by Daphne Clair
Impulsively she placed a hand over his, surprised when in a reflex action he opened his fist and clung as if to a lifeline. Looking down, he said, “Sorry, Sam. Inflicting my troubles on you.”
“We’re friends. Anything I can do…”
“Thanks. But there’s nothing.” He stared down at their hands for a time in silence, apparently deriving some comfort from her sympathy. When he released his grip her fingers ached but she didn’t complain.
She thought of telling him about Jase’s bizarre suspicions, but it wouldn’t help either of them, might even embarrass Bryn and sour their friendship.
Neither of them finished their meal. When they parted outside the restaurant Bryn kissed her cheek, and with her heart aching for him she gave him a warm, comforting hug before he went striding off along the street.
If Rachel had left him for someone else, why had Jase thought Samantha was to blame?
Even though she kept in touch with Bryn, she wasn’t aware that Jase was back in the country until she attended the annual Donovan’s Charity Ball, an event she’d missed only once since returning from Australia.
What she had not expected was that Jase would be there too. Somehow she’d assumed that since Rachel’s defection Bryn’s ties with her family would have been severed. But of course he would still have a business relationship with Jase’s company. All Donovan’s business contacts would have been invited.
Seeing him chatting with a group of people at one of the circular tables she wondered if the very attractive young woman next to him was his partner this evening. When he looked up as if he’d felt her staring, she hastily averted her eyes and led the man she’d brought along towards a table where some people she knew were already seated. She’d have preferred to have her back to the one where Jase was, but the chair her escort pulled out for her had a clear view of the forceful, unforgettable features she’d been trying to erase from her memory.
He was looking straight back at her, in the same hostile, accusing way he had the very first time she’d seen him. She turned to the man still standing behind her chair, raising her face to him as he bent to ask, “Can I get you something to drink?”
She asked for sparkling wine, and chatted to the other people at the table until he returned and seated himself at her side, hooking an arm companionably across the back of her chair. Samantha was glad she had invited him. He was a widower, a nice middle-aged furniture company director who was wary of relationships after the abrupt end to his happy marriage. He and his wife had both been keen dancers and he missed that a lot, he’d told Samantha. They found each other useful on occasions such as this.
She was glad too that she’d worn a dress she’d fallen in love with—a blue silk only slightly darker than her eyes, with a faux 1930s elegance relying on cut rather than embellishment. With it she wore a pair of glittering pale blue topaz teardrop earrings and a silver bracelet set with the same stones.
She sipped at her champagne, her face set in a pleasantly smooth social mask, exchanging platitudes until one of the women said, “Where’s Bryn’s lovely wife? I don’t see her here.”
“They’ve separated,” another woman told her. “Didn’t you know? There was a piece in that gossip column of Cynthia’s a while ago. Rachel seems to have disappeared from view.” Turning to Samantha, she added, “You know him pretty well, don’t you? Any idea what happened?”
Samantha shrugged. “Bryn and I are business friends. His personal life is his own affair.” Then she changed the subject to the charity auction that traditionally formed part of the entertainment, the night’s proceeds going to help sick children. She’d donated a piece of her mother’s jewellery—a heavy diamond-and-wrought-silver necklace that she’d never particularly liked.
Samantha and her widower friend had taken to the floor several times before Bryn arrived at their table and asked her to dance with him, saying, “I’ve done all my duty dances.”
She thought about Jase balefully watching them, and deliberately pushed him out of her mind as she rose and followed him.
There were still signs of strain around his eyes, in the set of his mouth. When Jase passed them, his arm around the pretty girl he’d been sitting next to, she quickly averted her gaze. It was the first time this evening they’d been near each other, although he’d been dancing with the girl earlier, and once she saw him with an older woman.
Bryn returned her to her seat and lingered for a few minutes talking to the others round the table. Then she and her partner went to view the items for auction later. Her mother’s necklace was displayed on a table among other jewellery and antique ornaments. On the floor stood things like brand-new water pumps and garden gadgets, office machines and household whiteware.
Samantha’s companion became absorbed in inspecting a large and gleaming bright-red ride-on mower. He climbed onto the seat and began fiddling with levers, and she smilingly left him to it and moved on, attracted by a set of silk cushions embroidered and beaded in gold and jewel colours. Perhaps they’d add warmth and a touch of the exotic to her living room, which she had lately found rather stark.
Stepping away, she cannoned into a solid shape behind her and turned to apologise, half expecting to see one of the burly security guards who were watching over the display.
What she saw was Jase, so close she could smell the fabric of his evening shirt, and a hint of soap.
She felt his hand on her arm like a manacle before he dropped it and she backed against the table, the apology dying on her lips.
They were hemmed in amongst other people, and he seemed transfixed, as she was, both of them simply staring at each other for what seemed like an age, though it could only have been seconds at most.
