“Like hell.” Shit! What was wrong with him? He turned away from Leah, dragging his hands through his hair, eyes shutting for a moment as he tried to get his head around what she’d said.
Maybe it was the liquor talking, breaking down his walls, but suddenly he was tired of the games between them and wanted to have it out with her once and for all.
But before he had a chance to try, he heard Leah’s heavy sigh. “You don’t like hearing it, but it’s true. If someone tries to get close, you shove them away.”
Mac bit off a curse in Russian. “Addictive, Curtis called you,” he muttered. No matter what he thought of her, he wanted more.
“Curtis said lots of things, most of it a load of rubbish. He was an expert in trying to win me over every time he came home with his tail between his legs, saying it wouldn’t happen again.”
“What wouldn’t happen? Did Curtis have other affairs?”
“Oh yes,” she choked out with a brittle, almost hysterical laugh. “Your darling brother had many affairs, but definitely only one mistress.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Curtis knew what he was doing, but, well, you can see now why I’m on guard, Mac. I won’t let anyone hurt me again.”
Leah lay awake alone in her bed, the passing hours interminable. If only they hadn’t argued, she would be in his arms. If only she could trust him. And if only she didn’t love him.
But she did, and she couldn’t tell him because only hurt would come from being honest. She’d opened her heart when she married Curtis, and her heart had been mutilated in the name of love. When he died, she’d vowed never again, believing it better to keep her heart safe.
When morning finally arrived, she felt and looked as if she’d not slept a minute. Her body ached and her stomach knotted, a swirl of nausea clamoring for attention and fighting with her desperate need for sleep.
After hauling herself from bed as the sun broke through, she showered and dressed as fast as she dared. No way did she want to face Mac this morning. There were too many emotions battling for superiority when he came near.
But fate wasn’t on her side.
“Coffee?” He held out the coffee pot, his smile relaxed and calm as he stood by the stove, dressed in his usual Armani. It suited him in a refined, devilish way.
Leah’s stomach somersaulted. Her nerves were shot. As he poured her a coffee, he didn’t mention last night, nor was there a hint of the angry words they’d thrust at each other, or that she’d chosen to sleep in her old bedroom and not with him. Idly, she found her fingers tracing her lips, as if she could feel him there.
She ached for that. A kiss. A hug. Love. A real marriage.
“So what happens now?”
His sudden question caused her to choke on her coffee. She held her cup in both hands and glanced across its rim at Mac. He leaned against the bench.
Suspicion, circled her heart. “What do you mean?”
“Business, Leah. The harvest is coming. I’m asking when, exactly? How much yield do you expect?”
Leah relaxed a smidgen. She could talk about business, just not her feelings. “Worried about your investment?”
“I only ever bet on a sure thing. You should know that by now.”
“Oh, I know what sort of man you are. You have no concerns on that.”
Dark chocolate eyes held her spellbound. Bedroom eyes. Every woman’s dream. Her dream.
Fool!
To her right, in the media room, she spied Charlee watching morning cartoons, and her heart melted. As long as it didn’t melt where Mac was concerned, she’d be okay.
“There should be about twenty kilograms per tree this year,” she said, answering his query. “They’ve at last reached maturity.”
“How old is that?”
“Most are well over ten years, some fifteen. My grandfather planted them. Don’t worry, you’ll get your money.”
“I didn’t expect less. Is there any lasting damage from the fire?”
He asked the question that had plagued after that awful night. “I tested the olives when I went back to the farm. There doesn’t seem to be any smoke damage to the trees or residual smoke in a sample of the final product, so your investment is safe.”
“And then you’ll be able to get rid of me in double quick time.”
Ah, so he hadn’t forgotten their argument after all. Reality scored deep across her heart. She hardened it. “Isn’t that we both want?”
He said nothing. Not one hint from him that he loved her. Wanted her. “Talk me through the process.”
“Why?” Curtis never wanted to know anything about the grove.
“Humor me. I’m trying to be nice. As part owner, I have a vested interest.”
Leah shrugged. He did seem truly interested, something so vastly different from his brother. “The olives will be harvested in a couple of weeks. The fruit is stripped by hand, though some use a small plastic rake, others a mechanical ‘flapper’ that shakes the branches.”
“What do you use?”
“Oh, I’m small fry. We can only afford the old-fashioned way.”
“Would you go to the mechanical method if you could afford it?”
“Easy answer,” she said with a tiny laugh. “No. I like the labor of it. It’s reminiscent of the past, and continuing to use a similar method is, to my way of thinking, honorable.”
“And hard work.”
“I’ve never been afraid of hard work.”
“Another misconception,” he mused.
Leah picked up on his innuendo immediately. “Or another of Curtis’s lies.”
He ignored her counterattack. “What’s next?”
Leah shook her head, surprised at how easily he could sway her into talking about her beloved olives and to relax her guard. She wanted that, to feel normal and be able to tell him her thoughts, her fears and, one day, of her love.
She stared into dark eyes. Curtis’s eyes. Remember him. The man who hurt you.
