With His Kiss

Not that it made any difference to his opinion of her, he reflected hours later, nursing his third whiskey in the bar of his Auckland hotel, almost an hour’s drive north from Kurakaha. Triss had been furious at having to share the trusteeship. There must be a lot of money tied up in the trust and he was damned sure she’d been hoping to milk it for all it was worth, if she couldn’t break it.

Maybe Magnus hadn’t been dazzled clean out of his mind after all. He seemed to have retained a grain of common sense—enough to not quite trust his wife to carry on his work without someone to keep an eye on her.

Steve was that someone and, although it had certainly surprised him, he didn’t mean to take the old man’s wishes lightly.

A smile touched Steve’s firmly etched mouth. Always larger than life, with the charisma of true genius, Magnus had been a brilliant, world-respected conductor until the early onset of arthritis curtailed his career. As the crippling condition progressed he’d devoted increasing amounts of his time to giving talented but socially disadvantaged young musicians the chance to excel, while filling in other gaps in their education. Taking no more than thirty-five students at a time, for periods of up to four years, Magnus had spared no expense.

Until Triss had come along with her penny-pinching attitude to the House and its work. Steve recalled her apparently gentle nagging about budgets and cost overruns. And Magnus’s quiet teasing at her unnecessary concern. Born to a privileged background, his father descended from successful early settlers, Magnus had inherited wealth and had earned large sums from a short but dazzling international career, and as he said, he had no family to spend it on, only Kurakaha and its inhabitants.

Steve had been the first to arrive. Despite clashes between him and his mentor over Steve’s plan to make a fortune manufacturing specialized keyboards and sound equipment rather than pursue a musical career of his own, the younger man appreciated the tremendous influence Magnus had exercised on his life.

Steve phoned Triss two days later. She suggested he might come to Kurakaha at ten-thirty. “If that suits you?” she added.

An afterthought.

“Perfectly,” he replied, deciding not to be difficult for the sake of it.

“I’ll be expecting you, then,” she said, crisp as a newly ironed shirt collar. She had put down the receiver before he could reply.

Damn the woman. No one else could tempt him to petty revenge. Firmly he put aside the thought of being half an hour late.

It was a minute before ten-thirty when he rang the bell at the main entry, and Triss herself opened the door to him. This time he kept his gaze firmly fixed on her face, but even so he was aware that the open lapels of her cream blouse revealed a faint shadow between her breasts, and that the silk fabric was tucked into a narrow navy-blue skirt that hugged her hips.

As she led him along a corridor to Magnus’s office he couldn’t help noticing also that she had lost some weight, but there was still a very womanly body under that figure-revealing skirt.

He’d always known she was a superficially attractive woman. Hell, he might as well admit it—physically he had always reacted to her. A male biological reflex that no doubt he shared with at least half of his gender group. Even Magnus hadn’t been immune. And Magnus, in his peculiar innocence, had married her, probably not knowing how else to handle it when for the first time in his life, Steve suspected, he fell in love. With a woman half his age.

She went behind the desk that was unnaturally clear and tidy and sat down.

The high-backed leather chair looked too big for her. Steve supposed she was making a point. Magnus’s office, Magnus’s chair. The message was plain: I’m in charge now. She’d taken over.

Yet as he seated himself he had the feeling she was using the wide, solid desk as a shield. He supposed she might find his height and his rugby-broadened shoulders intimidating. He’d given up the game when he left New Zealand for America, but kept himself physically fit with running and weights, still influenced by Magnus’s creed that a sluggish body led to a sluggish mind.

The boys were encouraged to develop their bodies as well as their minds, and Magnus expected them to put maximum effort into everything they did. He’d had no patience with laziness or incompetence.

It had been a tough regime but challenging, and those who survived were grateful. Witness the genuine sorrow at the funeral, grown men who had passed through Kurakaha as students breaking down in tears.

But not the widow.

She didn’t look as though she’d shed a single tear since her husband’s death, the blue, blue eyes as clear and chilly as mountain water.

