Read Online One Night in the Orient by Robyn Donald - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robyn Donald
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you,” she said gratefully, pulling out a book from her bag. “If you want to work, go ahead. I don’t need entertaining.”
“I remember,” he said, amused again.
Siena gave him a sideways look, not exactly relishing the way he’d slotted her neatly back into her place of childhood friend.
He was still watching her, and although the smile that curved his chiselled mouth didn’t waver, she sensed a keener intensity in his green survey.
What was he thinking?
Who knew? Nick had always had a poker face; it had been one of the things she’d first noticed about him, an unchildlike refusal to show emotion. Now she found herself speculating about the source of that fierce self-control.
It seemed possible that Nick’s cool, complete self-containment had originally hidden the sort of trauma no child should ever endure.
But perhaps his self-control was inborn, an essential part of the boy he’d been and the man he now was.
Nick said, “I do need to work, but I’ll wait until the seatbelt sign goes off.”
Hastily Siena buried herself in her book, religiously reading until a ping announced they’d reached cruising altitude and Nick got up.
“I’ll work at the desk,” he said. “If you need anything, the steward will deal with it.”
She’d noticed the desk at the other end of the cabin. From beneath her lashes she watched Nick walk across to it and open up a drawer to take out a laptop.
He was a surprising—and unusual—amalgam of magnate and sex symbol. Filmstar good-looks were intensified and overwhelmed by an earthy, potent aura that gave them a raw edge. In casual clothes obviously tailored to his measurements he dominated the trappings of extreme wealth without effort, reducing them to a mere backdrop.
He was, she thought, nerves tightening in sensual appreciation, a dangerous man.
And her attitude to him was veering uncomfortably and recklessly close to absorption.
CHAPTER FIVE
H ALF an hour into the flight Siena gave up on the thriller she’d been enjoying. For the past thirty minutes her eyes had skimmed words that made little impression, and she’d completely lost sympathy with the hero and heroine.
She closed the book, got up and walked across to the sofa facing the television screen, lowering herself onto the seat.
“If you want to turn on the TV,” Nick said, “go ahead.”
She flashed him a smile, her stomach knotting as their eyes met. “No, thanks, but if you want to …”
“I haven’t finished here,” he said, and returned his attention to the computer screen.
Siena picked up a magazine and flicked over the pages. It was exactly what she’d have expected on a private jet, catering to an exclusive readership with money to burn.
But both the photography and the writing were superb. Her attention caught, she read an article about a castle in the Pyrenees before moving onto a rhapsodic description of a spa in Bali. Admiring the rooms and courtyards that combined restraint and tropicalexuberance, she decided that one day she’d visit that exquisite island with its tropical flowers and gentle people. Perhaps.
When she’d found a job and saved the money.
A little later, deep in pictures of impossibly manicured rice paddies climbing mountains, she heard someone cough.
Looking up, she saw the steward coming with a trolley.
“Tea, Ms Blake,” he said. “May I …?”
He showed her the trolley. Just like high tea at a very good hotel, she thought, smiling at the memory of the one time she’d been treated to such an occasion.
She looked across to Nick, who glanced up from his computer and said, “English Breakfast, no milk or sugar, and whatever else looks good.”
Choose for him? She remembered him devouring her mother’s chocolate cake and pavlova, New Zealand’s classic meringue confection decorated with kiwifruit slices, but apart from that she had no idea of his tastes.
So she smiled at the steward and said, “Just leave the trolley, thanks.”
When Nick sat
“I remember,” he said, amused again.
Siena gave him a sideways look, not exactly relishing the way he’d slotted her neatly back into her place of childhood friend.
He was still watching her, and although the smile that curved his chiselled mouth didn’t waver, she sensed a keener intensity in his green survey.
What was he thinking?
Who knew? Nick had always had a poker face; it had been one of the things she’d first noticed about him, an unchildlike refusal to show emotion. Now she found herself speculating about the source of that fierce self-control.
It seemed possible that Nick’s cool, complete self-containment had originally hidden the sort of trauma no child should ever endure.
But perhaps his self-control was inborn, an essential part of the boy he’d been and the man he now was.
Nick said, “I do need to work, but I’ll wait until the seatbelt sign goes off.”
Hastily Siena buried herself in her book, religiously reading until a ping announced they’d reached cruising altitude and Nick got up.
“I’ll work at the desk,” he said. “If you need anything, the steward will deal with it.”
She’d noticed the desk at the other end of the cabin. From beneath her lashes she watched Nick walk across to it and open up a drawer to take out a laptop.
He was a surprising—and unusual—amalgam of magnate and sex symbol. Filmstar good-looks were intensified and overwhelmed by an earthy, potent aura that gave them a raw edge. In casual clothes obviously tailored to his measurements he dominated the trappings of extreme wealth without effort, reducing them to a mere backdrop.
He was, she thought, nerves tightening in sensual appreciation, a dangerous man.
And her attitude to him was veering uncomfortably and recklessly close to absorption.
CHAPTER FIVE
H ALF an hour into the flight Siena gave up on the thriller she’d been enjoying. For the past thirty minutes her eyes had skimmed words that made little impression, and she’d completely lost sympathy with the hero and heroine.
She closed the book, got up and walked across to the sofa facing the television screen, lowering herself onto the seat.
“If you want to turn on the TV,” Nick said, “go ahead.”
She flashed him a smile, her stomach knotting as their eyes met. “No, thanks, but if you want to …”
“I haven’t finished here,” he said, and returned his attention to the computer screen.
Siena picked up a magazine and flicked over the pages. It was exactly what she’d have expected on a private jet, catering to an exclusive readership with money to burn.
But both the photography and the writing were superb. Her attention caught, she read an article about a castle in the Pyrenees before moving onto a rhapsodic description of a spa in Bali. Admiring the rooms and courtyards that combined restraint and tropicalexuberance, she decided that one day she’d visit that exquisite island with its tropical flowers and gentle people. Perhaps.
When she’d found a job and saved the money.
A little later, deep in pictures of impossibly manicured rice paddies climbing mountains, she heard someone cough.
Looking up, she saw the steward coming with a trolley.
“Tea, Ms Blake,” he said. “May I …?”
He showed her the trolley. Just like high tea at a very good hotel, she thought, smiling at the memory of the one time she’d been treated to such an occasion.
She looked across to Nick, who glanced up from his computer and said, “English Breakfast, no milk or sugar, and whatever else looks good.”
Choose for him? She remembered him devouring her mother’s chocolate cake and pavlova, New Zealand’s classic meringue confection decorated with kiwifruit slices, but apart from that she had no idea of his tastes.
So she smiled at the steward and said, “Just leave the trolley, thanks.”
When Nick sat
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