It was white, a pique cotton, with a halter neck and a low back, and was three-quarter length. She slid her feet into a pair of black patent sandals, tied her hair back in a bunch and put on a pair of huge gold hoop earrings. She'd just applied a bronzey lipstick when there was a knock on the door.
'Coming,' she called, and made herself concentrate on her appearance. Only to be suddenly reminded of another dress that hadn't required a bra. But while her sea-green gown had had a stiffened, boned bodice this one didn't. She turned sideways and tried to see her back in the mirror, then turned to the front and stared at herself minutely. It wasn't see-through, she decided, but it was pretty obvious there was no bra beneath it.
Damn, she muttered to herself, why don't I stop to think? Then, with a little shrug, she went to answer the door.
Fraser, dressed in khaki trousers and a checked shirt, was waiting patiently, leaning over the half wall of the passage, looking into the night. He turned and straightened.
'Will this do?' Saffron asked. 'It's all I brought.'
He looked her over with a wryly lifted eyebrow.
'What's that supposed to mean?' she queried with her chin tilted.
'That you'll do, that's all,' he said mildly. 'There's a restaurant on the beach, thought we'd eat there. We can sit outside and watch the moon.'
'How nice,' she replied, just a shade dryly.
They walked through the main complex with its soaring ceilings, across the bridge over the huge swimming pool lit from underwater and up the steps to his chosen venue for dinner.
The Beach Bar and Grill struck Saffron as Polynesian-inspired. It was pleasantly casual, with a nice island atmosphere to its timber construction, and the smell of good food abounded. Fraser got them a table on the verandah, ordered steaks for both of them, and a bottle of wine. A laden table groaned beneath a delicious self-service selection of salads, vegetables, desserts and breads.
But Saffron was more interested, it seemed, in the moon and the way it was lightening the sky so that the bulk of Passage Peak was just visible across the beach and bay.
So much so that as they ate their steaks she barely said a word and appeared to toy with her food.
Finally, Fraser pushed his plate away, poured himself another glass of wine and said, 'Saffron, I'm seriously worried.'
She drew her gaze to him and blinked. 'Why?'
'Well, you asked me not to talk while you got your first impressions of the house, but I didn't realise it was to last all evening. And you're not eating, which, from the way I've seen you enjoy your food, is a little ominous.'
'Oh, that.' She grinned ruefully. 'Sorry. It's very nice, the food, but I've got—' she wrinkled her nose '—something on my mind.'
'Such as?'
She was silent as she finally finished her meal and picked up her wineglass. Then she said with a little sigh, 'Zanzibar.'
'Zanzibar. Did I hear right?' he asked after a moment.
'Mmm... The thing is, nice as your front door is, what your house really needs is a set of Zanzibari front doors. Only I can't work out how to get my hands on them.'
'A Zanzibari front door?' he said seriously, then started to laugh. 'Look, why don't we start from the beginning—have you ever been to Zanzibar?'
'Of course I have!' Her eyes were large and indignant. 'Would I suggest—?'
'All right.' He raised a pacifying hand. 'But you have to admit it's not a common destination from this part of the world. It's not somewhere we pop off to for a little break.'
'Perhaps not,' she conceded. 'But you don't have to make it sound as if I've been to the moon and back.'
'Sorry. Well, then, tell me about these front doors.'
Saffron sat forward eagerly. 'They're incredible. I don't know if you realise, but Zanzibar—which is the quintessential spice island—also has a long history of association with the sultans of Muscat and Oman.'
'My knowledge of Zanzibar is quite limited,' he confessed.
'OK. Well, they ruled the island for a while, into this century as a matter of fact, hence the significant Arab influences. One of them is their carved and brass-studded front doors.'
'I see.'
'Now, the purpose of them harks back to ancient times when the longish pointed studs served to repel invaders on elephants—to stop the elephants from simply pushing down the front door of your house in other words. Not that that was actually ever a problem on Zanzibar—I don't think they had elephants there— but all the same...'
