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What the hell was he doing here?
He swung down, looped the reins over a fencepost and opened the gate to come towards her. Subliminally intimidated by the arrogant angle of his head and the smooth, lethal grace of his stride, Hani forced herself to her feet, stiffening her spine and her knees.
Although tall for a woman, she couldn’t match him. Her chin came up; unsmiling, breath locking in her throat, she watched him approach while a feverish awareness lifted the invisible hairs on the back of her neck.
He was—well, gorgeous was the only word she could come up with. Except that gorgeous made her think of male models, and this man looked like no male model she’d ever seen. That effortless, inborn air of command hardened his already bold features into an intimidating mask of force and power, emphasised by a cold steel-blue gaze and a thinning of his subtly sensuous mouth.
He was handsome enough to make any woman’s heart shake—even one as frozen as hers—but something uncompromising and formidable about him set off alarms in every nerve.
He had to be The Duke. A swift stab of apprehension screwed her nerves even tighter. Felipe, the man she’d once thought she loved, had called himself a French count.
It was stupid of her, but the children’s innocent misconception seemed somehow ominous.
Hani knew she should be relieved when he looked at her with a total lack of male interest. Scarily, she wasn’t.
OK, so the last thing she wanted was a man to see her as a sexual being, but…On Tukuulu he’d noticed her as a woman; now he looked at her with complete indifference.
And that stung.
Trying to keep this meeting on a sensible basis, she said warily, ‘Hello. I didn’t realise that you owned this place. Thank you so much for letting me stay here.’
‘I hoped to see you looking a bit better,’ he said curtly.
‘I am much better.’ Yes, her voice was fine—crisp, just as cool and impersonal as his, a far cry from her slurred tone that night at the ceremony. Meeting his merciless survey with an assumption of confidence, she hid her uncertainty with a shrug. ‘Another thing I have to thank you for is your rescue of me.’
One black brow lifted. ‘It was nothing; I happened to be the closest person around.’
Heat tinged her skin. Trying to sound professional and assured, she said crisply, ‘It was very kind of you. I don’t remember much—’ only the sound of his voice, calm and reassuring, and the wonderful comfort of his arms when he’d held her until the shivering stopped ‘—but I know I didn’t change myself.’
His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Once the fever had broken I went back to the school dance floor, but everyone had gone by then. It didn’t seem a good idea for you to sleep in wet clothes, so I removed your dress.’ In a coldly formidable tone, he finished, ‘I behaved as a brother might have.’
Colour burned into her skin. Hoping her words mingled the right blend of gratitude and distance, she said, ‘Yes—well, I thought as much.’ And then, changing the subject without finesse, ‘Thanks again for being generous enough to let me stay in this lovely place.’
‘You’ve thanked me enough,’ he said a little curtly, adding with a faint smile, ‘I went to school with your principal. When he asked if his teachers could use this bach I agreed. It’s not used very often, and it seems a waste to have it sit here empty. You’re the third teacher to come here, and I expect there will be others.’
So that was the connection. And he was making sure she didn’t think she was special.
She said with cool assurance, ‘I’m grateful. But to make things very clear, I was neither drunk nor drugged that night in Tukuulu.’
One straight black brow lifted. ‘I wondered if you’d remember that. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions—it didn’t take me long to realise you were ill.’
For some reason she wasn’t prepared to explore, she didn’t want his apology. ‘I sent you a letter thanking you for your help.’
‘Yes, your principal passed it on.’
He hadn’t answered. Well, for heaven’s sake, she hadn’t expected him to.
Without inflection, he said, ‘I’m glad I was there when you needed someone. I’m Kelt Crysander-Gillan—although I don’t use the first part of my surname—and I live just up the hill.’
Nothing about being some sort of aristocrat, she noted. Clearly The Duke was just a nickname, perhaps because of the double-barrelled name. They mightn’t be common in New Zealand.
And he looked like a duke, someone of importance, his very presence a statement of authority. A very sexy duke, sexier than any other duke she’d ever met…
One who’d taken her clothes off and seen her naked…
Firmly she tamped down a sizzle of adrenalin. ‘And of course you know that I’m Han-Hannah Court.’
Oh, he’d really unnerved her! For the first time in years she’d almost given him her real name, catching it back only just in time. Startled, she automatically held out her hand.
‘Welcome to New Zealand,’ he said gravely, and his long, lean fingers closed around hers.
Her heart picked up speed. Cool it, she commanded her runaway pulse fiercely while he shook hands.
