Madelaine gazed out to sea from the living room in her home set high on a hill on the north coast of Australis Island.
“Madd, once this chef fella is living in your house, can you get rid of him if things don’t work out?”
“I’ll cross that bridge if I have to.” Madelaine glanced at her pregnant friend.
“Well, when’s he coming?”
“Soon. And if you hang around any longer the baby will be born right here.” At seven-months pregnant, Fiona had a tank-full of protective mother syndrome.
“That’d put him off, wouldn’t it?”
“Fiona!”
“All right. I’m going. But I’ll-Be-Back.”
“All I need, a pregnant Terminator. And if you don’t go now, you’ll have to reverse all the way back up the drive.” Madelaine took her friend’s arm and steered her towards the back door.
Fiona’s mouth dropped open. “He’s due here now?”
“Down that very track.” They stopped and gazed at the steep track that led down to where they stood at Madelaine’s home, Secluded.
“I take my life in my hands when I drive up and down that track. I’m terrified I’ll have to reverse. Do you know what time he’s arriving?” Fiona’s gaze didn’t leave the dirt road up the hill.
“We-ell, could be anytime now, it’s getting pretty late in the day.” Madelaine stared at the dirt road, too. “Time to go.”
“Maybe I’d better go.”
“Good idea.”
“Why do I get the impression you’re fobbing me off?”
“Because I am. Now please drive carefully.” Madelaine turned to hug her friend and felt a kick on her ribs. “Ooh. Did you feel that?”
Fiona chuckled and rubbed the spot where the little foot had given her friend a boot. “Seems you’re being told to behave yourself.”
“Junior’s got a power punch, that’s for sure.” Madelaine opened Fiona’s car door and helped her belt in. “How can you still wear those things?”
“If I don’t wear my seatbelt, I don’t drive.”
“The time is coming, kiddo.”
“I know. It’s just that—” Fiona peered over Madelaine’s shoulder.
“What?” Madelaine was afraid to look. A snake, or maybe a kamikaze plover?
“It’s a car. Seems your friend has just arrived. Great, now I get to see him.”
Madelaine slammed the door. She stood bolt upright and stared at the approaching vehicle racing down the driveway. “He’s not a friend. Now, get going, Fiona Brown.”
“No way.” Fiona’s gaze was still fixed up the hill. “Did you say you trust Uncle El? Jeepers, with rellies like that, who needs enemies? Look at the way he drives, Madds.”
Madelaine focused on the hefty 4WD hurtling down the steep track, rocks and dust spitting and flicking under its wheels. It lurched over the deep corrugations and bounced in and out of the potholes. “Must be some absolute bloody cowboy at the wheel. He’d have to be charging down that hill at sixty ks an hour.”
At the bottom of the track, the one tonne piece of turbo-charged machine bore down on them, swung itself around the last bend, its grate and bull-bar almost baring teeth as it charged closer.
Fiona screamed. “Run, Madds – run!”
Madelaine was rooted to the spot.
The vehicle roared over hidden corrugations. She waved her arms madly as if that would help divert the charging vehicle.
It skewed on to the flat parking area, its great wheels skidding on the track and tossing its heavy chassis across her vision. Madelaine threw her arms over her head, doubled over and screamed.
Dust and pebbles and twigs and wallaby droppings flew in her face as the car slid sideways. Impact inevitable, she cringed—
And it stopped. Dead in its tracks. The chassis bounced forward, then back, into deafening silence.
A moment passed then Madelaine crabbed a step or two and dropped her hand inside Fiona’s car. She clutched her friend’s arm. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” Fiona whispered. “You?”
Madelaine shook a pellet of wallaby dung from her shirt. “Yeah.”
“Think I can go now?”
“Unless you want to witness a murder.” Madelaine patted the car door without looking around
She barely heard Fiona start up her vehicle and head off, her car sput-sputtering away as fast as it could take her.
Bent over as he was, she couldn’t decide if he was dead, unconscious, or too scared to look up. She shuddered and another pellet of wallaby poop plopped out of her hair. She stepped closer to the big vehicle, innocuous in its sudden silence. The heat coming from under the bonnet was a worry, but more worry was the inert form at the wheel.
He wouldn’t dare be dead.
Then he lifted his head, squinted at her and spoke. “You still have something dark and turdy in your hair.” He turned from the wheel and leaned out of the car’s open door.
“If you had a brain it would be a fucking peanut,” Madelaine ground out. “I don’t care who the hell you are, but you can leave my property right back the way you came.”
She heard a gravelly cough from deep in his throat. Then, “I came here to work.”
“I don’t need someone who drives like you. Take this heap of—of—”
“Rubbish?”
“—out of my sight.” Madelaine brushed herself down again. Wallaby poop rolled off her clothes and landed around her feet with pathetic little plops.
