Читать книгу A Reluctant Mistress - Robyn Donald - Страница 10

CLAY applied the brakes, skilfully controlled the subsequent skid as the car fishtailed, then brought the vehicle to a halt just as the spare wheel hurtled into the driver’s door with jarring, bone-chilling noise. Watching it bounce off, Natalia felt sick.

The burgundy door opened and Clay emerged in a lethal, silent rush. As the wheel spun across the road and eventually fell, he demanded in a deep, raw voice, ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘I’m sorry—I dropped my spare wheel,’ Natalia told him crisply. Or as crisply as she could when her stomach was jumping like a just-caught marlin.

Clay’s mouth curved. ‘Really? Or did you throw it?’ he asked, his slow drawl a contrast to the swift assessment in his glance.

Stung, she said, ‘No. I don’t destroy things.’

He turned back to eye the dented and scratched paintwork of his indecently opulent BMW. Its value would probably wipe off her mortgage and leave some left over, she thought with a hard, rebellious defiance.

Envy was a lousy emotion, especially when it was mixed with self-pity, so she banished it.

‘My door doesn’t exactly look whole,’ he observed.

Natalia bit her lip. ‘It was an accident. I really am sorry. As you can see, I had a blow-out.’

‘I heard it, and thought some fool was shooting.’ He looked past her. ‘We’d better see whether your spare wheel came off better than my door.’

It hadn’t. Natalia stared down at what had been a reasonably good—if filthy—wheel, and the panic that had been building inside her surged to full, shattering fruition.

Clay indicated several dents and a split in the tyre. ‘You need a new one.’

She couldn’t afford a new one. Angling her chin, she lifted her eyes, only to feel something unnerving slither the length of her spine. He was looking at her with coolly acquisitive pleasure. Although his eyes were the same colour as topaz, they lacked the glitter of gems; instead the gleaming gold was speculative, almost lazy with the knowledge of strength and mastery. As her skin tightened, Natalia thought of lions, relaxed, indolent, deadly.

He said, ‘I’ll move my car off the road.’

A breeze swooped down from the hills, tossing a curl on to Natalia’s cheek. Her skin burned as she pushed the hair back with a shaking hand and watched him stride across the road.

Clay Beauchamp was just too much. The way he moved, the compelling aura around him, his very size—all reinforced the autocratic, controlled authority of his handsome face. How could she dislike him, yet be held captive by such a blind, unwilling fascination?

Seething at whatever malignant fate had tossed this series of disasters her way, she walked back to her truck and glowered at the burst tyre while Clay moved his car on to the grass. She didn’t turn as he came up behind her, and he made no noise, but she felt his presence like a shadow on her soul.

‘We’d better put those peppers into my boot,’ he said, ‘and I’ll take you wherever you want to deliver them.’

How she wished she could say loftily, Don’t bother, I can cope. But she couldn’t. The supermarket sourced most of its fruit and vegetables from the markets in Auckland; they used her because she was absolutely reliable and cheap. Glancing at her watch, she said unevenly, ‘I’m going to the supermarket, thank you.’

‘Do you want to take the wheel off the truck? The garage might have a tyre that will fit it.’

‘No, I’ll do that later—the supermarket wants the peppers now.’

‘All right. Lock up if you think it’s necessary. I’ll take the peppers across.’

She was behaving badly. It wasn’t Clay’s fault her tyre had burst, and he had offered her a lift. He had every right to be angry about the ding on his door, yet he hadn’t said anything.

Only what to him was a nuisance was for her a major setback. Not only did she have to buy an irrigation valve, but two new tyres and replace the buckled spare wheel. And the rates were due soon, not to mention the power and the phone bill…

And always—always her father’s debt.

At least her vegetable garden was flourishing, she thought mordantly, watching Clay put the boxes into the car boot. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt; when she saw how easily he picked up the spare wheel and put it in beside the capsicums something coiled within her, coiled lazily and slowly, and stretched, and flexed its claws…

Enough of that, she told herself sternly, and locked the truck before walking reluctantly across to his car.

‘Get in, Red Riding Hood,’ Clay Beauchamp commanded mockingly.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why Red Riding Hood?’

His rakish, too perceptive grin told her he’d seen her looking at him. ‘Because you’re accepting a ride with the wolf?’ he said, enough of a taunt in his tone to lift the hairs on her skin.

Natalia had no answer to that, so she took refuge in a shrug. ‘I’m more like the Wicked Witch of the West,’ she muttered, sliding into the front seat, glad of the mud clinging to the soles of her boots, glad that her jeans showed signs of contact with the road and the spare wheel. Let his expensive car learn what honest dirt was.

‘Where’s the supermarket?’ he asked as he turned the engine on.

It purred, and so, Natalia thought wearily, would any woman who felt his hands on her. Lean, competent, they looked vastly experienced, as though no place on a woman’s tender body would be safe from them—or immune. As she gave him directions that hidden hunger inside her stirred again, a repressed sweetness, slow as run honey, powerful and smooth as the best brandy, aching through her.

Why was she so susceptible to handsome men? Her high school boyfriend had been the best-looking boy in the district, and her physical response to Dean Jamieson had lured her close enough to be intrigued by his charm.

But her luck had held—just. Her heart had still been intact when she’d found out about his wife, and she’d turned her back on what could have turned into a messy, sordid affair. She’d emerged with her pride and her independence tarnished, but still intact.

So it was doubly ironic that the only other man who’d made an impression on her since then had also made a large dent in her pride—and was now threatening her independence.

Clay drew into the car park at the supermarket, and insisted on carrying the boxes of peppers inside.

‘I can do it,’ Natalia said, trying not to sound unappreciative. ‘They’re not heavy.’

