HAVING STUMBLED BACK to the bathroom, Brinley gripped the basin and stared at her pale face in the mirror. Her eyes looked haunted and she’d chewed all her lipstick off. She looked like she felt, shocked but also resentful.
For the last few months, since she’d left Johannesburg and drastically reduced contact with her family, her life had been peaceful. She’d started sleeping well and stressing less, and she’d worked hard to find a new normal. While she wasn’t completely happy—how could she be when she was constantly counting pennies?—she was content and that was, for now, enough.
The past six months had been drama free, but this day certainly wasn’t. She didn’t know where to start to try and make sense of it all...
Firstly, Radd Tempest-Vane wasn’t engaged, dammit, and he’d stripped her of the much-needed psychological barrier between them. If he was in love with someone else, she would’ve had a very good reason to ignore her attraction to him.
But the man had the temerity—the sheer audacity—to be single!
It didn’t matter, Brin told herself, it shouldn’t matter. Her insane physical reaction to him was nothing more than simple biology, an age-old instinct to mate, to procreate. She was young, healthy and yes, she had urges. This was a very normal reaction to a good-looking guy.
There was no need to overreact.
Besides, she had a far bigger problem than her inconvenient attraction to Radd.
Brinley straightened her arms and stared down at the expensive floor, sucking in deep breaths to get her heart to stop racing. There were a million couples at any one time who were in the process of getting married, but she was traveling to Kagiso Ranch to do the flowers for Naledi Radebe, Kerry’s archenemy.
Naledi and her sister had once been friends, good friends, but their relationship wasn’t strong enough to survive Kerry being chosen instead of Naledi for some advertisement campaign. Then came the allegations of Kerry dating someone Naledi was seeing. At a party, slaps had been exchanged and the pictures in the press hadn’t been pretty. Someone pressed assault charges, the other responded with charges of her own, though the criminal charges were eventually dropped and the fight moved to the civil courts.
Then came the social media war that left them both bleeding but, eventually, the vitriol eased and now it was just the occasional caustic tweet throwing shade. Neither had ever made the attempt to mend fences.
Knowing she needed more information, Brin picked up her phone, accessed the onboard Wi-Fi and did a quick search, immediately picking up an article announcing Naledi’s engagement to Johnathan Wolfe and, God, yes, he was the same guy Kerry had had a fling with two years ago.
Oh, crap and dammit.
Reasonable or not, Naledi would lose it if she realized her enemy’s sister was doing her flowers. It wouldn’t matter to Naledi that Brin and Kerry seldom spoke, Brin shared Kerry’s blood and that would be enough to make her lose it.
Kerry would probably also call her a traitor, screaming that blood should always stand with blood.
Nobody had ever called either of the two society princesses reasonable.
God, this was disastrous. Brin paced the small area of the bathroom, wondering what she should do. She could tell Radd her nebulous connection to the bride but if she did, he’d turn the plane around and dump her still-broke butt back in Cape Town. He had a massive business deal riding on the outcome of this wedding and he wouldn’t risk upsetting the Radebes.
He’d find another florist, and she would be out of thirty thousand US dollars. She needed that money. Really, really needed it, and if she spent twenty-four hours at Kagiso and did a decent job, she could create a life that excited her...a little shop, and working as a floral designer, adding pops of color and interest to homes and events, would make her happy. Unlike Kerry, she didn’t need a big stage, or lights or action. It wasn’t big or bold, but Brin didn’t need big or bold, she just needed it to be hers.
Brin flicked her thumbnail against her bottom teeth. Radd had told her that she was due to leave the lodge tomorrow afternoon and the wedding party was only flying in on Monday morning. She could do the flowers, get paid enough to set up her own business and leave before Naledi arrived. She’d leave it up to Radd to explain who the florist was. She owed this to herself and, if she didn’t take this opportunity, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
Brinley looked at herself in the mirror, pleased to see the color had returned to her face and her eyes no longer looked haunted. Progress.
She could pull this off, she had to.
Brinley walked back into the salon to see Skye placing a platter between two bone china plates on the dining table. Silver cutlery, crystal glasses and three thousand count linen napkins made her think she was eating in a five-star restaurant.
Brinley stepped forward and saw the platter was, actually, a beautiful seafood salad—and she grinned. Thanks to her skeletal budget, seafood was something she never ate.
“Oh, Skye, it looks fantastic,” Brin said, walking up to the table. Skye pulled out her chair and Brin sat down.
Radd walked over to the table and took his seat, pulling the bottle of white wine from the silver ice bucket. “You’re looking better,” he commented.
