The Final Proposal

‘I’ll come with you,’ Gerry offered, trying to sound heroic.

Together, they threaded their way across the terrace and inside. Sally, redheaded and vivacious, waved cheerfully. Not a muscle moving in his face, the man beside her watched them walk across the room.

‘Darling,’ Cynthia said warmly, ‘I forgot to tell you that Sally was bringing her cousin with her.’

His name was Kear Lannion, and for some reason the fact that he was Sally’s cousin was important.

Jan’s wary gaze met pale, crystalline eyes and a cool, unsettling smile. Suddenly, violently, awakened to awareness, she rescued her own smile from the oblivion to which shock had consigned it. ‘But we’ve met,’ she said woodenly, holding out her hand. To her mother she explained, ‘Kear was the man who probably saved my life this afternoon.’

He took her hand gently, tempering his strength to her slender bones. ‘Jan,’ he said, in a voice that was deep and rough enough to send a sensual shiver down her spine. ‘It suits you.’

Pierced by swift, sharp antagonism, she smiled. ‘Short and snappy?’

His glance mocked her. ‘Well, no, that’s not exactly what I had in mind. Have you fully recovered?’

‘Yes, thank you’

She wasn’t going to mention her bruises. Neither, although she had to bite back the words, was she going to explain what she’d been doing in that stupid outfit. And she was not going to tell him that he’d only seen the ‘before’ picture. Especially not that, because if she did he’d realise she’d noticed his absence during the ‘after’ session.

But oh, how she wanted to! She even found herself hoping that Gerry would make the explanations. Unfortunately, smiling and fluttering her lashes in a manner Jan found vaguely annoying, Gerry confined her conversation to social pleasantries.

Her mother thanked him fervently, ending with, ‘What a coincidence that you should be Sally’s cousin.’

‘The handsomest of my cousins,’ Sally informed them with relish. If she’d hoped to embarrass him she failed; he gave her that slow smile and, close relative though she was, she lost her place before summoning the poise to continue, ‘The most athletic too. I think the New Zealand team is going to lose half its fans now that Kear’s stopped playing.’

Interestedly, Gerry said, ‘Oh, have you retired?’

‘I can’t give it the time I need to pull my weight. So, yes, today was my last game for New Zealand.’

Another group of people came in through the door. By the time Jan had done her duty by them and found someone for them to talk to, Sally and Kear were deep in discussion with Gerry and another woman on the terrace.

Jan kept well away, but an hour or so later his deep, distinctive voice said from behind her, ‘You look as though you could do with a refill. What would you like?’

‘Orange juice, but I can get it.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ he said. Together they walked across to the temporary bar.

‘Are you a teetotaller?’ he asked when the barman had served her.

‘No, but when you’re my size half a glass is enough to make you uncomfortably hot,’ she said, wondering why her skin felt too tight for her.

‘Wise woman.’

Shrugging, she returned, ‘One learns.’ She covertly searched for someone she could leave him with in a little while, when it wouldn’t be too obvious that she was running away.

Just as the silence between them began to stretch uncomfortably he commented, ‘Did I bruise you when I hurled you out of the way?’ His gaze rested a moment on the sleeves and neckline of her dress.

CHAPTER TWO

JAN’S skin warmed under that deliberate survey. Hoping he hadn’t noticed her hesitation, she said, ‘It’s nothing. And I don’t think I thanked you for saving me.’

‘I’m sorry about the bruising,’ he said. ‘As for your thanks, you didn’t get a chance. I was too busy berating you.’

Startled, she looked up into eyes that shimmered like moonlight on water, a surface silver and translucent yet impossible to see beneath.

‘You had a point,’ she said, wondering why her mouth was so dry. ‘The hat should have been pinned on. Is the horse really all right?’

‘Yes, apart from a few bruises.’ He didn’t attempt to hide the surprise in his tone.

Defensively, she said, ‘I was worried about it. Life is bad enough for a polo pony without—’

His brows rose. ‘Polo ponies are fed like kings and cared for with the utmost devotion. They seem to enjoy the whole experience.’

‘I hope so.’ It had sounded ungracious, so she added, ‘Lots of people think animals are like machines-disposable.’

‘I earn my living from animals. Only a fool doesn’t care for them.’

Sally had told them he was a farmer. Before Jan could stop herself she said shortly, ‘Exploiting them.’

‘Perhaps. But as long as humans eat meat there’ll be farmers. I make sure my animals are looked after and not treated cruelly, and that their death is quick and painless. Which is more than could be said for most animals in the wild.’

‘At least in the wild they’re free,’ she said, more to provoke than because she believed what she was saying.

His smile was ironic. ‘Freedom is a human concept. And, even for Homo sapiens, a full belly and security are more important than any illusory freedom.’

She said, ‘Goodness, you’re a cynic.’

‘I’m a realist.’ His tone was dry as Chardonnay. ‘Most people who live in the country are. When your livelihood is at the mercy of the elements you very soon learn that nature doesn’t value any one thing above the other. Humanity is no more important than animals, and no less.’

She said pertly, ‘So rural life teaches one lessons. I must remember that next time I stay with friends in the country.’

‘I gather you don’t go often.’

‘How did you guess?’ She widened her eyes like those women who believed rapt, slightly glazed stares were a good substitute for conversation. ‘I get twitchy if I’m too far from a bookshop or café. However, if the air didn’t smell so peculiar I might be tempted to go more often.’

She’d caught his attention well and truly. “The air?’

‘Well, there’s no body to it. It hardly seems natural, somehow.’

His mouth twitched. ‘No exhaust fumes.’

He was watching her, not with the interest of a man for a woman he was attracted to, but measuringly, as though he’d like to know what made her tick. A nameless sensation clutched her stomach, tangling her thoughts into incoherence.

‘Exactly,’ she said, smiling, but thinking, I have to get away from here! Failing that, she needed a neutral subject; the usual rules didn’t seem to apply to this man. Teasing him, however mildly, was too much like walking along the edge of a cliff. ‘Sally said you live by the sea. In the Bay of Islands?’

‘No, further north,’ he said. ‘On an estuary where two small rivers join to form a harbour. A little peninsula shelters it from Doubtless Bay and my house is on the peninsula.’

‘Set in pohutukawa trees,’ she said, her voice dulcet and guileless.