by Robyn Donald
‘Usually only one or two,’ he told her.
A note in his deep, amused voice sent a thrill of excitement through her. Serina nodded and looked away, trying to concentrate on the sunny day, the sounds of birds she’d never heard before, the earthy smell of the sheep—anything to take her mind off Alex’s nearness. Nothing worked.
He said, ‘And I’m not a farmer. I’m a businessman. I don’t have a dog because I’m away a lot and dogs—like spouses—need companionship to be happy.’
‘Is that why you haven’t married?’
The moment the words emerged she wished she could unsay them. Tensely, she waited for a well-deserved snub.
But he replied coolly, ‘No. When—if—I marry I’ll organise my life differently. Why are you still obstinately single?’
‘I’ve got plenty of time,’ she said lamely, and risked a glance upwards.
She met crystalline steel-blue eyes that heated instantly. ‘Indeed you have,’ he said lazily. And smiled, the sort of disturbing smile that should have sent her fleeing.
Instead, it further stimulated her rioting senses. This attraction was mutual, and she’d already decided to let things happen, so why wasn’t she flirting with him, letting him know in a subtle way that she was— Well, what was she?
Ready sounded over-eager and, anyway, she didn’t know that she was ready.
With a pang, she realised she wanted something more solid and lasting than flirtation. She wanted to be wooed.
Like some Victorian maiden with a head stuffed full of unrealistic dreams, she scoffed. It didn’t happen in her world, where people responded to strong attraction by embarking on an affair. Sometimes they married, but once the glamour became tarnished they called everything off, often to repeat the whole process with someone else.
Love was a temporary aberration, and marriage an alliance made for other, in finitely more practical reasons.
Except for rare, fortunate exceptions like Rosie and Gerd, of course. And, although she wished them every good thing in their life together, she couldn’t help wondering how long Rosie’s in can des cent joy would last.
She looked up. Alex was watching her, and something about his waiting silence made her heart flip madly so that when she spoke her voice was husky and soft.
‘What is it? Do I have lanolin on my face?’
Colour tinged her skin when he inspected her even more closely, but she held her gaze steady when he drawled, ‘Not a speck on that exquisite skin. I was just admiring the way the sun strikes blue sparks off your hair. But I’ll give you a hat when we get home—the sun can burn even in winter here.’
She swallowed. ‘Thank you.’
‘And it would be a crime to singe that exquisite skin.’ Taking her by surprise, he bent his head and kissed the tip of her nose.
Eyes enormous in her face, Serina held her breath and froze. The sun suddenly seemed brighter, the colours more vivid, the unseen birds more piercingly musical. A wave of heat broke over her.
Until he straightened and said, ‘We’ll see if this old girl can stand up by herself now. Let her go and step slowly away.’
Fighting a fierce, foolish disappointment, Serina obeyed. The ewe lurched, but as Alex moved back she stood more firmly. After a few seconds she dropped her head and, ignoring them, began to crop the grass eagerly.
‘She should be all right,’ Alex said.
Serina didn’t dare speak until they were well away, then she said, ‘What will happen if she falls again?’
‘I’ll tell Caroline’s husband and he’ll make sure someone keeps an eye on this mob.’
He reached out and took her hand. Serina almost stumbled, heart pounding as they finished the walk back to the Land Rover.
The fence negotiated, Alex leant past her to open the door but, before she could get in, he slid an arm around her and held her loosely, his eyes intent.
Serina’s breath locked in her throat. Mutely, wondering how on earth other women signalled that they’d decided they were ready for an affair, she followed the instinct that prompted a sigh, then turned her head into the strong tanned column of his throat, unconsciously letting her lips linger on his skin.
Alex’s big frame hardened, sending fierce little shivers through her, but he made no attempt to tighten his embrace. In a voice that alerted every nerve, he said, ‘Sure, Serina?’
