by Susan Napier
‘I still work to my own schedule. I haven’t had any complaints up until now.’ She gave him a fierce look.
He lifted his hands off the bike’s handlebars and spread them in a gesture of appeasement. Dressed in a faded short-sleeved shirt that hung open above his dusty denim jeans he looked the quintessential farm worker, from the scuffed boots to the battered felt hat. He looked fit, healthy and relaxed, a far cry from the raging bull she had first encountered.
‘I’m not complaining. Quite the reverse. So far you’ve been doing a fabulous job.’
She wished she knew he was referring purely to the newsletter she was still piecing together. She had the feeling that he was speaking of another agenda entirely.
‘I’d do an even better one if you’d stop interrupting me,’ she said hardly.
She found it very difficult to concentrate on her screen when at any moment she could expect to look up and find Adam there, silently observing her with that expression of amused and faintly bewildered speculation that was so unnerving.
She didn’t need to be checked up on and after their first discussion about his project he must have known it. But he still kept seeking her out with flimsy excuses, knowing what it must look like to the rest of the household, knowing how disturbing she found his persistent attention. Disturbing because she couldn’t find the strength of mind to reject it.
The trouble was that living with him, working with him, wasn’t providing the kind of cure that she had hoped. Learning about the other side of Adam, the side he had concealed in his letters, only compounded her problem. Yes, he was wretchedly stubborn and arrogant and argumentative, but he also bent like a willow for those he loved: off-beat and whimsical with his mother; a romping child with his daughter; firm and even kind, in an implacably cool sort of way, with Tania.
He was simply...Adam. And, God forbid, her beloved fantasy hero was beginning to pale in comparison to the flesh and blood reality.
‘I like to keep my finger on the pulse; that’s why I wanted you here while you worked on it,’ Adam said reasonably, interrupting her brooding thoughts. ‘It’s good to have a constant exchange of ideas going on, don’t you think? Keeps the creative juices flowing.’
His eyes half masked by the shady brim of his hat, drifted down the length of her in the loose, drop-waisted summer shift which she had fetched, along with an armload of other clothes, when Adam had driven her back to her house to fetch her computer and files and shut up the house properly. He frowned at the sight of her bare feet.
‘Where are your shoes? You shouldn’t wander around a working orchard without some foot protection. Have you a current tetanus shot?’
‘I had a booster a couple of years ago.’ Honor bent to pick up her sturdy canvas slip-ons from their hiding place in the grass, and put them on. ‘My father always worked on country papers. I spent my childhood in the country. It wasn’t so long ago that I’ve forgotten the rules. I just took them off when I sat down.’
‘In that outfit you look as if childhood was only yesterday,’ Adam said drily, crossing his arms on the chrome stem of the handlebars and leaning forward to give her another lazy survey. ‘I’m sure Sara’s summer school uniform is almost exactly the same.’
‘If you wanted glamour you should have gone to the Growers’ lunch with Tania,’ Honor sniped back, regretting the jealous retort when Adam grinned.
‘I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I’ve always been a sucker for girls in uniform...Mary was a St John Ambulance volunteer. Have you been pumping my darling daughter about my activities?’
‘No, I have not,’ she said hotly, flirting marginally with the truth as she pondered his rare reference to his wife. Joy had mentioned Mary only a few times, always with a reverent expression, mentioning her loveliness and what a wonderful wife and mother she had been, and how Adam had put away all the photographs of her because they made him so sad. If Mary Blake had been as good as she was beautiful, no wonder no living woman could match up to her memory! ‘I wish I could stop her telling me things.’
‘Do you?’ His scepticism was like a red rag to a bull. ‘She likes you. You have the Sara seal of approval. Which is fortunate considering you’re supposed to be madly in love with me.’
Honor drew a sharp breath before realising he was teasing. ‘And whose fault is it that she thinks that? You shouldn’t encourage her, Adam—’
‘To like you?’
He was being deliberately obtuse. ‘No, to laugh at your sister-in-law...to side with me against her. It—it isn’t fair!’
