the older woman said, “is Rachel’s brother. And Jase, this is—”
“We’ve met,” he told her.
“Oh, good! You know each other.” Apparently oblivious to the abruptness of his interruption, and Samantha’s frozen expression, Lady Pearl benignly ordered, “Well, then, get out there and enjoy yourselves.”
She stood expectantly beaming, and after a moment Jase lifted his brows and held out a hand that Samantha finally took, allowing him to lead her into the crowd.
“You don’t have to do this,” she muttered as he turned her to face him. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“Didn’t think it was.” His free hand settled on her waist and he brought the other, enclosing hers, close to his chest. “I’m doing it for Pearl.”
So was she, not wanting to appear rude. Somewhat to her surprise he led her into a smooth ballroom step rather than the more energetic dancing favoured by the younger guests. Automatically she leaned against his guiding hand as he took her into a smooth turn, his thigh brushing hers, and the slight contact awoke a peculiar sensation deep within her.
As if he’d felt it too, his eyes met hers, then he blinked fantastically long, thick lashes and turned his gaze over her shoulder.
Samantha swallowed, and said, simply for something to fill the silence between them and banish the odd intimacy of that moment, “Where did you learn to dance?”
He shrugged. “My mother, when I was about to attend my first high-school ball. She said the girls would be dressed up and looking their prettiest, and if I was going to step all over their toes it would spoil their evening.”
“I’m sure the girls appreciated it.” She kept her tone light and a little dry. They’d probably appreciated his appearance too. Even in his schooldays he must have had female classmates a-flutter.
She herself had always preferred men to be clean-shaven with neatly groomed hair. Yet on this particular man the unkempt look seemed entirely natural and somehow added to his…charm was hardly the word. To whatever it was that had made all her senses annoyingly spring to full-alert when he’d taken her hand and swept her onto the floor. A reaction so rare that it alarmed her.
He’d discarded the jacket and tie altogether now. In white shirt and grey trousers he looked relaxed, his movements assured and imbued with masculine grace.
“And,” he was saying, a glint of humour—mixed with something else—in the eyes again meeting hers, “it was a pretty neat way to get a girl into my arms.”
It was the something else—the suppressed but unmistakable spark of masculine awareness that made her realise she wasn’t the only one finding their forced proximity unsettling.
Rachel and Bryn danced by them. Rachel was smiling up at her new husband, and he bent to fleetingly kiss her lips, then said something to her as he drew back.
Rachel laughed, shaking her head.
And Jase’s hand hardened on Samantha’s waist, bringing her closer as he said in her ear, “Don’t even think about it. About him.”
Her head snapped backward and she glared into the hard olive-green gaze, no trace left of humour. “I wasn’t thinking about anything, except how soon I can decently get away.”
“From me?”
“That too,” she said frostily, an annoying heat in her cheeks as it occurred to her that if she said any more he’d assume she wanted to leave so she could nurse her supposedly broken heart.
Which, she assured herself, wasn’t broken or even chipped. Maybe a tiny bit cracked, but that would heal. She said, “I’m not fond of crowds.”
One dark brow twitched upward, and something new came into his eyes. Something she hoped wasn’t pity. Quickly she added, “It’s hot in here.” An excuse for the guilty, girlish flush.
Jase nodded curtly, and before she could guess his intention he’d steered her through open French doors, propelling her to the back terrace.
A group of smokers indulging their habit were the only people there. At an unoccupied table for two Jase pulled out a chair and said to Samantha, “Sit. I’ll get you a cold drink. What do you want?”
“I don’t need a drink.” Then it occurred to her that the offer was an excuse. He could leave and not come back. A way out for them both from their hostess’s misguided pairing. “I’ll be fine, if you—” leave me here was on the tip of her tongue, but unexpectedly he shrugged and dropped into the chair opposite hers.
“Okay,” he said. “Probably a wise decision.”
“I’m in no danger of getting drunk,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended.
“You’ve had at least four glasses of wine, and haven’t eaten much. Is that how you keep that figure?” He ran a quick, critical glance over her, the expression in his eyes veiled when they returned to hers. “Dieting doesn’t do you any good, you know.”
He’d been watching her? “I don’t diet,” she snapped, then deliberately moderated her voice. “And four glasses in four hours won’t take me over the limit.” Her last two drinks had been apple juice. She never overindulged in alcohol, but had learned to hold her own with business contacts who did, often making one glass last while they downed several.
“You’re driving?” Jase frowned.
“We’re a long way from the city,” she pointed out. Central Auckland was a good hour away from the rural community of Donovan’s Falls.
“You can afford to hire a driver, surely?”
Samantha wondered if he’d been asking questions about her, of the Donovans or their guests. Or had simply recognised her name. “I prefer to drive myself,” she said shortly. “Do you work in construction?” Surely she wasn’t so well-known that many people outside the field would have connected her with the firm that still bore her father’s name, and the wealth he’d accumulated.
“Nope. Well, you could say that now, I guess. Bryn just hired me. Is a timber merchant in the construction business?”
Had he been unemployed? “They can’t do without each other,” she said. “That was good of Bryn.” Presumably he’d offered the job for Rachel’s sake.
Something flickered across Jase’s face and was gone. Then he said, “He’s going to be quite a useful brother-in-law.”
Behind the careless tone she detected a hint of something suspiciously like mockery, reflected in his darkened eyes by the soft light from carriage lamps affixed to the wall of the house.
Even if he didn’t share his sister’s brains or ambition, maybe he’d had some kind of job, and Bryn had offered a better one. In any case, unemployment was no disgrace, though many people were embarrassed to admit to it.
She doubted this man shared that emotion. He was blunt to a fault himself. “What did you do before?” she asked.
He grinned as though for some reason the question amused him. “Mainly messed
