by Sara Wood
‘Yes. All gone,’ he said curtly. ‘Not a stick of antique furniture left. Not one valuable oil painting…’
Aghast, she clutched at her chest to hold in her frantically pulsing heart.
‘Couldn’t you save anything?’
That earned her a scathing look so vitriolic that she felt as if he’d stabbed her. Why? she wondered in bewilderment. Why so angry with her?
‘I wasn’t here,’ he said tightly. ‘They got my grandmother out and then all the staff concentrated on saving the horses and the other animals. The more important things,’ he said scathingly. ‘By the time they got back to the house it was too dangerous to enter.’ His mouth became cruel and thin. ‘So there are no treasures saved for you, Maddy.’
She bit her lip, uncomprehending as she met his cold eyes. Feeling sick, she realised that there was nothing between them. Never had been, never would be. His kiss had been driven by lust. She was there, apparently available, and he’d taken what he thought was on offer.
Misery and fatigue pervaded her entire body and she sank to the ground on her knees, unable to stand. Debris dug into her legs but she didn’t care.
‘If you weren’t here, where were you? When did you get here?’ she jerked.
‘I flew from Brazil immediately when I heard,’ he said shortly. ‘About a week ago.’
‘Brazil?’ she repeated stupidly.
He rasped in a harsh breath. ‘I’m a plant hunter. I roam the world searching for new varieties, new producers.’
She tried to understand but her mind seemed stuck.
‘You don’t—didn’t—live here with your grandmother?’
‘I— What the hell does it matter?’ he snarled. ‘Apart from a few short years, I haven’t lived here since my parents’ funeral, if you want to know.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You were fifteen, for goodness’ sake! Where did you go?’
He gave an exasperated growl but he answered, much to her surprise. ‘I ran away to Lisbon and got a job on a ship washing decks. I didn’t come back until five years later, when I discovered that my grandfather had died and there was talk that the farm was to be put up for sale. I pulled it back to life again as fast as I could,’ he said grimly. ‘And then I put in a good manager and went back to my travels. Grandmama and I don’t see eye to eye. Is that enough for you?’ he snapped brutally. ‘Now, let me get on. I can’t waste time. Go away. You’re filthy already. See one of the men. They’ll give you a lift back.’
Maddy looked at herself. Her trainers were black from walking across the scorched and forsaken fields. Her legs were grimy, her shorts smeared with soot.
‘This is why you were dirty when we first met,’ she said in a low tone. ‘Why you’ve been working so many hours a day—and why you were so foul-tempered when you picked me up at the airport! Why didn’t you tell me?’ she cried in sudden irritation. ‘Why?’
‘Why the hell should I?’ he rasped, on his knees and reaching beneath a tangle of twisted metal. ‘We told your grandfather,’ came his muffled voice. ‘He chose not to tell you. Why should we question his decision?’ he added savagely.
Her eyes widened. ‘But…why didn’t he tell me?’ she asked shakily, remembering how Dex had laughed and remarked that her grandfather had made a fool of her.
‘Would you have come?’ Dexter asked coldly.
‘No. Of course not,’ she whispered, her throat dry and scratchy.
‘That’s what he thought,’ Dexter scathed.
‘But how could you all have kept this from me?’ she protested in distress.
He straightened up and walked over to where he’d placed a water bottle and took a long drink from it before answering.
‘If you’d known that the Quinta and the entire business had gone up in flames you would have stayed at home. And he couldn’t let you do that. Not with a wealthy husband in the offing. Admit it, Maddy. You don’t care about the farm at all. Only its value in monetary terms.’
She drew in a huge, shuddering gasp of outrage, her eyes blazing with icy silver lights. And she leapt up and launched herself at him, pummelling his chest in frustrated fury.
‘Listen to me! Listen! I do care! I’m upset—!’
He wrenched himself away and exploded. In a furious action he grabbed her arm then bent down and grabbed a handful of charred material, thrusting it in front of her nose.
