Trophy Wives (7 page)

He was looking forward to some more of the easy, flirting banter they seemed to draw from each other. Maybe looking forward to another delicious kiss.

Okay, maybe hoping for a lot more than that.

But something was badly wrong. She looked beaten. Forgetting the brochures, he pulled a tissue from the box on her desk and handed it to her.

She took the tissue he offered and disposed of the remains of the one in her hand. “No I haven't.”

She was lying. Her eyelashes were wet. He marveled at the surge of testosterone that rolled through him. Ever since he'd met Lucy McKinlay, he'd been walking around baring his teeth and beating his chest. Trying to impress her in the pool. Wanting to rip that guy's face off at the game.

“Who's upset you? Is it Tom?” The harshness of his voice grated. Now he was ready to take on her brother. What was the matter with him?

Lucy shook her head, moving pads and pens, a stapler from one place to another on her desk. Anything to avoid looking right at him. “Tom's away, remember?”

She sniffed loudly. There was a slightly sullen plumpness to her lips and her back was ramrod straight.

Ethan got up off the desk, pulled the chair up and sat with his elbows on her desk. “I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong.” He leaned forward and down so their faces were on the same level.

Lucy shook her head stubbornly. For a brief second, he considered leaving her to her mood. He had work to do. He needed to stay focused, not run around mopping up tears.

But right now, she wasn't talking.

He sighed. “Okay, Lucy, show me how upset you're
not
by coming out with me.”

Then her features changed subtly, as if she had made a decision. She stood and moved around the desk. By the time she got to him and looked down on him, the sullenness had fallen away. Her eyes lit up the room with sunshine. A saucy little smile whispered of an intimacy he could only dream of.

“You're right. It's a beautiful winter's day. Let's not waste it indoors.”

She hadn't put out her hand but he felt a sweet glow of warmth as if she had touched him. Something worrisome nagged at him.

But he pushed it away. He was happy to be here. He could tell himself all day that he was doing his job, checking out Summerhill for Magnus. But in truth, he couldn't stay away.

Lucy chattered on brightly, grabbing her coat, telling him she would drive, gathering up a handful of brochures to look at. The chattering continued as she dashed confidently around the streets in her little car. She allowed him the odd grunt or nod to the questions she asked, but for the most part, he sat quietly, wondering what she was hiding.

His inquiries in the village had turned up quite a bit to be concerned about. Tom was in it right up to his neck and Ethan bet that Lucy had little idea of what was going on. From what he'd heard, things were accelerating and it was only a matter of time until the other shoe dropped.

And this burst of bright activity and energy—he realized Lucy was trying to distract him. Just like the other day at the firearms cabinet when she had kissed
him to distract him, to conceal something, to cover up for her brother.

What had she said? She was naughty at school to cover up her dyslexia. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure she used her charm to cover up a deep sense of powerlessness at what was happening in her life.

“T
alk a lot, don't you?” he injected in a rare pause.

She compressed her lips in a rueful grin. “Have you only just noticed?”

Ethan chuckled and stretched, glad to be here with her. He was too big for this tiny sports car, which only served to remind him of her proximity and the scent he missed when she wasn't around.

He could be distracted. Lust rippled over his nerve endings and he sighed in pleasure. Lust he could handle.

“I'm glad you invited me out,” he told her.

“Really?” The word turned down at the end, telling him dyslexic she may be, but she recognized tongue-in-cheek when she heard it. “What did you have in mind?”

“You're the tour guide. Make a plan.”

Whatever was worrying her, she'd obviously decided to put it behind her. “That's right. There has to be a plan.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you ever do anything just for the hell of it?”

Ethan thought for a few seconds. “Once, on a mountain, I kissed a girl after knowing her only a few hours.”

Lucy glanced at him briefly. He caught a flash of that flirty look she got sometimes, right before she remembered she was trying to keep it professional.

Then she grinned. “Truly heroic.”

They drove through a long tunnel and into a small harbor town about twenty minutes from the city center. A visiting cruise ship dominated the berthed container ships and fishing vessels.

“I heard this ship was in town. How about a cruise tour?”

The
Princess Athena
was one of the largest liners in the world. Three hundred meters long, sixteen stories high, and solid-gold luxury.

The passengers were off sightseeing or shopping in Christchurch. Parts of the ship were on display to interested sightseers, though the security guards nearly outnumbered the visitors.

Lucy dragged him from bars to ballrooms to casinos to beauty salons and boutique shops. Afterwards they tossed a coin for choice of food and ended up eating fish and chips out of paper on a low wall along one of the lesser wharfs. They watched kids fishing off the wharf, bundled up in brightly colored anoraks. The sea chopped up into agitated whitecaps and seagulls screeched and strutted around them.

“I am seriously going to have to find myself a rich husband, and fast,” Lucy commented, her eyes on the
Princess Athena.

