Detained by Ainslie Paton Page B

she’d never think to enter at home and didn’t appear any more affordable here, even with the favourable exchange rate. One part of being a print journalist that sucked; the very ordinary pay packet. It made retreating to Starbucks for a coffee feel sensible, if just to escape the colour and clang of the street.
    Watching from her outdoor table was a better option than being in the mix. Darcy sipped her Frappuccino while the free tourist-trolley car traversed the street and shoppers of all ages and nationalities, arms laden with store bags and wallets lighter, looked about for their next retail fix.
    Her post-pause itinerary included a stroll through Fuxing Park, a peek at Shanghai Museum, checking out the curios on Dontai Road and a stroll through the back streets of the old French Concession. Then back at the hotel, she’d organise a room switch and Tara would find she could be just as mysterious as he’d been.
    Of course that meant she’d never know who he was, never see him again. That should’ve been a comforting thought. No, more than a comforting thought. It was a smart move. Thinking about what he’d done to her was enough to make the milk in her drink curdle. And the whole hotel suite thing was beyond even the worst Pretty Woman fantasy.
    Darcy didn’t do pretty. Pretty took time and consideration and while she was no bush pig, Andy’s favourite description of an unattractive woman, she’d rather be acknowledged for her thought patterns than her eye makeup. More to the point, she didn’t do kept, so the only reason she was even trying on silk dresses and considering a pair of frivolous emerald green ballet flats was because she could.
    Later that afternoon, exhausted from the heat and the amount of walking she’d done and back in the cool comfort of the suite, the first thing Darcy noticed was the music. The display on the stereo told her it was Birdy. And then there was champagne on ice and the roses. Had to be three dozen. Long stem, black-red, in full bloom and fragrant. There’d been flowers when she’d arrived as well, but nothing like this extravagance. No card, but no guesses needed.
    She should pack, but a rainwater shower or another soak in the bath would be fantastic. She could ring for her butler, and he’d have to take a direct instruction to get her a new room. She should go, because the suite was so deeply seductive it did something to her sense of propriety. She should run screaming, because the idea of dressing up for Tara and then letting him strip her was so far beyond seductive as to be insanity.
    She stood over the bath. It was the size of her eleven year old Honda Civic hatch, but her ordinary room would no doubt have running water. In the dressing room she searched for her wheelie bag. Packing would take five minutes, clearing the room another two. Check-out time on the suite was now. She could be safely back in her comfort zone and unpacked again before Tara arrived.
    In the other room Birdy had given way to Missy Higgins. The songstress sang about unashamed desire and having nothing to hide. Darcy went back to the bathroom and ran the bath. Even with the taps running full bore, that bath would take a while to fill up, but suddenly there was no hurry.
    The dress was one of those you could wear to a casual lunch, or dress up with hair, heels and jewellery for evening. With her hair out, with the flat heels and no bling she’d look cool and collected, but not like she’d tried too hard.
    Not that she need to try for this man. He’d probably be happy if she wore the hotel robe. He’d wanted her rumpled, and needing a shower and a toothbrush after a ten hour flight in her comfy jeans, a t-shirt from Target, and his three sizes too big jacket.
    But he made her nervous. That blend of nervous carved out of excitement, anticipation and anxiety. And fear.
    He’d want to take her to bed tonight. She’d let him, but what did that make her, lucky or the dictionary definition of a