One Night in the Orient (9 page)

Nick’s brows met above his arrogant nose. “You’ve never been here before, and trust me—it’ll be more fun bargaining with a local on your side.”

Matching his frown with one of her own, she began, “Nick—”

“Siena, humour me, will you?”

Made uneasy by a treacherous desire to do just that,
she drew a breath and ploughed on. “I’ve always believed this was a safe city.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Hong Kong is fairly safe, but if you take someone with you who knows the market you’ll certainly see more, and it will cost you less than if you try to buy on your own. New Zealanders are notoriously bad at bargaining.”

“But it will cost
you
to hire someone—” With words that held a harsh undertone, he cut in, “Your father never thought of cost or prices when he took me around as a kid. In fact, you children probably missed out on treats because of me—I know things were pretty tight financially for most of your childhood. It’s thanks to him I can afford to do what I like now, and what I like right now is making sure you’re looked after.”

Which well and truly put her firmly in her place, Siena thought, strangely hurt. He
was
doing this out of some misplaced idea of repaying her father.

Although she’d been almost certain of that from the moment he’d offered her this trip home, having it confirmed so bluntly chilled her.

She didn’t dare let herself stumble into emotional danger. Every woman Nick had ever been linked with had been gorgeous, so clearly he took beauty for granted when it came to his affairs. Although Siena knew she was reasonably attractive in her own way, she winced at the damning words, for when had
reasonably attractive
ever challenged
gorgeous
and won?

But, lovely though his women had been, he’d never married.

She’d made a mistake with Adrian. She had no intention—ever—of making an even bigger, more reckless
mistake about Nick, no matter how sexy and exciting he might be.

“Siena,” Nick said, something in his tone telling her he was losing patience, “I can’t, of course, force you take someone with you, but I’d be much happier if you did.”

Chin lifting, she met his eyes and saw that behind the uncompromising command lay entreaty—clearly he felt he had to do this for her. Although it irked her to surrender, and her smile probably showed too many teeth to be entirely convincing, she conceded, “Oh, all right then. Bring on your bargaining expert and tour guide.”

“How much money do you have?”

Siena cast her eyes heavenward. “If things here are as cheap as I’ve heard, I’m OK. I charged my card before I left, and thanks to you I’ll have a refund waiting for me when I get back from my plane ticket.”

“How much in Hong Kong currency?”

She stared at him, then sighed. “None,” she admitted reluctantly. “Can I get some at Reception?”

Nick’s smile was narrow and sharp. “You’d rather do that than take money from me?” When Siena hesitated he said, “It’s called cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

“Oh, all
right,”
she said crossly. “I’ll pay you back at today’s rate.”

He extracted a wallet, peeled off a wad of notes and held them out.

“Thank you, but I wish it wasn’t necessary.”

His face hardened, but he shrugged and in a crisp tone said, “Stop seeing yourself as being a nuisance. And have fun.”

F
OUR
hours later—hot and tired and thoroughly pleased with herself—Siena spread out a swag of ridiculously cheap purchases on the sofa in her bedroom and examined them again. She and the older woman who’d appeared to escort her had shopped carefully, and thanks to the other woman’s hard-nosed bargaining her hoard of gifts had cost her an astonishingly small amount.

A knock on the door lifted her head. Sternly telling her racing pulse to calm down, she called, “Come in.”

Nick pushed open the door. One sweep of green eyes took in her purchases before fixing on her.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked, his tone neutral.

She produced a smile. “You were right. Grace Lam was a huge help. So you have my permission to gloat all you like. And I probably would have got lost.”

“Handsome of you to admit it,” he said, humour glinting in his eyes.

“But I’d have found my way back again,” she retorted immediately.

This time he flung back his head and laughed. “Of course you would have—eventually. Mind if I take a look?”

“No,” she said, and told him who each object was
for, finishing, “And this dog barks when you press its stomach. It’s for the little girl next door at home. She’s got mumps, poor poppet, so she might like a soft toy.”

