Sydney, the Temptress (The Delaneys of Killaroo)

by Fayrene Preston

  It was now one o’clock, and although she had already dressed, she wasn’t quite ready to venture out of her room. A few minutes before, room service, a rare luxury for her, had delivered coffee and a croissant, and now she lounged on the bed with her hands wrapped around a warm coffee cup. She had planned everything so carefully, but she hadn’t factored Nicholas Charron into the equation. After her meeting with him, she felt the decided need to regroup her thoughts.

  Thanks to her father, she had a great deal of confidence in herself, and that confidence extended into the area of men. She knew that men found her attractive, and she enjoyed their company in return. But although she dated frequently, no man had ever been able to break through the firm command she held over her emotions, and that was the way it would continue. Although last night in Nicholas’s arms she had actually felt an urge to relinquish that command, she knew that she could not afford to allow the urge to resurface.

  She didn’t believe in living on the edge. There was no control on the edge. Nicholas Charron was the edge.

  Taking a sip of coffee, she realized the solution to her problems was simple. She would avoid him. Fortunately it wouldn’t be too difficult, considering he had a reputation as a recluse.

  That decided, Sydney switched her thoughts to the reason she was on the Isle of Charron in the first place.

  Because of her Irish Delaney blood, she believed in luck, but she also believed in skill and intelligence, and she had left no stone unturned in her preparation for her trip here. She had spent the previous month studying the subject of gambling.

  As a junior officer of a respected bank, she had been able to save a nice nest egg, with the idea of one day being able to help her father. The time to help him had come sooner than she had expected, and although her savings weren’t even close to the amount needed, it had been enough to finance her trip to the island and her betting over the next few weeks.

  She had allotted a minimal amount of the money for travel, hotel, and meals, but the lion’s share, approximately ten thousand dollars, had been set aside for gambling. She planned to risk only a certain amount each night, and if she lost it, she would stop and wait until the next evening. She believed in winning and losing streaks, and she had decided that on a night when she was losing, she wouldn’t compound her bad luck by trying to recoup her losses. She would simply wait until the next night and try again.

  Appropriate clothing hadn’t proved to be a problem, since she had been working for six years and had accumulated a nice wardrobe. It was true that she didn’t have a lot of resort wear, but because she had an active social life, she already had a few nice dresses suitable for evening, and it had been just a matter of prudently supplementing her wardrobe.

  As for the actual process of gambling, she had spent the first few nights at the casino observing, weighing the pros and cons of each game. She had been blessed with the gift of photographic memory, and because of this gift, she had come to the conclusion that blackjack would be the game where she would have the greatest chance of achieving her goal. And she fully intended to achieve her goal. Tonight she would begin to put her knowledge to practical use.

  She finished off the croissant and sat back, glancing around the room. A sea green satin coverlet lay at her feet on the bed, and on a table a large crystal bowl held an assortment of seashells and corals. It was the smallest, cheapest room the resort offered, yet it was still many times more luxurious than the average hotel room, and spotlessly clean.

  But she hated walls, and suddenly these seemed closer than most; besides, inactivity bothered her. It was time to face the world, or at least, she amended with dry humor, the part that belonged to Nicholas Charron.

  She grabbed her purse, let herself out of the room, and ran right into the Oriental man who had tried to take her to the security office the night before.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t see you.” Although he was slim and about an inch short of her own five-foot-six-inch height, she had felt his strength. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but worry. “Are you all right?”

  On anyone less menacing, the expression that flitted briefly across his face might have been termed amusement. But without a word he bowed from the waist and moved on silently. Sydney’s gaze followed him until he disappeared around a corner. What a strange little man, she thought, and one she certainly wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley at night.

  As she made her way through the two-storied lobby, she saw very few people. It wasn’t unusual, though, since she had found there wasn’t much activity until four in the afternoon.

  Walking toward the wide doorway, she admired the way the beauty of the island had been absorbed into the design of the lobby. Identical beds of bright red and blue flowers met at the glass walls and skimmed along both sides. And large rocks had been divided, half placed outside, half placed inside, so that a person couldn’t be sure where the interior of the hotel stopped and the outdoors of the island began.

  The front of the hotel faced the lee side of the island. Sydney headed down one of the crushed-coral paths, rimmed by exotic tropical flowers in colors so rich and vibrant they had to be one of life’s miracles. To her left was a beautiful freeform swimming pool. Quite a few guests were lazing indolently beside it, though none seemed to have the energy to actually swim. Beyond the pool, tennis courts waited, empty of any players. Remembering Nicholas’s sardonic tone of the night before when he had said that he hoped she would be able to take full advantage of their facilities, Sydney shook her head. He had provided every possible diversion for his guests, but few seemed inclined to take advantage of them.

  She stopped and looked back at the hotel and casino complex—Charron’s Glass Palace. The central portion rose three stories. Two-story wings on either side curved away from the main building, following the natural line of the island. She tilted her head, studying the glass structure that had been cleverly reinforced to withstand the tropical storms that each year slammed into the island. Reflected in the glass, the brilliant colors of the island seemed to melt together like an Impressionist painting. Nice trick, Mr. Charron, she Saiuted him silently.

