‘Oh. So you’d better get some sleep. Goodnight, then, Ariadne.’
‘Goodnight.’ She breathed the last word so softly it was hardly more than air, while her racing pulse roared in her ears.
Sebastian closed his phone and lay in the dark, wondering how far he’d retrieved the situation, smiling to himself about the shyness and shock in her husky voice, imagining her lying in bed in her pyjamas. No, not pyjamas.
A woman like Ariadne would wear pretty, virginal night-dresses. Fine cotton embroidered by little Swiss nuns with lace attached. What did they call that stuff? Broderie anglaise. He supposed it would be pretty enough, but say she belonged to him, he’d have wanted her to wear delicate silks and satins with thin little straps. Filmy things.
The vision that had nearly overwhelmed him when she’d told him she was in bed came flooding back to swamp him. Her hair spread around her on the pillow, her slim body covered in something diaphanous. Sweet, pointed nipples through the gauzy fabric.
He dragged a pillow against him and groaned.
God, it had been too long.
Ariadne was up soon after dawn. After that call it had taken ages to fall asleep, but at least the jagged emotions of the disagreement had been smoothed away. Admit it, she’d been excited, going over every little thing Sebastian had said. At the time some of the things had moved her with their conviction, but now in the cold light of day she needed to try to be honest with herself.
What had really changed? Tempting as it might be to allow herself to be carried away, she mustn’t forget that he had an incentive. Still, she wished she had at least said goodbye to him.
She was too worried about the bill to order breakfast, and besides, how could anyone eat with their life hanging in the balance?
When she was nearly ready to leave, she spread out the small collection of jewellery she’d thought appropriate to bring on a short holiday. Her earrings were all quite good, though she doubted she could get much for them, even if she found a jeweller who would accept them in exchange for cash.
She doubted her ruby pendant would buy her a bed for the night, let alone a plane ticket and a week or two’s accommodation in Queensland. Then there was her watch. She laid it on the console table and tried to reconcile the idea of selling it with sentiment and guilt. It had been her mother’s, one of the few reminders she had of that beloved face.
No, not that. Never. She couldn’t bear to part with it.
The most valuable item was the sapphire bracelet Thio and Thea had given her when she’d turned twenty-one. The sapphires were finely matched Ceylonese, lavender-tinged blue and wrought with white gold. She adored the exquisite thing. The thought of selling it, when they’d loved her so much in the giving of it…
Her eyes started pricking again and she fought off the emotion and thrust those thoughts away. If they’d loved her, why had they done this terrible thing?
She fastened on the watch, and rolled the other items carefully back in their velvet pouches, slipping the earrings and the wrapped bracelet into her jacket pocket. She’d read of poor people selling their jewels to pawnbrokers, but Thea always dealt with Cartier. The bracelet had probably come from one of their boutiques, anyway. Surely they’d be happy to buy it back.
With her bags assembled ready for the porter, she located a phone directory, then reefed through it. There was a Cartier in Sydney, and hundreds of other jewellers, though she had no idea whether the addresses placed them near or far.
Perhaps the concierge could help.
Downstairs, she faced the reception clerk with a certain amount of trepidation. Her suite was opulent, even by the standards she’d been used to when she’d travelled with her aunt, so she could expect the cost to be high. Even so, when they handed her the account she was staggered.
She stared at it with disbelief, dismay clawing at her nape. Who’d have guessed champagne was so expensive? And why had she ordered so many courses without even checking to see what things cost? Guiltily, she realised she’d hardly even done justice to the meal, she’d been so churned up.
And why, for heaven’s sake, had she needed an entire suite? Had Thio ever in his life been content to book a single room?
She stared at the invoice for a few moments, then looked the clerk in the eye and signed the credit-card slip as coolly as if she were rich and had the full backing of Giorgias Shipping.
Another night like this, though, and she’d be cleaned out. She’d have to think of something fast.
