Robyn Donald - Stepping out of the Shadows

Slightly startled, she looked up, brows raised. “That’s part of the convenience. Tracey—the Tanners’ daughter—is more than happy to babysit. She and Keir get on well together.”

He nodded, dark head inclining slightly towards her, grey eyes cool and assessing. A rebel response—heady and heated in the pit of her stomach—caught her by surprise.

“I hadn’t realised this is the first time you’ve come to one of these meetings,” he said.

“I’ve been intending to, but …” Shrugging, she let the words trail away.

“Point out the people you don’t know.”

Surprised again, she did so, wondering if he was using this method to politely move away. However, although he introduced her to everyone she indicated, he stayed beside her until it was time for him to speak.

Good manners, she thought stoutly, nothing more. Dragging her mind back to what he was saying, she realised that the quality of Rafe Peveril’s mind shone through his incisive words and she liked the flashes of humour that added to both his talk and his answers to questions afterwards.

Reluctantly, she was impressed. Although his family had an assured position in the district, it was a long climb from New Zealand to Rafe’s rarefied heights—a climb into the world arena that would have taken more than intelligence and a sense of humour to achieve. To get as far as he had he’d need uncompromising determination and a formidable ruthlessness.

In short, someone to be respected—and to avoid. Only too well did she understand the havoc a dominating man could cause.

The media lately had been full of him, from headlines about the signing of an important takeover to a photograph of him with a very beautiful woman in the gossip pages, but he’d soon be leaving Tewaka.

Hopefully to be away for another two months … That should give her time to stiffen her backbone and get over her disturbing awareness of the man.

* * *

When the meeting broke up—a little later than she expected—he caught up with her outside the library where the meeting had been held and asked, “Where’s your car?”

Ignoring a suspicious warmth in the pit of her stomach, she indicated her elderly vehicle. “Right here. Goodnight.” It was too abrupt, but she hid her expression by bending to open the door.

Their hands collided on the handle. The curbed strength Marisa sensed when his fingers closed momentarily over hers blitzed her with adrenalin. Before she could stop herself, she snatched her hand away as though she’d been stung.

And then it took every bit of composure she possessed to meet his focused, steel-sheened scrutiny without flinching.

Eyes narrowed, he pulled the door open and said coolly, “I rarely bite. Goodnight.”

“Thank you.” The words stumbled off her tongue and she hastily slid behind the wheel.

He closed the door on her and stood back.

Fingers shaking, she dumped her bag and the folder on the seat beside her and fumbled for the car keys. Why didn’t he go away instead of standing on the pavement watching? Of course it took a while to find the key, but at last she finally stuffed it into the starter and turned.

Instead of the comforting purr of the engine, there was an ominous click, followed by an even more ominous silence.

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