A Touch of Confidence (2 page)

“Look, before I respond, I’m going to need to verify the validity of your contract.”

Her jaw dropped. “Pardon me?”

“I’d like you to see this from my perspective. I don’t know you, and I have no record of any of your dealings with my grandfather. It would be foolish to chase after a client with a signed lease and demand he break it based on your say-so. I need proof before I can proceed with this.”

“I’m standing here, ready to sign the lease. What more proof do you need?”

“Evidence of the contract perhaps?”

She glared at him as if he were mad. “It was an oral contract. There is no ‘evidence’.”

“Then there is very little reason for me chase up the current tenant.”

“There is every reason.” Her cheeks turned scarlet. “Our agreement included the three elements that make a contract legally binding.” She stepped forward and pointed a finger at his chest. “One, our contract included an offer. I offered to pay to rent this property.”

He took an instinctive step backwards. Not because he found her threatening. On the contrary, when she stood this close, her scent wafted around his nose, tantalizing him with its alluring fragrance. She smelled like…a spring breeze, fresh and perfumed with a hint of flowers. Roses maybe?

No, the reason he stepped back was that her nail was long, and if she prodded his chest, it would dig into his skin.

Now if she dug her nails into his back as she clutched him while he drove into her naked, alluring body, he’d have no problem with the scratches she’d leave behind. Truth be told, he’d relish them, drive into her a little harder, a little faster, encouraging her to scratch deeper. A little pain always made pleasure that much better. But fully clothed like this, he doubted he’d appreciate the sting without the complementary pleasure.

She took another step forward and whipped out a second finger.

“Two, your grandfather accepted my offer. We shook hands on it, as a witness
—
my sister
—
can attest to. And three…” A third finger appeared, this one grazing his chest as she moved her hand.

Lust exploded behind his ribs, a sudden, unexpected desire to haul the woman closer and kiss the living shit out of her.

“…The consideration. Your grandfather told me a figure, eight hundred and fifty dollars, and I agreed to the value he’d put on the property.” She waved all three fingers at him. “And that, Mr. Wilson, is your proof. That is what makes the contract binding. In the eyes of the law, it is a legal agreement, one that cannot be broken.”

Her voice was stern, her shoulders stiff and her eyes so focused on his he couldn’t look away. The only thing out of whack with the professional yet irate picture she painted was her uneven breath. She inhaled as though she couldn’t fill her lungs. Quick, shallow pants that ensured every time she exhaled, her breath puffed over his neck in short, warm bursts.

And damned if it didn’t make him crazy. His body, already alerted to her magnetism, tightened with a base physical attraction. What was it about the woman that inspired this reaction in him?

Damn it, desire had no place here. He needed to use his head and sort out the problem he’d inadvertently caused. Jack had no doubt that Miss Jones told the truth, that he owed her an apology and that he needed to fix up his mess. He did not need to imagine stripping her naked and exposing her voluptuous breasts to his hungry gaze or mouth.

Think, Jack.

What would Big Jack do? How would he sort everything out, leaving Miss Jones satisfied?

Offer her another property, of course. A better one, but at a discounted price. That would neutralize her anger, give the Jones sisters another option and provide a solution to all of their problems.

The question was: Did his pop have another property on his books?

Christ, he hated not having the foggiest idea how he was supposed to run this business. But he’d received an urgent phone call last night, and he could hardly refuse to help Big Jack out in a crisis.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d made the wrong decision all those years ago. If he’d studied something other than teaching
—
a business degree maybe, or economics
—
he’d have no problem now looking after Wilson Property Management for a few days. He’d also have no problem fulfilling a dream he’d had for a few years now
—
buying a property for himself. A house he could live in comfortably.

On his current salary, that was a dream he could never hope to realize.

“Look, Miss Jones, I apologize. I had no idea about the oral contract between you and my grandfather. He said nothing about it and left no notes about your meeting. The fact remains that this shop is now leased, the contract signed and I doubt I can break it.”

Her face darkened with ire.

“But I would be more than happy to check the files back at the office and see what else we have available.” More than happy
—
so long as he worked out how to use the damn software. “I’m sure if we take a minute to calm down and look at our options, we’ll find something that would suit your needs just as well, if not better, than this shop.”

She shook her head with a disbelieving smile. “Do you think it’s that simple? You’ll check your books, come up with something else, and we’ll all be happy?”

“I don’t see why it can’t be.”

“Because there aren’t a whole lot of properties in this area.” The smile vanished. “When one becomes available, it’s snapped up like that.” She clicked her fingers. “I would expect you to know this.”

He should know it. But other than being all too aware of the rising price of residential housing in Sydney, Jack knew nothing about the property market
—
especially not the commercial market. He wasn’t a property manager. While he knew the ins and outs of the high school English and History syllabi, shop rentals remained a mystery to him. The only reason he had time now to help Big Jack was because school was closed for the spring holiday.

Maybe, just maybe, it was time to leave teaching. Time to get into a profession that would at least allow him to earn enough to buy his own home. A home he could raise a family in if he ever settled down. He could join his pop at Wilson Property Management and slowly learn the business until he was confident enough to take over the reins when Big Jack retired.

It was an idea he hated all the way through to his bones. The thought of leaving teaching, leaving his students, made his stomach twist.

“I can’t pretend to remember every property on our books, Miss Jones. There are just too many of them. As I said, I would be more than happy to check our files
—
”

“Don’t patronize me. I don’t want another property. I want this lease signed so I can open my new store, right here.”

