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She’d slipped out the door before he could think of anything else stupid to say.
He usually worked most of the day up in his apartment, liking the light and the space to think freely—away from the phones and noise of his employees. But today, after the meeting, he stayed down on the second floor with them. Keeping away from the sight of that damn dress and the scent of her.
He was going to have to win her over again. How? Make her laugh? Do something nice for her? He had the suspicion he needed to be careful about that—she’d got huffy over his offer to take care of her car. So what, then?
Annoyed with himself for spending so long thinking about her, he forced himsel
f to work longer and harder. And when that failed he went out and got physical.
Bella had had a long day. She was well used to working in a café but was more tired than usual from standing and smiling for so many hours. She’d spent the whole time seeing Owen looking the ultimate stud in that suit. Devastating, distracting, delicious—and totally beyond her reach.
Now she was sitting at his big table, desperately trying to sew the sleeve back onto the offending fairy dress. She’d had a call from one of the parents who’d been at yesterday’s party. She had a four-year-old niece who was having a party this weekend and would she be able to attend? Of course she would. She needed the money too badly to say no. She needed to get out of Owen’s apartment before she threw herself at him desperate-wench style.
Sighing, she tried to thread the needle again. She was having more luck with her party entertaining than she was with her serious acting. She’d phoned up one of the theatres and had felt totally psyched out when the artistic director started asking about what training she’d had and so on. She’d stumbled, like the amateur she was. He’d said they had nothing now but to keep an eye out in the paper for the next auditions call. She didn’t know what else she’d expected, but it was disheartening all the same.
Then Owen got home. She stared as he gave her a brief grin and headed to the kitchen. He’d been to the gym or for a run or something because he was in shorts and a light tee and trainers and there was bare brown skin on show. He was filmed in sweat and breathing hard. She was fascinated. Her own pulse skipped faster, forcing her to take in air quicker too.
He reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. Seeing him swigging deeply like that, Bella totally lost her stitch. She struggled once more to rethread the needle.
He wandered closer, staring just as hard back at her with an expression she couldn’t define. The thread slipped again.
‘Repairs not going so well?’
Major understatement. She’d scrubbed so hard at the hem to get the wine stains out and had only partially succeeded. She was gutted because it was a one-in-a-million dress and if she didn’t get it sorted she wouldn’t be able to work. She couldn’t afford a new one and she couldn’t afford to get this one fixed. She was going to have to do it herself. She squared her shoulders. Determined to do it, refusing to send an SOS to her father, refusing to give up.
‘Let me have a go.’ He went back to the kitchen, washed his hands, dried them and then reached for the fabric.
Stunned, she handed it over. ‘You really were some sort of Boy Scout?’
He glanced at her then, his eyes full of awareness, and she kicked herself for bringing the memory of that night out into the open. She flushed.
He looked back to the needle, lips twitching. ‘Actually, no, but I figure I can’t do as bad a job as you are.’
‘Thanks very much.’
He sat in the chair next to hers. Suddenly antsy, she moved and took a quick walk around the room before returning to stand over him. He’d been out running for over an hour. She could see the ‘68’ minutes frozen on his stopwatch where he’d recorded his time. Yet his breathing was now normal. Fit guy. But then she knew that already. She could feel the heat from him and all it did was make her uncomfortably hot and her breath came shorter and faster still—as if she were the one out marathon training.
He didn’t look too competent with the needle, though.
‘Damn.’
Sure enough he’d pricked his finger.
She felt mightily glad to see he was a little useless at something.
He looked up at her, his eyes suddenly all puppy-dog apologetic. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Tell you what, I’ll get my dry-cleaner to take it—they do mending as well.’
‘No.’ She shook her head.
‘Bella, I have to. I’ve smeared blood on it now. I owe you.’
She looked at the dress; sure enough, there was a big spot right on the cute capped sleeve.
‘Oh.’ Her heart lurched.
‘It’s the least I can do.’ He really did look sorry. ‘I’m sure they’ll be able to fix it.’
She hadn’t got the wine stains out. She’d have no luck getting the blood mark either. Damn it, he’d put her in the position of having to accept his help again. ‘OK.’
