As though the question had been written on her face, Curt said, ‘This is the table I always have; any other would have looked too obvious. At least two tables have a pretty good view of us, and sitting at one of them is the biggest gossip in New Zealand, who hasn’t taken his eyes off us since we came in the door.’ He settled back into his chair and surveyed her with a look of pure male authority. ‘I think another of those tremulous smiles is in order.’
Peta tried, she really did, but the smile he’d ordered emerged glittering and swift, throwing down a gauntlet that narrowed Curt’s eyes.
‘On the other hand,’ he said levelly, ‘perhaps you’re right—a dare is much more intriguing.’
He knew what it was about him that attracted women; the genes that had blessed him with a handsome face and eye-catching height. Well-earned cynicism told him that his first million had boosted his appeal, and each subsequent appearance in the Rich List had only added to his standing amongst a certain sort of woman. Although he enjoyed their company, he’d chosen his lovers with discrimination, always being faithful but always making sure they understood the limitations of the affair.
One or two had wanted more; sorry though he’d been to hurt them, he’d cut the connection immediately. He didn’t want to leave a trail of broken hearts. The rest had gracefully accepted what he was prepared to give, and when the time came for the affair to die they’d accepted that too.
Until he’d seen Peta covered in mud cradling a terrified calf he’d been arrogantly certain he understood women well enough.
He couldn’t understand why she was such a mystery to him. Green, yet not shy, she held her own, challenging him in ways that almost lifted the lid on a streak of recklessness he’d conquered in his high-school years. She was no pushover—except in his arms.
Then she seemed bewildered by her own response. Was she a virgin? Curt moved slightly in his chair, astonished at the sudden clamour in his blood.
Peta said, ‘Which one’s the gossip?’
‘The magnificently primped middle-aged man with the elderly woman.’
Brows climbing, she gave him a swift, mischievous smile that transformed her face for a second. ‘Is he a gigolo?’ she asked eagerly. ‘I’ve never seen one before.’
He laughed. ‘No, he’s not; the woman with him is his mother. An hour after he leaves here, it will be all around town that you and I had lunch together, and by tomorrow the North Island will know you’re staying with me.’
Snidely she returned, ‘Well, those parts of Auckland and the North Island that are interested!’
‘True.’
‘I’m glad no one knows who I am.’
‘They will soon.’
She said in a low voice, ‘Then it’s no use me trying to appear sophisticated and upmarket. Aren’t you worried that once they find out I’m a nothing, nobody’s going to believe that you’re interested in me?’
‘You’re considerably more than a nonentity,’ he said, his ironic tone at startling variance with the slow appraisal he gave her with half-closed eyes. ‘The way you look is what makes this whole thing entirely credible.’
‘You’re telling me that only tall women need to apply to be your lovers? I hope that’s not the only criterion!’
The moment she said it Peta knew she should have bitten her tongue.
Eyes darkening, he leaned forward and said, ‘Not at all. I’m surprised you’re interested.’
‘I’m not,’ she returned smartly, lying valiantly.
He picked up her hand and his touch—so light it skimmed her skin—registered in every nerve in her body with shattering impact. ‘Look at me, Peta.’
Reluctantly, she obeyed.
‘Now smile,’ he commanded quietly.
So she did, shivers of bitter pleasure running through her.
Fortunately the waiter returned then, stopping a few steps away from the table and pretending to straighten the silver on a sideboard until Curt let her hand go. Pink-cheeked and breathing fast, Peta held her head high while Curt gave their orders.
Then he set about convincing the entire restaurant—or those who could see them—that he and Peta were at the start of a red-hot affair.
He did it very well, Peta thought bleakly, smiling like an automaton, trying hard to behave as though she was falling in love with a powerful, incredibly sexy tycoon. Not that he flirted; what was happening was altogether more potent than that light-hearted activity. He simply ignored everyone else in the room, bending his whole attention on her, and it was hugely, headily seductive.
‘You were right,’ she said, putting her napkin down when she’d eaten all she could. ‘That fish was utterly delicious, and so was the salad.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No, thank you.’ She gave a small sigh and forced herself to look at him.
And froze. He was watching her mouth with such absorbed attention that everything around her dimmed and diffused while sensation spun wildly through her body. Stop it, she thought distractedly. Oh, stop it right now!
The pleasant tenor voice from behind her burst into that stillness like a bucket of icy water. ‘Curt, dear boy, how are you?’
It was the gossip, beaming benevolently at them both; his mother was nowhere in sight.
Of course Curt recovered—because he’d been faking it, she thought dismally. He got to his feet and the two men shook hands, after which he introduced the intruder. She recovered her composure enough to smile and say his name and then he and Curt exchanged a few pleasantries. Peta was very aware of the keen, not-quite-malicious interest in the eyes of the older man.
‘I must go,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Are we seeing you tonight at the gallery opening?’
Curt nodded. ‘We’ll be there.’
‘Good, good.’ He said his goodbyes fussily, and left them.
Would Anna Lee be at the gallery opening? Peta’s stomach tightened but she had no right to say no, to turn tail and run.
Outside in the busy street she said, ‘You’ll have to tell me if the clothes I choose will suit the occasion.’
A large car with tinted windows slid to a halt beside them. Curt nodded to the uniformed driver and opened the back door for her. As she lowered herself into the spacious back seat, he said smoothly, ‘I’m sure you’ll look stunning—Liz is good at her job.’
‘I don’t know much about art,’ Peta said flatly. Her mother had spoken to her of the great artists, even showing her books that she’d brought home from the library, but only when her father wasn’t there.
A sardonic smile curved Curt’s mouth. ‘Most people there would probably recognise a Monet, and they might know a Colin McCahon because it’s got writing on it, but that would be about all.’ He looked down at her, and said quietly, ‘You’ll be fine; I’ll be there for you. Moore will take you home now, and I’ll be there around six. Put on your safety belt.’
He waited until it was clipped before closing the door. Peta watched him stride down the street as the big car edged out into the traffic, and hugged his words to her heart. I’ll be there for you, he’d said.
If only, she thought and swift, hard tears ached in her throat.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WINEGLASS in hand, Peta gazed around the art gallery. People chatted, laughed,