Taken by the Pirate Tycoon

by Daphne Clair

  She should say no, tell him she wanted to go home. Back to the city and her apartment where she could close herself off in her own small world. Where no one dared her to step outside her comfort zone and into new experiences, or delved behind the surface of her carefully cultivated social face to stir up the emotions beneath.

  Yet something held her, a feeling that maybe she’d regret taking the coward’s way out.

  Perhaps sensing her ambivalence, Jase said, “It’ll be good for you. Country air.”

  Jase took her hand to help her over a stile that spanned an electrified fence. He kept his fingers wrapped around hers as they skirted cowpats and tiny blue and salmon-pink wildflowers peeking through the grass. She didn’t object. The ground was uneven and she didn’t want to trip and make a fool of herself. And, honesty whispered, she liked the feel of his strong hand holding hers.

  He paused to attack a thistle with the heel of his boot, cutting it off ruthlessly at the root. He’d been brought up on farms and she supposed such things were second nature to him. A wind had sprung up, lifting Samantha’s hair from the back of her neck, and blowing it round her face. She put a hand up to clear her eyes.

  A grazing herd of white-faced black cattle stopped to stare in a solid phalanx at the intruders walking past. They looked so comical that Samantha laughed, still trying to deal with her hair. Jase smiled down at her and his hand tightened slightly on hers.

  Eventually they entered a gully fenced off from the pasture land, their footfalls silent on moss and fallen leaves under trees growing thick and dark green beside a narrow path, cutting the wind. The sound of rushing water grew louder until they reached a shallow stream strewn with big, smooth stones, the water leaping and foaming around them and then abruptly sliding over a rocky ledge.

  Jase led her on a steep downhill path to the pool below the falls, and they stood so close to the plunging water that fine droplets of spray cooled Samantha’s face.

  Something long and black and sinuous stirred in the water at their feet and she backed up instinctively, but Jase had her hand firmly in his. “Just an eel,” he said.

  Samantha suppressed a shudder. “And you suggested swimming?”

  “Nothing’s going to hurt you here,” he said. “I promise.” Abruptly he took a couple of steps away from her, dropping to the coarse grass at the water’s edge and sitting with one leg straight out in front of him as he rested a forearm on the other knee. “Why don’t you sit down?” he said, indicating the grass beside him.

  Samantha hesitated, then sat down nearby but not too close, wrapping both arms about her raised knees.

  A tui somewhere in the trees nearby sent a few rich, contralto notes into the air, followed by its distinctive throaty gurgle, as though mocking its own song. A couple of tiny fantails flirted nearby, swooping and darting. Something jumped from the water in a flash of silver and twisted back with a small splash.

  “Was that a trout?” Samantha asked, startled.

  “There’re a few of them around.” Jase shifted his position, leaning on one forearm as he turned to see her face. “Ever been fishing?”

  “I like my fish cooked and on a plate, not wriggling on a hook. I suppose that means I’m a hypocrite, but some things I prefer not to think about.”

  “So don’t.”

  “It isn’t always that easy.”

  “Tell me about it!” he said under his breath. Then, “What are you thinking about now?”

  She evaded his eyes, the lazy curiosity in them. “Nothing, except how peaceful it is here.” She returned her gaze to the hypnotically rushing water endlessly hurling itself over the rock face. Jagged shards of sunlight danced through the trees onto the surface of the pool.

  Jase watched her profile, the line of her nose, the long lashes that brushed her cheek when she blinked, the curve of her mouth, and the sun glinting on her hair, which had fallen back into its sleek style, to gently brush along her chin. He had a powerful urge to pull her down beside him and make love to her, bury his fingers in her sun-warmed hair, see those almost translucent blue eyes widen and darken, feel her skin heat beneath his hands, her firm but enticingly feminine mouth open for him.

  It wouldn’t happen. For one thing, she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested. And for another…did she still carry a torch for Bryn?

