Secrets and Seductions (21 page)

“You’ve noticed?”

She answered him with a slight smile, and his heart surged.

“They say the eldest child always has a hard road. Parents are new at the job, unsure, probably stricter until they get the hang of it. Unfortunately,” Mac said as the memories bombarded him, “my parents were no different. But Mum had several miscarriages.”

“I’m sorry. They’re never easy.”

“No.” He closed his eyes for a second and then reopened them, not really wanting to relive those particular memories in vivid Technicolor. “I still hear her cries, pleas to God that she would do anything, be anything, if he just gave her another child.”

“The desperation of motherhood.”

“But she already had me, Leah. I used to wonder why I wasn’t enough. Today they would give it some politically correct term, but it went on and on and on for years. She shut down, shut me out. Then the longed-for baby came, and I became obsolete.”

“You’re joking?”

He shook his head, downing the remainder of his brandy, wanting another but knowing it wouldn’t do anything to ease the ache he’d long tried to ignore.

Mac hauled his sorry arse from the quagmire of his musings. What a fool he was, nearly caught by soft green eyes and a body he had memorized. He pushed himself up from the sofa and stood over Leah. “Nice try, but it won’t work.”

“Pardon?”

“The soft soap, playing psychobabble with me. Get me to lower my guard.”

“You think…” Leah’s cheeks turned scarlet. “Of all the conceited, lowdown stupid comments to make. It has nothing to do with ‘soft soaping’ you and all about caring, or trying to care, trying to understand. But really, it doesn’t matter anymore. I forgot, you don’t do caring.” She rose from the ottoman. Eyes that had turned icy hard fixed on him. “There’s a saying about apples, that they don’t fall far from the tree. Well, in this case it really fits you and Curtis. You’re from the same mold. You do what you like, think what you like, and to hell with the consequences.”

“Like hell.” Shit! What was wrong with him? He turned away from Leah, dragging his hands through his hair, eyes shutting for a moment as he tried to get his head around what she’d said.

Maybe it was the liquor talking, breaking down his walls, but suddenly he was tired of the games between them and wanted to have it out with her once and for all.

But before he had a chance to try, he heard Leah’s heavy sigh. “You don’t like hearing it, but it’s true. If someone tries to get close, you shove them away.”

Mac bit off a curse in Russian. “Addictive, Curtis called you,” he muttered. No matter what he thought of her, he wanted more.

“Curtis said lots of things, most of it a load of rubbish. He was an expert in trying to win me over every time he came home with his tail between his legs, saying it wouldn’t happen again.”

“What wouldn’t happen? Did Curtis have other affairs?”

“Oh yes,” she choked out with a brittle, almost hysterical laugh. “Your darling brother had many affairs, but definitely only one mistress.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Curtis knew what he was doing, but, well, you can see now why I’m on guard, Mac. I won’t let anyone hurt me again.”

Leah lay awake alone in her bed, the passing hours interminable. If only they hadn’t argued, she would be in his arms. If only she could trust him. And if only she didn’t love him.

But she did, and she couldn’t tell him because only hurt would come from being honest. She’d opened her heart when she married Curtis, and her heart had been mutilated in the name of love. When he died, she’d vowed never again, believing it better to keep her heart safe.

When morning finally arrived, she felt and looked as if she’d not slept a minute. Her body ached and her stomach knotted, a swirl of nausea clamoring for attention and fighting with her desperate need for sleep.

After hauling herself from bed as the sun broke through, she showered and dressed as fast as she dared. No way did she want to face Mac this morning. There were too many emotions battling for superiority when he came near.

But fate wasn’t on her side.

“Coffee?” He held out the coffee pot, his smile relaxed and calm as he stood by the stove, dressed in his usual Armani. It suited him in a refined, devilish way.

Leah’s stomach somersaulted. Her nerves were shot. As he poured her a coffee, he didn’t mention last night, nor was there a hint of the angry words they’d thrust at each other, or that she’d chosen to sleep in her old bedroom and not with him. Idly, she found her fingers tracing her lips, as if she could feel him there.

She ached for that. A kiss. A hug. Love. A
real
marriage.