“There doesn’t seem to be any way out of this,” Triss said with no preamble. “I’ve obtained a second opinion from a different legal firm.”

The day after her husband’s funeral? She hadn’t lost any time.

Briskly she continued, “Unless Magnus did make a later will after you left—and Nigel seems sure he didn’t—we’re stuck with this one. I appreciate your…willingness to do your part, and I’ll keep in touch. Do you have an e-mail address where I can contact you? It would be more convenient than phoning when it may be the middle of the night where you are.”

“Back up, there. It seems to me, reading that will, that Magnus expected me to live here.”

She looked as if she’d smelled something bad. “You know he drew it up when you were living here. I’m sure he wouldn’t expect you drop a lucrative career in America to fulfill an outdated whim.”

“Magnus didn’t operate on whims.” Except once, maybe. When he’d brought home his much younger bride. “He was a stubborn old—” Steve checked himself. “He was stubborn and quixotic and he never liked to admit he was wrong—”

“Where do you get off criticizing him?” Triss flared. “After—”

“After all he did for me?” Steve said impatiently. “I have the greatest respect for Magnus and you know it, but that doesn’t mean I never saw any fault in him.”

Magnus had been temperamental and sometimes wrongheaded. He held a grudge with the fervor of a starving man clutching his last crust. And yet he could be extraordinarily generous. And he had devoted considerable resources of time, money and energy to nurturing natural brilliance found in the most unlikely places.

“So what’s your point?”

Okay, let her have it straight. “Magnus had his reasons and I have to respect them. I’m coming back here to live,” he told her.

From the way she stared, her deceptively lovely mouth parted in shock, he knew she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“It’s what Magnus wanted,” he said. “I’ll fly back to L.A. in the next day or two to pack and organize things over there, then I’ll be moving in.”

“You can’t do that!” She’d found her voice, and it sounded almost panic stricken.

“Why not?” His eyes narrowed. “What have you got to hide?”

“Nothing! But…there’s no place for you here!”

Deliberately he stared her down, not caring now if he was intimidating, even hoping that he might be. Although, he conceded reluctantly, she didn’t scare easily. Letting the silence speak, he looked past her, out the window, and then back at her defiant eyes, which held a hint of cornered rabbit in their astonished depths.

“Then you’d better make one,” he said. They both knew this place was way big enough to accommodate an extra person, the rooms reserved for tutors seldom fully occupied. There was always a spare space somewhere.

He pushed back his chair, ensuring this time he was the one to terminate the discussion. “I’ll let you know when I’ve settled things over in L.A. Meantime—” he leaned forward so that he was towering over her in her chair “—you won’t, of course, think of making any major decisions without me, will you?”

Straightening without hurry, he took a card from his breast pocket and flipped it onto the desk in front of her. “My e-mail address and phone number are on there.”

It was very satisfying turning his back on her and strolling to the door. He didn’t look at her again before closing it behind him.

Chapter Two

Triss found that her fingers had curled about a heavy diamond-cut glass paperweight on the desk.

It would have felt good to throw it at Steve’s dark, arrogant head, but that would have given him the pleasure of knowing he could make her lose control, and anyway it was too late. She’d only damage the door and chip the paperweight.

Releasing it, she flexed her fingers, seeing with mild surprise the red marks on her palm left by the sharp angles of the glass.

She had cleared the desk just the day before, leaving only the paperweight, a desk set and a handsome leather blotter holder, all gifts from past students to Magnus.

It was a task she’d have had to tackle some time, and there’d been no point in putting it off.

Besides, she’d had a half-formed hope that among the long-term clutter that had piled even higher in the last weeks of her husband’s illness might be something that would negate the unchanged will.

Before Steve arrived she hadn’t given particular thought to which room to use for their meeting, but perhaps by leading him in here she had subconsciously been hoping for some sense of Magnus’s presence to give her a much needed feeling of confidence.