Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Author the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

Chase gave a half smile

“If I had a wife,” he mocked, “believe me, she would not have her own bed. She’d share mine.”

“She’d have to want to,” Sky blurted out. Oh no, why couldn’t she control her tongue?

His green eyes met hers. “Oh,” he said slowly, meaningfully, “she’d want to.”

Disturbing images flooded her mind and she pushed them away with an effort. “Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she asked.

He smiled. “Oh, very….”

Ever since KAREN VAN DER ZEE was a child growing up in Holland, she wanted to do two things: write books and travel. She’s been very lucky. Her American husband’s work as a development economist has taken them to many exotic locations. They were married in Kenya, had their first daughter in Ghana and their second in the United States. They spent two fascinating years in Indonesia. Since then, they’ve added a son to the family, as well. They live in Virginia, but not permanently!

Captive In Eden
Karen Van Der Zee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

BY THE time they arrived at the old Virginia plantation house for the cocktail party, Sky was clenching her teeth and her stomach churned. She should have waited to tell Sean the news until later, only she’d been so excited and she’d hoped so much he’d understand and be excited too.

But he wasn’t.

She let the anger squash down the pain. Anger was easier to deal with for the moment.

‘We’ll discuss this later,’ he said now as he parked the car. His voice was coldly businesslike and it made her furious. She was not one of his employees who were being paid to do what he told them to. She was her own person with her own life and her own dreams and she had the right to make her own decisions.

He held the car door open for her and she swung her legs to the side and got out, giving his handsome face a stony stare as she did so.

Silently they walked the short way up to the front doors of the plantation house. It was a beautiful historic building with a large wrap-around porch and formally landscaped gardens. It was worth a ton of money, but the owners of the Montana Group had tons of money, according to Sean.

A butler ushered them into a marble-floored foyer and into a large, high-ceilinged room where the cocktail party was in full swing. Men in sober suits and women in elegant dresses stood around in small groups, talking and smiling. Diamonds glittered and champagne flowed. Waiters weaved around with trays of drinks and platters of beautifully presented food.

‘There he is,’ said Sean. ‘The man rubbing his chin.’

The man rubbing his chin looked just as Sky had expected—tall, sophisticated, sleek and ruthless. His dark suit was impeccable, his dress shirt blindingly white, his hair combed back and trimmed immaculately. He had striking green eyes that had a predatory glint in them as he glanced around the room. Looking for prey, she thought with a spark of amusement, the assessment instinctive. Here was a man with power and money, one of the owners of the Montana Group, a family company that owned luxury hotels and tourist resorts the world over. And they were here to celebrate one more project—a large tourist hotel in the Ecuadorian rainforest. She didn’t like the sound of it one bit.

The green eyes clashed with hers. An electric spark tingled through her nervous system and her heart missed a beat. No wonder—she didn’t like that arrogant self-possession he emanated; it made the hair prickle at the back of her neck. His eyes not leaving her face, he came towards them, moving forward with an economy of movement, weaving through the crowd of people, easily and confidently—a man at home in his own body.

And a good body it was, she had no doubt. Just watching him move told her that.

His smile was polite. ‘Sean, glad you could make it,’ he said in a deep, utterly masculine voice that had a faint, elegant southern lilt. But his tone was cool, as were his eyes as he looked at Sean.

He doesn’t like Sean, she thought, and then the penetrating green gaze was full on her face and he extended his hand to her. ‘Chase Montana,’ he said, not giving Sean the chance to introduce them.

His hand was firm as he grasped hers. Her heart began to gallop at the look of interest in his eyes. No, not mere interest—it was more intense than that. Perhaps it was only because of the green of his eyes, compelling eyes that missed nothing.

His hair was a rich, dark brown. He had a nose with a bump on it—Roman, or Greek—she wasn’t sure what they called it. Or maybe somebody had broken his nose in a rage. She could well imagine such a possibility. He was a man who could evoke extremes of emotion, she was quite sure. Unaccountably, a shiver went down her spine. It was an odd experience to have such an instant, strong reaction to a stranger.

‘Sky Malone,’ she told him and tried to extract her hand. He was holding on just a bit too long for comfort.

One dark brow arched fractionally. ‘Sky…an interesting name. I like it.’

‘Thank you,’ she said politely. ‘So do I.’

His mouth quirked. ‘Please, come in and have a drink.’

Sean went straight for the Scotch. Sky kept to a glass of champagne and slipped away from Sean into a small adjoining room where a table in the middle held a miniature version of the hotel and grounds that would be constructed in Ecuador. Maps, photographs, blueprints and artist renderings were displayed on the walls.

Twenty-five acres of primal rainforest would be cleared for the project. Roads would be built, hiking paths hacked through the jungle, a boating dock built at the river’s edge.

Wealthy tourists would flock to the hotel from where they could discover the miracle that was the rainforest, and gawk at the indigenous people living there, who, of course, would gawk back.

Having had a good look around, Sky left the room. Sean was deep in conversation with two other men, smiling and looking animated.

Sean was handsome, charming and smart. She’d liked the charming part of him the best, at least when she’d first met him a few months ago. Lately it was beginning to annoy her. He liked being charming a little too much. The smart part had some problems too, as far as Sky was concerned. She hadn’t immediately noticed this, but it had become more and more obvious that Sean was manipulative and controlling, character traits that made her want to run screaming for the woods.

During the drive over to the party, the atmosphere had soured as soon as she had mentioned her trip to Mexico. He had stiffened and waves of disapproval had billowed forth from him.

‘A month?’ he’d said, incredulous.

‘Yes.’

‘Sky, you can’t leave for a whole month. I need you.’

This was supposed to make her feel good—loved, wanted.

It made her furious.

She didn’t get angry easily and she’d stared rigidly out of the car window trying to stay calm, trying to find the humour in the situation. But Sean was being selfish and it simply wasn’t humorous.

She watched him now as he was being his charming self, feeling her heart contract. It was going wrong. Again it was going wrong. Again there was that terrible sense of loneliness at the realisation that she had to do her dreaming and hoping by herself.

With Josh she had shared everything and together they had planned and dreamed. He had thought everything she did with her camera was magic; she’d thought everything he wrote with his pen was magic.

She sighed and took a drink from her champagne. She was twenty-seven years old and she was never, never going to find another man she could love. She was going to end up sad, single and childless—lonely and unfulfilled. She looked down at the bubbly champagne in her glass and grinned at her own melodrama. Sometimes, making fun of her own fears made them easier to face.

Still, eight years was a long time to be alone, a long time to be lonely. None of the other men she had known since Josh had been able to fill up the emptiness. Maybe something was wrong with her. Maybe subconsciously she picked the wrong men, for whatever perverse, hidden reason.