‘Look at it!’ he roared. ‘To you, this represents a luxury you have lost. Rich furnishings. The trappings of wealth. But to me, it’s my heart and soul and guts! I made the Quinta a household name in Portugal. My blood and sweat and tears have gone into this! I know where every plant came from. Every seed, every cutting, every lovingly nurtured graft. Years of work and dedication have gone into the success of this nursery. That’s what I’ve lost! That and…’ He stopped, his voice too hoarse to continue for a moment. And then he blazed, ‘You say you care? What do you know about feelings?’
‘Everything!’ she sobbed. ‘Don’t shut me out, Dex, I can’t bear it—’
‘Get away from here!’ he snarled. ‘I’ve got three hours to find something, anything that once belonged to my mother, and I don’t want you around.’
‘But I can help! Let me help you!’ she begged croakily.
‘No!’
Seething with anger, he foraged grimly in the tangled remains of what must have been the main living room, where the huge chimney still remained.
Stubbornly she ignored him. Found a spot out of his way. Got on her knees and began a fingertip search, hoping and praying that she would find something for him and earn his praise. She wanted that so very much. Was desperate to ease his bitter anger.
It was a long while, perhaps more than two hours, before he noticed her. Faint and dizzy from the heat, she heard him scramble to his feet, muttering. There was the now familiar ghastly crunch of his feet as he walked stiffly to the water bottle. And then she heard him approaching her.
Cringing, she waited for his tirade of abuse, determined to let it wash over her. Yet already she’d begun to weep, her aching and exhausted body shaking with her choking sobs.
Something nudged her shoulder. She dashed the filthy back of her hand across her eyes and saw it was the water bottle. Meekly she took it and sat back on her haunches, sipping the cool spring water with gratitude.
‘Look at you!’ growled Dexter roughly. ‘Why are you so bull-headed? You do what you want and to hell with everyone else.’ He pulled at her arm. ‘Call it a day,’ he ordered curtly.
‘No! I haven’t found anything!’ she yelled hoarsely, resisting with all her might.
‘Neither have I,’ he snapped. ‘But I can’t hold back the bulldozers any longer.’
Her eyes rounded in horror. ‘Oh, no, Dex!’ she croaked.
‘Get up!’ he snarled.
He was too strong for her. She found herself being hauled to her feet and pulled away from the remains of the Quinta. He waved his arm and there was the sound of a mighty roar as the digger and bulldozer were started up simultaneously.
Half stumbling over the uneven ground in Dexter’s ruthless grip, half in mid-air when he grew impatient with her faltering progress and hurried her along with his hands beneath her armpits, she felt waves of dizziness spiralling inexorably through her body.
‘Please! I can’t go on!’ she gasped, and was suddenly released, to crumple in a boneless heap on the ground.
Water was being poured over her head. She lifted her face to the silver stream, glad of its coolness. As rigid as an iron bar, Dexter came to sit a few feet away. Instantly she forgot her own misery and tuned in to his.
The tightness of his jaw was so extreme that she thought his muscles would go into spasm. He stared hollow-eyed at the bulldozer as it trundled closer and closer to the ruined Quinta.
He was barely breathing at all, his eyes stabbed with pain. Tentatively she put a trembling hand on his arm and was glad when he didn’t shake it off. Her eyes never left his. She heard the chimney collapse
and her grip tightened when he flinched as if it had been a physical blow to his stomach. But she had to give him hope, however tenuous.
‘It’s not the end. You can do it again. Build up the business,’ she said, over the noise of the digger scooping up stone and debris.
There was a huge expansion of his chest with his ragged intake of breath. Still he didn’t speak. Maddy swallowed. What could she do or say? Dexter didn’t want her around at all—and no wonder.
He had more than enough to deal with and it must have infuriated him that he’d had to dance attendance on her at such a difficult time.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered hopelessly. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Drowning her words, trucks thundered past, carrying the spoil. They watched in numbed silence as the battered, twisted and burned remains of Dexter’s family home were scooped up and transported to the huge skips.