As if her body followed her brain’s silent command, Leah folded her arms across her chest. “The olives have to remain well ventilated and are transported for processing, the sooner the better, no more than four to six hours after harvesting. The paste is then stirred, decanted via centrifugal force, the oil one side, the pomace, the wasted paste, on the other.”
“It’s quite a process.”
“It is. But unlike wine, which needs to be stored, once the oil is put through the separator, removing the sediment, it’s pronounced clean and dry and ready for storage.”
Leah took a breath, which was of little use, because Mac smiled and that smile did funny, quirky things to her insides, as it always did.
Their conversation seemed to get them back on track, the pall of Curtis’s accusations kept at arm’s length, and for the next few days, Leah buried herself deep in work, preparing the grove for harvest—a bit of light pruning, making sure the pickers were organized and would arrive on time. She buried herself in work, and from dawn to dusk, she ignored the ache of loving and being unloved.
If nothing required doing at the grove, she stayed at the kindergarten, helping out. And whenever Mac was home, she would keep her gaze averted from him, scared he could see what was in her eyes. If he found out, it would break her heart.
Mac wined and dined her, telling her stories about his wildcatting days. They laughed, and then they made love, a time that held her in its beauty, where nothing else mattered, just the two of them.
But as the days passed, her frustration grew. She couldn’t get beneath the veneer he held erect all the time. He wouldn’t let her in.
Tonight they were to go to an opening for a rising artist Mac supported. She reached for the exquisitely wrapped lace and silk underwear she’d not dared wear yet. It was a present from Mac she knew he’d been dying to see her in. Tonight would be the night for the scarlet and black lace panties and bra, with the fishnet stockings adding an exotic air.
Eyeing her reflection
in the gilded antique mirror in the dressing room, Leah acknowledged she looked sexy. Hot.
Not wanting to put her dress on yet, she threw on her robe and sat on the chaise in front of the large windows, enjoying the radiant heat from the setting sun. Lethargy wrapped itself around her. Her eyes shuttered. Just for a minute, she would rest, let the world pass her by, and dream.
“Don’t they say there’s no rest for the wicked?”
Her eyes shot open, and she scrambled to sit up. Heat stole across her skin, and her nipples beaded beneath the silky concoction. A flush of desire pooled in places that ached for Mac. She pulled at the edges of her robe as inconspicuously as she could. “Why do you keep doing that?”
Mac sat on the end of the chaise, lifted her feet to his lap and began to massage one foot. “What, precisely?”
“Surprising me.”
“Ah…but the art of surprise is the ultimate tactic of good business.”
“Just as well, then, that our marriage is a business deal, isn’t it?”
Her words yielded a faint shadow across his eyes, but then it vanished. “You’re wearing them, aren’t you?”
Aware of his diversionary tactic, Leah swallowed. “And you’re meant to be at work.”
His mouth flicked up at one corner, and needlelike pricks of excitement skittered down her spine and raced back up in double quick time.
“I decided to play hooky and leave early.”
“Why?” Last time he’d played hooky, they’d had sex. Leah’s body heated, and she couldn’t help but smile. Maybe…
“I’m the boss. Besides, I wanted to see you.” He stood. “So, are you wearing it?”
His reached out a hand to her, and she took it, his scorching heat sprinting from his fingertips to hers. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips. “That’s for you to find out.”
He pulled her from the chaise to stand only a few inches away from him. “Really?”
Leah unhooked her arms and let them drop to her sides. “Absolutely.”
Then he kissed her. Thoroughly. Beautifully. Oh so wonderfully. He made her toes curl.
A moan of pleasure slipped from her lips, and she couldn’t keep her hands from him. She slid them over his shoulders, trailing fingertips through his hair. “We’ll be late,” she said, though in truth she couldn’t have cared less, if it meant more time in Mac’s arms. More kisses. More loving.
“Tough.”
Yes!
He nibbled the curl of her ear, and Leah tilted her head to one side as he dotted butterfly kisses along her neck. “What about your artist?”
“I’ll send a check.”
“Mac!” she gasped through a smile, though secretly delighted.
“Just as well Betty wanted to take Charlee to the movies, and with the added bonus of a sleepover with Betty’s granddaughter, I have another kind of business in mind.”
Leah clamped back a bubble of laughter. “Funny business?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Unable to hold back her laughter any longer, nor the joy and excitement, or the urgent need of having Mac inside her, Leah spun out of his embrace and dashed toward the bed. “Race you!”
Leah didn’t want to wake up from the fantasy. She snuggled down in the bed, pulling the sheet up, aware of Mac’s enveloping warmth. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to enjoy the moment a bit longer, relishing his big hard body next to hers.
“Morning,” he said with a smile.
“Do you have to sound so chirpy first thing?” And look so darn sexy too.
“Hey, I’m waking up with a beautiful woman. What else could a man want?”
Lying against him, warm in his arms, Leah conceded there was nothing she wanted more than to wake up with him every morning. But their time was merely a string of beautiful moments that had to end. Sometime. Soon.
