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  The speculation would blow her cover. The drama surrounding the return of Hugo had focused new attention on the ‘photogenic Harrington twins’ and their older brother. There were other spectacular roof gardens she wanted to inspect while she was in Singapore—the city was famous for them. That was her mission. The reopening of the Harrington Park was a big deal. She didn’t want to be the one to take the surprise out of the relaunch. As well, deep down, she had to admit she wanted to impress Hugo with her talent and skill. Drawing unwelcome media attention was not the way to go.

  ‘There are four bathrooms in this suite,’ her rescuer said. ‘I suggest you take the nearest one and I’ll take the furthest one. You can lock the door. We can reconvene in the living room when you’re done.’

  ‘I’m not sure...’ This whole scenario seemed somehow too intimate, too laced with the threat of danger.

  ‘You don’t know me, but I assure you that you can trust me,’ he said. She saw only sincerity in his narrowed eyes. He was powerfully masculine but there was nothing threatening in his stance. His tone was commanding without being overbearing, which would have sent her running a mile, wet clothes or not.

  Sally was not a person to act on impulse. She liked to plan, consider, have everything in its place before she made a decision. Yet somehow she felt she could trust the man who had saved her from the pool. Her late mother’s words came back to her: ‘Darling, most people are basically good and would help you rather than hurt you.’ Of course that hadn’t applied to her stepfather.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, surprising herself at her willingness to take such a risk.

  Her rescuer showed Sally to a bathroom, being careful, she noticed, to maintain a respectful distance from her. He didn’t linger but turned on his heel and strode away. He appeared sophisticated, urbane, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the rather rude squelching noises his waterlogged shoes made on the marble floor. Sally unsuccessfully tried to smother a laugh.

  He turned around to face her and he shrugged self-deprecatingly. ‘I know,’ he said with a half-smile.

  ‘The leather will be ruined,’ she said.

  ‘I have other shoes,’ he said.

  He set off again and she swore he stepped harder to exaggerate the noise made by his wet shoes. She laughed, this time making no effort to conceal it. He laughed too as he left a trail of wet footsteps behind him, then taking his shoes off before he entered what she assumed must be the living area.

  With a smile still on her face, Sally slipped into the bathroom. Locked the door. Noted—just in case—there was a phone on the wall. Handsome and charming he might be, but her rescuer was still a total stranger.

  Her cell phone had suffered a cracked screen from its drop to the tiled surrounds of the pool but seemed otherwise intact. To keep it from further damage, she tucked it into the tiny travel shoulder bag she had worn slung across her body. Thankfully the bag had lived up to its claim of being impenetrable.

  As she stripped off her wet clothes, she couldn’t help but admire the bathroom with a professional eye, noting the top-grade marble, the expensive fittings, the unstinting luxury. She wanted a more traditional, very English look for the Harrington Park but there was a lesson to be learned from this hotel’s devotion to guest comfort.

  Could she ever allow herself to switch off from work?

  The Ice Queen, she knew people called her. Nicknamed for both her ruthless devotion to her business and her reputation for never letting relationships get deeper than dating. The name hurt, but she never let anyone see that. It wasn’t that she wanted to be on her own. She needed love and intimacy as much as anyone else. But she always seemed to go for men who were unattainable.

  Her first major crush at boarding school had been on a darkly handsome Spanish boy—until he’d told her he wanted to be a priest and needed to remain celibate. She had shared her first kisses with another schoolmate—then he’d confessed he was experimenting but was pretty sure he was gay. They’d become good friends instead of lovers, although it had taken a long time for her not to be half in love with him. Her most recent Mr Out-of-Reach had been a quite well-known actor, recently divorced and determined to avoid commitment—he’d made that very clear when she’d met him. His ruthless dumping of her had been more than a year ago. The press coverage had not been kind. She’d been too wounded to bother with dating since. Work had become her refuge from romance.

