by Kim Lawrence
‘I can’t get worked up about the packaging of a new chocolate bar or the packaging of a recycled politician,’ he agreed with a shrug. ‘Call it a genetic flaw. Mallory’s needs someone dynamic at the helm and no one in-house had the requirements. At least with Peter available I don’t have to waste any more time here. Oliver knew I wouldn’t be stepping into his shoes, but he also knew I wouldn’t let what he’d built up crumble. He had no children; I think the agency was his contribution to posterity.’
‘I think that’s sad.’
‘So do I,’ he agreed unexpectedly.
She was still angry with him for the offhand, disparaging way he’d spoken about the agency. ‘Of course, you’re probably happier treading grapes or doing something rustic and fulfilling.’ For some bizarre reason she suddenly had a vivid image of Callum stripped to the waist, his skin gleaming with labour’s sweat, and she lost the thread of her vitriolic outburst completely. A small, inarticulate gurgle escaped her lips and she picked up her glass and took a healthy swallow of the pale liquid. Callum’s own children would be conceived in a heartless marriage of convenience if he was to be believed.
‘Do you like that?’
His words took her by surprise but she nodded as she tasted the warm, buttery aftertaste on her tongue and struggled to regain her composure.
‘Then I must have been treading the grapes properly,’ he said, watching her eyes dart to the bottle. ‘A nice Chardonnay, but our Botrytis Semillon is the best thing we’ve done yet. It’s an intense, late-harvest wine that I personally think can rival the best Sauternes available,’ he observed confidently. ‘New South Wales has a climate not dissimilar to that of the South of France. In Wollundra, for example, we’re lucky with the climate; it’s a hilly area and quite far south. I think you’ll find our label on a lot of the better wine lists.
‘As for the property... When it comes down to it, you’re right—it is a farm, on a large scale. Doing what I do, I can be involved in every stage from the planting of the vines to the distribution and marketing. I find it satisfying to see the end result of my labour and to know the label—’ he touched the striking gold motif on the bottle ‘—will be seen as a guarantee of quality.’ His voice had a vibrant edge of enthusiasm and she realised how inspiring he could be when he chose to exercise his authority.
‘Each to his own, I suppose,’ she conceded. ‘You have all that,’ she said, ‘yet you’re off to France to start all over again. Some people are never satisfied.’ In his own way Callum was as driven to succeed as Oliver had been, and, she suspected, just as ruthless.
‘I like a challenge,’ he said simply. ‘Wollundra is in safe hands.’
‘If you have a brother why didn’t Oliver leave the company to you both? Your brother must be the elder.’ She thought she might as well take advantage of his unusually expansive mood to satisfy some of her curiosity.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He has the property, doesn’t he? The elder-son-inheriting-the-kingdom thing.’ Callum’s words hadn’t actually spelt it out but he obviously belonged to the Antipodean landed gentry.
‘Rick is my younger brother. My half-brother,’ he added, his expression strangely shuttered.
‘Then why—?’ she began.
‘You really are a curious little cat, aren’t you?’ he observed, leaning over the table. His gaze touched the line of her throat, making a natural progression downwards until it reached the high curve of her bosom. His large, capable hands curled on the table and she watched his knuckles grow white.
An illicit excitement sent a surge of searing heat through her body. She imagined his hands stroking her skin and she had the curious conviction that his own imagination was running along similar lines.
‘Oliver’s sister—my mother—is Ruth Mallory.’
‘The opera singer!’ she said with a gasp of shock that jolted her free of the sensual preoccupation. For one thing Ruth Mallory didn’t look old enough to be the parent of this specimen of manhood and, for another, Oliver had never mentioned a word about his sister’s fame.
‘Is there any other?’ he drawled. ‘Mother spent the first year of my life at Wollundra before she decided her interrupted career meant more to her than a husband and baby.’
His sneer held black humour, and exposure to his emotions made Georgina experience a paralysing surge of empathy. She swallowed hard to control the strength of her emotional response.
