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'Well, I merely find it irritating.'
'You find me irritating?' he suggested.
'Yes!'
He tilted his head to one side. 'But it is an interesting friction, no?' he said slyly, his accent so thick you could stand a spoon in it. 'It makes one tingle in such unexpected places…'
Clare could feel herself blushing again, as much at the wicked look in his eye as at the infuriating accuracy of his remark. She hurried over and threw open the bedroom doors. 'Both rooms have en suite bathrooms and there's a small kitchenette for making tea and coffee but no cooking facilities. If you need maid service you can dial Shari on 002. 001 will give you an outside line, and the switchboard is computerised so you can direct- dial your toll calls if you like and they'll be automatically added to your bill. We can arrange any tours you like. The fishing season here has ended, but we can arrange a trip to Taupo if you want to fish, and we have several guides on call for hunting—'
'And what number do I dial to call you?' Deverenko was studying the card by the telephone in the lounge. Miles had a fetish for phones, and they were scattered liberally around the lodge. Suddenly he found it and began to laugh. 'I'm not surprised. 007. Do you have a secret hankering for a life packed with danger, sex and gratuitous brand-names?'
'It was Miles's idea,' she said repressively. 'Of course, heaven forbid you should admit to such whimsicality yourself.' His teasing was interrupted by a savage yawn.
'You should be in bed,' she said automatically, and was suddenly visited by an unexpected vision of that compact, muscular body sprawled across Miles's big double bed, all that aggressive maleness dissipated in the little-boy innocence of sleep.
'I know. I feel like I'm sleep-walking. What's the arrangement about meals here?'
'Dinner is at eight, but if you can't be bothered dressing you can have it served here.'
He pulled a tired face. 'How dressed does one have to be?'
'Not formal, if that's what you mean. People who come here to stay are generally trying to escape that sort of routine. We're pretty casual. Breakfast is at eight, lunch at one, but any time you're hungry you can get a snack from the kitchen—providing you go there yourself. Grace—she's our cook—likes to see who she's feeding. It's a help-yourself bar, too, except in the evening when Kerry's there. The key to the wine-cellar is behind the bar—whatever you take, just write it down and leave it on the spike under the counter.'
'Heavens, how does this place make money?' he conquered another yawn to ask.
'Wait until you see your bill,' Clare dimpled. 'You're going to be paying through the nose for the privilege of getting to know me.'
The dark eyes blinked at her with sleepy amusement. 'That appeals to you, doesn't it? Well, I have no objection. I'm a fairly wealthy man… and I always make sure I get value for my money. So just be warned, Clare. If I suspect I'm being screwed for your entertainment, I may well decide to return the favour.'
It seemed, for a moment, that the double entendre had gone right over the top of her innocent head, and he began to laugh. Then her frown was swamped by a wild blush that touched him with tender remorse. The litt
le pink bow of her mouth trembled as she attempted to frame her outrage and he hastened to apologise.
'I'm sorry, Clare, put it down to fatigue…I shouldn't have added crudity to my sins against you, but you blush more exquisitely than any woman I know. I can be a brute and a pig when I'm tired. Actually, I have the utmost respect for you.'
'A simple sorry would have done. You don't have to lay it on with a trowel,' said Clare acerbically, recovering her poise.
'Then I'm forgiven?' he asked gravely.
She looked into melting dark eyes and felt a tiny tug, deep inside. This man reminded her too much of what it meant to be a woman, and a shy and inexperienced one at that.
'Certainly not.' She turned on her heel and left.
His startled laughter pursued her into the hall. It sounded like the soft ripping of silk, appropriately so, thought Clare as she fled back to the safety of her work. David Deverenko seemed intent on tearing a large hole in the carefully worked fabric of her life. Already be had unravelled a few threads. If he knew how really vulnerable she was, she would be lost. At all costs, she must maintain her assured front.
And the first thing she must do was to learn how not to blush!
CHAPTER FOUR
To Tim's great disappointment neither Deverenko nor his daughter were at dinner that night; but the next morning, when Clare called into the kitchen on her way to breakfast, she found him there sipping coffee and chatting to Grace as if they were old friends. It was a crisp, cold morning, and Clare's manner was equally cool. She had been caught by surprise yesterday, but today she was fully in control of all her responses and she returned Deverenko's greeting with the same calm hospitality she extended to all the guests at the lodge.
'Did you sleep well?' she enquired automatically, accepting Grace's offer of a fragrant cup of coffee.
'Beautifully. I feel completely refreshed, and once Grace feeds me I shall be utterly at peace with the world.'
'The sooner you let me alone to get on with my work, the sooner you'll get fed,' said Grace in her usual abrupt way, and Deverenko grinned.
'Certainly, Grace. My apologies for getting in your way. Come along, Clare.' He took her coffee out of her hand and carried the two cups out into the hall. 'Which way to the dining-room?'
