It was still warm, and the full moon and chirping crickets lent an intriguing foreignness to the night. A mosquito zoomed down and bit her arm, and she rubbed her skin vigorously.
'One of the benefits of the climate,' Kane said dryly. 'The tropics are beautiful, but the humidity would get me down. Give me an English drizzle any day!'
She waited for him to say he hoped to see her once she was home, but he silently led her across the grass to the far end of the gardens. Nestled in the undergrowth and illuminated by the moon, was a small pond, and floating in its centre was a water lily, its white-and-yellow petals folded for the night on its broad green bed of leaves.
'How perfect,' Sharon murmured, entranced.
'It's the golden water lily,' he explained. 'I wanted you to see it because it reminds me of you.'
It was an unexpected compliment and she didn't know what to say. Silently she listened to the buzz of insects and the strains of violin music wafting across the scented night air. It was a Somerset Maugham setting, she thought, with herself as one of his luckless heroines.
Yet the magic of the night held less magic for her than the man beside her. He was the enchantment and the spell. She had been aware of it from the first, and tonight it was enhanced by the knowledge that come the morrow he would be thousands of miles away.
Would he kiss her goodbye? she wondered. She wanted him to, yet was afraid, knowing his touch would arouse her to a response she might not easily forget. Yet to forget him was essential, for he would forget her. But at this particular moment she was aware only of his closeness, the musky smell of him that made her whole body tingle and ache to be held in his arms.
Luckily he did not guess, and walked round the edge of the pond, and further along the lawns.
'Come and sit over here,' he called, and she followed him to a bench perched on a hillock overlooking the river. She settled down beside him and gazed out at the shining dark water.
'You have the gift of silence,' he murmured after a few moments. 'A rare quality in a woman.'
'I always thought I talked too much,' she confessed.
'Only when you've something to say. But you don't twitter.' He half-turned to study her. 'I'd have thought hotel work too limiting for someone of your temperament. Didn't you ever consider taking up a profession?'
'Running a hotel is a profession.'
'Sorry,' he apologised. 'You're right. What I meant was, a profession that would stretch you more.'
'Nothing could stretch me more than hotel management,' she said firmly. 'It's not one profession, Kane, it's half-a-dozen! You have to keep accounts, learn to work in the dining room, have an excellent understanding of cookery, know how to be a chambermaid and what it entails to be a receptionist. Then you must learn to control staff, manage your guests and promote your hotel.' Breathless, she stopped. 'And that's just for starters!'
'Then I think I'll stick to Morgan Construction!'
'Wise of you,' she said, and saw him smile.
He made no further comment and sat quietly beside her, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, his body reclining against the seat. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch his hair or stroke his cheek, with its faintly discernible shadow. Unexpectedly she remembered how devastated she had been when Pete had left. Yet now it seemed like a dream and, like a dream, unreal. She had never really loved him, she knew that now. She had merely needed someone to love her. But it was different with Kane. Even to think of him loving her was so far-fetched as to be impossible! It was a good thing he was leaving. No matter how firm her resolve not to fall in love with him, a few weeks in his company and she would have been lost for all time.
'I really have to go in now,' she said, rising.
'You use the clock like some women use headaches!' he drawled. 'If you want to leave, say so.'
'I don't want to leave,' she protested. 'But it's after midnight.'
'See?' he chuckled, and returned with her to the hotel.
She walked quickly, not wanting him to think she was angling for a kiss, and all too soon they were in the lobby which, even at this hour, was milling with people. She stopped by the elevator and held out her hand.
'Goodbye, Kane. Have a safe journey.'
'Not so fast, darling.' He kept her hand in his. 'I'm coming up too.'
Scarlet-cheeked, she went into the elevator. Naturally he wanted to go up; he was leaving the hotel at the crack of dawn. Silently she stared at the lights flashing the floors. Third, fourth… Only a few more to go and they would be parting for ever. The doors slid back and she turned stiffly towards him, but he took her arm and went out with her.
