Addicted to Nick by Bronwyn Jameson

hinted at. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m just curious,” he said easily, as if he hadn’t spent sleepless hours pondering the many possibilities.
    â€œYou know what happened to the curious cat.” Still teasing, although more warily this time. At least she hadn’t walked away. Yet.
    â€œAre you a local?”
    â€œOur family had a small acreage about an hour’s drive west of here,” she said carefully. “I lived there till I was seventeen.”
    â€œWas that when your father died?”
    She took a measured sip of her coffee. “That was two years later.”
    â€œYour mother?”
    â€œShe died when I was little. I barely remember her.” She put her mug down with an abrupt click. “I don’t know if you’re really interested in my family history or if this is breakfast small talk, so I’ll keep it brief. My father brought us up—my brother and me—which wasn’t so bad, because we both happened to love horses and they were Dad’s life. Jonno was killed when I was fifteen, and things went downhill from there. I stayed as long as I could, but when I got a decent job offer, I left.”
    â€œSometimes leaving’s best for everyone.”
    â€œWell, my father sure didn’t think so.” She swirled the remains of her coffee around the mug, a small sad smile on her lips. “Obviously he wasn’t as forgiving as Joe.”
    â€œHe was tough on you?”
    â€œYes, but he also taught me how to work and about self-discipline.” She lifted her chin, defied him to take issue.
    â€œSeems to me you’re too hard on yourself. Maybe you needed someone to teach you about lightening up, having fun.”
    â€œI’ve tried that. It’s overrated.”
    Nick wondered if that was what her father hadn’t forgiven—not the leaving home, but what she had done in those years—and what his lack of forgiveness had meant to her. “What happened to your father’s place?” he asked on a hunch.
    She shrugged, but the gesture seemed awkward. And telling. “He left it to someone else.”
    A father gutted by the death of his son, a daughter who tried to fill the gap but felt she had failed, who maybe ran wild for a couple of years. And her bitter, tough, unforgiving father gives away her heritage.
    It explained a lot about the woman sitting before him. Her self-contained strength, her vulnerability, how she worked her butt off, as if paying some sort of penance.Her reluctance to accept what she thought she didn’t deserve.
    â€œAnd this is why you don’t want to accept your part of Yarra Park?”
    Determination hardened her expression. “It’s not right. Joe’s family should have it. I know how they must feel about this.”
    â€œJoe’s family is getting plenty. Believe me, this is nothing like the situation between you and your father.”
    â€œBut…”
    â€œAccept it, Tamara. It’s what Joe wanted.”
    â€œBut you said you would consider taking my half.”
    â€œI said I’d think about it, and I will. Are you this stubborn about everything?” Man, he hoped not. He had less than two weeks to change her mind, and he didn’t mean about the inheritance.
    â€œStubborn?” She pushed herself off her stool, a faint smile curving her lips. “As a mule, Joe used to say, but only about things that matter. Now, let’s go find you a pitchfork.”
    Â 
    The next five days rolled out smoothly enough, with Nick dividing his time between the stables and the office. Although he made no overt moves or provocative comments, tension simmered beneath the artificial surface of civility, despite her attempts to keep the mood light and easy. The flame had been turned down to pilot, but one quick flick of the switch would kindle the inferno she had felt that night in the moonlight.
    Eight more days, she thought with a resigned