An Inconvenient Husband (12 page)

"Guess who I ran
into a few moments ago?" she asked.

CHAPTER FIVE

Ghita'S
voice was breathless
with excitement and Nicky stiffened. She knew the answer to that question.

"Who?" asked
the skinny blonde.

"Blake. Blake
Chandler. Remember I introduced him to you... oh, I think it was almost a year
ago. He's American, tall and handsome and—"

"How could I
forget?" said the blonde, laughing. "You wouldn't stop talking about
him. He's the most wonderful, sexy, considerate, dynamic, intelligent man who
ever walked the face of the earth. An absolute paragon of virtue and virility.
No sins, no faults."

"Go ahead and
laugh, but it's true. He..."

Nicky was beginning to
feel very hot. Well, she was sitting in the sun. She reached for her passion
fruit juice and sipped it. She didn't want to hear more, but it was impossible
to block out the sound of the voices. They were discussing the fact that Blake
was not married, that his wife had divorced him some years ago.

"Makes you wonder
what happened," commented the blonde, her voice dry. "Why would any
woman voluntarily let go of such a perfect man?"

"A not-so-bright
one." There was a harsh note in Ghita's sexy voice.

Nicky felt like
jumping up and confronting them, telling them they didn't know what they were
talking about, that they had no idea what went on behind closed doors in other
people's lives. That it was extremely unintelligent to judge when they knew
nothing of the facts.

She lay immobilized on
the lounge, her heart thumping wildly, trying to tell herself that this was
ridiculous, really. Hilarious, actually. No reason for her to get all frazzled
because of these naive college girls—hardly women, really. Perhaps she should
make a little comedy out of the situation. Come to her feet, smile nicely, say
she had overheard them and wouldn't mind letting them in on a few of the juicy
details about Mr. Perfect's failed marriage. That once she had been extremely
close to Mr. Perfect and his stupid ex-wife and that she had all manner of
confidential information and intimate details.

Her imagination and
creativity failed her miserably. No matter how she fiddled with various
versions of the scenario, she couldn't make it funny.

There was nothing
funny about being away from home and calling your husband in the middle of the
night and not finding him in bed. And it didn't get any funnier when you called
him the next night and the night after that, and he was never there. Her teeth
hurt. She was clenching them too hard.

"He's never
getting married again," she heard Ghita say. "He told me so. God
knows what she must have done to him."

Nicky went rigid. Her
breathing was shallow. Rage tasted bitter in her mouth. How dare she! What did
she think she had done to him?

"A good woman
should be able to change his mind," stated the blonde. "How good are
you, Ghita?"

Laughter. Nicky
clenched her hands into fists. She couldn't stand this. She took off the
sunglasses, got up from the lounge and dove into the pool. She didn't want to
hear another word.

God
knows what she must have done to him.
Even under the water the echoes of Ghita's
voice followed her.

She swam back and
forth across the deep end of the pool, back and forth as if in training for the
Olympics.

Finally, exhausted,
she hauled herself out of the water and sat on the edge of the pool and checked
out the surroundings. The women were still there. Well, she'd just get her
stuff and move to a lounge on the other side of the pool. She had no appetite
for any more of their conversation.

She made her move,
ordered another drink and picked up the book she'd brought and began to read. A
story about an art treasure hunt in the rocky interior of Iceland.

What
she liked about Veigar,
she read
,
was his calm, quiet self-possession.
He was the most intelligent, sexy man she had ever met. He spoke little. She
was intrigued by those calm gray eyes, by what lay hidden in the silence.

Nicky groaned and
flung the book onto the grass. If ever she gathered enough courage to get
married again, it had better be someone with a stormy nature who expressed
every little thought that entered his mind. A lyrical Italian, or a passionate
Greek.

She groaned again.
Forget it. She was never, never getting married again.

At the end of an
endless afternoon, she went back to the room, bracing herself to find Blake
there getting ready for the evening.

The room was empty and
she expelled a sigh of relief. The bathroom showed signs of use—steam and the
scent of soap and shampoo. Good, he'd been here and had left; she had the place
to herself.

At six o'clock sharp
she arrived at the restaurant terrace and found Blake sitting at a table with
the lovely Ghita. She clenched her jaws together. Oh, damn. That's just what
she needed—she and Ghita being introduced to each other.
Ghita, this is Nicky Arnell, my ex-wife.
She'd smile at Ghita, and say,
You know, the one you were discussing this afternoon, the not-so-bright one.
You were wondering
what she might have done to poor, perfect Blake.

Oh, stop it, she told
herself. She stretched her spine, produced a brilliant smile and sashayed over
to the small table, the soft cotton of her
batek
dress moving smoothly
around her ankles.

"Hi," she
said cheerfully.

They looked up. Blake
came to his feet and held out a chair for her, making introductions as he did
so, supplying only names and no relationships. Cool, reserved Blake. She should
have known that's what he'd do.

"How was your
afternoon?" he asked politely, and she told him it had been wonderfully
relaxing, which of course was the lie of the century.

When the waiter
appeared she asked for a Midnight Moon Dance, one of the exotic mixed drinks on
the menu featuring an abundance of alcohol. She sensed more than noticed
Blake's surprise. She'd never used to drink anything stronger than wine, and
she still didn't often. Right now wine seemed too tame a drink for the mood she
was in.

