by Diana Palmer
“Such as?” he asked, interested.
Lucy shrugged. “They’ll never come to anything. Tom doesn’t think I have a lot to offer.”
Remembering the brochures, he wiped his hands and drew them from his jacket pocket. “I went to the Seabrook MacKenzie Dyslexia center this morning.”
She took the brochures, a little line between her brows as she perused them quickly.
“Have you ever had an assessment, Lucy?”
She shook her head. “They once arranged an appointment for me at school.” She shrugged carelessly. “Must’ve been busy that day.”
“People with learning disabilities have different strengths and weaknesses. They learn to enhance their strengths to compensate.” He tapped the brochures she still held. “Without an assessment, you won’t know what your strengths are. It wouldn’t take long, Lucy. Half a day.”
Another rise of her shoulders. “Tom does the office stuff. I spent ages memorizing all the brochures and tourist stuff so I don’t really need to be able to read. I mean, I can read, just not quickly and it’s hard with other people about.”
“I think you’re selling yourself short.”
“Just be glad you’re not my boss,” she quipped. “How come you know so much about it?”
“Dyslexia is something Magnus cares a lot about—he’s dyslexic himself. He’s made sure his workforce is well-supported. Do you know, one in ten people have a learning difficulty?”
Lucy grinned. “We’re sneaking around all over the place.”
Ethan guessed she was so accustomed to sweeping her problems under the carpet, she probably did not even notice she was being flippant. He pushed the brochures toward her. He was a patient man.
“Tell me about your plans for Summerhill.”
“Ideas, not plans,” she corrected him. “Plans have to be written down.”
“Okay.” He took a small notebook and pen from his jacket’s inside pocket. “You tell me the ideas, I write them down and get my secretary to type them up.” He looked at her, his pen poised over the notebook.
Lucy gulped. “That’s nice of you, but they’re not ready to be drawn up into a business plan. They’re just some thoughts…”
“What thoughts, Lucy?”
She wiped her mouth and hands and picked up the remnants of the cooling food, dumping it onto the ground a few feet away. With enough racket to wake the dead, the seagulls closed in and Lucy dropped the empty paper into a bin close by.
She sat back down hesitantly, obviously afraid he would laugh at her ideas. He convinced her otherwise.
She had some great ideas, and he told her so. Courtesy vans for the village restaurants. Targeted advertising to golf clubs because of the world class Terrace Downs golf course that had been completed nearby recently. A health and beauty spa for the guests, including massage, hair salon, facials and a gym. Using Summerhill as a conference and function center. Tom could still have his hunting safaris but they could also offer weddings, whodunit nights, workshops…the list was endless.
Ethan was impressed. He wrote everything down, cautioning against one or two things, just from a financial perspective. But most of her ideas were very viable, relevant to her market, and wouldn’t cost too much in initial outlay.
“And then I could spend some time on the farm. Tom doesn’t have time these days—he’s more interested in the lodge. Since the farm manager quit, things have gotten out of hand. I’d love to see it back to full production.”
Ethan had noticed the farm’s neglect on his rides. It was very understocked, the pastures in poor condition.
They talked till the wind rose and chased the sun and the children away. Lucy lapped up his praise of her ideas as if she had never received a compliment in all her life.
“You are as sharp as a tack, Lucy,” he told her, “and don’t you let anyone tell you any different.”
She glowed, a stranger to approbation. A late bloomer, and it occurred to him he’d like to nurture that and watch it grow. Without her brother pushing her down all the time, there were no limits to what she could achieve with a little encouragement.
And then he remembered Turtle Island. If Magna-Corp successfully negotiated the deal, there would be no way he could spare the time to enjoy watching her grow.
How far was New Zealand from the islands, anyway?
Lucy uncapped a bottle of water and drank deeply, bending her head back and exposing the milky skin of her throat. A substantial urge to kiss her steamrolled him so completely, he held his breath for an age, worried there wouldn’t be another. She was so fresh, with a natural, almost childlike beauty. Her eyes showed every emotion.
She brought the bottle away and licked her lips, then raised her eyes to his. Ethan was a second or two behind, his eyes still devouring the sight of the tip of her pink tongue slipping between her lips and trapping a bead of moisture at one corner. He mimicked her, an involuntary action, his own tongue darting out and touching his mouth. This close, he could see traces of the beige-pink-tinted lip gloss she applied regularly.
He saw his thoughts, his desire leap in her eyes. Some magnetic force seemed to drag them toward each other, eyes locked, oblivious to their surroundings. The pull was palpable in the diminishing distance.
She broke the impasse when he lifted his hand, intending to cup her face and draw her to him. The desire on her face was extinguished in one blink. Then it was all motion and half sentences: “Well, we’d better…” She scooped up their water bottles. “Look at the time.” Slapping pockets for keys. “Got everything?” Hustling him toward the car.
When they reached the car, Ethan grabbed her hand and tugged gently until they leaned on the passenger door, side by side. He absently twisted the chunky white-gold channel ring that emphasized her delicate bones, and tried to absorb, to understand the all-consuming desire he had for her.