The large French doors stood open and the outside gardens beckoned. The wildlife outside was much more interesting than the wildlife inside, so she slipped out into the cool evening air.

It was a lovely spring night with lots of stars and a half-moon. Discreetly hidden outdoor lights illuminated the gardens, creating a romantic, fairytale atmosphere. Being outside made her feel better. Cocktail parties were not exactly her scene, and certainly not this kind. The people in the room represented a lot of power and wealth and the very air was charged with it. It was a bit intimidating, especially when you were more used to communing with spiders and squirrels than with people. She was afraid she’d say the wrong thing to the wrong person. One of her flaws was that her mouth sometimes got away from her. She’d say things before thinking about them. This was not always appreciated, and when she was wrong it was mortifying.

Footsteps came down the path and she recognised Chase Montana. She felt her body tense for no reason that made any sense except that he had a magnetism she reacted to involuntarily. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to react to this man.

‘Nice night,’ he said, taking a sip from his drink.

‘Yes,’ she said. He was awfully tall. Of course, almost anybody was tall next to her five feet two.

‘Did you see the mock-up?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘What did you think?’ He looked at her with interest, as if it mattered what she thought. It mattered nothing. She was not a potential investor in the project and had no connections with it one way or another. Was he just making conversation?

Not for a minute, came the automatic answer. He was not a man who wasted time making idle chit-chat. He was talking to her for a reason, whatever it was, and what he wanted to know was what she thought of the project.

She hesitated. Watch your mouth, she admonished herself. He glanced down at her and smiled faintly.

‘Go ahead.’

‘It’s going to be a beautiful hotel, and I’m sure the grounds are going to be magnificent.’ This was true enough.

‘But?’

‘I didn’t say but.’

His eyes studied her face. ‘Ah, but there is a but,’ he said slowly. ‘I can see it in your eyes. You do not altogether approve.’

No, not altogether. She scrambled for appropriately polite words.

‘I don’t know all the details and circumstances and I’ve never been to Ecuador. I don’t like giving uninformed opinions.’ Boy, that sounded good. She was proud of herself.

His mouth quirked. ‘Very commendable. However, you do have an opinion?’

‘Of course I have an opinion.’ For some reason, his questions made her uneasy. She sipped her drink and looked off into the shadowed gardens. She was truly making an effort to keep control over her tongue but he was not making it easy.

He looked at her questioningly. ‘Are you going to tell me?’

The man was impossible. She sighed. ‘To tell you the truth, Mr Montana, it bothers me. The hotel is very large. It will hold a lot of people.’

‘The better to make money.’

Irritation flared up inside her. Money. As if that excused everything.

‘Yes. But that’s not what bothers me.’

‘The making money part?’

‘No. There’s nothing wrong with making money. What matters is how, and at what cost, and to whom.’

His eyes narrowed and he studied her for a moment. ‘And you have your doubts as to whether this project will be making money in a responsible manner,’ he stated slowly.

She looked straight into his eyes and threw caution to the winds. ‘Yes. From the information I got from the display, I understand that the hotel will be put in quite an isolated area of primal rainforest. From the photos and that anthropological little blurb on the wall it is obvious that the indigenous people there live very traditional lives and have had little contact with the outside world. Bringing in large numbers of wealthy westerners into a place like that is irresponsible.’ So there, she’d said it. He’d asked for it.

His face was shadowed in the dim light. ‘Rainforests are big tourist attractions these days,’ he commented.

His attitude aggravated her no end. ‘I understand that,’ she said tightly, ‘but a hotel full of people with cameras and video recorders and watches and sunglasses is going to have a big impact on the place and not all positive!’ She took a deep breath. ‘Everywhere in the world we can see the damage tourists do!’ She was off and going. ‘In Kenya the wildlife is suffering because too many tourists disturb their natural living rhythms. Tropical reefs are damaged and fish species become extinct because there are too many divers! We’re wiping out traditional cultures, sometimes entire tribes by introducing them to the joys and comforts of modern civilisation!’

She stopped herself and drew in a deep breath and stared into the shadowed garden. Protection of the environment was a subject close to her heart, but she did not want to sound like a ranting zealot.

‘You cannot hold back progress,’ he said mildly.

What a lousy excuse, she wanted to say, but swallowed the words. ‘There’s progress and progress,’ she said stubbornly, trying to keep her cool. ‘There’s doing it responsibly and doing it irresponsibly. And going by what I’ve seen and heard about your project I can only conclude that it’s not responsible.’ This was an understatement, of course. She thought it was a disgrace. She looked at his shadowed face, unwavering. ‘And I’m sure I’m not the only one who has voiced these sentiments.’

He inclined his head slightly, his face inscrutable. ‘No, indeed, you are not.’ He gestured at the house. ‘However, none of the people who has done so is present here, so I suggest you keep your opinion to yourself.’

The gall of the man! ‘I would have kept it to myself had you not pushed me! You very specifically asked for my opinion and I gave it!’

His mouth curved crookedly. ‘Indeed you did. And I compliment you on your very diplomatic language. I have heard the same opinion expressed in much less flattering words.’ He took a sip from his drink, his eyes on her face. ‘I’d better go inside and tend to my other guests. Enjoy the scenery.’

She watched him stride into the house. Had she made him angry? She couldn’t tell and she didn’t care. He’d asked for her opinion and she’d given it.

‘Enjoy the scenery’, he had said. Well, she would. She was in no mood to converse with people who destroyed nature for the sole purpose of adding on to their wealth. She took a deep breath of the fragrant air and glanced around. Massive old trees—oaks and hickories and hemlocks—shaded the house. Delicate Japanese maples with their wine-red foliage added elegance and large azaleas brightened the grounds with splashes of bright colour.

She was not meant to have peace and quiet, because Sean appeared minutes after Chase had gone back into the house. He draped an arm possessively around her and she stiffened instinctively. She had never done that before and she knew it was a sign, clear and immutable in its meaning. It was over between them. She did not love him. She could not love him. Her throat ached and she swallowed painfully.

‘I was looking for you,’ he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. ‘Nice party. What are you doing out here?’

‘I just wanted a little fresh air.’ Obviously his anger towards her had cooled, but she could not ignore the significance of the incident in the car. She couldn’t stay blind to Sean’s selfish and disrespectful attitude towards her.

‘What do you think of Chase?’ he asked.

‘Very imposing. Consummately self-confident.’

Sean laughed. ‘Too bad his brother Breck isn’t here. He’s in the Far East negotiating another deal. The two of them make quite a combo. I think I’m going to make out like a bandit on this one,’ he said with smug satisfaction. ‘Everybody and his dog wants to see the rainforest these days.’

