Captive In Eden

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 was in the air—something reflected in his eyes, the tone of his voice.

His green eyes did not leave her face. ‘Somehow I don’t think that’s what I’m doing.’

She sipped her drink, saying nothing, feeling her pulse quicken, feeling a strange apprehension.

‘So, what else are you interested in, apart from photographing parrots?’ he asked casually.

Why didn’t she believe he was as casual as he sounded? As if his question had some hidden purpose?

‘I like travelling, but I haven’t had many chances, and I like hiking and camping and white-water rafting.’

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, really.’ She was used to people’s surprise. She didn’t look the sporty type. She was too small and too blonde and too feminine, and even her short, sporty hairstyle did nothing to dispel that image.

‘And you?’ she asked. ‘What do you do in your spare time? Play golf? Ride horses?’

He inclined his head. ‘Of course.’ He tossed back the last of his drink, and then someone claimed his attention and she gratefully slipped away.

She wanted to go home. She’d had enough of smiling politely and making conversation for the sake of making conversation. Of course Sean would want to stay. He loved this sort of thing. Networking, it was called—making contacts. She should be networking herself. After all, you could never know where a new assignment could originate, and there were a lot of influential types prancing around here. But tonight she didn’t feel up to it. She wanted to go home and cry and wallow in self-pity.

She clenched her hands involuntarily and swallowed at the lump in her throat. When she was nineteen her life had been perfect and she’d thought it was going to be perfect for the rest of her life. By the time she’d turned twenty her world had crumbled around her.

She’d been so young, so idealistic, so full of dreams. It seemed like another lifetime. Now, sometimes, she felt wise and old and cynical. It was not a nice feeling, and not one she intended to cultivate.

She glanced around the room, finding no Sean. She had a raging headache, which was not so surprising considering the circumstances. She’d been up very late last night doing paperwork and reading up on Mexico. The little bit of sleep she’d caught had been fitful and full of confusing dreams. And now this confrontation with Sean…She rubbed her forehead, feeling physically exhausted and emotionally drained.

Where was he? Impatiently she roamed around, her feet hurting. She wasn’t used to wearing high heels, although it did give her an enjoyable sense of being a bit taller, and more elegant. Ten minutes later there still was no sign of him. She was beginning to feel uneasy and her head throbbed painfully. On impulse she slipped out of the front door and went in search of Sean’s car, a white Pontiac Fiero. She wished she’d come in her own car, an ancient little sky-blue Jeep, so that she wouldn’t have been dependent on Sean to see her home. Not that her little Jeep would have felt at home among the lofty vehicles in the parking area, she thought as she scanned the impressive collection of expensive cars. There was no sign of Sean’s Fiero.

It was gone, leaving an open space between a shiny charcoal Mercedes Benz and a metallic blue BMW.

For a moment she stood very still, incredulous.

He had left! He had left without her! The swine!

She didn’t know a soul at the party. They were miles out in the countryside in an isolated historic plantation house. She didn’t even know where she was exactly. Sean had been driving and she hadn’t paid much attention.

She’d been dumped. There was no other word for it. Leaving her stranded was Sean’s revenge, no doubt. She should have known. She’d told him he had a small mind, and this was proof. No class, no manners. How could she possibly ever have liked the man? It was frightening to think how blind she had been. How hopeful. How stupid. She swallowed painfully.

Her head throbbed and she rubbed her temples. She went back into the house and headed for the bar. She needed a drink, some juice or water. She needed to get rid of this headache—she was beginning to see stars. She was beginning to feel dizzy.

She needed to figure out a way to get home. Surveying the room, she studied the guests. All the men wore very expensive suits. All the women wore very expensive dresses, none with parrots. Not a single familiar face, not a single person she could impose on to take her home. It was almost an hour’s drive away. And forget a taxi. It would take care of her food budget for the month even if she could manage to get one out here in the back of beyond, which was highly unlikely.

She asked for a glass of orange juice with ice and went in search of a quiet place and a chair to sit in. The marbled entrance hall was empty. If she sat here for a while, maybe her head would stop hurting. She noticed a door slightly ajar and glimpsed a desk, a bookcase, a large sofa.

A sofa! She pushed the door open and slipped in, closing the door behind her.

She needed to lie down—just for a little while. She was going to pass out if she didn’t. She put the glass down on the massive oak desk, using a discarded envelope from the wastebasket as a coaster. Kicking off her high heels, she lay down, closed her eyes and tried to empty her head of all thought. It was heaven. She heard the muted sounds of talking and laughter from other parts of the house. The quiet in this study was like a balm for her tortured head. In a little while she’d get up and tackle the problem of transportation.

