Chapter Sixteen
Caesar
We spend the next few hours in bed as the sun slowly rises. I want to make sure Maddie’s head is better, and I’m also enjoying being cuddled up and just talking with her.
I remember the guitar in the corner of the living room, and when she admits she plays, I retrieve it for her and beg her for a song.
She’s embarrassed at first, but then she starts playing, and my jaw drops.
Although she just strums simple chords, her voice is folksy but beautiful, singing sweet lyrics about life up in the hills of the South Island.
When she’s done, I say, “I don’t know that one.”
“It’s mine,” she says shyly. “I wrote it last year.”
“You wrote that?” I’m astonished. I can hold a tune, but that’s as far as my musical talent goes.
She wrinkles her nose. “It’s just a simple folk song.”
“You’re a woman of many talents, aren’t you?” I say softly.
She puts the guitar down and turns back to me, sliding her arm around my waist. “I prefer your talents.” She strokes her hand down my back.
“They are many and varied.” I nuzzle her neck. “Which ones would you like to sample today?”
“All of them, please. I want to make the most of you while I’ve got you.” She kisses me then, pressing up close to me, her warm body yielding to mine.
I kiss her back, but her words replay in my mind as my lips move across hers. All morning, I’ve been thinking about what happens next, both in business and then, as a result, in my personal life.
It’s become clear to me that this isn’t enough.
It’s early days, and we don’t know each other well, but I want more.
I like her. I like her sense of humor, her intelligence, and the way she looks at me, with desire mixed with a little surprise, as if she can’t quite believe I’m into her.
I felt a fierce swell of protectiveness when she wasn’t well.
I want to make her feel better. I want to make her come again. I just… want her.
So I’ve been thinking hard about what I’m going to say to my father and the board when I go back, about finding a way we can work with the Rutherford Group without leaving ourselves exposed.
I think I’m getting there. And if I was to pull that off, it might…
just might… mean Maddie and I could have a future.
And then she goes and says I want to make the most of you while I’ve got you.
Obviously, I’ve made it clear I’m not interested in Tom’s proposal, so she’s probably just doubtful I’ll change my mind.
But I feel a momentary flare of panic. I thought I’d lost her after the ball.
Then I found her. I don’t want to lose her all over again.
Well, the future is always shrouded in mist, and nothing is certain. It’s pointless to stress about anything over which I have no control. All I can do is show her how I feel and do my best to work things out business-wise.
“How’s your head?” I ask, moving back a little, concerned.
“The Panadol helped. It’s not too bad at all,” she says.
“You’re sure?”
She gives me a mischievous look. “You know what’s supposed to be good for releasing stress?”
“Does it begin with O and end in ’asm?”
She giggles, and I laugh and roll back, bringing her with me. She stretches out on top of me, kissing me with enthusiasm. I sigh, running my hands down her back, finding all the intriguing dips and flares of her curves. If orgasms help her migraine, I’m more than happy to help provide them.
I make her come first with my mouth, taking my time to arouse her, then kiss my way back up her body and arouse her all over again before sliding inside her.
I could easily thrust us both to an orgasm in less than a minute, I think, but I make sure to make it last, taking care to be gentle and changing positions a few times, as I don’t want her to get sore.
By the time we’re done, we both collapse on the bed, exhausted and sated, and we stay that way for a long time, me curled around her as we look out of the window at the puffy white clouds, and I draw patterns on her back.
When we’re ready, we sort out our wet and muddy clothes and drape them on the fence to dry.
We walk the fields again so Maddie can do another test of the soil, all the way to the other end of Blackridge Station this time.
Then we walk slowly back, talking about everything under the sun, somewhat literally, as by the time it reaches its zenith, the day is turning into a sizzler.
The wind has dropped, and steam rises from the paddocks as the sun bakes the wet earth.
There’s no air conditioning in the cottage, so when we arrive back, we leave the door and windows open and let the light breeze blow through the warm rooms while we make lunch.
Bill included a pack of salad in the cool bag, so we fry up some chicken and bacon, make a quick dressing and toss it all together, and eat it with crusty rolls that apparently his wife baked, smothered in thick Lurpak butter.
