‘Don’t you understand?’ Sarah Walker looked around the imposing boardroom in the vain hope that someone other than the young woman from public relations would appear. Someone more influential.
‘If you don’t renew the Trust, the Sanctuary will be forced to close.’ Sarah gripped the edge of the highly polished table as her future slipped away. ‘Without help . . .’ She snatched up one of the photos scattered across the table, and brandished it as though the slim photographic evidence could change the mind of this corporate stooge. ‘. . . This species will be extinct within our lifetime.’
The PR woman closed her notebook. No trace of concern touched her face. She didn’t even bother to hide her bored indifference. She probably gave more thought to which colour Italian shoes she should sashay in to work than the plight of orangutans.
‘As I said before, the board’s decision was unanimous.’ She sported a victory smile, as if somehow she’d helped make the decision to terminate thirty years of wildlife preservation. ‘I’m sorry you’ve come such a long way and wasted your time.’ Her vacuous tone made it clear she didn’t give a damn what Sarah might have wasted to make the trip to London from the other side of the globe.
The woman stood in her ridiculous heels. Clearly, the meeting was over.
‘The Sanctuary also supports twenty local workers.’ Why didn’t this woman get it? ‘Our organisation is the biggest employer in the area. The local village depends on us.’ Sarah stood. ‘We’re the only thing that brings visitors to the region. Without us, many small businesses will die.’
‘That’s not our concern. Our decision was made clear to you over the telephone and in writing.’
Sarah dropped into her chair, folded her arms, crossed her legs and affected her best concrete-block imitation. ‘I’d like to speak to someone more senior.’ If they wanted her out, they’d have to drag her across their fancy corporate carpet. ‘The finance director or at least your boss.’ The money she needed was a pittance to this British corporate giant. She wouldn’t leave without it. She couldn’t. So many people were depending on her. She couldn’t fail.
‘Will I do?’
A hot guy in casual clothes leaned on the doorjamb. Great, another flunky. Sarah looked away from the distracting eye-candy. But . . . Something about him. Her gaze flicked back to his face. Her heart skipped like a game of hopscotch and it felt as though the pebbles from a hundred games dropped into her belly. Those eyes. That smile. She blinked hard.
Blake!
Her stomach backflipped sickeningly. Her fist flew to her lips. It couldn’t be. How? She blinked hard, trying to stretch her field of vision that now only featured Blake’s gorgeous, deceitful face.
‘What are you . . .?’ She stumbled to her feet and stared at the man who, who . . . The man who’d opened up her world to passion. The man who’d taught her the ecstasy of physical love. The man who’d dumped all that in the rubbish ten years ago and disappeared.
And here he was, standing in front of her with barely a feather stroke of age on his skin. His eyes glinted with that unusual shade of blue. Sharp and searing like a desert sky in midsummer. His body had changed. Broader, harder. His dark hair shorter but still unruly. The tiny touch of grey, a surprise.
‘Sarah?’ Blake’s eyes flashed wide. ‘Good God.’ He strode across the room but stopped halfway and stood rigid. The shock vanished from his face and disdain stained his expression, accompanied with barely suppressed anger. He stared as though he expected something from her. As if somehow the next move was hers.
She looked away from that hard face of betrayal. She’d fallen so willingly into his bed all those years ago. She’d been young, naïve . . . believed in a fantasy. Experience had taught her that life was no fantasy.
‘Thank you, Katie,’ Blake said to the PR woman, who stood gaping, all traces of superior indifference gone. ‘You can go.’
‘Sorry,’ Katie gushed, fluttering to Blake’s side, more attentive than an infatuated teenage groupie with the latest pop sensation. ‘I can handle this.’ Katie hurled Sarah an I-can’t-wait-to-throw-you-out glare. ‘You really don’t —’
‘And shut the door behind you,’ Blake said with the authority of a man who was used to other people doing his bidding.
Katie’s lips pinched tight, her pretty face suddenly ugly. ‘Of course.’ She retreated from the office and closed the door.
Blake’s eyes, now icier than the Arctic in the dead of winter, swung to Sarah’s.
‘Ten years without a word and you turn up in my boardroom.’ His gaze could’ve frozen water, but his tone would’ve shattered it. His powerful presence enveloped her, holding her mind captive and her body confused. The boyish cheekiness of those long-gone days had vanished. Instead, he emanated sophistication and wealth despite his casual attire of jeans, jacket and simple white T-shirt. She clenched her fingers. The unwelcome sensation of being out of her depth smothered her senses. ‘Why now? Why here?’ he demanded. ‘Why after all this time?’
‘I’m not here to see you.’ She wanted to scream the words, but they tiptoed out in a shocked whisper. He’d disappeared and she was the one under interrogation? He’d taken her virginity and vanished. Her hands quivered. She collected her notebook and shoved it into her bag.
