And seeing her now, after all this time, he realized nothing had changed. He still wanted her.
No, there were many words that could describe the next few days but “boring” wouldn’t be one of them.
Chapter Two
Susie hesitated at the door of the busy cafe and saw James immediately. He looked incongruous with his expensive suit and perfect good looks in the scruffy cafe, where locals and tourists spilled out onto the terrace. She smoothed down one of the few good dresses she owned and wove her way around the tables, greeting friends as she went. James stood up when she approached.
“You look beautiful, Susie.”
“It’s Susannah. And no, I don’t.” She reached over and picked up the wine list. “Have you ordered yet?”
He sat back down, a seductive smile lingering on his lips. “No, I’m old-fashioned like that. I thought I’d wait for you. What do you recommend?”
She cleared her throat and studied the list she knew by heart. “Is our Syrah okay with you?”
“Perfect.”
She signaled to the waitress and ordered the wine. Then she took a deep breath. She could do this. She just had to keep it neutral. “So… is this your first visit to the island?”
He grinned, leaned forward, his elbows on the table, supporting a too-intent gaze. “Not to Waiheke, but I’ve never been to this part of the island before. It’s very beautiful.” But his eyes were looking at her, not the view.
She swallowed hard, willing a blush not to emerge. She was nearly twenty-eight years old, a professional, and many other things besides, and she could handle meeting an old boyfriend. But this was Mac, Mac, Mac. The name hammered into her head, trying to destroy her hard-won calm. Be the woman in the video. She cleared her throat. “Yes, it is.” She took another deep breath. “Here on the ridge we’ve 180 degree views of the Hauraki Gulf, north to the islands and west to Auckland.”
His lips twitched as if he knew what she was doing. “Really? Fascinating.” He leaned back again in his chair, framed by the rampant vine that clung to the rough-timbered pergola. He looked like a model on a stage set—out of place, transitory. She clung to the thought—he’d get bored, he’d be gone inside a week. She focused on pouring out two glasses of wine, took yet another deep breath and handed him a glass. His fingers brushed hers and she drew back quickly, as if burned. She shot him a dark look and held the glass up to his, in challenge. He swirled and inhaled the wine, nodding appreciatively, before tapping his glass casually against hers.
“Here’s to the future of Whisper Creek.” He uttered the words like a promise of seduction.
“And may its future be not so very different from its past.”
They sipped the deep red wine, without taking their eyes from each other. The low apricot beams of the late sun sparkled in the cut-glass facets of the wineglass, showering his hand with light.
He nodded appreciatively. “It’s good. Very good.”
“It’s 100% syrah from our own grapes. Limited in quantity of course, but the quality’s good.” She watched with fascination as he swirled the wine around the glass. It took all her restraint not to reach over and run her finger over the flickers of light that played on his hand as it caressed the stem of the wine glass. She remembered the gentle touch of his hand around hers, tugging her into mischief, restraining her from harm. Or mostly. She swallowed. “It’s not as important as cabernet sauvignon to us, nor the chardonnay, but it really plays to our strengths—the dryness of the climate, the hot summers…” She trailed off, suddenly aware that the movement of his hand had stopped. She looked up to meet his gaze, the heat in his eyes slamming her defenses back into place. She couldn’t let herself get sucked under by his charm. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course, Susie. Hanging on every word. Something about wine, I think.”
She refused to rise to the bait. “What would you like to eat? I’m afraid we don’t have a large selection.”
He glanced at the menu and frowned. “So it seems.”
She bristled at the implied criticism. “We aim for quality rather than quantity. We focus on in-season specialties.”
He leaned forward, his eyes practically stroking her skin until it rose in goose bumps. “Quality is good.” His seductive voice sent a sharp tug of desire through her body. “But quality and quantity is better.”
She sat bolt upright. “Quality and quantity? You’re not only talking about the food are you? What kind of changes do you plan to make with the winery? Surely not to increase production by importing grapes from other vineyards?”
“Put it this way, there’s room for improvement to the bottom line.”
“Bottom line?” Susie sucked in a deep breath, buying time to rein in her temper and her fears. She focused on placing the glass quietly onto the rustic table. “Whisper Creek isn’t about the bottom line. I’ve spent the past eight years working here with Pete, building it up from nothing to become a well-regarded boutique winery. And now—”
“You’re scared I’ll destroy your dreams?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll disappear anyway unless you pay attention to the profit margin.”
“Pete said you didn’t intend to make changes.”
“Correction. I assured Pete I would neither close down the winery nor amalgamate it with others. I’m sure he wouldn’t think it against our terms if I improved it. It doesn’t sound like a hanging offense to me. Does it to you?”
“Depends on what you have in mind.”
“And that, Susie, depends on what I find when I look around the winery and talk with the staff, tomorrow.”
“Okay.” She nodded, her mind racing ahead as she planned what to show him, and what to avoid showing him. “I’ll show you around the winery tomorrow and you can meet everyone. Then there’s The Lodge which is a reasonable earner.”
