The Temptress Of Tarika Bay. Robyn DonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Why, if she was the mercenary, calculating woman he’d assumed, hadn’t she sold Tarika Bay to him?
His lips tightened as he watched her sip her wine, red lips lushly inviting. For a while—okay, since the day they’d met!—he’d been fighting a desire to find excuses for her supposed greed.
He put his fork down on his empty plate. Now he found himself wondering whether her wild abandonment in his arms had been a natural generosity, or a calculating attempt to soften him in case she needed a loan. The thought outraged him for reasons he wasn’t prepared to explore right then.
It would be much easier if he could convince himself she was a greedy, amoral sensualist.
Perhaps it was simply that she had enough contradictions in her character to intrigue him. Businesswoman, artist and craftsperson, sensual lover, yet a woman who blushed occasionally and hated it…
She had certainly enjoyed making love with him, but did it mean anything to her?
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Harlequin Presents #2342
Robyn Donald
The Temptress of Tarika Bay
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
DRAGGING her gaze away from the polished hide of the bull pacing past her, Morna Vause eyed the spectators at the local Agricultural and Pastoral Show. Tinny music from the sideshows floated across the showgrounds, mingling with the busy hum of New Zealanders having a good time.
In a brittle voice she murmured, ‘I’d feel safer if there was more than one strand of wire and a few spectators between that animal and me.’
Cathy Harding grinned. ‘I know you’re the consummate city slicker, but can you imagine something that big actually running? I bet I can hop faster than its full speed. With your long legs it wouldn’t have a hope of getting anywhere near you. Are you bored? Would you like to go home?’
‘I’m not in the least bored,’ Morna told her honestly. She squinted from beneath the brim of her hat at the cloudless sky, a richer, more mellow blue than summer’s brassy brilliance. ‘It’s autumn—we’re supposed to be cooling down.’
‘Not in Northland.’
Morna’s idle gaze skimmed the crowd, stopping at an arrogantly held head a few yards away. Registering great height—about six inches over six feet—blue-black hair, olive skin, and an air of cool authority, she felt an odd shimmer of awareness, a kind of alteration to the fabric of her life she’d only experienced once before.
And look what that got you, she told herself sternly. Humiliation and pain and bitter betrayal and a total loss of self-respect…
Physically, this man didn’t even look like Glen. Not only was he much taller, his wide shoulders reminded her of the axemen she’d watched demolish tree trunks a few minutes ago. Glen had cherished his urban worldliness, whereas this man looked thoroughly at home in a very rural situation.
Unexpected heat shivered along her nerves. All she could see of the unknown man was one superb cheekbone, a strong nose and an even stronger chin, yet something about his stance—an indefinable aura of complete self-confidence?—goaded her into instant dislike. Glen had had the same—
Mercilessly slamming the door on unwanted memories, Morna fanned herself more vigorously and forced her eyes back to the show ring, where another gleaming mountain of animal was striding ponderously past, dwarfing its handler.
Face lighting up, Cathy exclaimed, ‘Oh, look, there’s Marty with our bull! Nick’s so pleased it got Champion of Champions.’
Nick Harding was Cathy’s husband and Morna’s foster-brother. Morna patted a damp black lock of hair back into her sleek bob and said respectfully, ‘It’s certainly a splendid beast. Gorgeous.’
Cathy chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call them gorgeous, more overwhelming. I saw you admiring them like a veteran cattle fancier over at the pens with Nick.’
‘I love those burnished colours.’ Frowning, Morna watched another animal approach. ‘They make me wonder if I could get that effect in a piece of jewellery. I’d have to use enamel…’
‘It intrigues me that you rely on forms and colours from nature so much. Designing and making jewellery seem such sophisticated skills.’
Wrinkling her nose at the sickly perfume of candyfloss that floated over other, more earthy scents, Morna pointed out, ‘The raw materials are very basic. Precious gems and metals are gifts from the earth. And as for sophistication—who could be more sophisticated than Nick? Yet here he is, lord of the manor and thoroughly enjoying it.’
Cathy said cheerfully, ‘You know Nick—he digs really deep into anything that interests him. He’s enjoying learning about genetics, and the right swear words to use with cattle dogs, and how to put a post in.’
‘He never showed any sign of being interested in farming! We were classic city kids—didn’t even know where milk came from. And then he turned into an advertising whizzkid in Auckland’s best agency…’
Cathy filled in the silence. ‘You certainly couldn’t get more urban than that.’
‘Indeed.’