LITMIR.BIZ

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be irreverent... She suspected she might be teased about this sudden switch from staff to guest. Especially having lunch in the company of such an exceptionally good-looking man.

      ‘They were pleased I’m out of their hair?’ she asked.

      ‘Pleased for you. They obviously hold their boss in high regard.’

      ‘That’s nice,’ she said, nodding.

      Hospitality could be a tense business at times, what with deadlines and temperamental clients and badly behaving guests. It was good to have it affirmed that the staff respected her.

      ‘What about lunch?’ she said, indicating the direction of the kitchen. ‘The—?’

      Tristan waved her objections away. ‘Relax, Gemma.’ A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. As if he were only too aware of how difficult she found it to give up control of her job. ‘I’m the host. You are my guest. Forget about what’s going on in the kitchen. Just enjoy being the guest—not the party planner.’

      ‘This might take some getting used to,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘But thank you, yes.’

      ‘Good,’ he said.

      ‘I’m not sure of one thing,’ she said. ‘Do you still want me as your tour guide? If that’s the case, I need to be pointing out some sights to you.’

      She turned from him, took a few steps to the railing and looked out, the breeze lifting her hair from her face.

      ‘On the right—oh, hang on...don’t we say “starboard” on a boat? To starboard are the Finger Wharves at Walsh Bay. The configuration is like a hand—you know, with each wharf a finger. The wharves are home to the Sydney Theatre Company. It’s a real experience to go to the theatre there and—’

      ‘Stop!’

      She turned, to see Tristan with his hand held up in a halt sign. His hands were attractive, large with long elegant fingers. Yes, nice hands were an asset on a man, too. She wondered how they would feel—

      She could not go there.

      Gemma knew she’d been chattering on too much about the wharves. Gabbling, in fact. But she suddenly felt...nervous in Tristan’s presence. And chatter had always been her way of distancing herself from an awkward situation.

      She spluttered to a halt. ‘You don’t want to know about the wharves? Okay, on the left-hand side—I mean the port side—is Luna Park and...’

      Tristan lowered his hand. Moved closer to her. So close they were just kissing distance apart. She tried not to look at his mouth. That full lower lip...the upper lip slightly narrower. A sensual mouth was another definite asset in a man. So was his ability to kiss.

      She flushed and put her hand to her forehead. Why was she letting her thoughts run riot on what Tristan would be like to kiss? She took a step back, only to feel the railing press into her back. It was a little scary that she was thinking this way about a man she barely knew.

      ‘There’s no need for you to act like a tour guide,’ he said. ‘The first day I got here I took a guided tour of the harbour.’

      ‘But you asked me to show you the insider’s Sydney. The Wharf Theatre is a favourite place of mine and—’

      ‘That was just a ploy,’ he said.

      Gemma caught her breath. ‘A ploy?’

      ‘I had to see you again. I thought there was more chance of you agreeing to show me around than if I straight out asked you to dinner.’

      ‘Oh,’ she said, momentarily lost for words. ‘Or...or lunch on the harbour?’

      Her heart started to thud so hard she thought surely he must hear it—even over the faint thrumming of the boat’s motor, the sound of people calling out to each other on the cruiser that was passing them, the squawk of the seagulls wheeling over the harbour wall, where a fisherman had gutted his catch.

      ‘That is correct,’ Tristan said.

      ‘So...so you had to find another way?’ To think that all the time she’d spent thinking about him, he’d been thinking about her.

      For the first time Gemma detected a crack in Tristan’s self-assured confidence. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his white trousers. ‘I...I had to see if you were as...as wonderful as I remembered,’ he said, and his accent was more pronounced.

      She loved the way he rolled his r’s. Without that accent, without the underlying note of sincerity, his words might have sounded sleazy. But they didn’t. They sent a shiver of awareness and anticipation up her spine.

      ‘And...and are you disappointed?’

      She wished now that she’d worn something less utilitarian than a T-shirt—even though it was a very smart, fitted T-shirt, with elbow-length sleeves—and sneakers. They were work clothes. Not ‘lunching with a hot guy’ clothes. Still, if she’d had to dress with the thought of impressing Tristan, she might still be back at her apartment, with the contents of her wardrobe scattered all over the bed.

      ‘Not at all,’ he said.

      He didn’t need to say the words. The appreciation in his eyes said it all. Her hand went to her heart to steady its out-of-control thud.

      ‘Me neither. I mean, I’m not disappointed in you.’ Aargh, could she sound any dumber? ‘I thought you were pretty wonderful, too. I...I regretted that I knocked back your request for me to show you around. But...but I had my reasons.’

      His dark eyebrows rose. ‘Reasons? Not just the company rules?’

      ‘Those, too. When we first started the business, we initiated a “no dating the clients” rule. It made sense.’

      ‘Yet I believe your business partner Andie married a client, so that rule cannot be set in concrete.’

      ‘How did you know that?’ She answered her own question, ‘Of course—Jake Marlowe.’ The best friend of the groom. ‘You’re right. But Andie was the exception.’ Up until now there had been no client who had made Gemma want to bend the rules.

      ‘And the other reasons?’

      ‘Personal. I...I came out of a bad relationship more...more than a little wounded.’

      ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ His eyes searched her face. ‘And now?’

      She took a deep breath. Finally she had that heartbeat under control. ‘I’ve got myself sorted,’ she said, not wanting to give any further explanation.

      ‘You don’t wear a ring. I assumed you were single.’ He paused. ‘Are you single?’

      Gemma was a bit taken aback by the directness of his question. ‘Very single,’ she said. Did that sound too enthusiastic? As if she were making certain he knew she was available?

      Gemma curled her hands into fists. She had to stop second guessing everything she said. Tristan had thought she was wonderful in her apron, all flushed from the heat of the oven and without a scrap of make-up. She had to be herself. Not try and please a man by somehow attempting to be what he wanted her to be. She’d learned that from her mother—and it was difficult to unlearn.

      Her birth father had died before she was born and her mother, Aileen, had brought Gemma up on her own until she was six. Then her mother had met Dennis.

      He had never wanted children but had grudgingly accepted Gemma as part of a package deal when he’d married Aileen. Her mother had trained Gemma to be grateful to her stepfather for having taken her on. To keep him happy by always being a sweet little girl, by forgiving his moody behaviour, his lack of real affection.

      Gemma had become not necessarily a people pleaser but a man pleaser. She believed that was why she’d put up with Alistair’s bad behaviour for so long. It was a habit she was determined to break.

      She

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