Heart of the Dragon (2 page)

When the doors swung back, the first thing she saw, through the eye that wasn’t squinted shut in pain, was a masculine vision that conjured up jumbled thoughts of pale champagne, hard, cool onyx, and satin. And the first thing the tall, darkly glorious male vision saw was her grabbing her right ear frantically, while her purse fell off her left shoulder and slid past the scuffed brown satchel hanging from her left hand, then fell by her left foot, where, in her haste to grab the purse, she lost her balance and stepped on it.

Rebecca was too stunned by the man standing in the doorway to be deeply embarrassed; her clownish lack of grace was a dearly prized part of who she was, as essential as her sense of humor. It kept her world a little off-center, and made her career as a cartoonist successful. She simply drew the world the way she lived.

Besides, this man made embarrassment the least of her worries. More important was the lightning snap of feminine alertness, the feeling that her blood and breath were frozen in expectation, and that she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Kash was having the same difficulty with her. He’d expected someone clever enough to make herself seem
likable and ordinary, not eccentric. Rebecca Brown peered up at him from under feathery brunette bangs, while one hand clutched oddly at her right ear and the other wrestled a white purse from under her white sandal. But if her actions were strange, her neat white blouse and long cotton skirt were the height of unremarkable tourist attire.

Then she flashed him a cheerful, if tentative, grin that turned her face into a merry invitation to smile back, and she straightened, apparently not embarrassed by whatever the hell it was she had been doing or its results. She was slender, but her figure was not the least bit boyish. He realized that he was giving her the kind of slow, head-to-toe assessment that he never gave a woman, because it lacked subtlety and respect. He didn’t hesitate to admire a woman who wanted to be looked at, but neither did he stare the way he was staring at Rebecca Brown right then.

Rebecca managed to keep smiling even when the object of her friendliness lost his surprised, somewhat benign expression and looked her up and down as if calculating whether he
wanted
to undress her with his eyes. That look—as much as she resented it—had a hypnotic effect, making her knees weak and her muscles feel heavy.

She’d never gotten many outright sexual stares back in Iowa, or felt her own heart thumping because of them. She’d never run across a man who seemed to be caught between cultures, either, one with slightly tilted eyes, a strong, sculptured nose, a hint of gold in his skin, and hair the soft black color of charred wood. Where did he belong? Where was he from? And—good lord, she’d almost forgotten what she was there for—what was he doing there in place of Mayura Vatan?

“I’m at a loss,” she said finally, as she hooked her purse back over her shoulder and casually pulled her hair over the hearing aid to hide it. “I think you know
who I am, but I don’t know who you are. I came here to see Mayura Vatan.”

“I’m her representative,” he answered, his words measured. “She asked me to hear your story and report the details to her.”

His voice was low and compelling, a cognac that slid warmly through her veins, and Rebecca was surprised to hear not only an American accent but a slightly southern one. It gave his voice an elegant lilt. She scrutinized him with her head tilted to the left side, to catch each nuance of tone with her good ear.

Kash cursed her strange response silently. It was exasperating and put him on the defensive. Perhaps she’d planned it that way. He stepped back and swept an arm toward the room. “Please, come into my office. My name is Santelli. Kashadlin Santelli, Ms. Brown.”

“Do you work for Vatan Silk? I think I’ve met every executive in the company during the past two weeks.”

“I doubt it,” he said with a hint of amusement that could have warmed her, except it didn’t reach his dark, shrewd eyes. “It’s far too large a company. You could have gone on meeting unimportant executives for a long time before you accomplished your goal. But you’re lucky—they’ve sent you straight to me. We’ll settle this quickly.”

She stiffened and drew her shoulders back. “I was told that Mayura Vatan would be here. I’ve spent so much time trying to see her, and when I got a phone call from her office today, I thought she’d be waiting. Are you telling me she’s not here?”

“Yes. I’m sorry you were lied to. But please, come inside, where we can discuss this further.”

“At least you’re blunt about what’s going on.”

“You and I haven’t determined ‘what’s going on’ yet.” He gestured again toward an office of sparse but luxurious furnishings. He seemed to be pointing straight at a thick red sofa strewn with beautiful pillows. “Let’s discuss your claim,” he said softly.

