Mac a favor by getting some hours on the engine, as well.”
“How soon can we leave?”
“You’re serious? You want to do that?”
She nodded.
“Let me make a call.”
He stepped out of the living area and into his office on the other side of the hall. He checked his phone. Yup, there were several messages, most of them from the same number—Burton Rogers. He deleted those without listening. Let the guy simmer in his own juices for a while. He frowned a little when he recognized Shanal’s parents’ number. He’d have to let them know she was okay, but first he needed to contact his friend.
Now, where had he put Mac’s contact details... Aha! Raif spied the business card his friend had given him when they’d last caught up for a drink in Adelaide, and keyed the number into his phone. A few minutes later it was all set.
Shanal was standing at the large bifold glass doors that faced the vineyard when he came back into the room. She’d slid his jacket off her shoulders and had pulled the last of the pins from her hair, leaving it to cascade down her back like a long, wavy black river of silk. His hand itched to reach out, to touch her hair, to stroke it. Stupid, he told himself. The persistent physical attraction that had ignited back when he was a schoolboy continued to simmer beneath the surface, but he knew better than to act on it. Shanal herself had taught him that lesson. He’d gotten this far through his life without setting himself up for another smackdown like the one she’d dealt him twelve years ago, and he certainly wasn’t going to set himself up for one now.
“You okay?” he asked.
She sighed, her body wilting from its strong stance. She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I don’t think I’m ever going to be okay after this.”
“Hey, of course you will. I’ve spoken to Mac and he’s happy to make the boat available. With the school holidays over it’s pretty quiet for him right now, so you can take all the time you need. It’ll be good for you, the perfect getaway. You’ll have time and space to think, and when you come back you can tackle what happens next with a fresh mind.”
Her lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “Somehow I don’t think a fresh mind is going to make a big difference in resolving my problems, but thank you for all you’ve done. How soon can we leave?”
Raif calculated. It was just over an hour’s drive to Mannum, where Mac would have the houseboat waiting.
“I’ll need to get changed first. Do you want me to see if Cathleen left anything here that you can change into? We can always pick you up some more clothes on the way to the marina if you like.”
His younger sister had house-sat for him when he’d gone to France on a recent fact-finding mission relating to the family vineyard operations. Not that the place needed to be minded, but while Cathleen for the most part loved living with the rest of their family at The Masters, when the opportunity to be on her own arose from time to time, she clutched at it with both hands. He could understand why she felt like that. It was, after all, why he’d chosen to build here, on the fringe of the family’s oldest vineyard, as opposed to taking a suite of rooms in the family home. Sometimes a person just needed to be alone.
“Please,” Shanal said, plucking at the skirts of her gown. “I really want to get out of this. It’s a little attention seeking, don’t you think?”
It was good to see she still had a touch of the acerbic humor he’d borne the brunt of so often in the past.
“A little,” he agreed with a quirk of his lips. “Come with me and let’s see what we can find.”
He led her down the hall toward the guest wing of the house and to the room Cathleen had used. There, he slid open one of the wardrobe doors. For the first time ever he silently thanked his sister for her habit of leaving her things wherever she went. A clean pair of jeans and some tops were neatly folded on a shelf in the wardrobe. A lightweight jacket hung on the rail and there was even a pair of sneakers in a box on the floor.
“You two are about the same size, aren’t you?” he said, gesturing to the garments in the cupboard.
“Close.” Shanal nodded and reached for the jeans and one of the long-sleeved T-shirts, which she put on the bed behind them. “But even if the clothes aren’t a perfect fit, given the circumstances, I’d rather wear anything else than this dress. Can you help me get out of it? The buttons are so tiny I can’t do it on my own.”
Raif swallowed against the dryness that suddenly hit his throat. Undress her? Hell, he’d dreamed about this moment on and off since he was fifteen years old. He slammed the door on his wayward thoughts. This was neither the time nor the place to indulge in his fantasies, he informed himself firmly. She needed a friend right now, and that was what he’d be. Nothing more. Now and always, she didn’t want anything more from him—and he wasn’t going to set himself up for yet another rejection from her.
Shanal turned her back to him and lifted the swathe of her hair to one side. A waft of her fragrance, an intoxicating blend of spice and flowers, enticed him. Urged him to dip his head and inhale more deeply. He fought the impulse and breathed through his mouth. She wasn’t his to touch, or taste, or anything, he reminded himself.
She’d just run from her fiancé, and while every cell in his body was thrilled to bits about that—some cells more than others—he wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of it. Not out of any respect for Burton, because the man deserved nothing but his contempt. But for Shanal’s sake. Whatever had driven her to leave her wedding in the middle of the ceremony—and in the back of his mind he ached to know what it was that had triggered her last-minute change of heart—she was clearly shaken and upset. Unwanted attentions from a guy she’d rejected a dozen times over were the last thing she needed.
Raif took in a deep breath, then applied himself to his task. Shanal’s skin was a delicate bronze above the edge of her strapless dress. A color that signaled the mixed heritage of her Indian mother and Australian dad.
“I’m surprised you didn’t wear a sari,” Raif commented, determined to distract her from the fact that his fingers, usually dexterous and quite capable of the job at hand, had become uncharacteristically clumsy in the face of her proximity and the way that the tiny buttons, undone one by one, revealed more of her beautiful skin.
His fingers slipped on a button, brushing against her. Her skin peppered with goose bumps and he heard her gasp.
“Sorry,” he said, forcing himself to take more care.
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice a little husky. “And as to your question about the sari? Burton said he preferred me to dress more traditionally.”
Raif frowned and was unable to keep the irritation from his voice when he spoke. “Traditionally? For whom?”
Shanal didn’t answer his question. “I think I can manage the rest myself,” she said, stepping just slightly out of his reach and pressing her hands against the crystal-encrusted bodice of her gown to stop it from sliding farther down. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I’ll be down the hall getting changed myself. Just holler if you need me.”
Her pale eyes met his and he felt her trust in him as if it was a tangible thing. It was a surprisingly heady feeling. Shanal had always been so cool, so untouchable