  The thought made him angry, and it was time to quit fooling himself that the anger, smouldering away like white-hot coals inside him for months, was all on his sister’s behalf. The brutal truth was he wanted Samantha for himself. Sometimes he was sure she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended. Or—he considered the alternative—he was an arrogant fool, deceiving himself.

  The thought of her opening her heart to the other man—any other man—made Jase’s fists curl.

  He said, just to capture her attention, try to gauge her mood, “Tell me when you’ve had enough.”

  For a moment she didn’t respond, and when she looked at him briefly her eyes seemed dreamy, as if it wasn’t him she saw but something inside herself. “Not yet. Unless you want to go,” she said and, when he shook his head, she resumed staring at the water.

  His fingers closed around a grass stalk, snapped it from its root. What he wanted to do right now was grab hold of Samantha and kiss her senseless. For a start. For a few moments he enjoyed the thought processes that followed that.

  Watching the waterfall, she was apparently oblivious to everything else, including him.

  Throwing down the piece of grass he’d mangled, Jase sat up. Samantha turned to him and blinked, as if just remembering his presence. Which didn’t improve his mood. If he’d followed his primal instincts, she’d have damn well noticed him, had something to remember. Maybe he should do it. Find out once and for all if that sexual spark he suspected she was trying to snuff out could be fanned into a consuming flame. The very idea made his body react. He moved restlessly.

  “Do you want to leave?” she asked.

  “No.” What he wanted wasn’t an option. He’d promised she’d be safe. And whatever she was so afraid of, he knew it included any sexual advances from him. He stood up and strolled away from her, pretending to get a better view of the falls.

  Finally Samantha sighed and stood up. The sun had lowered, and as they retraced their steps through the trees the light grew dimmer. They spoke little and Jase merely took her arm a few times when the going was rough.

  Entering his apartment again, Samantha saw he’d been right about the sunset. The edges of the clouds were shining gold, and while she and Jase watched from the big window the sun sank lower, turning the clouds fiery red.

  As the colours faded from the sky, Jase said, “Sit down and I’ll get us something to eat.”

  “You didn’t invite me for dinner,” she protested. “You don’t have to feed me again.”

  “Aren’t you hungry? I am. Unless you’d rather stop at a restaurant on the way…”

  “No, we’ll eat here if you don’t want to wait. Can you cook?”

  Jase laughed. “It might not be haute cuisine, but I can rustle up something.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “Nope. Trust me. You like rice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Prawns?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll bring you a glass of wine to enjoy while I get dinner. White or red?”

  She asked for white, and as he left the room he clicked his fingers and muted music—light classical—filtered into the room. It took her minutes to spot the discreet speakers inset into the ceiling. More of his computerised gadgetry.

  He brought in a bottle and a glass, and after pouring for her left the bottle. Te Mata Elston Chardonnay, she noted. Not a cheap wine.

  Presently, as the shadows drew in around the corners of the room, a lamp automatically came on beside the sofa where she’d been leafing through a copy of Science magazine, and when delicious aromas began coming from the kitchen she realised she was hungry.

  Drawn b
y curiosity, she put the magazine aside, poured herself a second glass of Chardonnay, picked up the bottle and went to the kitchen door. Steam rose from a pan on the state-of-the-art cooker, and Jase was laying cutlery on a small table in the corner.

  He looked up and said, “You don’t mind eating here?”

  Samantha shook her head. “No.” It looked rather…intimate but she could hardly object on that ground. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

  He nodded to a tray on the counter holding salt, pepper and three sauces. “Put those on the table if you like.”

  She arranged the condiments on the table and Jase said, “Sit. It’s ready.”

  He brought two plates and placed one in front of her. “The prawns were frozen,” he said, “but fresh out of the sea when they went into the freezer.”

  Samantha tasted one from the top of the pile of rice and vegetables on her plate. “It’s delicious,” she told him. The rice was subtly spiced and equally good.

  Jase picked up a bottle of Kaitaia Fire chilli sauce and poured it liberally over his rice.

