A Wedding in Africa (The Africa Series) (2 page)

Lacey couldn’t imagine why Tate Maddox would want to turn such a perfect home into a tourist attraction. It was obvious he didn’t need the money. It was just pure greed in her opinion. If she had a place like Matshana she’d love and cherish it, not go building on it to rake in yet more cash. But that’s what seemed to motivate rich men – at least the men she knew! And she simply couldn’t understand that kind of mentality. She never could and she never would – no matter how much her father tried to drum it into her.

She sat down in one of the big, squashy chairs and pulled off her hat. A few damp tendrils of hair clung to her forehead, which she wiped away with the back of her hand. It was hot, and she was tired and dusty from her long journey. Now all she wanted was to meet her host, get the formalities over with, and then hopefully grab a cool shower.

But where was everyone? Surely the place couldn’t be totally deserted?

Suddenly, as if to answer her thoughts, she heard the sound of a man’s voice and the tinkle of a woman’s laugh. It came from the far side of the house. Nervously, Lacey stood up and tugged her wide-brimmed sunhat back on to her head. She then took a deep breath and went to meet the man who, hopefully, was going to tell her and her readers exactly what it felt like to own a place like this.

‘Tate Maddox – you are impossible!’ Tilly Du Preez squealed in frustration and stamped an elegant, kitten-heeled designer shoe on the ground. ‘Why can’t you just agree to come to my party? It’s going to be amazing! Daddy’s invited everyone who’s anyone.’

Tate stood under the outside shower and let the cool water rinse the soap from his body. ‘Come on Tilly. You know full well I’m busy. I don’t get a lot of time for parties.’

Tilly made a little moue with her mouth and cast a sulky glance at Tate. ‘That’s what you always say, but this is a special party. It’s my birthday party. Not just any old party!’

Tate smiled. ‘You’ll have plenty of friends and admirers there. You don’t need me there as well. Now be a good girl and pass me that towel.’

Tilly picked up the towel and handed it to Tate. She pointedly avoided peeking over the sandstone wall that obscured his body from the waist down, but it wasn’t easy. It was bad enough that he wouldn’t agree to come to her party, but standing there naked while he took a shower, with only a little wall between them, was enough to drive a girl crazy.

And Tate Maddox certainly knew how to drive a girl crazy!

Tate stepped out of the shower with the towel wrapped around his waist. He rubbed his hair dry with another towel, which he then tossed on to the garden chair next to Tilly.

‘It’s not easy trying to talk to you when you’re having a shower,’ Tilly moaned. ‘How am I supposed to persuade you to come to my party when you’re scrubbing mud out of your hair?’

Tate laughed. ‘Sorry about that, Tilly. I was pretty mucky. I’ve been planting saplings all day and I’ve now gone and left myself short of time.’ ‘Short of time for what?’

‘I’ve got some journalist coming to stay. She’s going to do a feature on the lodges for some swanky city magazine. I thought I’d better spruce myself up a bit. You know – show willing and all that.’

‘That’s more than you’d do for me,’ Tilly grumbled. ‘And I’m amazed you’re going to let someone come and stay with you on your precious Matshana. And a journalist at that! She’s obviously got something I haven’t got …’

Tate laughed again. He pulled Tilly to her feet, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and planted an affectionate kiss on top of her head. Tilly giggled, delighted by this small gesture of affection from the man she adored.

They were walking back to the house when Tate stopped abruptly and snapped his brows together in a disapproving frown.

 

‘Miss Van der Zyl, I presume,’ he said, fixing Lacey with dark, questioning eyes. ‘You’re three hours early!’

It took Lacey several seconds to fully appreciate the handsome man standing in front of her. Actually, he wasn’t just handsome – she’d met plenty of handsome men before. Mortimer was handsome, for example. No. This man was … utterly, undeniably gorgeous! A sort of unreal, movie-star gorgeous.

Lacey’s gaze took in his dark hair, all wet and spiky, and the tantalising sheen across his tanned torso. Even the fine sprinkling of hair on his chest and forearms was still damp, which Lacey found irresistibly attractive. And those eyes. Steel grey with flashes of flint. Surely this man wasn’t for real? Surely this wasn’t the Tate Maddox she’d come to interview?

She gulped, conscious of the rapid beating of her heart and the guilty flush that stained her cheeks.