‘Leave that.’ He stepped in close, his arm brushing her shoulder. Fire scorched every cell in her body. He took her bag, tossing it down on the table beyond her reach.
‘How dare you?’ She pushed past him, snatched up her bag and headed for the door.
‘Sarah, wait.’ He grabbed her arm.
She stared slowly down at his hand on her skin and then back into his blue, blue eyes. ‘Any right you had to touch me evaporated when you left.’ The words tasted sharp, bitter and rewarding.
He didn’t loosen his grip. ‘You can’t just leave.’
Breathing hard, she met his gaze. Of course she couldn’t. It wasn’t just about her any more. She couldn’t storm off like an enraged adolescent. She needed to . . . had to . . . But how did she say . . .
‘Blake, there’s something I need to . . .’ And then it hit her. That case. Fear sharper than any blade cut straight to the centre of her heart. It was in all the papers. She’d seen it on the news on the flight over. Something versus Taylor. Oh, God. She gripped a chair hard to steady her trembling body. The court case. The consequences. The pain. A family torn apart. She looked back into Blake’s demanding face. What if Blake did the same thing? He was so angry. What would he do when he discovered they were connected in more ways than just a holiday fling? Would he exact some sort of retribution? Fight her just to spite her?
‘What is it?’ Blake’s voice lost a fraction of its harsh tone. ‘Are you all right?’
She needed to leave. She needed advice. She needed . . . Well, she didn’t know what she needed. One false step and Blake could take her life and rip it apart. Again.
Blake Huntington-Fiennes watched his first love walk to the door and wrench it open. His pulse took off at a cracking pace. The Australian beauty glowed as she’d done during those heady days in the tropical heat of Brunei.
He’d been mesmerised from the first moment he’d seen the Amazonian goddess walk across the pool deck of his hotel. She’d walked past him in a simple black one-piece and his heart had stopped. All lush honey-blonde hair and bronzed legs. Her body so toned, so hot. He’d assumed she was one of the Olympic athletes rumoured to be staying at his hotel. When he’d spoken to her, his gaze had flittered between those sumptuous lips and those alluring gold-brown eyes.
Her hair was now hidden in a tight ponytail, but her killer curves were on display in her simple knee-length khaki shorts and white T-shirt. Delicious heat settled low and deep. Her body still showed the athletic quality of all those years ago. But her eyes . . . they’d lost that dancing, carefree sparkle.
‘Stop,’ he said. She wasn’t walking out of his life again.
She turned and silently walked back into the room to collect the series of photos she’d left in her hurry to be gone. Blake glanced at the pictures. Shot after shot of monkeys. He picked up a photo of Sarah, standing in front of a building with a small group of people in work overalls. Dense jungle dominated the background.
The Hope Orangutan Sanctuary. He rubbed the skin above his eyebrows. The board had agreed to cease the funding of that organisation a few months ago. It was a legacy project from the days when the company’s main area of concentration was business software. The sanctuary had nothing to do with the current corporate direction of Hunt-F Technology.
‘You have something to do with this?’ He held up the photo.
‘More than something.’ She reached for the picture. He held it back, waiting for a better answer.
The look she lobbed him had a don’t-mess-with-me quality. ‘I run it.’
He frowned at the photo. ‘But you’re a journalist.’
Her laugh sounded hollow and weary.
‘No, I run the Sanctuary for which this company just signed the death warrant.’ She took the photograph, slid it into her bag and stepped towards the door.
There she was trying to leave again. Damn, he wanted her. Nothing had ever come close to that night of passion they’d shared. Perhaps another night with her and he’d rid himself of that lingering obsession. She’d be out of his system. Done.
‘What if I could do something about that?’ he said.
Cute creases marred her forehead. ‘What on earth could you do?’
Interesting. So she didn’t know who he was.
‘Have dinner with me tonight and find out.’
‘Don’t you have to get home to your wife and ten children?’ she asked, her tone bitter.
‘No wife,’ he said. ‘And who’d have time for children? So, dinner.’
‘Ah . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘I’ll sign a cheque right now for ten thousand pounds if you’ll have dinner with me tonight.’ He’d have to postpone a meeting, but it’d be worth it.
Her eyes widened. ‘You could give the Sanctuary ten thousand pounds?’
He picked up the phone on the table and dialled.
‘Linda, could you come to the boardroom, please, and bring my personal chequebook.’ He dropped the phone back into its cradle. ‘My PA will be just a minute.’ He pulled out a chair. ‘Have a seat.’
‘What do you do here?’ she asked, confusion clouding her eyes. She looked about, as if the answer might hang somewhere on the walls.
