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unequivocally? Maybe she’d be blamed for not persuading him back to Sydney. He knew firsthand what a curmudgeonly slave driver Lachlan was, how he tended to lash out at those around him when his wishes were frustrated.
    He drained his coffee mug, trying to push away his growing misgivings. Why the hell had Lachlan sent Grace here anyway? Didn’t he know she wasn’t exactly an intrepid traveler, that she’d be out of her depth in a foreign country? Or was he testing her in some way, just like he used to test Jack?
    “Hel-lo?” A familiar voice floated out from the garden below.
    He froze as Grace strolled down the path, fresh and jaunty in white shorts and a blue T-shirt with a navy baseball cap on her head. Her hair was tied back and threaded through the hole at the rear of the cap, and her face was scrubbed clean and shiny. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the deck and looked at him, her toffee-brown eyes wide and bright.
    All his anxieties about her blew away like chaff in the gale of his fury. He glared down at her.
    “You’re supposed to be there.” He jabbed his forefinger toward the boat rapidly dwindling on the horizon. “I’m going to call Wally on the radio.”
    “That won’t be necessary.” She placed a foot on the first step.
    “The hell it isn’t.” He tromped down the stairs and grabbed her by the elbow. “It’s completely necessary.” Necessary to get her off the island and out of his thoughts. Necessary as his early morning coffee to set his day right. “The radio’s down at the harbor. If we hurry, we won’t have to wait too long for Wally to turn back.”
    In one neat movement she sidestepped out of his grip. “Nobody’s turning back. I’m staying here a few more days.”
    No, you bloody well are not . He felt the steam building up at the back of his head as he took in the tenacious set of her lips. Christ. A minute ago he’d been feeling sorry for her, and now she was standing here defying him, looking stubborn and bold.
    “You’re going back to Sydney,” he barked.
    “Yes, but in a week or so.”
    “I’m not having you nag me all day.”
    “Who said anything about nagging? I just want a bit of a break.”
    “You don’t like it here. No shops. No restaurants. Tons of mosquitoes and geckos and rats.”
    Her mouth turned even more mulish. “You can’t order me off the island.”
    Moisture beaded on the back of his neck. He rolled his eyes. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”
    She stepped back, some of her bravado crumbling, before steeliness filtered back. “You know,” she said through clenched teeth, “I’m asking myself that very question right now.”
    “You don’t have to wonder. Just get your arse on Wally’s boat.”
    The cusps of her cheeks turned pink. “I’ll get my arse on Wally’s boat when I’m good and ready and not a moment before.”
    His gaze flicked over her hips and legs, his thoughts traitorously diverted by the idea of her arse, before he shook his head. “Afraid your career will dive-bomb if you don’t bring me back to Sydney?”
    “No!” Exasperation furrowed her brow. “There’s more at stake here, don’t you realize?”
    “The future of Macintyre’s?” He waved his hand contemptuously. “Believe me, if the company got broken up or sold off, I’d be the first and the loudest to cheer.”
    Her eyebrows shot up. “But…you’ve worked harder than most.”
    “Yeah, that’s right.” And he had the scars to prove it. “What you don’t understand is that Macintyre’s is a monster, an insatiable beast, and I’ve sacrificed enough to it.”
    Except he hadn’t paid the ultimate sacrifice, like Becky had. Becky had died because of him, him and his devotion to Macintyre’s. If he hadn’t stayed back to finish those urgent reports, Becky wouldn’t have set off for Palm Beach on her own. She wouldn’t have veered around a corner onto the wrong side of the road—how many times had he told her in