‘To whom? Tania? I doubt if she even realises it. She doesn’t see Sara as a separate person in herself, just as adjunct to me. She never took a blind bit of notice of her before. I have no intention of being conned into playing Tania’s lord and protector for the rest of my life so that she won’t have to bother about life’s tiresome practicalities, and the sooner she accepts it the better. Thankfully, I think the scales are finally falling from her eyes. Before she stormed out this morning she told me that Zach was worth fifty of me. The only pity was that marrying him had given her a selfish, overbearing, social retard for a brother-in-law!’
‘Well, she got that right!’ said Honor feelingly, shattered to have her suspicions so wretchedly confirmed. She had been the means to an end, that was all.
‘Oh, I don’t think of it as an end at all, Honor. I think of it as a new beginning,’ he said blandly, making her realise that she had spoken aloud. ‘You don’t have a hat to go with those shoes, do you? That wild mop of hair is no protection from the sun and your nose is already looking a bit pink. It’s a long walk back to the house. Hop on and I’ll give you a ride. We don’t want to be late for lunch.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll walk,’ Honor bit out huffily. Suddenly she felt in need of a good cry.
‘It’ll be quicker on the bike. There’s plenty of room.’ He eased his pelvis forward and indicated the back of the curving seat.
‘No, I—’
‘Never been on one before? The four wheels make it very safe.’
‘I’m not worried about that—’
‘I’m very safe, too.’ He tipped the brim of his hat to her in a parody of old-fashioned politeness.
‘I’m sure you are,’ Honor said tightly, her desire to cry evaporating in the heat of her rising temper. ‘But I’d prefer to walk.’
‘You’re squinting, Honor. Is that the sun or are you telling fibs?’ He laughed at her scowling expression. ‘Come on, stop being such a ninny. You know you want to. It’s hot and I’ll bet you’re dying of thirst. If you don’t want to put your arms around me, I’ll scoot back a bit and you can sit in front of me.’ He watched her actually contemplate the option before adding wickedly, ‘Between my legs. You’d feel extra safe then, Honor. You’ve been there before, remember, and emerged unscathed.’
‘That is a matter of opinion,’ Honor delighted him by muttering tartly. She reached out to touch the hot rubber of the huge, fat rear tyres. He was right, damn him, she did want to. She’d seen some of the orchard employees tearing around on the bikes and it had looked rather fun. Why should she deprive herself of an enjoyable new experience just to prove Adam wrong?
Getting on proved a little more complicated than he had implied. Honor had to hitch her skirt well up her thighs to manoeuvre into place and once she was astride the seat she kept sliding forward towards the depression created by Adam’s greater weight. Her thighs scraped against the outside seam of his denims as she positioned her feet and when it came to her hands she was in something of a dilemma.
‘I know the advertising claim is that they’re rugged enough to tow a car with, but if you hang on to my jeans like that, Honor, they might peel off on a tight curve.’
Honor could feel those tight curves—they were pressed snugly against the V of her legs! She reluctantly let go of his belt loops and tentatively reached around his thick waist, closing her eyes tightly as she felt her hands tangle briefly with the flapping sides of his shirt
before connecting with a hard wall of flesh. His skin was hot and slightly moist, so that her palms slid slickly across it. The thicket of hair on his chest, her touch soon discovered, narrowed to a broad streak over his taut belly, springy and vital.
He turned his head, the profile of his lips barely moving as he murmured, ‘Hold me harder, Honor, I won’t break.’
Honor took a deep breath and leaned further into the convex curve of his back, her breasts flattening against striated muscle, her fingers meshing in a little rush over his navel, catching up a few stray curls as they did so. He made a small, choking sound of mingled pain and laughter that seemed to ripple through every muscle in his body.
‘Sorry!’
‘Did you do that on purpose?’
‘Of course I didn’t,’ she denied. ‘It’s not my fault you’re hairy.’
‘I could shave if you prefer your men smooth.’
As if he cared what she preferred! Although at least he’d paid her the compliment of the plural.
