A Wife At Kimbara

“What do you think? Brod sees a few others but most of the time he’s just too darned busy. He’s got a big job—for life. When he picks a wife he’d better pick well.”

Eventually it was Rebecca’s turn to congratulate the winning team, standing before the captain wondering why she felt so terribly perturbed by a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Had anyone ever looked at her like that? What kind of look was it? Whatever it was it acted like a magnet.

“Fee told me you were a little anxious at the action,” he said leaning back against a rail, looking down at her. Oh, yes, she was beautiful.

Rebecca nodded unapologetically. “Today was my first experience of polo. I have to admit some of it scared me. I thought Stewart would be thrown from his horse at one stage during the first half.”

“You were concerned.”

She stared up at him, revealing nothing. “Why not?”

He shrugged and flung an arm up to rest on the rail. “He’s been thrown before and survived. We all have. I’m curious to know, what do you think of my father?”

“I’m sure I’m not supposed to say I hate him,” she said coolly. “I think he’s many things. As are you.”

“Include yourself in that, Miss Hunt,” he answered sardonically, studying the way her dark satiny hair curved around her face. What did she do? Polish it with a silk scarf? “Even Fee knows remarkably little about you.”

“Have you asked?” she challenged, her rain coloured eyes widening.

“Indeed I have.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d be interested in me.”

Yet she bit her lovely full lower lip. “I’m sure you have many a dramatic revelation to divulge,” he drawled. “I’m just blunt enough to point out you’re turning my father’s head. It’s not often I see him take such glowing pleasure in a young woman’s company.”

“I think you’re exaggerating.” Perhaps she, too, would have made an actress.

He laughed. “Then why is that magnolia skin stained with colour?”

“It could be your lack of discretion,” she countered.

“Actually I’m trying to be frank. You’ve only been on Kimbara a short time yet you’ve made a considerable impact on my father and Fee.”

“Obviously not you.” She was still managing to speak with perfect calm even if she couldn’t control the fire in her blood.

A taut smile crossed his striking face. “I’m not as susceptible as Dad or as trusting as Fee.”

“Goodness you ought to set yourself up in the detective business.” She kept her voice low in case anyone was watching. They were.

“Come on, all I’m suggesting is you tell me a little more about yourself.”

“You won’t find my face in a rogue’s gallery if that’s what you’re thinking.” She stared back at him.

“How about an art gallery?” he suggested. “Your style of looks is incredibly romantic. In fact they ought to name a flower after you.”

“No artist has offered to paint me so far,” she told him. “What exactly is it you suspect me of, Mr. Kinross?”

Her face was still flushed, her eyes as lustrous as silver. “You’re angry with me and quite rightly.” He dropped his hand off the rail and stood straight. Another foot and their bodies would be brushing.

“I think so.”

“But from where I’m standing I think you might be trying to steal my father’s heart.”

She felt so affronted she tossed her silky mane in the air. “Part of it might be because you’re screwed up.”

He stared back at her for a moment then threw back his handsome head and gave a genuine peal of laughter. A warm seductive sound. “I’m not hearing this,” he groaned. “You think I’m screwed up.”

“It must be a very heavy load to carry,” she said without sympathy.

He laughed again, white teeth dazzling against dark copper skin. “Actually you might be right.”

“We’ve all got our hang-ups to disengage,” she pointed out with clinical cool.

“I can hardly wait to hears yours.”

“You’re not going to hear them, Mr. Kinross.”

“Pleez,” he mocked. “If we’re going to have these conversations you’d better call me Brod.”

It was a mystery to her she was keeping her cool. “Thank you for that. I’d love it if you called me Rebecca. All I’m asking, Brod, is you give me the benefit of the doubt before starting to label me ‘adventuress.’ From what I’ve seen, your father is perfectly charming to women in general.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” he answered, his voice dangerously gentle. “Charming, yes. Possessive, no.”

“Is that how you read it?” She kept the worry out of her tone.

“Most women can’t resist being the object of desire.”

She felt as if they were engaged in some ritual dance, circling, circling. “That’s something I know nothing about.” She’d been determined to play it cool but her simmering temper was making her eyes sparkle.

“Quite impossible, Rebecca.” His lips curved. “If you put on your dowdiest dress and cut off that waterfall of hair, men would still want you.”

She had the disturbing sensation he had reached out and touched her, run his fingers over her skin. “I don’t think you’ve reckoned on whether I want them,” she answered, too sharply, as her heart did a double take.

His blue eyes filled with amused mockery. “Now where is this leading us?”

“Probably nowhere.” She managed a shrug. “The whole conversation was your idea.”

“Only because I’m trying to learn as much about you as I can.” He realised he was getting an undeniable charge out of what amounted to their confrontation. It was like being exposed to live wires.

“I’m thoroughly aware of that,” Rebecca said, “but I do hope you’re not going to start checking on me. I might have to mention it to your father.”

Ah, an admission of power. Why had he ever had one minute’s doubt? His eyes narrowed, lean body tensing. “I’ll be damned, a threat.”

She shook her head. “No threat at all. I’m not going to allow you to spoil things for me, that’s all.”

“I can do that by checking you out?”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” Her voice went very quiet. “I’m here in one capacity only. To write your aunt’s biography. Both of us want it done. It’s a pity you’ve made up your mind I’ve more on the agenda. It’s almost like you’re waging war.”