  “That’ll burn the roof of your mouth off!” Samantha said, watching.

  “I like it hot,” Jase answered. “A bit of spice in your life won’t do any harm.”

  “My life?”

  He looked up, a pink prawn on the end of his fork. “Anyone’s,” he said. “Including yours.”

  Samantha looked down at her rice, stirring it. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

  “Want to tell me?”

  “No.” She forked up a mouthful of rice, an excuse not to say more.

  Jase shrugged, and turned his attention to his own food.

  For a while they ate in silence, sipping at their wine, then he said, “Have you enjoyed yourself today?”

  “Yes,” she said, unable to keep surprise from her reply. “Very much.”

  He finished the last few grains on his plate and said, “Will cheese and fruit do instead of dessert?”

  “That would be nice, thank you.”

  He watched her scoop up the rest of her rice and put her fork down. “You’d say that anyway,” he said, “wouldn’t you? You’ve been properly brought up.”

  “And you haven’t?” she countered.

  “My mother tried. It’s not her fault it didn’t take.”

  She said, “There’s nothing wrong with your manners.” He actually had a better grasp of the courtesies than many men. He opened doors for her, had made sure she didn’t trip on the unfamiliar stairs, and when they walked over the farm had steered her around the cowpats and rough ground. “I’m sure your mother’s proud of you.”

  “I hope so.” He pushed back his chair and took her plate, to place it with his own in the dishwasher before opening the refrigerator.

  He put three cheeses before her on a platter, and presented a bowl of apples, pears and grapes. “Sorry, I’m out of crackers.”

  “This is fine.” She picked up the cheese knife and cut a sliver of Kapiti Kahurangi Blue. Rich and creamy, not too strong, it melted on her tongue. “Mmm,” she said appreciatively, savouring the taste before picking up her wine, to find the glass already three-quarters empty.

  When she put it down Jase refilled it, not for the first time, and she didn’t protest. While he cut himself a generous wedge of blue, she kept sipping at the wine, nibbled a couple of grapes and chose a piece of marigold-coloured hard cheese. “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Aged Gouda from the Mahoe cheese factory up north.”

  She put it in her mouth and found it crunchy and utterly delicious. Momentarily she closed her eyes, the better to enjoy the flavour before swallowing. “It’s wonderful!” she said reverently, reaching for another slice. “I haven’t had this particular one before.”

  “You’re a cheese buff?”

  “I’m no expert, but I know a good cheese when I taste one.”

  “The other one’s a vintage Cheddar,” he said. “I buy most of my cheese from the Vintage Cheese Company at Mercer, on my way between here and Auckland. A pity it’ll be too late when we head back up there. Unless you’d care to stay the night.” His voice was casual.

  She had picked up her wine again, but her hand stilled in midair. His eyes when she met them were dark and serious, his gaze steady.

  Keeping her voice light, she asked, “Is that a proposition?”

  “If you want it to be,” he said. “Or you could have the bed and I’ll take a sofa.”

  For a moment she had a vision of lying in that big bed, gazing up at the stars, with Jase at her side—after making love.

  Carefully she put the almost empty glass back on the table. “I could get a taxi,” she said, “if you don’t want to drive back.”

  “It would cost a fortune. But you have one, don’t you? What was it like, being a poor little rich girl?”

  “I wasn’t a poor little rich girl.” Her voice was crisp. “And I’m not the only one worth a fortune. I hear you’re close to joining the billionaires’ club. And all your own work too,” she added mockingly.

  “A slight exaggeration. At least you know I’m not after your money.”

  “I didn’t think you were after anything from me.” Except a promise to keep away from his sister’s husband. Or had they moved on from that? She wasn’t sure.

  He said, “Maybe you should think again.”

  Samantha blinked at the steady light in his eyes.

  Jase got up, pushing back his chair, and she stiffened, all her nerves jumping to life. But he only turned away and opened a cupboard, taking down a jar to spoon coffee into a coffeemaker.

