Ballbreaker (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Read online

  On the left was Jeremy Sandford. Tall and lean, he was dressed in a loose-fitting, open-necked white shirt and casual, dark trousers that made him look like he was straight out of a Vogue shoot. She knew he had featured in more than one woman’s magazine in Australia’s top ten most eligible bachelors a year earlier. With an MBA, he was going to be the real trouble, and the fact that he looked like he was relaxed and even looking forward to this encounter filled her with even more misgivings. Why oh why had she given in to her father yet again?

  Taking a deep breath, Samantha opened the car door and stepped out, cautious smile firmly in place. As she did so she looked directly at the men—consultants never showed they were intimidated—and had to work hard not to burst out laughing. From their expressions it was very clear that despite promising, her father had not made the phone call. All things considered, surprise was looking like it might be to her advantage.

  The advantage lasted approximately thirty seconds. As Samantha was savoring the men’s astonished stares, Snape, realizing she was no longer restrained and confined to the car, took off at a full pelt and went directly into attack mode. The object of the attack was a dog on the verandah that was the size of a small pony, with enough hair to be a bear, and a mouth big enough that when opened as it was now, Snape pretty much disappeared into it.

  Chapter Two

  This situation had not been covered in Consultant Class 101, nor for that matter any other lecture or manual. As much as Snape drove her mad at times, Samantha was inordinately fond of him. Unlike her father, Snape did, occasionally at least, listen to her. Seeing him nearly disappear in one gulp brought out a protective rage she didn’t even know she possessed. With two strides forward, heels and all, she shook the larger dog hard. The dog opened its mouth and Snape, without so much as a scratch, dropped onto the ground and took off toward Jeremy’s ankles. Samantha grabbed for his trailing lead, not realizing it was looped around her legs, and pulled hard. Jeremy was pulling the dog off his expensive Italian trousers at the same moment that Samantha fell unceremoniously on her butt at Mike’s feet. So much for first impressions.

  For what seemed like forever, no one spoke. Then Snape started yapping, the large dog barked, and Mike burst out laughing, hand on his dog’s collar.

  “I don’t think this is a laughing matter!” said Samantha, trying to stay calm as she scrambled up, wiping the large dog’s dribble from her lapel as she did. “If anything has happened to Snape…”

  “If Snape is this creature,” interrupted Jeremy, who was holding the squirming animal at arm’s length, “then rest assured he is in fine form.”

  Samantha glared at him as she grabbed her dog. Remembering why she was there, she forced the smile back, and staring into Jeremy’s almost black eyes, said, “I’m Samantha Coulton.” And I am in deep trouble.

  * * * *

  Jeremy Sandford had handled some pretty interesting situations in his thirty-five years. In Melbourne he ran a BDSM club, so conflict was something he knew socially as well as professionally. But looking at Samantha Coulton, trouble in both spheres of his life collided in an instant. He wasn’t used to surprises and this was most definitely not the Sam Coulton he was expecting. Coulton’s daughter presumably. Jeremy hadn’t bothered with her, thinking she did the housekeeping for her dad. His research suggested she was a bluestocking classical musician rapidly turning into an old maid after not recovering from her mother’s death. He reminded himself to change private investigators. This woman was no more an old maid than he was sweet and easygoing. If she was a little innocent then all the better, but he was already salivating at the thought. She was, in short, delectable. And if she was a ballbreaker? He had to stop himself smiling at the thought of her brunette hair out of its tight bun and in knee-high leather boots with a whip in her hand. Domme picture aside, he was sure she’d make a great sub, and she looked like she would be worth being flexible and patient with.

  “A pleasure, Ms. Coulton,” he replied. “I’m Jeremy Sandford. This is my brother Mike and uncle, John, who’s just leaving. I’d offer to shake your hand but perhaps under the circumstances …” He looked at the wriggling ball of fluff who was eyeing his hand with evil intent. “Perhaps we’ll show you to your room and allow you to unpack?”

