One Night in the Orient

Her parents …?

“What’s the matter?” he demanded from two strides away.

She blinked as though she didn’t recognise him. Then with a brave attempt at her usual spark she said, “Oh, a couple of things, but it’s not the end of the world.”

Nothing had happened to Hugh and Diane, then. Hiding his relief, he said more moderately, “So tell me.”

The hands in her lap tensed. No ring, he realised.

What the hell—?

She said, “Well, I think I mentioned I was going to stay with a friend in Cornwall, but that’s off.”

Nick listened to her explanation, nodding when she finished. “So what are you going to do?”

Her white teeth dented her curved bottom lip. Nick’s gut tightened in spontaneous appreciation of that succulent mouth. Damn it, asking her out had been a bad idea; he should never have succumbed to the questionable impulse.

Getting to her feet, she said in a rigidly controlled voice, “I’m trying to get a flight back home.”

“And?”

“So far no luck, but I’ll keep at it.” Nick frowned. “So you’ve got a week to spend in London?”

She shook her head. “No.” “Why?”

“Can’t afford it,” she admitted, lifting her chin to give him a direct glance that glittered a challenge. “I have to go home.”

Now was not the time to press her about the absence of her engagement ring. He owed it to her parents to make sure she was all right. “We can discuss your options over dinner. Come on.”

After a moment’s hesitation she shook her head. “I’d really rather not, Nick. I’m not dressed—”

“It’s all right. We’ll eat at my place.”

He saw her waver and felt an odd, irritating triumph when she nodded.

“Very well,” she said quietly, as though too tired to protest further. But once she got up she made a final objection. “Nick, I’m probably not going to be very good company.”

“Why?”

“Oh, nothing important.” Her voice was stronger, more like the Siena he knew.

You’re lying. And you’ll tell me what’s going on before the evening’s out, he thought. The Siena he remembered wouldn’t have let a change in plans affect her like this.

She said, “I’ll go up and get changed. I won’t be any more than ten minutes.”

“You’re fine the way you are,” he told her.

After giving his suit a brief glance she said with a return to her usual tone, “I’ll change.”

Shoulders held very erect, she walked across the foyer towards the lift. Although small, he thought, his loins stirring again, she was in perfect proportion. Well-worn jeans showed off slim, elegantly shaped legs, and the clear pink thing she wore on top marked every curve of breast and hip, and the narrow allure of her waist.

He wasn’t the only one watching her. The receptionist, a boy not long out of his teens, was also following her progress with too much interest. A spurt of anger took Nick by surprise.

He caught the kid’s eye, and was coldly and foolishly pleased when he flushed and with a bobbing Adam’s apple got busy with the computer. Nick transferred his gaze to two other men. Hastily they abandoned their interested survey and disappeared into the bar.

Satisfied, Nick quelled his cold disapproval and waited.

CHAPTER THREE

SIENA eyed her blue dress—a little tired after its outing the previous night, but it was all she had. Nick had somehow managed to overcome her instinctive need to hide away like a wounded animal—aided by her realisation that she’d be better off in his powerful, formidable presence than sitting alone in her hotel room wondering why her only two serious relationships had ended with the men she loved—or thought she loved—leaving her.

That bitter feeling of alienation chilled her. She struggled with the impulse to tear off her clothes and crawl into bed. It wouldn’t work—if she knew one thing about Nick it was that he was determined. One way or another, he’d get her out of her room.

Anyway, self-pity was a loser’s indulgence.

But the prospect of eating anything made her feel sick, a nausea that escalated when the lift started to take her down.

When she saw Nick, darkly dominant and looking more than a little grim, she managed a smile. He didn’t return it. Head held high, she parried his keen scrutiny and a strange alteration to her heartbeat transmuted into racing pulses and a moment of lightness, of keen anticipation.

“I only brought one going-out-to-dinner outfit,” she told him. Heavens, was that her voice—husky and almost hesitant?

Get a grip, she ordered.

“So? You look charming,” he said calmly, and took her arm. “I suppose you travelled with nothing more than hand luggage?”

Rills of sensation ran from his fingers to her spine, spreading out through every cell in a gentle flood. Almost she shivered, and it took a considerable amount of self-control to respond in the easy tone of one old friend to another, “Afraid not. I expected to be here for a week, and as it’s winter on this side of the equator I had to pack warm clothes. I don’t have a home in every capital, with wardrobes full of clothes made specially for me.”

“Neither do I,” he said crisply, nodding to the doorman.

“Just about.”

He gave her a saturnine smile. “I own two dwellings.”

“Which one do you call home?”

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he said finally, “The one in Auckland.”

Strangely that warmed her as Nick guided her into the waiting car.

Once inside he turned to her. “Apart from your friend’s news, did you have a good day?”

“Most of it was great, thank you.” She made him laugh, relating a small incident in a park involving an elderly dowager and a small child, and slowly her tension subsided.

She even thought bracingly, I can do this. I can stay in one piece long enough to last out the evening.

Once she got herself onto a plane she could shatter if she needed to. Nobody would know her, so nobody would care if she spent the whole trip in glum silence.

But first she had to get her ticket changed.