One Night in the Orient (8 page)

The faint note of surprise in his voice produced a shrug that probably seemed a bit defensive. “I like gardens and plants. In fact, I tossed up about taking a landscaping course before I settled on commerce. And I really liked the woman who hired me. Furthermore, she needed me.”

“Why?”

“Her husband had just died, and he’d always looked after the business side of things. She was a gardener, not a businesswoman, and she was lost and afraid and grieving. So she was more than happy to let me take over the management of the place while she dealt with the plants.”

“I’m not in the least surprised,” he said dryly, and selected a sandwich from the tiered stand. “You have an
air of competence that must have been very reassuring to a woman dealing with widowhood.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, surprised. “Nick, I seem to remember you used to love scones. I don’t, so why don’t you eat them all?”

He laughed, and for a moment she saw the boy who’d teased two small girls, taught them games and asked them riddles, comforted Gemma when she’d been bullied about her height at school, climbed to Siena’s aid when she’d got herself stuck halfway up a big jacaranda tree, and warned her about overestimating her ability to swim long distances.

With adults he’d been wary and controlled until over the years her father’s cheerful pleasure in his company had slowly won acceptance.

Which might have meant that before he’d become a part of their lives he’d discovered it wasn’t safe to trust adults.

“That,” he said on a coolly questioning note, “is a very intent look. Did you want the scones after all?”

“No!” she expostulated, and laughed, feeling strangely as though she’d been caught out. “Just don’t think you can get away with eating all the club sandwiches.”

He seemed to relax. “You always did have a hearty appetite. I used to wonder where you put it, but it wasn’t long before I realised you ran it off. It’s good to see a woman who isn’t picky about her food.”

“Now you’ve made me feel greedy.” She sighed and added, “But I’m still going to have that cupcake, even though it will be like eating a work of art. Do you remember Mum used to slice the tops off and cut them
in two, then use whipped cream to glue the halves on like wings?”

“I do indeed,” he said. “You called them butterfly cakes.”

She laughed. “And I remember that once you ate five of them. I was hugely impressed.”

Later, she sat on the side of a big double bed in the larger of the two bedrooms. Except that they were probably called cabins, she thought with a hint of a smile. Far from being ostentatious or blatant, the interior had been fitted out with an eye to welcoming comfort. Her room even boasted an
en suite
bathroom, as elegant and efficient as that in Nick’s house.

In her chain-store pyjamas she was definitely out of place—as alien as she would be on a space ship. And she was way out of her league.

Had the Nick she remembered ever really existed? Occasionally she saw flashes of that boy, but underlying the fragile link of shared childhood experiences smouldered something else, something hard-edged and very, very basic.

Sudden tears burnt the back of her eyes. She had the weird feeling she’d never known herself, that the woman who’d become engaged to Adrian—made love with him, planned a future with him—had been acting a part.

With Nick she felt stimulated, aroused, elated—more alive, more.

Just
more.
Blinking hard, she looked around, eyes roaming the soothing blues and creams of the room.

And she’d better get over that feeling, because she didn’t belong here. This was Nick’s world now, but it had never been hers. And it never would be.

When he married—if he ever did—he’d choose someone who fitted into this existence of jetting from one side of the world to another in the utmost luxury. Any interest he might have in her clearly wasn’t going to be acted on; after that kiss he’d made no attempt to touch her. Her position as her father’s daughter meant he didn’t consider her as … what?

A candidate for the position of lover?

“Oh, come off it,” she muttered beneath her breath. Nick could have almost any woman in the world … why would he choose her?

A knock on her door startled her. She opened her mouth to call
Come in,
but closed it when she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. Her skimpy singlet top and shorts revealed almost as much white skin as her nakedness last night.

Hastily she got up and huddled into the dressing gown—several sizes too large—hung for her to use. Her heart pounding a sudden tattoo, she opened the door.

Nick stood there. He examined her with suddenly intent eyes. “You’ve been crying.”

