One Night in the Orient (14 page)

His brows shot up. “How?”

“I’d have gone for your eyes,” she told him nonchalantly. “They’re usually the least expected target. And when you’re as short as I am, and with curly hair, most people expect you to scream and struggle foolishly instead of fighting back.”

Nicholas cast another incredulous glance her way, then laughed, but he sobered when he said, “Confidence is good, but too much can hinder.”

A fierce protectiveness stirred in him. She did look younger than her twenty-four years, but he wondered how many other people had made the mistake of judging her on height alone.

And close on that thought came other questions: had she ever had to use her skill? Had she studied martial arts because she’d been a target?

Possibly the now ex-employer, he thought, controlling with surprising difficulty a swift surge of cold anger.

Obviously she was able to look after herself. The shock value alone of her training would startle most men into a reaction that would give her an advantage.

However, sometimes a knowledge of martial arts gave people a false idea of their ability to deal with situations. Abruptly he said, “Whatever form of art you studied, always remember your size is a disadvantage.”

“I know that. My first line of attack is to keep away from situations that might lead to problems.”

“And your second?”

Siena managed a grin. “Scream like crazy and run. So far I haven’t had to use that one.”

Another considering glance revealed a relaxed mouth, but it was impossible to tell from her expression what was going on beneath her black curls.

Nick had no illusions about her response to him. A mixture of desperation and the cruel shock of rejection had driven her into his arms. The fact that he’d been able to bring her to unexpected orgasm had been an accidental bonus for her.

And she certainly didn’t expect anything further from him.

Her curls were fastened back from her face, but one had escaped to lie artlessly curled in the hollow of her throat. He resisted an impulse to brush it away and let his fingers trail across the pulse that beat rapidly beneath.

She was a cool one, yet fire lurked beneath that restraint. The strength and heat of her ardour kicked off an impressively fierce hunger in him—a hunger that still burned like fire in the pit of his belly whenever he looked at her.

Siena flicked back the straying lock with a casual toss of her head and looked up, those amazing blue eyes direct as they met his. She said quietly, “First I have to find a job.”

But for now she would walk in the moonlight with him, the whispering waves a serene background, and forever hold every sight, every sound, the piercing pleasure of his presence, in her heart.

N
ICK
was woken early by an important telephone call from New York. He dealt with it swiftly, then lay back against the pillows and frowned at the dawn sky.

Five years previously he’d vowed never to hurt another woman. Since then he’d steered well away from emotional entanglements, choosing sophisticated lovers who knew the rules, who understood and accepted that while a relationship with him would involve fidelity until it ended, it wouldn’t lead to commitment. It had earned him a reputation for coldness, but that was better than breaking hearts.

And Siena was no longer inexperienced. She’d had at least one other lover. Besides, the sexual connection between them was even more powerful. His body tightened when he recalled her consuming, incandescent response, and her wondering joy when she’d finally reached her peak in his arms.

However, although the sex might have been a revelation to her, it was based on her longing for comfort and reassurance. He’d shown her with his passion that she was infinitely desirable, and helped restore her faith in herself.

So why the hell was he lying here in his own bed instead of waking up beside her?

Because, although Siena wasn’t in love with him, she was still on the rebound from her ex-fiancé. And for some unfathomable reason Nick wanted more from her than lust on the rebound.

Swearing silently, he rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. She’d still be asleep. Last night she’d been completely exhausted—a tiredness he suspected was caused mostly by the prospect of dealing with the fallout from her broken engagement.

And, because Worth had fallen for Gemma, Siena had no way of avoiding the situation.

Driven by a need for action, Nick got up, strode across the room and pulled back the curtains, looking across the wide spread of lawn to the sea beyond. With so much travelling in his life an apartment on Auckland’s waterfront would be a more practical base in New Zealand, but coming to this house was coming home, although his mother had been dead some years now. Far too young …

At least he’d been able to make sure she’d spent the last period of her life in contentment and with every comfort he could provide. She deserved that after the hell she’d endured with his father.

