by Robyn Donald
It couldn’t be the same man. New Zealand was as far from the jet-setting sophistication of Europe as he could get.
Or be sent.
After all, if his parents had sensibly removed him from Felipe’s influence once, possibly they’d had to do it again. But to New Zealand?
Entirely too much of a coincidence, she thought frantically, all her illusions of safety shattered.
Could Felipe have found her and sent Alonso…?
She took a deep breath. Why would Felipe use a Spanish grandee to track her down when he had professionals to do that sort of thing?
But if it was the Alonso she remembered, would he remember her?
She tried to calm her racing heart and dispel the coldness spreading beneath her ribs. When they’d met she’d been at university, struggling to fulfil her study obligations in spite of Felipe’s obstruction, so she hadn’t seen a lot of young de Porto.
And then relief washed through her as she realised she’d been so busy panicking she hadn’t thought of the most obvious way of avoiding discovery. All she had to do was stay safely hidden at the bach!
Forcing herself to relax, she let her lashes drift cautiously up. Her stomach clamped when she met Kelt’s cool, hard scrutiny. He knows, she thought for a taut second, feeling the familiar chill of shame.
But of course he couldn’t.
Easing her grip on the squirming puppy, she parried Kelt’s gaze with all the composure she could produce, forcing her brows upwards in a questioning look.
‘I think I’ve met him,’ Kelt said neutrally. ‘A nice enough kid, and surprisingly unspoiled for the scion of a Spanish family with a pedigree that goes back a thousand years or so, and a fortune to match.’
Oh, God, that sounded like the Alonso she knew…
She steadied her breath, willing her heartbeat to settle down and her legs to stop shaking.
Rosie glared at Kelt, then laughed. ‘Of course, you know everyone who’s anyone, don’t you? Although it’s a bit daunting to hear the best-looking man I’ve ever seen described as “a nice enough kid”. Kid? He can only be four or five years younger than you!’
Kelt eyed her with amusement. ‘All right, you can have this party, but you’ll organise it yourself. Arthur will have enough to do with the cooking.’
‘Super.’ Rosie hurled herself into his arms, kissed his cheek with fervour, then tore free.
Hani felt a pang of—jealousy? Surely not, she thought, horrified.
That horror was intensified by Rosie’s next enthusiastic words. ‘I thought a nice casual party, a beach-and-barbecue sort of thing, starting around seven because it’s such a super time in summer. One for Hannah—to introduce her to everyone.’
‘So it could,’ Kelt said, his keen gaze on Hani’s face.
Stricken, she said as lightly as she could, ‘Oh, no, you mustn’t. A summer party doesn’t need a reason beyond the season, surely?’
‘But this would be perfect!’ Rosie swept on. ‘After all, if you’re going to be here for three months you might as well meet all the usual suspects. And their visitors,’ she added with a brilliant smile.
‘Just remember Hannah’s here to convalesce,’ Kelt said. He gave his cousin a direct, intimidating look. ‘I don’t want her roped into helping you.’
‘Cross my heart,’ Rosie said after a speculative glance at Hani.
‘I’m getting better, not dying,’ Hani said briskly, earning herself another thoughtful look from the younger woman.
‘Cool. We must get together some time and have lunch,’ Rosie said, then blew an airy kiss to Kelt and whirled out of the room, leaving Hani breathless.
So much for hiding…
Still, she had the perfect excuse—her illness.
To the sound of his cousin’s teasing voice in the hall and Arthur’s indulgent replies, Kelt said ironically, ‘Don’t let her bulldoze you into doing anything you don’t want to.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ Hani said, ‘but I wish you hadn’t given her the impression that you had any right to monitor my behaviour.’
‘I doubt if she’s at all surprised. She frequently tells me I’m arrogant and overbearing, not to mention inflexible and old-fashioned.’
‘She knows you well,’ Hani said on a false, sweet note.