Sean was one of the potential investors of the project, be it a small one, but his enthusiasm was large. He hadn’t told her many details and she hadn’t understood the extent of the project until she’d seen the mock-up and other displays this evening. She didn’t feel like talking to him about it and getting into another argument. One argument with him in a day was quite enough. She said nothing.

His hand stroked the nape of her neck. ‘I’m sorry I upset you earlier,’ he went on. ‘But please be reasonable about this trip.’

Fresh anger rose to her head. She moved away from him, gritting her teeth. Sean’s definition of reasonable was giving in to his wishes.

‘You don’t have to go, do you?’ he asked when she did not reply.

Despair mixed itself with her anger—a bitter concoction. He had not changed his mind. He didn’t take her seriously. She swallowed hard. ‘The answer is yes and no. Yes, of course I have to go. This is a fantastic opportunity. And no, I don’t have to go—not as in being obliged to because I’m being ordered by a superior.’

‘So it comes down to the fact that you want to go.’

Anger was taking the upper hand now. ‘Of course I want to go! It’ll be good for my career. You don’t get it, do you? Tell me honestly why you don’t want me to go on this trip!’

‘It’s dangerous, camping out in the wilds like that. You might catch something.’ He was looking the other way as he said it, as if he didn’t quite dare to look her in the face.

She gave a mocking little laugh. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Don’t make me laugh.’ He was making excuses, as if his objection stemmed from his concern for her welfare rather than his own self-interest.

‘You’ll be gone a long time.’ He looked grim.

‘A month. Surely you can survive a month without me.’

‘We’ll have to cancel next weekend.’

‘Yes. I am sorry about that.’ They’d been invited by one of his friends to spend a weekend on his luxury yacht cruising the Chesapeake Bay. She’d looked forward to it, but sacrifices had to be made sometimes. Was it too much to ask from a man that on occasion he accommodate a woman’s career needs?

Sean sighed impatiently. ‘Sky, I needed the time off! I’ve worked at neck-breaking speed lately and I need some relaxation!’

‘You can go without me, Sean.’ She felt a wave of fatigue wash over her. She didn’t want to have this conversation. It was hopeless and useless, and he simply refused to understand.

His jaw went rigid. His grey eyes looked icy. ‘That wasn’t the plan. I want you with me.’

‘I know, but sometimes plans need to be changed,’ she said wearily. He was acting like a spoiled brat. Not an endearing quality in a manor anyone else, for that matter.

‘I thought you’d want to be with me. I thought we…had something.’

You’re wrong, she thought, feeling sadness overwhelm her. ‘I think you’re being extremely selfish, Sean. Why can’t you see that this trip is important for my career?’

He said nothing. It was a very eloquent silence and she felt her heart sink.

‘You don’t really think my career is important, do you?’ She heard the dull resignation in her own voice. She’d recognised the truth, but had resisted putting it into words until now. ‘You seem to think it’s some sort of hobby.’

‘Very few photographers ever make it big, Sky. You know that.’

She tensed. ‘I’ll make it, Sean. I am making it. I’ve done very well this past year.’ Her Hope series had been exhibited in the Benedict gallery in Washington D.C. She’d had several very good assignments. It just took time and perseverence in this business. And a lot of hard work. ‘I support myself, I pay taxes, I have no debts and I own my own house.’

‘A barn, Sky,’ he said with a dismissive gesture. ‘You live in a barn.’ He said it as if she slept in the straw with the pigs.

However, she did live in a barn—a remodelled old red barn—and she loved it. It was certainly an eccentric place to live, but it was spacious, comfortable, unique and it suited her needs perfectly. It was, obviously, not up to Sean’s sophisticated standards. Well, she’d had enough of Sean and his sophisticated standards.

‘You don’t respect my work and you belittle my efforts and you don’t like where I live,’ she said bitterly. ‘I have no idea at all why you’re interested in me and why you can’t live without me for a month.’

‘Don’t start, Sky,’ he warned.

She gave a derisive little laugh and suddenly the weariness was gone and anger gushed from her. ‘I’m starting nothing! I’m finishing something! I cannot tolerate that kind of disrespect from you, Mr Managing Director! You may have a big title and a huge income, but you have a very small mind!’ She whirled around and marched away, her legs unsteady. What was it that gave him the right to feel so damned superior? She stormed inside the large party-room, and out of the first door that came into view, straight into a hard, broad chest.

The impact stopped her in her tracks. Her face was pressed against the smooth cotton fabric of a shirt. Her gasp drew in a clean, male scent. Her cheek took in the warmth that came through the shirt. Her body flooded with a tingling, intoxicating warmth.

‘Well, well,’ Chase drawled. ‘Are you running out on my party?’ He had an arm around her in an effort to steady her.

She struggled out of his embrace, fighting for composure. ‘I’d like to,’ she said tightly, ‘but I’ll have to wait for my ride.’ It was not going to be a pleasure trip home. Sean’s anger would not suddenly disappear.

He lifted a quizzical brow. ‘Not enjoying yourself? Something wrong with the food perhaps?’

‘No. Something’s wrong with men.’

‘That’s quite a sweeping statement.’

‘I’m sweeping mad.’

He laughed. It was a deep, rich sound, and suddenly she found herself cracking a smile, her sense of humour getting the better of her. His eyes gleamed into hers.

‘You have a way with words. So what’s wrong with men?’

‘They’re selfish, manipulative, arrogant and into control,’ she said loftily. ‘Haven’t you watched Oprah lately?’

‘I can’t say that I have, but I don’t consider myself too old to learn. How about a drink to calm you down?’

He wanted to calm her down. She smiled nicely. ‘Would you say that to one of your male business friends when he was angry?’ Her tone was light.

He frowned, thinking. ‘Not exactly like that.’

‘You’d slap him on the shoulder and say, You need a drink, man; let’s go.’

‘I’m afraid if I slapped you on the shoulder you’d crumple.’

She groaned. It was hopeless, hopeless. She couldn’t help being small and blonde. She evoked in people protective feelings, which was nice if you came down with galloping pneumonia and needed nursing, but in normal life it was infuriating.

‘I don’t crumple. I’m very strong, actually, and yes, I would like a drink. Something more potent than champagne—anything.’

Chase studied her with amused curiosity. ‘Coming up.’

Moments later she had a glass of whisky soda in her hand and she took a grateful swallow. She wasn’t much of a drinker of strong stuff, but on occasion she liked it.

‘I like your dress,’ he said as his eyes skimmed over her. ‘It’s very—er—woodsy.’

