One Night in the Orient (4 page)

Siena had refused the offer of the cottage and done her best to reassure her, but now she stared around the hotel room as though she’d never seen it before.

“What now?” she said aloud, then caught herself up.

No need to feel it was the end of the world. So it had all happened at once, but friends had emergencies and parents went on long-anticipated cruises.

And fiancés fell in love with someone else.

Nobody ever died of a broken heart. Eventually this dull pain would ease.

She dragged in a sharp stabbing breath. She’d organise her return journey to New Zealand, then go down and wait for Nick in the foyer, tell him she couldn’t go out to dinner with him.

She would, she thought tautly, be extremely boring company, and he’d probably only asked her because he knew her parents were leaving and she’d be alone.

In effect, he’d behaved just like the brother he considered himself to be.

Nick saw her as soon as he entered the foyer. She hadn’t noticed him, and something about the way she was sitting made him frown, and quicken his pace. A friend had once described her—patronisingly—as “a taking little thing”. Tiny and black-haired, with eyes so blue they were a startling contrast to her porcelain skin, she certainly looked doll-like—except for her mouth. Lush, sensuously curved, her mouth was a delicious miracle made for smiles—and kisses.

Now it was pinched, and set in a straight line. She was holding herself stiffly, warding off an invisible blow. Nick swore under his breath and increased the length of his stride.

It was impossible to link Siena with the word defeat, but that was how she looked—as though she’d been knocked to the ground so roughly she couldn’t be bothered getting up again. And she certainly wasn’t dressed for dinner.

Her parents …?

“What’s the matter?” he demanded from two strides away.

She blinked as though she didn’t recognise him. Then with a brave attempt at her usual spark she said, “Oh, a couple of things, but it’s not the end of the world.”

Nothing had happened to Hugh and Diane, then. Hiding his relief, he said more moderately, “So tell me.”

The hands in her lap tensed. No ring, he realised.

What the hell—?

She said, “Well, I think I mentioned I was going to stay with a friend in Cornwall, but that’s off.”

Nick listened to her explanation, nodding when she finished. “So what are you going to do?”

Her white teeth dented her curved bottom lip. Nick’s gut tightened in spontaneous appreciation of that succulent mouth. Damn it, asking her out had been a bad idea; he should never have succumbed to the questionable impulse.

Getting to her feet, she said in a rigidly controlled voice, “I’m trying to get a flight back home.”

“And?”

“So far no luck, but I’ll keep at it.” Nick frowned. “So you’ve got a week to spend in London?”

She shook her head. “No.” “Why?”

“Can’t afford it,” she admitted, lifting her chin to give him a direct glance that glittered a challenge. “I have to go home.”

Now was not the time to press her about the absence of her engagement ring. He owed it to her parents to make sure she was all right. “We can discuss your options over dinner. Come on.”

After a moment’s hesitation she shook her head. “I’d really rather not, Nick. I’m not dressed—”

“It’s all right. We’ll eat at my place.”

He saw her waver and felt an odd, irritating triumph when she nodded.

“Very well,” she said quietly, as though too tired to protest further. But once she got up she made a final objection. “Nick, I’m probably not going to be very good company.”

“Why?”

“Oh, nothing important.” Her voice was stronger, more like the Siena he knew.

You’re lying. And you’ll tell me what’s going on before the evening’s out,
he thought. The Siena he
remembered wouldn’t have let a change in plans affect her like this.

She said, “I’ll go up and get changed. I won’t be any more than ten minutes.”

“You’re fine the way you are,” he told her.

After giving his suit a brief glance she said with a return to her usual tone, “I’ll change.”

Shoulders held very erect, she walked across the foyer towards the lift. Although small, he thought, his loins stirring again, she was in perfect proportion. Well-worn jeans showed off slim, elegantly shaped legs, and the clear pink thing she wore on top marked every curve of breast and hip, and the narrow allure of her waist.

He wasn’t the only one watching her. The receptionist, a boy not long out of his teens, was also following her progress with too much interest. A spurt of anger took Nick by surprise.

