by Kwan, Coleen
In one neat movement she sidestepped out of his grip. “Nobody’s turning back. I’m staying here a few more days.”
No, you bloody well are not. He felt the steam building up at the back of his head as he took in the tenacious set of her lips. Christ. A minute ago he’d been feeling sorry for her, and now she was standing here defying him, looking stubborn and bold.
“You’re going back to Sydney,” he barked.
“Yes, but in a week or so.”
“I’m not having you nag me all day.”
“Who said anything about nagging? I just want a bit of a break.”
“You don’t like it here. No shops. No restaurants. Tons of mosquitoes and geckos and rats.”
Her mouth turned even more mulish. “You can’t order me off the island.”
Moisture beaded on the back of his neck. He rolled his eyes. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”
She stepped back, some of her bravado crumbling, before steeliness filtered back. “You know,” she said through clenched teeth, “I’m asking myself that very question right now.”
“You don’t have to wonder. Just get your arse on Wally’s boat.”
The cusps of her cheeks turned pink. “I’ll get my arse on Wally’s boat when I’m good and ready and not a moment before.”
His gaze flicked over her hips and legs, his thoughts traitorously diverted by the idea of her arse, before he shook his head. “Afraid your career will dive-bomb if you don’t bring me back to Sydney?”
“No!” Exasperation furrowed her brow. “There’s more at stake here, don’t you realize?”
“The future of Macintyre’s?” He waved his hand contemptuously. “Believe me, if the company got broken up or sold off, I’d be the first and the loudest to cheer.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “But…you’ve worked harder than most.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” And he had the scars to prove it. “What you don’t understand is that Macintyre’s is a monster, an insatiable beast, and I’ve sacrificed enough to it.”
Except he hadn’t paid the ultimate sacrifice, like Becky had. Becky had died because of him, him and his devotion to Macintyre’s. If he hadn’t stayed back to finish those urgent reports, Becky wouldn’t have set off for Palm Beach on her own. She wouldn’t have veered around a corner onto the wrong side of the road—how many times had he told her in Australia they drove on the left-hand side?—and she wouldn’t have strayed into the path of a fully laden semitrailer. His wife would be alive today if it hadn’t been for his foolish commitment to Macintyre’s and his grandfather.
He lifted his head, realizing that Grace was staring at him. Jeez, she was just another willing acolyte worshiping at the Macintyre altar. She had to be, if she’d frittered away three years of her life doing his grandfather’s bidding. “Why are you wasting your time on me?” he asked, throat tight with frustration.
She smoothed down the hem of her T-shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me about working on this hut and the village hall?”
Tupua. What a gossip that man was. “What difference does that make?”
She released a patient sigh. “Come on, Jack. You know it makes a big difference.”
“So suddenly I’m a worthwhile cause?”
“Something like that.” She hesitated, then added, “I didn’t even realize you could build stuff.”
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m a qualified builder. My grandfather made me join the construction crews on my holidays since I was sixteen, and I wasn’t given any special treatment because of my name. I learned the business from the bottom up.” He snatched a hat hanging on a nearby hook and crammed it onto his head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and ‘build stuff.’”
He marched past her down the path, but a moment later she was trotting alongside him. “Are you working on the hall? Mind if I tag along?”
He plowed on, casting his eyes skyward as he exhaled deeply. “I thought you wanted a break from work.”
“This is a break from work.” She hopped over a brimming pothole. “But I don’t like being idle. I could lend you a hand.”
“Oh yeah?” He glanced at her neat, manicured fingers, and a bad idea entered his head. Those pretty fingers of hers were all very well for tapping at a keyboard and sipping cappuccinos, but they wouldn’t last long on a building site. A few hours of grinding manual labor in the sweltering heat would soon have her running back to Tupua’s bungalow. And with no touristy things to do around here, she’d soon get bored and be itching to return to Sydney. A bit harsh, maybe, but she’d brought it on herself.
“This isn’t namby-pamby stuff, you know. Sure you can handle a bit of rough labor?”
“I’m up for it.” She gave him a radiant smile.
Her smile triggered a charge of heat that rushed to his groin. He caught his breath at the unexpected punch of lust. Hell, he needed Grace gone before he started getting any more bad ideas…
Chapter Three
Grace lifted her forearm and wiped it across her sweating brow. It did little to stem the perspiration trickling into her eyes and seeping into the collar of her T-shirt. Blowing on the bits of hair stuck to her forehead, she glanced across the hall at Jack. He was whistling quietly beneath his breath while he hammered a piece of timber flooring into place with precise, efficient movements. His skin glowed with exertion, but even after four hours of solid work he still looked fresh, whereas she felt like a wrung-out, overcooked noodle.
She leaned back on her heels to take a break from her sanding. At least they were out of the sun and a limp breeze was wafting through the room. The open-air structure was designed along traditional lines, with its massive timber posts supporting an enormous thatched roof.
Grace set down her sander to flex her stiff fingers and grimaced as she noticed the blisters swelling up on her right palm. She’d been so intent on showing Jack she was up to the task that she’d ignored the growing sting in her hands. The cross-hatched timber railing she’d been sanding for the past hour ran all around the outer perimeter of the hall. Her arms were ready to fall off, but the job wasn’t even half done.