It was short and supremely simple in line and would have been discreetly elegant had it not been for the exotic pattern of the silk fabric. Its leafy design of many shades of green contrasted with small splashes of vivid red, yellow and blue, which on closer inspection could be identified as parrots hiding in the greenery.

‘Thank you,’ she said brightly. She wondered if he meant what he said. ‘Not everyone shares your opinion.’ Sean had been less than enthusiastic and asked why she couldn’t have worn something not quite so flamboyant, like basic black. She was not fond of basic black. It made her feel very depressed and depression was not an uplifting emotion.

‘Black would look more elegant and sophisticated,’ he’d instructed her.

She’d laughed. ‘Sean, I thought you’d have noticed by now that I am not the elegant, sophisticated type. I crawl around in the woods and commune with bugs and birds. I feel at home in this dress.’ She liked being surrounded by trees and bushes and birds, and she loved parrots. And in view of the rainforest hotel project she’d thought the dress eminently appropriate. She’d bought the dress in a sale. It had originally been very expensive, but apparently women with a lot of money had considered the dress too wild for their taste.

Chase’s eyes gleamed. ‘The parrots I find especially intriguing.’

‘Papuan King Parrots,’ she informed him. ‘Alisterus chloropterus.’

‘Ah, an ornithologist,’ he stated.

She shook her head. ‘A photographer.’ She smiled innocently. ‘Every time I hike through the woods, I keep looking for parrots. I never see one.’

His mouth quirked. ‘Let me do you a favour,’ he said. ‘Looking for tropical parrots in a forest in Virginia is a losing proposition.’

She bit her lip, trying not to smile. She was not successful. ‘It’s not nice to shatter someone’s dreams, you know.’ Her voice was light, yet the atmosphere between them was anything but casual. Something was in the air—something reflected in his eyes, the tone of his voice.

His green eyes did not leave her face. ‘Somehow I don’t think that’s what I’m doing.’

She sipped her drink, saying nothing, feeling her pulse quicken, feeling a strange apprehension.

‘So, what else are you interested in, apart from photographing parrots?’ he asked casually.

Why didn’t she believe he was as casual as he sounded? As if his question had some hidden purpose?

‘I like travelling, but I haven’t had many chances, and I like hiking and camping and white-water rafting.’

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, really.’ She was used to people’s surprise. She didn’t look the sporty type. She was too small and too blonde and too feminine, and even her short, sporty hairstyle did nothing to dispel that image.

‘And you?’ she asked. ‘What do you do in your spare time? Play golf? Ride horses?’

He inclined his head. ‘Of course.’ He tossed back the last of his drink, and then someone claimed his attention and she gratefully slipped away.

She wanted to go home. She’d had enough of smiling politely and making conversation for the sake of making conversation. Of course Sean would want to stay. He loved this sort of thing. Networking, it was called—making contacts. She should be networking herself. After all, you could never know where a new assignment could originate, and there were a lot of influential types prancing around here. But tonight she didn’t feel up to it. She wanted to go home and cry and wallow in self-pity.

She clenched her hands involuntarily and swallowed at the lump in her throat. When she was nineteen her life had been perfect and she’d thought it was going to be perfect for the rest of her life. By the time she’d turned twenty her world had crumbled around her.

She’d been so young, so idealistic, so full of dreams. It seemed like another lifetime. Now, sometimes, she felt wise and old and cynical. It was not a nice feeling, and not one she intended to cultivate.

She glanced around the room, finding no Sean. She had a raging headache, which was not so surprising considering the circumstances. She’d been up very late last night doing paperwork and reading up on Mexico. The little bit of sleep she’d caught had been fitful and full of confusing dreams. And now this confrontation with Sean…She rubbed her forehead, feeling physically exhausted and emotionally drained.

Where was he? Impatiently she roamed around, her feet hurting. She wasn’t used to wearing high heels, although it did give her an enjoyable sense of being a bit taller, and more elegant. Ten minutes later there still was no sign of him. She was beginning to feel uneasy and her head throbbed painfully. On impulse she slipped out of the front door and went in search of Sean’s car, a white Pontiac Fiero. She wished she’d come in her own car, an ancient little sky-blue Jeep, so that she wouldn’t have been dependent on Sean to see her home. Not that her little Jeep would have felt at home among the lofty vehicles in the parking area, she thought as she scanned the impressive collection of expensive cars. There was no sign of Sean’s Fiero.

It was gone, leaving an open space between a shiny charcoal Mercedes Benz and a metallic blue BMW.

For a moment she stood very still, incredulous.

He had left! He had left without her! The swine!

She didn’t know a soul at the party. They were miles out in the countryside in an isolated historic plantation house. She didn’t even know where she was exactly. Sean had been driving and she hadn’t paid much attention.

She’d been dumped. There was no other word for it. Leaving her stranded was Sean’s revenge, no doubt. She should have known. She’d told him he had a small mind, and this was proof. No class, no manners. How could she possibly ever have liked the man? It was frightening to think how blind she had been. How hopeful. How stupid. She swallowed painfully.

Her head throbbed and she rubbed her temples. She went back into the house and headed for the bar. She needed a drink, some juice or water. She needed to get rid of this headache—she was beginning to see stars. She was beginning to feel dizzy.

She needed to figure out a way to get home. Surveying the room, she studied the guests. All the men wore very expensive suits. All the women wore very expensive dresses, none with parrots. Not a single familiar face, not a single person she could impose on to take her home. It was almost an hour’s drive away. And forget a taxi. It would take care of her food budget for the month even if she could manage to get one out here in the back of beyond, which was highly unlikely.

She asked for a glass of orange juice with ice and went in search of a quiet place and a chair to sit in. The marbled entrance hall was empty. If she sat here for a while, maybe her head would stop hurting. She noticed a door slightly ajar and glimpsed a desk, a bookcase, a large sofa.

A sofa! She pushed the door open and slipped in, closing the door behind her.

She needed to lie down—just for a little while. She was going to pass out if she didn’t. She put the glass down on the massive oak desk, using a discarded envelope from the wastebasket as a coaster. Kicking off her high heels, she lay down, closed her eyes and tried to empty her head of all thought. It was heaven. She heard the muted sounds of talking and laughter from other parts of the house. The quiet in this study was like a balm for her tortured head. In a little while she’d get up and tackle the problem of transportation.

* * *

When she awoke it was too late to tackle the problem of transportation. It was three o’clock in the middle of the night and the house was silent as a tomb. She felt panic rise and forced it down. This was not the end of the world. It was merely excruciatingly embarrassing.

She swallowed back a laugh. Oh, God, leave it to her to get into a situation like this. She struggled into a sitting position and stared into the darkness until her eyes adjusted. It wasn’t all that dark. A wave of moonlight swam through the window, washing the massive wooden desk in a silver sheen.