He caught the kid’s eye, and was coldly and foolishly pleased when he flushed and with a bobbing Adam’s apple got busy with the computer. Nick transferred his gaze to two other men. Hastily they abandoned their interested survey and disappeared into the bar.

Satisfied, Nick quelled his cold disapproval and
waited.

S
IENA
eyed her blue dress—a little tired after its outing the previous night, but it was all she had. Nick had somehow managed to overcome her instinctive need to hide away like a wounded animal—aided by her realisation that she’d be better off in his powerful, formidable presence than sitting alone in her hotel room wondering why her only two serious relationships had ended with the men she loved—or thought she loved—leaving her.

That bitter feeling of alienation chilled her. She struggled with the impulse to tear off her clothes and crawl into bed. It wouldn’t work—if she knew one thing about Nick it was that he was determined. One way or another, he’d get her out of her room.

Anyway, self-pity was a loser’s indulgence.

But the prospect of eating anything made her feel sick, a nausea that escalated when the lift started to take her down.

When she saw Nick, darkly dominant and looking more than a little grim, she managed a smile. He didn’t return it. Head held high, she parried his keen scrutiny and a strange alteration to her heartbeat transmuted into racing pulses and a moment of lightness, of keen anticipation.

“I only brought one going-out-to-dinner outfit,” she told him. Heavens, was that her voice—husky and almost hesitant?

Get a grip,
she ordered.

“So? You look charming,” he said calmly, and took her arm. “I suppose you travelled with nothing more than hand luggage?”

Rills of sensation ran from his fingers to her spine, spreading out through every cell in a gentle flood. Almost she shivered, and it took a considerable amount of self-control to respond in the easy tone of one old friend to another, “Afraid not. I expected to be here for a week, and as it’s winter on this side of the equator I had to pack warm clothes.
I
don’t have a home in every capital, with wardrobes full of clothes made specially for me.”

“Neither do I,” he said crisply, nodding to the doorman.

“Just about.”

He gave her a saturnine smile. “I own two dwellings.”

“Which one do you call home?”

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he said finally, “The one in Auckland.”

Strangely that warmed her as Nick guided her into the waiting car.

Once inside he turned to her. “Apart from your friend’s news, did you have a good day?”

“Most of it was great, thank you.” She made him laugh, relating a small incident in a park involving an elderly dowager and a small child, and slowly her tension subsided.

She even thought bracingly,
I can do this. I can stay in one piece long enough to last out the evening.

Once she got herself onto a plane she could shatter if she needed to. Nobody would know her, so nobody would care if she spent the whole trip in glum silence.

But first she had to get her ticket changed.

Nick said, “I called my PA while you were dressing. There’s a possibility of an immediate trip back to New Zealand. She might ring while we’re having dinner.”

“Oh—Nick, that’s kind of you, but you didn’t need to.” She glanced at his unsmiling face, and ignored a vagrant shiver down her spine when his lashes drooped. “Your poor PA—she’s probably muttering oaths under her breath.”

“I doubt it. She’s paid well, worth every penny, and accustomed to being on call whenever I need her.”

Siena imagined a prim, super-efficient middle-aged woman, silently and hopelessly in love with her employer. “At night?” she asked without trying to hide her scepticism. “Obviously she has no family.”

“On the contrary, she has two small children.” Nick went on smoothly, “Her husband is the housekeeper in that home.”

Siena digested this in silence. “Very modern.”

“It works for them. You’d probably like them—they’re an interesting couple.”

Absently Siena nodded, but said, “Won’t she need my ticket number and other information? You should have told me at the hotel and I could have got it for you.”

“If she does, tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”

By then the car was slowing down in a quiet street
flanked on either side by rows of lovely Georgian houses.

Siena gazed through the vehicle window with appreciation. “If anyone had asked me, I’d have said you’d choose an ultra-modern penthouse in a tower block.”

“I prefer this.”

