by Fran Baker
Strangely enough, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She had worked so hard to achieve professional recognition, and after one night in this man’s arms her ambitions were twisting in a sensual direction. “This is going to be the best story I've ever done,” she declared in a shaky voice.
They rose together, ending the meeting with the same, mutual efficiency that controlled their separate lives.
“Miss Dawes will schedule your appointment for sometime next week so we can begin the tedious process of dissecting Edward Payton.” He smiled, and his hand was warm and firm on her arm as they walked to the plant-lined foyer to wait for the elevator.
“Would you have brunch with me on Sunday? I would enjoy showing you more of the Chinese ‘heart’ that so intrigues you.”
Standing this close to him, unable to touch him in any way but a formal handshake, was sheer torture.
“I'd love it.”
“I'll pick you up at nine o’clock, Sunday.” Kai's level gaze seemed to be memorizing the determined tilt of her chin, the sensuous curve of her lips. One of his employees joined them, spoiling the possibility of further intimate conversation.
The elevator whooshed open and she stepped into it. As Anne turned and watched him disappear behind the sliding doors she felt the security of a decision well made.
Anne’s taxi honked its way through the late afternoon traffic on Connaught Road while her head spun with the full implication of the past twenty-four hours.
Was she piling mistake upon mistake, careening toward another serious involvement that would tear her to pieces again? Was it wrong to shake off the drudgery and simply enjoy what she could while she could? After all, they weren’t hurting anyone by having an affair. Affair! What a sordid word for the pleasure they had found in one another. Well, she sighed unconsciously, she was a mature woman, perfectly capable of keeping the situation under control. That vow she’d made after her divorce—no more ties to bind her, no more total commitments—it still applied.
Anne burst through the door of Dick Tabor’s office in the UNA building. Her boss, looking more rumpled than usual, glanced at his watch and frowned. “It’s almost five, Hunter. Can’t you handle the nightlife anymore?”
Anne was too excited to bother with an appropriately tart reply. She waved a business card under his nose. “Take a look at this, pal,” she crowed.
“Edward Payton, President and Chairman of the Board, Victoria Enterprises, Ltd.” Dick whistled in admiration after he read the embossed lettering aloud. “I've got to hand it to you, Anne. There’s going to be some terminal cases of green-eyed envy invading a few well-known newsrooms. How’d you swing it?”
“It’s all in who you know,” she answered with airy confidence. Anne leaned over the desk, patted his five o’clock shadow and chuckled. “I’m going to grab my files now so I can bone up on him over the weekend.”
“Hop to it.” Dick opened his desk drawer and pulled out a manila folder full of papers. “By the way, here’s some updated material that just came in on the sweatshop thing. I’ll leave it in the file cabinet and you can read it on Monday.”
Anne nodded absentmindedly. He was referring to her new assignment—an exposé of the exploitive employment practices awaiting the 200,000 refugees streaming into Free China every year. Exorbitant numbers were crowded into squatter shacks, virtual slave labor in the factories of Hong Kong. Anne’s research to date indicated that entire families, from the youngest to the oldest, were caught up in the net and barely able to subsist, even working twelve hours a day, seven days a week.
“See you Monday.” Anne headed for the office to collect her files.
She spent Saturday morning tending to mundane chores and supervising the young Hakka girl who came each week to clean. A beckoning image kept crowding into her thoughts—deep black eyes above an aquiline nose; an expressive, sensual mouth that contrasted with the mystery of his face. A shiver of desire trickled along her spine every time she remembered those strong, tapering hands working their magic an her body.
“Business before pleasure,” she kept reminding herself.
After a light lunch of cold crabmeat and a broccoli salad, Anne curled up in a lounge chair on the balcony with the stack of files she’d pieced together on Edward Payton. She located several paragraphs that mentioned his wife. The accompanying photograph showed a lovely woman with flaming red hair and dark, haunted eyes.
