I must be mad, she mused. Is this the result of all work and no real play for so long? Or is it simpler? Don't most women have a secret hankering to play with fire at least once? Because I'm pretty sure that's what it would be. She sighed again and got up to pack, muttering to herself as she did so. ' One dress for dinner, a couple of pairs of shorts and shirts, night gear, undies and, oh, well, perhaps a swimsuit! That's all I'm taking, Mr Ross.'
'Travelling light, Saffron?' Fraser Ross said casually when she came out of her front door the next morning to see him sitting behind the wheel of a dark green Mercedes convertible with the hood down.
'Yep.' She tossed her bag into the back seat but put her briefcase down with more care. She wore jeans, a cream blouse, short boots with thick soles, and she slung a navy blazer into the back as well. 'And if you make one remark about my clothes or lack of them I'm liable to bite,' she warned. What she received in return was an enigmatic dark glance and some barbed little comments. 'You brought it up. Has it been bothering you? Interfering with your sleep?' And, when she ground her teeth, he laughed and merely advised her not to be silly and recommended that she get in. She slid into the front seat beside him and immediately requested that he put the hood up.
'Why? It's a lovely morning.'
'It may be but I didn't bring a scarf. I'd refuse to be seen dead in one anyway, but I have the kind of curly hair that responds to the breeze in a way that makes me look like a mop.'
'Ah.' He glanced at her hair, lying loose and natural. 'Or is this your way of telling me you're not at all impressed?'
'Probably that too. If you must know I find it terribly ostentatious.' She looked around at the acres of light tan leather. 'I'm surprised you're game to leave it in an airport car park.'
'I'm not. Someone is coming to pick it up at the airport.' He touched a button and the roof slid up and over. 'I gather you're not in a good mood this morning, Saffron?' He drove off.
'Never am when I've had my arm twisted.'
'Why don't you think of all the dollars about to flow in? And the exposure?'
he suggested blandly.
She shrugged. 'We didn't get around to discussing brass tacks. Of that kind.'
'We could discuss it now.'
But Saffron sighed suddenly and slid down in the seat.
He glanced at her. 'What's wrong?'
'Tired, that's all. Because I worked last night after we left you,' she said pointedly. She considered a little bleakly and shrugged. 'And I'm prone to bitchiness as a result. Sorry.'
'This is a little surprising, Saffron.'
'It's also a temporary state of affairs, no doubt.'
'No doubt. Why don't you have a little kip?'
'I may not be able to help myself,' she murmured, and her eyes closed. Two minutes later she was fast asleep.
Once or twice, Fraser Ross glanced at her as the big car purred up the Pacific Highway towards Brisbane airport, but she didn't stir. She slept neatly, he thought, and—his lips twisted—with the kind of wholeheartedness with which she did everything. He caught himself wondering about her background, and the man who had broken her heart. Then he paused to wonder why he'd gone to the lengths he had to secure her services for his holiday home.
He shrugged with a slight frown in his eyes. She'd certainly been eye-catchingly desirable as the belle of the ball two nights ago. Then it had come as something of a surprise to discover that this sprite in her mid-twenties, this slip of a girl, had been responsible for the formal little note of rejection he'd received. And to have Diana warning him off, so to speak, had obviously added a little spice to it all.
Spice, he repeated to himself as he stopped at the Gateway Bridge toll booth, but Saffron slept on. And he wondered with a touch of dryness whether that meant he was jaded and disenchanted. With women, in other words, who made it abundantly plain thatthey would regard it as an honour to be Mrs Fraser A. Ross, and would accord the position their all, especially when it came to spending his money.
He drove the last few miles to the airport, feeling distinctly disenchanted but at the same time quite sure that a spitting little cat of a girl, however desirable she could look, with, moreover, a definitely one-track mind, was not the answer. So why was he doing this?
'Have I offended you?' Saffron glanced at Fraser Ross.
'No. Why do you ask?'
