by Téa Cooper
“No, we’re fine. Thank you.”
Tom swallowed roughly and controlled his overwhelming urge to threaten to kiss her to within an inch of her life and ruin her game, then walked away, dismissed like a boot boy.
Once he emptied his tray, he returned to the bar and dumped it unceremoniously. He’d had enough playing waiter; his brother and the rest of the staff could manage without him.
The lights from inside the room reflected the irregularities of the old sandstone walls, and he slipped into a chair on the corner of the veranda. The stars were bright pinpoints of light, and the Milky Way laced the sky. Far enough away from Sydney, the village wasn’t affected by the pall of smog and smoke from the city. He groaned and leaned back in the chair, still missing the wide-open spaces and the freedom he’d given up.
There was a splash of light as the front door of the restaurant opened and a group of people walked out toward their cars. He’d go back in and give Nick a hand to clear up when everyone had left. Georgina came out still talking to Ann; they gave each other a quick hug, and Ann walked up the street.
Tom stood up. “Good night, Georgie,” he called into the darkness. She stopped and then started to walk back. His stomach sank when her ankle buckled beneath her and she collapsed neatly to the cobblestone pavement. In seconds he was at her side and he helped her to her feet.
“I’m all right. I’m fine,” she assured him, struggling against him to stand. “It’s these ridiculous shoes.” She balanced precariously on one leg, her high heels wobbling on the uneven cobblestones as she clutched his arm. “I’ll take them off and walk back to the car.”
“No, you won’t. You’re not driving.” The harshness of his tone and his anger disturbed him.
“Excuse me. But I am.” Georgie unstrapped her sandals and let go of his arm to make her way to her car, swaying as she favored her right ankle. Pausing for a second, he waited, and then something snapped in his brain. He was back at her side in three determined strides. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
She ground to a halt, shoes dangling in one hand and her little bag clutched in the other, looking defiantly up at him as if he’d accused her of murder. Given half a chance, she’d have her hands on her hips, but this time they were full with the trappings of being a woman. “I hardly think two glasses of champagne will push me over the limit.” She tucked her shoes under her arm and fumbled in the tiny bag for her keys.
The moment the keys appeared, Tom snatched them from her hand. “No! You are not driving. I’ll drive you home. I’ll get my car.” He walked off with her keys jangling in his hand, knowing full well he had left her body and temper balanced precariously against the side of her car.
Chapter Fifteen
With her ankle throbbing in time to her heartbeat, Georgie waited while Tom went around the back of the restaurant. Where had that come from? Why did he have to spoil a perfectly good evening by becoming so obnoxious and overprotective? She hooked the straps of her sandals through her fingers and thought back to their interchange in the dinning room. Perhaps she had pushed him too far or behaved irresponsibly. She’d just been playing games, flirting, but obviously she’d overstepped some invisible mark. After their camaraderie of the afternoon, she’d thought they were on the way to becoming friends. She swallowed down the memory of his washboard stomach plastered to his wet T-shirt, wishing she had been more careful walking on the cobblestones in high heels. Two glasses of champagne hadn’t rendered her incapable of driving.
Within a few moments, Tom drove around the corner and parked his car alongside hers. He leaned over and opened the passenger door for her.
“Tom, this really isn’t necessary. I haven’t had too much to drink, and I’m quite capable of driving home. Please don’t put yourself out.”
“Just get in. I’m taking you home, and that’s the end of it. Can you manage or do you need a hand?”
“But my car will be here and I need it at the farm tomorrow for the deliveries.”
“Get in. I’ll bring it tomorrow morning when I come to work, then get one of the boys to give me a lift home. Gap comes this way.”
Georgie huffed. What was the point in arguing with him? She hadn’t had too much to drink, but she was tired. It had been an exhausting day. She let her shoulders drop.
“Okay, if you insist and you really don’t mind, thank you.” She put her handbag and shoes on the passenger seat of the black four-wheel drive and shimmied slightly, lifting the tight skirt of her dress so she could reach the step. Tom’s hissed intake of breath as her skirt rode up her thighs made her glance up, but he ignored her gaze and leaned over to close the passenger door without any comment.
After about five minutes of mind-numbing silence, Georgie cleared her throat, trying to think of something to say. The last thing she wanted was for them to be at each other’s throats again.
“Tom, I’m sorry if I upset you at the restaurant. I was completely out of line teasing you.” She expected some sort of reply, but the silence hung like the rising mist around them. The moonlight illuminated Tom’s profile, and he appeared stern, as if he had to concentrate hard on the road he’d travelled at least twice a day for the past month.
Finally he spoke, staring straight ahead beyond the beam of the headlights. “Georgie, that’s not the problem. I’m just looking after you. I couldn’t let you drive home on your own.”
“Whyever not?” She frowned as she faced him. “I would’ve been fine. I’m not drunk, just a bit tired and out of practice in high heels.”
“I know you’re not drunk. I didn’t think you were drunk. It’s just situations can blow up and the next thing you know you are at a funeral.”
Georgie’s eyes widened. A funeral. She blinked back her confusion, unable to imagine where his idea had sprung from, and it was totally out of character for him to be so dramatic.
