herself that.
Remember who he is. A corporate high roller.
A playboy millionaire. Forget him!
He’ll be gone in a few days. Forget him, now!
The fact that he’d come to the island to collect the letter in the bottle was a snag. She’d already agreed to her boss’s demands to pose with Sam for the publicity shots today, so she had little choice now, but to eat her breakfast, shower and get ready for the ordeal.
But, as she did so, Meg kept up a continuous pep talk in her head. By the time she left her bungalow, she was determined to be mentally prepared to face Sam again.
A swarm of journalists, television cameramen and photographers hovered around the reception area. When Meg arrived, some were pacing the slate tiles, while others settled back on the deep cane lounges to smoke and chat quietly.
Her boss, Fred Raynor, dragged her excitedly into his office. ‘I was about to have you paged. All the media have turned up! They came over on the early boat. Isn’t this great?’
He beamed and rubbed his pudgy hands together. ‘And these are just the local press. When their stories get out, there’ll be more.’ He flung a hand to the view of the resort’s tropical garden. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day in paradise. We’ll get excellent outdoor shots.’
‘All we need is our millionaire,’ Meg added dryly.
‘He’ll be here any minute.’ Fred shook his head and ran a hand over his bulging stomach. ‘Boy, did that guy upset my digestion last night.’
‘Oh?’ Meg couldn’t help being curious.
‘He wanted the letter out of the bottle straight away and was wild as a cut snake when I said he could only have it after he posed for a few photos.’
‘Did he refuse to go ahead with the publicity?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I finally got him to agree. I told him flat I’ve got possession. He can carry on about his lawyers and rights, but down here it’s finders keepers.’ Fred’s pale eyes gleamed as he looked at her meaningfully. ‘Actually, I think what won him round was the fact that it gives him a good excuse to hang around—er, here—for a day or two.’
He looked over Meg’s shoulder as someone entered the office and he lowered his voice. ‘Here he is now.’
Standing stiffly to attention, Meg clenched her hands into tight little fists at her sides as she turned to face Sam.
‘Morning,’ he said with his usual smile.
‘It’s going to be good one.’ Fred beamed.
‘Hello, Meg,’ Sam added when she didn’t respond. His eyes held a twinkling warmth.
Meg nodded frostily. ‘Hi.’ She found herself needing to search for outward signs of wealth on Sam Kirby—things she might have overlooked yesterday—when she’d been taken up with his other attributes.
His watch was a sophisticated diving watch, but many men wore similar accessories. His dark blue, open-necked shirt, stone-coloured shorts and navy trainers were probably expensive, but spoke of taste rather than money. There was no hint of jewellery around his neck, at his wrist, or on his fingers.
So he wasn’t flashy. That still didn’t mean she could trust him.
Fred slapped them both on the shoulder and grinned broadly. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
Feeling annoyingly self-conscious again, Meg followed the men out of the office. As she expected, Fred wanted plenty of publicity shots set up in front of the huge Magnetic Rendezvous sign. She was required to pose with Sam.
‘Smile into each other’s eyes now,’ a photographer called.
Meg tried to force a smile and focused on a point beyond Sam’s shoulder. She knew he was looking straight at her, smiling with those baby-blue, super-cute eyes, but she was determined not to let them affect her again.
‘Hey, miss, lighten up,’ a photographer scolded.
She squeezed her smile muscles harder as Sam leaned closer.
‘They’re blue today.’ His voice was a sexy rumble close to her ear.
Goose bumps prickled to unwilling life on her arms. Her gaze lifted to meet his. Gulp. No matter how she felt about him, Sam was still the best-looking guy she’d seen outside a cinema. ‘What are blue? What are you talking about?’
‘Your eyes,’ he said softly. ‘How do they do it?’
‘Do what?’ she muttered through her grimacing smile.
‘Change colour. I’ve been trying to work out what colour they are and yesterday I decided they were definitely grey, but today I swear they’re blue.’
Meg couldn’t help it. She smiled.
Cameras flashed all around them. ‘That’s great!’ someone shouted. ‘Hold that smile! Gorgeous!’ There were more flashes and clicks.
As a photographer rearranged them into a slightly different pose, Sam asked, ‘How do they change like that?’
He was doing it again. Trying to win her over with charm. Most men usually focused their attention somewhere between her neck and her knees. No man, in her memory, had ever paid such flattering attention to her eyes.
‘Does their colour depend on what you’re wearing?’ His approving gaze took in her aqua halter-necked top and shorts.
‘I think so.’
‘That’s a really neat trick.’
But Meg was determined not to be won over by a few throw-away lines about her eyes.
Suddenly a female journalist in a trendy power suit stepped forward wielding a microphone. A cameraman and sound recorder crowded close behind.
‘Mr Kirby,’ the journalist asked silkily. ‘I understand you’ve dated film stars and celebrities in America? So what do you think of Australian girls?’
Meg made a choking sound. Where on earth had this stupid question come from? What did it have to do with the letter in the bottle? Didn’t the ditsy journalist know about sticking to the hard facts?
Sam looked a little startled by the question, too, but he quickly recovered. He favoured the journalist with a full-scale model of his sexiest smile. ‘Aussie girls are enchanting.’
The journalist simpered and Meg might have scowled if the camera hadn’t swung to focus on her. The interviewer spoke again, ‘And, Meg, what’s it like to have the attention of Seattle’s favourite bachelor?’
‘It’s been an enlightening experience,’ she replied coolly.
The journalist’s eyebrow arched. ‘Can you tell us exactly how you’ve been enlightened?’
Meg smiled slowly. ‘No.’
Taken aback, the journalist stared at Meg for several long seconds before trying Sam again. ‘We’re told that this story isn’t just about a romance that happened sixty years ago.’ Her eyes slid meaningfully from Meg to Sam. ‘I understand there’s a little chemistry happening right now?’
Meg glared over her shoulder at her boss, who was slinking behind a clump of golden cane palms. She heard the angry hiss of Sam’s breath. When she glanced his way, she saw that his smile had been replaced by a displeased, stony stare.
‘You heard Miss Bennet,’ he said. ‘No comment.’
The journalist shrugged and rolled her eyes.
To Meg’s relief, someone else called, ‘OK, now we’ll take some beach shots! Everyone down at the water’s edge.’
On the beach, the morning sun hung above them, a dazzling white-gold blaze in the sky. Beneath