Her drink arrived only
moments later, complete with a paper parasol and pineapple butterfly. Blake
rose to his feet and asked if they could possibly do without his presence for a
few minutes; he needed to make a phone call. Ghita smiled sweetly and said they
could do without him.

Of course they could.
They could chat and get to know each other. Do some female bonding. Nicky took
the pineapple from the rim of the glass and chewed it. Oh, God, what was the
matter with her? Why was she feeling so bitchy? It was not her nature to feel
so negative and ungracious. This woman—this girl—was obviously in love with
Blake and there was no reason why she shouldn't be. There was no reason why it
should bother her, the ex-wife. She took a generous swallow of her drink.

Blake departed and
Nicky was aware that Ghita scrutinized her with ill-concealed curiosity. Nicky
offered her a smile. "This is a beautiful place," she said for
something to say.

Ghita moistened her
lips. "Yes."

"Are you on
vacation here?" Nicky asked, having no great hopes for a meaningful
discussion.

"No. I live not
far from here. My father owns the place."

Nicky digested this
information, but wasn't sure if it was useful. She nodded.

The conversation
struggled on for a few more minutes.

"Where did you
meet Blake?" Ghita asked, curiosity obviously getting the better of her.

"At a cocktail
party in KL," Nicky answered, a little devil stirring inside her.
"Three days ago."

There was silence for
a moment. Nicky smiled at Ghita. "He invited me to come with him to the
mountains while he wrote his report. It's beautiful here. I love it."

Ghita's eyes were wide
with amazement. "You met him at a cocktail party three days ago and he
invited you to come with him?" she echoed.

Nicky nodded solemnly.
"It all happened rather quickly, I know. But it seemed like we'd known
each other forever. You know how that feels sometimes when you meet
someone?"

Ghita nodded slowly,
but her expression lacked conviction. Something else flickered in the dark
eyes- anger? Suspicion? Nicky wasn't sure.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I mean, it's
not the sort of thing you'd expect him to do. He's... not like that."

"I see,"
said Nicky, knowing it was true. She sipped her drink.

Ghita looked
uncomfortable, as if she knew she had to do something, but wasn't sure what.

"You may feel
you've known him forever," she began at last, challenge in her voice,
"but I've known him a lot longer than three days, and... and I think I'm
doing you a service by warning you not to expect too much from him."

Nicky felt herself
tense. Who did this woman think she was? Claiming territory, was she?

"Thank you for
warning me," she said coolly.

Ghita's hands
tightened around her glass. She bit her lip. "He was married once, you
know," she said, sounding like a rebellious child telling a secret.
"Did he tell you that?" There was challenge in her eyes, her voice.

"No," said
Nicky truthfully. "He didn't tell me that."

Triumph glittered in
Ghita's dark eyes. Her face spoke volumes.
I know more than you do.

"You can't really
know a person in three days," Ghita went on, trying to sound confident,
"and it might save you a lot of grief if you didn't get your hopes up.''

Nicky allowed a
significant silence. There were a couple of ways to play this, but she opted
for the easy way out. She managed a bland smile. "Thank you for your
concern, but don't worry. I don't want him."

Ghita's mouth began to
drop open, but she caught herself. "You don't want him?" she
repeated. Clearly, she found the idea hard to grasp.

Nicky shook her head.
"No, this is just a... eh... temporary situation." She finished the
last of her drink. "Oh, here he comes now."

She watched Blake
approach, taking in the broad shoulders, the confident way he held his head,
felt her heart stumbling. He maneuvered around the tables with athletic ease
and her stomach tightened. His body exuded a powerful grace and unselfconscious
male sexuality and her female senses were hopelessly aware of it.

Reaching the table, he
sat down in his chair again and leaned back in it lazily. "Sorry to desert
you two," he commented, picking up his glass.

"No
problem," said Nicky. "We've become acquainted." She smiled,
feeling the little devil stir again. "I told Ghita we met in KL a few days
ago and that you invited me to stay with you at the O'Connors' house."

He gave her a searching
look. "I see." He offered no further comment, but asked if they were
interested in another drink.

"I'd love another
Moon Dance, or whatever it was, please," she answered, "and if you
would excuse me, I have a phone call to make, as well."

In the room she dialed
her father's house. No answer. Not even the housekeeper or one of the other
servants picked up the phone. Her chest felt heavy. Where was her father? Maybe
he'd gone out for drinks, or dinner. It was still early, surely there was
nothing to worry about.

She went back to the
table and sat down.

"Any luck?"
asked Blake.

She shook her head and
picked up her glass. Her hands shook. Blake's eyes narrowed slightly as he
observed her. Then he took the glass from her hand and put it down. He glanced
at Ghita. "Please, excuse us."

Taking Nicky's hand he
came to his feet, drawing her up out of the chair at the same time. "Come
with me."

Still holding her
hand, he led her down the steps into the shadowed garden, away from the
restaurant terrace.

"What's wrong?"
he asked.

"He isn't
there." Her voice trembled. "He was at the Ministry of Trade and
Commerce this afternoon his secretary said, but I'd hoped he'd be home by
now." Her chest felt tight.

"He's probably
out to dinner. It's only six-thirty."

"I know. I just
can't help worrying. I'm scared something might happen to him." She closed
her eyes and let out a shaky sigh, feeling at the same time his arms coming
around her, drawing her against him.

For a moment she held
her breath, standing perfectly still in his embrace, her cheek against his
shoulder.

"Why are you
doing this?" she whispered then, not drawing away. Leaning into him
instead, savoring the comfort.