Ice-Breaker Read online

  So much for shedding decorum and partying. She’d been bursting with a giddy sense of achievement and had to tone it down to make small talk with people who’d known her as a child.

  Still, she and her parents didn’t spend that much time together, so she’d gone along with their plans, sipping cheap white wine in the foyer beforehand.

  Selwyn had caught her looking for a place to hide her glass. ‘There’d be complaints of wasting money if the conference organisers provided decent wine. Safest to buy your own.’ He held a glass of whisky casually. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘Champagne.’ Her voice had come out husky with excitement and sexual awareness. So few men wore dinner suits with debonair charm, and certainly, she’d never met a guy in NGO circles who could. Of course she recognised him — the celebrity model who’d traded the party circuit for saving the world — but he wasn’t her employer. She’d smiled at him, a shiver sliding down her spine as his gaze focussed on her mouth. ‘I’m celebrating.’

  He’d looked into her eyes. ‘Hold that thought.’ He’d strode off to the bar, taking a straight line and somehow, the crowded venue parted for him.

  Quite a few women had looked back to assess who he’d been talking with.

  Kiara had raised her chin and met their stares.

  Selwyn had returned with a champagne bottle and two glasses.

  Her eyes had widened.

  ‘What a good idea.’ And that was when her mum had returned from a conversation with a crony. ‘Gary, get two more glasses. This wine is disgusting.’ Her mum had retained the perfect diction of her English boarding school background and a slight deafness increased her volume. The whole foyer had heard her condemnation.

  Her dad had winked and departed in search of glasses.

  ‘So, you two have met,’ Diana had said.

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘We haven’t actually introduced ourselves. I’m Selwyn Powell.’

  ‘She knows who you are. Kiara’s not blind. You’ve been all over the billboards.’

  ‘Not any longer,’ Selwyn had murmured.

  While Kiara had laughed and gave her mum a one-armed hug, she’d said, ‘You’re in fine form.’

  ‘Proud of you.’ Diana had looked around the room. ‘My daughter just presented her first paper as a PhD. Dr Kiara Holland.’

  A shadow had flickered across Selwyn’s face and fled. He’d popped the champagne cork. It had sounded like an exclamation of happiness. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Four glasses had been filled to just the right level and not a drop spilled. He had proposed a toast. ‘To hard work and well-deserved success. To Dr Kiara Holland.’

  Their eyes had met as they drank and something indefinable had shivered between them.

  Had it been a promise or just a tease?

  Memory of that tingly something had Kiara inhaling sharply before she smoothed the black wool dress and wobbled towards the door. After a couple of steps, the shorter stride necessary for her safety in heels returned to her. She’d been wearing hiking boots or practical slip-ons for so long, but it was like walking on deck: you adjusted. She opened the bedroom door and stopped breathing.

  Selwyn had opened the French doors to the balcony and stood there with the evening shadows around him. He hadn’t heard her. Warm light from the room gleamed on his fair hair and on his white shirt. He looked extraordinarily handsome and very alone.

  As she walked into the room her heels clicked on the polished wooden floor. He turned and she paused. She waited for his approval, for an easy compliment to take away her breathlessness.

  ‘Come here.’ He stayed on the balcony.

  Excitement shivered over her skin. Anticipation dismissed her awkwardness in heels. She felt the slim-fitting skirt dig into her thighs as her long stride stretched it. It rode up a fraction and Selwyn noticed. She noticed him noticing, and liked it. Feminine confidence had her slowing and sinking into the hip-swaying motion dictated by high heels.

  She stopped a half-step from him.

  ‘I like your shorter hair,’ he said and his warm hand settled on the curve of her throat to push up slow and firm till his fingers separated and stroked through the short silken strands. It was a rough, sensual caress as his head came down and he kissed her. His hand cupped her head and his mouth crushed hers.

  Instantly she opened her mouth to him, inviting more and getting it. His tongue plunged in and the taste of him, the feel of him inside her, triggered a deep primal heat. She stepped into him and his free hand gripped her butt and lifted her, fitting them together with sexual explicitness.

