The PA's Revenge (Book 1, The Mackenzie Brothers)

by Diana Fraser

  She couldn’t resist the temptation. “Now, let’s see,” her gaze held his without wavering. “According to the tabloids that’s one, making money, two, making properties and three, making lov—”

  “Yep, you’ve got the general idea.”

  As she turned to the window to hide her smile, she had to admit part of her was entertained by the man. But another part of her knew this whole thing would be much harder than she’d imagined. He was suspicious, picking up her lie at the interview; perceptive, sensing that all was not as it seemed with her story; and he was swift to anger, as his response to John’s tirade showed.

  And he was also incredibly sexy. Despite the fact that she held him responsible for the deaths of those she most loved, just one intense look from his eyes had her body reacting like a sex-starved virgin. All in all, he was one dangerous man.

  She had to stick to her plan: bankrupt him and then get the hell out.

  She smiled grimly to herself in silent satisfaction.

  The agony of her hurt—her loss—could never be duplicated. But she knew how to hurt the man who was responsible for the deaths of her child and her father. There was only one thing he valued and that was his fortune. Well he wouldn’t have it for much longer.

  It was all she could do for them now—avenge their deaths. It was all she had left to cling to.

  She closed her eyes once more.

  Don’t think. Don’t feel.

  Don’t think. Don’t feel.

  That was her weakness. If she gave in to her feelings she would be lost.

  “Are you OK?”

  She snapped her eyes open and forced a smile on her face.

  “Fine. Are we nearly there yet?”

  “You remind me of my godson.”

  A real smile slipped through her defenses. God help her, humor as well. If it weren’t enough to contend with his cunning and his sexuality, she also had to be subjected to his disarming humor.

  “And yes we are nearly there. There’s Kapiti Island below. My estate looks across the bay to the island.”

  Dallas pointed out the window to the rugged peaks of the island, a black silhouette against the darkening sky.

  “It looks wild.”

  “It’s a bird sanctuary now but has a dark history. It was Te Rauparaha’s nineteenth-century stronghold: bloodshed, cannibalism, whale slaughter and the trade of women and guns, it’s all ingrained in the island. But we’re not on the island, its secrets are safe from us.”

  She had an absurd feeling that she could reach out and touch the island’s darkness: find an answer to its mysteries in the shadows of her own soul.

  She dragged her eyes from the brooding island and switched quickly back to the man by her side. He touched her hand with the back of his, attracting her attention to their destination that sprawled along the cliff top beneath them.

  “Wharerata. Named after my red-headed Scottish ancestor. They circled around once and dropped down below the house.

  Heads down, they walked briskly from under the whirring blades, up towards a high brick wall that formed the rear boundary of the house. Dallas opened the door and Cassandra stepped into another world.

  A rambling homestead lay before them, subtle lights illuminating its interior. Its central front was traditional—complete with verandah and fretwork—and its two wings formed elegant complements to the original.

  Cassandra’s gaze moved around and above the house, taking in the pin pricks of light that pierced the night sky, now the color of softest indigo. It was as if she’d walked into a painting. It was magical. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Instead, the heady mix of fragrances stirred her senses further. Even in the dim light she could see the phosphorescent white blooms of hundreds of flowers and smell their exquisite perfumes.

  Instinctively she reached out and touched the jasmine that curled around the old brick wall. Enclosed, away from the brisk sea air, the most tender flowers flourished. The brick walls were echoed in the path that meandered its way through a garden of trellised roses, tumbling clematis and flowers, hundreds of flowers—all white from the simplest of delicate blooms to the most overblown old roses, tinged with violet.

  Dallas turned and waited for her to move.

  “This is your garden?” She had to ask. With all her research she’d felt she’d come to know this man, this cold-hearted businessman. An all-white scented garden hadn’t entered the equation at all.

  “Surprised?”

  “Well, just a little. It looks so—”

  “Feminine? Well it is. It was my mother's. She’s an Anglophile, particularly taken with the White Garden in Kent—Vita Sackville-West's. If she couldn't live in England, then England was going to come to her.”

  “It's stunning. I've never seen anything like it.”

  “Yes. Women seem to like it.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks. The man was insufferable.

  He walked back towards her. “Insulted that I infer you’re just like other women?”

  “No. Simply surprised that you’d keep the garden going, given your mother lives in the South Island now. And, also, given that beauty is obviously seen by you to be a feminine thing.”

  “Yes, well. My mother and I are not close. But why would I do away with something that is so obviously effective with women? I like women. I like to please women.”

  “And are women pleased by your efforts?”

  “Oh yes,” his voice lowered further until it became more a vibration of air against her skin, than a sound. “I make sure of it.”

  Suddenly he seemed too close.

  “If you’re trying to make me uncomfortable, you’re not succeeding.”

  “Why would you think I was trying to do that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps testing me in some way. Seeing if I cave in under pressure.”

  “And do you?”

  She turned to him. “I’ve known more pressure than you’re ever likely to experience. I can do pressure. I can take whatever you throw at me.”

  “Really? Is that a challenge? Because I like a challenge.”

