I…well…did you want to listen a bit longer or go to bed?’ She uttered the words and then could have bitten her tongue out.

  Oh, good way of putting it, Fiona! Heat blazed in her cheeks as she looked everywhere but at him.

  She sank onto the sofa and lowered her gaze away from his. She didn’t know whether to feel awkward for putting on that unplanned dancing display, or unsettled because her boss appeared to have enjoyed it. Or just purely embarrassed by what she had blurted afterwards.

  ‘What I’d like is to dance with you to some of these tunes.’ His words seemed to surprise him as much as they did her. He cleared his throat and took his seat on the sofa again and pushed his hands into his pockets.

  Fiona understood that action now. If his hands were contained he wouldn’t drum his fingers on things. How much self-control must it take not to do those things that must want so desperately to be done?

  ‘I’d love to dance with you—’

  ‘I don’t often dance—’

  Because of his autism? Did it cause problems with coordination? She hadn’t seen that in other circumstances. And she shouldn’t have made it sound as though she was begging for him to dance with her. ‘You don’t need to—’

  Brent stared at her for a long moment through a screen of silky lashes before he got to his feet and held out his hand.

  Fiona rose and put her hand in his.

  For starters she kept her hand in his while they moved a little to the music.

  It was…nice. A thread of excitement ran beneath the calm and she let that be there and relaxed without meaning to because, in the scheme of things, what more was this than Brent enjoying himself and not seeming stressed and Fiona just wanting to enjoy the moment, too?

  ‘I’m guessing you probably danced with several of the men in your group that night at the club.’ His words were a quiet murmur. ‘Really danced, that is. Not…like this.’

  ‘I’m lucky that group all enjoys dancing with anyone rather than sticking to partners only.’ She did feel lucky—and safe. Accepted for herself. Well, for herself and for lending a friendly ear to all their lovelorn problems.

  But she didn’t want Brent to think this experience was second rate. It was not. ‘I’m enjoying this, too.’ The words were perhaps a little breathless, a little more revealing than they could have been.

  His fingers tightened over hers. That was all, and yet it felt like a complete change from where they’d been, to the promise of something more.

  Brent left her for a moment to close the curtains. A moment later her hand was back in his—both her hands were in his and they were swaying to the music.

  ‘The night I brought your keys to you, I thought you were with the guy on the dance floor.’ As Brent spoke the words, the light overhead flickered once, and again.

  They both glanced up just as the bulb died. The music kept going, but now the living room was nothing but shadows.

  ‘I don’t know if there are any spare light globes here.’ Brent’s words sounded deeper in the near darkness. ‘I don’t remember seeing any in the cupboards.’

  ‘It might make more sense to search for them in the morning, anyway.’ When it was daylight. Fiona went on. ‘It’s ages since I’ve danced in the dark.’ A very long time, and never like this. She worked hard to hide the breathless edge in her voice that had nothing to do with exertion. ‘I used to do it with my girlfriends sometimes in the “silly” teenage years. It was a way to dance however we wanted with nobody to judge or see.’

  ‘Then dance in the dark.’ He drew her closer until his hands were around her waist. ‘And I’ll…be here with you while you do it.’

  Fiona’s arms rose naturally to his shoulders. It felt…right to move closer, to sway in his arms while he held her. She let herself have the moment.

  Brent’s eyes had adapted to the shadowy dimness. Enough that he could read the dreamy quality in Fiona’s eyes and the softening of her mouth that told him they had taken this to a place he shouldn’t have allowed it to go. He knew what he could and could not have with her. This…closeness didn’t come under the ‘could have’ category.

  He should release her—now—and leave the room.

  He didn’t do that.

  He didn’t want to do that and, for once, he was going to give himself what he did want. For a little time, a safe amount of time. Five minutes. Ten at the most. What could that hurt? Just to hold her while she danced? That wasn’t the end of the world. That didn’t have to get them into any trouble at all.

  And if his urge to hold her was more need than want—

  It wasn’t.

  Of course it wasn’t.

  A twitch built at the base of Brent’s neck, and that was something else he didn’t want to think about right now. The manifestation of his condition that made him different from others. Instead, Brent focused his attention on the feel of Fiona’s waist beneath his hands. He held her close and breathed in her scent and felt her softness and they danced. For that period of time Brent set aside his issues and just…was.

  They danced for hours, or at least it felt that way to Fiona. Brent’s gaze held hers in the dimness, unmoving, so focused.

