So Far Into You (2 page)

‘With all respect, Seth, you don't know anything about her,' Ailsa said. ‘I've known girls like her all my life. They always want what they can't afford.'

‘I may not know
her,
but I know Greg Trimble. I hired
him
and I don't hire dickheads. If he chose her for the job, that's good enough for me.'

It should have been the end of it. If Seth spoke to any of his staff in that tone that person would be beating a track for the door.

Not Ailsa.

She smiled sweetly. ‘Ask Rina, darling. She's heard the rumours.'

‘I don't give a shit about rumours. You shouldn't either.'

Blake shouted again. ‘Come on, Remy. Be a sport? Lasrey won the plank walk last year, help me defend the title.'

Whatever the girl said got whipped away by the wind. Or maybe it was just that she'd started walking and Seth forgot to listen.
God, could she move.

She kicked off her shoes, planted her plastic cup on the nearest trestle table—from where it immediately pinwheeled off—and crossed the grass to step up on the plank behind Blake. Then she bent to scoot her feet into the two elastic straps across the top of the planks before she straightened and gripped either side of Blake's waist.

Did her fingers squeeze? Or did he imagine it? For the first time Seth wondered how Blake felt about her.
Remy.
It had a nice ring to it.

‘We need two more …' Blake called.

‘What are you like at plank walking, Rina?' Seth said.

‘Pardon?'

‘Plank walking. Looks like Blake needs a quorum. No reason why it can't be us.'

‘Us?' A frown dragged the corners of Rina's mouth.

‘Go on, Rina.' Ailsa said. ‘Think of it as good for staff morale.'

‘That too,' Seth added, kicking off his shoes, putting his glass on the nearest waiter's tray. ‘They're sure as shit having more fun than we are.' Seth stuffed his socks in his shoes and strode from the tent, not really caring if Rina followed.

Outside, the wind buffeted the sail above the tables, making the marquee snap like some rabid dog.

‘Count me in, Blake,' Seth called to his brother.

Blake's head jerked up in surprise. His wasn't the only one. The Lasrey crowd melted out of Seth's way. He stepped on the plank behind Remy and worked his feet into the straps. He could barely wiggle the elastic past the bridge of his foot. Rina shuffled in place behind him. Gingerly, she poked her toes through the straps and took hold of his waist.

When Seth closed his hands in the groove above Remy's hips he forgot about Rina, Blake, the crowd, and the way the wind hurled through the park. Through thin cotton her hips curved warm in his fingers. How she could possibly feel warm in a dress like that, on a day like this, he had no idea, but warm she was. Vibrant and young and alive and he loved it.

Her hair chased across his chin and Seth caught a scent like summer-dry hay.

Above the Indian Ocean, leaden clouds roiled to the west. The air pulsed with energy, like a demon army cracking whips.

‘Hell and Tommy,'
Remy muttered, staring at the sky.

Hell and Tommy?
Seth thought, and he smiled.

‘On three, everybody. Left foot first,' Blake called over his shoulder. ‘One. Two. Three.
Left …
'

Seth felt the drag through the plank as Rina struggled for balance behind him. Her hands clamped hard at his hips and he heard her swear. She didn't say
Hell and Tommy
either. He relaxed his hold on Remy to compensate for Rina's weight, not wanting to pull her off her feet.

She moved smoothly: in sync with Blake, in sync with him. Her skirt parachuted in the wind, tangled at his legs, tugged against his pants. Goose-flesh marked the deep square of pale skin between the silky pink straps that crossed each shoulder.

‘Aren't you cold?' Seth asked the back of her head.

Remy peeked at him, all clear grey eyes under a flying fringe. ‘F-freezing.'

He wasn't sure if she shivered, had a speech impediment, or if she'd been about to drop ‘fucking' in front of ‘freezing' before she'd thought better of it. He wasn't sure anyone who said
Hell and Tommy
would say
fuck.

‘There's the start line,' Blake said, drawing his attention.

***

Remy glanced sideways. Seth Lasrey's long fingers curved gently around her waist. There were no rings on those fingers, just a silver watch on a wrist covered with dark hairs. A diver's watch, she thought. At least he could keep time if they got drowned in the storm.

