One Night in the Orient (2 page)

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.

A
SSAILED
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.”