The Rich Man's Royal Mistress. Robyn Donald

voice was cool and self-possessed. ‘You’d better get inside. You’re shivering.’

      But not from the cold! Nevertheless she made no protest when he dropped his arms, although she felt bereft, as though something precious had been torn from her.

      Grimly she drove herself to step away from him, to turn on the path, to head towards the door, so acutely conscious of him beside her that she felt his presence in every cell.

      Just concentrate on getting there, she told herself fiercely. You can think about it all you like soon, but now you need to shut the door on him so you can find yourself again.

      Because although they had been the most sensuous, shattering kisses she’d ever experienced, she could see that they hadn’t been anything so earth-shaking to Hawke. Oh, he’d enjoyed it, and he’d wanted her, but in spite of her inexperience she knew that most men responded in a physical fashion to a warm female body against them and a seeking, hungry mouth beneath theirs.

      The gravel under their feet crunched loudly; every sense was still stretched to its limit, so that her ears picked up the hushed lap of water against the lakeshore, and her skin tingled at the soft wind on her face.

      She could taste Hawke on her lips, and her tongue, and her body was hot and eager, every nerve throbbing with frustration.

      At the doorway he said abruptly, ‘I’m leaving tomorrow.’

      A kind of sick panic hollowed out her stomach. She bit back the words that threatened to tumble out and betray her.

      Squaring her shoulders, she said in a voice that she hoped sounded nothing more than amused, ‘Not on my account, I hope.’

      ‘No,’ he said, his tone echoing hers. ‘The phone call just before we left.’

      An excuse, but nicely done.

      Melissa’s head weighed heavy on her neck as she nodded. ‘I know about emergencies—my brothers Gabe and Marco spend a lot of time dealing with them,’ she said, forcing a wry note into the words. She turned and held out her hand, hugely relieved when it didn’t waver. ‘Goodbye. I hope yours turns out to be not too big a problem.’

      He took her outstretched hand with a humourless smile. ‘So do I,’ he said, and hauled her into his arms.

      For a second he looked down into her startled face, his eyes gleaming in the most basic of challenges before he bent and kissed her again, claiming her mouth with hard, fierce possessiveness.

      Eventually he lifted his head and gave her a narrow, dangerous look. ‘This isn’t goodbye, Melissa.’

      She gazed into his smouldering eyes and felt her heart tumble endlessly in space, infinitely joyous because Hawke wanted to see her again.

      ‘Then safe journey,’ she managed.

      ‘I’ll catch up with you soon.’

      Cold, reliable common sense returned to blot out her anticipation with uncompromising logic. She shrugged out of his jacket and held it out, knowing in her innermost heart that his vague promise—if that was what it was—meant nothing. However much he’d enjoyed those few kisses she was no sophisticated beauty, not at all the sort of woman Hawke would pursue.

      When he took the jacket she managed a smile. ‘Goodbye,’ she said again, and turned and let herself inside, moving quickly because if she stayed he might see the desolation in her eyes.

      For the rest of the week Melissa waited for him to come back. Of course he didn’t, and after days of echoing silence and slowly fading hope she told herself desperately that it was all for the best.

      Kisses meant little, except that her response had been embarrassing enough to send him running. Her heart wasn’t broken—slightly cracked, maybe, but still intact; sinking into a decline like a gently-bred Victorian maiden simply wasn’t an option to a woman of the twenty-first century.

      And the erotic dreams that ambushed her in the night were just figments of her sex-starved imagination.

      Viewing the situation sensibly, she should be glad she’d learnt something more about the complexity of relationships—if dinner and a few kisses could be called a relationship!—between men and women.

      With a last glance at the mountains, she settled back into her seat on the plane. Half an hour from now she’d have left behind her time at the lodge, with its memories of a job she’d enjoyed and a man she’d never forget. She thought bleakly that she now understood what had led her tough brother Gabe into his catastrophic affair with Sara Milton.

      Sex had a lot to answer for!

      The plane banked, turned away from the lakes and the mountains and set a purposeful course for the North Island. Melissa closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that Hawke’s kisses had not changed her fundamentally, as though he had the power to alter her basic cellular construction.

      The thought was utterly ridiculous.

      So she wouldn’t consider it. She’d sink herself into her life and not ever think of him again.

      But first she’d have a week in Northland, a long, narrow peninsula thrusting towards the tropics, where spring was edging into summer and white beaches warmed under a hot sun.

      ‘Why?’ Gabe had demanded when she’d rung him the previous night.

      ‘You might be able to work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but I can’t. I’m taking time out to collate my notes for the paper I’m doing on the internship while the whole experience is fresh in my mind.’

      ‘You could go to the house in Honolulu.’

      ‘I want to see a bit more of New Zealand. I’ve been told Northland is just as stunning as the southern lakes district, but in an entirely different way.’

      ‘It is.’ He sounded resigned. ‘Where will you be staying?’

      She told him the name.

      ‘That sounds like a backpackers’ lodge.’

      ‘It is, but an upmarket one—I’ve reserved a room to myself.’

      ‘If you need money I’ll organise—’

      She broke in without compunction. ‘You were the one who decided that I should live on my allowance. And you were right—it’s not only extremely good for me to stick to a budget, but I also enjoy doing it. I’m fine, Gabe, don’t fuss.’

      After a moment’s silence, he said reluctantly, ‘New Zealand’s safe enough, I suppose, but take care.’

      ‘I always do,’ she said, smiling.

      ‘E-mail me the address,’ he commanded. ‘And your room number.’

      ‘Yes, sir!’

      He laughed. ‘All right, I know you’re a big girl now. Have fun.’

      Sometimes big brothers—even adored ones—could be a darned nuisance, but although their protectiveness rubbed her independence the wrong way, neither Gabe nor Marco would ever change.

      The little town of Russell in the Bay of Islands was busy with tourists and holidaymakers drawn to the region by its rich history, both Maori and European, and its beauty. Built along a beach, its small wooden houses were constrained by hills covered in dark, vigorous forest that Melissa knew was always referred to as ‘the bush’. Neither the vegetation nor the setting reminded her in the least of Hawke Kennedy.

      No memories here.

      In her small, sparsely furnished room she set up her laptop on the desk and settled down to work. For the next two days she resisted the temptations of cruises with dolphins, of sightseeing and diving, of wine and heritage tours. Every evening she went for a walk along the beach then up a steep hill topped by a flagpole.

      And every night in bed she lay awake staring into the darkness.

      Soon