‘My dad was devastated,’ he continued sombrely. ‘But, happily for him, he met Susie, Rick’s mom, and the happy ending was in sight. When Dad remarried, my mother suddenly rediscovered maternal bonding and my presence at her side became essential for her continued happiness.’ His cynical smile deepened and his eyes grew cold as he recalled the past. ‘She didn’t want her “happy family,” but Susie sure as hell wasn’t going to have it.’
His eyes were expressionless as they flicked over her face but Georgina could feel the bitterness behind each word. ‘After that I paid the odd flying visit to Wollundra when Ruth couldn’t find anywhere else to dump me.’ The resentment was under control and muted now, but Georgina could see that coming to terms with it had taken him time and effort.
‘Rick grew up on the land; it’s his.’ He moved his hands in an expansive, elegant gesture. ‘Dad wanted to—’ He broke off and shook his head dismissively. Stupidly she wanted to brush back the wing of hair that flopped onto his forehead. ‘I got what I wanted—the piece of land my grandmother had grown vines on when they’d pioneered the place. She was of Italian extraction...perhaps it’s in the blood.’ His grin was unselfconsciously charismatic. ‘Life history over... Happy now?’
She had the impression he vaguely regretted telling her so much, enough to fire her imagination so she could fill in any blanks for herself. She could clearly see the boy, torn from the land and family he loved, used as an accessory for a glittering celebrity. Some people might have grown to envy and hate the half-brother who had, to all intents and purposes, taken their place, but Georgina only heard affection in Callum’s voice when he spoke of the younger man. And his deep antipathy to her was easily explained now he equated what he viewed as her ruthless ambition with that of the famous diva.
‘Your father must have known what your mother was when he married her,’ she heard herself protesting.
‘He was blinded by love,’ Callum sneered disdainfully. ‘Or at least a strong sexual attraction,’ he moderated. ‘Such a purely physical attraction couldn’t be expected to withstand the realities of life. Like us, they should have had a wild fling and then just sent Christmas cards to each other,’ he said, with a flippancy that cut her somewhere deep inside. ‘It would have saved a lot of grief in the end.’
His sudden reference to their own situation made her knock over her wine. A waiter politely dismissed her stumbling apologies and she was glad the incident gave her time to gather her straying wits.
‘Perhaps your parents weren’t blessed with divine foresight, unlike you. Mind you, it’s gone astray this time. I’ve no intention of having an affair, wild or otherwise, with you.’
His feral smile in response to her pugnacious announcement filled her with a deep sense of foreboding. ‘Perhaps I didn’t satisfy you in bed,’ he suggested silkily.
Under the unremitting interrogation of his blue eyes she flushed uncomfortably. Was he too recalling her hoarse cries of astonishment and husky entreaty? It was devastating to recall, at any time, the way her passion and need had escalated. Under the glittering glare of his eyes it was agonising.
‘Do you want marks out of ten?’
He shifted in his seat and tugged unconsciously at the restricting silk tie around his neck. The warm colour seeping beneath his tan revealed that he was not as totally in control of himself as his attitude might imply. ‘Do you want to carry on as though nothing has happened between us?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, nothing—nothing of importance, that is—has,’ she said stubbornly.
> ‘Is that a challenge?’ he asked. With an air of quiet desperation she watched his long fingers holding the knife as her stomach tied itself in knots. ‘Don’t confuse importance with urgency.’
‘Urgency?’ she croaked, feeling her hard-won composure sliding away under the pressure of his voice.
‘I’m just stating what we both know is fact,’ he continued inexorably.
‘We’re talking about a one-night stand here, Callum. Nice enough as that sort of thing goes, but not mind-blowing enough to make me lose sleep. I know this may come as a shock but there was nothing wrong with my life before you entered it!’
‘Sure,’ he sneered. ‘You have such a fulfilling existence that you were reduced to hiring an escort to save your face. You must really have rubbed your boyfriend’s nose in your infidelities to make him break it off. The guy was visibly drooling over you.’
‘He was not!’ she snapped. ‘For your information Alex found me lacking in the bedroom department.’ Georgina closed her eyes and inwardly groaned as the bitter little response slipped impetuously from her.
