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“Do you like her?” April inquired quietly as her husband disappeared inside the house.
“Hardly know her,” Jase said. “We had one dance, she was feeling hot so I brought her out here.”
She certainly doesn’t like me.
Hardly surprising. She’d wanted to hit him after he’d kissed her. He had seen the reflexive movement of her arm before she dropped the hand holding that absurd hat to her side. He’d almost hoped she would, that at last she’d show some loss of her unwavering control.
Like what he had glimpsed when she greeted Bryn, a moment of real human emotion behind the lightly spoken words with their ambiguous undercurrent. But there was nothing ambiguous about the brief but telling betrayal of her feelings. She hadn’t been a happy guest at the wedding.
After the confrontation in the summerhouse he’d watched her from a distance, seen her greet several people, exchanging hugs with some of the women, one of whom did so with a piercing, “Samantha, darling! I haven’t seen you in an age!” From some of the men she’d accepted a kiss on the cheek, but never offered her lips. Once she laid a hand on a man’s arm for a second or two, making some laughing remark. The man—sixty-ish, grey-haired but still good-looking—smiled at her with unconcealed admiration and said something in return at which she laughed again.
The ice princess could turn on the charm when she wanted to. But when the man leaned closer she moved almost imperceptibly back, though keeping her smile intact. Not the way it had been with Bryn, as if she couldn’t stop herself touching him.
Showing a capacity for pain and passion under the Nordic cool. The woman was a walking contradiction.
Should he care? His only concern was for his sister. He wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt Rachel.
Chapter Three
SAMANTHA was unable to put the disturbing, infuriating Jase Moore out of her mind. For weeks, then months, she’d scarcely seen Bryn. She let her managers deal with him when business made contact necessary, and kept away from gatherings he might be expected to attend—with his wife at his side. Her social life was reduced to close friends and inescapable obligations, giving herself time to get over the surprisingly deep hurt of losing a man she’d had no claim on in the first place.
It couldn’t be that hard to return to viewing him as a friend and business colleague whose company she enjoyed. And her circumspection had nothing to do with Jase Moore and his misguided attempt to frighten her off.
It wasn’t as if Bryn had ever appeared to notice her perhaps too-tentative attempts to signal her growing interest—the lingering handshakes, the sincerity and warmth of her smile, the occasional fleeting touch. Now she wondered, if a perfect stranger could pick it up at first glance, had Bryn known all along? Known and not given her any encouragement because he simply didn’t find her sexually attractive? The thought made her inwardly squirm. Another reason to avoid him for a time.
She immersed herself in carrying on her father’s business, his life’s work. A brilliant builder, he had employed the very best workers, even poaching them without conscience from other firms, but had remained staunchly attached to traditional practices. He had never learned to use a computer himself, although conceding the need for them and paying his Information Technology Manager a handsome salary.
Samantha felt it was important to keep up-to-date if her firm was to maintain its premier position in a crowded industry. She booked for a one-day seminar on Future-Proofing Your Business, the star attraction being an American speaker whose books about the changing face of management she’d admired.
After seeing his name she hadn’t bothered to read the rest of the programme, sure the steep fee would be worth it just to hear him.
His keynote speech, first on the programme, convinced her she’d been right, but she was puzzled when before the next session she saw none other than Jase Moore carry a laptop computer onto the stage.
Her first thought was, It can’t be. Her second that he was there as a technician. Maybe he’d left Donovan’s already or been shifted from the transport department to one more to his liking.
He placed the computer on a table beside the microphone and lifted the lid. His white shirt, worn with dark trousers, was open at the collar, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. Obama casual, and it suited him.
Then the chairwoman stepped forward and began to introduce him. Samantha looked down at the programme in her hand, passing over a glowing CV of the guest speaker to the next page. Among a list of names and subjects, she saw “The Future of the Interfaced Workplace.” Speaker: J.S. Moore.
“Mr Moore,” the chairwoman was saying, “began his career in computer games, hitting the jackpot before he was out of his teens with his popular pirate series, ‘Pinnaces, Pillage and Plunder,’ and ‘Hunters of the High Seas.’”
