Christmas Belles (Gillies Ridge)

Chapter 2

R IKA listened as Richard Buchanan spoke of his love of fine scotch whiskey.

It was a story she had blocked from her mind the day she left the village in the mountains that had been home to her forever. In leaving she had not only rejected her family and her inheritance she had turned away from the only man she had ever truly loved.

Now he was back. Cradling her against his side like he had a right. Holding her close like they were in this together.

That it was their story.

She stiffened and pulled away. How easy it would be to stand mute and let him spin a Cinderella tale of rags to riches. Of her mother, an Irish immigrant, coming to Australia and creating Belle’s Whiskey, a brand that was now internationally recognised if the fairytale Richard weaved to their enraptured rich-lister audience was to be believed.

Rika knew the truth. Her mother was a bootlegger. Selling cheap alcohol from the back gate to men who should have known better.

How the Erika Whiskey had found its way to international shores was beyond her comprehension.

She had turned her back on that story a long time ago.

So why now? Why was he standing beside her spinning dreams of a golden liquid in oak barrels and claiming notoriety for what was nothing more than her mother’s sly grog business?

He could pretty it up as much as he wished. Belle’s Whiskey was part of a past she’d spent thirty years trying to forget. The daughter of a woman who cleaned other people's houses during the day and made sly grog at night to sell over the back fence by the flagon to anyone who paid.

When Rika had the opportunity to run, she had taken it. She had left without saying goodbye and never looked back.

Richard Buchanan could spin his fairytale but they both knew she had never been good enough for him or his family. He had dallied with her affections while his mother looked on with disapproval.

Then he had married someone more suitable to bear the Buchanan heirs.

And here he was sprouting his blarney on her turf.

She needed to put a stop to it.

To him.

She took the mic from him midsentence and stepped away. “That's enough blarney for one night,” she said, forcing a chuckle from her throat.

With her back to the man she thought she'd never see again she thanked her guests, opened her arms, and waved at the food that mysteriously appeared.

Silently she thanked Pom for distracting their guests’ attentions.

Soon, everybody would forget the romance story being played out on the stage as they turned their attention to the catered food that was always a highlight of the evening.

With alcohol flowing freely and the music starting up Richard Buchanan and his fairytale would be nothing more than an interesting anecdote.

She crossed fingers behind her back.

She hoped.

She turned her gaze back to him, her features schooled. “Thank you for the donation,” she said formally. “The Belle Foundation will be sure to use it wisely.”

“Is that all the Erika Whiskey is to you? A charitable donation?”

She looked up into the charcoal grey eyes that had mesmerised her when she was s teen. “Yes,” she said simply.

“Your mother passed away without your forgiveness,” he said quietly. “Is that going to be our ending, too?”

“Our ending? We never had a beginning thanks to your family.”

“Oh, we had a beginning alright. And our happily ever after would have followed if you hadn't run away.”

“I may have run but you didn't follow.”

“The old saying,” he said. “If you love it set it free, and it'll come back to you.”

“I didn't come back. I liked being free then. I like it now.”

“So why are you trembling?”

“I'm controlling my anger. Just. I suggest you leave, assuming you've done what you came to do?”

“Do your daughters know about their inheritance?”

“There’s nothing to know. The place is being sold and that’s the end of the story.”

“What if your daughters choose not to sell? What if they want to continue the Belle legacy?”

“My daughters will have my legacy. They don’t need a rundown farmhouse on a dead-end road in the boondocks. Nor do they need to sell sly grog to old men over the back fence.”

“The sly grog that just put one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in your coffers. And you know there's more where that came from.”

“Send me an invoice. I’ll buy it all.”

“What if it's not for sale?”

“Everything has a price,” she said wearily. “Let my secretary know and she can deal with the details.”

She turned away and headed towards the curtains at the back of the stage, hoping to disappear and that this nightmare would go away.

She felt his hand on her arm. “Wait.”

“You don't have the right to tell me what to do anymore.” She looked down at his hand. “Or to touch me. I think it’s time you left.”

There was a rustle behind the curtains and her daughters rushed towards her.

“Are you okay, Mum?” Pom came and stood beside Rika, glaring at the man who still held her arm. “I heard my mother tell you to leave. I advise you to do it.”

“Please,” Ali stepped forward to stand beside her sister and mother. “I don't know what all this is about but maybe if you made an appointment for tomorrow?”