The concierge agreed to keep her suitcase safe until she returned. He obligingly scanned his computer screen for her when she enquired about jewellers, then produced a map of the city and ringed an address for her. Within walking distance, he said.
Sebastian made a deliberate effort to relax on his drive to work. In spite of a strenuous and bracing early-morning surf, the song that had haunted him through the night continued to echo in his mind. Ariadne, Ariadne…
How successful had he been in recovering ground with her? Perhaps she’d agree to meet him later. Maybe he could even take this weekend off to show her some of the sights. How long since he’d taken a weekend?
With an effort, he focused on the day ahead. Gloom had settled over the company, and it was becoming a difficult place to be. He knew his employees were asking questions about the Giorgias Shipping bid. Where was it heading? If there wasn’t some sort of contract in the offing this week, any contract, he had some hard decisions ahead of him.
Trouble was, the place he really wanted to go right now was the Hyatt, to drown himself in blue eyes. This was hardly the way to deal with a crisis. The stress must have been getting to him.
Ariadne stalked numbly out of the pawnshop and into the street. She hadn’t expected much cash for her earrings, but the amount the broker had offered for the sapphire bracelet had been pitiful. Surely they must be worth thousands. Thea never bought poor jewellery, not for a gift, not for anything.
If the salespeople at Cartier’s hadn’t been so suspicious and mistrustful when she’d offered to sell it to them, she’d have thought to have it valued so she’d at least know what sort of price to bargain for. As it was, she’d been lucky to escape from the shop without the police being called.
She broke out in perspiration as for a wild second she teetered on the verge of real panic. Conscious of an unpleasant sensation of nausea, she had to fight to steady herself enough to hang onto her control.
She leaned back against a shop window while she cooled down enough to think. There was no use sinking down onto the pavement. She could earn money, and when she had enough she’d buy her bracelet back from that sleazy pawnshop.
What she needed was to find a way to solve her situation. She forced herself to concentrate on her map, clinging to its solid reality like a lifeline. When her hot, scared pulse had subsided, she picked herself up and headed away from this dingy section of the city, back in the direction of the glossy shopping malls and department stores where she felt safer, enviously aware of all the happy-go-lucky Australians who took their homes and means and shelter for the night so cheerfully for granted.
Somehow, she would have to find work and a place to stay quickly. Surely accommodation would be cheaper outside the city?
The Centrepoint Arcade looked like a promising centre for internet cafés. She rode up and down escalators, tramped through the labyrinth of byways, until she found one and was able to log onto a computer.
Flights to Queensland weren’t very expensive, she discovered, but accommodation in Noosa was. With a growing sense of dismay she scrolled through list after list of Noosa hotels. In Australia it was midsummer, the high season. There were a few vacancies left in cheaper places for backpackers, but she shrank from the idea of sharing accommodation with strangers. Did she even really want to go to Queensland now?
If she risked money to travel to Noosa and stay for the several nights, maybe weeks, it would take her to find a job, what guarantee did she have that Maeve still lived there? An
d how would she find her? She wasn’t even sure of Maeve’s surname. Her mother had been a Hughes, but a five-year-old would hardly have been aware of Maeve’s family name.
And what would she do if she found her? Throw herself on Maeve’s mercy? If Maeve had been the slightest bit interested in her existence, wouldn’t she have contacted her after her parents died?
Without a secure money supply, the whole scheme started to look like a wildly impossible fantasy.
She spent a long time working out the intricacies of trawling through job registers, and saw with a sinking heart that it might not be as easy to find work in an art gallery as she’d hoped, even in a smaller centre. According to these websites, people needed as much documentation to prove their credentials and experience here as they did in Athens, and hers were all behind her in Naxos.
In desperation, she considered emailing Thea with an urgent request to send on her documents, then dismissed the idea. How likely was Thea to help her?
She slumped back in the chair. The naivety of her plans homed in on her. She knew one definite person in Australia, and here she was, rushing to get as far away from him as quickly as possible.
