by Julie Mac
She felt sick at her own stupidity. ‘It’s impressive,’ she said to Henry. ‘I think I’d have to say that I’m willing to revise my opinion after seeing it in operation.’
‘Good, good,’ Henry and the minister said in unison. Sam said nothing, but Kate saw that he was watching her, a speculative gleam in his eye. She excused herself, saying the dust was getting up her nose, then she stepped away from the group of men and walked back down the track towards the vehicles.
‘Bollocks,’ she muttered, knowing she couldn’t be heard above the machine’s rumble. She pulled a tissue from her pocket to blow her nose. ‘Bollocks, bloody bollocks.’
It wasn’t the dust tickling her nose and making her eyes sting that was making her angry.
How could I be so stupid? I’m wrong; he’s right, and all because I didn’t think laterally enough.
She stopped for a second, and closed her eyes, appalled at the thought of how inept she must have looked to Henry and the minister—and to Sam himself, for that matter. If he could work it out, why couldn’t she have? She was supposed to be smart, smart enough to take over as CEO of the company.
As she walked on, one of her father’s phrases rang through her head: ‘Always look for another angle.’
Why didn’t I think of the bloody, bollocky snow?
She reached the Range Rover Sport and leaned her back against its black bonnet, facing the forest. She stared at the deep green sea of trees in front of her, blinking hard against the irritation in her eyes, seeking the calming solace the forest usually offered her. Then she wondered if the prickling in her eyes was actually tears; tears of frustration, tears of anger—at herself.
She felt his approach before she heard him. The little hairs lifted on her bare arms, as if stirred by a breeze. But there was no breeze here, in the hot stillness, deep in the forest.
‘Kate? Kate? You all right?’
His voice was low, reaching out to touch her across the couple of metres that separated them. Stupidly, the impulse to cry grew stronger. She couldn’t, wouldn’t turn to face him; not with the tightness of tears burning hot in her eyes and throat.
She said nothing, desperate to regain control before speaking.
‘It’s not a sin to be wrong, Kate.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Her voice was tight.
‘Of course not. You made a mistake. Simple.’
‘But I don’t like making mistakes. I’ve studied the specs for that machine carefully, very carefully. And I went over the figures again in the last couple of days.’
‘You’ve had a lot on your mind these last few days. The accident and … other things.’
‘Just the accident. Nothing else.’ It’s your fault, she wanted to say. If I hadn’t been thinking about you every time I looked at the bloody figures, my brain might have been working better. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘The fact remains, it’s not a crime to make a mistake.’
‘It is in my book!’
To Kate’s horror, he moved swiftly to the front of the Range Rover, standing close to her and blocking the sun that slanted in from the west. She stared blindly past him at the forest, knowing he was studying her face.
‘When you’re CEO, you’ll have to learn to live with the fact that, occasionally, you’ll make a mistake—maybe a mistake that impacts on a lot of people. You can’t be bursting into tears every time something goes wrong. Or is that the dust up your nose that’s making your eyes water?’
Her eyes jerked back to his face. ‘Bastard!’ He grinned, briefly, annoyingly. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Anyway, I won’t be CEO if you have your way, will I?’
He looked at a spot somewhere over her left shoulder, frowned slightly, sucked in a breath and then brought his eyes back to hers.
‘That’s irrelevant,’ he said at last. ‘Admitting you’re wrong every now and then won’t hurt you, sweetheart.’ There was an edge of impatience in his voice.
‘I’m not your sweetheart!’ She was having trouble controlling her own impatience.
‘But perhaps I’m your problem,’ he said softly. All the while, he watched her eyes, and suddenly she felt weak, as if her energy had flowed into his body and she was an extension of him. She could think of nothing to say.
His eyes moved and he was looking beyond her in the direction of the track. The machine had stopped and there were voices approaching. ‘Hop in,’ he said abruptly, propelling her in the direction of the Range Rover’s rear passenger door. He opened the door and she climbed in.
‘I’ll tell them you’ve got something in your eye.’ He studied her face, frowning slightly, then added, ‘Perhaps you should … ah … powder your nose or something.’ He closed the door behind her and went to meet the other men.
