No MISTAKE, Matt grimly assured himself as he walked slowly around his desk to his chair, his mind working at hyper-speed to reason out what the hell this woman was doing here, supposedly assisting his grandmother on the family history project.
The flaming red hair had instantly jolted his memory, spinning it back ten years to a night in New Orleans, the night before Halloween in that extraordinary city. The delicately featured face, the white porcelain-perfect skin, the big expressive sherry-brown eyes, the full sensual curves of her mobile mouth...all of it like a video clip coming at him in a flash. A tall slender young woman, swathed in a black cloak lined with purple satin, long red hair flowing free, not rolled back at the sides and clipped away from her face as it was today.
He'd seen her lecturing the tour group outside Reverend Zombie's Voodoo Shop. He'd watched her, listened to her, appreciating the theatrical appearance of her as she captivated the group with her opening spiel for the Haunted History Walking Tour. Just to hear her speaking in an Australian accent added to her allure.
He'd even tagged along for a while, fascinated by the look of her and her performance. He would probably have stayed with it but the novelty appeal of the tour soon wore thin for the friends he was with and they'd moved on to one of the colourful bars in the French Quarter.
Nevertheless, he remembered her very clearly...the hair, the face, the pale, pale skin adding its impact to her ghostly tales. Which raised the question...what tale had she spun his grandmother to get this job? Had she faked qualifications...a con-woman getting her hooks in for a six months' free ride? Had his grandmother checked them out? Or hadn't they mattered, given that her prime objective was finding him a bride?
A spurt of anger put an extra edge on the tension this meeting had sparked. His grandmother had struck out badly on this candidate for marital bliss, being fooled by what he could only think of as a fly-by-night operator, though undoubtedly a very clever and convincing one, calling on her experience with haunted history, plus a liberal dash of entertainment.
He slung himself into his chair, barely resisting the urge to give it a twirl as a derisive tribute to the marriage merry-go-round his grandmother was intent upon. Highly disgruntled with this absurd situation, he glowered at the woman sitting opposite to him. Why her? What did his grandmother see as the special attributes that made her suitable as his wife?
Red hair?
It certainly suited the exotic night-life in New Orleans, but here in the tropics? That pale skin would fry in Port Douglas. Utter madness!
Though he had to concede her dramatic colouring and the delicacy of her fine skin and features did have a certain unique beauty. He'd thought so ten years ago and it still held true. But it was perfectly plain she didn't belong in this environment. As to there being any possibility of her spending a lifetime here...that was definitely beyond the pale.
She sat very still, very primly with her knees pressed together, the hat held on her lap, eyes downcast, projecting a modesty that was at ridiculous odds with the role she had played ten years ago. Uncloaked, she had small but neatly rounded breasts. Her arms were neatly rounded, too, slender like the rest of her but not skinny. Interesting that she wore yellow, which wasn't a modest colour.
She was playing some game with him, Matt decided, and the temptation to winkle it out of her overrode his previous intention to send her on her way as quickly as possible. He leaned back in his chair and consciously relaxed, knowing he had the upper hand since there was no chance of her remembering him. He and his friends had been wearing masks that night, part of the wild revelry leading up to Halloween.
"I understand this is your first visit to the far north," he started.
She nodded and slowly raised her gaze to his. "I did fly up a month ago for the interview with Mrs. King."
Her eyes were wary and he instantly sensed her guard was up against him. He wondered why. A need to hide the truth about herself? Did she see him as a danger spot, a threat to her cosy sinecure at the castle?
Curiosity further piqued, he smiled to put her more at ease as he teasingly asked, "Six months at the castle didn't sound like a prison sentence to you?"
The idea seemed to startle her. "Not at all. Why would you think so?" "Oh, you'll be stuck mostly with my grandmother for company and
the novelty of living in a rather romantic old place won't make up for the things you'll miss or the things you'll have to tolerate," he drawled, watching her reaction to his words.
Her head tilted to one side as though she was critically assessing him. "Don't you enjoy your grandmother's company?"
"That's not exactly relevant," he dryly countered. A slight frown. "You didn't come to the family luncheon yesterday."
"True. I don't allow my grandmother to rule my life.
I had another activity booked and I saw no reason to cancel it." He paused, wanting to probe her character.
"Were you offended that I didn't roll up on command?" "Me? Of course not."
"Then why do you think I should have come?"
"I don't. I just thought...you said..." She stopped in some confusion. "I was simply suggesting that six months under the same roof with an eighty-year-old lady might make King's Castle a prison for a young woman used to all the attractions of city life."
A wry little smile. "Actually I find older people more interesting than younger ones. They've lived longer and some of them have had amazing lives. I can't imagine ever being bored in Mrs. King's company."
Her eyes flashed a look that suggested she could very easily be bored in his, which spurred him into derisively commenting, "So you're prepared to bury yourself in the past and let your own life slide by for the duration of this project."
Her chin tilted in challenge. "I've always found history fascinating. I think there's much to be learnt from it. I don't consider any form of learning a waste of my time."
"A very academic view," he pointed out, wondering what she'd learnt from ghost stories. "They say history repeats itself, so what really is gleaned from it?" he challenged right back. "Human nature doesn't change."
She didn't reply. For several moments she looked directly at him in a silence loaded with antagonism. She wanted to attack. So did he. But his grandmother stood between them, a force that demanded a stay of any open hostilities.
"Are you against this project, Matt?"
The question was put quietly, calmly, a straight request to know where he stood.
"Not in the slightest. I think such a publication will be of interest to future generations of our family," he answered easily. "I think it's also meaningful to my grandmother to have a record of her life put into print. A last testament, which she richly deserves."
"Are you against me doing it?"
Right on target! He had to hand it to Nicole Redman. She certainly had balls to lay the cards right out on the table. "Why should I be?" he asked, wondering if she'd let anything slip.
"I don't know." Another wry little smile. "You'll need to tell me." Clever, throwing the question back onto him. "How old are you
Nicole?" he tossed at her. "Twenty-eight."
"Are you coming out of a bad relationship?" "No."
"Not engaged with one at the moment?" "No."
"Not looking for one?" "No."
"Why not?"
"Why should I be?"
"I would have thought it was a normal pastime for a woman of your age."
Hot colour stained her cheeks. Her eyes burned with pride as she replied, "Then I guess I don't fit your idea of normal."
Which neatly left him nothing to say... on the surface of it. He was not about to fire his hidden ammunition until he knew some facts about her more recent circumstances. A lot could happen in ten years. If she was telling the truth about her age, she'd only been eighteen in New Orleans. A wild youth could have been followed by a more sober settling down.
As it was, she had obviously notched up qualifications in his grandmother's wedding plans; single, unattached, of a mature enough age to find marriage an acceptable idea, and certainly physically attractive if one fancied red hair.
Not everybody did.
So why had his grandmother chosen a redhead for him? Why not a blonde or brunette? He'd never even...