by Trish Morey
She nodded, wondering both at his choice of words and at the words he hadn’t chosen, and wishing she wasn’t—because that would mean she cared, and she didn’t. She’d convinced herself of that while she’d deep-breathed her heartrate back to some kind of normality. Whatever she’d felt, whatever had struck her when Dante had smiled at her, had been an aberration. A mistake. ‘I like Stuart Quinn,’ she said on her way out of the bathroom. ‘I’d love to go.’
‘Oh,’ he called as she pulled the door closed behind her. ‘And I’ve ordered something for you from room service. It should be here soon.’
Just as well, she thought as she rifled through her thin wardrobe, because thanks to that morning’s activities she was starving. Meanwhile she settled on trousers again and another knit top. There was nothing else, and she wasn’t sure what one wore boating anyway. Before she’d finished dressing, their room service arrived, a trolley full of domed dishes, myriad bewitching scents wafting invitingly. Mackenzi’s stomach growled.
The waiter set the still-covered platters on the dining table, poured them both coffee and left them to it as Dante joined her, wrapped up in a matching white robe fresh from his shower, his dark hair tousled and still beaded with water at the ends. My God, she thought, once again feeling the effects of a rush of adrenaline to her heart as he came closer. The white of his robe was a stark contrast to his dark features and olive skin. He could have been the model in any number of advertisements, from shavers to toothpaste to aftershave, and he’d have had women lining up to buy the product. He looked so good, so real, one-hundred per cent pure, unadulterated male.
‘Hungry?’ he asked as he pulled up a chair.
‘Starving.’
‘Then perhaps,’ he said, gesturing towards the half-dozen domed lids, ‘you might like to do the honours?’
Clearly she was supposed to be impressed by the feast he’d ordered, but she really didn’t give a toss, given how hungry she was. Still, she’d play the game, if only it meant she could eat. She removed the first lid and found a plate of scrambled eggs with salmon, and under the second a heaped high stack of crispy bacon and mushrooms. There were pancakes under the third, with a bowl of rich red strawberries and a jar of syrup, and it was all so special she was practically drooling by the time she lifted the fourth. But this time it was nothing she’d ever seen on a room-service tray.
‘What’s this?’ she asked tightly as she put the lid aside, her concentration focused on the flat box sitting on the silver tray, a new fear unfurling in her gut. ‘Dante?’
‘A surprise,’ he said. ‘Open it.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Just open it.’
With shaky fingers she picked it up, her mouth dry, her hunger pangs forgotten as she eased the hinged top up. Only to meet the most perfect emerald pendant she had ever seen, large and emerald-cut, surrounded by what looked like diamonds and suspended from a thin golden band. Matching earrings nestled either side.
She shook her head, frowning. ‘I don’t understand. Where did it come from?’
‘A simple matter to have it delivered from the jewellery store downstairs. Take it,’ he urged. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘It’s hardly nothing! It’s magnificent. Tell me they’re not real?’
He was at her side, taking the necklace from the box and leaning down to fix it at her throat. She tingled all over as his warm fingers brushed against her hair and throat, while the gem fell, heavy and cool, against her skin. She traced the stone’s generous outline with her fingertips as he gently slid each earring home, transforming her earlobes into erogenous zones. Then he took her hand, pulling her from her chair and across the room to the large gilt-framed mirror on the wall, where he stood with his hands on his hips just behind her, looking over her shoulder at her reflection. ‘I wanted something that matches your eyes,’ he said, pulling her hair out of the way. ‘Do you like them?’
The jewels winked and glittered back at her, any movement reflecting yet another dazzling facet of the stones, their colour indeed complementing the colour of her eyes, heightening it. How much would such a collection be worth? Too much, she knew. And accepting it would cost her even more.
‘They’re lovely,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s hardly the point.’
‘That’s entirely the point,’ he said, running his hands up her arms to her shoulders, and dipping his head down to kiss her throat. ‘You’re my mistress. Why shouldn’t I spoil you? Especially when you’ve just resuscitated a deal in imminent danger of collapse.’