'This is fascinating,' Fraser said. 'I hesitate to point it out but we don't have elephants here either.'
'Of course we don't,' she said impatiently. 'But these doors are an art form. So, incidentally, are the marvellous Arab chests inlaid with brass and the four-poster Zanzibari beds that they make there.'
'And you seriously feel my house would not be complete without them?'
Saffron drank some wine and regarded him thoughtfully for some time. Then she said coolly, 'Look here, Mr Ross. The reason. I presume, that you sought my services in the first place was because my ideas are original?'
'True.'
'So I take it you don't want your house to look like any other old house?' she pursued relentlessly.
A faint smile twisted his lips. 'No—'
'And, so far as the doors go, did you or did you not mention that security is the reason why you don't have a jetty—could be a problem in other words? If an elephant couldn't break down your front door, a mere mortal definitely couldn't.'
'True again. But I hadn't envisaged paying your fare all the way to Zanzibar, Saffron, in order to be a bit different and provide security.'
'Which is exactly why I'm a bit preoccupied,' Saffron shot back triumphantly. 'Of course I don't expect you to pay my fare to Zanzibar As a matter of fact it's the last place I want to go, lovely as it is.'
'So?' He stared at her quizzically.
'I have two options. I have the name of a supplier in Zanzibar, but that could take months. Or I could try to find someone here to replicate them, but—'
she shook her head '—I'd really rather have the original.'
'I thought you were going for a Javanese influence.'
'Oh, I still am. But they'd complement each other wonderfully.'
'Very well.' He topped up her wine. 'I'll tell you what to do. Get me a quote for a set of front doors and a chest, all genuine. Also a delivery date. I'll make a decision then.'
'And a bed?'
'No,' he said definitely. 'When it comes to beds I prefer to be very conventional—and comfortable.'
She chuckled suddenly. 'Actually, although they're very picturesque, they weren't that comfortable—not the ones we...I slept in, anyway.'
He watched the glow leave her face and the way she sat, tense suddenly in her pretty white dress. Tense, beautiful in her rather uncommon way, and slightly tortured, he thought, and decided to try a shot in the dark. 'He was in Zanzibar with you?'
'Who?' She looked at him through her lashes.
'The man who so turned you off men, Saffron. Or have there been a series of them?'
'Oh, dozens,' she replied flippantly but with a steely little glint in her eyes.
'You don't lie very well,' he. said after a taut moment.
'Look at it this way—how many women have you had, Mr Ross? And, while we're about it, why don't you tell me how your taste in women runs? We could have a lovely long discussion on that subject, I'm sure!'
'You're telling me to mind my own business, I gather,' he said amusedly.
'Yes, I am.' She looked away moodily.
'Well, then, would you like a walk along the beach?'
Surprise then suspicion held her silent as their gazes clashed.
'Or you could do it on your own, Saffron,' he said softly. 'It really doesn't matter one way or the other to me.'
'I...I might go straight to my room,' she answered stiffly. 'I'd like to ring Delia and ask her to fax details of my Zanzibar contact immediately, and I want to
sort out some other ideas I have as well. By the way, I do appreciate you making that decision so promptly. People who can't make up their minds drive me mad.'
'I can imagine,' he said dryly.
'Well, goodnight. Thank you for dinner.' She stood up beneath his oddly dispassionate gaze, then sat back down abruptly to say irritably, 'How do you do it?'
He raised an uninterested eyebrow at her.
'Make me feel guilty and—churlish! OK! I'll walk along the beach with you on one condition.'
'That I don't kiss you?'
'Precisely.'
'Funny, I had that on my mind as well,' he murmured, then laughed outright at her expression. 'I'm suitably warned off, however.' He stood up. 'Let's go.'
They walked to the end of the beach companionably.
Fraser told her a bit about the Whitsundays and Hamilton Island as they went, and they stopped once just to drink in the magic of the night and the moon. The tide was high and left a tracery of silver on the beach as it lapped the sand.
