A Ruthless Passion. Robyn Donald
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Nick looked down at her. In black trousers and a black shirt—casual yet sophisticated—he was a creature of the night, dangerous, disturbing, his sexuality open and elemental. ‘Yes.’
Cat picked up both menus and escorted him to a table set for two, whipping away the extra silver as he sat down. Concentrating on a point a little higher than his shoulder, she put the menus in front of him and recited the specials. It was difficult to ignore the excitement humming through her but she thought she managed, although she couldn’t do anything about the colour burning along her cheekbones.
He didn’t look at either menu. ‘What’s the best dish?’
‘The fillet of beef with ratatouille and herb salad is particularly good, sir.’ Dicing with danger, she thought as he looked up, his eyes gleaming gold fire. Excitement stroked along her skin, surged through every cell.
‘Then I’ll have that, and scallops for an entrée,’ he drawled.
‘Would you like a drink, sir?’
He shook his head. ‘A beer will do.’ And named one of the boutique beers they stocked.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said.
When she brought the beer he thanked her and lifted his gaze to her face. ‘Don’t call me sir,’ he commanded, steel running through the words.
An odd sensation slid down her spine. ‘It’s traditional,’ she countered.
‘That’s not why you’re doing it.’
From behind her came a cry of, ‘Girlie! Girlie! Where’s that waitress?’
‘Excuse me,’ she said, almost giddy with relief, and scrambled back to the man at table six and his giggling girlfriend.
‘You’ve made a mistake with this bill,’ he said loudly. ‘I’ve checked it on my calculator and you’ve charged me an extra seven dollars.’
It took some minutes for her to go through the orders with him, show him that they were down on the bill, and get him to run it past his calculator again, this time with the result that appeared on the bill.
Of course he didn’t say he was sorry.
‘And I’ll bet he didn’t tip, either,’ Sinead muttered, keeping an alert, fascinated eye on Nick.
‘I didn’t expect him to. Why should he? Tipping’s not a New Zealand custom,’ Cat said, keeping her eyes on the till as she ran another bill through it. ‘Not unless we do something outstandingly wonderful for the customer.’
‘You didn’t kill this one, which I think was outstandingly wonderful of you! Anyway, your tall, dark and handsome didn’t like it when that guy made a fuss,’ the other woman said with relish. ‘Talk about filthy looks!’
‘You’re imagining things. He’s not mine.’
‘That may be so,’ Sinead said cheerfully, ‘but from the way he watches you I’d say he thinks of you as very much his.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Cat said ineptly.
‘Oh, Cat, sometimes I think you’re the sweetest little old maid in disguise!’ Laughing, Sinead patted her on the head. ‘Live a bit, why don’t you? Look at him! He’s very cool and thoroughly all right in a plutocratic sort of way—just the sort of guy to give you a really good time. Who is he? I feel I should know him.’
‘Nick Harding,’ Cat said without emphasis.
‘So is he your boyfriend?’ Clearly the name meant nothing to her.
‘No.’
‘Hmm.’ Sinead was studying art. She lowered her voice and said with relish, ‘Splendid bones. Good clothes sense too—black suits him superbly. And I do admire that louche, untamed air—all smouldering and intense and yet somehow ferociously disciplined. I’ll bet he’s so utterly dynamic in bed.’
‘Have you ever thought of changing your major?’ Cat enquired, alarmed by a knife-slash of jealousy. ‘To creative writing, perhaps? And what about Jonathan, who is probably even now revving up his motorbike so he can take you to a nightclub?’
Sinead chuckled. ‘All right, you saw him first—but, hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?’
Ten minutes later she hissed, ‘I’ve just realised who Nick Harding is.’ She paused and when Cat raised her brows, she probed, ‘I presume he is the Internet zillionaire?’
‘Yes.’
Sinead picked up a pepper grinder. ‘Makes you rethink all the definitions of computer nerd, doesn’t it? He looks like some swashbuckler from the days when buckles were swashed as a regular thing. Hunk doesn’t apply—too everyday. Unfortunately I don’t think there’s a word that means good-looking as sin, with an edge of ruthlessness and danger.’ She winked at Cat. ‘I sense hidden depths and dark secrets and a certain wild recklessness that sets my hormones buzzing. Why, I wonder, isn’t he down at the yacht basin with all the other billionaires and high society people? Could it have anything to do with your mysterious, slanted eyes?’
Grinning triumphantly, she carried the grinder off.
Cat was on edge for the rest of the evening, even after Nick had drunk his beer, eaten his dinner, and left with no more than a nod. He didn’t try to tip her, which was a relief; she would, she thought vengefully, have flung it back in his face, and then Andreo would have had a fit.
It was late when she finally stepped out onto the footpath outside the restaurant, waving Sinead and her Jonathan off on his motorbike.
‘No, you don’t have to see me home,’ she told them when they hesitated. ‘Go and dance all night!’
‘You’re sure?’ Sinead peered at her.
‘Dead sure. When has there ever been a mugging here? Off you go.’
Sinead seemed as though she was going to insist, but then she looked past Cat and gave a quick nod. ‘OK, see you tomorrow!’
They took off and she turned and walked briskly away. The sky hung low, threatening rain on a warm wind from the tropics. Because Auckland was spread across on an isthmus between two harbours, one on the west coast, one on the east, every wind and breeze came salted with the sea.
Other scents floated across from the Domain park—newly mown grass, some exotic perfume that hinted of the tropical plants sheltered in the elegant glass Wintergardens, and the sweet, potent fragrance of datura flowers behind a nearby hedge.
Although it was after midnight, traffic hummed along the motorway; Cat wished she could drive north as far as she could, and settle in some small town so far away from Nick that he’d never find her.
The sound of her name jerked her head up. A swift flare of excitement set her blood afire as she saw Nick walking around his long, sleek monster of a car. Had she summoned him just by thinking about him?
No wonder Sinead had gone off so happily!
‘I’ll drive you home,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re not in the habit of walking by yourself at this hour of the night.’
‘Sinead and I usually go home together.’ Made uneasy by his closeness, Cat shrugged further into her jacket. ‘We live in the same house.’
‘Get in.’ When she hesitated, he said curtly, ‘Unless you want me to follow you all the way home?’
Fuming, she obeyed, sitting in eloquent silence while he set the car in motion. If he touched her, she thought nastily, she’d hit him where it hurt most. She wasn’t going to endure again the consuming lash of his sexuality and her own feral response. It was humiliating.
He made no attempt to touch her. They were almost at their destination when he said, ‘Why, when you get a very adequate allowance from your trust fund, do you work every night at a second-rate restaurant?’
She