Kelt’s answering smile sent excitement curling through her. His kisses were thrilling, but his smile had the power to reduce her to abject surrender. Not that it softened the hard lines of his face, but there was genuine humour behind it, and an appreciation of her tart irritation with him.
‘I’m the big brother she never had,’ he said. ‘Or possibly the father. Her own is so wrapped up in his work he can only see her as an interruption.’
Hani’s face must have shown what she thought of this, because he said, ‘Oh, he loves her, but more when she’s at a distance. That’s why she lives with her mother.’
‘Poor Rosie,’ she said involuntarily. ‘What sort of books does her father write?’
‘He’s a historian.’ He gave her a sardonic look as though expecting her to be bored. ‘At the moment he’s writing a tome on Chinese exploration in the Indian Ocean; he’s planning to head off to Moraze, an island a thousand miles or so off the coast of Africa, to research some ruins there. He’s convinced they’re Chinese.’
Hani froze. She knew those ruins.
It seemed everything—from Alonso de Porto to Rosie’s father’s sphere of interest—was leading back to her old life.
Oppressed by a feeling of bleak inevitability, she said brightly, ‘How interesting. And don’t worry about me—I won’t overdo things.’ Grateful for the excuse he’d given her, she said, ‘I doubt if I’ll get to Rosie’s party so I’ll make sure she doesn’t use me as the reason for it.’
‘Leave Rosie to me,’ he said briefly. ‘You look as though you could do with a cup of tea. Or coffee, perhaps.’
Right then she just wanted to get away and hide. The unexpected links between her old life and her new had shattered her precarious composure. She produced a smile, hoping he’d put its perfunctory nature down to tiredness. ‘Thank you, but actually I’d rather go back to the bach.’
And met his keen survey with as limpid and innocent a look as she could manage.
His brows drew together but he said evenly, ‘Of course. Rosie tends to have that effect on people. If we could harness her energy we’d probably earn megabucks from selling it to the national grid.’
Hani’s gurgle of laughter brought an answering smile to his mouth, but the hard eyes were still uncomfortably intent.
So she said brightly, ‘I can walk back. I could do with some fresh air.’
‘I’ll take you back.’
And that was that. He left her at the bach with an injunction to rest, and a feeling of being safe and protected by his concern.
You don’t need care and concern, some tough inner part of her warned.
After all, she’d been independent for six years, forging her own way. And in the process she’d discovered things about herself: that she was good with children, that she could teach, that she liked the satisfaction of working hard and making a difference. Life at Tukuulu had shown her that she could cope without the protective influence of her older brother.
Her mind skittered away from the memory of Kelt’s kisses. One lesson she’d learned thoroughly before she washed up on Tukuulu was that men didn’t necessarily feel anything for the women they made love to. Felipe had seen her as a tool he could use, deliberately wooing and seducing her with no more emotion than lust and a desire for power.
Oh, he’d enjoyed their lovemaking; with a shudder she thought he’d found some vile satisfaction in debauching innocence.
Driven by restlessness, she got to her feet. ‘How about a walk on the beach, little one?’ she said to the puppy.
Once breathing in the clean, salt-scented air, the sun warm on her head and the sand firm and cool beneath her bare feet, with the puppy snuffling happily
around a piece of dried seaweed, she thought that at least there had been no undercurrent of exploitation in Kelt’s kisses; he’d treated her as an adult fully aware of what she was doing. And she’d been gripped by a far more primal, intense chemistry than when she’d been so sure she was in love with Felipe.
A sweet, potent warmth washed through her. She didn’t dare let things go any further, but she’d always treasure the memory of Kelt’s kisses.
And not just his kisses. Somehow, just by being his masterful, enigmatic, uncompromising self, by looking after her, even because of the way he dealt with Rosie, he’d restored her faith in men.
But was it wise to trust her instincts?
‘Probably not,’ she said to the puppy, who startled them both with a high-pitched yap.
The little animal sat back on its haunches and stared at Hani as though suspecting that the noise had come from her.
‘Hey, you can talk!’ She bent to stroke her, and received a lick on the wrist and another little yap.
