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Australia they drove on the left-hand side?—and she wouldn’t have strayed into the path of a fully laden semitrailer. His wife would be alive today if it hadn’t been for his foolish commitment to Macintyre’s and his grandfather.
    He lifted his head, realizing that Grace was staring at him. Jeez, she was just another willing acolyte worshiping at the Macintyre altar. She had to be, if she’d frittered away three years of her life doing his grandfather’s bidding. “Why are you wasting your time on me?” he asked, throat tight with frustration.
    She smoothed down the hem of her T-shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me about working on this hut and the village hall?”
    Tupua. What a gossip that man was. “What difference does that make?”
    She released a patient sigh. “Come on, Jack. You know it makes a big difference.”
    “So suddenly I’m a worthwhile cause?”
    “Something like that.” She hesitated, then added, “I didn’t even realize you could build stuff.”
    “Don’t look so surprised. I’m a qualified builder. My grandfather made me join the construction crews on my holidays since I was sixteen, and I wasn’t given any special treatment because of my name. I learned the business from the bottom up.” He snatched a hat hanging on a nearby hook and crammed it onto his head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and ‘build stuff.’”
    He marched past her down the path, but a moment later she was trotting alongside him. “Are you working on the hall? Mind if I tag along?”
    He plowed on, casting his eyes skyward as he exhaled deeply. “I thought you wanted a break from work.”
    “This is a break from work.” She hopped over a brimming pothole. “But I don’t like being idle. I could lend you a hand.”
    “Oh yeah?” He glanced at her neat, manicured fingers, and a bad idea entered his head. Those pretty fingers of hers were all very well for tapping at a keyboard and sipping cappuccinos, but they wouldn’t last long on a building site. A few hours of grinding manual labor in the sweltering heat would soon have her running back to Tupua’s bungalow. And with no touristy things to do around here, she’d soon get bored and be itching to return to Sydney. A bit harsh, maybe, but she’d brought it on herself.
    “This isn’t namby-pamby stuff, you know. Sure you can handle a bit of rough labor?”
    “I’m up for it.” She gave him a radiant smile.
    Her smile triggered a charge of heat that rushed to his groin. He caught his breath at the unexpected punch of lust. Hell, he needed Grace gone before he started getting any more bad ideas…

Chapter Three
    Grace lifted her forearm and wiped it across her sweating brow. It did little to stem the perspiration trickling into her eyes and seeping into the collar of her T-shirt. Blowing on the bits of hair stuck to her forehead, she glanced across the hall at Jack. He was whistling quietly beneath his breath while he hammered a piece of timber flooring into place with precise, efficient movements. His skin glowed with exertion, but even after four hours of solid work he still looked fresh, whereas she felt like a wrung-out, overcooked noodle.
    She leaned back on her heels to take a break from her sanding. At least they were out of the sun and a limp breeze was wafting through the room. The open-air structure was designed along traditional lines, with its massive timber posts supporting an enormous thatched roof.
    Grace set down her sander to flex her stiff fingers and grimaced as she noticed the blisters swelling up on her right palm. She’d been so intent on showing Jack she was up to the task that she’d ignored the growing sting in her hands. The cross-hatched timber railing she’d been sanding for the past hour ran all around the outer perimeter of the hall. Her arms were ready to fall off, but the job wasn’t even half done.
    “Ready for lunch?” Jack’s voice came from just behind her. For a big man, he could move with