by Kris Pearson
“What shall we dress her in, Lottie?” he continued, including Kate in his lazy smile. “Black or wine-red? Green for the eyes or ...?
Kate felt herself being outmanoeuvred again.
“Ya—the wine-red for the vineyard—why not? That would suit you very well Kate. Let him buy you a dress. There’s nothing in my wardrobe that will fit a tall model-girl like you.” Lottie indicated her own generous bosom. “The money is very little to us—at least we have been lucky that way.”
Kate sensed a hint of misfortune in the comment. What could possibly be wrong in their apparently idyllic lives?
“And the hair tied up with...” Lottie circled her hands to indicate cascading tendrils.
In two long strides, Matthew arrived beside Kate and plunged his hands into her luxuriant mane. He quickly twisted up a rough topknot and held her captive. She tried to pull away but his warm fingers were steel-strong. He tugged, less than gently, so her eyes had to meet his. She glared, helpless, but unwilling to make a scene in front of Lottie.
“That’s hurting me,” she said very quietly. He was too close. Making her heart race and her palms break out with anxious dampness.
“Then relax, and it won’t.”
“Let me go please.”
“In a minute.” He turned toward Lottie. “Something like that? To show off her lovely long neck?” Very slowly he ran the fingers of his other hand down Kate’s nape before releasing her and moving away.
“Doesn’t she have beautiful hair?” he asked Lottie, face a picture of innocence.
Kate itched to smack it. Hard.
“Surely you should be playing with Lottie’s hair?” she suggested with saccharine sweetness.
Matthew didn’t react to that, but Lottie did.
“I have it always in the braid to keep it out of the paint,” she said.
“Then I shall fasten mine up out of the way, too,” Kate agreed, sending Matthew a furious glare.
“You’ll spoil my fun,” he said.
She nodded. “With any luck.”
“Ah well,” he said, glancing at his watch and then at Lottie. “We’d better get that curry heated. We’ll be back for you after ten tomorrow. Hope you sleep well.
Kate added her farewell and they paced back down the corridor in silence.
I’m mad if I stay, she thought. He’s total trouble. I should run while the going’s good.
She turned the various possibilities over in her brain: leave right away and find accommodation in town for the night. Suffer this evening’s dinner party and chance one night alone in the house with him. Wait until Sunday, as agreed, on her guard the whole time. Or take the job for as long as it lasted, somehow keeping out of Matthew’s way.
Okay, he was away from home a lot. He’d said so. How often? For how long? She wondered how she could find out, because working for Lottie was an awesome opportunity. What an addition to her CV Lottie Janssen’s name would make.
Kate had been attracted to the job the moment she’d read the advertisement. Had been pleased to be short-listed...impressed to be flown south at the McLeods’ expense for the interview. She’d fallen instantly in love with Queenstown during their brief pre-lunch tour. It was the ideal diversion from Auckland, where memories of her mother and Simon lurked. It was smaller, totally different—a winter place instead of a summer one.
She’d felt immediately comfortable with Lottie, even after the warning from Matthew that she could be difficult. Not as difficult as a dying mother, she thought sadly. Not as difficult as Matthew! It was a heaven sent opportunity—apart from him.
He opened the door of the SUV for her, tall and silent, his face cast into deep shadow by the garish security lighting. Kate nodded her reluctant thanks and the door clunked shut. She watched as he walked around to the driver’s side and slid in, his breath visible on the cold air. She was grateful for her borrowed jacket—the temperature felt only a degree or two above frost-point.
“So you’re the ‘little’ brother?” she said, to fill the lengthening silence.
“The younger,” he corrected. “Lottie’s English is a bit eccentric, even after all these years.”
“How long has she lived here?”
He thought for a while. “Mmmm—she’s six years younger than me...born in Samoa, and taken to the Netherlands by her mother when she was five I think. Came back to New Zealand ten or eleven years ago. She’s lived all over the place. Speaks scraps of various languages.”
“I liked her.”