Rebecca wasn’t certain she wanted to sink into a wickedly plush sofa with this man. His unusual name, Kashadlin Santelli, kept revolving in her mind and distracting her. He was at least six inches taller than she, and that added to his aura of command. She bristled at the way he made requests sound like orders.

“You have nothing to worry about, Ms. Brown,” he said smoothly. “I’m a trustworthy employee of Mayura Vatan.”

Rebecca walked into the big, dark office with a pleasant smile stamped on her mouth. Richly embroidered drapes covered the windows. The only light came from an ornate brass lamp on an enameled black table in the room’s center. Her stomach twisted with apprehension, but also anticipation. Good Lord, the man was playing some kind of mind game with her. She stopped in the middle of the room and stood rigidly. She hoped she looked resolute. “The only thing that worries me is whether I’ll have to see a dozen more people like you before I’m allowed to meet Ms. Vatan.”

“No, as I’ve already said, you’ve reached the top this time.” He shut the doors behind her. She refused to glance back over her shoulder to watch him, but every hair on her neck stood on end. She pictured the imaginary tiger prowling up to her and—Stop it, she ordered herself silently.

When he cupped her elbow, she felt the heat of his palm radiate through her whole body. And he was suddenly so close that she smelled the faint, clovelike scent of his cologne, along with the more subtle scents of fine cloth and freshly showered masculine skin. She tried to breathe steadily but couldn’t subdue a mental image of the lean golden body under his exquisitely cut suit. He wasn’t brawny-looking, but his shoulders were broad and conveyed powerful grace. The hand that closed lightly on her elbow had a wide, hard palm, and long, confident fingers. She glanced back, dry-mouthed.

His expression was aloof. If there had been a hint of
warmth in it before, it was now as neutral as the crisp lines of his suit. A black suit, a pale gray shirt, and a black tie with only the finest of silver stripes, Rebecca noted. Thoroughly Western, and solemn.

“May I get you a drink?” he asked.

“No, thank you. I just want to know why I’m getting shuffled around every time I ask to see Ms. Vatan. Who are you exactly?”

“Sit down, please.” He guided her to the decadent-looking sofa. At the risk of appearing nervous, she glanced around for a less disturbing place to sit, but there was only the upholstered office chair behind his desk. Rebecca’s pride rebelled. She might not be his equal in this game—whatever it was—but she wasn’t going to run for safety.

She reconsidered that choice when he was seated beside her on the sofa. He lounged back, sinking into the shimmering silk pillows with arms propped on them as if he were on a throne. Rebecca found her knee against his. Moving it would admit that she felt uncomfortable. She sat back in her corner of the sofa and crossed her legs away from him. Now her other knee was against his. She gave up.

“I want to see Ms. Vatan,” she said flatly, laying her satchel on her lap and unbuttoning the latch. “Are you her assistant?”

“No, I’m her bodyguard.”

Rebecca stared at him. “Bodyguard?”

“Security coordinator, if you prefer,” he amended. “I perform a variety of services.” He smiled, and she caught a flash of predatory white teeth. Mayura Vatan’s lover, I bet, she thought instantly. An electric snap of curiosity and envy shot through her.

His lips were full, his mouth wide. It could have been a fantastically sensual mouth—and must be, when he was doing something with a woman besides trying to intimidate her—but right then it had a sarcastic tilt at one corner. He lifted a hand slightly, addressing her.
“Are you a dangerous woman, Ms. Brown? Does my client need protection from you?”

Rebecca thought he was teasing. There was just enough humor in his tone to make it possible. But also enough warning to bring her anger to full bloom. She clenched her satchel with both hands and spoke between gritted teeth. “I’ve said this about a dozen times. Now I’ll tell
you
. Maybe someday, someone will believe me.
I’m not here to cause trouble
.”

“You realize, surely, that a claim such as yours, against a young woman of wealth and prestige—”

“I’m not making a claim
against
anyone. I’m trying to make someone believe the truth. I just want to meet Mayura Vatan.”

“Because?” he asked, and let the word hang expectantly, as if he hadn’t already been briefed on the whole story.

“Because she and I are half sisters!”

Kashadlin Santelli’s eyes narrowed. It appeared that hearing this outrageous-sounding statement from her own lips only confirmed his opinion of her—and that opinion wasn’t good, she could tell. “I’m fascinated,” he said dryly. “Please go on.”

