by Joss Wood
She was obviously reluctant to talk about her sister and that made him curious. Why did she move to Cape Town? Was he imagining the tinge of annoyance he heard in her voice?
She was his temporary employee, a woman who’d be out of his life tomorrow afternoon. He didn’t need to dig into her life, for God’s sake. He needed to get this conversation, and his thought patterns, back on track. She was only here to do a job for him.
It suddenly occurred to Radd that, in his haste to acquire a florist, he didn’t know if she had any skills. This was not, by any stretch of the imagination, his finest day. “How much experience do you have in flower arranging?” he demanded.
Brin looked at him from under long, thick lashes. “Mmm, not much. I’m more of a buy-flowers-from-the-garage-and-shove-them-into-a-glass-vase type.”
Oh, God, he was so screwed.
Brin grinned, leaned forward and patted his knee. “Relax, I’m joking.”
His heart restarted with a lurch and a shudder. “Not funny,” he growled, surprised she had the cheek to tease him. Few people were that brave.
“I couldn’t resist,” Brin said, amusement dancing in her eyes. She reached into her bag, pulled out her phone and tapped the screen.
She held the device out to him and told him to swipe left to see her photos. He flipped through, saw wedding bouquets and huge tumbling arrangements, and tried to act like he knew what he was looking at. They looked fine, which was a relief.
“I’ve done a few weddings, some corporate functions and arrangements for parties. I’ve always loved flowers and gardening and making stuff grow.” Brin told him, and he heard a note of insecurity in her voice. “It used to be a hobby, but I’m good enough to turn it into a career. Or so my clients tell me.”
He wasn’t in the business of handing out reassurances or support, and he’d never been the cheerleading type—he most definitely wasn’t a hand-holder—but the urge to allay her insecurities was strong. Radd gripped the bridge of his nose and applied pressure to push these uncomfortable notions out of his head. Brin was not like anyone he’d ever met and she, for some reason, possessed the power to disarm him.
Why this woman and why now? He needed to stay detached, to be indifferent and emotionally uninvolved. He’d trained himself to be stoic and disengaged, but there was something about Brinley that made him want to step out of his carefully crafted cocoon.
He had to stop, retreat and pull himself together. If he had any sense, he’d pull out his laptop and ignore her for the rest of the flight.
He was paying her to do a job, he wasn’t required to entertain her.
Brin leaned forward and pointed to her phone. “So is my work okay?”
Radd handed her phone back and shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know anything about what you do.” There was no way he’d tell her he liked the unstructured arrangements the best, they looked wild and free and...lush.
Lush? Holy hell, who was this person who’d taken possession of his mind?
Brin looked momentarily disappointed at his reply but she recovered quickly, and he appreciated the fact she didn’t pout or sulk. “Can you give me some idea of what flowers I’ll have to work with?” Brinley asked, putting her phone back in her bag. “And what you want?”
Was this a trick question? “I think they are blue. And we need them in vases.”
Brinley gave him a look that was part amusement and complete frustration. “And that’s all you have for me?”
“Pretty much,” Radd admitted.
“Excellent,” Brinley murmured, sarcasm coating every syllable. Skye placed two glasses filled with ice in front of each of them and cracked open a bottle of water.
“Well, will your fiancée be at the lodge? Maybe she can spare some time to give me an idea of what she wants,” Brinley asked.
His...what?
Radd heard Skye’s snort and sent him a hot glare. Skye’s expression turned neutral and he quickly finished pouring their drinks. When he left the room, Radd looked at Brinley. “Why would you think I’m the one getting married?”
“You aren’t?”
Radd noticed her dismay and wondered why she looked so damn disappointed on hearing he wasn’t about to be hitched and stitched. To clarify, he told her he was very single. Then he wondered why he felt the need to do so, because explaining wasn’t something he ever did.
Radd watched as Brinley hunted for a reason for her confusion. “I just thought that, because you are so involved in all of this, you have a personal connection to the event. Men of your...um, men like you, high-flying businessmen, have people to organize stuff like this.”
Fair point. But those were men who didn’t have a multi-billion-dollar investment riding on this wedding and weren’t dealing with a spoiled bride and her doting father.
Radd drank half of the contents of his glass before putting it back on the table. “It’s crucial we keep the bride, and her father, happy, and trust me, they make it difficult.”
Brinley’s grasp on her glass loosened and the tension in her jaw eased. “Oh. Well, who is getting married and why do you need to keep them happy?”
He could tell her; it wasn’t common knowledge, but neither was it a secret. “We are in negotiations with Vincent Radebe, he is selling us something we want. A condition of the sale is we provide his daughter Naledi with the best wedding experience possible. And that means pre-wedding festivities at Kagiso Ranch and an out-of-this-world wedding at The Vane next Saturday.”
Radd had heard the expression color drained from her face before, but he’d never seen it happen until this moment. Brinley’s eyes widened and, as her face paled, the freckles on her nose and cheeks stood out in stark relief.
She was going to faint, he just knew it. Radd sprang to his feet and placed his hand against the back of her head, pushing her head gently down to rest between her knees, his fingers covered by soft, fragrant curls.
