She could work with Cavell, Maria had decided by the next afternoon. Along with a Chinese freelance photographer, Cavell had called for her that morning and whisked her round some of Taipei’s famous land-marks, the all-marble Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial, a colourful Buddhist temple, and the Grand Hotel with its magnificent Chinese architecture, pausing only long enough at each for the young man to take the photos that would help introduce Maria to the Taipei public, before escorting her back to the apartment and approving the outfit she planned to wear to the dinner the radio station was hosting for the rest of the local media that night.
‘You’d better have the afternoon to yourself as I imagine the heat and humidity must be hitting you,’ she decided, preparing to depart. ‘We’ll see you tonight.’
‘Will everyone be attending?’ asked Maria.
‘Except for whoever’s on duty. It’s expected,’ Cavell added drily.
‘Mr Scott?’
‘Of course. He’s taking a personal interest in this.’
Personal. The word disturbed Maria for a while afterwards, although Cavell probably hadn’t given it any real thought, since she appeared so untroubled, her manner calmly confident and still strictly professional.
Maria was checking her public face, glittering tawny colour smudged lightly over her eyelids, darkening at the outer corners, lips defined with vivid colour, when the doorbell rang that evening, and she went to open it, expecting Nicky Kai, who had telephoned during the afternoon to suggest that the three of them share a taxi again tonight.
Surprise made her catch a breath, but it was the swiftly ensuing resentment that held it locked in her lungs for seconds after she should have expelled it as she stared questioningly at Luke Scott, casually elegant in a beautifully made lightweight jacket worn over a pale shirt and obviously expensive trousers with a discreetly fashionable belt.
‘Are you ready?’ he enquired, eschewing any conventional greeting.
‘What do you want?’ Maria demanded rudely, not yet fully recovered from the oddly physical shock of seeing him so unexpectedly.
Luke didn’t answer her immediately, but the grey eyes were eloquent as they dropped to the tiny cham-pagne-coloured skirt the slenderness of her legs made permissible, then travelled upwards again in slow appraisal of her strapless matching bustier, encrusted with transparent beads and revealing both her smooth olive-toned midriff and the upper swell of her high, proud breasts beneath the single fine circle of gold she wore about her neck.
‘Do you really want to go into that now?’ he challenged her softly, his ironic gaze returning briefly to her party face and the shiny, streaky curls that tumbled over her brow and about her neck, just skimming her bare shoulders. Then he glanced at his watch. ‘I don’t think we have time.’
‘I meant, why are you here?’ Maria elaborated bitingly, suppressing reactions more heated than simple anger.
‘To make sure you get to this dinner tonight.’ It was tersely volunteered.
‘Cavell never said anything about this,’ she protested tightly.
‘Cavell doesn’t know.’
She had already guessed that, and her smile was blistering as she registered his arrogance all over again. He not only believed that she would be a willing accessory to his two-timing Cavell, but that Cavell either wouldn’t realise what was happening or wouldn’t mind if she did.
‘Then forget it. I’ve already made arrangements to go with Nicky and Florian.’
‘Cancel them. God, do you think Nicky really wants you hanging around?’ Luke added disgustedly, his expression growing relentless.
‘Does Cavell?’
‘Cavell doesn’t come into this. Get used to the idea, Maria. I’m going to be partnering you at most of the functions you’ll be required to attend in your professional capacity over the next few weeks.’
‘That wasn’t in my contract, and there was no mention of it in the programme Giles and Cavell have outlined for me either.’ Maria produced a whisper of a laugh. ‘In fact, I could swear your image-maker wants me to come across as a free spirit, someone who doesn’t need the convention of a male escort—and I don’t. It won’t be a pretence.’
‘Nevertheless, you’ll have one,’ Luke told her inexorably.
‘You?’ Maria derided.
‘Who else? Unless you’ve moved unbelievably fast, Nicky Kai still has a claim on Jones, and while some of the other jocks may have shown signs of making themselves available as reserve players last night—yes, I noticed the attention you attracted—they’ll just have to wait their turn.’ The look Luke gave her was cautionary as she stirred rebelliously, brilliant lips parting. ‘And perhaps I should remind you that the contract you’ve just cited binds you as securely as it does us, unless you’re willing to face interminable legal hassles in an effort to extricate yourself.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ The passionate question was involuntary and, regaining a measure of both control and fighting spirit, she went on quickly in a lightly mocking tone, ‘And what’s Cavell Fielding’s reaction going to be when she does know about these…plans you have for escorting me? And not so much about the fact of them, as the reasons behind the fact?’
‘You seemed to understand it clearly enough last night, so why not now? I won’t have Cavell dragged into our personal affairs.’
It was offered as a warning, but the threat was unmistakable.
‘Our personal affairs!’ Maria sent him a smouldering glance as her mind screamed its resistance to the idea of there ever being anything personal between them, and every muscle in her body clenched in physical imitation of that wild denial.
Luke shrugged indifferently, his face hard but still astonishingly handsome.
‘How else should I phrase it? I can be a lot more crude if you want me to.’
‘I’m sure you can!’ Maria snapped, and flung out a hand, unconscious of the helpless appeal allied to imperative demand in the gesture as control slipped once more. ‘Tell me why you’re doing this, damn you!’
‘Why?’ he repeated, his eyes resting on the suddenly tempestuous shape of her mouth. ‘Because arriving with you makes it easier for me to leave with you—to take you home, Maria.’
And all that the phrase implied. He didn’t need to be more explicit. She flung up her head, bright satin-smooth curls shaking.
‘I’d rather die!’
It rang with pride and passion, the intensity of the emotion heightening the slightly exotic aspect of her peculiar beauty which was in reality merely the end sum of a wonderfully mixed ancestry of ordinary Celts, Latins and Anglo-Saxons.
Luke laughed, his amusement genuine for a moment.
‘How extremely dramatic!’
‘But true,’ she insisted, her eyes still stormy.
‘And passionate.’ Grey eyes were turned silvery by a gleam of speculation. ‘Do you make love as passionately as you hate?’
‘Love?’ Maria scorned, and saw his lips twist in acknowledgement.
‘You’re right—a badly chosen phrase,’ he conceded derisively as he looked at his watch again. ‘The limi-tations of our language…Ring Jones and tell him I’m taking you to this dinner.’
‘Because arriving with me will make it easier for you to leave with me?’ Maria threw his explanation back at him. ‘Easier being the limited English way of saying—less likely to excite comment and speculation?’
‘If you like,’ he allowed tautly.
‘And it will look more as if you’re carrying out