One Night in the Orient. Robyn Donald

helped him when he was young and more vulnerable.

      The soft sound of the door made her look up sharply. Her stomach dropped as Nick came in, black brows almost meeting across his nose.

      “What’s the matter?” she asked.

      The frown smoothed out. “My question, I think. You look shell-shocked.”

      “I’m fine,” she said automatically.

      “And so am I.” He examined her face, then said with a touch of irony, “All right, I’ve just had a conversation with my PA that means I have to rearrange my schedule. It’s no big deal.”

      Without preamble she said, “I used to resent you when I was a kid.”

      He looked across at her, his brows slightly raised. “I know. You always wanted to come with us when your father and I went off to the various sports and games he introduced me to.”

      “I must have been a brat.”

      “Not exactly that,” he said dryly. “You were an uncompromising little thing, and very determined. I got used to thunderous frowns, black looks, pouting—”

      “I never pouted!”

      “You did, and very cutely. I didn’t blame you.”

      “Generous of you,” she said with a wry smile. And because she’d always wondered, she asked, “How did you find yourself being Dad’s protégé?”

      His expression tightened, but he spoke easily enough. “After my own father died I became hard to handle. My mother was desperate enough to contact an organisation that helped fatherless boys, one your father had volunteered for. We clicked.”

      He stopped, then went on almost harshly, “I owe him an immense debt. When I decided to go out on my own in IT he couldn’t afford to back me financially, but he introduced me to people who could, and he gave me both intellectual and moral support.”

      Very moved, she said, “That’s quite a tribute. But you did something for him too, you know. You were the son he never had.”

      “I hope so,” he said, in a tone that came close to being dismissive, as if he’d said too much. “Dinner’s ready now if you are.”

      Siena had been satisfied by the two small savouries she’d eaten, but the wine was making its effects felt. She felt disconnected, the raw shock of Adrian’s rejection lightly blanketed by a buzz in her head that told her she needed food.

      Stubbornly she forced herself to eat, but halfway through the main course she stopped, shivering, and the words she’d been trying to get out refused to come. Horrified, she froze.

      “You’re probably still jet-lagged, and in shock,” Nick said abruptly, getting to his feet. “You can stay the night here.”

      “No, I—”

      He interrupted curtly, “You need rest. And you’re in no fit state to be on your own. I’ll get a bed made up for you and tomorrow morning we can discuss what you’ll do.”