One Night in the Orient
One Night in the Orient
Robyn Donald
Siena wished fervently Nick hadn’t come in.
Five years had gone by since she’d seen him last—she’d grown up from the naïve nineteen-year-old she’d been then, abandoning her adolescent fantasies of the perfect hero.
It was stupid to be so affected by his arrival.
Not that she’d been the only woman in the room to notice him. His arrogantly handsome features and leanly muscled height gave him a potent charisma that had caught the eye of most of the women in the restaurant.
A very dangerous charisma.
Don’t go there …
About the Author
ROBYN DONALD can’t remember not being able to read, and will be eternally grateful to the local farmers who carefully avoided her on a dusty country road as she read her way to and from school, transported to places and times far away from her small village in Northland, New Zealand. Growing up fed her habit. As well as training as a teacher, marrying, and raising two children, she discovered the delights of romances and read them voraciously—especially enjoying the ones written by New Zealand writers. So much so that one day she decided to write one herself. Writing soon grew to be as much of a delight as reading—although infinitely more challenging—and when eventually her first book was accepted by Mills & Boon she felt she’d arrived home. She still lives in a small town in Northland, with her family close by, using the landscape as a setting for much of her work. Her life is enriched by the friends she’s made among writers and readers, and complicated by a determined Corgi called Buster, who is convinced that blackbirds are evil entities. Her greatest hobby is still reading, with travelling a very close second.
Recent titles by the same author:
THE FAR SIDE OF PARADISE
POWERFUL GREEK, HOUSEKEEPER WIFE
(#ulink_bc4987b2-f8dd-5fbd-bd13-0a57ffe61aaa)
(#ulink_bb639680-dcaa-5fb9-aca4-373c31c48b9f)part of The Greek Tycoons series
One Night in the Orient
Robyn Donald
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
LIFTING a glass of excellent French champagne, Siena Blake said, “Mum and Dad—here’s to your next thirty years together! May they be even happier than the ones you’ve already had.”
Diane Blake smiled, serenely elegant in the unfamiliar surroundings of an extremely upmarket London hotel. “Darling, if they’re only half as good as the past thirty years they’ll be wonderful.”
Siena’s father gave his wife a look that combined pride and love.
“They’ll be better,” he said confidently, “and one reason for that is our great good luck with our children. So I’ll return the toast—here’s to our twins, Siena and Gemma, for making our lives much fuller and more interesting.”
He raised his glass, adding slyly, “Although at our advanced ages I suppose we’re now expected to be eagerly waiting for grandchildren.”
Sparks flashed from the diamond in Siena’s engagement ring as candlelight danced across her taut fingers.
Her voice rang a little false in her ears when she said, “Well, I shouldn’t think Gemma has any maternal ambitions. She hasn’t yet found a man she’d like to marry, and you’d better give Adrian and me a few years yet.” Ignoring a nagging, unwelcome doubt, she took a sip of champagne and set her glass down. “Anyway, the important occasion right now is your anniversary.”
A little wistfully her mother said, “The only thing that would be more perfect is if Gemma could have been here too.” She smiled. “But she can’t, and your arrival yesterday was such a wonderful surprise. I’m only sorry Adrian couldn’t make it with you.”
Siena thrust aside her strange ambivalence. “He sends his love and best wishes, but he just couldn’t take time off work.”
Her parents understood. Together they’d built a business from nothing to a modest prosperity, and with their daughters had lived through times of hard work and sacrifices.
Swiftly Siena added, “Anyway, in a few weeks you’ll be home again in New Zealand, and we can celebrate again with Gemma and Adrian and all your friends.” She lifted her glass again. “So here’s to safe journeys. And a truly fantastic cruise for you both.”
As long as she could remember her parents had dreamed of cruising—of taking a leisurely trip through the Caribbean Sea and central America. After years of saving they’d finally set out on a round-the-world odyssey, first touring the United Kingdom before flying out early the next morning to join their ship.
A subdued flurry at the entrance caught her attention. Looking past her mother, she noted with hidden amusement the stately maître d’hotel increase pace perceptibly as he made his way across the room to greet some newcomers.
Clearly important newcomers. He’d barely acknowledged Siena when she’d arrived to join her parents.
At the unexpected sight of the man who’d just walked in, Siena’s heart performed a swift jig in her chest. Setting down her glass with a sharp little movement, she asked abruptly, “Is Nick here to celebrate with us?”
Her parents’ surprised looks told her he wasn’t. Diane said, “Our Nick?”
“Nicholas Grenville,” Siena said, the sound of his name on her tongue tinged with bitterness and shame.
Flinching at her mother’s surprised look, she composed her face and disciplined her voice into a steadiness she was far from feeling. “He’s just walked in with a stunning woman.”
Without turning, Diane asked, “An ash-blonde? Tall, coolly exquisite, superbly dressed?”
“That certainly sounds like the same person.” Although all Nick’s lovers had been blonde, coolly exquisite, sophisticated, et cetera.
All except one …
Banishing that extremely unwanted thought, she said hastily, “You know, it seems so unfair I should be barely five foot four inches high when everyone else in our immediate family is tall and elegant.”
Even Nick. Unconsciously her gaze flicked across the room as Nick and his partner were shown into an area hidden from most of the diners by a screen of greenery.
Of all the unwelcome coincidences! At least he hadn’t seen them.
Smiling, her voice teasing, she said, “Are you sure the nurses in the maternity unit didn’t confuse me with another baby?”
Her parents laughed. “Positive,” Diane said comfortably. “Apparently you’re very like your father’s grandmother, who died young. According to family lore she was little and practical and sensible and very forthright. And she had your black curls and those stunning blue eyes.”
“I’m glad you still think of Nick as part of our family,” Hugh said thoughtfully.
Siena shrugged airily, and bent the truth. “Oh, well, while you were mentoring him Gemma and I saw him at least once a week for years and years, and every holiday while his mother was working. We thought he was wonderful. He was always lovely to us, although he obviously hadn’t had much to do with small girls.”
She’d managed not to look across the room again, but she couldn’t help asking, “Who is his—the woman with him?”
His latest lover, she thought, a raw edge of old pain surfacing unexpectedly.
Diane exchanged a cryptic glance with her husband. “Portia Makepeace-Singleton. We had dinner in his apartment the night after we arrived in London, and she appeared at his door halfway through the meal. Unexpectedly, I’d say, although you know Nicholas—he gave nothing away.”
“I presume she’s his latest significant other,” Siena said, hoping she sounded coolly dismissive.
Her mother shrugged. “Possibly. Naturally we didn’t ask.”
Siena looked from one parent to the other. “You didn’t like her,” she guessed.
Diane looked a little self-conscious and didn’t answer directly. “Have they seen us?”
“No, they’ve been seated out of sight of us less distinguished diners.”
But the evening was comparatively young—plenty of time to be noticed, and Nick always noticed.
She wouldn’t let Nick’s arrival spoil the evening. Defiantly she raised her glass, only to set it down when light scintillated again from Adrian’s diamond.
Adrian was a darling. She was very happily looking forward to marrying him next year. He would never hurt her.
Whereas Nick.
She drew in a sharp breath. Nick had almost shattered her.
At sixteen she’d successfully exorcised a crush on her father’s protégé. Even then she’d known that Nick was not for her. By the time she’d left high school he’d well outstripped his mentor, made his first millions, and based himself overseas for several years.
He’d stayed in contact with Hugh, sending cards on important dates, calling in to see the family on his visits to New Zealand.
Then, when she’d been nineteen, he’d returned to New Zealand for a few months.
And Siena had been forced to realise she’d been fooling herself. Far from being exorcised, that adolescent crush had metamorphosed into full-blown desire. Oh, she’d fought it, until he’d.
“Siena?”
Jolted back into the present by her mother’s puzzled voice, she lifted her glass again and drank a little too deeply of the champagne.
“Sorry,” she said automatically. “I was daydreaming, I’m afraid. I’m overwhelmed by all this glitter and luxury. I wonder what it would be like to live like this?”
Hugh surveyed her with indulgent amusement. “It wouldn’t be long before you’d be bored out of your mind. Why don’t you ask Nick some day? It’s his milieu now that he’s a permanent figure in the world’s financial pages.”
“And described variously—depending on the journalist—as a buccaneer, a financial genius and an arrogant billionaire far too handsome for his own good,” Siena commented, hoping her parents didn’t notice the astringent note in her words.
“All accurate,” her father said, his tone not entirely approving.
He didn’t mention the gossip magazines, with their avid comments on Nick’s various relationships. Allowing for the usual frenetic exaggeration, there had been several of those.
Siena wished fervently Nick hadn’t come in.
Five years had gone by since she’d seen him last—she’d grown up from the naïve nineteen-year-old she’d been then, abandoning her adolescent fantasies of the perfect hero to settle for a happy future with a lovely man.
It was stupid to be so affected by his arrival.
Not that she’d been the only woman in the room to notice him. His arrogantly handsome features and leanly muscled height gave him a potent charisma that had caught the eye of most of the women in the restaurant.
A very dangerous charisma.
Don’t go there …
His presence added to a nameless unease that had been gathering in her for several weeks, a sense that her world—her life—was heading into a grey blandness.
Well, she was probably entitled to a certain concern about her future—a week ago she’d walked out of a perfectly good job.
And now was not the time to be thinking of that disaster. She set her jaw and pushed everything from her mind but the need to enjoy this evening with her parents.
To her relief, a band struck up the sort of music her parents loved. They’d met at a high school ball, and their shared love of dancing was the reason they’d chosen to celebrate their anniversary at this hotel, famous for its dinner dances.
Siena looked at her parents. “What are you waiting for? Up you get.”
“Nonsense,” her mother said robustly. “We’re not leaving you by yourself.”
“Mum, of course you must get up. I’m twenty-four! Sitting alone in a restaurant for a few minutes is not going to embarrass me. And I’d like very much to see you dance on your thirtieth wedding anniversary.”
After a little more encouragement her parents rose and made their way to the floor. Siena watched them go with a slightly twisted smile. They looked good together, moving with inbuilt, confident grace. Like them, her sister Gemma had hair and skin touched by gold and their long-boned, willowy stature, perfect for a model.
The sort of woman Nick favoured …
Oh, stop it! she commanded. OK, so her unfashionably curly tresses were black, and her skin so pale she didn’t dare spend more than a few minutes in New Zealand’s notorious summer sun unless she was slathered in sunscreen.
But she had inherited her parents’ love of dancing. Smiling, she realised one foot was tapping unconsciously. Using her savings to fly twelve thousand miles as a surprise had been an inspired decision, even if it had cleaned out her bank account. When she’d knocked on their hotel door the previous day her mother had fought back tears and her father had swallowed.
Siena glanced at a woman dressed with such superb taste she shone like a gem even in that gathering of the rich and the famous. Beside her was a notorious and inordinately handsome actor.
The skin between her shoulder-blades tightened. Refusing to turn, she kept her eyes on the dance floor while an odd, primitive apprehension throbbed through her.
From behind her a deep male voice said, “Five years ago you’d have turned to see who was watching you.”
Nick.
Deep within her something fierce and bewildering leapt into existence. No, was reborn …
Disconcerted, she focused on the diamond Adrian had given her, and squelched the automatic urge to swivel around. “Five years is a long time, Nick.”
Only then did she brace herself and turn to look up into his lean, handsome face. His brows lifted, one slightly higher than the other, as her wary gaze clashed with the hard, dense green of his eyes, exactly the burnished, many-layered colour of pounamu, the greenstone prized by both ancient Maori and modern New Zealanders.
Beautiful eyes, she’d thought as an adolescent—and far too perceptive, especially when they were half-screened by thick, long lashes. Once she’d been unable to meet his gaze without a secret inner thrill. The same foolish tension sawed at her nerves now.
“But you still know when someone’s watching you,” Nick drawled.
“Sometimes,” she evaded, a shiver scudding the length of her spine. Unbidden, wildly unsettling memories flooded her brain with disturbing, erotic images. Five years previously she’d lived for a few short weeks in a fantasy world, only to have it all crash down on her in a maelstrom of shattered hopes. Since then she’d made sure she hadn’t met him again.
“Do sit down, Nick—you make me feel like a hobbit confronted by an elf.” Her words came too quickly, almost tumbling out.
Nicholas Grenville was overpowering in every way. Superbly tailored evening clothes emphasised powerful shoulders and long legs, the white shirt contrasting with his coppery tan and black hair and those compelling eyes. But what made him stand out in this assembly of well-dressed, sophisticated men was an unconscious air of command, of hard-edged, formidable authority.
He lowered himself into the chair her father had vacated and enquired, “What are you doing in London? Your parents didn’t say they were expecting you.”
“They weren’t,” she told him, still struggling for composure. “I surprised them by arriving yesterday out of the blue.”
“Are you on holiday?”
“No,” she said crisply. “I left my job.”
His brows were raised again. For once, she thought, startled by her satisfaction at the thought, she’d surprised him.