Maybe she’d had too much sun, too little food, or maybe she was dehydrated. It was possible.
Or maybe, just maybe, the fact she was doing flowers for a celebrity couple was overwhelming. Which was, he admitted, a little disappointing. Brinley didn’t seem the swooning type.
She certainly hadn’t with him.
CHAPTER THREE
HAVING STUMBLED BACK to the bathroom, Brinley gripped the basin and stared at her pale face in the mirror. Her eyes looked haunted and she’d chewed all her lipstick off. She looked like she felt, shocked but also resentful.
For the last few months, since she’d left Johannesburg and drastically reduced contact with her family, her life had been peaceful. She’d started sleeping well and stressing less, and she’d worked hard to find a new normal. While she wasn’t completely happy—how could she be when she was constantly counting pennies?—she was content and that was, for now, enough.
The past six months had been drama free, but this day certainly wasn’t. She didn’t know where to start to try and make sense of it all...
Firstly, Radd Tempest-Vane wasn’t engaged, dammit, and he’d stripped her of the much-needed psychological barrier between them. If he was in love with someone else, she would’ve had a very good reason to ignore her attraction to him.
But the man had the temerity—the sheer audacity—to be single!
It didn’t matter, Brin told herself, it shouldn’t matter. Her insane physical reaction to him was nothing more than simple biology, an age-old instinct to mate, to procreate. She was young, healthy and yes, she had urges. This was a very normal reaction to a good-looking guy.
There was no need to overreact.
Besides, she had a far bigger problem than her inconvenient attraction to Radd.
Brinley straightened her arms and stared down at the expensive floor, sucking in deep breaths to get her heart to stop racing. There were a million couples at any one time who were in the process
of getting married, but she was traveling to Kagiso Ranch to do the flowers for Naledi Radebe, Kerry’s archenemy.
Naledi and her sister had once been friends, good friends, but their relationship wasn’t strong enough to survive Kerry being chosen instead of Naledi for some advertisement campaign. Then came the allegations of Kerry dating someone Naledi was seeing. At a party, slaps had been exchanged and the pictures in the press hadn’t been pretty. Someone pressed assault charges, the other responded with charges of her own, though the criminal charges were eventually dropped and the fight moved to the civil courts.
Then came the social media war that left them both bleeding but, eventually, the vitriol eased and now it was just the occasional caustic tweet throwing shade. Neither had ever made the attempt to mend fences.
Knowing she needed more information, Brin picked up her phone, accessed the onboard Wi-Fi and did a quick search, immediately picking up an article announcing Naledi’s engagement to Johnathan Wolfe and, God, yes, he was the same guy Kerry had had a fling with two years ago.
Oh, crap and dammit.
Reasonable or not, Naledi would lose it if she realized her enemy’s sister was doing her flowers. It wouldn’t matter to Naledi that Brin and Kerry seldom spoke, Brin shared Kerry’s blood and that would be enough to make her lose it.
Kerry would probably also call her a traitor, screaming that blood should always stand with blood.
Nobody had ever called either of the two society princesses reasonable.
God, this was disastrous. Brin paced the small area of the bathroom, wondering what she should do. She could tell Radd her nebulous connection to the bride but if she did, he’d turn the plane around and dump her still-broke butt back in Cape Town. He had a massive business deal riding on the outcome of this wedding and he wouldn’t risk upsetting the Radebes.
He’d find another florist, and she would be out of thirty thousand US dollars. She needed that money. Really, really needed it, and if she spent twenty-four hours at Kagiso and did a decent job, she could create a life that excited her...a little shop, and working as a floral designer, adding pops of color and interest to homes and events, would make her happy. Unlike Kerry, she didn’t need a big stage, or lights or action. It wasn’t big or bold, but Brin didn’t need big or bold, she just needed it to be hers.
Brin flicked her thumbnail against her bottom teeth. Radd had told her that she was due to leave the lodge tomorrow afternoon and the wedding party was only flying in on Monday morning. She could do the flowers, get paid enough to set up her own business and leave before Naledi arrived. She’d leave it up to Radd to explain who the florist was. She owed this to herself and, if she didn’t take this opportunity, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
Brinley looked at herself in the mirror, pleased to see the color had returned to her face and her eyes no longer looked haunted. Progress.
She could pull this off, she had to.
Brinley walked back into the salon to see Skye placing a platter between two bone china plates on the dining table. Silver cutlery, crystal glasses and three thousand count linen napkins made her think she was eating in a five-star restaurant.
Brinley stepped forward and saw the platter was, actually, a beautiful seafood salad—and she grinned. Thanks to her skeletal budget, seafood was something she never ate.
“Oh, Skye, it looks fantastic,” Brin said, walking up to the table. Skye pulled out her chair and Brin sat down.
Radd walked over to the table and took his seat, pulling the bottle of white wine from the silver ice bucket. “You’re looking better,” he commented.
“Low blood sugar, I think,” Brinley replied, as Skye piled seafood salad onto her plate.
Radd’s eyes sharpened. “Are you sure that’s all it was?”
Brin didn’t like lying, but what choice did she have? She was not giving up her dreams, not when she just needed a scant twenty-four hours to make them come true.
