by Maggie Brown
The feeling was so magical Abby trembled. Hands moved down to stroke her back. As the dark head lowered to meet hers, hot ripples flushed through Abby and she puckered her lips for the kiss. Suddenly the moment vanished. Victoria jerked back a step and stared at the doorway. Abby turned to see Fiona, arms crossed, wearing disapproval like a plastic mask. The Scot glared for a full minute before she disappeared back into the room.
Victoria cleared her throat and dropped her arms to break contact. “Fiona looks ready for home. You better go with her and I’ll stay to see the rest of the guests off.” All warmth had disappeared from her voice, although it remained polite.
To Abby the tone seemed worse than a slap on the face. What on earth had just happened? Victoria had gone from a lover to a virtual stranger in a matter of seconds.
She closed the gap between them again and pressed into the tuxedo. “Please. I’d like to stay with you. Fiona will be fine taking a cab home by herself.” She knew she begged but she didn’t care. Being in Victoria’s arms was the most wonderful thing she had ever experienced.
“No. Go on home. I’m sorry for leading you on.”
“Why must I go? I thought the dance was wonderful…that I was beginning to mean something to you.”
Victoria stared down at her shoes, her shoulders slumped. “I didn’t…I didn’t intend to let it go so far.”
Abby fought to control tears as her emotions plummeted. She blinked rapidly to hold herself in check. “It meant a lot to me,” she whispered.
Victoria took her hands in hers. “You’re my employee so it was wrong of me.”
“I didn’t fight you off, Vic.”
Victoria shuffled her feet and jammed her hands in her pockets, a catch evident in her voice when she answered, “I know, but it was still a lapse of judgement on my part.”
“Why must everything be so damn black and white to you?” Abby muttered and turned quickly to leave.
* * *
As she watched Abby hurry out the door, Victoria felt hollowness in her chest. What possessed her to say those things—to be so callous? Why had she taken notice of Fiona when all she wanted was to hold Abby in her arms and never let her go? In a way, she knew where Fiona was coming from. She was only trying to keep things on an even keel, and an emotional entanglement would certainly rock the boat. Sensibility dictated they shouldn’t become involved, for maintaining a good professional relationship was enough to handle without the confusion of a personal one. Winning the contracts needed all their skills at the negotiating tables; the trip was too important to be stuffed up.
All of it had sounded fine in theory, but the clash of emotions in her breast shattered any logic. She had been cruel to someone she liked, which was unpardonable. Why couldn’t I have been honest about my feelings? I should have told her I was jealous of every man she danced with, even Akio, who’s old enough to be her grandfather.
Victoria went into a cold sweat. Remorse was not the bitterest seed to swallow; she was more alarmed by the consequences of her actions. Abby was meeting Chantal in Hong Kong tomorrow and Vic had virtually pushed her into the Frenchwoman’s arms. Shit!
Chapter Nineteen
Abby looked down the street outside the Mandarin Oriental hotel. Hong Kong—another Asian city that bustled with activity. As she followed the other two inside, she was barely aware of even a twinge of excitement. She scarcely noticed the people crowding the foyer as she stood to one side waiting for Fiona to check them in. Her hands curled into fists, hating how she felt, hating how, in spite of everything, her skin still prickled with desire when she looked at Victoria. The feeling was so strong; all reason went out the window as her body embraced the sensation.
She’d spent the plane journey from Japan trying to figure out the enigmatic Victoria Myers. Such a complex person—alluring, private and secretive, wedded to her work, frustratingly competent and yet unsure of herself in personal relationships. Victoria, she believed, had been as affected as she when they had danced; how could she still push her feelings aside?
As Fiona moved away from the reception desk, Abby reached for the bag with the business papers and laptop. Immediately Victoria appeared at her side and grasped her wrist. “I’ve got it.”
For a moment, they both stared at Victoria’s hand on her skin. Out of the corner of her eye Abby saw Fiona in time to catch the edge of protectiveness reflected in her face. She looked back at Victoria who stood with a hint of defiance. “I’ll carry the bag,” Vic said.
