The Protea Boys (11 page)

At his name, the audience turned their eyes on him, and Tom’s attention was drawn away from his scrutiny of Georgie. Her gaze followed the movement of the crowd, and a faint blush crept up her neck as they locked eyes.

As she faltered for a moment, his stomach lurched. Quite why he wasn’t sure. If he’d been asked, he would have assured anyone it was because he was feeling for her, and he didn’t want to disturb her presentation, but he was pretty certain it was because the moment they had locked gazes and he had seen her purple eyes darken before the blush tinted her face, he had known she was remembering the feel of his lips. The only problem was he wasn’t only remembering the feel of her lips. He stretched and pulled himself upright away from the wall, thankful he stood at the side of the room and the attention of the audience was once more on Georgina.

The memory of her pressed tightly against his body was playing havoc with his self-control. He stifled the groan in the back of his throat. More than anything in the world he wanted to drag her away into some quiet, secluded space where he could explore the indefinable chemistry existing between them. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry and gritty, and concentrated on her presentation.

Georgie was a professional. She had the audience eating out of her hand, and if he ever needed PR work done, there was no one else he would call. Her presentation was focused and clear; there was no sign of hesitancy, just clear headedness and the knowledge she was delivering exactly the information she intended.

Tom recognized her steadfast gaze well enough now. When she concentrated, her eyes were a disturbing blend of indigo and violet, laced with deepest lavender. They reminded him of water lilies in the veldt or newly mined amethysts, all the more startling against the myriad of colors making up her hair, bleached by the sun into a hue as startling as lioness’s pelt. He grinned wryly, pushing away the memory of the flash of untamed passion he’d roused earlier in the day.

The navy linen shift hung from her shoulders, displaying more than a hint of her perfect figure. The long string of pearls drew his eye from her neck toward her breasts. Her long, suntanned legs were smooth and sculpted by the high-heeled sandals. No wonder she wore cargo pants and T-shirts. The Protea Boys would be riveted to their brush cutters and no one would get any work done if she dressed like that every day. He’d known all along, from the first moment she’d landed at his feet, there was something special underneath the disheveled image she chose to present to the world.

Maybe chiffon dresses and shady hats weren’t her style. Georgie had a style all her own, and it screamed confidence and poise. It must have taken something pretty huge for her to bury herself here in the village away from the Sydney high life, because dressed the way she was tonight, it was more than obvious the city was where she belonged.

The applause brought him from his reverie, and he slipped quietly out of the room, back to the job he had sworn he wasn’t going to take. It was a good job he loved his brother.

Picking up the tray of filled champagne flutes, he returned to the meeting. Listening had obviously been thirsty work, and it took several circuits of the room and several trays of champagne flutes before he finally found himself heading toward Georgie. Laughing and talking to Ann, the owner of one of the guesthouses in town, she managed to look every part the successful society businesswoman.

“So most of the people in town have been really supportive, and I’m filling orders here at least two days a week and taking the rest of the pick to the distributors for the Sydney markets.”

“But I don’t see any of your lovely flowers here,” Ann said, looking around the packed room.

Tom reached the two women, and an amused grin spread across Georgina’s face.

Wait for it. Here it comes
.

“No. No proteas here. They don’t like them. Do they, Tom?” Her sweet smile coupled with the steely look in her eyes made him want to grab hold of her and pull her into a tight, very tight, embrace, but he had his hands full with more than one feisty lady. The champagne flutes rattled against the tray when he returned her grin.

“Too many memories of South Africa for me, but we should probably check with my brother. I’m just the hired help around here at the moment.”

“In that case,” said Georgina, her oh-so-sweet-butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth smile playing around her lips, “since you’re our waiter, I’d love another glass of champagne. Ann?”

She blatantly brushed her fingers down his arm, all the while staring at him defiantly with her purple eyes, then carefully placed her empty glass on the tray and reached for a full one for Ann. He gritted his teeth as she repeated the procedure, helping herself to a glass and more than a bit of his attention.

“Is there anything else I can get you ladies?” He raised his eyebrows in question, hoping they couldn’t hear his teeth grinding.