'Which is your room?'
'At the end. But there's no need to walk all the way with me.'
He ignored her, and her heart began beating wildly. She took out her key and held it ready, anxious to get the final moment over with. Putting it in the lock, she opened the door and left it slightly ajar before extending her hand for the second time.
Instead of taking it, he pushed her inside and followed her. As she swung round to protest, he pulled her into his arms, the hardness of his body pressing against hers.
'Did you think you could get rid of me so easily?' There was laughter in his voice. 'At least give me a goodbye kiss.'
Tilting her chin, he lowered his head to her mouth. Its gentle touch surprised her, as did the absence of passion. It was a kiss that held only warmth and affection.
'We'll be more comfortable on the settee,' he murmured, lifting her up.
'No,' she protested, kicking out with her feet. 'Put me down.'
He proceeded to do so, but on the settee, and sank down with her. Both his arms came around her, and with a sigh she leaned against his chest, her head finding its rightful place. But only for a second, for he lifted her face to his and started kissing her again. This time it was different. Desire had hardened, as was evidenced by his body, and though she tried not to respond, she was no match for the passion he skilfully aroused in her.
Her lips parted, and his tongue sought refuge in the dark warmth, probing and darting until she was aflame for him. Convulsively she clutched him closer, trembling as he slipped her low-necked dress from her shoulders to disclose the fullness of breasts barely hidden by a wisp of lace.
'God! you're beautiful,' he groaned. 'I never imagined…'
Pushing her away from him, he eased her back upon the cushions and feasted his eyes on her. Colour flooded her face at the undisguised sensuality on his, and she shrank back.
'Don't be ashamed because I'm looking at you,' he whispered. 'A body like yours was made to be looked at.'
'I'm not a statue,' she said huskily.
'That I know. You're warm and real. Made for holding, touching.'
His hands lightly stroked the swelling curves, and she put up her hands to stop him. But he stayed the movement, then stifled her protest with his mouth, his tongue once more arousing her to mindless ecstasy as his hands continued their caressing; stroking their skin, gently feathering her nipples into peaks of desire that made her gasp and tremble, cry out for him to hold her tighter and assuage the desire that coursed through her like a flame.
Yet even as she heard her low moans of passion, sanity returned and, with it, self-reproach that she had let herself be carried away by his desire for her. Were he in love with her, she would have had no regrets, but knowing it was simply lust…
With all her strength she pushed him back, at the same time trying to twist her body away from his. For a moment she thought he was going to resist, then he pushed himself away from her. His face was flushed and damp, his shirt undone—by her or him, she wasn't sure—and the buckle of his belt open.
'No?' he questioned thickly.
'No, Kane. I'm sorry.'
'Me too. I thought you wanted me.'
Wanted. Not loved. Thank heavens he didn't know how closely she had come to loving him. But love needed time to develop, to deepen from desire into a more lasting emo
tion, and time was something Kane could not spare. Even when he did, she doubted if he would want a relationship that demanded the kind of commitment she was looking for. Work would always take precedence with him, and a wife would be of secondary importance.
'Let me love you properly,' he murmured. 'I want you so much.'
'I can't,' she said huskily, half-turning away from him. 'I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.'
'So am I. Just now you were so responsive, so demanding.' He caught her chin and tilted her face towards him. 'Why did you change you mind about going through with it?'
'Maybe because I never have,' she confessed.
'What?' He sat up straight. 'You mean… But you can't be! Not in this day and age.'
'In this day and age,' she stated. 'I haven't, and I still am.'
'I see.' He rose, one long-fingered hand raking back his ruffled hair. The bronze skin of his chest glistened faintly with perspiration, and he grimaced as he buttoned his shirt.
'I'm not lying,' she said. 'I'd like you to believe me.'
'I do. No girl would make up such a thing! I know I called you an innocent, but I didn't realise you were still a virgin. It's not so laudable, you know. Life is meant to be lived, Sharon, not watched from the sidelines.'
