A Woman to Remember

by Miranda Lee

  ‘Good morning, Mr St Clair,’ the male desk-clerk said, in that smooth, unruffled voice which the best of hotel staff always possessed. ‘Sorry to disturb you so early, sir, but there’s a Miss Manning here who says her instructions were to have you paged when she arrived. She says she’s sorry she’s a little late, but there was an accident on the expressway.’

  Luke’s stomach churned some more. She was here... downstairs... waiting for him.

  ‘Tell her I’ll be down shortly,’ he said in decidedly strangled tones.

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Luke hung up, then dragged in several deep steadying breaths. This would never do. He couldn’t let her frighten him. She was the one who was going to be frightened. At first. That was part of his revenge.

  He checked his appearance in the long mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door, approving of his choice of clothes. His tall, lean body looked well in jeans. Stonewashed grey this morning, matched to a simple white T-shirt and a lightweight charcoal-grey jacket which could be zipped up against the wind if necessary.

  There was nothing about him to betray his wealth, except perhaps for his watch, which was a gold Rolex. Still, there were plenty of fake Rolexes in this world. Luke wasn’t sure why he didn’t want her to know how well-off he was, but he didn’t. He almost regretted offering such an exorbitant fee, but without it she might not have come.

  Steeling himself, he slipped the hotel room key into his pocket, smoothed his dark brown hair back from his face, covered his glittering black eyes with wrap-around sunglasses and left the room.

  The lift carried him noiselessly down to the first floor, where he alighted, choosing to walk down the long sweeping staircase to the ground floor and give himself ample opportunity to survey the foyer and its occupants below as he did so.

  She would not be expecting him to arrive that way. Neither would she be expecting him. Eighteen months ago she’d thought him an American, had believed he was only holidaying in Australia, unlikely to return and turn up in her life again.

  But he was turning up, he thought with a grim satisfaction as he began a slow descent down the elegant staircase. And he had no intention of leaving again—not till he’d got what he wanted from her.

  He walked slowly, his gaze searching the groupings of armchairs gathered in the centre of the foyer down below. They were all empty. His frown deepened as his eyes scanned first left and then right, towards the reception desk.

  He didn’t recognise her at first, for her back was to him and her hair was longer and straighter, and blonder. Almost white-blonde, in fact, hanging straight down her back. She was wearing black leggings and a black blazer-style jacket, with a canvas satchel slung over her shoulder. Black platform sandals made her look even taller than he remembered.

  She was chatting away to the desk-clerk—probably the same one who had rung him. He was a good-looking young man and was smiling at her. Luke told himself that it wasn’t jealousy which jabbed at his heart, merely cynicism. She was still good at picking up members of the opposite sex, it seemed.

  No doubt now, being a merry widow, she was making up for lost time. There would no longer be any need for subterfuge with her one-night stands—or deceit. She could have whatever man she fancied, whenever she fancied.

  Luke’s loins leapt at the thought, assuaging his earlier fear that he might not still want her.

  The clerk must have spotted him coming down the stairs and said something to her, for she turned to look up at him.

  His breath caught in his throat and he hesitated momentarily. For, although he knew it was the same woman—impossible to mistake those eyes—there was nothing of the sultry or seductive about the clear-skinned, clear-eyed face which tipped back to stare up at him. She was all natural beauty, fresh and innocent-looking, in a simple white blouse which buttoned right up to the neck. A sweetie, not a siren. A virgin, not a vamp.

  Luke almost laughed at this last thought, his stupidity firing his fury and his feet forward. She was no virgin, this chameleon. No sweetie either. She was twenty-six years old, and a cool, calculating witch of a woman.

  He revelled in the way her high, wide forehead began to crease into a frown as she continued to survey his measured descent. No doubt with his sunglasses firmly in place she couldn’t be sure of his identity, but something was definitely teasing her brain. And her memory.

