Something inside her quivered. “Of course. Haven’t you?”
Brodie looked past her, and his eyes glazed. He said slowly, “Not…like that.”
Involuntarily she turned to see what had taken his attention. Camille and Rogan were framed in the open doorway, holding each other’s hands and for the moment alone. And it wasn’t the sun that lent that almost blinding glow to Camille’s face, or kindled the fierce light in her new husband’s eyes.
The picture held Sienna spellbound for a second, and an unaccountable lump rose in her throat. Rogan said something to his bride, and she gave him a smile that positively dazzled. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. It looked like an act of homage, and Sienna recalled the words from the traditional marriage service he’d spoken in the chapel earlier, “With my body I thee worship….”
She experienced a return of the poignant sense of desolation that had unexpectedly pierced her when a radiant Camille and blazingly proud Rogan had turned from the altar to begin their married life.
Brodie said softly, “You don’t think that will last?”
Wrenching her gaze away, Sienna lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? All I’m saying is I wouldn’t count on it.” For Camille’s sake she fervently hoped it would, but experience made her cautious of such predictions.
Brodie’s blue gaze was suddenly penetrating. “Want to bet on it?”
Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t gamble.”
“That figures.”
It sounded like a derogatory comment, but she didn’t reply, instead shifting her attention again to the moored boats. “Is one of those the Sea-Rogue?” Camille and Rogan planned a short honeymoon on the boat they owned, before its refitting was completed and they put it to work as a dive tender for Pacific Treasure Salvors.
“She’s farther round the bay,” Brodie told her. “At the old fishing wharves.”
Sienna nodded. She looked away from the boats and started to get up. This time Brodie didn’t stop her.
“Well, nice talking to you,” she said distantly as he too rose to his feet.
He cocked his head, his questioning eyes openly doubting her sincerity, but he didn’t follow when she made her way to the now empty doorway.
Sienna found Camille who said, “I might go up and change soon. Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”
“I’m fine,” Sienna insisted. “I’ve been sitting out in the sun.” Although Brodie had made sure she was under the shade of the umbrella.
“Oh, yes. Granger was hunting for you but he said Brodie seemed to be looking after you.”
“I don’t need looking after!”
Camille smiled at her vehemence. “You do look a bit fragile, and I suppose it brings out the protective instinct in the male of the species.”
“They can keep their instincts to themselves as far as I’m concerned.” A long time ago Sienna had learned there was no sanctuary in a man’s arms. That the only person she could rely on to look after her was herself.
Regarding her thoughtfully, Camille evidently decided not to comment. “It’s only about two weeks since you came out of hospital. You would have said, wouldn’t you, if you weren’t up to being my bridesmaid?”
“I told you,” Sienna replied, “it’s a pleasure. I didn’t want to miss it.” In truth, the pleasure was mixed with concern on her friend’s behalf. Impressed despite herself by Camille’s steadfast certainty, she hadn’t dared voice her own reservations.
A little later they went upstairs and Camille shed her wedding gown in favor of more practical cotton pants and a shirt. Most of the wedding party then decamped along the foreshore to see the newlyweds aboard the Sea-Rogue for their short honeymoon cruise, and as the boat slipped out of its berth some of the onlookers threw streamers across the widening gap and Camille tossed her bouquet to the wharf.
Sienna stepped back, her hands resolutely at her sides, but Granger deftly caught it, and when he presented it to her with one of his grave smiles and a faintly lifted eyebrow, she could hardly refuse to take the flowers.
Back at the hotel Granger told Sienna, “I’ve booked us a table for dinner here at seven-thirty. Camille’s mother and some other people will be joining us.”
Supposing that entertaining Mona Hartley was part of her bridal-attendant duties, Sienna said, “I’ll get changed and meet you in the dining room later.”
In her bathroom she freed her hair from its knot of curls and brushed it out, hoping it wouldn’t spring back into its usual wild corkscrews too quickly. The floor creaked as she crossed the old kauri boards to her suitcase and pulled out a plain sand-colored skirt and a sleeveless cream top embroidered with amber beads. The mirror in which she checked her appearance before going downstairs had a heavy carved wooden frame on which stylized Maori patterns were mixed with depictions of roses and lilies.
At the foot of the stairs she saw Brodie, one hand thrust into a pocket of his dark trousers, his collar open and his jacket slung across one shoulder. He watched her descend, his gaze swiftly encompassing her from head to toe and returning to her face with a gleam of masculine appreciation lurking in the vivid depths, and she wished she’d thought to take the old elevator instead, but for only one floor it hadn’t seemed worth it.
“Ready for your dinner?” he asked her.
“I’m having it with Granger,” she said coolly, fighting a ridiculous sense of pleasure at the way his hair gleamed in the light from a chandelier overhead, the blond streaks turning to gold.
“I know. Me too,” he replied, walking at her side as she made for the dining room. “I offered to wait for you.”
She wasn’t late, but when they entered, two women already sat with Granger at the round table—Camille’s mother and another middle-aged woman.
Mona looked pinched and put upon—not unusual in Sienna’s experience. The other woman, whom Granger smoothly introduced as Mollie Edwards, a good friend of his and Rogan’s late father, was cozily rounded with brass-colored curls framing her rather overpainted face, and a wide smile.
Sienna took to her immediately, but to help Granger out—and also to avoid having to talk too much to Brodie, whose presence she was all too conscious of at her side—she devoted a good deal of her attention during the meal to Mona. The woman had just seen her only child marry a man Sienna had a strong hunch she didn’t approve of. Though it seemed that Mollie’s presence had more to do with Mona’s offended air than did the loss of her daughter.
Granger occasionally caught Sienna’s eye with a hint of grateful appreciation in the turquoise depths of his, and attempted to keep the conversation general around the table.
Brodie had discarded his suit and wore casual gray pants and a T-shirt. When his bare arm brushed against hers as he reached for salt, Sienna felt as though the tiny hairs on her skin had been charged with a current of electricity. It must be the dry seaside air, she thought, confused. The same phenomenon that caused her clothes to crackle