“Who wouldn’t?” She gave a wry smile. “Actually, it suits you—very studied, very controlled.”
And gorgeous …
“I can see you as a Regency buck, driving your phaeton and four up to the door.”

“I’d have to check, but I suspect phaetons only had two horses,” he said.

“Trust you to know that,” she said on a half-laugh.

One brow lifted, he looked down at her. “Why?”

“When we first met you Gemma and I decided you knew everything important in the world.”

His beautiful mouth quirked. “Six years’ difference in age can do that. Growing up must have meant sad disillusion for you both.”

He stopped, and for a moment she thought she saw something like regret darken his eyes. Was he remembering that he’d had a hand in shattering more than a few of her illusions?

Probably not. Turning her head so he couldn’t see her face, she pretended to examine the street, serene and gracious in the light of the lamps.

Even at nineteen she’d been worldly-wise enough to know that the link between them was fragile and not likely to last. The knowledge hadn’t prevented her heartbreak, but at least Nick had never made any promises to her.

She shouldn’t have come with him. When she could
trust her voice she said steadily, “Disillusion happens to everyone.”

“To those who still have illusions,” he said, his voice hard and level. “Siena—”

He stopped, his mouth thinning as the car drew up in front of a flight of steps leading to an impressive door.

Right then Siena would have given everything she owned to be somewhere—anywhere—else. The very last thing she wanted from him was an apology for his behaviour five years ago.

Once inside the building she gazed around with undisguised interest and quickly, before he could say any more, said, “Nick, this is lovely.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

The graceful drawing room was furnished with an aura of elegant restraint that echoed her host’s vital, coolly self-disciplined authority. The decorator had married antique and modern pieces with flair and style.

“Whoever did this knew you very well,” she said without thinking.

He ignored the comment. “I think you need an aperitif. Still Sauvignon Blanc?”

“Yes, thank you.” It had been years since she’d told him how much she enjoyed that particular wine, and she was surprised and strangely cheered that he remembered.

It was a New Zealand white, crisp and delicious, and after the first sip she set the glass down and looked at him. That odd kick in her heartbeat startled her again. “You can take the Kiwi out of New Zealand …” she teased.

His smile was a little narrow. “I like other wines as well, but this seemed appropriate for tonight. Here’s to
your happiness. Why aren’t you wearing your engagement ring?”

Siena flinched, her gaze falling to her empty finger. Adrian hadn’t stayed around for long, she thought on a spurt of anger. A thin line of slightly paler skin revealed that she’d been wearing the ring for only a short time.

It was still in her hotel room. When she’d enquired about the cost of sending it back, the insurance had been so much she’d been unable to afford it.

It took a lot of willpower to meet Nick’s green eyes, but she parried their unsparing assessment with head held high. She wouldn’t lie to him.

Straightening her shoulders, she said briefly, “When I got back to my room in the hotel there was an email from my fiancé telling me he’d found someone else.”

The base of Nick’s glass made a sharp little clink as he set it down on the nearest table. He strode towards her, his expression formidably angry. “An
email?”
he demanded incredulously.

Clutching her glass, she nodded, unable to articulate her tumbling thoughts.

Nick opened his mouth, then closed it again, biting back words she was glad she didn’t have to hear. He took her glass and set it down, then drew her towards him. On an uneven sigh Siena let herself relax into the strong arms enfolding her. Her forehead came to rest on a powerfully muscled shoulder as he stroked slowly across her back in soothing, potently comforting movements.

Siena dragged in several more ragged breaths and abandoned herself to the simple relief of being held.

In a cold, uncompromising voice he said, “Cry if you want to.”

“I don’t,” she said, blinking back ferocious tears. If she cried it would be because Nick was being so kind—in a brotherly way, of course, she reminded herself drearily.

Well, that was all right.

Still in that formidable tone he said, “It’s too early to say this, but anyone who would break off an engagement by email is someone you don’t need in your life.”

And when she stayed silent he added, “Not now and not ever.”

She nodded. “I know,” she muttered. “It’s all right. I’m not going to crack up.”

“I didn’t expect you to. Not you.”