  Meanwhile he soaked her in. Every gorgeous inch of her. Damn, but she was beautiful. So beautiful that he already ached with longing to possess her just one more time. No, once would not be enough. He had to have her more than that. He had to have till he could not bear to do it one more time.

  Maybe then he would be at peace.

  Maybe then he would stop fantasising that he was in love with her.

  He chose the perfect moment to remove his sunglasses, having schooled his face into a superbly bland expression, masking his feelings behind a façade so cool and so casual that she would surely have to doubt his own recognition of her.

  The glasses swept aside, he strode across the tiled foyer floor, disarming her totally by smiling politely then reaching out his hand as he drew near. ‘Miss Manning, I presume?’

  Her obvious shock disintegrated into confusion, her stunned gaze going from his face to his outstretched hand and to his face again. Clearly she had no practice at facing a one-night stand who failed to recognise her. And clearly she was very disconcerted.

  To give her credit, she swiftly pulled herself together, placing a brave but betrayingly shaky hand in his for a few brief moments before dredging up a polite smile of her own from somewhere.

  ‘That’s correct,’ she said, her voice crisp and rather strained, with not a trace of the huskily sexy tones she’d used on him that night. ‘And you’re Mr St Clair?’

  ‘The one and only,’ he drawled.

  ‘But... but the agency said you were an Australian photographer.’

  ‘And so I am. The accent is just a relic of my living and working in LA for ten years.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I see .. :

  No, you don’t, you deceiving witch. You can’t see at all! But he could. Could see perfectly how relieved she was to find that he didn’t recognise her. She’d gone almost as white as her hair for a moment, but now the colour was flooding back into her cheeks—those gorgeous cheeks and gorgeous cheekbones and gorgeous everything else!

  ‘I come home to Sydney for a visit every now and then,’ he went on, silkily putting her mind at ease some more. ‘This time I decided to combine my holiday with a little work. Last time I came home I did far too much partying and spent most of the time totally hungover. You don’t mind if I call you Rachel, do you? And you must learn to call me Luke. First names are much more relaxing than Miss and Mr, don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Her wariness was gradually dissolving, although not entirely gone yet. A certain tension remained. She wasn’t comfortable with him or the situation, that much was evident.

  ‘Ready to start work?’ he asked abruptly, sliding his sunglasses back into place over his eyes. The opaque lenses and wrap-around style gave him the opportunity to study her and her reactions closely without her being too aware of it.

  ‘What? Oh...oh, yes—yes, I guess so.’

  There was no doubting that she was still highly agitated. He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. Ongoing agitation did not fit in with the image of her he’d carried around all these months, or of how he’d imagined she’d react to his supposedly not recognising her.

  After the initial shock, he’d expected her to quickly take his reappearance in her life in her stride. Now that she was a widow, he was even hoping she’d be flirtatious with him.

  Such was not the case. She was stiff and silent, her lovely green eyes clouded with worry.

  ‘Where have you parked your car?’ he asked, annoyed with himself for feeling guilt over what he was doing. Clearly the guilt was all on her part, which was as it should be. But he did wish
she’d stop flicking him those anxious and startled glances, as though she still could not believe who Luke St Clair had turned out to be.

  ‘In the street,’ she said, nodding towards the revolving glass door: ‘Outside.’

  ‘Do you need anything out of it for the day?’

  ‘No, not really. I have all my make-up and hair things in here.’

  ‘In that case I suggest you drive your car up to the hotel entrance and I’ll arrange to have it parked downstairs, in the hotel car park. You are staying here tonight, after all.’

  The momentary terror which flashed into her face absolutely floored him. ‘Well, I... Well, actually, I don’t think... I mean,’ she stumbled and bumbled. ‘I... I might have to go home tonight,’ she finished up, all flushed and flustered. ‘I can always drive up again in the morning.’

  Luke stared at her from behind his glasses. What in hell was going on here? Why was she so frightened of him? Or, more to the point, of staying at the same hotel with him?

