One Night in the Orient. Robyn Donald

steadily, “Disillusion happens to everyone.”

      “To those who still have illusions,” he said, his voice hard and level. “Siena—”

      He stopped, his mouth thinning as the car drew up in front of a flight of steps leading to an impressive door.

      Right then Siena would have given everything she owned to be somewhere—anywhere—else. The very last thing she wanted from him was an apology for his behaviour five years ago.

      Once inside the building she gazed around with undisguised interest and quickly, before he could say any more, said, “Nick, this is lovely.”

      “I’m glad you think so.”

      The graceful drawing room was furnished with an aura of elegant restraint that echoed her host’s vital, coolly self-disciplined authority. The decorator had married antique and modern pieces with flair and style.

      “Whoever did this knew you very well,” she said without thinking.

      He ignored the comment. “I think you need an aperitif. Still Sauvignon Blanc?”

      “Yes, thank you.” It had been years since she’d told him how much she enjoyed that particular wine, and she was surprised and strangely cheered that he remembered.

      It was a New Zealand white, crisp and delicious, and after the first sip she set the glass down and looked at him. That odd kick in her heartbeat startled her again. “You can take the Kiwi out of New Zealand …” she teased.

      His smile was a little narrow. “I like other wines as well, but this seemed appropriate for tonight. Here’s to your happiness. Why aren’t you wearing your engagement ring?”

      Siena flinched, her gaze falling to her empty finger. Adrian hadn’t stayed around for long, she thought on a spurt of anger. A thin line of slightly paler skin revealed that she’d been wearing the ring for only a short time.

      It was still in her hotel room. When she’d enquired about the cost of sending it back, the insurance had been so much she’d been unable to afford it.

      It took a lot of willpower to meet Nick’s green eyes, but she parried their unsparing assessment with head held high. She wouldn’t lie to him.

      Straightening her shoulders, she said briefly, “When I got back to my room in the hotel there was an email from my fiancé telling me he’d found someone else.”

      The base of Nick’s glass made a sharp little clink as he set it down on the nearest table. He strode towards her, his expression formidably angry. “An email?” he demanded incredulously.

      Clutching her glass, she nodded, unable to articulate her tumbling thoughts.

      Nick opened his mouth, then closed it again, biting back words she was glad she didn’t have to hear. He took her glass and set it down, then drew her towards him. On an uneven sigh Siena let herself relax into the strong arms enfolding her. Her forehead came to rest on a powerfully muscled shoulder as he stroked slowly across her back in soothing, potently comforting movements.

      Siena dragged in several more ragged breaths and abandoned herself to the simple relief of being held.

      In a cold, uncompromising voice he said, “Cry if you want to.”

      “I don’t,” she said, blinking back ferocious tears. If she cried it would be because Nick was being so kind—in a brotherly way, of course, she reminded herself drearily.

      Well, that was all right.

      Still in that formidable tone he said, “It’s too early to say this, but anyone who would break off an engagement by email is someone you don’t need in your life.”

      And when she stayed silent he added, “Not now and not ever.”

      She nodded. “I know,” she muttered. “It’s all right. I’m not going to crack up.”

      “I didn’t expect you to. Not you.”

      Something melted deep inside her. The warmth of his embrace and the lithe power and strength of his support—entirely lacking in sensuality—gave her strength. Her taut muscles loosened, became freer, her breaths evening out so that the sobs she dreaded didn’t come to fruition.

      Slowly—so slowly she had no idea what was happening—the wave of misery receded. Yet still she didn’t pull away, and Nick didn’t drop his arms.

      At first without realising it, she began to respond to the soothing movement of his hand across her back. Her body stirred, sending secret, unsuspected signals that blossomed into a tantalising awareness, an insidious pleasure that sang through her in heady invitation.

      A shiver of mixed anticipation and apprehension shocked her into pulling back. Instantly he released her and stepped away, examining her with the burnished gaze that successfully hid his thoughts.

      Hot shame rushed through Siena. Rushing into speech she said, “Thanks.” And managed to sketch a smile. “You should have had sisters—you make a great brother.”

      His brows lifted, and the smile he gave in return was sardonic. “Any time you need a fraternal shoulder, just let me know,” he said, drawling the words with an intonation that deepened her flush.

      “I hope I never do again.” Her voice was pitched too high. Avoiding his glance, she picked up her wine glass.

      Fine tremors shook her hand, and she hoped he couldn’t see the shimmer across the surface of the liquid when she lifted it to her lips. After the smallest of sips she set the glass back down again in case he’d noticed.

      But he was looking at his watch. Immediately, as if he’d somehow summoned her, a woman appeared with a tray of small savouries. Nick introduced her as his housekeeper and when she’d gone he ordered, “Have something to eat. You’re as pale as a ghost.”

      Obviously he hadn’t felt anything like that heady, sensuous connection. He probably hadn’t even realised what his closeness was doing to her.

      Thank heavens. “Hadn’t you noticed I’m always pale?” she said crisply. “Although I prefer to think of myself as ethereally fair.”

      His half-smile told her he knew what she was doing. “Ethereal? Not with devil-black curls and that smart mouth. I have to leave you—I’ll be no more than five minutes. When I come back I want to see several of those savouries eaten.”

      Siena glowered balefully after him as he left the room, but although she wasn’t hungry the little mouthfuls of food looked delicious and smelt divine. Almost without thinking, she picked one up and nibbled, trying to sort out her thoughts and her odd reactions.

      She was over Nick. Had been for years. She no longer even wanted to know why he’d made love to her with such wild tenderness, then left her with nothing more than an abrupt and angry statement that he’d lost his head and he was sorry.

      As well as showing her how passionate she could be, Nick had hurt her—damaged her in a way she hadn’t understood or recognised until that moment. Unwittingly she must have vowed never to allow herself to feel so intensely again.

      It had taken all her will, but she’d eventually managed to put him behind her and get on with her life. She’d met someone safe—someone she’d been sure would never cause her the pain Nick had.

      She winced. Was that really why she’d chosen Adrian? Surely her love for him hadn’t been a mirage, desperately conjured by memories of the dark sorcerer who’d shown her passion and joy and then abandoned her to a world without either?

      If so—if she’d let her misery at Nick’s rejection make the choice for her—perhaps Adrian had sensed it.

      What weird power did Nick have that just being held in his sexless embrace roused a long-repressed hunger?

      OK, so the day had flung a couple of nasty surprises at her—well, one shock and one disappointment—leaving her off-balance, stranded and short