She wandered to a cabinet on which was displayed an assortment of framed photographs. Talay’s graduation photo was among them. Allie picked up the one beside it and handed it to Talay. ‘This was taken last year when Michael and Jase competed in the Sydney to Hobart yacht race.’
The photo showed the two men hauling on ropes on the deck of an ocean-going yacht and Talay felt a jolt of reaction as she looked at the man beside Michael. Allie’s husband was almost six feet tall but Jase was half a head taller with a head of thick wavy hair the colour of burnt toast. Some of it fell across his forehead in a boyishly appealing look. Talay could imagine him constantly brushing it off his face but it would, no doubt, fall back again just as quickly.
Jase’s hair was the only remotely boyish thing about him. In the photo he was soaked to the skin and his crew shirt was plastered over shoulders that looked as if they could carry the weight of the world without flinching. The effect was enhanced by a deeply sculpted chest and muscular arms.
He had eyes the colour of a storm-tossed sea, she also noticed. They gazed out of the photograph right into her own with a familiarity that tugged at her. Had she met him somewhere before? Or was she reacting to the sensual appeal of the man which practically leapt out of the photograph at her?
- She blinked furiously to dispel the sensation. He was the enemy, the man who wanted to plunder her beloved Pearl Coast for commercial gain. How could she think of him in anything but disparaging terms? Still, it was hard to tear her eyes away from his mesmerising sea-green ones. Her throat dried as she imagined meeting him in the flesh. The thought was so overpowering that she put the photo down hastily.
‘Would Michael be put out if Jase Clendon were to change his plans, arriving maybe two weeks later, so you’d have time to go to Paris and return?’
Allie’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you scheming, Talay Rasada, and why do I get the feeling that what you’re about to suggest is conduct unbecoming a princess?’
‘Then I shan’t suggest it. Let’s say I have a strong feeling Jase is about to receive a message about the two-week delay.’
Allie laughed. ‘I get it, you’re going to pull some royal strings to delay him so he can’t get here until after we’ve been to Paris.’
Talay hadn’t thought of that but it was a good idea, and far less daring than what she actually had in mind. She smiled regally. ‘What’s the use of being royal if you can’t occasionally use it to your advantage?’ It was close enough to the truth that it didn’t alert Allie’s suspicions.
Her friend looked relieved. ‘Sometimes it’s great, having royal connections. Do you know, before I met you and we shared a room at boarding school I thought you would be stuck-up and horrible?’
‘And now?’
Allie enveloped her in a hug. ‘You’re one of the sweetest, most caring people I know. Doesn’t the king realise you’re only upset about the resort plans because you care so much about this country?’
‘He cares, too,’ Talay said soberly, ‘but he lives in the capital most of the time. And Andaman is a long way from the Pearl Coast. He’s so used to going everywhere with a great entourage that he doesn’t see what I see—a simple, traditional way of life which may not survive a huge influx of tourism.’
‘I suppose you’ve pointed this out to the king?’
Talay nodded. ‘Who listens to a twenty-six-year-old jewellery designer? I’m not a politician or a member of the cabinet.’
‘But the king did entrust you with chairing the cultural advisory board for this province.’
Talay gave a disdainful sniff. ‘A paper tiger, if you ask me. They put advisory in the title for a good reason, so we don’t get to actually do anything but advise, and the advice isn’t always listened to, as in this instance.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
Talay gave a slow smile. ‘You and Michael go ahead and finalise your second honeymoon plans. I’ll find a way to let Mr Clendon know how I feel.’ As casually as she could, she added as an apparent afterthought, ‘I need somewhere quiet and private to work on some new designs. Can I use your villa while you’re away?’
CHAPTER TWO
JASE CLENDON filled his lungs with the glorious, ginger-scented air that was unique to the island kingdom of Sapphan and tried to relax. It was inconvenient of Michael Martine to be called away on business at the last minute but there wasn’t much either of them could do about it. The same thing had happened to Jase himself often enough.
It was strange of Michael to send a message, rather than calling direct. But it was decent of him to give Jase the run of the villa. As soon as he caught sight of the inviting pool, Jase changed into his swimming gear, intending to make the most of it. A swim was just what he needed to help him adjust to Sapphan time.
He was accustomed to luxury but this was on a scale unknown in Australia. The villa reminded Jase of a small palace, with ancient stone walls, a tropical garden studded with statuary and large, airy rooms with cool slate floors and walls panelled with aromatic eaglewood. The rattan furniture with its hand-printed silk coverings was as comfortable as it was beautiful. Michael had done well for himself, he thought, wandering around the casual living room which opened onto the pool area.
On a dresser stood a collection of family photographs, most of them meaning nothing to Jase. He considered Michael a friend but they gave each other a loose rein. Sometimes they were out of touch for a couple of years but when they got back together it was as if they’d never been apart.
His mouth twisted wryly. Male friendship was something women had trouble understanding. They wanted you there every minute, preferably talking or—more accurately—listening to them, or at least his former wife had. She’d never understood his need for solitude and quiet, a direct legacy of growing up in a boys’ home with dozens of other children who were never quiet.
Jase shrugged off the memory and started to turn away but his attention was caught by one photo in particular. It must be Michael’s wife, whom Jase had yet to meet, and it had been taken at some kind of graduation ceremony. It definitely wasn’t one of Michael’s photographs. For a start, unlike most of Michael’s photographs, you could actually make out the subject, which meant it was Jase’s first really good look at Michael’s wife, Allie.
Studying her, he felt his swimming trunks growing uncomfortably tight. Not only was she gorgeous, she looked out of the picture as if she owned the world. There was something—he searched for a word—regal about her.
Her dark hair fell in a satin curtain halfway down her back. She was tall for a Sapphan woman, judging by the doorframe behind her, and she had a figure like a model, tiny of waist and full...well, full everywhere else. There was also something familiar about her that he couldn’t pin down. It was probably because he’d half seen her a few times in Michael’s blurred attempts at family photography.
Jase’s grin was self-deprecating. Just as well she was married. Michael would laugh himself silly if he could see his friend, poring over a woman’s photograph like a lovesick puppy. If he wasn’t careful his reputation as a playboy would be in jeopardy and he had worked hard to create it It served him too well to drop now.
When you were as successful and wealthy as he had made himself you were fair game for every female for miles, not to mention their fathers, mothers and ugly sisters. His one experience of marriage had convinced him he was a lone wolf, better left to hunt solo. He’d need to watch himself in Sapphan if there were many women as bewitching as Allie Martine.
If she came back early from her week-long expedition to the capital, as Michael’s message had warned him she might, Jase would have to watch himself. Michael had assured him her presence wouldn’t interfere with Jase’s use of the villa, but it didn’t solve the problem of her extraordinary effect on him.
There was another problem, too.