The man stepped out of the vehicle. Madelaine would swear there was something familiar about him, something in the lean, easy style, but couldn’t pin it down. And was he was holding back a great big laugh?
The idiot.
“My brakes failed.” He was concentrating on a very stubborn patch of invisible lint on his jeans.
Jeans he filled out admirably. Madelaine blinked and reset her face. Admirably echoed through her head.
Oh yeah? What was so admirable about some maniac toying with her rogue driveway?
“Failed?” she squawked. “Failed? Anything with intelligence would know how to handle that driveway.”
His head jerked up. “You expect quite a lot from a fucking peanut.”
“You have to leave. I can’t employ you.”
“This is a hire car,” he explained loudly, waving an arm in the direction of the offending vehicle. “You don’t think I’d deliberately drive something dangerous, do you?”
“Well, didn’t you?” she flashed back. “My uncle is very much mistaken if he believes I need your help.”
“Now, wait a minute—”
“No. You wait,” she said and stepped forward, daring her legs to move, and pointing her finger at him. “If you are the responsible driver you think you are, that hill—”
“That hill is a piece of cake. The brakes failed—failed, in case you misheard the first time. There was nothing I could do until I got to the bottom of the hill and pulled on the hand-brake.” He hesitated a moment. “I’m sorry about the wallaby shit you copped.”
He was laughing. Those dark, dark eyes were twinkling, creasing slightly at the corners as if his mouth, his generous, laughing mouth had organised a smile.
Her heart kicked and a fierce heat threaded over her chest.
“I’m Troy P. Charles.”
Oh, the smarmy bast—
Wait a minute. Troy Charles? Troy Charles? “You’re Uncle El’s son?”
He nodded. “We have met before, some time back. P is for peanut.”
What the hell was El thinking sending his son to work in her business?
Back-peddle a bit, Madds.
She’d only met Troy once or twice years ago, just before he went off travelling the wide world. That gangly youth hardly resembled the man he was now.
Was he really the only person available? By what Uncle El had often said, Troy Bloody P. was highly qualified. Perhaps too highly qualified…
What a crock.
She stood taller. “Please get into that heap of crap and take it back up the hill.” She didn’t want to look at him, the lean frame lounging against the sorry vehicle. “I don’t think I’ll be requiring a chef, after all.”
“Not what I was told. I’m a chef, you’re a cook and the entrepreneur. You need to get back to ‘entrepreneur’ only.”
His voice was cool, deep. And she was what—totally unfazed by her stoic resistance to his many attractions? Starting with the good strong boots, and long legs, well fitted in form hugging jeans with an RM Williams belt. A chest, broad and deep encased in a stark white shirt, its sleeves rolled up and scrunched to reveal powerful forearms.
She swallowed. I’m gonna murder Uncle El, not just kill him. “Your father has the wrong idea if he thinks I’m in need of your assistance.”
Troy-bloody-P-bloody-Charles leaned on his car, arms folded. “Has he? Funny. He recommended someone and you accepted, sight unseen.”
Madelaine shook her head. “I didn’t know he would be sending you.”
“Your step-brother?”
“Not funny. You are so not a step-brother. Your father is a very close friend of my mother’s, that’s all.”
“Very close.” Troy waved a dismissive hand. “Look, if it makes any difference I own my own kitchens—”
“Happened to be at a loose end then, did you?”
“We did the best we could do.” He brushed himself down. “This is all a bit by the by, wouldn’t you say? El said that you need the help.”
That stopped her short. Well, didn’t she?
“And here I am.”
“I wanted more of an all-rounder. Office person, cook, driver. That sort of thing.”
Troy spread his hands. “Just show me what needs to be done. Peanuts can be versatile, too, you know.”
Versatile. Just what El had said. Madelaine wanted him out of her sight. “I’m going to call Uncle El.”
She adjusted her shirt and jeans, brushed off any lingering dust and wallaby poop; hard, little, oval-shaped pellets, dry, and thankfully not evil-smelling, before marching past him
“Good. I’d like a word with Uncle El myself.” He was talking to her back. “But before you do, can you let me know which room is mine? I’m totally knackered.”
You’ll be totally knackered, all right. Madelaine slammed her way into the office. She grabbed the phone and punched in her uncle’s number.
“Charles Holdings, this is Trish. How can I help you?”
“Trish, this is Madelaine Hart. Is El in, please?”
“Hi, Maddy. Just a moment, I’ll check.”
Madelaine waited impatiently. A shadow fell across the office doorway. Troy Charles was standing on the threshold. She glared at him, but he shrugged.
“Er – Madd?”
“Yes, Trish?”