‘It’s all right; I’m stronger than I look.’

Stressed, she walked beside him into the shop. ‘Thanks, Nat,’ the woman who ran the produce department said. She cast an appraising glance at Clay and smiled with genuine, startled admiration. ‘Just put them here, will you? The usual payment?’

‘Yes, that’s fine.’

Back at the car, Clay said, ‘I hope you get market prices. That’s good stuff you have there.’

Natalia said politely, ‘We have an arrangement that works well for both of us.’

The wide, arrogant mouth compressed a moment, then relaxed into a smile that almost seduced her into an answering one. Oh, he knew exactly what effect he had on a woman!

And why shouldn’t he? Clay Beauchamp probably had to chase glamorous women out of his wardrobe.

He said, ‘Where’s the garage?’

When they arrived he reached for the ruined spare wheel.

‘It’s dirty,’ Natalia said.

‘So?’ His voice had an edge to it. ‘I know what dirt is.’

She didn’t answer. He leaned down to say, ‘You’re beginning to exasperate me, Natalia.’

She lifted her brows. ‘Then I’d better be quiet,’ she said dulcetly, ‘at least until I get home.’

His brows met in a formidable frown. ‘I wouldn’t leave you stuck here,’ he said shortly as he straightened, and hefted the tyre effortlessly into the shop.

‘Hi, Nat,’ the man who came out from behind the counter said. ‘Did you have a good time last night?’

‘Wonderful, thanks, Mr Stephens. Can you order me a tyre for this wheel?’

Mr Stephens looked at it. ‘It’s buckled,’ he pointed out unnecessarily. ‘Do you want another wheel too?’

‘No, I’ll send the good wheel in to you on Monday so you can fit the new tyre.’ In spite of her attempt to sound her normal cheerful self, her words emerged clipped; Clay’s silent presence tugged at her nerves like a comb over wool.

Mr Stephens looked at Clay. To Natalia’s outrage Clay gave a short nod; relieved, the older man turned to her and said, ‘All right, then. I’ll put it on the rural delivery on Tuesday.’

Clay said nothing until they were back in the car. Then, as he turned the key to start it, he said, ‘All your tyres are shot—they’re dangerous, and even if another doesn’t blow out, you’re not going to get a warrant of fitness next time you take the truck in.’

Colourlessly Natalia said, ‘Quite possibly. I’ll contact my insurance company on Monday—no doubt they’ll be in touch with you soon afterwards. I’m really sorry about the door.’

His low laugh had a savage note in it. ‘I understand pride—sometimes it’s been the only thing that’s kept me going. I presume you can’t afford to pay for a new wheel.’

‘You presume too much,’ she said frostily.

There was a moment’s taut silence. Then he said quietly, ‘Point taken. We need to talk about fences. Boundary fences, to be specific.’

That was when Natalia remembered she’d be liable for half the cost of any new boundary fence between Xanadu and Pukekahu Station. She drew in a quick, jolting breath and tried to relax shoulders aching with sudden strain. ‘Yes, of course.’

He said, ‘Come up to dinner tomorrow night. How does seven o’clock sound?’

With rigid precision she said, ‘I’d rather discuss business more formally.’

In a tone that nudged too close to contempt, he said, ‘I don’t discuss business at social occasions. However, if you feel so strongly, come to the office at the homestead at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.’

Which left her with nothing to say but, ‘Yes, all right.’

He nodded. Biting back hot, unwise words, Natalia sat in tense silence that lasted until they drove past the truck.

Clay asked laconically, ‘What are you going to do about that?’

‘It’ll be OK here,’ she said, hoping she was right. ‘It’s well off the road, so a driver would have to try hard to hit it.’

A stray beam of sun outlined his forceful profile, reinforcing the arrogant cut of his jaw and the symmetrical, autocratic bone structure as he nodded. Natalia looked straight ahead, her expression held under stony discipline.

When he drove into her gateway she said steadily, ‘You can put me down here, thank you.’ The last thing she wanted was for him to see inside her home.

‘You’ll get wet before you’re halfway there—it’s trying to rain.’

Sure enough, one of early winter’s soft showers was gathering around the ridges, ready to billow down the hills and across the narrow coastal flats to lose itself in the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

‘Rain won’t melt me,’ Natalia said, hiding her defensiveness with unemphatic words and a flat tone.

‘So you’re a tough, hard woman.’ The drawled comment was meant to be sarcastic, and succeeded. ‘Why are you so prickly, Natalia?’

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ she said, each word so clearly articulated it could have sliced through ice. As the car drew up outside the ramshackle shed that was both garage and packhouse, she unclipped her seat belt.

His eyes narrowed and his mouth tilted into a mirthless smile, his keen gaze lingering on her hot cheeks. A feverish shiver pulled her skin tight.

‘Your eyes fire up brilliantly when you’re angry,’ he said, the words smooth and taunting.

‘Whereas you become offensive.’ She should be intimidated but she wasn’t; adrenaline pumped through her in a singing, exhilarating flood.

‘What makes you think I’m angry? This offensiveness could be my normal attitude.’

‘I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt,’ she retorted sweetly.

Swift as a striking bird of prey, Clay caught her tense hand and kissed the palm. Lean, tanned fingers tightened around her wrist; Natalia felt their controlled power like a fetter. Then he released her.

As she snatched back her hand Natalia thought she could feel the sensuous touch of his lips still burning on her skin.

‘Don’t dare me,’ he said evenly, his eyes dwelling on the soft curves of her breasts for a heart-stopping second before lifting to trap her gaze. Heat lit the tawny depths to gold, yet she couldn’t see emotion there, nothing but an intense, primal hunger.