She flicked a glance up at him. ‘Good morning.’ Then resumed tapping the keyboard with no idea what she was typing.
‘You okay?’
‘Fine now, thank you. A touch of food poisoning, I think.’
He stopped her with a hand on her wrist. Heat from his fingers zinged up her forearm. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Working. You should be too.’ She glanced at her watch, then more pointedly at the paler band of flesh above his wrist. ‘It’s eleven a.m. Not that you’d know.’
He sat down with a frown. ‘For Pete’s sake, Kate. You were at death’s door last night, be kind to yourself. And what are you expecting me to do on our first morning?’
Our first morning. He made it sound like they were on their honeymoon. She shifted uncomfortably. ‘You could be quizzing the concierge about…things. Or making a formal complaint about the room debacle.’ She stared at him over her computer.
He cocked a brow. ‘What makes you think I haven’t?’
She resumed typing. ‘Because you’ve been too busy in the gym.’
The dig seemed to sail over his head. ‘I spoke with management last night,’ he continued. ‘The problem should be sorted out by this afternoon.’
‘Oh.’ So why did she feel a horrible sense of disappointment in the pit of her stomach? Stupid. Not disappointment—jet lag and lack of food, she told herself. She did not want to spend the next nine nights sleeping in a double suite with Damon. Not at all.
‘So you’re okay now?’ he asked again.
‘Yes. I seem to have purged myself of whatever it was.’
‘Good.’ He pushed up. ‘I’ll get us some sustenance.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’ I’m too busy being ridiculously, irrationally mad.
‘Something plain, then. You should try to eat.’ A few moments later he returned with a tray. He set a tiny Chinese cup of clear green tea and a plate with a single bread roll and an apple in front of her. He’d selected an assortment of pastries and one temptingly fragrant cup of coffee for himself.
The fact that he’d remembered her saying she preferred tea first thing in the morning irritated her more. Her staccato tapping increased in tempo.
He tore a piece off his pineapple Danish. ‘Kate, anyone with half a brain can see you’re not typing constructively so I take it you’re ticked off with me about the room.’
Very carefully, very calmly, she switched off her computer, closed it. ‘If you say the room business is sorted, that’s fine. Great.’ She reached for her tea and concentrated on its fragrance as she brought it to her lips.
‘So it’s not the room.’ He leaned forward, so close she could see a tiny muscle twitch at the side of his mouth. ‘Let’s get it out in the open now—I don’t fancy spending the next week with an uptight, inflexible, non-communicative woman.’
She reared back. Uptight, non-communicative right now—maybe. But, ‘Inflexible?’ she snapped. ‘Who are you calling inflexible? Haven’t we all bent over backwards to accommodate your ideas? Isn’t that why I’m here in Bali? Because you want your staff to be able to speak with experience?’ Setting her cup down, she pushed away from the table and rose. She wasn’t going to sit here and let Damon Arrogance Gillespie throw stones at her. ‘You want honest and open communication, you start first.’
Damon curled the hand that had belatedly shot out to restrain her, and replaced it firmly on the table. He’d never run after a woman; he refused to do so now. He watched her walk away, her head high, back stiff as starch. Damn right she was uptight. But she’d managed to communicate her displeasure loud and clear.
His last mouthful of pastry, still unchewed, lodged behind his Adam’s apple like a fistful of soggy cardboard. Why had he just acted like a supercilious jerk?
Because he’d never met a woman like Kate Fielding before.
She did things to him he’d never experienced. Whatever it was, it was something new. He let the knowledge roll around in his mind and settle. It wasn’t only her body he wanted. Kate was more interesting—and more complicated—than any woman he’d ever known.
He genuinely liked her. He liked her mind, the way she cared about other people. She was responsible, dependable, and… flexible. And she expected the same from those around her. So he’d give her a moment. Then he’d go find her and they’d talk. Calmly. Without the knot in his throat.
Ten minutes later he hesitated outside their door, unsure whether to walk straight in. So he knocked before entering. He found her standing on the balcony looking out at the sea. The breeze played with her hair, and even from the other side of the room he could smell its fresh citrus fragrance.