  She showered and shampooed her hair with the expensive toiletries supplied, revelling in being warm and safe. Then towelled herself dry in a decadently fluffy towel—they must have only this quality of towel for the Harrington Park. She dried her hair into its usual sleek lines, taking particular care with the styling. Call it vanity, or something more deeply instinctive, but she had an urge to look better than the drowned rat her handsome rescuer had pulled out of the pool. She couldn’t do much for the smeared make-up but tidy it up with a tissue.

  No way could she get back into her sodden clothes that she had thrown into the bathtub. In fact, she didn’t ever want to wear that dress again. She shuddered at the memory of how the midi-length skirt had tangled itself around her legs, hindering her attempts to swim. Her sandals appeared to be a lost cause. Still, she did her best to squeeze the water out of her dress and underwear. Perhaps there was a tumble dryer somewhere in this suite, but she doubted it. People who could afford to stay in luxury penthouses didn’t do their own laundry.

  Unless she intended to stay in the bathroom until her clothes dripped dry, she had no choice but to slip, naked, into the hotel’s thick, velvety black bathrobe. She wrapped it right around her waist for total coverage and belted it tightly. Feeling somewhat revived, she opened the door and padded barefoot on the marble floor towards the living room of the suite.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE ENORMOUS LIVING room of her rescuer’s suite opened to a balcony with a view to the Gardens by the Bay and out to Marina Bay and the ships waiting in the harbour. The amazing futuristic tree-like structures of the Supertree Grove and the adjacent Flower Dome and Cloud Forest conservatories were on her to-do list for the next day.

  Her Sir Galahad was fixing drinks at the full-sized bar. He was dressed casually in wheat-coloured linen trousers and a white silk knit T-shirt. Sally could not help but appreciate his back view, broad shoulders tapering to a very appealing butt.

  At her entry to the room, he turned. She had to swallow hard at how good he looked. Dry, his hair was spiky and black, and the T-shirt showed sculpted muscles, smooth brown skin. For a long moment their gazes met. A current of curiosity and speculation seemed to crackle between them.

  He was seriously hot.

  She was the first to drop her eyes.

  ‘I could do with a drink—how about you?’ he said. He smiled. Sally didn’t think he could get any better-looking, but the smile did it—perfect white teeth and eyes that smiled too.

  All caution about accepting drinks from a stranger fled her mind. She had nearly drowned; a drink was very much in order. ‘A Singapore Sling?’

  He smiled again. ‘I’m no barman. But I can order one from room service.’

  The hotel where she was staying was home to the iconic cocktail. She’d try one later. ‘Dry white wine then, please,’ she said.

  When he handed her the wine, she noticed the absence of a wedding band. He was very careful to avoid any accidental touching of fingers, but even so they brushed. Just that slightest of touches sent a shiver of awareness through her.

  Did he notice?

  He was drinking black label whisky, no ice. She took a sip from her wine and willed herself to relax.

  ‘Your wet clothes,’ he said.

  ‘The hotel laundry. I thought...’

  ‘Do you have time to wait for that?’

  Sally had lost all track of time. She glanced at her watch—thankfully waterproof. It was already past five p.m. ‘No,’
she said. But would she be happy travelling back to her hotel in a bathrobe? Perhaps she had no choice.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you a new dress from one of the hotel boutiques.’

  ‘You what?’ Oddly, she didn’t call him out on his high-handed action—which it most certainly was—but rather blurted, ‘How did you know my size?’ He was exceedingly handsome, obviously wealthy; perhaps he often bought clothes for women.

  ‘My sister is about your size, although she isn’t as tall. She often shops there on her visits to Singapore. I asked the manager to find something that would fit her. They’ll send it up to the room soon.’

  ‘My wallet survived its plunge in the pool. My credit cards should be okay. I’ll call down—’

  ‘No need. It’s already paid for.’

  ‘But I can’t possibly accept that. I must repay you.’

  He made a dismissive gesture that had a certain arrogance. ‘Too difficult. I don’t take credit cards. It’s nothing. Please accept the dress as a souvenir of your visit to Singapore.’