‘This and that,’ he said, taking a seat and leaning back casually as though he was at a bar on a Friday night.
A knock announced Linda’s arrival. His efficient, middle-aged secretary moved quickly and placed the chequebook in front of him.
‘Anything else?’ Linda enquired.
‘Yes,’ he said, flipping open the chequebook. ‘Book a table for two at The Dorchester for seven tonight.’
‘Table Lumière?’
Blake nodded. Linda left, softly closing the door behind her.
He wrote a cheque for ten thousand pounds in the name of the Hope Orangutan Sanctuary and tore it from the book.
‘Ten thousand pounds.’ He held out the cheque and waved it with sweet seduction. ‘It’s yours if you have dinner with me.’ Dinner and a whole lot more, if he had his way. Sarah was his sweetest memory. A memory that was in serious need of reinvigorating. Then he could snap shut that chapter of his life, permanently.
Blake waved the small life-saving piece of paper a few feet from Sarah’s hand. How could he authorise such an amount?
‘What do you do here?’ she repeated.
‘You really don’t know, do you?’ He looked even sexier with his half-smile. ‘You’ve been receiving money from me for nearly ten years.’
What?
‘But . . . We’ve . . .’ This didn’t make any sense. She pressed her lips together and regrouped. ‘We receive funding from the HF Environmental Trust.’
He looked at her as if her screws weren’t just loose, they were all seriously defective.
‘HF. Huntington-Fiennes.’ He said the name as if she was supposed to react, as though he’d given her the winning numbers for the next national lottery.
‘Okay, I get it. Hunt-F Technology manage the Trust. And?’
‘Are you telling me you don’t even remember my name?’
‘Of course I remember your name.’
‘My last name?’
She didn’t know. She’d never known. If he’d ever told her, she couldn’t remember. Passion had been the only thing on her mind back then.
‘So . . . you . . .’ She dropped into a chair. The connection chugged into place like an ancient steam engine.
How could she not have known Blake was connected with the Trust? She stared unseeingly across the room. Easily, that’s how. Her mother had been involved with the establishment of the Trust. After she’d died, the money had kept coming. Sarah had never questioned it. Her days were frantic just keeping the Sanctuary operational.
‘You . . . You own Hunt-F Technology?’
He cocked his head and smiled. A superior, self-satisfied smile only a man with confidence branded in his DNA could achieve. ‘I’m the CEO.’
Sarah shook her head, trying to sort out what he was telling her. None of this made any sense. Could it really be that Blake had been so close all along? She couldn’t bear to think about it.
‘But you . . .’ The conversations from all those years ago filtered back into her mind. The days by the hotel pool. Strolling through the manicured streets of Brunei, hand in hand. The intimate dinners. Those tentative plans for a future. The night that . . . She swallowed, but the usually simple action felt difficult and constricted. ‘Ah . . . you were some sort of programmer. Software or something like that.’
‘You remember.’
Remember! Those seven days were etched on her mind and body for eternity.
‘Vaguely.’ She wouldn’t let him see the hurt. Things had irrevocably moved on and it was as though that magical time had never existed. An exquisite moment lost in a life of hard work and struggle. A moment that made the rest of her world drab and grey, except of course . . .
‘So. Dinner.’ Blake waved the promise of money in the air.
She should just leave, but the Brunei Wildlife Administration had given the Sanctuary eight weeks to make urgent repairs. Failure to comply and it would issue a closure notice. The precious paper fluttered temptingly close. Ten thousand pounds wasn’t anywhere near the amount she needed, but she could start on critical repairs.
‘Okay,’ she said. Blake had been absent from her life for ten years; a few hours wouldn’t make any difference. Would it? She reached for the money.
‘Tonight.’ He slipped the cheque into the front pocket of his jeans.
Her eyes followed his hand and lingered a little too long. When she met his eyes again, she knew he, too, was reliving hot nights and slick sex. Traitorous heat crept up her neck, but she defiantly held his gaze.
‘I’ll give you the cheque tonight.’ He stood and moved towards her. ‘That way I know I’ll actually see you again. Where are you staying?’
Her heart tap-danced in her chest. She stood, forced her expression into a blank mask and prayed her alarm didn’t show. He couldn’t go anywhere near the hotel. She couldn’t risk it. Not yet. Not until she knew the implications of this situation.
‘I’ll meet you at the restaurant.’ The words poured out too fast. ‘The Dorchester, right?’ she said, fussing with her handbag.
He stepped in close. Every time he did she lost a little of her mental capacity, and her body’s desires took over the show.
‘How can I trust you’ll turn up?’ he asked.
This man had an interesting way of remembering the past.
