some of the mistakes she and the dog had made.
They ate dinner out on the veranda while the summer evening faded swiftly into a night filled with the sibilant whisper of waves on the beach below, and the fragrance of flowers in the gathering darkness. Fat white candles gleamed in glass cylinders, their steady flames catching the velvety petals of roses in the centre of the table, winking on the silver and the wineglasses.
And picking out with loving fidelity the strong bones and dramatically sensual impact of the man opposite.
The whole scene was straight out of House and Garden, Peta thought cynically, trying to protect herself from succumbing to the seductive promise of romantic fantasy.
She managed it, but only just. And only, she admitted once safe in her room, because he didn’t touch her at all.
That night she didn’t sleep well, waking bleary-eyed and disoriented to a knock on the door and the shocked realisation that it was almost nine o’clock.
‘Coming,’ she croaked, and scrambled out of bed.
The housekeeper said with a smile, ‘Mr McIntosh suggested I wake you now. He asked me to remind you that Ms Shaw is collecting you at ten, and that he’s meeting you for lunch at twelve-thirty.’
‘I’ll be down in twenty minutes,’ Peta told her.
Liz took her to a salon, where a woman gave her a facial, then checked out the cosmetics she used. ‘Good choices, but I think I’ve got better. Try this lipstick.’
Peta opened her mouth to say she didn’t need any more cosmetics, then closed it again. Being groomed like a prize cow for showing revolted her, but she’d agreed to it.
And when she left Auckland, once Ian was utterly convinced that she and Curt had had a blazing affair, she’d leave this whole deal behind and never, ever think of Curt McIntosh again.
If she could…
Liz dropped her off outside the restaurant. ‘Curt’s always on time,’ she said with her ready smile. ‘He’ll be waiting for you.’
Just how well did she know him? Peta mulled the question over as she walked up the steps, but inside the foyer she forgot everything else. At the sight of Curt a smile broke through, soft and tremulous and entirely involuntary.
His brows drew together, accentuating the powerful framework of his lean face, and then he smiled, and when she came up to him he took her hand and kissed it.
The unexpected caress jolted her heart until she remembered he’d done the same to Granny Wai.
Eyes fixed on her face, he tucked her hand into his arm and said in a voice pitched only for her, ‘That was brilliant. Keep it up.’
His observation slashed through her composure with its cynical reminder of the reason she was there. ‘I hope I’m not late,’ she said, pronouncing each word with care.
‘Dead on time.’ His smile held a predatory gleam. ‘And smelling delicious.’
‘The perfume was horribly expensive,’ she said crisply. ‘I’m glad you think it’s worth it.’
He walked her towards the doors of the restaurant. The head waiter appeared as if by magic, frowning at the hostess who’d come forward to deal with them. ‘Mr McIntosh, this way, please.’
Walking through the restaurant was purgatory; eyes that gleamed with curiosity scrutinised her, and unknown faces hastily extinguished an avid interest. Several people nodded at Curt. Although he acknowledged them, he didn’t stop until the waiter delivered them to a table partially shielded from the rest of the room by a tree in a majestic pot.
With a flourish the waiter produced two menus and recited a list of specials, asked if they wanted drinks, and left them to consider their orders.
‘If you want wine with your meal their list is particularly good,’ Curt told her.
She shook her head. ‘Wine in the middle of the day makes me sleepy. But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have some.’
‘I don’t drink in the middle of the day either.’
It was a tiny link between them, one she found herself cherishing for a foolish moment before common sense banished such weakness.
Peta opened the menu and scanned its contents with a sinking heart. ‘You’re going to have to translate,’ she said evenly. ‘I can understand some of this, but not much.’
No doubt Anna Lee was able to read any menu, whatever the language.
He shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. I know you like seafood, so why not try the fish of the day, which is always superb, and a salad? If you feel like something else after that we can look at the dessert list.’
‘I’m not particularly hungry; I’ve done nothing but be pampered all morning,’ she said, closing the menu with relief.
When he didn’t say anything she looked across the table. His expression hadn’t changed, but in some indiscernible way he’d closed her out.
Tersely she said, ‘Isn’t it a little pretentious to have a menu in French?’
Her comment called him back from whatever mental region he’d been in, and she felt the impact of his keen attention.
‘Possibly,’ he said indolently. ‘But as the owner is French, we can forgive her for the quirk.’
‘Well, yes, of course.’ Feeling foolish, she glanced at the tree in its elegant pot, hiding them from most of the restaurant. He’d wanted to show her off as his latest lover, so she was surprised he hadn’t chosen a more public table.
As though the question had been written on her face, Curt said, ‘This is the table I always have; any other would have looked too obvious. At least two tables have a pretty good view of us, and sitting at one of them is the biggest gossip in New Zealand, who hasn’t taken his eyes off us since we came in the door.’ He settled back into his chair and surveyed her with a look of pure male authority. ‘I think another of those tremulous smiles is in order.’
Peta tried, she really did, but the smile he’d ordered emerged glittering and swift, throwing down a gauntlet that narrowed Curt’s eyes.
‘On the other hand,’ he said levelly, ‘perhaps you’re right—a dare is much more intriguing.’
He knew what it was about him that attracted women; the genes that had blessed him with a handsome face and eye-catching height. Well-earned cynicism told him that his first million had boosted his appeal, and each subsequent appearance in the Rich List had only added to his standing amongst a certain sort of woman. Although he enjoyed their company, he’d chosen his lovers with discrimination, always being faithful but always making sure they understood the limitations of the affair.
One or two had wanted more; sorry though he’d been to hurt them, he’d cut the connection immediately. He didn’t want to leave a trail of broken hearts. The rest had gracefully accepted what he was prepared to give, and when the time came for the affair to die they’d accepted that too.
Until
