Give A Man A Bad Name. Roberta Leigh

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      ‘That’s still ten days away,’ Marly hissed, watching the tall, athletic figure circulate among the hotel guests and staff, every movement relaxed and unhurried, his smile sincere and unforced. ‘What do I do when I meet him as his computer expert after Christmas? Keep acting gentle and acquiescent?’

      ‘Obviously. That’s if you want to finish what you’ve started.’

      ‘Oh, I do. When I remember how dreadful Andrea looked... Yes, I will do it.’

      ‘He’s coming back. Good luck.’

      Nan melted away, and Marly softened her features as she turned to face Alex.

      Gently he took her elbow and steered her from the room and across the grey and blue carpeted lobby to the entrance, where a chauffeur stood holding open the back door of a silver-grey Mercedes.

      Settling in the soft leather seat, she was all too aware of the man close beside her, the spicy scent of his aftershave prickling her nose, the warmth of his body seeming to permeate hers, even though he had made no move to touch her. Watch it, she warned herself. You’re supposed to be paying him back for the way he treated Andrea, not falling for him yourself!

      ‘We’re dining at the Shangri-la,’ he said. ‘Is that all right with you?’

      ‘Of course, Mr Hamilton. I’m happy to go wherever you wish to take me.’

      He gave her a quick glance, as if not sure whether she was teasing, but her calm stare assured him otherwise, and he gave a little sigh of satisfaction.

      ‘Not Mr Hamilton, Marly, my name is Alex.’

      ‘I couldn’t call you that. You are my employer and it wouldn’t be seemly.’

      ‘But I’m asking you to do it.’

      ‘No, it is not the custom.’

      ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this,’ he muttered.

      ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.’ Putting her palms together, she lowered her head till her chin touched the tops of her fingers in a traditional wai. ‘I do not wish to make you angry, but—’

      ‘I’m not in the least angry. In fact, I think you’re very sweet.’

      If only you knew, she thought, doing her best to look demure. ‘And I think you’re very nice, Mr Hamilton.’

      ‘I hope you’ll let me show you just how nice I can be,’ he said gruffly.

      Beginning to enjoy herself, she gave a laugh, but made no reply.

      ‘We’ve arrived,’ he stated as their car eased up a ramp and came to a stop outside the entrance of the Shangri-la. Not waiting for the chauffeur, he opened his door and hurried round to help her out, cradling her hand in his as he did, and not releasing it.

      She could not believe he normally acted this way with his girlfriends, and stifled a giggle at his oldfashioned behaviour.

      ‘May I have my hand back?’ she whispered. ‘It is not seemly for you to touch me in public.’

      ‘Sorry.’ He dropped it fast, but as they entered the vast reception area, milling with people, and a stout man toting a camera backed into her, he automatically cupped his hand under her elbow in a protective gesture, then gave another strangled ‘sorry’ and let it go.

      ‘In this instance it is quite seemly for you hold my arm, Mr Hamilton,’ Marly said, struggling hard not to laugh.

      ‘Then I’ll have to make sure we’re always in a crowd,’ he came back fast, ‘because I like the feel of your skin!’

      Awarding him full marks for making the most of the situation, Marly glided along beside him. She had been out with many tall men, but there was something about this one that made her feel extra-tiny and helpless. Perhaps it was the aura of invincibility that emanated from him. The divine right of the arrogant male, she supposed, and as she remembered Andrea’s tear-stained face, her resolve to give him a taste of his own medicine hardened.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘WHICH of the Shangri-la restaurants do you fancy going to?’ Alex Hamilton asked Marly. ‘They have several.’

      ‘I don’t know any of them. Thais rarely come here.’

      Disconcerted, he stopped in his tracks. ‘Why is that? I’ve only been in Thailand a couple of months, and working flat out at the hotel most of the time, I’m still a stranger to the social scene. If there’s any reason why your countrymen don’t dine here, we can—’

      ‘Only because we prefer to go where there are fewer tourists.’

      Unexpectedly he gave a rich, deep chuckle. ‘I’m not doing too well with you, am I? Perhaps we should go outside and begin again?’

      About to laugh, she remembered the role she was playing, and said piously, ‘Please forgive me, Mr Hamilton, it was rude of me to be so frank.’

      ‘Not at all. I dislike pretence of any kind.’

      Oh, he did, did he? Then how would he excuse his dishonesty where Andrea was concerned?

      ‘...if that suits you?’ he questioned.

      Not having heard a word he had said, she nodded and followed him past a huge, perfume-drenched bank of flowers to a lift that took them down to the ground floor and the long, wide terrace that overlooked the lush gardens of the hotel, and the Chao Phraya river that bisected the city.

      Small trees, festooned with hundreds of tiny silver lights, illumined a scene of fairy-tale splendour: candlelit tables, an enormous buffet, some twenty feet long, filled with assorted cold foods, a dozen or more barbecue carts, each with its chef cooking his own speciality, be it Tiger Bay prawns, lobsters, poultry or meats, and white-jacketed waiters staggering under trays laden with every kind of vegetable.

      To Marly, it seemed there wasn’t an empty space anywhere, and she happily waited for Alex to be told there was no room for him. But it was not to be.

      ‘A moment, please, sir.’ The maître d’ himself came hurrying over. ‘We are arranging a table for you.’

      As he spoke, two waiters were busy setting one up beneath a palm tree, and with a flourish he led them to it. As they sat down, a third waiter came forward with two glasses and a bottle of champagne in an ice-bucket.

      ‘With the compliments of the Shangri-la, Mr Hamilton,’ the maître d’ smiled, and bowed away.

      ‘Why are you known here?’ Marly asked. ‘You told me you’re a stranger in my city.’

      ‘I am. But my face isn’t. It’s been in your papers and magazines for weeks.’

      ‘Ah... Because of your hotel?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘It СКАЧАТЬ