It was a simple matter to collect his gear and ride down the elevator, send her cab off, explain to his driver there’d been a change in plans and check them both out while she threw her stuff together. They were on their way in less than ten minutes.
He watched her stare straight ahead as they drove the short distance down the coast. She didn’t even drink the take-away coffee he’d bought her while she’d been packing her things.
‘I should’ve gone straight home after the race but I wanted to unwind in the city for New Year after all the work.’
‘Why are you blaming yourself?’
‘I keep thinking I must have missed something.’
‘We’ll know soon. Try to relax.’
She turned silent again but a short time later, her hand slammed against her throat. ‘Turn here.’
He followed her gaze to a magnificent old home almost hidden by trees. They passed through tall iron gates and followed a long driveway to the house. Peeling garden gnomes and fairy statues played hide and seek amongst the foliage along the way.
A vast red-brick and cream lattice structure that might have come straight out of a luxury living magazine once upon a time came into view.
A guy in a car got out as they pulled up near the back entrance.
‘Wait here,’ Olivia told Jett firmly. ‘I want to do this on my own.’ She climbed out and the guy met her a few metres away. They walked to the back porch then disappeared inside.
Jett unloaded their bags, told the driver he’d be in contact, then looked about him as the car drove away. Fantastic views of the River Derwent, garden and natural bushland surrounded the property.
With Olivia still busy inside, Jett followed the scents of lavender and basil to a lovingly tended herb and vegetable garden. Organic, no doubt. Further on, he saw a pool, drained of water, the overhead glass structure grimy and cracked. A gazebo overgrown with weeds. The garden unkempt and parched. He’d have liked to have seen this place in its glory days.
With some physical effort and a sizeable injection of funds this place could be great again.
This place could be the retreat Olivia envisioned.
Right here. Her own home. Had she even thought of that? Excitement tingled along his nerve-endings. A new project, something different that he could really put his back into. Literally. He’d be doing something worthwhile. And at the end he could walk away with an honourable sense of achievement.
He heard the security guy’s car leaving, and, following the sound, he retraced his steps through the bushland at the far edge of the property. As the house came into view he saw Olivia standing in the doorway surrounded by their luggage, hugging her upper arms, and scouring the grounds for him.
Such an unexpectedly domestic scene with the potted geraniums by her feet, her sun-stroked hair moving gently in the breeze, copper glinting amongst the red. She turned his way as if by instinct and their eyes met the way they had that first time.
And something huge swelled up inside his chest and rolled through him like one of those waves he’d experienced on Chasing Dawn, leaving an ache to settle uncomfortably in the hollow left behind.
He wanted to run the rest of the way, wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay, but he knew she wouldn’t welcome it. Not Ms Olivia Wishart, equal rights champion and feminist extraordinaire.
* * *
Olivia watched Jett’s approach and she wanted to cry and be weak and female. She wanted to run to him and, just once, have someone be there for her. To have him wrap her up tightly and tell her everything would be okay. To feel safe.
But he wasn’t that kind of a guy. Not Jett Davies, good-time guy and playboy.
And yet... For a moment there, she thought she’d seen...something in those deep chocolate eyes.
Probably the sun playing tricks. Blinking back those stupid female tears, she grabbed her bag and marched back inside as fast as its wheels would go. She made it to the kitchen before his hand on her shoulder stopped her.
‘Whoa, slow down a minute. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.’
His voice, low and steady and rational right when she needed it to be.
His aftershave reminded her that less than an hour ago they’d been lovers but he was here for her now as a support person. A friend.
His hand. Grounding her in reality.
Again she fought that urge to cling to someone strong and solid and trustworthy in a world where faceless people could take away or destroy your precious possessions and leave you feeling lost and empty and abused. She knew possessions counted for little but it didn’t make it less painful.
‘They knew what they were doing,’ she said, turning to the window. Even the stunning coastline view failed to lift her. ‘Professionals. They bypassed the security code then helped themselves. Not satisfied with that, they vandalised.’ Violated her private stuff. She bit her lip, her stomach churning with so much more than anger. ‘Who’d do that?’