“So what happens now?”

His sudden question caused her to choke on her coffee. She held her cup in both hands and glanced across its rim at Mac. He leaned against the bench.

Suspicion, circled her heart. “What do you mean?”

“Business, Leah. The harvest is coming. I’m asking when, exactly? How much yield do you expect?”

Leah relaxed a smidgen. She could talk about business, just not her feelings. “Worried about your investment?”

“I only ever bet on a sure thing. You should know that by now.”

“Oh, I know what sort of man you are. You have no concerns on that.”

Dark chocolate eyes held her spellbound. Bedroom eyes. Every woman’s dream. Her dream.

Fool!

To her right, in the media room, she spied Charlee watching morning cartoons, and her heart melted. As long as it didn’t melt where Mac was concerned, she’d be okay.

“There should be about twenty kilograms per tree this year,” she said, answering his query. “They’ve at last reached maturity.”

“How old is that?”

“Most are well over ten years, some fifteen. My grandfather planted them. Don’t worry, you’ll get your money.”

“I didn’t expect less. Is there any lasting damage from the fire?”

He asked the question that had plagued after that awful night. “I tested the olives when I went back to the farm. There doesn’t seem to be any smoke damage to the trees or residual smoke in a sample of the final product, so your investment is safe.”

“And then you’ll be able to get rid of me in double quick time.”

Ah, so he hadn’t forgotten their argument after all. Reality scored deep across her heart. She hardened it. “Isn’t that we both want?”

He said nothing. Not one hint from him that he loved her. Wanted her. “Talk me through the process.”

“Why?” Curtis never wanted to know anything about the grove.

“Humor me. I’m trying to be nice. As part owner, I have a vested interest.”

Leah shrugged. He did seem truly interested, something so vastly different from his brother. “The olives will be harvested in a couple of weeks. The fruit is stripped by hand, though some use a small plastic rake, others a mechanical ‘flapper’ that shakes the branches.”

“What do you use?”

“Oh, I’m small fry. We can only afford the old-fashioned way.”

“Would you go to the mechanical method if you could afford it?”

“Easy answer,” she said with a tiny laugh. “No. I like the labor of it. It’s reminiscent of the past, and continuing to use a similar method is, to my way of thinking, honorable.”

“And hard work.”

“I’ve never been afraid of hard work.”

“Another misconception,” he mused.

Leah picked up on his innuendo immediately. “Or another of Curtis’s lies.”

He ignored her counterattack. “What’s next?”

Leah shook her head, surprised at how easily he could sway her into talking about her beloved olives and to relax her guard. She wanted that, to feel normal and be able to tell him her thoughts, her fears and, one day, of her love.

She stared into dark eyes. Curtis’s eyes.
Remember him. The man who hurt you.

As if her body followed her brain’s silent command, Leah folded her arms across her chest. “The olives have to remain well ventilated and are transported for processing, the sooner the better, no more than four to six hours after harvesting. The paste is then stirred, decanted via centrifugal force, the oil one side, the pomace, the wasted paste, on the other.”

“It’s quite a process.”

“It is. But unlike wine, which needs to be stored, once the oil is put through the separator, removing the sediment, it’s pronounced clean and dry and ready for storage.”

Leah took a breath, which was of little use, because Mac smiled and that smile did funny, quirky things to her insides, as it always did.

Their conversation seemed to get them back on track, the pall of Curtis’s accusations kept at arm’s length, and for the next few days, Leah buried herself deep in work, preparing the grove for harvest—a bit of light pruning, making sure the pickers were organized and would arrive on time. She buried herself in work, and from dawn to dusk, she ignored the ache of loving and being unloved.

If nothing required doing at the grove, she stayed at the kindergarten, helping out. And whenever Mac was home, she would keep her gaze averted from him, scared he could see what was in her eyes. If he found out, it would break her heart.

Mac wined and dined her, telling her stories about his wildcatting days. They laughed, and then they made love, a time that held her in its beauty, where nothing else mattered, just the two of them.

But as the days passed, her frustration grew. She couldn’t get beneath the veneer he held erect all the time. He wouldn’t let her in.