“Ah, The Lodge. The cafe is part of The Lodge’s operations, right?” She nodded. “The Lodge could be an extremely good earner if done right. Still, I’ll reserve judgment until later.” He looked around the hectic scene, where it was obvious the waitress couldn’t cope. He turned back to her. “We can start with the food. So why don’t you choose from the menu for me?”
“Sure.” She studied the brief menu. “I suggest the Goat Cheese and Prosciutto Ravioli to start and the John Dory for main course.” She snapped the menu shut. “If that’s okay with you?” She placed the order with the harried looking waitress, conscious all the while of his eyes on her, watching her every move.
He swirled his wine around in the glass but his eyes never strayed from hers. “Delicious.”
Instinctively she licked her lips, feeling the sensuous sibilance of the word skitter over her skin. Then he turned to ask the waitress for water—which should have already been on the table—and she watched as he flirted with her. Flirted! She glanced away, unable to watch. When he’d been young his charm had been more natural, less obvious. Now, he wielded it like a weapon. And, of course, it worked. Men loved him for his humor and warmth and women loved him for his complete and utter sexiness. Most women, anyway.
She turned back to him, intending to send him a black look but it froze as his gaze caught hers, his eyes caressing her as effectively as if he’d taken her into his arms and held her close. It was hot, encompassing and very, very intimate. Her rational thoughts shattered under the blast of gut-wrenching desire that had nothing to do with reason.
She shook her head. “Mac. Don’t do that.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What is it I’m doing, Susie?”
“It’s Susannah, and you’re flirting with me.”
“I think of you as Susie. And Susie you will stay. Why did you change your name?”
She flicked open the serviette and dropped it onto her lap. “Bad memories. I wanted to start fresh. Besides, Susannah suits me better.”
“It doesn’t suit the woman I know.”
“That woman doesn’t exist any longer, if she ever did
.”
“You might be able to fool everyone else but I can see her. Even now. She’s there, hiding behind all that businesslike practicality. Do you want to know how I know for sure?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“Because it’s Susie who wants to make quality wines, who doesn’t care about profit. No one called Susannah would ignore the balance sheet. It’s Susie who has the creative soul.”
The sun slipped over the horizon and the evening suddenly shifted into a soft twilight. Words floated, formed sentences and then disappeared before she could speak them. The waitress placed their food in front of them, covering the awkward silence. Then she left the table and the silence fell heavy again. She shook her head.
“You can’t deny it, Susie. I remember you, I remember everything.”
“Really? I can’t.” She took a mouthful of the ravioli and hoped the lie was convincing.
“I don’t believe you. What about that time we stayed out all night in the tree house at Glencoe?”
The memory of that night, engraved in her heart, flooded her senses. She focused on the salad, buying time. “What about it?” Her voice came out weaker than she’d wanted it to. “Do you like the ravioli?”
He nodded, but his attention wasn’t on the food, it was on her. “We spent a lot of time in that tree house.”
She took a deep breath and released the tension with a sigh as the memories grew stronger—filling her mind and flooding her with long-repressed feelings of happiness. “Tree house? It was bigger than some of the estate cottages.”
“Just as well, given the time we spent there.”
An unwilling smile slipped onto her lips. “I remember you with your hammer and nails. You couldn’t stop adding new platforms, building new walls.”
“So I did! I’d forgotten about that. I used to like building things. Haven’t done that in a long time.”
“No, I don’t suppose you have.”
“Times change but, you know, I’ve not forgotten those summer evenings that seemed to go on forever. Innocent times.”
She scraped her teeth over her lip and looked down and nodded, then swallowed and looked up at him. “They were good times. Apart from when I returned late and got into trouble with Dad.”
“You knew you would, and yet you stayed with me. Playing games, talking, or just watching the sun slowly set, keeping me company when I couldn’t go home and face my father. At least your father never gave you a hiding.”
“No, he’d never have done that. And yes, I stayed. Because that’s what you do with friends who need you.” The sudden darkness of subsequent memories clouded the happy memories. She frowned. “You don’t need me now.”
The long seconds of silence drew on too long. “Sure. I’m all grown up with no one to beat me up when I get home.”
“No one except yourself.”
“Oh, Susie. Always the wise one. Always the clever one who thought she could understand more about people than they could understand themselves.”
She ignored the sudden bitter tone. She’d hit a raw nerve. It gave her the confidence to ask him the question she needed to know the answer to ever since she’d seen him. “Mac, why are you here?” She didn’t know who was most surprised at her use of her old nickname for him. The sudden use of the intimate name jolted them both. His smile didn’t reappear.
“I’m looking to secure the future of this winery the best way I can.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand. Why would you want to do this? At best the profit from the winery would only keep you in pocket money for a few weeks. Why?”
“Because.” He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, his eyes narrowing on hers as if looking for some kind of answer.
“Why?” She repeated, more softly, shaking her head.
“Because… I owe you.”
“And it’s taken you ten long years for you to come to this momentous conclusion?”
“It took me ten long years to decide to go against your wishes. Also… I’m beginning a new… venture shall we say, next week which will tie up my time. I want to set things straight with you before I embark on it.”