  The music slowed to a dreamy number and Brent took a step closer to her and murmured, ‘You put your whole heart into it when you dance. It’s…beautiful.’

  His hand rose from her waist, up, until he had her hand clasped in his. He lifted her hand from his shoulder, moved it to his chest and cupped it there.

  And, oh, it was the most wonderful feeling to have that one small connection with him and know he’d sought it, that he wanted it. That here in the shadowy room, for just a moment, he wanted this.

  She curled her fingers into his and let the beat of his heart guide her while they swayed to the music.

  Just trust me, Brent. Dance with me and
trust me so you can be all of yourself with me.

  Her heart ached with the need for him to do that. To relax with her and not modify anything about himself. And maybe she ached just as much for her own need.

  ‘You dance beautifully, too.’ She wanted him to pull her even closer so their bodies were flush against each other.

  Yet keeping a little distance held a certain safeness for her because, even though she knew herself, knew her body size and her shape and her height and all the times she’d accepted she wasn’t the build most men found appealing, if she and Brent didn’t get too close then he wouldn’t be too confronted by those things about her this time…

  Oh, what a way to think!

  The song ended and another began. A slow song from a popular romantic movie. Brent tugged her forwards and their bodies brushed and she couldn’t think. Not while they were chest to chest, thigh to thigh and his arms were around her. They danced for real. Two people on a polished board floor in a living room in a house in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, dancing as potential lovers would.

  How could she think of work in this moment? How could she see him as her boss when his arms held her and all she wanted was to lay her head against his shoulder and feel those arms close around her even more securely?

  They danced like that through one song and another and another until Brent finally lifted one hand to the back of her head and spoke. ‘I meant to stop after ten minutes. I didn’t know I could do this at all. I thought—’

  He’d thought he would do something that made him feel uncomfortable or embarrassed?

  ‘I like the way you dance.’ I like the way you do so many things.

  He pressed her cheek to his and swayed with her to the music. ‘I like this with you. You dancing.’

  ‘Us dancing. Together.’ There. She’d said it. Named it. And they were. Body to body, her heart to his heart as the music swept them away and she had what she had wanted. More closeness. A deeper closeness with him.

  Fiona couldn’t say just when they ceased to dance, or whose arms rose first to change the dance to an outright embrace.

  It just happened and it felt right. Fiona didn’t want to think about any of it or all the negative things her family had fed into her mind over the years about her size and her personality.

  When she lifted her gaze to search his eyes, Brent let her see the glitter of need and awareness and attraction in their depths. There was a question, too, and she answered it in the tilt of her chin as his mouth lowered to hers, in the angle of her head to accommodate that melding of lips upon lips.

  He stood perfectly still and kissed her.

  His fingers dug into her back in a kneading motion, and he kissed her.

  The pads of those fingers rubbed across and back over her upper arms beneath the loose sleeves of her shirt, and still he kissed her.

  These were the reactions he worried about, that slipped through his control now, perhaps because he wasn’t controlling himself.

  To Fiona they were pure beauty because they told her he enjoyed touching her. She melted into his embrace and his arms and his mouth and his attention and loved all of it.

  She lifted her hands and cupped his face with her fingers and breathed in the scent of him and wanted his kiss to never end.

  When he drew her closer still, his body unashamedly craving hers, Fiona melted all over again.

  ‘Let me…I need…’ His words were deep, disjointed, hungry.

  Anything. Whatever he wanted…

  ‘Fiona…’ He said her name and buried his face in her hair where it lay against her nape, and he breathed harsh and deep while a wave of tension built in his body, locked his muscles, even as he locked her to him.

  ‘Brent.’ She raised her hands to his back, rubbed them across those locked muscles and tried to soothe the tension from him.

  His neck twitched. Once. Again.

  He sighed and his hands tightened on the balls of her shoulders and he straightened and put distance between their bodies, and dropped his touch away from her.

  Brent’s guard went up, even as she watched him.

  He closed his eyes and took in a single deep inhalation and held it. When his eyes opened again it was to look deep into hers before he spoke.

  ‘You think you can accept my autism, but to you it is nothing more than a few random things that don’t seem so unusual.’

  ‘They’re not so unusual. Lots of people have similar things about them.’