Her headache was gone. This was good news.

She needed to go to the bathroom. This was bad news.

There was a bathroom off the entrance hall, she had discovered earlier that evening. Unfortunately, running water made noise. What if the green-eyed tiger heard her? At least, she assumed he was asleep somewhere in this mansion. Oh, God. She could see it now. He’d come in search of her in black silk pyjamas. He’d pounce on her.

Well, she simply had no choice. She tiptoed out of the door, across the oriental rug that graced the marble entrance hall. A large, curving staircase swept up regally to the second floor.

She found the bathroom and prayed he would not hear the running of water after she flushed and washed. The mirror produced a nightmarish sight. Her mascara and eyeliner had smeared all over the place. Her hair was standing out in every direction and looked like a bleached mop in the garish light. It wasn’t bleached. It was perfectly honest blonde hair, but somehow she looked like a tramp, especially with her dress now wrinkled disastrously. Poor abused parrots. She bit her lip and chuckled.

She tiptoed back into the study and sat down on the sofa, waiting with bated breath for sounds of footsteps in the house. Nothing. After a few minutes she began to breathe more easily.

She needed to collect her thoughts.

Leaving the house was out of the question. She had no transportation and only a vague idea of the general location of the place. She was at least an hour’s drive away from her barn, not a distance she could walk. Calling Beth, her friend, or her mother in the dead of night to come and get her was asking no small favour, but it would do no good because she couldn’t give any directions. This left her with only one possibility.

She’d have to make her presence known and ask for help.

Help from Chase Montana, who was asleep somewhere in this sprawling plantation house.

For obvious reasons three o’clock in the morning was not a good time to go in search of him and awaken him. Closing her eyes, she visualised him asleep in a big bed, wearing black silk pyjamas, or maybe nothing. Probably nothing. She imagined touching his arm, trying to stir him from sleep. In her mind she could just see him leap, naked from the bed, growling. She grinned to herself. Well, she could still laugh.

There was no good time for this confrontation, but the morning was better than now. She sighed and smoothed the fabric of her dress. Silk dresses were not meant to be slept in. She groaned. She would look a disaster in the morning.

Her eyes caught a framed photograph on the desk, captured by the moonlight, and she could not resist having a closer look. It was a starchy family portrait: father, mother and two young teenage sons. One of the sons was Chase—a much younger version of the one she’d met last night. The other was obviously his younger brother. The portrait was agonisingly formal. The father wore a pin-striped suit and looked grim. The mother’s dress was conservatively elegant and she wore a strand of pearls and a stilted smile. Both boys wore jackets, shirts and dark ties, and their hair had been slicked back. The younger boy’s smile was a frozen grimace, much like Chase’s. Yet there was a difference in their expressions. Chase’s eyes had a devilish gleam in them. She’d seen that same gleam last night. A sudden little shiver ran down her back. She wasn’t looking forward to facing him in the morning.

She went back to the sofa, lay down and closed her eyes. She might as well sleep some more. There was nothing else to do. If only she could pick up the phone and talk to Beth. Beth would die laughing, but not at three in the morning. Sky felt a spasm of pain and pushed it away. Beth and Kevin were moving to North Dakota in a couple of months. They’d been part of her life for a long time, ever since college. They were her only two close friends who had known Josh. Their departure would leave a terrible hole in her life.

She awoke to a grey morning and a sense of doom. No sunlight streamed through the uncurtained windows and it did not look like a spring morning. She grimaced. She could have done with a little sunshine to give her courage. It was just after seven, according to her watch.

Coffee. Her body was begging for a cup of strong coffee. Quietly she moved to the door and carefully opened it a crack. Muted noises reached her ear. Somebody was stirring around somewhere on the ground floor.

Chase Montana?

With her heart in her throat, she slipped back into the bathroom and washed her face and hands. She rubbed at the remainders of mascara and eyeliner with a tissue and some hand lotion that was thoughtfully provided. She had a comb in her bag and she pulled it through her hair. There was nothing she could do about the dress. It was a sorry sight. Quickly, noiselessly, she went back into the office and slipped on her shoes. She straightened herself to her full five feet two inches and took a deep, fortifying breath. It was time to face the tiger.

First, of course, she had to find him. She knew where the kitchen was. Platters of food had emerged from it last night. It was the logical place to start the search.

The kitchen door was closed, but it opened before she could reach to do so herself. And there he was, Chase Montana himself, wearing casual cotton trousers and an open-necked shirt, a cup of coffee in his hand.

His dark brows arched in surprise, then settled in their natural place again. His eyes narrowed and his mouth curled in a predatory grin and the silence crackled with tension.

‘Well, well,’ he drawled. ‘Look who’s here.’

CHAPTER TWO

SKY’S heart sank at the tone of his voice and she felt a nervous wobble in her knees. Since she wasn’t given to wobbly knees, this was not promising.

She had decided that the only way to deal with this most embarrassing situation was to come right out and tell it the way it was. His tone of voice, however, was not encouraging and did not help her confidence. The man had a terrible effect on her equilibrium, physically as well as emotionally, and she couldn’t help feeling swamped with trepidation.

‘I fell asleep in your office,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

He put his coffee down and thrust his hands in his pockets, surveying her with narrow-eyed suspicion. ‘It’s an interesting technique,’ he said calmly. ‘Do you do this sort of thing often?’

‘"Technique"?’ she echoed, uncomprehending.

He nodded. ‘I’ve been told that meeting available men is difficult these days. Entire books are written on the subject.’

Words failed her. She had seen those books. How to Catch a Rich Man, Loving a Wealthy Man is Easier. Fury and humiliation washed over her. It took all her strength to calm herself enough to speak.

‘I’ve never found it necessary to resort to those techniques, Mr Montana. And if I did, may I assure you that I wouldn’t choose you as my victim. You’re not my type.’

He was absolutely, positively not her type. He was too arrogant, too smooth, too sure of himself. He ravaged beautiful rainforests.

He quirked a mocking brow. ‘Is that right?’ he asked slowly.

She straightened her spine and stared hard into his cool green eyes. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ It was difficult to look dignified in a wrinkled jungle dress, and she was well aware of it, but she’d be damned if she’d let him intimidate her.

His gaze skimmed over her from top to toe. ‘Then please enlighten me as to why you ended up stowing away here.’

‘I didn’t stow away! I simply lay down on the sofa in your office. I had an excruciating headache.’ And I felt miserable and exhausted, she added silently.

‘A headache?’ You’ve got to be joking, his tone said.

