RYAN hadn’t exaggerated when he’d warned Simone that his flat was nothing flash. As she stepped out of her taxi, she saw that he lived on the ground floor of an ancient terrace house, tucked away in a back street, and the general impression from the outside was of rusting gutters, crumbling bricks and peeling paint. For the son of a billionaire it was very modest indeed. Puzzling…
But when the front door opened, she was met by heavenly cooking smells. And Ryan looked good enough to eat.
He was wearing well worn and faded denim jeans, riding low over his lean hips, and an open-necked, casual white shirt. His sleeves were rolled back and revealed muscular forearms. And his suntan.
But it was his eyes that did the most damage. Beneath his sun-streaked hair, Ryan’s eyes were warm brown with butterscotch highlights and they shone with intelligence and warmth. If a girl wasn’t careful she could get very, very lost in them.
He smiled and said, “Wow, you look wonderful.”
She was pleased, but tried not to show it, shook his hand with exceptional formality and stepped over his threshold into a tiny vestibule decorated with an ageing spotted mirror and a crooked row of hooks.
Three more steps brought her into a large room that was Ryan’s kitchen, dining and living room combined. A surfboard and a snowboard were propped in the far corner and a battered old desk held a laptop and a scattering of news clippings, copy paper, opened mail and surfing magazines. An overflowing cardboard box on the floor appeared to serve as his filing cabinet.
Well, OK, jeans might have been a better choice.
Two chairs were drawn up to a small table covered with a simple length of unhemmed blue batik cloth and the table was set with red china, crystal wineglasses and white linen napkins. In the table’s centre a lighted candle sat stoutly on a terracotta saucer and the centrepiece was completed by a casual scattering of pink and white frangipani flowers.
Simone stared at the flowers, disconcerted. Ryan had gone to the trouble of setting a pretty table.
She glanced beyond the table to a line of timber-framed casement windows opened wide to welcome the thick black night and she drew a deep breath. The air was warm and fragrant with frangipani and curry spices, urging her to relax and enjoy this summer evening. But she couldn’t. She mustn’t. She still didn’t know if she could totally trust this man.
Ryan turned to the pots simmering on the stove and she watched him adjust the heat.
“So, you weren’t lying when you said you could cook curry.”
He smiled and his broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “I have a limited repertoire. Hope you like lamb korma.”
“If it tastes as good as it smells…” Arms folded cautiously across her chest, she took a couple of steps closer to the stove. “Actually, it smells very good. Very authentic. Did you really make this?”
His eyebrows lifted. “What kind of a question is that?”
“Well, I—”
“Are you suggesting I bought take-away and dumped it on my stove?”
“I have friends who pull that trick all the time. I’ve done it once or twice myself,” she added as she realised she’d dented his male ego.
She offered him a smile, but quickly dropped her gaze. This man was way too distracting. Random smiles were dangerous. “We’ve important things to discuss, so why don’t we get started?”
“In a minute. Let me get you a drink. Would you like some wine? I’ve rather a good white here.” He opened the refrigerator door. “Or would you prefer beer?”
“Do you have a soft drink or mineral water?”
His smile turned quizzical. “You don’t think something stronger will help you to relax?”
“I’m relaxed.” Unfortunately, this came out just a little too snappily. “I warned you this isn’t a social call, Ryan.”
“Simone, chill.”
She had no intention of chilling.
He picked up a little bowl of pistachio nuts. “Here, put these on the coffee table.”
She was glad to have something to do but, as she took the nuts, Ryan’s warm fingers brushed hers and she almost dropped the bowl.
What was the matter with her?
His eyes twinkled and she wondered if he’d sensed her reaction. “Grab a seat,” he said. “I’ll get our drinks and join you.”
Her heart was as agitated as a wild animal in a trap as she sat in a cane chair—a very deep chair piled with soft navy blue and lime striped cushions that invited her to sink back and relax. She sat well forward, knees together, ankles crossed. Sedateness incorporated.
