by Daphne Clair
“The way I do?”
“Um…casual.”
“You mean scruffy.” He didn’t seem offended.
“I didn’t say that.” It was what she’d once thought, but the unruly hair and the chin-halo of his beard actually made him appear disturbingly male and sexy. “I just mean that I need to look professional if I want to be taken seriously.”
He seemed to consider that. “It’s still like that for women?”
“Some men think that because I’m female I’m not capable of running a company like Magnussen’s. If I’d had a brother—”
She stopped abruptly and Jase said, “You’re an only child, aren’t you?”
“Yes. My father would have preferred a son, but he had to make do with me.” Why had she blurted that out now? She’d never put it into words before.
Jase’s gaze sharpened. “Did he say that?”
“He didn’t need to.” It was just something she’d known ever since she was barely school age, a conviction that became stronger as she grew older. No matter how much she tried to be what her father wanted she couldn’t change her sex. She was never able to take the place of the son Fate had denied him.
She stirred, her eyes going to the low dunes with their sparse covering of tough, pale grasses and creeping plants. “Can we go now? I don’t want to be too late getting home.”
“Someone waiting for you?”
The question sounded idle, but she felt the razor-sharpness of his gaze.
“I have things to do,” she said. “And my car’s still parked at the office.”
He nodded and started the engine.
They didn’t speak much on the way back to the city. Samantha was preoccupied, thinking she should be careful what she said around this man. He had a knack of picking up on unguarded remarks, reading into them more than she’d expected or intended. And even the briefest of kisses set her pulse thundering and her body melting like chocolate in the sun.
She could still feel the warm pressure of his mouth on hers, and didn’t dare wipe away the lingering, too-pleasant taste of it while he sat beside her.
It meant nothing, she told herself. A casual, spur-of-the-moment kiss that he might have given to any woman he’d spent a pleasant, leisurely hour or two with. He’d probably forgotten it already. Certainly he’d shown no sign of being upset by her rejection. And that was no reason for a niggling irritation on her part.
When he drew up outside the Magnussen Building she said, putting a hand on the door latch, “Thank you for the beach, it was a nice ending to the day.”
“I’ll see you to your car,” Jase said. And insisted, despite her protest that she would be quite safe. When she’d unlocked the car he leaned forward to open the driver’s door, touched her cheek and said, “Take care.”
The banal words somehow warmed her, the warmth lasting all the way home—until she entered the apartment and found it almost chilly. The sparse furniture in leather and metal that she’d chosen with care for its elegant design, durability and ease of cleaning now somehow appeared uninviting.
She showered off the sand and put on a short silk nightgown, and an embroidered kimono she’d bought on a business trip to Japan, then microwaved a piece of chicken and made a small salad to go with it.
She felt alive and alert and after her shower rather mellow. A feeling of wellbeing she hadn’t experienced for a long time.
That it was due to Jase Moore was peculiar, considering what he’d thought of her—possibly still did. He’d never retracted his initial assumptions and he’d been openly sceptical of her denials.
The nature of the kiss still bothered her—what had he been trying to find out exactly?
Not that his opinion of her mattered, of course. So long as he did his job and fulfilled his contract with Magnussen’s that was all she needed from him.
It wasn’t the thought that now they’d finalised his proposal they’d be working less closely that caused a sudden dip in her mood. Of course not.
Driving to his country home after dropping her off, Jase reminded himself that, spurred by the shock of learning she’d made Bryn a member of her board, he’d taken on the Magnussen’s project because it would help him keep an eye on Samantha.
Working with her, he’d briefly, rarely, seen glimpses of a softer, warmer and much more vulnerable being than the one she presented to the world.
And today she’d been…different again. Enjoying the simple pleasure of sea and sand and rock pools filled with secret life; unselfconsciously paddling in the waves, and laughing at her own discomfort when the cross-current caught her unawares. She didn’t lack a sense of humour.
Kissing her had seemed not only natural but necessary. He’d taken a calculated risk, that it might make her let down her guard so he could find out what she was hiding underneath it, what made her tick. The more he saw of Samantha Magnussen, the more he’d had a driving need to melt the ice and find the real woman beneath.
But she’d rejected his kiss and retreated physically and emotionally, shutting him out again.
Her privilege, and anger wasn’t an appropriate response, he told himself.
By the time he’d returned her to her car, her customary unbendable composure was back in place, exasperating him further.
What would he have to do to get to the real, living, breathing, passionate creature he sensed behind the impenetrable surface gloss? Somewhere inside there was a heart, he knew. A woman’s heart that could be broken just like anyone else’s. And perhaps had been.
After the first upheaval and major changes, and a couple of short-lived hitches, Jase’s new systems proved to work as smoothly as he’d promised.
Samantha was able to home in from the computer on her desk to any of the company’s building sites, and confer with the site manager on a large wall screen while zooming in on the particular area under discussion.
Jase himself supervised the installation in her office, although when it came time to load new programmes she vacated her chair and watched him install them.