  It felt right. So good. As good as she remembered and better than any fantasy.

  ‘You are pure temptation,’ he whispered.

  She’d never thought of herself that way and he’d lived in the unreal world of supermodels and actresses for years, but looking at the burn in his eyes, she believed him. ‘Only to you.’

  He shook his head. ‘You have no idea. But I know. When I walk with you down the staircase, it’ll be my hand riding low on your back, just above your butt.’ He caressed her there and she shifted restlessly, aching. ‘I’ll stand beside you as we play the game of small talk with strangers, while we fantasise about touching and exploring and how I’ll make you scream.’

  She bit his lower lip, just a graze with her teeth. ‘You said this break is about talking, really talking.’

  ‘We are talking.’

  ‘You’re seducing me.’

  ‘Should I stop?’

  ‘No.’ She whispered it against his lips.

  He smiled. ‘Then let’s walk down those stairs.’

  Clever, clever man. Any nervousness she’d felt about the evening and their time in the hotel was gone. In its place he’d strung a web of awareness. They were dancing on a cobweb that trembled with every heartbeat, connecting them always to each other. They could talk to strangers or study a menu and yet it would all be for outward show. This evening was about them.

  She scooped up the pashmina she’d dropped and wrapped it around her shoulders as Selwyn closed the French doors. Embedded in the soft wool was her favourite scent of ylang-ylang and rose, romantic and evocative. She inhaled the fragrance as she watched him knot his tie and shrug on his jacket. Sharing the private moment was a different kind of intimacy.

  He put a hand to the low curve of her spine. Without a word, they walked out of the suite and down the grand staircase.

  The people gathered in the foyer lounge for pre-dinner drinks watched their descent. First one, then another, till all heads turned. The other guests were international tourists or retired couples, talking casually, enjoying the freedom of conversation with people they’d never see again.

  They recognised Selwyn. Spines straightened, eyes sparkled, and women touched their carefully arranged hair.

  An elderly man asked Selwyn about the mudslide in Guatemala. ‘Must have been dangerous, hmm? Risking your life.’

  ‘I survived. Actually, if you want a true adventurer, Kiara’s just back from Antarctica.’

  All attention turned to her.

  She saluted him with her champagne glass. Smooth, very smooth. Not only deflecting attention from himself, but drawing her out. This was how he’d acted at the Melbourne conference, letting the crowd relax her, but guiding the conversation to learn more about her. ‘I spent the summer on Macquarie Island.’

  ‘What were you doing there, dear?’

  ‘I was counting birds. My PhD was “Bird Life on the Edge: Crisis in an Extreme Environment”. With Macquarie Island cleared of invasive rats and rabbits, I was part of the team assessing the stabilisation and recovery of bird populations. A lot of seabirds nest on Macquarie.’

  ‘Was it very cold?’

  Experienced expedition members had warned her people always asked that.

  ‘Summer isn’t too bad. We had quite a lot of sun. But yes, I wore a lot of thermal underwear.’

  ‘Not wearing any now.�
� Another old gentleman had had too much to drink.

  His wife grabbed his arm and steered him away. He leered over his shoulder. Since he was about five-foot nothing and resembled a friendly garden gnome, he appeared ridiculous rather than offensive.

  Selwyn’s hand slid a fraction lower as if checking her underwear status.

  She glanced up at him, sharing the laughter.

  He patted her bottom and she choked on her champagne. He said blandly, ‘I’m starved. Let’s see about some dinner.’

  His decisiveness swept her and the other guests out of the hotel and along the covered walkway to the restaurant.

  The restaurant appeared to be a new addition to the hotel, but its design was sympathetic to the original building with high ceilings and large windows overlooking the river. White tablecloths covered the tables laid with heavy stainless steel cutlery and beautiful wineglasses. Low arrangements of hothouse red roses added colour.

