The Protea Boys (12 page)

Tom took the last curve into the driveway, swinging the wheel with an almost sensual grace before pulling up at the house and switching off the engine. For a second they sat, both of them silent, his hand still covering hers. Finally their eyes met, and she was appalled at the bleak darkness she glimpsed in the reflection of the house lights, and then with his trademark lithe, rapid movements, Tom left the car, walked around to her door, and opened it. She slipped out and bent down to reach her shoes and handbag. He was right behind her; her skin prickled with awareness as she left her shoes and bag and faced him.

Tom’s gaze rested on each feature in turn—eyes, cheeks, nose—and finally lingered on her lips. Her stomach flipped at the intense scrutiny; the darkness of the moonless sky, devoid of city lights, and the all-encompassing silence shrouded them in an intimate isolation.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He reached out and smoothed a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear, the touch of his fingertips a gentle caress against her skin. Then he slid his hand to her cheek and cradled her face before pulling her to him until they stood so close the radiant heat of his skin permeated the linen of her dress.

Georgie rested in his embrace, and time stood still as their lips drifted slowly together, meeting softly, ever so softly, then he gently coaxed her mouth into an open kiss. Tom’s tenderness made tears spring to her eyes. It was so unlike the afternoon when their kisses had been so frantic and bruising.

Holding her at arm’s length, Tom ran his gaze down her body, his face finally at peace, no longer ravaged by the memories of his sister. In his rich, chocolate voice, he murmured, “I love that dress. Next time you wear it, I intend to be there to take it off.”

Georgie’s stomach cartwheeled, and she smiled up at him, wanting it to be the next time right then and there.

“Good night, Georgie.”

Chapter Sixteen

Georgie hadn’t seen Tom to talk to since he’d driven her home from the Chamber meeting. There had been a dramatic shift in their relationship, and instead of bringing them together, he’d kept his distance, and she missed him.

Her car had miraculously appeared outside the shed as he’d promised, but he and the boys were long gone before she even struggled out of bed, and in the afternoon he’d left with Gap as soon as they’d brought the truck back. The following day Tom’s car had been parked in the shade near the shed all day, but she’d been out doing deliveries when they’d returned. When she’d discovered Tom hadn’t even left her a note to tell her about the day’s work, just taken the next worksheet from the office, a wave of total and devastating disappointment hit her.

A nagging voice in her head made her wonder if she’d misread the situation again, just the way she had with Dale. Her track record was far from good. After all, Tom had admitted right from the beginning this was only a stopgap job, something to do while he marked time. He wouldn’t want to get involved with anyone if he was moving on. Even if he had, in a moment’s weakness, shared his “baggage” as he’d called it, it didn’t give her any reason to presume she was anything but a shoulder to cry on, a friendly face, and a way to explain his overreaction to her driving home in the dark.

She and Dale had shared a whole lot more than baggage, but it hadn’t entitled her to anything other than a halfhearted explanation and a brush-off. Now she was over the indignity of the whole situation, she knew she’d made the right decision and was well out of it. She just had to be a big, brave, grown-up girl and not allow her loneliness to make her read more into the situation than there was. Besides, the Protea Boys were working really well, things were looking up on the farm, and she had a lot to thank Tom for, but as a friend. He appeared to have erased the possibility of any other relationship by his absence.

“
A kiss is just a kiss, a sentimental journey, as time goes by…”
Georgie sang in a mournful and chronically out of tune voice, then pushed the computer keyboard away from her, wishing she could talk to her father, feel his reassuring hands on her shoulders. Hear him singing while he pottered around the shed. That was why she had stayed away from the farm after he died, stayed in Sydney. Perhaps if she had come home once in a while, she would have had time to think and recognized Dale for the two-timing, scheming rat he was and not blindly agreed to everything he suggested. Resting her elbows on the desk, she let her chin fall into her hands as she contemplated Nemo darting across his screen saver.