  “You can take it whichever way you like. I’m here to work and that’s what I’ll do. If you want to entertain yourself in the process, that’s your prerogative.”

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes quite as dark a blue as yours before. They’re very… inviting, especially when you’re all fired up.”

  Was there no limit to his arrogance? He didn’t even have the decency to pretend he was listening to her. “You haven’t seen me anywhere near fired up.”

  “I look forward to it. But tell me,” he continued, raising his finger to her cheek. “How come we haven’t met before? Wellington is a small city.”

  She took a deep breath, the sudden change in tack taking her by surprise. She turned away from him sharply and began to walk away.

  His hand on her arm stopped her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I like to keep a low profile.”

  She tried to ignore the strength contained in the touch of his hand, tried to ignore the heat that ignited a trail of fire through her veins. Long-forgotten sensations shot through her body, heating her skin and melting her resistance. She felt disoriented and suddenly found her face closer to his. Whether she’d moved closer to him, or he’d moved closer to her, she couldn’t tell.

  “Not any longer though. You’ve decided to raise the stakes in your life for some reason. With me. I wonder why?”

  She swallowed. “The timing’s right. I’m ready.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” He looked down briefly at her breasts. She could feel them peak further under his gaze.

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “It might not be what you mean, but it’s what you feel. Are you prepared to over-rule your feelings with your head, Cassandra?”

  “I’m focused on the job. Nothing will get in the way.”

  “Good. Because this is a job. There will be no love affai
r, whatever you may want.”

  “I don’t want a love affair,” Cassandra said through gritted teeth, reining in her irritation at his arrogance.

  “Really? Then you’d be unusual.”

  “I’m not like most women.”

  “What is it you want then?”

  “Success.”

  “I hope you enjoy it when you get it, that it doesn’t prove illusory.” His voice was lower, softer.

  Cassandra hid her confusion instantly. “I intend to.”

  “Come along then, your future awaits.” He plucked a single white rose and tucked it behind her ear, smoothing and pinning the recalcitrant curl into place.

  He’d noticed. A hair out of place and he’d noticed. What else had he noticed? “A romantic gesture?”

  “Never. I don’t do romantic gestures.” He leaned in towards her. “This is as romantic as I get. Tonight, a one-time only offer. A bargain—a kiss in exchange for a rose.”

  He brushed his lips gently against hers in a whisper of seduction, designed to tantalize. His breath quickened against her cheek as he hesitated for one long moment before pulling away.

  It was as if she’d been awoken from a long trance. The feel of his mouth against hers—a mere promise, a suggestion of the passion that they could have—awoke within her a heat and desire that she’d long forgotten.

  But even as her trembling hand began to reach for his body, as her breathing quickened and her body’s responses threatened to take over, she felt a wave of icy control flow over her. She was not here for this. This had nothing to do with her plans.

  She pulled away, coolly and deliberately. She would look him in the eye and he would see what she felt—nothing.

  She managed it, for moments only, before turning away from him. She couldn’t risk him seeing the truth, how affected she was by his touch. She heard him step away from her quickly and walk up the flight of wooden steps to the verandah and then wait.

  She followed him up to the front door, having managed to recapture a few shreds of her self possession. He stood watching her, holding open the door, while she took one last look around the garden.

  It wasn’t meant to have been like this. She had never intended, never imagined, that she would feel such things. Something deep within her stirred and shifted. It was going to be a lot harder than she’d ever thought.

  With her back to him she gently pulled the rose from behind her ear and fingered the velvety petals as she looked out across the white flowers that glowed in the dusk. She could have wept.

  It was the garden of her old dreams in the days when she was truly alive, when she lived for the present, when she lived with and through her heart. It was abundant, sensual and magical, with an ethereal, dream-like quality: an other-worldliness that caught at her heart and threatened to destroy her sense of purpose.

  But surely it wasn’t too late? Could she really avenge her father’s and Danny’s death by destroying this man’s wealth? She could tell him everything. She could just turn around and go back to her old life.

  She turned to face him gripping another petal, too hard, and it tugged, momentarily at its base, destroying the bloom altogether before falling softly to the path in front of him.

  Lights suddenly flooded out of the French windows robbing his eyes of color and exaggerating the harsh set of his lips.

  “An iceberg rose destroyed by an ice-maiden, whom even a kiss could not warm.”

  In that instant all uncertainty vanished. She would live up to his assessment of her and she would destroy him, just as his actions had led to the deaths of those people she’d loved most in the world. She dropped the rose, white petals of innocence scattering on the brick path and walked up into the hall of the homestead, feeling the pain of her son’s death with every step. It would never go away. She didn't want it to ever leave her.

  The doors closed with a bang, as a freak gust of wind caught them and she turned, meeting his gaze, drawing once more on the pain to give her the strength she needed to continue.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cassandra swept open the extravagant swags of cream curtains and looked out onto the sea—a warm cerulean blue, as smooth as silk and as lustrous—that lapped the wide semi-circular bay.

