Taken by the Pirate Tycoon. Daphne Clair

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 about with computers in my parents’ garage.”

      A geek? That might account for his lack of social niceties.

      “And helped out on their farm now and then,” he added.

      A man and woman emerged from the house holding glasses of wine. Seeing Jase, they changed direction and walked towards the table. “Hey there!” The man grinned down at them. “Are we interrupting something?”

      “No,” Samantha said before Jase could answer. “Actually I was just about to leave.” She made to get up but the man looked dismayed and laid a large, work-roughened hand on her shoulder to stay her. “Don’t move for us,” he urged. “If it’s a private conversation—”

      Jase said, “If it was, you’d have just shoved your big manure-covered gumboot so far into it there’d be no hope of continuing anyway. Samantha Magnussen, this is my brother, Ben. And April, who for some unknown reason actually married this big dumb lug.”

      Ben aimed a swipe in the general direction of his brother’s ear, expertly dodged by Jase, and then hooked a couple of chairs from an empty table for himself and his wife. After seeing April seated he said, “Nice to meet you, Sam,” and settled his sizeable frame into the other chair.

      His grin was engaging, his gaze curious but friendly. Samantha didn’t even mind him shortening her name at first acquaintance. Despite his close-shaven cheeks and short-back-and-sides and the tie he still wore, he reminded her of a big, harmless Labrador. There was some family resemblance to Jase in his eyes and hair colouring, but there it ended.

      His wife was dainty and shy and in the conversation that followed Samantha learned that April was from the Philippines, and they had met when Ben holidayed there a year or so earlier. Anyone could see they adored each other.

      She felt a stab of envy. It seemed to be her day for it.

      Because this was a wedding celebration? Perhaps it had something to do with her thirtieth birthday looming. But many of her contemporaries hadn’t married until well into their thirties, or weren’t going to bother at all, even if they had a partner. It was nothing to be concerned about.

      In fact she’d never seriously thought about marriage, even when she’d begun thinking about Bryn in…that way. It had been just something that might happen at some vague future time.

      When a pause came in the conversation April turned to Samantha. “A nice wedding,” she said in her prettily accented voice. “Rachel looks very beautiful.”

      “Yes, she does.” Samantha tried to inject enthusiasm into the conventional agreement, avoiding Jase’s eyes.

      “She’s a lovely girl,” April added. “Very nice.”

      Samantha prepared herself to listen to a litany of Rachel’s virtues, but the other woman merely said, “I’m sure Bryn will be a wonderful husband.”

      I’m sure too. Samantha didn’t say it aloud.

      Ben said to his brother, “I hear you’re going to work for our new in-law. Bit of a change from your flippin’ games, staring at a ruddy screen all day. Ruin your eyes,” he warned.

      “Beats staring at the back end of cow and getting covered in sh—ah—dung.”

      “Huh!” Ben grunted. “About time you got yourself a proper job, you effing layabout.” He glanced at April as though she might object to the euphemism, but she merely shook her head reprovingly, trying to hide a smile.

      “Okay, so I’m not a horny-handed