“I’m trying to find a way to get you a new store.”

“By urging me to take another shop? I don’t think so. Why not start by getting your grandfather on the phone and sorting out this mess with him? Perhaps your other tenant would be happy to settle on another property. This one is already spoken for.”

Jack shook his head. “Much as I’d like to get my grandfather involved in this, I cannot contact him now.”

She arched a brow. “Oh? And why is that?” She gave him a scathing look.

“Because my grandfather had a heart attack yesterday. No matter how pressing your need to rent the shop may be, I assume you’ll allow him the time to recover before dropping this bomb on him?”

Chapter Two

Claire stepped back with a gasp. “Oh, my God.” Her shoulders drooped and her hand covered her mouth. “Is he okay?”

“No, Miss Jones.” For some reason, Jack couldn’t contain his sarcasm. “He had a heart attack. Of course he’s not okay.”

“I-I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” The look in her eyes changed from furious to distressed, and it was that distress that ripped through Jack.

He’d been running on autopilot since his father had phoned him yesterday.

Big Jack had suffered chest pain and gone to the hospital
—
on his father’s insistence. The old man had tried to argue that a little chest pain wasn’t going to kill him, but his father had refused to listen. Thank God, because the tightness in his chest had in fact been a full-on myocardial infarction, and had his pop not been seen in emergency, it might have killed him.

As it was, his grandfather had been scheduled for a triple bypass in eight weeks’ time.

Jack’s own heart stuttered then. He hadn’t reacted last night. Hadn’t had the time. He’d been too busy sorting through folders and files at the office, trying to work out what the hell needed to be done.

If he’d had the choice, he’d have spent the night at his pop’s bedside. But Big Jack’s distress doubled when he thought about his business. So out of fear that the man might suffer another heart attack, Jack soothed him in the best possible way. He’d taken the reins and hadn’t had a minute to think since.

But now he did. Suddenly he couldn’t not think about what had happened to Big Jack. Couldn’t think about anything else.

Christ.
He’d nearly lost his pop.

Nearly lost the man he’d looked up to his whole life. The same man who’d taught him to play rugby when his father had been too busy. The man who’d encouraged him to follow his heart and become a teacher when his parents had urged him to study law or accounting or business management.

His grandfather. The man he’d spent weekends with when he was young, fishing and hiking. Learning a respect for the great outdoors his parents would never have instilled in him. A man he loved more than he did his own parents, a man who’d been more nurturing to him and his brother, Anthony, than their parents ever had.

Shit. Pop had almost died.

Someone called his name. He heard it, but his mind was focused totally and utterly on his grandfather, who’d lain in that massive hospital bed, his usually ruddy cheeks and sharp eyes pale and dull against the stark white sheets.

His stomach lurched. His grandfather wasn’t just sick. He was critically ill. If he didn’t have the bypass surgery, his heart could give in at any time, could surrender permanently to a blocked artery.

Hands touched his arm, shook his shoulder, but still he didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

A scene played in his head like a movie. He and his pop on his grandfather’s fishing boat, rods in hand and something mighty tugging at the end of his line. Big Jack had helped him reel in the massive snapper. Far too big for a nine-year-old to conquer alone, Pop had aided him every step of the way without ever taking away his glory. And when the fish had been snared and the boat returned to the dock, Big Jack had shown him how to gut it, and together they’d barbequed the massive fish for the whole family.

Jack’s gut clenched. Would he and his pop have another chance to fish? Would they go out on his boat again? Lately Jack had been the one helping Pop reel in the fish, but neither of them had complained. It wasn’t about the fishing. It was about spending time together. It always had been.

“Mr. Wilson?” The hand was on his arm again. A sturdy touch. Gentle but firm. “Jack?”

He blinked and found himself face to face with Claire Jones. Her hazel eyes were filled with concern, her gaze searching his.

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer, just stared into her beautiful eyes and wondered what he’d do if he lost his grandfather.

“I think you’re in shock.” Her hand slid over his face, soft, warm and comforting. “You’re cold as ice.”

He almost laughed at her. Puh-lease. Grown men didn’t go into shock. They took life’s little blows with straight shoulders and a proud stance.

But then losing his grandfather wouldn’t just be a little blow.

“You need to warm up somehow.” Her hand disappeared, leaving Jack oddly bereft by its absence. Then his shoulders were cloaked with a light weight and her exquisite fragrance surrounded him, intoxicating him.

He stared at her, noticed her bare neck for the first time, and wondered how she’d respond if he pressed the smallest of kisses to the exposed flesh.

Then he wondered how he could think about kissing her at a time like this.

He blinked. Minutes ago she’d worn a scarf. A long one that she’d wrapped around that neck and let the ends hang down over her breasts. Now it was gone. Which explained the feather-light wrap on his shoulders.

“It’s not helping.” She sounded worried. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

And then the statuesque Miss Jones was gone, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts and his fears.

He lowered himself to the floor and scrubbed an exhausted hand over his face.

Damn it. He didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to face what he’d so stoically avoided since his phone had rung. It would be so much easier to forget real life. To deny his grandfather had a problem. Perhaps if he lost himself to the subtle scent of roses and the not-so-subtle rise of full breasts and creamy white skin, he could forget the trauma of the night before.

Long moments passed and there was Claire again, crouching in front of him, pressing a paper cup into his hand. He took it, and almost smiled at her attempts to look after him when she held her hand around the cup too, looping her fingers over his, making sure he didn’t drop it. Then she guided their hands towards his mouth, as if he were incapable.