Christabel’s mind burnt with fierce resolution as she leapt from rock to rock, every muscle tensing as she raced to fight for her daughter, determined on keeping her free from the nightmare world the money men would insist on constructing and maintaining. She would not let them take Alicia back to Europe. Never! Her daughter was safe here. If they’d just leave them alone...let them lead a normal life...
Onto the grassy bank of the reserve, her heart pumping, feet pounding, her long wet hair whipping around her. People she’d come to know from neighbouring caravans called out, startled by her hurtling haste, but she couldn’t pause, couldn’t reply. First and foremost she had to reach Alicia before the man in the suit found her. Did he know where to look, which caravan they lived in? She couldn’t see him but he had to be here somewhere.
Close now...she put on a last spurt, jumping over tent ropes and pegs, finally rounding the back of her van and...stopping dead.
He was there—the man in the suit—talking to her daughter, but he wasn’t one of them.
It was Jared—her employer here in Broome, Jared King—nothing whatsoever to do with them!
And if she acknowledged the deep down truth, he was the main reason she’d stayed in this place, longer than she should have.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, frowning over her obvious state of agitation.
She leant against the side of the van, shaky with relief, one hand pressed to her wildly thumping heart, the other raking back the wet tangle of hair from her face. The dark, waist-length tresses undoubtedly looked like straggling ropes, the usual flow of waves in horrible kinks. It was embarrassing, having him see her like this, ungroomed, hopelessly discomposed and too nakedly vulnerable to successfully hide what had to stay hidden.
“Why were you running, Mummy?”
Having caught her breath, Christabel aimed what she hoped was a reassuring smile at her five-year-old daughter. “I thought you’d got lost.”
Alicia huffed her indignation. “As if I would.”
There she was, a delightful imp of a child, her lovely little face framed by a halo of brown curls, no fear at all in the big amber eyes, no shadow of repression hanging over her. Christabel was amazed at the happy self-assurance her daughter had developed here, in this Broome caravan park, and she was deeply grateful it was still in place.
“You were gone a long time and I was dying for a drink,” Christabel offered in appeasement, conscious that Jared King was studying her quizzically and wishing he hadn’t witnessed her fear. He was disturbingly perceptive at times and she simply couldn’t afford to give too much away. Once people knew who she was, who her daughter was, everything changed.
“I’ve got them, see?” Alicia held up a string bag containing two cans of drinks. “I was on my way back...”
“I guess I should apologise for delaying her,” Jared chimed in, holding up the can in his hand. “Alicia very kindly got me a cold drink, too.”
“Why are you wearing a suit?” The accusatory words shot out of Christabel’s mouth before she could stop them.
Another quizzical, more weighing look from Jared. In fact, his coat was off now, slung over one shoulder, and he’d loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves. The strong raw maleness that seemed to emanate from all three King brothers was coming at her in waves, making her acutely aware of being a woman.
“I mean it’s so hot,” she gabbled. “Ridiculous to be walking around dressed like that. No wonder you wanted a drink.”
A slow, ironic smile. “I must admit I’d rather be in a swimsuit.” His eyes gliding over her appreciatively.
It wasn’t a leer. Jared King wasn’t the leering type. But she could feel his pleasure in seeing her like this, every curve hugged and outlined by the sleek yellow maillot, still wet from her swim, and his pleasure always did funny things to her, evoking a foolish happiness that muddled her mind and stirring physical reactions that left her miserably unsettled.
Her breasts were tingling right now, a shivery excitement running up and down her spine, her stomach turning mushy. If only he wasn’t so handsome, so insidiously attractive to her in so many ways...
“Actually, I was driving home from the airport,” he went on.
Of course! He was due home from his business trip to Hong Kong. She just hadn’t connected the suit to Jared, but he would wear one to deal with the Chinese, commanding their respect on all levels. The pearl King, they called him, because he headed the pearling industry his family owned, but secretly Christabel had dubbed him the pleasure King. It was something in his eyes, a warm, caressing sensuality...
“Then I remembered my mother was away...”
His mother—Elizabeth King, of the sharp intelligence and shrewd judgment, a woman who’d lived too much and seen too much for Christabel to ever feel comfortable in her company.
“...no-one to talk to, wind down with...”
Making himself sound lonely, but there was never any need for Jared King to be lonely, not a man like him. Or was he subtly tapping at her loneliness?
“...and I wondered if you might like to share my dinner and hear about your designs, the ones I took with me to Hong Kong.”
His smile held a whimsical appeal, and there was a mocking challenge in his eyes over the bait he attached to the personal invitation. He didn’t believe it would make any difference, but since she’d consistently refused to be with him in anything but a business situation, he was trying that angle...just to see her response to it.
“Did they like my jewellery?” she asked, feeling a surge of pride in the designs Jared had given her a free hand to create, and unable to deny her curiosity was piqued.
“Dinner?”
So tempting...strange how a man who always moved with such graceful elegance could exude so much male animal sexuality. He was tall and beautifully proportioned. His almost black hair tended to droop in a soft endearing wave over his forehead, but there was nothing really soft about his strongly boned face, except his rather full lower lip, lending his mouth the same sensual look she often caught in his dark brown eyes...eyes that were simmering at her now with promises of pleasure.
Christabel scooped in a deep breath, wishing she could indulge the desires he stirred in her. “No doubt you’ll tell me everything at work tomorrow,” she answered flatly.
“I was hoping for a pleasant evening together.”
The tug to accept what he offered was stronger than ever. But he would want too much, she told herself for the umpteenth time. Jared King was not the kind of man who would ever settle for less than everything he aimed for. Behind his quiet, affable demeanor was a will of steel she’d sensed many times.
“Vikki Chan invariably cooks a splendid homecoming dinner for me,” he remarked persuasively, dropping in the fact that his Chinese housekeeper would be in the house—the sense of a chaperone. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. In fact, her steamed fish is superb, well worth tasting.”
Food wasn’t the point, and he knew it.
“I