It was then that Saffron turned to make some comment to him only to have it die on her lips as she was gripped by a feeling that was a little hard to handle, in view of her express conditions governing this walk. But the fact of the matter was, it was suddenly impossible to be unmoved by Fraser Ross, standing tall and relaxed beside her with his dark hair lying on his forehead, his hands shoved into his pockets and his shirt blowing slightly in the breeze.
And she felt her nerve-ends tingle and her senses long for the magic of how it had felt to be in his arms that first night. She remembered the clean, starchy smell of his shirt and the pure man beneath it. She remembered his hands on her body, the feel of her body against his, and was plagued by a sudden surge of sheer desire.
She remembered, in intimate detail, their kiss of the next night and how she'd wanted to run her hands through his hair even while she'd hated herself for it... She drew her gaze away from him and stared out to sea. But that didn't help because her imagination took wings and she remembered her pirate fantasy, helped along by this place, these lovely waters, and how—magical it would be to be sailed away with from here.
'Saffron? Is something wrong?'
'Oh! No. Why?'
He looked down at her and she caught her breath and only just stopped herself from saying. Is it the same for you, Fraser? Are you really as attracted as I...seem to be?
'You look a little stunned.'
'Sorry. I was thinking, that's all.'
'Not about some more exotic things for my house such as Zanzibari doors, I hope,' he said wryly.
She managed to give a husky little laugh, and started to walk again.
'Probably, but I shall desist.'
'You can tell me,' he said on a different note, and she went hot and cold because she was suddenly sure he had guessed that her thoughts were far from Zanzibari doors.
But that was when she came to grief. She caught the toe of her sandal in a vine coming down from the grass verge beside the beach, and she tripped and fell awkwardly.
'What is it?' he asked as he helped her up and heard her suddenly indrawn breath.
'My ankle; I sort of twisted it as I went down, I think.' She clung to his arm and put her foot down gingerly only to gasp in pain.
'Sit down; let's see.'
'No—'
'Saffron, do as you're told,' he ordered, and bodily picked her up to sit her down on the grass. He gently manoeuvred her foot, causing her to gasp again. 'You've sprained it, I'd say. Let's get you back to your room then we'll call the nurse.'
'I'm sure we don't need to—'
'Shut up, Saffron,' he advised. 'Look, can you hobble on it now? I'll help. And do me a favour—don't talk. After all, I did as much for you this afternoon.'
An hour later, Saffron was sitting on her bed propped up by pillows with her swollen ankle neatly strapped and resting on another pillow. The nurse had just left and had been of the opinion that it was a sprain, not a break, but that Saffron should stay off it as much as possible in the next couple of days. She'd left some painkillers.
'Thanks.' Saffron looked up and accepted a cup ofcoffee from Fraser. Her hair had come loose, her earrings were on the bedside table, and she looked a bit pale but also wry.
'I know what you're going to say.' He pulled up an armchair and sat down beside the bed. 'You should have stuck to your original plan.'
'Yes. Never mind; it could have been worse, I guess.'
He looked at her enquiringly.
'I could have broken it, I suppose.'
'Yes.'
'All the same—' she heaved a sigh and put her hands up to ease the knot of her halter neck '—it's going to interfere with everything. I wanted to go back tomorrow and take more measurements, reinforce some of my ideas. It is a perfect nuisance, actually.'
'You took a lot of measurements today. You also took your own photos. And window measurements et cetera are on the plans.'
Saffron propped her chin in her hand. 'Mmm... You know, another thought I had was no curtains. Blinds, louvres and shutters—what do you think?'
He looked thoughtful and wondered if she realised that the easing of her halter had not stopped her dress from outlining her obviously braless breasts in all their small, firm and pointed perfection.
Or realised that cynicism, disenchantment or whatever the hell it was that had led him down this path had not made him any less aware of her and that lithe, lovely body, nor stilled the growing curiosity in him about just how she would make love. With the passionate intensity she did most things?
'They're not only visually perfect for a house like that, but they don't fade, sag or blow about,' she said seriously.