She said, standing at his shoulder, “Still, there’s nothing like actually being there. When are you geniuses going to add smell to this great technology? That’s what I miss. The smell of turned earth and timber.”
He laughed. “We’re working on it. You can still go out on site and get mud on your shoes if you want to.”
“That part I don’t miss too much,” she admitted. Although like everyone else she wore boots once actually on site.
“I could install voice commands for you now if you like,” he said. “You’d never even have to touch the computer.”
“I can’t see myself sitting alone in my office and talking to a machine.” She’d learned standard keyboard skills while taking her double degree in architecture and business studies, and practised until she could type as fast as she could think.
Jase said, “You don’t need to use it if you don’t want to.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hands. Or my eyes.”
“Nothing at all,” he said. Half turning, he took her left hand and ran his thumb over the back of the smooth, pale skin, and as her startled eyes met his gaze she felt a sudden fierce tug of desire, saw the same in his. “Topaz,” he murmured.
“What?”
“I saw a ring with a stone that colour, once. Blue topaz. Clear as glass and very beautiful.”
A taut silence sizzled between them, filled with unspoken questions. His black brows lifted slightly.
No! She dragged her gaze from his knowing stare, pulled away her hand. It wouldn’t do.
And immediately following that thought came another. Why not?
Because…because he wasn’t her type. And he was Bryn’s brother-in-law.
So? Temptation jeered, as Jase, his mouth firming, shrugged and turned back to the keyboard. Bryn was married, and she’d dealt with that. There was only the occasional twinge of envy of his wife, a tiny remnant of regret that the man who’d seemed perfect for her hadn’t
been interested. She wasn’t spending her life mourning lost chances.
So why pass up this one?
A chance…of what? A red-hot affair with Jase Moore?
It was something she’d never had. She had been late venturing into sex, as a teenager made wary by her girlfriends’ roller-coaster plummets from starry-eyed infatuation to heartbroken despair. She had worked too hard at being in command of her feelings to let some hormone-driven adolescent whim—or simple curiosity—endanger that control.
When later she decided the time had come she chose her first lover with care. While she found the experience pleasant, sex had never been something she couldn’t resist. Eventually they parted without rancour. Of the few men allowed into her bed since, none had made it to a long-term relationship.
One she’d thought might do so had told her she was married to her business. Although he had a business of his own, one of many things they had in common, he resented sharing her time, and eventually found another lover who was willing to accept the role of mistress, at his beck and call. It strengthened Samantha’s determination to make her career the centre of her life. That was something solid that would always be there so long as she kept it in good heart, something she could control.
No man had impinged on her self-image as a person in charge of her own life, her own business, her own emotions.
Until Jase. Standing beside him now, not even looking at him, her eyes firmly fixed on the big screen that showed a series of commands and options, she was achingly aware of his every small movement, even his breathing. Every nerve ending knew exactly how close he was—tantalisingly close yet not touching. But wanting to.
She kept watching the screen until her eyes watered.
When he’d finished and stood up, so close that she instinctively moved back two steps, fighting a desire to touch him, tempt him, give in to desire, she blurted out the only thing that came to mind. “You don’t really still work from your parents’ garage?”
His business card gave an e-mail address, an 0800 number, a Hamilton box number and an Auckland “Sales and Showroom” address. She knew he employed at least a couple of dozen people. It wasn’t a small operation.
He gave her his pirate’s grin, that lethal combination of macho magnetism and underlying ruthless purpose. “I’ll take you to see it if you like,” he offered, apparently casual, one thumb tucked into the waistband of the jeans he wore. “We could drive down to the Waikato at the weekend, have lunch with my parents and spend the day. You might even enjoy yourself.”
The last was delivered so ironically she was immediately on the defensive. “I’m sure I would.” And sure he hadn’t meant it, looking forward to watching him try to wriggle out of his own trap now she’d called his bluff.
Instead he said promptly, “How about this coming weekend.”
“I’m going to a christening party on Sunday.”
The glint lighting the depths of Jase’s eyes held hidden laughter. “Saturday then,” he said decisively.
Surely the suggestion had been an impulse he must have instantly regretted. Only he wouldn’t back down once he’d made it.
Or maybe—just maybe, it was an olive branch, a sign he’d finally decided that she wasn’t, after all, the unscrupulous Jezebel he’d imagined.
Unless…unless he wanted to explore the unasked-for spark that hovered in the air between them. If that was in his mind, it would change everything.
The thought made her heart flip, and warmth uncurl in her midriff.
No, she reminded herself yet again. Instinct told her that Jase Moore was the one man who could wreck her carefully organised life, tear her heart apart, expose the quivering nerves of past hurts to renewed pain. Who would willingly invite all that?
He was too…too much. Too smart, too perceptive, too blunt. And too damned sexy.
Too dangerous.
CHAPTER SIX
THEY drove south on Saturday. Samantha had thought of cancelling the arrangement, but he’d see through her excuse and she wouldn’t allow him to use any chink in her armour.