Ryan poured a tall glass of sparkling mineral water, added ice and selected a beer for himself—a Chinese beer, she was surprised to see, and she wondered if he’d bought it especially, because of her recent trip.
He set his beer on the coffee table and handed her the mineral water and this time she was very careful to make sure that her fingers and his didn’t touch.
He lowered his length into the chair opposite her, and raised his glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
Ryan relaxed back, with his long legs stretched under the coffee table between them. Simone sat a little straighter.
“I guess we should get started,” she said, eyeing him dourly.
“First you have to promise not to run away this time. At least not before you’ve tasted the food.”
Simone gulped. She felt embarrassed to remember the way she’d run away from the Jade Dragon. “Don’t worry,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “I wouldn’t run away without tasting this food. Not after you’ve gone to so much trouble.”
“That’s good to know.”
She looked up and saw Ryan’s brown eyes lit by a soft glow and she sent her bones a sharp warning: no melting.
“By the way,” he said, pointing to a bookcase made from planks of unpainted wood held in place with bricks. “That’s where your diary sat for the whole time it was in my possession. It was on that shelf, gathering dust. I flipped through a few random pages, to see if I could identify the owner, but I swear I didn’t read it. As a matter of fact, on the day you lost it I chased your taxi halfway across Sydney.”
“Really?”
“My driver pulled out all the stops. We might have caught you if it wasn’t raining.”
It was some time before Simone closed her mouth. And then she nodded, prepared to admit that Ryan might be telling her the truth. But she felt more confused than ever.
How could she continue to think of this man as her enemy when he disarmed her at every turn?
In spite of everything, she was feeling drawn to him. And impossibly curious. Why would Jordan Tanner’s son hide away in such a modest dwelling? In virtual obscurity. She had to find out more about him.
“You were going to convince me that I shouldn’t feature you in City Girl’s bachelor series. I presume that means you’d like to tell me about your family?”
“Off the record?”
“Of course, Ryan.”
He watched her thoughtfully for a moment or two and then seemed to come to a decision. “Well, I’m sure you’ve found out a lot about my father when you did your research, but what did you learn about my mother?”
His mother? “Nothing, actually.” Simone felt a prickle of alarm. Talk of mothers almost always made her nervous.
Ryan dropped his gaze, tapped the arm of his chair with his index finger. “My mother’s name was Catherine Banning.”
Simone frowned, trying to remember where she’d heard that name.
“She had a short but brilliant career as an artist.”
“Oh, yes, now I remember. Catherine Banning painted lovely interiors.”
Ryan nodded. “And she loved music and books too. Anything in the arts, actually. Apparently I take after her as far as the books are concerned. JD and my brother have no time for books, unless they’re cash books.”
“So did you grow up feeling as if you were a square peg in a round hole?”
“As far as my family were concerned—always. He let out a long breath. “My mother died giving birth to me.”
There was a fierce, fleeting rearrangement of his features as he tried for a grin and missed. “JD lost Catherine and got me instead. It wasn’t a very fair exchange.”
Simone saw the flash of raw pain in Ryan’s eyes and immediately stopped worrying about herself.
“I’m sure that’s not how your father felt.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s exactly how he felt.” Ryan thumped the arm of the chair. Then he shrugged and cracked a crooked smile. “Fate made a mistake, taking away the love of JD’s life and leaving me as the booby prize.”
Simone gasped. “Your father told you that?”
“Not those words precisely. But the message was clear.”
Ryan was pretending that he wasn’t hurt. He’d probably been pretending all his life. He’d grown up feeling that he’d caused his mother’s death. Simone knew only too well how truly awful that felt. But Ryan had felt alienated from his father and brother too. So lonely.
She knew that learning even one or two personal details about someone could make a huge difference to how you viewed them. But now, as she sat in Ryan’s modest flat and listened to his story, the inescapable truth of that fact sank in. Suddenly it was impossible to think of Ryan as her enemy.
To her surprise, she wanted to leap out of her chair, to throw her arms around him, wanted to give him the hug his mother had never been able to give him.
