Secrets and Seductions (8 page)

All she knew was this awareness stuff going on shouldn’t be happening. Trouble was, her conscience and body sure as heck weren’t listening to her.

She tried not to compare the brothers, but that didn’t help one iota, either.

She’d been naive when she’d met Curtis, taken in by his easy charm and banter and his good looks. When she walked at his side, they’d receive admiring glances. Oh, she’d known they’d been all for Curtis, not for her. She was the drab young woman at his side, but the attention had made her feel special too, and for the first time in her life, she had felt important. Wanted.

And to give Curtis credit, she believed he did want her, at first, only to realise when it was too late that he’d used her as a personal ego-booster.

Her grandfather had told her that her mother had been a late bloomer, and so Leah guessed that was what had happened to her, but by then she was married to Curtis and suddenly, as her confidence as a young woman grew and her strength and knowledge and passion about the grove increased, she garnered the respect of the agricultural community. Curtis didn’t like it. He wasn’t the kingpin anymore.

Then Charlee came into their lives, and as Curtis’s addiction took over, Leah was once again that insecure girl who had no choice but to stay.

Now, as she watched Mac return to his grill, an adoring Charlee close by his side, she reminded herself not to trust too much in his charm and kindness. They could be as false as his brother’s had proved to be.

For two weeks, Mac had been under her roof, and there was no hint of him leaving.

Funny how life had become somewhat of a ritual.

They worked in the grove all day, and while they barely said a word to each other, there was a chemistry, a silent avowal of… The words that came to her mind were mutual respect.

Mac worked hard.

She worked harder. There was no way on earth she wanted him to think she couldn’t hack it. This was her land, her home, her livelihood, and she would do anything in her power to ensure it stayed that way.

After too many years of moving from one rented home to another and the uncertainty of life that had scarred her childhood, there was no way she’d ever let that happen to Charlee.

Later that night, with Charlee in bed, Leah relaxed with a book, though she realized she hadn’t actually turned a page for some time.

That was Mac’s fault.

He sat across from her in the lounge, busy on his laptop, though every now and again he would look up and catch her staring at him. He never said anything. Just lifted one dark brow in acknowledgment, and she would drop her gaze to her book again, having no clue what her characters were up to. It was as if they were a real couple.

When the phone rang, jolting her out of her reverie, for some reason she had an unearthly premonition of disaster lurking.

No one phoned at ten thirty at night, unless the aforementioned disaster was about to strike or had already hit dirt. Scrambling from the sofa, she snatched up the phone and turned away from Mac. “Hello.”

“Leah, it’s Howard Parker.”

“Howard,” she acknowledged. She liked Howard, a rough and tough guy whose crew of pickers worked the circuit of small independent farms like hers. He was good value, at a price she could afford—just. “Good to hear from you. I’m just about ready for your crew to start picking.”

“Sorry, Leah, but trouble’s brewing over at the Wexford property, so it means we’re going to get to you too late.”

“Late! But you can’t. I booked you weeks ago, Howard, I need to get the crop in on time. Otherwise…” Leah looked behind her, noting Mac’s attention had shifted directly to her. Great. Now he’d think she couldn’t handle things, again.

His brows rose. “Problem?”

She forced her mouth into a tight smile and mouthed
nothing
, then made a quick exit out the front door and pulled it closed behind her.

The scent of wild jasmine wafted up on a cool valley breeze that enveloped Leah as she sank onto a porch step. Beneath the canopy of moonbeams, she could make out the towering lushness of early flowering Pohutukawa, a sure sign the summer would be a good one.

She took in the shadowed beauty of the trees and beyond and sighed. “When can you come, Howard?”

“That’s just it. I can’t.”

“But we agreed.”

“Wexford is bigger. I gave you a discounted price due to your…um…circumstances, but money’s tight everywhere. I can’t turn Jake Wexford down.”

“But you can turn me down.”

“I’m sorry.”

Leah heard true regret in Howard’s tone and couldn’t really be angry with him, despite the fact circumstances threatened to destroy her crop.

