tell if she was embarrassed or just plain mad at him.
‘I’m sorry. I meant to tell you earlier.’
‘No one was stopping you,’ she snapped.
‘Maybe not, but I didn’t see why I should give you a perfect reason to hate me.’
‘Yes, but—’ Meg gulped.
‘And you handed me an excellent opportunity to check out the lie of the land. I don’t intend to just waltz in to your boss ready to dance to his tune. After all, there’s a lot at stake.’
‘A lot of money.’
‘More than just money. It’s complicated.’ He took a step closer and offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘But I have an even better excuse.’
Meg didn’t smile back. She continued to stand stiffly to attention with her arms tightly wrapped around the flippers.
‘I really appreciated being able to see the reef just the way I did this morning—just like an ordinary tourist. I had a great time. Thank you. From what you’ve said, the media will be hanging around tomorrow. Things will be different.’ He smiled again.
But it seemed the effort was wasted.
Meg’s chin lifted and she eyed him with a haughty glare. ‘Things will be very different,’ she said. ‘For starters, you won’t even think about trying to kiss me.’
He tucked the flipper into the bundle she was holding. ‘In that case, I’m sure neither of us will look forward to tomorrow.’
Ignoring her startled gasp, he turned in the direction of his bungalow. And, as he walked away, Sam reflected that he’d been wise not to add a comment about just how slim Meg’s chances were if she expected to control his thoughts.
Especially his thoughts about kissing her again.
CHAPTER TWO
AS SOON as she woke the next morning, Meg knew it was going to be a bad day. Her first clue was the way her mind flashed straight to Sam Kirby—exactly where she didn’t want it to be. He’d taken up far too much space in her head all night.
Not even the rainbow lorrikeets that came to her kitchen window for their breakfast treat could lift her spirits. She watched the amazing birds peck daintily at tiny pieces of bread and honey. But this morning their bright purple heads, lime-green wings, and bright yellow chests, brush-stroked with scarlet, didn’t fill her with admiration as they usually did. She was too busy feeling angry.
The cheek of the man—hiding his identity, encouraging her to talk about the bottle and then stealing that kiss—all in such a short space of time!
If ever a man spelled danger for Meg, Sam Kirby did. He was a super-rich big businessman and an international resort guest—he summed up everything she went out of her way to avoid. So how on earth had she stood there like a ninny and let him kiss her?
And the worst part was, it had been such a nice kiss.
Despite her anger, she’d found herself thinking about it over and over as she’d drifted off to sleep. Again and again, she’d remembered the warm, sensual pressure of his slightly open lips on hers. Then there was the impact of those deep blue eyes up close. They had been breathtaking. They’d made her think about…finding somewhere private…somewhere beneath whispering palm trees…or in the shallows on a secluded sandy beach…somewhere…anywhere he could go on kissing her…
But, for heaven’s sake! These were things she most certainly shouldn’t be thinking about on first meeting a man. Especially this man. She’d spent the rest of the night telling herself that.
Remember who he is. A corporate high roller.
A playboy millionaire. Forget him!
He’ll be gone in a few days. Forget him, now!
The fact that he’d come to the island to collect the letter in the bottle was a snag. She’d already agreed to her boss’s demands to pose with Sam for the publicity shots today, so she had little choice now, but to eat her breakfast, shower and get ready for the ordeal.
But, as she did so, Meg kept up a continuous pep talk in her head. By the time she left her bungalow, she was determined to be mentally prepared to face Sam again.
A swarm of journalists, television cameramen and photographers hovered around the reception area. When Meg arrived, some were pacing the slate tiles, while others settled back on the deep cane lounges to smoke and chat quietly.
Her boss, Fred Raynor, dragged her excitedly into his office. ‘I was about to have you paged. All the media have turned up! They came over on the early boat. Isn’t this great?’
He beamed and rubbed his pudgy hands together. ‘And these are just the local press. When their stories get out, there’ll be more.’ He flung a hand to the view of the resort’s tropical garden. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day in paradise. We’ll get excellent outdoor shots.’
‘All we need is our millionaire,’ Meg added dryly.
‘He’ll be here any minute.’ Fred shook his head and ran a hand over his bulging stomach. ‘Boy, did that guy upset my digestion last night.’
‘Oh?’ Meg couldn’t help being curious.
‘He wanted the letter out of the bottle straight away and was wild as a cut snake when I said he could only have it after he posed for a few photos.’
‘Did he refuse to go ahead with the publicity?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I finally got him to agree. I told him flat I’ve got possession. He can carry on about his lawyers and rights, but down here it’s finders keepers.’ Fred’s pale eyes gleamed as he looked at her meaningfully. ‘Actually, I think what won him round was the fact that it gives him a good excuse to hang around—er, here—for a day or two.’
He looked over Meg’s shoulder as someone entered the office and he lowered his voice. ‘Here he is now.’
Standing stiffly to attention, Meg clenched her hands into tight little fists at her sides as she turned to face Sam.
‘Morning,’ he said with his usual smile.
‘It’s going to be good one.’ Fred beamed.
‘Hello, Meg,’ Sam added when she didn’t respond. His eyes held a twinkling warmth.
Meg nodded frostily. ‘Hi.’ She found herself needing to search for outward signs of wealth on Sam Kirby—things she might have overlooked yesterday—when she’d been taken up with his other attributes.
His watch was a sophisticated diving watch, but many men wore similar accessories. His dark blue, open-necked shirt, stone-coloured shorts and navy trainers were probably expensive, but spoke of taste rather than money. There was no hint of jewellery around his neck, at his wrist, or on his fingers.
So he wasn’t flashy. That still didn’t mean she could trust him.
Fred
