An Exception to His Rule Read online

  Shock seemed to take away all her powers of resistance and when he lifted his head she could only stare up at him with her eyes wide, her lips still parted and her heart beating heavily.

  ‘Mmm...’ He ran his hands up and down her back and hugged her. ‘I must have been mad ever to think you were skinny, Ms Livingstone!’

  Harriet gathered herself. ‘This is...this is,’ she started to say.

  ‘Insane?’ he supplied.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, almost biting her tongue in her frustration.

  ‘You’re not wrong. On the other hand, we’ve experienced quite a range of emotions—’

  ‘That’s—what’s that got to do with it?’ Harriet broke in desperately.

  ‘We’ve been angry with each other,’ he went on.

  ‘You murderously,’ she pointed out darkly.

  ‘Well, not quite, but you’ve hated my guts,’ he responded. ‘I reckon we’re destined to run through the whole spectrum—you know, your eyes are stunning.’

  ‘I...they...’

  ‘And there’s your skin.’ He transferred his hands to her arms and ran his palms down them. ‘Smooth and satiny. As for your legs—by the way, I wouldn’t ever wear that wraparound skirt again...’ He paused as she moved convulsively and waited for her to quieten before he went on. ‘Only because it’s criminal to hide your legs.’

  ‘Mr Wyatt,’ Harriet said through her teeth, ‘please don’t go on and will you let me go!’

  ‘In a minute. The other thing Arthur was right about; you have a slightly superior edge at times.’

  Harriet, about to make a concerted effort to free herself, stopped dead and stared at him, completely mystified. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, for example, in the lounge earlier,’ he elucidated, ‘you looked at me as if I’d crawled out from under a rock.’

  ‘I did not!’ she denied.

  ‘You probably don’t realise you’re doing it. Actually, what Arthur said was that you sometimes look as if your mind is on higher things.’

  Harriet blinked. ‘What does that mean?’

  He dropped his arms and moved back half a pace but Harriet stayed where she was. ‘That you think you’re above this “mortal coil”?’ he mused, and shrugged. ‘Perhaps way above the sweaty realities of life and love, not to mention men? You did say there was no one. One has to wonder why.’ He stopped and shrugged.

  Harriet Livingstone very rarely lost her temper but when she did the consequences were often disastrous, mainly because she was tall enough to be effective about it. She advanced the half step towards Damien Wyatt and slapped his face. She did more.

  ‘Oh, how I’ve wanted to do that,’ she gasped but with great passion. ‘Talk about being above the mortal coil—you obviously see yourself as the bee’s knees!’

  His lips twisted as he fingered his cheek. ‘Bee’s knees—haven’t heard that one for a while. All the same, Stretch,’ he responded, ‘I—’

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ she warned.

  ‘Whatever.’ He shrugged and took her in his arms and proceeded to kiss her again but this time there was a definite purpose to it. This time it was a battle, not a shocked passive response on her part and a more light-hearted exploration on his.

  Until he lifted his head and said abruptly, ‘No, no more anger and hate, Harriet.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s time to move on. No, don’t do a thing, I’m not going to hurt you, it’s just that fate seems to have intervened.’ He shook his head. ‘It certainly has for me.’

  And this time, before he kissed her again, he drew her into his body and ran his hands over her in a way that made her go still and her eyes widen in a different kind of shock because it was as if he was imparting an electric current through her, a tide of sensuality she couldn’t resist.

  Then he released her and cupped her face in his hands and they looked into each other’s eyes for a long, long moment. And as she breathed in the essence of Damien Wyatt it had a powerful effect on her. Not only did he bring the outdoors into the dining room—there were sweat stains on his shirt, his hair was ruffled—but a physical force and the aroma of pure man.

  Then, as she searched his dark eyes and saw the way they were focused on her and felt the way his hands moved down to her hips and were gentle but skilful on her body, she got a different sense of him.

