Free One Night in the Orient by Robyn Donald

a hint of a smile. Far from being ostentatious or blatant, the interior had been fitted out with an eye to welcoming comfort. Her room even boasted an
en suite
bathroom, as elegant and efficient as that in Nick’s house.
    In her chain-store pyjamas she was definitely out of place—as alien as she would be on a space ship. And she was way out of her league.
    Had the Nick she remembered ever really existed? Occasionally she saw flashes of that boy, but underlying the fragile link of shared childhood experiences smouldered something else, something hard-edged and very, very basic.
    Sudden tears burnt the back of her eyes. She had the weird feeling she’d never known herself, that the woman who’d become engaged to Adrian—made love with him, planned a future with him—had been acting a part.
    With Nick she felt stimulated, aroused, elated—more alive, more.
    Just
more.
Blinking hard, she looked around, eyes roaming the soothing blues and creams of the room.
    And she’d better get over that feeling, because she didn’t belong here. This was Nick’s world now, but it had never been hers. And it never would be.
    When he married—if he ever did—he’d choose someone who fitted into this existence of jetting from one side of the world to another in the utmost luxury. Any interest he might have in her clearly wasn’t going to be acted on; after that kiss he’d made no attempt to touch her. Her position as her father’s daughter meant he didn’t consider her as … what?
    A candidate for the position of lover?
    “Oh, come off it,” she muttered beneath her breath. Nick could have almost any woman in the world … why would he choose her?
    A knock on her door startled her. She opened her mouth to call
Come in,
but closed it when she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. Her skimpy singlet top and shorts revealed almost as much white skin as her nakedness last night.
    Hastily she got up and huddled into the dressing gown—several sizes too large—hung for her to use. Her heart pounding a sudden tattoo, she opened the door.
    Nick stood there. He examined her with suddenly intent eyes. “You’ve been crying.”
    “I—no, not really,” she said foolishly, resisting the urge to take a step back. Swathed in white towelling she had to look like a kid in dressing-up clothes, and he seemed to loom over her.
    When he reached out she froze, her breath locking in her chest as her eyes widened.
    He brushed the skin beneath one eye, a touch so light she should barely have felt it. Instead it registered in every cell in her body, fierce as a lightning strike, potent as an age-old curse.
    Seductive as sunlight and champagne on a summer’s evening.
    Tension tightened her throat but she managed to say hoarsely, “It’s all right. I’m not going to howl all over you again. Did you want something?”
    “Just to make sure you have everything you need.” His voice was curt, each word bitten off as though he was angry.
    “Yes, thank you.” It sounded stiff and abrupt, but she didn’t dare say anything else.
    Clearly it was enough. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    And he turned away.
    Siena closed the door with a small click and leaned back against it, sombrely eyeing herself in the mirror. She looked like a.
    “A dormouse,” she muttered between her teeth. “A white dormouse out of a children’s book.”
    She shrugged off the gown and hung it up again, then crawled into the bed, turned off the lights and lay contemplating the ceiling, the steady sound of the jet’s engines a background to her thoughts.
    One thing she’d always prided herself on was her common sense, and now was the time to call on it. Only an idiot would moon over a man who was doing his utmost to show her how much he regretted kissing her. Nick might even be rueing his offer to convey her back to New Zealand. Certainly he’d only made the suggestion because she was her father’s daughter.
    Her mouth firmed. No more