A Taste of Honey (4 page)

It was one rejection too many; and with a sob she sunk down to the floor, covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Crying jag over, she sat with her back against the wall. Before her mother died, her father had been frantic for her to come to the farm. Not so now. Now he wanted to be alone with his wounds, pottering around the farm content in his misery, not intending ever to get over her mother’s death it seemed. And Charli was helpless. What could she do? She’d tried to reason with him. Tell him that life must go on, what had happened had happened and nothing they could do or say would bring her mother back. She’d said these and all the other platitudes she could think of, but it was useless. Her father simply refused to stop mourning his wife.

Her nose was running and she didn’t have the strength of character to get up and find a tissue. She wiped her nose with the inside hem of her T-shirt.

Okay, so she reminded him of her mother, and it pained him to look at her. But she needed to be with him, especially now when her life had cracked up in her face and she didn’t know which way to go.

She struggled to her feet, walked down the corridor and into the bathroom where she washed her face of tears, ran her hand through her hair, and staring at her reflection in the mirror, murmured, “Bugger it.”

She left the bathroom, walked back down the corridor and reached for her car keys and left her flat.

• • •

Reaching the park by seven, Charli parked her car and walked to the lake’s edge. It was so peaceful, so calm, and absolutely perfect for a quiet jog. The blue water sparkled in the early morning sun. And the dark clouds floating around her head dispersed. She inhaled the sweet air deeply, feeling totally restored; the rest of her life wasn’t going to be a mess; she knew, with quiet confidence, that she’d sort things out and everything would come out smelling of roses.

A few stray seagulls, seeking food left by the Sunday barbeques, wheeled in slow graceful circles, squawking loudly as she passed beneath them.

She’d been jogging for a few minutes when, in the distance, another jogger appeared. By the massive width of the shoulders, it was definitely a man.

She slowed her pace but kept her movement smooth. She tripped over her own feet. The other jogger was her sworn adversary. William Knight apparently had the same idea as her about an early morning jog. She quickened her pace.

Oh my God, this is so embarrassing. What should I do? Ignore him like he didn’t exist? Give him a wave and jog on past? Smile and yell out, good morning, great day for a jog isn’t it?

She didn’t wish him well. She wished him to the devil. She’d jog past him with nose held firmly in the air; as if her demotion hadn’t shattered her confidence; as if she lost her job every day of her life and it meant nothing to her.

If William Knight were the last human on earth with her, she’d prefer the company of a man-eating ravenous crocodile. Preferred scenario, William Knight’s left leg in said crocodile’s mouth.

He halted and glared down at her as if she was somehow taking up his space. She had no alternative but to stop.

He looked her up and down with breathtaking audacity, a cheeky grin on his handsome face.

He was standing far too close for comfort, and Charli found something about him disabling. She wasn’t sure if it was the tuft of coal black hair falling down his forehead or the emerald glint in his magnificent eyes or maybe the sensual curve to his mouth. Whatever he had it was more than enough. Her heart was beating way too fast.

She attempted to move past without being too obvious. She didn’t want him aware of the effect he had on her. He was arrogant enough without adding her fascination to his I’m-too-good-for-this-world list of self-wonders.

She wondered if he had a girlfriend or if he dated at whim. Then she reasoned that he didn’t have a thing to worry about, he’d simply choose from the line of panting women waiting outside his front door.

Well, not this little black duck, no sirree Bob. She panted after no man. She was pant-less. Her head jerked back. Thank God, she hadn’t spoken that little gem aloud. What a joke William Knight would have had on that unintentional pun.

Slightly out of breath still, she placed her hands on her hips and glared defiantly at him. And he smiled. The creep had the audacity to grin as if he knew something that she did not. Arrogant, smug, half-witted baboon. She fought the impulse to smack him fair in the chin.

He lowered his eyes and attached them to her T-shirt. Printed in large black letters was BAD GIRL, T-SHIRT.

“Like your shirt.”

