Читать книгу In Bed With...Collection - Emma Darcy - Страница 74

TEN past six.

And Nathan wasn’t here!

Miranda had finished introducing the Hewsons to the other new guests who had arrived before lunch, as well as suffered Bobby’s smarmy hug of familiarity as he confided their former professional connection to the group. Her skin was still prickling with revulsion as she escaped his stroking fingers with the excuse of fetching a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

A mistake to have worn this dress. Its shoe-string straps left too much flesh exposed for wandering hands. She’d chosen it because it was a bright lemon colour and she had matching sandals and the outfit had always made her feel upbeat and confident. Tonight she needed all the confidence she could get.

And she had wanted to look good for Nathan!

Was it another mistake to count on him?

She was half-way to the bar to put in a call to the kitchen when she heard a vehicle pulling up outside. Not the sound of one of the resort Jeeps. A more powerful engine. Her heart did a flip and a heady mixture of hope and relief surged through her. It had to be Nathan arriving!

Forgetting the hors d’oeuvres, she did an about-turn and headed for the doors to the front verandah, her pulse skipping erratically. She wanted him. She needed him. Doubts about his motives were momentarily blotted out. The doors in front of her opened automatically to her approach. In a few blurred seconds she was at the head of the steps to the verandah, and there her swiftly moving feet came to a halt.

It was him.

He was rounding the bonnet of a Land Cruiser, his big solid frame silhouetted against the sunset. He paused as he caught sight of her waiting to welcome him, and her heart hammered wildly at the strong visual image of him, stamped on the vibrant colours of the outback sky—long horizontal streaks of yellow behind the black spindly trees on the flat horizon, red and purple clouds clustered above them—and this man…this man looking like a lord of it all, whom nature itself was glorifying.

Then he was striding up the path and the very same skin that had crawled at Bobby’s touch started tingling as Nathan’s electric energy poured towards her. A quiver ran down her thighs. Her toes curled. Her mind throbbed his name over and over…Nathan, Nathan, Nathan…

She didn’t hear the doors slide open behind her.

But she heard the voice and the slimy confidence in it as it said, “Ah! Mr King arriving?” and her heart froze as Bobby Hewson stepped up beside her, once again hanging his arm around her shoulders in an insidious claim of ownership, right in front of Nathan!

The shock of it completely paralysed her. She saw Nathan’s step slow, his gaze dart from her to Bobby and back to her, and her mind jammed in horror at what he might be reading from Bobby’s action.

“Good evening, Miranda,” he greeted her coolly as he came to the end of the path.

His coolness jolted her tongue loose. “I expected you earlier, Nathan,” she snapped, hating the situation his tardiness had set up.

Suddenly goaded into not caring how it looked, she spun out of Bobby’s hug and stepped aside, throwing out one hand in formal introduction. “This is one of our guests, Bobby Hewson…Nathan King. Bobby has expressed a wish to discuss resort business with you, Nathan. If you’ll both excuse me, I have other guests to see to.”

She left them to it, her whole body seething with furious emotion. Let them have their man-to-man chat, her mind raged. Let Bobby do his worst behind her back. Let Nathan believe whatever he liked of her. She’d steel herself with all the armour she could summon so that neither man could touch her. It was stupid, stupid, stupid, to count on anyone to do right by her! Especially men who just wanted to feather their beds with a woman they fancied.

Terry, one of the waiters, was serving a selection of hors d’oeuvres to the guests. Bobby’s wife was gaily chatting to another couple who had been to Granny Gorge that afternoon, displaying no disturbance of mind over her straying husband, not even a questioning glance at Miranda as she rejoined the group. But Celine’s gaze did snap to Nathan when Bobby escorted him inside.

“Ooooh…magnifique!” she breathed in girlish awe, and Miranda sourly thought Nathan undoubtedly had the same effect on every woman. He wasn’t only special to her.

Nevertheless, despite his drawing the attention of the whole group, it was she he looked at, his gaze boring straight through her defences, shaking her up again, even as she glared back at him, telling herself she wouldn’t let him mean anything to her.

Bobby was talking at him in a confidential manner. There was no discernible response on Nathan’s face. As they came within easy earshot, Nathan turned to him and said very clearly, “You have the wrong man. This resort is the business of my brother Tommy, and he’s happy to leave its management in Miranda’s very capable hands.”