Eyes stinging, she picked up her glass instead. Holding it in two hands, she said, “If City Girl published your bachelor story and linked it to your famous family, we’d be rubbing salt in a very raw wound, wouldn’t we?”
Ryan nodded.
There was an awkward pause and Simone wondered if he would expect a similar disclosure from her.
Her panic returned. A fierce slash of fear. She tried to ignore it and took a handful of pistachio nuts from the bowl, popped one in her mouth. “If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about my family,” she said, then crunched it.
“That’s cool.” Ryan smiled slowly. And then, after a thoughtful pause, “You still don’t get it, do you, Simone? I’m not trying to find out what’s in your diary. Sure, I’m curious, but I have no intention of pressing you for details. I don’t plan to publish anything about you.”
“I believe you,” she said softly.
It was true. She did believe Ryan. Wow! It felt so good.
She hadn’t realised how tense she’d been until that moment. Relief sent her sinking back into the cushions and she almost spilled her drink again. Quickly she set it back on the table.
She suppressed an urge to smile back at him. “And I assume this means you won’t print anything about Belle or Claire either.”
“Who are they?”
“They’re girls I met on the Himalayan cycling trip.”
“Oh, yeah. I think you mentioned them in the article. No, of course I won’t write about them. I can’t, can I? I don’t have a clue.”
“Well, that—that’s wonderful. I’m very grateful, Ryan.”
He jumped to his feet and sent her a priceless smile. “And now that’s settled, it must be time to eat. Can’t let the rice boil dry.”
Simone nodded mutely, but she didn’t move. She felt rather stunned. Ryan had brought their business to a close before they’d even eaten.
If reaching this point was so simple, why hadn’t it happened yesterday in her office?
Looking about her at the table setting and the candle, smelling the wonderful aromas from the kitchen, she knew the answer.
This was, most definitely, not a business meeting.
From the stove, Ryan called, “Could you give me a hand to put things on the table?”
She looked at the table, smelled the fragrant curry, saw Ryan in the kitchen—all broad shoulders and suntan and sexy jeans.
Oh, man, Simone. Do you really know what you’re getting into here?
Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter. Taking a deep breath, she stood and crossed to the kitchen.
Ryan was draining the steaming rice and she saw that it was fluffy and perfect—a result she fluked on very rare occasions.
“If you put this rice on the table,” he said, “I’ll bring the rest.”
“Sure.”
This time she forgot to keep her fingers out of the way as he handed her the bowl and the warmth of his skin sent a flash of fire zinging up her arm. Her susceptibility to this man was alarming.
Ryan became remarkably efficient, transferring the curry into an earthenware serving bowl, retrieving poppadams from the oven where they’d been keeping warm, and a cucumber and rocket salad from the fridge. Then he held up a bottle of wine.
“You’ll have a little of this with your meal, won’t you?”
Her eyes widened as she glanced at the label. It was an excellent vintage.
“Thank you.”
He flicked off the kitchen light. “So we can’t see the cooking mess.” He gave her another of his lethal smiles.
The room became a different place, almost a cave, lit only by the flickering candle on the table and a lamp in the far corner. They took their seats and the frangipani and the meal smelled exotic and alluring.
Anyone looking in from the outside would think that Ryan was trying to seduce her.
Her insides tumbled at the thought.
She said little as he poured her wine and they helped themselves to the food. She took her first mouthful. And then another and another.
“Mmm…oh, wow! This is sensational, Ryan.”
Across the table, their eyes met.
“The curry’s not too hot for you?”
Perhaps it was a trick of the candlelight, but something in the way he looked at her made her tremble.
She dropped her gaze and, when she looked up again, Ryan was still watching her. He smiled and she almost melted off her chair and on to the floor.
“No, it’s not too hot,” she said. “Honestly, I like it spicy. This is just how I love it. It’s perfect.”
She was sure her face was bright red. The air between them quivered with innuendo, as if they had not been talking about the food at all, but something else entirely.
Sex…
Some like it hot…
Simone took a swift drink of cold wine and told herself she was imagining things.
