their eyes off him. “What do you know of me really, Mr McAlpine?” She concentrated her attention away from him.
“Hardly a thing,” he conceded. “Why don’t we get matters out in the open? I didn’t want you here, Ms Balfour, any more than you want to be here. But you can’t escape. Neither can I. Both of us are doing this for your father. I want to keep him on board and you want to redeem yourself as I hear it?”
“Redeem myself?” Her blue eyes glinted. “Spoken by a man who listens to gossip. I’m not here to redeem myself—”
“Take it up with your father,” he briskly interrupted, turning his arrogant head as a bestarched young waitress approached, wheeling a trolley.
“Good morning, Mr McAlpine,” the waitress trilled.
“Good morning, Kym.” That careless, megawatt smile. “What have you got for us there?”
He had a darn good voice too. Deep and dark, slightly grainy like polished teak, rather thrillingly vibrant, if one responded to that sort of thing.
“Just what you ordered, sir.” Pretty dimples flickered in the waitress’s cheek.
“No surprises, then,” Olivia remarked, utilising her caustic tone.
Only then did the waitress turn her big brown eyes on Olivia. “Hope you enjoy it, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Olvia allowed no one to see her reaction. She might have been taken for his maiden aunt. Cheek of the girl!
The waitress began setting out freshly squeezed fruit juice in frosted glasses—grapefruit for both—slices of a lush-looking papaya with quartered limes, leaving the remaining boiled eggs and piping hot toast under cover on the trolley. Tea or coffee would be served at the table. McAlpine had only to raise a lazy finger.
“Nice to see you again, Mr McAlpine,” the young woman gushed by way of farewell, injecting all she had in the way of oomph. As it happened, rather a lot.
“Another admirer?” Olivia enquired, after the waitress had gone, allowing the scoff to show.
“Do you mind, Ms Balfour?” He picked up his glass of fruit juice, toasted her with it. “Hope everything is to your satisfaction?”
“Thank you, yes,” Olivia admitted, deciding to be gracious.
“So eat up because we’re outta here!” His dynamic features tightened. Abruptly he had sprung into tycoon mode right before her eyes. Not that she hadn’t seen it all before. But had her father seriously considered in sending her to Clint McAlpine he had sent her in fathoms deep. Not that she wasn’t an excellent swimmer. She had come to Australia determined on setting her mind to the task and in so doing reaffirming her self-worth. It would hardly do to give up at the outset.
Onward Christian soldiers.
At school they had used to sing that in chapel. And, oh, yes. “Amazing Grace.”
Even so it would be a titanic effort.
He came to her room just as she was wondering what to do with all her luggage. In retrospect she had brought rather a lot. Probably what she really needed was some khaki bush clothes, a slouch hat and stout boots to ward off possible snake attacks. She had read all about the snakes, the dingoes, the wild buffalo and the wild pigs, not to mention the crocodiles. Maybe she should tell him she had some experience of the African bush, though the place she and Bella had stayed at—the owner was the father of one of Bella’s admirers—was extremely comfortable. No magnificent wild animals were shot when they had been taken out on safari. She couldn’t have tolerated that. But she and Bella had adored the sightseeing.
Now the Northern Territory, the Top End. Terra incognito!
She swung her head at the peremptory tap on the door, shocked that she felt nervous of the man.
“Do you usually travel so light?” he asked, his gleaming eyes on the pile-up of Louis Vuitton.
“Only when I’m on safari.”
“No chance, then, of seeing you naked?”
She reacted, if she thought of it, like an outraged virgin. “I beg your pardon!”
“Please, a joke, Ms Balfour.” He groaned, casting an eye on her luggage once more. “Might be an idea if you tried to lighten up a little. You’re not at home now. Bring a couple of the smaller pieces. What you most need. I’ll get someone to collect the rest and fly it back to the station.”
Olivia lifted a delicate shoulder. He was making her feel rather foolish. Pompous to boot. “As you wish.”
“Forget the safari—you couldn’t have brought more if you were boarding the QE2 for a trans-Atlantic trip.”
“I’ve brought nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you.” She turned away, to save face, picking out two pieces of luggage and her small make-up box. She had brought lashings of sunblock.
“Right, now we can get under way.” He hoisted her two pieces of luggage—quite heavy, in fact—and tucked one under his arm, carrying the other as easily as if it were a cardboard box. “I have a city apartment,” he told her in an offhand manner. “We’ll take a cab there.”
She reacted with a frown. “What for?”
He gave her a brief, impatient glance. “Certainly not wild sex, if you had that in mind. There’s a helipad on the roof. The complex was built by one of the McAlpine companies. We’re going by helicopter.”
“Oh!” She gave a nonchalant wave of the hand to cover immense flurry. Wild sex? Lead me not into temptation. “That’s OK. I’ve travelled by helicopter before. My father owns an island retreat in the Caribbean.”
“Squillions could only dream of owning one!” he cried satirically. “Good, then you won’t be nervous. Your father is a very rich man.”
“I believe you are so regarded.”
Unexpectedly he gave her one of his slashing smiles. “How quaint! So regarded! But should that worry me?”
She abruptly exploded. He was looking at her as though she was stuck in a time warp. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Money is a powerful aphrodisiac,” he pointed out.
As though she needed to be told that. “You’ll be pleased to know I have absolutely no interest in you, Mr McAlpine, romantic or otherwise.” So why was she feeling decidedly hot. There was the possibility if he so much as touched her she could go up in flames.
“For the record, that makes two of us, Ms Balfour. Anyway, no offence, but you’re a little too buttoned up for me.”
She didn’t deign to reply. On the other hand she was unexpectedly dismayed. Buttoned up, was she? In her view she had always been so well behaved that she should have been given a medal. The lift arrived, unloading two smiling guests and a porter with a luggage trolley.
“I’ll take those Mr McAlpine,” the porter said. “You’re