  ‘You haven’t seen what my father saw.’ As though his words had surprised him, Brent stopped abruptly. ‘I have nothing to offer in a…normal relationship. For my brothers I’ve found affection, appreciation, caring, but they have all of me that there is to give. I don’t want to hurt you. That would happen if I…let you close and then couldn’t give you those things. You deserve those things. This isn’t because of you…’

  But wasn’t it? Oh, it was clear Brent believed what he was saying about himself, his capacity to care for others. Given his upbringing, the guardedness she’d seen in his eyes, in his history, Fiona could understand that. It was good that he could see this much of himself, that it went deeper than purely the fact that he had autism.

  But in the end Brent was rejecting Fiona in the same way his father had rejected him. She had no defence against that, other than to walk away from that aspect of him and her and…try not to look back.

  ‘You’re right. We wouldn’t be suited. I can see that now. I’m…grateful you put a stop to things when you did. We’ll both be careful to keep things strictly on a business footing from now on. That’s all we need. And…to stay away from this kind of situation.’

  She whispered goodnight, left him to worry about the stereo system and walked away through the darkness to her room at the end of the corridor.

  At her door, she turned and spoke through that darkness to him one more time, with all her effort focused on how she needed to come across to him, whether she hurt down inside right now or not. ‘I think I’ll be ready to paint in the morning. That’s why we came here, after all. That and for you to study rock formations so you could nut out your new design in your head. Maybe you’ll get a long way with that now, too.’

  In fact, Fiona knew she would be ready to paint in the morning. She was no longer blocked. Because she’d found what she needed. She’d found the emotions that needed to go into her painting.

  She’d found warmth and pleasure and hope and connection.

  Brent had tried to shut them all down, but they hadn’t gone away for her. So she would take them to her art and release them there.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FIONA did get up and paint. She painted her heart onto the canvas and painted Brent’s heart as she perceived it without censoring herself or trying to understand all of what it was she believed she knew of him. Only that he was complex and giving and guarded and restless and still and so many things all rolled into one, and that he had made his choice against intimacy with her, at least believing it was in both their best interests for him to make that choice.

  He had probably saved her from a great deal of hurt further down the track by taking this step now.

  Right. She should feel very resolute at this point.

  So why didn’t she?

  Fiona handed the painting to the clients and they seemed more than pleased. A week passed. Brent spent much of it shut in his office or, when he wasn’t sequestered in there, working from his home and leaving Fiona to her own devices.

  Their personal situation was one thing. A good, workable business relationship was another and currently that relationship was suffering.

  That side of things had to be addressed and Fiona was about to address it.

  Well, if indeed he was actually ignoring her and not simply busy and focused and home surroundings were working best for him at the moment…

  Fiona parked her car, hefted her half-finished painting in her hand and walked the short distance to the front of the MacKay brothers’
warehouse home. She reached for the buzzer.

  As she did so, her mobile phone rang.

  ‘I’ve been working on my ideas for the project we discussed on the phone on Friday.’ Brent’s low voice filled her ear. ‘I have the results spread out at home and I…would like you to take a look. Are you on your way to the office? Could you swing by here first?’

  ‘Well…yes.’ Most of Fiona’s whipped up determination to force Brent past avoiding her evaporated. He’d probably just been busy thinking through project ideas anyway. Rather arrogant of her to put it down to him trying to stay away from her!

  ‘I have a painting started that I want to show you for the same reason.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Actually, I’d decided to stop by with it. I’m standing outside your door now. I was about to press the buzzer.’

  Given she felt a little silly now, she hoped he would assume it was nothing more than enthusiasm for the project that had driven her actions this morning.

  There was a short beat and then Brent said, ‘Good. I’ll come down.’ He let her in moments later and for one brief second his gaze searched her face and seemed to take in all of her at once.

  ‘Come upstairs. I should have brought you in on this last week.’ He kept walking, didn’t meet her gaze as he went on. ‘I’ve needed your input.’

  ‘We need to maintain a good working relationship.’ Fiona forced the tentative edge from her tone. ‘Anything else aside.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He nodded. ‘All the rest…aside.’

  And, that easily, Fiona felt so much better. Even though feeling better because he sounded as unconvinced as she felt wasn’t exactly sensible.

  They climbed the stairs and entered his home together. Brent had the materials for the project spread in a long, neat line from one end of the floor space in his living room to the other.

  He stopped abruptly and ran his hand over the back of his head, frowned and then dropped his hand to his side. ‘It makes the most sense this way.’

  ‘And that’s perfectly fine. It looks the same as the work laid out in your office.’ She said it without inflection and was rewarded when his shoulders lost some of their tension.