Maybe a kiss was just a kiss, but she needed to know, to make certain. Her body was telling her one thing and her head another. She needed to see Tom, talk to him, and she needed some advice. Advice only he could give. She grinned at Nemo as he ducked and weaved around Bruce the Shark. Tom had worked in South Africa; protea farming originated there, and he had set up farms. Sitting up straight with a smile tugging the corner of her lips, she made up her mind. Proactive—she needed to be proactive before any more time went by.

***

The sound of banging and crashing filled the shed, and Georgie blinked rapidly, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim light. Tom’s broad back filled her vision, and she called out, “Tom Morgan, I have a proposition for you.”

When he turned around to face her, the glint in his leopard eyes flickered in amusement, and he brought his hands to his cheeks and wailed in a high-pitched voice, “Oh! But we hardly know each other.”

Georgie smirked at him. “Very funny. You should be so lucky. I’m serious. Try really hard to pay attention. Please.”

“Okay. You have my undivided attention for exactly two minutes, and then I have to sort through the invoices and service the quad before I slash the strip on the ridge. The grass is knee-high right across the firebreak.” He paused. “Unless you want to do it?” Fascinated by the way the tanned skin on his forehead moved when he raised one eyebrow in question, Georgie ignored his teasing.

“I could service the quad, but maybe my time would be better spent on the invoices. I’ll trade you one hour of your time, and I’ll sort through all these.” She collected the assorted jumble of greasy pieces of paper from the workbench, silently wishing the boys would use the invoice book she’d provided, and crammed them into her back pocket. “In exchange you have to give me some advice on different proteas to import from the South African suppliers...” Both of Tom’s eyebrows disappeared into his thick, dark hair this time. She peered at her watch. “But please make up your mind because I don’t have all day.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom nodded his head in mock submission. “Give me five minutes and I’ll come up to the office. It’ll be good to get out of the heat for a while. The wind’s picking up too. You might have to dump some water on some of the bushes tonight once it cools down. Good job you serviced Bertha.”

His chuckled, a deep, rich sound, and she couldn’t resist grinning back at him before she headed back to the house, unable to control a little skip or two sneaking in even though her foolish behavior would have to stop before too long.

***

Georgie motioned to the brochures on the table in front of her. “I want some advice on the varieties you think would grow best here, in this climate.” She slid the leaflets across the table. “With the way sales are picking up, I’m going to need more, and there’s about three months of the year when I’ve only got greenery and grevillea to sell.”

Minutes passed while he thumbed through them, pushing his fingers into the wing of hair falling across his forehead and resting his head in his hand. His hair had grown since he’d started working at the farm, and his severe, trimmed, military look had faded and softened.

Drumming his fingers on the table, Tom finally pointed to the photograph of the Pink Ice hybrid. “This would probably do well here. It’s really popular and less susceptible to humidity, and if we ever get out of this dry spell, it may be an advantage. And they flower through from February and would give you blooms to pick after the Kings have finished.”

Georgie slid closer and leaned over the table to read the specifications. His delicious scent, part soap and part hardworking male, hit hard, almost as hard as the good points he’d made about the flowers. With a sudden wrench, she recognized she trusted his judgement. Peeping up at him, she cleared her throat.

“Thanks, Tom, it’s great. If you have any other ideas, I’d really appreciate the input.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down, long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, and scrutinized her carefully. “Now do you want to tell me the real reason you asked me to come up here?”

“To give me some advice about...” If there was one thing she would change about her life and this man sitting in front of her, it would be his ability to make her blush. As the color flooded her face, she accepted defeat, nodded, and sat down, keeping the table between them.

Georgie took a deep breath. “It’s about the other day, Tom.”

“Which bit of which other day are you referring to specifically?” he asked with enough irony to back fill the dam.

“Come on, Tom. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.” She slammed her elbow onto the table; a stab of pain ricocheted up her arm from her funny bone. Ignoring it, she leaned forward and twisted a lock of hair around and around her index finger. “I’m not looking for any involvement.” Once bitten, twice shy, as the old saying went. “Nor am I suggesting you are,” she added hurriedly as his eyebrow disappeared again. “We just forgot ourselves for a moment the other night. There’s no need to make a fuss about it, but it mustn’t happen again. We need to be professional about this. A working relationship.”