‘Did he, now?’ Callum let out a silent whistle from between his pursed lips. ‘How informative.’
‘Love and sex are not the same thing,’ she said defensively, abandoning all pretence of doing justice to the meal before her.
‘Maybe, but love sure as hell isn’t that neat emotion you seem to think it is,’ he responded scornfully. ‘Did you fall in love with that guy because he had the right qualifications for the job? Did you believe him when he accused you of being frigid? It must have occurred to you that he might be doing something wrong.’
‘You mean I should have referred him to my previous lovers?’ she choked.
‘Awkward,’ he agreed. ‘Couldn’t you have faked it?’
‘I do not fake it!’ she said witheringly.
‘My last nagging doubt is soothed.’ He sighed with ostentatious relief.
She sucked in her breath with indignation; he was a smug rat. ‘You’re too insensitive ever to suffer a doubt,’ she jeered. His confidence was as integral to him as the careless charm of his smile.
‘I can’t believe a sensual woman like you was willing to marry an unimaginative slob.’
‘Alex isn’t a slob; he’s very particular about his clothes.’ Irritatingly so at times, she recalled. She tried to ignore the fact that Callum had called her sensual because it made her feel strangely vulnerable. ‘Besides, I thought you didn’t think love had anything to do with marriage,’ she challenged.
‘True, but to marry someone you don’t find sexually attractive is just making life unnecessarily difficult. I notice you defended his sartorial elegance but didn’t deny the lack of imagination. Any man who found you wanting in bed must be a complete clod! There’s something about you that excites a man’s fantasies, Georgina. A warmth and mystery . . .’
The flicker of his eyes as they moved over her tense face was hot and glittering. ‘I didn’t find the reality a disappointment,’ he confided huskily. ‘Or do you need anonymity before you can truly lose your inhibitions? Is that what turns you on?’
His crude speculation made her feel sick. She wasn’t about to confess that he was the only man who had ever made her feel simultaneously abandoned and fulfilled. ‘There’s no fooling you, is there?’ she taunted angrily. ‘Who needs psychologists when we have Callum Stewart?’
‘I might not be an expert, honey, but I can claim more insight than you appear to possess. You despise your mother... Why? For being a warm, generous woman, able to express her feelings? I don’t think you’re in any position to criticise.’
His contempt and disgust made her flinch. ‘If being a warm, generous woman means crying yourself to sleep I’m quite content to skip that stage of development, thank you.’ She could recall lying in her own bed, hearing her mother weeping long into the night, and it had always been a man that was to blame. She’d been stupid once, putting her trust in Alex, believing he was different. But Alex had proved he couldn’t be trusted either and finding that out had hurt.
‘I can see why you...or any man, for that matter...prefer warm, generous women,’ she drawled caustically. ‘Men are such dear, trustworthy little creatures—who can blame her or any other woman? I don’t despise my mother—I pity her! I pity her for falling for men like you wheeling out tired old lines.’
‘I don’t recall ever skipping out on any female while she was asleep, Georgina.’
The glint of anger in his eyes made her lean back in her seat. ‘What’s wrong? Was I supposed to tell you how marvellous you were? Or did you just want to tell me what a fool I’d been?’
She’d never forgive him for making such a total idiot of her. He had manipulated her from the instant they’d met. God, she thought, looking around the restaurant with an incredulous frown, he’s still doing it now. I should have just walked out and let him salvage Oliver’s company. He’s certainly devious enough to achieve anything, she thought as a rush of tears suddenly swam across her vision.
‘I’m going home,’ she announced, folding her napkin and placing it on the table. She rose hastily, sure of only one thing...she had to escape from his presence.
Callum followed her example and got to his feet. He silenced a concerned query from the waiter with a white-lipped glare. ‘You’re not going anywhere until I tell you,’ he snapped.
Not up to his usual standard by any means. . From anyone else such an ultimatum would have sounded foolish and absurd. It sounded neither on his lips, but he must have known that, short of forcing her, which was not really an option even in front of this politely incurious crowd, he couldn’t stop her.