“Low blood sugar, I think,” Brinley replied, as Skye piled seafood salad onto her plate.
Radd’s eyes sharpened. “Are you sure that’s all it was?”
Brin didn’t like lying, but what choice did she have? She was not giving up her dreams, not when she just needed a scant twenty-four hours to make them come true.
She shrugged as she placed a linen serviette across her lap. “It’s been an interesting day.”
“Just so you know, Ms. Riddell, I don’t like secrets or surprises. In fact, they are my least favorite thing in the world. So, if there’s something I should know, tell me now.”
Oh, wow, there was the ultra-tough, fantastically shrewd businessman. He was both sexy and a little scary, and Brin was thankful she’d never have to meet him in a boardroom. He’d chew her up and spit her out...
“I haven’t eaten all day and am probably a little dehydrated. I’ll be fine by the time we land,” Brin hedged.
Radd looked skeptical, but Brin just kept her eyes on him, hoping he’d change the subject. It took everything Brin had not to look away, knowing that if she did, he’d see it as a sign of weakness or, worse, for the lie it was. Their stalemate was broken by Skye clearing his throat and they both turned their attention back to him.
“We’ll be landing in forty minutes. Bon Appétit.”
“Leave your bags,” Radd told her. “The staff will take them up to the lodge.”
Brinley nodded and followed him to the jet’s exit. Even from a few steps away from the door, she could feel the air was different: warm but earthy, primal. As she stood at the top of the stairs and looked over the bush beyond the airstrip, she felt instantly connected to this old-as-time land.
Wide-open skies, fresh air, thick vegetation. It was wild and luscious and so different from the city life she was used to.
Brin noticed the open-top game viewing vehicles parked to the side of the airstrip, two rangers dressed in khaki shorts, dark green shirts and hiking boots next to them. Walking down the steps, Brin stopped, turned and looked back up to Radd, a few steps behind here.
“This is a ridiculous question but where, exactly, are we?”
Radd’s stern mouth tipped up at the corners. “We’re on the southern edge of the Kalahari Desert.”
When they reached the grass strip, Radd took her hand—making bubbles pop on her skin—and tugged her away from the plane, turning her around to look in the opposite direction. Purple-blue, craggy mountains cast shadows over the plains below.
Conscious of her very small hand in his, Brin found her head dipping sideways to rest on his shoulder. She felt him tense, heard his intake of breath and slammed her eyes shut, mortified by her lover-like response. Abruptly, she pulled her hand from his, defiantly folding her arms across her chest.
Note to self: touching Radd makes your brain turn to mush.
Radd started to speak and Brin forced herself to concentrate.
“We’re in what we call the green Kalahari,” Radd explained. “The reserve is home to Kalahari black-maned lions, black desert rhino, Hartmann’s mountain zebra, cheetah, gemsbok, roan antelope, the pangolin and many, many more animals. The guests, and the money they pay, fund our conservation efforts. The land and animals are our priority.”
Brinley heard the tiny crack in his voice suggesting emotion and saw the passion in his eyes. In this brief moment, Radd wasn’t the hard-ass billionaire businessman, but an ardent man advocating for something he believed in. Brin understood, at a fundamental level, how important Kagiso was to him.
Radd’s cologne mixed with the smell of foliage, dust and wild Africa, and the combination made Brin’s head swim. The fading rays of the sun touched his dark hair and turned his ink pot eyes to a shade of black. All Brin wanted to do was stand in this spot and taste Africa in his mouth and on his skin, feel his arms gathering her into his body.
Radd lifted his hand and he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, then across her cheekbone. What was he doing? Where was this coming from? She thought she’d seen attraction and desire in his eyes but, because his expression remained implacable and because he was so out of her league, she wasn’t sure.
Was she his type? Could he, possibly, be as attracted to her as she was to him?
Radd lowered his head and Brin thought, hoped, he might kiss her, but a millisecond later, he jerked his head back and stepped away from her.
“We are not going there, Brinley.”
She took a quick, awkward step backward. Yes, of course, she knew that! Hadn’t she been telling herself exactly that? Brinley stared into the distance, annoyed with herself. Why was the concept of Radd Tempest-Vane being strictly, completely, Area 51-off-limits not sinking in? She was reasonably intelligent, it wasn’t a difficult concept to grasp.
Radd lightly touched her back and led her over to the first of the game viewing vehicles. One of the rangers immediately sprang into action, opening the front passenger door for her. When he put out a hand to help her into the vehicle, Radd spoke to him in an African language, his voice, as always, commanding.