Even those bitter memories couldn’t quench his body’s blatant response to the thought of making love to Siena. He forced his brain into logic mode, totting up the things about her that appealed to him.

Her intelligence, for a start, and that mental astringency. She intrigued him because he never knew what she’d say next. Or do.

Only Siena would have donated the money she’d
extracted from her ex-employer to a refuge for victims of abuse. Ruthlessly he controlled his anger. He might want to physically punish the man who’d tried to force her into sex with him, but there were other, ultimately more satisfactory ways to punish would-be rapists.

Of the women he knew, only Siena would have spent all her savings to fly to London to be with her parents on their special night.

Small, vibrant, loving and loyal, she would, he suspected, throw herself heart and soul into any relationship. That was why he’d left her five years ago. He hadn’t wanted to raise false hopes, hadn’t wanted to hurt her beyond the pain he’d already caused. And making love to her had roused emotions he hadn’t known how to deal with.

Fear, mainly.

He tasted the word, hating it, but forced to admit its accuracy. Fear, and the overwhelming drive to prove himself.

He’d fought hard for the independence he now had, but because of that brutal battle with himself and the corrosive legacy of his father had he lost something of even greater worth?

He’d expected the hunger Siena aroused to be temporary, a quick cheap thrill that would abate as soon as she left his arms. But once roused that erotic appetite had lodged in him, a silken claw in his self-esteem. It was still there.

Gradually his unseeing gaze focused on the scene below, registering rows of rose bushes struggling to survive in the salt air. Born and raised in the tropics, his mother had longed for an English garden.

The handyman he employed kept the beds weed-free
and tidy, but apart from the pool area, which he’d had revitalised a couple of years ago, the garden lacked any connection with the magnificent seascape before him.

Inspiration hit him—one of the hunches he was noted for. Usually they were right on the mark. If this one wasn’t—well, he hadn’t got where he was without a certain amount of guile and a hell of a lot of persistence.

When he opened his bedroom door Siena was walking down the hall. “Good morning,” he said, searching her face for signs of tiredness or strain. “How did you sleep?”

Her gaze skimmed him with insulting speed, and the smile she gave was a little less dazzling than usual. It was impossible for that milk-white skin to be even paler, but he sensed a subtle weariness in her when she said sedately, “Very well, thank you.”

Strangely gratified by the hint of colour along her cheekbones before long lashes half-hid her eyes, he eyed her narrow-cut jeans and a shirt the same vivid blue as her eyes that hinted at curves he remembered well.

“Hong Kong purchases?” he guessed.

She smiled. “Grace talked me into the shirt after we’d been to the museum.”

“It suits you.”

“She has great taste as well as top-class bargaining skills.” Lush mouth held in a firm line, she tilted her chin at an angle that could be called defiant and stated succinctly, “I need coffee.”

Amazingly Siena had slept well, but only to wake long before dawn. When she’d finally been able to make out her hand in front of her face she’d got up, pulling back the curtains to gaze out over the sea to the dark bulk of Rangitoto Island, the newest of Auckland’s
small volcanoes. Although the sun had still been beneath the horizon nascent light had glimmered with a pearly sheen over the harbour, and above the island the morning star had shone with such radiance Siena had had to blink back a tear.

“Home again,” she’d said softly, against a background of gulls calling insistently across the water.

But now apprehension knotted her stomach, backed by a burgeoning excitement when she watched Nick’s brows climb, met his unsettling regard.

“You need coffee that urgently?” His voice was cool, even a little bored, although his hard green eyes scanned her face before he turned and held open a door that led, she realised, into the kitchen.

“At this time of the morning I always need coffee,” she told him.

Fortunately the coffeemaker was one she could cope with, so she set it going, finding her way around the kitchen by instinct. “What are you having for breakfast?” she enquired.

“Eggs and bacon. Do you want some?”

Hastily Siena shook her head. The thought of eggs made her stomach lurch. “I’ll just have toast, thanks. How is it that this place is full of fresh food when you’ve been away for months?”

