One Night in the Orient

by Robyn Donald

  A disturbing mixture of excitement and apprehension churned beneath her ribs, as though she was about to take the biggest decision she’d ever made—a huge step into an unknown, exhilarating future, shadowed by the prospect of shattering pain.

  But there would be no disillusion. Nick made no vows. It would be an honest relationship—on his part, she admitted.

  Because she didn’t dare tell him she loved him. She suspected that if she did he’d close her out without even thinking about it.

  Nick turned, catching her eyes on him. He looked quizzical, and there was an undertone she couldn’t place when he said, “What big eyes you have.”

  “You know the answer to that one,” she said without thinking. All the better to see you with …

  His mouth hardened, then relaxed into a smile that promised everything she wanted, the satisfaction of all her desires—except the most important.

  But love had no place here.

  He said, “You need to dry your back before I put this on.”

  “Yes,” she said, recklessly casting the dice.

  Nick stooped and took her outstretched hands, pulling her easily out of the water. She glanced down and realised her bra was totally transparent, but even as colour surged back up he turned her away.

  When his hands came to rest on her shoulders she shivered deliciously.

  His grip loosened a fraction. “Cold?” he asked softly.

  She licked her lips, then said on the same quiet note, “No.”

  One finger eased beneath the catch of her bra. “Good. Because it would make things much easier if I took this off.”

  Beneath the even, humorous tone of his voice she heard a raw note of authentic passion.

  And everything came right in her world. She relinquished every last scruple, because this was what she wanted. If she let her fears and concerns steer her away from Nick she’d always regret it. So she’d follow her heart.

  She looked over her shoulder, the sensuous flutter at the base of her spine burning into a conflagration when she met his unfathomable green gaze.

  A delicious languor melted her bones and she had to swallow and clear her throat before she could say huskily, “All right, then. Take it off.”

  It was free in an instant, falling loosely around her. She dragged in a deep breath, her breasts rising and falling sharply at a light kiss on one shoulder. It lasted only a second, and desperate to feel his arms around her she began to swivel, only to squeak when his teeth grazed the place he’d just kissed.

  “Siena?”

  “Yes.” Nerves singing, she turned to look up at him.

  His face angular and tightly controlled, he seemed to be waiting. Siena lifted her hand and placed the sensitive palm in the middle of his chest, where his heart was thudding heavily.

  Breathy and sensuous, her voice startled her when she said, “You are magnificent.”

  His gaze fell to her breasts. “So are you. Exquisite in every way.”

  The impact of his scrutiny was like a caress, heating her skin, bringing the tight little tips of her breasts to full alert.

  “Are you sure, Siena?”

  She gestured vaguely. “Can’t you see?”

  Adrenalin burned through her at the flare of dark fire in his eyes.

  But he didn’t move. In a voice that came close to being guttural, he said, “I’ve been wanting this since Hong Kong.”

  “So have I.”

  His cheek creased in a smile that held wry amusement. “Idiots, both of us—although the wait was necessary.”

  Siena nodded, hope stirring in the depths of her heart. He had understood feelings she barely recognised, the need to put her own stamp on the end of one relationship before she could give herself fully to another.

  He said smoothly, “And if I carry you across to the lounger over there—” he was sweeping her into his arms as he spoke, making her squeak again and clutch his shoulders “—that white skin of yours will be protected from the sun, and the sunscreen can wait …”

  Water slicked their skin, somehow linking them, so that when he deposited her on the broad length of one of the big recliners she felt abandoned—a feeling abruptly terminated when Nick came down beside her, his arms closing around her in a grip that didn’t feel as though he’d ever let go.

  A fierce delight surged through her and her bra dropped unheeded to the ground. Here—in Nick’s arms—was the only place she ever wanted to be.

  For long seconds they lay together, heart against heart, their pulses slowly synchronising until wonderingly she could hear and feel only one—a beat that increased yet again when he tilted her head back and looked into her eyes.

  Siena’s breath came quickly through her parted lips. Nick’s face was drawn into a mask of passion, yet his mouth on hers was almost gentle, as though afraid of hurting her.

  Lost to desire, Siena closed her eyes and surrendered to the hunger uncoiling through her in a surge of hot, wildly sweet passion.

  When he lifted his head she smiled, letting the air out of her lungs in a lingering sigh. Her lashes quivered against her cheeks; she didn’t look at him in case her eyes gave away her new-found love.

  “Siena?”

  Why did some lucky men have the sort of voice that made women’s toes curl? Deep and cool and spine-tingling … Desire—insistent, compelling—throbbed through her.

  “Siena, look at me.”

  She resisted for a few seconds longer before dragging in a fortifying breath and obeying him. “You keep saying that.”

  “It’s so I can make some attempt to find out what you’re thinking.” Nick’s eyes were penetrating. “How did it feel to see Adrian Worth this morning?”

  A chill ran through her. In the strong sanctuary of his arms her mindless surrender to passion would temporarily banish any thought of a future without Nick—would overwhelm everything beyond the hunger that ached through her in a surge of painful longing.