“What’s the point? You’re only the latest in a long line of Vatan family employees who’ll smile politely and never believe a word I say.”

“No. You see, I’m the one who determines whether you’re a threat to her. Frankly, the family has given me the authority to do whatever I think best about you. Who knows? I might decide in your favor.”

“My objective is to meet my half sister and give her a message. I’d like to learn a little about her, too, because I don’t have any brothers or sisters except her, and I learned about her only a few months ago. But if I can only give her the message, that’ll be enough.”

“I could pass this mysterious message along.”

“No. I want to meet her myself.” Rebecca looked at him
pensively. “The message is from my—that is,
our
—father.”

“Who is now deceased, I understand.”

She nodded. A twinge of grief made her look away; she felt exposed and vulnerable. “He died last April.”

“And your mother?”

“She died when I was a child.”

“And so you’re all alone, and perhaps in need of money? Is that why you came to Thailand on this strange mission of yours?”

Because she’d been raised to hold her temper, she stifled an urge to hit him with her satchel. Instead she rose sternly, tossed the satchel onto his desk, along with her purse, and stood facing him with her hands clasped behind her back. “You don’t even know me,” she said in a slow, even voice that shook with anger. “I don’t need any money. I didn’t come here to get money. I came here to meet my blood relative and tell her about our father. I’ve brought pictures of him, mementoes, things I thought she ought to see.”

Kash silently congratulated her on her dignity. He slid forward on the plush sofa and steepled his hands under his chin, never taking his eyes off her. In her white blouse and skirt she stood out among the dark office colors. The lamps lit her dramatically, bringing something unfathomable to her smooth, pretty face. He held his breath, studying her. There was a timeless quality about her that made him think of a classic painting. Something basic and strong. A man could read an infinite number of interpretations into her, and find something new each time.

There was nothing remarkable about her—no heart-stopping beauty in her face, no extraordinary curves under her neat and proper clothes, but she was, nonetheless, fascinating. Something about that open, utterly uninhibited smile she’d given him at first, he thought. Or maybe it was just that her act was so good,
so—he searched for a word to describe her—so
wholesome
.

“How old are you?” he asked abruptly. “In comparison to Ms. Vatan, I mean.”

“I’m three years younger than she is. Twenty-six,” she said sharply. “Wait a minute—don’t change the subject. About my money situation, I’m not rolling in gold, but I have a comfortable income. In case none of your people have told you yet, I draw cartoons for a living. I’m good at what I do, and I have a syndicated strip that runs in papers all over the Midwest. So I didn’t come here to mooch off the Vatan family.” She started toward her satchel. “I brought a sample.”

He stood and raised a hand. She halted. “I’ve seen your work. The sample you left with Mr. Prasartthong at the Vatan offices. Your work is unique.”

Unique?
Rebecca thought with annoyance. The way he said it, it wasn’t much of a compliment.

“I only glanced at the cartoons,” he confessed, cocking a brow at her and smiling slightly. “I’m not a good judge of such things.”

“Are you a good judge of people?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you give me a chance?” She gestured toward herself with outspread hands. “I don’t dress like a minister’s old-maid daughter so people will think I’m a sexy, dangerous babe in disguise.”

For the first time he laughed. Rebecca listened closely to the low, throaty sound and found it both sinister and erotic. Her skin absorbed it and tingled. He walked toward her, and she stood rooted in place, even when tiny muscles in her stomach were quivering in resistance.

He halted close enough to touch her. She dropped her hands to her sides, realizing that they gave the impression of reaching for him. But she gazed up at him without wavering. His eyes were the color of dark honey, shadowed by thick black lashes that curled up at the
tips. She found herself mesmerized by those soft, curving lashes, which were so out of place among the harder lines of his face.

That face held emotions she couldn’t decipher, and his own silent scrutiny of her made the tension worse. She rarely wore makeup other than a dab of lipstick and eye shadow, and didn’t worry about the effect. No one had ever called her ugly, and if men didn’t beat a path to her door, well, she didn’t want them crowding her doormat anyway. She had more important concerns, like making a living. Thousands of people tried to sell cartoons; only the most dedicated were successful.