‘Absolutely.’ The word sounded faint and faraway, so to make sure there could be no doubt she lifted her head, her lips curving in a smile that hinted at a sultry promise when her smoky gaze met the narrowed, glittering intensity of Alex’s. ‘Are you always going to ask me if I’m sure?’
‘Until I’m sure of you.’
Her stomach dropped several inches, but it was too late for any second thoughts. He bent his head and kissed her.
The kiss was everything she’d been secretly craving, a passionate seal on their almost wordless pact. Her tumbling thoughts vanished under the barely leashed sensuality of his mouth as he showed her just what his kiss could do.
The arm across her back slid down wards, catching her hips and pulling them against him. His fierce response to the erotic pressure made her gasp, and he immediately took advantage, claiming more than her lips, his deep, deep kisses carrying her into some unknown world of the senses where all she could feel was the rising urgency of her own needs and a fierce, unbelievable hunger.
Abandoning herself to desire, she pressed against him, some unknown part of her relishing the unchained compulsion to lose herself entirely in this dazzling, sensuous world.
It came as a shock when he lifted his head and said in a voice that rasped with a blend of passion and frustration, ‘Someone’s coming.’
Sure enough, when he let her go Serina registered the sound of an engine. Another vehicle was heading towards them along the track.
Alex held her for a moment as she struggled for balance—just like the ewe, she thought half-hysterically. He frowned as he looked above her head and let his hands drop. ‘Lindy.’
Taking what tiny comfort she could from the narrow frown between his brows, Serina realised she wasn’t surprised. With the intuition of a woman in an equivocal situation, she’d realised that Lindy wanted Alex. They might have been brought up as brother and sister, but that wasn’t how Lindy saw him.
Serina tried to feel sorry for her, but she couldn’t prevent a cold prickle of foreboding when she met the other woman’s flat stare as she drew up beside them in a sleek, only slightly dusty ute.
‘What on earth are you two up to?’ Lindy asked through the window.
Alex nodded towards the sheep, all watching them. ‘One of them was cast,’ he said. ‘We got her on her feet, but she’s still shaky.’
‘Oh, poor Serina,’ Lindy said with a glittery smile. ‘What an introduction to the place! Smelly old sheep aren’t in the least romantic, are they? Never mind—get Alex to take you out to dinner.’
She waved an airy hand and shot off, scattering stones.
Alex said, ‘Would you like to go out to dinner?’
Not at Lindy’s behest she wouldn’t!
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ Serina hedged. ‘Although I slept like a top last night, I’m feeling a bit washed out right now.’
The glint in his eyes told her he was amused, but he said soberly, ‘Then we’ll have a quiet meal at home tonight and see how you feel tomorrow.’
But the other woman’s arrival had somehow cast a cloud over the afternoon.
Back at the home stead, Serina thanked him, then said, ‘I’d like to try my camera out in your garden, if that’s all right with you?’
‘I don’t want you writing about my garden,’ he said crisply.
‘I know, and I won’t, but I’ll want to take photographs when I visit other gardens, and the light here, especially during the middle of the day, is very clear and stark. I’d like to work out what settings are best.’
He held her eyes a second longer than necessary, then nodded.
‘Have you always taken your own photographs?’
‘Not at the beginning, but I do now,’ she said a little aloofly, still chilled by his initial distrust. ‘When I was working for Rassel I became interested in photography, so I soaked up as much knowledge about the way professional photographers do it as I could. I was lucky—one in particular used to critique my shots.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘He was cruel, but I learned an awful lot from him.’
His mouth thinned, then relaxed. ‘I have a few calls to answer,’ he said, ‘so I’ll be busy for an hour or so. Enjoy the garden.’
Still on edge, Serina collected her camera and went out into the garden again. The flowers in a wide border glowed as she relived Alex’s kisses and their explosive effect on her.
He’d kissed her like a lover, she thought dreamily.
She walked beneath a huge tree and closed her eyes for a moment.
