it doesn’t seem to be.’
‘Not too difficult. The cane regenerates itself.’ She started to explain the process, acutely aware of the potent male presence behind her. Ren was making it difficult to talk about ratoon crops and he wasn’t even touching her. He was just standing there. Only he wasn’t. He was flirting silently with his body.
No, flirting was too superficial of a word. Flirting required witty banter and gay repartee, not an agricultural discussion. This wasn’t flirting, this was sampling. He was letting her sample his physicality—the smell of him, the heat, the sensuality of him as he turned even the most mundane comment erotic by murmuring it near her ear.
There was no doubt he was a man who understood precisely how to use the nuances of space and touch to create a certain appeal. The bigger question was why? She had yet to meet a man who didn’t have ulterior motives when it came to women or when it came to her. She didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what Dryden was after. She’d been alert to that potential ever since he’d climbed down from Sherard’s wagon in all his broad-shouldered, blue-eyed glory.
His subtle flirtation here on the bluff confirmed what she’d suspected. Even being alert for such a move from him, it was disappointing. Perhaps a small part of her had hoped the man she’d seen at the fire would be different. Not that knowledge of his likely game was enough apparently to stop her pulse from racing, or a little frisson of excitement from running down her spine as he abstrusely put his body on invitation. But it needed to be.
She was a smart woman and experience had made her smarter than most when it came to the nature of men. Those experiences would need to be her armour now. Emma stepped forward, away from the heat of his body. ‘We should be getting back. I have work to do.’ Anything would be better than being near Ren and his intoxicating presence without a plan of her own. Too much of him and she’d forget her resolve and his agenda.
Emma filled the ride back with business. She talked about the native flora and fauna, the seasonal changes on the island, even the hurricane of 1831 which had left much of the island devastated and claimed fifteen hundred lives. All of it done in an attempt to create distance and a reminder they were business partners and would be nothing more. She couldn’t afford to be more with him.
The house came into view and Emma felt a surge of relief. Sanctuary! She would not have to deal with Ren again until dinner. She could bury herself away in the office behind closed doors. That relief was short-lived. As they approached the drive, it was evident she had company. A rider was dismounting from a tall sorrel stallion. Damn and double damn. Hadn’t yesterday been enough for him?
Ren drew his horse alongside. ‘Expecting guests?’
Emma grimaced. ‘Sir Arthur Gridley isn’t exactly a guest.’ He’d probably seen the smoke from the crops and wanted to poke his nose into Sugarland’s business, something he’d made a habit of doing since Merry’s death.
‘A nuisance then?’ Ren joked wryly.
‘Something like that,’ Emma responded tersely. Gridley was more than a nuisance. He was insidious. He liked to portray himself as the nosy neighbour who had her best interests at heart. Only she knew better.
‘If he’s not a nuisance or a guest, what is he, then?’ The protectiveness she sensed in him yesterday gave an edge to Ren’s voice.
‘Nothing for you to worry about. I’ve got him under control.’ She hoped she did anyway. She wasn’t about to admit otherwise to Ren and alert him to the possibility that not all was perfect at Sugarland. Neither did she want to give Ren a possible weapon to use against her.
Arthur Gridley strode down the steps towards them, smiling pleasantly, playing the good neighbour to the hilt, definitely a bad sign. It seemed she was about to trade Ren Dryden for something worse, a classic case of out of the frying pan and into the fire.
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