  But she could feel the strength of his determination, a force she had no power to shatter. And she understood it was important to say what she had to say.

  “Strange,” she told him unevenly. “Like looking at the old photos in my parents’ albums and realising how different I was then, how much I’ve changed since they were taken. How everything has changed.”

  Adrian is the faded past, she wanted to say; you are the full-colour present.

  But she couldn’t. She didn’t dare. Soon she might be an old photograph in Nick’s album, and she was just learning that without him there would be no more colour, no true pleasure in life. Her heart quailed.

  “What is it?” Nick asked abruptly, his face intent, almost predatory. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” she said steadily. No matter how this ended, she’d go on, and she’d find satisfaction in her existence.

  Loving Nick had changed her fundamentally. She had quite literally become a different woman from the one who’d thought she loved before. Against what she felt for Nick that illusory love had been weak and temporary—a practice run rather than the real thing.

  She looked up into half-closed eyes, intent and glittering. Quietly she said, “Nothing’s the matter. Whatever we had wasn’t strong enough to meet any challenges. We’re not the same people we were when we got engaged, and I don’t love him any more. It’s gone, over, finished.”

  “And how do you feel about that?” Nick probed relentlessly.

  She couldn’t lie. “A little regretful, but a little foolish too.”

  It was all she dared say. Anything more might reveal the true state of her feelings, and Nick wouldn’t want to know.

  She longed to experience everything she could with Nick, fill her heart with memories, and she wouldn’t let her fears about the future stop her from indulging her love in the present.

  She’d deal with that future—and Nick’s absence from it—when she had to. For this moment, Nick’s arms about her—this was the present …

  Candidly, she said, “
You must realise I want you. And I don’t expect promises or vows, either. I suspect I’m rather over them right now. Let’s just take things as they come, shall we?”

  She reached up and pulled his head down and kissed him, boldly signalling her hunger, her body sinuous and tense as she pressed against him. Without hesitation he responded, and her heart sang when he tore his mouth from hers and looked into her eyes.

  “No vows,” he promised in a low, gravelly growl.

  This time their lovemaking was fierce, a wild sharing of rapture that carried Siena beyond everything she’d ever known about herself.

  Much later, coming down in Nick’s arms from unimaginable ecstasy, she wondered how on earth anyone could endure such rapture and not die of it.

  She’d been lost—lost in desire, lost to everything but how much physical delight her body could feel.

  She was also lost in love. She loved Nick with everything in her, her emotion strong enough to encompass passion and trust and commitment—a yearning that ached through her with such power that without him her life would be grey and weary and shapeless, an echoing waste of breath.

  Could there be any chance of Nick loving her in return?

  In a way he already did, she thought painfully. But that kind of love—the girl-next-door grows up love—wasn’t what she wanted from him. He’d been kind and thoughtful and helpful. He certainly desired her. He was a fantastic lover.

  Yet if she hadn’t found herself with a problem in London he’d have gone to Hong Kong without her. They’d have said goodbye, gone their separate ways, and she’d have seen him next in some gossip magazine with another exquisite blonde on his arm.

  What she wanted from him was her kind of love—the all-in, no-holds-barred sort, a love like her parents’ that would grow and change and last a lifetime.

  With the solid, heavy thud of his heartbeat in her ears, his arms holding her against his lean body, the scent of their lovemaking so erotically stimulating she could feel her innermost parts stir with longing again, she forced herself to drag in a painful breath.

  There was a term for that sort of yearning—crying for the moon. Nick had made no mention of anything but desire.

  She couldn’t allow such a complete surrender again. She had to be like Nick and protect herself—keep her treacherously crumbling barriers intact, protect herself with all her strength from such an addictive need.

  But how?

  Those two bleak words told her it was already far too late.

  In a rough voice he said, “Asleep?” “No.”

  He moved, held her a little away so he could see her face. “When do your parents come home?”

  Siena had to think before she could give him the date.

  “Just on three weeks from now,” he said. “I’ll be back by then, but before I leave we’d better get all of your stuff over here.”

  “Back?” she stammered, completely thrown. “I thought—you said you were going away.”

  His eyes were cool and hard—no trace of residual passion, she noted, and certainly nothing of love in that keen gaze. “I’m not going to stay away.”

  “Oh. I thought you—well, you don’t normally spend much time in New Zealand.”

  He frowned. “And I thought we were supposed to be madly in love,” he said dryly. “That means fairly close contact. As you’re going to be busy with the garden, naturally I’ll be based here from now on.”

  Her heart leapt, but she forced herself to be practical. “I’m assuming this is an invitation to share your house and bed for a while?” she said, as crisply as she could.

  His mouth curved. “Bear with me—I’ve never asked anyone to live with me before.”

  Siena reined in her racing pulse. “Never?”

  “No.”

  When he left it at that she said primly, “There didn’t appear to be any asking involved. I got the distinct impression I was being told—in a roundabout way.”

  He surveyed her face with an expression she couldn’t read. “My PA is going to think you’re just what I deserve.” He locked his arms around her to pull her hard against him.

