“And you…care about my daughter?”
“Yeah, I do.” He tried not to bristle at the skepticism coating Pete’s words. “I thought that was obvious.”
The raised eyebrow appeared again. “What’s obvious is that you found my Achilles’ heel and plan to capitalize on that vulnerability.”
Blood beat against the veins in Kyle’s temples, thudding faster and harder. What the hell was the man talking about? His Achilles’ heel? Did he mean Tui?
“Help me out here,” he said. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
Pete’s expression darkened. “You target my daughter, and I don’t for one moment believe the bullshit story that you didn’t know who she was in Rarotonga. You gain her trust and take advantage of her”—splotches of mottled red appeared on his throat and his breath rasped harshly in the echoing space—“then fill her head with daydreams of the three of you becoming a happy family, when what you really want is to gain access to Ngata land from the inside. You’ll trick her into marrying you over my dead body.”
Kyle jerked back. The accusations delivered one after another were like a head butt followed by a gut punch, then a knee jab to the nuts. The intellectual and reasoning parts of his brain couldn’t comprehend the absurdity of what Pete was saying, so they handed his reaction over to the more ruthless part—the one that’d gotten him through bullying at boarding school and given him the spine to refuse his grandfather’s demands and to choose his own path.
He pushed away from the workbench. “You about done?”
Pete repeated the move so they were toe to toe in the cramped space between bench and car. “Not gonna deny it, Griffin?” he taunted.
Kyle bit down, his back teeth grinding painfully together. At his side, his fingers curled into fists, his short fingernails digging into his palms hard enough that he could feel the throb of pounding blood in his hands.
“Kyle? Dad?” Tui’s voice from across the garage froze that blood in his veins.
His gaze snapped up to the open door where Tui stood staring in disbelief at the two of them.
Pete spun toward her. “Didn’t I teach you to knock before entering a room, girl?”
The sudden switch from aggression to a teasing tone fell on deaf ears. Even from across the garage he could see the whites of her knuckles as she gripped the door handle. “Since when did I need to knock coming into the garage to get some more ice from the freezer?”
“We’re having a private conversation,” Pete said.
Tui slapped her free hand on her hip. “Oh. Is that all you’re doing?”
Yep. Tui could hold her own.
He struggled not to grin, until her eyes met his and the sharp, icy barbs of her stare stripped it off his face. Damn, how much had she overheard?
“If you’ve both finished your testosterone-fueled pissing contest,” she said, “Kyle, can we have our own private conversation outside?”
Pete’s shoulders hunched a fraction toward his ears at his daughter’s tone then straightened. “Tui Eliza—”
“Don’t you Tui Elizabeth me, Dad. I love you, but I’m a grown woman and you need to butt the hell out now.”
She finally released the door handle and planted that hand on her other hip. Temper rolled off her in waves; she almost vibrated with it. Tui angry would’ve been the sexiest thing he’d seen all year—if it wasn’t for the fact that some of that fury appeared to be directed at him.
“Okay, okay, love.” Pete held up both palms and moved aside, hitting a button on the wall that made the roller doors slide up.
Tui stalked out of the garage without a backward glance. As Kyle went to follow her, he caught a glimpse of Pete’s face and his stomach cramped into knots. The smug old bastard knew that no matter the outcome of the next ten minutes, his relationship with Tui was bulletproof. I’m her dad. She’ll forgive me, his smirk seemed to say. You’re just some guy who’ll have his heart crushed beneath her feet.
He could only hope Pete was dead wrong.
Bad words, both in English and Māori, crowded onto Tui’s tongue as she stormed out of her father’s garage and into bright sunshine. Words that included Merry frickin’ Christmas, Tui, you gullible fool. She hadn’t heard everything Kyle and her father were talking about, but she’d heard enough that her blood pressure had shot into the danger zone.
Arguing over her as if she were a pork roast and they were two dogs salivating at the opportunity to rip it to shreds.
She hesitated a few steps from the garage, uncertain where to go for privacy. The fenced-in paddocks, which were far enough away from the house for them not to be overheard, had a group of kids feeding the horses from a bag of apples. Another group of her uncles and male cousins stood around someone’s new 4WD in the driveway, and a couple of her elderly aunties were raiding Ma’s herb garden nearby—effectively blocking an escape to her cottage if she wanted to keep a low profile.
And she did.
There was enough speculation running rife through the whānau about the Griffins being there today. Her pregnancy was still under wraps—or so she hoped—and their presence together was explained as, “Kyle and our Tui are dating.”
Dating. Huh.
“You want to go for a drive?” Kyle asked from beside her.
And really set tongues wagging about them leaving the party early? She didn’t think so. That, and she didn’t trust him not to use the temptation of angry sex in the back seat as a distraction. Or her to give in to that temptation.
“No. Inside.” She marched into the house, avoided eye contact with her ma who’d frozen at the sight of them in the living room, and headed past the stairs to the small room beyond—her old bedroom. Pinning the door open, she narrowed her eyes at Kyle as he stepped inside.
“Don’t get any ideas,” she said.
Because her old room, complete with a quilt-covered single bed and mirrored dressing table that used to be covered with photos and every teen-affordable cosmetic known to man, was an obvious chamber of unbridled lust.
