to be that surprised,’ Ben said as he finally turned into the rutted gravel track leading up to the house. ‘Course I don’ ‘spect he’ll be too mad. You a sight prettier than Mr Desmond.’
Which might have been a recommendation for another woman, but had never been for her, Carly thought.
She still winced inwardly every time she recalled her last painful encounter with Piran St Just. But now, as she got her first glimpse of the ice-blue house among the trees, she turned her back on that memory and drew herself together, mustering her strength, her determination, her maturity.
Good thing, too, for at the sound of the van the back door to the cottage opened and a man appeared on the broad screened-in veranda.
Carly hadn’t seen Piran except on television and in photographs for nine years. It didn’t matter; she would have known him anywhere.
He was tall, dark and unshaven. His hair was as black as night and wanted cutting, just as it always had. His jaw was hard and firm, and she saw it tighten when he noticed that the person Ben was bringing wasn’t Desmond. His scowl deepened, but he didn’t look angry. Yet.
Carly took a deep breath and pasted on what she hoped would pass for a cool, professional smile. Then she stepped out of the van, lifted her gaze to meet his eyes, and was chagrined to realize she was glad she was wearing sunglasses so that he couldn’t see how much the mere sight of him still affected her after all these years.
‘Piran,’ she said, grateful that her voice didn’t betray her agitation. ‘Long time, no see.’
His eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed. The hard jaw got even harder. ‘Carlota?’
Carlota. No one ever called her Carlota. Not even her mother whose fault it was that she was named that!
Her only consolation was that he sounded as if he’d had the air knocked out of him. He braced a hand against one of the pillars of the veranda and she noticed that his knuckles were white.
‘You remember me, I see.’
He snorted. ‘What in the hell are you doing here?’
‘I gather Des didn’t tell you?’
‘Des?’ He frowned. ‘What about Des?’
‘He sent me. Got my boss to insist, as a matter of fact.’
What? What are you talking about? Why the hell would he send you? Where’d he find you?’ The questions came fast and furious, but no more furious, obviously, than Piran himself. ‘What are you talking about? Where is Des?’
‘On his way to Fiji?’ She meant it to sound like a statement and was mortified when it came out tentative enough to be a question.
‘What!’ There was no question in that exclamation, just pure disbelief. And even more fury.
Carly would have quailed before it nine years ago. Now she drew herself up to her full five feet six, determined not to let him intimidate her. ‘Jim Taylor—you remember, your father’s old cap—’
‘I know who Jim Taylor is,’ Piran snapped.
‘Well, he bought a new boat and—’
‘I don’t give a damn about Jim Taylor’s boat. Where’s Des?’
‘I’m trying to tell you,’ Carly snapped back, ‘if you’ll kindly shut up and let me finish!’
Piran’s mouth opened, then snapped shut again. He glowered at her, then finally he shrugged and stuffed his fists into the pockets of his shorts. ‘By all means enlighten me, Carlota,’ he drawled.
Carly took a careful breath, ran her tongue over parched lips and began again. ‘Jim bought a new boat. He’s sailing it out of Fiji, and he invited Des to go along and—’
‘He went?’ The drawl was gone. The fury was back.
‘He said you’d understand that it was too good an opportunity to miss.’
‘The hell I would! We have a commitment! A contract! Does he think the book is going to write itself?’ Piran stalked from one side of the veranda to the other.
‘No, actually he thinks I’m going to help you write it.’
He spun around and looked at her, poleaxed. ‘You? You help me write it?’
Carly heard a soft chuckle and was suddenly aware that Ben was still there listening. No doubt the whole island would be hearing about this before nightfall.
‘Let’s not discuss this out here,’ she said in a low tone. ‘Let me get my bag and we can discuss it in the house’
‘You’re not coming in the house.’
‘Piran—’
‘You’re not! I don’t know what kind of stunt Des is pulling, but you’re getting in the van and going right back where you came from.’
Carly heard Ben choke on his laughter.
Her cheeks burned. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said fiercely to Piran. ‘I didn’t come all this way to have you send me back.’ She turned and reached back into the van and grabbed her duffel bag. ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked Ben.
‘Eight dollar.’ He was still grinning all over his face.
Carly ignored the grin. She took a ten out of her wallet and handed it to him. He tucked it in his shirt pocket. ‘Thank you, missy.’ He slid back into the driver’s seat.
‘What are you doing?’ Piran demanded. ‘Stay where you are.’
‘Mr St Just gettin’ pretty mad,’ Ben said as he leaned out the window. ‘You sure ‘bout this?’
Carly wasn’t sure at all, but she didn’t see that she had any option. Diana had made herself perfectly clear: when Carly next appeared in the office, she was going to be carrying Piran and Desmond St Just’s next bestselling true-life archaeological adventure. Or else.
But she wasn’t going to be doing that unless she helped Piran finish it. There was certainly no way she could find Des now and make him take her place.
Besides, she thought irritably, how dared Piran make her seem like some sort of unwanted interloper?
‘I’m sure,’ she said.
Ben shrugged. ‘It be your neck, missy.’
Undoubtedly it would. Carly took a deep breath. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Ben gave a quick salute and put the van in reverse.
Piran started down the steps. ‘Ben! Where the hell are you going? Get back here! Ben! Ben!’
But Ben apparently knew that absence was the better part of valor—at the moment at least. The van putted away down the gravel and disappeared around the bend.
It
