you apologising?’ He just had to make sure. He’d had a tough couple of weeks. Maybe the stress was getting to him and he’d started imagining things.
Or maybe he just wanted to hear the words again.
Jess closed her eyes. ‘Please don’t make me say it again,’ she begged. ‘Once is embarrassing enough.’
Luke blew out his breath. ‘What am I supposed to say to that?’ he grumbled.
Jess made a sound that was a cross between a snort and a laugh.
‘That you forgive me?’ she suggested. ‘That you’ll let me design you a campaign that will sell an enormous amount of wine? That was an interesting briefing session, by the way. Short and—’
‘Sweet?’
Jess’s smile flashed. ‘Just short. So? Can I?’
Luke, momentarily distracted by the tiny dimple that flashed in her cheek when she smiled, gathered his thoughts and told himself to be an adult. He couldn’t just give her the campaign because she had a smile that made his belly clench, a body that begged to be touched and eyes he could drown in. Then again, it was his vineyard...
Get a grip, Savage.
‘You can put in a tender for the job, along with everyone else.’ Luke lifted up his hand when he saw Jess’s face brighten. His next words were as much a warning to himself as they were to her. ‘I’m not promising you a thing, Sherwood.’
Jess slowly nodded. ‘Understood. Thank you. You won’t regret this.’
Luke knew that on some level, at some time, he would.
Jess sent him a smile and a look that made his insides squirm with lust and, admittedly, fear.
‘So, since I’m no longer trying to avoid you, and since I’m assuming that I’m not about to be tossed off the premises, I think I’ll join the tour. Reacquaint myself with St Sylve.’
Luke, not keen to be inundated with questions from the rest of the suits but also not willing—why?—to leave Jess just yet, said, ‘I’ll walk you back to the cellar.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Jess replied quickly. ‘Besides, I was going to take the long route back—through the gardens and past the stables.’
Luke frowned. ‘What on earth for?’
Jess lifted her shoulder. ‘I have an idea for the campaign but I need to get a sense of St Sylve as it is now, not how I remember it.’
Luke lifted his eyebrows and looked at her sexy dress and ridiculous heels. ‘You want to walk in those shoes? That dress?’
Jess held out a foot and rotated it. ‘What’s wrong with my shoes? They’re gorgeous.’
‘But totally impractical for walking in—especially on farm roads. Take the path back, Jess.’
He could see her spine stiffening and her chin lifting. ‘Thanks, but I’ll take the circuitous route.’
Luke suppressed his smile at her stubbornness. Within twenty-five metres those spiky heels would be stuck in mud and her stockings would be flecked with dirt.
He gave Jess another up-and-down look and watched for her response. Her expression remained stoic while her eyes heated. He wondered what it would take to get her to lose the mask of sophistication she’d acquired.
He spoke casually. ‘Do you ever think about what we did the last time we met?’
He didn’t need to spell it out...she was a smart girl. Luke watched carefully and saw her composure slip for a fraction of a second, before her lips firmed and her eyes narrowed.
‘No. Do you?’
‘No,’ Luke replied.
My, my, my, Luke thought as she walked away. Look what good liars we’ve become.
* * *
Jess, sitting on a hard seat at the airport, waiting for her flight to be called, looked at her shoes and grimaced. Once black, they were now streaked with reddish-brown mud and, she was certain, were beyond repair. Her stockings were splattered with runny sludge and dirty water. Her feet were aching from negotiating the uneven roads and paths at St Sylve in two-inch spikes and her toes had long since said goodbye to any feeling.
Damn Luke Savage for being right.
Jess felt her mobile vibrate in her hand and squinted down at the screen, where a message was displayed from the Sherwood family group.
John: Just to let you bunch of losers know that I ran 5K today in 24:30. Eat my dust, girls.
Jess had barely finished reading the message when a reply was posted.
Patrick: For an old guy, that’s pretty good. But I run sub 24 routinely.
And they were off...
Chris: Liar! Your last race time was 30 mins plus.
Patrick: I had a stomach bug.
Nick: Prove it, squirt. You run like a girl. Even the Shrimp can take you down!
Patrick: I was sick! And Jess couldn’t catch me with wings strapped to her back...
Jess, being the Shrimp and a girl, took offence at that. She was often faster than Patrick over five kilometres.
Jess: Hey, brainless...name the time and place and be prepared to watch my butt the whole way!
John: What are the stakes?
Jess wrinkled her nose. The last bet she’d lost to her brothers had ended up in her doing Chris’s tax return. Maybe she hadn’t thought this through.
Nick: A weekend cleaning out the monkey enclosure at the rehab centre for the loser.
Chris: Good one!
Eeew, thought Jess.
John: Hand-washing our rugby kit after practice.
Double eeew.
Liza AKA Mom: Now, now, children...play nice. Mommy’s listening. And the loser will replace all the washers on my leaky taps. And they will not pay anyone to do this!
Jess twisted her lips. Unfortunately for her she knew how to wield a monkey wrench and thus would not be excused on account of gender. This was just another instance when she deeply regretted being a tomboy for most of her life.
And, really, when was she going to grow out of this absurd compulsion to prove that she was as big and as strong and as capable as her four older brothers?
