by Donald Robyn
Every sense sharpening, she had to swallow before she could tell him. She prayed for him to leave so she didn’t have to endure the faint scent of his skin—musky and very male, something she recalled only too vividly from their lovemaking.
‘It’s fascinating,’ she ended staunchly. ‘I’m so glad these documents have been saved. I wonder what the people you bought Mana from would have done with them if they’d known of their existence. Burnt them, probably.’
Niko straightened, looking down at her with slightly narrowed eyes. ‘Obviously you didn’t like them.’
She shrugged and turned back to the diary, hoping he’d go away. ‘I didn’t know them. Nobody did. They lived in Auckland, and spent much of the time overseas. The owner was no farmer. He just saw Mana as an investment that he could plunder.’
‘Is that how you think I consider it?’
Without needing to think, she shook her head. ‘No. I’ve seen the changes you’ve made here—the paddocks already look much greener and the fences are in good shape again. And nobody who sees the place as a cash cow would have brought the homestead back to life, or be paying me for transcribing all these documents before they crumble into dust.’ She paused, then added, ‘Or have organised a group of schoolchildren to come and plant trees to stop sedimentation in the estuary.’
‘Yet I detect a certain amount of constraint in your tone,’ he observed dryly. ‘Why?’
Go away, Elana urged silently.
His nearness affected her like a physical touch, her skin tightening as sensation ran wild through her, quickening her pulse and shortening her breath.
Again she swallowed. ‘Sacking Mr Percy was—unfortunate.’
‘How did you know he was sacked?’
‘His wife told—’ Too late, she stopped.
His smile held no humour. ‘She told Mrs Nixon,’ he finished for her. ‘And Mrs Nixon told you.’
‘Yes. She knows I can be trusted not to tell anyone else.’
His gaze hardened. ‘I’ll tell you why he is no longer working here. The previous owner wasn’t the only person siphoning money from Mana. The manager did his share of that too.’
Stunned, Elana couldn’t think of a word to say. He went on, ‘His wife doesn’t know about it, and I have no intention of telling her. But I certainly couldn’t trust him.’
‘No,’ she said numbly. ‘No, of course not.’
To her immense relief he stepped back.
‘I’ll leave you to your work,’ he said. ‘I hope you’ll have lunch with me.’
She hesitated, then swivelled around. ‘Patty’s been to the dentist, she might not feel up to making lunch for you. If that’s so, I’ll do it.’
His smile was tinged with irony. ‘I’m quite capable of making my own, but thank you. We’ll eat together out on the veranda.’
And he walked out of the room, draining it—and Elana—of energy. At the click of the closing door she sagged and drew in a long, softly shuddering breath while a mixture of barely controllable emotions fought for supremacy. Mingled with the aftermath of her shock at seeing him again so unexpectedly was pain for lost trust—and a fierce joy that still shocked her.
Had he taken her complete surrender as a signal that their passionate relationship would continue whenever he was at Mana? It didn’t seem likely. There had certainly been no sign of desire in his voice, in his expression...
Elana told herself she was glad. She had to be glad his emotions hadn’t been touched by their lovemaking.
But those maddened hours spent in his arms had fundamentally changed her in some way she didn’t feel ready to examine. His tenderness had touched her deeply, bringing with it trust—a trust totally shattered by the telephone call. As well as anger in that unknown voice there had been a note of yearning, as though its owner was still trapped by longing.
That memory would keep her safe, Elana vowed.
After all, Niko wasn’t going to be at Mana often, or for long. He had the world at his feet, and several empires to rule...
* * *
At midday she got up, picked up her bag with her lunch in it, and headed for the door. She had no idea which veranda he’d be eating on, but she walked to the one she’d been to before, and sure enough, there was a table set for two overlooking the estuary, and Mrs West bustling out into the sunshine with a tray.
Catching sight of Elana, she said, ‘Ah, there you are. I thought I might have to knock and let you know the time.’
Elana forced a smile. ‘My stomach’s better than any clock. How did your appointment with the dentist go?’
‘Remarkably well. And really, visiting the dentist nowadays is nothing like it used to be, thank heavens.’ She set the tray on the table and smiled past Elana. ‘Hello, Niko. Welcome back.’
Elana had to stop herself from clenching a hand across her breast to hide the jumping of her heart. He’d changed clothes, but, even clad in jeans and a casual shirt that revealed the strength of muscular arms, he was still the sophisticated tycoon.
And in spite of the fear that drove her decision not to resume any sort of relationship with him but the most distant, some primitive, unregenerate part of her was deeply, shamelessly glad she’d chosen to greet the summer day by wearing a dress in the soft amber that suited her so well.
The housekeeper gone, Niko said, ‘I hope you’ve got sunscreen on. Five minutes in this sun will probably be enough to burn that creamy skin of yours. I’ll move the table into the shade.’
Something in his tone and the swift survey that accompanied it made her acutely conscious of bare arms and a scooped neckline. Her dress was far from revealing, yet her skin was swept by heat. Every time she thought of him, memories intruded, memories she knew she’d never be able to banish.
