Chuckling, Hone let her lead the way to the front door. An itchiness between his shoulder blades told him they were under scrutiny. Again. He hated the idea of leaving Cassie alone, yet he sensed she intended to stay, no matter what his argument.
“Where do you want the tins of paint?”
“The lounge, please. The words on the walls there make me grit my teeth.”
Hone checked his watch. “I have ten minutes before it’s time to leave. Anything else before I go? After I check your ribs.”
“Humph.”
Hone suppressed his smile at her harsh exhalation. He set down the box of painting equipment. “Show me your war wounds.”
“I stubbed my toe.”
“Cassie.” He remained stern, fighting his instinct to laugh.
She avoided his gaze, instead focusing on her feet. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”
“In ten minutes.”
She bared her straight white teeth at him. Then a chuckle escaped, a surrender, her hands darting to her blouse buttons. “I am glad I didn’t go with my first instinct to wear a dress.”
“I like your dresses.” Hone made a sweeping gesture to indicate her clothing. “The one with the cats wearing glasses.”
“You noticed them?”
“It told me you have a sense of humor. I enjoy that in a woman.”
“Oh.” Her eyes grew as wide as her mouth.
“Clock’s ticking, babe.”
Her breasts rose and fell with her gusty sigh, and his taniwha perked up for the first time since his flight-exhausted slumber. The faintest rumble of a purr vibrated through Hone’s mind.
With trembling fingers, she unfastened the top two buttons of her pale blue blouse. Hone’s gaze drifted to her bra and her creamy curves pushing against the restraint.
“Hey.” She clicked her fingers under his nose.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t look.”
“You’re in first-aid mode.”
Hone spotted the red mark above her left breast. No broken skin. He prodded the area with light fingers, watching her expression the entire time. She winced.
“How sore are you? Honestly.”
“I tensed once I knew I was going to crash. My neck and back are okay, but I have general aches and pains. Nothing too major.”
Hone wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her. Just hold her against him until his racing pulse slowed, until the trembling of his knees ceased, until his taniwha stopped struggling for freedom. “Tell me if that changes. I’m serious about the hot tub. That will help.” Fighting his taniwha, his need to touch, his urge to protect, he stepped back and watched her refasten her blouse.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’d better go. I’ll be back in two hours. Pace yourself, okay?”
“I will.”
Hone hesitated, biting back his words of caution, the urge to say more when he had no right. His hands clenched at his sides, and he forced himself to turn away since he didn’t do permanent. No women. Cassie was out of bounds.
“See you later.”
Cassie didn’t breathe properly until the rumble of Hone’s vehicle faded. Her skin tingled at the spot he’d touched and the memory of his masculine scent lingered. She shook her head, the resulting jolt of pain jogging her brain back to sensible. It was easy to see Hone Taniwha and his cousin Manu were charming players. Rogues. Men of the most dangerous kind. Emma was right. She should stay far, far away from both of them.
Forcing her mind to practicalities, she plucked her phone from her bag and checked her email. As promised, Kevin had sent a contract plus details of her concert slots. The segment before the main act at each venue. Five, perhaps six songs, a little chat with the audience and an encore if she had time. Six songs, she decided. Two covers, two Katie-Jo songs and two new ones. She’d adapt them to make them fit.
While she considered her song choice—always the most important part of preparing for a concert—she spread out the sheets and taped the skirting boards. Crap. She hadn’t considered a ladder. Perhaps Jack would have one she could borrow.
Half an hour later, with the low skirting boards taped, she began painting, taking satisfaction in covering the rude graffiti. The roller meant the work went quickly, and she hummed different songs while she narrowed down her choice of cover songs.
A thump froze her mid-stroke. Crap. She’d forgotten to lock the door after Hone left. Stupid. Basic security if she was on her own.
The knock repeated. “Hello? Anyone home?”
An unfamiliar voice. Cassie frowned as she placed her paint-splattered roller in the pan, tension simmering in her belly.
“Coming!” Cassie couldn’t see through the door and opened it cautiously with Emma’s and Hone’s warnings ringing in her ears. “Hello?”
A man dressed in an open-necked white shirt with black trousers turned and acknowledged her presence. “Hi, I’m Matthew Jamieson, your neighbor. I thought I’d pop in and say hello.” He extended his hand, his boyish face wreathed in a polite smile.
Cassie relaxed and accepted his hand, approving of the solid yet non-bruising handshake, his business casual attire. “Cassie Miller-Pope. I was intending to drop by and say hello. Do you have time for a cup of tea?”
“Not today, I’m afraid. I’m on my way to a meeting and later, I must pick up my son. It’s my week to have him.” His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, his sandy-blond hair and clean shaven cheeks giving him the boy-next-door vibe.
Cassie bit back a burst of humor. Funny. He was the boy next-door. “Have you lived here long?”
“Almost two years. It’s a smallholding. We grow Christmas trees.”
“That’s cool. I noticed the pine trees. I guess it will be quieter for you now that Christmas is over.”
“These trees aren’t big enough for harvesting yet. My family owns other farms. One in Pukekohe and another in Waiuku. We were busy there in December. It’s a relief to have a quiet month. Well, I’d better head off to get to my meeting on time.” He extracted a card from his wallet. “These are my numbers if you want to get hold of me for any reason.”
“Thanks. I arrived to find the place vandalized. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed any people loitering around the house?”
“That’s terrible. I’m sorry to hear that. I haven’t noticed anyone, but I’ll keep an eye out and pass the word to my employees to do the same.”
“Thanks. Have you met the people who live at the farm farther up this road? The Pattersons, from memory?”
“A young business couple own the farm now. They run alpacas and both of them work. They have a family member who lives in the village and keeps an eye on their stock during the week. Are you planning to stay here full time?”
“Undecided at the moment,” Cassie said. “I’m here for a month, but it depends on my work.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a personal assistant.” The fib rolled smoothly off her tongue since she’d repeated it often. It was a good way of keeping her anonymity, and she was glad of the white lie since it let her live a relatively normal life when she was away from the stage.
“Is that an American accent I hear?”
“It is,” Cassie said. “Although I was born in New Zealand.”
Matthew’s watch peeped—an alarm of some type. He pushed a button, and the noise ceased. “Sorry, I have to go. Nice to meet you, Cassie. I’ll probably see you around. I’ll let you get back to your painting.”
“How did you know I was painting?”
“Apart from the smell?” He grinned. “You have paint on your nose and one cheek.”
Cassie groaned and slapped her hand to her face. “I’m mortified.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry. Paint looks good on you.” And with a wink, he strode to his navy-blue sedan and drove away.
Well. Cute. He hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. He could be her possible fling. He’d seemed personable…
Matt tapped the driver’s wheel as he drove toward Auckland. So, the mysterious C Miller-Pope was the one of the women he’d seen earlier. Good. Easier for him to scare, and if she was here short-term things might not be as grim as he’d suspected. She’d responded to his subtle flirting. Another plus.
The land had been let go since the old guy died, and Matthew had increased his property line into her plot, planted his weed and enclosed the crop by several rows of pine. She might not notice or be aware of the official boundaries of her land.
Herbert had said he’d run a woman off the road. Cassie, judging from Herbert’s description. He’d continue with the same tactics. At best, it might scare her away and at worst, his men had an excuse to loiter since he’d promised to watch for trespassers.
Yes, things might work out, despite his fears. The crops would grow to maturity, they’d shift the drugs, and his bank account would grow by a healthy amount—enough to secret his son from New Zealand.
Yeah, nothing like risk to raise the adrenaline.