‘Only because we prefer to go where there are fewer tourists.’
Unexpectedly he gave a rich, deep chuckle. ‘I’m not doing too well with you, am I? Perhaps we should go outside and begin again?’
About to laugh, she remembered the role she was playing, and said piously, ‘Please forgive me, Mr Hamilton, it was rude of me to be so frank.’
‘Not at all. I dislike pretence of any kind.’
Oh, he did, did he? Then how would he excuse his dishonesty where Andrea was concerned?
‘...if that suits you?’ he questioned.
Not having heard a word he had said, she nodded and followed him past a huge, perfume-drenched bank of flowers to a lift that took them down to the ground floor and the long, wide terrace that overlooked the lush gardens of the hotel, and the Chao Phraya river that bisected the city.
Small trees, festooned with hundreds of tiny silver lights, illumined a scene of fairy-tale splendour: candlelit tables, an enormous buffet, some twenty feet long, filled with assorted cold foods, a dozen or more barbecue carts, each with its chef cooking his own speciality, be it Tiger Bay prawns, lobsters, poultry or meats, and white-jacketed waiters staggering under trays laden with every kind of vegetable.
To Marly, it seemed there wasn’t an empty space anywhere, and she happily waited for Alex to be told there was no room for him. But it was not to be.
‘A moment, please, sir.’ The maître d’ himself came hurrying over. ‘We are arranging a table for you.’
As he spoke, two waiters were busy setting one up beneath a palm tree, and with a flourish he led them to it. As they sat down, a third waiter came forward with two glasses and a bottle of champagne in an ice-bucket.
‘With the compliments of the Shangri-la, Mr Hamilton,’ the maître d’ smiled, and bowed away.
‘Why are you known here?’ Marly asked. ‘You told me you’re a stranger in my city.’
‘I am. But my face isn’t. It’s been in your papers and magazines for weeks.’
‘Ah... Because of your hotel?’
‘Yes.’
‘It must make you feel good to be so important.’
He stiffened, as though wondering if she was being sarcastic, but she fixed him with a wide-eyed stare and he relaxed.
‘It’s the job that’s important, Marly, not me personally.’
‘But you are the job,’ she said with pretended naïveté. ‘You wouldn’t have it if the Riverside didn’t belong to your family.’
He choked on his drink and hurriedly set it down. ‘Hamilton Hotels may be a family concern, but we have a tough board of directors, and no one gets to be in a top position unless they’ve proved themselves capable of handling it.’
‘I think you’re extremely capable, Mr Hamilton.’
‘I can be gentle and caring too, if you’ll give me the chance.’
Wishing she could blush to order, Marly lowered her head and tried to look discomfited.
‘I’ve embarrassed you, haven’t I?’ he went on softly.
‘No, but you worry me.’
‘Why?’
Keeping her head low to hide the mischief in her eyes, she said, ‘Your staff call you a lady-killer.’
‘Do they, by God?’ His voice was sharp, and she recoiled from him as though nervous. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, softening his tone.
‘It isn’t seemly for me to comment on the behaviour of my employer.’
‘If you had anything nice to say, I think you’d find it very seemly,’ came his dry comment. ‘Which reminds me, you never did get to tell me what you do at the hotel.’
Here was the moment of truth—well, partial truth, Marly thought and, drawing a deep breath, took the bull by the horns—a singularly apt phrase in the circumstances! ‘I’m here to set up a software program for you.’
Astonishment held him silent. ‘You are?’ he said finally. ‘What’s happened to Miss Bradshaw?’
‘She was taken ill as she was leaving England, and 3S called and asked me to replace her.’
‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Don’t you think me capable?’ Marly questioned in her haughtiest manner.
‘No, not that. But you seem so young and innocent I can’t imagine you in such a high-powered job.’
‘I fail to see why. Children of twelve and fourteen can create software packages, and at thirty, in this profession, you are considered over the hill. I’m sure I can do the work as well as Miss Brigshade.’
‘Bradshaw,’ Alex Hamilton corrected automatically, ‘and I’m sure you can too. It’s just that you took me by surprise. Do you work for 3S or are you a freelance?’
‘I’m a freelance,’ Marly replied. ‘3S were put in touch with me by my friend Nan, who also works at your hotel. I live with her and her family.’
‘I see.’
Glad that he didn’t, she searched for a means of changing the subject. ‘I hope you won’t consider me rude, Mr Hamilton, but I’m very hungry.’
‘Good heavens! How remiss of me. I’m so interested in knowing more about you that I forgot about food. Do you want to order from the menu or try the buffet?’
‘The buffet, please.’ Rising, she glided towards the long table, Alex following on her heels. Here, the food was cold, each dish and tureen so wonderfully decorated that it could have been framed and hung on a wall. ‘Don’t you think it looks too good to eat, Mr Hamilton?’
‘I can’t tell. My eyes are blinded by you.’
‘Are you usually so complimentary to the women you take out?’
‘Yes. But until tonight, I’ve never meant it!’
Biting back the urge to tell him that this line was so old it had cobwebs hanging from it, she gave him a gentle smile instead, and he instantly smiled back. As if it were an actual radiance enveloping her, her body grew hot and her limbs trembled. Watch it, she warned herself. This man is dangerous and not to be taken seriously.
Quickly skirting the buffet, she headed for a barbecue cart serving an assortment of shellfish. She was careful not to look directly at Alex Hamilton, though a swift glance showed he was studying the food served by each cart, and she wondered if the same things would be featured on the Riverside menu before the week was out. Smiling at the thought, she watched him, noting how thick and dark his lashes were, and how the deep cleft in his firm chin saved it from hardness. As he bent towards the chef who was filling his plate with slivers of barbecued meats and stuffed chicken wings, a tawny lock of hair fell on his forehead, and she experienced a strong urge to touch it and see if it was as silky as it appeared.
Annoyed with herself, she picked up her plate and returned to their table, and as she did, common sense reasserted itself. It wasn’t surprising she was responding to Alex Hamilton’s blatant good looks. After all, dozens—maybe hundreds—of girls had already done the same, and in that respect she was no different. But where the difference lay was the manner in which she responded to the man himself. And since she despised his morals and was disgusted by his lack of principle, there was no fear of her falling for him.
Alex joined her, a waiter following with a tray stacked with food. Her eyes widened at the amount but she said nothing.
‘I