“I wouldn’t dare.” He crossed to the sash window that overlooked the far corner of the backyard.
The cricket game had started, and kids were hollering encouragement to Sam who’d been elected as first bowler. Someone—probably Isaac or Uncle Manu—was strumming a guitar for a sing-along happening on the deck. The volume of dance music coming from the living room cranked up, as did the laughter and thumping of half a dozen tweens bopping to the beat. Ma’s effort to give them some more privacy, she deduced. Tui shut the door on the music and leaned against it.
“This was your room?” Kyle asked.
Tui swallowed the half a dozen what the hell questions burning an acidic hole in her gut. “What gave it away? The NSYNC and Hanson posters still on the wall?”
He met her snippiness with a taut smile that didn’t really contain too much humor. “My suspicions were aroused by the wear and tear on the window runners. Easy access out of the house, right?”
“Right.”
Point for him. The window had gotten a lot of use during her older teenage years, but where was he going with this? He knew she’d overheard at least some of his conversation with her dad. Why were they talking about the damn window?
She studied him, trying to identify the expression on his face as he moved away from the window and sat on the bed. He gave away nothing. Not in the firm but neutral set of his jaw, nor in the relaxed line of his broad shoulders as he braced his palms behind him. “Was it always your room?”
“No.” The denial came out with a sharper edge than she’d intended. “It used to be Isaac’s. When he was sixteen he challenged me to bet my bigger bedroom upstairs in a friendly poker game. He won, we swapped rooms, and he gloated about it for weeks.”
This time Kyle’s smile reached his eyes. “You threw the game and let him win, didn’t you?”
Of course she had. Even at twelve she’d known what she’d wanted and how to get it. “What makes you say that?”
“I know you better than you think.”
She snorted, folded her arms tightly under her breasts, and bored a hole into the ceiling with her stare. Her eyeballs felt strangely hot in their sockets. “Did you know who I was in Rarotonga?”
She posed the question to the small splotchy stain near the light bulb.
His exhale was loud in the quiet room. “I didn’t recognize you, no. But it felt, at a gut level, like I knew you. Like you knew me, too. Clichéd as that sounds.”
“It sounds very clichéd.” But she dropped her gaze and found him looking at her with an intensity that was anything but clichéd.
“I respect that your dad is looking out for you,” he said, “but nothing he accused me of is true.”
The hard wood of the door pressed into her shoulder blades. “You’re not trying to gain access to Ngata land?”
“No more than the agreed amount for the horse trek that we discussed.” Kyle leaned forward and, elbows on knees, scrubbed his steepled fingers up and down the deep crease between his brows. He suddenly looked exhausted. “What do I have to do or say to prove to him that I’m not my grandfather?”
“I don’t know,” she said. The admission caused a tightness to spread down from her throat to bind her heart. Blood thudded sickly around her body, making all her limbs feel strangely heavy. “I thought he’d get past that once he’d spent some time with you.” Her head thunked back against the door as she met his gaze. “I don’t believe you’re interested in our land. You’re not that much of an asshole.”
“Thanks. I think,” he said wryly.
But Kyle’s mother? And his brothers? That she didn’t know, but it was a matter that could wait for another day.
“But the bit about you filling my head with daydreams about us being a family? It pisses me off.” The verbal reminder of how hurt and angry she’d been standing shocked in the garage’s doorway flooded back. “That my dad would think I could be sucked in by a man’s promises and let myself be manipulated and used.” She bit off the last word, the whole sentence a bitter taste in her mouth as her mind skipped ahead to the part of her father’s accusation that hurt the most.
You’ll trick her into marrying you over my dead body.
Had he and Kyle been discussing marriage before she began eavesdropping? From what she knew of Kyle, it wouldn’t be out of character for him to ask for a father’s blessing before proposing—but, oh God, marriage? Why would he be talking about marriage when he’d given no indication that he was in love with her, unless…
It all went back to the little jellybean of a baby inside her.
“Us being a family isn’t a daydream,” Kyle said quietly. “At least, it doesn’t have to be. You, me, and the baby—we could make a go of it, I know we could. The first time I mentioned the idea it seemed crazy, but it’s different now. We’re different now.” He stood, crossing the little room quickly to press her hard up against the door.
Hard to soft, she could feel every inch of him, but his body heat couldn’t seem to touch the chill spreading through her limbs. The tightness in her throat formed a lump she could barely breathe past.
She desperately scanned his gaze, searching for what…she didn’t really know. Men had looked at her with all sorts of emotions, lust being the most obvious. But also with affection and desire, passion and possessiveness. Sometimes she’d even thought it was maybe with love, although she’d mistaken the combination of those other emotions as the real thing.
“Kyle,” she whispered, cupping his stubble-roughened jaw. The prickle of whiskers sent delicious shivers spiraling down to her core.
He shifted, pressing a kiss into the center of her palm. Then those hazel eyes met hers. “I love you.”
Everything inside her lightened and grew feathery wings. She felt her mouth breaking into a wide smile, then his hand slipped between their bodies to press against her stomach.
