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I can make myself indifferent to her. I can expose myself to her presence and get her out of my damn system.
His jaw set. That was what he must focus on. This time he would set the finish date: she’d stay here for a fortnight, work solidly to pay her rent, and would leave when he dismissed her. This time he would call the shots—not her.
And by the time she left—had been dismissed by him—he would have worked her out of his system. She would mean nothing to him and he would watch her being despatched from his life, on his terms, with all the indifference he was currently trying to present to her. But by then it would be genuine indifference—not the feigned, deliberate impassivity he was treating her with now.
He answered her finally, in the same clipped tone of voice he’d used for all their brief exchanges so far.
‘It’s a hotel in the south of the island, where the Caribbean coastline meets the Atlantic. It’s where the hurricanes hit if they reach this far. As they did last year.’
She’d started to eat, but looked up as he spoke.
He went on dryly. ‘Don’t worry, we’re out of hurricane season now. But last year the tip of the island was struck by a particularly vicious one—climate change is, as you probably know, fuelling their force and their frequency. The area we’re visiting got a hammering.’
‘Is the hotel still worth refurbishing?’ she asked frowningly.
‘That’s what I’m checking out,’ he said. Dryness had turned to terseness.
She was speaking again, her voice diffident, as if she were unsure whether to speak at all, and that irritated him more.
‘How badly damaged is it?’ she asked.
‘The external construction has borne up well—it was built to resist wind shear. But the interior has been blasted totally. It needs complete renovation.’
For the first time there was a spark of animation in her face, lightening her features. ‘What do you have in mind?’ she asked.
Luke’s mouth thinned. ‘Surprise me,’ he said flatly.
He was aware that he was supressing a stab of emotion he did not want to allow admittance. That the spark of animation in her expression which had brightened her eyes, giving her a glow for the first since she’d joined him in the airport lounge, had kicked at something inside him. For a few seconds she had looked as she had that first evening—with her eyes alight, responding to him, desiring him...
He repelled the memory. No point remembering that night, however much it hammered in his brain. It was over. Done. It wasn’t coming back.
She was replying. ‘I have to work to the client’s brief,’ she said tightly. There was no animation in her reply to his crushing rebuff.
Her father, the only client she’d been allowed to have, had been exacting in his briefs, and she had learnt long ago not to challenge him on what he wanted, or even suggest any modifications. Her father had not wanted creative input—he’d wanted docile compliance. She had produced only what he’d wanted, whatever her own opinions.
‘Well, my brief to you is to come up with your own ideas,’ Luke said indifferently.
Talia subsided, focussing once more on her meal. From the far end of the table Luke watched her close down again as she continued eating, and he said nothing more to her. She looked tired, he realised, and he felt the same way himself, jet lag having settled in.
When coffee arrived, Luke addressed her again. ‘We’ll make an early start for the site visit tomorrow morning before the day heats up too much. Wear suitable clothing—shoes for walking, not posing.’ He paused, wanting to make the point clear. ‘Remember you are here to WORK, Talia, if you want to stay on at the villa in Marbella.’
He saw her tense at the sharpness of his reminder, and something more. Had that been fear he’d just seen flash in her eyes? But why should it? He almost asked the question, his expression softening instinctively. Then that blank-eyed look was back in her face, expressing only tiredness.
‘Finish your coffee and go to bed,’ he instructed.
She did not need to be told twice. Draining her cup, she made her escape, heels clicking on the tiled floor. Luke watched her hurry out and that
now familiar jab of anger came again.
She couldn’t wait to get away from him, could she?
It wasn’t the first time she hadn’t been able to wait to get away from him, was it?
The memory only reinforced his determination to use her presence in order to become indifferent to her.
But what if it makes you want her more...?
* * *
