His Most Exquisite Conquest: A Delicious Deception / The Girl He'd Overlooked / Stepping out of the Shadows. Robyn Donald

he was in what he did, which helped provide a living for so many thousands of people across the globe.

      ‘So how did you come by all this stuff for such a gourmet meal?’ Rayne asked. After all, he hadn’t been gone that long.

      ‘The owner of that restaurant over there …’ this with a sideways toss of his head towards the quayside ‘… is a very good friend of mine. I rang him earlier and told him to expect me.’

      ‘You …’ dark horse, she finished silently, warmed by the knowledge that he’d been planning all this even before they had left the clinic. Probably even the roses too.

      She couldn’t remember much of what they talked about during the meal, which they ate out on the lower deck under the awning. Their conversation was light and casual and surprisingly easy. Then afterwards, with the dishwasher humming away in the galley and King working in the salon on his laptop, she lazed on the upper deck in her burgundy satin bra and panties because she didn’t have her bikini with her.

      Listening to the deep resonance of his voice, hanging on every word he uttered as he conducted his international business over the phone and arranged meetings, her gently tanning body pulsed from the memory of their lovemaking, and throbbed in reckless anticipation of what might be to come.

      Her cellphone rang while she was lying there. She didn’t recognise the caller as anyone she knew, answering it rather uncertainly.

      ‘Hello, Lorrayne,’ Nelson Faraday began. ‘I got your number from an old associate of ours …’ He named a mutual colleague with whom they had worked on the same paper and with whom Rayne still sometimes kept in touch. ‘He told me your mother had been ill. I hope she’s feeling better.’ Preliminaries over with, he dived straight into the reason why he was ringing her. ‘I understand you were seen looking more than chummy with Kingsley Clayborne. Want to tell me about it?’

      A trickle of unease ran through Rayne like a paralysing poison. ‘No.’

      ‘Just good friends, eh? Or is there far more to your being here with him than meets the eye?’

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said tremulously, knowing this man could spell trouble for her.

      The journalist chuckled softly, without a trace of humour. ‘Don’t you? You have a short memory, Lorrayne.’

      ‘If you think I’ve forgotten the methods you use to dig up your stories, then trust me—my memory’s as long as an elephant’s!’

      Laughter came again, a little more sincerely now. ‘That sounds more like the fiery creature I knew. Look, I think we should talk. How about meeting me for drinks at the Café de Paris?’

      The man had to be joking! ‘How about barking up some other tree, Faraday? I’ve got nothing to say to you. Goodbye!’

      She found she was shaking as she cut him off and tossed down her phone on the sunbed.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ King asked, choosing that exact moment to emerge from the lower deck.

      His shirt was partially unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and with those light beige trousers moulding themselves to his hips and very muscular thighs he looked no less than utterly magnificent.

      ‘Nothing,’ Rayne fibbed, trying to restore her agitated features into some semblance of order.

      ‘Nothing?’ He glanced down at her cellphone, dark brows knitting together. Numbly, she wondered exactly what she might have said and how much he might have heard.

      ‘Just someone ringing up enquiring about Mum,’ she supplied, which was partly true at any rate. She even managed a smile.

      ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’

      The concern lining his face with that strong hand on her shoulder had the effect of melting her worries like butter over a hot stove.

      ‘Of course,’ she murmured, tilting her head back, her smile genuine this time, her peach-tinted lips inviting—craving—the pressure of his.