Perplexed, Abby grounded herself to the floor, at a loss to understand what was going on. And then the penny dropped. Of course. It was Fiona who interrupted them in the garden. She’d been crabby with Vic ever since their champagne-soaked night; she was obviously trying to protect Abby from her boss. God knows why, but she’d succeeded very well. Damn the meddling fool. Still, Abby couldn’t help feeling a little happier. At least Victoria hadn’t rejected her because she hadn’t felt anything in the dance. It was some consolation, be it a minor one.
No one spoke as the lift slid up to their floor. Abby found the three-bedroom suite delightful, with a huge lounge area and a balcony overlooking a magnificent view of the harbour. She held her enthusiasm in check though, conscious of the strained atmosphere in the room. Then her phone rang, and when she answered, “Hi, Chan,” Victoria strode off to her bedroom and slammed the door.
“Have you checked into your hotel yet, chérie?”
“A half an hour ago. What time shall I meet you tonight?”
“I’ll come over to your hotel about four thirty. I’d like to catch up with Vic before we go out, if that fits into her plans. It’ll be good to see her again.” The Frenchwoman’s voice lowered to a husky sound which curled into Abby’s ear like a warm breath. “It’ll be more than good seeing you again, my sweet.”
Abby let out a contented sigh. It would be wonderful to see Chantal too, to feel comfortable with someone without drama. Nervously, she glanced at Victoria’s bedroom door and wondered how Vic would react to Chantal. “I’ll check with her but I’m sure it’ll be fine. We’re at the Mandarin Oriental. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me too. Bye for now.”
Victoria emerged from her room as the lunch tray arrived, apparently more relaxed. Her hair was still damp from the shower and she’d changed into casual clothes. Without intending to, Abby’s gaze travelled the full length of her body. She noted the cute bare feet with nails painted a burnt apricot, and Vic’s low-slung jeans snuggled over the flare of her hips. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the tantalizing swell of the pert breasts beneath the tank top. Abby’s body pinged into instant arousal. Hell’s bells. The woman is a sex goddess. Abby felt the blush rise as their eyes met. Victoria was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Damn. She’s caught me checking her out.
For a heart-stopping moment she thought Victoria was going to pass a smartassed comment, but Fiona interrupted. “Time for lunch,” she said.
Abby cleared her throat as she took a seat at the table. Now was as good a time as any—Vic’s good humour mightn’t last. “Chantal intends to come over at four thirty to catch up with you. We’re going out afterwards,” she said.
Before Victoria could answer, Fiona stepped in with a cheery, “That’ll be nice. You and she are great friends, aren’t you, Vic?”
“Yes, we are,” Victoria responded. “But now Abby seems to have that honour.”
Nonplussed at the snipe, Abby glared at her. “That’s a strange attitude, Victoria. Why can’t I be friendly with Chantal too?”
“Ha! You can’t seem to make up your mind who you like.”
Abby felt a rush of hurt. “That’s not true. Yes, I admit I liked you a lot but take note; the operative word in that statement was liked. I take people as I find them and I actually thought you were someone worthy of my admiration.”
“It’s best not to have romantic attachments while working together,” murmured Fiona.
Abby swung around to the older woman. �
�I’m grateful you want to protect me, Fiona, but there’s no need. I’m in my thirties, not a teenager, and I am quite able to look after myself. I’ve been doing so since I was eighteen.”
Fiona fidgeted, looking subdued. “I didn’t mean to interfere in your life, lassie. I just felt that…”
Abby waved her hands and said a little sharply, “I can’t understand what you’re going on about. Even if Victoria and I felt something more than friendship, which we don’t,” she hastily added, “she’s my boss and I am infinitely capable of respecting her and of observing appropriate business protocol. Now I’m going to have a rest before I get ready for my date. I know you both will make her welcome.” Without a backward glance, Abby marched to her room.
