‘Not a huge demand in Settlers,’ he said, although his mind darted to Tara. ‘Why?’
Jemma inclined her head toward the internal door. ‘You didn’t check the rest of the apartment for intruders.’
His heart was suddenly thumping too damn fast, too damn hard. Since when was he daunted by the prospect of entering a woman’s bedroom? Though his issue wasn’t with the room, it was doubt in his own resolve to take this thing, whatever it might be, slow. Jemma was wildly attractive but a large part of her appeal was in the way they seemedto connect on an intellectual level—and he wanted her to acknowledge that before they risked muddying the waters with a physical relationship.
At least, that’s what his brain told him he wanted: certain other parts of his body had entirely different intentions, particularly as Jemma brushed past him. She smelled … expensive, a mixture of alcohol, perfume, body lotion and God knows what else. And that made him pause. Jemma was class and finesse. He was … country. A mechanic, a farmer. Tonight, he’d ended up wearing chinos and a collared shirt, because he didn’t even own a suit. If circumstances hadn’t thrown them together at Mutfagim Askim a few weeks back, he wasn’t the type of person Jemma would even associate with. Sure, she was making it clear she’d like to take a tumble with him, but he was an idiot to hope for more than that. He needed to focus on walking out, not holding out.
He put his glass on the counter. ‘I’ll check the rooms, but then I’m hitting the road.’
Her hand on the doorhandle, Jemma glanced toward the darkened window. ‘Given how late it is, is there any chance I can persuade you to stay over? As a favour, I mean. No pressure.’ She gave a wry smile but it failed to mask her sudden nervousness. ‘I get your “no means no” vibe, and I’ll respect that—or at least, I’ll try to, though I don’t promise I’m not going to give you a hard time about it.’ She gestured at the small lounge room. ‘I should have come back here during the day, or when the cafe was open, so there’d be people around …’ She gave an annoyed click of her tongue. ‘You know what, don’t worry about it.’ She yanked the door closed again.
Hamish covered her hand on the doorhandle. ‘Let me check the rooms. Then I’ll bunk down in here.’
Jemma snorted. ‘On my tiny sofa?’ Her gaze travelledfrom his head to his feet. ‘I think not. You take the bed; I’ll take the lounge.’
‘You’re not exactly short yourself.’ He hoped she didn’t notice the slight raggedness of his voice, or the twitch of his hand. Damn, this self-control idea was setting up to be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
‘So what do you suggest?’ she almost purred. ‘Itisa luxury king bed, in case you’re wondering.’
‘Perfect,’ he said, as though she wasn’t unnerving him. ‘Head to tail.’
‘Huh?’
‘Didn’t you ever share a bed when you were a kid?’
‘I’m an only child.’
‘That figures. I’d say there’s only room for one Jemma di Angelis in the world.’ Which was just as well, according to his soaring blood pressure. ‘One of us nabs the pillow, the other sleeps with their head at the bottom of the bed.’
‘Gross. And yet, weirdly, I instantly sexualised the image,’ she said.
He had his swag in the ute, as always. Now would be the time to mention it. ‘You can go under the quilt, I’ll sleep on top,’ he suggested instead. His swag would crowd the apartment.
‘Sure, But, just so you know, I’m a restless sleeper. Bound to throw a leg out of the covers at some stage.’
‘That’s fine. Don’t reckon I’ll be getting much sleep anyway,’ he replied, meeting her gaze. His chuckle broke the tension. ‘You love to shit-stir, don’t you?’
‘I am a barrister, you know.’
‘Yeah, why it is that sometimes you say lawyer, others you say barrister?’ he said conversationally, as though the need to get into her bedroom wasn’t pounding through him. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘Basically, either can provide legal advice, but a barrister is the one who’ll get up in court and argue for you.’ She lifted one shoulder, giving an angelic smile. ‘Or against you, as the case may be.’
‘You must love being the centre of attention.’ He could certainly watch her all day.
‘Don’t we all?’
‘Yep.’ His history spoke to that. ‘But not many of us will admit it.’
‘I told you, I say what I mean,’ Jemma said. Linking her fingers through his, she opened the door with her other hand. ‘Welcome to my bedroom.’
He took a ragged breath. ‘By the way, you’re misreading that whole “no” vibe.’
23
Jemma
Jemma didn’t know whether to be incredulous, annoyed or flattered. Her romantic history wasn’t extensive, but that had been by choice. She’d never doubted her attractiveness, nor her ability.
