by Robyn Donald
In a dignified silence Natalia ignored him. After a few minutes the hens resumed their chatty commentary, and the sun heated up, giving the lie to the red sky at dawn.
Studiously avoiding the sight of Clay digging, Natalia found herself thinking that it was more than pleasant to work with someone in the cool, sweet air, to hear the clean sound as the spade sliced into the earth, the muted thud as the earth was transferred to its new position.
When the rhythmic swing of the spade stopped she looked up, her mouth drying as she saw him take off his shirt and toss it over a convenient post. Her hand trembled; jerking her gaze away, she blinked and stared at the green fuzz of weeds, only relaxing when the quiet sounds of his digging began again.
Unfortunately for any peace of mind, that momentary image was now imprinted on the insides of her eyelids—heavily muscled arms, broad shoulders and a chest filigreed by fine dark hair that scrolled across the golden skin then arrowed down to the belt of his jeans. Clay didn’t have the carefully sculpted torso of a gym addict; his were muscles earned by physical labour.
Doing what? Tycoons usually looked soft and pudgy, but he certainly knew his way around a spade.
Natalia’s stomach clamped into a knot. He’d been overwhelming in evening clothes, but like this he epitomised the kind of elemental male that inhabited the wilder reaches of female fantasy.
And let’s not forget, she reminded herself, that he’s also arrogant, rich, and determined to get me into bed. Danger in jeans.
‘Right, that’s it,’ he said.
She waited until she was sure he’d put his shirt on again before looking up and awkwardly scrambling to her feet. ‘Thank you,’ she said in a stilted voice.
‘I enjoyed doing it,’ he said casually. ‘We’ll go and put that wheel on now, and before you say anything, I spoke to the woman who drives the post van and she told me she’d dropped it off this morning.’
‘I can put it on myself, you know,’ she said, reining in her temper with such determination that each word sounded dull and mechanical.
‘I’m sure you can do anything you want to.’ His smile taunted her. ‘Except, perhaps, remove the shadows from under your eyes. Haven’t you been getting enough sleep?’
‘Plenty,’ she said. ‘Look, Clay, you’re being a good neighbour—’
His laughter stopped her—low and sexy, the tinge of mockery in it had her clutching for control.
Biting the words between her teeth, she commanded, ‘Don’t you laugh at me!’
Lazy golden eyes scanned her face with indolent, chilling amusement. ‘It would probably do you the world of good to laugh at yourself a bit more,’ he said quite gently. ‘You might be used to twisting every man who comes near you around your little finger, but I don’t twist easily.’
‘No, you’re entirely too accustomed to getting your own way!’ she flashed back, oddly exhilarated in spite of her anger.
He grinned. ‘Indeed I am. We’re two of kind, you and I. Now, either you come with me and we put this wheel on together, or I go down and put it on by myself.’
‘You can go down and put it on yourself,’ she said, backing off. The pleasure of being linked with him was too suspicious to be tolerated.
‘Scared, Natalia?’
She snorted. ‘Not in the least. I simply have more important things to do than stand by and be impressed when you take your shirt off again…’ Appalled, she stopped, because that wasn’t what she’d intended to say. Embarrassment clogged her throat.
‘Did you like what you saw?’ he asked, brows raised. ‘All right, I’ll go down and put the wheel on. But if I want to take my shirt off, sweetheart, I’ll do that whether you’re watching me from beneath your lashes or not.’ He paused, then added, ‘I don’t care what people think about me.’
Something in his voice—some hidden, flat note—lifted her head sharply. The tiny hairs across the back of her neck stood up straight, warning her of danger. She’d hit a nerve there.
‘Yes, you’re intrigued,’ he said in a dark drawl. ‘Those green eyes are glinting, and your smile has a gleam of satisfaction in it. I might want you, Natalia, but I’m not going to let you tie a knot around my heart like you have with young Phil up there. When we make love it’s going to be an honest transaction.’
Transaction? With stinging clarity she recalled Dean Jamieson’s offer to settle her debt if she’d agree to ignore his wife and be his mistress. In a deadly voice, she asked, ‘And is all this neighbourly assistance an attempt to prepay your way?’