'I agree. But there's a right and a wrong time to be a player!'
'I take it you don't want to play with we?'
'I don't want to play with anyone who's still playing the field.'
His mouth curved with faint amusement. 'You're missing a lot of fun.'
'It wouldn't be, for me. Sex without love is meaningless, Kane.'
'Okay, you've made your point.' Lithely he went to the door. 'I know when I'm not wanted, sweetheart. And I'm sorry you feel like this. You'd have enjoyed it and so would I.'
'Try vanilla ice-cream next time,' she said.
His eyes darkened. 'That wasn't a nice thing to say, Sharon. But I'll forgive you.' Picking up his jacket, he went out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Sharon felt sick. She wanted to run after him and call him back, but common sense told her it was better to let it end this way. After all, she barely knew him. What she felt was sexual attraction—nothing more.
Even as she tried to convince herself of this, she knew she was being far from truthful, and that her heart rejected what her mind was urging her to do. No matter what logic said, Kane Morgan already meant too much to her, and it was going to take all her determination to forget him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sharon had little time to dwell on Kane's departure, for even as his private jet took off from the airport, Mr Bim called her into his office and told her she was being sent to the Avonmore at Pattaya the following day.
She was delighted by the prospect of leaving the city, convinced new surroundings would help her forget Kane. Pattaya was some eighty miles from Bangkok on the Gulf of Thailand, and was the country's most popular beach resort, with luxury hotels and villas, white sands, and coral islands lying just off the coast.
'How long will I be staying there?' she asked.
'Until the rainy season starts.'
She was turning to leave when he called her back. 'By the way, one of our interpreters is off sick, and I'd like you to stand in for her today. She was taking a party of French people round the city with a guide. But his English is poor, and his French non-existent, so he'll need someone to interpret for him.'
'My French is far from perfect,' Sharon said, delighted to have another chance of seeing around Bangkok, 'but I'll do my best. What time are we due to leave?'
'Five minutes ago!'
With a laugh, she spun round and hurried out.
It was indeed an ideal way to spend her last day here, and as the air-conditioned coach rumbled down the drive an hour later, Sharon gave heartfelt thanks to the interpreter's indisposition.
Their first stop was Wat Arun, the five-towered
Temple of Dawn on the south side of the river. Its central tower thrust 260 feet into the sky, and the walls and roofs glittered with tiny shards of pottery and porcelain, as if a thousand dinner plates had been smashed and placed there.
Inside, it resembled any other Buddhist shrine, with its proliferation of gold ornaments and large, golden Buddha sitting high in the place of honour. The temple was a hive of activity, with dozens of tourists milling about, though the densest crowds were to be found at the souvenir stalls in front of the entrance, where wide-brimmed reed hats, embroidered bags and gilt jewellery were available in profusion.
Several of the tourists remarked cynically on the lack of reverence, and Sharon felt like reminding them that Lourdes, in France, was equally as commercial.
The next part of their journey was through the district of Thom Buri, where she knew they would be going again tomorrow when they visited the Floating Market.
'You'll have to leave the hotel very early in the morning, though,' she warned, 'because the market's almost over by nine!' She indicated the broad, grey- green ribbon of water. 'There'll hardly be a metre of space out there tomorrow, it will be so full of sampans—those are flat-bottomed canoes—selling vegetables.'
'What they don't sell, they can tip in the river,' one of the women commented.
Everyone laughed, and a youngish looking Frenchman took the opportunity to leave his seat and take an empty one nearer to Sharon. He was of average height and in his early thirties, with limpid brown eyes that reminded her of Sacha Distel.
'I noticed you in the bar last night with Mr Morgan,' he murmured to her as they alighted from the coach a little later, and followed the guide along a narrow street lined with shops, their windows eyecatching with paper dragons, bottles of snake wine and strings of noodles.
'How well do you know him?' he went on.
Alerted by his interest in Kane, and recollecting all she had read about industrial espionage, Sharon grew cautious.
