Jan Colley - Melting The Icy Tycoon

Conn’s eyes were still on her face. “I don’t know if Baxter told you. I own all of the land here from the turnoff, except that one little piece your house is on.”

Without taking her eyes off him, she murmured, “So, don’t be greedy.”

Conn raised his chin and pointed it at the window. Eve followed the line of his gaze—to her house. In the glow of her porch light, she caught the gleam of her white crushed-shell path. A rush of affection for her tumbledown house swelled her chest. Funny to think she had bonded so quickly with the rising damp, threadbare carpet and creaky floorboards.

She was smiling when she turned back to him, but that faded when she saw his resolute expression. With sudden clarity, she understood exactly his purpose. “You think my house spoils your view.”

“If it was any other room, I could dismiss it,” Conn said. “But not this room.”

Eve frowned. Snippets of the conversation with the previous owner returned. Mr. Baxter had not liked his neighbor one little bit. He gleefully accepted her offer on the house, saying that at least Mr. High and Mighty up the hill wouldn’t get his hands on it.

He wanted to pull down her house? “Not wanting to state the obvious, but my house has been there for sixty or seventy years.”

Conn did not reply.

“If you didn’t like the look of it,” she continued, “why did you build this room so that you could see the house from here?”

He shrugged. “The old man couldn’t live forever.”

“He’s not dead. He’s in a rest home.”

“I am aware of that, Ms. Summers. But it’s academic now, isn’t it?”

She ignored the use of her married name—again. “And everyone’s got their price, right?”

His look sharpened. “What’s yours?”

Under that intense green gaze, Eve struggled to hold her temper. His arrogance eroded all of the attraction she’d felt a few minutes ago.

Moving here had been about giving herself time to decide what the next chapter of her life would bring. She was twenty-eight years old, never a day out of work and now unemployed. Divorced. Childless. She knew without doubt that she needed to put down roots. Come to terms with her regrets, which all seemed to have caught up with her since her sacking. She was actually grateful that the crazy life of a TV presenter was no longer hers. It had never been the real Eve Drumm.

She would not be pushed.

“Mr. Bannerman…” She gave him what she hoped was a sweet smile.

“Conn,” he said smoothly.

“I am sorry if the sight of my house is something you can’t live with, but grown-ups learn they can’t get everything they want all of the time.”

“Grown-ups also learn the value of money, especially money they don’t have to work for.”

“I may be out of work right now but it’s still not for sale,” she said firmly. “I can’t believe you want to pull down my little old house for something so—self-indulgent.”

Conn leaned back, the barest hint of a smile compressing his lips. To her eyes, he looked thoroughly indulged.

“I can afford to be self-indulgent, Eve. Can you?”

“I have a bit to come and go on, thank you.”

“Name your price.”

Her temper stirred and stretched. “You can’t afford it.”

For the first time she saw anger flare in his eyes. Not much, carefully controlled, but he definitely had not learned that he couldn’t get everything he wanted all of the time.

Her heart gave a thump, but it wasn’t fear or even apprehension she felt facing him down. It was excitement, in its purest form. And it was very worrying. “I will be making improvements,” she told him, tossing her head. “In the meantime, get some blinds.” She drained her cup and stood. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Her neighbor stood also, forcing her to look up. His eyes drilled into her face. “You didn’t answer my question. Why is a big-shot TV star interested in living on this side of the island, anyway?”

Eve shot him a look of disdain and stalked to the door. This hadn’t gone well at all. With her back still to him, she said quietly, “I am not a big TV star. I’m just a regular person who wants a bit of peace and quiet.”

She looked over her shoulder. The physical distance between them strengthened her. The distance in his eyes depressed her. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I thought with the two of us being close neighbors and no one else for miles around—well, it would be nice to have someone to call on in an emergency, is all.”

That square jaw rose and he glared down his long nose at her. “The trendy artists and café set in the village will welcome someone like you. Up here the natives are not so friendly.” He paused ominously. “In the meantime, an emergency is acceptable. Discussing my open offer on your house is acceptable. Unannounced visits are not.”

It took all of the willpower Eve possessed not to slam the door in his face. Striding down the hill in the dark, it occurred to her he hadn’t even offered her a lift home. She wouldn’t have accepted, anyway.

“Put him out of your mind,” she muttered to herself. There were bigger, more important things to think about.

She had an election to disrupt and an old enemy to vanquish.

Conn almost groaned aloud when he saw Eve sitting up front, chatting to the purser. He considered turning and walking off the ferry, but this was the last one of the night. It was now or the office couch.

He slipped warily into a seat at the back. The ferry was almost empty. With a bit of luck, he could get off before she saw him when they got to Waiheke. He stretched his long legs out, pulled his coat collar up around his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

He knew he had been arrogant and the passage of a few days was not long enough to let him forget. She’d made an overture of friendship, and he had thrown it back at her. He could still see her lovely face streaked with embarrassment and something worse, as if her eyes were bruised. Had it been so long that he’d forgotten how to act around a woman?