“I emailed the agency from Hong Kong.”

“Agency?”

He smiled. “I employ an agency to take care of things like stocking the kitchen whenever I come back.”

“Goodness,” she said, awed. “I wish I could afford someone to take care of mundane details like that!”

“Works for me.” He looked around. “Why don’t you set the table out on the terrace while I cook my
breakfast? The sun’s fully up, and it should be warm enough even after Hong Kong.”

It was. In fact, it was glorious. Siena set the table, picked a bunch of white daisies from a large bush and put them in a glass tumbler, then took out her toast and sat down with a small sigh.

“It’s great to be home again,” she said when Nick joined her.

“Don’t you like travelling?”

“I like it very much, but I’m always glad to get back. What about you?”

He gave her a quizzical glance. “Mostly it’s for business, but I try to see something in each place I’ve never seen before.”

“Being a tourist?”

He nodded. “Although I prefer to call myself a traveller.”

Siena sliced a tomato and arranged the slices over her toast. “I like that,” she said thoughtfully, and ate the last slice with relish. “And I love the new season’s tomatoes. The new season’s anything, actually. I adore asparagus, because not only does it taste delicious but it only arrives once a year.”

Stop babbling, she told herself when Nick looked across at her. He could have fresh new asparagus flown to him any time he liked.

But he nodded as he expertly ladled his eggs onto a bed of bacon and slid grilled tomatoes onto the plate.

“Agreed.”

Foolishly, Siena wondered why it seemed far more intimate to be eating breakfast they’d made themselves than at the table in the hotel suite.

She nibbled her suddenly tasteless toast and took a
fortifying sip of coffee before saying without preamble, “Gemma contacted me last night.”

Eyebrow cocked, Nick waited.

She hesitated, then went on with a trace of defiance, “She sent me a text.”

One black brow climbed higher. “Full of tears and pleas, no doubt?”

Siena paused, then said reluctantly, “Yes.”

“Which kept you awake most of the night, judging by the shadows under your eyes,” Nick said in a tone so bland she stiffened.

Curtly she told him, “Of course it didn’t.”

He was watching her with a cynical half-smile she found very off-putting. “Do you want to go home?”

Trust him to face the thing she’d been avoiding. “Why do you ask?” That sounded defensive, and she bristled at his cynical half-smile. “I have to go.”

“And spend days coping with Gemma’s tears and begging for forgiveness?” Without waiting for an answer he went on, “You need a job. I have one that involves plants and will keep you too busy to rake over the situation you’ll find at home.”

Siena stared at him. “A job?” she said uncertainly.

“What?”

“You said you’d like to work with plants. The garden here needs work. My mother adored cottage gardens, but this is not the place for that sort of garden and the plants have never really thrived. I’d like something different, something that fits this place.”

“I’m not a gardener,” she told him warily.

“I’m not talking about gardening. It needs a makeover—a complete redesign.”

He watched her with an infuriatingly dispassionate gaze as she digested that.

Oh—it sounded wonderful—she’d love to do it.

It would also be extremely dangerous.

Before she could lose her head entirely, she hurried into speech. “Nick, that would be a huge job, and one I’m not trained for. I don’t even know if I can come up with a decent garden plan, let alone a complete makeover.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You did a damned good job on your parents’ garden a couple of years ago,” he told her calmly. “I have to leave New Zealand in a couple of days’ time, but I’ll be in touch. Before I give you the go-ahead I’ll need plans and written descriptions, and of course after that I’ll expect progress reports wherever I am.”

His words hit her like a blow to the heart. He was certainly making sure she understood he didn’t plan to be around much. Even so, she should say no and run like crazy as far from Nick as she could.

A clean cut is less painful in the long run,
she reminded herself.

But, oh, how she wanted to do it! Why on earth had he asked her …?

A cruel thought struck her. Before she could think, she asked bluntly, “Is this job a pay-off? As in, thanks for the sex and don’t expect anything more?”