took off the
sunglasses, got up from the lounge and dove into the pool. She didn't want to
hear another word.
God
knows what she must have done to him. Even under the water the echoes of Ghita's
voice followed her.
She swam back and
forth across the deep end of the pool, back and forth as if in training for the
Olympics.
Finally, exhausted,
she hauled herself out of the water and sat on the edge of the pool and checked
out the surroundings. The women were still there. Well, she'd just get her
stuff and move to a lounge on the other side of the pool. She had no appetite
for any more of their conversation.
She made her move,
ordered another drink and picked up the book she'd brought and began to read. A
story about an art treasure hunt in the rocky interior of Iceland.
What
she liked about Veigar, she read , was his calm, quiet self-possession.
He was the most intelligent, sexy man she had ever met. He spoke little. She
was intrigued by those calm gray eyes, by what lay hidden in the silence.
Nicky groaned and
flung the book onto the grass. If ever she gathered enough courage to get
married again, it had better be someone with a stormy nature who expressed
every little thought that entered his mind. A lyrical Italian, or a passionate
Greek.
She groaned again.
Forget it. She was never, never getting married again.
At the end of an
endless afternoon, she went back to the room, bracing herself to find Blake
there getting ready for the evening.
The room was empty and
she expelled a sigh of relief. The bathroom showed signs of use—steam and the
scent of soap and shampoo. Good, he'd been here and had left; she had the place
to herself.
At six o'clock sharp
she arrived at the restaurant terrace and found Blake sitting at a table with
the lovely Ghita. She clenched her jaws together. Oh, damn. That's just what
she needed—she and Ghita being introduced to each other. Ghita, this is Nicky Arnell, my ex-wife. She'd smile at Ghita, and say, You know, the one you were discussing this afternoon, the not-so-bright one. You were wondering
what she might have done to poor, perfect Blake.
Oh, stop it, she told
herself. She stretched her spine, produced a brilliant smile and sashayed over
to the small table, the soft cotton of her batek dress moving smoothly
around her ankles.
"Hi," she
said cheerfully.
They looked up. Blake
came to his feet and held out a chair for her, making introductions as he did
so, supplying only names and no relationships. Cool, reserved Blake. She should
have known that's what he'd do.
"How was your
afternoon?" he asked politely, and she told him it had been wonderfully
relaxing, which of course was the lie of the century.
When the waiter
appeared she asked for a Midnight Moon Dance, one of the exotic mixed drinks on
the menu featuring an abundance of alcohol. She sensed more than noticed
Blake's surprise. She'd never used to drink anything stronger than wine, and
she still didn't often. Right now wine seemed too tame a drink for the mood she
was in.
Her drink arrived only
moments later, complete with a paper parasol and pineapple butterfly. Blake
rose to his feet and asked if they could possibly do without his presence for a
few minutes; he needed to make a phone call. Ghita smiled sweetly and said they
could do without him.
Of course they could.
They could chat and get to know each other. Do some female bonding. Nicky took
the pineapple from the rim of the glass and chewed it. Oh, God, what was the
matter with her? Why was she feeling so bitchy? It was not her nature to feel
so negative and ungracious. This woman—this girl—was obviously in love with
Blake and there was no reason why she shouldn't be. There was no reason why it
should bother her, the ex-wife. She took a generous swallow of her drink.
Blake departed and
Nicky was aware that Ghita scrutinized her with ill-concealed curiosity. Nicky
offered her a smile. "This is a beautiful place," she said for
something to say.
Ghita
sunglasses, got up from the lounge and dove into the pool. She didn't want to
hear another word.
God
knows what she must have done to him. Even under the water the echoes of Ghita's
voice followed her.
She swam back and
forth across the deep end of the pool, back and forth as if in training for the
Olympics.
Finally, exhausted,
she hauled herself out of the water and sat on the edge of the pool and checked
out the surroundings. The women were still there. Well, she'd just get her
stuff and move to a lounge on the other side of the pool. She had no appetite
for any more of their conversation.
She made her move,
ordered another drink and picked up the book she'd brought and began to read. A
story about an art treasure hunt in the rocky interior of Iceland.
What
she liked about Veigar, she read , was his calm, quiet self-possession.
He was the most intelligent, sexy man she had ever met. He spoke little. She
was intrigued by those calm gray eyes, by what lay hidden in the silence.
Nicky groaned and
flung the book onto the grass. If ever she gathered enough courage to get
married again, it had better be someone with a stormy nature who expressed
every little thought that entered his mind. A lyrical Italian, or a passionate
Greek.
She groaned again.
Forget it. She was never, never getting married again.
At the end of an
endless afternoon, she went back to the room, bracing herself to find Blake
there getting ready for the evening.
The room was empty and
she expelled a sigh of relief. The bathroom showed signs of use—steam and the
scent of soap and shampoo. Good, he'd been here and had left; she had the place
to herself.
At six o'clock sharp
she arrived at the restaurant terrace and found Blake sitting at a table with
the lovely Ghita. She clenched her jaws together. Oh, damn. That's just what
she needed—she and Ghita being introduced to each other. Ghita, this is Nicky Arnell, my ex-wife. She'd smile at Ghita, and say, You know, the one you were discussing this afternoon, the not-so-bright one. You were wondering
what she might have done to poor, perfect Blake.
Oh, stop it, she told
herself. She stretched her spine, produced a brilliant smile and sashayed over
to the small table, the soft cotton of her batek dress moving smoothly
around her ankles.
"Hi," she
said cheerfully.
They looked up. Blake
came to his feet and held out a chair for her, making introductions as he did
so, supplying only names and no relationships. Cool, reserved Blake. She should
have known that's what he'd do.
"How was your
afternoon?" he asked politely, and she told him it had been wonderfully
relaxing, which of course was the lie of the century.
When the waiter
appeared she asked for a Midnight Moon Dance, one of the exotic mixed drinks on
the menu featuring an abundance of alcohol. She sensed more than noticed
Blake's surprise. She'd never used to drink anything stronger than wine, and
she still didn't often. Right now wine seemed too tame a drink for the mood she
was in.
Her drink arrived only
moments later, complete with a paper parasol and pineapple butterfly. Blake
rose to his feet and asked if they could possibly do without his presence for a
few minutes; he needed to make a phone call. Ghita smiled sweetly and said they
could do without him.
Of course they could.
They could chat and get to know each other. Do some female bonding. Nicky took
the pineapple from the rim of the glass and chewed it. Oh, God, what was the
matter with her? Why was she feeling so bitchy? It was not her nature to feel
so negative and ungracious. This woman—this girl—was obviously in love with
Blake and there was no reason why she shouldn't be. There was no reason why it
should bother her, the ex-wife. She took a generous swallow of her drink.
Blake departed and
Nicky was aware that Ghita scrutinized her with ill-concealed curiosity. Nicky
offered her a smile. "This is a beautiful place," she said for
something to say.
Ghita
Similar Books
