It was like an earthquake.
Shattered by the violence of her response to Caid’s seeking, demanding mouth, Sanchia gave up trying to think and surrendered to the astonishing pleasure his kiss summoned.
Some time later she surfaced, locked in his arms. Appalled, she tried to pull away, but he lifted his head and said harshly, “It’s too late for that.”
“Oh, no, it’s not,” she muttered, beating back the first icy trickle of fear. “I must be mad. Caid, let me go!”
“So nothing has changed,” he said coldly, releasing her immediately. “Kissing is all right, but I must go no further. Why, Sanchia?”
“I won’t let this happen again!”
“Hell, isn’t it?” he agreed sardonically. His eyes glinted. “Perhaps you have such a powerful effect on me because I spent several frustrating summers watching you grow up. And one infinitely frustrating holiday when I tried to get past the ironclad barriers that slammed in my face whenever I touched you. What’s your excuse?”
ROBYN DONALD has always lived in Northland in New Zealand, initially on her father’s stud dairy farm at Warkworth, then in the Bay of Islands, an area of great natural beauty, where she lives today with her husband and an ebullient and mostly Labrador dog. She resigned her teaching position when she found she enjoyed writing romances more, and now spends any time not writing in reading, gardening, traveling and writing letters to keep up with her two adult children and her friends.
Sanchia’s Secret
Robyn Donald
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
‘SHE won’t sell? Why not?’ Caid Hunter barked into the telephone. Eyes narrowing into intense slivers of blue, he propped a muscular thigh against his desk and stared unseeingly through the window at the twin towers that dominated the business district of Kuala Lumpur.
‘I don’t know. Her letter simply said Waiora Bay wasn’t for sale.’ His manager in New Zealand sounded startled—his boss didn’t normally overreact to setbacks.
Summoning the cool intelligence that made him respected and feared throughout the Pacific Rim countries, Caid leashed his anger and leaned over to punch a couple of computer keys. His electronic diary opened out on the screen of the laptop. ‘It’s what—two months?—since her aunt died?’
‘I went to Miss Tregear’s funeral on the twenty-eighth of September, so it’s just over two months.’ The manager spoke crisply. ‘Ms Smith was quite adamant that Waiora Bay wasn’t for sale. I can fax you her answer if you want to see it.’
A hot urgency stirred Caid’s senses as he visualised Sanchia Smith—a stubborn chin, hair the colour of midnight shimmering over pale shoulders, and a body that had changed from lanky slenderness to elegant, innocent seduction between one Christmas and the next.
A girl who kissed like a sinful angel, then froze in his arms.
It took most of his will-power to thrust the memories into the past where they belonged. ‘No, I’ll deal with it when I get back.’
He put the receiver down and stood gazing out over the humid, congested city. Presumably Sanchia was hanging out for a better offer. Caid’s smile hardened. When she discovered she couldn’t screw him for one cent more than her inheritance was worth, would her greenstone eyes blaze, that passionate, sultry mouth tighten into anger?
Squinting against the ferocious January sun, Sanchia eased her foot onto the brake, skilfully negotiating potholes and drifts of gravel as she turned onto the Waiora Bay Road.
Half a kilometre later, on the boundary of the highway system and Caid Hunter’s land, gravel and potholes gave way to well-kept tarseal. Everything on Caid’s big cattle station breathed good husbandry backed by a vast amount of money.
Of course, the principal of a large, international corporation could afford to seal his farm roads!
Deliberately Sanchia persuaded her tense joints to relax. Since Great-Aunt Kate’s funeral she’d made the four-hour drive from Auckland to Waiora Bay several times so the loneliness was nothing new, and the slow curl of apprehension that flooded her body with fight-or-flight hormones was completely familiar; she was always afraid that Caid Hunter would be there.
Which was mild paranoia; after the fiasco of three years before he’d probably made sure their paths hadn’t crossed, and there was no reason to expect him to be in residence now.
And once she’d had this last holiday at the Bay, she’d never return.
Perhaps she should have followed her first instinct and come back for Christmas, toughed it out instead of giving in to friends who’d persuaded her to stay in Auckland for the festivities.
‘Although I can so see why you want to go,’ one had crooned, gazing sultry-eyed at the television screen as the credits rolled up on a documentary on high-flying businessmen. ‘I’d be up there like a shot myself if I had a neighbour like Caid Hunter.’ With a low growl she fanned herself vigorously with a newspaper. ‘Talk about a splendid beast! When he smiled at the interviewer I swear her contact lenses fogged up. I bet he goes through women like a harvester at haymaking. Doesn’t the camera love him? Is he really as sexy as that?’
Sanchia managed a laugh. It sounded a bit cracked, but neither of the other two women seemed to notice. ‘Sexier.’
‘I bet women fall at his feet in droves.’
‘Oh, they do.’
Every summer girls had fluttered around Caid—glorious, self-assured creatures with pretty laughs and beautiful faces and bodies. Before she could stop herself Sanchia glanced surreptitiously down at the slight mounds beneath her thin shirt. How she’d envied those girls, their voluptuous, brazen breasts! And their confident sexuality.
Her flatmate sighed. ‘Yeah, you could see the testosterone pounding through his veins. It’s not fair that one man should have so much—an indecent amount of money, a face that’s handsome enough to make your mouth water, and a brilliant business brain too!’ She undulated sexily across the room, shaking her head so that her hair swung around her like a shampoo commercial. ‘As well as being tough enough to grab a huge conglomerate like Hunter’s by the neck when he wasn’t much more than a kid, shake it out and strip it down into the leaner, more efficient, infinitely more profitable business that’s taking on the world today. Where does this gorgeous man live? I might go looking for him.’
Rose, the owner of the house, laughed. ‘Didn’t they say he’s based in Australia?’
Sanchia shrugged. ‘He has houses all over the world.’ Yes, she’d achieved the right casual, mildly amused tone.
‘I could cope with a man who has houses all over the world,’ Jane decided generously. ‘And because I’m always suspicious of pampered heirs, I thoroughly approve of the fact that Caid Hunter had to fight to get his father’s company back on its feet. I do love a powerful, masterful, dynamic man!’
‘I don’t think he was ever pampered,’ Sanchia told her, smiling with irony.
‘He