Indiscretions. Robyn Donald
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have been told that the real stuff is beyond me.”
A note in the deep voice snagged her attention. Whoever had told him that had been a woman. Stung, she said mordantly, “I believe it,” as she got to her feet.
With the automatic courtesy she was beginning to expect, he rose, too. In the shifting veils of moonlight his eyes glinted, and she thought with a sudden chill that trading insults with this man could be a dangerous pastime.
“I’d better go back,” she murmured.
“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten that you’re not expected to mingle with the guests.”
“Well, the resort doesn’t pay me to sit around discovering the inner workings of the diplomatic mind,” she retorted crisply.
“Don’t they allow you time off?”
“Of course they do, but I’m still on the other side of the divide.”
“Are you an employee?”
He’d have found out all about her before recommending that she take the other interpreter’s place, so why the questions? She sent him a swift sideways glance, but his face was unreadable.
“No, free-lance. An agency in New York organizes my jobs for me.”
“And you enjoy your work?”
“Love it,” she said firmly.
“You’re extremely good at it. You have both McCabe and Watanabe eating out of your hand.”
How did he do it? He wasn’t even looking at her, yet her skin pulled tight and she had the unnerving sensation of being totally, completely scrutinized—absorbed, taken in, everything about her measured and assessed.
“They both have a charming, old-fashioned courtesy,” she said dryly.
“The Japanese say you speak their language like a native.”
To satisfy his probing curiosity she said serenely, “When I lived in Tokyo my parents sent me to a Japanese school. In a situation like that you learn fast, believe me. Of course, the year I spent back in Japan when I was eighteen helped refine my accent.”
“And did you live in China and France as a child?”
She smiled, striving so hard for a casual unaffected air that her throat ached. “Hong Kong,” she said. “And for a while I had a French governess who was forbidden to speak English to me.”
“Peripatetic parents”, he said, his lashes drooping to hide his thoughts.
“Very,” she returned steadily. “Nomads”.
Just how nomadic their life had been she hadn’t realized until she went back to New Zealand, a shocked, bewildered eight-year-old plunged into the narrow, restrictive society of a small, unsympathetic country town. Two things had saved her—a kindly neighbor who provided her with uncritical affection, and an extremely good language teacher at the local high school who had seen her talents and helped her regain the languages she had almost lost.
“If I’m to be any good tomorrow I’d better go now,” she said, infusing her voice with a brisk, no-nonsense tone.
“Very well, then.” He sounded amused, as though he recognized her retreat but was prepared to allow her to run from him for the time being, because the result was never in doubt.
HE WAS TOO BLOODY ARROGANT for his own good, she thought confusedly as she paced along the sand beside his tall presence.
As they were crossing the low band of scrub and palmettos that bordered the beach, something rustled in the bushes. Nicholas moved instantly, sidestepping swiftly so that he was between her and the noise.
“It’s nothing,” she said, surprised. “Perhaps a squirrel.”
“There are snakes here.”
She laughed. “And like all New Zealanders you’re paranoid about them. Don’t worry, the night is cool enough to keep them fairly lethargic. It’s not likely to be an alligator, either. They prefer the golf course. It could be a raccoon.”
His eyes gleamed as he looked down at her. “Snakes don’t worry you?”
“No, I’m used to them.” He didn’t deny his attitude, which secretly impressed her. But then he wasn’t the sort of man whose self-esteem demanded that he pretend invulnerability; he didn’t need the false confidence of bravado.
He kept walking, but she noticed that he stayed alert until they got back to the staff quarters. There he smiled at her and said, “Sleep well.”
She willed herself to relax, but that tingling in her skin and the sensitive reaction between her shoulder blades told her that he watched her until the door closed behind her.
Damn, she thought. He was curious, and for a moment her heart quailed. Then she straightened and went to her room. It was stupid to get into a tizz; he was probably just
interested because she was a New Zealander.
Was he security? No, he was too obvious. Security mem tended to be inconspicuous, part of their usefulness being their ability to fade into the background. Nicholas Leigh, she thought grimly, would fade into no background; there was something about him that made everyone notice him. When he walked into a room people looked, their attention caught whether they wanted it to be or not.
And she didn’t. She might be so attracted to him that her body sang when he was near, but she couldn’t afford to let anything happen. Ah, well, just another three days…
But that night she dreamed of him—explicit, erotic dreams that shocked her and made her feel as though another woman inhabited her skin, a woman whose fantasies had taken over her sleep. Even in her one serious relationship she had never dreamed like that, and David had been a good lover, thoughtful, tender and gentle.
Unfortunately gentleness had played no part in her dreams, and she awoke with the appalled realization that some hitherto unsuspected part of her had recognized and responded to an elemental savagery in Nicholas Leigh.
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