LITMIR.BIZ

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word that came to mind was inviting. He remained resolutely in the hallway.

      Emma peeled off her suit jacket and flung it on to her queen-sized bed. She wore a white tailored business shirt that hugged some seriously attractive curves. He had had no idea she had such a tiny waist, which was only accentuated by the not so tiny area above. Harry’s gaze lifted so fast it hit the ceiling.

      ‘What are you looking for all the way up there?’ she asked.

      ‘Spiders’ webs in the corners,’ was the best he could come up with.

      ‘Come on, Harry. You know I’m a neat freak.’

      But when Harry looked back at her she had her hands on her hips and was glancing about the ceiling, just in case. His mouth lifted in a smile. He could work her so easily. Of course that came from knowing her for over a decade.

      He had a sudden flash memory of the first time they had met—he had been coming back to Jamie’s place after footy practice one afternoon and had been bowing to one of Jamie’s regular dares; this time he’d been ordered to jump the neighbour’s fence and return with an apple from their treasured tree.

      He had acquiesced instantly, returning with three apples instead. He remembered Jamie’s easy grin and absolute appreciation at being beaten. Their strong friendship had been forged in that moment.

      Before they had reached the front door it had opened with a slam and a small girl with thick blonde hair to her waist and a mouth full of braces stood on the step, hands on hips, bright blue eyes flashing.

      ‘You’re late. Mum is going to kill you!’ she had promised, obviously relishing the thought.

      Jamie had pushed past, ruffling the girl’s hair. ‘Squirt, this is Harry. Harry, this is my sister, Emma. She’s eleven going on twenty-one,’ Jamie had thrown over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen to bury his head in the fridge.

      Emma had turned her attention to Harry. ‘You don’t go to our school,’ she had said in a tone so accusing that Harry had had to bite back a laugh.

      ‘No, I don’t. I play footy with your brother.’

      She had shot a disgusted look over her shoulder at the mention of the boy who was obviously the bane of her existence. ‘Poor you,’ she had said.

      Harry remembered feeling this strange need to impress. She’d been a kid, all metal mouth and attitude, not like the lissom senior girls who were the usual witnesses to his daring and athletic feats, but it didn’t stop him throwing the three apples into the air, juggling them, landing two down his footy jersey and one in his mouth. He’d taken a big bite then tossed it to her.

      She’d caught the apple in her small hands, looked at it for a moment, looked back at him, took a great big bite herself then disappeared into the house, leaving the door open for him to follow. That was the moment he had first been invited into her house and into her life. Into Jamie’s house. Into Jamie’s life…

      Harry breathed in deep through his nose as he fought his way out of the suddenly stifling memory to find Emma watching him with those same bright blue eyes, only now they were framed by beguiling black lashes highlighted by clever use of mascara.

      She looked back at him in silence. The stunning prettiness of her baby blues had never been able to disguise her fierce intelligence, but there was more to her stare now. Standing there before him, all grown up, she now knew exactly what those eyes could do to a guy. He had a sudden flash of something that felt a heck of a lot like attraction.

      He spun on his heel and took off. ‘So which one’s my room? I’m hoping it’s decked out with leopard skin walls and shag pile carpet on the ceiling.’

      He risked a glance over his shoulder and found Emma watching him with a blank expression. Not quite the indulgent grin he’d been hoping for, but at least it was easier to handle than whatever had been zapping between them moments before.

      She pointed across the hall to a room with a single bed, pink bedspread, yellow floral curtains and a white chest of drawers with I love Robbie Williams stickers all over it. So her old room at home had in fact come along for the ride.

      ‘Well, not so much leopard skin as I had hoped.’ He jumped as he felt Emma sidle up behind him. He caught a whiff of head-turning perfume but had little time to take pleasure in it as she gave him a slap on the shoulder so hard it would no doubt leave a red mark.

      ‘Haven’t quite got to this room in my decorating mania,’ she said. She pointed out the room’s accoutrements. ‘Cupboard. Chest of drawers.’ Then she reached around him to point out a small empty box on the bedside table. ‘Somewhere to keep your mess of notes.’

      It took a moment before he realised what she meant. He reached into his top jacket pocket and pulled out a mishmash of ideas for the evolution of his website that he had jotted down on torn off bits of newspaper and truck stop napkins on the long ride down from Alice Springs.

      He put the papers in the tray and his jacket felt a good deal lighter. Huh. Well, what do ya know?

      ‘You will stay, won’t you?’ she asked.

      He heard the hint of concern in her voice and he had no choice. He reached to gather his little Emma to him, sighing deeply as she snuggled into him, resting her head against his chest.

      ‘Of course I’ll stay, princess. For you, anything.’

      Emma released a great breath, the warm air tickling at his skin through his cotton T-shirt. ‘I am very glad to hear that.’

      But there was more he had to say, and soon, before everything settled and became too chummy. He pulled Emma away and slowly set her down on the edge of the bed. When she looked back at him with such trust he gave in to temptation and ran his hand over the back of her head, revelling in the feel of her soft hair playing against his fingertips.

      ‘Em,’ he said, pulling his hand away and distancing himself again, ‘keeping in mind my generosity in allowing you to put me up for the week, I have a favour to ask.’

      She tilted her head and raised a pale blonde eyebrow. ‘Shoot.’

      Harry began to pace. How to ask? How to begin? At the beginning seemed as good a place as any.

      ‘About six months ago,’ he said, ‘a gentleman sued me, for stealing the idea of Harold’s House from him.’

      Emma felt her stomach drop away and her fighting instincts rose. ‘But of course you didn’t take the idea from anyone else!’ she cried. ‘I was there the day Harold’s House was born. Don’t you remember?’

      ‘I remember, sweetheart. But when you have the appearance of power and money you attract the attention of those who seek both. Anyway, it never went to court. He had no case. Nevertheless his stunt brought about enough publicity that I began to receive attention from one woman who believed I was wronged. She began by sending me letters via the Harold’s House email address.’

      Emma reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him pacing before he left a track in the carpet. She felt him straining against her hold, but she also felt the angry heat welling from inside him. She used her own power to tug him over to sit next to her on the bed.

      ‘The emails became excessive enough they were brought to my attention,’ he continued, ‘but by that time her attention had already expanded to include handwritten love letters lathered in perfume and gifts of odd souvenirs she had found in small towns as she made her way from Sydney to me. She eventually tracked me down in Alice Springs.’

      He glanced over at her and she saw a flash of uncertainty. He was wondering how much to tell her. It must have been pretty bad. ‘Tell me, Harry. Please.’

      He rolled his shoulders and went somewhere inside himself to draw on experiences obviously buried down deep. ‘My core creative group had come out to Alice Springs for a week to get a feel for the place, and thus for the new additions I wanted for the site. We were eating at a local pub one night and she found me sitting at

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