unfair, and whose arms held all Chloe wanted. She referred to the nanny with affection, but clearly it was her father who was the sum and substance of her life.
The situation nagged at Iona. Perhaps he hadn’t known about the child when they’d had that fling in Tahiti?
But he’d said her mother had never figured in Chloe’s life.
Apart from bearing her and giving birth, Iona thought ironically. Whatever, she told herself severely as she tucked the child into bed for her afternoon nap, it was absolutely none of her business.
While Chloe slept Iona sat out on the terrace with the book she’d been reading for the past few days, exasperated when it no longer held her attention. She got up and walked over to the edge of the terrace and leant against the railing.
Up above, the glinting waters of the harbour clouds marched in ranks across a radiant sky. After Gavin had drowned she hadn’t been able to bear even looking at the sea; she’d deliberately chosen Tahiti for her holiday because the island location made it impossible for her to avoid the ocean. She’d forced herself to accept and overcome her fear.
It had worked, although not in the way she hoped. The bleak sense of responsibility for Gavin’s death had been overwhelmed by the haze of sensuality Luke had woven around her—a sensuality she’d welcomed, enjoyed, basked in…
Driven by restlessness, she turned away and paced around across the terrace. Whoever had designed this garden had created a rooftop paradise, its almost tropical lushness forming a background to a carefully tended magnolia that held breathtaking, opulently rosy goblets up to the sky.
Idly, she bent to sniff a gardenia flower, wondering what it would be like to be truly rich, one of those people whose deep pockets meant that money was the least of their concerns.
People about as far removed as they could be from Angie, who had three full-time workers to worry about as well as her children, and the ever-present burden of the debts her ex-husband had left behind when he’d skipped out of the country.
Angie had admitted last night that things were tough. How tough? Was she secretly hoping Iona might return to her previous career as a nursery teacher?
If so, surely she’d have said something?
Probably not. She and Angie had no other relatives but each other. Angie could be keeping her on from some sense of family duty.
Entirely unnecessary family duty! Iona made up her mind; she’d ask Angie directly, because she could always find a job in a nursery school or a daycare centre. It wouldn’t pay as well as working for Angie, but she’d manage.
Earlier she’d read Chloe one of the books she’d packed, delighted when the story sparked the child’s imagination. They’d acted it out, with Chloe suggesting embellishments, some outrageous, some affecting—like her suggestion that a baby brother be incorporated so the heroine would have someone to play with.
‘Would you like to keep that book for yourself?’ Iona had surprised herself by asking at lunchtime, when she’d noted that Chloe was reluctant to put the book down.
Chloe’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed, adding conscientiously, ‘Yes, please, Miss Iona.’ She held it out. ‘Can you write in it?’
Touched, Iona said, ‘Of course I can.’ She fished out her pen and printed on the title page: ‘For Chloe, so she remembers a lovely day in Auckland. From Iona.’
But Chloe frowned when Iona read out the dedication. ‘You have to say ‘With love from,” she said.
Iona’s heart stilled a precarious second, then began to beat again. It would be very easy to become fond of this child.
She said, ‘Goodness, how could I have forgotten?’ And inscribed the extra words in the right place.
Chloe beamed. ‘I will be careful of it,’ she promised earnestly.
The book had gone to bed with her after another reading. Now, thinking of the pleasure the simple gift had given the child, Iona smiled, then turned as a voice from behind interrupted her thoughts.
‘I’m awake.’
And ready for the swim she’d been promised.
Chloe’s nanny had brought her up to be self-sufficient; she was already wearing a cute little two-piece, almost covered by a towel draped around her shoulders. A bright yellow cap dangled from one small hand.
Hiding a smile, Iona organised them both into the pool, relaxing a little when she discovered the child was like a small eel in the water. They splashed and played together until a cry of ‘Lukas!’ from Chloe whipped Iona’s head around.
Luke was striding through the glass doors and into the pool enclosure, tall and extremely sophisticated in that killer suit, the sun gleaming blue-black on his arrogantly poised head.
Iona’s spine melted and sharp darts of sensation shot through her. She knew what it was—desire, sweet and treacherous, hauntingly familiar…
Yet different now, deeper and more potent than the purely sensuous sensations he’d previously aroused. Somehow Luke’s obvious love for the child swimming at top speed towards him had worked a change in Iona’s response to him.
A dangerous change, she thought, nerves quivering as she stood up, only to sink back into the water. Her sleek one-piece clung to her like a second skin, tempting her to duck beneath the surface in a stupid, childish reflex.
Luke had seen her naked so often any novelty value had to be long gone, but she was relieved he wasn’t looking her way; in fact, she might just as well not have been there. His whole attention was focused on Chloe, and the smile he gave when he pulled his clamorous daughter out of the pool did something very odd to Iona’s heart.
He said something that lit up the little girl’s face then smiled and wrapped her wet body in the towel like a small, wriggly mummy before hugging her.
Only after he’d kissed her forehead did he look over her sleek black head towards Iona. Acutely and foolishly self-conscious, she stood again, feeling the water stream from her.
‘There is a problem,’ he told her, eyes on her face. Without waiting for an answer he said, ‘This meeting might not finish until late tonight. So you will stay until I come back.’
It was not a request.
‘Very well,’ Iona said, irked by his cool assumption that her time was his to command.
He set Chloe down and commanded, ‘Run off and get back into your clothes. I wish to talk to Miss Iona.’
Chloe raced off, obviously eager not to miss a single precious moment of his presence.
Luke said abruptly, ‘I presume your cousin can bring you clothes for an overnight stay.’
‘No, she’s busy today.’ And when she did get back home with her two tired boys Angie certainly wouldn’t want to be forced to collect clothes from across the city.
Eyes slightly narrowed, he said, ‘In that case I can organise for someone on my staff to fetch them.’
The