An ugly light flared in his eyes, to be doused almost as soon as it appeared. ‘I told you, I’ve never paid for sex in my life, Natalia.’
‘How lucky you are,’ she said sweetly. ‘It must help that you’re reasonably good-looking, with nice broad shoulders and a very handsome car. And you’re rich.’
She’d expected him to lose his temper at the insult, but although his jaw tightened there was sudden, stunned understanding in the topaz eyes. ‘How many men have tried to bribe their way into your bed?’ he asked calmly. ‘Phil?’
‘No!’
‘Then who?’
‘Nobody,’ she lied, afraid of his perceptiveness.
He came across to her, standing close enough so that she could smell the fresh, salty scent of sweat—sweat he had expended on her behalf. ‘Natalia,’ he said forcefully, his eyes clear and intent and unyielding, ‘I don’t see you as someone to be bought. Perhaps the word “transaction” was a mistake; I used it because I want what happens between us to be honest, without lies and evasions. Yes, I want to make love to you, but I also like and respect you. I admire your sense of responsibility, and the fact that you sold everything you could to pay off as much of your father’s debt as you could.’
‘What else could I do?’ she asked stiffly, wondering why ‘like’ and ‘respect’ were not the words she wanted to hear him use.
His smile was ironic. ‘You? Nothing. That’s the difference between you and your father. He spent his life dreaming, following every wild-goose chase, every hare-brained scheme for making money from the land.’
Natalia said in a low, furious voice, ‘He was a good man.’
‘I’m sure he was.’ Clay didn’t try to hide his contempt. ‘A selfish, charming good man. Liz told me you wanted to be a botanist, but because he needed your help you left school early and worked with him. He should have insisted you finish your education.’
‘My mother was sick,’ Natalia said stonily, swivelling away to pick up the spade.
But Clay got to it before she could and slung it over one shoulder. ‘Didn’t anyone—teachers, principal, friends—stick up for your right to a life of your own?’
Striding back to the shed where she kept her tools, she said in a harsh, unemotional voice, ‘Oh, yes, but what else could I do? I knew my mother was dying.’
He looked down at her, and in that disciplined, determined glance she understood the difference between her father, a weak man for all his charm, and the man beside her. ‘No child of mine,’ Clay said calmly, ‘will ever be robbed of her childhood or her education.’
Later—much later—Natalia would wonder if that was the moment she began the slippery, exultant slide into love. Until then she’d been fighting a fierce, elemental attraction; that level statement built the foundations of something much more stable, much more timeless than a heated desire.
Without pausing, he went on, ‘How long will it take you to pay off the amount you owe?’
‘How long’s a piece of string?’ she asked, using flippancy to cover her raw emotions.
‘So you’re still in hock to your father’s dreams of Xanadu.’
‘There’s no alternative,’ she said with crisp finality, wrenching on the toolshed door.
Of course it stuck, and of course Clay put the spade down and took over, hauling the wretched thing back with a powerful jerk as he said dispassionately, ‘Sometimes filing for bankruptcy is the best thing to do.’
Nata
lia lifted her head. ‘Not for me.’ She hesitated, then went on, wanting him to understand, ‘I’m managing, Clay— I don’t go without food or clothes, and I am repaying the debt.’
‘At what cost?’ Beneath the cool, almost judicial tone rasped hidden emotions. He put the spade inside the shed and stood a moment, surveying the contents. ‘You’ll be marooned here for who knows how many years, working your guts out, missing out on everything other women of your age take for granted.’
She opened her lashes wide, smiling in a manner that should have alarmed him. ‘But you’re going to make my life much more exciting, aren’t you?’ she purred.
He grinned, his eyes molten and bright, but said laconically, ‘Believe it. Why isn’t there a lock for this? Don’t you have a problem with farm thefts here?’ He pushed the door closed.
She stepped back. ‘Thieves go for farm bikes, quads, that sort of thing. They’re not interested in my tools.’ Without waiting for him, she set off towards the house.
He caught her up in one stride. ‘Nevertheless, you should get a lock.’
‘Certainly, sir.’ Her voice positively oozed agreement.