  Sturdy trees, shaped by the wind, framed her view of Kapiti Island. The island with its bloody history looked benign in the soft sunlight of early morning. Its menacing, densely-forested ravines were brightly lit and unable to retain their sense of mystery.

  Knowledge was a wonderful thing, thought Cassandra grimly. The more you got to know something—or someone—the less afraid you were. She just wished that were the case with Dallas Mackenzie.

  She turned to look at the bedroom. With its antique silk hangings that softly draped from each of the four posts of her bed and the subtle yet elegant furnishings, it was exquisite. The embroidery in the textiles alone was stunning—cream and eau-de-Nil acanthus leaves—echoing the central ceiling rose, contrasting with the simplicity of the bare wooden floor boards and antique furniture. Beautiful.

  And unexpected.

  But that was Dallas Mackenzie. A man whom she thought she’d known but who was far deeper, far more complex, far more compelling than she’d given him credit for. It wasn’t going to be easy. But she was in.

  She pulled on her running shoes. She needed to be outside, to feel the sun on her skin and let the air clear her head. Because one thing was sure, she was going to need to keep her wits about her.

  The cool spring breeze, tangy with the smell of salt and seaweed, caressed her skin gently as the sun slowly appeared over the eastern hills.

  Her surroundings soon worked their magic on her restless spirit as she absorbed the sheer majesty of the place. She could see why Dallas stayed there. It had a compelling raw beauty which, while calming to the soul, was also challenging to the spirit. It was a special place.

  The beach was no postcard-pretty scene with picturesque buildings and boats. It was clothed in rough shingle and liberally strewn with pale, sand-blasted limbs of trees that had been swept down the coast and unceremoniously dumped. The bay was encircled with lofty hills. At its outermost point, where the sun has risen, the vertical cliffs soared a hundred meters into a cloudless sky, a scrubby coating of green clinging to its rocky cover.

  An invigorating, elemental place.

  It was just what she needed to clear her head, to give her the strength she required to carry on. Because yesterday had left her feeling battered by painful and unexpected emotions.

  From the desperation of wanting the job, to getting it: from the powerful attraction she’d felt for Dallas, to the hate that filled her heart when she remembered she no longer had a family, thanks to this man’s incredible arrogance. But she’d done it. She’d got the job. That was the only result she needed. All she had to do now was to keep it and that meant focus, keeping a cool head and a tight rein on her emotions.

  She ran straight towards a large thorn-covered tree lying in her path, and sprang right over it. As she landed, feet scrunching in the dry, coarse shingle, she smiled to herself and kept on running.

  Dallas narrowed his gaze against the sun to better watch the lone figure running along the shore, pony tail swinging, waves lapping close to her feet.

  He took another sip of the hot strong coffee. He needed a caffeine shot this morning. After an evening alone, mostly trying to get Cassandra out of his mind, he’d spent a restless night, trying to get her out of his dreams. And now, here she was again, in front of his eyes.

  It seemed that Cassandra was not going to give him any peace. But watching her long, tanned legs leap across a tree trunk, he thought that he could be haunted by worse things.

  What was it about her? That seductive warmth barely covered by a thin veneer of ice. The urge to melt that ice and taste the heat beneath had nearly overwhelmed him last night. But his attempt to goad her into revealing herself hadn’t worked. She’d frozen over even more if that were possible. And his attempt at flirta
tion had nearly backfired spectacularly, turning into a kiss from which he had difficulty withdrawing. He didn’t want an affair. He’d told her he didn’t want a love affair and yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself from tasting her lips.

  Crazy! She was going to drive him crazy. But she was too good at her job—and too intriguing—to let go.

  He watched as her run turned into a walk and she stopped to stare at the sea.

  He’d just have to throw her a curve ball every now and then in the hope of unsettling her to see what she was hiding. Yesterday, for a split second, he’d seen fear in her eyes when she’d thought things weren’t going according to plan at the interview; he’d seen sadness flit across her face when she’d talked of love and he’d seen anger when John had insulted her. But what else was there?

  Her mystery stirred his curiosity, her body aroused his most basic instincts, but it was her mind where the greatest attraction lay. She was going to be a challenge. It might be a business-only arrangement but he still looked forward to discovering her secrets.

  He smiled to himself. He didn’t fool himself it would be easy. But he wasn’t after easy. He watched her—long lean limbs with curves in all the right places—and admitted she was correct to question his motives. He wanted her all right.

  Dallas grimaced as he took a sip of the now cool black coffee and balanced it on the wooden railing of the deck, watching as the figure stopped suddenly and held her head in her hands. He stood stock still, eyes focused entirely on her. What the hell was wrong? Had she hurt herself? His instinct was to run down the path to her. He checked himself. Ridiculous. But something had got to her.

  He moved towards the path, alert, ready to descend but, before he had time to get to the top of the cliff, she’d lifted her head up and turned back towards the house. He retreated to the verandah where she wouldn’t notice him, set his cup on the table and snapped the newspaper open to the business pages.

  What was that about? She kept more to herself than she revealed. And he really wanted to see more than she was willing to reveal. Everything.