Phillipa’s voice seemed to shake them both out of a trance. The word
Mummy
dumped a bucket of iced water on Meg’s burning ardour. It was the first mention she had heard her charge make of her mother, Bryce’s ex-wife. Bryce had never spoken of her.
The smile left Bryce’s face as he turned back to his daughter. He didn’t ask Phillipa why she had come to such a conclusion, which had her looking crestfallen. ‘No, I doubt she will Phillipa.’
Speaking for the first time since Bryce had entered the room, Meg had to clear her throat to get the one word out. ‘Why?’
‘Mummy says sugar is the enemy of a woman’s hips,’ Phillipa explained. ‘She also says that about something called car… garbohy…’
‘Carbohydrates,’ Bryce filled in, his expression neutral but his tone not quite managing the same. Meg detected a hint of derision she didn’t think Phillipa picked up on.
‘That’s right… carbo-hy-drates. She doesn’t like alcohol either, although she drinks champagne. Only when it’s French though. She says it’s not champagne if it’s not French.’
‘I see,’ Meg said dutifully, thinking Isabelle ex-Carlton sounded a little obsessed with calorie counting. Not to mention snobbish, what with the whole ‘French champagne only’ rule.
Nasty, nasty. You haven’t even met the woman. And technically, it’s not champagne unless it’s French.
‘When I go to Mummy’s, Paolo cooks us things in the steamer.’
‘Who’s Paolo?’ Meg asked
‘Mummy’s personal trainer. For sure
Paolo
would never let me have Fruit Rings for breakfast. But they won’t be back from the Caribbean for another week, at least. Will they Daddy?’
‘No, they won’t be.’
Meg fluttered a glance at Bryce but his attention was focussed on his cereal. It was obvious Paolo was more than an employee of Isabelle’s, although Phillipa thankfully didn’t seem to understand the implications of the two of them being together in the Caribbean. She didn’t envy Bryce having to explain that one to his eight-year-old daughter.
They finished their cereal in silence, save for the cartoon voices emanating from the television set. Phillipa’s attention returned to the cartoon, leaving Meg all too aware of how close she was to Bryce and the awkwardness that had settled between them since the subject of his ex-wife had come up.
In need of something to do, Meg stood and started collecting the bowls. ‘So what do you want to do today, Phillipa? Besides stuff yourself full of hot dogs and chocolate ice cream.’
The girl screwed up her face. ‘I have a violin lesson.’
Picking up on her obvious disinclination to partake in the activity, Bryce said, ‘I thought you wanted to learn the violin.’
‘I did, but…’ her voice trailed off and she lifted that apathetic shoulder Meg was so used to. ‘I’m not any good at it.’
‘You’ve only been playing a couple of months. You need to give it time.’
‘But it’s boring.’
‘Excuse me.’ Meg collected the bowls and transported them to the kitchen. She was unsure of the protocol when it came to disagreements between father and daughter, but she didn’t think Bryce would consider it a nanny’s place to intervene.
By the time she returned to the living room, Phillipa’s mood was fast approaching steamed. ‘But Daddy I don’t
want
to!’
‘I said you will continue with the lessons for now, and that’s final. You will honour your commitment to Mrs Henderson.’
With a high-pitched scream of frustration, Phillipa jumped up from where she had been seated on the floor and ran from the room, calling a parting shot up the stairs. ‘You’re so mean Daddy! I hate you!’
Bryce stood too, running a hand through his hair in an infuriated gesture. Meg hesitated a fraction before taking a step forward, almost crashing into him as he stalked from the room.
They stood facing each other, holding themselves very still as though a single movement from either of them might result in physical contact. Bryce was obviously wrestling with his temper and Meg said, hoping he might take comfort from the words, ‘She doesn’t, you know. Hate you, I mean. Kids just say that sort of thing.’
‘Do they?’ Bryce looked doubtful. ‘I don’t remember ever telling my parents I hated them. How about you?’
Meg had trouble recalling a time herself, but she knew she had thought it once or twice. ‘I was pretty mad when my dad told me I couldn’t have a new bike,’ she said with a small smile. ‘And Phillipa has had a lot to contend with the past few years.’
‘By that you mean my divorce, I suppose?’ There was something close to accusation lacing his words. ‘If you think it’s been so hard on Phillipa, don’t go asking so many questions about her mother.’