Samantha’s mouth fell open and she quickly shut it again. She’d never played computer games, nor even looked at those included with her office programme, but she had seen TV ads touting the virtual environment games, and no one could miss the ubiquitous posters, T-shirts and novelty items emblazoned with the titles and characters.
“At the same time,” the chairwoman continued, “he was experimenting on his father’s farm, marrying farm machinery and electronics, leading to designing revolutionary systems for the agricultural sector, which are now used worldwide.”
The woman glanced at the notes in her hand. “Recently he’s been developing systems and machinery for industrial use, with a particular interest in safety and the use of virtual reality simulations for training, and the integration of office and workface into a seamless digital environment.”
Jase’s deep, confident voice woke Samantha from a whirling daze. She dimly recalled glancing through a couple of news articles mentioning the ubiquitous pirate games and their spin-off merchandise, and being somewhat surprised that their creator was apparently a multi-millionaire, fast catching up to the top ten richest people in the country.
His name hadn’t stuck. And she had no interest in agricultural machinery, so that too had passed her by.
Helped by computer-generated images on a large screen behind him, Jase clearly and fluently described a future of machinery and even surgical instruments controlled by operators simply thinking their commands to specialty computers.
Already Samantha used computer programmes to show clients three-dimensional “plans” for buildings, but he promised “a real-time physical walk-through of virtual buildings,” then went on to describe more ground-breaking work in fields that once were the domain of science-fiction.
When he was done, in answer to a query he quoted statistics about production losses due to industrial accidents, and called on Bryn, whom Samantha hadn’t seen seated in the front row, to come to the microphone and describe how Jase had improved production and safety at Donovan’s Timber.
At morning tea, among the throng around the tables bearing scones and muffins to go with their tea and coffee, Bryn caught her eye and made his way to her with Jase in tow.
Bryn kissed her cheek and said, “Haven’t seen you for a long while. What did you think of my brother-in-law?” He put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “You met Jase at my wedding, didn’t you?”
Samantha gave Jase a nod of recognition. “Your presentation was very interesting.” She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of expressing surprise that he was not the idle loser he’d allowed her to imagine.
His “Thanks” was preceded by a faint twist at the corner of his mouth, as though he knew she found the compliment difficult, and that amused him.
Bryn said, “Some of the systems he put in place for us would probably work for you. In fact if we used the same programmes it could cut time and effort—even expense—for both our companies.”
Samantha just stopped herself from physically recoiling. Jase must have noticed. The curl at the corner of his mouth grew, and the hint of a dimple creased his cheek. She said, “I’ll think about it.”
A tubby man in a brown suit joined them, loudly quizzing Bryn about his experience with Jase’s services.
Jase moved closer to Samantha’s side and said sotto voce, under the chatter all around them, “Glad you took my advice.”
Something prickled along her spine. “I don’t remember you giving me advice.”
“Bryn hasn’t seen you for a while?” He nodded as if in approval, making her hackles rise further.
She clipped out, “We’re both busy people.”
Casting her a penetrating glance, he said, “How are you doing?”
Tempted to retort, What do you care? or preferably, Get lost! Samantha said shortly, “Fine, thank you. And Rachel?” she inquired pleasantly, trying to be civil as well as deflect the conversation from herself.
His eyes narrowed for an instant, becoming even greener, then he said evenly, “Happy. And I mean her to stay that way.”
“Surely that’s up to Bryn?” Samantha’s eyes went to his brother-in-law, still in conversation with the other businessman. “And Rachel. Who’s a grown woman,” she reminded him. From her own brief encounter with Rachel, the woman was no wilting flower. She’d seemed entirely capable of protecting her own marriage.
“She’s still my sister,” Jase said. “Getting married doesn’t change that. And I warn you, if necessary I’ll play dirty.”
She cast him a glance that would have refrozen the melting icecaps of the Antarctic, hiding a shocking flash of temper that made her palm itch to slap his head from his shoulders.
She wasn’t answerable to him for her feelings, or his misconceptions. “You’re the only one playing games,” she said. “They don’t interest me.”
Bryn turned to confirm something with Jase, and as the conversation continued between the three men she thought of slipping away, but hesitated, not wanting to appear to be running from Jase.
