Free Addicted to Nick by Bronwyn Jameson

approval didn’t matter, she told herself, but the appointment did. “This afternoon? After I finish work?”
    â€œPerfect.” With that he turned on his heel and strode back the way they had come. T.C. held her breath until he disappeared beyond the bank of melaleucas lining thehouse-yard. He was gone, out of her hair for the best part of the day. She couldn’t have planned it any better.
    So why did she feel such an intense desire to call him back?
    Â 
    It took Nick all morning to deal with the paperwork Melissa had e-mailed, and finishing it was about the only enjoyable part of the exercise—that and knowing she would now get off his case.
    His partner could be a real pain in the butt…when she wasn’t being brilliant. With a wry grimace, he recalled the set down she’d given him yesterday when, in her words, she finally got him to answer the bloody phone. Dealing with her from this far away had its advantages. Like he could call her Lissa, honey without getting swatted around the ears. She hated endearments almost as much as she hated the way he abbreviated her name.
    So why had he answered the phone that way? To get up her nose, or because he wanted to prove a point to Tamara?
    The point being?
    That he didn’t give a flying fig about her decision to eat with the on-again off-again boyfriend. That he would be just fine on his own, thanks for asking.
    With an impatient shove, he propelled his chair away from the desk and let it swing in a half circle. He stretched his arms high, cracked his knuckles and ignored the temptation to look out the window. He would not check up on her, even under the guise of seeing if Jason had arrived yet.
    She had made it clear she didn’t want his help. She’d made it clear she didn’t want anything from him, and although she appealed to him on many levels—the courage she’d shown in confronting him that first night, her fierce loyalty to Joe, the incredibly stimulating touch of herhand…oh, and the way she kissed—she was way too prickly, too complex.
    A thousand headaches in the making.
    Just as soon as he had made a partnership-breaking deal, he would be on the first plane back to his life—the life he had made for himself. With a resolute nod he turned back to the desk and the box-file George had handed him before he walked out of their meeting.
    â€œCrunch time, Niccolo,” he muttered as his glance slid over the solicitor’s label: Estate Of The Late Joe Corelli. Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, he slipped on his reading glasses and extracted the first wad of papers.
    Â 
    It was almost seven before T.C. forced herself to sit down in the living room—much later than she had anticipated, but by the time Jason had arrived that morning she had been way behind schedule. She had wanted to talk to him but couldn’t find the words, and that sat badly with her throughout the afternoon, so every small task had seemed to take twice as long. Then she had needed a good long shower, and if she tried hard enough she could even justify changing her clothes three times before deciding on her usual combination of jeans, tank top and flannel shirt.
    She could justify all night long, but when it came down to it, she was a coward. This conversation with Nick would likely decide her future—whether she stayed in the place she had come to accept as home, or whether she would be forced to ring that Perth trainer and take the alternative he offered. Yet she feared she wasn’t up to it. It surprised her that she had found the nerve to knock at the office door, to push it open a fraction, to inform Nick she would be in the living room. She hadn’t waited for his reply; she hadn’t even looked in. She had pulled the door shut and kept on walking.
    Maybe her father had been right. Maybe she was a little girl playing in a man’s world.
    Before she could sink into that mire of self-pity, Nick