“Why? I thought you were happily settled managing some plant shop.”
Her parents must have told him, and Nick would have filed the information away in that computer brain of his.
Furious and alarmed by the swift surge of warmth that thought aroused, she said, “It wasn’t only a plant shop; I managed quite a big nursery as well.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Very much.”
Nick leaned back in his chair and surveyed her. Five years had made quite a difference; a slender blue dress skimmed her body, subtly hinting at tantalising curves beneath, and she’d highlighted the incredible blue of her eyes and her silky, translucent skin with a skilful use of cosmetics. She hadn’t quite managed to tame her tumble of ebony curls, and the gaze that met his was reserved, but he discerned a familiar hint of challenge in both eyes and attitude.
Ruthlessly he subdued his body’s spontaneous and exasperating response. “So why did you leave?”
She hesitated, then lifted her small square chin in a defiant movement he recognised. “The business was sold, and unfortunately the new owner decided I’d be perfect as a nice little bit on the side.”
Gripped by cold, uncompromising anger, Nick forced himself to control it. “And were you?”
Lips tightening, she lifted her hand and splayed the fingers to reveal an engagement ring. “Not interested. But it made for a difficult situation, so I left.”
Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been the sight of that ring. His anger mutated into an emotion he didn’t recognise, one he refused to face. He should be—he was—pleased she’d fallen in love. Presumably with someone who valued her, a man she could trust—unlike the one who’d taken her virginity and then walked out on her.
That ring and all it implied should go some way to easing his guilt.
It didn’t.
It took most of his iron self-control to say curtly, “With a handsome redundancy payment, I hope.”
“Absolutely.” She beamed at him, a smile that had always meant mischief. “I gave it to a charity for abused women. In his name. They were terribly grateful and no doubt will contact him regularly asking for further donations.”
Nick’s smile showed his teeth. “A nice little revenge—and typical of you. I assume you had a contract?”
“A contract I broke.”
“For reasons that could have seen your boss up before the employment court,” he said uncompromisingly. “What did your fiancé think of that?”
Siena’s eyes widened. Adrian had been angry about the situation, but he’d accepted her handling of it. “He was fine.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as defensive as she felt.
Apart from a subtle narrowing of those coolly watchful eyes Nick’s expression didn’t change. “A rather muted response, surely?”
For him it would have been; even as an adolescent he’d been protective towards two small girls.
But Adrian was nothing like Nick. Adrian would never make love to her as though she was the only woman in the world, then leave the next morning without a word of explanation beyond a few curt phrases of apology for getting carried away.
Adrian wouldn’t break her heart.
“Not everyone has your killer instinct,” she told Nick with a taut smile. “Adrian knows I can deal with my own problems.”
Nick leaned back in his chair and let his gaze rest a moment on her ring finger. Siena had to repress a weird instinct to hide it protectively under the table.
Relentlessly he demanded, “So you walked out of a situation you should never have had to face, with nothing more than your wages, then decided to hop on a plane and meet your parents in London?”
She said cheerfully, “You must be a mind-reader.”
His smile was sharp, its humour almost mocking. “No, I happen to remember a wilful, determined child with a big heart. What do you intend to do once you get back home?”
“Find another job, of course.”
“Just like that?”
“Give me credit for some intelligence,” she said coolly. “I have extremely good references, both from my previous employer and the rat who propositioned me. And while I worked there I learnt a lot about landscaping as well.”
Nick nodded. “Your mother told me you’d planned the makeover of their garden. You did a good job—it looks superb.”
Hiding her pleasure at this, she said, “Gardening’s always been fashionable in New Zealand, and Auckland is a great place for it. Almost everything grows there.
As well, the recession has produced a huge surge of interest in being as self-sufficient as possible. Think vegetable gardens and home orchards. I’ll find a new position—a better one.”
“Still the same confident little thing,” he said in a tone tinged with irony. “Tiny and bossy and infuriatingly persistent.”
His summing up of her character stung. Producing her sunniest smile, she said, “Remind me to get a reference from you—it can only help.”
“Any time,” he said laconically. “So, having walked out of your job and on a point of principle donated money you should have put in the bank to a charity, it was an entirely logical decision for you to come to England?”
“It’s Mum and Dad’s thirtieth anniversary,” she explained.
He looked surprised. “They didn’t mention it when we had dinner together.”
“You know my parents.”
His arrogant features softened a little. “Yes. They wouldn’t have wanted any fuss.”
“We were going to have a party at home—just a small one—and then they planned just to fly over for their dream cruise, but they got a really good deal from one of the big travel firms, with a tour of the UK thrown in first. They weren’t going to take it, but Gemma wouldn’t have been able to make the party—she’s in Australia doing a big promotion for a fashion week there—so I persuaded them to go. And then I decided to come across for the actual day.”
He nodded. “And how did your fiancé feel about that?”
“Adrian?” She glanced across, met his burnished green gaze and felt a twinge of sensation in the pit of her stomach. Swiftly she said, “He thought it was a brilliant idea.”
“Clearly a very accommodating man.” Nick’s voice was sardonic.
Siena returned crisply, “Adrian comes from a big family in the South Island. He understands family dynamics.”
Too late, she remembered that Nick came from a dysfunctional marriage, and flushed, furious with herself. She was so foolishly conscious of him she couldn’t even organise her thoughts.
Nick gave her a narrow smile. “And I don’t?”
“I wasn’t referring to you.” She apologised. “I’m sorry—it was a crass comment.”
“But entirely correct,” he drawled. Once again he glanced down at her ring. “So when is the wedding?”
“We haven’t settled on a date yet,” she said, “but almost certainly in the spring next year.”
He looked curious. “A long time off. Are you living together?”
“No.” The heat in her cheeks flared up again. Her thoughtless comment had been returned with interest and cool deliberation.
Nick looked over her shoulder and rose to his feet, his expression well under control.
Expecting her parents, Siena was surprised by the woman who stopped at the table, but only for a second.
As Nick got to his feet she realised this had to be his latest lover.
CHAPTER TWO
ASSAILED by an emotion perilously close to jealousy—no, Siena corrected hastily, envy—she took in the newcomer’s tall blonde beauty with something like resignation.
“Nicholas,” the new arrival said in a modulated voice. “You see, I wasn’t away long.”
“Portia, this is Siena Blake,” he said negligently, and introduced her.
A pale, expert gaze appraised Siena’s blue silk. Appraised—and then dismissed it as a chain store irrelevance. A spark of rebellion lifted Siena’s chin a fraction.
Nick finished the introductions. “You met Siena’s parents a couple of nights ago,” he told the newcomer.
The blonde said smoothly, “I remember. Your fellow New Zealanders.” Dismissing them too, she gazed down an aristocratic nose at Siena. “So you and your sister are the—” Her brow crinkled a moment before she laughed softly and directed an arch, long-lashed glance at the man beside her. “I think the words Nicholas used were ‘the nearest things I have to sisters.’ Is that right, darling?”
“When I was young, yes,” Nick said.
Siena stopped herself from casting him a swift look. Although his tone was perfectly pleasant she detected an edge to it she hadn’t heard before.
He finished, “However, it’s been some time since I thought of either Siena or her twin as sisters.”
“And I’m sure neither of them ever thought of you as a brother.” Portia’s voice had lowered and she smiled at him.
It wasn’t exactly a possessive smile, nor an openly desirous one, but there was a proprietorial gleam mixed with the feminine appreciation. And it cut through Siena’s composure like a sword.
What’s happening to me? she thought worriedly.
Not that she blamed Nick’s lover. Several inches taller than the blonde woman, his black head gleaming in the lights, Nick radiated the cool, leashed assurance Siena always associated with him—as though he could take on the world and win.
Which was exactly what he had done—and on his own terms.
He looked at Siena, his eyes hooded. “Both Siena and her sister considered me an intruder.”
Lighten up, Siena told herself. It took an effort to produce a soft laugh. “Especially when you tried to teach us chess.”
His grin flashed white. “I was endeavouring not to remember that.”
“I’m sure you were an excellent teacher,” Portia said a little abruptly, as though somehow Siena had cast aspersions on his intelligence.
“Siena beat me,” he told her.
“Because you let me,” Siena objected.
She recognised the smile he gave her—amused yet tinged with cynicism. “For the first half of the game, yes,” he conceded. “After that I was desperately trying to regain ground.”
Portia produced a tinkling little laugh. “And was your sister a prodigy too?”
Nick said, “Gemma was definitely not into board games.”
He glanced up as Siena’s parents returned, their arrival followed by a flurry of congratulations. In answer to a glance from Nick a waiter glided up to take his order for more champagne, and while that lasted they all made conversation.
Eventually he and Portia went back to their table out of sight. Strung tense as taut wire, Siena forced herself to lean back in her chair and look around the room.
“How lovely to see Nick again,” Diane said once they were safely out of earshot. “He was such a tightly buttoned boy I used to worry about him, but things have worked out so well for him.” She patted her husband fondly on the arm. “Thanks in no small measure to you, Hugh.”
“He’d have got there by himself,” Hugh said confidently. “What we did for him, I think, was to show him what a happy household was like.”
Surprised, Siena said, “Do you think so? I wouldn’t have thought he’d seen enough of us to do that. From what I remember he spent most of his time doing boy things with you.”
Hugh shook his head. “Oh, he knew. Nick’s always been extremely astute. When his parents’ marriage ended his father was awarded custody at first, then somehow his mother regained it. Shortly after that the father died. I thought it was interesting that Nick never spoke of him.”
Diane said quietly, “He did—once—to me. In a chilling, very adult way. He told me he’d never allow himself to be like his father. I wondered if his father had beaten him, but he didn’t react like a child who feared physical harm.”
Siena was horrified. Her comment to Nick about family dynamics couldn’t have been more unfortunate. “Do you think he beat Nick’s mother?”
“Possibly,” Diane said.
Shocked, Siena tried to reconcile this new information with what she knew of Nick. Somehow—by osmosis, perhaps—she’d absorbed knowledge that his family hadn’t been a happy one, but her parents had never discussed him and she’d had no idea his childhood had been traumatic.
Had that trauma something to do with the shattering end to their—their what? Romance?
Hardly. Although she’d prayed it might become one. Ever hopeful at nineteen, she thought grimly. Not a romance and neither had it been an affair, because that implied something more important than several weeks of flirtation followed by one night together.
One-night stand she refused to accept. It had been—at least on her side—more than that. She’d been so sure she was in love with him.
Interlude, she decided.
Yes, that fitted the situation perfectly—reduced it to insignificance.
Her mother broke into her thoughts with an inconsequential remark. “It’s time Nick got married. He was—what?—thirty in October?”
“In November,” her husband informed her.
It figured, Siena thought—Scorpio to the core, she’d bet. Dark and dominant, controlling a passionate nature with a will of steel. Her skin tingled as she remembered.
Diane paused before saying, “I hope Portia isn’t what he has in mind.”
Siena could only agree. The woman seemed cold—cold to the core.
However, she said lightly, “I’m sure you can leave it to Nick to choose the right woman for him. Now, are you two going to dance again?”
“I’m not—not right now, anyway. But you are,” her mother said briskly. “I’m going to repair my lipstick in the wonderful cloakroom they have here, so you two can enjoy this one.”
The evening progressed very pleasantly; carefully keeping her gaze well away from the foliage that hid Nick and his lover, Siena watched her parents take the floor. She danced with her father again, and her parents told her all about their short tour.
She despised herself for noticing that Nick and his Portia didn’t dance.
Eventually Hugh noticed her hide a yawn. “You must be jet-lagged. I wish you could have found a room in this hotel.”
“Dad, I couldn’t afford to sleep in the boot cupboard here. I’m so glad you decided to splurge all the way with this trip.”
Her parents laughed. “This is the only night we’re spending here,” Diane admitted.
Siena said easily, “Enjoy it! My hotel might not be anywhere near as opulent as this, but it’s perfectly comfortable.” She got to her feet and gave her father a quick hug. “I’m only going to be there tonight and tomorrow night—I’m staying in Cornwall with Louise until the end of the week, and then I’m heading home.”
“Such extravagance,” her mother said fondly, hugged in her turn. “But it was so lovely to see you—a wonderful surprise! I just wish you could come with us on this cruise.”
“Don’t be silly—you don’t want anyone else on your second honeymoon.” Siena grinned. As yet her parents didn’t know she’d thrown in her job, and by the time they got back she fully intended to have a new position. “Enjoy it to the full, and I’ll see you in a month!”
“I’ll come down and see you into a taxi,” her father stated firmly.
Siena hid a smile. Like Nick, her father was innately protective, and she wasn’t surprised when her mother immediately decided to accompany them.
Unfortunately Nick and his girlfriend chose that time to leave, and Nick’s offer to take her back to her hotel put her in an awkward position.
“No, thanks, I’ll be fine,” she said, wondering if the icy chill coming in waves from Portia’s direction was real or merely a figment of her too-active imagination. Whatever the other woman had planned for the rest of the evening, it most definitely didn’t involve giving Siena a lift anywhere. And Siena definitely didn’t want to play gooseberry.