They sat side by side in the broad, comfortable first-class seats of the jet that was winging its way up the Queensland coast to Hamilton Island in the Whitsunday group of islands, so named by Captain Cook in 1770 for obvious reasons.
'You don't seem your usual urbane, sometimes affable self,' she said with a tiny smile. 'Was it me falling asleep? I am sorry.'
'And you are all refreshed and geared up to resume hostilities as you promised, I gather?'
Saffron looked affronted. 'I've just apologised.'
'At the same time as you used words such as "urbane" and "affable"—with every intent to needle me.'
Saffron widened her eyes then had to laugh. 'Yes,' she confessed. 'I don't suppose I'd like to be described as urbane and affable, but I really didn't think I'd—wound you with them.'
'Well, now you know.'
'I see. But I thought you were rather quiet before I called you urbane and affable.' She eyed him curiously.
He looked up as the stewardess brought their lunch trays. She was a groomed and glossy girl who was obviously not unaware of the attractiveness of at least one of her first-class passengers, judging by the amount of attention she'd lavished on Fraser A. Ross. And he glinted a charming little smile up at her before she moved away.
'Perhaps you'd rather be sitting next to her?' Saffron suggested sweetly as she unwound her cutlery from its napkin. 'Perhaps she's overnighting on Hamilton—now there's a thought.'
'Attempting to procure for me, Saffron?'
'Attempting to dispel the gloom,' she said with a shrug.
'Does that mean to say you're viewing this previously despised commission with more enthusiasm?' He looked at her dryly.
Saffron considered as she ate some delicious asparagus vinaigrette. Then she wiped her mouth, contemplated the next course, and said, 'I was very hungry, to be honest. So food, especially first-class food, has induced a general spirit of joie de vivre in me. Didn't have time for breakfast in other words,' she added laconically.
'Remind me to add that to my list of tips,' he murmured.
'Tips?' She frowned at him.
He looked wry. 'On how to handle Saffron Shaw.'
'You...have a list?'
'I'm acquiring one.'
'May one ask where from?' Her eyes glinted dangerously.
'Well, personal experience has contributed most of it,' he replied agreeably.
'Feed you, keep your mind on your work—and, if all else fails, kiss you.' He looked at her blandly.
Saffron choked on a mouthful of delicious beef in burgundy sauce.
'Have a sip of wine,' he recommended.
She did so, but her eyes were still watering as she glared at him.
'Not quite so full of the joie de vivre any longer, Saffron?' he queried with a faintly malicious little smile.
She took a deep breath, and suddenly decided against further hostile remarks. For the simple reason that she didn't doubt Fraser Ross was spoiling for a fight and, in this mood, might just win it. 'Not really. I've never been to the Whitsundays,' she confided with an ingenuous little smile, 'so there's that to look forward to. No. I'm still feeling pretty happy with life at the moment.'
For a moment his expression defied description then he chuckled softly.
'You're full of surprises, Saffron.'
'I know,' she agreed. 'That's why I'm so successful.'
'Your modesty is also overwhelming.'
'Oh, I can be modest. Not, generally, when it comes to my work, though.'
She finished her lunch and patted her stomach. 'That was pretty good.'
'Glad you approved.' This time, he didn'
t smile at the stewardess when she removed their trays, topped up their wine and poured their coffee. He merely inclined his head.
It was left to Saffron to notice the slightly crestfallen look in the girl's eyes.
'Wise,' she commented. 'She was definitely getting her hopes up.'
'And you feel this is your business, Saffron?' he said with a tinge of irony.
'Directly? No. Indirectly, don't forget I side with your sister.'
'I didn't think you and Diana would find much to side about at all.'
'You have a short memory.' Saffron eyed him mockingly then remembered her earlier resolution. She sighed theatrically. 'No, you're right; it is none of my business.' But she couldn't help adding, 'You're supposed to be looking for a wife, that's all.'
'Wives can come—from all walks of life.'
'Of course.'
But something in the way she said it caused him to look at her sharply. And to say, 'Spit it out, Saffron.'