“Setting things straight,” she repeated. “How? By paying me off?”
“By making sure you have everything you need to carry on, to make sure you can follow the dreams you used to talk about.”
“I had dreams once—the same as my father’s—and you shattered them. That’s so like you to think you can make my dreams come true now.” Her mind, usually so clear and focused, was a fog of suppressed memories and needs. She reached out for her glass but withdrew her hand when she saw how much it shook.
“It’s true.” He shrugged, almost regretfully. “I can. I know what you want for this winery. And I know how to get it for you.”
“And in return, all you want is what? Absolution?
“All?” He asked, his lips curling into a wry grin. “You make it sound as if it were a small thing.”
“Small, big. It makes no difference. It’s an impossible thing. The past happened, you can’t make it un-happen. You destroyed my world. You can’t remake it.”
“I can.”
His expression had changed, softened. Maybe it was the light? The twilight has thickened as the low mist that had been threatening all day, blew in from the sea. It filtered into the air all around them, softening the edges of the adobe building, muting the jagged thorns of the bougainvillea and, ironically, revealing the face of the boy she once knew.
“How can I trust you after what happened? What’s changed?”
“Me,” he said quietly.
And for one long moment, she slipped into a trust that she’d felt for him all those years ago. She shook her head, trying to rid it of the phantom feelings. She was imagining things. This was Mac, a man who’d made her destroy a part of herself, and had destroyed her family’s future and her trust in the process. She had too much to risk to let herself slide into a nostalgia that made her vulnerable.
“Really?” she said, unable to prevent the sarcasm creeping into her tone. “Really?” she repeated, stronger now. “You’ve changed, you say? And you think I should welcome this news with open arms, like it’s something I’ve been waiting for my whole life?” The anger and bitterness grew with each word, as her voice grew louder. “You think I should meekly surrender because the charming, handsome James Mackenzie has turned up on my doorstep claiming he’s changed?”
“Look, if I could turn the clock back I would.”
“And what would you do, huh? Not accept the bet from your mate that you could take the virginity of the, what was it he called me, ‘the frigid ice queen?’” Her heart was thumping wildly, her control was fracturing with each word but she couldn’t stop now. Years of repressed anger spilled to the surface. “Not tell me to have that abortion, huh?”
“I didn’t tell you to, I suggested—”
“I think I know what you said. I was on the other end of the phone, remember? You couldn’t even be bothered to come back home to discuss it with me. But then you wouldn’t, would you? You had your girlfriend at uni to consider.” She pushed away her plate, unable to eat another mouthful.
He closed his eyes as if he’d been struck. His lips pressed together in an expression of something like regret.
“And then there was my father,” she continued. “His dreams of leasing Glencoe land for a winery, shattered when your mother forced us off the estate. He was distraught, otherwise he’d never have had that accident. No, Mac, it doesn’t work like that. I’ve not forgiven and I’ve not forgotten and I certainly don’t trust you.”
He also pushed away his half-eaten dinner. “So it would seem. But.” He turned to face her, the mist muting his glamour, revealing the shadows and subtleties, the changes ten years had wrought. “Trust isn’t required for me to make sure I’m satisfied with all aspects of my investment.”
“The winery’s in good shape. I’ll show you around tomorrow. There’s a
ferry at five you can catch.” She looked around to discover that the cafe was nearly empty. She jumped up. “I… I have to go.”
He caught up to her on the edge of the verandah, his hand restraining her from descending the steps. She refused to look at him. Instead focusing on the gnarled olive trees, that emerged grotesque from the sea mist and the line of muslin-covered grapevines growing ever more indistinct. The silence deepened, moved somehow away from accusation, and sank into an unrelenting heaviness.
“I’m with you for a week. Get used to the idea. I’m going nowhere until that week is up. And that, Susie, is something you’re going to have to accept. Trust or not.”
“You’re being under-handed, Mac. You’re forcing me to be with you. Doesn’t sound like you’ve changed at all. You’re still coercing people in order to get what you want.”
“I do what I have to do.”
“The end has always justified the means with you hasn’t it? Back at Glencoe, you made me believe you were in love with me to win the bet. Here, now, you buy the winery in order to force your way into my world.”
“That’s not how it was. That’s not how it is.”
Grief welled up over what might have been and what she’d lost. She stepped away, shaking his arm off hers. “You must go, Mac, you must. I can’t do this.”
He didn’t move. “Ten years ago I left you, when I shouldn’t have done. I’m not going to make the same mistake again. I’ll leave at the end of the week and not before.”
She shivered as the mist thickened, casting a veil over the outside lights of the cafe. She felt she was drowning in a darkness from which it had taken her years to emerge. “And do I have any choice in this?”
“No,” he said lightly. “Unless you want to shoot Pete’s future down into flames, taking yours with it. No, you don’t. Now, you’ll walk home and I’ll walk beside you at a respectable distance. Okay?”
She nodded. It would have to be. He was right, she had no choice.
Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book Page 34