  The vague wisp of memory concerning that efficient PA in London, with her children and her househusband, fled from Siena’s mind.

  In her ear he said harshly, “Siena, not only will staying here make your valiant attempts to smooth things over for your sister and your parents much more likely to succeed, it will give me enormous pleasure to have you close.” His voice deepened. “And I can promise you’ll enjoy it too.”

  For as long as it lasts, she thought on a flash of anguish. “Perhaps we should think—” she began, only to have the words stopped by his mouth.

  Fleetingly she thought she might have been able to resist if it had been a passionate, hungry kiss. Instead it was sweet and tender, baffling common sense, making only one decision possible.

  When he lifted his head, he said roughly, “What’s your decision?”

  It took all her courage to whisper, “Yes.” She cleared her throat and said more boldly, “I’ll stay here.”

  However, he didn’t take her surrender at face value.

  “Was it so hard?”

  Hard? It was hell—and heaven. The promise of a short heaven, with the surety of a long hell. But what could she say? Like a coward, she evaded. “Like you, I haven’t ever stayed—lived with anyone. I don’t know the protocol.”

  His eyes narrowed, but to her relief he didn’t push. “Then we’ll learn together.”

  Together …

  One word, yet it gave her hope, probably spurious, almost certainly doomed. She didn’t even know if he could feel anything beyond passion. And she wanted more from him than that tenderly fierce drive to possess.

  Hoping she was wrong, she doubted if he’d ever understand the emotion that gripped her now, propelling her into a situation she knew could cause her unbearable pain.

  In fact he’d cancel the whole deal if she blurted out that she loved him.

  For a moment she was tempted to do just that, but all loving came entwined with the prospect of pain; to refuse its joys because it meant caring too much would be to turn her back on life.

  And her impatient heart would never stop nurturing a hope that one day he would look at her and see someone he loved.

  “So we will,” she said quietly.

  His mouth twisted. “Not that we’re going to enjoy each other for long this time,” he said. “I’ve just had a message from my PA; I have to go to San Francisco to a meeting. I should be back within the week.”

  “OK,” she said, hiding a bleak pang of dismay with an airy smile. “When do you leave?”

  “In an hour.”

  She managed a laugh. “Then you’d better get packing,” she advised, hoping her insouciance rang true.

  He didn’t want her to come to the airport with him, so they said their farewells at the house. Siena was a little reassured by the fierceness of his embrace.

  “I’ll start thinking about the garden,” she promised.

  “Think of me occasionally,” he commanded coolly, then dropped his arms and turned away.

  Of course she thought of him constantly. He rang every night, and during those talks she felt herself falling ever more in love with him. Although discreet, he made her laugh—and sometimes gasp—with short, occasionally brutal character studies of the people he was dealing with. And she told him about her method of learning about the garden.

  “Lots of walking around and staring at things,” she said. “And squinting and imagining other things in their place. And sketches and notes.”

  “Are you enjoying it?”

  “Very much.” And missing you …

  “I’ll see you soon. Don’t work too hard.” He paused, then said, “Are you swimming?”

  “No,” she said, although the pool beckoned her every day. She laughed. “Mum has a thing about swimming alone—I’ve been brainwashed into thinking it’s highly dangerous—almost as bad as going into a paddoc
k with a Jersey bull.”

  He laughed, but said, “Keep safe.”

  Siena woke with a start at the sound of her name. Nick, she thought, dazed with delight, and scrambled to her feet. Too late, she remembered she wasn’t in her bed, and gave a startled yelp as she crash-landed on the wooden floor.

  “What the hell—? Siena!”

  “I’m here,” she croaked. She muttered something as she tried to untangle herself from the thin blanket she’d carried down to the summerhouse.

  He stood in the opening, a dark figure against the soft summer midnight outside. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, crossing the floor in two strides and picking her and the blanket up from the floor. His arms closed tightly around her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m—I’m fine.” She struggled upright in his embrace.

  He said, “Why are you here?”

  “I was hot, so I came down here to sleep …”

  “Dear God, I thought—I thought—” He walked across to the sofa and sat down on it, holding her as carefully as though she were the most precious thing on earth to him.

  In a voice she’d never heard before he said, “I thought you’d gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. His chest rose and fell against her. “And I knew something then that I’ve been fighting for—for ever, it seems.”

  Siena looked up, able to discern only the contours of his face in the dimness. Anxiety filled her as she scanned the drawn, hard angles of his face.

  He said, “I knew then that hard as I’ve tried—and God knows I’ve exhausted more energy denying this than I have in achieving anything else—I knew that if you left me I’d never forget you, never stop longing for you.”

  Unable to believe she’d heard properly, Siena blinked and shook her head to clear it.

  Nick’s mouth tightened. Still in that strange voice she’d never heard before he said, “Don’t you believe me? Then I’ll just have to work at convincing you.”

  Swiftly she said, “I shook my head because everything was jumbled up in it, and for a moment I thought I was dreaming. I—Nick, I want to believe you—you have no idea how much I want to.”