by Donald Robyn
Niko negotiated a right-hand bend, then swung the wheel to avoid a large cattle truck taking up more than its share of the road. Elana gasped as the two vehicles passed each other with inches to spare.
Thanking fate that he was now familiar with the road, Niko eased over onto the narrow verge. Once the car had stopped he glanced sideways, took in Elana’s colourless face and tightly clamped eyes, and swore silently.
She was shaking, white-knuckled hands clenched in her lap and her soft mouth trembling. He reined in his temper, furious with himself and whatever benighted coincidence had seen to it that they’d met a truck right then.
* * *
Elana bit her lip, trying to regain control over her reaction. Her whole body ached, and she felt sick with the aftermath of a sudden flashback to the accident.
And then she felt a hand on hers, warm and strong. Very strong.
What next? she thought crazily, opening her eyes to stare straight ahead.
Niko said quietly, ‘I’m sorry. Are you all right?’
She dragged in a quivering breath. ‘I—yes.’
‘You’re shivering.’ His hand tightened around hers. ‘Of all the damned times to meet a truck...’
‘I’m all right.’ Until that truck appeared she’d been fine, buoyed into rudeness by an anger she now regretted. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she added lamely.
‘You don’t need to be.’
She let out a silent breath and tried to control her trembling body. Voice tight and controlled, she said, ‘And I didn’t mean what I said.’
He was silent for several heartbeats—a moment that seemed to drag unbearably. ‘I accept that you didn’t confide in Mrs Nixon. I made the wrong assumption, and I regret it.’
Startled, she glanced up at him. His face was carved from stone, austere and forceful, and to her surprise she found herself saying awkwardly, ‘That’s all right.’
His mouth relaxed and his sideways glance shimmered with amusement. ‘I gather telling her to mind her own business wouldn’t work?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ she said wryly, settling back into the seat as he set the car in motion again.
‘I hope I managed to assuage her fears.’
Desperate to change the subject, Elana asked, ‘Do you have lots of relatives?’
‘Quite a few,’ he told her dryly, slowing as they approached a sharp corner. ‘Mostly on my mother’s side, but cousins and an aunt on my father’s. They live in the South Island.’
‘Do you have any official position in San Mari?’
Immediately she wished she hadn’t asked it. It was no business of hers.
However he didn’t seem to think it an impertinence. ‘As my mother’s son, and a Count of the princedom, I have obligations. My presence is requested at important official occasions, and I have quarters at the palace when I stay there.’
Her pulse still jumping, Elana sat silently while they drove the last few kilometres. Quite a few relatives, and quite a few lovers, too...and at least one of them filled with vengeful regret.
The thought made her stupid heart ache. When the car drew up outside her house, she summoned all her self-control and said, ‘Thanks for bringing me home.’
‘I’ll see you to the door,’ he said brusquely.
Only to the door? Some reckless part of her chilled with desolation. No, she told herself angrily, you do not want a repeat of the last time he was here.
Not now, not ever again. Too dangerous by far. And what had seemed inevitable and right that night was, in the unforgiving light of hindsight, a shameful memory of her surrender to an uncontrolled and primitive impulse, a surrender so out of character she longed to push it to the furthest corner of her mind, to wipe it completely.
And knew she’d never be able to do that.
‘Niko, you don’t need to,’ she said in what she hoped was a polite instead of fraught voice.
Without answering, he got out, and by the time she’d freed herself from the seatbelt he was opening her door.
And standing altogether too close.
‘Thank you,’ she said as she charged past him towards the front door, and sanctuary.
Please, just go, she begged silently as she scrabbled to unlock the door. Before I lose it entirely and make a total idiot of myself.
From behind, he said abruptly, ‘Give me the key.’
‘It’s all right. I don’t know why it’s sticking.’
He reached out, and caught her wrist. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Let me go.’
Instantly he released her. In a different voice he said quietly, ‘It’s all right, Elana. Calm down.’
At last she got the key in the lock and twisted it, pushing the door open. She took a step into the house and forced herself to turn. He was frowning, his eyes narrowed and intent, his mouth a hard line.
‘You are frightened,’ he said quietly, stepping back. ‘Why? Do you think I might hurt you?’
‘Might you?’ she demanded, before she had time to think.
He said frigidly, ‘I do not hurt women.’
In spite of the telephone call, the utter disgust in his tone almost convinced her he was telling the truth. Too afraid to rely on it, she said, ‘I’m not afraid of you.’
Not of him—she was scared of herself. Terrified, in fact. Because she was falling—falling in love with him...
Not only did she not trust him, she couldn’t trust herself.
Still frowning, still with that intent, probing gaze, he said, ‘Then what is this all about? Yes, I was irritated when I thought you might have confided to Mrs Nixon, but more for you than with you. Kind-hearted she may be, but she’s a gossip. Small country towns are usually pretty conservative—’
‘Her gossip is kind-hearted,’ Elana said crisply. ‘Even if she does suspect that we—that we—’ Her mouth dried and her tongue wouldn’t move.
‘Made love,’ he said curtly. ‘That’s what we did.’