Then the other man reclaimed Bryn’s attention, and it was too late. Following on from their discussion, she asked dryly, “How much driving did you do before you were allowed to play with Donovan’s computers?”
For a moment he looked blank, before apparently recalling the conversation with his brother at the wedding reception. Then he laughed. “Quite a bit—travelling round the country to all the branches so I’d know how they operated and what was needed. Bryn wanted me to start with his sawmills, designing systems to increase safety.”
“That sounds like him,” she said, recalling Bryn’s almost haggard face after a near-fatal accident in one of Donovan’s mills when a worker in a careless moment forgot to observe its stringent safety rules. Her gaze strayed to him, still listening patiently to the man in the brown suit.
Jase’s brows drew together. Before he could say any more the crowd about them parted and someone touched Jase’s arm. A pretty brunette with bright lipstick on her mouth, she wore a black suit over a white blouse.
“Mr Moore,” she gushed, “that was a wonderful presentation. I’d love to have you come and talk to my executive staff.”
Samantha edged aside, and the man who had been monopolising Bryn turned his attention to the newcomer.
Bryn smiled at Samantha and said, “How about we get out of this scrum and find a place where we can catch up while we finish our coffee?”
Still riled at Jase, she let Bryn lead her to an empty lounge bar where the counter was closed. He sat at a small table across from her, and relaxed into the tub chair.
He was one of the few people with whom she felt safe lowering her guard. Taking over Magnussen’s after her father’s death hadn’t been easy. Bryn too had become head of a family business on his father’s death, and their similar experiences had given them a unique bond. Unlike her, he had spent years within the family firm before it became his, yet instead of taking advantage of her lack of experience, as some shrewd operators had, he’d offered advice and support.
And she wouldn’t kowtow to his brother-in-law’s erroneous view of her, give up a friendship she valued, simply because Jase Moore didn’t believe she could control her feelings.
Ironic, considering she’d spent a lifetime learning to do just that.
Twenty minutes went by quickly, and she slipped into the familiar territory of stress-free friendship, with only a slight lingering discontent that she’d missed her chance of something deeper.
At her last board meeting one of the members had resigned due to illness. Not so long ago Bryn would have been at the top of her shortlist for a suggested replacement, but she’d not put his name forward, afraid her feelings for him would be reactivated. Now she made a decision and put the invitation to him, firmly dismissing a twinge of trepidation. If Jase found out…
When they returned, the area outside the hall was nearly deserted, a few people hastily finishing their coffee or tea, and Jase lingered near the double door, one half already closed. Samantha saw the sharp look he directed at her and his brother-in-law, and instinct made her move closer to Bryn, her shoulder brushing his arm.
Jase’s eyes narrowed dangerously as Bryn put a light hand on Samantha’s waist to usher her into the big room before him.
They slipped into seats at the rear, Jase next to Bryn at the end of the row. As Samantha put her bag out of the way under her seat and straightened up she saw him fold his arms and stretch out his long legs.
For the rest of the seminar he was never far away each time she looked around her. She avoided him at lunch by sitting with a couple of other women, swapping war stories about sexism in business, but later, as she seated herself at the closing dinner, Jase slid into the chair beside her.
Apart from a cool nod of greeting she tried to ignore him, concentrating on the food and the other diners around the table. But she was conscious of his hands picking up his knife and fork, his voice when he spoke to others at the table, his laugh when someone cracked a joke, his leg brushing against hers as he reached for one of the bottles of wine on the table.
“Samantha?” He poised the bottle over her glass.
“Thank you.” She nodded without looking at him, and watched as with a steady hand he poured ruby-red wine into her glass before refilling his own.
He replaced the bottle and said in a low voice, “Where did you and Bryn get to during the tea break this morning?”
Her stomach clenched, remembering the look he’d directed at her on their return. He didn’t have the right to interrogate her, and she wasn’t going to be intimidated. “Somewhere private and quiet,” she said, driven by an obscure urge to needle him, because he certainly had no compunction about provoking her.
“Why?” Jase’s hand curled around the stem of his glass but he didn’t lift it.
