Melting The Icy Tycoon. Jan Colley

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СКАЧАТЬ made up the five thousand residents. To the right stretched the inky sea and the darker shadows of the other Hauraki Gulf islands, jutting up like fists.

      Conn Bannerman tossed his briefcase onto a ten-setting kauri table and began to unbutton his coat. “Would you like some coffee? Something stronger?” He moved to the cooking area and flicked a couple of lights on.

      “Coffee’s fine,” Eve answered, still entranced by the view. “Can I help?”

      He did not answer. She turned to watch him. His back was to her. The suit jacket had come off now, and he was rolling his shirtsleeves up strongly muscled forearms. “Did you build this house?”

      He turned around holding two enormous coffee mugs and a percolator. He flicked her a brief nod, then filled the pot with water and measured coffee grounds.

      “Are you a builder?” Eve leaned on the twenty-foot-long kitchen island and searched the shadows of his face. The light was behind him, but he had a chin Superman might covet.

      “I’m in construction, yes.”

      In a flash, her mind clicked into recall. “CEO of Bannerman, Inc. You’re the Bannerman Stadium guy.”

      “The Gulf Harbor Stadium guy,” he corrected, setting milk, sugar and teaspoons on the marble-topped counter between them.

      She recalled the euphoria that gripped the country when the International Rugby Board announced that New Zealand would host the next World Cup. The building of the stadium was a contentious issue but it wasn’t something she had followed closely.

      She would have if she’d known that the man bestowed with the responsibility of building that stadium was such a hunk. His profile was stern and strong and in perfect proportion to his muscular bulk. He would look wonderful on camera….

      He seemed at home in his kitchen, his movements efficient and effortless. She bet he’d never drop a spoon or cup, the complete opposite of her.

      Hmm. If he was efficiently at home in his kitchen, did that imply there was no Mrs. Bannerman lurking about?

      “Shall we sit down?”

      Eve lifted her mug with both hands. They moved to the big table. One end was covered in papers, files and a laptop. His keys sat in a striking blue-and-white-striped pottery fruit bowl alongside bananas, kiwifruit and tangelos. She was glad he wasn’t phobic about neatness.

      He saw her glance at the clutter. “I work from home a lot of the time. I have an office but I enjoy this room.”

      “I can see why.”

      They sipped in silence for a moment. It was deathly quiet. She fought an insane urge to cry “Hello!” and listen for the echo. Eve couldn’t bear to be without the constant hum of TV or music. “You know, I think my whole house would fit in this one room.”

      Conn sipped his drink and looked at her with interest. “Have you thought about my offer?”

      Eve toyed with the handle of her mug. “My mind was mush at the time. I didn’t think you were serious.”

      “I was, most definitely.” His eyes were on her face. Attentive. Sharp, even, and really a nice shade of green. She amended her previous impression of coolness. More apt to say controlled. Unflappable.

      Unforgettable.

      The song “Unforgettable” started up in her mind and she hummed it absently until she saw his blink of surprise and stopped. It was a stupid, if harmless, habit of hers that unsettled some people.

      Conn recovered and looked at her expectantly. Eve glanced around the room and opened her arms wide. “Why would you want my house when you have this house?”

      “Why would a TV star want to live on this side of the island?”

      The emphasis on “TV star” somehow compelled her to feel defensive. Was it intentional?

      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 СКАЧАТЬ