“No, we’re fine. Thank you.”

Tom swallowed roughly and controlled his overwhelming urge to threaten to kiss her to within an inch of her life and ruin her game, then walked away, dismissed like a boot boy.

Once he emptied his tray, he returned to the bar and dumped it unceremoniously. He’d had enough playing waiter; his brother and the rest of the staff could manage without him.

The lights from inside the room reflected the irregularities of the old sandstone walls, and he slipped into a chair on the corner of the veranda. The stars were bright pinpoints of light, and the Milky Way laced the sky. Far enough away from Sydney, the village wasn’t affected by the pall of smog and smoke from the city. He groaned and leaned back in the chair, still missing the wide-open spaces and the freedom he’d given up.

There was a splash of light as the front door of the restaurant opened and a group of people walked out toward their cars. He’d go back in and give Nick a hand to clear up when everyone had left. Georgina came out still talking to Ann; they gave each other a quick hug, and Ann walked up the street.

Tom stood up. “Good night, Georgie,” he called into the darkness. She stopped and then started to walk back. His stomach sank when her ankle buckled beneath her and she collapsed neatly to the cobblestone pavement. In seconds he was at her side and he helped her to her feet.

“I’m all right. I’m fine,” she assured him, struggling against him to stand. “It’s these ridiculous shoes.” She balanced precariously on one leg, her high heels wobbling on the uneven cobblestones as she clutched his arm. “I’ll take them off and walk back to the car.”

“No, you won’t. You’re not driving.” The harshness of his tone and his anger disturbed him.

“Excuse me. But I am.” Georgie unstrapped her sandals and let go of his arm to make her way to her car, swaying as she favored her right ankle. Pausing for a second, he waited, and then something snapped in his brain. He was back at her side in three determined strides. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

She ground to a halt, shoes dangling in one hand and her little bag clutched in the other, looking defiantly up at him as if he’d accused her of murder. Given half a chance, she’d have her hands on her hips, but this time they were full with the trappings of being a woman. “I hardly think two glasses of champagne will push me over the limit.” She tucked her shoes under her arm and fumbled in the tiny bag for her keys.

The moment the keys appeared, Tom snatched them from her hand. “No! You are not driving. I’ll drive you home. I’ll get my car.” He walked off with her keys jangling in his hand, knowing full well he had left her body and temper balanced precariously against the side of her car.

Chapter Fifteen

With her ankle throbbing in time to her heartbeat, Georgie waited while Tom went around the back of the restaurant. Where had that come from? Why did he have to spoil a perfectly good evening by becoming so obnoxious and overprotective? She hooked the straps of her sandals through her fingers and thought back to their interchange in the dinning room. Perhaps she had pushed him too far or behaved irresponsibly. She’d just been playing games, flirting, but obviously she’d overstepped some invisible mark. After their camaraderie of the afternoon, she’d thought they were on the way to becoming friends. She swallowed down the memory of his washboard stomach plastered to his wet T-shirt, wishing she had been more careful walking on the cobblestones in high heels. Two glasses of champagne hadn’t rendered her incapable of driving.

Within a few moments, Tom drove around the corner and parked his car alongside hers. He leaned over and opened the passenger door for her.

“Tom, this really isn’t necessary. I haven’t had too much to drink, and I’m quite capable of driving home. Please don’t put yourself out.”

“Just get in. I’m taking you home, and that’s the end of it. Can you manage or do you need a hand?”

“But my car will be here and I need it at the farm tomorrow for the deliveries.”

“Get in. I’ll bring it tomorrow morning when I come to work, then get one of the boys to give me a lift home. Gap comes this way.”

Georgie huffed. What was the point in arguing with him? She hadn’t had too much to drink, but she was tired. It had been an exhausting day. She let her shoulders drop.

“Okay, if you insist and you really don’t mind, thank you.” She put her handbag and shoes on the passenger seat of the black four-wheel drive and shimmied slightly, lifting the tight skirt of her dress so she could reach the step. Tom’s hissed intake of breath as her skirt rode up her thighs made her glance up, but he ignored her gaze and leaned over to close the passenger door without any comment.