Kate stifled a totally unexpected and slightly hysterical urge to laugh. Powder your nose. It was such a funny, old-fashioned expression. Did anyone actually powder their nose these days? She had a sudden mental image of her grandmother flipping open her elegant gold compact and buffing her nose with the little velvet powder puff.
The memory lightened Kate’s tension a little as she reached for her bag and pulled out mascara and eyeliner for a quick repair job.
***
When they were on the road, on the way out of the forest, Henry told Sam that his wife Sandy had invited him to come back to their holiday home for dinner, so instead of Kate transferring to Henry’s car as she’d planned, she travelled back with Sam—at Henry’s suggestion—to direct him to the house.
She sat in stiff silence for the first kilometre, then she blurted, ‘Just to set the record straight, I don’t burst into tears—as you put it—every time something goes wrong.’
Sam glanced across at her. Her eyes were fixed on the road ahead, her lips were pressed together and her chin was on a definite upward incline. For the first time, he noticed that her nose, while narrow and very feminine, curved very slightly outward in profile. Stubborn! He resisted an urge to grin.
‘Could have fooled me,’ he said easily. ‘First time I met you, you cried—rather a lot, actually.’
‘Huh!’ She crossed her arms over her chest with far more force than she needed to.
He felt laughter bubbling perilously close to the surface.
‘Then today, more tears,’ he said. ‘That’s crying on two of the three occasions I’ve seen you in the last few days.’
‘Well, like the song says, two out of three ain’t bad,’ snapped Kate. ‘Anyway, ask anyone who knows me. They’ll tell you, I’m never emotional. Oh, and another thing, have you considered the fact that you’re part of the reason for any tears I may have had—if in fact, they were tears?’
Sam looked across at her again. Her eyes sparked bright with anger and a warm glow suffused the olive skin over her cheekbones. A stubborn woman, a contrary woman. Passionate too. The almost-pout of her lips made him feel again her mouth under his, and his stomach muscles clenched, but he clamped down on that memory because it was too dangerous. Keep it light, man.
He was quiet while he navigated a T-intersection, then he said, ‘So, Kate, what you’re saying is that I provoke an emotional response in you.’
‘Yes! No! No, no, no! Oh, God, you’re a clever-dick, smart-mouthed, word-twisting, son-of-a … son-of-a-kangaroo …’
She was gasping now, and he realised her anger had turned to laughter. ‘Hey lady, I’m a New Zealander.’ He was mighty relieved she’d seen the humour in the situation. ‘Enough of the kanga-bloody-roo, if you don’t mind!’
His own laughter spilled out now, loud and hard. He looked at her at the very instant she turned to him with a cheeky uplift of her finger, and they both dissolved into fresh paroxysms of gasps and giggles. By the time they had reached the main road and were heading back towards town, both were wiping tears of mirth from their eyes and the friction between them had well and truly evaporated.
‘Crying again, I see,’ he said.
‘Oh, shu
t up!’ She leaned across and whacked his shoulder.
‘Okay. I’ll behave if you tell me how to get to Henry’s place.’
***
She grinned at him. ‘Deal, buddy.’ His hair was tousled from his open window and the laughter had somehow softened the lines around his eyes and mouth. She suddenly remembered something she’d read in a women’s magazine. A good session of laughing, the story had said, was as relaxing as making love. Is this what he’d look like after a passionate night in bed?
‘It’s out the other side of town, by Lake Tarawera,’ she said quickly. Concentrate. ‘Dad and I often used to stay out there with Henry. When I was young it was with his first wife, then she died and he married Sandy. They’re old friends of ours.’
So I gathered in the boardroom yesterday.’ He sent an amused smirk in her direction.
She ignored the barb. ‘Turn right at the next intersection.’
They drove out past a forest of giant redwoods, then into the countryside for several kilometres. Presently the road dropped over a bush-clad hill, and spread out before them was a mirror-smooth lake fringed with lush ferns and other native vegetation. The roofs of holiday homes broke the greenness of the bush at irregular intervals around the lake.