Charli sniffed. Who gives a rat’s whisker what you like. “A Christmas gift from Judy, she has a weird sense of humor,” she explained.

“Judy?”

“She’s your receptionist.”

“Oh, yes, the flower lady. Has she been working for us long?”

“Ten years or so.”

“Didn’t know you were into jogging.”

“Why, is it a male orientated past-time?”

He grinned. “No, of course not, but you didn’t seem the type to go in for jogging.”

“What type am I, Mr. Knight?” This man irritated her like a bee buzzing around your head or a mosquito biting your ankle. You swatted both.

“I thought you’d be more into arty things.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Painting. Ballet. Opera. You know.”

“And you say that on a one-meeting basis? You amaze me. I had no idea that you’re an expert on human nature. You must tell me more.” She nodded, considering. “Do you tell fortunes, Mr. Knight?”

How dare he chat away with her like she was his long lost cousin? Did he expect her to be civil when he’d so cruelly tossed her aside?

She wished with all her might that she could get a terrific job with his competition and make their sales go through the roof. Securing wonderfully clever writers the world over screaming to be read. She’d meet him at book functions and she’d smile sweetly at him, and say, hear you’re going downhill fast. Too bad, Mr. Knight, them’s the breaks.

He moved in closer and heat, which now had nothing to do with jogging, rose in her body. Her voice quaked. “Would you kindly remove your bulk so I can continue on around the park?” With a slight flip to her head, she sidestepped him.

His big hand snaked across and took her hand. The moment his hand touched hers a jolt of fire shot through her. Her heart hammered. Electricity sparked between them. Her eyes flew wide open. The blood rushed up her neck and burst into her face.

He stared at her in astonishment, his mouth agape as if he’d seen the eighth wonder of the world. Had he received the same electrifying shock when his fingers had touched hers? Then, when she was thinking that maybe he was human after all, his eyes shaded and the same let-nobody-know-what-I’m-thinking bloke stood in front of her.

With supreme effort, Charli convinced herself it was her natural dislike for this man causing such discomfort. She glared. “Kindly release my hand,” she said. “I don’t like being mauled.”

She didn’t have to be polite or even nice. She’d made up her mind what she was about to do. Run — leaving the big-headed William Knight to stew in his own juice. Charli had reasoned that he needed her, at least for a while. Show him where they were at. Tell him about their established authors and the ones still in the pipeline. New releases, oh so much that her head swirled thinking of it.

Let him learn the hard way. She ignored the feeling of meanness that almost overcame her, consoling herself that he’d thrown her to the wolves without pity.

He released her hand, his eyes flicked again across the writing on her T-shirt. He lowered his head and she had the amazing sensation he was going to kiss her. She tensed, her hand curling into a small fist.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“What?”

“Where did you come from?”

She didn’t understand his questions. Didn’t know what was going on between them except for this raw primitive hunger that seemed to stem from him and enter her. She was scared. She couldn’t handle the situation. She wanted to put as much distance as humanly possible between her and William Knight.

“Mr. Knight,” she said, as if trying to explain the beginning of time to a six-year-old. “I came out this morning to enjoy a quiet jog around the lake. I am not in the mood for early morning bantering with you or anyone. If you wish to continue this conversation, I suggest we do so on your time. This is my private time and I’d appreciate keeping it just that.”

“Ah, but you see, Honey, your time is my time.”

“Yeah? Explain that to me.”

“The wages I pay you.”

“I’m paid for the time I work,” she said. She hated this man with an intensity that set her teeth aching. She idly wondered how many years you got for justifiable homicide and what the hell she could use for a weapon.

“No, not quite,” he said and either the sun was glinting in his eyes or they were twinkling. They were amazing eyes; crystal clear and sparkling like jewels. “If you read the CE job specification you’d see that your extraordinarily large wage entitles me to your services when and where I deem necessary.”

“I think a lawyer might put a slightly different interpretation on that clause and as I neither have a manuscript or as much as a pencil tucked inside my shorts, Mr. Knight, I find it rather difficult to believe you need my services at this precise moment.”

