Читать книгу A Ruthless Passion - Robyn Donald - Страница 9

‘IF THAT man at table six calls me girlie one more time,’ Cat said viciously, ‘I’ll pick up what’s left of his Thai lamb and pour it and the crisp noodle salad down the back of his neck.’

Sinead gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I think he’s trying to impress his girlfriend.’

‘From the way she’s giggling and simpering,’ Cat snorted, ‘she already thinks he’s the greatest wit of the millennium, so he can stop it right now.’ Swiftly, competently, she began to assemble another salad.

‘I’m glad he’s yours,’ Sinead said, tearing off her sheet and spiking it in front of Andreo, owner and chef in the small family restaurant, who was stir-frying.

After a quick glance he grunted acknowledgment, and said, ‘Mind your temper, Cathy. If he touches you, yell all you like, but otherwise keep him happy. We want all the customers in those flash new restaurants down at the yacht basin to come back once the regatta’s over and the billionaires have taken their super-yachts off to the West Indies, or wherever they migrate to at this time of year. If you make a habit of tipping good food over customers, it’ll get around.’

‘It’s a severe temptation,’ Cat said dourly. Working here had certainly opened her eyes to the many and varied types of humanity that existed in the only large city in New Zealand.

The soft tinkle of the doorbell sent her into the restaurant. She stopped suddenly, meeting the lion-coloured eyes of the tall man at the desk. A fierce, angry pleasure stained her cheeks, sent her heart soaring.

With an effort that probably showed in her face, she pinned a smile to her face. ‘Table for one, sir?’ she asked sweetly.

Unsmiling, Nick looked down at her. In black trousers and a black shirt—casual yet sophisticated—he was a creature of the night, dangerous, disturbing, his sexuality open and elemental. ‘Yes.’

Cat picked up both menus and escorted him to a table set for two, whipping away the extra silver as he sat down. Concentrating on a point a little higher than his shoulder, she put the menus in front of him and recited the specials. It was difficult to ignore the excitement humming through her but she thought she managed, although she couldn’t do anything about the colour burning along her cheekbones.

He didn’t look at either menu. ‘What’s the best dish?’

‘The fillet of beef with ratatouille and herb salad is particularly good, sir.’ Dicing with danger, she thought as he looked up, his eyes gleaming gold fire. Excitement stroked along her skin, surged through every cell.

‘Then I’ll have that, and scallops for an entrée,’ he drawled.

‘Would you like a drink, sir?’

He shook his head. ‘A beer will do.’ And named one of the boutique beers they stocked.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

When she brought the beer he thanked her and lifted his gaze to her face. ‘Don’t call me sir,’ he commanded, steel running through the words.

An odd sensation slid down her spine. ‘It’s traditional,’ she countered.

‘That’s not why you’re doing it.’

From behind her came a cry of, ‘Girlie! Girlie! Where’s that waitress?’

‘Excuse me,’ she said, almost giddy with relief, and scrambled back to the man at table six and his giggling girlfriend.

‘You’ve made a mistake with this bill,’ he said loudly. ‘I’ve checked it on my calculator and you’ve charged me an extra seven dollars.’

It took some minutes for her to go through the orders with him, show him that they were down on the bill, and get him to run it past his calculator again, this time with the result that appeared on the bill.

Of course he didn’t say he was sorry.

‘And I’ll bet he didn’t tip, either,’ Sinead muttered, keeping an alert, fascinated eye on Nick.

‘I didn’t expect him to. Why should he? Tipping’s not a New Zealand custom,’ Cat said, keeping her eyes on the till as she ran another bill through it. ‘Not unless we do something outstandingly wonderful for the customer.’

‘You didn’t kill this one, which I think was outstandingly wonderful of you! Anyway, your tall, dark and handsome didn’t like it when that guy made a fuss,’ the other woman said with relish. ‘Talk about filthy looks!’

‘You’re imagining things. He’s not mine.’

‘That may be so,’ Sinead said cheerfully, ‘but from the way he watches you I’d say he thinks of you as very much his.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Cat said ineptly.

‘Oh, Cat, sometimes I think you’re the sweetest little old maid in disguise!’ Laughing, Sinead patted her on the head. ‘Live a bit, why don’t you? Look at him! He’s very cool and thoroughly all right in a plutocratic sort of way—just the sort of guy to give you a really good time. Who is he? I feel I should know him.’

‘Nick Harding,’ Cat said without emphasis.

‘So is he your boyfriend?’ Clearly the name meant nothing to her.

‘No.’

‘Hmm.’ Sinead was studying art. She lowered her voice and said with relish, ‘Splendid bones. Good clothes sense too—black suits him superbly. And I do admire that louche, untamed air—all smouldering and intense and yet somehow ferociously disciplined. I’ll bet he’s so utterly dynamic in bed.’

‘Have you ever thought of changing your major?’ Cat enquired, alarmed by a knife-slash of jealousy. ‘To creative writing, perhaps? And what about Jonathan, who is probably even now revving up his motorbike so he can take you to a nightclub?’

Sinead chuckled. ‘All right, you saw him first—but, hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?’

Ten minutes later she hissed, ‘I’ve just realised who Nick Harding is.’ She paused and when Cat raised her brows, she probed, ‘I presume he is the Internet zillionaire?’

