Unlocking The Millionaire's Heart. Bella Bucannon

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      ‘However long it takes.’

      She couldn’t seem to break eye contact since he’d smiled at her, and wondered whether she ought to take the initiative and leave. Go home and start preparing dinner for her friends or watch some bad afternoon television. Even better, lose herself in the character charts and life histories of the hero and heroine of her next novel. One for which she intended to have Brian begging her to sign a solo contract.

      Nate’s sudden rise to his feet broke her reverie and dulled her mood. Now the main issue had been settled he’d be anxious to go, and she understood—she truly did. Accepting his helping hand, she rose, taking her shoulder bag with her. He bent to pick up the other one, and maintained his hold.

      ‘How are you getting back?’

      ‘Walking over the bridge, of course. Who knows when I’ll have another chance?’

      As he’d met her from this direction, she assumed he’d be staying in this area.

      ‘Suits me, Jemma. I’ll shout you coffee on the southern side.’

      She had no right to feel elated, or for her heart to beat faster, but both happened as he spoke. And the air in her lungs seemed to have dissipated, making her sound breathy.

      ‘Your offer is accepted with gratitude, Nate.’

      Since when had she spoken with such formality?

      I don’t even allow my characters that uptown privilege. Maybe I will in a future book of mine, and their love interest will have a rougher background for conflict.

      Her fingers itched to jot down notes on upbringing, and childhood environment. Instead she set the idea into her head as they returned to the walkway.

      On her journey across it she’d become used to the noise of the traffic speeding past, separated from her by a steel and mesh safety fence. On the water side there were shoulder-and-head-high gaps in the corresponding mesh to allow for clear photography.

      She stopped a short way along to take photos from this end, turning from Nate as she aimed her mobile upward, marvelling at the size and power of the metal beams and the majestic arches above their heads.

      ‘It’s so incredible—so powerful and strong.’

      ‘Walking up there is an entirely different experience. Keep it in mind for another visit.’

      Swinging round, she bumped into his body as he stepped forward, pointing his finger to the top of the bridge. Her pulse surged as he caught her by the waist for support, and it didn’t ease off when he let go.

      ‘Not for me,’ she stated with emphasis.

      His eyebrows rose and he grinned—a genuine magnetic smile, stirring butterflies in her stomach. Heat flooded her veins and her heart pounded. Such potency...she was glad he normally withheld it from her.

      ‘You’re toned and fit. What’s the problem? Fear of heights?’

      He’d checked out her body? Fair was fair...she’d checked out his.

      ‘No, I just have no inclination to try anything I consider extreme.’

      Or to become involved with the self-assured, super-confident men those activities attract.

      ‘Ah.’ He straightened his back and crossed his arms in mock umbrage. The quirk at the corner of his mouth and the gleam in his eyes belied his stance. A new personality was emerging—one that was engaging and amiable, much harder to keep at a distance. With luck it was only transient.

      ‘And that encompasses skydiving, mountain climbing and abseiling, huh?’

      His words sounded deeper too, making the abrasion more appealing.

      ‘I’m not anti them. I can almost understand the compulsion to try them. But not the repeated temptation for disaster. Everyday life is challenging enough.’

      ‘Don’t you ever feel the need for an adrenaline rush?’

      ‘Mine come from seeing a koala with her new baby, or a rainbow appearing over the hills in a rainstorm.’

      His soft chuckle evoked an alien feeling in her stomach, warm and exciting.

      ‘Oh, darling, you are so missing out on life.’

      Her mood altered in an instant and she moved away towards the city. He walked by her side, seemingly oblivious to the word that had rendered her speechless and torn at her heart. It marked him as a man who used endearments as a matter of course, making them meaningless; it had been a habit of her ex.

      Glancing at him, she caught his lips curling as if she’d amused him and the penny dropped. He’d listed the extreme sports he’d participated in, was prepared to risk his life for the so-called ‘rush’ she’d heard people rave about. Nothing they’d said had ever convinced her to try any, and she doubted reading about them—they had to be part of the action in his novel—would change her mind.

      Was he even now classifying her as boring, doomed to fail in her attempt to revise some of the passages in his high-adventure book?

      She stopped and swivelled to face him, square-on. ‘You’ve done all those activities?’

      * * *

      Nate couldn’t deny the accusation. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded. ‘Multiple times—plus a few others over the years, here and abroad.’

      If they stayed in touch for a lifetime Nate figured he’d never get used to the way she breathed slow and even, her lips slightly parted and her eyes wide and focussed as they studied his face. It made him feel virile, yet vulnerable at the same time—a totally alien sensation.

      Better she didn’t know that some of those activities had been to gain access to high-risk areas, following leads for stories. Others had been for the adrenaline rush—to prove he was capable of feeling after the sights he’d been exposed to had completely numbed all his emotions.

      Racking his brain for something to divert her attention, he saw it over her shoulder. ‘Where does sailing qualify?’ he asked, gesturing towards the water.

      She twisted to follow his gaze. A few yachts had emerged from under the bridge and were tacking from side to side, skilfully avoiding impact.

      Moving to the mesh protection, she craned her neck to watch. ‘Mixed. My sister and brother-in-law in Melbourne own a yacht, and I’ve sailed with them. I love the wind in my hair, the smell of salt water and the sense of the ocean below us as we skim across the waves. Wearing life jackets. Ocean-racing in rough weather—like the Sydney to Hobart some years—is out.’

      He’d bet any advance he might get on his book that she had no idea how captivating she looked: features animated, eyes sparkling and hands gesturing. Or how the inflections in her voice proved that she wasn’t immune to the thrill—no matter how much she said so.

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