Thank heavens she’d picked up that phone... If she hadn’t, she might be allowing herself to surrender to his overwhelming charisma. Even knowing what sort of man he was, she had to guard against the heady clamour of awareness.
Trying for a brisk, no-nonsense tone, she replied, ‘Don’t worry. At this time of the year I don’t step outside without slathering myself in sunscreen.’
For Niko Mrs West produced a splendid and substantial lunch of fish on a salad of roasted tomatoes. As she opened her lunchbox, Elana wished she’d made easy-to-eat sandwiches instead of a somewhat unwieldy wrap filled with the leftovers of her previous night’s dinner.
Normally she enjoyed sitting on the beautifully restored Victorian veranda fringed by white-painted wooden lace around the guttering, while waves hushed gently on the beach through the trees, and seagulls swooped and called and landed on the lawn, watching them with bright eyes as they ate.
But since she had made love—no, no, had sex—with Niko, nothing seemed normal.
‘If you’re going to make a habit of having lunch out here you’ll have to post a sign saying Please do not feed the gulls,’ she observed, hoping her voice showed no signs of her inner turmoil.
He smiled. ‘That’s a possibility. I enjoy eating al fresco. I noticed you have a table on your terrace, so I presume you do too. Do you find the gulls a nuisance?’
‘Sometimes.’ It was stupid to allow herself to be so affected by him, but the memories of her temporary madness had her on a knife-edge.
How on earth did people deal with this sort of situation?
With calmness and common sense and willpower. And conversation, no matter how banal. She said, ‘There’s a description in one of the diaries of the wedding of one of the sons. They were married in Waipuna, but the reception was held out here, and was clearly a huge event.’
‘You sound as though you’re enjoying delving into their past.’
‘I am.’
Relieved to steer the conversation away from personal subjects, she said, ‘I didn’t know that you have schoolchildren planting trees for you.’
He shrugged. ‘The school has a very vigorous eco group. I heard about it, and wondered if they might be interested in helping to pl
ant the creek banks to stop sedimentation of the estuary. When I contacted the school the headmaster put it to the parents and the group, who all agreed it was a good idea. One afternoon a month they come out and do some work.’
‘Are you planning to go ahead with a kiwi conservation group?’
‘Yes,’ he said calmly. ‘Interested?’
She hesitated, then said, ‘Yes.’ And added, ‘I don’t know much about other similar groups in Northland, but it’s going to take quite a bit of organising.’ And had to stop herself from offering to help with that. Stumbling a little, she went on, ‘Trapping predators is a big part of it.’
‘I know that. You sound surprised.’
‘I suppose I am,’ she admitted.
He shrugged. ‘I remember my father telling me of the discovery of the last living takehe not very far from where we lived. Until then they’d been believed to be extinct.’
Impressed, Elana nodded. Years previously, New Zealanders had been delighted and astounded when the tiny group of birds had been discovered. Since then, there had been a successful effort to raise the numbers.
Niko said, ‘I see you know about them.’
‘I’ve read about them. One day I hope to actually see some.’
‘Our ancestors didn’t understand the damage they were doing to New Zealand’s unique wildlife when they chopped down so much of the native forest and turned it into farms.’ And with an abrupt change of subject, ‘What do you think should be done with all these documents once you’ve finished with them?’
‘The local museum would love them,’ she told him, ‘but it’s run by volunteers, and these documents really should be in some place where they can be cared for properly.’
He nodded. ‘Once they are digitised the museum can have copies. The earliest records of my father’s station were burnt in a fire that destroyed the original homestead some time in the middle of last century.’
‘Oh, that’s such a pity.’
His smile held a certain amount of irony, yet it warmed her. ‘There speaks the historian. I’m sure the original owners of this station would agree with you.’
‘I don’t know of any other repository like this in Northland. Everything’s in surprisingly good condition.’
Later she’d ask herself grimly what magic he’d produced to talk her into researching a safe place to donate them to. Not that he’d had to try very hard—after working with the documents she took an almost proprietorial interest in them.
She was relieved when Mrs West came out with a tray. ‘Coffee and tea,’ she announced cheerfully, setting it down on the table. ‘If you’re too hot, I’ll bring out a cold drink.’
Niko looked down at Elana, something in his gaze kindling flames inside her. ‘Tea, I presume?’ he said levelly.
Her initial tension had been smoothed over by a perilous sense of companionship, but it took an effort to give him what she hoped was a cheerful smile. ‘Yes, thank you.’
He chose coffee, and once the housekeeper had left began to pour it. Elana watched his lean hands—hands that had given her such exquisite delight—manipulate the coffee pot. Once again she was caught up in a strange, poignant flash of déjà vu, as though she should recognise this garden, this house—this man.
As though they were hugely important to her...
Her hands shook. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she took a deep breath, and pretended to look around the garden. Although it was familiar now, she was suddenly filled by an enormous contentment, as though she had come home.
The sunlight sending down a summer benediction onto the tangled growth in what had once been carefully planted beds, the hum of bees foraging in a regiment of lilies below the veranda railings, the estuary flashing blue between the heavy swooping branches of pohutukawa trees—all reminded her of Sleeping Beauty’s castle garden in her book of fairy tales. The conversation she’d had with Niko on that was still sharply etched in her brain.
