Free The Price of Fame by Anne Oliver Page B

jump—he is too old. He said you and the pretty
marama
were talking in the car yesterday. Very close.’
    ‘Charlotte was on the same flight. I have something I need to return to her.’
    Tenika made a
pfft
sound and sloshed water about in the sink. ‘You like her—Charlotte. You want Malakai to bring the car around?’
    ‘We’re not leaving the resort. We’re just going to watch the
Meke
then maybe have a meal.’
    ‘You bring her here tomorrow so I can meet her and see for myself if she is good enough for you. I can cook good
kakana
for you and her.’
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    She strained off the leaves, dumped them in a bowl. ‘You never bring the pretty
maramas
here. To your home.’ She pursed her lips, her coal-black eyes pierced his. ‘Maybe you like this one more than the others—you bring her.’
    ‘Tenika …’
    ‘Maybe you marry her. Make babies.’ Wiping her hands on her apron, she nodded to him. ‘Fijian people like babies. I can help.’
    Tenika and Malakai had never had children of their own. Nic saw the emptiness in her eyes sometimes but Tenika would have to look elsewhere for surrogate grandkids.
    ‘I know you can,’ he said softly. He took the hibiscus from behind his ear and slid it behind hers. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
    He took the back route through the gate to avoid running into staff who’d expect him to stop and talk. He’d planned his time and didn’t want those plans disrupted. The
Meke
started at dusk. This evening was perfect—stilland warm, with a multi-hued sky and the charcoal aroma from the open-air barbecue.
    He had access to all areas of the complex and it had been a simple task to learn that she was staying in one of the resort’s most exclusive bures.
    He knocked, and a moment later she cracked open the door.
    ‘Good evening.’
    She opened the door wider. ‘I’ve been expecting you to show up.’ She wore a black sarong spattered with electric blue and white frangipani flowers, giving him an unobstructed view of her neck and shoulders—his gaze lowered—and obviously no bra. Her glossy hair was piled on top of her head.
    ‘It was only a matter of time.’ He leaned against the door frame with a smile.
    ‘Guess you’d better come in.’ She walked away but looked back at him over one of those bare shoulders. ‘Did you work your charm on the girls at Reception too?’
    He stepped inside, closed the door behind him. ‘Didn’t need to. I’m a silent partner—finding one Charlotte Dumont on the books was easy peasy.’
    Her shoulders tensed before she continued across the room. ‘I see.’
    ‘Your name was on Malakai’s airport’s pick-up sheet.’
    ‘And, of course, you couldn’t help noticing.’ Those pretty grey eyes were clouded with worry when she finally stopped and turned to him. ‘So I guess you know all about me now.’
    ‘If you mean did I do a computer check on you, the answer’s no. I respect privacy. But if you want to tell me a bit about yourself, that’s fine too. I was hoping it might be tonight.’ He saw her notebook PC on the desk and gesturedwith his chin. ‘You won’t find me on any social-networking sites.’
    She blushed.
Guilty
. ‘I wasn’t … Much.’ She crossed to the desk quickly and switched it off. ‘You said you write computer games. I’d’ve thought you’d want a link so your fans could contact you.’
    ‘I use a pseudonym.’
    ‘That’s convenient.’ Her tone was sceptical, like her expression.
    ‘Isn’t it.’ Walking towards her, he dug his wallet from his back pocket and flashed his driver’s licence in front of her eyes. ‘Read this. Aloud.’
    ‘Dominic T. Russo.’ She nodded. ‘Okay.’
    ‘And …’ he took out her sketch, unfolded it and held it out ‘.I thought you might be wondering where this was.’
    She took one look at the page, closed her eyes and folded it again and muttered something short and unexpectedly earthy.
    ‘Charlotte, you just keep on surprising me.’ He