  A path cut off toward the right to trail through lush green vegetation overseen by tall pandanus. Sydney took the path, continuing until she came to the beach. Raising her hands, she shielded her eyes against the glare. In the distance the indigo blue sea shimmered like windblown silk. Closer, as the waves broke over the reef that fringed this side of the island, the water turned calm and turquoise.

  The beauty of it all was almost impossible to absorb in the short amount of time she had, and for a moment she wished she were here for a long vacation. But then she sighed, suddenly realizing that even the longest of holidays probably wouldn’t give her enough time to appreciate this wondrous place.

  She turned back and cut diagonally through the forest, making her way around to the side of the hotel. As she did, she thought she caught a brief glimpse of the second of the two men who had closed in on her so suddenly last night and frightened her, that big man whose face she had likened to Ayers Rock. An errant thought skittered through her mind, then was gone.

  Her mind was too full of what she was about to see to be distracted for long. She had come this way each day since she had been here, and she had learned the path well. She didn’t stop walking until she broke through the trees to the clearing and the lagoon.

  There her footsteps ceased. Before her, black swans glided serenely on a turquoise lagoon. As a child she had pored over books that contained pictures of black swans, but until she had come to the Isle of Charron, she had never actually seen any.

  The birds had always seemed magical to her—so beautiful and wild. So free. And now they didn’t disappoint her. They were the most enchanting creatures she had ever seen. They enthralled her as they swam silently, regally, among the reeds.

  She chose a spot, crossed her legs, and sank to the ground.

  Although it was true that the Isle
of Charron was the closest legalized casino to her home in Brisbane, she supposed she could have managed to go to the one in Alice Springs. Or there was the one in Darwin, although it was probably the farthest, and then there were the two in Tasmania. But the reputation of big money being won and lost at Charron’s Glass Palace had been only a small part of the lure to the island.

  She hadn’t been able to resist the black swans of Charron. They were the real reason she had chosen to come here. They were a part of her childhood dreams.

  She remembered that at first she had been unsure of her chances of being able to stay at the resort. An obstacle had been its exclusivity. It had been only by the greatest stroke of good luck that a reservation for a single room had opened up. She had taken it on the spot.

  From her position she could hear the murmur of the sea and the waters of the lagoon lapping at her feet. Somewhere overhead a silver gull called out. Nearby a big blue butterfly floated above a scarlet canna flower. Sounds and sights of nature, infinitely peaceful, boundlessly soothing.

  A twig snapping behind her represented an intrusion into that peace. Twisting around, she caught sight of the Ayers Rock man, lurking in the brush. Sydney jumped to her feet, equal portions of fear and anger lodging in her throat. “W-w-why are you following me?”

  At first she thought he would disappear back into the forest, but he lumbered out.

  “Answer me!”

  “Orders, Miss Delaney.”

  “Whose?” she asked, although she didn’t need to.

  He hesitated, gazing away as if he were embarrassed to look her in the face. “I really can’t say.”

  “Then take me to someone who can.”

  Obediently he turned onto the coral path and she followed. Her only surprise was that the office the big man led her into was Mike Nolan’s, not Nicholas Charron’s.

  When she entered the office, the chief of security’s head was bent over a stack of paperwork, but as soon as he saw her, he stood up, smiling that charming, easygoing smile of his. “Miss Delaney, how nice to see you. You’ve rescued me.” He waved his hand over the pile of work on his desk. “This is the part of the job I hate the most.”

  “Mr. Nolan, why am I being followed?”

  “Ah.” He nodded his head knowingly. “You discovered Julian. That explains the look of outrage on your face. Julian is losing his touch. He’s never been detected before.”

  “Julian?” she repeated, absorbing the name with some disbelief.

  “The big man who brought you here. I think he’s developed a crush on you. He was telling me just this morning how beautiful he thinks you are.”

  She didn’t believe him for a moment. People who looked like Ayers Rock didn’t say things like that. Sydney stared at him stonily. “I repeat, Mr. Nolan, why am I being followed?”

  He walked around his desk until he was in front of it, then leaned back against the walnut surface. “I’m extremely thankful to be able to tell you that the sole responsibility is Nicholas’s.”

  She had known that already, and she refused to be swayed by Mike’s twinkling green eyes. “I asked you why. What could I possibly have done to lead anyone to believe that I’m dangerous?”

  His smile widened. “Good question.”

  Her brows drew together in temper. “What exactly were your orders?”

  “That you were not to be allowed to leave the island.”

  Her hands balled into fists. She lived her life within boundaries of control, but they were her own boundaries, no one else’s. Did Nicholas possibly think that their meeting last night had so unnerved her that she would run?

  The ice in her voice would have shaken a less assured man. “Tell Mr. Charron that it would take more than one encounter with him to make me leave before I’m ready.”

  He eyed her with interest. “Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

  It took a minute before she could control the jump of her nerves. It hadn’t been that long ago that she had told herself she was going to avoid Nicholas Charron. “Fine. Where is he?”

