Tycoon's Temptation

‘I like it!’ said Gus with a chortle as he slapped the flat of his hand against one leg. ‘It solves everything. What do you say, Holly?’

Holly couldn’t say anything. Not right now. She was too busy working out how she’d lost an advantage that had seemed to her, such a very short time ago, as unassailable.

She’d had the high moral ground. But the rock-solid ground she’d been so sure of minutes ago had turned to quicksand.

They were both waiting, Gus and Franco, watching her, waiting for her response. And damn them both, she wasn’t about to go down without a fight. ‘Surely you have family back home who will be expecting you?’

Something dark scudded across his cool grey eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared. ‘No.’

‘Business interests that need looking after?’

‘They’ll manage.’

‘What if you’re rubbish at pruning?’

‘Then the deal is off. But I assure you, I’m not.’

‘You’ll have to stay for the entire time.’

‘Of course.’

‘However long it takes.’

‘I realise that.’

‘And not just being here. Contributing. We don’t accept passengers.’

His smile grew wider. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’

And all of a sudden she’d run out of ifs and buts and terms and conditions.

She swallowed hard.

Hard down on her disappointment.

Hard down on her pride.

‘Then I suppose we could give you a trial.’

And Gus clapped his hands together as he belted out a laugh. ‘Well, it’s all settled then, looks like we’ve got ourselves a deal! ‘

Was it settled? Nothing in Holly’s mind felt settled. Instead it was scattered, a mess of question marks when there should be full stops.

She’d been moments away from being rid of this man of the cool grey eyes and the too-big feet, moments from freedom, and suddenly events had overtaken her and the goal posts had shifted.

Because Franco was staying and certainty had departed.

It was supposed to be the other way around.

It was Gus who insisted on cracking open a bottle of Rubida, their best sparkling wine, and proposing a toast to celebrate the deal. It was no consolation that Franco finally got to taste their wine whether he wanted to or not. It was no consolation that he thought the wine was good.

No consolation at all.

She would have liked it better if he’d screwed up his face and turned tail and run thinking that someone at head office had made a horrendous mistake. Although she knew for a fact that her wines were amongst the best out there and that there was no mistake.

And it was also Gus who decided Franco should stay in the cottage they had prepared for Tom’s arrival. Maybe it was a logical decision, but it meant he’d be living here on the property as well as working here for six weeks. Six long weeks of potentially seeing him every day. Six long weeks of feeling that itching prickle and that annoying heat under her skin. Then again, it could have been worse, Holly mused as she collected up a basket of breakfast supplies from the pantry—Gus could have invited him to stay at the house.

Perish the thought.

By the time Holly picked up her car keys to drop Franco at the cottage, the clouds had blown away and the wintry day had turned into frosty night. She welcomed the bite of the chill air against her overheated skin as she led Franco to the four-wheel drive, shoes crunching on the gravel, while she wished the cold air could similarly work some kind of magic on improving her mood. Six weeks of working alongside this man.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

She stashed the basket on the back seat of the four-wheel drive before climbing into the driver’s seat. The heavy door slammed shut behind her.

Damned right.

Exactly how her life felt right now. Slammed shut. All options closed.

‘Ms Purman? Are you all right?’

Clearly not. Holly blinked. She’d been sitting, staring at the steering wheel and hadn’t even noticed Franco climb in. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied through a jaw so rigid by now it was hard to talk.

He clicked in his seatbelt and his elbow brushed against hers and she flinched, feeling a jolt to her senses.

Just peachy, she thought, pulling her arms in tight against her body as she turned the key in the ignition, hating how all of a sudden she was confined in a car with a man who seemed as big as a mountain. And she hated how the air around her didn’t smell of wet oilskins or muddy feet but seemed flavoured with his scent instead, of warm man and wood smoke and there was some kind of cologne mixed in there as well, something spicy and masculine and no doubt expensive. She rammed the car into First and let go the accelerator too quickly and the vehicle lurched and hopped. His fault, she thought, distracting her with that scent.