“See how you get on tomorrow, then.” He punched the engine into life.
Once they’d left the lights of Queenstown behind, Kate could still discern the jagged outline of mountains against the star sprinkled sky. Surely the horizon was growing lighter, not darker? She queried Matthew.
“Full moon due up in a while,” he said. “It’ll be good in the spa pool tonight. We can put the lights off.”
We?
CHAPTER FIVE
Kate thought about that while the SUV carried them the rest of the way home. A secluded little seduction scene? A foursome with Diana and Hamish? Surely not—although Kate had read that the very rich could be a law unto themselves. Her wary mind ran riot with possibilities until they rolled into the big garage and he switched the engine off.
A wicked extra scenario had sneaked in among the options she’d assembled earlier; make the most of him while they were alone for the night and desert him in the morning. By an odd co-incidence it was her birthday, too, and she felt like a treat. Matthew McLeod was the biggest treat she’d ever laid eyes on.
No, she wouldn’t. Of course not. But she knew he found her attractive. And he stole her breath away with his powerful physical presence...his self-assurance...his hypnotic silver-blue eyes...that sudden incredible smile.
He’d unsettled her the moment they’d met at the airport. Since then her feet had not quite touched the ground. He annoyed her immensely, constantly, outrageously. He was an itch just begging to be scratched...and Kate’s fingers were now twitching with the temptation.
Matthew shucked his dark blue jacket off as they left the garage, and turned to collect hers as well. He opened the door to the adjoining storeroom.
“Is it Hamish’s wine?” she asked, eyeing the huge collection, and remembering the vineyard comments. She shivered. It was cooler in there.
He reached for a bottle and held it label-up for her.
“McLeod Brothers. Both of you?”
“His know-how. My money. Except these days I’ve got some know-how and he’s making money.” He replaced the bottle in the rack, then thought better of it, holding it by its neck and closing the door. “Do you want to take the clothes to your room? There’s plenty of time—Diana and Hamish aren’t due until eight. Or will you help me with a salad first?”
“I may as well take the bags to the bedroom. But I can hang them up later,” she added, hoping that would dismiss him. To her annoyance, he insisted on carrying most of them.
She preceded him down the wide hallway, acutely conscious they were once again alone in her bedroom. She’d left her chaste white nightgown draped over the foot of the bed, and his inquisitive eyes fastened on it as he laid his bags down. Kate felt a bubble of mirth threatening to escape. He must surely think it a surprising contrast to her rather risqué underwear.
She saw him glance at her small collection of makeup on top of the chest of drawers. Watched as he drew a deep breath and breathed the traces of perfume she’d already left in the room. This felt far too personal—she wanted him out right away.
“Thank you.”
“No trouble.” He didn’t move.
“I’ll be with you in the kitchen soon.”
He nodded absently, standing relaxed with one hand on his hip, the other hanging by his side. He was taking up a huge amount of space. He suddenly sighed, returned to the present moment and turned for the door. Kate wondered what he’d been thinking about. She was sure the light level dimmed as he left.
“Put that black shirt on for dinner,” he called back.
It was not a suggestion. It was a command.
She gained some much needed breathing space by sliding the clothes from their bags and smoothing them out on the bed. Her fingers ran sensuously over the soft possum, the supple leather, the cuddly velour of the robe.
She tipped the outrageous underwear from its pretty packet and stroked the silk and satin, smirking as she pictured him sorting through the displays in the no doubt classy boutique. She hoped he’d been embarrassed, choosing such intimate items. But perhaps he often shopped there for Lottie? Or a stray mistress or two? Kate couldn’t quite picture the buxom Dutchwoman in such flimsy finery, but who knew how other people lived? Her own mother—past sixty—had worn only lacy black undergarments, right up until her death.
Ignoring his suggestion of the new shirt, she slipped into the blouse she’d intended for the flight home next day. Emerald silk—good with her green eyes. She was certainly not going to let him dictate what she wore.
It was rather too businesslike. She undid a button. Then another. Better. It would do. And she twisted the top of her hair up and secured it out of his way.
