A Love Untamed

She glared at him. ‘Nobody is involved in any kind of a scheme. And I don’t have a husband.’ Why had she said that? It was none of his business.

He was too close for comfort. She finished the last of her coffee and pushed herself away from the railing. In the kitchen she opened a carton of orange juice, filled two glasses and put them on the table.

This was not a good situation. What was she going to do with this man in her house? How was she going to get rid of him? Here she was, having breakfast with the intruder. It was completely absurd.

He came in and poured more water into the kettle and put it on the stove.

She fixed her gaze on his broad back. ‘Mrs Coddlemore died two months ago. If she was your grandmother, why didn’t you come here sooner to handle the estate?’

‘I didn’t know she had died until ten days ago.’ He turned and sat down at the table.

‘Why didn’t you know until ten days ago? Didn’t anyone notify you?’

‘Yes, they notified me, but the news didn’t reach me until ten days ago.’

‘Where were you? The moon? Antarctica? The jungle?’ She looked straight at his face.

’the jungle,’ he said. ‘Only these days we call it the rainforest.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard. Which rainforest?’

‘Kalimantan.’

She nodded. ‘Borneo, the Indonesian part.’

His eyes narrowed and she felt a thrill of triumph. She smiled brightly. ‘I have this thing for geography. Maps have always fascinated me, ever since I was little. All those exotic places! All those fascinating countries and mysterious islands!’ She sighed. ‘Well, let’s eat.’

The breakfast burritos were heated through and ready to eat. She placed one on each plate and he picked up his knife and fork and cut into the tortillawrapped bundle. Melted cheese oozed out. Egg and ham came into view. He began to eat without comment.

’so, what do they eat for breakfast in Kalimantan?’ she asked, having trouble with the silence between them. Silence made her nervous. She wanted it filled up with something—conversation.

He shrugged. ‘Rice, wild boar, fish, whatever.’ The water boiled and he pushed himself to his feet and made more coffee. The burrito finished, he ate two more slices of toast. Then he got up and marched to the kitchen door. He turned and met her eyes.

‘I’ll see you tonight.’ It was more than a statement. It was a promise. He opened the door and strode out.

She ran to the phone as soon as she’d heard the car drive away. But the lawyer’s offices weren’t open for business yet, nor the estate agent. Well, she wasn’t going to sit here and be paralysed. She was going to go on with the job.

The skip had been delivered the day before, and she began cheerfully tossing in junk and rubbish. She took down the old dusty window treatments and tossed them out, except the drapery linings which she could use as painting drop cloths. Soon the truck from Rommel’s Auction Barn would come and haul off the first load of stuff she didn’t want to keep—books and knick-knacks and much of the furniture.

Then the phone rang. It was Jack, her brother the architect, and the familiar sound of his voice was instantly comforting. However, not comforting was the news that his car had given up the ghost that very morning.

‘Would it be a terrible tragedy if I didn’t make it today?’ he asked. ‘I’ll have it back by tonight and I’ll come tomorrow.’

Livia felt her heart sink. She considered telling Jack what had transpired, then thought better of it. If she did, all four of her brothers would descend on the house to rescue her within hours. This was very nice, of course; it made her feel loved and cared for, but it might, in actual fact, not be helpful. First she wanted to make sure what the situation really was.

What the situation really was, the lawyer told her a while later when she called again, was that the old lady had made a new will only days before she had passed away. In that will it was stipulated that the house be put up for sale and the revenue deposited in the bank in the name of her grandson who was incommunicado in the Borneo jungle, but who would show up sooner or later. The lawyer himself had been appointed the executor of the estate and she had nothing to worry about. Nothing fishy going on.

‘What’s the name of the grandson?’ she asked, holding her breath.

‘Let me check,’ said the lawyer. ‘Oh, here it is. Clinton Bracamonte. Why do you want to know?’

‘He just emerged from the jungle and he’s trying to claim the house.’

From the dining-room window Livia noticed the silver-grey Ford come up the drive and instantly felt her heart start racing. The truck from Rommel’s Auction Barn was sitting in the drive, full of a load of chairs and tables and boxes with dishes and plates and glasses, none of them of great value. She’d spent all day sorting through cabinets and drawers, deciding what to keep and what to sell. She was tired and dirty. The dining-room was cleared and she was almost finished taking up the old carpeting.

Clint came out of the car, strode up to the truck, took one look at it, said something to the driver and turned abruptly. He marched up the front porch, opened the door and slammed it.

‘Olivia!’

‘I’m in the dining-room,’ she called out. She went down on her knees and started rolling up the last strip of carpeting. Underneath the padding lay a beautiful oak floor. She’d leave the padding to protect the wood during the painting process.

The next moment Clint loomed in the door and stared. His dark eyes scanned the room and what he saw obviously did not please him. Of course, she had not expected him to be pleased. That was why her heart was hammering against her ribs. The air was electric.

He advanced into the room. ‘What the hell have you been doing?’ he asked, his voice low and furious.

‘I’m clearing the place out,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘It makes it a lot easier to do the renovation work.’ The room looked bare. All the curtains gone, the walls empty of pictures, the furniture removed.

’these were my grandmother’s things!’

’they are my things now,’ she said, steeling herself. ‘And I can do with them as I please. If you want them, buy them back from Rommel’s Auction Barn. I’m sure Mr Rommel will make you a deal for the lot. He seems like a nice guy.’

There was a loaded silence. She felt a shiver crawl up her spine as she looked at his hard face, his penetrating black eyes.

‘All right,’ he said slowly, ‘let’s talk.’

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a6757563-e713-52fa-8c2d-1f5a4d87265e)

LIVIA’S heart was pounding. He was not a man who suffered defiance, but she’d be damned if she’d let him intimidate her. ’there’s nothing to talk about. This is my house and I want you out.’ She went on rolling up the heavy, awkward carpeting. Dust motes floated in the sunlight streaking through the window.

Clint Bracamonte reached out, took her arms and pulled her to her feet. ‘I said, let’s talk,’ he said quietly.

Her reaction was automatic. A couple of swift moves and she was free of his grip. ‘Keep your hands off me,’ she said coldly.

He laughed. ’that was very impressive, I have to admit.’

His reaction infuriated her. How dared he be amused? ‘Next time you won’t laugh. You’ll hurt.’

He nodded solemnly, but a spark of humour glinted in his eyes. ‘I’ll keep that in mind. Karate and gypsy spells. You’re a dangerous woman.’

She gave him a withering look which seemed to have no effect on him at all. Not that she really had any hope of affecting him; he didn’t look like a man who’d feel threatened by anything, and certainly not by a lightweight female.

He pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘Now, I have a proposition to make,’ he said casually.

‘I’m not interested in your propositions.’

‘I made some enquiries,’ he went on, unperturbed. ‘And you’re right, you bought the house, and it’s yours.’

She inclined her head in mockery. ’thank you,’ she said, pseudo-polite. ‘I understand you are the recipient of the money from the sale.’