Siena paused, then said, “Grace—my guide—told me you’d suggested we go out tomorrow again, and she thought I might enjoy the Heritage Museum.”

“A good idea.”

Siena nodded. “Either that or the Wetlands Park, which I’d like to see too, because quite a lot of New Zealand’s migratory birds stop off there on their way to and from the Arctic. Have you been to either place?”

“Both. If I were you I’d go to the museum. It’s fascinating and very Hong Kong.”

“OK,” she said.

His mouth quirked.

“What’s so surprising?” she challenged.

Broad shoulders moved in the slightest of shrugs. In a voice that came close to deadpan, he said, “I suppose I’ve become accustomed to hearing you object rather than agree.”

She gave him a startled look, then felt ashamed. “Have I been behaving like a spoilt kid?”

“More like someone determined to assert her independence.”

“Now I feel like a snotty little adolescent,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. I’m really grateful—”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” he cut in, his tone flinty.

Taken aback, she said, “Then I won’t mention it again. But I’ll bow to your superior knowledge of Hong Kong, so the museum it will be.”

“I’ve finished for the day, so I thought we’d have dinner and then go up the Peak.” At her baffled look
he said, “Every visitor to Hong Kong goes up Victoria Peak—it’s obligatory, and the view is astonishing, both day and night.”

“That would be great.” Sightseeing was a nice safe thing to do. No doubt there’d be lots of people around, and it would take up the evening and give her something more sensible to think of than the fierce, disturbing excitement that gripped her whenever she saw Nick.

“Would you rather eat here or in a restaurant?”

“A restaurant,” she said rapidly, because that wouldn’t be as intimate as dinner in the suite. But she felt compelled to say, “Unless you’re tired and would rather eat here?”

He didn’t look tired, but he’d been working all day.

Obviously amused, he shook his head. “You sound just like your mother. I’m not tired. Where would you like to go? There are several superb restaurants in the hotel, and thousands of very good ones in Hong Kong. How do you feel about local food?”

“Yes, please,” she said promptly.
She sounded like her mother?

If she’d needed anything more to prove he wasn’t in the least interested in her, that throwaway comment had done it.

Stiffly she said, “Let me treat you to it. That’s if they’ll take my card.”

Nick looked at her, and to her astonishment smiled and said, “They’ll take any card. All right, then, and thank you. One of the small places down the street is excellent. Or would you prefer—?”

“A small one would be great,” she broke in, thinking of her one good dress.

While she’d been learning bargaining skills at the
market someone had unpacked her clothes, pressed them and stored them carefully in the massive wardrobe. Even so, the blue dress looked tired.

However, she put it on. This would possibly be the only time she ever went out with Nick.

Hastily she squelched that thought before it turned into useless regret. And when they walked into the restaurant she realised she could have worn jeans and no one would have noticed. The place seemed to be favoured by locals—some in what seemed to be working gear, some in sophisticated designer gear. The few tourists were more casually dressed.

“How did you know about this restaurant?” she asked curiously.

“It was recommended to me the first time I came to Hong Kong,” Nick told her as they were ushered to a table.

“Do you eat here often?”

“Whenever I’m in the city.”

Which made her realise that all she knew of his life away from New Zealand was what she’d read in various gossip magazines and the financial pages.

You’re very peripheral in his life,
she thought.
Just remember that …

Nick ordered a dinner of several savoury, spicy dishes, some fried, some steamed, all delicious.

Later she’d be impressed by his wide knowledge and considered opinions and views; at the time she made sure she tried all the dishes and concentrated on the atmosphere. Too much attention to Nick could only be dangerous.

Not that her studied restraint was easy. Each time his glance collided with hers—blue clashing with green—a
sensuous, tantalising reaction licked inconveniently through her.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked once.

“Very much,” she returned, keeping her voice light. “This food is a revelation.”

Yet again her foolish pulse galloped into overdrive when he returned her smile with a somewhat saturnine one of his own.

But all he said was, “Hong Kong loves food and is famous for it. If you’ve finished we’ll head for the Peak. For your first visit it’s obligatory to go by tram.”