And suddenly everything went quiet again. With her eyes blurred by tears, she looked around and saw that there was nothing left of the historic farmhouse. Slowly she and Dexter got to their feet.
‘Manuel!’ he called huskily and a man hurried over.
‘Boss?’
‘I’m taking her away. You know what to do.’
‘Sure,’ came the soft reply. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Dexter nodded dumbly.
‘She using the showers?’ Manuel asked.
A brief snort. ‘A little public, even for her,’ he said wearily.
‘You don’t have to take me back,’ she mumbled, as his hand curled around her elbow. ‘I can walk back. Save you the bother—’
‘You’ll do as you’re told!’ he spat.
She bit her lip. His emotions were so highly charged that she dared not contradict him. And she had to admit that she wanted to get far away from this dark and evil place and see the soft green countryside again.
Now the machines were silenced, and the men were taking a break, she realised that an unnatural quiet had fallen. There was no birdsong in this bleak and terrible land. Just desolation.
She couldn’t contain her sobs. They racked her body so violently that she couldn’t move. Dexter suddenly muttered a low curse and swept her up in his arms. But there was nothing romantic or caring about the action.
Irritation and hatred were driving him to get rid of her as fast as he could, because she was only someone who’d warm his bed and give him children. Nothing more. Every hard, unforgiving bone and muscle in his body told her that.
Inconsolable with grief, she curled into a ball against his chest, her fists clenched tightly. And she knew then that she wanted his respect and friendship more than anything in the world. But would never have it.
CHAPTER NINE
IT CAME close to being the worst day of his life. Clenching his jaw, he stifled the emotion which was trying to burst out of him and carried her to where the cars and trucks were parked.
In his arms she seemed frail and vulnerable, a desperately pathetic figure. Sure she was distraught, he thought, dragging out his keys from his pocket. She’d lost the chance of untold wealth, hadn’t she?
His muscles tensed as the crackling fury surged through his body. What was her self-centred misery compared to his? How could she ever know what it did to him, seeing this ravaged land that had once been a paradise on earth?
He remembered his mother’s delight when the business had made enough money to enable them to buy antique furniture. How she’d danced around the terrace with him after it had been delivered. The scent of her. His happiness.
Without speaking, he wrenched open the door of his car and pushed her in, slamming the door viciously. When he flung himself in beside her, his malevolent glance in her direction told him that she was still weeping quietly to herself, her face white beneath the streaks of soot.
Impatiently he snapped her into the seat belt, jammed his own into its slot, and gunned the engine.
Usually careful of his sleek drop-head, he accelerated so fast in his anger that he had to fight the wheel as the car skidded on the loose soil.
He had to get away. To see something green and soothing to the eyes. The bleakness of the landscape around the farm only added to his depression, and whenever he could he avoided even driving along the main road where the fire damage was visible, taking the back roads instead.
This time he was in a hurry. Maddy had to get cleaned up and then he’d take her to the airport, whether she liked it or not.
She gave a particularly heart-rending sob and he shot her a quick glance. He felt a clutch of pain in his chest. It seemed to be some kind of alarm signal, perhaps, warning him that things weren’t right with her. She was shivering, her eyes blankly staring ahead, her hands twisting and knotting in her lap.
Shock, he thought in contempt. You see a multimillion fortune a hand’s reach away and then it disappears. Enough to send any self-respecting greedy little gold-digger into shock.
But despite his contempt he took the pot-holed road to the cottage more slowly than he’d intended and tried to hold back his temper. Whatever the reason, however shallow it might be, she looked terrible.
When they stopped and he burst from the car, she remained in her seat as if paralysed. Ignoring her miserable, wan expression, he stayed by the door to the cottage. He wouldn’t touch her unless absolutely necessary.
‘Get out.’
Maddy jerked at his harsh bark, her eyes huge and shining with tears. As if her limbs were stiff and aching, she climbed slowly out. And then, clearly realising how filthy she was for the first time, she gave a little moan and tried to brush the worst of the soot and dust from her clothes.