  Sam was struggling to retain control in this nightmare. “Ah yes that would be…thank you.”

  Jeremy ushered her indoors, but not before he caught his brother’s stunned look. Damn. As if they didn’t have enough problems already. Now it looked like they both had designs on the same woman.

  * * * *

  Mike went straight to the fridge and took a cap off a beer. He tried to get his thoughts straight. Sam Coulton being a woman, even a hot woman, didn’t make any difference, he told himself. She was bound to be every bit as much a ballbreaker as her father, and in his experience, women in management were worse than men. Besides, it would make some of his plans much easier. No way was a woman going to manage some of the challenges he had in mind.

  It was hard to get out of his head, however, just how vulnerable she had looked lying at his feet. His first reaction hadn’t had anything to do with her in the role she’d arrived to perform. He had to work hard to block the altogether too appealing image of vulnerability, as well as the images of all the things he would much rather be doing with her on the boardroom table. Since Monica had moved into town with their son Thomas a year ago, he hadn’t really had any interest in women. It took all his emotional energy to navigate each time he was forced to see Monica in order to pick up his son. Monica used Thomas as a constant wagering chip and always knew just how to get his hackles to rise. It was like a constant reminder of why relationships were dangerous.

  He had been into the city a few times, to one of his mate’s brother’s BDSM club. Connell had told him a lot about the scene and he’d checked out Half Moon. The hostess, Mae Lin, had opened up his mind to all sorts of possibilities. If he had lived in the city he would have been there regularly. As it was, it had been three months since he’d been able to have any time off, and even then he’d only gone because Monica had decided to be a complete bitch and disappear for a weekend with Thomas and whoever the new boyfriend of the time was. Mike preferred not to know, though what she might be exposing his boy to irked him.

  As he finished the beer, his brother joined him in the kitchen and got a bottle of champagne out of the fridge. “I rather think it’s showtime,” he said, leaving Mike to follow him to the study.

  * * * *

  Samantha had decided to discard the jacket even if it meant a step down in how much authority she conveyed. With the debacle that had heralded her arrival, she probably could have done with all the help she could get, but the dog’s saliva stain was now a large wet patch and besides that, the air conditioning wasn’t that good. Despite the house being spacious and elegant, with carefully positioned antiques, it hadn’t embraced the new century and was relying on ceiling fans.

  Samantha left Snape curled up on an eighteenth-century chair, looking like she had finally found her place in life, and shut the door to ensure her dog and Fang didn’t meet again anytime soon. Her heels clicked noisily on the wooden floors as she went in search of the study. She passed the living area, a wide spacious room with a grand piano. For a second she had a strong urge to go and play, lose herself in a piece, and pretend this nightmare wasn’t really happening. She wondered if either of the men played and rather doubted it. Probably the lace-cuffed man hanging over the mantelpiece had.

  “So,” she said as she walked briskly into the dimly lit room lined with books where she found the Sandford brothers. “Shall we get down to business?”

  “What’s the rush?” Jeremy had three champagne glasses on the desk and was uncorking a bottle of champagne.

  “Not for me, thank you,” said Samantha firmly. She caught the label. Shit. Bollinger. Maybe if there was a drop left in the bottle she could scull a glass later without them noticing?

  Jeremy gave
his brother a glass. “Teetotaller?”

  “No,” said Samantha. “Professional.”

  Mike turned an obvious laugh into a cough. Samantha glared at him, trying not to remember how soft and sweet he had looked when she had made such an idiot of herself.

  “So which of you wants to give me your business plan first?”

  As she guessed would happen, Jeremy volunteered. Having smoothed over his annoyance at her not allowing herself to be seduced into drinking and hence mellowed—Consulting Class 201, never drink alcohol during a negotiation—he gave her a concise, polished presentation that could have had been delivered in any of the Melbourne bank boardrooms.