“Ready for lunch?” Jack’s voice came from just behind her. For a big man, he could move with surprising stealth, even in his work boots.
Gratefully, Grace nodded and went to stand up. A spasm seized her lower back, causing her to groan.
“What’s up?” Jack moved closer.
She shook her head, massaging the aching spot in her back and waving him off at the same time. First blisters, now a cramped back. Surely she wasn’t a citified weakling? “It’s nothing.”
He looked her up and down. “Not used to this kind of thing, are you?”
Under his scrutiny she became even more aware of her flushed face, the damp patches under her arms, and the dust clinging to her legs. What a disheveled mess she must seem to him. The complete contrast to his late wife. Becky used to float like a summer cloud into Macintyre’s, always charming and perfumed in silks and diamonds, her shiny, blond curls immaculate, her smile dazzling. She’d beam at everyone in the office and stop for a chat before sashaying into Jack’s office. Dainty, feminine Becky had made everyone else feel like uncouth amazons.
“Hey, it’s better than a gym workout.” She rolled her shoulders, attempting to ignore the pain in her back and her hands.
His eyes tracked a bead of sweat as it rolled down her temple. “The climate takes a bit of getting used to.”
It wasn’t just the climate that was getting to her. It was Jack’s proximity, too. The breeze skimming through the building brought his scent curling into her nostrils. He smelled of honest work and something masculine, potent, and far more alluring than any expensive men’s cologne. Her cheeks grew warmer as she noted the strong column of his neck, the heft of his shoulders, the hair falling over his eyes, and the faint stubble grazing his jaw. Now that she knew he hadn’t been wasting his time on the island, it was even harder to ignore her attraction to him. The stea
my jungle surrounds accentuated his red-blooded, primitive virility, and standing here ogling him did strange things to her, making her mouth go dry while other parts of her body moistened.
The ends of his lips quirked up, as if he could read every licentious thought riffling through her head. “Want to grab some lunch at my place?”
His knowing half smile made her knees wobble. “Uh, sure.”
Way to go, girl. What a scintillating response. Oh heck, why did she even care about making a good impression on Jack?
The walk back to his bungalow didn’t take more than five minutes, but by the time they reached it, the blazing midday sun had sapped the last of her energy, and she wilted onto a seat at the table as soon as they stepped inside.
Jack frowned at her. “You’d be more comfortable on the couch.”
“Oh, no.” She forced herself to sit a little straighter. “I don’t want to mess your upholstery with my dirty clothes.”
“The bathroom’s just through there.” He nodded toward a door down the hall. “You can wash up first.”
“Thanks.” But her bottom was stuck to the chair, and her legs refused to obey her. “In a minute.”
He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes calculating. “Guess you’ve had enough of playing Bob the Builder, huh?”
Playing? Is that what he thought she’d been doing? She pulled herself upright, the tendons in her lower back pinging in protest. “Not at all. I’ll finish sanding that railing this afternoon.” As she motioned, her hand brushed against the edge of the table, and she couldn’t suppress her wince.
The furrow between his eyes deepened. Reaching out, he grasped her wrists and turned her hands palms upward on the table. The blisters had swelled to red, angry-looking sacs, and her fingers were scored across with small welts.
“What the hell! Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
She tugged to free her hands, but he had her pinned fast. “It’s just a few blisters. It’s nothing—”
“The hell it is.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. He pulled her to her feet. “Come with me.”
Unsettled by his hands clamped around her wrists, she began to protest. “But I don’t…”
She trailed off as she realized he wasn’t paying the slightest attention to her. She followed him into the bathroom, where he sat her down on the edge of the tub while he opened the taps and filled the sink. With his face still set, he bathed her raw hands in cool water, handling her with unexpected gentleness.
Grace watched him, unable to speak. His touch, sure yet sensitive against the sting in her palms, sent waves of sensation rippling through her body. In the cramped confines of the bathroom, he hovered over her, the dark hairs of his forearms brushing against her bare skin, his muscled thighs too close to hers to be ignored, so that a knot formed in her stomach, and she had difficulty breathing.
“Water too cold?” he asked. Slowly, he stroked her palm. “Your hand is shaking.”
Her entire body was quivering, she realized with a shock. Quivering with pleasure. Abruptly, she jerked her hand out of the basin, causing water to spray over them. “I can handle it from here.”
Something flitted through his eyes before he handed her a clean towel. “Here you go, then.” From the medicine cabinet he lifted out a tube and handed it to her, his face bland. “Pawpaw ointment. It’s good for blisters. I’ll go see about lunch.”
As soon as he left she exhaled a long breath. Her heart was racing, and her blistered hand still tingled where Jack had caressed her. She glanced up, caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and groaned. She looked like she’d been dragged through the jungle by a troop of monkeys.
Hastily, she sluiced her face and neck, wiped down her dirty limbs with a damp washcloth, and finger-combed her hair before retying it into a ponytail. She smeared some of the pawpaw ointment onto her blisters, the medication instantly soothing the sting.
