NICOLE paused at the head of the steps that led down to Wharf Street and looked back at King's Castle, marvelling that such a place had been built here back in the pioneering days. Tropical North Queensland was a long way from Rome, yet Frederico Stefano Valeri, Isabella's father, had certainly stuck to his Italian heritage when constructing this amazing villa on top of the hill overlooking Port Douglas.
The locals had come to call it a castle because of the tessellated tower that provided the perfect lookout in every direction, but the loggia and the fountain had definitely been inspired by Roman villas. And all of it built with poured concrete, a massive feat in those early times, although no doubt Frederico, having seen the timber buildings of Port Douglas destroyed in the 1911 cyclone, had been intent on having his home stand against anything.
Home and family, Nicole thought, her mind turning to the two great- grandsons she had met yesterday, both of them exuding the kind of strength that would tackle any problem and come out on top. The sense of family heritage and tradition was very much alive in them, nurtured no doubt by their extraordinary grandmother. It would be interesting to see if their younger brother fitted the same mould.
Three brothers—Alessandro, Antonio, Matteo—carrying the past into the future, adding to the levels of enterprise that had been started by Frederico when he had left Italy to start a new life in Australia in 1906. A fascinating family with a fascinating history and an equally fascinating present, Nicole decided, turning away from the castle to continue her walk to the KingTours head office.
It was only ten o'clock in the morning but already the heat was beating through her wide-brimmed straw hat. All too easy to get sunstroke up here in the tropics, she'd been warned, so she kept to the shade of the trees bordering the road on her leisurely stroll down the hill to the main business centre. Given her very fair skin, she had to protect herself against sunburn, as well. It was to be hoped the block-out cream she'd lavished on her arms and legs would do the job.
Being a redhead did have drawbacks in a country devoted to sunshine and outdoor pursuits. It was lucky she had always loved books, reading and writing being her dearest pleasures. Staying indoors had never really been a hardship, plus living with her father for the last few years of his life had left her with the habit of being a night owl—a habit she had to change while working with Isabella Valeri King.
Still, that was no real hardship, either. There was a special brilliancy to the days in Port Douglas; the magic of sunrise over the ocean, the kind of sharp daylight that made colours more vibrant. One never saw green this green in Sydney, and the reds and oranges and yellows of the tropical flowers were quite wonderful.
Everything was different; the whole laid-back pace of the town, no sense of hustle and bustle, the heat of the day followed by a downpour of incredibly heavy rain most afternoons. It spurred an awareness of nature and the need to live in harmony with it. She felt a long long way from city life, as though she'd moved to another world that worked within parameters all its own. It was a very attractive world that could easily become addictive.
Here she was, swinging along at a very leisurely pace, flat sandals on her feet, no stockings, wearing a yellow sleeveless button-through dress that loosely skimmed her body, minimal underclothing, a straw hat featuring a big yellow sunflower on her head, and it didn't matter what anyone thought of her. No students to teach, no fellow academics pushing their political agendas at her, no back-biting about the book she'd written on her father's life.
Freedom...
She grinned, happy with the feeling. It was like starting a new life even though she'd be researching old lives for the next six months, writing a history. But it was a history she hadn't lived and it was about a family who had endured and survived and was still thriving, the kind of family she didn't have and had never known. Another attraction...finding out first-hand what it was like to actually belong to a place, deep roots and long lines of growth.
She reached Macrossan Street and strolled along it until she found the King building where Alessandro— Alex, as he was called by everyone except his grandmother and Rosita, the very motherly Italian housekeeper at the castle—managed investments and property development, as well as handling all the business attached to the sugarcane plantations.
Further down Wharf Street was the marina where Antonio/Tony operated the Kingtripper line of catamarans, taking tourists out to the Great Barrier Reef. That was his personal enterprise, apart from managing the tea plantations which was his family responsibility. Nicole intended to check out the Kingtripper company office after her meeting with Matteo/Matt.
She turned into Owen Street which led down to the bus depot and the KingTours main office. The transport company was Matt's brainchild and one of the tours he ran was to his exotic fruit farm, an extension of the tropical fruit plantations that came under his umbrella of family responsibility.
It was interesting that none of the three brothers had simply accepted their inheritances and been content to live off them. Which they could have done, given the current prosperity of all the plantations. Of course, diversity was always a healthier situation in any financial sense, but Nicole suspected the pioneering blood ran strongly in these men. Perhaps it was the challenge of going for more that drove them. Or a male thing, wanting to conquer new territories.
Certainly Alex and Tony King were different to all the city men she'd known. They were very civilised, very polished in their manners, yet they had a masculinity that was somehow more aggressive. In her mind's eye she could see the two of them going into battle, shoulder to shoulder, emanating the attitude that nothing was going to beat them. Perhaps it was fanciful imagination but that was how they had impressed her.
