But there was nothing ambiguous about the brief but telling betrayal of her feelings. She hadn’t been a happy guest at the wedding.
After the confrontation in the summerhouse he’d watched her from a distance, seen her greet several people, exchanging hugs with some of the women, one of whom did so with a piercing, “Samantha, darling! I haven’t seen you in an age!” From some of the men she’d accepted a kiss on the cheek, but never offered her lips. Once she laid a hand on a man’s arm for a second or two, making some laughing remark. The man—sixty-ish, grey-haired but still good-looking—smiled at her with unconcealed admiration and said something in return at which she laughed again.
The ice princess could turn on the charm when she wanted to. But when the man leaned closer she moved almost imperceptibly back, though keeping her smile intact. Not the way it had been with Bryn, as if she couldn’t stop herself touching him.
Showing a capacity for pain and passion under the Nordic cool. The woman was a walking contradiction.
Should he care? His only concern was for his sister. He wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt Rachel.
Chapter Three
SAMANTHA was unable to put the disturbing, infuriating Jase Moore out of her mind. For weeks, then months, she’d scarcely seen Bryn. She let her managers deal with him when business made contact necessary, and kept away from gatherings he might be expected to attend—with his wife at his side. Her social life was reduced to close friends and inescapable obligations, giving herself time to get over the surprisingly deep hurt of losing a man she’d had no claim on in the first place.
It couldn’t be that hard to return to viewing him as a friend and business colleague whose company she enjoyed. And her circumspection had nothing to do with Jase Moore and his misguided attempt to frighten her off.
It wasn’t as if Bryn had ever appeared to notice her perhaps too-tentative attempts to signal her growing interest—the lingering handshakes, the sincerity and warmth of her smile, the occasional fleeting touch. Now she wondered, if a perfect stranger could pick it up at first glance, had Bryn known all along? Known and not given her any encouragement because he simply didn’t find her sexually attractive? The thought made her inwardly squirm. Another reason to avoid him for a time.
She immersed herself in carrying on her father’s business, his life’s work. A brilliant builder, he had employed the very best workers, even poaching them without conscience from other firms, but had remained staunchly attached to traditional practices. He had never learned to use a computer himself, although conceding the need for them and paying his Information Technology Manager a handsome salary.
Samantha felt it was important to keep up-to-date if her firm was to maintain its premier position in a crowded industry. She booked for a one-day seminar on Future-Proofing Your Business, the star attraction being an American speaker whose books about the changing face of management she’d admired.
After seeing his name she hadn’t bothered to read the rest of the programme, sure the steep fee would be worth it just to hear him.
His keynote speech, first on the programme, convinced her she’d been right, but she was puzzled when before the next session she saw none other than Jase Moore carry a laptop computer onto the stage.
Her first thought was, It can’t be. Her second that he was there as a technician. Maybe he’d left Donovan’s already or been shifted from the transport department to one more to his liking.
He placed the computer on a table beside the microphone and lifted the lid. His white shirt, worn with dark trousers, was open at the collar, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. Obama casual, and it suited him.
Then the chairwoman stepped forward and began to introduce him. Samantha looked down at the programme in her hand, passing over a glowing CV of the guest speaker to the next page. Among a list of names and subjects, she saw “The Future of the Interfaced Workplace.” Speaker: J.S. Moore.
“Mr Moore,” the chairwoman was saying, “began his career in computer games, hitting the jackpot before he was out of his teens with his popular pirate series, ‘Pinnaces, Pillage and Plunder,’ and ‘Hunters of the High Seas.’”
Samantha’s mouth fell open and she quickly shut it again. She’d never played computer games, nor even looked at those included with her office programme, but she had seen TV ads touting the virtual environment games, and no one could miss the ubiquitous posters, T-shirts and novelty items emblazoned with the titles and characters.
“At the same time,” the chairwoman continued, “he was experimenting on his father’s farm, marrying farm machinery and electronics, leading to designing revolutionary systems for the agricultural sector, which are now used worldwide.”
The woman glanced at the notes in her hand. “Recently he’s been developing systems and machinery for industrial use, with a particular interest in safety and the use of virtual reality simulations for training, and the integration of office and workface into a seamless digital environment.”
Jase’s deep, confident voice woke Samantha from a whirling daze. She dimly recalled glancing through a couple of news articles mentioning the ubiquitous pirate games and their spin-off merchandise, and being somewhat surprised that their creator was apparently a multi-millionaire, fast catching up to the top ten richest people in the country.
His name hadn’t stuck. And she had no interest in agricultural machinery, so that too had passed her by.
Helped by computer-generated images on a large screen behind him, Jase clearly and fluently described a future of machinery and even surgical instruments controlled by operators simply thinking their commands to specialty computers.
Already Samantha used computer programmes to show clients three-dimensional “plans” for buildings, but he promised “a real-time physical walk-through of virtual buildings,” then went on to describe more ground-breaking work in fields that once were the domain of science-fiction.
When he was done, in answer to a query he quoted statistics about production losses due to industrial accidents, and called on Bryn, whom Samantha hadn’t seen seated in the front row, to come to the microphone and describe how Jase had improved production and safety at Donovan’s Timber.
At morning tea, among the throng around the tables bearing scones and muffins to go with their tea and coffee, Bryn caught her eye and made his way to her with Jase in tow.
Bryn kissed her cheek and said, “Haven’t seen you for a long while. What did you think of my brother-in-law?” He put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “You met Jase at my wedding, didn’t you?”
Samantha gave Jase a nod of recognition. “Your presentation was very interesting.” She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of expressing surprise that he was not the idle loser he’d allowed her to imagine.
His “Thanks” was preceded by a faint twist at the corner of his mouth, as though he knew she found the compliment difficult, and that amused him.
Bryn said, “Some of the systems he put in place for us would probably work for you. In fact if we used the same programmes it could cut time and effort—even expense—for both our companies.”
Samantha just stopped herself from physically recoiling. Jase must have noticed. The curl at the corner of his mouth grew, and the hint of a dimple creased his cheek. She said, “I’ll think about it.”
A tubby man in a brown suit joined them, loudly quizzing Bryn about his experience with Jase’s services.
Jase moved closer to Samantha’s side and said sotto voce, under the chatter all around them, “Glad you took my advice.”
Something prickled along her spine. “I don’t remember you giving me advice.”
“Bryn hasn’t seen you for a while?” He nodded as if in approval, making her hackles rise further.
She clipped out, “We’re both busy people.”