Forgotten how to act around people, period. Conn avoided interaction with people. Even his parents had nearly given up on him. They had been a happy family unit once. Now he was lucky to speak to them once a month.

It used to be so different.

He could hear Eve’s voice the whole way. It was a nice voice, warm, lilting, bright with humor. He pried his eyes open occasionally to watch her. Her hair swung and her hands were never still. The purser had a smile a mile wide.

Finally they docked and Conn did not look back. Of course she would have seen him; there were only a handful of passengers. He got into his car, feeling like a heel, and watched her walk across the road to the taxi rank. The deserted taxi rank.

Damn.

He and Eve were the only people who lived up on the ridge far above the terminal. Being only thirty minutes by ferry to New Zealand’s largest city, Waiheke Island was a popular place to reside—if you could afford it. In the summer, day-trippers and tourists tripled the population, and the many hotels, resorts and hostels were full.

But this was out of season and, except for the ferry commuters, the roads were deserted. There would only be one or two taxis operating at this time of night.

His hands clenched the wheel.

The very thought of driving another person froze his guts. Conn was comfortable enough driving himself—he had taught himself to be. Driving was necessary to living in the twenty-first century.

But the thought of anyone else in the car when he was at the wheel had him straightening and shrinking from an ice-cold trickle of sweat. Because of Rachel.

He breathed in deeply. He could do this. It wasn’t like he never drove anyone these days. But he generally liked to prepare himself. Give himself a pep talk beforehand.

He knew he could not drive past his new neighbor in the dark of a late-autumn night.

Easing the car into gear, he drove across the road, stopped, then leaned over and opened the passenger door.

Eve actually looked like she was going to refuse. She pursed her mouth, giving the empty streets a last look. Conn began to hope she would turn him down. But then she picked up his briefcase from the passenger seat and slid into the car.

“Nice of you.”

He grunted, inhaling something tangy and lemony. They set off sedately. Conn forced himself to relax his knuckles so they would not whiten around the wheel. His knee began to ache. It always did in times of stress. The demolition of that knee in the accident had ruined his rugby-playing career, but that was a small price to pay for the taking of a life.

“Working late?” she asked eventually.

“Business dinner.” The road was dark with dew. Conn hated wet roads. “Don’t you have a car?” he asked curtly.

“It’s in a garage in town. I thought I might get a scooter to have on the island.”

“Not suitable for the gravel road on the ridge.” In the silence that followed, he chided himself for sounding so abrupt.

Eve sighed and leaned her head on the rest.

The engine droned in Conn’s ears. He thought about her talking and laughing with the purser just minutes ago.

“How’s the job hunting going?” he asked, lifting one damp hand off the wheel to wipe over his thigh.

“I landed a job today, actually.”

Conn flashed her a quick glance. She seemed more subdued than elated.

“It’s part-time,” she continued. “Only a few hours a week from home.” She looked at him and her chin tilted up. “It shouldn’t interfere with my renovations.”

His lips compressed. If she was planning renovations, she was not thinking of moving.

She looked tired. He decided to cut her some slack and steer clear of the house subject. “What’s the job?”

Her voice warmed. “Gossip columnist, would you believe? For the New City.”

Conn snapped a look at her, incredulous. “Gossip columnist?”

“It should be fun.” Now she sounded defensive.

“Perfect,” Conn muttered, shaking his head in derision.

There was a long silence and then she sighed gustily. “What is it exactly that you don’t like about me?”

That jolted him. He wondered what she’d do if he told her he liked her so much, he’d bought a women’s magazine about her. “I don’t know you well enough to have formed an opinion.”

“What is it—my politics? My interviewing style?”

He liked her interviewing style, always had. He admired the way she put her subjects at ease, and he had never watched a show of hers that involved the badgering technique employed by so many others. She was enthusiastic and expressive, especially her hands; she used her hands constantly on TV.

A rabbit shot across the road in front of him. Adrenaline flooded his body. It took a superhuman effort not to swerve or pound at the brake pedal.

Conn focused on the road and his breathing. You can do this, you do do it. Every muscle in his body vibrated with tension.

A minute dragged by. When his breathing had calmed, he cleared his throat. “I think you should know, Ms. Summers, I regard the whole media machine as a level below stepping in spit.”

Her cheeks blew out in a little huff of exasperation, and she turned away to stare out the window. Conn knew he would feel bad later, but right now he was too tense to address it.

Finally they approached their turnoff and he swung the car onto the gravel road. His eyes pricked with relief at the sight of her dilapidated letterbox a few hundred meters away. He flexed his aching leg and eased off the gas, indicating he was about to turn into her driveway.