After we finish, we cuddle up on the sofa, talking and kissing while we listen to some music.
It’s rare for me to take time off, and for a while I have to fight the feeling that I should be doing something.
I ask her whether she wants to drive into Wānaka or Queenstown to do some shopping, but she says no with enough enthusiasm to convince me she’s enjoying our time together.
So gradually I relax, stretching out on the sofa with Maddie half-lying on me.
At one point, I look down to find she’s dozed off, and I smile and kiss her forehead, glad she’s able to get some rest.
I’ve never given much thought to forever before.
I’ve had a couple of serious relationships that have come to an end for one reason or another, but I’ve never even come close to proposing.
And I’m not thinking about it now; after all, we’ve only spent a few days together.
But for maybe the first time in my life, I find images flittering through my mind: of settling down, buying a house together, getting married, having a family.
I always thought—or hoped anyway—that it would happen eventually, but I’m thirty-three now, and I’d lost the romantic notion we all have as youngsters of finding The One some time ago.
Could Maddie be The One? My heart races. How can I possibly be thinking that already? But I can’t shake the feeling.
It makes no sense. She’s a Rutherford, the granddaughter of the one guy in the whole of the Auckland business world I dislike more than any other. But that’s not her fault. And if I don’t now believe our meeting at the ball was contrived, there’s no reason to keep my distance from her.
With some surprise, I realize that I no longer believe she approached me at the ball intending to seduce me.
I simply don’t think she’s capable of deceiving me like that.
She’s too genuine, and her affection feels too real.
She looked so shocked when I accused her of it that day, and I don’t think that was faked.
I trace patterns on her back, feeling sleepy, and fall into a slight doze for a while, lulled by her slow regular breathing.
I rouse when my Apple watch vibrates on my wrist. I hadn’t expected to doze so hadn’t set it to Do Not Disturb.
An icon appears announcing a message from Marcus.
Surprised, as he told me he’d do his best not to contact me while I was away, I pick my phone up from the table with my left hand, trying not to disturb Maddie.
I flick it open and bring up the message.
It’s to the point, very Marcus, and says, Dad’s just told me Tom has brought the deadline for the offer of partnership forward to 19 March as he has ‘another offer to consider’. He’s talking about shorter review periods and observer access to the Ashford system. Thought you should know.
I stare at the screen. Originally, Tom agreed to the end of the month as a deadline. Now he’s expecting Dad to get back to him soon after I get back. And he’s changing the terms.
It wouldn’t surprise me if there is no other offer. He’s tightening the screws to put pressure on us to make a decision.
Why has he done that?
I slide my arm out from under Maddie and sit up, unable to stay lying down. She blinks and yawns, then pushes up as she sees me sitting.
“Sorry,” she says, “I dozed off.” She sees me looking at my phone then and says, “Everything okay?”
I run my tongue across my top teeth. “Marcus just told me your grandfather has brought the deadline for accepting the offer to this Friday.”
Her mouth opens, but no words come out.
I frown, puzzled. “Why would he have done that?”
She closes her mouth slowly. Swallows hard. Then, she says, “I think that might have been my fault.”
My eyebrows rise. “Why?”
“He messaged me and asked how the weekend was going. I messaged back and said you liked the idea of the soil restoration model, and that we’d talked about ways we might be able to integrate the two.”
I rise, walk a few feet away, then turn and face her, my hands on my hips.
“I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong,” she whispers.
I don’t say anything. My heart is racing, and anger has flared inside me, but I keep a lid on it.
She also rises, and her forehead creases as her brows draw together. “I wasn’t reporting back.”
“Sorry, explain how that wasn’t you reporting back?”
“Well, I suppose I was, but not in the way you’re thinking.”
“When did this happen?”
She meets my gaze evenly, and I can see her bristle a little. She doesn’t like being quizzed, but I think it’s understandable considering the circumstances.
“This morning,” she replies eventually, folding her arms, her shoulders hunching.
Her defensive posture makes me doubt myself. I’d literally just been thinking about how I trusted her when the text came through. She’s not going to openly criticize him because he’s her grandfather, but it is possible she’s as much a victim of his scheming as the rest of us.