She heard him laugh quietly. ‘Please.’
The simple request made her heart flip. Before she could stop herself she gave him a sideways glance; her insides lurched when she met eyes as golden and uncompromising as the sun.
‘I’ve got a padlock or two spare,’ he told her. ‘I’ll come down and put one on.’
‘Do you travel with spare padlocks?’ she asked with false interest. ‘What exciting times you must have! I’m not the local deserving poor, thank you, so you don’t need to come flashing your bounty around me—’ Shocked and dismayed, she clamped her mouth over the words that threatened to surge forth.
A shimmering tension in the air froze her. She met Clay’s regard with a slight movement of her head, but no anger glimmered in the eyes that scrutinised her face. They were hard and compelling and speculative.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘That was unforgivably rude. However, I don’t need to be looked after. I’m sure you mean well, but I find it patronising when you ignore what I say.’
‘I can see that.’ He didn’t appear angry, for which she was reluctantly grateful. ‘If I promise not to trample over that prickly independence,’ he said, ‘will you allow me to help you put the wheel on? I know you’re capable of doing it, but I promise you it will be easier for me.’
Natalia had to stop herself from blurting out that she wasn’t normally a shrew. He was a man who’d take swift advantage of any hint of weakness; admitting that he affected her so strongly would definitely be a weakness.
‘As you ask so nicely,’ she said with a wry smile, ‘of course you can. I don’t like being ordered around, but I’m happy to accept help when it’s offered.’
His brows rose. However, all he said was, ‘I promise not to take my shirt off.’
The only way to deal with such open provocation was to ignore it, and fortunately they reached the house then so she was able to without making it obvious.
The shirt stayed on, and he was right, he made a much faster job of putting the wheel back on than she would have.
Smiling her thanks, she got in, turned the key and stared blankly when she heard a slow chug-chug-chug followed by the whirring of the starter motor.
‘Turn it off—it’s empty,’ Clay commanded. ‘Someone’s probably siphoned off the petrol.’
CHAPTER FIVE
NATALIA struck her clenched fists once on the wheel and swore fluently and at some length.
When she finally ran down, Clay was laughing. ‘You’ve got a wide command of some extremely esoteric oaths. I don’t know what the Russian ones mean, but they sound magnificently malevolent. OK, hop out. I’ve got petrol at home.’
Still fuming, she obeyed. Phil, thank heavens, didn’t appear while Clay collected petrol from the implement shed at Pukekahu.
‘That should get you to the nearest garage,’ Clay said after he’d emptied the jerrycan into the truck’s tank.
‘I haven’t got my purse,’ she said, ‘but if you’d like to call in—’
‘Don’t push your luck,’ he said evenly, ‘or I’ll send you a bill for time spent digging and putting on a wheel.’ The golden eyes were no longer indolent; they burned with a steady fire that warned her to go no further.
With stiff politeness she returned, ‘Then thank you for the petrol.’ And couldn’t resist the temptation to add, ‘Although a bill for services rendered would be unenforceable without some sort of contract, surely? Or at least a written quote?’
He looked at her for a taut moment, until that sardonic, lopsided grin banished the tension. ‘Get away home, Natalia; you can relax now because I’m going away for a week or so.’
Natalia missed him, the needling ache in her heart only soothed five days later when Liz came to Xanadu for a long afternoon the day before she left for England.
From her Natalia learned that Clay’s dinner party had been a huge success.
‘Everyone who’s anyone in Bowden was there. Did you know that Clay’s a millionaire?’ Liz asked as they walked up to Xanadu’s highest point of land.
‘I’m not surprised.’ Natalia looked over the yearling steers she’d reared the previous spring. ‘But I bet he didn’t say so.’
Liz laughed. ‘Of course he didn’t! Dad read an article about him in one of those business magazines. Clay used a legacy to buy shares when he was still at high school, and made a real killing—as well as being astute enough to get out of the stock market before the ’87 crash.’
‘Did Clay tell the journalist this?’ Natalia simply couldn’t imagine him revealing his life to a business magazine.