So Bobby was already trying to go over her head, Miranda surmised, though Nathan was the wrong man for that, which meant he’d try Tommy next.

Bobby frowned. “Surely you network.”

“As a family, yes. But none of us interfere with each other’s areas of special interests.” His face took on a hard arrogance as he pre-empted any reply from Bobby. “Though perhaps I should add that the whole family would swing in to protect any of our interests should they be threatened.” His gaze cut straight to Miranda. “We look after our own in the Kimberly.”

She was instantly thrown into more turmoil. Did he consider her his? Was he promising she was safe from Bobby, regardless of anything the man said to anyone?

“You’re one of the Kings?” another male guest queried, obviously fascinated by this exchange.

Nathan swung to him with a little smile of acknowledgement. “Yes. Nathan King. The cattle station is my business. And you are…?”

A flurry of introductions and handshakes followed. A keen curiosity about the running of a cattle station prompted several questions at once.

“Well, one requisite is being ready to cope with any emergency,” Nathan answered. “This afternoon one of my stockmen was thrown from his horse and it looks as though his back may be broken.”

Expressions of dismay and sympathy rippled around the guests. Miranda frowned. Was this the cause of his late arrival? “Calling an ambulance is not an option out here,” he went on. “Under instructions from the flying doctor service, we trucked him in to the station airstrip, loaded him into a plane and flew him off to hospital.”

“Any news of him yet?” Miranda asked, guilty about her own selfish concerns when one of Nathan’s men might well be fighting for his life.

“No.” His vivid blue eyes targeted her. “It was five-thirty by the time we had him safely on his way. I’ve arranged to be called here when information comes in.”

“Of course,” she said quickly. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes.” He nodded towards the bar. “Shall I help myself?”

The bar attendant was on his way to the group with a tray of cocktails.

“I’ll make you whatever drink you’d like,” she offered, hoping to have a few private moments with him.

“Thank you,” he returned drily, as though no longer expecting anything from her.

Which made Miranda burn with more uncertainties.

As they both moved towards the bar, Celine called, “Bobby, why is it called a cattle station instead of a ranch?”

Miranda silently blessed the claim for her husband’s attention.

“Probably because they use huge road-trains, up to fifty metres long, to take the stock to market,” someone else answered.

“Yes, and it’s best to get off the road if you see one coming,” another guest chimed in, proceeding to recount his experience of road-trains, which occupied everyone else’s attention.

A lively distraction from the injured stockman, Miranda thought, then reflected that it might have been Nathan thrown from his horse…and how would she have felt then? Even in her current state of violent confusion, he tugged at something vital in her.

“I’m sorry…about the stockman,” she blurted. And for her rude greeting, though she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you on time,” he returned quietly, causing her more inner writhing.

“The injured man was more important,” she asserted.

“Sometimes there are injuries that aren’t so easily visible.”

Miranda’s heart contracted. Was he talking about her? Himself? Bobby? She shot him a questioning glance as she rounded the bar to serve him. “What would you like?”

His eyes beamed back commanding authority. “I’d like you to seat me at the end of the dinner table with Bobby and Celine Hewson on either side of me. Right now I’ll have a whisky. No ice.”

She reached for the bottle of whisky, her hands trembling a little, her mind filling with the kind of poison Bobby would pour into Nathan’s ear. “Why do you want to be placed there?” she asked, as she managed to pour his drink.

“I’d also like you to be seated at the other end of the table, right away from him.”

Right away from Nathan, too. She wouldn’t be able to hear what was going on between the two men. Which wasn’t fair! How could she defend herself? She handed him the glass of whisky, hating the sense of having no control over the situation.

“What if I don’t want that?” she challenged.

His eyes glittered with what looked like contempt. “You like him pawing you?”

“No!” she cried, shrivelling under the implication.

“You want to hear how much he still wants you?”

“You know I don’t!”

“Do I Miranda?” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes savagely deriding her contention. “I know nothing of what’s gone on between you since he’s arrived. All I know is you cut me dead out on the verandah.”

“Nothing’s gone on!” she hissed. “And I was upset by that little tableau Bobby put on for you when you arrived.”

“Running away didn’t resolve anything.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Undoubtedly you weren’t. I see his wife is very attractive. Are you jealous?”

“She’s welcome to him.”

“Then why are you objecting to the seating I’ve suggested?”