She hurried on, ‘Well, even if she suspects it she’s not going to spread it around the district. Your reputation will be safe.’
Niko shrugged, his expression impossible to read. ‘I don’t care about my reputation. I do happen to care about yours.’ He stopped. ‘You look surprised.’
She was surprised. And strangely touched. Before she could answer he went on, ‘You live here and will bear the brunt of gossip, if there is any. I don’t want you to suffer for what happened between us.’
Did he too regret those impassioned hours in her bed?
If so, it wasn’t nearly as much as she did, her conviction that she wouldn’t fall in love with him echoing through her mind like a forlorn hope.
Yet surely this complex feeling—a mixture of fierce need and something else, something she yearned for—couldn’t be love. It was too—too headstrong, too compelling...as though she had no control over it or herself any more.
If this was love, she’d never experienced it before.
It took every ounce of willpower to force her voice into steadiness. ‘I won’t suffer for it. Waipuna people might be conservative, but they won’t throw me on a bonfire for indulging in premarital sex.’
And felt a kind of startled pleasure at the way his brows rose.
‘Premarital sex?’ he asked, in a tone that sent an erotic shiver the length of her spine. ‘I prefer the term making love myself.’
And he reached for her, his arms closing around her in a grip that would have allowed her to break free easily.
Except that she didn’t want to. She couldn’t prevent a fiery hunger that should have added to her fears.
Instead it recharged her, infused her with a boldness that held her still in his embrace when he said softly, ‘Tell me to go.’
‘Why?’
Yes, that was her voice, low and soft.
And eager...
‘Only if you want me to go,’ Niko said, his voice husky.
‘I don’t.’
Somewhere, so far in the back of her min
d that it had no power, a little voice whispered, What are you doing?
She shivered at the hard strength of his body against her, the way his arms tightened around her, as though she were something precious to him.
And then she recalled the hissed warning about his violence, and stiffened.
Instantly his arms loosened, and he stepped back and surveyed her, eyes darkening as she lifted her head and met his gaze—cold, oh, so cold...
He said, ‘No?’
It took all of her courage to say, ‘I’m sorry—’
‘You don’t need to be,’ he said, his voice hard. ‘And stop looking so appalled—I’m going.’
Niko swivelled and walked away. What the hell was going on here?
She’d been like fire in his arms, her eyes smoky and half closed in invitation, her mouth softening in eager anticipation. And then so quickly it had shocked him, that voluptuous surrender had been replaced by something that looked ominously close to panic.
Why? When they’d made love there had been no fear in her, nothing but an ecstatic surrender that had haunted him since.
The thought that she might be afraid appalled him. Had she read something in the media that made her wonder about him? For the first time he found himself regretting his previous lovers. His emotions were churning in a turmoil of astonishment and anger—and something else, a feeling he’d never experienced before. He needed time to work out what was happening.
* * *
Elana watched him leave, something cracking painfully inside her. A fierce longing weakened her as his vehicle disappeared around the corner. Turning, she found her way into the house, tears gathering so thickly she had to stop and wipe them away before she could close the door behind her and relax into the silence and familiarity of her home.
Always before the house had meant comfort and safety, but now it seemed alien, a place that held only memories of a life not of her making.
She made herself a cup of tea and sat down with it on the deck, staring sightlessly over the calm waters of the estuary as she told herself she’d done the right thing.
Making love with Niko had been—beyond wonderful. And intensely dangerous.
Thankfully, she’d been able to summon the strength to stick to her decision not to continue being his New Zealand lover. Painfully she wondered how she’d summoned the courage to do it.
And as she drew on her reserves of courage, she found herself wondering if perhaps the woman who’d told her he could be violent might—just might—have been trying to cause mischief.
Because each time she’d said no, Niko had accepted her refusal with cool equanimity and no sign of anger. Either the urge to violence was not in his repertoire of emotions, or he was able to control any impulse to hurt when it suited him.
Which?
Tomorrow she’d have to go to Mana and continue work on the documents. Niko would be there. How would he greet her? And why, oh, why was she feeling as though all that was good in her life had come to an end?
She’d never felt like this before. Not even when she’d thought she’d been in love with Roland, when she’d allowed herself to dream of a life with him, only to have those dreams dashed.
Compared to the emotions that gripped her now, her previous affair had been pale and emotionless.
Below on the beach a gull called, the shrill sound cutting through the soft purr of tiny waves. She tried to draw strength from the familiarity—the glorious dazzle of sunlight on the water, its golden swathe covering the hills on the other side of the estuary.
No strength came. But it would, she promised herself as she drained her teacup and walked inside. It was totally unfair of fate to dangle such temptation before her, but at least she’d had the strength to resist.
Not that it improved her mood. In the end she set herself to scouring out a cupboard, and then went out into the garden to pull weeds from amongst the vivid clump of valotta bulbs. They’d been her mother’s favourite flowers; she’d loved the luminously scarlet flowers fired by sunlight that bloomed when most summer flowers were fading.
The shrill call of the telephone summoned her inside. She arrived there puffing, only to have the breath stop in her throat when she heard Niko’s voice.