She shrugged. 'I would imagine, when you're very rich, the problem is to sort the wheat from the chaff. Those that want you, those that want your money. Mind you, you have a lot of other things going for you; that I do concede.'
'How kind.'
She grinned. 'Perhaps we should change the subject?'
He stretched his long legs. 'All right. Tell me about your background. We have about twenty minutes before we land.'
'Oh, it won't take that long. My father is an artist, my mother was a—very minor—opera singer. They're divorced—have been for years—they're both remarried now with new families, they live at opposite ends of the continent and, although they were thoroughly unsatisfactory as parents, they're rather nice.'
'And you have no brothers and sisters?'
'I have a twin brother. We don't look very much alike.'
'Ah. The pilot?'
'Yes. He's in the air force based at Amberley at the moment. I'm actually the elder by about half an hour.'
'So that accounts for the independence? As well as the flying suit.'
'Being half an hour older? I doubt it, although...' Saffron stopped and looked rueful. 'He claims I have a tendency to boss him around.'
'I can imagine. No. I meant having divorced parents.'
'Oh, that—probably.'
'And such a fierce determination to succeed?' he asked after a moment.
'I might have been born that way but what really fostered it was...' she hesitated then said colourlessly, 'Something else.'
He glanced at her. 'What?'
'Well, I think that's the end of show-and-tell, Mr Ross. We're coming in to land.' She did up her seat belt.
'Something to do with the man who broke your heart?' he hazarded, with a narrow look at her shuttered expression.
'No.'
'I don't believe you, Saffron.'
'If you think— All right,' she said through her teeth. 'He not only broke my heart—which is ridiculous; of course he didn't!—but at the same time he managed to...undermine my confidence. He wasn't the sort of man who took easily to having a successful woman by his side. And he actually got me to the stage of believing I didn't have what it takes.'
'This is a man you believed you loved?' he queried sceptically.
'Put it this way,' Saffron said grimly. 'This was the man who alerted me to the awful problem men have with their egos. This was also a man...with a lot of money.'
'Oh, I see,' Fraser Ross said softly. Then he remarked, 'We've landed. Welcome to the Whitsundays, Saffron.'
An hour later she was sitting in a smart little motor launch, which was nosing its way out of Hamilton harbour.
She'd changed into shorts and a T-shirt but otherwise had barely had time to draw a breath, let alone take in a great deal about Hamilton Island except to note that her room in the tall Hamilton Towers was cool, spacious and very comfortable. The other thing she had noted was the heat, and she wished suddenly that she'd thought to throw in a hat.
They cleared the entrance leads and Fraser Ross opened up the throttle. He'd also changed into shorts and a T-shirt.
'How far?' she yelled above the roar of the powerful outboard.
'Ten minutes. You're not scared of boats, are you?'
'I shouldn't be, I've crawled around enough of them and I do know a bit about sailing— Gosh!' She looked around wide-eyed. 'This is rather lovely.'
The water was a clear turquoise and the spray they were raising was silver. There were islands all around them—some big, green and bare, others small and thickly wooded—all, apart from Hamilton, apparently uninhabited. But there was also the heat and die clear air and it suddenly came home to her that she was in the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park, in the tropics, and that it would be lovely to spend a holiday here.
Fraser grinned down at her as she drank it all in then took off his peaked cap and handed it to her. 'Be careful of the sun!'
Ten minutes later, she said in an awed voice, 'This...is your very own island?'
'I have a very long lease. That's how things work here.'
Saffron stepped over the front of the boat and jumped down onto soft sand. Fraser Ross's island wasn't large; in fact it was a perfect little jewel in this shimmering water wonderland. Then she frowned. 'But I can't see a house and there's no jetty. How do you get things brought here?'
'By barge,' he answered. 'The house is there—' he pointed upwards '—if you know what to look for between the trees.'
'I love those trees.' She narrowed her eyes. 'What are they?'
'Hoop pines—not to be confused with Norfolk pines although they look rather similar. Come.'