  She and Selwyn were shown to a table for two in a private corner. Once the waiter departed, she looked at Selwyn over the top of the menu. As relaxed as he was in the spotlight, Selwyn didn’t crave it, which raised an interesting question. ‘How did you become a model?’

  He laid his menu aside. ‘My dad’s an electrician. He wanted me to get a trade. I didn’t. I was eighteen. I didn’t know what I wanted, so I was working as a brickies’ labourer. Good money and it builds muscle. My girlfriend at the time saw an ad that a modelling agency was holding an open call. She was keen and I was eighteen —’

  ‘And no eighteen-year-old boy could resist the chance to see a room full of beautiful women.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He shifted the menu, aligning it with the edge of the table. ‘A director of the modelling agency saw me in the waiting room. She talked me into getting some photos taken, signing up.’ He looked at Kiara. ‘It started as a joke, but the money wasn’t. The camera liked me. Photographers liked me because I’d stay still and listen to what they said. Modelling looks glamorous, but it requires discipline. I ended up learning a trade, but not the one Dad intended.’

  ‘It turned out okay, though.’ She couldn’t put her finger on why she thought he seemed unhappy. ‘Didn’t it? Would you change anything?’

  The waiter arrived to take their order, truffle omelettes for both of them in a nod to the autumn season.

  ‘I wouldn’t change anything.’ He raised his champagne glass in a toast to her. ‘It led me here.’

  She almost let it go at that, but it was he who had said this break was about talking, about exploring if the sense of connection between them had substance, and there was something reserved, almost withdrawn in his expression. ‘What do you regret?’

  ‘I wish I’d gone to university.’

  She blinked at the unexpectedness of it. ‘You still could. Lots of people enter as mature-age students.’

  ‘No.’ He drank some champagne.

  ‘If it matters to you…’ she began, trying to decipher his mood. It was as if he’d brought a steel shutter down between them. For the first time she saw how his beauty could be a mask. Whatever his thoughts or emotions, she couldn’t read them. So much for getting to know one another.

  He replaced the champagne glass on the table, glanced up and caught something in her expression. His mouth twisted in a rueful grimace and abruptly the mask was gone. ‘Transitioning from being a model to running Grey Knot hasn’t been easy.’

  She leaned forward, elbows on table, intent on keeping him talking and to hell with etiquette. This was important.

  ‘People had a slot for me — celebrity model. Even when I turned thirty, it’s not the same for guys. I could keep modelling. But I changed. Modelling had given me financial independence. I could have retired then, two years ago, and had enough to live on, and to live well. But I needed a challenge. I needed…this is going to sound incredibly cliché…’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Everyone jokes about dumb blondes, and they mean women, but I’ve encountered that attitude, too. People define me by how I look. In the end, I started to wonder if they were right. If there was nothing there…inside me.’

  She reached across the table and took his hand.

  His fingers tightened around hers. ‘I guess I was ready for a life change. Grey Knot fitted. It’s not trendy or photogenic, like saving children or animals — not that those agencies aren’t vital in the work they do.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But Grey Knot was about meeting a neglected need, caring for the elderly in desperate situations. And it was such a small organisation.’ He released her hand. ‘They hired me for my celebrity status. They expected me to be a figurehead.’

  ‘So they lucked out. They got Napoleon instead.’

  ‘Napoleon?’ A blond eyebrow arched in amused inquiry.

  ‘Mum and Dad are impressed at how you run a campaign.’

  ‘Ah. It was a steep learning curve. Running Grey Knot is complicated — and I’ve had to balance my personal wishes against the organisational good. My celebrity status is simply too strong an asset to ignore. So I use it. But I hate the same-old questions with their underlying disbelief that an ex-model could do anything useful with his life.

  ‘It would probably be worse if you were a woman.’

  Her wry comment elicited a crack of laughter from him. ‘True.’ He shrugged. ‘The bottom line is that I can’t afford the time to both grow Grey Knot’s capability and study, which means the qualifications, the piece of paper to prove my worth, stays beyond my reach.’