'I met him at the hotel,' she said. 'How well do you know him?'
'By sight and repute only. I'm here to protect the interests of a French consortium,' the man confided. 'Which reminds me, Tassy Bonlam is giving a party for all the contractors tonight. Perhaps you'd care to come along as my guest?'
Sharon was tempted, for she was curious to meet the Thai girl. Yet even as she went to say 'Yes', caution won the day.
'I'm afraid I can't, Monsieur——— ?'
'Calvez. Leon Calvez.' He gave a slight bow. 'If you should change your mind…'
'I doubt I will. I'm leaving for Pattaya tomorrow morning, and I've my packing to do.'
Before he could press her further, the guide halted outside a Chinese restaurant, and Sharon announced they were stopping here for lunch and would have an hour free afterwards for shopping.
Still intent on pursuing her, Leon Calvez made sure he sat beside her, and paid flattering attention to her throughout the meal. She tried to ignore him, and the more persistent he became, the more she remembered Kane's lingering kisses and sensuous touch. Had she been childish not to let him love her completely? Yet if she had, how would she be feeling today? Completely female—that went without saying—but also tarnished, used. She sighed, accepting she would always feel like this if she gave herself to a man who merely regarded her as a body to possess.
'I beg your pardon?' With a start she realised the Frenchman was speaking to her again.
'I was saying Mr Morgan must have given up hope of getting the contract. I hear he's returned to London.'
'Because he had urgent business there,' she said abruptly.
'I see.' His eyes narrowed. 'But I imagine Miss Bonlam was surprised. I believe she and Mr Morgan were—how you say it?—"very good friends".'
Sharon remained silent.
'Which shows how astute he is,' the man went on. 'They say she has considerable influence over her father.'
'Then why don't you try chatting her up?' Sharon asked bluntly, and turning her back on him, concentrated on the woman on her other side.
Lunch ove
r, Leon Calvez took the hint and left her alone, and Sharon escorted several of the tourists to buy lengths of Thai silk, and then to a fruit stall where they bought plastic bags filled with pineapple chunks—and ice cubes to keep them cool—which they ate as they wandered back through the crowds to the coach.
Early next morning she boarded an air-conditioned bus for Pattaya, in the company of twenty guests who were spending the last half of their holiday by the sea.
The three-hour journey was mostly through flat countryside and paddy fields, and there was little to see. Here and there one glimpsed men and women wading in streams as they cast fine-meshed nets to catch tiny fish, and the occasional village they passed through offered it to them crisply fried and served on palm leaves!
The bus driver—anxious to earn a tip—pointed out the tiny 'spirit houses' outside many of the homes. Sharon was reminded of the bird baths often found in British gardens, though these were slightly larger and shaped like miniature temples. They were supposed to provide a resting place for the guardian spirit that watched over the family living in the house, and each day flowers and candles were placed beside it, as well as rice and fruit for the spirit's nourishment.
It was nearly noon when they bowled into the village of Pattaya. It was larger than Sharon had expected—a town almost—though she rightly guessed that a few years ago, before the advent of the luxury hotels bordering the shoreline, it had been the same as the other sleepy hamlets through which they had passed.
A long, winding main street, filled with large stores, was punctuated by smaller streets where the shops were the one-roomed structures she had come to expect. Dressmakers abounded, and Sharon determined that on her first free day she would come here and replenish her wardrobe. After all, it was crazy not to take advantage of the fabulous materials and handmade clothes—they'd cost ten times more in Britain!
A few minutes out of the village and they were driving along the sea front. To the right lay the wide sweep of the Gulf of Thailand, a grey-blue expanse of water lapping a brilliant white sandy beach, while on the left ranged rows of luxury villas. Gradually these gave way to the hotels, one glittering edifice after another breaking the lapis lazuli sky. Although Sharon knew she was being a traitor to her profession, she could not help wishing she had seen Pattaya before the travel trade had discovered it!
Roberta Leigh - No Time For Marriage Page 8