“Samantha,” he said at last. And then, his voice barely audible among the increasingly loud chatter all about them, “Who’s the guy with you? A smokescreen? Why bother, now you’ve got what you wanted? Or isn’t it working out after all? Bryn looks to me like he’s not too happy with his life. Is his conscience bothering him, or have you had a falling out?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Samantha hissed, unspeakably hurt. She’d still had some vague hope that Jase would have realised how wrong he was, would admit it and apologise. But since returning to New Zealand he’d come nowhere near her. He still hated her.
Had he all along? It struck her, sickeningly, that his apparent thawing, the walk on the beach, the almost-friendship during his makeover of her company’s systems, the visit to his parents and his home—even the kiss—might have been part of a calculated plan to keep her away from Bryn, distract her by offering himself instead. It was what he’d said to her in her office, raging, If you want a man, choose one who’s free. Like me.
But then he’d kissed her. He had still wanted her in that way—even if he hated her. Her angry, ignoble triumph at that was no compensation for him not even liking her. But it helped to hide the hurt.
He said, “I did ask Bryn what the hell was going on with you two. He decked me.”
She blinked. Bryn was the most self-controlled person she knew. Not that Jase didn’t deserve it. “Didn’t that give you a clue?” she asked incredulously.
Someone jostled her, a woman saying irritably, “Excuse me, I just want to look at—”
Samantha missed hearing the rest. Jase had taken hold of her arm again and was hauling her after him, pushing through the throng until they emerged in a clear space and he found an empty corner half screened by a palm in a huge pot that blocked any escape. He growled, “Sure it gave me a clue. He wouldn’t tell me a damn thing. Which seems to me like a guilty conscience.”
“He has nothing to feel guilty about!” Samantha protested.
Jase exploded. “What the hell is it about the guy and you women, that you all stick up for him? Even Rachel—”
“Because he hasn’t done anything!” Samantha said. “It was Rachel who left him.”
“I know that. And I know why.”
He did? And still he blamed
Bryn—and her? It didn’t compute. “Bryn told you?” she asked.
“Rachel told me. She saw you two together.”
“What do you mean, together? You know we—”
“Kissing,” he said harshly. “Making love at Bryn’s office. You didn’t even know she was there.”
For once she was unable to control her expression. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in silent protest. Her voice wavered. “She’s lying!” Why? To conceal her own infidelity from her brother, the rest of her family?
His eyes narrowed. “My sister doesn’t lie.”
Stuttering with shock, she said, “We—we’ve—hardly even touched when we’ve been in Bryn’s office.” Belatedly she added, “Or anywhere. It’s not true!”
This couldn’t really be happening, could it? “Jase—” she reached out a hand to touch him, her fingers on the sleeve of his jacket, her voice still unsteady “—it isn’t true.”
For a couple of seconds he stared at her, and doubt flickered in his eyes. Then they hardened and he shook off her hand as though it were an annoying insect. “She wouldn’t say so if it wasn’t true. And she’s not the only one.”
Samantha recoiled. “What?”
“You haven’t heard the talk?”
She should have realised that people would jump to conclusions, seeing her and Bryn together more often in the wake of his marriage breakup. They were both high-profile businesspeople, marks for public speculation. “Anonymous gossip is hardly a reliable—”
“Not all of it’s anonymous,” he interrupted harshly. “A friend, with no reason to make it up. She saw you holding hands with Bryn in a restaurant downtown. Staring into each other’s eyes as if you’d forgotten anyone else was there, embracing right outside the doorway where everyone could see. If you two can’t keep your hands to yourselves in public, why the pretence tonight?”
“There’s no pretence!” This had gone too far. “Jase, you don’t underst—”
“A lovers’ quarrel then?” he asked, shoving a hand into the pocket of his trousers, his lip curling. “You trying to make him jealous?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but another male figure appeared behind Jase. “Samantha?” Her partner of the evening, having finally abandoned his love affair with the lawnmower. “Everything all right?”
Jase didn’t even look at him, his eyes raking Samantha with a hostile, deliberately insulting glance that made her heart shrivel. “She’s all yours, mate,” he tossed contemptuously in the direction of the other man, and strode away.
“Who’s he?” Her partner frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Someone I’ve done business with in the past,” she said carefully. “And of course I’m okay.” She tried a smile, hoping he couldn’t see she was shaking inside. “Have you decided to bid for the mower?”
“Maybe.” Apparently not convinced of her disclaimer, he put an arm about her as he led her back to their table. By the time they reached it she had regained her composure and was able to pretend nothing had happened.
The floor was cleared for the auction and the necklace fetched a good price. Her mother would have been pleased. One of her favourite charities had been the children’s hospital. It was probably selfish of Samantha to wish her mother had spent less time sitting on committees for good causes, or “making contacts” at bridge parties and fashion shows, and more with her only child.
She’d been someone who needed other people around, restless and bored when her only companion was a little girl. Samantha had tried to grow up fast, to copy her pretty, popular, socialite mother—while at the same time trying to become her father’s worthy successor. It had been a difficult balancing act.
When the cushions Samantha had admired came up for sale she put in a bid but her heart wasn’t in it, and when another bidder seemed set on acquiring them she dropped out. Later she entered a bid for a lovely octagonal parquet occasional table on low splayed legs trimmed with brass. She wanted to contribute to the cause and the piece seemed about to go for much less than it was worth. Eventually it was knocked down to her and she wondered how it would fit into her décor. Perhaps she’d use it to hold a vase of flowers.
