‘It had better.’
The cold note of menace in his tone tightened every nerve. ‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Then you’ll lose your farm,’ he said pleasantly. ‘And in case you get any ideas, don’t think he’ll be able to help you. In New Zealand law, half of what he owns goes to Gillian.’
When she frowned he said in a tone that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck, ‘Didn’t he tell you that Gillian’s money is held in trust for her? If they divorce he’ll have nothing; certainly not enough to buy any land.’
Because he was the trustee, she’d bet.
But he had a few good points; he helped her get the calf out of the swamp, and he had to love his sister to be prepared to go slumming for her…
He watched her face, and after a taut few seconds added deliberately, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t lose financially by joining me in this masquerade.’
Dominating swine, tarring everyone with his own brush! Green-gold eyes glittering, she asked sweetly, ‘Does money solve everything for you?’
‘Most things,’ he said, sounding amused. ‘Don’t knock it. And if you want to find out how important it is, tell Ian about this.’
With gritty emphasis she said, ‘You needn’t worry—I’ll pretend as well as I can.’ She flicked a lock of hair back from her hot face and finished fiercely, ‘You’re lucky you have a ready-made way to force me into it. What would you have done if you didn’t have the power to deny me road access?’
‘I’d have offered you more money, of course,’ he said coolly. ‘I assume you see him as a source of security, and although paying you off goes against the grain, I can provide you with more than he ever could.’
Her lip curled. ‘I’m not for sale.’
He laughed beneath his breath and reached for her, linking his fingers at the back of her neck with exquisite gentleness before using his thumbs to force up her chin. ‘Everyone’s for sale,’ he said quietly. ‘All a buyer has to do is find the right price.’
‘So what would it take to buy you?’ she asked in an odd, stifled voice, driven by a strange combination of fury and compassion.
Eyes narrowed into crystalline slivers, he examined her face. ‘More than you can pay,’ he said with raw intensity. ‘More than you could ever pay.’
And he dropped his hands to pull her into him so that he could kiss her again, taking her mouth with urgent hunger in a kiss driven by a dangerous volatility. His mouth devoured hers—and hers met and matched his hunger. Her treacherous body leapt into full life, blazing with a storm of desire made even more intense by the complex turmoil of her emotions.
Every warning bolted from her brain; only when his hand came up to rest on her breast, and she felt the eager centre tighten against his palm did she realise what she had to do.
She yanked herself back; somehow her hair had become loose and when she shook her head a cloud of golden-brown swirled around her stunned face.
Instantly, as though he’d been waiting, Curt let her go and stood staring at her with a black hostility that tightened every quivering nerve into knots.
Attack first. ‘You promised that wouldn’t happen again,’ she accused.
‘It won’t,’ he said harshly. ‘I’ll see you later.’
He swung on his heel and left her there in the calf-shed with the familiar scents of animals and hay and the milk mixture, and her heart drumming in a dangerous rhythm of anticipation and excitement and anger.
‘One day,’ she muttered when the car started up outside, ‘I hope you fall desperately in love with someone, and I pray she tells you just how bloody-minded and patronising you are and then turns you down flat.’
Laddie stretched enthusiastically and yawned, his jaws making a faint clop as they came together.
Peta grimaced and bent to scratch the dog. ‘Just as well you’re not a guard dog, or I’d be sending you off to the SPCA for dereliction of duty. Why didn’t you sink your teeth into his ankle?’
Her voice shook, and as his tail swept from side to side, her attempted smile turned into a trembling contraction of her mouth. She straightened up. ‘OK, we’d better do some work and after that I’ll work out exactly what I’m wearing to this wretched barbecue.’
In the end she chose a gold shirt she’d made a couple of years previously, combining it with a pair of cuffed trousers the same bronze as her only decent sandals.
So far, so good. She checked herself out in the mirror, frowning when she caught a glimpse of bra through the thin cotton of her shirt. After a moment’s thought she opened a drawer and found a camel-coloured T-shirt and put it on under the shirt.
Yes, that was more discreet, although slightly too warm in the humid heat of Northland. Still, after her utter folly in Curt’s arms, discretion came first.
In spite of everything, there was a sly satisfaction in looking good. Mouth set in a smile that held more irony than amusement, she tied her hair back with a fine loop of leather and picked up her lipstick. Its warm peachy toning reinforced the lushness of her tender lips.
She was scared. Already in too deep with Curt McIntosh, she vowed that from now on she’d be cool and composed and completely unavailable.
But when Laddie began barking enthusiastically above the low growl of an engine, an aggressive, heady anticipation hollowed out her stomach. For the last time she checked herself in the mirror, and gaped in startled wonder at the difference. She looked alive—skin glowing, mouth full and sensuous, gold sparks lighting up the green depths of her eyes. Even her hair shimmered with new life and vibrancy.
Curt McIntosh should patent his kisses; they’d make him a fortune in the rejuvenation market!
And people were going to notice, she thought uncomfortably.
‘Well, that’s the point of this whole farcical charade,’ she said aloud in a hard voice.
So she wanted Curt McIntosh. Big deal. As long as she didn’t make the cardinal mistake of confusing desire with love, she’d be fine. Passion was less complex and infinitely safer. She’d seen first-hand how love could betray. Her mother had given up everything for it—her family and friends, her talent at music, her health. Worn down by hard work and lack of money, she’d struggled through the years because she’d loved her husband.
And in the end it had killed her.
Peta’s jaw firmed. No way was she going to surrender to that. Her independence was too precious to jeopardise by losing her heart.
That thought gave her enough calmness to pick up her small bag and open the front door. Tall and autocratic, the sun coaxing blue-black shadows in his dark head, Curt stepped back and lifted his brows, surveying her with open appreciation. Her stupid stomach performed an acrobatic manoeuvre that left her breathless.
Cool, she commanded. Be very, very cool. Right now.
‘Quite a transformation.’ He bent to pick a bloom from the gardenia by the steps.
‘I assume that’s a compliment,’ she said in a muted voice, overwhelmed by the sight of him in a casual shirt the same grey-blue as his eyes, and sleek black trousers that hugged his hips and made the most of his long legs.
His blue eyes mocked her. ‘Of course.’ He tucked the gardenia into his top buttonhole and waited while she locked the door.
This time he was driving a Range Rover, a massive thing that combined power with restrained luxury. From