Australia: Wicked Mistresses(15)

Something dug into his hip. He reached and pulled a shell from his pocket. Before leaving this morning he’d found it on the bathroom shelf. Knowing Nina must have left it there, on impulse he’d taken it with him. He focused on the shell’s decorative rays and remembered Nina’s incredible smile.

He held the shell tighter.

He wouldn’t rest until A: he found out all of Nina’s story, and B: he fixed whatever was wrong. If she needed an ally, no matter how busy he got here, he’d be it.

“Excuse me, Mr Steele?”

Gabe wheeled around. Horace Dorset, General Manager of Diamond Shores Resort, was striding up the path. Dorset, with a lemon rosebud adorning his lapel, gave him a pleasant, enquiring look. “Everything well with you, sir?”

“I received your message,” said Gabe. Dorset wanted to speak with him about standardising staff prerequisites. Good plan, but not now. “I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

Dorset nodded, but didn’t bow off. “I see you’ve introduced yourself to some of the staff.”

Gabriel cast his mind back. “No. Only the managers.”

“The young lady…?”

Young lady? He meant Nina?

Gabriel laughed. “You’re mistaken. Nina’s a guest.” Dorset’s brows slanted, then he shook his head. “You’re confusing her with someone else,’ Gabriel pointed out. Although he wasn’t sure how anyone could mistake an air that confirmed an impeccable upbringing…the way she held herself…the way she spoke.

Dorset thought she was staff? Absurd.

And yet Dorset kept looking at him with something like pity pinching his brows.

Gabriel thought more, then waved an impatient arm towards the hotel. “I saw her go into her room, for God’s sake.”

“Not her room, Mr Steele. A housekeeping trolley was outside. Perhaps Nina entered to help another staff member clean.”

Gabriel probed Dorset’s cool gaze. If Dorset thought this was funny, he wasn’t laughing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The woman you saw is a waitress. Nina Petrelle started with Diamond Shores six weeks ago.” Dorset’s shoulders rolled back. “We like to pride ourselves on our standards, and I’m afraid Nina has made one too many errors. I’ve been patient so far, but this episode, withholding her identity from a guest—from you, Mr Steele—is an infringement that cannot be ignored. Measures must be taken.”

Gabriel’s mind felt frozen. He opened his palm and glared at the shell. Had he heard her name right?

“The staff are well aware of our number one rule,” Dorset continued. “No fraternising with guests. I want you to know I’m very strict on that. It can be tempting for a single young woman to covet what others here enjoy—”

Gabriel shot up a hand. He was interested in only one thing. “What did you say her name was?”

“Nina.”

“Last name?”

“Petrelle.”

Nina Petrelle. Anthony Petrelle’s baby sister?

A thousand memories flashed through his mind—playing touch in the Petrelles’ enormous manicured backyard…surfing at Bondi that last summer…Anthony’s sister, that right little madam, sticking it to him every chance she got. If she wasn’t jeering at his favourite shoes, she was niggling about his numerous after-school jobs, or insisting he should do them all a favour and buy a new pair of glasses.

She’d been the kind of over-indulged kid who had a tantrum if no one noticed the new designer ribbon in her silky blonde hair. Nina Petrelle had been the poster girl for spoilt rotten. But for the sake of his friendship with Anthony, who’d been as down to earth as the next bloke, he’d kept his mouth shut.

Gabriel shook his brain and came back to the present.

How the tables had turned. When he’d known Nina last his surname had been Turner, his mother’s name. But if Nina didn’t recognise him, he sure as hell hadn’t recognised her. For one, she was twice the size—and in all the right places. Her hair was six shades darker too.

He remembered her body writhing beneath him in the firelight last night and his insides twisted.

He’d made love to Nina Petrelle?

Dorset’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Mr Steele, I apologise for her behaviour. Gold-digging will not be tolerated here. I’ll go speak with her now.”

As Dorset moved off, Gabriel gripped the older man’s forearm. His tone was close to dangerous. “I don’t want you to say or do a thing with regard to Miss Petrelle.”

“I—I beg your pardon—?”

“You heard me.” He released Dorset’s arm. “I’ll handle this.”