  Sally was too flabbergasted for coherent speech. ‘But I... No.’ It was out of the question to accept such a gift from a stranger. She knew his room number. The boutique’s details would no doubt be on their shopping bag. She would phone through a payment from her and a refund for him after she got back to her hotel.

  ‘I’ve also ordered some food from room service,’ he said.

  ‘But I... I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You can take the meal or leave it. However, you’ve had quite a shock. You might find you need some food.’ The door buzzer sounded. ‘That’s either room service or your dress.’

  An obsequious waiter wheeled in a trolley and placed silver trays on the glass-topped dining table. Delicious smells of spicy food wafted upwards and Sally’s appetite suddenly revived. But it was a stretch from being rescued by a stranger to sharing a meal with him.

  A meal made it feel more like a date.

  The waiter lifted the silver domes from the trays to reveal a dim sum feast—small plates and bamboo steamers of bite-sized snacks. Some Sally recognised, others she did not.

  ‘A taste of Singapore,’ said her rescuer—or was he now her host? ‘Like the city itself, the flavours are Chinese, Malaysian, Indian and Western.’

  The waiter briefly described each of the dishes. They included fluffy steamed savoury buns, dumplings full of spicy broth, pan-fried oysters, tiny western-style sliders, vegetables she didn’t recognise as well as the more familiar spring rolls and samosas. The waiter was deferential in the extreme; he couldn’t have used the term ‘sir’ more often and he bowed deeply before he left the room. Her host must be a generous tipper.

  Sally looked longingly at the dim sum. ‘I... I’m not sure it’s appropriate to...to linger here.’

  But she was still in the hotel bathrobe, her clothes too wet to wear. She was trapped...although she didn’t feel in danger. Call it instinct or hunch but she didn’t think her rescuer meant her harm. Quite the opposite—she had felt so safe and comforted in his arms. Safe and something so much more—a stirring of a long subdued sensual interest, an undefined longing for something that had always remained out of her reach.

  ‘If you don’t want to eat, I’ll have the food taken away.’ He motioned to call the waiter back.

  ‘Yes. I mean no. Don’t have it taken away. It looks too good to resist.’

  He smiled that very appealing smile. ‘You’ve had a big shock. The food at this hotel is good. You might find a snack is just what you need.’

  ‘Thank you. I... I appreciate your thoughtfulness.’ The dim sum was making her mouth water.

  He waved away her thanks. ‘It’s nothing.’

  It was actually extraordinarily generous and hospitable of him. A different kind of man might have pulled her from the pool and sent her on her way. Or ignored her plight and left her to flounder.

  ‘Where do I start?’ Sally said, once she was seated at one of the dining chairs opposite her host.

  Just like on a date.

  ‘Wherever you like.’ He poured her hot Chinese tea in a small porcelain cup without handles. Sally took the cup with thanks and sipped, looking over its edge at him. It was a long time since she had been in the company of a man as strikingly attractive as this one.

  She was dressed in a bathrobe and sharing a meal with a handsome stranger. All in all, it was a slightly bizarre situation she found herself in. Bizarre but, in its own way, exciting.

  She tried to keep her eyes on the food but was unable to stop herself from darting glances at him. Every time she found something new. A sexy cleft in his chin. A full, sensuous mouth. Smooth skin she wanted to reach out and touch.

  ‘Can you use chopsticks?’ he asked.

  ‘Not very skilfully, but yes.’ She deftly picked up a prawn roll and transferred it to her bowl.

  ‘I see you need no tuition at all,’ he said, amused.

  ‘I have a favourite Chinese restaurant in London,’ she said. ‘So I get some practice.’

  He put down his own chopsticks on a silver rest. ‘You’re from London. Are you on vacation in Singapore?’

  She nodded. A working holiday—but he didn’t need to know that.

  ‘Is it your first visit?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I only arrived here this morning.’