She gaped. ‘I didn’t—’ but then she cut off the denial. She
had,
in fact, pursued the topic of Phillipa’s mother. She tried another tactic. ‘
Phillipa
brought up her mother, if you’ll remember. And I don’t think avoiding the subject is an appropriate response. Phillipa needs to be able to talk to you about your ex-wife without fearing your anger.’
‘What my daughter needs is a mother who doesn’t flaunt her relationship with a twenty-five-year-old Latin toy boy in front of her, but we don’t always get what we want.’ He said it through gritted teeth. Meg had never seen such fury rise so quickly in him. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of it.’
The way he said he’d ‘appreciate’ it clearly meant
stay out of it or else.
Meg felt a spark of reflexive rebellion ignite. ‘I’m Phillipa’s nanny. What do you suggest I do when the topic of your ex-wife comes up?’
‘I
suggest
you steer the conversation on to other things and refrain from snooping into subject matter that is none of your concern.’
With that Bryce stalked past her, leaving Meg gaping after him as he ascended the stairs two at a time.
So much for her pleasant morning.
As ordered, Phillipa went ahead with her violin lesson when the music tutor, Mrs Henderson, arrived at eleven o’clock. Thereafter the sound of Phillipa’s bow being dragged mercilessly across her abused violin strings filled the house and scraped at the enamel on Meg’s teeth.
Meg spent some time cleaning her room lest her tendency to leave her clothes wherever she shucked them aggravate Mrs Dunkirk’s seemingly permanent state of pique, but at last she could stand the noise no longer. Picking up the paperback novel she was partway through reading, she decided to escape to a quiet spot in the garden to read until Phillipa’s lesson was over. Perhaps down by the pool, which would be lovely on this sunny spring morning.
A neatly trimmed hedge rimmed the pool and partially concealed it from the house on one side, while leaving it open to the spectacular vista of Sydney Harbour on the other. Meg had rounded the hedge before she realised the pool was occupied.
Her steps faltered as her eyes caught the sight of Bryce cutting a path through the crystal-clear water, his bare shoulders glistening in the high sunshine, muscles flexing with each fluid stroke. His skin had a sun-kissed appearance that didn’t quite qualify as a tan, but it made him seem like a bronzed Adonis nonetheless.
Meg chastised her fanciful thoughts. He was a man, just like any other. She had to stop seeing him as something more than average. Handsome, smart and compassionate yes, but he had his faults too. He could be overbearing at times, closed off to new ideas. Anyone could see he needed to spend more time with Phillipa, be more open with her about her mother.
Still, it was difficult to keep his foibles in mind when he was half naked, wet and looking gracefully athletic. She wouldn’t get any reading done, that was for sure. Willing her legs to move she managed to execute a half turn. She realised she had dithered about for far too long when, sailing to the edge of the pool, Bryce lifted his head and saw her before she could escape.
‘Meg.’ He puffed out a breath. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
‘I just got here.’
Oh, about five laps ago.
‘I didn’t realise you’d be here. I’ll just go sit somewhere else.’
‘There’s no need. I’m done here.’
He set his hands on the edge of the pool and used them to lever himself out of the water. The motion was as fluid as his swimming stroke. Water sluiced down his body until a puddle of it gathered on the slate tiles at his feet. Meg kept her eyes lowered, watching those feet — big, sexy feet — as they moved toward one of the sun lounges. She was afraid if she allowed herself to look at anything else on his taut and enticing body she would start drooling.
‘You’re not swimming?’ he asked after a moment, forcing Meg to meet his eyes. She couldn’t help the furtive tour she took of his body on the way up. The flash of dark swimming trunks she saw before he wrapped a towel around his hips, the dark hair plastered in a thin line to his flat stomach, the expanse of firm, lightly haired chest. And those magnificently wide shoulders. He was, quite simply, breathtaking.
It was all Meg could do to stop herself from reaching out to touch that tempting expanse of damp, cool skin. Formulating a sentence was out of the question. She looked into his face, squinting against the sun’s brightness. ‘Ah…I…huh?’
His lips twitched. ‘I was wondering why you’re not swimming. The pool’s heated, so feel free.’ His eyes brushed over her shirt and jeans. His glance snapped back to her face with embarrassing rapidity, given the detailed perusal she had just afforded
his
body.
