High Stakes Bride (10 page)

Briefly, Dani described the pieces. “How long would it take to sell them?”

There was a long pause. “Are you sure you want to sell?”

“I wouldn't have rung if I wasn't sure.”

“If they look as good as they sound, they would sell almost immediately. I have a number of collectors I buy for.”

Dani's attention sharpened. “
You
wouldn't be buying them would you Aunt Harriet?”

She snorted. “What would I want more jewellery for? I spend all day looking at it and half the night worrying someone's stealing it. I hate to see you lose family treasures, but at least I can make sure you get what they're worth.”

T
he gates of the ostrich facility gleamed in the late-afternoon sunlight as Dani drove in and parked beside the office and shop. Harry Tapp eventually emerged from the building, his grey hair rumpled, eyes bleary as if he'd just woken from a nap, which was probably the case. He was known to be shy of sunlight and nocturnal in his habits—notably at the bar of the Jackson's Ridge pub. He'd been the front man for the facility ever since its inception and was a standing testament to the fact that the business operated at a steady loss.

“Hope I didn't disturb your beauty sleep.”

Harry shoved a pair of dark glasses on the bridge of his nose and adjusted his hearing aid. “What?”

Dani locked the door of the truck and slung the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “I said, new gate I see.”

“Uh-huh.” He shoved his hands on his hips. “Thinking of opening a café, so folks can have a cup of tea while they buy their ostrich products. Can't let the place go to rack and ruin.”

“Why not?” she muttered beneath her breath as she moved into the shade of the veranda.

Harry gave her a blank look. “What?”

“I said it's very hot.”

He looked suspicious. “The weather? Yep, it's dry all right.”

Dani followed Harry into the cool of the shop. She stared at the shelves stacked with jars of oil and cosmetics and the craft products made from feathers and skin, and repressed a shudder. The thick layer of dust on the lids of the jars told its own story. If Harry had sold one item since she'd last been here a year ago she would eat the sagging leather hat hanging in the corner. To her certain knowledge the only money that flowed into this place came from trapped investors.

Harry led the way into his cramped office, which was situated at one end of the shop, pulled out the chair behind his desk and sat down. “Want to see your bird?”

Dani helped herself to a seat. “Not really.”

He cackled, ignoring her. “Sorry, no can do today, the handler's off sick. I'm not supposed to go out to the pens on account of contamination.”

Harry's use of the word
handler
made the ostriches sound as dangerous as big cats. “Not a problem. Wouldn't want you to get dirty, Harry.”

His brows jerked together. “What? You making a joke about that movie?”

“I said I'll see the bird another day.” When hell freezes over to be exact.

She pulled her chequebook from her purse and wrote out the amount owed. It was bad enough having to empty their account on a business venture gone bad—the last thing she wanted was to view the mistake. Harry could keep his ostriches until doomsday if he wanted.

Another vehicle pulled into the car park as she slapped a copy of the contract on the desk. “I want a written receipt for that cheque, and the contract signed off. That's the last payment you get out of Galbraith.”

Harry began rummaging in the bottom drawer of the desk, presumably for the receipt book.

Dani was surprised to see Tony Flynn stroll into the office.

He tapped on the door. “Knock, knock. I know you're in there, Harry.”

Harry straightened with a grubby book in his hand. “It ain't no secret.”

Flynn drew two fingers in a lightning movement. “Bang, bang, you're dead.”

Harry froze like a rabbit caught in the headlights, then just as abruptly relaxed. “Very funny. Have you got that cheque for me?”

Flynn blew on the end of his fingers and put his “gun” away. “Unfortunately.”

 

An hour later, the terminated contract on the kitchen table, Dani celebrated by breaching the “wine cellar”—a cupboard over the kitchen counter which used to be packed with home-made preserves, but these days contained only minimal quantities of Aunt Ellen's experimental fruit wines.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, she eased the cap off a bottle of blackberry nip, sniffed the heady fragrance and poured a small amount into a glass. Ellen's wines might have been experimental, but they were potent.

Halfway through the glass, she tensed at the sound of a footfall. A brief knock on the door and Carter walked into the kitchen. “Looks like you're celebrating.”

Dani tilted the glass and sipped. The blackberry nip was so rich and sweet it had practically turned to syrup, but it had ignited a nice glow in her stomach. “I finished with the ostriches today.” She frowned as her tongue stumbled on the last word. Absently, she noted that her tongue was beginning to go numb.

Carter eyed the bottle with suspicion. “You did what?”

She tapped the contract, which was sitting on the table. “I paid the final instalment of the ostrich contract.”

“I thought you'd done that last year.” He helped himself to a chair. “Mind if I join you?”

“Actually, yes.”

He studied the bottle of blackberry nip with a jaundiced eye. “I'll get myself a glass.”

Dani pushed to her feet. That was Carter in a nutshell, give him an inch and he took a mile. “It's my kitchen, my glass. I'll get it.”

The counter seemed a little further away than usual, and a little more difficult to get to. Placing the glass in front of him, she resumed her seat, feeling distinctly on edge.

He poured a syrupy splash of wine. She retrieved the bottle and recorked it, putting an end to the grey area about whether or not either of them should have any more to drink.

“Don't you ever relax?”

“Not lately.”

She realized he was checking out the instalment amount, which was visible on the receipt Harry had stapled to the contract.

His gaze connected with hers. “How much money have you got left?”

The base of the glass hit her table with a click. Dani pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. Letting him into her kitchen was borderline; giving him a drink was crazy. “That's none of your business.”