Would the third brother measure up to the other two?
It was with a very lively anticipation that Nicole stepped into the KingTours main office. A fresh-faced boy, possibly in his late teens, was manning a large L-shaped desk. He looked up from his paperwork, gave her a quick once-over, then a welcoming grin.
"You Miss Redman?" "Yes."
He waved to a door in the back wall to the side of his desk. "Just step this way to the boss's office. He's got all the maps ready for you." His blue eyes twinkled as though that statement reflected some private joke. "I marked out the main locations of interest myself so you can't possibly miss them," he added, making Nicole wonder if he'd been told to assume she was the most hopeless navigator in the world.
He already had the door open for her so there was no time to chat with him. "Miss Redman," he was announcing, even before she thought to remove her hat.
Indeed, the ushering was effected so quickly, Nicole found herself inside Matt King's office with her hat still on and her wits completely scattered at being confronted by the man himself. Not like Alex. Not like Tony. This brother was wickedly handsome. If the devil was rolling out every sexual temptation he could load into a male body, Matt King had to be his masterpiece.
His hair was very black, very shiny and an absolute riot of tight curls, a tantalising invitation to be touched. It didn't soften the strong masculine cast of his face. Somehow the contrast added a wildly mischievous attraction, as did the long, thick, curly eyelashes to the dark chocolate eyes. And his olive skin had such a smooth sheen, the pads of Nicole's fingers actually prickled with the desire to stroke it. All that on top of a physique that seemed to pulse manpower at her.
He came out from behind his desk, tall, big, dressed in a blue sports shirt and navy chinos, white teeth flashing at her, and Nicole felt as though every bit of oxygen had been punched out of her lungs. Her heart catapulted around a chest that had suddenly become hollow. It was purely a defensive instinct that lifted her hands to grab her hat and bring it down in front of her like a shield against the impact of his approach.
The action startled him into pausing and Nicole's cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Such a clumsy thing to do, no grace at all in this foolish fluster. And she'd probably mussed her hair. He was staring at it. A slight frown drew his brows together as his gaze dropped to hers, his eyes brilliantly sharp now, seemingly as black as his hair and with a penetrating power that felt so invasive it made her toes curl.
She had the weird sense he was searching for some sign of recognition. It forced her to collect her wits and speak, though her tongue moved sluggishly and she had to push the words out. "Your grandmother sent me. I'm Nicole Redman."
"Red..." he said with an ironic twist, then appeared to recover himself. "Forgive me for staring. That shade of hair is not exactly common. It surprised me." He stepped forward and offered his hand. "Matt King."
She unlatched the fingers of her right hand from the hat and gingerly met his grasp. "I'm pleased to meet you," she managed stiltedly, absorbing the shock wave of his engulfing touch with as much control as she could muster. A bolt of warm, tingling vitality shot up her arm and caused her heart to pump harder.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, studying it as though it held secrets she was not revealing. Her throat constricted, making further speech impossible.
"Nicole Redman..." He rolled her name out slowly, as though tasting it for flavour and texture. His gaze flicked back to hers, his eyes having gathered a mocking gleam. "This meeting is overdue but no doubt we'll soon get acquainted."
He had to be referring to his absence from the family luncheon yesterday, yet that look in his eyes was implying more. Mental confusion added to her physical tension and it was a blessed relief when he withdrew his hand and turned aside to fetch a chair for her, placing it to face his on the other side of the executive desk.
"Have a seat," he invited, and Nicole was intensely grateful for it.
Her knees felt like jelly. Her thighs were quivering, too. She found the presence of mind to say, "Thank you," and sank onto the chair, fiercely telling herself to construct some composure fast.
It wasn't as though she hadn't been given a hint of what Matt King might be like, having met his brothers yesterday, both very handsome men who carried an aura of power. She had been able to view them objectively. Why not this one? Why did she feel so personally affected by this one?
It was crazy. She was twenty-eight years old and had met hundreds of men. Probably thousands. Not one of them had scrambled her insides like this. Maybe she was suffering sunstroke and just didn't know it. Come to think of it, she did feel slightly dizzy. And very hot. Hot all over. If she just sat quietly for a minute or two, she'd be fine.
She slid her shoulder-bag off and propped it against the leg of the chair, then set her hat on her lap and focused on the sunflower. By the time Matt King reached his chair and settled himself to chat with her, she'd be ready to look at him and act normally.
All she needed from him was the gold pass for the bus tours and the road maps which his assistant had helpfully marked. It shouldn't take hardly any time at all. A bit of polite to-and-fro and she'd be out of here.
Her hands were trembling. She willed them to be still.
Her heart persisted with hops, skips and jumps, but it had to steady soon. Clearly she had to be more careful in this tropical heat. Drive, not walk. That was the answer. When Matt King spoke to her she would look up and smile and everything would be allright.