He held out a hand and she took it after a moment. They climbed a steep little path through the bush and, suddenly, the house was there in front of them.
Saffron stopped and blinked. Because it couldn't have been more perfectly done, and even the photos hadn't done it justice. Fashioned out of what she knew enough to know was western red cedar that had weathered to a silvery grey, it sat on its niche on the hillside surrounded by the tall dark green hoop pines as if it had grown there. It flowed with the contours of the island and brought a smile of sheer satisfaction to Saffron's lips.
'Shall we go inside?' Fraser suggested.
'Yes. Can I ask you a favour, though?'
'Why not?'
'Would you mind not talking to me? First impressions are terribly important,' she said seriously.
'Won't say a word,' he promised.
She broke the self-imposed silence once.
'There's nothing here.'
They were in the kitchen that was rather reminiscent of a ship's galley in that it was compact and functional, but with wonderful, hard-wearing Corian benchtops that cried out for some of the innovative Italian-designed stainless-steel appliances she'd seen recently. But there was no refrigerator, no stove, no dishwasher, and the drawers and cupboards were empty—as was the rest of the house.
'No,' he agreed. 'That's where you come in, isn't it?'
'You mean you want me to furnish it down to the last teaspoon?' She looked at him wide-eyed. 'Everything?'
'Every last thing. Pots, pans, brooms, towels and sheets, beds, a stove, the lot. What else is there? Is that asking too much?' He eyed her quizzically.
'Oh, no. It's a designer's dream, not to mention a woman's dream,' she said unguardedly. 'I just wasn't expecting quite...' She paused.
'Such a free hand?' he suggested. He was leaning back against a counter with his arms folded, watching her curiously.
Saffron grimaced, irritated to think just how much amusement she afforded Fraser Ross. She said tartly, in consequence, 'I just hope a wife doesn't pop up out of the blue, Mr Ross. You might find that wives have their own ideas when it comes to pots and pans, that they like to choose their own crockery and the colour of their sheets.'
'There doesn't appear to be any danger of that happening in the near future, Saffron,' he murmured wickedly. 'So why don't you put yourself in the place of any future wife I may acquire? A wife
by proxy kind of thing.'
Saffron bit her lip and eyed him coolly. 'Are you having a go at me?'
He raised his eyebrows at her. 'Now why would I be doing that?'
'Nothing you did would surprise me greatly,' she replied frostily. 'But two thoughts came to mind. That what you said was a jibe at my decision to be a businesswoman rather than a wife, and that it might be a bid to get me thinking along the lines that so obviously occupy your mind extensively.'
'Such as?' he asked softly.
'Getting me into your bed, as if you didn't know,' she retorted. He laughed and straightened. 'Possibly. But you were the one who brought wives up, Saffron. Could that indicate a subliminal line of thought?' His gaze roamed over her as she stood so taut and ready to fight him every inch of the way in the middle of his empty kitchen.
But Saffron was beginning to see the trap yawning at her feet, and she backed away verbally. 'No, only a practical line of thought,' she countered evenly. 'Still, when one is as wealthy as you are, I don't suppose it matters. You can chuck out the things she doesn't like and start again. Would you mind getting out of my way?'
'Before you—punch me or something like that?' he suggested gravely.
'Not at all. So I can measure up for a fridge and a stove. And would you mind not talking again?'
But her mood of aggression subsided as, with camera and tape measure in hand, she moved around the house. She also used a small tape recorder to talk her impressions into.
And finally she packed them away and said to him with sigh, 'It is lovely. You're very lucky, and I have to confess it will be a bit of a joy to work on it. I don't often get the opportunity to do things from absolute scratch. You can take me back now.'
CHAPTER FOUR
Back in her room on Hamilton, Saffron immediately plugged in the laptop computer she'd brought with her and made copious notes on it. And she was preoccupied as she changed for dinner.
She showered, washed her hair and sat on her verandah as the sun set and lights started to twinkle on the island. Then, as a deep violet dusk hid the waters of the Whitsundays, she went back into her room to put on her only dress.
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