  Could it be that she still wanted him, as he still wanted her, but that she didn’t want to want him? Could it be that she was afraid to put herself into a potentially intimate situation with him, lest she surrender to the temptation to do what she’d done once before?

  But why would that frighten her? he puzzled, at the same trying to contain his excitement that this deduction might be right.

  The obvious answer to his question brought a sickening jolt to his stomach. There had to be another man on the scene. If not a husband then a fiancé, or a boyfriend, or a lover. Maybe, once again, she was not free to dally with whomever she fancied.

  Hell, he hadn’t thought of that. Yet he should have. A woman like her would not be alone for long.

  ‘And where is home, exactly?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘Caringbah.’

  Caringbah was a Sydney suburb even more south than his mother’s own Monterey.

  ‘But that’s a good two hours’ drive,’ he argued. ‘Surely the boyfriend can do without you for one night?’ he added, trying not to sound as blackly jealous as he was feeling.

  ‘Boyfriend?’ she repeated blankly, and Luke’s heart soared.

  There was no boyfriend. No boyfriend and no lover and no fiance. He was sure of it!

  ‘I was trying to think of the reason why you’d have to go home,’ he said, thrown back to the original puzzle. Why was she afraid of him?

  ‘My...my mother-in-law hasn’t been well,’ she explained, if reluctantly. ‘I’ve been a little worried about leaving her for the night.’

  ‘You live alone with your mother-in-law?’

  Her hesitation to answer inflamed his curiosity further. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Yes, I do. I ... I’m a widow, you see,’ she admitted tautly.

  ‘Ahh...’ He didn’t really see, of course. And it was killing him. ‘Well, perhaps you could give her a call later in the day and put your mind to rest. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you driving all the way back home through Sydney in peak hour traffic, only to have to turn round and come back the next morning.’

  ‘No—no, I suppose not.’

  ‘That’s settled, then. You can ring her after we’ve finished for the day. Now, off you go and get your car while I speak to the parking attendant.’

  He watched her walk away, watched the way the breeze blew her long fair hair once she’d made it through the revolving door. Her right hand lifted to hold it back from her face, and when she glanced back over her shoulder at him he found himself caught up in her stunning beauty once more.

  Yet it was such a different beauty this time—her lovely face free of make-up, her lush breasts no longer put on blatant display, her sexuality and sensuality much more subtle.

  The effect on Luke was twice as strong.

  He stood there, staring at her, every muscle in his body stiff with instant tension. She frowned back for a few seconds, then turned and strode off with long, elegant strides. Luke had to almost literally drag his eyes away from her. Damn, but he wanted her more than ever. Would die if he didn’t spend this coming night with her.

  Yet achieving that end this time would not be as easy as he’d hoped it would be. She meant to resist him, that was clear. Though the reason was not. He tried reassuring himself that she still found him physically attractive. She had once, and most women did.

  So there had to be other factors involved—factors hidden from him but which hopefully might become clearer as the day wore on.

  When she stepped out of her small white sedan a couple of minutes later, she too was wearing sunglasses, which irritated Luke. Now he couldn’t see what she was thinking, or feeling. Still, she would have to take them off for the shoot. He vowed to slip in a few pointed questions whenever he had her at his visual mercy.

  ‘Where’s your gear?’ she asked.

  ‘In my car.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Down where your car is heading. There’s a door over here,’ he went on, taking her nearest arm in a firm grip. ‘This way...’

  Her instant disengaging of his arm held a distressed fluster which startled then infuriated him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he bit out. ‘I was only trying to help. I didn’t realise you were one of those women who don’t like to be touched.’

  God, but did he have to sound so sarcastic, so bloody cynical?

  ‘Sorry again,’ he said quickly. ‘That sounded rotten, and I didn’t mean it to.’ Which was so true. Hell, the last thing he wanted was to tip her off that he recognised her.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said with a shuddering sigh. ‘I was being super-touchy. Look, the thing is I had this rather unfortunate experience with a male photographer a while back, and I’ve become a little gun-shy of being alone with them ever since.’