“Because…” Miranda clamped her mouth shut. It was madness trying to fight this. She’d been right when she’d whirled back inside. Let Bobby do his worst. Let Nathan think what he liked. She was better off out of it. “Fine!” she clipped out. “Have it your way! I hope you enjoy your dinner!”

The bar attendant was on his way back. Miranda used him as interference to avoid anything more to do with Nathan as she returned to the guests. He strolled back to the group and began chatting up Celine. Well, not exactly chatting up, but answering her very enthusiastic curiosity about him, and Bobby was content to stay in that little circle of charm, waiting to inject his venom when the chance came.

When it was time to usher everyone to the dining table, Miranda didn’t have to do any arranging of the seating. Nathan claimed the chair at the foot of the table. Celine grabbed the seat to the right of him. Bobby naturally took the seat to his left. The others chose where they willed, leaving the chair at the head of the table for Miranda, since that was where she had sat at lunch-time.

From that moment on, it seemed to Miranda, Nathan controlled everything. He played the part of a charismatic host to perfection. He was interesting, amusing, witty, extending himself to entertain everyone, the life of the party, all the guests hanging on his words, enjoying having his company, loving every minute of his good-humoured sharing of himself and his expert knowledge of the Kimberly region.

Miranda doubted they even tasted the food they consumed. No one bothered to comment on it. They were too busy lapping up the unique experience Nathan was giving them. Occasionally he referred things to her, forcing her into the conversation, and she had to respond as a good hostess would, but she kept remembering the two dinner parties at the station homestead where he hadn’t bothered to put himself out so much, and she resented this performance from him now…lording it over all of them.

It was probably sticking in Bobby’s craw that Nathan was the star attraction. But so what? Did that do any good? Was this some male competition to show her he was better value than Bobby was? If this was supposed to win her, it was the wrong way of going about it, as far as Miranda was concerned. She would have preferred to have him sitting next to her, giving her some caring attention instead of impressing how great he was on others.

After the main course was cleared from the table, Celine took herself off to the Powder Room. A fresh coat of glossy red lipstick and a respray of perfume for Nathan’s benefit, Miranda darkly surmised. One of the other women asked her about a picnic box ordered for tomorrow and the rest of the party started checking their planned activities with each other.

Miranda saw Bobby lean over to murmur something to the man who’d upstaged him all evening. Nathan’s face visibly stiffened. His eyes narrowed. Then he leaned over and said something to Bobby that had her former employer straightening up in his chair.

The two men eyed each other in a long, silent duel. More inaudible words were exchanged. Nathan’s expression took on a hard, ruthless cast. Whatever was going on between them was not the least bit entertaining, and Miranda had the sickening feeling she was at the centre of it.

Celine returned to her chair.

The call signal of a mobile telephone came from Nathan’s shirt pocket. Conversation halted as attention swung to him, the injured stockman coming to mind again.

“Please excuse me,” he said, standing up to move away from the table.

He went out on the verandah to take the call.

The sweets course was served, providing a timely distraction. Miranda had lost her appetite for any more food, her stomach too knotted with tension to accept even a spoonful. Whatever antagonism had just been raised and aired between Nathan and Bobby was bound to make the situation worse for her, and she had to get through two more days—and nights—with the Hewsons.

Compliments about the lemon souffle´ flowed around the table. Questions were asked about the chef and what other delights could be anticipated from him. Miranda assured them they would be pleased with whatever Roberto prepared but the menu often depended on the guests themselves. She smiled at the couple going fishing tomorrow and suggested they might provide their next dinner.

“Miranda…”

Her heart jumped at Nathan’s call. She turned to see him standing at the opened doors to the verandah, emanating an air of authority that was not about to brook opposition.

“May I have a word with you?”

The polite but very public request could not be turned down. “Yes, of course. Please excuse me,” she said to the guests as she stood up.

Chaos tore through her again. If Nathan had received bad news he might have to go. Despite her earlier raging, she didn’t want him to leave. A trembling started in her legs, and it was difficult to maintain any sense of independent pride as she crossed the room, her mind feverishly fretting over the outcome of this evening’s conflicts.

He smoothly engineered her passage out onto the verandah and drew her far enough away from the doors to allow their automatic closing. His grasp on her elbow was firm, warm, and Miranda felt chilled when he dropped it. Had Bobby turned him off her, or had she done that herself? A devastating emptiness yawned inside her.

“The stockman?” she asked, unable to look Nathan in the face.