So she said firmly, “Thank you for thinking of it, but it’s not necessary. What on earth could happen to me in a London taxi?”
Nick shrugged. “Where’s your hotel?”
When she told him he said, “It’s on our way.” He nodded at the hotel forecourt. “And there’s the car.”
He travelled in style. If Portia hadn’t been standing frostily by, Siena might have teased him about the large, discreet limousine and uniformed driver that waited for them.
Once she’d have done just that, but Nick now was different from the boy she’d known, the man who had shown her just how intensely wonderful passion could be.
And then left her.
“Nick, dear, that’s wonderful of you,” her mother interposed. She smiled at Portia. “So kind.”
Siena knew when she was beaten. So did Portia, who sketched a thin smile in response.
Fortunately Siena’s hotel was a mere five minutes’ drive away. She could be polite for that long—and so, she learned, could Nick’s lover.
But the atmosphere was not conducive to small talk, and she was glad to get out. “Thanks so much,” she said firmly, hoping Nick would take the hint. “Goodnight.”
However, he escorted her to the hotel door. “What are you doing after your parents leave?” he asked.
“I’m sightseeing tomorrow, and the next day I’ll take the train to Cornwall to stay with an old schoolfriend for a few days,” she said, oddly discomposed.
“When did you become engaged?”
The abrupt change of subject startled her into looking up. “Several months ago.”
His brows met above the arrogant blade of his nose. “No one told me.”
Siena blinked. It sounded like an accusation, but before she could respond, he went on, “Is this Adrian anyone I know?”
“Adrian Worth. His family have a station in the South Island high country.” Old money, and a lovely set of relatives. And a very nice, honourable man.
“The name sounds familiar,” he said, and left it at that. With a cool smile he nodded and bent his head. Surely he wasn’t going to kiss her?
He did, a swift peck on her cheek, dropped in place only to be immediately forgotten, she thought, her heart thudding unevenly in her ears when he straightened. “Sleep well,” he said.
Siena couldn’t control a startled blink. Nick’s narrow smile was something. Somehow it roused an excitement she didn’t even want to think about. She felt as though she’d been dipped in champagne.
No, she thought cynically, not champagne. The very best brandy—dangerous, delicious and far too potent …
“Goodnight,” she managed, and crossed the lobby, feeling the impact of his gaze between her shoulder-blades.
Through the closing lift doors she saw him turn and go back to the big car and the woman who waited for him.
Presumably they’d end the evening in bed together.
Stop being so prying and intrusive, she thought bleakly while the lift eased to a stop. She had no right whatever to speculate about Nick’s love affairs.
His private life was just that—private.
Or as private as he could make it with paparazzi following him around.
She spent a restless night, tossing in an unfamiliar bed, listening to traffic, wondering why she wasn’t more excited at being in London. Perhaps because at night it was impossible to distinguish between traffic in London and Auckland—a lonely sound in both places.
Eventually she managed to drop off to sleep, only to wake later than she’d planned. A day’s sightseeing lay ahead, so she scurried around and left the hotel, intending to grab breakfast and coffee somewhere on her way.
It was a busy day, one she enjoyed. It was only on her way home that she realised she hadn’t checked her email. Sitting on the top of the double-decker tourist bus, she flicked her phone open and scrolled through, feeling guilty when she saw one from Adrian.
It took her only a moment to read it, a moment in which the noisy buzz of traffic faded into the sound of her heart drumming in her ears.
I’m so sorry. I’m a complete coward for doing this by email, but I don’t know how to tell you I’ve fallen in love with someone else. It’s not your fault, and I feel awful about it, but I can’t help it. Please forgive me. You can’t think any worse of me than I do myself. I wish you every happiness.
And he was hers sincerely, Adrian.
Siena sat in numb, incredulous disbelief, her gaze locked on the screen as Adrian’s words danced crazily on it.
An aching emptiness brought a swift, cold spurt of tears. Shivering, she fought them back, trying to tell herself that it was just as well he’d found out now instead of waiting until after they’d married.
Despite the shock, in her innermost heart she knew she’d been waiting for this day. Somehow she’d sensed this—even though she’d refused to face it—long before she’d left New Zealand. For weeks Adrian had seemed distant and on edge, brushing off her enquiries with reassurances that now rang hollow and false.
Nick had called her bossy, and she probably was, but she’d learned to fight for what she wanted. Her parents had always been meticulously fair, but it hadn’t been exactly easy growing up in the shadow of a twin who’d been a beautiful baby, progressed to become an enchanting child and then a stunning teenager, before finally maturing into a woman so beautiful she’d dazzled every boyfriend Siena had brought home.
Swallowing hard, Siena fought back nausea. She didn’t—refused to—want a man who loved another woman.
So she had to get over this horrible anguish. But first she needed privacy, a few hours alone to deal with her grief. Tomorrow she was heading to Cornwall to stay with her best friend from school, and she would not depress her by moping around.
She clicked off the phone and put it back in her bag, staring resolutely out of the window until she could once more see and hear.
Back at the hotel she fled to her room, eyed the mini-bar, but decided bleakly that a stiff drink was the last thing she needed right now. Opting instead for the familiar solace of a cup of tea, she sat in the uncomfortable chair and forced herself to drink it, trying to achieve some serenity.
None came. Before she’d taken more than a couple of sips she leapt to her feet and, setting her mouth, wrenched off her engagement ring.
No, no longer her ring. The diamond winked and glittered in the palm of her hand, and without volition her fingers closed around the lovely thing. She fought back another sob and thrust it into a zipped pocket in her handbag with a sharp, final movement.
Tomorrow it would be on its way back to Adrian.
The hotel telephone rang, making her jump.
Startled, she stared at it, her heart bumping in her chest. It had to be Louise. Pick it up, Siena!
But it was Nick’s voice that answered her cautious greeting. “Did your parents get off all right?” he said.
“I got a text from Heathrow just before they boarded.” Her voice sounded odd.
“What are your plans for tonight?” Nick asked.
“I haven’t got any,” she said unevenly.
“So you can come out to dinner with me.”
She didn’t know what to say. “No, that’s not possible,” she said, obeying the instinct that warned her to hide away for a few hours.
“Why?” he asked.
She stuttered a few words, then stopped.
Into the silence Nick said with a cool decisiveness she found rather intimidating, “There will be just you and me, Siena. I don’t like to think of you alone in London.”
Say no, it’s all right, Nick, I’m fine. But she knew her voice would wobble.
Nevertheless she tried, swallowing first to ease her dry throat, and Nick demanded sharply, “What’s the matter?”
“N-nothing.” Again her voice betrayed her.
“Siena, I’ll be around straight away.”
“No!”
But he’d already cut the connection, and after a moment she hung up.
That damned protective instinct, she thought, staring wretchedly down at the half-empty teacup.
She couldn’t go out to dinner feeling as though everything that was inside her—heart, passion, laughter and joy—had been scooped out and thrown away, leaving only a shell.
Like Gemma, Nick was accustomed to attention. Even when he’d been a teenager girls had flocked after him, and as he’d grown they’d become more importunate. His meteoric success helped too, she thought with a flash of cynicism.
Once her mother had said with wry amusement, “All it takes is for that green gaze to drift over some woman’s face, and she’s hooked. It’s as though he’s a magnet.”
Last night almost every woman in the restaurant had given him several intrigued glances, many openly admiring, drawn as much by his leashed, potent energy as his boldly handsome face and that compelling aura that subtly signalled his prowess as a lover.
That thought sent a peculiar shiver down her spine. Ignoring it, she reached for the phone, only to pull back her hand when she realised she didn’t know Nick’s number. And after minutes of fruitless searching she realised he wasn’t listed either. She tried his office, only to be told by some smooth-voiced receptionist that he was unavailable.
Balked, Siena got up wearily and looked out of the window onto the street below. It blurred, and she blinked ferociously to clear an onslaught of tears. Perhaps a shower would clear her head.
She made it short, but when she emerged, fully dressed in case Nick had somehow persuaded the reception clerk to give him a key, her cell phone summoned her.
This time it was Louise.
Ten minutes later Siena put down her cell phone, her friend’s strained words still echoing in her ears. “It’s my father-in-law,” she’d said. “He’s had a stroke, and Ivan’s mother’s at her wits’ end with two younger children at home, so we’re going up tomorrow. I’m so sorry, Siena, but it’s impossible for you to stay with us now. But the cottage is here, and we—oh, Siena, I was so looking forward to seeing you …”
Siena had refused the offer of the cottage and done her best to reassure her, but now she stared around the hotel room as though she’d never seen it before.
“What now?” she said aloud, then caught herself up.
No need to feel it was the end of the world. So it had all happened at once, but friends had emergencies and parents went on long-anticipated cruises.
And fiancés fell in love with someone else.
Nobody ever died of a broken heart. Eventually this dull pain would ease.
She dragged in a sharp stabbing breath. She’d organise her return journey to New Zealand, then go down and wait for Nick in the foyer, tell him she couldn’t go out to dinner with him.
She would, she thought tautly, be extremely boring company, and he’d probably only asked her because he knew her parents were leaving and she’d be alone.
In effect, he’d behaved just like the brother he considered himself to be.
Nick saw her as soon as he entered the foyer. She hadn’t noticed him, and something about the way she was sitting made him frown, and quicken his pace. A friend had once described her—patronisingly—as “a taking little thing”. Tiny and black-haired, with eyes so blue they were a startling contrast to her porcelain skin, she certainly looked doll-like—except for her mouth. Lush, sensuously curved, her mouth was a delicious miracle made for smiles—and kisses.
Now it was pinched, and set in a straight line. She was holding herself stiffly, warding off an invisible blow. Nick swore under his breath and increased the length of his stride.
It was impossible to link Siena with the word defeat, but that was how she looked—as though she’d been knocked to the ground so roughly she couldn’t be bothered getting up again. And she certainly wasn’t dressed for dinner.
Her parents …?
“What’s the matter?” he demanded from two strides away.
She blinked as though she didn’t recognise him. Then with a brave attempt at her usual spark she said, “Oh, a couple of things, but it’s not the end of the world.”
Nothing had happened to Hugh and Diane, then. Hiding his relief, he said more moderately, “So tell me.”
The hands in her lap tensed. No ring, he realised.
What the hell—?
She said, “Well, I think I mentioned I was going to stay with a friend in Cornwall, but that’s off.”
Nick listened to her explanation, nodding when she finished. “So what are you going to do?”
Her white teeth dented her curved bottom lip. Nick’s gut tightened in spontaneous appreciation of that succulent mouth. Damn it, asking her out had been a bad idea; he should never have succumbed to the questionable impulse.
Getting to her feet, she said in a rigidly controlled voice, “I’m trying to get a flight back home.”
“And?”
“So far no luck, but I’ll keep at it.” Nick frowned. “So you’ve got a week to spend in London?”
She shook her head. “No.” “Why?”
“Can’t afford it,” she admitted, lifting her chin to give him a direct glance that glittered a challenge. “I have to go home.”
Now was not the time to press her about the absence of her engagement ring. He owed it to her parents to make sure she was all right. “We can discuss your options over dinner. Come on.”
After a moment’s hesitation she shook her head. “I’d really rather not, Nick. I’m not dressed—”
“It’s all right. We’ll eat at my place.”
He saw her waver and felt an odd, irritating triumph when she nodded.
“Very well,” she said quietly, as though too tired to protest further. But once she got up she made a final objection. “Nick, I’m probably not going to be very good company.”
“Why?”
“Oh, nothing important.” Her voice was stronger, more like the Siena he knew.
You’re lying. And you’ll tell me what’s going on before the evening’s out, he thought. The Siena he remembered wouldn’t have let a change in plans affect her like this.
She said, “I’ll go up and get changed. I won’t be any more than ten minutes.”
“You’re fine the way you are,” he told her.
After giving his suit a brief glance she said with a return to her usual tone, “I’ll change.”
Shoulders held very erect, she walked across the foyer towards the lift. Although small, he thought, his loins stirring again, she was in perfect proportion. Well-worn jeans showed off slim, elegantly shaped legs, and the clear pink thing she wore on top marked every curve of breast and hip, and the narrow allure of her waist.
He wasn’t the only one watching her. The receptionist, a boy not long out of his teens, was also following her progress with too much interest. A spurt of anger took Nick by surprise.
He caught the kid’s eye, and was coldly and foolishly pleased when he flushed and with a bobbing Adam’s apple got busy with the computer. Nick transferred his gaze to two other men. Hastily they abandoned their interested survey and disappeared into the bar.
Satisfied, Nick quelled his cold disapproval and waited.
CHAPTER THREE
SIENA eyed her blue dress—a little tired after its outing the previous night, but it was all she had. Nick had somehow managed to overcome her instinctive need to hide away like a wounded animal—aided by her realisation that she’d be better off in his powerful, formidable presence than sitting alone in her hotel room wondering why her only two serious relationships had ended with the men she loved—or thought she loved—leaving her.