  Unthinkingly Samantha grabbed at her glass and finished the wine in it. It should have made her feel better, but instead she realised she was a little giddy.

  How many glasses had she had? Three in a little over an hour? Or had it been four?

  She was usually more cautious. Hastily she ate another grape and reached for a chunk of cheddar.

  “We’ll have coffee in the other room,” Jase said. “I’ll join you there when I’ve made it, if you’ve had enough to eat.”

  Samantha stood up, glad he wasn’t watching. She steadied herself on the back of her chair and then walked to the door. “I don’t want to be too late getting home,” she said as she paused. Just to make things clear. “I have a party to go to tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Cinderella,” he said easily. “You’ll be tucked up in your own bed before midnight.”

  If he had propositioned her, he was taking her refusal remarkably well, she thought with an irrational spurt of pique.

  Jase watched her go, his hand tightening on the coffeepot as he placed it on the heating plate. He wanted to follow Samantha and like some caveman haul her by the hair—or any other part of her anatomy—into his bed.

  When she’d disappeared from sight he put both hands on the counter in front of him and dropped his head, eyes closed.

  She was the only woman who had ever awakened such primitive feelings. The only one he found so infuriatingly difficult to fathom.

  He watched the drips falling into the glass jug and brooded. What was under all that glacial inaccessibility? She’d shown more emotion over a piece of cheese than she’d ever allowed him to dig out. When her mouth closed over it and her eyelids drifted down while her chin lifted at the taste, her expression had been the nearest thing to ecstasy. His imagination had instantly run riot with X-rated sexual fantasies.

  His body had reacted predictably, and he’d had to turn his back and walk away to prevent himself from leaning across the table and grabbing her. This whole trip had been a test of his patience and self-control.

  He’d hoped his boisterous, open family might break down some part of the icy shell.

  If only he could get inside her head, her mind, her heart. If he could get her to trust him, tell him her real feelings.

  The coffee machine seemed to be taking forever to percolate. Sugar. Samantha liked sugar in her coffee. He took a bowl of brown cr
ystals from the cupboard, frowning at the centimetre or so of liquid left in the wine bottle, then lifted the coffee jug.

  It was a long time since Samantha had seen so many stars. Here they weren’t dimmed by city lights, although the distant glow near the horizon was presumably Hamilton. A few clouds were still around, and now and then one crossed the polished-copper full moon still low in the sky.

  The music in the room had changed to a selection of easy-listening, once-popular hits from the previous century. Standing at the big window, unconsciously she began to sway in time to a dance tune her mother used to like. She remembered that once they’d danced to it together, holding hands, while her mother taught her the steps, pleased that Samantha easily picked them up.

  A feeling for music and rhythm was one of the few things she’d inherited from her mother. Not Ginette’s vividly sky-blue eyes, her pretty, heart-shaped face or her thick, lustrous strawberry-blonde hair, nor her natural charm and grace.

  A gangly child with long limbs that seemed bony and out of proportion to her body, milk-skinned and naturally reserved, Samantha hadn’t repaid her mother’s efforts to dress her in frills and bows. Frills simply showed up her skinny legs and arms and featureless face with clear, almost transparent pale eyes, and ribbons slipped from her straight, colourless hair. Apart from dyeing it, a failed teenage experiment that for some reason had roused her father’s ire, there was nothing she could do about her hair except ensure she had a very good hairdresser. A pity Ginette had never seen her late-blooming daughter grow into her awkward form, develop a decent figure and learn to make the most of her meagre assets.

  But once, they had danced together and Samantha had earned her mother’s praise.

  The reflection behind her made Samantha realise Jase was back in the room, and she abruptly stopped moving.

  As she turned, he straightened from putting a tray on the coffee table between the sofas.

  He smiled at her and came over with his hand held out. “May I have this dance?” he said.

  About to say she wasn’t really dancing and only wanted coffee, Samantha was assailed by an uncharacteristic impatience with her own caution, a reckless what-the-hell feeling that was alien to her and almost frightening in its intensity.