Never had he let his desires rule him. Always, he played the seduction game without losing sight of who he was, why he was there, where this was going—or not, usually. Right at this moment, the Titanic could be sinking and he wouldn’t budge an inch if she were in his arms. Damn fool. He was so consumed by want, it didn’t even frighten him.
He laced his fingers through hers, studied her small white hand, short neat nails painted with a clear gloss. He traced the visible bluish veins under the skin, wanted to be that life force for her.
There was no telling where this preoccupation would lead, but he was fast coming to the conclusion it was a necessary journey.
But then Lucy trembled and tugged to free her hand, accompanied by a small huff of agitation. He watched her chin rise in defiance and her small tense body brace.
“What?”
“Why bother flirting with me when we both know it’s Juliette you want?” Her eyes were dark with disappointment, her voice cool.
He hadn’t seen that coming and was jolted right out of desire and swimming in confusion. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“I saw you in Queenstown. On her balcony.”
Realization dawned. He raised his hands to his head, rested them there. There was no easy way out of this. “Did you ask her about it?”
Lucy hesitated. “Let’s say I gave her the opportunity to tell me you were there.” Her mouth turned down miserably. “She didn’t take it.”
Ethan considered his options. He hadn’t gained a thing in the trip to Queenstown. Juliette was so incensed, she had virtually thrown him out of her hotel suite. But last night at Summerhill after he’d shown her the newspaper clippings he’d been sent, she calmed enough to talk to him.
“Lucy, I have no romantic interest in Juliette.” He said it quietly and tried to convey sincerity, for it was the truth.
She raised her chin, one brow arched high, her eyes direct and challenging.
He sighed. “I had some concerns about her reasons for marrying Magnus.”
He’d spent an hour on the phone to the investigator yesterday. Forensics had concluded a sil
encer had been used, which explained Juliette’s claim she had not heard the shot and had slept the night, discovering her husband’s body on deck the next morning. There were actually several witnesses, not just the one reported by the papers, who had seen a strange yacht in the vicinity. Yet, that vessel had disappeared off the face of the earth.
Ethan rubbed a hand over his face. She had made a new life for herself after two years of hateful media intrusion and innuendo. If the Australian press got wind of the story, her nightmare would begin all over again. And that would be devastating, for her and for a wellrespected and successful businessman.
Juliette had sworn him to secrecy until she could talk to Magnus about it. He inhaled deeply, looking into Lucy’s eyes. “I’m going to have to ask you to trust me on this. For now.”
Lucy slumped a little. The defiance seemed to tick slowly over into acceptance as he watched, but it was a bitter sort of acceptance. The shadows from this morning had returned.
“Trust you, hey?” Her mouth curved in a small smile that did not reach her eyes. And then she shrugged and turned away.
While he battled with his conscience, Lucy walked around to the driver’s door, yanking it open. Before she got in, she looked haughtily across the roof of the car. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m just a professional companion, remember? And—” she raised her arm and checked her watch “—I’ll be on overtime if I don’t get you back to your car soon.”
Ethan flinched as the door slammed shut.
She got behind the wheel, fuming with indignation. For a few minutes today, she’d been on the trip of a lifetime. She had basked in the glow of his praise. For a few minutes, she’d felt that he liked her for herself. Found her funny and charming, saw past the dyslexia. He had listened, encouraged, offered to help.
And man, he was the sexiest thing on legs. Every single feature, every aspect of him seemed to pull her toward him, draw her in until she wanted to be absorbed by him. One smoldering look—and with his deeply tanned skin, dark hair and those glorious pale eyes, he smoldered like embers ever threatening to ignite into a bush fire.
But she needed to clear up the Juliette thing.
When he balked at telling her the full story, she was plunged back into cold familiar waters. Silly little Lucy. Gullible, aching for affection and attention. She’d believe anything.
Oh, she knew he wanted her. Even the most sophisticated and experienced seducer could not fake the desire she’d glimpsed. But he did not think enough of her to tell the truth. He’d expected mindless response to his praise and pretence at caring. God help her, he’d very nearly gotten it!
He wanted her to trust him? He would have to work harder than that.
Ethan opened the passenger door and climbed in. His movements were slow and deliberate, and although she did her level best not to look at him, the waves of frustration sloughed off him and settled over her.
Her indignation cooled a little. Remember what’s at stake here. She may already have endangered Summerhill by accusing him of having an affair with his boss’s wife. Having him sulk for the rest of the day was not a good idea. She was supposed to be helping him enjoy his stay.
Tension sizzled. She breathed it in. “I’m sorry,” she said, not intending it to sound so tight.
“What do you have to be sorry about?”
“I’ve upset you.”
His lips pursed. “Hmm. Upset?” His legs stretched out in a taut line and he rested his hands on his thighs. “Well now. Horny? Very. Confused? Worried that your brother is taking advantage of you?”
He paused and flexed his fingers.
Lucy’s mind skittered away from all but the safest word. “Confused?”
He grunted. “I don’t need this, Lucy. I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” she responded tartly.
“But you do, and that’s the rub. Even when I’m not with you, I’m thinking about you and worrying about you, and dreaming of that damn mouth of yours.”