And the man wasn’t alone. His hard, muscular arm was draped over a glamorous blonde who was clinging on to him as though her life depended on it. Even worse - the man was naked, apart from a towel! Naked and with a beautiful woman under his arm.

And Lacey had just wandered in, unannounced, and interrupted what? It just didn’t bear thinking about.

Mortified, she could only stammer a belated response to the man’s earlier observation. ‘I’m so sorry for… for being early that is. I’m Miss… I’m Lacey. Lacey Van der Zyl.’

‘And I’m Tate Maddox,’ Tate extended a hand in her direction. ‘But as you can see, Lacey, I’m not quite ready to receive you.’

Lacey slipped her fingers into his hand. She could feel his strength and the toughness that came from hard, physical work. It was the feel of a real man and it sent an unexpected tingle up her arm. Desperate to hide this uncharacteristic reaction, she pulled away and dropped her hands to her sides. She was engaged to be married for heaven’s sake. She had no right to be feeling tingly just because she’d shaken the hand of some guy she didn’t even know!

‘And this is Tilly Du Preez,’ Tate’s voice was deep and calm with only a slight South African twang. ‘A friend and neighbour.’

Hurriedly, Lacey recovered her wits in time to greet Tilly, and pray that Tate’s “friend” didn’t bear any grudges for her untimely intrusion into their lovemaking. ‘Nice to meet you, Tilly. I’m really sorry if I interrupted anything. I mean, I’m… sorry for blundering in here unannounced.’

‘She wasn’t interrupting anything was she, Tate?’ Tilly beamed at her with teeth so white they must surely have cost a fortune. Cherry red lipstick matched the colour of her long, manicured nails, and Lacey wondered how on earth she managed to avoid breaking them. Or maybe they weren’t real, but acrylic? They certainly looked real though. Selfconsciously, Lacey stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans to hide her own fingernails, clipped short so they didn’t get in the way of keyboard when she was typing.

Tilly was tall and thin, like a catwalk model, and her expensive clothes hung on her frame without any lumps or bumps to interrupt the exquisite tailoring. In comparison, Lacey knew that her full breasts and wide hips made her look like an elephant, and she promised herself that she would definitely go on that cabbage soup diet when she got back to Cape Town.

‘Anyway, I was just about to leave,’ Tilly continued. ‘Mummy and I are booked in for a pedicure later.’

A pedicure? Lacey cast a quick glance at her own feet encased in comfy driving sandals and instantly wished that the earth would swallow her whole. To make matters worse her cropped denims were all crumpled from the long journey and her T-shirt was tight enough to accentuate, rather than conceal, her unfashionable curves.

She shot a swift glance at Tate who was watching her with those strange grey eyes. It was hard to read his expression, but Lacey felt certain he was comparing her to the willowy vision at his side. He was probably wondering why a woman who spent her life interviewing glamorous people would possess such a distinct lack of style herself.

‘What magazine are you with?’ Tilly asked as they made their way to her car.

 

‘Style Concepts.’

Tilly’s mouth formed a perfect O. ‘Style Concepts! That’s amazing! I get it every month. The people in it are so amazing. I love it. How’d you manage to get a job there? I’d love to do something like that.’

‘Her father owns it,’ Tate said with a cynical twist to his mouth.

Immediately, Lacey felt her hackles rise. Here we go again. Another man who seemed to think that she had no talent to call her own; that everything she’d achieved must be due to her having a successful father. It was old-fashioned. It was unfair. And it really made her mad!

‘Of course! Van der Zyl. I thought I knew the name.’ Tilly was impressed. ‘Oh my goodness! Is that your father? No wonder Tate agreed to let you come here. Your article will make him really famous.’

‘Not me,’ Tate argued. ‘The lodges. I don’t intend to be the focus of the piece. You do know that, don’t you, Lacey?’

 

‘My father did brief me on the story,’ Lacey replied, irked that Tate should question her professionalism. ‘I know I’ve got to plug the lodges.’

Tate raised an eyebrow at the hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘That was the deal. You’re here to raise the profile of the lodges, not turn me into some kind of minor celebrity.’

Lacey baulked at being told what to do. She was perfectly capable of meeting a brief, even if it had been agreed with Mortimer and her father without her being involved.

Tilly, on the other hand, was ecstatic. ‘Imagine that, Tate. You – a celebrity! I can just see you on the front cover of Style Concepts. Wow! That is just so exciting.’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Tate’s voice deepened to a growl. ‘It’s not going to happen. Okay? Lacey’s job is to raise the profile of the lodges, not me. I want the story to appeal to the kind of people who read that magazine.’