  Luke was astonished by his immediate and fierce fury against the creep. ‘What happened? My God, he didn’t assault you, did he?’

  ‘No, no, it didn’t go that far,’ she hastened to explain. ‘But the man’s attentions were...unwanted. I found the whole thing most distasteful.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to fear from me, Rachel,’ he assured her, and for the life of him he almost meant it! Good God, what was it about this woman that made him want to protect her at the same time as just wanting her? ‘I’ve never had to force myself on a woman in my life,’ he muttered, ‘and I can’t see myself starting now.’

  A small rueful smile tugged at her lovely mouth. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘No, I can appreciate that.’

  Luke slanted her a long glance, then took her arm again. This time she did not resist him.

  It came to him then that she might not resist him tonight either, if he played his cards right. Her earlier fear had not been of him, but of that other fool, who’d been stupid enough to play rough with her. If Luke had learnt one thing from his other experience, it was that darling Rachel liked to take the lead in matters of sex and seduction. She liked doing the choosing and she preferred being on top, quite literally.

  An electric current charged along Luke’s veins as he struggled to suppress the hot memory of what she’d looked like that night—her back arched, her head thrown back, her lips parted.

  But he failed miserably.

  It took all of his control to lead her quietly downstairs to the underground car park and over to his rented white Futura. He would much rather have dragged her over to a dark corner and kissed her with all the mad desire already bubbling up inside him.

  Patience, Luke, he kept telling himself. Patience. Tonight will come, and when it does...

  He clenched his teeth hard in his jaw to stop the groan from escaping. Today was going to be hell. But a hell he had to endure. She simply was not going to be rushed.

  Besides, he had more things to satisfy than his damned body. He still didn’t have any answers to all those other questions which had plagued him this past eighteen months.

  Yes, patience, he repeated to himself. That was the key. All things came to those who waited. Rachel had come, and so woul
d all the other answers. All he had to do was wait.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘WHAT swimsuit company are you doing these shots for?’ she asked as he drove up the ramp of the underground car park and out into the sunshine.

  Luke had been waiting for that question, and was glad that he’d worked out a good cover story.

  ‘Actually, they’re not for a swimsuit company. They’re for the Central Coast Tourist Bureau, for a brochure they’re producing. They only wanted scenic shots at first, but I convinced them that a gorgeous Australian blonde in a bikini would give their beaches some added appeal and impetus.’

  Luke turned the car to the left and headed for the Skillion—a nearby headland which would make a good backdrop for some photos.

  She slanted him a frowning glance. ‘How come you chose me? I haven’t been doing much work of late.’

  ‘Yes, so the agency told me.’ Luke thought he was being superbly casual, considering the state of his insides. ‘You were recommended to me by an acquaintance. Ray Holland.’

  Her mouth broke into a soft smile. ‘Dear Ray. Now, there’s a really nice man.’

  ‘He says he did your wedding photographs.’

  The smile faded. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said stiffly, and fell silent.

  Luke decided not to pursue the topic at this early stage, for fear of making her clam up entirely. He swung the car off Terrigal Drive onto the side road which led past the bay called the Haven and round to the base of the Skillion. Even at this early hour there were a couple walking hand in hand up the steep grassy incline which led up to the lookout and the abrupt drop beyond.

  Luke noticed with a frown that a fence had been built since he’d last been up there some years back-no doubt as a guard against accidents. Anyone wanting to commit suicide would hardly have let a fairly low fence deter them. Still, the wooden and wire construction would not enhance any close-ups.

  ‘If you’re thinking of taking some shots of me up there,’ Rachel said, glancing up at the unprotected cliff top, ‘it’ll be very windy.’

  Luke frowned as he parked, nose frontwards, in a small cleared area to the left of the Skillion. He’d already dismissed the idea because of the fence, anyway.