“Poor thing.” Anne shook her head in sympathy, wondering what terrible sorrow had driven the woman into the shadows of alcoholism. A strong respect for Kai welled inside of her. At least he hadn’t deserted his wife. Barbara was in her own home instead of an institution, and it certainly sounded as if she were well cared for.
By early evening, Anne had finished a review of the Payton files and made a preliminary outline of the approach she planned to use. She had a leisurely bath in steaming water scented with jasmine oil, then nibbled a slice of melba toast and enjoyed a last cup of tea before she went to bed.
But sleep didn’t come with its usual ease. The stars floated in the warm black night outside her window, stirring a sudden yearning inside of her. She rolled onto the side of the bed where Kai had lain—strange that it should seem so empty now. Anne closed her eyes, trying to recapture the vivid memory of his hard, lean body awaiting hers and the freefalling pleasure of total satisfaction. When she finally slept a smile curved her lips.
* * * *
“We picked a beautiful day to explore Hong Kong.” Kai’s coal-black slacks hugged his long legs and his white polo shirt complemented his broad shoulders. She stole a sideways glance as he turned the ignition key. Although she’d met quite a few Eurasians since relocating in Hong Kong, Kai's striking appearance was the most perfect blend of Caucasian and Oriental blood that she had ever seen. While the Mercedes idled at the intersection of Queen’s Road Central he caught her peeking and quirked an eyebrow. “Would you care to share the source of your amusement or is the joke a private one?”
Anne burst out laughing. “Actually, the joke is on me. Before we met I had you pictured as this pompous old goat with beady little eyes and a bulbous nose. Maybe even a stubborn case of the gout!”
Her description of her preconceived notions brought a smile to his lips.
“You certainly shot holes in my research,” she added, feeling the faint stirrings of admiration for his skill in dodging the media. “I never suspected otherwise, because there are no photographs of you. And neither your Chinese heritage nor your age were ever mentioned in any of the articles I read to prepare for the interview.”
“There is an excellent reason for that.” The shadow of his frown marred the light moment. “I always retain the privilege of final approval before a manuscript is published. No one who writes about me is allowed to refer to the fact that I am Eurasian.”
“But that’s censorship!” Anne was appalled at the idea.
“No,” he countered in a grim voice. “That is simply an attempt to make certain that the news is accurately reported instead of maliciously created. Journalists in the Western hemisphere enjoy a great deal of freedom—too much so, in many instances. When your American colleagues balked at my restrictions, I simply refused to grant them interviews.”
“Surely you’re not ashamed of the fact that you’re Eurasian?” Anne couldn’t believe that was the case, but she didn’t understand his attitude and she wanted to try.
“No, I an not ashamed,” he assured her. “My upbringing combined the best of both worlds. However, because my parents’ privacy was invaded so ruthlessly for so many years I prefer to keep a low profile.” His introspective expression was rueful evidence that some old wounds never heal entirely.
Anne wanted to reach out and stroke his rigid jawline, to soothe away any hurt that might still haunt him. Instead, she waited quietly for him to continue.
“I have walked a razor-thin racial line all of my life, and I'm used to ignoring the prejudge of others.” There was no
malice in his tone. He’d accepted what he couldn’t change about his circumstances and made the best of them. “My father was a British officer and my mother is descended from Chinese nobility. Their marriage breached many barriers because the two cultures rarely mingled, especially during World War II. So, my mother ‘lost face’ with her family and my father was disinherited after they married.”
“How tragic!” No matter that Kai was stoic, Anne was able to muster enough righteous indignation for the both of them.
“It wasn’t quite the Shakespearean drama you’re imagining.” A faint smile tinged his lips. “Their love was a strong, unique bond that enabled them to withstand the gossip and innuendos. Our life was simple and secluded but it was a good one.”
There were as many facets to Kai’s personality as there were patterns in a kaleidoscope, and Anne was anxious to know them all. But he had evidently revealed more of himself than he had intended, and the silence stretched for minutes as the Mercedes turned onto Wyndham Street.