  As if she was viewing the man behind the man. As if, underneath that prickly, easily prone to irritation exterior, there was a man who knew how to make love to a woman in a way that thrilled her and drove her to excesses she hadn’t known she could reach...

  And when he started to kiss her again, because of that sense of him, because of the rapturous tingling of all her senses, something she’d been denied for a long time, because of the feel of the hard planes of his body against her, because he was actually taller than she was and because there was something terribly, awe-inspiringly masculine about him unless you were a block of wood, she found herself kissing him back.

  They drew apart briefly once. They were both breathing raggedly. He pulled the ribbon out of her hair and ran his fingers through it. She spread her fingers on his back and felt the sleek strength of it beneath his shirt.

  Then he was kissing her again and her breasts were crushed against him as he held her hard.

  It was the dining room door opening and a spontaneous whistle that brought Harriet Livingstone and Damien Wyatt back to earth.

  Not that Damien betrayed any sign of discomfort, at first.

  He released her in a leisurely way and tidied the collar of her dress before he said over her shoulder, ‘Charlie, this is Harriet Livingstone. Harriet—’ he put his hands on her shoulders ‘—it’s OK. Meet my brother, Charles Walker Wyatt. He’s renowned for rushing in where angels fear to tread.’

  Harriet swallowed and put her hands up to try to tidy her hair before she forced herself to turn around.

  Charles Walker Wyatt wasn’t as tall as his brother Damien and he looked to be several years younger. He also bore an arrested expression on his face, as of one who had received a smack on the head when least expecting it.

  ‘Holy...Mackerel, Damien!’ he exclaimed then. ‘The last thing I expected to find in the dining room of all places was you kissing a girl I’ve never laid eyes on! That’s hardly fools rushing in material—wouldn’t you agree, ma’am?’ he appealed to Harriet as he advanced towards them.

  ‘By the way, please forgive me,’ he went on, ‘for labelling you “a girl”—not that you’re not but it sounds sort of generic and I don’t mean to classify you like that. Not at all! But—’

  ‘Charlie.’ There was a definite warning note in Damien’s voice.

  ‘Damien?’ Charlie replied, looking innocent. ‘Just tell me what I’m allowed to say and do and I’ll try not to put a foot wrong!’

  ‘What anyone with a grain of courtesy or good sense would have done in the first place,’ his brother replied evenly. ‘Retreated and shut the flaming door!’

  The last bit was said a little less than evenly and it struck Harriet that Damien Wyatt was not completely unaffected by his brother’s intrusion.

  ‘Ah.’ Charlie rubbed his chin. ‘OK—but actually, I’ve had a better idea. What’s wrong with me getting to know Miss Harriet Livingstone?’ And he looked admiringly at Harriet.

  ‘Everything,’ Damien snapped. ‘Just go away, Charlie!’ he added, his irritation and rising impatience plain to be seen.

  Something Charles Walker Wyatt obviously saw for himself because he sketched a salute, did a military about-turn and said, ‘Just going, sir.’ He marched out smartly.

  Damien waited until the door closed before turning back to Harriet. ‘Do you know something?’ he said bitterly. ‘Every time we get within cooee of each other, you and I, it tur
ns out to be a shambles!’

  Harriet swallowed. ‘I think I should just go. It could never work.’

  ‘Go?’ he said through his teeth, ‘How the hell can you kiss a guy like that and just go?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘YOU STARTED IT,’ Harriet said and immediately despised herself for sounding incredibly lame and childish. ‘I mean...’ But she found it impossible to sort out her thoughts let alone her emotions.

  ‘If you hadn’t tripped over the damn dog, I might not have started it,’ he replied irritably. ‘Anyway! How come Tottie is so taken with you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Harriet shrugged helplessly. ‘Dogs do just seem to take to me.’

  ‘Look—’ he studied her ‘—sit down and have another cup of tea—no, I’ll pour it—hang on, I’ve got a better idea.’ He guided her to a chair at the dining table and pulled it out for her. ‘Sit down and study some of my mother’s incomparable collection; it might calm you. While I pour us a drink.’