His hands felt warm on her shoulders, her skin still tingled from the caress of his lips, and yet his words washed through her like iced water. So the jewels were her fee for services rendered?
It was so wrong. A gift this precious deserved to be given in love. Otherwise it was hollow, its worth devalued.
Her worth devalued.
She might have agreed to be his mistress, but she didn’t want or need the trimmings. It wasn’t the payback she was looking for.
‘Dante, they’re beautiful,’ she admitted, and for a moment she saw victory reflected on his features. ‘But I really can’t take it. I didn’t agree to this deal so you could shower me with gifts, and if you’re suddenly feeling generous there’s something I’d much rather have.’ She moved away from him, unhooking the necklace and replacing it back in the box along with the earrings.
He watched her in the mirror, his eyes growing colder, his jaw setting firmer. ‘And that is?’
She looked at him standing there, his back still to her, his stance tense and unmoving, the calm before the storm. ‘You know why I’m here. You promised me you’d rethink your decision about Ashton House’s future.’
He swung around, gesturing towards the box she still held in her hands. ‘And that precludes me from giving you anything else?’
‘It means I won’t be bought off with any consolation prizes.’
‘You think I’m buying you off?’
‘Aren’t you? Look, Dante, it’s saving Ashton House that’s important to me, not some meaningless trinket I get for sleeping with you.’
‘Meaningless trinket.’ His voice was flatter than the box he removed from her hands, ditching it back onto its platter with a total disregard for its worth that had her shuddering.
‘So maybe you could let me know if you’re any closer to making a decision,’ she ventured cautiously.
He slammed himself back in his chair. ‘No.’
‘You won’t tell me, or you’re no closer?’
‘I’ll let you know when I’ve made my decision. Now, eat your breakfast. It’s getting cold.’
Nowhere near as cold as Dante, that was a fact. She nibbled around the edges of food that tasted of nothing, her appetite banished, while he sat there looking for all the world as if he’d been chiselled from a rock. It had been his deal, yet he was acting like she had a nerve to remind him of it.
Too bad. She wasn’t likely to stop reminding him of it, now or any time soon.
CHAPTER NINE
THE MORNING’S dark clouds had rolled away and for now the water of Auckland’s Waitemata Harbour sparkled and danced under the afternoon sun. The powerful launch skipped along at a fast pace, and Mackenzi relished being outside with the feel of fresh air whipping around her face, the salt spray turning to jewels in the sunlight. No wonder they called it ‘the city of sails’, she thought as she looked around, the spectacular harbour dotted with all kinds of sailing craft.
When the air turned cooler Christine and Mackenzi took refuge in the saloon area, enjoying the rich, wooden tones of the teak flooring and the sumptuous upholstery. If this was boating, Mackenzi was hooked.
Dante stood alongside Quinn at the helm, listening intently to him over the thrum of the engines, and every now and then Mackenzi caught the odd word—horse-power, diesel and hydraulics—that told her they were talking about boats and boating design. Dante certainly wasn’t wasting any time catching up on his l
atest investment interest. Just to one side of them, looking like he longed to be part of the tête-à-tête but the body language showing he in no way fit in, stood Adrian, scowling with every word.
They slowed when they came to a sandy shore on Motuihe Island, one of the numerous small islands dotting the harbour, the boat now bobbing gently as staff went ahead to offload a picnic lunch on the grassy slopes beyond the beach. It was sheltered here from the wind, making the perfect sun-trap, the perfect picnic-spot.
‘It’s an impressive launch,’ Dante said as they prepared to disembark along the short jetty.
‘That’s why I wanted you to see it. This prototype is just an indication of what we can do, once the retooling goes ahead. Until that happens, we don’t have the means to manufacture enough to achieve the necessary economies of scale.’
‘And the amount needed for a complete retooling?’