That bitter feeling of alienation chilled her. She struggled with the impulse to tear off her clothes and crawl into bed. It wouldn’t work—if she knew one thing about Nick it was that he was determined. One way or another, he’d get her out of her room.
Anyway, self-pity was a loser’s indulgence.
But the prospect of eating anything made her feel sick, a nausea that escalated when the lift started to take her down.
When she saw Nick, darkly dominant and looking more than a little grim, she managed a smile. He didn’t return it. Head held high, she parried his keen scrutiny and a strange alteration to her heartbeat transmuted into racing pulses and a moment of lightness, of keen anticipation.
“I only brought one going-out-to-dinner outfit,” she told him. Heavens, was that her voice—husky and almost hesitant?
Get a grip, she ordered.
“So? You look charming,” he said calmly, and took her arm. “I suppose you travelled with nothing more than hand luggage?”
Rills of sensation ran from his fingers to her spine, spreading out through every cell in a gentle flood. Almost she shivered, and it took a considerable amount of self-control to respond in the easy tone of one old friend to another, “Afraid not. I expected to be here for a week, and as it’s winter on this side of the equator I had to pack warm clothes. I don’t have a home in every capital, with wardrobes full of clothes made specially for me.”
“Neither do I,” he said crisply, nodding to the doorman.
“Just about.”
He gave her a saturnine smile. “I own two dwellings.”
“Which one do you call home?”
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he said finally, “The one in Auckland.”
Strangely that warmed her as Nick guided her into the waiting car.
Once inside he turned to her. “Apart from your friend’s news, did you have a good day?”
“Most of it was great, thank you.” She made him laugh, relating a small incident in a park involving an elderly dowager and a small child, and slowly her tension subsided.
She even thought bracingly, I can do this. I can stay in one piece long enough to last out the evening.
Once she got herself onto a plane she could shatter if she needed to. Nobody would know her, so nobody would care if she spent the whole trip in glum silence.
But first she had to get her ticket changed.
Nick said, “I called my PA while you were dressing. There’s a possibility of an immediate trip back to New Zealand. She might ring while we’re having dinner.”
“Oh—Nick, that’s kind of you, but you didn’t need to.” She glanced at his unsmiling face, and ignored a vagrant shiver down her spine when his lashes drooped. “Your poor PA—she’s probably muttering oaths under her breath.”
“I doubt it. She’s paid well, worth every penny, and accustomed to being on call whenever I need her.”
Siena imagined a prim, super-efficient middle-aged woman, silently and hopelessly in love with her employer. “At night?” she asked without trying to hide her scepticism. “Obviously she has no family.”
“On the contrary, she has two small children.” Nick went on smoothly, “Her husband is the housekeeper in that home.”
Siena digested this in silence. “Very modern.”
“It works for them. You’d probably like them—they’re an interesting couple.”
Absently Siena nodded, but said, “Won’t she need my ticket number and other information? You should have told me at the hotel and I could have got it for you.”
“If she does, tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”
By then the car was slowing down in a quiet street flanked on either side by rows of lovely Georgian houses.
Siena gazed through the vehicle window with appreciation. “If anyone had asked me, I’d have said you’d choose an ultra-modern penthouse in a tower block.”
“I prefer this.”
“Who wouldn’t?” She gave a wry smile. “Actually, it suits you—very studied, very controlled.” And gorgeous … “I can see you as a Regency buck, driving your phaeton and four up to the door.”
“I’d have to check, but I suspect phaetons only had two horses,” he said.
“Trust you to know that,” she said on a half-laugh.
One brow lifted, he looked down at her. “Why?”
“When we first met you Gemma and I decided you knew everything important in the world.”
His beautiful mouth quirked. “Six years’ difference in age can do that. Growing up must have meant sad disillusion for you both.”
He stopped, and for a moment she thought she saw something like regret darken his eyes. Was he remembering that he’d had a hand in shattering more than a few of her illusions?
Probably not. Turning her head so he couldn’t see her face, she pretended to examine the street, serene and gracious in the light of the lamps.
Even at nineteen she’d been worldly-wise enough to know that the link between them was fragile and not likely to last. The knowledge hadn’t prevented her heartbreak, but at least Nick had never made any promises to her.
She shouldn’t have come with him. When she could trust her voice she said steadily, “Disillusion happens to everyone.”
“To those who still have illusions,” he said, his voice hard and level. “Siena—”
He stopped, his mouth thinning as the car drew up in front of a flight of steps leading to an impressive door.
Right then Siena would have given everything she owned to be somewhere—anywhere—else. The very last thing she wanted from him was an apology for his behaviour five years ago.
Once inside the building she gazed around with undisguised interest and quickly, before he could say any more, said, “Nick, this is lovely.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
The graceful drawing room was furnished with an aura of elegant restraint that echoed her host’s vital, coolly self-disciplined authority. The decorator had married antique and modern pieces with flair and style.
“Whoever did this knew you very well,” she said without thinking.
He ignored the comment. “I think you need an aperitif. Still Sauvignon Blanc?”
“Yes, thank you.” It had been years since she’d told him how much she enjoyed that particular wine, and she was surprised and strangely cheered that he remembered.
It was a New Zealand white, crisp and delicious, and after the first sip she set the glass down and looked at him. That odd kick in her heartbeat startled her again. “You can take the Kiwi out of New Zealand …” she teased.
His smile was a little narrow. “I like other wines as well, but this seemed appropriate for tonight. Here’s to your happiness. Why aren’t you wearing your engagement ring?”
Siena flinched, her gaze falling to her empty finger. Adrian hadn’t stayed around for long, she thought on a spurt of anger. A thin line of slightly paler skin revealed that she’d been wearing the ring for only a short time.
It was still in her hotel room. When she’d enquired about the cost of sending it back, the insurance had been so much she’d been unable to afford it.
It took a lot of willpower to meet Nick’s green eyes, but she parried their unsparing assessment with head held high. She wouldn’t lie to him.
Straightening her shoulders, she said briefly, “When I got back to my room in the hotel there was an email from my fiancé telling me he’d found someone else.”
The base of Nick’s glass made a sharp little clink as he set it down on the nearest table. He strode towards her, his expression formidably angry. “An email?” he demanded incredulously.
Clutching her glass, she nodded, unable to articulate her tumbling thoughts.
Nick opened his mouth, then closed it again, biting back words she was glad she didn’t have to hear. He took her glass and set it down, then drew her towards him. On an uneven sigh Siena let herself relax into the strong arms enfolding her. Her forehead came to rest on a powerfully muscled shoulder as he stroked slowly across her back in soothing, potently comforting movements.
Siena dragged in several more ragged breaths and abandoned herself to the simple relief of being held.
In a cold, uncompromising voice he said, “Cry if you want to.”
“I don’t,” she said, blinking back ferocious tears. If she cried it would be because Nick was being so kind—in a brotherly way, of course, she reminded herself drearily.
Well, that was all right.
Still in that formidable tone he said, “It’s too early to say this, but anyone who would break off an engagement by email is someone you don’t need in your life.”
And when she stayed silent he added, “Not now and not ever.”
She nodded. “I know,” she muttered. “It’s all right. I’m not going to crack up.”
“I didn’t expect you to. Not you.”
Something melted deep inside her. The warmth of his embrace and the lithe power and strength of his support—entirely lacking in sensuality—gave her strength. Her taut muscles loosened, became freer, her breaths evening out so that the sobs she dreaded didn’t come to fruition.
Slowly—so slowly she had no idea what was happening—the wave of misery receded. Yet still she didn’t pull away, and Nick didn’t drop his arms.
At first without realising it, she began to respond to the soothing movement of his hand across her back. Her body stirred, sending secret, unsuspected signals that blossomed into a tantalising awareness, an insidious pleasure that sang through her in heady invitation.
A shiver of mixed anticipation and apprehension shocked her into pulling back. Instantly he released her and stepped away, examining her with the burnished gaze that successfully hid his thoughts.
Hot shame rushed through Siena. Rushing into speech she said, “Thanks.” And managed to sketch a smile. “You should have had sisters—you make a great brother.”
His brows lifted, and the smile he gave in return was sardonic. “Any time you need a fraternal shoulder, just let me know,” he said, drawling the words with an intonation that deepened her flush.
“I hope I never do again.” Her voice was pitched too high. Avoiding his glance, she picked up her wine glass.
Fine tremors shook her hand, and she hoped he couldn’t see the shimmer across the surface of the liquid when she lifted it to her lips. After the smallest of sips she set the glass back down again in case he’d noticed.
But he was looking at his watch. Immediately, as if he’d somehow summoned her, a woman appeared with a tray of small savouries. Nick introduced her as his housekeeper and when she’d gone he ordered, “Have something to eat. You’re as pale as a ghost.”
Obviously he hadn’t felt anything like that heady, sensuous connection. He probably hadn’t even realised what his closeness was doing to her.
Thank heavens. “Hadn’t you noticed I’m always pale?” she said crisply. “Although I prefer to think of myself as ethereally fair.”
His half-smile told her he knew what she was doing. “Ethereal? Not with devil-black curls and that smart mouth. I have to leave you—I’ll be no more than five minutes. When I come back I want to see several of those savouries eaten.”
Siena glowered balefully after him as he left the room, but although she wasn’t hungry the little mouthfuls of food looked delicious and smelt divine. Almost without thinking, she picked one up and nibbled, trying to sort out her thoughts and her odd reactions.
She was over Nick. Had been for years. She no longer even wanted to know why he’d made love to her with such wild tenderness, then left her with nothing more than an abrupt and angry statement that he’d lost his head and he was sorry.
As well as showing her how passionate she could be, Nick had hurt her—damaged her in a way she hadn’t understood or recognised until that moment. Unwittingly she must have vowed never to allow herself to feel so intensely again.
It had taken all her will, but she’d eventually managed to put him behind her and get on with her life. She’d met someone safe—someone she’d been sure would never cause her the pain Nick had.
She winced. Was that really why she’d chosen Adrian? Surely her love for him hadn’t been a mirage, desperately conjured by memories of the dark sorcerer who’d shown her passion and joy and then abandoned her to a world without either?
If so—if she’d let her misery at Nick’s rejection make the choice for her—perhaps Adrian had sensed it.
What weird power did Nick have that just being held in his sexless embrace roused a long-repressed hunger?
OK, so the day had flung a couple of nasty surprises at her—well, one shock and one disappointment—leaving her off-balance, stranded and short of money on the other side of the world from home. She’d been worried, but she’d have managed.
Then Nick had arrived. Being Nick, he’d taken over and.
And what?
In his aloofly controlled way he’d been protective and kind—clearly signalling that he was doing his duty to the couple who’d helped him when he was young and more vulnerable.
The soft sound of the door made her look up sharply. Her stomach dropped as Nick came in, black brows almost meeting across his nose.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
The frown smoothed out. “My question, I think. You look shell-shocked.”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
“And so am I.” He examined her face, then said with a touch of irony, “All right, I’ve just had a conversation with my PA that means I have to rearrange my schedule. It’s no big deal.”
Without preamble she said, “I used to resent you when I was a kid.”
He looked across at her, his brows slightly raised. “I know. You always wanted to come with us when your father and I went off to the various sports and games he introduced me to.”
“I must have been a brat.”
“Not exactly that,” he said dryly. “You were an uncompromising little thing, and very determined. I got used to thunderous frowns, black looks, pouting—”
“I never pouted!”
“You did, and very cutely. I didn’t blame you.”
“Generous of you,” she said with a wry smile. And because she’d always wondered, she asked, “How did you find yourself being Dad’s protégé?”
His expression tightened, but he spoke easily enough. “After my own father died I became hard to handle. My mother was desperate enough to contact an organisation that helped fatherless boys, one your father had volunteered for. We clicked.”
He stopped, then went on almost harshly, “I owe him an immense debt. When I decided to go out on my own in IT he couldn’t afford to back me financially, but he introduced me to people who could, and he gave me both intellectual and moral support.”
Very moved, she said, “That’s quite a tribute. But you did something for him too, you know. You were the son he never had.”
“I hope so,” he said, in a tone that came close to being dismissive, as if he’d said too much. “Dinner’s ready now if you are.”
Siena had been satisfied by the two small savouries she’d eaten, but the wine was making its effects felt. She felt disconnected, the raw shock of Adrian’s rejection lightly blanketed by a buzz in her head that told her she needed food.
Stubbornly she forced herself to eat, but halfway through the main course she stopped, shivering, and the words she’d been trying to get out refused to come. Horrified, she froze.
“You’re probably still jet-lagged, and in shock,” Nick said abruptly, getting to his feet. “You can stay the night here.”
“No, I—”
He interrupted curtly, “You need rest. And you’re in no fit state to be on your own. I’ll get a bed made up for you and tomorrow morning we can discuss what you’ll do.”
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Robyn Donald
Siena wished fervently Nick hadn’t come in.
