Fixed Up Page 2

  He turned back to the home decorating department but almost immediately a new distraction presented itself. Now this was love. He could almost forget about Her Royal Feistiness with this little beauty in front of him. Luke stood for a full five minutes at the end of the aisle gazing in open admiration at the latest object of his affections: a gleaming, stainless steel monster of an outdoor grill. He ran his hand over the lid, lifting it up and pulling open the woodchip smoker drawer to examine it more closely. He could almost smell the steaks, hear the sizzle. With summer holidays just around the corner this baby would be the perfect new toy for his deck.

  The sound of high heels tapping on concrete caught his attention and he looked up to see that woman again. A jolt shot through him. He watched with renewed hope as she made her way down the aisle towards him. She walked slowly, her movements neat and precise. Her shiny dark hair bounced across her shoulders, moving in time to her swaying hips. Her skirt took up the same swinging rhythm, giving an overall impression of such smooth momentum that when she stopped, pausing to pick up a fat, white candle, Luke was taken by surprise.

  Holding it close to her small, upturned nose, he saw her eyes close in a sort of rapture as she breathed deeply, once, twice, three times. Something stirred inside him at the sight of dark eyelashes fluttering against creamy-skinned cheeks, her expression of bliss. She drew one more breath before replacing the candle carefully on the shelf.

  Seemingly oblivious to her surroundings she resumed her walk. Pretty pink lips moved in a silent soliloquy as she focused on a piece of paper in her hand. Then she was right there, walking past him and his trolley.

  As if he were the Invisible Man.

  ‘Hi again,’ he said, scrambling into her path.

  She jumped before recognising him. She thrust her hands on her small hips, adopting a defensive stance as she looked up at him.

  ‘Holy cow, they’re coming out of the woodwork today,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The fiends and the nutters.’ She gave him the once-over.

  ‘What? You think I’m a weirdo too?’ Luke couldn’t help being offended. Not just by her words, but by the wary look she shot him. ‘I’m as boringly normal as it gets,’ he said. ‘You’re the one talking to yourself.’

  A pink flush swept across her face, right to the tips of her perfect ears.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That was rude. Again. It’s been a crazy day.’ Her finger circled her head in the universal sign for loco. ‘Though if you’re so normal, why is your trolley overflowing with all that random stuff? It looks like you’re renovating in Crazy Town.’

  How true. Luke snorted back a laugh. ‘I had a sneaking suspicion it looked like it’d been put together by a blind person.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Yup. Your sneaking suspicion was spot on. And that floral is horrendous. It’s a throwback from the seventies. Don’t do it to yourself.’

  Luke picked up the questionable floral again. ‘It’s not for me, it’s for my mother. She loves flowers.’

  ‘Real ones, yes, not posies puked onto her wall.’

  Luke laughed again. This woman was too cute. And frighteningly honest.

  She took a hesitant step forward and pointed at the cart. ‘May I?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, watching as she pulled another sample from his trolley.

  ‘Now this I like.’ She held up a silvery damask, her hands running over it like a caress. ‘This would be stunning for a bedroom, or even a dining room. What room is she decorating?’

  ‘Good question. I haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘You haven’t decided yet?’ The woman’s tone changed a little. ‘Is your mother incapacitated or something?’

  ‘No! She’s great.’ He pushed away the habitual pang of guilt, which resurfaced at the thought of his mother. ‘Fantastic for her age.’

  ‘Which would be ninety-seven, judging from this particular colour choice.’ She held up a couple of colour charts. ‘Or perhaps reliving her Disney princess phase with this one?’

  ‘Damn. I’ve really got it wrong, haven’t I?’ Thoroughly bemused, Luke ran his fingers through his hair.

  The woman nodded again as she gazed up at him. ‘Why isn’t your mother here making her own suggestions? I’m sure she knows her own likes and dislikes. Women usually do, you know.’

  Luke had no doubt this particular woman knew exactly what she liked. And clearly wouldn’t be afraid to say it. His interest in her amped up another notch. She might be petite, but what she lacked in stature she made up in grit and fire.