Ethan had been munching on a satisfyingly salty
piece of fish which suddenly turned to paste in his mouth. He wished she hadn't said that.

“I defy you to find me one woman,” she continued, “barring the criminally insane, who would turn down a cruise on a baby like that.”

An excited cry from the clutch of children distracted her. “Oh look, they've caught something.”

Ethan flung the piece of food into the air. Seagulls rose up and then down to scramble for their prize.

But when she turned back to him, her face was so open and animated, no trace of the shadows of the morning. He told himself it was a throwaway remark.

Anyway, at this point, they were sharing a friendly day out. Nothing more complicated than that.

“Tell me about your job,” Lucy demanded, choosing a fat chip, bending her head back to lower it into her mouth.

Ethan explained his role in Magnus's corporation. Scouting tourist resort locations, negotiating the deal, organizing architects and surveyors and necessary permits. “Everything from bribery to schmoozing with local councils, religious leaders and politicians.”

Once the consents were secured, he would hire and supervise building crews, interior designers and trades-people for the finishing. The management and staff came last. “I generally stay around for the first month or so of operation,” he explained. “One project can take up to two years.”

He told her about Turtle Island, his father and Magnus's history with the island, and how once it was completed—provided he got the deal—it would be his last.

“What then?”

“I don't know. Some piece of farm land somewhere.”

“You want to farm?” she asked curiously. “I'd have
thought you would shy away from that, after your childhood.”

“Part of me wants to prove I can do it, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully. “Prove I can make a better job of it this time round.”

“Prove you are a better farmer than your father, you mean.”

Ethan chuckled. “That wouldn't be hard.” He lifted his bottled water and took a swig. “Enough about me. Did you always want to look after trophy wives?”

Lucy laughed and wiped her fingers on a tissue. “Being dyslexic kind of stifles any great ambition. I've never really thought in terms of a long-lasting career. But there are a few things I'd like to do to improve Summerhill.”

“Such as?” he asked, interested.

Lucy shrugged. “They'll never come to anything. Tom doesn't think I have a lot to offer.”

Remembering the brochures, he wiped his hands and drew them from his jacket pocket. “I went to the Seabrook MacKenzie Dyslexia center this morning.”

She took the brochures, a little line between her brows as she perused them quickly.

“Have you ever had an assessment, Lucy?”

She shook her head. “They once arranged an appointment for me at school.” She shrugged carelessly. “Must've been busy that day.”

“People with learning disabilities have different strengths and weaknesses. They learn to enhance their strengths to compensate.” He tapped the brochures she still held. “Without an assessment, you won't know what your strengths are. It wouldn't take long, Lucy. Half a day.”

Another rise of her shoulders. “Tom does the office stuff. I spent ages memorizing all the brochures and
tourist stuff so I don't really need to be able to read. I mean, I
can
read, just not quickly and it's hard with other people about.”

“I think you're selling yourself short.”

“Just be glad you're not my boss,” she quipped. “How come you know so much about it?”

“Dyslexia is something Magnus cares a lot about—he's dyslexic himself. He's made sure his workforce is well-supported. Do you know, one in ten people have a learning difficulty?”

Lucy grinned. “We're sneaking around all over the place.”

Ethan guessed she was so accustomed to sweeping her problems under the carpet, she probably did not even notice she was being flippant. He pushed the brochures toward her. He was a patient man.

“Tell me about your plans for Summerhill.”

“Ideas, not plans,” she corrected him. “Plans have to be written down.”

“Okay.” He took a small notebook and pen from his jacket's inside pocket. “You tell me the ideas, I write them down and get my secretary to type them up.” He looked at her, his pen poised over the notebook.

Lucy gulped. “That's nice of you, but they're not ready to be drawn up into a business plan. They're just some thoughts…”

“What thoughts, Lucy?”

She wiped her mouth and hands and picked up the remnants of the cooling food, dumping it onto the ground a few feet away. With enough racket to wake the dead, the seagulls closed in and Lucy dropped the empty paper into a bin close by.

She sat back down hesitantly, obviously afraid he would laugh at her ideas. He convinced her otherwise.

She had some great ideas, and he told her so. Courtesy vans for the village restaurants. Targeted advertising to golf clubs because of the world class Terrace Downs golf course that had been completed nearby recently. A health and beauty spa for the guests, including massage, hair salon, facials and a gym. Using Summerhill as a conference and function center. Tom could still have his hunting safaris but they could also offer weddings, whodunit nights, workshops…the list was endless.

Ethan was impressed. He wrote everything down, cautioning against one or two things, just from a financial perspective. But most of her ideas were very viable, relevant to her market, and wouldn't cost too much in initial outlay.

“And then I could spend some time on the farm. Tom doesn't have time these days—he's more interested in the lodge. Since the farm manager quit, things have gotten out of hand. I'd love to see it back to full production.”

