Taken by the Pirate Tycoon. Daphne Clair
“Fine, thank you. And Rachel?” she inquired pleasantly, trying to be civil as well as deflect the conversation from herself.
His eyes narrowed for an instant, becoming even greener, then he said evenly, “Happy. And I mean her to stay that way.”
“Surely that’s up to Bryn?” Samantha’s eyes went to his brother-in-law, still in conversation with the other businessman. “And Rachel. Who’s a grown woman,” she reminded him. From her own brief encounter with Rachel, the woman was no wilting flower. She’d seemed entirely capable of protecting her own marriage.
“She’s still my sister,” Jase said. “Getting married doesn’t change that. And I warn you, if necessary I’ll play dirty.”
She cast him a glance that would have refrozen the melting icecaps of the Antarctic, hiding a shocking flash of temper that made her palm itch to slap his head from his shoulders.
She wasn’t answerable to him for her feelings, or his misconceptions. “You’re the only one playing games,” she said. “They don’t interest me.”
Bryn turned to confirm something with Jase, and as the conversation continued between the three men she thought of slipping away, but hesitated, not wanting to appear to be running from Jase.
Then the other man reclaimed Bryn’s attention, and it was too late. Following on from their discussion, she asked dryly, “How much driving did you do before you were allowed to play with Donovan’s computers?”
For a moment he looked blank, before apparently recalling the conversation with his brother at the wedding reception. Then he laughed. “Quite a bit—travelling round the country to all the branches so I’d know how they operated and what was needed. Bryn wanted me to start with his sawmills, designing systems to increase safety.”
“That sounds like him,” she said, recalling Bryn’s almost haggard face after a near-fatal accident in one of Donovan’s mills when a worker in a careless moment forgot to observe its stringent safety rules. Her gaze strayed to him, still listening patiently to the man in the brown suit.
Jase’s brows drew together. Before he could say any more the crowd about them parted and someone touched Jase’s arm. A pretty brunette with bright lipstick on her mouth, she wore a black suit over a white blouse.
“Mr Moore,” she gushed, “that was a wonderful presentation. I’d love to have you come and talk to my executive staff.”
Samantha edged aside, and the man who had been monopolising Bryn turned his attention to the newcomer.
Bryn smiled at Samantha and said, “How about we get out of this scrum and find a place where we can catch up while we finish our coffee?”
Still riled at Jase, she let Bryn lead her to an empty lounge bar where the counter was closed. He sat at a small table across from her, and relaxed into the tub chair.
He was one of the few people with whom she felt safe lowering her guard. Taking over Magnussen’s after her father’s death hadn’t been easy. Bryn too had become head of a family business on his father’s death, and their similar experiences had given them a unique bond. Unlike her, he had spent years within the family firm before it became his, yet instead of taking advantage of her lack of experience, as some shrewd operators had, he’d offered advice and support.
And she wouldn’t kowtow to his brother-in-law’s erroneous view of her, give up a friendship she valued, simply because Jase Moore didn’t believe she could control her feelings.
Ironic, considering she’d spent a lifetime learning to do just that.
Twenty minutes went by quickly, and she slipped into the familiar territory of stress-free friendship, with only a slight lingering discontent that she’d missed her chance of something deeper.
At her last board meeting one of the members had resigned due to illness. Not so long ago Bryn would have been at the top of her shortlist for a suggested replacement, but she’d not put his name forward, afraid her feelings for him would be reactivated. Now she made a decision and put the invitation to him, firmly dismissing a twinge of trepidation. If Jase found out…
When they returned, the area outside the hall was nearly deserted, a few people hastily finishing their coffee or tea, and Jase lingered near the double door, one half already closed. Samantha saw the sharp look he directed at her and his brother-in-law, and instinct made her move closer to Bryn, her shoulder brushing his arm.
Jase’s eyes narrowed dangerously as Bryn put a light hand on Samantha’s waist to usher her into the big room before him.
They slipped into seats at the rear, Jase next to Bryn at the end of the row. As Samantha put her bag out of the way under her seat and straightened up she saw him fold his arms and stretch out his long legs.
For the rest of the seminar he was never far away each time she looked around her. She avoided him at lunch by sitting with a couple of other women, swapping war stories about sexism in business, but later, as she seated herself at the closing dinner, Jase slid into the chair beside her.
Apart from a cool nod of greeting she tried to ignore him, concentrating on the food and the other diners around the table. But she was conscious of his hands picking up his knife and fork, his voice when he spoke to others at the table, his laugh when someone cracked a joke, his leg brushing against hers as he reached for one of the bottles of wine on the table.
“Samantha?” He poised the bottle over her glass.
“Thank you.” She nodded without looking at him, and watched as with a steady hand he poured ruby-red wine into her glass before refilling his own.
He replaced the bottle and said in a low voice, “Where did you and Bryn get to during the tea break this morning?”
Her stomach clenched, remembering the look he’d directed at her on their return. He didn’t have the right to interrogate her, and she wasn’t going to be intimidated. “Somewhere private and quiet,” she said, driven by an obscure urge to needle him, because he certainly had no compunction about provoking her.
“Why?” Jase’s hand curled around the stem of his glass but he didn’t lift it.
“To talk,” she said. “Privately and quietly.” She turned to stare into his eyes, daring him to inquire further.
She might have known it would have no effect. He said, “What about?”
A knot of resentment had lodged in her chest. “If you really need to know,” she drawled, keeping her own voice down, “we made plans to run away together and set up house somewhere and have wild, uninhibited sex for days on end.”
The flash of shock and anger in Jase’s eyes, the sharp breath he drew gave her a moment of fierce satisfaction. Then she recalled his renewed warning earlier—If necessary I’ll play dirty—and a shiver slithered down her spine.
His eyes ominously glinting, Jase said flatly, “Not funny.”
“It wasn’t really meant to be. And what else isn’t funny is the way you’ve been stalking me all day.”
“Stalking?”
“Yes. Give it a rest, will you? It’s beginning to get on my nerves.”
“I didn’t think you’d be so easily rattled, ice lady.” His eyes had turned speculative, curious. “What are you hiding beneath that touch-me-not cool of yours?”
Her heart gave a heavy thud as though she’d just been confronted by a physical threat. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said coolly. “What do you hide behind that fuzz on your face?”
He laughed. “Laziness, I guess. Can’t be bothered shaving every day. You don’t like it?”
“It’s nothing to do with me,” she told him. Any more than her friendship with Bryn was anything to do with Jase.
She ought to lay his suspicions to rest instead