Five years had gone by since she’d seen him last—she’d grown up from the naïve nineteen-year-old she’d been then, abandoning her adolescent fantasies of the perfect hero.
It was stupid to be so affected by his arrival.
Not that she’d been the only woman in the room to notice him. His arrogantly handsome features and leanly muscled height gave him a potent charisma that had caught the eye of most of the women in the restaurant.
A very dangerous charisma.
Don’t go there …
About the Author
ROBYN DONALD can’t remember not being able to read, and will be eternally grateful to the local farmers who carefully avoided her on a dusty country road as she read her way to and from school, transported to places and times far away from her small village in Northland, New Zealand. Growing up fed her habit. As well as training as a teacher, marrying, and raising two children, she discovered the delights of romances and read them voraciously—especially enjoying the ones written by New Zealand writers. So much so that one day she decided to write one herself. Writing soon grew to be as much of a delight as reading—although infinitely more challenging—and when eventually her first book was accepted by Mills & Boon she felt she’d arrived home. She still lives in a small town in Northland, with her family close by, using the landscape as a setting for much of her work. Her life is enriched by the friends she’s made among writers and readers, and complicated by a determined Corgi called Buster, who is convinced that blackbirds are evil entities. Her greatest hobby is still reading, with travelling a very close second.
Recent titles by the same author:
THE FAR SIDE OF PARADISE
POWERFUL GREEK, HOUSEKEEPER WIFE
(#ulink_bc4987b2-f8dd-5fbd-bd13-0a57ffe61aaa)
(#ulink_bb639680-dcaa-5fb9-aca4-373c31c48b9f)part of The Greek Tycoons series
One Night in the Orient
Robyn Donald
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
LIFTING a glass of excellent French champagne, Siena Blake said, “Mum and Dad—here’s to your next thirty years together! May they be even happier than the ones you’ve already had.”
Diane Blake smiled, serenely elegant in the unfamiliar surroundings of an extremely upmarket London hotel. “Darling, if they’re only half as good as the past thirty years they’ll be wonderful.”
Siena’s father gave his wife a look that combined pride and love.
“They’ll be better,” he said confidently, “and one reason for that is our great good luck with our children. So I’ll return the toast—here’s to our twins, Siena and Gemma, for making our lives much fuller and more interesting.”
He raised his glass, adding slyly, “Although at our advanced ages I suppose we’re now expected to be eagerly waiting for grandchildren.”
Sparks flashed from the diamond in Siena’s engagement ring as candlelight danced across her taut fingers.
Her voice rang a little false in her ears when she said, “Well, I shouldn’t think Gemma has any maternal ambitions. She hasn’t yet found a man she’d like to marry, and you’d better give Adrian and me a few years yet.” Ignoring a nagging, unwelcome doubt, she took a sip of champagne and set her glass down. “Anyway, the important occasion right now is your anniversary.”
A little wistfully her mother said, “The only thing that would be more perfect is if Gemma could have been here too.” She smiled. “But she can’t, and your arrival yesterday was such a wonderful surprise. I’m only sorry Adrian couldn’t make it with you.”
Siena thrust aside her strange ambivalence. “He sends his love and best wishes, but he just couldn’t take time off work.”
Her parents understood. Together they’d built a business from nothing to a modest prosperity, and with their daughters had lived through times of hard work and sacrifices.
Swiftly Siena added, “Anyway, in a few weeks you’ll be home again in New Zealand, and we can celebrate again with Gemma and Adrian and all your friends.” She lifted her glass again. “So here’s to safe journeys. And a truly fantastic cruise for you both.”
As long as she could remember her parents had dreamed of cruising—of taking a leisurely trip through the Caribbean Sea and central America. After years of saving they’d finally set out on a round-the-world odyssey, first touring the United Kingdom before flying out early the next morning to join their ship.
A subdued flurry at the entrance caught her attention. Looking past her mother, she noted with hidden amusement the stately maître d’hotel increase pace perceptibly as he made his way across the room to greet some newcomers.
Clearly important newcomers. He’d barely acknowledged Siena when she’d arrived to join her parents.
At the unexpected sight of the man who’d just walked in, Siena’s heart performed a swift jig in her chest. Setting down her glass with a sharp little movement, she asked abruptly, “Is Nick here to celebrate with us?”
Her parents’ surprised looks told her he wasn’t. Diane said, “Our Nick?”
“Nicholas Grenville,” Siena said, the sound of his name on her tongue tinged with bitterness and shame.
Flinching at her mother’s surprised look, she composed her face and disciplined her voice into a steadiness she was far from feeling. “He’s just walked in with a stunning woman.”
Without turning, Diane asked, “An ash-blonde? Tall, coolly exquisite, superbly dressed?”
“That certainly sounds like the same person.” Although all Nick’s lovers had been blonde, coolly exquisite, sophisticated, et cetera.
All except one …
Banishing that extremely unwanted thought, she said hastily, “You know, it seems so unfair I should be barely five foot four inches high when everyone else in our immediate family is tall and elegant.”
Even Nick. Unconsciously her gaze flicked across the room as Nick and his partner were shown into an area hidden from most of the diners by a screen of greenery.
Of all the unwelcome coincidences! At least he hadn’t seen them.
Smiling, her voice teasing, she said, “Are you sure the nurses in the maternity unit didn’t confuse me with another baby?”
Her parents laughed. “Positive,” Diane said comfortably. “Apparently you’re very like your father’s grandmother, who died young. According to family lore she was little and practical and sensible and very forthright. And she had your black curls and those stunning blue eyes.”
“I’m glad you still think of Nick as part of our family,” Hugh said thoughtfully.
Siena shrugged airily, and bent the truth. “Oh, well, while you were mentoring him Gemma and I saw him at least once a week for years and years, and every holiday while his mother was working. We thought he was wonderful. He was always lovely to us, although he obviously hadn’t had much to do with small girls.”
She’d managed not to look across the room again, but she couldn’t help asking, “Who is his—the woman with him?”
His latest lover, she thought, a raw edge of old pain surfacing unexpectedly.
Diane exchanged a cryptic glance with her husband. “Portia Makepeace-Singleton. We had dinner in his apartment the night after we arrived in London, and she appeared at his door halfway through the meal. Unexpectedly, I’d say, although you know Nicholas—he gave nothing away.”
“I presume she’s his latest significant other,” Siena said, hoping she sounded coolly dismissive.
Her mother shrugged. “Possibly. Naturally we didn’t ask.”
Siena looked from one parent to the other. “You didn’t like her,” she guessed.
Diane looked a little self-conscious and didn’t answer directly. “Have they seen us?”
“No, they’ve been seated out of sight of us less distinguished diners.”
But the evening was comparatively young—plenty of time to be noticed, and Nick always noticed.
She wouldn’t let Nick’s arrival spoil the evening. Defiantly she raised her glass, only to set it down when light scintillated again from Adrian’s diamond.
Adrian was a darling. She was very happily looking forward to marrying him next year. He would never hurt her.
Whereas Nick.
She drew in a sharp breath. Nick had almost shattered her.
At sixteen she’d successfully exorcised a crush on her father’s protégé. Even then she’d known that Nick was not for her. By the time she’d left high school he’d well outstripped his mentor, made his first millions, and based himself overseas for several years.
He’d stayed in contact with Hugh, sending cards on important dates, calling in to see the family on his visits to New Zealand.
Then, when she’d been nineteen, he’d returned to New Zealand for a few months.
And Siena had been forced to realise she’d been fooling herself. Far from being exorcised, that adolescent crush had metamorphosed into full-blown desire. Oh, she’d fought it, until he’d.
“Siena?”
Jolted back into the present by her mother’s puzzled voice, she lifted her glass again and drank a little too deeply of the champagne.
“Sorry,” she said automatically. “I was daydreaming, I’m afraid. I’m overwhelmed by all this glitter and luxury. I wonder what it would be like to live like this?”
Hugh surveyed her with indulgent amusement. “It wouldn’t be long before you’d be bored out of your mind. Why don’t you ask Nick some day? It’s his milieu now that he’s a permanent figure in the world’s financial pages.”
“And described variously—depending on the journalist—as a buccaneer, a financial genius and an arrogant billionaire far too handsome for his own good,” Siena commented, hoping her parents didn’t notice the astringent note in her words.
“All accurate,” her father said, his tone not entirely approving.
He didn’t mention the gossip magazines, with their avid comments on Nick’s various relationships. Allowing for the usual frenetic exaggeration, there had been several of those.
Siena wished fervently Nick hadn’t come in.
Five years had gone by since she’d seen him last—she’d grown up from the naïve nineteen-year-old she’d been then, abandoning her adolescent fantasies of the perfect hero to settle for a happy future with a lovely man.
It was stupid to be so affected by his arrival.
Not that she’d been the only woman in the room to notice him. His arrogantly handsome features and leanly muscled height gave him a potent charisma that had caught the eye of most of the women in the restaurant.
A very dangerous charisma.
Don’t go there …
His presence added to a nameless unease that had been gathering in her for several weeks, a sense that her world—her life—was heading into a grey blandness.
Well, she was probably entitled to a certain concern about her future—a week ago she’d walked out of a perfectly good job.
And now was not the time to be thinking of that disaster. She set her jaw and pushed everything from her mind but the need to enjoy this evening with her parents.
To her relief, a band struck up the sort of music her parents loved. They’d met at a high school ball, and their shared love of dancing was the reason they’d chosen to celebrate their anniversary at this hotel, famous for its dinner dances.
Siena looked at her parents. “What are you waiting for? Up you get.”
“Nonsense,” her mother said robustly. “We’re not leaving you by yourself.”
“Mum, of course you must get up. I’m twenty-four! Sitting alone in a restaurant for a few minutes is not going to embarrass me. And I’d like very much to see you dance on your thirtieth wedding anniversary.”
After a little more encouragement her parents rose and made their way to the floor. Siena watched them go with a slightly twisted smile. They looked good together, moving with inbuilt, confident grace. Like them, her sister Gemma had hair and skin touched by gold and their long-boned, willowy stature, perfect for a model.
The sort of woman Nick favoured …
Oh, stop it! she commanded. OK, so her unfashionably curly tresses were black, and her skin so pale she didn’t dare spend more than a few minutes in New Zealand’s notorious summer sun unless she was slathered in sunscreen.
But she had inherited her parents’ love of dancing. Smiling, she realised one foot was tapping unconsciously. Using her savings to fly twelve thousand miles as a surprise had been an inspired decision, even if it had cleaned out her bank account. When she’d knocked on their hotel door the previous day her mother had fought back tears and her father had swallowed.
Siena glanced at a woman dressed with such superb taste she shone like a gem even in that gathering of the rich and the famous. Beside her was a notorious and inordinately handsome actor.
The skin between her shoulder-blades tightened. Refusing to turn, she kept her eyes on the dance floor while an odd, primitive apprehension throbbed through her.
From behind her a deep male voice said, “Five years ago you’d have turned to see who was watching you.”
Nick.
Deep within her something fierce and bewildering leapt into existence. No, was reborn …
Disconcerted, she focused on the diamond Adrian had given her, and squelched the automatic urge to swivel around. “Five years is a long time, Nick.”
Only then did she brace herself and turn to look up into his lean, handsome face. His brows lifted, one slightly higher than the other, as her wary gaze clashed with the hard, dense green of his eyes, exactly the burnished, many-layered colour of pounamu, the greenstone prized by both ancient Maori and modern New Zealanders.
Beautiful eyes, she’d thought as an adolescent—and far too perceptive, especially when they were half-screened by thick, long lashes. Once she’d been unable to meet his gaze without a secret inner thrill. The same foolish tension sawed at her nerves now.
“But you still know when someone’s watching you,” Nick drawled.
“Sometimes,” she evaded, a shiver scudding the length of her spine. Unbidden, wildly unsettling memories flooded her brain with disturbing, erotic images. Five years previously she’d lived for a few short weeks in a fantasy world, only to have it all crash down on her in a maelstrom of shattered hopes. Since then she’d made sure she hadn’t met him again.
“Do sit down, Nick—you make me feel like a hobbit confronted by an elf.” Her words came too quickly, almost tumbling out.
Nicholas Grenville was overpowering in every way. Superbly tailored evening clothes emphasised powerful shoulders and long legs, the white shirt contrasting with his coppery tan and black hair and those compelling eyes. But what made him stand out in this assembly of well-dressed, sophisticated men was an unconscious air of command, of hard-edged, formidable authority.
He lowered himself into the chair her father had vacated and enquired, “What are you doing in London? Your parents didn’t say they were expecting you.”
“They weren’t,” she told him, still struggling for composure. “I surprised them by arriving yesterday out of the blue.”
“Are you on holiday?”
“No,” she said crisply. “I left my job.”
His brows were raised again. For once, she thought, startled by her satisfaction at the thought, she’d surprised him.
“Why? I thought you were happily settled managing some plant shop.”