“The news was good. The spinal cord wasn’t damaged.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“That’s not why I called you out. Look at me, Miranda.”

A steely command.

For a moment, she looked out at the dark shape of his Land Cruiser, remembering her feelings when she’d seen him arrive, silhouetted against the sunset. There had been hope in her heart then. Now despair pressed its dark fingers on her mind. She dredged up some remnants of fighting spirit and turned her gaze to his, expecting nothing good.

His eyes blazed with relentless determination. “You cannot stay here,” he stated unequivocally. “I have called Tommy and apprised him of the situation. He’ll fly in first thing in the morning.”

Alarm streaked through Miranda. What had Bobby said about her? Why was Nathan involving Tommy? Was she being fired from her position? Summarily removed because of another person’s word? Though of course it wasn’t just another person. It was her previous employer!

“What did you tell Tommy?” she demanded frantically, needing to know what she had to defend herself against.

“Enough to know Hewson is a threat to his business,” Nathan answered tersely. “I want you to go in now and pack a bag, ready to leave. I shall keep the Hewsons occupied while you do this.”

“But where am I to go?” What had Bobby said? How was he a threat? And why did she have to leave? “You can’t do this to me,” she protested. “Not without telling me why. I’m entitled to an explanation.”

“I’m not doing anything but safeguarding you and the good name of this resort,” he retorted, frowning at her response. “As to where you’re going, with me, of course. You can spend the weekend at the station homestead. Once the Hewsons are gone, you’ll resume your position here.”

She wasn’t being fired! “I’m to go…with you?” she repeated dazedly.

“Yes. I promise you will be safe with me, Miranda. Is my word good enough for you?”

“Safe…from Bobby, you mean,” she said, trying to sort through her confusion.

“From me, as well…if that’s concerning you,” he said harshly.

She shook her head, knowing Nathan would not force himself upon her. But to go to such extreme measures…”I want to know what Bobby said. Why you’re doing this,” she cried.

“Later.” He gestured an impatient dismissal of these concerns. “Is there anything you need to organise for the guests tonight, before you leave?” he pressed, assuming her consent to his plans.

The realisation struck she had no choice in the matter. Nathan and Tommy had already made the decisions. “No,” she answered slowly, trying to adjust her mind to this entirely new set of circumstances. “Though I usually check that they’re happy with everything before they retire for the night.”

“You can do that before we leave. What about the morning? Breakfast? Activities?”

Her mind raced over possible problems and saw none. “It’s all been scheduled. It should run without a hitch. There’ll be a staff member on duty here.”

“Good! Then go and pack what you need. I’ll hold the party together. And don’t be long about it, Miranda.” His eyes flashed contempt. “I’ve had enough of the Hewsons to do me a lifetime.”

He hadn’t been enjoying himself…

Still in a state of shock over these new developments, Miranda went back inside to follow Nathan’s instructions. It took considerable effort to shake her mind free of the dark, tumultuous brooding that had possessed it since his arrival earlier this evening. However, one comforting fact did emerge. Nathan had come to stand by her, to protect her. And now he was taking her right out of the nightmare of having to cope with Bobby any longer.

Relief mixed with a sense of humiliation that it had come to this…taking her out…bringing in Tommy…all because of her history with a man she now despised, a past she had done everything to escape from.

Did anyone ever escape from their past? she wondered.

On the other hand, perhaps she was exaggerating her part in whatever was going on. Maybe there was some threat to the resort, competition planned by the Hewson/Parmentier hotel connection. Bobby’s request for her to show him how the resort worked might have another more devious motive than just getting her alone with him.

Assuring herself she’d find out soon enough from Nathan, and having reached her room, Miranda pushed herself into thinking of what clothes to take for a weekend at the station homestead. Except it wasn’t just a place to go to, a place of refuge from Bobby Hewson. She would be spending the weekend with Nathan…in his home.

Safe, he’d said, and his word could be trusted. Miranda didn’t doubt that. The problem was…could she trust herself to keep safe from him? She hated the distance she had put between them tonight. Maybe it was a sensible distance. Maybe he no longer wanted to cross it.

What had Bobby said about her?

Her heart quivered in trepidation. Her life didn’t feel her own any more. But she went through the motions of packing a bag. A weekend with Nathan should sort out something, she argued. Safe or not, it had to be better than staying here with Bobby Hewson.