There was no reason for the swift sizzle of sensation that shocked her every nerve. Acting on pure blind instinct, Hani jerked her hand free.
Kelt Gillan’s brows met for a taut second above his blade of a nose, but he turned when the children chose that moment to surge up from the beach, their shouted greetings a melee of sound.
He silenced them with a crisp, ‘All right, calm down, you lot.’
She expected them to shuffle their feet, but although they obediently stayed silent their wide smiles told her he was popular with them.
Amazing, she thought, watching as he said something to each of them. And again she remembered Felipe, her first and only lover. He’d had no time for children; there was no profit to be made from them…
Kelt Gillan said, ‘Miss Court has been ill and needs a lot of rest, so I want you to play on the homestead beach until she’s better.’
Their attention swivelled back to her.
Into the silence Jamie said earnestly, ‘I was sick too, Honey. I had mumps and my throat was sore and I couldn’t eat anything ’cept ice cream and jelly and scrambled eggs.’
‘And soup,’ the lovely Kura reminded him officiously.
He pulled a face. ‘And some soup.’
‘I’m getting much better now,’ Hani said, smiling at him. ‘And I’m lucky—I can eat anything I like.’
‘Honey?’ Kelt said on an upward inflection, that taunting brow lifting again as his cool gaze inspected her face. ‘I thought your name was Hannah?’
‘I’ll have to learn to talk like a New Zealander,’ she said lightly, irritated by the colour that heated her cheekbones. In the last six years she’d worked hard to banish any vestige of the soft cadences of her birth country.
‘Actually, it suits you,’ he said, a sardonic note colouring his deep voice. He turned back to the children. ‘All right, off you go.’
They turned obediently, all but Jamie. ‘Where do you live?’ he asked Hani.
Nowhere…‘On a hot little island called Tukuulu a long way over the sea from here.’
An older girl, Jamie’s, sister—cousin?—turned. ‘Come on, Jamie,’ she commanded importantly, and the boy gave Hani a swift grin and scampered off.
‘What charming children. Are they siblings?’ she asked into the suddenly oppressive silence.
‘Siblings and cousins. In New Zealand the term whanau is used to denote the extended family,’ the man beside her said.
‘You didn’t need to warn them off,’ she told him. ‘I like children.’
Kelt Gillan said succinctly, ‘Honey or Hannah or whoever you are, you’re here to convalesce, and it’s no part of that healing process to act as unpaid babysitter. Your principal asked me to make sure you didn’t overexert yourself.’
His words set off a flicker of memory. The night he’d unhooked her from the coconut palm and carried her home he’d spoken in exactly that controlled, uncompromising tone. As though she were an idiot, she thought angrily.
She didn’t care what Kelt thought, but it wasn’t fair to spoil the children’s pleasure. ‘Both you and he are very thoughtful, but I’m quite capable of making decisions like that for myself. Believe me, it didn’t hurt me or tire me or worry me to sit in the sun and watch them. I enjoyed it.’
‘Perhaps so,’ he said inflexibly, ‘but that’s not the point. You’re here to rest and regain your strength. I’ll make sure their parents understand that they stay in Homestead Bay. Don’t fret about curtailing their fun—they’ll play quite happily there.’
Behind him his horse lifted its head from lipping the grass and took a step sideways, its powerful muscles fluid beneath satiny skin.
In Moraze, her homeland, herds of wild horses roamed the grassy plateau country that surrounded the central volcanic peaks. Descended from Arabian steeds, they’d been brought there by her ancestor, a renegade French aristocrat who’d settled the island with a rag-tag train of soldiers and a beautiful Arabian wife.
Hani’s parents had given her one of those horses for her third birthday…
Long dead, her parents and that first gentle mount, and it was years since she’d ridden.
Hani was ambushed by a pang of homesickness, an aching sense of loss so fierce it must have shown in her face.
‘Sit down!’ Kelt said sharply, unable to stop himself from taking a step towards her.
One hand came up, warning him off. Apart from that abrupt gesture she didn’t move, and the flash of something tight and almost desperate in her expression disappeared. Her black hair swirled around her shoulders in a cloud of fiery highlights as she angled her chin at him.
Looking him straight in the eye, she said in a gentle voice with a distinct edge to it, ‘Mr Gillan, I’m neither an invalid nor a child. I make my own decisions and I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’
He examined her closely, but her lovely face was shut against him, that moment of despair—if that was what it had been—replaced by aloof self-assurance.