* * *

When she awoke it was too late to tackle the problem of transportation. It was three o’clock in the middle of the night and the house was silent as a tomb. She felt panic rise and forced it down. This was not the end of the world. It was merely excruciatingly embarrassing.

She swallowed back a laugh. Oh, God, leave it to her to get into a situation like this. She struggled into a sitting position and stared into the darkness until her eyes adjusted. It wasn’t all that dark. A wave of moonlight swam through the window, washing the massive wooden desk in a silver sheen.

Her headache was gone. This was good news.

She needed to go to the bathroom. This was bad news.

There was a bathroom off the entrance hall, she had discovered earlier that evening. Unfortunately, running water made noise. What if the green-eyed tiger heard her? At least, she assumed he was asleep somewhere in this mansion. Oh, God. She could see it now. He’d come in search of her in black silk pyjamas. He’d pounce on her.

Well, she simply had no choice. She tiptoed out of the door, across the oriental rug that graced the marble entrance hall. A large, curving staircase swept up regally to the second floor.

She found the bathroom and prayed he would not hear the running of water after she flushed and washed. The mirror produced a nightmarish sight. Her mascara and eyeliner had smeared all over the place. Her hair was standing out in every direction and looked like a bleached mop in the garish light. It wasn’t bleached. It was perfectly honest blonde hair, but somehow she looked like a tramp, especially with her dress now wrinkled disastrously. Poor abused parrots. She bit her lip and chuckled.

She tiptoed back into the study and sat down on the sofa, waiting with bated breath for sounds of footsteps in the house. Nothing. After a few minutes she began to breathe more easily.

She needed to collect her thoughts.

Leaving the house was out of the question. She had no transportation and only a vague idea of the general location of the place. She was at least an hour’s drive away from her barn, not a distance she could walk. Calling Beth, her friend, or her mother in the dead of night to come and get her was asking no small favour, but it would do no good because she couldn’t give any directions. This left her with only one possibility.

She’d have to make her presence known and ask for help.

Help from Chase Montana, who was asleep somewhere in this sprawling plantation house.

For obvious reasons three o’clock in the morning was not a good time to go in search of him and awaken him. Closing her eyes, she visualised him asleep in a big bed, wearing black silk pyjamas, or maybe nothing. Probably nothing. She imagined touching his arm, trying to stir him from sleep. In her mind she could just see him leap, naked from the bed, growling. She grinned to herself. Well, she could still laugh.

There was no good time for this confrontation, but the morning was better than now. She sighed and smoothed the fabric of her dress. Silk dresses were not meant to be slept in. She groaned. She would look a disaster in the morning.

Her eyes caught a framed photograph on the desk, captured by the moonlight, and she could not resist having a closer look. It was a starchy family portrait: father, mother and two young teenage sons. One of the sons was Chase—a much younger version of the one she’d met last night. The other was obviously his younger brother. The portrait was agonisingly formal. The father wore a pin-striped suit and looked grim. The mother’s dress was conservatively elegant and she wore a strand of pearls and a stilted smile. Both boys wore jackets, shirts and dark ties, and their hair had been slicked back. The younger boy’s smile was a frozen grimace, much like Chase’s. Yet there was a difference in their expressions. Chase’s eyes had a devilish gleam in them. She’d seen that same gleam last night. A sudden little shiver ran down her back. She wasn’t looking forward to facing him in the morning.

She went back to the sofa, lay down and closed her eyes. She might as well sleep some more. There was nothing else to do. If only she could pick up the phone and talk to Beth. Beth would die laughing, but not at three in the morning. Sky felt a spasm of pain and pushed it away. Beth and Kevin were moving to North Dakota in a couple of months. They’d been part of her life for a long time, ever since college. They were her only two close friends who had known Josh. Their departure would leave a terrible hole in her life.

She awoke to a grey morning and a sense of doom. No sunlight streamed through the uncurtained windows and it did not look like a spring morning. She grimaced. She could have done with a little sunshine to give her courage. It was just after seven, according to her watch.

Coffee. Her body was begging for a cup of strong coffee. Quietly she moved to the door and carefully opened it a crack. Muted noises reached her ear. Somebody was stirring around somewhere on the ground floor.

Chase Montana?

With her heart in her throat, she slipped back into the bathroom and washed her face and hands. She rubbed at the remainders of mascara and eyeliner with a tissue and some hand lotion that was thoughtfully provided. She had a comb in her bag and she pulled it through her hair. There was nothing she could do about the dress. It was a sorry sight. Quickly, noiselessly, she went back into the office and slipped on her shoes. She straightened herself to her full five feet two inches and took a deep, fortifying breath. It was time to face the tiger.

