‘No, I wouldn’t like.’ She frowned as she took a sip of her wine, trying to figure him out. ‘So,’ she said, as she replaced her glass, ‘does that mean you’ve no family?’
Did she imagine it, or did his face darken?
‘I’m an only child. My family is long gone.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ And she was. Her father’s death had gutted her. She couldn’t imagine life without her mother, her siblings, or the friends who counted as family.
He flicked a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t be. We were never close.’
‘Goodness. That sounds…’
‘What?’
‘Lonely?’ she ventured.
She couldn’t imagine not wanting to live near family. She was the only one of her siblings who’d seemed to know that from the start. The others had taken longer to learn it.
‘Not in the least. Since when did having a family guarantee happiness?’
‘Mine does,’ she said. ‘With the usual built-in frustration and irritation, obviously. But yes — generally happy.’
‘Then I’m pleased for you. Tell me about them.’
‘Who? My family?’
‘Yes. Your family, your friends, your… community.’
He said the word oddly. Normally, she didn’t need to be asked twice. It was her favourite subject — her loved ones, the people who filled her life. But this situation was nowhere near normal. And, as she knew to her cost, knowledge was power. She wasn’t about to hand that over to him. Not yet.
And there was no better way to divert a man than with something they were universally susceptible to: talking about themselves.
She leaned forward, letting her gaze lock with his in a way she knew got results.
‘Oliver,’ she said, her voice a touch lower, ‘I’d rather hear about what you do in those few hours you’re not working. What gives you pleasure?’
She saw the moment she caught him. His eyes told her everything.
She hadn’t lied about the café being her laboratory.
Chapter Five
Before he knew it, Oliver was describing to Lucy what it felt like to sail alone off the New South Wales coast.
He heard himself talk about the hiss of the hull cutting through the water at night, the wind filling the sails, the absolute silence when the engine was off. He was so buoyed by her attention, so carried along by her intelligent questions and small, pleased smiles, until her voice snapped him out of it.
‘Oliver.’
He blinked.
‘The maître d’ is waiting.’
The man stood at his elbow, patient, menus tucked against his arm.
‘A different wine, sir, with your next course?’
What was happening? Oliver had brought Lucy here to shower her with charm, to cast a spell over her so she’d be on his side in the forthcoming battle over the hotel. He stopped short of admitting to himself he’d brought her here to use her. Even in his head, the word was brutal.
‘Lucy?’ he said.
