Island of Secrets. Robyn Donald

‘—you’re going to have to bite that bullet eventually.’

      ‘Right now, I’m happy with the way things are going,’ she told him, a steely note beneath her words.

      When Tom had suggested exactly the same thing she’d refused his offer of a further loan without any of the odd sensation of dread that assailed her now.

      Luc’s kiss had changed things in a fundamental way she didn’t want to face. His hooded eyes, the autocratic features that revealed no emotion and the taut line of his sensuous mouth—all combined to lift the hairs on her skin in a primitive display of awareness. He looked at her as though she was prey.

      And that was ridiculous! He’d taken over Tom’s huge empire, and had built it up even further. He was accustomed to organising and managing world-spanning enterprises. He wasn’t interested in her piddling little business.

      Or her, she thought, feeling slightly sick. There had been something about that kiss—something assessing, as though he’d been testing her reactions …

      And, like a weak idiot, she’d gone up in flames for him. So now, of course, he’d be completely convinced that Sean’s insulting accusation was the truth.

      Well, she didn’t care. Neither Sean nor Luc meant anything to her, and anyway, Luc would be gone as soon as he’d organised the sale of the house.

      She said, ‘I have no illusions about how far I can go.’

      Without moving, he said, ‘It sounds as though you’re planning to stay in Rotumea for the rest of your life.’

      She shrugged. ‘Why not? Can you think of a better place to live?’

      ‘Dreaming your days away in paradise?’ he asked contemptuously.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘I PRESUME YOU have no idea of how patronising you sound.’

      It didn’t need the subtle ironic uplift of Luc’s dark brows to make Jo regret she’d voiced her irritation.

      How did that slight movement give his handsome face such a saturnine aspect?

      But he said levelly, ‘I didn’t intend to be. Rotumea is a very small dot in a very empty ocean, a long way from anywhere. If your stuff’s any good, don’t you want to take it to the world?’

      Torn, she hesitated, and saw the corners of his mouth lift, as though in expectation of a smile—a triumphant one.

      Goaded, she said explosively, ‘Not if it means handing over any control to anyone else. I have an arrangement with the local people and I value the ones who work with me—I feel I’ve established a business that takes their ambitions and needs seriously. I don’t believe I’d be any happier if I were making megabucks and living in some designer penthouse in a huge, noisy, polluted city.’ She paused, before finishing more calmly, ‘And my product is better than good—it’s superb.’

      ‘If your skin is any indication of its effect, then I believe you.’

      Delivered in a voice so dispassionate it took her a second to realise what he’d said, the compliment disturbed her. Uncertainly, she said, ‘Thank you,’ and opened the door of the Land Rover, stopping when he began to speak again.

      ‘Although if you were making real money you could choose wherever you want to live,’ he said coolly. ‘Modern communications being as sophisticated as they are, no one has to live over the shop any more.’

      ‘Agreed, but apart from liking Rotumea, in Polynesia personal relationships are important in business.’

      Another lift of those dark brows. ‘No doubt.’

      After an undecided moment she ignored the distinctly sardonic note to his words. Instead she said, ‘I like to keep a close watch on everything.’

      Luc’s nod was accompanied by a measuring glance. ‘How to delegate is one of the lessons all entrepreneurs have to learn.’ He looked at his watch. ‘When do you eat at night? I assume I’ll have to reserve a table for us at the resort.’

      Relieved, Jo permitted herself a wry smile. She’d been wondering whether he’d expect her to cook for him. ‘It’s sensible to do so.’ But something forced her to add, ‘We don’t have to go there if you don’t want to. I’m actually quite a good cook. Basic, but the food’s edible, Tom used to say.’

      ‘I’m sure he didn’t employ you for your prowess in the kitchen,’ Luc said smoothly.

      Something about his tone set her teeth on edge. She opened her mouth to tell him Tom hadn’t employed her at all, then closed it again.

      The arrangement she had with Tom was none of Luc’s business, and anyway, he wouldn’t believe her.

      Taking her silence for agreement, he said, ‘Then I’ll reserve a table. Eight tonight?’

      Jo hesitated, then nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said and got out of the Land Rover.

      Inside the house, she opened a wardrobe door and stared at its meagre contents. Her one good dinner dress had been aired the previous evening in honour of Lindy and her husband.