  And her voice was as sexy as all hell. Low and slightly throaty. It suited her, he thought. She looked like a good girl, a bit buttoned up, but then she opened her mouth. He wanted to keep her talking.

  But she looked at her wrist and frowned. ‘I have to go,’ she said, her tone stern again. ‘Good luck. My best advice would be to actually get your mother involved in the redecorating. Not too unreasonable, given she has to live with the results.’ And with that, she took off.

  Yowza. Luke released an appreciative whistle as he watched her disappear around the corner for the second time in ten minutes. That sexy schoolmistress thing she had going was a knockout. With a stab of disappointment, he realised he should’ve asked her name. He should’ve found out something about her. She intrigued him. And she’d slipped through his fingers.

  Twice.

  He ditched the trolley and raced after her. He knew he only had a slim chance but he had to try. He could see her up ahead. She walked quickly, bouncing and swaying as she moved towards the entrance to the King of the Castle’s offices. Still in the building. He tried to catch her but she gave the heavy door a vigorous push and disappeared from sight.

  Luke considered following, but the thought of her adding ‘stalker’ to the list of weirdoes she’d encountered today was downright degrading. Notching this one up as a lost opportunity he drifted back to the shopping cart, a sense of disappointment washing over him.

  The cart stood exactly where he’d left it. He poked about at the contents, sighed, and continued his way towards the home decorating department. These samples wouldn’t do. Whatever-her-name was right about that, even if she had it wrong about his mother; she had no need to set foot in a store like this as long as Luke could do it for her. He’d empty the trolley and start again.

  So much for in and out.

  ***

  Harper stepped into the reception area of King of the Castle, her skinny heel catching slightly as she adjusted from concrete floor to plush carpet. She approached the high desk, gripping her bag hard to stop her hand shaking, and peered over. There was no one there.

  Odd.

  Harper checked her watch. She’d timed it perfectly despite all the distractions back in the store and so she stood and waited for the receptionist to return.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  The minutes ticked by. Harper could feel her eye twitching again and she fought the urge to touch it. She sat down on one of the large reception couches, sinking into the squashy cushion. Help, she thought. I’m being sucked into the couch. She pulled herself up and perched on the edge, her knees firmly tucked together and her back straight. She noticed she’d scuffed one of her shoes and kicked her foot out a little to examine the damage. This is what happens when your silly shoes can’t hack the pace of life.

  She fought the temptation to get her notes back out of her bag. Really, she didn’t need them after all the research she’d done on Cliff King and his mega-franchise. Blindfolded and standing on her head she could have recited it all. Harper knew you didn’t waste opportunities like this by not doing your homework. She had one shot and she sure as hell wasn’t going to stuff it up.

  She looked at her watch for the millionth time. Crap. She had to let someone know she’d arrived or her bacon would be fried. She was officially late now. Her fingers fiddled with her watch and her eyes flicked between the double doors leading back to the stor
e and a subtle smoked-glass door just beyond the reception area.

  The door that led to Mr King and her hopes for the future.

  She blew out a couple of quick breaths. Someone would be here soon, surely? To distract herself she pulled a large folder from her bag and flicked through, stroking her hands across the glossy printed sheets. Looking at her new brochures, business cards and marketing materials helped restore her confidence. DIY Divas was a great business. She knew what she was doing and why she was doing it. Mr King would see this and he would jump at the chance to have her teach her women-only DIY classes in store.

  And the classes would lead to her business expanding; more clients, better premises and a means to repay her business start-up loan.

  Hell, she could probably take over the world—if the friggin’ receptionist ever came back.

  It was getting ridiculous. Harper stood up and stalked over to the glass door. She glared at it and then pushed through into the inner sanctum of the Castle. Okay, so maybe inner sanctum wasn’t quite the right description for the rather ordinary-looking office beyond the fancy reception, but at least there were people present.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the person in the closest workstation. An older woman looked up from her keyboard and smiled.