‘I’m leaving shortly,’ he said crisply. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be away. How far have you actually got with the transcribing of documents?’
Trying to match his businesslike tone, she replied, ‘I estimate there’s about a month’s work left. Possibly six weeks, unless we find any more.’
‘I’ll be in touch. If you need to contact me about anything, email me, OK? Goodbye, Elana.’
‘Goodbye, Niko. Travel safely.’
Heart knotting painfully in her chest, Elana hung up.
So that was it. Goodbye.
He’d been totally cool, his voice emotionless, making sure she understood that he’d accepted her decision not to further their relationship.
It was what she wanted—sensible, safe.
But oh, it hurt. She had to blink back an onslaught of weak tears.
Well, she’d been hurt before, and got over it. She’d cope. A few hours with a sexy billionaire meant absolutely nothing in the total scheme of things.
Nothing.
Yet during the following weeks Elana felt she was sleepwalking through her life. Fortunately, apart from Mrs Nixon, who asked her anxiously several times if she was entirely well, nobody seemed to notice. Life plodded on while she worked on the Mana documents, arranged flowers in the shop, wrote articles on historic churches in Northland for a magazine, gardened, and endured the grey weeks as they dragged past.
Each night she promised herself that this would be the night she no longer dreamed of Niko Radcliffe, only to wake in the mornings with tears on her cheeks. She and Niko communicated, but each time she saw him on the screen it twisted her heart.
Fran visited, insisting on staying with her for several nights, and told her she needed to eat more and get out into the sun. ‘Pale and ethereal is OK, pale and wan is most definitely not,’ she’d said firmly. ‘And you’ve lost weight.’
‘I have not.’
‘Well, you look as though you have. What’s the matter? Are you in love? Is it not going well?’
Fran’s sensible attitude would probably be helpful, but for once, Elana couldn’t confide in her. ‘I’m fine,’ she said stoutly. ‘I’ve been busy—and being shut inside with a stack of old documents is not conducive to getting a decent tan, which is something I’ve never managed to achieve in my life, as you well know.’
‘No, you just go a lovely soft gold colour,’ Fran said enviously. She eyed Elana. ‘OK, so you’re not talking, but you’d better start looking more cheerful or Mum will take you in hand.’
Both touched and irritated, Elana managed a smile. ‘I’m shaking already,’ she said.
They both laughed, and to her relief Fran said no more.
Once she’d left, Elana admitted to herself that her heart might be suffering—well, perhaps even cracked. But not broken. A one-night stand, however ecstatic, did not—could not—mean she’d fallen in love with Niko Radcliffe.
Surely the longer he stayed away, the easier it would be to conquer this painful longing.
Nobody had mentioned a date for his return, and she wasn’t going to ask. When she’d finished the documents at Mana she’d no longer be constantly reminded of Niko.
On the day the schoolchildren arrived to plant more shrubs and trees on the creek banks, now all fenced off from cattle, Patty West met her at the door of the homestead. Smiling, Elana joined her in waving as the small bus went by with a toot and much waving of hands.
‘I’d better get to work too,’ Elana said. ‘Not much longer for me here, either. I’m nearly finished.’
‘We’ll miss you.’ The older woman looked up at the sound of another engine. ‘Good, here comes my man. He’s got a doctor’s appointment and I’ve got some shopping to do. We’ll be back by lunchtime, though.’
‘Do you want me to take any calls?’
‘I don’t think there’ll be any, but if you could, thank you.’
An hour later Elana lifted her head as the telephone rang imperatively. ‘Mana Station,’ she said into the receiver.
‘Elana, it’s Rangi Moore—the teacher with the planting group.’ He sounded harassed. ‘I’ve got a girl here who’s not feeling well—she says she’s not feeling sick, but I think she almost fainted, and she’s certainly very pale. I can’t leave the rest of the group on their own, and I can’t contact her parents, so can you ask one of the Wests to come and get her, and—wait a minute. Yes, Sarah?’
Elana waited for a few seconds before he said, ‘Her parents had to go to see the accountant in Whangarei today. Sarah doesn’t know which firm, and her mother’s cell phone is turned off. The heat here is really getting to her. If Mrs West could look after her—’
‘The Wests aren’t here right now, but it’s OK, I’ll come and collect Sarah. She can come home with me and you can pick her up from my place on your way back to school.’
‘That would be great,’ he said, clearly relieved. Then, in a different tone, ‘Actually, perhaps you should keep her at the homestead? Her parents know we’re here. Do they know you?’
Elana blenched. The prospect of managing a sick child in one of the homestead’s gloriously rejuvenated rooms was momentarily terrifying until she recalled the loungers out on the veranda. Tucked into one of those in the shade of the grapevine, the girl would be cool and the rooms would be safe. ‘No, I don’t know them at all, so, OK, the homestead’s probably a better idea.’
‘You know where we are?’
She glanced out of the window. ‘I can see you from here. You’re in the gully by the pump shed. I’ll be there shortly.’
By the time she arrived in her car both child and teacher were waiting for her. Tall for her twelve or so years and clutching her school bag as though it were a lifeline, the girl had lost all her colour, the freckles on her face standing out like tiny copper coins.