‘OK, that clinches it,’ Hani said, chuckling. ‘You’ve found your name. How do you do, Gabby?’
Gabby cocked her head, then yapped again and scratched herself with vigour, sending a spray of sand a few centimetres into the air.
Hani felt tears burn her eyes. It had been so long since she’d dared to love; the puppy had broken through her protective armour, opening her to emotions she’d shunned for six dark years.
Actually, no—meeting Kelt had cracked that shell she’d constructed around herself with such determination.
She stooped to pick up a bleached piece of driftwood and drew a pattern in the sand. Just because she’d met a man who made her feel like a woman with heated passions and deep-seated needs didn’t mean she could allow Kelt to become important to her in any way. Caution warned her that this new-found capacity to feel could hurt her all over again.
The puppy came up to investigate this new activity, pounced on the stick and promptly fell over.
‘Oh, poor baby!’ Hani said, then watched, intrigued, as Gabby got up and sank her tiny needle-teeth into the wood, growling fiercely.
‘You’ve probably got it right, Gabby,’ she said aloud. ‘Fall over, pick yourself up and start over again. And again if necessary. Perhaps that’s what I should have done instead of running away.’
Except that she’d had bigger issues to deal with than a dose of heartbreak—staying alive and out of Felipe’s clutches being the most important.
Resolutely pushing the grim memories to the back of her mind, she walked up to the bach, stopping halfway to rescue the exhausted Gabby, who drank lavishly once they got back then sprawled out in the sunlight on the floor and went to sleep.
Smiling, Hani made herself a snack and sat down to eat it, but pushed it away as the memories intruded. Could Alonso still be part of Felipe’s circle?
If he was, and he recognised her and mentioned it to Felipe, she’d be in danger. Before she’d ‘died’ she’d told Felipe she was leaving him.
He’d been quite calm about his response, wielding his power with consummate artistry. ‘Of course you may go if you no longer want to stay with me. But if you do, you will be signing your brother’s death warrant as well as your own.’ He’d watched the colour drain from her skin and smiled. ‘And neither his death nor yours will be quick,’ he’d said calmly.
Desperately she got to her feet and walked the length of the terrace, her haunted eyes ignoring the beauty before her.
That was what had pushed her into informing Rafiq that Moraze was threatened, and her despairing decision to kill herself. Although she hadn’t managed to achieve that, she’d managed to convince the world she was dead, buying six years in a peaceful limbo.
If those years had taught her anything, it was that losing your head only made things worse.
First of all, she needed to know if this Alonso de Porto was the same one she’d known back then, and if he still made up part of Felipe’s circle.
If only she had a computer she could go onto the internet and search for Felipe’s name. He’d be easy enough to track down—presumably he still figured in the social pages of various glossy magazines.
If Alonso was still part of his circle she’d have to leave Kiwinui.
Running again, around and around like a rat in a cage…
Although she’d occasionally used the one school computer she’d never dared look for Felipe, or even for Rafiq and Moraze. Tracking software enabled the teachers to check on the sites the students visited.
Into her mind there sprang the image of the superb set-up in Kelt’s office. No doubt he needed to keep up-to-date with farming matters, but a smile hovered on her lips because it seemed the impregnable farmer was a techno-freak.
He had no children to guard, so there’d be no need for him to have tracking software.
She could ask…something…and if he offered her the use of his computer…
Appalled, she pushed the idea away.
But during the rest of the afternoon it came back to her again and again, and that night it vied with other, more tender images of Kelt’s kisses, until in the end she woke sobbing from a nightmare in which Kelt had morphed into Felipe.
Shaking, she made herself a cup of tea and sat out on the deck watching the sea wash gently in and out on the beach, the moon catching the white tips of the waves as they broke into lacy patterns on the sand.
She’d been passive for too long. Now she needed to take charge of her life. And she could only do that if she had information.
And then she remembered seeing an internet café close to the pet shop.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she whispered.