“A funeral, Tom? I think you’re exaggerating a bit, aren’t you? I know I haven’t got a very good track record with wombats, but otherwise, my driving’s pretty good.” She pushed her lips together, hoping the physical restraint would stop any more words from coming out of her mouth. The change in the atmosphere in the car was palpable, and Tom was struggling with something, but Georgie had absolutely no idea what. Obviously, he needed to get it off his chest and right now. She should be a friend, not a smart alec. She needed to listen.
“It’s my baggage, and you got caught up in it. I’m sorry.” His voice sounded hollow. Georgie waited as his jaw clenched and the lines etched deeper into his tanned face. “My sister died in a car accident.”
The raw pain in his voice was tangible, his face bleak. Her abrupt intake of breath filled the car.
“Jane was staying with me, outside Johannesburg. A truck broadsided her car. The truck didn’t stop. It rolled and caught fire.”
“Oh, Tom. I’m so sorry. How awful. Your poor parents.”
“Yes, my poor parents.” The bleakness of his words seemed strange, and her words totally inadequate, but surely it didn’t mean he had difficulty with people driving. He’d never expressed any concerns about her or anyone else driving before. Why tonight?
“I was supposed to pick Jane up, but I didn’t get her phone call, so she decided to drive herself home.”
“But, Tom, it doesn’t make it your fault, she could have waited for you, taken a taxi.” She shrugged her shoulders, frightened her words were making matters worse. “You can’t take responsibility for everyone else’s actions.”
The lines around Tom’s eyes and mouth deepened, and he pulled his thick eyebrows together in a heavy frown, the pain of the memory carved on his face. She reached out and touched his thigh and smiled gently at him. “I’m the nosiest person in the world. I’m so sorry for making you relive it, but thank you for telling me.”
Glancing across at her in the darkness, he dropped his hand and trapped hers.
“I understand why you didn’t want me to drive home and thank you for caring,” she said.
Georgie swallowed—it explained a lot. The memory of their first meeting made her shudder. No wonder those wretched flowers weren’t for him. She shivered in sympathy as his hand tightened on hers.
“I’m so sorry, Tom. It’s dreadful. It must have been terrible for you. Your poor parents, your family...” Her useless, inadequate words bounced around the confined space of the car, and she let the silence lengthen. There really wasn’t much anyone could say. Losing family left a heartbreaking, wrenching gap that you learned to live with but never managed to fill and it left you vulnerable. But his sister, his younger sister. Too young to die.
Georgie stole a glance at their hands. His large, tanned hand, corded with muscle, completely covered hers as it rested on his solid thigh. The competent, assured way his right hand held the steering wheel made her feel safe. He exuded such capable strength and hard-packed virility, and this unexpected streak of vulnerability only made him more attractive.
Tom took the last curve into the driveway, swinging the wheel with an almost sensual grace before pulling up at the house and switching off the engine. For a second they sat, both of them silent, his hand still covering hers. Finally their eyes met, and she was appalled at the bleak darkness she glimpsed in the reflection of the house lights, and then with his trademark lithe, rapid movements, Tom left the car, walked around to her door, and opened it. She slipped out and bent down to reach her shoes and handbag. He was right behind her; her skin prickled with awareness as she left her shoes and bag and faced him.
Tom’s gaze rested on each feature in turn—eyes, cheeks, nose—and finally lingered on her lips. Her stomach flipped at the intense scrutiny; the darkness of the moonless sky, devoid of city lights, and the all-encompassing silence shrouded them in an intimate isolation.
“Thank you,” she whispered. He reached out and smoothed a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear, the touch of his fingertips a gentle caress against her skin. Then he slid his hand to her cheek and cradled her face before pulling her to him until they stood so close the radiant heat of his skin permeated the linen of her dress.
Georgie rested in his embrace, and time stood still as their lips drifted slowly together, meeting softly, ever so softly, then he gently coaxed her mouth into an open kiss. Tom’s tenderness made tears spring to her eyes. It was so unlike the afternoon when their kisses had been so frantic and bruising.
Holding her at arm’s length, Tom ran his gaze down her body, his face finally at peace, no longer ravaged by the memories of his sister. In his rich, chocolate voice, he murmured, “I love that dress. Next time you wear it, I intend to be there to take it off.”
Georgie’s stomach cartwheeled, and she smiled up at him, wanting it to be the next time right then and there.
“Good night, Georgie.”
Chapter Sixteen
Georgie hadn’t seen Tom to talk to since he’d driven her home from the Chamber meeting. There had been a dramatic shift in their relationship, and instead of bringing them together, he’d kept his distance, and she missed him.
Her car had miraculously appeared outside the shed as he’d promised, but he and the boys were long gone before she even struggled out of bed, and in the afternoon he’d left with Gap as soon as they’d brought the truck back. The following day Tom’s car had been parked in the shade near the shed all day, but she’d been out doing deliveries when they’d returned. When she’d discovered Tom hadn’t even left her a note to tell her about the day’s work, just taken the next worksheet from the office, a wave of total and devastating disappointment hit her.