You could have knocked Remy over with something far less robust than this wind when Seth volunteered to be in the plank-walk team. The two brothers looked similar: olive skin from their Mediterranean heritage, tall, well built, and each had eyes dark as midnight. Apart from that, they were chalk and cheese. Blake was all sunshine. Seth was the cloud.

The CEO hadn't been around the place much since Remy started work at Lasrey Estate, but she'd had enough time to know that when Seth was in the building, the atmosphere was different. Everything moved on fast-forward: cellarhands, who might have ambled the previous day to switch on a pump or hook up a hose, suddenly got about their business with new energy.

Seth brought that intensity. The only thing Blake got intense about was having fun.

Blake lined them up with six other plank-race teams at the start of a fifty-metre grass expanse, bisected by a long barrier of rectangular bales of hay.

‘Hey, Blake? What are we supposed to do about those bales? Go over? Go round?' Remy called against the wind.

‘We'll worry about that when we get there,' Blake said.

‘That's my brother for you,' Seth muttered behind her.

Her laughter escaped before she could rein it in. Seth laughed too, and Remy thought that she hadn't had this much fun in months. Not since she'd cut her viticulture degree short six months ago and moved home to get a job and help her mother. There hadn't been a lot to laugh about.

The starter fired his gun and Blake shouted: ‘Left foot. Left!' It took them precious seconds to gain any momentum.

‘Left foot, Rina!' Blake yelled.

‘I'm try-
ing
,' Rina yelled back.

Remy stole a look left, they were half a plank from the lead; and to the right there wasn't a soul beside them. They had almost reached the hay bales when the storm tore the park apart.

Thick raindrops of ice-cold water slapped Remy's face, borne by a wind gust that overturned plastic chairs and tumbled tables across the grass. All around, the plank race spluttered and died. Later, Remy remembered it like an old-time war movie, with the director shooting in slow motion as soldiers fell on every side. Only in this movie there was no wash of red blood and the roar was the wind, not a machine gun spraying bullets.

The crowd flinched as the storm hit. Then everyone broke and ran for the safety of the marquee, jamming hard against those at the entrance who were watching and wouldn't budge.

Remy was drenched in seconds, cotton skirt tangling at her legs, hair plastered across her face. She could hardly see a thing.

In front of her, Blake slipped. He slipped again and there was a half-second where Remy was left holding his t-shirt as it wrenched free of his shorts. Her feet stuck fast in the bands on the plank and she swayed, hands outstretched. Then she let go of Blake's shirt and he hit the grass on hands and knees, pushing off, almost colliding with Rina. The pair lurched for a copse of gum trees on a small rise.

‘Come on,' a male voice urged. Seth stood a few metres away facing the trees, hunched against the wind with his torso half-twisted toward her.

‘I can't,' she said, and she laughed.

‘What?'

He averted his face to keep the water out of his eyes and she thought he must think her mad because she couldn't stop laughing. ‘My foot's stuck.'

Her ankle had pushed straight through the elastic binding. Short of sitting and pulling her foot free, she was trapped.

Seth swore in the direction of her toes, but started back against the wind.

‘Leave me. Save yourself.' Remy swiped the back of her hand over her eyes.

‘Goose,' Seth said. ‘Think what it would do for staff morale if I left you behind.'

She stopped laughing because he hadn't been acting like the boss for the last five minutes but the comment about staff morale reminded her of who he was. She was suddenly terribly conscious of the clinging pink dress and her drowned-rat hair, and wasn't so sure being stuck in a rainstorm with her CEO was that funny after all. Then the first hailstone scratched a trail of blood from her arm.

‘Shit. Hold on.' Seth reached her, wrapped himself around her, and stood with his body sheltering her from the storm's full force. Remy ducked her head into the depth of his chest and concentrated on not being scared, and on making herself a tiny target.

Two things happened. For the first time in a very long time, she felt safe. Someone else was taking responsibility
for her
. Someone else was being strong. She'd been the protector for so long she'd forgotten what it was like to be looked after. Then gradually, as wet skin and cold clothes met and merged, warmth flickered along all those points where their bodies touched.