His gaze lowered. “Hmm, you’re so right, there’s absolutely no room.”

No matter what she said, he drew her back into reminding her she was a woman. “As much as I am enjoying this stimulating conversation, I’m beginning to freeze, so if you don’t mind — ”

He gave a bow to his dark head. “I’ve no shackles around you, Honey,”

She had to have the last word even though deep down she knew it was useless, that somehow William Knight would always come up trumps. “It appears to me that you seem intent on looking for trouble?”

“I never got anything worthwhile without trouble.”

“Only because of the way you choose to live,” she said. “I myself like a more sedate type of life.”

“Sedate or boring?”

“My life is neither boring nor any of your business,” she said.

She couldn’t despise this man more if he were talking her into buying an unwanted set of outdated encyclopedias. He’d coolly taken her job from her and now he was speaking to her like they were as familiar as old friends. Familiar? She’d like to get as close to him as she would a cane toad with measles.

He made to touch her again and she spat the words at him. “Don’t touch me. I warn you I practice Krav Maga.”

He laughed and anger flamed her brain. She made to move away, stumbled and fell into his arms, her body hard against his. He held her tight. His eyes connected with hers. And she recalled the time when the fire alarm had gone off at work and panic had ensued. The same chest-tightening fear, the same sense of unreality that she was in a situation she couldn’t handle.

His head lowered and his lips brushed hers. All the breath left her body at the mere anticipation of his kiss. He claimed her mouth. The kiss was electric. Her whole body responded. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she thrust herself closer to the power of him. His kiss was sweet and beyond forgetting.

Bells rang.

Her toes sizzled inside her sneakers.

Totally hot.

“Honey.” He whispered her name. She ignored the heat burning in her groin and that she wanted, with all her might, to kiss him again and again, because to tell the truth she was scared witless. She’d been kissed before — no, retract that, she’d never been kissed until William Knight had kissed her.

A fireball sizzled around her heart. She was totally alive and vital. The colors surrounding her took on a more vivid hue. She sighed and raised her face to his, waiting for his next kiss.

A small triumphant laugh and her senses returned in a bolt of savage lightning.

She jerked away from him. Humiliation replaced desire. She wiped her hand across her burning lips. “You — you, presumptuous twerp.”

He had the decency to look stunned and she wondered if the kiss had rocked him as much as it had her. Yeah, and cows can dance rock and roll. This man was a student of Casanova.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that. Please, forget that ever happened,” he said.

Forget? How could she forget the taste of his mouth on hers? How could she forget the sensation of being held in his arms? Forget the wash of sexual desire that had flooded her like a tidal wave?

She took a vow that today was positively the last day she’d come into contact with him. After today she’d never have to think of William Knight. He’d be a nasty little memory tucked away in the black regions of her memory and deep concentration and a lot of yoga could eventually erase him from there.

“Forget what?” She moved past him and broke into a quick run.

She glanced over her shoulder. He was out of sight. She stopped. Holding her sides, she took deep breaths until her breathing returned to normal. She walked back to her car, opened the car door, and reached inside for her towel. She quickly wiped the perspiration from her body, threw the towel onto the car seat, slipped in behind the wheel and headed for Knight Books.

Only one day. She could do that standing on her head.

Couldn’t she?

Buy her a new bonnet from Paris; a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, housetrained of course.

Charli typed out her resignation. Signed it. Placed it in an envelope and put it into William Knight’s urgent matters file.
Done deal. No more regrets. Forward ever forward into the mighty unknown.

She didn’t know how long it’d take to get another position. Maybe it would be good if she took a holiday. Nowhere expensive. Maybe take a bus tour through South Australia, or New South Wales, or maybe catch the ferry to Tasmania, hire a car, and explore the island. She knew what she really wanted to do, so badly. She wanted to be with her dad, talk to him about her feelings, wander around the farm, and catch up with old school friends. Get her mind right.

Dad doesn’t want me.
Another unwelcomed gush of self-pity enfolded her. For God’s sake, shape up.