“To talk,” she said. “Privately and quietly.” She turned to stare into his eyes, daring him to inquire further.
She might have known it would have no effect. He said, “What about?”
A knot of resentment had lodged in her chest. “If you really need to know,” she drawled, keeping her own voice down, “we made plans to run away together and set up house somewhere and have wild, uninhibited sex for days on end.”
The flash of shock and anger in Jase’s eyes, the sharp breath he drew gave her a moment of fierce satisfaction. Then she recalled his renewed warning earlier—If necessary I’ll play dirty—and a shiver slithered down her spine.
His eyes ominously glinting, Jase said flatly, “Not funny.”
“It wasn’t really meant to be. And what else isn’t funny is the way you’ve been stalking me all day.”
“Stalking?”
“Yes. Give it a rest, will you? It’s beginning to get on my nerves.”
“I didn’t think you’d be so easily rattled, ice lady.” His eyes had turned speculative, curious. “What are you hiding beneath that touch-me-not cool of yours?”
Her heart gave a heavy thud as though she’d just been confronted by a physical threat. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said coolly. “What do you hide behind that fuzz on your face?”
He laughed. “Laziness, I guess. Can’t be bothered shaving every day. You don’t like it?”
“It’s nothing to do with me,” she told him. Any more than her friendship with Bryn was anything to do with Jase.
She ought to lay his suspicions to rest instead of goading him. But by making excuses she’d be tacitly admitting she was in the wrong. Besides, there was a certain pleasure in unsettling Jase Moore, a secret revenge for his low opinion of her.
He’d been right when he said the ice was only skin deep. Again today he’d made her angry—and frightened. She didn’t want him—anyone—to know how thin and fragile her protective coating was. That underneath the composed and confident business leader with a reputation as a gutsy and unflinching negotiator was a flesh-and-blood woman who hurt like anyone else.
But who didn’t dare show it. Jase Moore was one of the very few people who had seen through the brittle surface she presented to the world, and the only one who had done so without her permitting it.
That was why he made her so nervous.
Jase drove through the night to his home, an hour or so away near the provincial city of Hamilton, his mind annoyingly fixed on Samantha Magnussen. No woman had got under his skin the way she did.
Kissing her after the wedding had been a mistake. Irritated by the distant contempt with which she’d met his warning, he’d wanted to shake her chilly control. And figured that was a surefire way to do it.
Or so he’d tried to explain it to himself. After the fact.
At the time he’d simply done what seemed a damn good idea—for five seconds. And then justified it with that implausible comment about not tasting alcohol.
What he’d tasted had been unexpectedly warm, soft lips, feminine and sweet, that left him wanting more. The memory was still amazingly vivid.
Seeing her today, he’d wanted to do it again. At the same time, when she looked at Bryn and spoke of him with a note of affection in that sexy voice of hers, he’d wanted to shake her.
The small, mysterious smile on her lips when she’d turned away from the other man on his wedding day had set off warning bells in Jase’s head, and then she’d looked straight into his eyes, her poised, cool beauty concealing hidden fires. That kind of understated allure could drive any man wild.
It hadn’t escaped him that despite his warnings she’d made no promises not to try seducing Bryn, made no assurance that she had given up hope.
An old school friend of Samantha’s had organised a fundraiser for the Red Cross. “A kind of upmarket market,” she’d told Samantha enthusiastically. “A fun night for bargain hunters, with live music and a bar—to get the punters in the mood for spending,” she added, with a shrewd grin.
The big room was filled with Auckland’s art lovers, tycoons and socialites sipping champagne, peering at the donated goods and simply chatting—or in many cases networking.
Samantha had donated one of her father’s investment paintings to the cause, and dressed for the occasion in a plain black sheath with subtle silver threads in the weave. A fine silver chain around her neck held a single black pearl.
She saw Bryn, his wife by his side, an arm about her waist while they talked with another couple. Rachel wore an amber satin dress, and her thick dark curls were swathed atop her head in a way that Samantha’s pale, straight hair would never achieve.
Of course it was inevitable that someday—or night—she and Rachel would be in the same place at the same time. The only real surprise was that it hadn’t happened sooner.