  ‘I have an appointment with Mr King. There isn’t anyone in reception,’ said Harper. ‘Would you please let him know I’m here?’

  ‘Oh.’ The woman looked confused. ‘I can’t do that. Mr King isn’t in.’

  ‘He must be. I have an appointment.’ Harper could feel the sweat breaking out under her arms. She ordered herself to hold it together. ‘There must be a mistake. I definitely had a meeting scheduled with Mr King, only it was meant to be ten minutes ago.’ Her words came out a bit gurgly, like too much saliva filled her mouth. She swallowed hard. How could this be happening? She’d scheduled this meeting two weeks ago. She’d done nothing but plan for it since.

  To say all her eggs teetered in one basket was an absolute understatement.

  She had to see Cliff King. Everything depended on it.

  But the woman stood up and led Harper back to the smoked-glass door. ‘I’m so sorry, dear, you’ll have to reschedule. Mr King left the office already; he’s down at the polo club. There’s an international match on and then a polo club dinner. He won’t be back today.’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’ Harper stood stock still. ‘He’s at a polo match?’

  ‘Yes, lucky man. He’s in a private marquee swilling champagne. Something we’d all rather be doing, I’m sure. Call back tomorrow and reschedule.’

  And with a firm but polite smile, she nudged Harper through the door and back out to the empty reception area.

  ***

  Luke grabbed some tie-downs from the cab of his ute and fiddled with the ratchets. The box containing his new outdoor grill had been loaded onto the back of his truck and as soon as he had his new baby safely fixed to the vehicle he planned to drive to the butcher and purchase the biggest, juiciest steaks he could get.

  He tested the hooks were fastened properly and ratcheted the ties another couple of cranks tighter. Satisfied the box wouldn’t budge, he was about to pull out of his parking spot when he saw Her. Again. Stomping out of King of the Castle.

  His heart beat a little faster. He hadn’t met a woman who piqued his interest for a long time and this one had him firing on all cylinders.

  But he’d wasted enough precious time already and his construction company didn’t run itself. He should be back at work, not chasing pretty girls around a car park. Only—the way she moved, the set of her shoulders, gave the impression something was wrong. He’d saved her life and now he was responsible for her.

  With a hefty sigh he told himself that was complete nonsense. He should drive away. Fast.

  Instead, summoning his nerves of steel, he switched the engine off. Intent only on assuring himself she was okay, he stepped out of the truck, slammed the door and strode across the car park towards her.

  She stopped next to a rumpty-looking station wagon and fossicked in her large bag. Luke knew his instincts were good; something was up, but she seemed more pissed off now. She swore as she dumped her bag on the ground to free up both hands to search its contents, a low husky profanity that made his mouth dry and his hands sweat.

  This was it. Do, but most probably die.

  ‘Hi,’ he said to the back of her head. ‘Finished your shopping now?’

  Slowly she straightened. She turned, skewering him with a look that said she’d happily put him on a spit and roast him.

  Luke blundered on. ‘Look, I know you don’t know me from Adam, but I saw you leaving the store and I thought you looked upset. I wanted to check you were okay, that the spawn of Satan hadn’t struck again.’

  She gazed at him with a heavy sigh. ‘Are you for real?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I mean, do you always feel the need to interfere in the business of total strangers?’

  Luke could feel his chance of success sliding from a hopeful twenty per cent to a negligible two per cent. ‘Not all strangers, just the ones who risk death on a daily basis. And you looked upset. I have sisters—I’d be pretty pissed off if something upset them and nobody stopped to help.’ He took a deep breath, mentally crossing his fingers behind his back. ‘If we introduce ourselves we won’t be strangers.’ He took a long stride in her direction and stuck out his hand, hoping like hell for a dry palm. ‘I’m Luke Colton.’ She didn’t respond. After an awkward moment he dropped his hand, determined not to be put off. But she did look less like she wanted to roast him.

  For about two seconds.