‘Shave your chest?’ Her mouth suddenly curved as she imagined it. ‘Maybe you’d better not,’ she said, a bubble of laughter bursting in her throat. ‘Your hairiness might hide a multitude of sins...the way men grow beards to hide weak chins.’
‘I didn’t choose to be like this, you know; genetics decided it for me. It’s not a matter of vanity.’ Did he sound slightly piqued?
‘Your father, he was a hairy man,’ chuckled Honor, her arms contracting automatically with her mirth.
‘He was, as a matter of fact. And he still had a full head of hair the day he died!’
He really was miffed. Honor muffled her giggles in the back of his shirt.
‘If you can control yourself we’ll get started,’ he rumbled sternly, turning the ignition key jerkily and causing a misfire.
‘Yes, Rapunzel, sir,’ she said meekly.
His diaphragm tensed under her hand as he twisted far enough sideways to be able to see her laughter-contorted face and merry eyes. She tried unsuccessfully to look serious and a wry half-smile touched his mouth in response. ‘No wonder Sara thinks she’s found a kindred spirit.’ His smile deepened. ‘You’re not really in an ideal position to provoke me, lady, with your dress hiked up to your waist and your legs wrapped around mine.’
‘Are you going to start your engine, or just sit here boasting about it?’ Honor countered pertly.
‘Feeling your oats, are you, honey?’ he rasped, taking off his hat and stuffing it under his thigh. ‘That’s good, because my engine has been revving for the last five minutes.’
It was a wild ride. After the first few minutes Honor forgot her modesty and tried to climb inside him as she hung on over the bumps and hollows. He weaved along the gravel tractor paths and finally detoured through one of the kiwi-fruit blocks, Honor instinctively ducking as they zipped under the leafy, spreading vines trained along a canopy of wires strung between stout wooden posts. The vines were supported at a comfortable height for an average man to stand under without stooping so her unnecessary cringing made Adam laugh, as did her little squeal when he executed a smart one hundred and eighty-degree turn at the end of the row and started back down again. In the end Honor was laughing with him, the wind whipping her hair into a mad froth around her face, the words she tried to shout at him instantly snatched from her mouth and lost in their turbulent wake. It was a long time since Honor had experienced the intoxicating thrill of sheer physical recklessness.
Well, at least all of four days!
When Honor tried to scramble off in the paddock behind the house her legs showed an alarming tendency to fold underneath her.
‘You were showing off,’ she gasped, as Adam lifted her off in a flurry of gathered skirts and supported her elbows as she found her feet again.
He grinned. ‘Just a bit. I made sure to stay out of the blocks that are being worked but I hope we weren’t spotted by a rogue crew member. There’s a threat of dismissal out on anyone who’s caught joy-riding on the farm equipment.’
‘They can’t fire you, you’re the boss.’ Honor was still trying to cope with the effect of the exhilaration on her nerves. ‘I wonder why they call it joy-riding?’ she said shakily.
Still holding one of her elbows, Adam waltzed her around her to face him. ‘Are you going to tell me you didn’t enjoy it?’ he teased. ‘Come on, Honor, I dare you. Look me dead in the eye and tell me that.’
She felt a tick in the corner of her eye even at the prospect of answering his challenge. He laughed, taking her by the hand and tugging her towards the gate that led to the house like a small boy heading for a treat.
‘Why did you come looking for me?’ she asked, as they got close enough to see Joy laying out plates on a table in the shadow of a large blue canvas umbrella.
‘Mmm?’
‘Sara said you were looking for me.’
‘Oh, yes, to tell you that the police caught our man. I think I’ll have a swim before lunch—going to join me?’
‘No, I—what did you say?’ He had slipped it in so casually, she thought she must have been mistaken.
‘I said I think I’ll have a—’
‘No, I meant about the man. What man? You mean the blackmailer? The police have caught him?’ She stopped in her tracks, jerking him to a halt. ‘My God, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I thought I just did,’ he said impatiently.
‘I mean straight away! How could you keep it to yourself like that? When did it happen? Who was it? I mean...it’s—well, it’s terrific...’ Her enthusiasm abruptly petered out as her eyes met his and the true impact of what he was saying hit her.