“I don't think it's an appointment he wants,” Grace said, the only one to stand back and look between her mother and the man who hadn't moved from her side. “Mum, is this the man giving you grief? We can dispose of him and your guests will be none the wiser.”

“Thank you, darling. But Mr Buchanan was just leaving,” Rika said quietly. “Girls, I'd appreciate it if you'd circulate and keep the party going while I show him out.”

“You're sure?” Grace hesitated, then began to shepherd her sisters back the way they had come. “We’re only a text away if you need us.” With one last glare the man at her mother’s side, Grace ushered her sisters to do was their mother bid.

“They’re like you,” Richard said. “I take it your marriage didn’t work out the way you wanted to?”

“You know exactly what happened,” she said crossly. “It was splattered all over the newspapers.”

He nodded. “You’re right. But I didn’t come here to discuss the past with you, Freddy. Or to fight with you.”

“Why did you come?”

“Because it’s Christmas.”

“It’s Christmas every year but you don’t turn up with expensive whiskey—” Except this was no ordinary Christmas. And it wasn’t just any whiskey. “My mother sent you, didn’t she? What was it, some kind of deathbed promise?”

“We talked, if that’s what you’re asking.” He met the challenge in her eyes with a look that set alarms bells ringing in her brain. And elsewhere. But it was when his gaze travelled to her lips, she knew she was in trouble. He pulled her gently towards him. “She told me life was too short not to go after what I wanted.”

“Don’t you dare—”

He smiled softly. “What, Freddy? Kiss you?” He dropped her hand and linked his arms around her waist as he slowly lowered his head to hers. “Like this?”

She wanted to pull away. Instead, her recalcitrant body met him halfway as his lips closed over hers.

His kiss was gentle, questioning, and she was surprised to find it wasn’t enough. She wanted to drag her fingers through his hair and pull him closer. To kiss him like they used to kiss. When they didn’t know who was kissing who because they didn’t care.

Back then, they had forever, or so they’d thought. Tonight, there would be no coming back for more.

Just one kiss, and then he would be gone.

As he deepened the kiss, she gave in to the urge to link her fingers behind his head. She pulled him closer. Heat built between her thighs. She knew he felt it, too, as the hardness of his cock pressed against the soft satin of her gown.

And then it was over.

He pulled away slightly, his arms still pinning her against him. He scanned her face. And what he saw seemed to satisfy him.

“I’ll go like you asked.” He dropped his arms and stepped back. “But make no mistake, Freddy. This time, there’s no running. It’s time to find out if this thing between us is over. Or just beginning.”

As she watched him walk away, she put a hand to her forehead and rubbed her temple. Her feet were killing her. She had been publicly humiliated in front of two hundred of her peers.

And the man that had haunted her dreams for the last thirty years had just kissed her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

She wasn’t sure which one of those things annoyed her the most.

She said her goodbyes to her guests and made her way to the elevator. New beginnings, her ass. The blasted man could take his whiskey and disappear back where he came from.

She pressed the button to take her to her suite. Christmas or not, there was no such thing as happily ever after.

And they both knew it.

Safely inside her suite, she kicked off her heels and headed for the bathroom, stopping only long enough to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator. She turned on the bath taps and lit a candle before swallowing two Panadol.

She stripped off and sank into the water. If Richard Buchanan thought he could march unceremoniously back into her life, he had another thing coming. She made her own decisions.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She was a mature woman who ran her life how she chose. She’d been making sensible decisions for years.

Except her stupid heart didn’t seem overly interested in sensible. It was full of butterflies and somersaults and other fluttering-heart type emotions.

Emotions that were no more real tonight than they’d been the last time he’d held her. Except she wasn’t a teenager anymore and, fluttering heart or not, she’d made a life for herself and her daughters.

She didn’t need a man to fulfil her. And Richard Buchanan with his come to bed with me eyes might as well get used to it.

She made a mental note to make an offer on all the Erika Whiskey he possessed. And that would be the end of things between them. That part of her life was over a long time ago and she had no intention resurrecting it.

She deliberately turned her attention to the success of the auction. Like every other year, the Belle Foundation had reached its target of $1 million. The Erika Whiskey had merely been an auction item like all the other donations. The gossip would soon die down and her life would go back to normal.

Ordered, predictable and totally within her control.

Just the way she liked it.