‘Two reasons. One.’ She thrust her forefinger into the air in case he missed the point. ‘I’m not the one with the history of disappearing. Two.’ Second finger up. ‘I need the money.’ She slid the rest of the photos into her bag and thrust out her hand. ‘See you tonight.’
Blake took her hand. The way he captured it was nothing like the quick handshake she’d been aiming to deliver. His touch held the promise of a night to remember. ‘I can’t wait,’ he said.
She couldn’t speak. His touch robbed her of the ability to think, to reason. Her eyes burned brighter than a lighthouse beam across a dark ocean. She turned away. Away from temptation; away from the man who’d taken her heart and treated it with such carelessness; away from the man who would steal the most important person in her life. Away. Away. Away.
‘Leave the country as soon as possible,’ the lawyer instructed.
It felt as though the cord of the telephone was wrapped about Sarah’s throat and slowly tightening. Her breath came in short gasps. It had taken her half an hour to find a legal-aid lawyer willing to talk to her. What he’d explained was a thousand times worse than any scenario she’d imagined.
‘But won’t that set us up for an acrimonious legal battle from the start?’ she asked.
‘You’ve read the papers. The Taylor versus Hamilton-Smyth case. Eleanor Taylor lost her house, her business and has had to live in the UK for over a year while this case was being contested. Can you afford to stay in London indefinitely? Because that’s the situation you could face. Leave the country and fight this case from Brunei.’
‘I have to see him in less than an hour.’ She leant her head against the cool glass of the telephone box.
‘Cancel. This man is your son’s father. He has every right to take him any time he wants and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. He’s the father. While you’re in England, don’t meet with this man again.’
‘I have to.’
‘If you want to be in the driver’s seat in this custody battle, you need to get back to Brunei. Especially as you’ve said he’s extremely wealthy and you’re not. What you’re not taking into account is how he will react. Missing ten years of his son’s life could make him angry. How well do you know this man?’
The lawyer waited for an answer. Shame prevented her from supplying him with one.
‘Your son’s father could keep you in this country almost indefinitely,’ he said. ‘A court could order you to surrender your passports and you’ll be trapped in England for months, if not years.’
A muffled voice sounded in the background on the other end of the line.
‘Sorry, Ms Walker, I have to go,’ he said. ‘My next case is here. Good luck. I don’t want to see your name plastered all over the papers.’
Sarah hung up the phone and left the traditional red English phone box. The sweet warmth from the glorious summer’s evening did nothing to melt the icy fear that had taken up residence in her heart. She’d have to lie by omission through the whole of dinner. She couldn’t leave without that ten thousand dollars.
She caught the tube to Marble Arch and walked down Park Lane to The Dorchester. She slowed when the hotel came within sight. A smartly dressed doorman stood in front of the revolving doors. Her palms prickled with moisture and she smoothed them down her simple black shift dress. She’d picked up the outfit from a Sydney charity store during her last fundraising visit to Australia. It might be second-hand but it was designer and fitted her just right. She hoped she wouldn’t stand out in all the wrong ways amid the luxury.
She paused and closed her eyes for a moment.
You can do this.
She took a deep breath, and walked quickly to the hotel entrance.
‘Welcome to The Dorchester,’ the doorman said.
‘Thank you.’
She walked into intimidating extravagance. All shining brass, glass and marble. She found her way to the restaurant.
‘Good evening.’ The maître d’ greeted her with eyes that judged every book by its cover.
She swallowed. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong. You don’t belong.
‘Do you have a booking?’ he asked.
‘Ah.’ She exhaled slowly to soothe nerves. ‘Yes . . .’ She looked beyond the maître d’ into the restaurant. Everything she saw confirmed her fears. She felt like Cinderella before the fairy godmother’s magic. No jewels. No designer heels. No silky-smooth hair or manicured nails.
‘Sarah.’
She whirled in the direction of the familiar voice. Blake walked towards her, looking magnificent in casual trousers teamed with a simple white polo shirt and navy sports jacket. An unexpected record of relief played on her emotional jukebox.
‘Nice of you to show,’ he drawled.
And just like that they were back to war. She tried to turn away, but before she knew it he was holding her shoulders and kissing her on both cheeks. His touch was more like ownership than affection, but still warmth glowed on her skin where his lips had been. Her mind teetered on a cliff-edge of confusion. But the lawyer’s words hammered through her mind; he could take her son.
‘Mr Huntington-Fiennes.’ The maître d’s expression subtly said is she really with you? ‘Ah . . . this way please.’ His smooth professionalism was restored quickly.
Blake placed his hand on Sarah’s back and guided her through the tables. Sarah noticed several elegantly attired people following their progress towards a wall of curved shimmering lights.
‘People are staring at you,’ she whispered.