“Where are we going?” She looked around with interest.
“I have planned a number of things for us to do.” His confident tone and the flash of his perfect white teeth assured her that he was enjoying his role as tour guide. “First we’ll go to the Botanical Garden; it’s early enough for us to see the Tai Chi Chuan.”
Anne’s blank look was an immediate giveaway.
“It looks similar to ballet exercises,” he explained. “But the people doing Tai Chi are actually perpetuating a tradition that is four thousand years old. Taoist monks originated it as a form of exercise to gain respite from long periods of meditation.”
Kai parked the car on a winding street lined by tall eucalyptus trees. They walked hand in hand along a shaded path that was one of several entrances to acres of painstakingly landscaped slopes and terraces. Anne was entranced by the varieties of lush fruit trees—guava, papaya, tangerine, Japanese apricot; Kai recognized them all by name.
The garden itself was a riot of color—brilliant red and pink hibiscus blooms, and purple, red and orange bougainvillea. The early morning mist had lifted, and the fragrance of the flowers and shrubs filled the air with such a sweet scent that Anne stopped every so often to inhale deeply.
“Is that the exercise?” As they entered a more open area of the park that was crisscrossed with walkways Anne noticed at least twenty men feinting and dodging like they were shadowboxing.
“That is the Tai Chi Chuan,” he confirmed. “There are fourteen movements, each of which trains a certain area of the body.”
“Do only men practice it?” Her question held a mild note of challenge.
“Of course not.” He chuckled softly at her indignant expression. “Women do it, too; however, they usually practice it in private. If you look behind some of the hedges you will see just as many women as there are men out in the open.”
“It looks fascinating,” she murmured. “I used to practice Kundalini yoga, but somehow I got out of the habit when I was transferred to the Middle East. I've promised myself a dozen times that I'd start again, but time just keeps slipping away.”
“Kundalini is good for one’s soul,” Kai said. “I hope you can begin to study some type of meditation discipline soon. If you wish, I would be happy to instruct you in the basics of Tai Chi.”
“I may take you up on that.” The graceful movements of the exercisers, their serene expressions, left her enthralled. And judging from the fine-planed length of Kai’s physique, Tai Chi was certainly beneficial.
“The Zoological Garden is just across Albany Road.” He took her hand and they walked in that direction. There was a new spring in Anne’s step, sparked by his obvious delight in sharing his world with her. Meandering paths led them past aviaries filled with colorful, chattering birds. Enclosures of various types housed a small collection of animals. Anne and Kai laughed together at the antics of rhesus monkeys and playful otters.
“I never dreamed there was so much to see and do!”
Anne’s eyes traveled in slow deliberation from the mysterious amber gaze of a Chinese leopard to the sinuous, savage beauty of the man standing beside her. She lifted her face to the salty breeze, feeling it stir her hair. It seemed so right to be here with him And yet . . .
“Your introduction to Hong Kong’s variety has just begun.” Kai turned, his coal-black eyes scanning her with that keen, perceptive ability to tune in to her thoughts. The enticing promise of his mouth tantalized her, and her pulse fluttered in the hollow of her throat. “How is your appetite?”
“I'm starved!” And she was. To Anne’s surprise they’d been walking for several hours.
After a short drive to a nearby hotel they were seated in the equivalent of an English dining room. Kai ordered a hearty breakfast for two, complete right down to the pot of orange marmalade.
Anne relaxed, trying to decipher the strange new feelings that the man sitting across from her inspired. Edward-Kai was the definitive study in contrasts. He had spent the morning introducing her to a totally Chinese world. And now, here he was, as equally at home as a country squire in his favorite private pub. There was a balanced quality to Kai’s nature that Anne envied. The pragmatic side of him was seasoned by the passionate side: his iron strength was tempered with a velvet vulnerability. How sad that before she had the opportunity to really know him she would probably be packing for another assignment in some other remote corner of the globe.