Her parents must have told him, and Nick would have filed the information away in that computer brain of his.
Furious and alarmed by the swift surge of warmth that thought aroused, she said, “It wasn’t only a plant shop; I managed quite a big nursery as well.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Very much.”
Nick leaned back in his chair and surveyed her. Five years had made quite a difference; a slender blue dress skimmed her body, subtly hinting at tantalising curves beneath, and she’d highlighted the incredible blue of her eyes and her silky, translucent skin with a skilful use of cosmetics. She hadn’t quite managed to tame her tumble of ebony curls, and the gaze that met his was reserved, but he discerned a familiar hint of challenge in both eyes and attitude.
Ruthlessly he subdued his body’s spontaneous and exasperating response. “So why did you leave?”
She hesitated, then lifted her small square chin in a defiant movement he recognised. “The business was sold, and unfortunately the new owner decided I’d be perfect as a nice little bit on the side.”
Gripped by cold, uncompromising anger, Nick forced himself to control it. “And were you?”
Lips tightening, she lifted her hand and splayed the fingers to reveal an engagement ring. “Not interested. But it made for a difficult situation, so I left.”
Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been the sight of that ring. His anger mutated into an emotion he didn’t recognise, one he refused to face. He should be—he was—pleased she’d fallen in love. Presumably with someone who valued her, a man she could trust—unlike the one who’d taken her virginity and then walked out on her.
That ring and all it implied should go some way to easing his guilt.
It didn’t.
It took most of his iron self-control to say curtly, “With a handsome redundancy payment, I hope.”
“Absolutely.” She beamed at him, a smile that had always meant mischief. “I gave it to a charity for abused women. In his name. They were terribly grateful and no doubt will contact him regularly asking for further donations.”
Nick’s smile showed his teeth. “A nice little revenge—and typical of you. I assume you had a contract?”
“A contract I broke.”
“For reasons that could have seen your boss up before the employment court,” he said uncompromisingly. “What did your fiancé think of that?”
Siena’s eyes widened. Adrian had been angry about the situation, but he’d accepted her handling of it. “He was fine.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as defensive as she felt.
Apart from a subtle narrowing of those coolly watchful eyes Nick’s expression didn’t change. “A rather muted response, surely?”
For him it would have been; even as an adolescent he’d been protective towards two small girls.
But Adrian was nothing like Nick. Adrian would never make love to her as though she was the only woman in the world, then leave the next morning without a word of explanation beyond a few curt phrases of apology for getting carried away.
Adrian wouldn’t break her heart.
“Not everyone has your killer instinct,” she told Nick with a taut smile. “Adrian knows I can deal with my own problems.”
Nick leaned back in his chair and let his gaze rest a moment on her ring finger. Siena had to repress a weird instinct to hide it protectively under the table.
Relentlessly he demanded, “So you walked out of a situation you should never have had to face, with nothing more than your wages, then decided to hop on a plane and meet your parents in London?”
She said cheerfully, “You must be a mind-reader.”
His smile was sharp, its humour almost mocking. “No, I happen to remember a wilful, determined child with a big heart. What do you intend to do once you get back home?”
“Find another job, of course.”
“Just like that?”
“Give me credit for some intelligence,” she said coolly. “I have extremely good references, both from my previous employer and the rat who propositioned me. And while I worked there I learnt a lot about landscaping as well.”
Nick nodded. “Your mother told me you’d planned the makeover of their garden. You did a good job—it looks superb.”
Hiding her pleasure at this, she said, “Gardening’s always been fashionable in New Zealand, and Auckland is a great place for it. Almost everything grows there.
As well, the recession has produced a huge surge of interest in being as self-sufficient as possible. Think vegetable gardens and home orchards. I’ll find a new position—a better one.”
“Still the same confident little thing,” he said in a tone tinged with irony. “Tiny and bossy and infuriatingly persistent.”
His summing up of her character stung. Producing her sunniest smile, she said, “Remind me to get a reference from you—it can only help.”
“Any time,” he said laconically. “So, having walked out of your job and on a point of principle donated money you should have put in the bank to a charity, it was an entirely logical decision for you to come to England?”
“It’s Mum and Dad’s thirtieth anniversary,” she explained.
He looked surprised. “They didn’t mention it when we had dinner together.”
“You know my parents.”
His arrogant features softened a little. “Yes. They wouldn’t have wanted any fuss.”
“We were going to have a party at home—just a small one—and then they planned just to fly over for their dream cruise, but they got a really good deal from one of the big travel firms, with a tour of the UK thrown in first. They weren’t going to take it, but Gemma wouldn’t have been able to make the party—she’s in Australia doing a big promotion for a fashion week there—so I persuaded them to go. And then I decided to come across for the actual day.”
He nodded. “And how did your fiancé feel about that?”
“Adrian?” She glanced across, met his burnished green gaze and felt a twinge of sensation in the pit of her stomach. Swiftly she said, “He thought it was a brilliant idea.”
“Clearly a very accommodating man.” Nick’s voice was sardonic.
Siena returned crisply, “Adrian comes from a big family in the South Island. He understands family dynamics.”
Too late, she remembered that Nick came from a dysfunctional marriage, and flushed, furious with herself. She was so foolishly conscious of him she couldn’t even organise her thoughts.
Nick gave her a narrow smile. “And I don’t?”
“I wasn’t referring to you.” She apologised. “I’m sorry—it was a crass comment.”
“But entirely correct,” he drawled. Once again he glanced down at her ring. “So when is the wedding?”
“We haven’t settled on a date yet,” she said, “but almost certainly in the spring next year.”
He looked curious. “A long time off. Are you living together?”
“No.” The heat in her cheeks flared up again. Her thoughtless comment had been returned with interest and cool deliberation.
Nick looked over her shoulder and rose to his feet, his expression well under control.
Expecting her parents, Siena was surprised by the woman who stopped at the table, but only for a second.
As Nick got to his feet she realised this had to be his latest lover.
CHAPTER TWO
ASSAILED by an emotion perilously close to jealousy—no, Siena corrected hastily, envy—she took in the newcomer’s tall blonde beauty with something like resignation.
“Nicholas,” the new arrival said in a modulated voice. “You see, I wasn’t away long.”
“Portia, this is Siena Blake,” he said negligently, and introduced her.
A pale, expert gaze appraised Siena’s blue silk. Appraised—and then dismissed it as a chain store irrelevance. A spark of rebellion lifted Siena’s chin a fraction.
Nick finished the introductions. “You met Siena’s parents a couple of nights ago,” he told the newcomer.
The blonde said smoothly, “I remember. Your fellow New Zealanders.” Dismissing them too, she gazed down an aristocratic nose at Siena. “So you and your sister are the—” Her brow crinkled a moment before she laughed softly and directed an arch, long-lashed glance at the man beside her. “I think the words Nicholas used were ‘the nearest things I have to sisters.’ Is that right, darling?”
“When I was young, yes,” Nick said.
Siena stopped herself from casting him a swift look. Although his tone was perfectly pleasant she detected an edge to it she hadn’t heard before.
He finished, “However, it’s been some time since I thought of either Siena or her twin as sisters.”
“And I’m sure neither of them ever thought of you as a brother.” Portia’s voice had lowered and she smiled at him.
It wasn’t exactly a possessive smile, nor an openly desirous one, but there was a proprietorial gleam mixed with the feminine appreciation. And it cut through Siena’s composure like a sword.
What’s happening to me? she thought worriedly.
Not that she blamed Nick’s lover. Several inches taller than the blonde woman, his black head gleaming in the lights, Nick radiated the cool, leashed assurance Siena always associated with him—as though he could take on the world and win.
Which was exactly what he had done—and on his own terms.
He looked at Siena, his eyes hooded. “Both Siena and her sister considered me an intruder.”
Lighten up, Siena told herself. It took an effort to produce a soft laugh. “Especially when you tried to teach us chess.”
His grin flashed white. “I was endeavouring not to remember that.”
“I’m sure you were an excellent teacher,” Portia said a little abruptly, as though somehow Siena had cast aspersions on his intelligence.
“Siena beat me,” he told her.
“Because you let me,” Siena objected.
She recognised the smile he gave her—amused yet tinged with cynicism. “For the first half of the game, yes,” he conceded. “After that I was desperately trying to regain ground.”
Portia produced a tinkling little laugh. “And was your sister a prodigy too?”
Nick said, “Gemma was definitely not into board games.”
He glanced up as Siena’s parents returned, their arrival followed by a flurry of congratulations. In answer to a glance from Nick a waiter glided up to take his order for more champagne, and while that lasted they all made conversation.
Eventually he and Portia went back to their table out of sight. Strung tense as taut wire, Siena forced herself to lean back in her chair and look around the room.
“How lovely to see Nick again,” Diane said once they were safely out of earshot. “He was such a tightly buttoned boy I used to worry about him, but things have worked out so well for him.” She patted her husband fondly on the arm. “Thanks in no small measure to you, Hugh.”
“He’d have got there by himself,” Hugh said confidently. “What we did for him, I think, was to show him what a happy household was like.”
Surprised, Siena said, “Do you think so? I wouldn’t have thought he’d seen enough of us to do that. From what I remember he spent most of his time doing boy things with you.”
Hugh shook his head. “Oh, he knew. Nick’s always been extremely astute. When his parents’ marriage ended his father was awarded custody at first, then somehow his mother regained it. Shortly after that the father died. I thought it was interesting that Nick never spoke of him.”
Diane said quietly, “He did—once—to me. In a chilling, very adult way. He told me he’d never allow himself to be like his father. I wondered if his father had beaten him, but he didn’t react like a child who feared physical harm.”
Siena was horrified. Her comment to Nick about family dynamics couldn’t have been more unfortunate. “Do you think he beat Nick’s mother?”
“Possibly,” Diane said.
Shocked, Siena tried to reconcile this new information with what she knew of Nick. Somehow—by osmosis, perhaps—she’d absorbed knowledge that his family hadn’t been a happy one, but her parents had never discussed him and she’d had no idea his childhood had been traumatic.
Had that trauma something to do with the shattering end to their—their what? Romance?
Hardly. Although she’d prayed it might become one. Ever hopeful at nineteen, she thought grimly. Not a romance and neither had it been an affair, because that implied something more important than several weeks of flirtation followed by one night together.
One-night stand she refused to accept. It had been—at least on her side—more than that. She’d been so sure she was in love with him.
Interlude, she decided.
Yes, that fitted the situation perfectly—reduced it to insignificance.
Her mother broke into her thoughts with an inconsequential remark. “It’s time Nick got married. He was—what?—thirty in October?”
“In November,” her husband informed her.
It figured, Siena thought—Scorpio to the core, she’d bet. Dark and dominant, controlling a passionate nature with a will of steel. Her skin tingled as she remembered.
Diane paused before saying, “I hope Portia isn’t what he has in mind.”
Siena could only agree. The woman seemed cold—cold to the core.
However, she said lightly, “I’m sure you can leave it to Nick to choose the right woman for him. Now, are you two going to dance again?”
“I’m not—not right now, anyway. But you are,” her mother said briskly. “I’m going to repair my lipstick in the wonderful cloakroom they have here, so you two can enjoy this one.”
The evening progressed very pleasantly; carefully keeping her gaze well away from the foliage that hid Nick and his lover, Siena watched her parents take the floor. She danced with her father again, and her parents told her all about their short tour.
She despised herself for noticing that Nick and his Portia didn’t dance.
Eventually Hugh noticed her hide a yawn. “You must be jet-lagged. I wish you could have found a room in this hotel.”
“Dad, I couldn’t afford to sleep in the boot cupboard here. I’m so glad you decided to splurge all the way with this trip.”
Her parents laughed. “This is the only night we’re spending here,” Diane admitted.
Siena said easily, “Enjoy it! My hotel might not be anywhere near as opulent as this, but it’s perfectly comfortable.” She got to her feet and gave her father a quick hug. “I’m only going to be there tonight and tomorrow night—I’m staying in Cornwall with Louise until the end of the week, and then I’m heading home.”
“Such extravagance,” her mother said fondly, hugged in her turn. “But it was so lovely to see you—a wonderful surprise! I just wish you could come with us on this cruise.”
“Don’t be silly—you don’t want anyone else on your second honeymoon.” Siena grinned. As yet her parents didn’t know she’d thrown in her job, and by the time they got back she fully intended to have a new position. “Enjoy it to the full, and I’ll see you in a month!”
“I’ll come down and see you into a taxi,” her father stated firmly.
Siena hid a smile. Like Nick, her father was innately protective, and she wasn’t surprised when her mother immediately decided to accompany them.
Unfortunately Nick and his girlfriend chose that time to leave, and Nick’s offer to take her back to her hotel put her in an awkward position.
“No, thanks, I’ll be fine,” she said, wondering if the icy chill coming in waves from Portia’s direction was real or merely a figment of her too-active imagination. Whatever the other woman had planned for the rest of the evening, it most definitely didn’t involve giving Siena a lift anywhere. And Siena definitely didn’t want to play gooseberry.