‘People like me!’ Tilly cried.

Tate shrugged. ‘I guess so. Main thing is, Lacey, I want those lodges to make a shed load of money. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that they do.’ With that, he tightened the towel at his waist and opened the car door for Tilly.

Lacey couldn’t believe what he’d just said. How much money did he need for heaven’s sake? He probably already had more than he could spend in a dozen lifetimes. And it still wasn’t enough. Mind you, she thought, casting an eye over Tilly’s red, open-top sports car, a high maintenance girlfriend like Tilly Du Preez would quickly eat into any man’s fortune.

‘Call me soon, especially if you change your mind about the party,’ Tilly reached up to brush Tate’s cheek with her fingers.

 

‘I will, but I won’t change my mind,’ Tate said. He closed the car door and stood back as Tilly pulled away.

Lacey couldn’t help noticing how he’d failed to respond to Tilly’s touch with any real affection, and that he seemed to forget all about her as soon as her car disappeared from view.

Clearly, this was the kind of man who was motivated not by love, but by money, Lacey decided. The kind of man she’d spent a lifetime trying to please in her own world. The kind of man that secretly, in some hidden corner of her heart, she really didn’t like very much.

CHAPTER TWO

Tate was up early the next day. That in itself was nothing new, he was always up by dawn, but last night he’d been unable to sleep. Now
that
was unusual. Normally he slept like a log. His days were spent on his estate, or out in the bush, doing the hard, physical labour he loved. His farm workers were always amazed to see their boss with his shirt off, sweating and lugging timber or manhandling livestock just like them. And they loved him for it. Then, at the end of each day, Tate would fall into bed. Exhausted, but content.

But not last night.

Last night he’d lain awake thinking about Lacey Van der Zyl. She wasn’t what he’d expected. She didn’t look like a typical career woman, driven solely by a desire for money and prestige. And she didn’t seem overly impressed by them either, which Tate found very refreshing. But then, given her own family’s wealth, she probably took such things for granted. A bit like Tilly, whose whole life revolved around shopping and parties without a moment’s thought for the cost.

But that was where the similarities between the two women seemed to end.

Where Tilly was stick thin and angular, Lacey was soft and curvaceous. So much so that Tate had felt his stomach tighten the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. She was wearing a fitted T-shirt, that had enhanced her full, round breasts. She’d tucked it into her jeans under a tight leather belt, which hugged her waist and made her hips look even more shapely. Last night, lying in bed, Tate couldn’t help wondering how those gentle curves would feel beneath his touch.

On first impression, he’d liked her as a person, too. Surprisingly so, given that he normally had little time for glamorous city women. He’d been there once before. And he sure as hell wasn’t going there again.

But Lacey had been refreshingly… natural. Normal. No makeup, no nail polish, just a lovely, creamy complexion and sexy smile. But then, in his opinion, this was a woman who didn’t really need make up. With seagreen eyes that shone like a cat’s, and the longest lashes he’d ever seen, it’d be a crime to try to improve upon that kind of beauty with lipstick and mascara.

No doubt about it - Lacey Van der Zyl had surprised him. And as he sat at the breakfast table the next day, with both hands wrapped around a coffee mug, he realised just how long it had been since any woman had managed to do that!

‘Hi there,’ Lacey breezed into the room dressed in a crisp, white cotton blouse and navy-blue Bermuda shorts.

Tate stood up to help her into the chair. ‘Did you sleep okay?’ he asked, handing her a fruit bowl. ‘They’re Matshana’s own. We grow mainly citrus fruits. The cereals are home grown as well.’

‘Wonderful.’ Lacey plucked a mango from the bowl. ‘And yes, I had a brilliant night’s sleep. It’s amazingly quiet here. And my room is great. I just love those incredible tapestries.’

‘They’re made by some of the women who work on the estate. They also made that collection of Zulu pots over there. You’ll find quite a few of their pieces dotted around the place.’

Lacey had expected to find the house filled with expensive works of art from Tate’s travels around the world. Instead, she was delighted to find that he’d honoured the spirit of Matshana by using only traditional African decorations. It was exactly how she would have chosen to furnish such a beautiful home.

‘I thought you might like to take a trip down to the lodges today. They’re down by the Sabie River.’