So much for taking charge of her life! Why on earth hadn’t she thought of that hours ago? No need to ask Kelt—no need to do anything more frightening than pay for half an hour of internet access. ‘Tomorrow,’ she promised herself, half-terrified, half-eager.
The next morning Kelt rang. ‘I’m going into town shortly,’ he said, ‘and I wondered if you need anything or if you’d like to come.’
Hani’s first instinct was to say no, and drive into town later when he was safely home again. But she thought of passing his house, or just possibly seeing him on the farm…
So she said, ‘Well, yes, as it happens I do.’
‘I’ll pick you up in half an hour.’ He rang off.
The day was warm, so she chose a pair of loose-fitting cotton trousers the same green as her eyes, and topped them with a neat cap-sleeved T-shirt that matched her skin colour. All she needed to complete the theme, she thought with wry humour as she applied lip gloss, were black shoes that gleamed red in the sun like her hair. Failing those, she made do with a pair of tan sandals.
‘I won’t be too long,’ she promised Gabby, who blinked at her and went straight back to sleep.
Her heart jumped when the car came down the hill, and jumped again when Kelt got out. What he did to her nerve cells, she thought with an involuntary shiver, was positively sinful…
He subjected her to a long, considering look, then smiled. ‘You’ve obviously been sleeping very well.’
‘I have,’ she replied, hoping her sedate tone didn’t tell him that it was his presence that gave her cheeks colour and lightened her step.
Kelt closed the door behind her and slid behind the wheel. ‘And how is the puppy?’
‘Her name is Gabby.’ Hani grinned at his cocked eyebrow. ‘She’s just discovered that she can yap, and she’s been practising often. But she only woke me once last night.’
All morning she’d been fighting a faint nausea at the prospect of seeing even a photograph of Felipe again, but Kelt’s arrival had put paid to that. In his company everything seemed at once infinitely more complex, yet straightforward; colours were brighter, scents more seductive. His presence sharpened her appreciation of the blue of the sky and the brilliant green of the fields—paddocks, she corrected herself with a half-smile—and the stark loveliness of the countryside.
It wasn’t exactly comfort—let alone comfortable—but she was buoyed by a sense of exhilaration, a feeling that life could be filled with richness and delight if she allowed herself to deserve it.
That newly awakened confidence faded fast once she walked into the internet café. Heart pounding and the nausea returning in full force, she sat down and keyed in the search engine, then glanced around. There were only two other people there—tourists—and they couldn’t have been less interested in her.
Twenty minutes later she paid her money and sat down limply at one of the tables, waiting for the strong black coffee she’d ordered.
Felipe was dead. The words echoed in her head. He’d died on Moraze four years ago in a shoot-out with the military. The news items had been brief and carried very little information. Clearly Rafiq had clamped a lid on Press speculation.
Hani waited for relief, for joy, for anything but this vast emptiness. Nothing came.
She could go back home.
No, she could never go back. Rafiq wouldn’t welcome her—how could he, when she’d caused him so much grief and pain?
She had chosen to die, and it would be far better for those she’d left behind if she stayed as dead as they thought her. She glanced around the shop, the customers drinking tea and coffee, the people walking the streets outside, the sights and smells of normality…
Here she could build a new life. The thought lingered. No one knew her here. She could start afresh…
Her mind returned to those moments she’d spent in Kelt’s arms, his mouth on hers producing such ecstatic excitement that she could feel it now in every cell of her body, like a delicious electric current that revived joy and brought a kind of feverish hope.
‘Hannah?’
Kelt’s hard voice broke in on her scattered thoughts, making her jump. Thank God, she thought in a spill of relief, she’d finished at the computer before he came in.
The concern in his tone warmed her. ‘Oh—hi. I’m waiting for my coffee.’ Surprisingly, her voice was level. She indicated the chair opposite her. ‘Why don’t you join me?’
The coffee arrived then, and he ordered for himself, then settled back in his chair and said, ‘You looked—a bit disconnected.’
