One Night in the Orient. Robyn Donald

been exactly easy growing up in the shadow of a twin who’d been a beautiful baby, progressed to become an enchanting child and then a stunning teenager, before finally maturing into a woman so beautiful she’d dazzled every boyfriend Siena had brought home.

      Swallowing hard, Siena fought back nausea. She didn’t—refused to—want a man who loved another woman.

      So she had to get over this horrible anguish. But first she needed privacy, a few hours alone to deal with her grief. Tomorrow she was heading to Cornwall to stay with her best friend from school, and she would not depress her by moping around.

      She clicked off the phone and put it back in her bag, staring resolutely out of the window until she could once more see and hear.

      Back at the hotel she fled to her room, eyed the mini-bar, but decided bleakly that a stiff drink was the last thing she needed right now. Opting instead for the familiar solace of a cup of tea, she sat in the uncomfortable chair and forced herself to drink it, trying to achieve some serenity.

      None came. Before she’d taken more than a couple of sips she leapt to her feet and, setting her mouth, wrenched off her engagement ring.

      No, no longer her ring. The diamond winked and glittered in the palm of her hand, and without volition her fingers closed around the lovely thing. She fought back another sob and thrust it into a zipped pocket in her handbag with a sharp, final movement.

      Tomorrow it would be on its way back to Adrian.

      The hotel telephone rang, making her jump.

      Startled, she stared at it, her heart bumping in her chest. It had to be Louise. Pick it up, Siena!

      But it was Nick’s voice that answered her cautious greeting. “Did your parents get off all right?” he said.

      “I got a text from Heathrow just before they boarded.” Her voice sounded odd.

      “What are your plans for tonight?” Nick asked.

      “I haven’t got any,” she said unevenly.

      “So you can come out to dinner with me.”

      She didn’t know what to say. “No, that’s not possible,” she said, obeying the instinct that warned her to hide away for a few hours.

      “Why?” he asked.

      She stuttered a few words, then stopped.

      Into the silence Nick said with a cool decisiveness she found rather intimidating, “There will be just you and me, Siena. I don’t like to think of you alone in London.”

      Say no, it’s all right, Nick, I’m fine. But she knew her voice would wobble.

      Nevertheless she tried, swallowing first to ease her dry throat, and Nick demanded sharply, “What’s the matter?”

      “N-nothing.” Again her voice betrayed her.

      “Siena, I’ll be around straight away.”

      “No!”

      But he’d already cut the connection, and after a moment she hung up.

      That damned protective instinct, she thought, staring wretchedly down at the half-empty teacup.

      She couldn’t go out to dinner feeling as though everything that was inside her—heart, passion, laughter and joy—had been scooped out and thrown away, leaving only a shell.

      Like Gemma, Nick was accustomed to attention. Even when he’d been a teenager girls had flocked after him, and as he’d grown they’d become more importunate. His meteoric success helped too, she thought with a flash of cynicism.

      Once her mother had said with wry amusement, “All it takes is for that green gaze to drift over some woman’s face, and she’s hooked. It’s as though he’s a magnet.”

      Last night almost every woman in the restaurant had given him several intrigued glances, many openly admiring, drawn as much by his leashed, potent energy as his boldly handsome face and that compelling aura that subtly signalled his prowess as a lover.

      That thought sent a peculiar shiver down her spine. Ignoring it, she reached for the phone, only to pull back her hand when she realised she didn’t know Nick’s number. And after minutes of fruitless searching she realised he wasn’t listed either. She tried his office, only to be told by some smooth-voiced receptionist that he was unavailable.

      Balked, Siena got up wearily and looked out of the window onto the street below. It blurred, and she blinked ferociously to clear an onslaught of tears. Perhaps a shower would clear her head.

      She made it short, but when she emerged, fully dressed in case Nick had somehow persuaded the reception clerk to give him a key, her cell phone summoned her.

      This time it was Louise.

      Ten minutes later Siena put down her cell phone, her friend’s strained words still echoing in her ears. “It’s my father-in-law,” she’d said. “He’s had a stroke, and Ivan’s mother’s at her wits’ end with two younger children at home, so we’re going up tomorrow. I’m so sorry, Siena, but it’s impossible for you to stay with us now. But the cottage is here, and we—oh, Siena, I was so looking forward to seeing you …”

      Siena had refused the offer of the cottage and done her best to reassure her, but now she stared around the hotel room as though she’d never seen it before.

      “What now?” she said aloud, then caught herself up.

      No need to feel it was the end of the world. So it had all happened at once, but friends had emergencies and parents went on long-anticipated cruises.

      And fiancés fell in love with someone else.

      Nobody ever died of a broken heart. Eventually this dull pain would ease.

      She dragged in a sharp stabbing breath. She’d organise her return journey to New Zealand, then go down and wait for Nick in the foyer, tell him she couldn’t go out to dinner with him.

      She would, she thought tautly, be extremely boring company, and he’d probably only asked her because he knew her parents were leaving and she’d be alone.

      In effect, he’d behaved just like the brother he considered himself to be.

      Nick saw her as soon as he entered the foyer. She hadn’t noticed him, and something about the way she was sitting made him frown, and quicken his pace. A friend had once described her—patronisingly—as “a taking little thing”. Tiny and black-haired, with eyes so blue they were a startling contrast to her porcelain skin, she certainly looked doll-like—except for her mouth. Lush, sensuously curved, her mouth was a delicious miracle made for smiles—and kisses.

      Now it was pinched, and set in a straight line. She was holding herself stiffly, warding off an invisible blow. Nick swore under his breath and increased the length of his stride.

      It was impossible to link Siena with the word defeat, but that was how she looked—as though she’d been knocked to the ground so roughly she couldn’t be bothered getting up again. And she certainly wasn’t dressed for dinner.

      Her parents …?

      “What’s the matter?” he demanded from two strides away.

      She blinked as though she didn’t recognise him. Then with a brave attempt at her usual spark she said, “Oh, a couple of things, but it’s not the end of the world.”

      Nothing had happened to Hugh and Diane, then. Hiding his relief, he said more moderately, “So tell me.”

      The hands in her lap tensed. No ring, he realised.

      What the hell—?

      She said, “Well, I think I mentioned I was going to stay with a friend in Cornwall, but that’s off.”

      Nick listened to her explanation, nodding when she finished. “So what are you going to do?”

      Her