Surrender To A Playboy. Renee Roszel

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СКАЧАТЬ uninvited attraction he felt for Miz Witty’s caregiver had to be ignored, killed. The deception had begun and must proceed as planned. He headed down the slope toward the brook, hiking up the sleeves of his beige v-neck shirt. Getting into character as the carefree Bonner Wittering, he called, “Need any help?”

      Her body jerked at the sound of his voice, as though she’d been stung by a wasp. He heard her startled gasp. She spun around. Her eyes wide, she scanned the distance, quickly zeroing in on him. “You!” She closed her eyes for a split second, as though gathering her poise, then glared. “You scared the life out of me! What are you doing skulking around here?”

      His hiking boots were waterproof so he waded through the shallow brook to where she stood. “I was looking around.” Bonn had undoubtedly seen all this as a child, so he added, “You know—for old times’ sake?” He indicated her burden. “Why don’t I hold those while you cut?”

      She looked down at her bouquet and frowned, as though the idea of Bonn Wittering touching the flowers would contaminate them to the point where they’d wither and turn to dust. Her obvious disinclination to have him pollute her bouquet annoyed him, but he hid his feelings and knelt to retrieve her shears. “Or I could do the cutting. Just tell me what you want.”

      She sucked in a quick breath, then exhaled as quickly. “Okay, I’d appreciate it very much if you’d go to Hades.”

      He grunted a cynical chuckle. He’d laid himself wide open for that one. “Yeah, well—besides that.”

      Her glance shifted to the shears he held, then to her armload of flowers. After a brief pause, she said, “I think I have enough.” She held out her hand. “Give me the shears. I need to get back to the house.”

      He noticed her focus was on his neck, not his face. “No problem, Miss O’Mara.” He stuffed the gardening shears in the front, right pocket of his jeans. “I’m on my way back, and you’ve got enough to carry.”

      Her glance flicked to his eyes. He could tell she was dismayed that he’d deposited the shears where she couldn’t get at them—unless she dived into his pants. He knew she’d rather be swallowed whole by a bear.

      “Shall we go?” He took her arm.

      She yanked away from his touch. “You have got to be kidding!”

      He wasn’t surprised by her rejection and tried to tell himself he didn’t care. “Look, even a neglectful grandson can be a gentleman,” he said.

      “Well, be one someplace else. If you’ll recall, Mr. Wittering, I told you to stay away from me.”

      “If you’ll recall, Miss O’Mara,” he countered, “I don’t always do what I’m told.”

      That remark got him a fiery glare. “You would brag about it!” She turned her back and stomped downhill toward the shady wood.

      Taggart could tell she was determined to put distance between them. You can try to get away, he told her silently. But unless you break into a full run, you’re out of luck. He was quite a bit taller than she, his legs longer, making his stride impossible for her to outdistance as long as they were both walking. All through the forest, the ground was covered with pine needles and leaves, camouflaging potential hazards on the rock-strewn, uneven terrain. Running with her arms loaded down would be foolish.

      He caught up to her in four easy strides. “What’s that perfume you have on? It smells like vanilla.” Actually he’d smelled it long before she arrived, but it was the only thing he could come up with at the moment besides the nagging question he hated wanting to ask. The one that went something like, May I kiss you to see if it’s as good as I think it would be?

      “Ponderosa pine,” she said, her attention straight ahead. At least “Ponderosa Pine” is what he thought she said, since she’d spoken through thinned lips and gritted teeth.

      “Pardon?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational.

      “Sunshine makes their bark smell like vanilla.”

      “Oh.” He watched her stern profile. “That’s interesting.”

      She swerved around a lacy thicket of tall ferns. A winglike frond brushed one of the berry-laden branches off her bouquet. Either she didn’t notice or she didn’t plan to slow down enough to retrieve it. Taggart rescued it from the wagging frond. When he caught up with her he asked, “Are these berries poisonous?”

      She glanced his way for a flash, then returned her attention to the maze of trees ahead. “Eat one and find out.”

      He couldn’t repress a grin. “Okay.”

      He plucked off one of the berries and, after a brief delay, popped it in his mouth, trusting her hatred for him stopped short of homicide. He chewed, startled to find the fruit tasted like lemonade. “It’s not bad.”

      She didn’t respond.

      “How long have I got before I keel over?”

      She shifted to glower at him. “Sadly, they’re perfectly harmless.”

      He found himself grinning again. “What a shame.”

      He lay the branch on top of her bouquet, and she gathered it into her arms along with the others. “I’d have thought you’d know that.” She peered at him. “Having been born here.”

      He experienced a prick of apprehension but covered with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s refreshing to discover you can be wrong.”

      She stared hard at him for a couple of steps, but the terrain wasn’t the soft and gentle kind you could take your attention away from for too long without regretting it, so she snapped her focus forward.

      “Remember, I was shipped off to boarding school at nine. A boy can forget a lot of details about a hometown he’s hardly visited in over a quarter of a century.”

      “I’m sure!” she said. “Like the detail of his grandmother!”

      He gave her a quick look, then returned his attention to the twisty trail. The mention of Miz Witty brought a question to his mind. “How is she today?”

      “She’s fine,” Mary said, her tone clipped. “This is her bouquet. She’s eating breakfast now. As soon as she’s through she’ll want to bathe. Then we’ll do a little physical therapy for her leg.” She glanced his way, her expression defiant. “She’ll be ready for company about eleven.”

      He absorbed that news. “Then tell her I’ll see her at eleven.”

      Mary’s expression didn’t ease. He sensed rather than saw her relief.

      He shook his head, marveling that she could so completely and utterly distrust him. “What did you think I’d do, visit her one evening then ignore her?”

      “I wouldn’t put anything past you,” she said.

      He looked ahead, glimpsing the house through the trees, which brought on another thought. “Please inform Pauline that I’ll be eating lunch with Miz Witty.”

      Mary peered at him, clearly dubious. Of course, she didn’t know his problem with the СКАЧАТЬ