Secrets and Seduction

Copyright © 2011 Jane Beckenham
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Focus. She needed to focus. Leah stood behind one of the two leather club chairs facing his desk, fingers biting into the luxurious hide. She tossed her head and lifted her chin as if it would afford her more bravado than she possessed. “You have no right demanding this meeting, Mr. Grainger.”

“But you came nevertheless.”

“Only to tell you to back off,” she stated baldly. “Charlee and I are fine on our own. We don’t need anyone else.”

The light in Mac’s eyes burned, though his expression remained coolly assessing. “Really? Sit down, Leah.” His request wasn’t a social nicety but an order.

Leah clamped down the rampant urge to bolt, looped her hands through her handbag strap and held on tight. “Thank you, but I prefer to stand. I don’t intend staying.”

He offered a half smile and leant forward. “Shame.”

The waft of his cologne intensified, and she gritted her teeth, inhaled and held her breath. Maybe she could not breathe, not smell him and just leave. “Stay away, Mr. Grainger. I was married to your brother, but Curtis is dead. I don’t want anything more to do with any Grainger. So no more phone calls, and,” she said, retrieving his letter from her handbag, “no more demanding letters.” She slammed the offending envelope on his desk to make her point.

But he made no move to pick it up, and her fear escalated. She waited for the explosion. He was Curtis’s brother, after all. Then he did something Curtis never would have. He smiled, and in that instant she knew this man was far more dangerous than her dead husband. “Right, I’ve said all I’ve come to say.” She went to turn away.

“Not so fast, Leah. Now it’s my turn.”

She swung back to face him, more bluster in her voice than she actually felt. “What’s there left to say? I don’t know you. Your brother barely mentioned you in all the years we were married.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“It’s too late to establish the familial bond, if that’s what you’re after.”

“It’s never too late.”

For a moment, she digested his words, or tried to. “Look, Mister—”

“Mac,” he offered. “We are related, after all.”

“Were. I’m sorry Curtis committed suicide, but he was…unwell. Now I have to go. I have an olive farm due to be harvested in a few weeks.”

“And you need to make sure it’s a good harvest.”

Her brow crinkled, suspicion tangling with fear inside her overstimulated brain. “Of course. High yield means high payout, as in all business.”

“Crucial,” he agreed.

The ever-increasing dread in her stomach coiled tighter.

“The thing is, Leah, I know about Aroha Farm,” he said silkily. “I also know it eats up a lot of money.”

Her shoulders sagged. “The farm is my inheritance from my grandfather. Curtis had no interest in it.” Except for what he could get out of it.

“Ah…there’s the difference. You see, I’m not Curtis. You have a debt. A rather large one, I believe.”

He knows.

With those few words, Leah’s world teetered on the edge. Her jaw clenched, but she held herself in check. “That is noneof your business.”

“Oh, but that is where you’re definitely wrong, sweetheart.” His dark eyes narrowed, an aura of satisfaction in their depths giving Leah the distinct impression he was reeling her in. “You need to sit down.” His clipped intonation offered no hint of sympathy, or kindness. Just cold, hard, grim determination.

She reached for the chair in front of her, fingers clawing at it for support. Unable to stem the icy shivers inching along her spine, she sat, then linked her fingers together to stop their shaking and hooked her gaze with his impenetrable one. “What do you want, Mr. Grainger?”

“Want?” he asked, mouth quirking on one side and a slight teasing in his tone. “It’s not what I want, believe me, but I have no choice.”

Choice? Leah restrained her disbelief. The man had no idea about choices. She glanced around the room, taking in the accoutrements of wealth—the cut crystal decanters and champagne flutes on the antique sideboard, the diamond Rolex on his wrist. Her gaze dropped to her faded jeans and T-shirt, and she shrugged. She wasn’t here to win prizes for best dressed or to make an impression.

Pushing his chair back, he stood and unhooked the buttons of his jacket, the edges of the exquisite fabric folding back to reveal his silk shirt and tie. He sidestepped the desk and hitched himself on its edge.

Leah studied him, from the tips of his leather shoes, moving up long legs, and finally settling on his chiseled, unsmiling face. The man remained cool, showing not a flicker of emotion, while her stomach heaved.

“So what is it you have no choice over?” she asked.

“Curtis emailed me before his death. He wants…wanted me,” he corrected, his expression unreadable, “to spend some time with my niece, to get to know Charlee.”

“My daughter?”

“Yes. Perhaps take her out sometime.”

“She’s too young. You’ve never met her, she doesn’t know you.” Leah scrambled for any excuse. She didn’t want her daughter anywhere near Curtis’s relations.

But her defense didn’t faze him. “That’s obviously what I’m wanting to remedy,” he said, offering her a smile. In any other circumstances, she might have thought it charming. Disarming, even. Now it proved lethal, and she flicked her gaze away from his dimples.

“Time to get to know you too,” he suggested.

“Absolutely not!” She shot to her feet. She’d be dead before she let another Grainger into her life. “Charlee is my daughter. She’s four years old. Curtis…” She clamped her mouth closed. Should she tell him the truth?

Impossible. Then it would all be over.

From the day Charlee arrived in her life, Leah had felt like her mother, believed it. And so did Charlee.

Mac pushed away from the desk, coming closer, and Leah noticed the faint shadow on his jaw and the fine creases around his eyes—dark, bottomless eyes that condemned her. He stood so close she could reach out and wipe that self-satisfied smirk right off his face. She wanted to, a whole lot.

“What you want makes no difference to me,” he stated. “I’m her uncle. I’d like the chance to get to know her. How about I come round later?”

Said the spider to the fly.

“Not now. Maybe in a month or two.”

“No, Leah. Soon. Very soon.”

Leah snatched up her battered leather handbag and tossed the worn strap over her shoulder. “We’ll see about that.” Without offering a good-bye, she strode from his office to the elevator, knowing full well he followed her, a silent predator. A Grainger. The man was too smooth, too rich, too arrogant. And in control, damn him.

Every skin cell on her body burned with an awareness at his closeness, and her heart hammered as the old fear she’d fought so hard to keep in check reared to the surface. She shot him a baleful glare as she punched the elevator call button repeatedly. She needed to get out of a world that had begun to spin out of control. She needed to think. “There’s no way I’ll give up my daughter.”

He leaned against the wall to the right of the elevators, arms folded across his chest as if he had no cares in the world. “Who said anything about giving her up?”

“I don’t want another Grainger near her.”

“Charlee is a Grainger.”

Leah’s nerves were shot, and she began to shake. “I’ll fight you in court if I have to.”

“Really? Legal battles cost a lot of money.”

“Oh, damn you to hell, Mac Grainger.”

“Many have tried.” Then he did something she didn’t expect and wished to God he hadn’t. He laughed, a rich and throaty sound that fired something she didn’t believe she would ever feel again: excitement.