A nagging voice in her head made her wonder if she’d misread the situation again, just the way she had with Dale. Her track record was far from good. After all, Tom had admitted right from the beginning this was only a stopgap job, something to do while he marked time. He wouldn’t want to get involved with anyone if he was moving on. Even if he had, in a moment’s weakness, shared his “baggage” as he’d called it, it didn’t give her any reason to presume she was anything but a shoulder to cry on, a friendly face, and a way to explain his overreaction to her driving home in the dark.
She and Dale had shared a whole lot more than baggage, but it hadn’t entitled her to anything other than a halfhearted explanation and a brush-off. Now she was over the indignity of the whole situation, she knew she’d made the right decision and was well out of it. She just had to be a big, brave, grown-up girl and not allow her loneliness to make her read more into the situation than there was. Besides, the Protea Boys were working really well, things were looking up on the farm, and she had a lot to thank Tom for, but as a friend. He appeared to have erased the possibility of any other relationship by his absence.
“A kiss is just a kiss, a sentimental journey, as time goes by…” Georgie sang in a mournful and chronically out of tune voice, then pushed the computer keyboard away from her, wishing she could talk to her father, feel his reassuring hands on her shoulders. Hear him singing while he pottered around the shed. That was why she had stayed away from the farm after he died, stayed in Sydney. Perhaps if she had come home once in a while, she would have had time to think and recognized Dale for the two-timing, scheming rat he was and not blindly agreed to everything he suggested. Resting her elbows on the desk, she let her chin fall into her hands as she contemplated Nemo darting across his screen saver.
Maybe a kiss was just a kiss, but she needed to know, to make certain. Her body was telling her one thing and her head another. She needed to see Tom, talk to him, and she needed some advice. Advice only he could give. She grinned at Nemo as he ducked and weaved around Bruce the Shark. Tom had worked in South Africa; protea farming originated there, and he had set up farms. Sitting up straight with a smile tugging the corner of her lips, she made up her mind. Proactive—she needed to be proactive before any more time went by.
***
The sound of banging and crashing filled the shed, and Georgie blinked rapidly, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim light. Tom’s broad back filled her vision, and she called out, “Tom Morgan, I have a proposition for you.”
When he turned around to face her, the glint in his leopard eyes flickered in amusement, and he brought his hands to his cheeks and wailed in a high-pitched voice, “Oh! But we hardly know each other.”
Georgie smirked at him. “Very funny. You should be so lucky. I’m serious. Try really hard to pay attention. Please.”
“Okay. You have my undivided attention for exactly two minutes, and then I have to sort through the invoices and service the quad before I slash the strip on the ridge. The grass is knee-high right across the firebreak.” He paused. “Unless you want to do it?” Fascinated by the way the tanned skin on his forehead moved when he raised one eyebrow in question, Georgie ignored his teasing.
“I could service the quad, but maybe my time would be better spent on the invoices. I’ll trade you one hour of your time, and I’ll sort through all these.” She collected the assorted jumble of greasy pieces of paper from the workbench, silently wishing the boys would use the invoice book she’d provided, and crammed them into her back pocket. “In exchange you have to give me some advice on different proteas to import from the South African suppliers...” Both of Tom’s eyebrows disappeared into his thick, dark hair this time. She peered at her watch. “But please make up your mind because I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tom nodded his head in mock submission. “Give me five minutes and I’ll come up to the office. It’ll be good to get out of the heat for a while. The wind’s picking up too. You might have to dump some water on some of the bushes tonight once it cools down. Good job you serviced Bertha.”
His chuckled, a deep, rich sound, and she couldn’t resist grinning back at him before s
he headed back to the house, unable to control a little skip or two sneaking in even though her foolish behavior would have to stop before too long.
***
Georgie motioned to the brochures on the table in front of her. “I want some advice on the varieties you think would grow best here, in this climate.” She slid the leaflets across the table. “With the way sales are picking up, I’m going to need more, and there’s about three months of the year when I’ve only got greenery and grevillea to sell.”
Minutes passed while he thumbed through them, pushing his fingers into the wing of hair falling across his forehead and resting his head in his hand. His hair had grown since he’d started working at the farm, and his severe, trimmed, military look had faded and softened.
Drumming his fingers on the table, Tom finally pointed to the photograph of the Pink Ice hybrid. “This would probably do well here. It’s really popular and less susceptible to humidity, and if we ever get out of this dry spell, it may be an advantage. And they flower through from February and would give you blooms to pick after the Kings have finished.”
Georgie slid closer and leaned over the table to read the specifications. His delicious scent, part soap and part hardworking male, hit hard, almost as hard as the good points he’d made about the flowers. With a sudden wrench, she recognized she trusted his judgement. Peeping up at him, she cleared her throat.
“Thanks, Tom, it’s great. If you have any other ideas, I’d really appreciate the input.”
He pulled out a chair and sat down, long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, and scrutinized her carefully. “Now do you want to tell me the real reason you asked me to come up here?”
“To give me some advice about...” If there was one thing she would change about her life and this man sitting in front of her, it would be his ability to make her blush. As the color flooded her face, she accepted defeat, nodded, and sat down, keeping the table between them.