* * *
Victoria fought to dismiss the unfamiliar disquiet she felt after Abby’s words, but the facts couldn’t be ignored—she had been judged and found wanting. Never in her life had she felt so exposed. Poor Fiona looked like someone had stolen her last cupcake. Victoria pushed the plate of sandwiches across the table and said, “Finish your lunch.”
The older woman averted her eyes. “I’m not hungry.”
Even though she felt some degree of sympathy for her distress, Victoria couldn’t bring herself to absolve Fiona of her guilt. Abby was right: Fiona had set herself up to judge affairs that were not her concern. And Vic had to share the blame as well for listening to her.
“Go lie down,” Victoria said softly. “I’ll wake you at four. We had better be on our best behaviour when Chantal gets here.”
After Fiona disappeared into the bedroom, Victoria wandered onto the balcony and gazed absentmindedly over the harbour. The tension in her chest eased, but her thoughts continued to swirl in a jumble of self-righteous anger and self-recrimination. As she calmed, for the first time in many years, Victoria studied herself in a critical way. How had ambition taken over her life to the extent that she no longer valued love and friendship? When had she become so arrogant? Why did she let the agony of her father’s abandonment deter her from finding someone to share her life?
She went into a cold sweat; she was at the crux of the matter. Why was she pushing Abby away? Listening to Fiona had only been an excuse. In a moment of clarity, she faced the truth.
I’m crackers about her.
Now that she’d thought those words she wanted to scream them out onto the wind. Float them out over the harbour. It was crazy, wonderful, scary, and so liberating to finally embrace her feelings. If someone had asked her two months ago if she knew what real attraction was, Victoria would have laughed. She’d had her fair share of dates. Women constantly asked her out, beautiful desirable creatures, but the zip, the zing, the thrill had never quite been present. Dating had become unexciting and predictable. Victoria grimaced. She’d never considered love-making reduced to only sensation without emotion, satisfying. To share one’s body should be the ultimate joy and surrender. No, she hadn’t had any concept of what true connection meant until Abby. She’d never met anyone that touched her secret inside places like Abby did with so little effort.
Truth be out, the artist had interested her from the very beginning. When she had caught Abby checking her out before, she’d had an overwhelming urge to take her to the bedroom until she screamed out Victoria’s name in passion. But she had no idea how experienced Abby was. She had never mentioned ex-girlfriends, even in passing, so it wouldn’t do to rush into anything. No matter how much Abby had awakened her desire, making her affection known would call for kid gloves.
Victoria’s exercise in self-analysis vanished in an instant as erotic thoughts blanketed her. As she visualized Abby writhing naked on satin sheets, Victoria clawed at the balcony handrail. But maybe it was all academic. She had had her chance with Abby and blew it. Chantal would be the likely winner.
With a despondent sigh, Victoria massaged her temples as a ripping headache began to rise. She went inside to find some painkillers.
Chapter Twenty
Victoria took the cocktail platter and drinks from room service, and knocked on Fiona’s door. “Nearly four thirty. Time to get up.” She listened at Abby’s door, heard the shower running and moved away.
Fiona appeared, not looking her in the eye. She set up the glasses and crockery without saying a word and Victoria, feeling a surge of pity, placed her hand on her shoulder. “Buck up. Abby will forgive you. Let’s show her we can be good hostesses.”
As the Scot offered a wan smile, the doorbell rang. Victoria opened the door and a flash of jealously enveloped her at the sight of the Frenchwoman. The low-cut dress fitted her like a glove; to Victoria it looked like it radiated an I’m-available-if-you-want-me message. She had forgotten just how truly stunning Chantal was. She thrust aside her feelings and swept Chantal up into a hug. “My, my, old girl, don’t you look good enough to eat. It’s lovely to see you again.”
“Ditto, mon ami. Travel certainly agrees with you,” Chantal remarked.
“Too much restaurant food, I’m afraid. I’ve put on a bit of weight. Come, take a seat and tell me what’s been happening with you. What’ll you have to drink? We’ve got a fair selection.”
