Diamonds are for Marriage: The Australian's Society Bride. Margaret Way
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He stared at her in mock astonishment. “You saw that, did you?”
With an effort she ignored the mockery. “Anyway, how was the trip—a big success?” She was pleased she was able to speak so collectedly.
His expression of indulgence abruptly sobered. “In many ways. Deals were done, a few swung. Blanchards has a lot of clout, but nothing is as it seems these days, Leo. It’s a dangerous world out there. And becoming increasingly so.”
“I know.” She bent her head. “Terror and suffering everywhere.” She didn’t tell him how she worried every time he flew off on one of his many overseas trips. For that matter, she suffered a degree of apprehension on her own overseas buying trips with Bea.
He nodded, looking down at her hair as it caught fire in the sunlight before focusing on the buffet table.
“What are you having?” he asked.
“The same as you,” she answered tartly, another defence mechanism. One of the things she did to put distance between them because, oddly enough, they had many things in common. They loved horses, country life. They liked the same food, music, books, films, even people. They both shared a great love for Brooklands and they both derived enormous pleasure out of being successful at what they did, finding relaxation there.
He laughed, looking much amused. “Right then. Leave it to me. I know what you like. Go back and join Gerri. Save a place for me on your other side.”
Her shimmering eyes ranged across the large room, at the groups of laughing, chattering people, then back to him. “What, with Tonya waving a hand?” Tonya was indeed waving an unrestrained hand, trying to capture Boyd’s attention. It was a wonder she wasn’t banging a spoon on the table.
“Doesn’t give up, does she?” he murmured dryly, blatantly ignoring the summons. “I love it, playing happy families. Do as I say, Leo.” He spoke with a natural authority that had nothing to do with arrogance. “I don’t get to see enough of you.”
On track again, she spoke with a spurt of challenge. “That’s an order then, is it?”
He laughed—so annoying, so devastating—before turning to glance at the lavish buffet. “You know what, Flower Face? You’ve made an art form of challenging me.”
“Maybe I’m a rebel at heart,” she suggested.
“How could you not be with that glorious red hair?” He picked up two plates. “By the way, do you want to go riding with me this afternoon?”
The offer was so unexpected that she just stood there, overtaken by excitement and shock.
“Well?” Boyd asked, his blue eyes moving lightly over her. What he saw was a lyrically beautiful young woman in an extremely pretty silk dress—pure, virginal and incredibly sexy, which he knew she was unaware of. And for once lost for words.
Silently she willed herself to answer. “I should check that Robbie is okay,” she said, not enjoying the nervousness she heard in her voice. Exactly how was Boyd looking at her? Whatever was in his mind, it was very unnerving. “He hasn’t arrived yet.”
“How old is Robbie now?” He shifted his brilliant gaze to the buffet, as though aware of her inner confusion.
“He’s still my little brother.”
“High time he stood on his own two feet,” he said crisply. “This little brother bit has gone on too long.”
“And you don’t like it?” She leaned towards him, aware that others might be watching—most certainly Tonya—deliberately keeping her tone low.
Boyd too spoke quietly, but forcefully nonetheless. “He uses you, Leo. That’s the bit I don’t like. He loves you. I’m well aware of that. But you’re too vulnerable where Robbie is concerned. I intend to have a little chat with him this weekend.”
Oh, God! She visibly swallowed. What had Robbie done now? “Please take it easy with him, Boyd.” The minute she said it, she realised she had betrayed her own anxieties.
“Surely I never come down too hard on him?” Boyd asked, hardening his heart against the meltingly lovely pleading image she presented. It was high time to pull Robbie up, before he totally ran off the rails. He had received information that Robbie had been getting in over his head, gambling. He was even doing business with a very unsavoury character, suspected of money laundering. That had to cease.
“I thought we’d ride out towards Mount Garnet,” he said, briskly changing the subject. “You’ve brought some riding gear, haven’t you?” If not, he knew she kept clothes at the house.
She had hardly been listening, wondering exactly what he had learned about Robbie. The gambling, of course. The drugs? What else? Robbie could be wonderfully sweet—at least with her—but he wasn’t as yet a really strong character. Nothing got past Boyd.
“You’re trembling,” he said, suddenly putting a strong hand on her bare arm, his thumb moving almost caressingly over the silky skin.
Instantly heat raged around her body. Her skin was melting as the hot blood fizzed through her arteries, ensuring she shook even further. “Yes, I will come riding with you. I was just trying to remember the last time we went riding alone,” she managed, hoping she hadn’t turned scarlet. Both of them had been riding since they could walk. Both of them were very accomplished. Heavens, Boyd was a top class polo player. But she couldn’t remember the last time they had been on their own.
He laughed, sounding particularly at ease, even happy.
It came to her how much she loved his voice and his laugh! It was a sound she adored, yet somehow it disturbed her. It made her bones turn liquid. Even the way he said her name was enough to turn her knees to jelly.
“I’m surprised you don’t remember,” he said, suddenly pinning her with his blue eyes. “You told me you hated me and I couldn’t placate you.”
Didn’t he realise it had just been another outburst against the pull she felt towards him? She willed herself to speak calmly. “I don’t hate you, Boyd. It’s just sometimes I’m not at ease with you. Or you with me. I’m not a fool.”
How could she possibly say: You’re the moon and stars to me. When you touch me I dissolve?
Why did she become so erotically charged with Boyd and no one else?
He was looking at her intently. “I realise I make you sparkle with temper, revolt, whatever. I have a mental image of you at the age it all started. You were around sixteen. You’d been really sweet up until then.”
You mean I was your little slave.
“It’s called growing up,” she said coolly. “Finding one’s own identity. Sometimes you do make me very angry,” she admitted. “You’re so terribly …”
“What?” He pressed for an answer.
“Dominant,” she flashed back with spirit. “The family idol, born to be worshipped. You mock me like I’m a—”
“Nonsense!” he cut in. “Why are you so unwilling to really answer my question? It’s all evasion with you these days. That makes me sad. It’s not any authority I might have that angers you. It’s something else. So far as the mockery goes, it’s the other way around. I see it in your face and in your voice. I can see it now.” His eyes swept over her, marking the tension in her body, which looked so entrancingly fragile but he knew was in fact quite athletic.
“Boyd, everyone is watching us,” she whispered a warning, her nerves exquisitely frayed.
“That’s okay,” he answered without concern. “They’re well used to the friction between us by now.”
“How can you call me evasive, Boyd? Did I not just agree to go riding with you?” she asked, pleased to have tripped