First, of course, she had to find him. She knew where the kitchen was. Platters of food had emerged from it last night. It was the logical place to start the search.

The kitchen door was closed, but it opened before she could reach to do so herself. And there he was, Chase Montana himself, wearing casual cotton trousers and an open-necked shirt, a cup of coffee in his hand.

His dark brows arched in surprise, then settled in their natural place again. His eyes narrowed and his mouth curled in a predatory grin and the silence crackled with tension.

‘Well, well,’ he drawled. ‘Look who’s here.’

CHAPTER TWO

SKY’S heart sank at the tone of his voice and she felt a nervous wobble in her knees. Since she wasn’t given to wobbly knees, this was not promising.

She had decided that the only way to deal with this most embarrassing situation was to come right out and tell it the way it was. His tone of voice, however, was not encouraging and did not help her confidence. The man had a terrible effect on her equilibrium, physically as well as emotionally, and she couldn’t help feeling swamped with trepidation.

‘I fell asleep in your office,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

He put his coffee down and thrust his hands in his pockets, surveying her with narrow-eyed suspicion. ‘It’s an interesting technique,’ he said calmly. ‘Do you do this sort of thing often?’

‘"Technique"?’ she echoed, uncomprehending.

He nodded. ‘I’ve been told that meeting available men is difficult these days. Entire books are written on the subject.’

Words failed her. She had seen those books. How to Catch a Rich Man, Loving a Wealthy Man is Easier. Fury and humiliation washed over her. It took all her strength to calm herself enough to speak.

‘I’ve never found it necessary to resort to those techniques, Mr Montana. And if I did, may I assure you that I wouldn’t choose you as my victim. You’re not my type.’

He was absolutely, positively not her type. He was too arrogant, too smooth, too sure of himself. He ravaged beautiful rainforests.

He quirked a mocking brow. ‘Is that right?’ he asked slowly.

She straightened her spine and stared hard into his cool green eyes. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ It was difficult to look dignified in a wrinkled jungle dress, and she was well aware of it, but she’d be damned if she’d let him intimidate her.

His gaze skimmed over her from top to toe. ‘Then please enlighten me as to why you ended up stowing away here.’

‘I didn’t stow away! I simply lay down on the sofa in your office. I had an excruciating headache.’ And I felt miserable and exhausted, she added silently.

‘A headache?’ You’ve got to be joking, his tone said.

‘Yes. A real blaster.’ She looked at him contemptuously. ‘Believe me, seducing you or any other male was the last thing on my mind. All I wanted was to get rid of the pain.’ She swung around and marched determinedly to the door. She was leaving. She would walk. She would hitch a ride on a manure truck—anything to get away from this insufferable male who thought she’d hid in his office for some devious purpose.

She was not fast enough.

He caught her by the wrist. ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.

‘I’m leaving!’ His big hand encircled her wrist in a painful grip. ‘Let go of my hand!’

‘You have a car here?’

‘No! I’ll walk!’

He released his grip on her. ‘I don’t think that would be wise.’ He looked meaningfully at her wrinkled party dress and her high-heeled shoes. ‘It’s going to rain and I don’t think you’re dressed appropriately for a hike in the country at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.’

She wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t. She glared into his cool green eyes. ‘You owe me an apology,’ she said between clenched teeth.

‘Not until I know why you are here.’

‘I told you!’

‘Why do I have trouble believing this headache story?’

‘I have no idea!’ She had no idea what the matter was with this man. Why he looked at her like this. Why he had this devastating effect on her nerves.

He leaned casually against the door-post and crossed his arms. ‘Well, let’s go over the facts. Your name is Sky Malone and you’re a photographer.’

‘Yes,’ she said, staring straight into his eyes.

‘And supposedly you came here with Sean Kendall.’

‘Not supposedly. I did.’

He nodded. ‘All right, you did.’

She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Would you please explain to me what this is all about? I don’t feel like being interrogated at seven in the morning!’

He nodded agreeably. ‘I suppose it would be civil of me to offer you a seat and a cup of coffee. Come along.’ He held the kitchen door open for her and waved her in. He offered her a chair. The perfect gentleman, he was. She sat down at the scrubbed wooden table. She didn’t have a choice.

It was a big, yet cosy country kitchen and empty of other people. The coffee smelled heavenly. She watched as he poured her a cup. His arm was tanned and muscular with a light sprinkling of dark hair. His hand was big and strong. She felt a tiny twinge of…excitement, apprehension. She drew in a slow breath. It was just a man’s arm, a man’s hand.

‘Sugar? Cream?’ he enquired politely.

‘Both, please.’