‘No, they’re staring at you. Do you have any idea how stunning you look?’ Blake said.
She nearly tripped at the shock of the sweet words. What was he up to?
The maître d’ drew aside a curtain of lights and Sarah walked into wonderland. A sumptuously laid table stood ringed by a luminescent oval curtain, cocooned away from the other diners. Like being surrounded by a waterfall of diamonds and ice. Blake waved away the maître d’ and held out her seat.
‘What is this?’ Sarah asked, settling into the comfortable chair.
‘Table Lumière,’ Blake said. ‘We’re surrounded by a wall of four thousand five-hundred fibre optics. We can see out but they,’ he gestured to the diners beyond the wall of light, ‘can’t see us. Tonight, I thought privacy was paramount.’
He took his seat across from her and gifted her with a killer smile. Her resolve melted like steel in a mega-watt furnace. She swallowed and focused on the overwhelming opulence. The hand-cut crystal wine glasses, the exquisitely patterned bone china, the perfectly arranged vase of white roses and the man who could give so much and then snatch it all away.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Blake said, with an expression as trustworthy as his intentions.
‘I didn’t have a choice,’ she replied, running her finger down her highly polished knife. ‘Like getting your own way, don’t you?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
The waiter arrived with the menu and she took time perusing it. The prices! Her dinner alone could cover the cost of her meals at home for a month.
‘Any chance we could have fish and chips in the park and you add the cost of this dinner to the cheque?’ she asked.
‘No chance.’
‘So.’ She snapped the menu shut and placed it on the table. ‘The Sanctuary’s funding . . . how do I —’
‘No,’ he said, holding up both hands. ‘I ban that topic of conversation.’
She stared at him. ‘What? Sorry, the only reason I agreed to come to dinner was to discuss the Sanctuary’s funding.’
‘I’ll fine you one thousand pounds every time you mention it.’ He didn’t even bother to look at her but scanned the drinks menu.
If only he’d look up, she was sure her glare was wild enough to kill. Could the man be any more arrogant? Had he always been this way? Back then?
The waiter arrived to take their drinks order. Without deference to her, Blake ordered a bottle of champagne.
‘Celebrating something?’ she asked, layering on some heavy-lacquered sarcasm.
‘You,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about me over the years.’
She’d done more than think about him. She’d tried everything she could to find him. For years she’d held onto the hope that he’d come back. He never did.
‘Nope and I’m glad.’ She sat back, trying to look as though she meant it. ‘Imagine wasting my emotional energy on a man who cares so little for the environment.’ This would be the best way to survive the evening. Angsty sparring about global issues.
‘I’m confused,’ he said, pinning her with his eyes. ‘You’re the one who lied and I’m the one being roasted.’
Her heart stilled. ‘Lied?’ Had he found out? ‘What lie?’
‘You promised you’d be in touch.’
Her shoulders relaxed. She needed to get a grip.
‘And how do you propose I’d have done that exactly? Telepathy?’ she asked, with hard-worn bitterness. ‘You used me and then you disappeared.’ She wasn’t going to tell him how desperately she’d tried to find him. Begging every employee at his hotel for something. A name. A telephone number. An address. Something. Anything. But when you only have a first name and a six-foot brick wall of privacy policies, all the begging in the world still comes to nothing.
‘What’re you talking about?’ he asked.
‘You vanished in the middle of the night. It’s not like you were trying to bash down my door.’
‘I didn’t know how to find you.’ He reached across the table and took her hand. She tried to pull away. He held it more tightly. ‘I bet you still don’t have a mobile phone. I left a letter for you at your hotel and at mine. You didn’t get either?’
Unease inched its way up her spine. Her hotel? Ah, that lie. The heady scent of the roses turned sour.
‘No.’ She slid her hand from his and gulped down some champagne. ‘How convenient, two letters and I didn’t receive either.’
‘That’s not the only interesting aspect of this saga,’ he said, topping up her glass. ‘As soon as I landed back in England, I called your hotel.’ He placed the bottle back in the silver ice bucket. ‘They had no record of you.’
Breathing got a little harder. She played with the stem of her champagne flute. But there was no way she was going to allow this to be her fault. He was the Houdini who’d left without so much as a thanks-for-the-good-time-baby.
‘I checked at your hotel after you didn’t meet me,’ she threw back at him. ‘Nothing.’
‘I can’t explain that,’ he said simply. ‘But perhaps you can clarify why when I called the newspaper you said you worked for, it too had no record of you.’
‘You called the Brunei Gazette?’ Her heart beat harder than a death-metal drummer. She blinked stupidly at him. He’d tried to find her? She averted her gaze to the glowing curtain. Could that really be true?