But was she?
Was she?
For so long she’d managed to deny the thread of attraction that had linked her to Ryan from that first moment they’d locked eyes at the airport. But now, alone with him in his house and sharing this lovely meal, it was impossible to ignore the chemistry.
Her heart went crazy again, fluttering like a giddy fool.
When she glanced up, Ryan was still looking at her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly.
She couldn’t breathe.
It was not the first time a man had told her this, but too often in the past it had sounded like the world’s worst pick-up line. Ryan’s eyes and his voice made the words sound genuine. Her insides tightened and coiled.
Help. It was all happening. Ryan was charming her senseless and she was allowing herself to be totally, totally drawn under his spell.
In the candlelight his lips had a very masculine, almost sculptural beauty and she couldn’t help wondering how they would feel, how they would taste.
She forked rice and curry on to the edge of a poppadam, bit into it and smiled. “This is so-o-o good.”
They were both a little lost for words as they continued eating and she tried to think of something to say, something light—but she’d spent so much of her life fighting shadowy fears that she’d never developed the habit of banter and small talk.
Ryan’s surfboard in the corner caught her eye. “Do you spend a lot of time at the beach?” she asked.
He grinned. “More than I probably should.”
“It keeps you fit.” She couldn’t resist casting an approving eye over his broad shoulders and the stretch of his shirt across his chest. “What do you love most about surfing?”
He thought about it. “The fact that you rely on nothing more than your own skill on a board and your understanding of the sea.”
“Man against the elements?”
“More like man in harmony with the elements. But no matter how good you think you are, your success or failure is ultimately in the hands of nature.”
“And you prefer surfing to team sports,” she suggested.
“Much to my father’s disgust.” He frowned as if he hadn’t meant to add that last comment.
“I’m something of a lone wolf too. I like swimming and cycling, but I prefer to compete against my own personal best rather than against others.”
“What about the Himalayan cycling challenge?” Ryan helped himself to another poppadam. “That was a team effort, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but we only became a team during the journey. None of us had ever met before we started.” She took a sip from her glass, set it down carefully and fiddled with its stem. “It was quite amazing really. I never expected to make such close friends as Belle and Claire in such a short space of time.”
She helped herself to some extra curry. But when that was finished and Ryan offered more she patted her very satisfied stomach. “I’ve eaten more than I should.”
“I hope you’ve left room for dessert.” His eyes twinkled at her.
“There’s dessert as well? Ryan, I’m seriously impressed.”
“Wait till you see it before you get too excited.”
She jumped to her feet. “Let me help you to clear the table.”
“Just pile everything next to the sink.”
“Shall I fetch dishes and spoons?”
“No need.” Ryan opened his freezer and held up a commercial ice cream in a paper packet and offered her a gorgeous naughty-boy smile. “Confession time. I did buy these.”
Setting her hands on her hips, she playfully reproached him. “Not good enough, Mr Tanner.”
“But at least I’m being up front about it,” he said as he unwrapped a dainty chocolate-coated heart on a stick. “You must appreciate my honesty.”
“I appreciate anyone who offers me chocolate and ice cream.”
His eyes danced and he took a step closer. Simone wished he hadn’t. Now, without the table separating them, she felt vulnerable, exposed to his potent masculinity.
He handed her the chocolate heart.
“Aren’t you having one?”
“In a minute.”
Their gazes locked as she took a bite.
She tried to think of something light-hearted to say, could think of nothing, so bit into her ice cream again. She was sure it would be wise to return to the table, but she didn’t. She remained there in the middle of Ryan’s kitchen, spellbound, while he watched her eat her ice cream, while heat and desire circled her like a lasso.
“You have chocolate on your lip,” he murmured huskily.
He was so close now that all it would take was a dip of his head and they would be kissing close. Simone hardly dared to breathe as she took the last bite, as he took the ice cream stick from her fingers and tossed it into the sink behind him.
Then, before she could come to her senses, Ryan’s hands cupped her face and their eyes locked. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I first saw you at the airport.”