'Makes sense,' he commented. 'I'd still like to see some more sketches, now you've seen the place in the flesh, so to speak.' For some reason this seemed to amuse him.
'Of course. Uh—' She frowned at him.
'What now, Saffron?' Has she guessed what is occupying my mind much more than curtains or the lack of them? he mused.
'I'm wondering...' She paused. 'Just how to imprint some of your personality on the place. I don't want you to feel as if this is simply a show place— or is that what it's to be?'
'At times,' he agreed after a moment, and with a wryly lifted eyebrow, then sought to become serious. 'I thought you enjoyed the thought of being able to do everything from scratch.'
'I do,' she said frustratedly. 'But...' She stopped. 'Oh, well. So it is to be a bit of a show place but not entirely?'
'Yes. I have a few business interests in this part of the world. I'm selling this part of the world tourism-wise in other words. But I also intend to—relax here from time to time.'
'And what do you do when you relax?'
'Eat, drink, sleep, swim, fish, go boating. I'm pretty normal in most respects. What did you think?' There was a tinge of sardonic amusement in the way he returned her look.
'I thought you'd make a pretty good pirate if you really want to know.'
He stared at her and noted how the sudden colour stained her cheeks.
'Seriously, Saffron? In what respect?'
She bit her lip and cursed her impetuous tongue.
'A pirate when it comes to women?' he suggested softly but with the most devilish little glint in his eyes.
She tried to shrug offhandedly. 'You have to admit you've shown some pirate-like tendencies in regard to me.'
'So you're living in constant dread that I might sweep you up and make off with you?'
'Not at all,' she said haughtily and with a slight disregard for the truth. 'You wouldn't find it that easy to kidnap me.'
'True. Unless, in your heart of hearts, you wouldn't mind a little of...that kind of excitement?'
Saffron blinked several times and wondered how to refute this rather close-to-the-bone allegation. Drat him, she thought hotly. And how did I get myself into this? She eventually said tartly, 'Don't you wish, Mr Ross.'
He considered her quizzically. 'Perhaps it's
what you need, Saffron. To get you over what was apparently a disastrous affair.'
'Like a hole in the head,' she denied vigorously.
'Do you still love him?' he asked curiously.
Saffron hunched her shoulders and stared at her cup. And, to her amazement and absolute horror, two tears slid down her cheeks. She dashed them away and said impatiently, 'It's over. Why do you keep—?' She stopped abruptly.
'Because I'm just wondering, if you do, whether success and a career are going to compensate for it.'
'It's not that,' she said after an age. 'It's, well, the waste, I guess. Of emotion, time, self-esteem.'
'That's one thing you don't seem to lack.'
She lifted her head and, although her eyelashes were wet and spiky, no more tears fell. 'Good,' she said briskly. 'I'm glad you think so. Can we get back to your house?'
He put his cup down on the bedside table and stood up. 'I've got a better idea. It's been a big day; I think you should go to sleep. It is also ten o'clock, Saffron,' he added as she opened her mouth to protest. 'Do you need a hand?'
'No. No, thank you,' she amended more graciously.
'Well, if you do I'm next door and you can ring me. Goodnight. Don't even think about working, by the way. It'll all keep until tomorrow.'
'I—' But she changed her mind at the look in his eyes, and was amazed to hear herself saying meekly, 'All right. Goodnight.'
It wasn't a good night, though.
Her ankle ached and her dreams were threaded with images of a past love and a new attraction, if that was what it was.
Of course it is, to an extent, she told herself wearily as she lay in the dark wide awake at one stage. You wouldn't be thinking of things such as the way hepicked you up and carried you up the stairs to the lift as if you were a feather otherwise. You wouldn't remember the feel of his arms, how nice it was to lay your head on his shoulder, the little quickening of your pulses when he put you down but kept you close...
You wouldn't have come so close to giving yourself away on the beach or experienced the forbidden thought that wouldn't stay forbidden, and the tremor of excitement it brought—that it would be nice to be going to the same room, the same bed.
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