  “To conclude,” he said, having had only one sip of champagne, “if we don’t modernize and move into the twenty-first century, and actively go after the top-shelf market, we may as well sell now and cut our losses.”

  Samantha, though, appearing to be focused on Jeremy, was aware that Mike’s fury had gone from simmering to near earthquake levels. “So, Michael,” she said, “what I’d like you to tell me, if Jeremy didn’t have this plan, what would you do with High Camp?”

  Mike opened his mouth then closed it again. He looked like he was debating about whether to tear apart Jeremy’s plan regardless of what she had asked for. In the end he capitulated.

  “Dad was pretty sick toward the end and making some dumb decisions.”

  Samantha restrained herself from putting a fist in the air. Okay, the two men at least agreed on this!

  “I know this country, have lived here all my life,” Mike continued. His glance at his brother suggested this should win a loyalty point. “More importantly I know about the effect the drought has had on this land.”

  “The drought broke,” said Jeremy dryly. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  Samantha maneuvered her “I am in charge” smile to change it to the “and I’ll make sure you know it” version. “This is Mike’s opportunity, you’ve had yours. He didn’t interrupt you. Perhaps you could afford him the same courtesy? I assure you there will be another chance to voice your opinions.” Hell. She saw his change in expression and reminded herself that she was here for work and to ignore the fact that both men were so hot that being in the same room with them had her so on edge she wanted to go running for a vibrator.

  “Yeah, I noticed,” said Mike. “Also noticed that the incidence of fly strike has gone up. The fancy wrinkled breed you want here need mulesing. You’ll spend all our inheritance on them and then no one will buy the wool because PETA will have us black-banned everywhere.”

  Samantha’s smile was now borrowed from Class 301—one doesn’t have to be an expert in everything, just help the other parties understand each other. Judging from the Sandford boys’ looks they understood each other perfectly. But as far as she was concerned they might have been speaking German.

  Mike took pity on her. “Mulesing,” he explained, “is when you remove the skin around the back area of the sheep to stop blowflies laying their eggs there.”

  “And PETA,” said Jeremy, “is an animal rights organization. A very powerful one that has already run several campaigns against Australian merino practices.”

  “Good heavens,” Mike said in mock surprise. “So you do get your head out of the Ivory tower sometimes.”

  “Shall we get back on topic?” asked Samantha, thinking she understood this. “So, Mike, back to the original question. How would you propose to run High Camp?”

  Mike clearly hadn’t done an MBA class. Or a consultants class. Or a public speaking one. After ten minutes of meandering around the topic Samantha stopped him.

  “Can you summarize that in one sentence?”

  Mike rubbed the stubble that made him look particularly hot in the rugged sort of way she didn’t usually go for. Russell looked more like Justin Bieber. Oh God she needed a life.

  “We stop mulesing. It’s the only ethical thing to do. We move to a hardier sheep and into wool for carpets. And targeting? Yeah I know all about that. How about China? They must have a few people wanting carpet.”

  Great. Samantha’s smile was the “great work guys and now let’s find a win-win.” Trouble was, both plans as far as she could tell had major upsides and downsides. A quick assessment in her estimates was that it had to be an either/or because of costs and risk, and because the will specified that the property couldn’t be divided while they were both alive. Unless someone came up with a third plan, they were stuck. And from the Sandford boys’ expressions, neither had any intention of budging one millimeter from the plan they had.

  Chapter Three

  By early evening the outside temperature had cooled to a milder eighty degrees. Samantha and the Sandford boys had argued for five straight hours and gotten nowhere before agreeing to put the topic on hold until the next day.

  “Until tomorrow afternoon,” Mike had added. “Because you need to take a tour of High Camp to fully understand what is involved. First thing in the morning.”