She needed help, but there was no way she could surrender to her uncle’s plan by begging Sebastian for it. Her pride smarted fiercely at the thought of that. Unless she could think of some way to re-open negotiations without losing face…
One thing she’d learned during the Demetri crisis was that, whatever the fallout, she had to be true to herself. No matter how desperate she was, there was no way she would go on her knees to Sebastian in the role of victim.
And after that call last night, it was clear what he would think if she went to him. If he believed she was attracted to him…
Oh, please. Who did she think she was kidding? He believed it, all right. He knew it. Why else would he have said those things? He’d practically spelled it out.
If she went to him and told him she was without money, she’d have no bargaining power. What would he do—write her a cheque? She couldn’t accept that. Anyway, he’d be much more likely to take her home with him. He’d be throwing her into his bed and having his way with her in no time, with no ring on her finger.
She’d be in an even worse position than a mail-order bride, reduced to being a casual fling, with no long-term security, her faith and upbringing betrayed, her conscience on fire for the rest of her life.
For the thousandth time the prospect of her own money sitting there in some solicitor’s trust fund glowed in her mind with frustrating allure. If only she could get her hands on it. Even if it only amounted to a few thousand dollars, from where she stood now it would look like security.
She tried not to panic, but she knew she’d have to be quick. If she was in Sydney for long, last night had shown her how rapidly she’d eat up her little fund of money out of pure ignorance of the cost of ordinary things. Even when she’d been working in Athens, her flat and household expenses, including the domestic staff, had all been paid by her uncle.
She was green, that was her trouble. But no way was she a useless hothouse flower, as the tabloids had painted her, with no useful knowledge of the world except how to dress and how to look at a painting. Her aunt and uncle had seen her job as a nice little way to fill in time while she waited for her real purpose in life to be established, but she’d loved her career and taken it seriously. She’d run the acquisitions department at the gallery like clockwork until the scandal had caused her sacking. One rude assistant had described her as the fairy-floss tyrant.
Anyway, she could run a household and manage a staff of eleven, more if required. Thea had done her best to shape her as a potential wife, making certain she could cook, even if it wasn’t very likely she would ever have to on a regular basis. And she was a fast learner. Some men found her attractive, even if Demetri didn’t. Some even admired her.
Her uncle had often laughed at how she made every personal decision with her heart and not her head. She’d accepted his analysis with pride, preferring to be described as a passionate idealist than as some ruthless, calculating machine of a woman. But it was clear that if she was to survive, this time she would have to dredge up her hard-headed negotiating skills.
Somehow, despite her attraction to Sebastian Nikosto, she would need to bargain with him as coolly and dispassionately as ever her uncle had.
She stared unseeing at the computer screen, then slumped forward with her face in her hands.
If only she understood more about men. How much had that midnight phone conversation meant? He might just have been trying to smooth things over after the restaurant. Sweet-talking her. But why? Did he still have hopes of the marriage?
Perhaps it really had been a genuine kiss, and he was sincere. How on earth was she to tell?
CHAPTER SIX
FEELING like an executioner, Sebastian listened to the discussion around the conference table with half an ear, his brows drawn. Which of his team would he let go? Shiny, fresh-faced Matt, who was only just starting out, straight from university, so thrilled to have found employment in the industry of his choice? Or Jake, with a wife and three kids to provide for? School fees and a mortgage. Then there was Sarah, a creative talent who showed real promise.
Once lost to Celestrial, the chances of replacing his carefully chosen designers with equal talents in some post-crisis future were slim. And how would they survive in the meantime?
He’d just roused himself to rejoin the discussion when Jenny, his warm, efficient PA, slipped into the room and caught his eye.
‘Not now.’ He frowned with a slight shake of his head.
‘But…’ There was hesitation in her hazel eyes, then with an unprecedented disregard for his rebuff, she leaned close and murmured in his ear, ‘Mr Nikosto, she says it’s urgent.’