Tom steepled his fingers, and a puff of air escaped through his lips as he stared across the table directly into her eyes, slowly nodding his agreement. Obviously he was relieved, but she wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or disappointed. He agreed with her. They had to maintain a businesslike relationship, respect the boundaries. Just as well she’d brought it up and cleared the air.

Right
.

Disappointment sneaked in the back door and settled at her feet. Tom didn’t want her. She had misread the situation.

“I’m glad we’ve got it sorted out,” she lied and cleared her throat again.

The evil little piece of disappointment travelled to her gut and blossomed, reminding her how close she had come to making another mistake, another Dale disaster. She shook herself and produced her most public of Public Relations smiles.

“Would you like a cup of coffee before you get back to work?” She stood up and walked through to the kitchen, managing to keep her hands from clenching into fists. Now all she had to do was to get their relationship—her thoughts stuttered on the word—back on an even keel. Camaraderie, friendship, was what she was aiming for.

“Yeah. Coffee would be good, and then I’ll go and sort out the quad.”

The familiar ritual of the coffee machine and the sound of Tom flicking through the brochures comforted her. There was something ridiculously domestic about the whole scene, something rather soothing and secure. Georgie stamped the coffee grounds down.

“You could try some leucadendrons too. They make excellent cut flowers, and they’d grow well in the soil here,” he said.

Letting her shoulders drop, she pulled the mugs to the machine. She’d done it. Already the tension in the atmosphere had dissipated. She could do it. Get things back to normal and keep her fantasies where they belonged—in her dreams.

“Can you mark the page? I’ll have a look in a moment.” The swoosh of the steam sent the aroma of fresh coffee wafting through the room, and she inhaled deeply. Needing to finally settle her stomach, she launched into what she hoped would be a neutral conversation.

“What made you come back to Australia?” she asked.

“My brother needed a hand.”

She paused, expecting Tom to continue, and when he didn’t, she dived in with more questions. “Do your parents live in Sydney?”

“They do, but I haven’t spent much time with them since I’ve been back.”

Georgie drew back for a moment or two. She couldn’t imagine not seeing her parents; as a family, they’d always been so close. She’d give anything to see them again. Going home was always the first thing she’d done after she’d been away. How unusual. Tom had been working with his brother. Surely he’d taken some time out to go and visit his parents. Sydney was only a couple of hours away from Gum Tree Crossing.

“But you’ll catch up with them soon, I expect.”

“Maybe.” Tom’s tone denied the single word.

“I guess there are lots of things we see differently,” she said, shifting away from him.

There was more to this guy than his lazy smile and leopard eyes, but if this was strictly a friendly business relationship, she shouldn’t delve too deep. It was none of her business what kind of a relationship he had with his family. They studied each other warily for a moment as they sipped their coffee. “I think it’s good to have family and be near them. I really miss Mum and Dad.”

“I guess I got used to not having my family around. I spent the first year in South Africa playing rugby after I finished university.” The picture of Tom in rugby gear made Georgie’s toes curl, but she twisted her feet around the legs of the chair and concentrated. She hadn’t picked Tom as a team player. He seemed too much of a control freak, but then again, he was good working with the boys. She shook her head. It was too difficult. The man was a mass of contradictions.

“And then I stayed on. My sister came out to visit when she finished school, and she fell for a guy so she extended her stay, and I scored a job with the government—a program helping families turn their small holdings into profitable businesses.” She wondered if he’d fallen for someone, too, and it was the real reason he’d stayed. But his next words sounded more in keeping with the Tom she’d come to know. “I stayed to keep an eye on her. Look after her.”

There were so many gaps in his story, pieces he obviously didn’t want to share, probably as much as she had no intention of telling him that the darling of the Sydney PR scene couldn’t spot a scammer when she saw one and had been well and truly sucked in. “When did you leave South Africa?”