'Oh, really? What kind of camera do you normally use?'
Oh, God, had she unknowingly blundered on to one of his own interests? Elizabeth lowered the booklet, completely rattled by now. She must try and convince him that she was utterly dull and boring and quite undeserving of any further interest.
'When I said hobby, I meant that I like to have lots of pictures as permanent mementoes from my holidays, that's all,' she told him in a monotone.
'Where exactly in New Caledonia are you spending your holiday?'
Elizabeth stared at him, cornered. If she tried to avoid answering he really would get suspicious. Isle of Hawks,' she admitted stiffly, her voice sinking to its natural level.
His eyebrows rose. They were thick and dark and extremely eloquent, expressing a speculative amusement. 'Alone?'
'Yes.' The clipped reply was a terse warning which he blithely ignored.
'And what are you looking to find on your solitary holiday... peace and quiet? A place to relax? Or are you looking for something more exotic... excitement, glamour, romance—a lover perhaps...?'
His outrageousness destroyed her intention to bore him into silence, guilt adding to the intensity of her outburst. It's none of your damned business what I'll be doing!'
She went pale when he laughed.
'In the circumstances I think it is.'
'What circumstances?' she demanded raggedly, wondering whether she had blown her cover already.
'Why, that you're a guest of mine, of course,' he said smoothly. 'I would be a poor host indeed if I didn’t attempt to find out whatever it is people come to my island looking for, and do my best to provide it for them.'
'Surely you don’t have to conduct the surveys yourself. Don’t you have employees to attend to those petty details for you?' Elizabeth began. Employees like Serena Corvell!
'It's my attention to petty detail that has made Ile des Faucons one of the finest resorts in the world,' he said with an arrogance that took her breath away. As if the people who lived and worked at the place played a lesser part in its success than the corporate head who paid only flying visits when he could fit it into his busy schedule...and then only when he was combining it with an adulterous affair!
'So... what is your heart's desire, Miss Lamb?'
'Nothing that I require you to supply,' she said crisply.
'You sound very sure of that.'
'I am.'
'You're very independent,' he commented. Elizabeth knew that it wasn’t supposed to be a compliment. What he really meant was that she was independent of him. He obviously didn’t like the idea of any woman being beyond his control.
'Well, I hope for the sake of my hotel's reputation that you're wrong. I would hate you to leave Ile des Faucons feeling—unfulfilled...' His accented drawl was pleasant enough but Elizabeth didn’t think that she imagined a touch of angry impatience there. Good. She had finally succeeded in routing his interest.
'Actually, I suppose there is something I want that I'm hoping you can provide,' she said impulsively, goaded to consolidate her victory.
'Oh?'
Her small bow of a mouth unravelled into a smile of malicious sweetness. 'Solitude.'
In the ensuing silence Elizabeth returned her attention to her neglected manual, her heart thudding uncomfortably. She really shouldn’t have made that last comment but it was his fault. If he weren’t an unprincipled lecher she wouldn’t be in this thoroughly disturbing situation. Now, she hoped, he would sulk to himself. She knew the type.
In her mind she had already lumped him with the 'fearful few'—those wealthy, spoiled male university students who, over the years, had made the mistake of thinking that wining and dining their professor's researcher would flatter her into spilling the beans on the contents of the latest test paper which they had been too busy socialising to study for.
Men who were used to getting whatever they wanted when they wanted it were generally ungraceful losers, but Elizabeth always took their sullenly assumed indifferen
ce as a more genuine compliment than their easy flattery.
When the air hostess brought her a replacement glass of champagne Elizabeth sipped it only cautiously and refused the offer of wine when lunch was served a short time later, aware that she had been too on edge to eat any breakfast that morning. The last thing she needed now was to get tipsy. The food was delicious, elegantly presented in lavish servings which Elizabeth normally would have found no difficulty in enjoying. However, the nerves in her stomach were in no mood to relax and she found she could only nibble here and there—another reason for her to resent the man beside her, calmly devouring every crumb on his plate.
Time seemed to pass with excruciating slowness. Elizabeth pointedly bent her head back down over the camera manual when the lunch dishes were cleared away and fortunately her hint was this time accepted without comment. Placing the earphones over his head and selecting a recorded channel, J.J. Hawkwood reclined his seat even further and stretched out with his eyes closed.