  He turned away towards a cocktail cabinet.

  Harriet drew a deep breath and combed her hair with her fingers but she couldn’t find her ribbon so she had to leave it loose. She took a hanky out of her purse and patted her face. Then her attention was drawn to an exquisite cameo in an old-fashioned rose-gold and pin-point diamond setting and she forgot about the wreck she might look as she stared at it rapturously. And Damien Wyatt put a glass of brandy down beside her and pulled out a chair opposite to sit down with his own drink.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said.

  Harriet hesitated.

  ‘Don’t think about it; just drink it,’ he advised.

  So she took a couple of sips and felt the brandy slip down and a warm glow of—what was it? Some confidence?—rise in its place.

  But, before she could formulate anything sensible to say, he spoke. ‘How well do you know Arthur?’

  ‘Hardly at all. I know Penny better. We were at college together for a while, although she’s a few years older. Then we lost track of each other until I came up to Ballina. It was quite an amazing coincidence. I literally bumped into her—no,’ she said with her lips quirking suddenly as his eyebrows flew up, ‘not the way I bumped into you. This was on the pavement as we were walking along.’

  A gleam of amusement lit his eyes. ‘I’m relieved to hear you say so. Go on.’

  She looked rueful. ‘So we had coffee and compared notes. She told me about Arthur and how they’d moved from Sydney to Ballina to get out of the rat race. She told me she’d started a picture-framing business and a small art gallery and how Arthur still dealt in art—he was born up here apparently.’

  ‘Yes. He was a friend of my father’s; more than that, he helped Dad establish his collection.’

  ‘So I told her I’d also decided to get away from the rat race and I was looking for a job. That’s when she grew thoughtful and finally dragged me off to meet Arthur.’

  ‘I see.’ Damien swirled the liquid in his glass. ‘So they didn’t know—’ he lifted his dark gaze to her ‘—about your brother?’

  ‘No.’ Harriet traced the rim of her glass with her forefinger then took another sip. ‘I know it seems a bit deceitful, but I find it hard to deal with people feeling sorry for us.’

  He was silent for a time, then, ‘What were you doing up here two months ago, when you bumped into me?’

  ‘I was checking out this rehabilitation centre. It was the first time I’d been to this area—another reason I was a bit dithery, I guess; I didn’t know my way around.’

  ‘It’s not exactly a metropolis,’ he said wryly then gestured as if to delete the comment. ‘But you’re living up here now? Your brother’s in the rehab centre?’

  Harriet nodded.

  ‘Where are you living?’

  She hesitated then took a sip of the brandy and shrugged. ‘In a rented caravan in the caravan park. I do have a job—it’s waitressing, so it keeps the wolf from the door, but—’ She broke off.

  ‘Only just?’ he suggested.

  She didn’t respond but stared a bit blindly down at her glass.

  ‘OK,’ he said quietly, ‘no more interrogations. The job is yours if you want it but what are we going to do?’

  ‘Do?’ she repeated.

  He set his teeth. ‘Yes, do! About the rest of it?’

  Her deep blue eyes widened. ‘The rest of it?’

  He grimaced. ‘You must have a short memory span as well as being accident-prone. Or do you often go around kissing guys like that?’

  The confidence she’d got from a few sips of brandy ebbed a little at the same time as her eyes widened as the full memory of their passionate encounter hit her.

  She took a larger mouthful of brandy.

  ‘You had forgotten,’ he marvelled.

  ‘No. But we did get interrupted,’ she responded tartly. ‘I don’t know about you, but I found it extremely embarrassing. Enough to make the rest of it, well...’ She broke off as she searched for the right words.

  ‘Pale into insignificance?’ he suggested dryly.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Harriet denied and took another sip of her drink. ‘But it did—move it back a bit if you know what I mean.’ She paused and shrugged. ‘It probably put it into its right perspective.’

  ‘What would that be?’

  She glinted him an assessing look from beneath her lashes, then thought—why should I try to spare his feelings? ‘It was just something that happened in the heat of the moment, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Go on.’