‘Yes. A real blaster.’ She looked at him contemptuously. ‘Believe me, seducing you or any other male was the last thing on my mind. All I wanted was to get rid of the pain.’ She swung around and marched determinedly to the door. She was leaving. She would walk. She would hitch a ride on a manure truck—anything to get away from this insufferable male who thought she’d hid in his office for some devious purpose.

She was not fast enough.

He caught her by the wrist. ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.

‘I’m leaving!’ His big hand encircled her wrist in a painful grip. ‘Let go of my hand!’

‘You have a car here?’

‘No! I’ll walk!’

He released his grip on her. ‘I don’t think that would be wise.’ He looked meaningfully at her wrinkled party dress and her high-heeled shoes. ‘It’s going to rain and I don’t think you’re dressed appropriately for a hike in the country at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.’

She wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t. She glared into his cool green eyes. ‘You owe me an apology,’ she said between clenched teeth.

‘Not until I know why you are here.’

‘I told you!’

‘Why do I have trouble believing this headache story?’

‘I have no idea!’ She had no idea what the matter was with this man. Why he looked at her like this. Why he had this devastating effect on her nerves.

He leaned casually against the door-post and crossed his arms. ‘Well, let’s go over the facts. Your name is Sky Malone and you’re a photographer.’

‘Yes,’ she said, staring straight into his eyes.

‘And supposedly you came here with Sean Kendall.’

‘Not supposedly. I did.’

He nodded. ‘All right, you did.’

She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Would you please explain to me what this is all about? I don’t feel like being interrogated at seven in the morning!’

He nodded agreeably. ‘I suppose it would be civil of me to offer you a seat and a cup of coffee. Come along.’ He held the kitchen door open for her and waved her in. He offered her a chair. The perfect gentleman, he was. She sat down at the scrubbed wooden table. She didn’t have a choice.

It was a big, yet cosy country kitchen and empty of other people. The coffee smelled heavenly. She watched as he poured her a cup. His arm was tanned and muscular with a light sprinkling of dark hair. His hand was big and strong. She felt a tiny twinge of…excitement, apprehension. She drew in a slow breath. It was just a man’s arm, a man’s hand.

‘Sugar? Cream?’ he enquired politely.

‘Both, please.’

He put the cup in front of her as well as a sugar bowl and a small carton of cream from the refrigerator. He refilled his own mug and sat down opposite her.

‘You told me you didn’t stay the night because you had designs on my body,’ he stated casually. ‘So what else could it be?’

‘Your silver,’ she said promptly. ‘Maybe I wanted to steal you blind and escape in the middle of the night.’

‘Only we have a burglar alarm system and all hell would have broken loose if you’d tried to leave.’

She shrugged.

He took a swallow of coffee. ‘Did you find any silver that looked interesting?’ he asked with mockinterest.

‘None.’ She put three generous spoonfuls of sugar in her cup.

‘Well, that’s a relief.’ He looked pointedly at her stirring her coffee. ‘You have a sweet tooth?’

‘Not normally, but it appears I need the energy.’ She drank greedily, feeling the sweet, rich mixture slide comfortingly into her system.

He leaned back in his chair. ‘So it wasn’t my body and it wasn’t the silver. Interesting.’ He drank his coffee and studied her over the rim of his cup as if she were some fascinating but dangerous insect.

She gritted her teeth. ‘Are you always so suspicious of people? Do you have some sort of paranoia?’

‘Not until recently.’ He smiled. It was not a friendly smile and she felt her apprehension grow. She fortified herself with another deep drink of coffee.

‘And what happened recently?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.

He gave her a penetrating stare. ‘Somebody brought a lawsuit against me.’

She took in the hard line of his jaw. ‘Oh, really? Are the environmentalists after you?’ A smile escaped her at the thought. She couldn’t help it.

‘You find this amusing?’ he asked coolly.

Her smile widened. ‘Actually, yes, I do,’ she said recklessly. ‘That hotel in Ecuador is a terrible idea.’

‘So you told me yesterday.’

‘And that makes me a criminal?’

‘No, that does not make you a criminal.’ He came to his feet, picked up the coffee-pot and refilled both their cups.

She added four spoons of sugar while he watched. He made her uncomfortable. The uneasiness crawled through her blood. Maybe he thought she was here to find out more about him as a person, to infiltrate the lair of the money-hungry tiger and dig up some dirt. Character assassination was a popular technique in court cases. She looked up from her cup and met his eyes.

‘If you’re accusing me of something, I have the right to know.’ She clenched her hands. ‘All I did was fall asleep on your sofa and now you interrogate me as if I were a common criminal! I don’t know anything about that lawsuit and I am not here to dig up dirt on you, if that’s what you’re thinking!’

He eyed her narrowly. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t feel reassured.’

‘You think I’m lying?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know you, do I? I find it very suspicious to find you here in this house. I’m simply trying to ascertain what the reason might be.’ He paused fractionally. ‘Apart from that headache story.’

She covered her face with her hands and moaned. There was no way she was going to convince him of her innocence.

‘What happened to Sean last night?’ he continued. ‘You said you came with him to the party.’

‘Yes, I did.’ She lowered her hands and clasped them together on the table in front of her.

‘But you didn’t leave with him.’

‘No, I did not.’ In the circumstances, maybe that was suspicious. He didn’t like Sean; she was quite sure of that.

‘Why not?’

Well, what could she say? The truth and nothing but the truth: He dumped me.

‘He left without me,’ she said, which sounded a bit more dignified. She tried not to look at the small wisp of dark chest hair that peeked out from his open-necked shirt. Everything about him seemed to disturb her—his eyes, his voice, his damned chest hair.

His brows arched. ‘That would indicate a certain lack of manners, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Absolutely.’ She could only agree. ‘I think he was having a tantrum.’ She swallowed a nervous chuckle. The situation was beginning to take on farcical overtones.

‘A tantrum? I thought children had tantrums.’

‘Some men have them too,’ she said lightly. ‘When women don’t fall all over themselves pleasing them.’

‘I see. So he was having a tantrum because you were not falling all over yourself pleasing him.’

She nodded, trying not to smile. ‘You could say that, yes. I’m going to Mexico for a month and we had an argument about it in your lovely garden.’

‘Ah, after which you threw yourself into my arms. You fit quite nicely actually; did you notice?’

She gave him a withering look, and his mouth twitched.

‘Just a casual observation. When I hold a woman close in my arms I can’t help noticing the feel and shape of her.’

Her heart began to race at the image and she remembered very well the feel of his hard chest against her cheek and the warm male smell of him. Oh, God, this was insanity. ‘I hope it was a big thrill for you,’ she said caustically.

‘It was.’ His smile showed even white teeth. ‘Now tell me, what’s the problem with your going to Mexico?’