She tried to remember why this was crazy, but she couldn’t keep her mind on the task. With Ryan’s sexy mouth mere inches from hers, there was only one possible response.
She lifted her face to his.
Fine tremors rippled over and under her skin as his arms came around her, as his hips settled against her, and his mouth claimed hers.
Her lips were cool from the ice cream, but they quickly warmed beneath his heat. He kissed her gently, confidently, without haste, but with excruciating thoroughness.
Oh, my. Talk about chemistry.
Within seconds, she was helpless, lost in the masculine power of this man, in the magic of his warm, potent mouth possessing hers, his strong arms about her, his gorgeous body hard against her.
Seduction at its sweetest, at its most compelling. She wanted to melt into him, lose herself in him.
Her breasts pressed into his chest, her stomach met his hardness, and she felt a jolt of longing so fierce and hot and sweet that a moan broke from her.
She heard a choked answering groan from him and his lips were hot and hard on her throat. Her desire spiralled and she wriggled closer, angling to satisfy the alarming need in her.
A thunderous knocking sounded on the front door.
Simone jumped.
Ryan broke away, breathing hard, cursed softly and glared in the direction of the door. “I’ve no idea who that can be.”
The knocking sounded again, even louder if possible.
“I don’t believe this.” He sighed heavily, pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Excuse me, Simone.”
Dazed and breathless, Simone sank against a cupboard. She heard the door open and Ryan’s shocked, “What are you doing here?”
“If you’d return my calls this wouldn’t be necessary.”
She could hear every word, clear as a bell. The caller was a man—an older man—and he sounded angry. She tried to tidy her hair.
“Why the hell is this place in darkness?” the caller growled. “Haven’t you paid your electricity bills, Ryan? Have they cut off your power?”
Good grief. Who was this?
“I have company,” Ryan replied, sounding weary, almost as if he was used to this kind of exchange. “I don’t have time for another of your lectures and my guest isn’t interested in anything we have to say to each other.”
“I don’t care if you’re entertaining the head of the World Bank or a high-class hooker. I want to talk to you, son.”
Son? This was Ryan’s father, the infamous JD Tanner? Simone looked about her, wondering if she should make a dash for the bathroom.
“You should have warned me you were coming,” Ryan said.
“If you’d return my calls I wouldn’t have to spend time and money trying to get a few words with you.”
“So that’s what’s eating you. The cost of a plane ticket to find me. Send me the bill, why don’t you?”
“Don’t be so damn touchy, Ryan. I’ve got a great opportunity for you, and for once in your life you need to listen to me.”
“I told you I have a guest.”
Simone felt terrible to be eavesdropping on this exchange. Again, she wondered if she should try to make herself scarce. But heavy footsteps sounded and suddenly a thickset man with beetling brows appeared from behind the strip of wall that screened the front door and she recognised the face she’d seen so often in the media.
JD Tanner took in the scene in a flash—the darkened room, the table set for two, the flickering candlelight. His eyes narrowed shrewdly when he saw Simone. Behind him, Ryan looked ready to commit homicide.
Making a hasty decision, Simone stepped forward and offered Ryan’s father her hand, remembering only when it was too late that it was probably sticky from the ice cream. “Good evening, Mr Tanner, I’m Simone Gray.”
JD blinked and quickly dredged up his social skills. “Delighted to meet you, Simone.” He let his gaze rake over her. “Well, well, obviously you work for the World Bank.”
It was a quick yet subtle apology for his tasteless suggestion that she might be a hooker and Simone almost smiled, but she took her cue from Ryan, whose face remained as serious as a heart attack.
“Ms Gray and I are discussing a business matter, Dad.”
It was the first time during their exchange that Ryan had addressed his father as ‘Dad’ and Simone noted a tense, wary look pass between the two men.
“We have unfinished business,” Ryan continued more equably. “You’re a businessman, so you must understand that we need to be left alone. I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise.”
JD nodded but his sharp eyes continued to study Simone. She hoped he couldn’t see that her lips were puffy and tender from his son’s kisses.