“A dry white wine will be nice. Abby has been keeping me up with the news of your trip. Where is she, by the way?”
“Still getting dressed. She’ll be out in a minute.”
On cue, the younger woman emerged from her room. A flash of heat shot straight through Victoria’s body and she barely managed to muffle the gasp that exploded deep inside her throat. Abby looked breathtaking in a dress which was the mother of all little black dresses. The top left little to the imagination and the bottom just covered her bum cheeks. An inch off either way and she’d be guilty of indecent exposure. She glanced sideways at Chantal. The Frenchwoman looked even more stunned, with her mouth open and eyes saucers.
“Chantal. It’s great to see you again. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.” Abby clasped Chantal in her arms. A muscle twitched in Victoria’s jaw as the embrace was returned with equal enthusiasm.
Chantal held her at arm’s length and chucked her under the chin. “You look wonderful. I can see I’m going to have to keep an eye on you tonight. I fear I neglected to bring my pistol to ward off all the suitors.”
Abby brushed at the fabric and pinched at the hem of her new frock. “You like? I found it in a shop in Tokyo and couldn’t resist it.” She smiled. “I’ve always wanted a little black dress. Now I believe our guest needs a drink and something to eat.”
Fiona rose immediately. “Yes, yes, of course. You get the drinks, Vic, and I’ll get the platter.”
Abby sank down and patted the spot next to her on the sofa. “Come and sit down beside me, Chantal. I’ve given you a running commentary of our adventures on the phone, now the others might like to tell you some of the funny incidents.”
Fiona gave a grimace when she described the bush oysters. “I dinna think it funny at the time.”
“That’s what makes humour,” said Abby. “It’s only after chaos settles down that we can see the funny side.”
Victoria chuckled. “I never told you about the horse ride, did I?”
After she finished her recital, Abby burst into laughter. “Do you mean to tell me you couldn’t get out of the squatter’s chair?”
“I swear on the Bible I couldn’t. My backside was too sore after being Ichabod Crane for kilometres.”
The laughter was doused when Chantal cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to break it up but our reservation is for seven thirty. We shall have to go.”
Victoria’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. It was lovely to see you again, old friend. Maybe we can get together before you go. How long will you be here?”
“Four days. I fly to Rome the day you head off to China. I came specifically to see Abby so we shall see each other again.”
“Oh…right…I’m sure we will. Have a good time, tonight,” Victoria said casually, though she felt anything but dispassionate as Chan
tal took Abby’s arm and led her to the door. As the sound of their footsteps faded, she headed for the fridge to pour herself a scotch. A very large one!
* * *
Dinner proved a truly stellar experience for Abby at the Lung King Heen restaurant in the Four Seasons Hotel. They feasted on steamed lobster and scallop dumplings, the signatures dishes of the chef, and Chantal proved an ideal dining companion. Throughout the meal the conversation was lively, though they didn’t touch on any subject too personal as they ate.
“Would you like to look at the dessert menu?” asked Chantal as the last dish of the main course was whisked away.
“I don’t think I could fit it in. A cup of coffee would be nice though.”
“Yes, I agree. I’ve had enough as well.” Chantal signalled to the waiter who hovered close by, and placed the order. She turned her eyes back to Abby.
Aware she was being scrutinized, Abby gave a timid smile. “What?”
“I was just thinking how good it is to see you. You have really come out of your shell—you’re blooming.” Chantal fiddled with her spoon with a slightly nervous gesture. “I’ve really enjoyed our phone conversations; in fact I’ve become a little addicted to them.”
Abby impulsively leaned over to take her hand. “Me too, Chan. We’ve become really good friends, haven’t we?”
“Are we just friends? I thought we were…had become a little more. We talk on the phone most nights, and…well…I’m finding that we suit each other very well.” She clasped Abby’s fingers tight before she could pull her hand away. “I’m not asking for anything you’re not comfortable with, but I would really like us to get to know each other while I am here. Can’t we enjoy each other’s company and see where it leads us? I’d like you to at least give us a chance.”