  Several of the wealthy foreign clients of her high-end interior design business had been so pleased with her work on their residences in the UK, they had invited her to work for them in their home countries. She flew frequently to Dubai and Mumbai in particular. But never before to Singapore.

  ‘There’s a lot to see in Singapore,’ her rescuer said.

  She’d like to see more of him.

  His comment seemed somewhat trite—but what else did she expect from a conversation with a stranger? Especially a stranger she had met in such an extraordinary circumstance. As far as she could tell on such brief acquaintance, they had no common ground. But wasn’t that the point of such conversations—to establish common ground?

  This is not a date, she had to remind herself again.

  She answered in kind. ‘I’m only here for a few days and I’m determined to see as much as I can.’

  He paused. ‘Just before you fell in the pool I noticed you taking photographs of the rooftop garden.’

  Sally’s heart stopped. Was the game up? Had he picked her for an industrial spy? Did he have a connection to the hotel? She rushed a reply. ‘It’s impressive, isn’t it? Especially those towering palm trees and the exquisite orchids. I... I probably took way too many snaps. Gardening is somewhat of a hobby.’

  ‘Really?’

  His obvious scepticism was no surprise. No one else in her social set shared her interest in gardening. That was a pastime for parents, grandparents even. But she had been deeply unhappy at her prestigious boarding school and the garden had become her refuge. The head gardener had taken her under her wing and Sally’s interest had developed from there. After she’d left school, she had even started an apprenticeship in garden design until she’d realised interior design was her overwhelming passion. Since she’d had her own business, she’d been able to combine both her interests.

  ‘I’m fascinated by the challenges of planting such a large garden on a rooftop,’ she said.

  ‘There are many such gardens in Singapore.’

  ‘So I believe. This morning I saw a flourishing garden on top of a bus. I couldn’t believe it. You should have seen how many photos I took of that.’

  He smiled. ‘I haven’t seen such a bus myself. I’ll take your word for it.’

  She indicated with a wave the view of Supertree Grove below. ‘I’m heading down there tomorrow; those gardens look amazing.’

  Was that too much information? Did he believe her? Did it matter if he
did or he didn’t?

  For a long moment their eyes again met in a gaze too long and too intent for strangers. Her spine tingled with awareness of just how attractive she found him. Was that an answering interest in his dark eyes? How would she know? She was notorious for misreading men. And when it came to flirting, the Ice Queen didn’t have a clue.

  She tore her gaze away, reached with her chopsticks for an oyster. Her hand wasn’t steady and she missed the first time, the chopsticks clicking against each other. Flirting. No way should she even be entertaining that thought. But where was the harm in finding out a little more about him?

  Her words came out in a rush. ‘You’re visiting Singapore too? I mean, you’re staying in a hotel, so I assume—’

  ‘I’m here on business. I fly out tomorrow.’

  There was no reason she should feel so disappointed.

  ‘What line of business?’

  ‘Telecommunications. And you?’

  ‘Interior design.’

  ‘Commercial or residential?’

  ‘Mainly residential,’ she said.

  The exception being the urgent refurbishment of an iconic hotel that bore her family name.

  ‘In Singapore?’

  Was that a trick question?

  ‘Not right now. I’m enjoying being a tourist. Exploring. Seeing the gardens. As I...er...said.’ She was annoyed at herself for the nervous edge to her voice. She prided herself on being in control, not letting anything get to her. Let alone a man.

  ‘You did,’ he said. He certainly wasn’t a person to rush into mindless conversation. Her rescuer had a calm way of speaking that might have, in different circumstances, evoked more of a sensible response from her. But she found him so darn desirable she found it difficult to concentrate on anything else but imagining what it might be like to kiss him.

  She picked up a dumpling with her chopsticks and popped it into her mouth, savoured it, gave a sigh of appreciation. ‘Delicious—everything is delicious.’ She put down her chopsticks, looked up at him. ‘You were right about me needing food.’