Of course she wasn’t his lover. If it existed, true love had to mean you knew the person you loved, trusted them deeply and intimately and were completely convinced they’d never let you down.
Like Rosie and Gerd. They’d known each other since they were children. Whereas she’d only met Alex a few times before she’d embarked on this crazy trip across the world with him.
Yes, she’d felt an instant attraction, and been strangely elated to realise he felt it too. And she’d trusted him enough to come to New Zealand with him, she reminded herself and bit her lip—then muttered, ‘Ouch!’ when her teeth grazed the tender skin there.
When Alex kissed a woman she certainly knew she’d been kissed, she thought, trying to find some humour to lighten her mood.
But his reaction when she’d suggested she take photo graphs of his garden showed her how little he trusted her. Tension wound her tight, set her pacing restlessly out into the sunlight, still warm but now thickening into a gold that edged close to amber as the sun sank towards the hills to the west.
It was stupid to feel hurt. Alex certainly wasn’t in love with her, so why did she expect him to trust her?
Because what she felt for him—all she could allow herself to feel—was a mad, wild, unreasonable desire. Just thinking of him made her body spring into instant life, as though charged with electricity, and when she was with him she teetered on the most deliciously terrifying tenterhooks, so aware of his every movement that it was almost a relief to walk away.
Lust, she told herself sternly. Not love…
‘Forget about him,’ she told herself, startling a small bird with a tail like a fan into darting upwards. It landed on a tall stem a few feet away and surveyed her with black button eyes, scolding her with high-pitched chirps as it flirted its tail at her.
Smiling, she lifted her camera and got a shot of it, using it to get some pointers on how to deal with the bright, clear light.
But, try as she did to concentrate on photographic techniques, her obstinate mind kept replaying the way Alex had held her hand as they’d walked back to the Land Rover.
Somehow, that most casual of caresses meant more—just more, she thought in confusion.
Not more than his kisses, which had rocked her world, yet in a strange way that casual linking of hands satisfied something she didn’t recognise in herself, a kind of yearning…
For what?
She shook her head. Romance?
Giving up, she went inside and inspected her shots, relieved when several showed up really well—so well, she emailed a couple to her editor as a sample of what was in store for her.
Then she surveyed her clothes, finally choosing a little black dress. Discretion itself, she thought satirically. Ladylike and quite forgettable, although it did nice things for her skin and eyes.
And it was useless to wish now she’d brought something more daring, something that would subtly signal the change in her. Pulling a face at her reflection, she combed back her hair and caught it behind her head with a neat, un obtrusive clip. It didn’t seem likely that for a quiet dinner for two at home Alex would dress too formally, but she had no idea what New Zealanders wore for such occasions.
Or even if it mattered. Last night she’d changed into a pair of tailored silk trousers and a simple soft blouse, relieved when Alex had been equally casually attired. And it was foolish to think anything had altered just because he’d kissed her again, and she’d somehow—she hoped—managed to convey how much she wanted him.
Butterflies swirled through her stomach when she left her room, setting up a frenzied internal tornado when Alex came through a door a few metres along the wide hallway. To her relief, he was clad informally in a well-tailored linen shirt and narrow-cut trousers that set off the powerful body beneath.
Without trying to hide the gleam of appreciation in his eyes, he said, ‘Tell me, is it training or do you somehow just know the perfect way to look for any occasion?’
Colour heated her skin, but she managed to say demurely, ‘What a lovely compliment.’
He laughed and opened a door into a room that looked more like a library than a study. Standing back to let her go in first, he said, ‘That is no answer.’
‘Because your question was unanswerable. I choose what I hope will be appropriate for the occasion and leave it at that.’
He surveyed her through his lashes. ‘And an elegant, very chic that it is tonight.’
His response washed a deeper tinge of colour through her translucent skin. For a moment the violet eyes were clouded by an emotion Alex couldn’t define.
They cleared almost instantly and she said, ‘I wonder why I have the feeling you’re testing me in some subtle way I don’t under stand?’