The question was posed casually. They were having a casual conversation, were they? She didn’t believe it for a minute.

‘As far as I am concerned it’s not a problem at all. I consider it a wonderful professional opportunity.’

He nodded. ‘But Sean found it a problem,’ he surmised.

‘Yes, he did, and it’s none of your business.’ He was beginning to annoy her severely. She didn’t like that gleam in his eyes—an odd mixture of amusement and suspicion. She couldn’t figure out what he was thinking and feeling about her and it threw her off-balance.

He gave her an assessing look. ‘Sean felt he couldn’t live without you for that long. He could not imagine that you would choose to go on a trip to Mexico over being with him.’

She felt a rush of anger. ‘Oh, so he told you, did he?’

He gave a half-smile. ‘No. I’ve known Sean for a while and it’s simply an educated guess. Why are you going to Mexico?’

‘A friend of mine is leading a small research team and I’ve been asked to come along as the photographer. There’s not much money in it, but the experience is worth a lot and it’ll be a new environment for me, and that’s always very inspiring.’ She bit her lip, feeling a pang of bitter pain. ‘Unfortunately, Sean does not think my work is very important. He said as much yesterday.’ Her voice wobbled suddenly and it made her angry.

‘And you do not take that kindly.’

‘No,’ she said tightly. ‘I told him I wasn’t going to tolerate his disrespect and…’ She hesitated and stopped.

‘And what?’ he prompted.

Suddenly it was hard not to smile. ‘I told him he had a big title and a big salary and a small mind. He didn’t like that. I think leaving without me was his idea of revenge.’

‘How very childish of him.’ Chase smiled a lazy smile. ‘So, here you are, stranded,’ he concluded. He seemed to find the idea amusing.

She finished her coffee and pushed the cup away from her. ‘If you wouldn’t mind telling me directions to this place, I’ll ask my mother to come and get me. I wasn’t paying attention where we were going yesterday.’

‘You live with your mother?’

‘No. I have my own place, but my parents don’t live far.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘And what is your mother going to think when she arrives here and sees you like this?’

Sky shrugged. ‘I’ll tell her what happened and she’ll think it’s hilarious. She has quite a sense of humour. Besides, my mother doesn’t worry about my morals.’

‘She doesn’t? Why is that?’

She sighed. ‘Because there’s nothing to worry about.’

He nodded. ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ he said piously and she wanted to throw her coffee at him. She managed to control herself.

‘None the less,’ he went on, ‘let’s not inconvenience your mother this morning. I’ll drive you home.’

‘That’s not necessary. I live almost an hour’s drive from here.’

‘No problem. First we’ll have breakfast.’

She stiffened. She didn’t want him to drive her home, but it didn’t seem as if she had much choice. It was clear that he was a man who did what he wanted to do and arguing was going to get her nowhere.

‘I don’t want any breakfast, thank you. I’d just as soon get going so I can get out of these clothes and into the shower. I feel stupid sitting here in this ridiculous dress.’

‘You can get out of the dress and into a shower here.’ He held up his hand as if to ward off a refusal. ‘Please be my guest, since you are already, anyway.’

‘I don’t have any clothes to change into. I didn’t come prepared for this…excursion, even if you do think so.’

‘I’m sure we can find you something. Come along. You take that shower while I cook us some breakfast.’

‘Why don’t you just take me home?’

He shrugged lightly. ‘I’m in no hurry.’ And I call the shots, his eyes said. Without me you’re going nowhere.

She was at his mercy.

‘I hope you’re enjoying this little power game,’ she said with cold disdain.

One dark brow lifted sardonically. ‘Power game? Let’s not be melodramatic, shall we? I simply prefer to have some breakfast before starting my day, and I’m offering you the same, as well as a shower and a change of clothes. I’m only trying to be a good host.’ He smiled politely and gestured at the open kitchen door. ‘Come with me.’

She followed him up the curving staircase, feeling frustrated and out of control. She didn’t like feeling out of control. The man’s attitude displayed a confusing mixture of charm, suspicion and politeness and it was difficult to deal with.

He threw open the door to a large bedroom. ‘The bathroom is through there,’ he said, pointing across the room. ‘Help yourself to whatever you need.’ He opened a wardrobe. ‘There are clothes in here.’ He gave her a quick, assessing look. ‘I’m sure you’ll find something that will fit.’

She glanced at the clothes. Expensive, fashionable clothes. ‘Whose are these? Your wife’s?’

He gave a half-smile. ‘No. If I had a wife, believe me she would not have her own room or her own bed. She’d share mine.’

‘She’d have to want to,’ she blurted out. Oh, God, why couldn’t she control her tongue?

His green eyes met hers. ‘Oh,’ he said slowly, meaningfully, ‘she’d want to.’

Against her will she had to admit that this was probably true. Disturbing images flooded her mind and she pushed them away with an effort. ‘Sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ she asked, putting a good dose of mockery in her voice.

He smiled. ‘Oh, very.’ He glanced around the room. ‘This is my—er—sister’s room.’

His—er—sister’s room. Sure it was. She gave him a sceptical look and his green eyes gleamed. He moved back to the door. ‘I’ll start breakfast. Do you have any particular dislikes or allergies?’

Yes, you, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

‘No. I like everything.’

‘A woman after my own heart,’ he said, and for the second time in minutes she was tempted to throw something at him. He closed the door and was gone.

‘All men are scum’, a fifteen-year-old cousin had told her not long ago, trying to sound important and world-wise. Well, Sky was beginning to think the kid was right. All men except Josh, she amended automatically as she glowered at the closed bedroom door. But Josh was dead. Josh had not been scum. Josh had been wonderful. They’d shared a marriage licence, a tiny apartment, a cosy bed, very little money and a wealth of dreams.

It would never be like that again. She was no longer the starry-eyed teenage bride. There would never be another Josh. She did not expect there to be, of course. She was older now, she had a career, and her life had moved on. The men she met were older and established in a career.

She glanced around. The bedroom that belonged to the—er—sister was beautiful. It was the sort of room you saw in expensive, glossy magazines. A huge canopy bed commanded the room, the bedlinen lacy and white. The furniture in the room was all antique and gleamed with good care and lots of polishing.

The bathroom was sumptuous with a gorgeous, claw-foot bath and shiny white tiles. An enormous, luxuriant fern cascaded down from a hanging pot. It looked so perfect, she had to touch it to see that it was real and not silk. It was real. Open shelving revealed stacks of fluffy cotton towels in pale jadegreen, soft rose and white. Bathroom toiletries abounded—expensive soaps, bubble bath, shampoos, talcum powder and body lotions.