So she said firmly, “Thank you for thinking of it, but it’s not necessary. What on earth could happen to me in a London taxi?”
Nick shrugged. “Where’s your hotel?”
When she told him he said, “It’s on our way.” He nodded at the hotel forecourt. “And there’s the car.”
He travelled in style. If Portia hadn’t been standing frostily by, Siena might have teased him about the large, discreet limousine and uniformed driver that waited for them.
Once she’d have done just that, but Nick now was different from the boy she’d known, the man who had shown her just how intensely wonderful passion could be.
And then left her.
“Nick, dear, that’s wonderful of you,” her mother interposed. She smiled at Portia. “So kind.”
Siena knew when she was beaten. So did Portia, who sketched a thin smile in response.
Fortunately Siena’s hotel was a mere five minutes’ drive away. She could be polite for that long—and so, she learned, could Nick’s lover.
But the atmosphere was not conducive to small talk, and she was glad to get out. “Thanks so much,” she said firmly, hoping Nick would take the hint. “Goodnight.”
However, he escorted her to the hotel door. “What are you doing after your parents leave?” he asked.
“I’m sightseeing tomorrow, and the next day I’ll take the train to Cornwall to stay with an old schoolfriend for a few days,” she said, oddly discomposed.
“When did you become engaged?”
The abrupt change of subject startled her into looking up. “Several months ago.”
His brows met above the arrogant blade of his nose. “No one told me.”
Siena blinked. It sounded like an accusation, but before she could respond, he went on, “Is this Adrian anyone I know?”
“Adrian Worth. His family have a station in the South Island high country.” Old money, and a lovely set of relatives. And a very nice, honourable man.
“The name sounds familiar,” he said, and left it at that. With a cool smile he nodded and bent his head. Surely he wasn’t going to kiss her?
He did, a swift peck on her cheek, dropped in place only to be immediately forgotten, she thought, her heart thudding unevenly in her ears when he straightened. “Sleep well,” he said.
Siena couldn’t control a startled blink. Nick’s narrow smile was something. Somehow it roused an excitement she didn’t even want to think about. She felt as though she’d been dipped in champagne.
No, she thought cynically, not champagne. The very best brandy—dangerous, delicious and far too potent …
“Goodnight,” she managed, and crossed the lobby, feeling the impact of his gaze between her shoulder-blades.
Through the closing lift doors she saw him turn and go back to the big car and the woman who waited for him.
Presumably they’d end the evening in bed together.
Stop being so prying and intrusive, she thought bleakly while the lift eased to a stop. She had no right whatever to speculate about Nick’s love affairs.
His private life was just that—private.
Or as private as he could make it with paparazzi following him around.
She spent a restless night, tossing in an unfamiliar bed, listening to traffic, wondering why she wasn’t more excited at being in London. Perhaps because at night it was impossible to distinguish between traffic in London and Auckland—a lonely sound in both places.
Eventually she managed to drop off to sleep, only to wake later than she’d planned. A day’s sightseeing lay ahead, so she scurried around and left the hotel, intending to grab breakfast and coffee somewhere on her way.
It was a busy day, one she enjoyed. It was only on her way home that she realised she hadn’t checked her email. Sitting on the top of the double-decker tourist bus, she flicked her phone open and scrolled through, feeling guilty when she saw one from Adrian.
It took her only a moment to read it, a moment in which the noisy buzz of traffic faded into the sound of her heart drumming in her ears.
I’m so sorry. I’m a complete coward for doing this by email, but I don’t know how to tell you I’ve fallen in love with someone else. It’s not your fault, and I feel awful about it, but I can’t help it. Please forgive me. You can’t think any worse of me than I do myself. I wish you every happiness.
And he was hers sincerely, Adrian.
Siena sat in numb, incredulous disbelief, her gaze locked on the screen as Adrian’s words danced crazily on it.
An aching emptiness brought a swift, cold spurt of tears. Shivering, she fought them back, trying to tell herself that it was just as well he’d found out now instead of waiting until after they’d married.
Despite the shock, in her innermost heart she knew she’d been waiting for this day. Somehow she’d sensed this—even though she’d refused to face it—long before she’d left New Zealand. For weeks Adrian had seemed distant and on edge, brushing off her enquiries with reassurances that now rang hollow and false.
Nick had called her bossy, and she probably was, but she’d learned to fight for what she wanted. Her parents had always been meticulously fair, but it hadn’t been exactly easy growing up in the shadow of a twin who’d been a beautiful baby, progressed to become an enchanting child and then a stunning teenager, before finally maturing into a woman so beautiful she’d dazzled every boyfriend Siena had brought home.
Swallowing hard, Siena fought back nausea. She didn’t—refused to—want a man who loved another woman.
So she had to get over this horrible anguish. But first she needed privacy, a few hours alone to deal with her grief. Tomorrow she was heading to Cornwall to stay with her best friend from school, and she would not depress her by moping around.
She clicked off the phone and put it back in her bag, staring resolutely out of the window until she could once more see and hear.
Back at the hotel she fled to her room, eyed the mini-bar, but decided bleakly that a stiff drink was the last thing she needed right now. Opting instead for the familiar solace of a cup of tea, she sat in the uncomfortable chair and forced herself to drink it, trying to achieve some serenity.
None came. Before she’d taken more than a couple of sips she leapt to her feet and, setting her mouth, wrenched off her engagement ring.
No, no longer her ring. The diamond winked and glittered in the palm of her hand, and without volition her fingers closed around the lovely thing. She fought back another sob and thrust it into a zipped pocket in her handbag with a sharp, final movement.
Tomorrow it would be on its way back to Adrian.
The hotel telephone rang, making her jump.
Startled, she stared at it, her heart bumping in her chest. It had to be Louise. Pick it up, Siena!
But it was Nick’s voice that answered her cautious greeting. “Did your parents get off all right?” he said.
“I got a text from Heathrow just before they boarded.” Her voice sounded odd.
“What are your plans for tonight?” Nick asked.
“I haven’t got any,” she said unevenly.
“So you can come out to dinner with me.”
She didn’t know what to say. “No, that’s not possible,” she said, obeying the instinct that warned her to hide away for a few hours.
“Why?” he asked.
She stuttered a few words, then stopped.
Into the silence Nick said with a cool decisiveness she found rather intimidating, “There will be just you and me, Siena. I don’t like to think of you alone in London.”
Say no, it’s all right, Nick, I’m fine. But she knew her voice would wobble.
Nevertheless she tried, swallowing first to ease her dry throat, and Nick demanded sharply, “What’s the matter?”
“N-nothing.” Again her voice betrayed her.
“Siena, I’ll be around straight away.”
“No!”
But he’d already cut the connection, and after a moment she hung up.
That damned protective instinct, she thought, staring wretchedly down at the half-empty teacup.
She couldn’t go out to dinner feeling as though everything that was inside her—heart, passion, laughter and joy—had been scooped out and thrown away, leaving only a shell.
Like Gemma, Nick was accustomed to attention. Even when he’d been a teenager girls had flocked after him, and as he’d grown they’d become more importunate. His meteoric success helped too, she thought with a flash of cynicism.
Once her mother had said with wry amusement, “All it takes is for that green gaze to drift over some woman’s face, and she’s hooked. It’s as though he’s a magnet.”
Last night almost every woman in the restaurant had given him several intrigued glances, many openly admiring, drawn as much by his leashed, potent energy as his boldly handsome face and that compelling aura that subtly signalled his prowess as a lover.
That thought sent a peculiar shiver down her spine. Ignoring it, she reached for the phone, only to pull back her hand when she realised she didn’t know Nick’s number. And after minutes of fruitless searching she realised he wasn’t listed either. She tried his office, only to be told by some smooth-voiced receptionist that he was unavailable.
Balked, Siena got up wearily and looked out of the window onto the street below. It blurred, and she blinked ferociously to clear an onslaught of tears. Perhaps a shower would clear her head.
She made it short, but when she emerged, fully dressed in case Nick had somehow persuaded the reception clerk to give him a key, her cell phone summoned her.
This time it was Louise.
Ten minutes later Siena put down her cell phone, her friend’s strained words still echoing in her ears. “It’s my father-in-law,” she’d said. “He’s had a stroke, and Ivan’s mother’s at her wits’ end with two younger children at home, so we’re going up tomorrow. I’m so sorry, Siena, but it’s impossible for you to stay with us now. But the cottage is here, and we—oh, Siena, I was so looking forward to seeing you …”
Siena had refused the offer of the cottage and done her best to reassure her, but now she stared around the hotel room as though she’d never seen it before.
“What now?” she said aloud, then caught herself up.
No need to feel it was the end of the world. So it had all happened at once, but friends had emergencies and parents went on long-anticipated cruises.
And fiancés fell in love with someone else.
Nobody ever died of a broken heart. Eventually this dull pain would ease.
She dragged in a sharp stabbing breath. She’d organise her return journey to New Zealand, then go down and wait for Nick in the foyer, tell him she couldn’t go out to dinner with him.
She would, she thought tautly, be extremely boring company, and he’d probably only asked her because he knew her parents were leaving and she’d be alone.
In effect, he’d behaved just like the brother he considered himself to be.
Nick saw her as soon as he entered the foyer. She hadn’t noticed him, and something about the way she was sitting made him frown, and quicken his pace. A friend had once described her—patronisingly—as “a taking little thing”. Tiny and black-haired, with eyes so blue they were a startling contrast to her porcelain skin, she certainly looked doll-like—except for her mouth. Lush, sensuously curved, her mouth was a delicious miracle made for smiles—and kisses.
Now it was pinched, and set in a straight line. She was holding herself stiffly, warding off an invisible blow. Nick swore under his breath and increased the length of his stride.
It was impossible to link Siena with the word defeat, but that was how she looked—as though she’d been knocked to the ground so roughly she couldn’t be bothered getting up again. And she certainly wasn’t dressed for dinner.
Her parents …?
“What’s the matter?” he demanded from two strides away.
She blinked as though she didn’t recognise him. Then with a brave attempt at her usual spark she said, “Oh, a couple of things, but it’s not the end of the world.”
Nothing had happened to Hugh and Diane, then. Hiding his relief, he said more moderately, “So tell me.”
The hands in her lap tensed. No ring, he realised.
What the hell—?
She said, “Well, I think I mentioned I was going to stay with a friend in Cornwall, but that’s off.”
Nick listened to her explanation, nodding when she finished. “So what are you going to do?”
Her white teeth dented her curved bottom lip. Nick’s gut tightened in spontaneous appreciation of that succulent mouth. Damn it, asking her out had been a bad idea; he should never have succumbed to the questionable impulse.
Getting to her feet, she said in a rigidly controlled voice, “I’m trying to get a flight back home.”
“And?”
“So far no luck, but I’ll keep at it.” Nick frowned. “So you’ve got a week to spend in London?”
She shook her head. “No.” “Why?”
“Can’t afford it,” she admitted, lifting her chin to give him a direct glance that glittered a challenge. “I have to go home.”
Now was not the time to press her about the absence of her engagement ring. He owed it to her parents to make sure she was all right. “We can discuss your options over dinner. Come on.”
After a moment’s hesitation she shook her head. “I’d really rather not, Nick. I’m not dressed—”
“It’s all right. We’ll eat at my place.”
He saw her waver and felt an odd, irritating triumph when she nodded.
“Very well,” she said quietly, as though too tired to protest further. But once she got up she made a final objection. “Nick, I’m probably not going to be very good company.”
“Why?”
“Oh, nothing important.” Her voice was stronger, more like the Siena he knew.
You’re lying. And you’ll tell me what’s going on before the evening’s out, he thought. The Siena he remembered wouldn’t have let a change in plans affect her like this.
She said, “I’ll go up and get changed. I won’t be any more than ten minutes.”
“You’re fine the way you are,” he told her.
After giving his suit a brief glance she said with a return to her usual tone, “I’ll change.”
Shoulders held very erect, she walked across the foyer towards the lift. Although small, he thought, his loins stirring again, she was in perfect proportion. Well-worn jeans showed off slim, elegantly shaped legs, and the clear pink thing she wore on top marked every curve of breast and hip, and the narrow allure of her waist.
He wasn’t the only one watching her. The receptionist, a boy not long out of his teens, was also following her progress with too much interest. A spurt of anger took Nick by surprise.
He caught the kid’s eye, and was coldly and foolishly pleased when he flushed and with a bobbing Adam’s apple got busy with the computer. Nick transferred his gaze to two other men. Hastily they abandoned their interested survey and disappeared into the bar.
Satisfied, Nick quelled his cold disapproval and waited.
CHAPTER THREE
SIENA eyed her blue dress—a little tired after its outing the previous night, but it was all she had. Nick had somehow managed to overcome her instinctive need to hide away like a wounded animal—aided by her realisation that she’d be better off in his powerful, formidable presence than sitting alone in her hotel room wondering why her only two serious relationships had ended with the men she loved—or thought she loved—leaving her.
