‘Well, well,’ Chase drawled. ‘Are you running out on my party?’ He had an arm around her in an effort to steady her.
She struggled out of his embrace, fighting for composure. ‘I’d like to,’ she said tightly, ‘but I’ll have to wait for my ride.’ It was not going to be a pleasure trip home. Sean’s anger would not suddenly disappear.
He lifted a quizzical brow. ‘Not enjoying yourself? Something wrong with the food perhaps?’
‘No. Something’s wrong with men.’
‘That’s quite a sweeping statement.’
‘I’m sweeping mad.’
He laughed. It was a deep, rich sound, and suddenly she found herself cracking a smile, her sense of humour getting the better of her. His eyes gleamed into hers.
‘You have a way with words. So what’s wrong with men?’
‘They’re selfish, manipulative, arrogant and into control,’ she said loftily. ‘Haven’t you watched Oprah lately?’
‘I can’t say that I have, but I don’t consider myself too old to learn. How about a drink to calm you down?’
He wanted to calm her down. She smiled nicely. ‘Would you say that to one of your male business friends when he was angry?’ Her tone was light.
He frowned, thinking. ‘Not exactly like that.’
‘You’d slap him on the shoulder and say, You need a drink, man; let’s go.’
‘I’m afraid if I slapped you on the shoulder you’d crumple.’
She groaned. It was hopeless, hopeless. She couldn’t help being small and blonde. She evoked in people protective feelings, which was nice if you came down with galloping pneumonia and needed nursing, but in normal life it was infuriating.
‘I don’t crumple. I’m very strong, actually, and yes, I would like a drink. Something more potent than champagne—anything.’
Chase studied her with amused curiosity. ‘Coming up.’
Moments later she had a glass of whisky soda in her hand and she took a grateful swallow. She wasn’t much of a drinker of strong stuff, but on occasion she liked it.
‘I like your dress,’ he said as his eyes skimmed over her. ‘It’s very—er—woodsy.’
It was short and supremely simple in line and would have been discreetly elegant had it not been for the exotic pattern of the silk fabric. Its leafy design of many shades of green contrasted with small splashes of vivid red, yellow and blue, which on closer inspection could be identified as parrots hiding in the greenery.
‘Thank you,’ she said brightly. She wondered if he meant what he said. ‘Not everyone shares your opinion.’ Sean had been less than enthusiastic and asked why she couldn’t have worn something not quite so flamboyant, like basic black. She was not fond of basic black. It made her feel very depressed and depression was not an uplifting emotion.
‘Black would look more elegant and sophisticated,’ he’d instructed her.
She’d laughed. ‘Sean, I thought you’d have noticed by now that I am not the elegant, sophisticated type. I crawl around in the woods and commune with bugs and birds. I feel at home in this dress.’ She liked being surrounded by trees and bushes and birds, and she loved parrots. And in view of the rainforest hotel project she’d thought the dress eminently appropriate. She’d bought the dress in a sale. It had originally been very expensive, but apparently women with a lot of money had considered the dress too wild for their taste.
Chase’s eyes gleamed. ‘The parrots I find especially intriguing.’
‘Papuan King Parrots,’ she informed him. ‘Alisterus chloropterus.’
‘Ah, an ornithologist,’ he stated.
She shook her head. ‘A photographer.’ She smiled innocently. ‘Every time I hike through the woods, I keep looking for parrots. I never see one.’
His mouth quirked. ‘Let me do you a favour,’ he said. ‘Looking for tropical parrots in a forest in Virginia is a losing proposition.’
She bit her lip, trying not to smile. She was not successful. ‘It’s not nice to shatter someone’s dreams, you know.’ Her voice was light, yet the atmosphere between them was anything but casual. Something was in the air—something reflected in his eyes, the tone of his voice.
His green eyes did not leave her face. ‘Somehow I don’t think that’s what I’m doing.’
She sipped her drink, saying nothing, feeling her pulse quicken, feeling a strange apprehension.
‘So, what else are you interested in, apart from photographing parrots?’ he asked casually.
Why didn’t she believe he was as casual as he sounded? As if his question had some hidden purpose?
‘I like travelling, but I haven’t had many chances, and I like hiking and camping and white-water rafting.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, really.’ She was used to people’s surprise. She didn’t look the sporty type. She was too small and too blonde and too feminine, and even her short, sporty hairstyle did nothing to dispel that image.
‘And you?’ she asked. ‘What do you do in your spare time? Play golf? Ride horses?’
He inclined his head. ‘Of course.’ He tossed back the last of his drink, and then someone claimed his attention and she gratefully slipped away.
She wanted to go home. She’d had enough of smiling politely and making conversation for the sake of making conversation. Of course Sean would want to stay. He loved this sort of thing. Networking, it was called—making contacts. She should be networking herself. After all, you could never know where a new assignment could originate, and there were a lot of influential types prancing around here. But tonight she didn’t feel up to it. She wanted to go home and cry and wallow in self-pity.
She clenched her hands involuntarily and swallowed at the lump in her throat. When she was nineteen her life had been perfect and she’d thought it was going to be perfect for the rest of her life. By the time she’d turned twenty her world had crumbled around her.
She’d been so young, so idealistic, so full of dreams. It seemed like another lifetime. Now, sometimes, she felt wise and old and cynical. It was not a nice feeling, and not one she intended to cultivate.
She glanced around the room, finding no Sean. She had a raging headache, which was not so surprising considering the circumstances. She’d been up very late last night doing paperwork and reading up on Mexico. The little bit of sleep she’d caught had been fitful and full of confusing dreams. And now this confrontation with Sean…She rubbed her forehead, feeling physically exhausted and emotionally drained.
Where was he? Impatiently she roamed around, her feet hurting. She wasn’t used to wearing high heels, although it did give her an enjoyable sense of being a bit taller, and more elegant. Ten minutes later there still was no sign of him. She was beginning to feel uneasy and her head throbbed painfully. On impulse she slipped out of the front door and went in search of Sean’s car, a white Pontiac Fiero. She wished she’d come in her own car, an ancient little sky-blue Jeep, so that she wouldn’t have been dependent on Sean to see her home. Not that her little Jeep would have felt at home among the lofty vehicles in the parking area, she thought as she scanned the impressive collection of expensive cars. There was no sign of Sean’s Fiero.
It was gone, leaving an open space between a shiny charcoal Mercedes Benz and