After one look at the rails Siena braced herself for a steep upward journey, vowing for possibly the tenth time that evening not to allow herself to be so incandescently aware of Nick—as though every sense receptor in her body and brain was focused on him only.

Once they’d disembarked she looked around at the crowd who’d decided to highlight their evening with a trip to the Peak. Many were tourists, and most of the women strolling by took in Nick’s dominating presence at her side.

She tried very hard to be amused when they transferred their attention to her, their appreciation frequently turning to slight puzzlement.

You’re here for the view,
she reminded herself.
Concentrate on it.

It was worth it—an astonishing, multicoloured, layered explosion of lights and tall buildings and ferries plying across the harbour, with all that splendour of light and colour eventually fading into the textured darkness of the hills behind.

“Oh, my goodness,” she breathed. “Oh, this is amazing. How high are we?”

“Over twelve hundred feet—four hundred metres,” Nick told her.

She took in a deep breath of warm air. “You know, mingled with that fresh green-leaf perfume from the bush I think I can smell the scent of millions of delicious meals. How many people live here?”

“Give or take a thousand or two, about eight million—double New Zealand’s population on approximately a thousand square kilometres.” He paused before adding, “And, in spite of all those people crammed into such a small area, most of Hong Kong is still forested.”

Nick looked down at her. Her exquisite skin was slightly flushed, and she pushed a clinging black curl away from her neck. After England’s winter gloom she was probably feeling the heat, although the arrival of evening had banished the cloying humidity of a Hong Kong summer.

She was gazing at the glittering panorama beneath them, absorbed in its ever-changing beauty. Would she look the same if he showed her Petra, rose-red and ancient in the desert, or the sensuous stone glories of Angkor Wat beneath the clogging tenacity of the oriental jungle?

Turning to him, she said, “You’ve obviously done your research.”

“I always research,” he told her.

The more you knew, the fewer surprises you had to deal with—a lesson he’d learned very early in life.

“Somehow I’m not surprised.” She gave him a teasing half-smile. “Knowledge is power, right?”

Nick felt something tug at his gut—a swift hunger, the potent forerunner of lust.

Abruptly he asked, “Seen enough?”

She glanced away, eyes smoky and huge in her face. “Yes, for the moment. But one day I’ll come back here.”

With whom?

Surprised by that thought, Nick heard her finish, “And I bet you have a busy day ahead tomorrow.”

For some strange reason he was touched. He couldn’t remember any of his lovers showing concern for his wellbeing.

Not that they’d had reason to worry about his stamina, he thought wryly.

And wondered why memories of previous lovemaking seemed slightly tawdry, as though in an odd way he’d been unfaithful. To Siena …? Impossible.

On the way back to the hotel he took care to keep things superficial. As they walked through the impressive doors the distant strain of music filtered through the lobby. Siena turned her head towards it.

“The nightclub,” he told her laconically. And startled himself by saying, “They hold Thirties nights—foxtrots and waltzes and so on. Would you like to go in?”

He’d surprised her, too. After a quick upward glance and a moment of hesitation she said doubtfully, “We’re not exactly dressed for it.”

“I don’t think anyone will notice. Or care.”

She sent him one of her sparkling glances. “I suspect you’re insinuating that you’re so well known—or so rich—you can go anywhere you like and be welcome.” She shook her black curls sadly at him. “Such arrogance. My mother—and yours, from what I remember of her—would be shocked to the core.”

His mouth quirked. “Shall we see?”

“Why not? I’d like to be able to say I danced here once.”

As he’d known would happen, the doorman took one look at Nick and said, “Delighted to see you, Mr Grenville.”

Siena waited until they were seated on a secluded banquette to say, “Don’t tell me they recognise everyone staying here.”

Only the very rich,
Nick thought. Somehow she made him feel jaded. He shrugged it off and said coolly, “I’ve been here before.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t do the rock star thing—trash the room so they’d remember you?”

“Not my style.”

She gave him a glimmering smile. “Oh, you’re so right. You’ve always been completely in control.”