Said mouth dropped open, but all she could manage was “Oh.” There wasn’t really a lot you could say to that.
With his deep slow drawl still echoing in her ears, she felt herself blush. There was nothing she could do about that either. She kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead and that was the last they spoke.
But her body and mind spoke—plenty. She was so aware of every movement, every breath he took. For the most part he stared straight ahead. But now and again she felt a wave of heat as he glanced over at her. Lucy did not return his glances but steamed away in her own humid shell.
She felt she was clinging to a cloud and any minute her weight would drag her through it. The longer and more tense the silence, the more heavy-limbed and languorous she felt. His breathing sounded loud in her ears—but maybe it was her own. She changed gears, navigated, all on autopilot, while struggling with equal measures of worry and desire and self-righteousness. If she couldn’t tamp it down, she thought she might explode.
All of a sudden they were in the underground garage at her building and she was turning off the ignition. Before she had time to wonder why she hadn’t dropped him at his rental car across the road, he made his move. She heard the click of his seatbelt release almost just before she felt her own released. Without a word, his hands gripped her shoulders, turning her quickly, then moving down to clamp around her waist and lift her right up out of her seat. Her hands flailed for balance and a surprised shriek raced out of her throat. “What—?”
Next moment, she was hoisted over the handbrake and plonked ungraciously and haphazardly onto his lap, bumping her head on the ceiling of the car. Quick as a flash, one hand clasped the back of her neck and her head was pulled down, close to his face.
Lucy suddenly remembered to breathe and exhaled raggedly. Ethan’s eyes were open and they flashed bright with anger. He held her head fast, millimeters away. His hot breath huffed across her face and his fingers laced through her hair. “It’s you I want, not Juliette,” he growled. “And to hell with your professionalism!”
Then his mouth claimed hers and Lucy was lost. His lips forced hers open. Teeth scraped and ground together. His tongue burst into her mouth, demanding her response, not her permission. This was no magical fairy-tale kiss on a mountain, with Mother Nature smiling benevolently down. Nor a stolen smooch in an alcove that she had initiated. This was hard, carnal. As if he was staking a claim.
And after the tensions of the day, it mirrored her feelings exactly.
As her initial shock subsided, Lucy was taken over by the heat of his body, the pressure of his mouth. Her taut muscles relaxed, sank into him as he deepened the kiss. Her hands were trapped between them and she struggled vaguely to free them but his chest was unyielding, his arms like iron. One hand moved, uncurled so the palm was flat against his chest. The other remained fisted with his shirt locked into it, only now she pulled him closer.
Perhaps realizing Lucy was past struggling, Ethan’s hand at the back of her head gentled. Straightening his fingers, he stroked and tugged at her hair. She shivered, every nerve ending rising to the surface.
His tongue also gentled. Instead of insistence, there was now an erotic rhythm that had her squirming even closer. Their tongues met, slid over each other and back again, and she felt the different textures of his, and his gentle but insistent probing. Her breath started to labor in serious excitement.
He made her feel things she’d never experienced. How could she resist the pull of her body when it responded to him so frenetically? When this ended, when he was gone, would she ever feel desire again?
Her head fell back slightly and she gasped as he moved his mouth down her throat then along her jawline to end with a hot lick and suck at the base of her ear. She arched her back, surging against him. His hand left her head and joined the other in a firm caress down the length of her sides, and soon she felt them inside her knit top.
As they strained against each other, she heard a moan of impatience—hers. They
writhed and pressed. She rubbed her bottom down into his lap, seeking, finding the hard ridge that strained up to meet her, and heard his grunt, desperate and loud in the confined space. Lucy squirmed in his lap, trying to crawl in as close as she could get.
His hands spanned her waist and were then inching up toward her breasts. A slave to sensation at this point, Lucy shamelessly dipped her body down, craving the exquisite torment when his thumbs grazed over her aching nipples. The blood roared in her ears. So far, so fast, she couldn’t believe she was this close. One more thrust of his tongue, one more squeeze of her nipples to send a flame of pure lust licking downward, one more mighty flex of his thighs to push and grind him into the most sensitive part of her. She was seconds away, the scream already tearing up toward her throat.
And then he tore his mouth from hers, his chest rising against her. His hands stilled their torture. She opened her eyes, moaning with impatience. Their breath mingled, hot and humid. He looked up into her eyes and said, “Your call.”
“Upstairs, now!” Lucy gasped.
She scrambled back over to her side of the car, haphazardly pulling down her top. Grabbing the keys from the ignition, she opened the door, fumbled for her bag, and rounded the car, intent only on getting upstairs.
Ethan was alighting from the passenger side. She hesitated impatiently, her pulse hammering in her throat. Hurry, hurry, she chanted mentally, the fingers of one hand pressing on the spot in her chest where the blood pounded and rushed. When she knew Ethan was right behind her, she turned toward the stairs and ran—smack!—into a stranger.
Chapter Eight
The man put out a steadying hand from where he leaned against the wall of the underground garage. Lucy backed away as if he held a whip.
She could only imagine her dishevelled appearance, but his eyes were on Ethan, who drew alongside her. Then he looked back at her shame-burned face. “Lucy McKinlay, I presume?”