‘Yes, I called the Gazette,’ he continued. ‘No one by the name of Sarah Walker worked there.’ His statement held an edge, sharp and accusing.
‘Ah, that. Well, that’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got all night.’
The waiter arrived, outlined the evening’s specials and took their order. It gave her a few minutes to regroup. As soon as the waiter slipped through the curtain of light, she moved the conversation onto safer ground.
‘The Sanctuary has a government inspection in eight weeks. We need to raise one hundred thousand pounds to make urgent repairs or we’ll be closed down.’ The words tasted salty and desperate. She hated begging this man. But beggars, choosers and all that. ‘The Sanctuary supports the surrounding community; without us, the local economy will be devastated.’ Her voice wobbled a fraction towards the end of her little speech.
‘It’s now nine thousand,’ Blake said.
She frowned. ‘Sorry?’
‘You just cost yourself one thousand pounds.’
‘You can’t —’
‘I did warn you.’ He took a sip of his drink. The crystal sparkled a rainbow, the brilliant dancing colours a disdainful contrast to her situation.
She dropped clenched fists on the starched linen cloth and shifted forward in her seat. ‘Look, there’s evidence orangutans once lived in the mountains of Brunei. Now it’s estimated there are as few as forty-five thousand individuals on the entire island of Borneo.’
‘Eight thousand. I’d quit while you’re ahead.’
Sarah flung her napkin on the table and stood. ‘This is ludicrous.’ She was banging her head against a thick wall of arrogance.
‘If you leave, the Sanctuary will get nothing. Sit down and let’s have dinner.’
Pure-grade frustration pumped from her heart. She placed both palms on the table and bent over him. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
‘Well, it’s certainly the most entertaining date I’ve been on for a while.’ He stood and walked slowly around the table. She couldn’t help noticing every smooth movement of his annoyingly sexy body. He held out her chair. ‘Please.’
She needed to pull it together. She needed to use this opportunity strategically. She dropped into her seat.
‘This is not a date.’ She articulated every syllable to ensure the message made it past his huge ego.
‘Call it whatever you like.’ He sat. ‘I’m still enjoying it.’
She didn’t answer and looked deliberately around the room, anywhere but at his handsome, smug face. He couldn’t force her to talk. In fact, the less she talked, the less chance she’d have of slipping up and hurling herself into a legal battlefield.
‘When do you go back to Brunei?’ he asked.
She put her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her hands and stared off into space. She felt his eyes drinking her in. She drummed her fingers on her cheeks to hammer home that all his money, all his good looks, all his flash and show made absolutely no impact. Zero.
‘You’re as beautiful as I remember,’ he said, his tone wistful and warm.
Her eyes committed an unforgivable sin and raced to find his. His striking blue eyes locked on hers, sucking her in with their seductive promise. But she wasn’t a naïve nineteen-year-old any more. She fixed her attention on a point across the room. The seconds ticked by.
‘New rule,’ he said. ‘Every minute you don’t talk, another thousand’s gone.’
She flopped back in her chair and studied him. ‘Were you this annoying back then?’
‘Possibly, but you found it endearing.’
For a moment she was back in that little restaurant they’d discovered not far from his hotel. A world away from the marble monolith where he’d been staying. A single candle had lit their table. They’d feasted on kuih melayu. The memory of sharing those sweet pancakes with the man who loved her so passionately was a permanent imprint on her mind and body. She ran her fingertips across her lips.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered. Why are you back in my life? It had taken years to scrub him from her heart and she knew she’d never really succeeded. ‘Why do you want to have dinner at all?’
‘I need to understand why you didn’t call me,’ he said, his eyes catching the lights. ‘I thought we had something.’ Blake’s expression looked . . . vulnerable?
God help her. She couldn’t hear this, not now. ‘I didn’t know your last name, remember,’ she flung at him. ‘Anyway, you were the one who left. So, it was a fling, pure and simple.’ She imbued each word with dismissive conviction.
‘Is that all it was for you?’ His quiet, questioning tone stripped away her emotional armour, sending a lethal missile straight to her heart. She gripped her champagne glass as though the slight flute could save her from the aching confession pushing to the surface.
‘It wasn’t for you?’ She’d meant to toss the words. Sling them. Fire, shoot, hurl them, but they came out hopelessly wanting and beseeching.
‘Sarah . . .’ He gently stroked his fingers down the back of her hand. Her lungs held her breath prisoner. Time froze. His eyes searched and probed, compelling her to reveal the truth. But the lawyer’s words kept her secret so deeply buried that digging it out would require a bobcat.
The shimmering veil parted, two waiters entered and the world crashed in.
‘Sauté of lobster,’ the waiter announced with a well-trained flourish. He lay down the gastronomic delight. Blake received his roasted duck foie gras. The moment dissipated; became lost in time like their original relationship.