Dorset opened his mouth to protest, but when Gabriel glowered Dorset nodded, although clearly unhappy with the decision. “As you wish.”

Gabriel continued on to his accommodation, the shell tucked inside one clenched hand. He felt as if his chest had been rammed by a tree trunk.

Yes, when she’d told him her name he’d thought twice, but she looked nothing like the squirt who’d hung around and annoyed the crap out of him all those years ago. What was she doing working here? Her family was loaded.

Perhaps they’d had a falling out? She obviously needed money—badly enough to hunt down and snare herself a millionaire. Although her near drowning must have been an accident; no one would risk their life that way. But clearly she’d taken advantage of the situation from there, playing him with a combination of coy and sassy to see which stoked his fires best.

Let someone have faith in you again, she’d said. Hell, he’d really thought she’d cared.

He kicked open his front door.

What a schmuck!

As he stood in the foyer of his bungalow, another thought sprang to mind.

Nina knew he owned this island, but she didn’t know who he was—or rather who he’d been: Gabe Turner, her brother’s egghead friend, the “pauper” she’d lived to humiliate. The guy who’d kept his lip buttoned while she tried to put him in his place.

Gabriel’s smile was more a sneer.

He couldn’t wait to see her face when she found out.

But a greater challenge awaited her. Not only was Nina a down-on-her-luck gold-digger, according to Dorset she was no good at her job. How on earth had she got a position here in the first place?

But the bigger question was…

He dropped the shell and ground it beneath his heel.

How soon could he get rid of her?





CHAPTER EIGHT


AFTER her shift in the kitchen, Nina showered, slipped into a light summer dress, and made her way to Gabriel Steele’s ultra-private bungalow. Her throat was tight with nerves and her stomach was riding a rollercoaster by the time she dropped the knocker on the imposing double doors. After several moments, when no one answered, she dared to turn the handle and ease inside.

Towering potted palms, mirror-polished marble counters, exquisitely crafted teak furniture, fresh sprays of exotic flowers…Surrounded by such luxury, in “guest” versus “employee” mode, she felt the dizzy scent of excess fill her head.

Spending last night with Gabriel in that cabin had been like a beautiful elixir, a once-in-a-lifetime experience which would live for ever in her mind and her heart. Being here in this setting, about to be with Gabriel again, was possibly an even headier thrill. After spending hours packing dishwashers, the sight of that cushiony white couch was almost enough to convince her that indulgence—this kind of over-the-top lavish extravagance—wasn’t so offensive after all. She would love to lie back on the couch and put her feet up.

Massaging the weary small of her spine, she did another sweep of the main room. Gabriel wasn’t here. Limping slightly, she edged towards the opened concertina doors.

The full moon spilled a shimmering river of gold across an otherwise black sea. The scent of salt and natural floral perfumes filled the warm air, and on the deck Gabriel stood with a phone pressed to his ear. He wore dark tailored trousers and a crisp white Oxford shirt. His sleeves were rolled to below the elbow, leaving tanned corded forearms exposed. His dark hair was freshly showered, wet and stylishly messy.

The overall picture—complete with a vee of wiry hair visible at his throat and broad shoulders adorned in silk weave—was enough for Nina to clutch at her fast-beating heart. She hadn’t thought he could be more attractive than when she’d first seen him—muscles pumped and bare chest battle-whipped.

She’d been wrong.

Without trying, he dominated any scene.

Angling around, Gabriel spotted her. He nodded twice into the phone, gave a parting remark, then disconnected and moved towards her.

“Important call?” she asked, when she might easily have said, The sight of you turns my legs to jelly.

“My second in charge,” he said, sauntering nearer. “Zane Rutley knows as much about my company as I do, but he likes to keep me up to date. Says there’s no rest for the wicked.”

“You’ve known him long?”

“Since university. We duxed Management Accounting and Strategy.”

“Ooh, bad boys.”

He grinned. “I can’t speak for Zane.”

She didn’t know about Zane Rutley either, but Gabriel Steele could make any woman melt at a hundred paces. His every move was measured, exact, and at the same time effected with inherent masculine grace. Her cheeks heated. Although he hadn’t touched her yet, she was already simmering inside.