“And I love our baby.” He chuckled, dipping his head to nuzzle her neck. “Best thing I ever got for Christmas, hands down.”
The stiffness started at the base of her spine as Kyle’s talented mouth skimmed up her jawline to the sensitive spot below her ear. Rigidity locked each vertebra in place until her whole upper body ached with the strain of having a spine now constructed of iced-over steel. And the feathery lightness inside her became brittle, frozen, then shattered.
His I love you wasn’t about her. His I love you was about what she could provide him. Tui the wife. Tui the mother. Tui the woman with a healthy womb to carry his child, maybe even a replacement for the one he lost.
It wasn’t about her.
In all her life, it was never about her. She’d provided the challenge men wanted to conquer. She’d been the shadow to provide a contrast for her brothers’ brilliance. She’d spent years running away from becoming the woman she’d now become—accidentally pregnant to a man whose words of love were as deep and abiding as a puddle on a summer’s day.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but damned if she’d cry in front of him. So she did the only thing she could think of to do to gain time to get herself under control. She squeezed her eyes shut and kissed him. With gusto and plenty of tongue, but with none of her bruised heart.
She kissed him until he freed her from being trapped against the door and drew her stumbling farther into the room. That’s when she broke the kiss and pulled back, calling on her years of childhood experience with two big brothers who’d call her a cry-baby the instant they spotted weakness. She affixed a teasing smile onto her lips.
“We are not getting it on with my family right outside.”
He laugh-groaned. “What if we locked the door and pretended we were working on a craft project?”
“Everyone knows I hate crafts.” She kept her smile in place but backed up to the door, gaze flickering down to the fly of his chinos and his obvious arousal. She felt a corresponding ache between her own legs, a hunger for him that she told herself didn’t go beyond physical release. “I need to get back to my guests.”
The doorknob slipped in her fingertips, damp with nervous sweat, and rattled.
“Are we good?” he asked, a frown suddenly appearing on his handsome face. “You’re not pissed off anymore?”
“No, I’m not pissed off.” Sick to the stomach knowing what she had to do, yeah. But not pissed off. How could she be mad at him for not loving her to the extreme she longed for? The extreme that she loved him. “We’re good—great.” The handle finally conceded defeat and she yanked it open.
“Tui—”
She was already slipping out of the room. “Don’t worry,” she said with forced cheer. “I’ll save you a slice of Christmas fruit cake. I’d better go and cut it up before my little cousins find it at the top of the pantry.”
As much as she fought it, she couldn’t resist one last glance at him. His dark hair, which would soon be in need of a trim, stood up haphazardly on one side where she’d been running her fingers through it. He watched her with a half smile, a double crease between his eyebrows as if he were both amused and confused at the same time. She wanted to press her lips against his brow and smooth out the lines, then work her way down to his mouth which still contained a smear of her lipstick. He stood, feet apart, hands shoved in his pants pockets, dominating her room, shrinking it back to childhood proportions.
Shrinking her.
Decimating her willpower so that she nearly caved and accepted what he said he’d offer. A family, love if that’s what it was, for however long it lasted.
She wrenched her head away from the temptation and forced her trembling muscles to move her legs quickly down the hallway. She didn’t cut through the living room where the kids were dancing and singing along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” to the kitchen. She didn’t pause to admire Uncle Terry’s new 4WD or chat with her aunties loaded up with cuttings of her mother’s herbs.
She speed-walked up the hill to the cottage, threw a few clothes into a duffel bag,
and drove away from Bounty Bay.
Chapter 20
Beaker was about as happy going into the cat boarding service again as Kyle was about returning to Auckland. Which was to say, not very damn happy at all. He stuck an apologetic finger through the lid of the cat carrier and got his finger bitten for his effort at reconciliation. A betrayed and furious growl came from the bowels of the carrier as an assistant transported Beaker out to his cage.
“You and me both, buddy.”
At least Beaker would feel better after a few hours. He’d forget his owner had shipped him there so that Kyle could dive headlong into work without his feline sidekick getting under his feet. Thank God the cattery had a sudden opening because he’d almost gone insane the first couple of days after arriving home. Pacing the floor with Beaker trying to weave around his ankles was a recipe for disaster.
Not as much of a disaster as, say, the woman you loved giving you one hell of a goodbye kiss then going AWOL. Nobody knew where she was or why she’d bolted. He’d got a single text from her thirty minutes after he’d figured out that she wasn’t anywhere on the Ngatas’ farm. That she wasn’t even in Bounty Bay.
Tui: I need some space for a few days and I can’t think clearly when you’re near. Please respect my decision and try to understand.
Kyle strode out to his truck and headed to his first job of the day, not even the Auckland rush hour as painful as the realization that Tui had made a decision, all right. And that decision wasn’t him.
Which was why he’d left Bounty Bay two days after her. Dave and Eric were right. There was nothing there for him now. He was too scattered—too shattered—to be much help on the farm. Dave insisted Kyle’d given them a good kick up the butt and they could take it from there. Go on back to Auckland and sort your shit out there was the unspoken, unsolicited advice.
Tame Your Heart: A Small Town Romance (Bounty Bay Book 6) Page 26