She disconnected the call and dropped the phone to her lap. What now?

She had to get that crop in; only then could she get rid of Mac. That was imperative for her sanity. Her… Lordy, she was about to think
heart
. How ridiculous.

Okay, so the guy was sexy, in a devilish sort of way, but she couldn’t afford to play with the devil. Closing her eyes, she tried to blot all thoughts of Mac Grainger right out. She had a bigger problem to solve, but any hope of eradicating that man from the silent video playing in her head vanished the moment she heard him open the door and step up behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, the play of something akin to excitement skittering up and down her spine. She choked back the tumble of emotions rioting inside her. This was not the time for that sort of thing.

“Leah?”

Without looking at him, she shook her head, waving him away. “Go away, Mac. Please.” She pushed herself up from the porch step, not wanting to be forced to look into his too-knowing eyes.

“What’s happened?”

She sniffed, refusing to give in to the tears she knew were so close to falling. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Why don’t you let me help?”

“You’ve already done enough. Just leave it.”

“I can’t.”

“Really? Are you trying to play the knight in shining armor? That’s not what I expect from you. A new cap, perhaps?”

“So there is a problem.”

Damn. She should have kept her mouth closed.

He stepped closer, and Leah found herself backing up to the porch railing. It dug into her back, a vicious reminder of reality, of what she could lose, of the situation Curtis had forced on her. Even from the grave, his bully-boy tactics reached out to her. She jammed her hands on her hips. “Like I said, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“From what I heard…”

Her stomach somersaulted. “You were eavesdropping?”

“Call it concerned observance,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

“Oh, cut the caring routine, Mac. I don’t believe it. You’re only out for yourself and what you want. Just like Curtis. Look,” she said, sidestepping him, “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to book another picking crew.”

“Another one?” His hand snapped around her wrist, yanking her back to face him. “Why the hell haven’t you organized it already? From my understanding, crews are booked a year in advance.”

Leah wrenched herself from his hold, the fingers of her left hand massaging her wrist. “I knew it!” She tossed her head back a fraction, brushing her hair from her eyes. “You think I’m totally incompetent.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No?” But the fight had gone out of her, and exhaustion took over. Her shoulders sagged. This was far too hard, yet she had to keep going. She had no choice. The alternative was to lose everything. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke. “You sure as heck thought it, though, Mac. As far as you’re concerned, I’m a useless mother, playing at farming and not able to…survive.” One look at him and she knew what she’d said was true. But worse, saying the words aloud broke her heart. Everything seemed to be going wrong, one disaster following another, and Mac’s hesitation sparked her frustration. “I was right. You’ve already convicted me.” Distancing herself from him, she pushed open the front door and stepped over the threshold. “I don’t have time to talk about this. I have to make some calls.”

But his questioning didn’t let up. “What happened to the pickers?”

“Howard has bigger fish to pick,” she said.

“I can work in the grove,” he offered.

“You can’t pick a whole olive grove, Mac. Neither of us can. That’s why I booked Howard’s crew.”

“So book another.”

“I intend to, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s late. As you said, crews are booked months in advance, if not the year before.” Turning from him, she made her way back inside and rummaged in her desk for her list of picking crews. She had to find someone. Had to. She couldn’t fail. If she had to pick the whole damn grove herself, she’d do it, even though she’d just voiced the impossibility of it to Mac.

But three hours and many phone calls later, she’d come up empty. Dropping the phone to the desk, she stretched out, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension in her neck. Her eyes shuttered, and she dropped her head to rest in her folded arms.

Just a moment. A few minutes’ rest, then she’d start all over again. There had to be someone who could help.

Mac stood rock still, staring down at a sleeping Leah. Beside the now silent phone was a list of names and phone numbers he presumed to be crews who worked the circuit.

He retrieved the list and skimmed down it. Each one had a cross beside it.

Each one had turned her down.

Even from his bedroom where he’d worked on his laptop finishing up several projects for his new hotel chain, he could hear the plaintive desperation in her voice at each rejection.