“I—no, not really,” she said foolishly, resisting the urge to take a step back. Swathed in white towelling she had to look like a kid in dressing-up clothes, and he seemed to loom over her.

When he reached out she froze, her breath locking in her chest as her eyes widened.

He brushed the skin beneath one eye, a touch so light she should barely have felt it. Instead it registered in every cell in her body, fierce as a lightning strike, potent as an age-old curse.

Seductive as sunlight and champagne on a summer’s evening.

Tension tightened her throat but she managed to say hoarsely, “It’s all right. I’m not going to howl all over you again. Did you want something?”

“Just to make sure you have everything you need.” His voice was curt, each word bitten off as though he was angry.

“Yes, thank you.” It sounded stiff and abrupt, but she didn’t dare say anything else.

Clearly it was enough. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And he turned away.

Siena closed the door with a small click and leaned back against it, sombrely eyeing herself in the mirror. She looked like a.

“A dormouse,” she muttered between her teeth. “A white dormouse out of a children’s book.”

She shrugged off the gown and hung it up again, then crawled into the bed, turned off the lights and lay contemplating the ceiling, the steady sound of the jet’s engines a background to her thoughts.

One thing she’d always prided herself on was her common sense, and now was the time to call on it. Only an idiot would moon over a man who was doing his utmost to show her how much he regretted kissing her. Nick might even be rueing his offer to convey her back to New Zealand. Certainly he’d only made the suggestion because she was her father’s daughter.

Her mouth firmed. No more foolishness.

From this very moment she’d enjoy the unaccustomed luxury, relish the visit to Hong Kong—and
keep reminding herself she was merely a childhood acquaintance of Nick’s, nothing more.

She’d scarcely thought of Adrian since she’d got on the plane. Was she going to cut him out of her heart so swiftly—so easily? It made a mockery of everything she’d believed, everything she’d felt. She hated to believe she was so shallow and faithless, but unpalatable or not, it seemed she was.

The words on the screen seemed to jump, and after a glance at the time Nick pressed “Save” and “Quit” and got to his feet. His first meeting with the Chinese delegation was less than two hours after the plane arrived in Hong Kong, so he needed to be on top form.

And that meant sleep. But excess energy seethed through him, demanding release. What he really needed was a workout, an hour spent forcing his body past its limits and into exhaustion.

Mouth set in a grim line, he strode to the other bedroom. A shower eased muscles set too long in one position, and once in bed he stretched the few remaining kinks out of his long limbs. Normally he’d have slept immediately, but as the jet droned on towards Hong Kong he found himself lying awake, an image of Siena in the far-too-large dressing gown curling his mouth in a smile.

Not for long, however. His expression hardened as he faced an extremely unpalatable truth. Even swathed in what had seemed acres of white fabric, he’d wanted her.

He still wanted her. Hunger ached through his body like a sweet fever, one that had lain quiescent for years only to ambush him the moment he’d seen Siena again.

Not for the first time he cursed his weakness.

He could—perhaps—have understood if it was her sister who affected him like that, yet Gemma’s beauty left him completely cold.

Five years ago, when he’d lost his head and made love to Siena, it had felt like coming home. Afterwards, while she slept in his arms, he’d fought a desperate fight against the prospect that this overwhelming feeling for her might be love. Angry at his loss of control, he’d forced himself to ignore her warmth and soft litheness, the sense of completeness he’d never felt before.

Love was a danger he’d not foreseen. He knew about love, had lived all his life with its other, hidden face; he’d seen too much of the havoc it could create. It held people prisoner, kept them a willing slave to another’s cruelty.

And five years ago not only had he been immature but he’d had an empire to rule, a future to create—a future where his emotions were kept under strict control.

A future that—until a few days ago, when Siena burst into it like a small tornado—had been lived on his terms. Although he’d always given and demanded fidelity in his relationships, he’d never expected or wanted emotional commitment. His life had satisfied him completely until now, when it suddenly seemed barren.

