The Blackmail Bargain. Robyn Donald

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      Robyn Donald

      THE BLACKMAIL BARGAIN

      

      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      PROLOGUE

      HARD blue eyes narrowing, Curt McIntosh surveyed his sister. ‘All right, you’ve hedged enough. Tell me straight, is Ian having an affair with this Peta Grey?’

      Gillian flushed. ‘Don’t you look down your nose at me like that! You remind me of Dad when anyone dares to contradict him—high-handed, intolerant and dictatorial!’

      His voice stripped of everything but the authority that underpinned its deep tone, Curt stated, ‘Nothing you say is convincing in itself. Do you have proof that Ian is sleeping with this woman, or is he just being a good neighbour?’

      One glance upwards blocked Gillian’s first impetuous response. Not a muscle had moved in Curt’s formidable face, compelling in its bold, predatory beauty, but she chose her words carefully. ‘I shouldn’t have said that—about Dad.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He pinned her with a steely gaze. ‘And you’re still avoiding the subject.’

      She flounced around to stare at the view outside his office window. In summer Auckland was thick with jacaranda trees, and the one in the Domain over the busy city road was an airy dome of lilac-purple. Its beauty did nothing to relieve the sick turmoil inside her.

      With a spurt of defiance she exclaimed, ‘Peta! What a ridiculous name for a girl! I’ll bet her father wanted a son.’ She gnawed on her lip before finally admitting, ‘I know Ian’s not just being a good neighbour. There’s something else between them.’

      Her brother’s straight black brow shot up. ‘What?’

      ‘Awareness,’ she retorted, temper flashing for a second.

      ‘Is this the intuition women are so famous for,’ he said drily, ‘or is your fear based on something concrete?’

      Gillian reined in her anger. It wasn’t fair; she was four years older than Curt’s thirty-two, but the extra years had counted for nothing since he’d turned fifteen and shot up to well over six feet. Those extra inches had given him an edge that his intelligence and tough ruthlessness had honed into a formidable weapon. Although most of the time he was an affectionate brother, when he went into intimidation mode she took notice.

      She said unsteadily, ‘You might not know much about love, Curt, but don’t try to convince me you don’t understand sizzle! You were only sixteen when you seduced my best friend, and you haven’t been wasting any time since then—’

      Shrugging, he broke in, ‘Is that all you’ve got to go on? An awareness of sizzle?’

      She flushed at the satirical note in his words and shook her head.

      Dispassionately he said, ‘It happens, Gillian. It’s the way men are; we see a beautiful woman and the hormones begin to stir. An honourable man doesn’t follow it up if he’s already committed. I’ve always believed Ian to be honourable.’

      ‘Oh, how you testosterone brigade stick together!’ She forced herself to be calm because he distrusted emotional outbursts. Eventually she said in a more temperate voice, ‘Curt, I’m Ian’s wife. I love him, and I know him very well. Trust me, whatever it is that Ian feels for Peta Grey it’s more than a quick, easily forgotten flash of lust. I’d accept that if she was gorgeous, but she’s not. She’s not even pretty.’

      ‘Then what are you worrying about?’ Curt demanded, adding with cool logic, ‘Ian’s not likely to throw everything away on a plain woman. What does Peta Grey look like?’

      ‘She’s striking,’ Gillian admitted resentfully, ‘if you like tall, broad-shouldered, strong women. And that’s one of the reasons I’m worried—she’s not Ian’s type at all. The only times I’ve ever seen her in anything smarter than a T-shirt and jeans and gumboots have been when we’ve invited the neighbours around for drinks or a barbecue. She scrubs up pretty well then, but she’s so…so rural. All she can talk about is her stock and the measly few hectares she calls a farm.’

      She paused, then added with bleak honesty, ‘Which is more than Ian and I seem to have to talk about now.’

      Curt examined her closely. Small and slight, his sister breathed urban sophistication; on her own ground she’d hold all the weapons. ‘So what does Ian see in her?’

      Eyes glittering with frustrated tears, Gillian snapped, ‘She’s tall, and I imagine her mouth and green eyes make her sexy in a kind of earthy, land-girl way. Apart from that she’s got lovely skin, brown hair usually dragged off her face and tied with string in a ponytail, and a reasonably good figure.’

      Curt inspected his sister from the top of her expertly cut hair to the slim Italian shoes on her narrow feet. ‘She doesn’t sound like competition. Why would Ian fall for her?’

      ‘Oh, you know Ian—he’s always had a soft spot for people who work hard. Probably because he had to haul himself up by his bootstraps.’ After a short hesitation she said reluctantly, ‘And she’s a battler—she’s only got a few acres besides the land that Ian leased her, but she manages to scrape a living from it.’

      Curt had thought nothing of his brother-in-law’s decision to lease a small area to his neighbour. Cut off from the rest of the station by a large gully, the land hadn’t been fully utilised. Now he wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him to suggest it be planted with trees…

      He said judicially, ‘You’re sophisticated enough to know that men don’t fall in love with every woman they admire. There must be more than that to it.’

      Her desperation showing, she retorted, ‘She’s at least ten years younger than I am—she can’t be much over twenty-three or-four. And a couple of months ago I noticed that whenever he talked about her—which he no longer does, and that’s a bad sign too!—something about his voice set every alarm off.’ She looked her brother full in the face. ‘You’re not the only one in the family with good instincts. I know when my marriage is threatened, and believe me, Peta Grey is a threat.’

      Curt’s brows drew together but he tempered his voice. ‘If you want me to do something about it you’re going to have to give me proof, Gilly. So far, you haven’t.’

      She spread her hands in a gesture that held elements of both appeal and despair. Elegant, manicured hands, he noted, with Ian’s engagement and wedding rings making a statement on one long finger.

      ‘I don’t think they’re lovers yet,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s only a matter of time, and I want us out of Northland before—before it happens. A few months ago Ian was talking about a job in Vanuatu managing your rice plantation there. He seemed intrigued…’

      The words trailed away as Curt said quietly, ‘Gilly, be reasonable. I can’t just move him on without some proof that it’s necessary. He’s doing a good job on Tanekaha; he’s hauled the station into profit under budget, and he’s a skilful manager of staff.’

      Tears welled in her eyes, but even as he found his handkerchief she fought them back with a flare of anger. ‘Oh, see for yourself! I hate showing you these—I’m ashamed I even looked at them!—but if you want proof, here it is.’

      She groped in her bag, hauled out a couple of photographs