He already knew she wasn’t the stock princess he’d first thought, but he was surprised she’d dropped her usual reserve for such a forth right statement. Ignoring a sharp rush of adrenalin, he said, ‘You have an overactive imagination. I like to see you blush—it’s a charming reaction.’
How many other men had summoned that swift, rapidly fading heat? The photographer who’d been cruel but helpful? That thought brought with it a fierce, baseless anger that startled him.
He asked, ‘What would you like to drink?’
After a cool glance she said, ‘Wine would be great, thank you.’
To her surprise, he opened a bottle of champagne-style wine. Pouring it for her, he said, ‘This is from the Hawkes Bay, a big wine-growing region. Like Aura and Flint, most Northland vine yards tend to concentrate on growing for red wines. Some vintners buy in grapes to make their white wines. In the far north there are several vine yards, some of them with magnificent grounds. I’ve included them in a list of places you might find interesting. You can look at it after dinner, and tomorrow I’ll contact any you’d like to see.’
She took a sip of the liquid. Alex watched the curve of her artfully coloured mouth as it kissed the glass, and felt his gut tighten. Cynically he thought that for someone who’d never put a foot wrong, never figured in any scandal, she certainly knew all the tricks.
And she kissed like a houri. She’d learned that from someone. Or several someones. So his Princess was nothing if not discreet.
For no reason—because she wasn’t his Princess—the thought burned like acid.
Serina set her champagne flute down and met his eyes, her gaze level. ‘You’re being very helpful,’ she said, ‘but I’d feel better if I contacted them.’
‘People here know who I am,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Like it or not, it does make a difference.’
A steely note in her voice, she answered, ‘I realise that, and of course I’m grateful for the offer, but I’m not accustomed to being sponsored.’
Alex had researched her work, concentrating on places he’d visited himself, and been surprised to discover she had a rare skill for evoking the soul of a garden. For a reason he wasn’t going to inspect too deeply, her refusal to accept his help sparked his temper.
‘With respect,’ he said sardonically, ‘I suggest you stop cutting off your nose to spite your face.
This is New Zealand, and although I’m sure the magazine you write for has some readers here, it’s probably not enough to make you famous.’
‘I didn’t—’
He overrode her protest. ‘It will be much easier for you if I do stand sponsor to you—and at least the owners will know you won’t be casing their properties for a future robbery.’
Her head came up proudly. ‘As if that’s likely to happen,’ she retorted scornfully, her eyes sparkling with outrage.
Alex shrugged. ‘New Zealand has a low level of crime, but we’re not free of it. You can’t blame people if they are a little suspicious of an unknown person who not only asks if she can come and check out their properies, but brings a camera with her.’
She frowned, and before she could speak he went on levelly, ‘In your world, Princess, you’re very well known. Here, you’re not. I am.’
He waited while she absorbed that, watching her frown smooth out and her thoughtful nod.
Slowly, she said, ‘Of course. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.’ She looked at him. ‘I’ve just realised I have a confession to make—I took photographs of your garden and sent them to my editor as an indication of what gardens are like here. I’m sorry, I’ll get her to delete them.’
Irritated, he said shortly, ‘Just make sure she doesn’t publish them.’
‘She knows they’re not for publication.’
She took another sip of her wine and this time he watched deliberately, noting the way she tasted—as though she was an expert.
Perfectly trained, he thought, and wondered why, when he wanted so urgently to kiss the wine from her lips, to feel the soft meltdown of her body against his, all he could do was search for flaws. Just looking at her was enough to scramble his brain, and he couldn’t afford to allow this unusual desire to overwhelm his common sense.
Only an hour ago he’d spoken to Gerd on the secure line and discovered that, although Doran seemed more than happy to explore the delights of Vanuatu wrecks and reefs, his band of gaming companions had turned up in one of the coastal towns in the border region of Carathia and Montevel.