After the auction the music became livelier and the younger contingent dominated the floor. She saw Jase with the girl who might be his partner for the night—and more? He was just as good at the hip-swivelling, foot-stomping style as he was at traditional dance steps.
The night dragged on, and around midnight Samantha asked her escort to take her home, suddenly deathly tired and with an incipient headache. They took a taxi, and when they reached her home he got the cab to wait while he walked her to her door, refusing to let her pay her share of the fare. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “You bought the tickets and I had a very nice time. I enjoyed the dancing. Thank you.” He touched his lips to her cheek, and left.
There were nice people in the world, she thought, closing the door and switching on the hall light. A pity she couldn’t have fallen for one of them, instead of a man who was too ready to believe the worst of her. And who might have been playing with her emotions.
Once in her bed, she stared into the darkness for a while before closing her eyes. All she could see was Jase, his face dark with fury, his eyes filled with contempt and dislike. And all she could feel was hurt and anger and desolation.
No matter what she said he wouldn’t believe her. He believed the preposterous story Rachel had apparently told him.
Why would Rachel have made up something like that? And how dare she implicate Samantha?
The pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit.
CHAPTER TEN
JASE didn’t remember a time when he’d been reluctant to go to work. Or felt that having his home and his office in the same building was a mistake.
His staff were at their desks below while he still sat slumped over the remains of his breakfast, the cereal hardening at the edges of the bowl he’d shoved away, and toast crumbs sticking to a plate while his third cup of coffee cooled between his hands.
Since he was a night owl by nature, it wasn’t unusual for him to be at his computer into the early hours solving a particularly sticky problem, or to leave his bed because in the half-conscious state between the real world and sleep a new idea had filtered into his brain, and he needed to get it on the screen where he could see if it had any substance or was merely a crazy dream.
Crazy dreams had sometimes led to new, groundbreaking realities. And after years of working on his own he found it stimulating being among others with the same eagerness to make the impossible possible.
The last few nights he’d been sleepless yet unable to work. Even when he turned on his computer and stared at the screen nothing came. And in the daytime he hadn’t wanted to face his colleagues, wanting only to be alone to brood.
All because of seeing Samantha again at the Donovan’s Charity Ball, so serene and beautiful and untouchable, and after one brief, indifferent glance ignoring him.
Not unexpected, considering their last encounter, but it had ignited a slow-smouldering rage that he couldn’t shake. He’d had to summon all his willpower to keep up an appearance of enjoying himself so as not to spoil the party for the wife and daughter of his sales director, who had persuaded him that the networking opportunity was too valuable to turn down.
The two women, particularly the daughter, were excited at being his guests at the Donovan’s Ball. While the sales director worked the room, Jase had done his best to entertain them, feeling old and jaded at the girl’s awed enthusiasm. She was a nice kid, and he’d made sure she had a night to remember—for all the right reasons. He suspected he wasn’t going to forget it for a long time either, but for all the wrong reasons. Like the fact he hadn’t been able to resist baiting Samantha when they literally bumped into each other.
For once she couldn’t quite hide her emotions, looking shocked when he confronted her with the evidence. And as guilty as hell for a second or two before she accused Rachel of lying.
/>
He knew his sister better than that. And anyway, what reason would she have?
What he didn’t understand was why Samantha didn’t just admit that she and Bryn were having an affair, or were at least close to it. Probably picking up where they’d left off before. Rachel had seemed to think that likely.
The hell of it was, he admitted silently as he dumped cold coffee in the sink and added his breakfast dishes to the others already in the dishwasher, that no matter what he told himself about Samantha’s deceit and her cold-hearted treatment of his sister, he couldn’t stop wanting her.
An overnight electrical storm hit Auckland, knocking out phones, fax machines and computers all over the city. Despite the safeguards Jase’s team had installed, a direct lightning strike on the roof of the Magnussen Building affected some of the company’s network. The IT manager called and demanded action.
Samantha reassured herself that it wouldn’t be likely that Jase himself would be needed, but after a couple of technicians had worked on the problems all morning and then left, saying everything tested okay now, half an hour later her secretary informed her he was on the line.
Tempted to tell Judy to say she was out to lunch, Samantha decided that would be cowardly and took the call, annoyed to find her palm on the receiver was moist. She said crisply, “Yes?”
“Just checking,” he said, “that you’re happy—”
“What?” Had he phoned to harass her again about her supposed affair with Bryn?
“—with the job my team did on your computers,” he said. “I’m making sure all my clients are satisfied.”
Samantha closed her eyes and bit her lip, glad he couldn’t see her. One thing she’d been adamant about not wanting was a phone-camera link. “You’re ringing them all personally?”
“That’s right. It’s business, Samantha.” His voice was as smooth as butter.
She covered the mouthpiece and took a deep breath before removing her hand. “Yes, well—they seem to have done a good job. No one’s complained so far.”