“Liam is in a VIP meeting. He wants you to leave a message, and I’ll pass it on. He needs a really good reason to interrupt this meeting.”
“Just tell him that his recommendation fell flat on its face and the sooner he relieves me of it, the better.”
“Oh.” The pause was noticeable. “You want me to relay exactly that?”
“Please.” Madelaine turned and stared into brown eyes. Suddenly a picture of warm, thick, dark chocolate winding its way down her bare belly sprang to mind.
She turned away.
Trish’s voice spiraled down the line. “Madd? He says he can’t help right away and to give it a chance. Does that make sense? I’m sorry, that’s all he said.”
“Oh.” Madelaine’s shoulders dropped. “Okay, but—”
“Okay, Maddy. ‘Bye.”
Madelaine stared at the phone then looked up at Troy Charles.
No-one should have that thick head of raven hair just asking for her fingers to run through it. No-one should have that easy grace, that confidence as he watched her from the door way.
No-one should be able to make her tingle all over just by looking at her like he was.
No-one.
Give it a chance, Uncle El said.
A warm thrill scampered deep in her belly. She stared into those eyes.
He gazed back. “You didn’t tell me where to put my bags.”
***
Troy applauded Madelaine’s restraint. Clearly fuming, she led him to his quarters. Throwing her hand in the air indicating he should follow her, he watched the pert sway of her backside as she marched ahead of him.
Her hair, a mass of dark richy-reddy colour caught in some sort of clip high on her head, slipped lower and he watched, fascinated as it bobbed and swayed in time with her backside.
He should get his hands on that before too long…her hair and her backside.
He stopped just in time to avoid barging into her as she shoved open a door.
“Your quarters.” She stepped inside, stalked across the room and threw open the curtains.
He hissed out a breath. The quarters themselves were not luxurious.
Spacious, sparse but adequately furnished, it wasn’t the furniture which took his breath away. The glorious view of the ocean, rolling hills, steep gully and the rugged coast was nothing short of staggering.
He’d been so engrossed getting down her driveway in one piece that he’d missed the view. The sun was low, and the soft lemony glow tipped the scudding clouds checkering the sky.
“This is breathtaking.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You must be the luckiest person around.” He turned back to the view, mainland Australia a hazy mass to the north over twenty kilometres of ocean.
“I appreciate every millisecond I have here, and luck has nothing to do with it. Which is why I guard it so carefully.”
“And you don’t like interlopers.”
“You guessed. I prefer to be here on my own.”
Troy turned back to her, watched as she gazed past him. “In paradise alone. You prefer it?”
Her gaze returned to him for a full ten seconds. “Yes, I prefer it.”
“Unless Uncle El can convince you otherwise.”
Madelaine didn’t move. “It won’t be Uncle El convincing me. It’ll be you, and so far, you’re not doing too good a job.”
He jammed hands in his pockets. “I promise to do a much better job of it, starting tomorrow.” He ducked his chin. “I’m sorry you weren’t aware El would be sending me.” Good ol’ Uncle El. Just you wait.
He turned and stared out to sea once again. How many people had stood where he was standing and done the same…watched the rolling waves, the sea eagles soaring on thermals above. And he could see dolphins. This was a paradise he’d really never imagined. Oh sure, he’d travelled to some exotic spots, had seen some far away places, but never had the feeling that he was home.
It was a moment or two before he realised he was alone.
His shoulders sagged and he felt an urge to fall to his knees and curl up with a pillow. Late nights, too much booze, the travelling…
He kicked off his boots, shucked his jeans and pulled off his t-shirt. He stretched out on the big bed and propped up pillows so he could watch the sea rolling in from the horizon.
An eagle dived for prey. A couple of kangaroos across the gully bounded up the hill.
His eyelids were heavy. He’d have a quick nap, just to energise…
Unorthodox. Old fashioned. A business partnership only, something which would satisfy the terms of the will.
Barely awake, eyes dry, scratchy. Where was he? It was dark inside and out…he’d slept longer than he’d intended to, but he couldn’t quite rouse himself fully awake.
He rolled over, closed his eyes and dragged the doona over him.
Oh yeah.
That Madelaine Hart was really something. Handfuls of female in all the right places, hair to get a good grip on, mouth to take you to places—
Breasts and bum jiggling and wobbling and shaking and bobbing.
Over him, under him, around him…
He rolled on to his stomach and groaned. Too tired, too tired even for that stuff now…
Madelaine Hart. What luck was it that brought him here?
Unorthodox. Old fashioned. A business partnership only, something which would satisfy the terms of the will.
Grandpa Petny and his will. It almost sounded like…
Troy sat bolt upright in bed and stared into the darkened night.
Don’t be friggin’ ridiculous!
Nobody does this marriage of convenience shit anymore…