In Bed With...Collection

His eyes beamed back commanding authority. “I’d like you to seat me at the end of the dinner table with Bobby and Celine Hewson on either side of me. Right now I’ll have a whisky. No ice.”

She reached for the bottle of whisky, her hands trembling a little, her mind filling with the kind of poison Bobby would pour into Nathan’s ear. “Why do you want to be placed there?” she asked, as she managed to pour his drink.

“I’d also like you to be seated at the other end of the table, right away from him.”

Right away from Nathan, too. She wouldn’t be able to hear what was going on between the two men. Which wasn’t fair! How could she defend herself? She handed him the glass of whisky, hating the sense of having no control over the situation.

“What if I don’t want that?” she challenged.

His eyes glittered with what looked like contempt. “You like him pawing you?”

“No!” she cried, shrivelling under the implication.

“You want to hear how much he still wants you?”

“You know I don’t!”

“Do I Miranda?” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes savagely deriding her contention. “I know nothing of what’s gone on between you since he’s arrived. All I know is you cut me dead out on the verandah.”

“Nothing’s gone on!” she hissed. “And I was upset by that little tableau Bobby put on for you when you arrived.”

“Running away didn’t resolve anything.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Undoubtedly you weren’t. I see his wife is very attractive. Are you jealous?”

“She’s welcome to him.”

“Then why are you objecting to the seating I’ve suggested?”

“Because…” Miranda clamped her mouth shut. It was madness trying to fight this. She’d been right when she’d whirled back inside. Let Bobby do his worst. Let Nathan think what he liked. She was better off out of it. “Fine!” she clipped out. “Have it your way! I hope you enjoy your dinner!”

The bar attendant was on his way back. Miranda used him as interference to avoid anything more to do with Nathan as she returned to the guests. He strolled back to the group and began chatting up Celine. Well, not exactly chatting up, but answering her very enthusiastic curiosity about him, and Bobby was content to stay in that little circle of charm, waiting to inject his venom when the chance came.

When it was time to usher everyone to the dining table, Miranda didn’t have to do any arranging of the seating. Nathan claimed the chair at the foot of the table. Celine grabbed the seat to the right of him. Bobby naturally took the seat to his left. The others chose where they willed, leaving the chair at the head of the table for Miranda, since that was where she had sat at lunch-time.

From that moment on, it seemed to Miranda, Nathan controlled everything. He played the part of a charismatic host to perfection. He was interesting, amusing, witty, extending himself to entertain everyone, the life of the party, all the guests hanging on his words, enjoying having his company, loving every minute of his good-humoured sharing of himself and his expert knowledge of the Kimberly region.

Miranda doubted they even tasted the food they consumed. No one bothered to comment on it. They were too busy lapping up the unique experience Nathan was giving them. Occasionally he referred things to her, forcing her into the conversation, and she had to respond as a good hostess would, but she kept remembering the two dinner parties at the station homestead where he hadn’t bothered to put himself out so much, and she resented this performance from him now…lording it over all of them.

It was probably sticking in Bobby’s craw that Nathan was the star attraction. But so what? Did that do any good? Was this some male competition to show her he was better value than Bobby was? If this was supposed to win her, it was the wrong way of going about it, as far as Miranda was concerned. She would have preferred to have him sitting next to her, giving her some caring attention instead of impressing how great he was on others.

After the main course was cleared from the table, Celine took herself off to the Powder Room. A fresh coat of glossy red lipstick and a respray of perfume for Nathan’s benefit, Miranda darkly surmised. One of the other women asked her about a picnic box ordered for tomorrow and the rest of the party started checking their planned activities with each other.

Miranda saw Bobby lean over to murmur something to the man who’d upstaged him all evening. Nathan’s face visibly stiffened. His eyes narrowed. Then he leaned over and said something to Bobby that had her former employer straightening up in his chair.

The two men eyed each other in a long, silent duel. More inaudible words were exchanged. Nathan’s expression took on a hard, ruthless cast. Whatever was going on between them was not the least bit entertaining, and Miranda had the sickening feeling she was at the centre of it.

Celine returned to her chair.

The call signal of a mobile telephone came from Nathan’s shirt pocket. Conversation halted as attention swung to him, the injured stockman coming to mind again.

“Please excuse me,” he said, standing up to move away from the table.

He went out on the verandah to take the call.

The sweets course was served, providing a timely distraction. Miranda had lost her appetite for any more food, her stomach too knotted with tension to accept even a spoonful. Whatever antagonism had just been raised and aired between Nathan and Bobby was bound to make the situation worse for her, and she had to get through two more days—and nights—with the Hewsons.

Compliments about the lemon souffle? flowed around the table. Questions were asked about the chef and what other delights could be anticipated from him. Miranda assured them they would be pleased with whatever Roberto prepared but the menu often depended on the guests themselves. She smiled at the couple going fishing tomorrow and suggested they might provide their next dinner.

“Miranda…”

Her heart jumped at Nathan’s call. She turned to see him standing at the opened doors to the verandah, emanating an air of authority that was not about to brook opposition.

“May I have a word with you?”

The polite but very public request could not be turned down. “Yes, of course. Please excuse me,” she said to the guests as she stood up.

Chaos tore through her again. If Nathan had received bad news he might have to go. Despite her earlier raging, she didn’t want him to leave. A trembling started in her legs, and it was difficult to maintain any sense of independent pride as she crossed the room, her mind feverishly fretting over the outcome of this evening’s conflicts.

He smoothly engineered her passage out onto the verandah and drew her far enough away from the doors to allow their automatic closing. His grasp on her elbow was firm, warm, and Miranda felt chilled when he dropped it. Had Bobby turned him off her, or had she done that herself? A devastating emptiness yawned inside her.

“The stockman?” she asked, unable to look Nathan in the face.

“The news was good. The spinal cord wasn’t damaged.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“That’s not why I called you out. Look at me, Miranda.”

A steely command.

For a moment, she looked out at the dark shape of his Land Cruiser, remembering her feelings when she’d seen him arrive, silhouetted against the sunset. There had been hope in her heart then. Now despair pressed its dark fingers on her mind. She dredged up some remnants of fighting spirit and turned her gaze to his, expecting nothing good.

His eyes blazed with relentless determination. “You cannot stay here,” he stated unequivocally. “I have called Tommy and apprised him of the situation. He’ll fly in first thing in the morning.”

Alarm streaked through Miranda. What had Bobby said about her? Why was Nathan involving Tommy? Was she being fired from her position? Summarily removed because of another person’s word? Though of course it wasn’t just another person. It was her previous employer!

“What did you tell Tommy?” she demanded frantically, needing to know what she had to defend herself against.

“Enough to know Hewson is a threat to his business,” Nathan answered tersely. “I want you to go in now and pack a bag, ready to leave. I shall keep the Hewsons occupied while you do this.”

“But where am I to go?” What had Bobby said? How was he a threat? And why did she have to leave? “You can’t do this to me,” she protested. “Not without telling me why. I’m entitled to an explanation.”

“I’m not doing anything but safeguarding you and the good name of this resort,” he retorted, frowning at her response. “As to where you’re going, with me, of course. You can spend the weekend at the station homestead. Once the Hewsons are gone, you’ll resume your position here.”

She wasn’t being fired! “I’m to go…with you?” she repeated dazedly.