He put the cup in front of her as well as a sugar bowl and a small carton of cream from the refrigerator. He refilled his own mug and sat down opposite her.

‘You told me you didn’t stay the night because you had designs on my body,’ he stated casually. ‘So what else could it be?’

‘Your silver,’ she said promptly. ‘Maybe I wanted to steal you blind and escape in the middle of the night.’

‘Only we have a burglar alarm system and all hell would have broken loose if you’d tried to leave.’

She shrugged.

He took a swallow of coffee. ‘Did you find any silver that looked interesting?’ he asked with mockinterest.

‘None.’ She put three generous spoonfuls of sugar in her cup.

‘Well, that’s a relief.’ He looked pointedly at her stirring her coffee. ‘You have a sweet tooth?’

‘Not normally, but it appears I need the energy.’ She drank greedily, feeling the sweet, rich mixture slide comfortingly into her system.

He leaned back in his chair. ‘So it wasn’t my body and it wasn’t the silver. Interesting.’ He drank his coffee and studied her over the rim of his cup as if she were some fascinating but dangerous insect.

She gritted her teeth. ‘Are you always so suspicious of people? Do you have some sort of paranoia?’

‘Not until recently.’ He smiled. It was not a friendly smile and she felt her apprehension grow. She fortified herself with another deep drink of coffee.

‘And what happened recently?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.

He gave her a penetrating stare. ‘Somebody brought a lawsuit against me.’

She took in the hard line of his jaw. ‘Oh, really? Are the environmentalists after you?’ A smile escaped her at the thought. She couldn’t help it.

‘You find this amusing?’ he asked coolly.

Her smile widened. ‘Actually, yes, I do,’ she said recklessly. ‘That hotel in Ecuador is a terrible idea.’

‘So you told me yesterday.’

‘And that makes me a criminal?’

‘No, that does not make you a criminal.’ He came to his feet, picked up the coffee-pot and refilled both their cups.

She added four spoons of sugar while he watched. He made her uncomfortable. The uneasiness crawled through her blood. Maybe he thought she was here to find out more about him as a person, to infiltrate the lair of the money-hungry tiger and dig up some dirt. Character assassination was a popular technique in court cases. She looked up from her cup and met his eyes.

‘If you’re accusing me of something, I have the right to know.’ She clenched her hands. ‘All I did was fall asleep on your sofa and now you interrogate me as if I were a common criminal! I don’t know anything about that lawsuit and I am not here to dig up dirt on you, if that’s what you’re thinking!’

He eyed her narrowly. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t feel reassured.’

‘You think I’m lying?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know you, do I? I find it very suspicious to find you here in this house. I’m simply trying to ascertain what the reason might be.’ He paused fractionally. ‘Apart from that headache story.’

She covered her face with her hands and moaned. There was no way she was going to convince him of her innocence.

‘What happened to Sean last night?’ he continued. ‘You said you came with him to the party.’

‘Yes, I did.’ She lowered her hands and clasped them together on the table in front of her.

‘But you didn’t leave with him.’

‘No, I did not.’ In the circumstances, maybe that was suspicious. He didn’t like Sean; she was quite sure of that.

‘Why not?’

Well, what could she say? The truth and nothing but the truth: He dumped me.

‘He left without me,’ she said, which sounded a bit more dignified. She tried not to look at the small wisp of dark chest hair that peeked out from his open-necked shirt. Everything about him seemed to disturb her—his eyes, his voice, his damned chest hair.

His brows arched. ‘That would indicate a certain lack of manners, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Absolutely.’ She could only agree. ‘I think he was having a tantrum.’ She swallowed a nervous chuckle. The situation was beginning to take on farcical overtones.

‘A tantrum? I thought children had tantrums.’

‘Some men have them too,’ she said lightly. ‘When women don’t fall all over themselves pleasing them.’

‘I see. So he was having a tantrum because you were not falling all over yourself pleasing him.’

She nodded, trying not to smile. ‘You could say that, yes. I’m going to Mexico for a month and we had an argument about it in your lovely garden.’

‘Ah, after which you threw yourself into my arms. You fit quite nicely actually; did you notice?’

She gave him a withering look, and his mouth twitched.

‘Just a casual observation. When I hold a woman close in my arms I can’t help noticing the feel and shape of her.’

Her heart began to race at the image and she remembered very well the feel of his hard chest against her cheek and the warm male smell of him. Oh, God, this was insanity. ‘I hope it was a big thrill for you,’ she said caustically.

‘It was.’ His smile showed even white teeth. ‘Now tell me, what’s the problem with your going to Mexico?’

The question was posed casually. They were having a casual conversation, were they? She didn’t believe it for a minute.