  ‘To the experienced workers, qualifications mean nothing.’ She smiled at him encouragingly, drawn closer to him by the knowledge that beneath his confidence, there was a streak of vulnerability. ‘I know a lot of the newcomers to NGOs have university degrees, but to people like my parents, those certificates just show a four-year lack of real world experience. They respect you.’

  ‘I respect Diana and Gary,’ he said. ‘I rely on their judgement.’ He paused while their omelettes were served, then changed the subject. ‘What was it like growing up as their kid?’

  ‘Different.’ But he had shown her his heart and his scars. He was owed equal honesty. ‘Difficult.’

  Chapter 3

  The omelettes tasted wonderful. Hints of thyme and marjoram lifted the earthiness of the truffle. Kiara cut another piece as she thought how best to describe her childhood. She knew it had shaped her. Unusual experiences generally did. She was more independent than most.

  ‘Until I was twelve, I travelled with Mum and Dad to wherever their work led them. I’ve lived on every continent.’ She grinned. ‘Including Antarctica, if you stretch it to include the Subantarctic.’

  ‘I’ll stretch it.’

  ‘I grew up interacting with all sorts of people, in all sorts of situations. Mum and Dad were careful to keep out of war zones and other dangerous places until I went to boarding school.’

  ‘Here in Australia?’ And in response to her raised eyebrow. ‘Your accent.’

  ‘Yes. I went to school in Sydney. Dad’s family lives there. I spent my holidays and odd weekends either with his parents or my aunts and uncles. One thing my childhood gave me was adaptability. I sussed out the written and unwritten rules of boarding school life and made them work for me. I actually enjoyed the discipline of the timetable and the fact that I knew what to expect the next day, month, year. It made me feel safe.’

  ‘Safe.’ Neutral tone. He finished him omelette and studied her.

  ‘I know. You’re wondering how I can be Gary and Diana’s daughter. Once I turned eighteen they dived into working in the worst refugee camps. It was as if they were free of the burden of worrying what would happen to me if something happened to them.’

  ‘They love you.’

  ‘And I love them. I’m just glad they’ve accepted more adviser roles these days.’

  ***

  Selwyn ate his roast beef and mused on the puzzle that was Kiara. He’d met a thousand more beautiful women than her,
but none who had fascinated him or proven unforgettable, as she had. There was an honesty in her that compelled him. Although how she could think of herself as risk-averse, he didn’t know. People who worried about their safety didn’t spend seven months next door to the South Pole.

  Across the table, she ate chicken in cider with a healthy appetite. The silence between them felt comfortable. The sexual tension remained, but it was like the champagne they drank. When the bottle first opened, it fizzed, but now the bubbles were just a tingle on the tongue and in the blood. Although it wouldn’t take much to re-ignite the passion that had flared on the balcony.

  He’d sensed the passion in her from their first meeting. It had drawn him across the crowded conference foyer, filled with dedicated NGO workers and activists, and into conversation. After two days of hard networking and polite tedium, she had been blazingly real, alive with energy and purpose. Enthralled, he’d shamelessly manipulated the seating on the dinner cruise that followed so that he’d sat beside her as the ferry travelled slowly down the Yarra River. Conversation had flickered with light and colour, depth and passion. They’d talked about everything and nothing.

  He couldn’t remember what they’d eaten, but he’d remembered the moment of the crash and how Kiara didn’t drop her coffee cup, but had replaced it quietly on the table — its saucer gone — in the middle of the screaming chaos.

  A speedboat had hit the ferry, driven by a drunken idiot who had survived the impact with barely a bruise. Inside the ferry, others weren’t so lucky. Cuts and bruises from flying objects abounded, but worse were the injuries of people who’d been standing up, chatting to others during dessert and the after-dinner coffee. A number of them were senior representatives of their organisations and senior in years, too.

  Kiara had worked beside him as he assessed their situation and helped up those he could, passing them on to willing hands to be lifted out of the stricken boat. Fortunately, the Yarra River was narrow enough that the crash drove the ferry against the bank, and its quick-thinking crew lashed its mooring ropes to parking bollards.