“I’m stuffed as an eggroll.” Anne groaned playfully as they walked back to the car. “It’s a good thing I opted for comfortable clothes today.” Her white linen slacks and navy gauze top were sleekly styled but casual. “I almost dressed up because I didn’t know how formal people are on Sundays.”
“You’re beautiful, with clothes or without them.”
Anne’s breath caught in her throat They stopped, swaying toward one another, yet remaining apart.
“I'm glad you wore your hair down today.” There was a husky catch in his voice that sent vibrations racing through her. His long fingers threaded the tumbling gold profusion, constrained only by a navy grosgrain ribbon. Anne’s knees trembled as ambiguous yearnings coiled inside of her.
Dusky purple darkened the horizon by the time Kai stopped at the curb in front of her apartment building. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned that he was in direct violation of the prominently displayed No Parking sign.
“Next time we will visit Kowloon,” he promised.
“Good, you can take me to one of the resettlement villages. I'm working on a story about the refugee problem and I want to examine all the facets before I sit down to the typewriter.”
“Refugees—that’s a long way from a story about a jewel merchant.” Kai looked at her from under his sooty lashes, his curious gaze urging her to tell him more.
“Diversity is the name of the game,” she answered blithely.
“What is it you want to know?”
“I'm concentrating on the ugly, sweatshop-style abuse of those poor people.” Anne was surprised by the stony expression that hardened his handsome features.
“That’s an extremely tender subject with some powerful people,” he warned in a grim tone. “Why disturb a hornet’s nest? They’re not easy to deal with when they’re angered.”
“They can’t be any tougher to crack than you.” She laughed off his concern as she stepped out of the car.
They moved into the shadows of the canopy over the building’s front door.
“I'll leave you here, Anne.” Kai’s lips brushed her cheek and then his eyes dwelt on her mouth. The musky scent of him was as soft as his murmured, “Sleep well, my Lotus.”
Anne didn’t know whether to feel rejected by the unexpectedly brief farewell, or relieved that he was giving her the additional time to adjust to the sensual tempo that would direct their relationship. She had assumed that he would want to come upstairs—especially after their visit in his office on Friday. And if the truth were known, she was hungry for the feel
of him and the golden inferno of his lovemaking.
She stood inside the lobby, watching as the taillights of the Mercedes disappeared into the night. As the elevator whisked her upward Anne’s spirits lifted, too. “Kai Shanpei or Edward Payton, whoever you really are, I like you.”
Chapter 3
“Did you know that it’s illegal in thirteen countries to trip people with your lower lip?” Madge Rogers propped her ample body on the corner of Anne’s desk, primed for their occasional exchange of news tips and plain old gossip.
Anne glanced glumly up from the scattered piles of paper and the cassette tapes littering the scarred surface of her desk. A weak smile was the best response she could muster.
“What’s happened to that live wire who was sitting in that very same chair just two weeks ago?” Madge wore a look of disapproval and her arms were crossed over her full bosom. “I figured you’d be as high as a kite in the Dragon Festival after landing the two juiciest assignments in Hong Kong. Instead, you’re moping around here like an old rag doll.”
Anne’s deep sigh failed to relieve the tight band of tension that was constricting her normal flow of energy and competence. There was no rational way to explain her mysterious behavior—the sudden fading euphoria and growing discontent—without revealing her emotional predicament, too.
“I suppose I haven’t been getting enough rest.”
Anne was ashamed of the feeble excuse, but it was the best she could do. She desperately wished she had someone to talk to, someone who could share the burden of her problem. But women in this profession were notorious loners, and she and Madge weren’t friends in the confiding sense of the word.
“Is that Payton character still giving you fits?” Madge was too preoccupied studying a headline on the front page of the China Post to catch the startled expression that flickered across Anne’s face. Obviously unaware of how close she was to zeroing in on the source off Anne’s unusual conduct, Madge rambled on. “I’ve heard he’s a real cold fish when it comes to dealing with the press.”