‘I don’t fancy your odds on that. For a hungry man, Callum, you don’t each much. Why don’t you sit down like a good boy and concentrate on your food? It might be easier to accept on a full stomach that I’m not about to become your sexual slave.’
He smiled suddenly and the flash of white teeth made alarm bells ring in her head. ‘Sexual slave—mmm...’ His voice had risen several decibels and she could almost see the ears around them pricking up to catch any more juicy slivers of conversation. ‘I don’t mind discussing our personal life in front of an audience,’ he informed her, his temper becoming benign as her own began to sizzle.
‘Shut up, Callum!’ she whispered fiercely. ‘I happen not to like being conspicuous.’
‘A glowering goddess with hair like a burnished cloud is bound to get attention. I don’t mind you glowering at me,’ he confided in a husky tone. ‘In fact,’ he said with breathtaking frankness, ‘I find it...stimulating.’ He rolled the word thoughtfully over his tongue, caressing the syllables in a way that anchored her feet to the ground. ‘Let’s forget dinner and discuss our communication problem in less public surroundings.’
He walked around the table and placed the suggestion of a hand in between her shoulderblades. Even though several centimetres of air separated them she felt the touch like a red-hot brand. He must have noticed her involuntary shudder but he made no comment as together they left the room.
‘I prefer to remain in public surroundings with you,’ she managed huskily as she fought against the dragging sensation that stroked her senses into a state of quivering hunger. ‘Why can’t you just accept that what we had was a one-night stand and nothing else? I think we’d both be disappointed if we tried to resurrect what happened.’
Callum caught her arm and swung her around to face him. ‘We have no trouble communicating when we don’t talk. In fact, non-verbally, I think we’ve got the nearest thing to telepathy I’ve ever experienced.’
It didn’t take three guesses to realise what particular form of non-verbal communication he was talking about. ‘Sex is not the answer to everything.’
A glint of humour slid into his darkened blue eyes. ‘It would make me feel one hell of a lot better at this particular moment,’ he admitted candidly. ‘You must know you’re driving me crazy!’ he added, rotating his neck slowly as if to relieve
tension. It was true—wanting her was becoming an obsession. He told himself it was the chase that was bewitching him. Once he’d reached his goal he’d be able to work her out of his system.
‘You did mention I’m a distraction.’ The sort of relationship he had in mind had a built-in obsolescence for her. The hunt...the capture—that was all part of the game for him. Once the novelty wore off he’d move on. All they had in common was sexual attraction.
I want more...so much more. She acknowledged the fact with reluctance. The ache of steel-edged frustration inside made her wonder whether she had the strength not to accept what he was offering, and to hell with the consequences.
‘So you are,’ he agreed ruefully. He reached out and touched the fine mesh of her hair. The movement had all the hallmarks of compulsion about it. He watched the light dancing along the tawny fibres as they slipped through his fingers, almost as if he’d forgotten how they came to be there, and she saw the muscles in his throat work hard as he swallowed. ‘I’m not into self-denial as wholeheartedly as you are. Do you like driving men a little crazy?’
Crazy? Me? She thought of her not quite pretty face and not quite slim enough figure and tried to see if he was mocking her. No, there was no sign of humour in his set features. ‘Men?’
‘Simon May, my uncle...’
‘Simon hates me, I think, and your uncle was never...’ She coloured self-consciously and glared at him indignantly. ‘He was always the perfect gentleman.’
‘Probably what sent him to an early grave,’ Callum mused callously.
‘What a totally disgusting thing to say!’
Callum’s lips twisted in an obdurate grimace. ‘Foul and repellent,’ he agreed. ‘But accurate. For once in your life be honest and accept you want the same thing I do. Do you need to justify your urge to mate, Georgina?’ he asked, his voice as insidiously caressing as a swirling current in dangerous waters. Did being in love mean you had to allow yourself to drown? The nature of her thoughts made her freeze. I don’t love Callum Stewart! She screamed the words within the confines of her skull.