‘Yes.’

Sinead picked up a pepper grinder. ‘Makes you rethink all the definitions of computer nerd, doesn’t it? He looks like some swashbuckler from the days when buckles were swashed as a regular thing. Hunk doesn’t apply—too everyday. Unfortunately I don’t think there’s a word that means good-looking as sin, with an edge of ruthlessness and danger.’ She winked at Cat. ‘I sense hidden depths and dark secrets and a certain wild recklessness that sets my hormones buzzing. Why, I wonder, isn’t he down at the yacht basin with all the other billionaires and high society people? Could it have anything to do with your mysterious, slanted eyes?’

Grinning triumphantly, she carried the grinder off.

Cat was on edge for the rest of the evening, even after Nick had drunk his beer, eaten his dinner, and left with no more than a nod. He didn’t try to tip her, which was a relief; she would, she thought vengefully, have flung it back in his face, and then Andreo would have had a fit.

It was late when she finally stepped out onto the footpath outside the restaurant, waving Sinead and her Jonathan off on his motorbike.

‘No, you don’t have to see me home,’ she told them when they hesitated. ‘Go and dance all night!’

‘You’re sure?’ Sinead peered at her.

‘Dead sure. When has there ever been a mugging here? Off you go.’

Sinead seemed as though she was going to insist, but then she looked past Cat and gave a quick nod. ‘OK, see you tomorrow!’

They took off and she turned and walked briskly away. The sky hung low, threatening rain on a warm wind from the tropics. Because Auckland was spread across on an isthmus between two harbours, one on the west coast, one on the east, every wind and breeze came salted with the sea.

Other scents floated across from the Domain park—newly mown grass, some exotic perfume that hinted of the tropical plants sheltered in the elegant glass Wintergardens, and the sweet, potent fragrance of datura flowers behind a nearby hedge.

Although it was after midnight, traffic hummed along the motorway; Cat wished she could drive north as far as she could, and settle in some small town so far away from Nick that he’d never find her.

The sound of her name jerked her head up. A swift flare of excitement set her blood afire as she saw Nick walking around his long, sleek monster of a car. Had she summoned him just by thinking about him?

No wonder Sinead had gone off so happily!

‘I’ll drive you home,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re not in the habit of walking by yourself at this hour of the night.’

‘Sinead and I usually go home together.’ Made uneasy by his closeness, Cat shrugged further into her jacket. ‘We live in the same house.’

‘Get in.’ When she hesitated, he said curtly, ‘Unless you want me to follow you all the way home?’

Fuming, she obeyed, sitting in eloquent silence while he set the car in motion. If he touched her, she thought nastily, she’d hit him where it hurt most. She wasn’t going to endure again the consuming lash of his sexuality and her own feral response. It was humiliating.

He made no attempt to touch her. They were almost at their destination when he said, ‘Why, when you get a very adequate allowance from your trust fund, do you work every night at a second-rate restaurant?’

She bristled. ‘Andreo is a superb cook—’

‘That’s not the issue,’ he cut in incisively. ‘Why are you so cagey? I assume the answer’s got everything to do with the ecstatic answer I got from the clinic in Ilid. According to Sister Bernadette you are a major benefactor—in fact, the only benefactor the clinic has. Thanks to your generosity, she told me, they now own some piece of equipment I can’t even spell, let alone pronounce.’

‘It’s a—’ She bit back the words.

He drew the car to a halt outside the house. ‘Yes, I thought you’d know all about it. How much did it cost?’

Cat stared at the dark window that indicated her shabby room. If she’d known Juana was going to need this second operation she’d have kept twenty thousand dollars back, but she couldn’t regret that the clinic now had a functioning surgery ward and theatre.

Eventually she said, ‘It’s none of your business. All you have to do is see that the income from the trust goes to the right place once a year.’

‘If you think that’s all a trustee does,’ he said cuttingly, ‘you should, perhaps, re-read the relevant pages in your textbooks. Glen certainly didn’t intend you to send it all to a hospital in Romit. I don’t need to tell you he’d be horrified to see his wife waiting in a restaurant, however good the chef. He wanted you to be taken care of.’

She said distantly, ‘I can look after myself.’

Nick switched off the engine and turned to look at her, both hands still on the wheel. ‘Not very well. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.’

She remained stubbornly silent.

‘All right,’ he said, dismissing the subject, ‘forget it. If it makes you happy, spend every cent you get on the clinic. I have a favour to ask of you.’

‘A favour?’

Glen had used to grumble about Nick’s damned, stiff-necked pride. Nick followed his own road with a self-contained authority and confident determination that got him where he wanted without asking for help. A sideways glance revealed his profile—granite-hard and uncompromising.

A flash of white indicated his narrow smile. ‘You heard,’ he said crisply. ‘It won’t be easy, and it will involve moving in with me. You’ve heard of the Dempster Cup, I assume?’

‘I do read the newspapers,’ she retorted, her heart lurching in her chest. Steadying her voice, she added, ‘Next to the America’s Cup it’s the most prestigious yacht race in the world, and this year it’s in Auckland. And so, of course, are all the rich people who follow rich yacht races in their super-yachts. What on earth does a sailing competition have to do with a favour from me?’ In a tone edged with sarcasm, she added, ‘Especially one that involves moving in with you.’