Remy had time to think:
ooh, nice.

As quick as it hit, the hail lessened and Remy risked a peek over Seth's shoulder. The group of plank walkers who had reached the trees made a second break for the marquee. Blake led the way.

‘Ready to run for it?' Seth asked.

Not quite.
Remy closed her eyes and pretended she hadn't heard.

***

Seth had forgotten how fast Margaret River spring storms started and stopped. It was raining still, but the hailstones petered out almost before they'd begun.

‘Ready to run for it?' He asked.

There was a moment where he thought she'd snuggled even closer; and almost imperceptibly, Seth's arms tightened. She was tall, this girl, even without those crazy silver heels. The crown of her head fit perfectly into the space beneath his chin.

The rain lessened. It was time to move. Damned if he found that he didn't want to step away.

‘I can't run till I get my foot out of this thing,' Remy said.

Her words whispered across his throat and the tickle of her breath stung him into action. Seth knelt to check the plank, the elastic, and Remy's lovely ankle.

‘Hold on to me.' He needed two hands to get her free: one to tug at the elastic and the other to hold the plank. Remy balanced on one leg and took a death grip on his shoulder.

After a moment of careful consideration and gentle manoeuvring, he popped her ankle free.

A red welt circled the front of her left foot. He traced the crescent with his finger, inexplicably angry with the universe for causing her hurt, and flinched when he felt her touch his ear.

‘You're bleeding, Mr Lasrey.'

‘It's Seth.' He reached up to his ear, brushing her hand on the way. His fingers came back bloody.

Gaining his feet, he stared at the bedraggled woman beside him. A smattering of freckles dusted her nose. She had a wide mouth, full lips that the rain had left disturbingly moist, and he would bet next years' vintage that when she smiled—which she wasn't doing now—the smile would be crooked. Right now, her grey eyes looked very, very, serious. Like a scientist one DNA-strand short of a career-defining moment.

She was stunning. She was too damn young. She was his employee, and he didn't know what kind of relationship she had with his brother.

That put her off limits for so many reasons.

‘You've cut your ear.' She started patting at her sides like a mother looking for a tissue to wipe her child's skinned knee.

‘Forget about my ear,' Seth said, more severely than her kindness warranted, but she caused him aches in very different places and she was worried about his ear? ‘Stay here, Remy. I'll be back when I've got your things. I'm taking you home.'

I'm taking you home before every man in this park gets a look at you and volunteers to play taxi. My brother included.

Chapter 2

When Seth returned with her shoes, his shoes, and a big padded jacket over his arm, she'd gathered her wits enough to tell him she'd come to the festival with Blake: freezing or not, she couldn't just
leave.

‘Blake's in no condition to drive. I told him I'd take you home.' He said it like that ended it.

Remy, however, had no intention of letting him see where she lived. ‘It's too far out of your way. I'll call a taxi.'

‘In the time it takes you to call a taxi, wait for it and then drive to Margaret River, I'll have you home. Look at you, you're shivering.' He touched her arm and there was something tentative about it, like he thought she might bite, or run. ‘Here, put this on.' He gave her his jacket.

She gave it back. ‘I'll ruin it. I'm soaked through.'

‘It's only water. It'll dry.' He draped it over her shoulders and gave her a little push in the direction of the car park.

‘You really don't need to do this, you know.'

‘Remy, I'm not leaving you here. Do you think you could move it along? This storm isn't finished. Look at that sky.'

He had a point. Something ominous was brewing in those clouds. ‘Okay. Look. Thanks. I appreciate it.'

He gave her the shoes to carry and kept walking. ‘Good. Now get in.'

His car was black, low to the ground, and smelled expensive. She hesitated and he got impatient all over again: ‘It's only water, Remy. Get in. Don't worry about the seat.'

‘But it's such a nice seat.'

When he turned the ignition, classical music filled the car. He turned the music off.

The car was a Nissan, like her mother's. That's where the similarity ended. This car was so smooth on the road after her mother's clunky Dual Cab, even with all the blustering wind she had to keep leaning across the seat to check whether he was speeding. He wasn't.