  “Sleeping. He sleeps until about sundown. But you can tell him tonight over dinner. He’s usually here by nine.”

  “Here? You mean he sleeps somewhere else?”

  “Most nights he goes to his place over on the other side of the island, the wilder side. It suits Nick, and it’s inaccessible to his guests.”

  “I see.” During the day Nicholas slept on the wild side of the island. And at night he roamed his glass palace like a panther in a rain forest. “Well, Mr. Nolan—”

  “Mike, please.”

  Why not? she thought with resignation. It looked as if she were fated to get to know Nicholas Charron’s security men well. “Mike, call off the watchdogs, including the little one.”

  “Little one? Oh, you mean Sai.”

  “Sai,” she repeated with a roll of her eyes. “You have my word that when I leave the island, I won’t sneak away. That’s just not my way, and if Mr. Charron knew me better, he’d realize it.”

  “I think getting to know you better is what he has in mind, Sydney, and I’m going to hold you to your word. The value of my life would go down a great deal if I let you slip away.”

  “How amazing,” she said faintly.

  He shrugged. “Nick is an amazing man.”

  * * *

  He was there again, up in the control room, watching her. Sydney’s nerves had told her the exact time he had arrived. Surreptitiously she glanced at her watch. Eight-thirty. Earlier tonight she had pulled her hair back and up into a shining knot on top of her head. Now she raised her hand to the back of her neck, where it felt as if the tiny hairs were raised.

  She had been gambling for several hours, engrossed in the play at the blackjack table, when suddenly she had sensed his eyes on her. This time she did question how she had known he was there. How could that be? An uncanny awareness seemed to link them, a thread of sensuality that stretched between them with the inevitability and power of the tides.

  Sydney attempted to bring her attention back to the action at the table. She had been winning and losing about equally, but she wasn’t overly worried. She wasn’t playing the big stakes yet. She considered this the learning period.

  There were three other players beside herself, and the dealer had just shuffled two hands ago, using four decks. The dealer’s upcard was an ace. She looked down at her hand. She had an eight and a nine. Without thinking about it, she indicated to the dealer that she wanted a hit. The dealer dealt her a four. Twenty-one.

  The groan from the man beside her barely registered, because she was too busy berating herself. She should never have called for that hit. The dealer folded. It didn’t matter. Winning had been pure luck, because Nicholas had broken her concentration. She collected her chips and pushed back from the blackjack table, deciding to give herself a break.

  But first... With deliberate defiance she raised her eyes to the mirrored wall where she knew he stood, intent on showing him that his presence meant nothing to her. But her defiant gesture boomeranged, for she could feel his gaze on her as if it were his very touch searing her. And she had the sure feeling that if she raised her hand to the shimmering air between them, her hand would come away scorched by the heat.

  Shaken, she turned and walked quickly out of the casino.

  Her destination was the main lift. She intended to slip up to her room for a few minutes, but at the lift doors she found Mike lazily leaning against the wall, his long, lean body blocking the button.

  She eyed him suspiciously and earned one of his easygoing smiles. In her peripheral vision she caught a blonde watching him. Mike Nolan was indeed a devastating man.

  “Nicholas wants to see you.”

  Her temper began to rise. “And he sent you to ask me?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Mike, I happen to know that he has two perfectly good legs, and last night he seemed to have no trouble talking. Why doesn’t he ask me himself?”

  “He
prefers to do it this way.”

  “Tell me, Mike, don’t you find it a trifle kinky to procure women for your boss?”

  She had meant to be deliberately inciteful, but he took it good-naturedly. “Not really. Most of the time, getting women for Nick is so cut and dried, it’s rather boring. He just tells me who he wants. I relay the message. and the woman in question agrees.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Cut and dried?”

  “Sydney,” he said gently, “the women he invites up to his suite get exactly what they want—a chance to sleep with the notorious Nicholas Charron.”

  “Why did you tell me that?”

  A puzzled look crossed his handsome face, and all at once he laughed. “I’m not sure.”

  Learning to like Mike was draining a portion of her anger away, but not all. “In case there’s the slightest doubt in your mind, I’m not one of the women who wants to sleep with him.”

  “Oh, I know that, but I don’t think what you want will matter all that much ultimately.”

  Suddenly, Sydney felt stifled, and she experienced the desperate urge to be alone for a while. “Mike, did you happen to see the pretty redhead who’s playing at the roulette table tonight?”

  His green eyes danced. “Of course.”

  “Tell Mr. Charron to try his luck with her. I’m willing to bet she’ll run, not walk, to him.” With that biting statement she reached behind him and forcibly punched the lift button.

  Moments later she was putting her key into the lock and letting herself into her room. She extended her hand to the lamp on the dresser and clicked it on.

  Light blazed in a small and bright halo, brilliant at the center, but diffusing as it reached to the edges of the room and touched the single chair and the man who sat in it—Nicholas Charron.

  She almost stammered. She almost asked, How did you get in here? but she caught herself in time and did neither. She tossed her bag onto the dresser. “I’m aware that you own this hotel, Nicholas, but surely it’s unethical to let yourself into a room one of your guests is occupying.”