A deep sense of dread and the knowledge that their fantasy was drawing to a close insinuated itself into Leah’s conscience. Soon she would harvest; then it would be over. Over too because the letter she had received yesterday from the social worker had informed her that Charlee’s maternal grandparents had withdrawn their submission.
Leah looked up at Mac and knew what she had fought for so long, that despite the passion they created every night, this marriage deal wouldn’t work. Even though she had at last accepted he was not the same as his brother, it wouldn’t be enough to keep them together.
She loved this man. Loved his smile. Loved the little creases feathering at the corner of his eyes. But Mac had to learn to trust, to believe her and to love her.
Suddenly, she had to get him gone. “Aren’t you going to work?”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
Yes.
Narrowed eyes pierced her soul. This wasn’t what she wanted but how it had to be. She pasted a false smile on her lips. “Since you’re going to play lazybones, I better get going.” She scooted across the bed before he could grab her and gathered the robe she’d dropped to the floor. Beside it lay her underwear. After gathering it all up, she entered the bathroom and closed the door, then took refuge beneath the scalding shower spray. She leaned against the tiled wall, wishing the water would wash away the pain that seared her heart, help harden it so she could do what she had to do, before her it broke any further.
“Want some company?”
Leah jolted back from wishful thinking. Water droplets balanced on the tips of her lashes. She blinked them away. “What are you doing here?”
“Joining you.”
“You can’t.”
“Are you going to tell me to leave?” His brows arched, and he leaned over her and slid his fingers over a wet nipple.
“I could,” she teased, reaching up and nipping his ear lobe.
“Just as I thought, sweetheart, you can’t say no.” And he closed the shower door behind him, shutting them into their own watery paradise. “Now,” he said taking the sponge from her hand, “let me wash you.”
And let me love you, she thought sadly.
Mac was right. For the love of everything she believed in, Leah couldn’t say no. She had thought she wanted the farm. She loved it. Loved her daughter.
But she loved Mac too, even though right now all he wanted was her body. How could she make him understand that would never be enough for her? How could she make him love her?
An hour later, still smiling, Mac left for work, giving her a chance to get her head straight, to think without the enticement of having him so close. She needed a plan. Mac wouldn’t see her as an equal until she was exactly that, debt-free and not owing him anything.
But thinking didn’t work. It only made things harder. By midmorning, she was about to give up on the promotional materials she’d been designing when the intercom for the apartment buzzed.
“Delivery for Mr. Grainger.”
Surprised the delivery man had come to the apartment and not to Mac’s office, Leah let him into the lobby, and a few moments later there was a sharp tap at the apartment door. The courier driver proffered a large white legal envelope.
“My husband’s at his office. It’s…” She’d been going to suggest he drop the legal-sized envelope at Mackenzie International below and then changed her mind, confused as to why Mac would have business papers sent to the apartment. Taking the delivery, she quickly signed the receipt and scanned the sender’s address.
Connor and Partners. Mac’s lawyer and their best man.
Fingers suddenly icy and trembling, she traced the address, then the gummed seal as fragmented accusations whirred across her brain and a sour taste coated the inside of her mouth.
Legal papers. A divorce? Well, it wasn’t as if she knew that day wouldn’t arrive soon. A temporary marriage. A business deal, he’d said.
But it hadn’t been all business. The sour taste thickened, churning in her belly as old insecurities awoke.
Without giving herself a chance to reconsider, Leah ripped at the seal and tore the envelope open, then drew out a sheaf of pap
ers. She scanned them, and her heart stilled.
No, not divorce—but custody papers with Charlee’s name on them…and his. Not hers.
Mac had taken out an application for legal custody of Charlee.
Her hands shook, and in her head, swarms of bees seemed to be buzzing incessantly. He’d said he only wanted to get to know Charlee, satisfy himself regarding her care, yet all along he’d watched, waited, tested her, while he’d already made up his mind.
Dear God, it was real. He wanted to take her daughter. He’d planned it.
The fingers of her right hand found her left and massaged her wedding band.
She stared down at the glistening gold ring. It was a lie. A cold, heartless lie. Blinking back tears, Leah wrenched the ring from her hand and tossed it across the room.
Sixty seconds was all it took to reach his office. The longest sixty seconds of her life. She stormed past his startled receptionist and into his office, the papers clutched in her shaking hand. Then he was right in front of her. Mac Grainger. Beautiful. Sexy. Her husband. A traitor.
“You bastard. You lying…”
“Whoa!” Mac replaced his phone in its cradle and stood. There was not even an ounce of surprise on his face, his expression as ruthless as ever.
He knew.
“I wondered how long it would take for you to get here.”
Leah tossed the papers toward him, and they hit him above the eye before they fell to the floor. “Do you deny you asked Connor Jackson to draw up an application for custody for Charlee?”
“No. But there is an explanation.”
“Really? Do you deny your suggestion of marriage for Charlee’s sake was a decoy while you instigated your custody application? You wanted to destroy me, Mac Grainger.”
Secrets and Seductions Page 17