Having a bath here would be no punishment; she might as well get to it.

As she sat in the steaming, fragrant water, she contemplated men, more specifically the men she had known since she had become a widow at nineteen. It was not encouraging. None of them had taken her career as a nature and wildlife photographer very seriously. It was a nice hobby and certainly it was nice that she earned a little money with it, but their own careers were so much more important and serious and so much more lucrative. The more money you made, the more prestige and status you had.

Well, she liked money well enough and earning more would not hurt her feelings, but she resented having her career being judged by some monetary value standard.

She’d known an architect, a business consultant and now Sean, who was the managing director of a computer-systems design firm. All of them had been nice and charming and had taken her out to lovely dinners and given her roses and wanted to sleep with her. All of them had thought she was beautiful and amusing and enjoyed her company. All of them had thought she took pretty pictures and why didn’t she move out of that rustic barn and into a decent town house somewhere closer to the civilised world like Washington or Richmond? Surely she could take pictures there? It would be so much more convenient.

Why did she always end up with the wrong men? It was a curse. She stared morosely at the bubbles. She was not going to find another man who was right for her. She should just give it up, stop hoping for the impossible. As a single woman she could live a rewarding life; the magazines said so. Marriage was not the only road to happiness. Sometimes it was the road to hell. She should keep that in mind, always.

She’d forget about men and focus all her energies on her career. Eventually she would be recognised for her exceptional work—her creative visions, her artistic interpretations. She would get big assignments and travel all around the world. She’d have exhibits in prestigious galleries. Her first exhibit was already behind her and had been very successful. Surely others would follow. This last year had been very promising.

She didn’t need a man in her life.

It sounded so brave, so in control.

But why didn’t she feel brave? Why did she feel alone and scared? Why was she sitting here in this warm, bubbly bath with the tears running down her face?

Half an hour later she emerged from the bathroom, fragrant and clean and back in control of her wayward emotions. She wrapped a dry towel around herself and went back into the bedroom in search of something to wear.

Inspecting the clothes a little more carefully, she tried to imagine the woman who owned them. There were clothes for every possible occasion, from evening gowns to jeans and leggings, all of them with very impressive labels—if that sort of thing impressed you. The owner of the clothes was young, no doubt beautiful and had great taste—classy but with an obvious touch of whimsy. She was also, miracles of miracles, small like Sky herself.

Sky selected a pair of white leggings and an oversized black T-shirt that hung halfway down her thighs. It obliterated most of her shape and the colour black seemed appropriate for the occasion. She slipped on a pair of black canvas trainers and glanced in the mirror. She looked casual enough for an overcast Saturday morning in May, and she had no desire to wear somebody else’s expensive silk shirt and designer jeans. She’d probably spill something on them and ruin them and then feel obliged to replace them, which would cost her a fortune she didn’t have.

Wonderful smells wafted forth as she opened the kitchen door—bacon, toast. She was ravenous.

Chase was standing at the stove and turned as he heard her come in. His gaze skimmed over her in amused surprise.

‘Black?’ he enquired. ‘After that exuberant parrot dress, you put on something black?’

‘I’m in mourning,’ she said and sat down.

His mouth quirked. ‘And for whom or what are you in mourning?’

‘The death of an illusion,’ she said theatrically. ‘I’m giving up men.’

One corner of his mouth turned up. ‘You do have a sense of the dramatic.’ He poured her a glass of orange juice. ‘Sean really got to you, didn’t he?’

‘It wasn’t just him. There were others just like him. I have a fifteen-year-old cousin who says all men are scum.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’ve come to the sad conclusion she’s right.’

‘I can see it breaks your heart,’ he said, deadpan.

He had no idea what was in her heart, and she was going to leave it that way if she could help it. She took a drink from her orange juice. ‘Actually, come to think of it, it’s a great relief to finally come to that conclusion.’ She smiled breezily. ‘Now I can just put it all behind me and go on. No more men. Period. Tomorrow I will wear red and rejoice my freedom.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Such a barren life. Such long, lonely nights. No hugs and kisses.’ He looked into her eyes and her heart went wild. There was something undefinable in those eyes that made her feel suddenly light-headed. She struggled for composure and shrugged lightly.

‘There’s more to life than sex,’ she said loftily.

He gave her a look of mock-surprise. ‘Really? What?’

Dreams, she thought silently.

She groaned. ‘Can we please change the subject?’

‘I’m quite enjoying myself.’

‘Well, I’m not. I think you ought to tell me about that lawsuit.’

Silence. There was an instant change of atmosphere. The air turned chilly. His eyes narrowed, the smile vanished. ‘I’d rather not. It would ruin my appetite.’ His mouth twisted in distaste.

She tensed. ‘I have a right to know what you’re accusing me of.’

‘I haven’t accused you of anything.’

‘All right, you’re suspecting me of something!’

He shrugged. ‘Forget it.’

She didn’t want to forget it, and he wasn’t going to forget it either, she was sure, but she doubted she was going to get anything out of him. All she had to do was look at the tough line of his jaw and the inscrutable expression on his face and know that he wasn’t going to do a thing he didn’t want to do. She twisted the juice glass between her hands. One moment he was warm and smiling, the next he was cold and inscrutable. It was a dangerous combination.

She sipped her juice, deciding she’d better not push the subject. ‘Tell me about your business,’ she suggested. ‘How many hotels does your company own?’

He took some eggs out of the refrigerator. ‘I’d rather have you tell me about your business. Do you work for a company or organisation?’

His reaction surprised her a little. Given a choice, most people preferred talking over listening. ‘I work freelance,’ she answered. ‘I take assignments as they come. For magazines and organisations, whatever, and I’m represented by a stock company which sells my photos to magazines, calendar companies, audio-visual firms, and whoever needs pictures.’

‘Do you like your work?’

‘Oh, yes. I wouldn’t want to do anything else.’ She glanced out of the window. It was still grey and cheerless outside and the sun was having no luck whatsoever. Clouds hung low in the sky and the general gloom seemed to fit her mood.

A few minutes later breakfast was ready and Chase sat down across from her. The eggs were done just right, as was the bacon and toast. There was a jar of orange-blossom honey and one of blackberry preserve.

‘I’d expected a flock of servants in this place,’ she commented as she buttered the hot toast.

‘They’re on vacation, except Mrs Lumpkins, and she’ll be in later.’

The phone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ he said and reached for the receiver hanging on the wall and gave his name. ‘Hello, Michelle? Is that you?’

Michelle. A woman’s name. Sky watched him as he talked.

‘I didn’t hear you.’ A pause. ‘No, I was not asleep. I’ve just finished breakfast. How’s Rome?’

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