  Samantha saw a look pass between them and she was at a loss to interpret it. But Jeremy didn’t object and it made some sense, though mainly as a way of escaping being cooped up with them both for the whole day. Samantha’s head was pounding and she had no idea where to head this negotiation. Two people were actually far worse than multiple. With a group she was able to sort out the camps and then pick the leaders, hecklers, and gentle giants, and work with them each in different ways to neutralize and support as required. These two might have done better with an experienced couples counselor, though she couldn’t see any marriage between two people as pigheaded as these lasting more than a week. She had to wrangle with them for a month. Her father owed her a pay rise.

  Jeremy had invited her to join them for pre-dinner drinks in the courtyard at 7 p.m. She had politely declined to what sounded like a snicker and a mutter of “professional” and something else she didn’t catch from Mike. She had also declined to join them for dinner. It was very clear that Jeremy had her in mind for dessert, and were it mere lust Samantha would have happily delivered herself up for anything from appetizer to petit fours. But did he think she was that stupid that she was going to let herself succumb to his charm so he could then manipulate her? Oh please! She would have been happy to whip herself up a toasted sandwich but Mike, beaming, promised to have the cook deliver a meal to her room.

  The tray came complete with a half bottle of ice-cold white wine, a local one that was both delicious and reviving. By the time she had finished it and the plate of chicken and mango salad, most of the day’s tension had at least ameliorated. Snape regarded the tray delivered for her with approval and went back to her chair, Queen of the small fiefdom. Whether it was the change in environment or the near-death experience, her behavior was scarily good.

  It was too early to go to sleep and still light, so Samantha changed into shorts and a T-shirt, donned some runners, and snuck out the backdoor. The wind had died down and the air was still and thick with the smell of eucalyptus. For a city girl the ambiance was good in a way that went well beyond her expectations.

  * * * *

  Jeremy was sitting on the porch when he saw her walking along the lane that went to the creek. She was five hundred yards away but no one else here had those legs. Long, lithe, and incredibly sexy. He wished she was in the spa with him as planned but it looked like she was going to require a little more work first. No time like the present.

  By the time he had almost caught up with her, Samantha, still ahead, had reached the creek. Jeremy had forgotten that since the winter rains, “creek” was perhaps not the right description. Small river might have been more accurate, like it had been when he and Mike had been young. He’d learnt to swim here, thrown in by his old man. Even at that age, maybe five, he had wanted to be the one to have the upper hand. The third time his father threw him in he had worked out what to do but pretended he hadn’t and stayed under water in order to come up ten yards away and watch his father, fully clothed, dive in to look for
him. When Gerry had surfaced, Jeremy was sitting on the edge grinning.

  In about the exact spot his father had thrown him from, there was now a huge log that crossed the creek. Samantha was standing on it looking upstream. Suddenly she gasped and cried out, “Oh my god it’s a platypus!” She was dancing like a kid at the zoo. Hardly surprising, the next thing she slipped and went flying. He heard the bang of her head against the log as she went into the deepest part of the river, and he was running.

  * * * *

  Samantha had only ever seen a platypus on TV. The time she’d been to the sanctuary with her primary school, the platypus enclosure was being cleaned. She really didn’t know anything about them apart from a vague recollection that they had a poisonous spur on their back legs and were very shy and not aggressive. This one, sliding into the river off a clump of branches looked, above all else, cute.

  She hadn’t however planned on joining it. As she hit the water she was surprised at how cold it was, probably in contrast to the outside temperature. It was also remarkably deep. Her head hurt from the bang but not enough to cause hallucinations. But this was the first thing she considered when she surfaced, and there was a seemingly fully clothed but very wet Jeremy Sandford treading water opposite her.

  “I saw you fall,” he said. “You okay?”

  “Yes, fine, thank you,” Samantha replied between gulps of water. They both swam to the edge and she hauled herself out, Jeremy following. She looked at him in what had once been a probably very expensive outfit and wondered how Italian labels did in river water. “Sorry if you ruined your clothes,” she added a little defensively. It wasn’t as if she had asked him to rescue her.