Meg fought to control a blush. She glanced down at the book in her hand. ‘I was just looking for somewhere to read. The house is a little noisy at the moment.’
‘I felt the need to escape during Phillipa’s violin lesson myself. I think Mrs Henderson earns her money.’
The underscore of good humour to his words gave Meg the temerity to say, ‘She really is terrible, isn’t she? It makes me wonder why you wouldn’t let her give up the lessons. I mean,’ Meg rushed on when his brows drew downward, ‘if she’s really not enjoying herself.’
‘Of course she’s not enjoying herself. Violin is a difficult instrument that takes time and effort to learn. But it was the instrument she insisted on taking up. She begged me for lessons relentlessly for weeks and I agreed on the proviso she stuck with it for a reasonable length of time. I am simply ensuring she lives up to her end of the bargain.’
‘You make it sound like she entered into a contract with you or something.’ Meg’s temper rose at his imperious tone. ‘She’s not a business associate. She’s your daughter.’
‘And she’s also her mother’s daughter. Isabelle is neither willing nor able to honour her commitments, so it falls on me to teach Phillipa how to do so. If she learns nothing else from me, she will learn that.’
‘To a fault? Shouldn’t a child be allowed to try a few things before they land on something they’re required to stick to for life?’ Meg challenged, one hand resting on her hip while she now used the book to shade her face, all the better to stare down Bryce. Or should that be, stare up? ‘Crikey, I tried three different musical instruments and I had no aptitude for a one of them, then I played four different sports before I found one I liked enough to stick with. Why don’t you give Phillipa a break?’
‘You want me to measure Phillipa’s behaviour against yours? The woman who jumps into taxis with strangers and takes the first job offered on a whim?’
Meg narrowed her eyes, trying not to let him see how much his account of her stung. ‘Do I have to point out that you were the one who offered me that job? If you thought I was such a lunatic why did you do it?’
His reply seemed dragged out of him. ‘I don’t know.’
The silence stretched out between them and Meg felt her heart sinking. ‘Are you having regrets?’
His stare was hard on her face as he considered his response. The delay and his expression was enough answer for Meg. ‘I see.’ She took a step backward, away from the warmth of his body. Evidently he didn’t like the way she couldn’t seem to keep from saying what she thought all the time. Bryce Carlton preferred his employees to be seen and not heard.
‘Meg, wait. I didn’t mean it the way you think.’ He sighed, a frustrated sound, and brought his hand up to drag it through his hair. Droplets of water flung from the ends of his fingers and landed on Meg’s sleeve.
‘It’s all right Bryce. I understand perfectly.’ Oh yes, she understood. She understood that her luck had run out, just when she was starting to make headway with Phillipa. She hadn’t yet found an opening with a design firm, let alone a position, and he was already kicking her out.
‘I don’t think you do understand, Meg.’ He appeared deflated suddenly, almost sad.
‘Why don’t I make it easy on you? I’ll be gone by the end of the week. That should give you enough time to find a replacement.’
‘No.’ His voice turned harsh as he reached out a hand to stop her from turning away. His touch was hot, his fingers damp on her wrist. ‘I don’t want you to quit.’
Meg’s pulse skyrocketed in a way she hoped he wouldn’t notice. ‘You’d rather I wait until you fire me?’
‘I’m not going to fire you.’ Everything in his expression told her he it was the truth. ‘I was simply trying to say that hiring you was not one of my most carefully considered decisions. But I do believe it was the right decision for my daughter.’
‘But you don’t think I should have an opinion on what might make her happy.’
‘I’m willing to hear your opinions, Meg. As long as you remember that I am Phillipa’s father. As far as she’s concerned, what I say goes. Is that understood?’
For a long time, Meg returned his earnest gaze. He hadn’t relinquished his hold on her arm, as though he still felt the need to prevent her from leaving. The contact burned the sensitive skin of her wrist, made her pulse leap even further beyond her control. Although contact was restricted to that one, fairly innocuous, element, their bodies aligned closely, making Meg more than a little aware of how much she would like to be able to touch Bryce elsewhere.
The knowledge hit her like a sledgehammer. She didn’t merely appreciate Bryce’s attributes in an objective any-woman-would-take-a-second-look kind of way. She had developed a full-blown attraction to him — more than an attraction. The feeling that coursed through her was desire, hot and tingly.