‘I wish this was a five-star hotel,’ she muttered miserably.
He couldn’t believe what she’d said. He was in the middle of a nightmare and she was moaning about her creature comforts!
‘They’d never let you in like that,’ he snarled.
She pursed her lips. ‘No. They wouldn’t,’ she agreed faintly. ‘But right at this moment I’d give anything just to leap into a bath.’
Impatiently he moved forward and caught her arm, drawing her into the cottage. He left her in the middle of the room.
No longer was she the flirty siren who’d once tried to entice him into a disastrous alliance, but a filthy beggar woman with black streaks down her face, soot and mud ingrained in her hands and nails, and with knees and legs the colour of charcoal.
She caught his look of disgust and contempt and blanched. Cynically he watched her swaying—and then realised she really was physically exhausted.
‘Damn you!’ he muttered, and grabbed her just as her knees gave way.
‘Don’t be angry with me, Dex!’ she pleaded.
Her helpless, upturned face made his guts churn. Those spaniel eyes with their black, spiky lashes took hold of his innards and twisted them till he felt himself softening.
Until he hardened his heart. Held her at arm’s length and pushed her to the sofa.
‘Wait there,’ he growled, his entire body seething with intense loathing.
Her soulful eyes met his and he flinched. Were his as raw as that? Were they bleak and hurt too?
‘Dex,’ she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob.
‘I’ll heat some water,’ he rasped, his voice hoarse and cracked.
More tears from her. For a stupid, faltering moment he watched them fill her eyes and overflow. Something drew him to her, something intangible and irrational, and it took all his will-power to resist it.
He was weak. So overwhelmed by emotion that a harlot’s tears could evoke pity.
This upsurge of feelings was something he’d always guarded against. He wanted to be detached again. To think of work and nothing else. To enjoy each day and its simple pleasures without his head being tangled with a jumble of thoughts and yearnings.
Stonily he crashed pans about and filled them with water. Stoked up the stove. Boiled the kettle, threw her a blanket and managed to avoid helping her to wrap it around her
self, even when she struggled with its folds.
His hands shook when he took the mug of tea to her.
‘Here.’ He thrust it at her without ceremony.
Up went her beseeching eyes, causing turmoil in his chest.
‘Dex,’ she breathed shakily, the tea slopping in her trembling hands. ‘Take it easy on yourself—’
‘Stay out of my life,’ he snapped, turning his back on her.
There was the sound of crying again. Unable to stand it, he stormed off to fetch the huge tin bath. After placing it close to the stove, he stripped off his T-shirt and washed his hands and face at the basin, using water from the kettle.
The pans were boiling. Gradually he filled the bath with hot water. Added some cold when it was deep enough. Flicked her a sour glance. Hell. She was trembling like a leaf.
‘It’s ready,’ he said curtly. ‘Here’s the soap. Get cleaned up.’
Busily refilling the pans for his own bath, he heard the sounds. The whisper of clothes being shrugged off, the soft thump as they dropped to the floor. A foot testing the water.
He felt an odd constriction in his chest. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. There was a silence. Yet he could almost hear her shaking.
‘Hurry up,’ he ordered, hoping to urge her on, to jolt her out of her state of shock and to send her on her way.
‘I am!’ she flung unhappily.
He heard the sound of furious lathering. Somehow he finished cleaning the sink, though his ears were attuned all the time to the splashes of water. He dried his hands and flung down the towel, taking a furious step in the direction of his bedroom.
There was a shaky little gasp behind him and somehow his stride turned it into a movement that had him spinning around to stare at Maddy with cold fury because she was breaking his resolve.
He felt his mind lurching uncontrollably between loathing and despising her…and desiring every luscious inch. Those fragile shoulder blades, the achingly small waist. Her dark burgundy hair tousled. Huge, smoky eyes awash with tears, heart-shaped face tragic in its misery. The beautiful mouth… Dexter clenched his teeth together as if that might stop him from wanting to kiss it.