She stole a glance across the table, her cheeks heating when she met Niko’s half-closed eyes. Deep inside her, an odd sweet burn of sensation tightened, insistent, demanding.
‘Drink your tea,’ Niko said, his voice harsh. ‘Then I’ll take you home.’
Almost she nodded. Just in time, she squelched the urge. She knew instantly what would happen once they got home. Her body craved what he was offering, yearned for it, longed to surrender to the promise in his eyes. And her foolish mind wanted it too—wanted him with a hunger that threatened to overwhelm any weak vestige of common sense, ignore the voice inside her that reminded her she could not trust this man.
She was afraid to trust him—but even more afraid of trusting herself.
Her throat dried, but she managed to say, ‘I’m working right now.’
‘I think I can arrange to change that.’
Her gaze snared by his, she managed to hold his gaze and shake her head. Twice. ‘No.’
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS MORE a croak than a word, but Niko understood.
Almost certainly, judging by Elana’s set shoulders and the defiant lift of her chin, she meant, ‘Not again, not ever...’
The fierce anger that gripped him shocked him into silence as he fought for control. What followed was even more disturbing—an emotion so strong it almost overwhelmed him. Dismay? No, infinitely more than that.
He drew in a hard breath and told himself sardonically that he’d fallen into the classic playboy’s trap of assuming that money and power would buy him any woman.
Not this one.
A strange kind of relief took him totally by surprise. Another quality to discover in this intriguing, maddening woman—she would not be bought.
After a swift glance that took in the harsh contours of his face, the thin line of his mouth and his hooded eyes, Elana braced herself for his response—anger, scorn, contempt.
But when he spoke his voice was level and without inflexion. ‘I notice you’ve been using the car.’
‘Only to come down here when it’s wet,’ she told him. Like his, her voice lacked colour and expression. ‘The wife of one of your workers has found a job in Waipuna, so I go with her on the days I work at the shop. I pay for some of her petrol costs. It’s working very well.’
‘Feel free to call on me if you need transport,’ Niko told her crisply.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she returned, vowing never to do so.
The rest of the conversation was conducted with impersonal politeness. He showed her the plans drawn up by the landscape architect he’d hired to return the homestead grounds to their former glory. After scanning them, she told him she was glad that he’d insisted on staying close to the Victorian concept of the garden.
Finally back in her office, she could allow herself to collapse into the chair in front of the computer and endeavour to assemble her thoughts into some sort of coherence.
Only to fail entirely. Resisting Niko had taken enormous self-control; every cell in her body had demanded a renewal of the sexual delight she knew he could give her. However, she’d done it and now he understood she wasn’t in the market for an affair, she could relax. She was safe.
But she didn’t feel safe. She felt desolate. He hadn’t told her why he’d returned early, but his cool attitude made it obvious that whatever he felt for her meant little to him.
Her worlds and Niko’s had touched, but there could be no connection between a man with a pedigree a mile long who could probably buy any small country he fancied, and a woman working in a tiny town in New Zealand, with a bank account that was practically non-existent until the insurance money for her car was paid into it. At least work had started on the roof thanks to her job at Mana Station, although she still needed a loan to pay off the balance.
And with any luck, Niko would soon leave Mana and head off to an exotic place where beautiful women in designer bikinis would appreciate him far more than she dared.
The sooner the better.
It took concentrated effort to make any
progress with the document she was working on, but eventually the time came for her to pack up and go home.
But it was with a knot of something too close to apprehension in her stomach that she switched off the computer and left the room—a sensation that intensified a hundredfold when she went outside. Niko was standing by the car, and as she walked towards him he delivered one of those unsmiling, ice-blue assessments.
Like checking out a car he wanted to buy, she thought, stiffening with resentment.
* * *
Niko watched her, wondering how the hell she created such havoc in him. One word from her, delivered with brutal succinctness, had made it quite clear she didn’t want to further their relationship—if several hours in bed together could be called a relationship.
Of course it wasn’t. It had been an interlude, nothing more, and he’d soon get over this—this unruly clamour of emotions. He glanced at his watch and said coolly, ‘I owe you five minutes’ overtime.’
She shrugged. ‘No, you don’t. It took me that to get here from my—the—office. It’s a huge house.’
‘The Victorians usually assumed they were going to have huge families,’ he returned, and opened the door for her.
Watching her climb gracefully into the vehicle stirred something intensely potent within him.
Dammit, he wanted her, foolishly, crazily. But she didn’t want him.
Regret? Possibly. But she hadn’t been a virgin. And in his arms she’d become a creature of fire and spirit, a wild and blazing sensualist.
Stop that line of thought right now, he thought uncompromisingly.
It could be another man, of course. Possibly her policeman friend—who might, or might not, be married.
Chagrined by the flash of fierce resentment that caused, he closed the door behind her before walking around the vehicle. Out of sight, he stopped a moment, fixing his gaze on the house, now as pristine as when it was built over a century ago, before surveying the garden, still to be rescued and restored.