He went to drop the list back on the desk and froze. One part of him wanted to be close to her, though God knew why, while the other part of him said—no, screamed—walk away right now. Go far away and don’t come back.

Instead, he sank onto the sofa across from Leah. It wasn’t so far away that he couldn’t hear her soft, fluttery breaths, or notice the blue-gray shadows beneath her eyes or the worry lines etched across her forehead.

He admitted Leah had surprised him. Curtis had painted her as a woman who couldn’t be bothered, but Mac had seen her work tirelessly in the grove. He’d wanted to believe his brother, but seeing really
was believing, and by witnessing her worries, he had in fact made them his.

Her hair had come loose from the ponytail she always wore, and he found himself battling the urge to walk over and brush it from her face. A sigh ripped through him, the need to tangle his fingers in the silken strands hitting like a thunderbolt.

Shit! He clenched his jaw, aware of the throb in his nether regions. But why her? Anyone other than Leah would be far more suitable. She was his brother’s widow, for God’s sake.

Still, he watched her. In sleep, she held him captive.

Only in sleep?

Yeah, right
.

He wanted Leah. Full stop.

“Dumb. Really dumb, Grainger.” What was he thinking?

He wanted Leah in his bed, to caress her and kiss her. To reenact what he’d felt beneath his fingertips and beneath his lips when they’d been in the grove.

You’re in way too deep!

“Gotta get it done.” Leah’s muffled cry snapped Mac out of his lustful thoughts.

Just as well. He couldn’t afford to get involved with
this
woman. He didn’t trust her. He kept reminding himself of that. Besides, it felt…disrespectful to his brother.
But you didn’t even like Curtis!

Mac cut that thought short and glanced down at his watch, frowning. Two a.m. He couldn’t leave her lying there all night.

Not giving himself time to reconsider, he hauled himself off the sofa and walked over to her. “Sleeping like a baby,” he whispered, only to hear her gentle snore in response.

Her hair fell across her face, and instinctively he brushed it back, the veil of silk sliding through his fingers, just as he’d dreamed of doing.

He yanked his hand back.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said and bent down, then scooped her up. He cradled her against his chest.

Sleepy eyes fluttered open, only to gaze at him with a half-asleep doe-eyedness. “What you doing?”

“Taking you to bed.”

“Oh, that would be nice.” And she snuggled into his shoulder.

Mac bit back an oath, realizing Leah’s sleep talk was just that—mumbled nothings she wouldn’t even remember in the morning.

Trouble was, it played havoc with every part of him, and with one part in particular.
He
sure as heck would remember it all in the morning.

With a sigh, her eyes shuttered once more, and she nestled her head against him, the fingers of one hand splayed across his chest, slipping beneath the open edges of his shirt. Her touch burned. Dear God, he was on fire.

He gritted his teeth and wondered if she was aware of the erratic
tat-a-tat-tat
beat of his heart. He damn well hoped not. Nothing good could come of a one-night stand. “Damn it. Toughen up, Grainger.” He must be mad to hold her and touch her.

In her bedroom, Mac flicked on the tulip-shaped glass bedside lamp. It lit up the room with a soft amber glow.

He’d never been in her room.
And should get out right now too.

He didn’t. Instead, he lay her down on the bed, then just stood there, staring, realizing he didn’t want to go. One more minute, he told himself.

He reached for the folded comforter at the end of the bed, an antique of quilted flowers, and drew it over her. There was a gentleness in her sleep, a vulnerability that daylight obliterated with the worries of running the grove on her own, whether the crop would fail or succeed, and yep, having him here too had added to her burden.

Leah never blinked an eyelash, so sound asleep was she. Yet he’d never felt so damned alive in his whole life.

“So alone.” Her soft voice drew him from his self-absorption, and he looked down at her. Still asleep, yet her words perhaps told the truth. She’d just buried her husband. Was she looking for a replacement already? Him?

Disgust at this possible truth shot through Mac.

And you’ve been hooked into the honey pot so easily
.