Sarah picked at her lobster. She’d convinced herself she’d simply been a holiday fling for Blake. He’d got what he’d wanted, then left without a word. She’d been devastated. If only she’d listened to her mother. From a young age, her mother had lectured her on the ways of men. Your father left. Your grandfather left. That’s what men do. And Blake’s disappearance had validated her mother’s doctrine.
She jabbed her crustacean with her fork. Time to get onto safer ground.
‘What did you mean when you said the funds have been redirected?’ she asked. Probably into some new gaming project.
Blake raised a brow in warning.
‘I didn’t mention the S word,’ she clarified. She wouldn’t let him hammer another resource-stripping nail into the Sanctuary’s funding coffin.
‘Nicely phrased.’ His tolerant smile said, ‘You may have scored a point but I’m ahead by a million’.
‘So, are you increasing the unnecessary packaging on your products or just topping up your own pay packet?’
Blake sliced off a piece of foie gras, brought it to his mouth and chewed slowly, not taking his eyes from hers. Sarah shifted in her chair. Finally, he swallowed.
‘We’re building a mental-health wing at St Peter’s Children’s Hospital,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Okay, so that was unexpected. So she didn’t own all the territory in altruism.
‘Helping children is more in line with our corporate goals, as opposed to monkeys on the other side of the world,’ he said.
‘Orangutans,’ she said. ‘There’s a difference.’ She laid down her cutlery. ‘I suppose Hunt-F Tech advertising is going to be plastered all over the hospital.’ She knew she sounded mean and petty, but this evening was going anywhere but where she expected.
‘No,’ he said, fixing her with an expression she couldn’t read. ‘There’ll be no reference to the company. The wing is being named after my father.’
Another surprise. Sarah remembered Blake had been in Brunei on business with his father. Well, Blake was supposed to be on business, but he’d slipped away to spend all his time with her.
‘How is he?’ she asked.
‘Dead.’ He delivered the word in a hideous monotone. No feeling. No change of expression. No invitation to discuss.
A shiver ran the length of her spine. ‘Oh, Blake, I’m so sorry,’ she said. She wanted to jump up and hug him and steal away some of his pain. But that would not be a good idea. ‘I know what it’s like to lose a parent.’
‘Your mum?’ he asked. Did he remember she came from a single-parent family?
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry to hear it. She was your only family, wasn’t she? How —’
‘Cerebral malaria,’ she interrupted in the mechanical voice she used when speaking of her mother’s death. ‘The Sanctuary had a short-term cash-flow problem. She stopped buying malaria medication for herself to fund the ongoing operation costs. Her death was slow and she was delirious for days before she died. It was . . .’ She shuddered. Her mother had wept continually most of the time she’d been awake and kept saying sorry, over and over and over. When she was lucid, she’d begged Sarah to promise to run the Sanctuary. A promise Sarah had kept every day since.
‘I’m sorry, Sarah. When did this happen?’
She couldn’t handle sympathy. Especially from him. A man who had tapped into every secret thought she’d ever possessed.
‘She was struck down the week after you left.’ Had she really just said that? She kicked herself for the reference to him. But those dates were etched deeply into her soul. There was life before Blake and life after. He’d affected her forever. ‘That’s why I didn’t take up the job at the Gazette. I had to stay home and look after Mum and run the Sanctuary.’
His sexy frown was back. ‘So let me get this straight. Your mother ran the Sanctuary? You grew up there?’
‘Yes, and now I run it.’
‘Do you know you never mentioned that?’
She knew all right. ‘Really?’ Her lobster suffered another skewer. ‘I suppose it never came up.’ She’d made sure of it.
‘So that week in Brunei . . .’ He sat back with a look of determined concentration. ‘It was your mother who had meetings with my father. That was the week the Trust was established. It was part of the deal the government struck with us to develop its internet network. We had to contribute to a local cause.’
‘How could we not have known that our parents knew each other?’ Sarah asked.
‘Huh, I know parents were the last thing on my mind when I met you.’ The words melted into her skin and robbed her of breath. It was exactly this sort of charm that had swept her into trouble. She’d fallen so hard, so fast, so unconditionally. Here he was again, eating away at her defences. Being near Blake was as safe as living on Krakatoa in the late nineteenth century. She needed to leave this volatile ground.
‘Well, I had no idea the Sanctuary was associated with Hunt-F Tech or that you were in any way involved. I only became aware of Hunt-F’s involvement when we received a letter from your legal department informing us the Trust would be terminated.’
Blake frowned. ‘I guess that’s possible. The Trust was a completely separate legal entity established as part of the contract with the Brunei government.’ He shook his head. ‘All these years we’ve been so closely connected and had no idea.’