If only she had an easy remedy for her feelings. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by her stupid infatuation with Jack. His slightest touch or glance was enough to send her into a spin, but she had to concentrate on her goals. Bring Jack back to Sydney, bring peace to his grandfather, and get that job transfer. That was what she should remember, not the way his solid fingers had slid back and forth across her wet, throbbing palm.
…
Two days later, Jack watched Grace as she leaned back on her heels and surveyed the wooden railing she’d been staining. After he’d discovered her blisters, he’d made her take the rest of the day off, but the following morning she’d returned, insisting she’d recovered enough to resume work.
Jack found himself glad she hadn’t given up after that first morning. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. He’d been a jerk, giving her the rough sanding to do and inferring she’d be a failure if she didn’t get it done, and his conscience still pricked at the memory of those raw blisters on her palm. When she’d turned up the next day undeterred, he’d made her wear a pair of thick, heavy-duty gloves.
Jack climbed down his ladder. “Let’s call it a day.”
Nodding in agreement, she set down her paintbrush, stood up, and cricked her neck from side to side. She rubbed her lower back, slowly rotating her hips first one way and then the other. Jack paused, his foot hovering in midair, as the sight of Grace’s swiveling butt riveted his attention. Beneath the thin cotton of her shorts he could make out the sweet, round curves of her rear end, and when she rested her hands on her hips, her mint-green T-shirt stretched tight across firm breasts. Fresh perspiration prickled down his spine.
As he watched, she lifted her arms, arched her back, and pushed out her chest. He couldn’t move a muscle. His heart rate began to climb as she bent slowly from the waist, keeping her knees straight, and stretched her palms to the ground. Her butt thrust up toward him. Holy crap. Did she even realize how provocative she was? What he’d like to do to her in that position? Animal heat shot into his loins.
His foot slipped off the rung, and his boots clattered on the floor. In an instant she whipped upright, cheeks reddening.
He cleared his throat, kept his face straight by some miracle. “Doing a bit of yoga?”
“Just some Pilates exercises.” She tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. “It’s good for the lower back.”
And it did wonders for his libido, too. He grabbed hold of the stepladder, battling to get his urges under control. What was the matter with him? The only reason Grace was still here was to change his mind about returning to Sydney. He should be on his guard, not fantasizing about what she’d look like without clothes.
Folding up the ladder, he carried it back to the storeroom. He didn’t know why Grace set his motor running. Three years ago he’d never mentally undressed her like he’d just done. Maybe it was because he hadn’t had sex in a while. The last time had been about six months ago, when a marine biologist had turned up to count turtle eggs. The three nights they’d shared had been good, but they’d both known it was a fleeting affair, and when the biologist left there’d been no regrets or false promises on either side. But he couldn’t take the same casual attitude where Grace was concerned. She was inextricably linked with his former life, and loyal to his grandfather. Fooling around with her would be the worst thing he could do.
When he returned from the storeroom, Grace was inspecting their handiwork. “At least your grandfather will be happy to know you’re still in the building trade.”
“Don’t start on Lachlan,” he warned.
She turned to study him. “Did you know your cousin Cameron has joined the company?”
“Sure,” he said cautiously. “I read stuff on occasion. Doesn’t mean I want to get involved.” Cameron was a few years younger than Jack and didn’t have as much business experience, but no doubt Lachlan was fast-tracking him.
“Your aunts are fighting again.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Oh, hell. When aren’t they fighting?” His two aunts, Kirsten and Louisa, Cameron’s mother, had
never seen eye to eye. “I suppose Louisa is pushing for Cameron to be promoted and Kirsten objects.”
“I don’t know about that, but I know they’re arguing over control of the Macintyre Foundation.” She paused. “Do you know about the foundation? Your grandfather set it up this year.”
He shook his head. “It’s news to me, but welcome. I’ve always thought Macintyre’s could contribute more to charitable causes.”
“The foundation is going to focus on education and the environment in underprivileged countries. Both your aunts are trustees, which, naturally enough, means they squabble over every little thing.”
“I doubt I’d have any influence with those two biddies.”
Grace smiled. “I’m glad you can call them ‘biddies.’ I’ve always found them rather difficult.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you’re trying to entice me back to Sydney, mentioning my aunts is the last way to do it.”
Her smile widened. “If only I knew how to entice you.”
You could do some of those Pilates exercises—preferably naked. The image sizzled in his brain before he cut it off and turned away to pick up his screwdrivers. “Better get a move on before the sun sets,” he said.
They packed up their tools for the night and walked down the hill back to the village. An evening breeze stirred the torpid air, and the lowering sun splashed molten gold across the placid sea.
Grace drew in a deep breath. “It’s magical here. I thought places like this only existed in ads. I never thought I’d actually visit here one day.”
“So you haven’t been put off by the mosquitoes, the geckos, or the isolation?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I love geckos now, but you know what? When I get home, it’s not the geckos or the mosquitoes I’ll remember the most. It’s the sky, the sea, the peace, and all the wonderful smiles. That’s what I’ll remember.”
He cast her a curious glance. “Is this really your first trip overseas?”