The road narrowed and the sky darkened as they passed through a glade where the branches of the trees met together overhead, forming a deep green canopy.
‘Not much further now,’ said Kate, directing Sam off the asphalt road and onto a gravel driveway, which headed through the bush. Suddenly the trees opened up and the track fanned into a large gravel turning area in front of a low-slung brick and cedar house. Its simple lines disguised its size. Sandy Cadogan, a highly successful publisher of children’s educational books, had several years ago persuaded her husband to rebuild their holiday home into a much more substantial dwelling where she could entertain visiting colleagues and educationalists from overseas.
Large living areas spilled onto extensive verandas, which led to a wide lawn sweeping uninterrupted to the lake, a soft, blue jewel surrounded by native forest. On the other side of the lake brooded Mt Tarawera, its barren slopes dark, its crown rent by the crater of the volcano that ripped it apart in 1886.
‘That’s some landscape,’ Sam said softly, cutting the Range Rover’s motor.
Kate turned to him, proud of her country and the awe the magnificent scenery often inspired in visitors. ‘Henry will take you out on his boat if you want—or for that matter, I can take you. There’s some pretty beaches on the other shore we can explore and …’
She halted abruptly, appalled at her words. Sam turned towards her, his eyes seeking hers, his face unguarded, unbearably handsome in the filtered light in the Range Rover’s cab. ‘I’d like that, Kate,’ he said simply.
She swallowed, her throat tight, and made no reply. She opened her door and jumped down. How could I be so dumb! With Henry, or her father, or on her own, she’d taken any number of overseas visitors on pleasure tours of the lake. But Sam Shanahan? Never!
Kate walked quickly towards the house. She heard his door open and shut and the front door of the house was flung open.
‘Hello, Kate darling,’ called Sandy. A fickle breeze tossed Sandy’s short, chic, blonde-streaked hair, and Kate couldn’t help noticing the intrigued and appreciative glance she shot towards Sam.
***
Upstairs, Kate threw off her clothes and stepped into the cooling shower. She turned her face upwards, welcoming the needling jets which soothed and refreshed after the humid stickiness of today. Here, she could think over the events of this afternoon.
Being wrong about the logging machine was probably not such a big deal. Sam was right. A mistake was simply a mistake. And foolish pride had no place in the sensible management of McPherson Enterprises.
She massaged shampoo into her hair. Oh, sure, she did like to get her own way, had done since she was a kid. It was a family joke, trotted out by her father in private moments of affection. But to be right, and get her own way at the expense of the company’s good? No way. That was just not her style.
Still, it hurt to be shown up in front of others—people whose opinion she valued dearly—by Sam Shanahan, who was … what? The only person standing between her and the job that should rightfully be hers? A threat to the secure future of McPherson’s employees? A threat, even, to her own rationality, her own sanity?
She squeezed shower gel onto her hands and ran them across the soft curve of her hips, remembering the hard, hot fire of his mouth on hers that day at the airstrip, and wondering how his hands would feel if they slid, like this, slow and gentle, over her body.
‘Oh, get real.’ she muttered, turning the shower to cold. Sam Shanahan is the enemy. She leaned her head back against the wall of the shower so the cool water pounded against her face. After a few seconds, she flipped the shower control to off and reached for her towel.
Yes, Sam-bloody-Shanahan is drop-dead gorgeous. Yes, he makes me go weak at the knees and other places, and sometimes he makes me laugh. But he’s after my job, after my family’s company. Sweet-talking the board of directors is one thing, but adding me to his list of conquests? Never in a million years!
Half an hour later, dressed in jeans and a cool cotton-knit top in pale lilac with long sleeves and a wide neckline that showed off most of her shoulders, she stepped out on to the terrace, where he waited, a wine glass in his hand and an appreciative gleam in his eyes.
Chapter 5
He was listening as Sandy extolled the virtues of selling her interactive children’s books on the internet. Relaxed and casual in a loose-fitting short-sleeved black shirt over grey pants, he leaned against the solid wood veranda post, tall, taut body at ease, but somehow … alert. Kate was reminded of a big cat she’d seen when she’d taken her neighbour’s little girls to the zoo for a Christmas treat.