Quinn rattled off a figure that made Mackenzi’s head spin and Adrian’s brow furrow, but she noticed Dante barely blinked. Clearly he’d had that figure or close to it in mind when he’d pored over the numbers last night.
‘I must say,’ Quinn added as they settled around the picnic table, ‘I wasn’t overly surprised to get your call this morning. I knew you weren’t the sort that gave up easily, but I certainly didn’t expect you to come out advocating the proposal you did. I thought you’d closed your mind last night to anything to do with incorporating the boat-building business into the redevelopment.’
Dante leaned back, one leg tucked nonchalantly under his chair, the other stretched out in front of him, and threw Mackenzi a look. Even though his eyes were obscured by sunglasses, and despite the tension that had descended on them since that earlier brunch, still her insides did that strange rollover she’d encountered coming out of the bathroom that morning. ‘I thought I wasn’t keen either, but something kept nagging at me.’
Adrian’s scowl grew deeper while Quinn laughed out loud, following Dante’s gaze, and giving a crusty wink. ‘Tell me, Mackenzi,’ he said. ‘What’s your background? Given your interest in the subject, I’m guessing it’s got something to do with the property industry?’
‘Mackenzi managed a hotel in Adelaide,’ Dante interceded.
She smiled, wondering why becoming Dante’s mistress automatically made him her spokesman. ‘That’s right.’ She smiled innocently at him. ‘Though right now I’m between jobs, isn’t that right, Dante?’ She turned to Christine before he had a chance to answer. ‘And it was actually a wonderful hotel in the Adelaide Hills called Ashton House. Maybe you might have heard of it?’
‘Oh, I know the one,’ said Christine. ‘You remember, Stuart? We went to the Lennon-Groves’ wedding in the gardens there. Some years back. A beautiful wedding. Such a stunning location.’
Quinn’s brow creased before he nodded, his face relaxing into a wide smile. ‘Of course, pretty spot. Those views were something else.’
Mackenzi allowed herself a ‘take that’ smile, noticing Dante’s expression tighten measurably behind his sunglasses. ‘It is a very special place,’ she agreed, hoping Dante would eventually get the message. Far too special to suffer the fate Dante had planned. ‘I was there for three wonderful years. Though, before I did my hospitality-industry training, I worked for a couple of years with a small property business that redeveloped all kinds of dead-end properties into niche sites. I guess it sparked my interest in the industry.’
‘Aha,’ pronounced Quinn. ‘That explains it. Well, given you’re between jobs as you say, let me know if you’re looking for work in the industry, because I’m sure that I’ve got some contacts who could use your talents here in Auckland.’
‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’
‘I don’t think she’ll have the time,’ Dante broke in, snapping his gaze away to focus on Stuart. ‘Mackenzi’s going to be busy helping me out on a few projects for the foreseeable future.’
She was? She blinked up at him, grateful that her own dark glasses hid her surprise, while Adrian made a sound like a snort and turned away, looking out to sea.
Quinn laughed. ‘I should have assumed you’d get in first. Now, how about we enjoy this lunch?’
The Quinns proved entertaining hosts, the atmosphere a world away from their tense dinner together the previous evening. With the combination of good food, sea and sun it proved to be a relaxing couple of hours, sitting out near the water. Mackenzi took in the ever-changing view, choosing to wander along the narrow sandy beach while the others enjoyed coffee and talked about boats. The tiny hairs on her arms told her the instant she had company, standing to attention like soldiers standing guard. She didn’t look at him, preferring the view over the water to the sandy beach and bushy shoreline opposite. It was safer that way.
‘You’re going to have to try harder than that if you want to save your precious Ashton House.’
She took a deep breath and tasted salt and sea, and a man called Dante, could smell the rich, dark coffee he held in his hands. She’d been expecting some kind of reaction over her mention of Ashton House, and his voice sounded low and threatening enough—but where was the venom she’d been expecting? Was he mellowing? She doubted it. His restraint had more to do with business and a deal he didn’t want to risk losing again. He could hardly make a scene with Quinn hovering.