He turned and continued down the path, Honor trotting numbly beside him. ‘Actually the police didn’t catch him, his wife did. She found the magazines he’d been cutting the letters out of and made him tell her what he’d done. He turned himself in. He’d applied for a job at Blake Investments two years ago but turned up roaring drunk for the interview so the paperwork was never even filed. He hasn’t been able to get work since and apparently decided on his last drunken binge that it was time the company paid for causing all his problems. He doesn’t admit he’s an alcoholic. He didn’t really have any plan beyond sending the letters to make us squirm. It was revenge he was after, not the money, so there was no need for him to take the risk of carrying out his threats. He just wanted to “make the bastards suffer”.’
He sounded bored. As if now the puzzle was solved he had lost all interest. As if he had weightier matters on his mind.
Honor swallowed. ‘What happens now?’
‘Now? The police get on with their work and we get back to business as usual.’ Was that an oblique hint that Honor also should get back to where she belonged?
‘I hope there aren’t mushrooms on that pizza, Mum,’ he said as they stopped at the table and he reached past his mother for a gently steaming slice.
Joy slapped his hand away. ‘Yours is still in the oven. That’s for Sara and Honor. It has lots of mushrooms.’
‘Why don’t you sit down? I’ll go in and get it.’
‘Sara’s fetching it now.’ Joy smoothed her bright checked skirt with her hands and took a deep breath. ‘I wish you wouldn’t treat me like an invalid, Adam. It makes me feel like one. I don’t like it.’
He looked startled, then he grinned and leaned into the shade and kissed her wrinkled cheek. ‘Has Honor been giving you assertiveness lessons on the sly?’
His mother looked pleased. ‘She gave me a book. You don’t think I’m going overboard, do you? Your father hated bossy women.’
Adam laughed. ‘Don’t spoil it now.’
Honor couldn’t understand how he could be so casual when she was racked with uncertainty. ‘Adam—’
‘You may as well sit down and start, since yours is already here. I’ll just nip in to change and have a quick dip to loosen up. I’ve done a couple of hours’ hard labour helping with the summer pruning on the kiwi-fruit vines this morning and I’m beginning to
feel a few muscles I didn’t know I had.’
‘Adam, I need to talk to you...’
‘Later, hmm?’ He was stripping of his shirt and Honor couldn’t help noticing the row of eight small, crescent-shaped indentations in the vicinity of his navel. Goodness, she hadn’t realised she’d dug her fingernails in that hard. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joy look at her son and rushed into speech.
‘No, now. It’s about my leaving. Now this thing’s wrapped up surely there’s no danger, no need—’
He grabbed her jaw and stopped her saying any more by the simple expedient of kissing her.
‘There’s always a need. You’re my means, remember?’ He rubbed his hard nose against hers as he lifted his mouth. ‘You have a job you haven’t finished yet; you can’t leave until that’s done. And I still haven’t got around to returning those letters of yours, have I? You certainly can’t leave until you have those in your hot little hand...’
CHAPTER EIGHT
HONOR knelt back on her heels and sighed with frustration. The bottom drawer of the walnut desk was locked. She had jiggled experimentally at the handle but there was no way that it was going to fly open ‘accidentally’ and reveal its contents.
Light from the lamp on the desk glinted off a letter-opener lying beside it and she was tempted to try jabbing the point into the keyhole, but the temptation was only fleeting. The art of jimmying locks was not in her repertoire of skills and even if she flunked it there was a very definite line between surreptitiously searching and outright breaking and entering. It would be a gross abuse of hospitality, not to mention reprehensible criminal behaviour. Honor might be desperate but she wasn’t yet a complete moral degenerate.
She sighed again and put her hands flat on the carpet to lever herself to her feet.
‘Lost a contact lens?’
Her head snapped up so violently at the sarcastic enquiry that it collided with the overhanging corner of the desk.
‘Ouch!’ She rose, rubbing the sore spot, pain taking the edge off her shock at the sight of the big man who had flicked on the overhead light.