  She spoke, an edge of bitterness to her throaty purr. ‘I don’t need rescuing again, thank you. I’m angry, not upset, and unless you can lure Cliff King back from his poncy polo match, you can’t do anything to help.’

  Luke wondered what her relationship with Cliff King was. ‘I would’ve thought Cliff was a little old for you,’ he said, trying to act nonchalant.

  ‘What?—Ooh, yuck.’ She pulled a face. ‘Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any creepier.’ Her husky voice dropped a tone, seducing his senses with a burning hold.

  For a moment he watched as she resumed searching her bag. Her head bent low and tendrils of warm, brown hair brushed her soft cheek like the touch of a hand.

  He thrust his own hands in his pockets, his fingers curled into fists. Another moment passed. He loitered longer than his comfort zone allowed and then, with a harsh breath, he took a step back. Time to let her go. ‘Okay then, I’m glad you’re—okay,’ he said in parting.

  She glanced up, tucking her hair back. Serious-looking brown eyes gave him a once-over so intense it could’ve been a physical touch. His hopes flared again and he searched eagerly for a sign she was as interested in him as he was in her.

  And maybe it was there. Right there, in the quizzical angle of her head, in that tempting nibble of her plump lower lip.

  But her words contradicted the nibble, the effect like a bucket of icy water down the back of his overheated neck.

  ‘Thanks, but I just want to forget this day ever happened,’ she said. She opened the car door and leapt into the driver’s seat. In the confusion of juggling her keys and her bag, Luke saw a large folder hit the ground, spilling a few coloured papers.

  ‘Hey,’ he called, but she backed at speed out of the car park.

  Luke stood there, watching her beat-up station wagon vanish out of sight. He squatted down, picked up the folder and flicked through it.

  He crinkled his eyes, deep in thought. His heart, doused in cold water only minutes earlier, started beating a little warmer. In his hand he held marketing brochures for a company called DIY Divas. He turned one over to examine a studio portrait of an attractive woman with soft-looking brown hair and a small, upturned nose. She sported a killer smile he’d never seen before, but the gleam in her eyes was unmistakeable.

  He wanted to make her smile. He wanted to kn
ow if her laugh sounded as sexy as her voice. She fascinated him. Even her picture had the power to seduce him—or reduce him to a dribbling idiot. He needed to see her again.

  His eyes perused the page, speed-reading for details.

  Phone, web, email, Facebook, Twitter. The ways to get hold of the owner and director of DIY Divas were numerous.

  Luke smiled. Gotcha, Harper Cassidy.

  Chapter 3

  Luke Colton. Even his name intoxicated her. Harper drove like the clappers, determined to put a great distance between herself and the sexiest man she’d ever met. She couldn’t allow herself any distractions; in particular big friendly distractions wearing faded jeans and work boots. The fact that he was trying to chat her up in a home depot store screamed unsuitability.

  It might have been the way some women operated—her mother, for one—but Harper was cut from less tacky cloth. At least she tried to be. She’d been abandoned too much as a child to put up with it as an adult, too.

  She made the short drive home without really noticing her surroundings. On auto-pilot she parked in her usual spot beneath the half-dead eucalyptus tree in her driveway, reminding herself again she needed to cut it down, then ran up the porch steps.

  She raced inside the house. It wasn’t much, but it was all hers. Every last borer-choked plank of it. Her very own DIY adventure.

  Closing the door on the outside world, Harper allowed herself a mini-tantrum. First one stiletto shoe, then another, flew down the hallway. They smacked into the wall and fell uselessly to the ground. Not nearly satisfying enough to make up for Cliff King’s rude and arrogant behaviour.

  How could he think her so unimportant, so irrelevant, that he didn’t even bother to cancel their appointment?

  Her stomach clenched. All that time and effort she’d wasted planning for the meeting. Money wasted on business cards, brochures, new make-up. She’d have been better off using that money to pay the hire fee for the room at the community centre where she hosted her classes. She’d been thinking about new signage. She could’ve ordered that instead.