After one comprehensive perusal of the light-blue cotton shirt and the jeans that snugged her hips, Jase led her to a white car with the name of his company on the side, not the 4WD he used for site visits.
If underlying his casual, relaxed manner she sensed a hidden tension in the set of his mouth and the line between his brows as he concentrated on his driving, perhaps it was due to her own pent-up feelings.
She was acutely aware that entering into his world might be a rash step too far. And she was still unsure why he’d suggested it. If he’d hoped to explore their tenuous relationship—the thought made her heart skip a beat, and she tried to put it out of her mind. Don’t cross that bridge until you come to it. Or more wisely, refuse to cross it.
They left the city and traversed the Bombay hills to descend to the green landscape of the Waikato. Samantha found the browsing dairy cows in their paddocks, the white sheep dotting distant hills and the wide, shading trees about the farmhouses rather restful. It was a change to have someone else drive so she could enjoy it.
When they reached the Maori King’s hometown of Ngaruawahia where the Waikato River ran deep, dark and slow alongside the road, she let out a sigh as the last tension seemed to leave her body.
Jase shot her a look as he slowed for a troop of teenagers sauntering across the road. “What’s that about?”
“Nothing,” she said, and settled further into her seat. “I haven’t been down this way for a while. I’m enjoying the countryside.”
Stepping up speed as the sleepy little town began to recede behind them, he said, “I like it.”
“That’s why you still work from your parents’ farm?”
“Just a country boy at heart,” he said. “And from there to my Auckland office is not much over an hour’s commute. The best of both worlds. The advantage of the computer age is being able to work anywhere you want.”
But Samantha saw his slight frown deepen as he returned his attention to the road. “What’s wrong?” she queried, wondering if he was regretting his impulse to invite her.
The frown disappeared. “Nothing.” He echoed her earlier answer. “It’s a nice day for a drive with a pretty girl by my side. What could be wrong?”
“I’m not a girl.”
He took his eyes from the road again for a second. “A beautiful woman, then.”
“Flattery?” She cast him a dry glance. “That’s a change, from you.”
“Not flattery. It’s the truth.”
From him, she almost believed he meant it. He’d certainly never gone out of his way to pay her fulsome compliments. She looked at him, stupidly pleased that he thought her beautiful.
He was looking straight ahead through the windscreen as in front of them a large truck barrelled along at 20ks below the speed limit.
Jase accelerated and the speedometer needle crept up as they passed the truck before he pulled into line behind a row of cars.
Lapsing into silence, Jase tried to concentrate on his driving. He’d told himself to tread carefully today.
The invitation had been impulsive, but the more he saw of her, the more he wanted to really know her in every way—not just physically, although that thought stirred his body and sent the blood racing in his veins, but what she thought, what she felt, why she was so determined to lock her innermost self away from him and, he suspected, everyone else. Except maybe Bryn. How much had she been prepared to reveal to him?
Jase knew damn well that far from cutting Bryn from her life, she seemed to go out of her way to keep him close. Meeting him at the seminar might have been chance, but inviting him onto her board of directors was a deliberately provocative move.
It was after she’d let that bit of information slip that Jase asked his brother-in-law the question he’d been debating within himself for far too long, reluctant to challenge Bryn and possibly have Rachel find out. Samantha’s name had come up in the conversation and he
took his opportunity. “Do you two have a history?” he demanded. He’d been invited to dinner at Rivermeadows, and they were enjoying a beer on the terrace while Rachel helped Pearl prepare the meal.
Bryn frowned, apparently at a loss. “I’ve known Samantha for a long time, but not really well until after her father died and we became good friends.”
“How good?”
Bryn looked surprised, then angry, and finally said crisply, “If you’re getting at what I think you are, Jase, I resent the question. One, it’s none of your damn business. Two, even if you were right, whatever happened before I married Rachel isn’t anyone’s business. And three, I would never cheat on your sister. I have the greatest respect and liking for Samantha Magnussen, and that’s all I have to say about her.”
Bryn had been born to money and prestige, and this was one of the few occasions Jase had seen him mount his high horse, telling the peasants where they stood. Maybe he should have tugged his forelock and apologised for his temerity.
Instead, seeing from Bryn’s formidably closed mouth that there was nothing to be gained from persisting, he’d just grunted and let it slide.
Perhaps Samantha had accepted that his marriage put Bryn beyond her reach.
And perhaps, a cynical whisper suggested, he was trying to fool himself into believing that because of an increasingly powerful urge he had to take her to bed, to make love to her until she was stripped of all pretence, naked and defenceless in his arms.
Quite possibly his unruly libido was scrambling his brain.
Huntly blurred by—rows of small neat houses built for the coalminers who were part of the town’s history—then they were in the countryside again until, not long before the highway reached the provincial city of Hamilton, Jase turned the car onto a side road that wound into low hills. Within ten minutes they were arriving at a post-and-rail fence with a wide gateway. The car rattled over a steel-pipe cattle stop and along a tree-lined driveway, coming to a stop outside a long, low brick house, double doors at one side indicating an internal garage.