Strolling back to the kitchen, Kate took time to admire the extraordinary collection of artwork displayed on the long gallery-style walls of the main hallways. Carefully directed lamps threw pools of light onto majestic and outrageous paintings. Some were Lottie’s...others were signed with famous names she’d seen only in exhibitions.
She stopped just short of the doorway, enchanted by three bizarre photographs. What was it about them? They were recognizable flowers, but had they somehow been manipulated to resemble insects? She leaned closer. Matthew’s shadow intruded. Once again she’d not detected his silent approach.
“Native orchids,” he murmured, standing close behind her. “Tiny things—no bigger than this.” He touched a hand to her sensitive earlobe and she flinched. A finger slid behind her ear. He held her lobe between his finger and thumb and tugged gently. Sensation shot to the pit of her belly. She willed the shivers to die down, certain he knew the effect it was having.
“Stop touching me all the time,” she snapped, pulling free.
With that tiny connection, he’d had total control of her body. Below waist level her hormones rampaged, her muscles twitched, she throbbed and moistened. His cologne wafted around her, and she forced herself to breathe slowly. Her eyes met his, reflected in the glass protecting one of the photos.
“Did you Photoshop them?” she asked, hoping she hadn’t offended him to the point that she’d lost all hope of getting the job. “They’re yours, I presume?”
He appeared unruffled by her sharpness. “One of the bonuses of tramping so far from the bright lights. These days I take a lot of photos for Lottie. She can’t really get into the wild country any longer.”
“And she paints from them?”
“Never a direct copy. But she chooses a bit from here, a piece from there... makes a whole new landscape.” He fell silent and at last turned away. “She’s not as well as she should be.”
Kate followed him the few strides to the kitchen. His face had closed up, forbidding her to ask more. He kept his back to her, removing the casserole of curry from the refrigerator, sliding it into the oven, rattling about in the cutlery drawer and going through to the dining room with a handful of knives and forks.
“See what you can do by way of a salad,” he called over his shoulder as he left the room.
She explored the huge pantry and the refrigerator. There were myriad salad vegetables and every kind of prepared dressing she could possibly need, but she perversely decided to make fresh vinaigrette using one of the plump lemons from the bowl on the marble counter. She sliced it in half, enjoying the fierce sharp progress of the knife through the juicy flesh, imagining she was slicing Matthew out of her life.
She worked quietly, absorbed in what she was doing. And a few minutes later found his reflection in the window glass in front of her. He’d changed into an open-necked shirt in some dark shade. A heavy gold chain lay on the olive skin that the unbuttoned collar revealed. She smiled, despite herself. She’d been wrong about his taste.
“Hmm?” he questioned.
“Nothing really. I just didn’t have you down as a jewellery man.”
She concentrated on peeling the slippery avocado in front of her, and looked up in surprise as the gleaming chain descended past her eyes and settled around her exposed throat. Her hands were too messy to bat him away.
The chain burned hot from his body. It was dazzling with the emerald silk of her blouse.
“Looks better on you,” Matthew murmured, too close to her rapidly heating ear.
“It’s beautiful. But take it away please.”
He ignored her. “Present from my ex. She chose the chain and got it right. I chose the woman and got it wrong.”
He thought bitterly about Martine as he walked his fingers along the flat gold links, pressing them against Kate’s skin. Martine—the bitch of all time—who’d seen the way to obtain a huge divorce settlement by very creative blackmail. He wouldn’t be leaving himself open to anything like that again. Kate Pleasance was gorgeous. She’d kick-started his body into raging life again, but he was far from ready to trust without knowing a great deal more about her. If she was spying for Rob, she’d be out the door so fast she wouldn’t know what had hit her.
His fingers progressed leisurely down past Kate’s collarbone—a slow intrusion that never touched her skin. Searing shivers of anticipation and dread rocketed through her body. If he slid his strong fingers off the chain to caress her breathless waiting flesh, what then? She had no idea.