Ethan had noticed the farm's neglect on his rides. It was very understocked, the pastures in poor condition.

They talked till the wind rose and chased the sun and the children away. Lucy lapped up his praise of her ideas as if she had never received a compliment in all her life.

“You are as sharp as a tack, Lucy,” he told her, “and don't you let anyone tell you any different.”

She glowed, a stranger to approbation. A late bloomer, and it occurred to him he'd like to nurture that and watch it grow. Without her brother pushing her down all the time, there were no limits to what she could achieve with a little encouragement.

And then he remembered Turtle Island. If Magna
Corp successfully negotiated the deal, there would be no way he could spare the time to enjoy watching her grow.

How far was New Zealand from the islands, anyway?

Lucy uncapped a bottle of water and drank deeply, bending her head back and exposing the milky skin of her throat. A substantial urge to kiss her steamrolled him so completely, he held his breath for an age, worried there wouldn't be another. She was so fresh, with a natural, almost childlike beauty. Her eyes showed every emotion.

She brought the bottle away and licked her lips, then raised her eyes to his. Ethan was a second or two behind, his eyes still devouring the sight of the tip of her pink tongue slipping between her lips and trapping a bead of moisture at one corner. He mimicked her, an involuntary action, his own tongue darting out and touching his mouth. This close, he could see traces of the beige-pink-tinted lip gloss she applied regularly.

He saw his thoughts, his desire leap in her eyes. Some magnetic force seemed to drag them toward each other, eyes locked, oblivious to their surroundings. The pull was palpable in the diminishing distance.

She broke the impasse when he lifted his hand, intending to cup her face and draw her to him. The desire on her face was extinguished in one blink. Then it was all motion and half sentences: “Well, we'd better…” She scooped up their water bottles. “Look at the time.” Slapping pockets for keys. “Got everything?” Hustling him toward the car.

When they reached the car, Ethan grabbed her hand and tugged gently until they leaned on the passenger door, side by side. He absently twisted the chunky white-gold channel ring that emphasized her delicate
bones, and tried to absorb, to understand the all-consuming desire he had for her.

Never had he let his desires rule him. Always, he played the seduction game without losing sight of who he was, why he was there, where this was going—or not, usually. Right at this moment, the
Titanic
could be sinking and he wouldn't budge an inch if she were in his arms. Damn fool. He was so consumed by want, it didn't even frighten him.

He laced his fingers through hers, studied her small white hand, short neat nails painted with a clear gloss. He traced the visible bluish veins under the skin, wanted to be that life force for her.

There was no telling where this preoccupation would lead, but he was fast coming to the conclusion it was a necessary journey.

But then Lucy trembled and tugged to free her hand, accompanied by a small huff of agitation. He watched her chin rise in defiance and her small tense body brace.

“What?”

“Why bother flirting with me when we both know it's Juliette you want?” Her eyes were dark with disappointment, her voice cool.

He hadn't seen that coming and was jolted right out of desire and swimming in confusion. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“I saw you in Queenstown. On her balcony.”

Realization dawned. He raised his hands to his head, rested them there. There was no easy way out of this. “Did you ask her about it?”

Lucy hesitated. “Let's say I gave her the opportunity to tell me you were there.” Her mouth turned down miserably. “She didn't take it.”

Ethan considered his options. He hadn't gained a
thing in the trip to Queenstown. Juliette was so incensed, she had virtually thrown him out of her hotel suite. But last night at Summerhill after he'd shown her the newspaper clippings he'd been sent, she calmed enough to talk to him.

“Lucy, I have no romantic interest in Juliette.” He said it quietly and tried to convey sincerity, for it was the truth.

She raised her chin, one brow arched high, her eyes direct and challenging.

He sighed. “I had some concerns about her reasons for marrying Magnus.”

He'd spent an hour on the phone to the investigator yesterday. Forensics had concluded a silencer had been used, which explained Juliette's claim she had not heard the shot and had slept the night, discovering her husband's body on deck the next morning. There were actually several witnesses, not just the one reported by the papers, who had seen a strange yacht in the vicinity. Yet, that vessel had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Ethan rubbed a hand over his face. She had made a new life for herself after two years of hateful media intrusion and innuendo. If the Australian press got wind of the story, her nightmare would begin all over again. And that would be devastating, for her and for a well-respected and successful businessman.

Juliette had sworn him to secrecy until she could talk to Magnus about it. He inhaled deeply, looking into Lucy's eyes. “I'm going to have to ask you to trust me on this. For now.”

Lucy slumped a little. The defiance seemed to tick slowly over into acceptance as he watched, but it was a bitter sort of acceptance. The shadows from this morning had returned.

“Trust you, hey?” Her mouth curved in a small smile that did not reach her eyes. And then she shrugged and turned away.