Chapter 40.1

"There! Doesn't that feel better?"

She looked up into wickedly teasing eyes and the strong impression thumped into her heart that he would very much enjoy stripping her of all her coverings. It triggered the thought that he was as sexually attracted to her as she was to him. Which completely blew her mind.

Instinctively she sought time out by attaching herself to the tour group and focusing fiercely on the official guide who was naming ferns and vines. It reminded her she should be paying attention, taking notes, keeping an eye out for what might make good photographs to illustrate what had been achieved here. Determined to get on with her job and not let this thing with Matt King throw her completely off course, she fumbled in her carry-bag for her notebook and biro... and dropped her hat.

In a trice Matt scooped it up. "I'll carry it for you."

Heat whooshed into her cheeks. She just knew he'd put it back on her head himself when they emerged into sunshine and he'd reduce her to a quivering mess of jangling nerve-ends. "Thanks," she mumbled, wishing she hadn't clipped back her hair, wishing it was veiling her face as she hunted in her bag for the elusive objects. "I do need my hands free to take notes," she added, finally producing the evidence of this intention, taking out her camera, as well, and hanging it around her neck for easy access.

He reached out, slid his hand around the nape of her neck and lifted her hair out from under the camera strap. Nicole stood stock-still, her heart hammering, her face burning. "Just freeing your hair," he excused, but his fingers stroked down its length before he dropped the uninvited contact.

She didn't know what to do. She'd never felt like this before, so super-conscious of touch, of who was touching and the shivery intimacy of it, the wanting she could feel lingering on her skin and her own physical response so vibrant it swallowed up any possibility of making even a token protest.

She found herself gripping the notebook and biro with knuckle-white intensity and tried to concentrate on hearing what the guide was saying, jotting down snatches of words which would probably never make sense to her later. It simply gave her some purpose beyond being aware of Matt King beside her, Matt King watching her. Her mind shied from thinking about what he was thinking.

Maybe her imagination was running riot anyway. Let him speak, she decided. If he truly was interested in her as a woman, let him spell that out in no uncertain terms so no mistake could be made on her side. If he didn't, she could conclude that attraction was one thing, pursuing it quite another. He might very well think a relationship with her could end up with more problems than pleasure.

The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself over her employer's grandson. It would put her in a dreadfully embarrassing position with no easy escape from it. She had to stay at the castle for five more months and in that length of time there would undoubtedly be family occasions involving him. Caution had to be maintained here. Her own pride and self-respect demanded it. Yet the desire for some verbal rapport with him kept her very much on edge, waiting, listening.

To her intense frustration, Matt King said nothing out of the ordinary. He simply adopted the role of casual companion. They strolled along at the tail end of the tour group, stopping when the group stopped, looking at whatever was being pointed out to them. Nicole took photographs when others were taking photographs, regardless of whether they might be usable for the project or not. It used up otherwise idle time—time which might have led into dangerous ground with Matt King.

As it was, he commented on her prolific use of the camera. "Are these photos for your own private pleasure of do you imagine they'll provide some kind of pictorial history?" he said with a mocking amusement that needled her into justifying the activity.

"I don't know yet what will best illustrate this place when I come to writing about it. It will be good to have all these shots to choose from."

One black eyebrow arched quizzically. "Have you done much writing so far?"

"I'm still taking notes." "So I see."

The dry tone and a flash of scepticism in his eyes implied he doubted she would ever get around to serious writing. It ruffled Nicole's feathers on a professional level. He had no right to judge her ability to produce what was required. Though she had to concede her erratic note-taking today might not have impressed him.

"I think you'll find the photographs in my home of more pertinent interest—historically speaking—than any you've taken today," he drawled. "They show stages of the park from its inception to its completed state."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Oh, it was interesting observing what you thought was important.

Besides which, you could have asked me." He slanted her a sardonic smile. "I didn't really make myself available to you just to carry your hat."

Nicole could have died on the spot. She'd been so flustered by his physical presence, so caught up in her own response to it, she hadn't used him as she should have done as a source of information on this part of the family history.

"I'm sorry. I was so carried away by the park as it is now..." She shook her head in obvious self-chiding and managed an apologetic grimace. "You must think I'm some kind of fraud."

It was a toss-off line, one she expected him to deny, letting her off the hook. Instead, he delivered another blow to her self-esteem.

"Are you?"

She stopped, shocked that he could actually be thinking that. Her gaze whipped up to his and found his dark eyes glittering with a very sharp intensity.

"No, I'm not," she stated with considerable heat.

He cocked his head assessingly. "Then is there some reason you must cling to this public tour?"

"I...I came with it."

"And I'll see you return to it before it leaves. Failing that, I'll drive you back to Port Douglas myself."

Her heart was catapulting around her chest at the thought of spending the next few hours alone with Matt King. She could feel the force of his will pressing on her, commanding surrender, and once again feeling under attack, she struggled to retain her independence from him.

"We're heading for the pavilion now," she rushed out. "I'd like to walk around it."

"Of course." A taunting little smile curved his lips as he waved her into trailing after the group again. "It was built as a recreation centre for the internees. It gives a fine focal point to the kauri pine avenue and it overlooks the tennis courts on the other side. People can sit on the roof of the pavilion and watch tournaments being played."

"And your great-grandfather designed it all," Nicole quickly slipped in to show her mind was on family history.

"Yes. No doubt you've already noticed the touch of old Rome in the construction of the building," he returned dryly.

The central block was surrounded by colonnades and the balustrade enclosing the flat roof was cast in a Roman style. "All that's missing is a fountain," she commented.

He laughed. "There's a row of fountains in a long rectangular pond on the other side." He grinned at her. "Nothing was missed. Frederico Stefano Valeri was very thorough in everything he took on."

Impulse spilled the question, "Are you?"

His eyes danced teasingly. "I guess history will be the judge of that." "The tour carries on to your exotic fruit plantation after refreshments

in the pavilion."

"Just feeding a curiosity. You can pick up all the information you might need on that from the pamphlets in the pavilion. You won't miss anything important." Again he grinned. "A detour to my home will save you a long walk in the heat."

There really was no choice but to go with him. Trying to postpone it longer than she already had would only feed his suspicions she was not up to the job she'd been employed to do. She could hardly explain that he was the problem.

"I'll even give you a personal sampling of the exotic fruit I grow," he added, piling on the pressure. "Along with any other refreshment you'd like."

Sheer wickedness in his eyes.

He knew she didn't want to accompany him.

He was playing a game with her—trap Nicole Redman. But for what purpose?

Was he about to get... very personal... once they were alone together?

Her pulse drummed in her temples. Her whole body was seized with a chaotically wanton urge to experience this man, but she didn't trust it to lead anywhere good. The sexual pull was very strong—very, very strong— yet other instincts were screaming something was wrong about Matt King's game.

And that meant she had to stay alert and somehow keep a safety door open so she could walk out of the trap with her personal integrity intact.