The Rich Man's Royal Mistress. Robyn Donald

with breakfast at the café along the road and settled down with her notes.

      Towards midday she pushed them aside and got up to stretch. ‘A walk,’ she said out loud. ‘I need a walk before lunch.’

      She craved solitude, so of course she met a family on the beach—a smiling, vociferous group who engulfed her when she snatched one small daughter out of the way of a particularly boisterous wave. Tourists from Peru, they sorted out into a middle-aged couple, their very handsome son called Jorge, and a married daughter with her husband and two enchanting little girls.

      Melissa knew she wasn’t looking her best; unlike the South American women she hadn’t bothered with make-up that morning, and she’d set out without changing her T-shirt and jeans.

      Not that it seemed to matter. Jorge gave her a dazzling smile and fell in beside her as they began to move along the beach. By the time they’d reached the other end of the bay he’d invited her to lunch with them at one of the restaurants, an invitation eagerly seconded by his mother.

      Her first instinct was to refuse, but why not? Defiance mightn’t be a pretty emotion, but it was better than a nagging sense of humiliation. She was tired of her constant fixation on Hawke. This cheerful, noisy family would keep the useless memories at bay for an hour or so.

      So she said, ‘That sounds lovely—thank you very much.’

      The Lopez clan wouldn’t hear of her leaving them to change her clothes for something a little more elegant.

      ‘No, no,’ the señora said briskly. ‘Here is very casual, so we all wear our beach clothes.’

      Melissa hid a smile. Their beach clothes had been bought, she was sure, in the most elegant boutiques in Lima. Beside them she must look a peasant.

      Lunch was protracted and happy and delicious, and by the end of it the children were sweetly nodding and Melissa also was ready for the siesta that so clearly beckoned the rest of the family.

      They insisted on escorting her back to the lodge, then waved goodbye and trooped off in the direction of their hotel. The son lingered, however, just inside the gate.

      ‘Perhaps you would like to have dinner with us also?’ he suggested, examining her with such open interest and pleasure that a tinge of heat coloured her cheeks.

      Melissa was opening her mouth to refuse tactfully when a voice from behind her said, ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

      The deep, even tone displayed no emotion whatsoever, but each word was buttressed by steel. Heart jumping, Melissa turned to meet eyes as green and cold as glacier ice. Hawke, she thought, and a wave of pure happiness overwhelmed her.

      The South American looked from her face to Hawke’s; with a wry smile he said courteously, ‘But of course. It has been a pleasure meeting you, Melissa.’

      And symbolically relinquishing any claim to her, he gave a slight bow and turned away.

      Struggling to control her wayward heartbeat, Melissa asked crisply, ‘You had no right to refuse an invitation for me.’

      Hawke lifted an arrogant eyebrow. ‘Then go after him.’

      ‘I will not,’ she returned, furious yet wondering whether he was jealous. Or overly possessive. ‘I was about to refuse him myself. And this is the second time you’ve gone over my head.’

      Silence burned between them, taut and filled with unspoken emotions. All she could think of was that if only she’d known he was coming she’d have worn clothes that suited the occasion. Festival gear, she thought with a touch of hysteria, because skyrockets were exploding in the pit of her stomach and she was sure she could hear fairy music—dangerous, seductive, wildly irresistible—in her ears.

      Hawke didn’t pretend not to understand what she was referring to. ‘At Shipwreck Bay I consulted the manager before I asked you to dinner because I thought you might have been working again that night,’ he said coolly. ‘As for today—you’re perfectly correct, I had no right to answer for you. I’m sorry.’

      ‘I should think so.’ She angled her chin at him. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I met the whole family—mother, father, sister and husband as well as Jorge, plus two sweet little girls—late this morning and had lunch with them all. What are you doing here?’

      This time both straight brows went up. In a voice that held more than a little impatience he said, ‘I came here because you’re here. Why the devil did you leave Shipwreck Bay?’

      A car started up with a series of minor explosions that effectively killed the fairy music. Woodenly Melissa said, ‘I told you I was due to leave at the end of the week.’

      ‘And I told you I’d be back.’ He frowned down at her. ‘Why didn’t you wait?’

      ‘You didn’t ask me to, which was another assumption,’ she said, much more calmly than she felt. Anticipation pierced her, and an exhilarating pleasure. ‘How did you find me?’

      Narrow-eyed, he said harshly, ‘If you hadn’t booked this place through Shipwreck Bay Lodge I might not have.’

      ‘I know that judicious amounts of money, carefully targeted, can buy almost anyone, but I’d have thought the staff at the Bay would show some loyalty.’

      He gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘They did. I own Shipwreck Bay.’

      Stunned, she said, ‘You what?’

      ‘I thought you knew.’

      ‘No.’ She drew in a sharp breath, wondering why it was important to convince him of that. ‘No,’ she repeated, ‘I didn’t know.’

      Did he believe her? Or did he think she’d wanted him to run after her as some kind of sick, thoughtless ploy to keep him interested? It was impossible to tell from his expression; he was an expert at hiding his thoughts and his emotions.

      And what, she wondered feverishly, did he want from her? She didn’t even know how to ask. If only she had some idea of how this game between the sexes was played.

      Without thinking, she blurted, ‘Do you own this one too?’

      ‘No.’ He gave her an edged smile that reinforced the flinty note in his voice. ‘I have a house a few kilometres away. Is Northland living up to your expectations?’

      ‘It’s glorious.’ She sent him a sideways glance and finished demurely, ‘But I suppose you prefer the mountains.’

      Hawke wondered if she had any idea just how provocative he found those occasional slanting glances—the flash of topaz fire between the thick lashes, and the tiny smile that accompanied each one.