After about five minutes of mind-numbing silence, Georgie cleared her throat, trying to think of something to say. The last thing she wanted was for them to be at each other’s throats again.

“Tom, I’m sorry if I upset you at the restaurant. I was completely out of line teasing you.” She expected some sort of reply, but the silence hung like the rising mist around them. The moonlight illuminated Tom’s profile, and he appeared stern, as if he had to concentrate hard on the road he’d travelled at least twice a day for the past month.

Finally he spoke, staring straight ahead beyond the beam of the headlights. “Georgie, that’s not the problem. I’m just looking after you. I couldn’t let you drive home on your own.”

“Whyever not?” She frowned as she faced him. “I would’ve been fine. I’m not drunk, just a bit tired and out of practice in high heels.”

“I know you’re not drunk. I didn’t think you were drunk. It’s just situations can blow up and the next thing you know you are at a funeral.”

Georgie’s eyes widened.
A funeral
. She blinked back her confusion, unable to imagine where his idea had sprung from, and it was totally out of character for him to be so dramatic.

“A funeral, Tom? I think you’re exaggerating a bit, aren’t you? I know I haven’t got a very good track record with wombats, but otherwise, my driving’s pretty good.” She pushed her lips together, hoping the physical restraint would stop any more words from coming out of her mouth. The change in the atmosphere in the car was palpable, and Tom was struggling with something, but Georgie had absolutely no idea what. Obviously, he needed to get it off his chest and right now. She should be a friend, not a smart alec. She needed to listen.

“It’s my baggage, and you got caught up in it. I’m sorry.” His voice sounded hollow. Georgie waited as his jaw clenched and the lines etched deeper into his tanned face. “My sister died in a car accident.”

The raw pain in his voice was tangible, his face bleak. Her abrupt intake of breath filled the car.

“Jane was staying with me, outside Johannesburg. A truck broadsided her car. The truck didn’t stop. It rolled and caught fire.”

“Oh, Tom. I’m so sorry. How awful. Your poor parents.”

“Yes, my poor parents.” The bleakness of his words seemed strange, and her words totally inadequate, but surely it didn’t mean he had difficulty with people driving. He’d never expressed any concerns about her or anyone else driving before. Why tonight?

“I was supposed to pick Jane up, but I didn’t get her phone call, so she decided to drive herself home.”

“But, Tom, it doesn’t make it your fault, she could have waited for you, taken a taxi.” She shrugged her shoulders, frightened her words were making matters worse. “You can’t take responsibility for everyone else’s actions.”

The lines around Tom’s eyes and mouth deepened, and he pulled his thick eyebrows together in a heavy frown, the pain of the memory carved on his face. She reached out and touched his thigh and smiled gently at him. “I’m the nosiest person in the world. I’m so sorry for making you relive it, but thank you for telling me.”

Glancing across at her in the darkness, he dropped his hand and trapped hers.

“I understand why you didn’t want me to drive home and thank you for caring,” she said.

His touch was warm, but still something flickered across his face, as if he were trying to make up his mind whether to say more. “I had to send her back to Australia. In a coffin. To my parents. We covered the coffin in protea, King Protea.”

Georgie swallowed—it explained a lot. The memory of their first meeting made her shudder. No wonder those
wretched flowers
weren’t for him. She shivered in sympathy as his hand tightened on hers.

“I’m so sorry, Tom. It’s dreadful. It must have been terrible for you. Your poor parents, your family...” Her useless, inadequate words bounced around the confined space of the car, and she let the silence lengthen. There really wasn’t much anyone could say. Losing family left a heartbreaking, wrenching gap that you learned to live with but never managed to fill and it left you vulnerable. But his sister, his younger sister. Too young to die.

Georgie stole a glance at their hands. His large, tanned hand, corded with muscle, completely covered hers as it rested on his solid thigh. The competent, assured way his right hand held the steering wheel made her feel safe. He exuded such capable strength and hard-packed virility, and this unexpected streak of vulnerability only made him more attractive.