‘No. The journo said he’d had to dig really hard—apparently Clay’s a bit of a mystery man. Anyway, after he left school he decided there was a future in horticulture. Pukekahu is his first foray into farming, but he’s got interests in vineyards and olive groves, and a truffle-growing operation in the South Island that’s earning enormous amounts of overseas exchange.’
Greedy though she was for knowledge about him, Natalia said offhandedly, ‘Truffles? Those French fungi that pigs dig up from tree roots? I didn’t know we had them in New Zealand.’
Liz grinned. ‘Perhaps we didn’t until Clay arrived on the scene. Apparently they cost a million dollars a gram.’
‘I don’t think so!’
‘Well, they’re incredibly expensive.’
‘He’s an absentee landlord,’ Natalia said bluntly.
‘Rubbish. He’s an investor. Someone—I think it was Mrs Russell, so I don’t know that I’d take much notice of it, because she often gets things wrong—anyway, she said she thought Clay had some sort of family connection to the Freemans who owned Pukekahu before Dean Jamieson.’
‘Clay has? He’s never said.’ Would he have mentioned it? Probably not. ‘Old Mr Freeman’s daughter was Dean’s stepmother. She died quite young.’
‘So that’s how he came to own it.’ Liz panted up a small hill, skirting thriving bushes as she went. At the top she said, ‘And that’s probably the connection that Mrs Russell was thinking of. Aren’t you supposed to kill all this gorse?’
‘I grubbed it in the spring, but it’s been a great year for it and I can’t afford to spray just now,’ Natalia told her. ‘You were the one who wanted to climb up here and look at the sea.’
‘It’s my favourite spot.’ Determinedly Liz homed back to the subject of Clay Beauchamp. ‘Someone else said Clay’s got into forestry in a big way.’
Natalia shrugged. ‘So he’s far-sighted. I wonder what he plans for Pukekahu.’
‘Somebody asked him, but he didn’t say. He knows how to keep his mouth shut without offending people.’ Liz drew in a deep, rapturous breath. ‘Oh, this is glorious! Why didn’t you go to his party, Nat? I couldn’t believe it when I realised you weren’t coming.’
‘I didn’t want to.’
Although
Natalia’s voice was light and steady she didn’t fool her oldest friend, who persisted, ‘Why?’
‘My mother said you should never accept hospitality you couldn’t return.’
Wriggling through the slack wires of an elderly fence, Liz said, ‘You could return it.’
‘How?’ Natalia asked as she climbed after Liz.
‘You could ask him to a picnic,’ Liz said sternly.
‘In winter?’
‘Well, wait until the summer! For heaven’s sake, Nat, you know he’s interested in you, yet you’re deliberately cutting yourself off.’
‘Liz, leave it, OK? As soon as I’ve paid off Dad’s debts I’ll go out with any man who asks me. Well, within reason! I just haven’t got time at the moment. Or the energy.’
‘You’re afraid of him,’ Liz accused. ‘Well, not really him, I suppose—you’re scared that you’ll let him get to you like blasted Dean Jamieson did, and that he’ll let you down as badly.’
Natalia bristled, then subsided, admitting, ‘I suppose I am. I don’t have much faith in my judgement when it comes to men—first Dean, and then Phil. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just as hopeless as my father, only in relationships instead of business.’
‘Nonsense.’ Liz frowned. ‘I feel sorry for Phil, but he simply wasn’t right for you.’
‘I should have remembered that my mother used to say men and women can’t be friends.’
‘Your mother was a very sophisticated lady, but I think she was wrong. Phil’s got no right to carry on as though you’ve broken his heart—especially when he’s taking another woman out!’ Liz grasped a head of rushes to pull herself up a bank. ‘As for Dean—well, it would have been very easy to lose your head over him. He’s gorgeous—all tall and blond and laughing, with those sexy dark eyes—but he works too hard at being charming, you know?’
‘I know,’ Natalia agreed grimly.
‘Yes. Clay doesn’t have to work at it. He’s got that terrific magnetism, and he’s clever and sort of dynamically masterful, but he has a basic integrity you can’t miss. And did you notice—men like and admire and respect him too? They didn’t like Dean.’