The game ranger stepped back, replied and nodded.
“You speak... What language do they speak here?” Brin asked as she lifted her skirt to climb into the deep green vehicle. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to steady her as she stepped onto the running board. She settled in her seat as Radd walked around the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Tswana,” Radd rested his forearms on the wheel and stared at the thick bush on the other side of the airstrip. “Kagiso means peace in Tswana. I spent a lot of time here with my paternal grandfather as a kid, pretty much every school holiday. I’m told I could speak the language before I could speak English.”
Wow. “That’s amazing. I wish I spoke an African language.”
Radd turned the ignition and the engine caught. “Why don’t you? It’s pretty obvious you have some African blood.”
“My mother is biracial, and my biological father is white. My grandfather was Sotho, but we only ever spoke English at home,” Brinley replied, not meeting his eyes. “My mother’s side of the family left their culture behind a long time ago.”
“That’s sad.”
He had no idea.
“Why are you driving and not your staff?” Brin asked, wanting to change the subject.
Radd changed gears as he navigated a sharp, upward turn to the left. He took his time answering and, for a moment, Brin didn’t think he would. Eventually, he sighed and shrugged. “As a rule, I like to drive myself. And I’ve been driving these roads since I was ten years old. I love it here.”
Brin frowned, not understanding. “More than you love your magnificent flat in Camps Bay or your vineyard in Stellenbosch?”
“Have you been researching me, Miss Riddell?” he asked in a silky voice.
“You wish.” Brin snorted. “I know about your properties because your rooftop garden at your flat and the garden at your vineyard were both featured in a gardening magazine I subscribe to.”
“Oh, right. I remember my landscaper asking me for permission to take the magazine photographer to both properties.”
Brin thought Radd would be hard-pressed to describe either property, and was starting to suspect that Radd had tunnel vision and didn’t see or care for much outside of work. If she had gardens like his, she’d never leave them.
Radd’s hand tightened on the wheel and he opened his mouth to tell Brin those other properties were just assets he owned, but that he considered Kagiso his home, a place of freedom and peace.
His memories of this land were only happy ones...
The smell of grandfather’s pipe, camping underneath the stars or in caves containing rock art done by the San people, running wild with Jack and Digby and the children of the staff working the ranch. Swimming in the concrete water reservoir on hot days, falling asleep to the sound of jackals barking at night. The three brothers making plans for the rest of their lives, plans that didn’t include their parents...
Radd shook off his thoughts and when he turned his head to look at Brin, he saw the hulking shadow moving slowly in the distance. He braked, stopped and touched Brin’s shoulder, pointing to a space between the trees.
“There’s a black rhino at eleven o’clock. Highly endangered, completely awe-inspiring,” Radd whispered.
Brin’s hand landed on his thigh and Radd sucked in a deep breath as her fingertips burned through the fabric of his pants into his skin. Desire roared through him, as turbulent and as fierce as an African thunderstorm. He stared at her exquisite profile, reluctantly admitting he’d wanted her from the first moment he saw her standing near her worn-out Beetle earlier.
He. Wanted. Her.
More than he ever expected, more than he could believe. But this was just—this had to be!—a normal reaction of a man to a sexy woman; it didn’t mean anything beyond a need to work off excess sexual energy.
He hadn’t had sex for a while and he was past due. Right, when he used his brain, his attraction to Brinley was simple and easily explained.
The rhino moved deeper into the bush and Brinley sighed, a sweet, soft sound. His blood plummeted south as he wondered whether she sounded like that when she fell apart in a man’s arms. Specifically, his arms.
Then she turned to look at him, her mouth now just a couple of inches from his own. In the sinking light, her eyes were the color of a mermaid’s, now a silver-aqua shade and fully able to rip his breath away. Through her light makeup, he could see the hints of her freckles, and he wanted to pull her dress off her body and discover where else those sweet dots appeared. Her eyes locked on his and, in them, he saw awareness, desire and yearning: everything he was feeling.
He wanted to taste her, no, he needed to taste her. Just once so he could stop obsessing about whether her mouth was as sweet as he imagined.
Radd touched his lips to hers, aiming to keep his kiss light, chaste if he could. But a few seconds after their lips connected, she opened her lips and he couldn’t resist, he had to go on in. His tongue pushed past her teeth to slide against hers and she arched her back in that feminine, age-old silent way of asking for more.