Kelt chose to live in New Zealand for his own good reasons, one of them being that Kiwinui had been in his grandfather’s family for over a hundred years, and he felt a deep emotional link to the place. But as a scion of the royal family of Carathia he’d been born to command. Backed by their grandmother, the Grand Duchess, he and his brother had turned their backs on tradition and gone into business together as soon as he’d left university. Between them they’d built up a hugely successful enterprise, a leader in its field that had made them both billionaires.
Women had chased him mercilessly since he’d left school. Although none had touched his heart, he treated his mistresses with courtesy, and had somehow acquired a legendary status as a lover.
Women were an open book to him.
Until now. One part of him wanted to tell Hannah Court that while she was on Kiwinui she was under his protection; the other wanted to sweep that elegant body into his arms and kiss her perfect mouth into submission.
Instead, he said crisply, ‘And I’ll do what I consider to be best for the situation. If you need anything, there’s a contact number by the telephone.’
Hani looked at him with cool, unreadable green eyes, the colour of New Zealand’s most precious greenstone. ‘Thank you; Mr Wellington told me about that.’
Kelt shrugged. ‘Arthur works for me.’
Her head inclined almost regally. ‘I see.’
‘Tell me if another bout of fever hits you.’
‘It’s not necessary—I have medication to deal with it.’ Another hint of soft apricot tinged her exotic cheekbones when she continued, ‘As you found out, it works very quickly.’
Clearly, she had no intention of giving an inch. He wondered how old she was—mid-twenties, he guessed, but something in her bearing and the direct glance of those amazing eyes reminded him of his grandmother, the autocratic Grand Duchess who’d kept her small realm safe through wars and threats for over fifty years.
Dismissing such a ridiculous thought, he said, ‘Do you drive?’
‘Of course.’ Again that hint of appraisal in her tone, in her gaze.
‘Any idea of New Zealand’s road rules?’ he asked, making no attempt to hide the ironic note in his voice.
‘I’m a quick learner. But how far is it to the nearest village? If it’s close enough I can walk there when I need anything.’
‘It’s about five kilometres—too far for you to walk in the summer heat.’
Warily wondering if he’d given up any idea of looking after her—because he seemed like a man with an over-developed protective streak and a strong will—she pointed out, ‘I’m used to heat.’
‘If that were true, you wouldn’t be convalescing here.’ And while she was absorbing that dig, he went on, ‘And somehow I doubt very much that you’re accustomed to walking five kilometres while carrying groceries.’
Uneasily aware of the unsettling glint in his cold blue eyes, Hani shrugged. ‘Don’t worry about me, Mr Gillan. I won’t be a bother to anyone.’
A single black brow climbed, but all he said was, ‘Call me Kelt. Most New Zealanders are very informal.’
She most emphatically didn’t want to call him anything! However, she’d already established her independence, so, hiding her reluctance, she returned courteously, ‘Then you must call me Hannah.’
He lifted one black brow. ‘You know, I think I prefer Honey. Hannah is—very Victorian. And you’re not.’
The slight—very slight—pause before he said Victorian made her wonder if he’d been going to say virginal.
If so, he couldn’t be more wrong.
Far from virginal, far from Victorian, she thought with an aching regret. ‘I’d prefer Hannah, thank you.’
His smile was tinged by irony. ‘Hannah it shall be. If you feel up to it, I’d like you to come to dinner tomorrow night.’
Caution warned her to prevaricate, fudge the truth a little and say she wasn’t well enough to socialise, but she’d already cut off that avenue of escape when she’d made it clear she didn’t need to be looked after by—well, by anyone, she thought sturdily.
Especially not this man, whose unyielding maleness affected her so strongly she could feel his impact on every cell. Even politely setting limits as she’d just done had energised her, set her senses tingling, and every time she looked into that hard, handsome face she felt a hot, swift tug of—of lust, she reminded herself bitterly.
And she knew—only too well—what that could lead to.
However, he was her landlord. She owed him for several things; his impersonal care on Tukuulu, the refrigerator full of groceries.
Changing her wet clothes…
Ignoring the deep-seated pulse of awareness, she said, ‘That’s very kind of you. What time would you like me to be there?’
‘I’ll pick you up at seven,’ he told her with another keen glance. ‘Until then, take things slowly.’
His long-legged strides across the lawn presented her with a disturbing view of broad shoulders and narrow hips above lean, heavily muscled thighs. He dressed well too—his trousers had been tailored for him, and she’d almost bet his shirt had too.
Very sexy, she thought frivolously, quelling the liquid heat that consumed her. Some lucky men were born with that it factor, a compelling masculinity that attracted every female eye.