Deep in Sebastian’s entrails a nerve jumped. ‘Who says?’
Though he knew. With a soaring anticipation in his chest, he knew.
Jenny lowered her voice even further. ‘A Miss Giorgias. She says she’s leaving Sydney in an hour, but she’s prepared to give you some time to talk if you come at once.’
‘Thanks.’ He gave her a nod, then rose and excused himself. He strolled to his office, still cool and in control though an exultant expectation was rising in him like foam.
He reached for his desk phone. Steady, he warned himself. He put the phone to his ear, said without expression, ‘Sebastian.’
He heard her small intake of breath, the slight hesitation, and his pulse quickened with the most thrilling suspense.
‘It’s—Ariadne.’ There was commotion in the background that suggested a busy public place. ‘If you would—If you would care to, I have a little time to talk to you before I leave.’ Her voice sounded breathless, as if she’d been running. Or felt nervous.
He was plunged into a turmoil of conflicting desire and responsibility. ‘I’m involved here today. I can’t—’
‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter,’ she said at once. ‘I don’t really have time either. I guess I’ll just say—’
‘Where are you?’
‘I think it’s…er…Pitt Street and Market. In a phone booth, near a café called The Coffee Club.’
For a wild, wavering instant he tossed up his competing urgencies. Glancing at the desk clock, he saw it was nearly morning teatime. Supposing he sprinted all the way…
He issued a command. ‘Stay there. Don’t move.’
He punched in a call to Jenny, gave her some brisk instructions, then took the lift down to the ground floor. As soon as he was on the street he broke into a run. With the adrenaline singing in his veins he hardly noticed the shoppers as he cut through the crowds like a home-running champion whizzing through the bases. He grinned at furious drivers pumping their horns when he dodged them at the crossings, and flew the five city blocks in a matter of minutes.
Once in the Pitt Street Mall, though, he paused to catch his breath, smoothed his hand over his hair, checked his tie was in p
lace, shirt tucked in. Then, energised, his capillaries tingling to the scent of victory, he headed for the Market Street end.
The café was easy enough to locate. He zeroed in on her standing to one side of the entrance, her bag slung casually from her shoulder. At first sight of her desire quickened his blood like an aphrodisiac.
Her blonde hair rippled down her back and she was wearing sunglasses, slim, sand-coloured trousers that hung from her hips and a pretty white short-sleeved top. Simple, classy and sexy. Oh, so sexy.
He started forward, then restrained himself to a casual stroll.
Ariadne scanned the crowd, her nervous pulse bumping along. She was about to take the most enormous risk. The possibilities of humiliation were so extreme she felt almost faint. She was gambling on making her offer sound businesslike, a simple contract. If only she could manage to control her responses to him and stay cool and clear-headed.
‘Hi.’
She started as Sebastian’s deep voice cut through her anxious churnings and swivelled around. His handsome face was smooth and expressionless, his dark eyes veiled.
‘Oh, hi,’ she breathed, overwhelmed by the immediacy of his lean, dark sexiness in the raw, masculine flesh. She felt burningly conscious of those words that had thrilled down her spine during the midnight call. ‘You—you didn’t take long.’
His searching gaze swept over her, not missing a thing. She prayed she didn’t look desperate, or too rounded in the hips and bust as Demetri had once criticised. Then his eyes lit with a smile, and she remembered what he’d said about desire hitting you like a train.
‘It’s not far.’ He shrugged. ‘People are waiting for me, so I can’t give you much time.’ He glanced at his watch, then indicated the café entrance. ‘Do you want to go inside?’ He made to take her elbow, but his hand just stopped short of touching her.
She walked into the café ahead of him, sensing his gaze scorching down her spinal column while she racked her brains for a way to begin. He was in a different mode from the man who’d talked so sweetly to her in the night. He looked serious and inaccessible, a CEO with his mind on his work.
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