Tonight they were to go to an opening for a rising artist Mac supported. She reached for the exquisitely wrapped lace and silk underwear she’d not dared wear yet. It was a present from Mac she knew he’d been dying to see her in. Tonight would be the night for the scarlet and black lace panties and bra, with the fishnet stockings adding an exotic air.

Eyeing her reflection in the gilded antique mirror in the dressing room, Leah acknowledged she looked sexy. Hot.

Not wanting to put her dress on yet, she threw on her robe and sat on the chaise in front of the large windows, enjoying the radiant heat from the setting sun. Lethargy wrapped itself around her. Her eyes shuttered. Just for a minute, she would rest, let the world pass her by, and dream.

“Don’t they say there’s no rest for the wicked?”

Her eyes shot open, and she scrambled to sit up. Heat stole across her skin, and her nipples beaded beneath the silky concoction. A flush of desire pooled in places that ached for Mac. She pulled at the edges of her robe as inconspicuously as she could. “Why do you keep doing that?”

Mac sat on the end of the chaise, lifted her feet to his lap and began to massage one foot. “What, precisely?”

“Surprising me.”

“Ah…but the art of surprise is the ultimate tactic of good business.”

“Just as well, then, that our marriage is a business deal, isn’t it?”

Her words yielded a faint shadow across his eyes, but then it vanished. “You’re wearing them, aren’t you?”

Aware of his diversionary tactic, Leah swallowed. “And
you’re
meant to be at work.”

His mouth flicked up at one corner, and needlelike pricks of excitement skittered down her spine and raced back up in double quick time.

“I decided to play hooky and leave early.”

“Why?” Last time he’d played hooky, they’d had sex. Leah’s body heated, and she couldn’t help but smile. Maybe…

“I’m the boss. Besides, I wanted to see you.” He stood. “So, are you wearing it?”

His reached out a hand to her, and she took it, his scorching heat sprinting from his fingertips to hers. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips. “That’s for you to find out.”

He pulled her from the chaise to stand only a few inches away from him. “Really?”

Leah unhooked her arms and let them drop to her sides. “Absolutely.”

Then he kissed her. Thoroughly. Beautifully. Oh so wonderfully. He made her toes curl.

A moan of pleasure slipped from her lips, and she couldn’t keep her hands from him. She slid them over his shoulders, trailing fingertips through his hair. “We’ll be late,” she said, though in truth she couldn’t have cared less, if it meant more time in Mac’s arms. More kisses. More loving.

“Tough.”

Yes!

He nibbled the curl of her ear, and Leah tilted her head to one side as he dotted butterfly kisses along her neck. “What about your artist?”

“I’ll send a check.”

“Mac!” she gasped through a smile, though secretly delighted.

“Just as well Betty wanted to take Charlee to the movies, and with the added bonus of a sleepover with Betty’s granddaughter, I have another kind of business in mind.”

Leah clamped back a bubble of laughter. “Funny business?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Unable to hold back her laughter any longer, nor the joy and excitement, or the urgent need of having Mac inside her, Leah spun out of his embrace and dashed toward the bed. “Race you!”

Leah didn’t want to wake up from the fantasy. She snuggled down in the bed, pulling the sheet up, aware of Mac’s enveloping warmth. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to enjoy the moment a bit longer, relishing his big hard body next to hers.

“Morning,” he said with a smile.

“Do you have to sound so chirpy first thing?” And look so darn sexy too.

“Hey, I’m waking up with a beautiful woman. What else could a man want?”

Lying against him, warm in his arms, Leah conceded there was nothing she wanted more than to wake up with him every morning. But their time was merely a string of beautiful moments that had to end. Sometime. Soon.

A deep sense of dread and the knowledge that their fantasy was drawing to a close insinuated itself into Leah’s conscience. Soon she would harvest; then it would be over. Over too because the letter she had received yesterday from the social worker had informed her that Charlee’s maternal grandparents had withdrawn their submission.

Leah looked up at Mac and knew what she had fought for so long, that despite the passion they created every night, this marriage deal wouldn’t work. Even though she had at last accepted he was not the same as his brother, it wouldn’t be enough to keep them together.