  Harriet hesitated, unable to read his expression but feeling a prickle of apprehension run through her. ‘Well, you insulted me, I responded—’

  ‘With a blow, allow me to remind you.’ He looked sardonically amused.

  Harriet compressed her lips. ‘I’m sorry. I believe I had cause, however. Look—’ she paused ‘—I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t still furious with me over your car.’

  ‘Not to mention my collarbone. There are still some things I can’t do. I’m not still furious, however.’ Damien Wyatt crossed his arms and leant back with a frown growing in his dark eyes. ‘Well, I may have been a bit annoyed but I have to say I’m mostly confused now. In fact I’m beginning to wonder if I’m hallucinating. Did you or did you not kiss me back almost like a woman starved for—that kind of thing?’

  Harriet stared at the cameo for a long moment then looked at him squarely. ‘Maybe. But it’s best forgotten.’

  ‘Why?’

  Harriet pushed her glass away and stood up. ‘Because I have no intention of getting involved with you, Mr Wyatt. Please don’t take that personally. I’m...I’m...happy to be fancy-free, that’s all.’

  He stared at her and she was suddenly conscious that not only was she completely unable to read his thoughts but, more than that, it troubled her.

  Why? Why should she care one way or another about what he thought of her? The sensual response he’d managed to draw from her had come about because he was experienced and worldly—she had little doubt of that—so why should she invest it with any special meaning or depth?

  Well, she amended her thoughts, she had to take some responsibility for her reaction, surely? Starved? Perhaps—but she didn’t even want to think about that...

  ‘Would you mind if I went now? I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time but I honestly don’t think it could work.’

  Damien stayed absolutely still for a moment longer then he straightened and stood up, leaning his fists on the table. ‘Yes, I would mind,’ he said dryly, ‘and I’ll tell you why. I don’t propose to have you on my conscience for a moment longer, whether I realise it or not, Harriet Livingstone.’

  ‘You don’t have to have me on your conscience!’ she objected.

  ‘Believe me, I’d rather not but
—’

  ‘What do you mean—whether you realise it or not?’ Harriet broke in to ask with a frown.

  He shrugged. ‘I can’t work out why else I agreed to see you again.’

  Harriet linked her fingers together and told herself not to pursue this but some demon prompted her, rather than simply getting up and walking out, to say, ‘If you think I could ever work for you, you must be mad, Mr Wyatt.’

  Their gazes clashed.

  ‘The job is yours, Miss Livingstone,’ he replied deliberately. ‘You can move in the day after tomorrow—I’ll be gone then. I’m going overseas for some weeks, at least a month. Of course Isabel, who runs the house and the rest of it when I’m not here, will be in residence. So will Charlie, for a while anyway. Did Arthur get around to mentioning the remuneration package we thought was suitable?’

  Harriet blinked. ‘...Yes.’

  ‘You can add a twenty per cent commission on any items I decide to sell. Will that do?’

  ‘I...I...’ She hesitated.

  ‘Don’t go all dithery on me again, Harriet,’ he warned. ‘Finish your brandy,’ he ordered.

  She stared at him, deep hostility written into her expression. ‘No. I’ve got to drive.’

  ‘All right, but I need to know if you’re going to take it or not.’

  Harriet would have given the world to answer in the negative but if he was going to be away...and surely she could finish the job in a month if she worked day and night...?

  ‘I’ll take it,’ she said barely audibly.

  ‘Do you want to see the studio and the flat?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine.’

  He studied her narrowly with a glint of curiosity in his dark eyes. ‘I can’t work out if you’re a superior, head-in-the-clouds although accident-prone academic type or a rather exotic bundle of nerves.’

  Harriet took a breath and actually managed to smile. ‘If it’s any help, neither can I. Goodbye, Tottie,’ she added and patted the dog’s head.

  Damien Wyatt looked heavenwards as Tottie came as close as such a regal-looking dog could to actually simpering.