Captive In Eden. Karen Van Der Zee

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sometimes plans need to be changed,’ she said wearily. He was acting like a spoiled brat. Not an endearing quality in a manor anyone else, for that matter.

      ‘I thought you’d want to be with me. I thought we…had something.’

      You’re wrong, she thought, feeling sadness overwhelm her. ‘I think you’re being extremely selfish, Sean. Why can’t you see that this trip is important for my career?’

      He said nothing. It was a very eloquent silence and she felt her heart sink.

      ‘You don’t really think my career is important, do you?’ She heard the dull resignation in her own voice. She’d recognised the truth, but had resisted putting it into words until now. ‘You seem to think it’s some sort of hobby.’

      ‘Very few photographers ever make it big, Sky. You know that.’

      She tensed. ‘I’ll make it, Sean. I am making it. I’ve done very well this past year.’ Her Hope series had been exhibited in the Benedict gallery in Washington D.C. She’d had several very good assignments. It just took time and perseverence in this business. And a lot of hard work. ‘I support myself, I pay taxes, I have no debts and I own my own house.’

      ‘A barn, Sky,’ he said with a dismissive gesture. ‘You live in a barn.’ He said it as if she slept in the straw with the pigs.

      However, she did live in a barn—a remodelled old red barn—and she loved it. It was certainly an eccentric place to live, but it was spacious, comfortable, unique and it suited her needs perfectly. It was, obviously, not up to Sean’s sophisticated standards. Well, she’d had enough of Sean and his sophisticated standards.

      ‘You don’t respect my work and you belittle my efforts and you don’t like where I live,’ she said bitterly. ‘I have no idea at all why you’re interested in me and why you can’t live without me for a month.’

      ‘Don’t start, Sky,’ he warned.

      She gave a derisive little laugh and suddenly the weariness was gone and anger gushed from her. ‘I’m starting nothing! I’m finishing something! I cannot tolerate that kind of disrespect from you, Mr Managing Director! You may have a big title and a huge income, but you have a very small mind!’ She whirled around and marched away, her legs unsteady. What was it that gave him the right to feel so damned superior? She stormed inside the large party-room, and out of the first door that came into view, straight into a hard, broad chest.

      The impact stopped her in her tracks. Her face was pressed against the smooth cotton fabric of a shirt. Her gasp drew in a clean, male scent. Her cheek took in the warmth that came through the shirt. Her body flooded with a tingling, intoxicating warmth.

      ‘Well, well,’ Chase drawled. ‘Are you running out on my party?’ He had an arm around her in an effort to steady her.

      She struggled out of his embrace, fighting for composure. ‘I’d like to,’ she said tightly, ‘but I’ll have to wait for my ride.’ It was not going to be a pleasure trip home. Sean’s anger would not suddenly disappear.

      He lifted a quizzical brow. ‘Not enjoying yourself? Something wrong with the food perhaps?’

      ‘No. Something’s wrong with men.’

      ‘That’s quite a sweeping statement.’

      ‘I’m sweeping mad.’

      He laughed. It was a deep, rich sound, and suddenly she found herself cracking a smile, her sense of humour getting the better of her. His eyes gleamed into hers.

      ‘You have a way with words. So what’s wrong with men?’

      ‘They’re selfish, manipulative, arrogant and into control,’ she said loftily. ‘Haven’t you watched Oprah lately?’

      ‘I can’t say that I have, but I don’t consider myself too old to learn. How about a drink to calm you down?’

      He wanted to calm her down. She smiled nicely. ‘Would you say that to one of your male business friends when he was angry?’ Her tone was light.

      He frowned, thinking. ‘Not exactly like that.’

      ‘You’d slap him on the shoulder and say, You need a drink, man; let’s go.’

      ‘I’m afraid if I slapped you on the shoulder you’d crumple.’

      She groaned. It was hopeless, hopeless. She couldn’t help being small and blonde. She evoked in people protective feelings, which was nice if you came down with galloping pneumonia and needed nursing, but in normal life it was infuriating.

      ‘I don’t crumple. I’m very strong, actually, and yes, I would like a drink. Something more potent than champagne—anything.’

      Chase studied her with amused curiosity. ‘Coming up.’

      Moments later she had a glass of whisky soda in her hand and she took a grateful swallow. She wasn’t much of a drinker of strong stuff, but on occasion she liked it.

      ‘I like your dress,’ he said as his eyes skimmed over her. ‘It’s very—er—woodsy.’

      It was short and supremely simple in line and would have been discreetly elegant had it not been for the exotic pattern of the silk fabric. Its leafy design of many shades of green contrasted with small splashes of vivid red, yellow and blue, which on closer inspection could be identified as parrots hiding in the greenery.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said brightly. She wondered if he meant what he said. ‘Not everyone shares your opinion.’ Sean had been less than enthusiastic and asked why she couldn’t have worn something not quite so flamboyant, like basic black. She was not fond of basic black. It made her feel very depressed and depression was not an uplifting emotion.

      ‘Black would look more elegant and sophisticated,’ he’d instructed her.

      She’d laughed. ‘Sean, I thought you’d have noticed by now that I am not the elegant, sophisticated type. I crawl around in the woods and commune with bugs and birds. I feel at home in this dress.’ She liked being surrounded by trees and bushes and birds, and she loved parrots. And in view of the rainforest hotel project she’d thought the dress eminently appropriate. She’d bought the dress in a sale. It had originally been very expensive, but apparently women with a lot of money had considered the dress too wild for their taste.

      Chase’s eyes gleamed. ‘The parrots I find especially intriguing.’

      ‘Papuan King Parrots,’ she informed him. ‘Alisterus chloropterus.’

      ‘Ah, an ornithologist,’ he stated.

      She shook her head. ‘A photographer.’ She smiled innocently. ‘Every time I hike through the woods, I keep looking for parrots. I never see one.’

      His mouth quirked. ‘Let me do you a favour,’ he said. ‘Looking for tropical parrots in a forest in Virginia is a losing proposition.’

      She bit her lip, trying not to smile. She was not successful. ‘It’s not nice to shatter someone’s dreams, you know.’ Her voice was light, yet the atmosphere between them was anything but casual. Something

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