“What business are you in, Simone?”
“I’m a journalist.” Lifting her chin to meet his authoritative stare, she almost called him sir, but resisted the temptation.
He let out an impatient grunt. “Another scribbler. I should have known.”
“Simone’s the editor of City Girl magazine,” Ryan interposed.
“Editor?”
“Executive editor,” added Ryan.
JD let his glittering gaze settle on her again and she felt like a hapless bug, squirming beneath an entomologist’s spyglass.
She wondered if her hair was very mussed, if she had a smear of chocolate on her cheek. For all sorts of reasons, she was grateful that she’d chosen to wear the white dress tonight.
JD’s frown didn’t soften, but she fancied she caught a sparkle, a glimmer of something like approval in his eyes.
“Well…I dare say you two have a great deal of business to complete,” he said at last. For a beat or two he stood, watching them both, then he cast a critical glance over the flat before he slapped his hands against his thighs. “All right. I’ll leave my business till tomorrow.”
He favoured Simone with a charming smile that transformed his face and, for the first time, she saw a family resemblance between father and son.
Then, as abruptly as he’d come, JD wished them a curt goodnight, turned suddenly and left the room.
From the front doorway he called a final parting barb. “If you get the chance, Simone, try to talk some business sense into that stubborn blockhead son of mine.”
Ryan let out an angry sigh, stood with his shoulders hunched and his hands sunk deep in the pockets of his jeans. His father, with his impeccable sense of timing, had ruined everything. Again.
He shot a wary glance in Simone’s direction and she sent him a tentative smile. “So that’s what a mining magnate looks like at close range.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “JD wouldn’t recognise a mine if he fell down a shaft.”
“You’re joking.” Her blue eyes expressed clear disbelief. “But he owns so many mines. Practically everyone in Australia has heard of your father. His involvement in mining is huge.”
Ryan’s lip curled into a sneer. “Oh, yes, my father’s made a big name for himself—because he’s made plenty of money. He didn’t start off as a prospector or a miner, but he knows how to line his pockets with the mines’ profits.”
Her eyebrows rose.
Ryan gave a weary shake of his head. He knew he sounded bitter and twisted, but JD always got him so stirred he couldn’t think straight.
It annoyed the hell out of him. After all these years, he still couldn’t control his emotions when he came face to face with his old man. JD always walked away with an emotional victory, leaving Ryan to feel as if he’d taken a kicking on a bar room floor.
“I’m especially glad we’re killing the bachelor story now,” Simone said.
“You can see why I’ve broken out of the bloody Tanner mould.”
She turned and picked up some plates and set them in the sink, as if she planned to tidy up the kitchen.
“Leave that.”
“It’s OK.” She turned on a tap. “I must say your father has a certain underlying charm.”
“Leave it,” Ryan barked, grabbing her wrist.
She froze.
Ryan dropped his hand. Sighed again. Everything about the night felt wrong now. It was the story of his life. Over and over, whenever he was on to a good thing—something really important—JD turned up, or did his best to interfere from long range. The fiasco in London was a prime example. And now, Ryan hadn’t been back a month and it was happening again. In front of Simone.
His fists clenched. Heaven help him, one of these days he might really lose control and land a punch on the old man.
“I should probably go,” Simone said.
He sighed, felt hollow inside. She shot him a look and crossed to the coffee table where she’d left her purse.
“You don’t have to go.” Ryan walked towards her, smiled his most appealing smile. “Don’t go.”
She gave a sad little shrug and he knew the evening’s mood had been completely destroyed. Simone was probably regretting their incredible kiss.
Without another glance at him, she whipped out her mobile phone and began punching digits.
“If you must go, let me drive you.”
She paused and looked at him, frowning.
“Come on,” he urged. “I only had that one beer before dinner.” Driving her home was the least he could do, given that a lovely evening had fallen to pieces. Thanks to his old man. “Please don’t run off again on my account.” He smiled and was pleased to see her frown disappear. “We were getting on famously before my family got in the road.”