The sound of the ticking clock was loud in the kitchen as he studied the contract, making her itch to grab the piece of paper out of his fingers.

“How much?”

She noticed he hadn't so much as sipped the wine. He was stone-cold sober, his control irritating. She walked to the door and opened it. The night air was fresh and cool, making the kitchen seem overheated and stuffy.

“You're broke.”

“Not exactly.” She had the money from the jewellery to come, and a buyer lined up who wanted to look at the furniture. After she'd sold everything she could possibly stick a price tag on,
then
she would be broke.

With a shrug, Carter moved past her, halting on the veranda.

Dani fixed on the awkwardness in his normally fluid gait. “I didn't know you were missing.” The words spilled out, but in that moment she didn't care what they betrayed. He had almost
died.

“And no one informed you because you're not listed as next of kin. My parents knew—eventually—but they were hamstrung. They were told to keep it quiet.”

Dani understood the reasoning, even if she didn't like it. If the press had gotten hold of the story they would have had a field day and jeopardized any chance of rescue. “None of this changes what doesn't work between us.”

His gaze sharpened. “Refresh my memory. What exactly is that?”

He was a lot closer than he'd been a second ago. His fingers threaded with hers. If he'd just out-and-out grabbed her, turning him down would have been easy, but the light grip on her fingers bypassed all her defences and he knew it. With a slow, inevitable pressure, he pulled her closer, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, and as abruptly as flicking a switch loneliness surged, welling up inside her. As hard as she'd tried not to, she had
missed
him.

His gaze settled on her mouth. “I didn't kiss you last night—and I had the chance.”

Her fingers curled into the lapel of his shirt. She could feel the ground dissolving from beneath her feet. “Not fair. You're taking advantage.”

His hands settled at her waist. “It's the only advantage I've had in a year.”

Her mouth twitched. “Or are likely to get.”

His forehead touched against hers. “I called before I shipped out, and a couple of times from Brunei. Some of the calls were picked up, some weren't. The woman who answered didn't explain who she was or that Ellen was ill.”

That would have been Harriet. She was gruff and no-nonsense, and as protective as a lioness with cubs. With Ellen critical in hospital, she had volunteered to fend off the constant stream of calls inquiring about Ellen's condition so Dani could get some sleep between hospital visits. At the time, Dani had been in a state of shock and completely absorbed with Ellen. When Ellen had died things had gotten even more disjointed. David, who had been home for the holidays, had taken over, and various neighbours had helped with the arrangements and more or less taken over the phone. “Harriet was here for a couple of weeks.”

“Whoever it was, she was like a guard dog.”

His mouth came down, shutting off the confused tangle in her mind and for long minutes she floated in a sea of pure sensation. Her hands slid up around his neck as she gave in to the pressure to move in closer, fitting her body to his and for a few seconds glorying in the simple animal pleasure of being held. It had been almost a year since she'd been this close to Carter, a year since she'd felt female and wanted.

A low humming sound vibrated from his throat, and abruptly the kiss turned hungry.

A corresponding hunger surged, and with it a warning. This was where their relationship had always foundered. She always gave ground too fast and too easy.

Long seconds passed while she forced herself to catalogue the myriad sensations and somehow find some distance. Her body felt hot and achy, her skin ultra sensitive. Kissing Carter wasn't just like stepping close to a fire, it was the equivalent of throwing herself into a blast furnace. Her hands flattened against his chest. With an effort of will she dragged oxygen into her lungs and pushed free.

He lifted his head. Inconsequentially, Dani noticed that if she had for one moment thought Carter was overcome by passion, she would have been wrong. Aroused he might be, but he was definitely controlled.

His jaw tightened. “I had a discussion with Wells today. I can help you through this.”

Dani detached herself with difficulty, despite the fact he was holding her steady more than holding her. For a moment she had trouble grasping the fact that he'd been talking to the bank manager. Wells, despite his
GQ
appearance, was the original stuffed shirt. He'd refused to talk about Tom Stoddard's situation with her, but he'd talked about her finances with Carter. The only reason he would have done that was if Carter had linked himself with her relationship-wise.

Stone-cold sober now, she stepped back, using the jamb of the kitchen door for support. “What are you suggesting, exactly?”

His gaze didn't flicker. “Let me help with the money.”

“In exchange for what?”

“No strings.”

Dani didn't believe him. She studied the line of his jaw, the steady way he watched her. Since he'd come back Carter had changed. He was harder, more abrupt. The physical passion was still there—his drive to get her back in his bed—but there was a coldness underlying it, something almost clinical. She'd turned down his proposition a year ago, now she was certain he was using her financial difficulties as leverage. She knew he was attracted to her and that, like her, he didn't like the vulnerability that came with it. She understood that he wanted to contain and control the relationship in any way he could, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Galbraith Station was valuable, but it wasn't worth that much, and she figured she was worth a whole lot more.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the door. With a jerky movement she stepped inside and heaved it closed. “Get lost.”

She was in love with Carter—it had happened, period. The extremity of what she felt was singular and terrifying, but she didn't trust it. It made her vulnerable in a way she had never wanted to be.

 

When Carter reached his kitchen, he picked up the phone and placed a call.

Since quitting the SAS to repair his marriage, Gabriel West had made the transition into the world of commerce as naturally as he'd slipped from his tough street-kid background into undercover operations. What he didn't know about the personalities behind big business in New Zealand wasn't worth knowing.

Carter noted the name of the company that owned the ostrich facility on the notepad beside the phone. When West picked up, Carter was brief and to the point. “I need a favour.”