But he still regretted his abrupt abandonment of her after their night together. Restlessly he turned his head on a pillow that seemed too hot, too soft.

So why had he let himself lower his guard and take that kiss? She’d just been dumped by her fiancé, so the last thing she’d needed was for someone she trusted to make a move on her.

Even if she were willing.

Even if she
were
willing, he wasn’t interested in standing in for someone else, being used to banish another man’s image from her mind and heart.

If she came to him, he wanted everything.

Where the
hell
had that thought come from?

From the same place, he decided grimly, that had suggested he offer her this trip to Hong Kong. He should have paid for her to fly first class back to New Zealand instead of bringing her—a delicious, desirable and damned dangerous irritant—with him.

Except that she wouldn’t have accepted such an offer, and he had no way to force or persuade her to.

Anyway, it was only for two days. After they got back to New Zealand they could resume the distance they’d kept for the past five years.

At least he’d have her co-operation. Apart from her wild response to his kiss she’d been pleasantly distant, without a hint of fluttering lashes, no lingering glances or significant silences.

He frowned, punched his pillow with more force than was necessary, and settled down to summon sleep, slowly sliding into a dream where Siena faded into a dark distance that swallowed her up.

Feeling rather like an extra on a film set, Siena waited until she was alone with Nick before allowing herself to gaze around the sitting room in the hotel suite. Arriving in Hong Kong with him had been almost surreal.

Met at the airport by a limousine, they’d been driven through teeming streets to a hotel parking area with its own lift. There they’d been greeted by a smartly suited man who’d accompanied them to the penthouse suite and checked them in.

All very private and discreet.

Now the door had closed, she turned slowly to take in the huge room, furnished with a superb collection of classic colonial furniture mingled with magnificent Chinese pieces. The skilful blend of colours and forms made for a tranquil haven far above those busy streets.

Withdrawing her gaze from what was probably a priceless antique Chinese cabinet, she glanced across the room at Nick. Her heart jumped and she felt his formidable impact right down to her toes.

Tall, immaculately dressed in casual clothes, his hawkish features not softened by a smile that held more than a hint of sardonic appreciation, he was completely at home in all this sophisticated beauty.

Hastily she said, “I didn’t think anything could outdo the plane, but this—” she flung out her arms to encompass the room “—this is
amazing.
Stunningly lovely without being ostentatious.”

“It’s all part of the image—very important in some areas of the world. Check out the view. Hong Kong does views magnificently.”

His calm voice made her feel she was overreacting.

From a wide balcony she absorbed a breathtaking panorama over Hong Kong—the harbour streaked by the wakes of a multitude of boats, and all around towering buildings that almost blocked out a backdrop of forested hills.

“Beautiful and very impressive,” she said. “And so—so
vibrant!
I’m buzzing as though someone’s given me a double shot of adrenalin!” She turned to find him barely a pace behind her. Again her heart somersaulted.
Be sensible,
she ordered it.

He asked, “How are you feeling? Tired?”

“Wonderful! Nothing—believe me,
nothing
—like I did after I reeled out of cattle class in Heathrow several days ago.” She shuddered, and took the opportunity to step sideways, keeping her gaze fixed on a ferry bumbling across the harbour.

“I should hope not,” Nick said, taking his time about inspecting her face. “The whole idea of private jets is to get their human cargo to a destination in as good a condition as possible.”

Colour washed delicately up through her skin. “They do the job well.”

“You look better,” he observed. “To use a cliché, as fresh as a daisy.”

All Siena could think of was a boring, “So do you.” And because his nearness was kindling tiny brushfires in every nerve she added with a brief smile, “I need to unpack.”

“A maid will do that for you.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve ordered a meal, and after that I’ll be in a meeting for the rest of the day. What would you like to do to fill the time?”

“Look around,” she said promptly. “I saw some sort of market not very far from the hotel.”

“I’ll get someone to organise a trip there for you.”

Taken aback, she said, “I won’t need that—I can walk.”