‘I didn’t realize I was trying anything,’ she said ingenuously. ‘You were the one who brought up the topic of me managing the hotel. I was merely expanding on it.’
He didn’t respond, and she could have lost herself again in the gentle slap of water along the shore, the cry of a wheeling gull and the occasional burst of laughter from the lunch party. Could have lost herself, if not for the man standing so close beside her.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a coffee?’
‘I don’t think I could fit another thing in,’ she said without looking around. It was the truth. Whether it was the sea air or the more relaxed atmosphere after their strained brunch, she’d more than made up for her earlier lack of appetite.
‘You never told me you’d worked in the property development industry.’
‘I don’t recall you ever asking.’ Only then did she turn from the view and look at him, having to raise her chin because of his height and because he was standing so close. ‘And what’s this about me helping you out on a few projects?’
Dante gave a careless shrug of his shoulders, the open neck of his white shirt rippling with the motion and drawing her attention to that eye-level triangle of olive skin and its dusting of dark, coiling hair. ‘It wouldn’t be too much trouble to give me your opinion when I ask for it, would it?’
She smiled and allowed her eyes to wander slowly back up. ‘My, my. Now you’re asking my opinion. I have come up in the world.’
‘I wouldn’t think too much about it,’ he countered, picking up a stray tendril of her hair and winding it around his finger until she was drawn to him like a fish on a reel. A fish that had too easily given up the will to fight; it occurred to her too late. ‘It’s simply a matter of making the most of our arrangement.’
He frowned slightly and touched a fingertip to her nose, running over the slight sideways bump. She tried to pull away but her hair around his finger kept her right there, tingling under his touch. ‘What happened here?’
‘I broke it playing hockey,’ she said, embarrassed and putting a hand up self-consciously. ‘It never set quite straight.’
‘I like it,’ he said, surprising her. ‘It’s got character. A bit like you.’
They stood that way together on the beach, not touching but for the finger still coiled tight in her hair and keeping her head angled up towards him. His lips slightly turned up at the corners, his eyes smoky with desire. Mackenzi felt the answering effects deep inside her, where heat pooled low between her thighs in time with the gentle ebb and flow of the water along the beach and the thumping drumbeat of her heart.
He was flirting with her, she realized, seducing her with barely a t
ouch right here on the shore in full view of anyone and everyone. Despite everything she knew about him, despite every reason she knew she shouldn’t play his game, she wasn’t about to stop him. Not when it made her feel like this.
It was just a game, she reminded herself, just a game. It was about strategy and tactics and keeping your head. All she had to do was keep her head.
Then he looked down at her lips and she lost it. He was going to kiss her. Her lips parted in answer, a silent consent, and on her next breath she could taste the very essence of him, feeling it coil all the way down.
‘Excuse me, Dante.’
Dante didn’t move a muscle, his eyes remaining locked on her mouth. ‘What is it, Adrian?’ His words came short and sharp.
‘Quinn’s suggesting that we get our teams together tonight over a working dinner to brief them on the new arrangements.’
‘Good idea,’ Dante agreed, still without turning his head.
‘I’ll let him know.’ Adrian turned to go.
This time Dante moved, releasing the tension in her hair and her body like a switch, letting the coils of her hair slide away just as the coils inside her diminished. ‘And, Adrian?’
His second-in-charge stopped like an eager puppy who’d been denied attention for too long. ‘Yes?’
‘Book yourself a seat on the first flight back to Melbourne. I want someone on the ground at the office first thing tomorrow.’
‘But what about the deal?’
‘I’ll handle the deal.’
‘But…’
‘Thank you, Adrian. That’s all.’
Adrian turned, but not before he’d shot Mackenzi a look that told her he held her personally responsible for his slide from grace.
She shivered, both with the after effects of the let-down and from Adrian’s frosty look. ‘I get the distinct impression Adrian’s less than impressed with your suggestion that I could help you with a project or two.’