That bitter feeling of alienation chilled her. She struggled with the impulse to tear off her clothes and crawl into bed. It wouldn’t work—if she knew one thing about Nick it was that he was determined. One way or another, he’d get her out of her room.
Anyway, self-pity was a loser’s indulgence.
But the prospect of eating anything made her feel sick, a nausea that escalated when the lift started to take her down.
When she saw Nick, darkly dominant and looking more than a little grim, she managed a smile. He didn’t return it. Head held high, she parried his keen scrutiny and a strange alteration to her heartbeat transmuted into racing pulses and a moment of lightness, of keen anticipation.
“I only brought one going-out-to-dinner outfit,” she told him. Heavens, was that her voice—husky and almost hesitant?
Get a grip, she ordered.
“So? You look charming,” he said calmly, and took her arm. “I suppose you travelled with nothing more than hand luggage?”
Rills of sensation ran from his fingers to her spine, spreading out through every cell in a gentle flood. Almost she shivered, and it took a considerable amount of self-control to respond in the easy tone of one old friend to another, “Afraid not. I expected to be here for a week, and as it’s winter on this side of the equator I had to pack warm clothes. I don’t have a home in every capital, with wardrobes full of clothes made specially for me.”
“Neither do I,” he said crisply, nodding to the doorman.
“Just about.”
He gave her a saturnine smile. “I own two dwellings.”
“Which one do you call home?”
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he said finally, “The one in Auckland.”
Strangely that warmed her as Nick guided her into the waiting car.
Once inside he turned to her. “Apart from your friend’s news, did you have a good day?”
“Most of it was great, thank you.” She made him laugh, relating a small incident in a park involving an elderly dowager and a small child, and slowly her tension subsided.
She even thought bracingly, I can do this. I can stay in one piece long enough to last out the evening.
Once she got herself onto a plane she could shatter if she needed to. Nobody would know her, so nobody would care if she spent the whole trip in glum silence.
But first she had to get her ticket changed.
Nick said, “I called my PA while you were dressing. There’s a possibility of an immediate trip back to New Zealand. She might ring while we’re having dinner.”
“Oh—Nick, that’s kind of you, but you didn’t need to.” She glanced at his unsmiling face, and ignored a vagrant shiver down her spine when his lashes drooped. “Your poor PA—she’s probably muttering oaths under her breath.”
“I doubt it. She’s paid well, worth every penny, and accustomed to being on call whenever I need her.”
Siena imagined a prim, super-efficient middle-aged woman, silently and hopelessly in love with her employer. “At night?” she asked without trying to hide her scepticism. “Obviously she has no family.”
“On the contrary, she has two small children.” Nick went on smoothly, “Her husband is the housekeeper in that home.”
Siena digested this in silence. “Very modern.”
“It works for them. You’d probably like them—they’re an interesting couple.”
Absently Siena nodded, but said, “Won’t she need my ticket number and other information? You should have told me at the hotel and I could have got it for you.”
“If she does, tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”
By then the car was slowing down in a quiet street flanked on either side by rows of lovely Georgian houses.
Siena gazed through the vehicle window with appreciation. “If anyone had asked me, I’d have said you’d choose an ultra-modern penthouse in a tower block.”
“I prefer this.”
“Who wouldn’t?” She gave a wry smile. “Actually, it suits you—very studied, very controlled.” And gorgeous … “I can see you as a Regency buck, driving your phaeton and four up to the door.”
“I’d have to check, but I suspect phaetons only had two horses,” he said.
“Trust you to know that,” she said on a half-laugh.
One brow lifted, he looked down at her. “Why?”
“When we first met you Gemma and I decided you knew everything important in the world.”
His beautiful mouth quirked. “Six years’ difference in age can do that. Growing up must have meant sad disillusion for you both.”
He stopped, and for a moment she thought she saw something like regret darken his eyes. Was he remembering that he’d had a hand in shattering more than a few of her illusions?
Probably not. Turning her head so he couldn’t see her face, she pretended to examine the street, serene and gracious in the light of the lamps.
Even at nineteen she’d been worldly-wise enough to know that the link between them was fragile and not likely to last. The knowledge hadn’t prevented her heartbreak, but at least Nick had never made any promises to her.
She shouldn’t have come with him. When she could trust her voice she said steadily, “Disillusion happens to everyone.”
“To those who still have illusions,” he said, his voice hard and level. “Siena—”
He stopped, his mouth thinning as the car drew up in front of a flight of steps leading to an impressive door.
Right then Siena would have given everything she owned to be somewhere—anywhere—else. The very last thing she wanted from him was an apology for his behaviour five years ago.
Once inside the building she gazed around with undisguised interest and quickly, before he could say any more, said, “Nick, this is lovely.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
The graceful drawing room was furnished with an aura of elegant restraint that echoed her host’s vital, coolly self-disciplined authority. The decorator had married antique and modern pieces with flair and style.
“Whoever did this knew you very well,” she said without thinking.
He ignored the comment. “I think you need an aperitif. Still Sauvignon Blanc?”
“Yes, thank you.” It had been years since she’d told him how much she enjoyed that particular wine, and she was surprised and strangely cheered that he remembered.
It was a New Zealand white, crisp and delicious, and after the first sip she set the glass down and looked at him. That odd kick in her heartbeat startled her again. “You can take the Kiwi out of New Zealand …” she teased.
His smile was a little narrow. “I like other wines as well, but this seemed appropriate for tonight. Here’s to your happiness. Why aren’t you wearing your engagement ring?”
Siena flinched, her gaze falling to her empty finger. Adrian hadn’t stayed around for long, she thought on a spurt of anger. A thin line of slightly paler skin revealed that she’d been wearing the ring for only a short time.
It was still in her hotel room. When she’d enquired about the cost of sending it back, the insurance had been so much she’d been unable to afford it.
It took a lot of willpower to meet Nick’s green eyes, but she parried their unsparing assessment with head held high. She wouldn’t lie to him.
Straightening her shoulders, she said briefly, “When I got back to my room in the hotel there was an email from my fiancé telling me he’d found someone else.”
The base of Nick’s glass made a sharp little clink as he set it down on the nearest table. He strode towards her, his expression formidably angry. “An email?” he demanded incredulously.
Clutching her glass, she nodded, unable to articulate her tumbling thoughts.
Nick opened his mouth, then closed it again, biting back words she was glad she didn’t have to hear. He took her glass and set it down, then drew her towards him. On an uneven sigh Siena let herself relax into the strong arms enfolding her. Her forehead came to rest on a powerfully muscled shoulder as he stroked slowly across her back in soothing, potently comforting movements.
Siena dragged in several more ragged breaths and abandoned herself to the simple relief of being held.
In a cold, uncompromising voice he said, “Cry if you want to.”
“I don’t,” she said, blinking back ferocious tears. If she cried it would be because Nick was being so kind—in a brotherly way, of course, she reminded herself drearily.
Well, that was all right.
Still in that formidable tone he said, “It’s too early to say this, but anyone who would break off an engagement by email is someone you don’t need in your life.”
And when she stayed silent he added, “Not now and not ever.”
She nodded. “I know,” she muttered. “It’s all right. I’m not going to crack up.”
“I didn’t expect you to. Not you.”
Something melted deep inside her. The warmth of his embrace and the lithe power and strength of his support—entirely lacking in sensuality—gave her strength. Her taut muscles loosened, became freer, her breaths evening out so that the sobs she dreaded didn’t come to fruition.
Slowly—so slowly she had no idea what was happening—the wave of misery receded. Yet still she didn’t pull away, and Nick didn’t drop his arms.
At first without realising it, she began to respond to the soothing movement of his hand across her back. Her body stirred, sending secret, unsuspected signals that blossomed into a tantalising awareness, an insidious pleasure that sang through her in heady invitation.
A shiver of mixed anticipation and apprehension shocked her into pulling back. Instantly he released her and stepped away, examining her with the burnished gaze that successfully hid his thoughts.
Hot shame rushed through Siena. Rushing into speech she said, “Thanks.” And managed to sketch a smile. “You should have had sisters—you make a great brother.”
His brows lifted, and the smile he gave in return was sardonic. “Any time you need a fraternal shoulder, just let me know,” he said, drawling the words with an intonation that deepened her flush.
“I hope I never do again.” Her voice was pitched too high. Avoiding his glance, she picked up her wine glass.
Fine tremors shook her hand, and she hoped he couldn’t see the shimmer across the surface of the liquid when she lifted it to her lips. After the smallest of sips she set the glass back down again in case he’d noticed.
But he was looking at his watch. Immediately, as if he’d somehow summoned her, a woman appeared with a tray of small savouries. Nick introduced her as his housekeeper and when she’d gone he ordered, “Have something to eat. You’re as pale as a ghost.”
Obviously he hadn’t felt anything like that heady, sensuous connection. He probably hadn’t even realised what his closeness was doing to her.
Thank heavens. “Hadn’t you noticed I’m always pale?” she said crisply. “Although I prefer to think of myself as ethereally fair.”
His half-smile told her he knew what she was doing. “Ethereal? Not with devil-black curls and that smart mouth. I have to leave you—I’ll be no more than five minutes. When I come back I want to see several of those savouries eaten.”
Siena glowered balefully after him as he left the room, but although she wasn’t hungry the little mouthfuls of food looked delicious and smelt divine. Almost without thinking, she picked one up and nibbled, trying to sort out her thoughts and her odd reactions.
She was over Nick. Had been for years. She no longer even wanted to know why he’d made love to her with such wild tenderness, then left her with nothing more than an abrupt and angry statement that he’d lost his head and he was sorry.
As well as showing her how passionate she could be, Nick had hurt her—damaged her in a way she hadn’t understood or recognised until that moment. Unwittingly she must have vowed never to allow herself to feel so intensely again.
It had taken all her will, but she’d eventually managed to put him behind her and get on with her life. She’d met someone safe—someone she’d been sure would never cause her the pain Nick had.
She winced. Was that really why she’d chosen Adrian? Surely her love for him hadn’t been a mirage, desperately conjured by memories of the dark sorcerer who’d shown her passion and joy and then abandoned her to a world without either?
If so—if she’d let her misery at Nick’s rejection make the choice for her—perhaps Adrian had sensed it.
What weird power did Nick have that just being held in his sexless embrace roused a long-repressed hunger?
OK, so the day had flung a couple of nasty surprises at her—well, one shock and one disappointment—leaving her off-balance, stranded and short of money on the other side of the world from home. She’d been worried, but she’d have managed.
Then Nick had arrived. Being Nick, he’d taken over and.
And what?
In his aloofly controlled way he’d been protective and kind—clearly signalling that he was doing his duty to the couple who’d helped him when he was young and more vulnerable.
The soft sound of the door made her look up sharply. Her stomach dropped as Nick came in, black brows almost meeting across his nose.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
The frown smoothed out. “My question, I think. You look shell-shocked.”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
“And so am I.” He examined her face, then said with a touch of irony, “All right, I’ve just had a conversation with my PA that means I have to rearrange my schedule. It’s no big deal.”
Without preamble she said, “I used to resent you when I was a kid.”
He looked across at her, his brows slightly raised. “I know. You always wanted to come with us when your father and I went off to the various sports and games he introduced me to.”
“I must have been a brat.”
“Not exactly that,” he said dryly. “You were an uncompromising little thing, and very determined. I got used to thunderous frowns, black looks, pouting—”
“I never pouted!”
“You did, and very cutely. I didn’t blame you.”
“Generous of you,” she said with a wry smile. And because she’d always wondered, she asked, “How did you find yourself being Dad’s protégé?”
His expression tightened, but he spoke easily enough. “After my own father died I became hard to handle. My mother was desperate enough to contact an organisation that helped fatherless boys, one your father had volunteered for. We clicked.”
He stopped, then went on almost harshly, “I owe him an immense debt. When I decided to go out on my own in IT he couldn’t afford to back me financially, but he introduced me to people who could, and he gave me both intellectual and moral support.”
Very moved, she said, “That’s quite a tribute. But you did something for him too, you know. You were the son he never had.”
“I hope so,” he said, in a tone that came close to being dismissive, as if he’d said too much. “Dinner’s ready now if you are.”
Siena had been satisfied by the two small savouries she’d eaten, but the wine was making its effects felt. She felt disconnected, the raw shock of Adrian’s rejection lightly blanketed by a buzz in her head that told her she needed food.
Stubbornly she forced herself to eat, but halfway through the main course she stopped, shivering, and the words she’d been trying to get out refused to come. Horrified, she froze.
“You’re probably still jet-lagged, and in shock,” Nick said abruptly, getting to his feet. “You can stay the night here.”
“No, I—”
He interrupted curtly, “You need rest. And you’re in no fit state to be on your own. I’ll get a bed made up for you and tomorrow morning we can discuss what you’ll do.”
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Robyn Donald
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: One Night in the Orient, электронная книга автора Robyn Donald на английском языке, в жанре современные любовные романы