The lion had lain sunning himself on the rocks below, apparently blissfully sleeping. But when one of the girls leaned too far forward for a better view and dropped her ice-cream through the narrow railing that surrounded the enclosure, the young male had sprung from sleep to full alert in less than a second. Kate remembered the girls’—and her own—gasps of fear and awe as he prowled his territory seeking the source of his agitation, roaring, sleek body glowing, muscles supple and dangerous under the tawny hide. He’d looked directly at them, his slanted cat’s eyes glowing amber.
Sam’s eyes were like the big cat’s; they slanted at the corners, blue, not amber, but disturbing, all the same, watching her as she walked across the terrace towards him. Excitement ripped through Kate; so sharp, so fiery, and so unmistakably sensual she was momentarily shocked.
‘Gin and tonic, Kate? Kate?’
‘Sorry, Sandy, what did you say?’ Kate’s mouth was dry, and she was suddenly conscious of her body beneath her clothes, conscious of the unashamed, predatory interest she saw in his eyes.
Sandy held the bottle aloft, and wore a knowing smile. ‘Gin and tonic, sweetie?’
Kate shook her head; Sandy’s heavy-handedness at the bar was a trap for young players. Tonight she must keep her wits about her. Instead, she took the glass of sauvignon blanc Henry poured for her and raised it in the direction of the other three.
‘Here’s to your books, Sandy,’ she said, a little too brightly. ‘And to a fair fight for the top job, Sam.’
She was glad she sounded confident and in control, even if she didn’t feel it. She sent a wide smile in Sam’s direction and was rewarded with a fractional widening of his eyes before he smiled back and raised his glass.
She lifted her glass a little higher, then brought it to her mouth. I have your measure, Sam Shanahan, she told herself, watching him as she sipped from her glass.
‘May the best woman—or man—win!’ said Sandy, and they all laughed.
Kate enjoyed the wine’s cool passage across her dry throat, then, because her heart was still beating too fast, and she wanted to keep the conversation neutral, she waved
her glass towards the lake and said, ‘It’s so beautiful here, don’t you think, Sam?’
‘Almost as beautiful as you, ma’am,’ he replied, with mock gallantry, and they all laughed again, but while Sam laughed, Kate saw his eyes flick to her hair, which fell around her shoulders. She felt a surge of warmth in her cheeks and knew she couldn’t blame the wine.
She’d caught her hair up with slides above her ears as she often did when relaxing after work. Upstairs in her bedroom, she’d remembered the way his fingers had tangled in her hair while he’d kissed her that day at the airstrip, and her immediate impulse had been to drag it back severely, imprisoning the shiny mass in a tight knot at the back of her head. But she’d released the knot, shaking out her curls defiantly. He’d said his kiss on the airstrip meant nothing; it was a mere reaction on his part to an emotional catalyst. So why should she be afraid to look attractive in his presence? To be afraid gave him an edge.
She reached up and lifted the heaviness of her hair off the back of her neck for a moment, and then dropped it when she saw his eyes following her movement. And if by some chance he did feel something towards her, some sort of reciprocal animal attraction, well then, maybe, just maybe, she would be the one with the edge.
She smiled slightly as she dipped a carrot stick into a bowl of silky-smooth guacamole. ‘Why, Mr Shanahan, a girl could mistake you for a silver-tongued charmer,’ she drawled with a heavy dose of irony.
‘Not at all,’ he protested seriously, but she saw laughter dancing in his eyes and felt her insides turn another backwards flip. She was glad when Henry started talking to him about fishing.
The hot day had mellowed into a warm evening and they ate outside on the terrace. A large salmon fillet, wrapped in foil with herbs, and barbecued to succulent perfection by Henry, was accompanied by freshly tossed salad, new potatoes and crusty bread. Kate had enjoyed many meals just like this one at Henry and Sandy’s table, where good food, even better wines and stimulating conversation flowed in abundance. Usually she was relaxed here, at the lake house, but tonight she felt an undertow of unease. She’d carefully positioned herself beside Henry, and diagonally opposite to Sam. But often, too often for comfort, her eyes met his across the table.