“Stop it!” she gasped, just as the door knocker thumped loudly. She’d never in her life been so glad of an interruption. Matthew laughed softly and turned away to welcome his visitors.
The instant he was out of sight, Kate bent and laid her heated face against the cold marble counter, rolling from one flushed cheek to the other until she heard footsteps nearing.
Diana breezed into the kitchen with dessert. “Banoffie Pie—have you tried it, Kate? Bananas and caramel. Hamish’s favourite.”
Kate smiled shakily, still greatly affected by the piercing waves of lust and dismay washing through her.
Matthew and Hamish followed Diana, both tall, both dark, so obviously brothers. Hamish was just a little shorter, a little paunchier, noticeably several years older.
She shook his hand. No electric spark.
If it had been Matthew, she knew the jolt through her body would have been extreme. Lord, she didn’t need his whole warm hand to unsettle her. Just a finger jiggling her earlobe seemed to be enough to make her lose control.
Despite Matthew’s earlier assertion that they rarely used the formal sitting room, he led them through to there. Drinks had been set out on a low table. A bowl of salty cashew nuts and another of excellent olive oil sat beside the glasses. Diana carried in a platter of cubed-up crusty Italian bread for dipping, and Kate chose the seat on the sofa beside her, hoping to avoid Matthew. Hamish took the big armchair at the end of the table.
She sat quietly, enjoying listening, but adding very little to the conversation. The brothers talked contingency plans for the spring frosts...wind machines, helicopters...the price of French oak barrels. Diana discussed arrangements for Saturday’s party.
Kate watched Matthew covertly from her seat opposite. No-one else in the room really existed for her. With the other big couch all to himself, he sat relaxed, legs thrown open, one arm ranged along the sofa-back. He raised a foot and hitched his ankle up onto the opposite knee. The trouser fabric stretched tighter, over his long thighs and the enticing bulge displayed so blatantly between. The triangle of his open legs drew Kate’s eyes like a magnet. Warmth buzzed and tingled in her groin. She drew a sharp surprised breath.
What would he be like to make love with? Assertive and demanding, much as he’d been with her today?
Expecting her to fall in with his wishes all the time?
Or tender and restrained, as she’d seen him with Lottie?
A sensualist for sure. His gentlest touch had lit Kate’s skin with a trail of incandescence. And he’d be physically impressive. A tall, fit man—used to tramping the surrounding mountains. The clues she’d gathered through his clothing screamed lean, strong, hard-muscled, olive-skinned. Her eyes roved once again to the apex of his thighs. She dragged them away just as he caught her looking.
CHAPTER SIX
Hot blood rushed up her neck, flooding her face in a mortified blush. He had to know she’d been inspecting him right there. Thank heavens he couldn’t be sure what she’d been thinking. Or did he have a fair idea?
Sending her a speculative smile, he drew his knees together and made a great show of spreading one of the paper napkins over his lap so he could dip the bread cubes with no risk of dripping oil onto his trousers. He’d hidden her treat.
Kate bowed her head, refusing to look at him for long moments. “So you run the vineyard together?” she finally croaked, desperately trying to cover the moment.
His smile grew broader. “No. Hamish is the viticulturist. I just tag along and obey orders.”
“Rather more than that,” Diana said. “He’s a computer man, Kate. Saw the possibilities of the Internet early on. Set up a provider service and then made his fortune by selling it to one of the big boys.”
“And negotiated a seat on their board to keep life interesting,” Matthew added, reaching out to snare a cube of bread.
“So you’re not home all that much?”
“Depends on the attractions here.”
Kate compressed her lips. That hadn’t exactly been a helpful reply, and she suspected he knew it.
“And I’ve set up a publishing company for some of my photographic projects,” he continued. “Based in New Zealand, but I sell globally. I travel on Lottie’s behalf, and for my own work.”
That still didn’t give Kate a lot to go on. She wondered what sort of clever questions she’d have to ask to break through his slick defences. It was a game he excelled at.