She shrugged as she placed a linen serviette across her lap. “It’s been an interesting day.”
“Just so you know, Ms. Riddell, I don’t like secrets or surprises. In fact, they are my least favorite thing in the world. So, if there’s something I should know, tell me now.”
Oh, wow, there was the ultra-tough, fantastically shrewd businessman. He was both sexy and a little scary, and Brin was thankful she’d never have to meet him in a boardroom. He’d chew her up and spit her out...
“I haven’t eaten all day and am probably a little dehydrated. I’ll be fine by the time we land,” Brin hedged.
Radd looked skeptical, but Brin just kept her eyes on him, hoping he’d change the subject. It took everything Brin had not to look away, knowing that if she did, he’d see it as a sign of weakness or, worse, for the lie it was. Their stalemate was broken by Skye clearing his throat and they both turned their attention back to him.
“We’ll be landing in forty minutes. Bon Appétit.”
* * *
“Leave your bags,” Radd told her. “The staff will take them up to the lodge.”
Brinley nodded and followed him to the jet’s exit. Even from a few steps away from the door, she could feel the air was different: warm but earthy, primal. As she stood at the top of the stairs and looked over the bush beyond the airstrip, she felt instantly connected to this old-as-time land.
Wide-open skies, fresh air, thick vegetation. It was wild and luscious and so different from the city life she was used to.
Brin noticed the open-top game viewing vehicles parked to the side of the airstrip, two rangers dressed in khaki shorts, dark green shirts and hiking boots next to them. Walking down the steps, Brin stopped, turned and looked back up to Radd, a few steps behind here.
“This is a ridiculous question but where, exactly, are we?”
Radd’s stern mouth tipped up at the corners. “We’re on the southern edge of the Kalahari Desert.”
When they reached the grass strip, Radd took her hand—making bubbles pop on her skin—and tugged her away from the plane, turning her around to look in the opposite direction. Purple-blue, craggy mountains cast shadows over the plains below.
Conscious of her very small hand in his, Brin found her head dipping sideways to rest on his shoulder. She felt him tense, heard his intake of breath and slammed her eyes shut, mortified by her lover-like response. Abruptly, she pulled her hand from his, defiantly folding her arms across her chest.
Note to self: touching Radd makes your brain turn to mush.
Radd started to speak and Brin forced herself to concentrate.
“We’re in what we call the green Kalahari,” Radd explained. “The reserve is home to Kalahari black-maned lions, black desert rhino, Hartmann’s mountain zebra, cheetah, gemsbok, roan antelope, the pangolin and many, many more animals. The guests, and the money they pay, fund our conservation efforts. The land and animals are our priority.”
Brinley heard the tiny crack in his voice suggesting emotion and saw the passion in his eyes. In this brief moment, Radd wasn’t the hard-ass billionaire businessman, but an ardent man advocating for something he believed in. Brin understood, at a fundamental level, how important Kagiso was to him.
Radd’s cologne mixed with the smell of foliage, dust and wild Africa, and the combination made Brin’s head swim. The fading rays of the sun touched his dark hair and turned his ink pot eyes to a shade of black. All Brin wanted to do was stand in this spot and taste Africa in his mouth and on his skin, feel his arms gathering her into his body.
Radd lifted his hand and he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, then across her cheekbone. What was he doing? Where was this coming from? She thought she’d seen attraction and desire in his eyes but, because his expression remained implacable and because he was so out of her league, she wasn’t sure.
Was she his type? Could he, possibly, be as attracted to her as she was to
him?
Radd lowered his head and Brin thought, hoped, he might kiss her, but a millisecond later, he jerked his head back and stepped away from her.
“We are not going there, Brinley.”
She took a quick, awkward step backward. Yes, of course, she knew that! Hadn’t she been telling herself exactly that? Brinley stared into the distance, annoyed with herself. Why was the concept of Radd Tempest-Vane being strictly, completely, Area 51-off-limits not sinking in? She was reasonably intelligent, it wasn’t a difficult concept to grasp.
Radd lightly touched her back and led her over to the first of the game viewing vehicles. One of the rangers immediately sprang into action, opening the front passenger door for her. When he put out a hand to help her into the vehicle, Radd spoke to him in an African language, his voice, as always, commanding.
The game ranger stepped back, replied and nodded.
“You speak... What language do they speak here?” Brin asked as she lifted her skirt to climb into the deep green vehicle. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to steady her as she stepped onto the running board. She settled in her seat as Radd walked around the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Tswana,” Radd rested his forearms on the wheel and stared at the thick bush on the other side of the airstrip. “Kagiso means peace in Tswana. I spent a lot of time here with my paternal grandfather as a kid, pretty much every school holiday. I’m told I could speak the language before I could speak English.”
Wow. “That’s amazing. I wish I spoke an African language.”
Radd turned the ignition and the engine caught. “Why don’t you? It’s pretty obvious you have some African blood.”
“My mother is biracial, and my biological father is white. My grandfather was Sotho, but we only ever spoke English at home,” Brinley replied, not meeting his eyes. “My mother’s side of the family left their culture behind a long time ago.”