But would it have made any difference? Blake sipped his top-shelf champagne from the crystal flute that sparkled in the glow of four thousand tiny expensive lights. They may be breathing the same air, but that was the only thing they had in common. Except, of course, their son.
As usual The Dorchester was delivering a culinary delight, but Blake couldn’t tear any of his senses from the woman before him. Sarah lifted a spoonful of chocolate mousse to her lips. Those lovely full lips. He wanted to reclaim that lush mouth. Run his hands through her glorious long hair, which fell free and framed her face with soft honeyed curls.
He placed his spoon down, leaving his summer berries and mascarpone barely bruised. No woman had touched him as she had. He might have been a fling to her, but she’d captured him body and heart and soul. It had been dangerous. His desire for her had blotted out the world. But this would be okay. She would be gone soon and that deadly distraction would once again be safely on the other side the world.
She smoothed her napkin across her lips. He tracked the process with hungry eyes. He had to be with her one more time. Then perhaps he could lock away the fantasy of her forever.
‘I’d better get going.’ She pushed back her chair. ‘Thank you for dinner.’
What? ‘You can’t leave,’ he said. He hadn’t intended his voice to be so harsh, but their night would not end here.
‘Blake, I fly back to Brunei tomorrow.’
‘So we only have tonight.’
She tilted her head in a way that drove him crazy.
‘Blake, I think it’s better to leave things here, don’t you?’ She stood and hitched her bag onto her shoulder. ‘I’d like to contribute to dinner, but unfortunately I can’t afford it. Have to get back to . . . um, get some sleep. Long flight.’ She held out her hand. ‘Any chance I could have that cheque now?’
Could she really walk away this easily? He stood and pulled the cheque from his pocket. He amended the amount, initialled it and handed it to her.
If one of her orangutans had arrived in a dinner suit and joined them at the table, she couldn’t have looked more astonished. ‘You were serious about fining me?’
‘I’m nothing if not sincere,’ he said.
‘Any amount makes a great deal of difference. I appreciate this.’ She put the cheque in her bag then held out her hand, hesitated, then dropped it. She pecked him on the cheek.
‘Goodbye, Blake.’ Her voice wobbled slightly. His pulse quickened. She did feel something for him. He knew it.
‘If this is going to be our last kiss, then . . .’
Why use words? He gathered her into his arms. The warmth of her sweet curves fired his blood. He wanted her closer. He wanted her harder. He wanted her now.
‘Blake . . .’ He took his name from her lips with a kiss. She softened under his touch. She wanted this, too. God, he had to have her.
She dragged her lips from his. ‘People will see.’
‘No, they can’t – remember? Anyway, I don’t give a damn.’
He found her mouth again. She tasted of chocolate and strawberries. Of hot passion and erotic promise.
‘Let’s get out of here.’ He pulled her towards the wall of light. He’d book the penthouse suite.
‘No.’ She wrenched herself from his grip and slipped through the luminous curtain.
He flung the lights aside and strode after her.
‘Put this on my tab,’ Blake ordered the maître d’ and followed her out onto the street. Sarah stood hailing a cab.
‘Running again?’ he said.
‘You were the one who ran. Disappeared. Vanished from the face of the earth.’ Her red-hot anger hit him with surprising force.
‘I think we’ve established that I didn’t.’
‘No. You denied it. That doesn’t make it true.’
A black cab pulled up and Sarah opened the door. ‘I have to go. Goodbye, Blake.’
Hell, were those tears in her eyes? The cartilage between his ribs felt as though it had fused solid. He grabbed the door of the taxi. ‘Stay with me.’ The passion in his voice scared him. He cared too much.
‘Blake, that time is gone. I can’t . . . Please . . .’
The tone of her voice told him everything. She’d known that passion, deep enough to transport you to a place so heavenly that without it, life was forever grey and lifeless and desolate.
He caught her about the waist and drew her hard against his body. His pulse flared and smashed away every rational thought. He slid his other hand up the back of her neck and claimed her mouth. Her lips were as warm and lush as a tropical afternoon. He kissed her, hoping all the words he wanted to say were there in his kiss. All the time they had wasted could be washed away. They could relive their hot passion. He wanted her. Now. Now. Now.
She slid her hands onto his chest and pushed.
‘No, Blake. We can’t . . .’
‘Why the hell not?’ He hadn’t meant to sound so callous.
‘Because . . . Because . . .’
She yanked free, climbed into the taxi and slammed the door shut.
The cab pulled into the traffic. Sarah turned and watched him until the taxi rounded the corner.
Blake stared at the spot where the cab had disappeared. His blood pumped hot and fast. Sarah had no idea who she was dealing with if she imagined she could just evaporate.