But instead of waiting for him to give her what she wanted, Brin, surprising the hell out of him and without breaking contact with his mouth, turned in her seat. Moving gracefully, she lifted her skirt and straddled him, bent knees on either side of his thighs. She reached for his shirt and bunched the fabric in her hands as she deepened the kiss, asking, no, demanding, more.
Thoughts of resistance flew out of his brain. His hands found the bottom of her dress and he pulled it up so his hands could stroke the back of her smooth thighs, roam over her gorgeous backside covered in cool cotton. He explored the valley of her lower back, the curve of her slim hip, her luscious butt. Pulling away from her mouth, he kissed his way up her jaw, down her neck, but Brin moved her hand from his chest back to his face, tipping his head so she could feast on his mouth again.
And feast she did. So much passion rested under her surfer-girl exterior and he wanted more, he wanted all of her. He wanted her tongue in his mouth, but also wanted it on his neck. He wanted her hands on his chest, in his pants. He wanted to explore all her valleys and dips, the knobs of her spine, the ball of her shoulder, discover the color of her nipples, taste the sweetness between her legs.
He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anyone as much, or as fast, as he wanted Brinley Riddell. And for the first time in, well, forever, his reaction terrified him. Women never knocked him sideways, he refused to give them that much power. That Brin could was...
Bizarre. Unsettling.
And yes, completely unacceptable.
The low rumble of a vehicle pierced the night sounds of the bush and Radd quickly reacted. In one smooth movement, he lifted Brinley off his lap and deposited her back in her seat and. a few seconds later, he cranked the engine and pulled away as the lights of the other vehicle appeared behind him.
Brin whipped around to look at the second vehicle before slumping back in her seat. “Wow. Close call.”
“I’m their boss and the owner. If they caught us naked, they’d turn a blind eye,” Radd replied, his tone brusque.
Brin didn’t reply, but Radd felt her eyes on his profile and wondered if her heart, like his, was about to jump out of her chest, whether she wanted him to stop the vehicle and resume where they left off.
He very much did.
Radd stared at the dirt ahead, easily navigating around a chameleon in the middle of the road. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her chest rising and falling quickly, the small tremor in her fingers resting on her slim thigh.
Yeah, she was equally affected.
The chemistry between them could not be denied; it was a living, breathing entity. Could it be bigger and bolder than what he normally experienced because he’d gone without sex for too long? Radd did some mental arithmetic and realized the last time he’d gotten laid was four, and a bit, months ago... No wonder he felt like a pressure cooker about to blow.
But honesty compelled him to reluctantly admit that, while he felt frustrated by his lack of bed-based activity, it wasn’t the longest period he’d gone without sex and he’d never felt this off-balance before. Forty percent might be sexual frustration, the rest was his unexpected and unwelcome need to kiss Brinley from tip to toe, to discover her secrets, to hear what noises she made when she came, whether she was as tight and warm and fabulous as he imagined her to be.
Brinley was sexy and smart but, under her natural passion, he could tell that she was inexperienced, a little unsure. While he preferred women who were more skilled, who could keep up with him in the bedroom, he rather liked the idea of teaching Brin a little of what he knew...
Radd slapped his hand against the back of his neck and welcomed the slight sting in his hand. She was his employee, she’d be out of his life tomorrow night, and he wasn’t the type to seduce innocents. And, despite being in her late twenties, if she wasn’t innocent, then she was definitely inexperienced.
And, no matter how sweet her kisses or how deep her passion ran, he wasn’t anyone’s teacher. Except for being Digby’s brother, he wasn’t anyone’s anything.
Besides, he’d watched the crap show that was his parents’ marriage and had front row seats to how love made people irrational, how it made them lose control. Every relationship, good, bad and dysfunctional, required work and involvement and emotion, and he didn’t have the time or inclination. He kept his relationships at surface level. If you didn’t allow anyone behind the armor, no one could do any damage. If one didn’t engage, actions and words couldn’t be misconstrued.
It was a simple concept that served him well. And Brinley Riddell—free-spirited, gorgeous, inexperienced and intriguing—would not be the first to find his chinks.
And to ensure that didn’t happen—it wouldn’t, but Radd never took chances—he’d keep his distance. He’d drop her off at the lodge and retreat to his private villa at the end of the property. He had his laptop and enough work to keep him occupied and, if the gods were smiling on him, Brinley would complete her flower arranging in record time and he could whip her back to Cape Town, pay her and put her out of his mind.
That was the plan, because the other plan fighting for his attention—to keep her, naked, in his bed for the next twenty-four hours—was not only a nonstarter, but stupid.
He was reserved, implacable, emotionally detached and occasionally difficult, but stupid he was not.