Honeymoon Island

by Marjorie Lewty

  The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then Guy said, 'I promise to look after her, James.'

  James's broad face suddenly broke into a smile. 'You'd damn well better, or I'll probably knock your head off!' He held out a large hand. 'Congratulations,' he said. 'You've got yourself a grand girl.'

  'I know it.' Guy took the hand that was offered.

  He was a good actor, Lucie thought with contempt, and her mind went back to the times she had watched her father manipulating his business associates. Putting on the charm when there was something he wanted. Guy was working on James now in just the same way, and she could see the charm beginning to take effect. She had a crazy wish to warn him, to yell, 'Don't believe a word of it, Jimmy, he's just getting you on his side because he thinks you might be useful to him. Because he knows you mean a lot to me. Because for some reason he thinks he wants to marry me—probably because he thinks I'm young enough for him to mould into the kind of wife he wants. Nothing to do with love, of course.'

  She sank into a chair, her head spinning. What was she thinking of? How could she possibly warn James against Guy, the man who was going to save James's company—possibly also his marriage? For the first time, she was going to have to deceive James, to lie to him. And even though it was in his own interest, it hurt to have to do it. She put a hand to her lips, which were still burning after Guy's almost brutal assault on them. If he could kiss her like that here, in her brother's presence, how would he behave when he got her alone in a bedroom? She remembered the night in the Paris garden and felt a shudder pass through her.

  'Don't you think so, Lucie?'

  'Mm?' She tried to drag her attention back to what Guy had just said. 'Sorry, I'm afraid—'

  'Poor little girl, you're fagged out.' Guy drew her against him and rubbed his cheek gently against her hair. 'We won't talk any more tonight, James. Perhaps you'll come to my office in the morning and we can make provisional plans to tide us over the next few weeks.' He glanced around the room. 'Will you be OK here for tonight? I expect you'll appreciate a good sleep to get over the journey and the jet-lag. I'll take Lucie along with me and look after her, if that's all right with you.'

  He didn't wait for James to reply. He picked up Lucie's travelling bag, which was still sitting beside the door, where she had left it. 'Come along, darling.' He held out a hand to her.

  Oh no, you don't, Lucie thought. I'm not your slave yet, Mr Guy Devereux. You can wait until we're married before you start giving orders! She smiled sweetly at him. 'Sorry, darling, I can't leave yet. I want to get James a meal first. He can have the bedroom I had when I arrived, but I must put clean sheets on the bed and—'

  It was James who interrupted. 'Lucie love, don't fuss, there's a good girl. I couldn't eat a thing, all I want is somewhere to lie down and sleep, and I couldn't care less about sheets—or no sheets, for that matter.' He tried to grin, but it was a poor effort and she saw that he did, indeed, look tired to death.

  'Well, if you're sure—' She still hovered uneasily. Where did Guy intend to take her, and what would he want of her?

  'I'm quite sure,' James almost groaned, and it was plain that he couldn't wait for her to go. 'Good night, Lucie, see you in the morning.'

  She kissed him. 'Good night, Jimmy dear, there's food in the kitchen if you want anything, and the maid will be here in the morning and—'

  Guy took her arm and urged her out of the room.

  'You heard what the man said, don't fuss, there's a good girl.' He was laughing at her as he led her out of the room and almost pushed her into his car. He slung her bag on the back seat and drove away with a roar of the powerful engine. It sounded to Lucie like a flourish of triumph.

  She sat stiffly on the passenger seat. 'Where are you taking me? To your hotel?'

  The car reached the road and swung out to the left, away from Georgetown and the hotel. 'No, I've checked out there. We're going to a condo, further along Seven Mile Beach—belongs to a friend of mine, Derek Hatt, who isn't using it just now.'

  'Oh.' Lucie kept her eyes straight in front of her. The hood of the convertible was down and the cool breeze blew through her hair, flicking it over her eyes. The headlights shone whitely on the lush greenery along the road and the sky above was dark and moonless. A beautiful night, a beautiful place, a place to be enjoyed, and here she was—unhappy and guilty and darkly apprehensive about the turn that her life had taken. She stole a glance at the man beside her, and was disturbingly conscious of the hard body inside the light jacket. Oh God, she groaned inwardly, what have I let myself in for?

  'Wait in the car for a few minutes,' Guy instructed her when the car arrived at its destination. 'I have to pick up the key from the next-door apartment.'

  Lucie looked at the spread of low buildings dotted about among the palm-trees. Lights glowed from the windows, illuminating lawns, swimming-pool, balconies. One condo in Grand Cayman was much the same as another, she remembered. All expensive, luxurious, made for people with a life-style that she had rejected. A life-style that, it seemed, she was going to have to accept again—for a time at least. And the shorter the time the better. But what was two years, she tried to persuade herself, out of a whole life? James had done so much for her, surely she could do this for him without grouching.

  Guy's tall form loomed out of the shadows. 'Derek said on the phone that they'd left here only last week,' he said, putting the key in the lock, 'so things should be in reasonable order.'

  He switched on all the lights and went back to the car for Lucie's bag and his own. Then he made another journey and returned bearing two large bulging carrier bags. 'I took the precaution of laying in some provisions for us.'

  Lucie followed him into the immaculate kitchen-all silver-grey and chromium—and watched while he unloaded his purchases. Bread, butter, exotic salads in white plastic containers, more containers with made-up delicacies, a colourful selection of fruit and two bottles of wine. 'This should do us for tonight,' he said. 'Are you hungry? I am.'

  'Not very,' she said distantly. 'The maid brought me some turtle stew, earlier this evening. It was delicious.' She didn't tell him that she had thrown most of it away.

  'Oh well, you can watch me eat,' Guy said cheerfully. 'I rather fancy one of these pizzas. Stick one in the microwave, will you, Lucie, while I make some coffee.'

  She looked at the intimidating appliance on the worktop and the battery of coloured touch-pads seemed to leer back at her. 'I can't use one of these things,' she said.

  'Not use a microwave? A fine wife you're going to make!' He was laughing at her.

  She tilted her chin. 'Perhaps you'd like to change your mind, then?'

  He stripped the packing film from the pizza. 'I think not,' he said. 'I don't choose a wife on the grounds of her cooking ability. I have other activities in mind for you, my girl.'

  The vibrant blue eyes passed over her, seeming to strip her of her cotton dress, and she felt the heat rising to her cheeks. For a long moment their glances met and held, and it was as if she were going down in a lift.

  Then, abruptly, Guy pushed the pizza in the little oven, closed the door and manipulated the touch-pads. 'Look,' he said, 'I'll show you how this works. It's one of the latest—trust old Derek for that, he's a push-over for technology. Now, this is the mode you use when you want to cook or heat pastry. You touch this pad—'

  Lucie wasn't listening. She was acutely aware of him, standing close beside her to demonstrate. As he leaned towards the microwave oven she could feel his breath on her cheek, smell the cologne he used on his thick, smooth hair. His arm, in its thin shirt, brushed against her bare arm, sending tremors shooting through her. She felt weak and breathless as the man's sexual magnetism tugged at her.

  'You see how it works?' He turned his head and she stared back at him with glazed eyes.

  His own eyes dilated slightly. 'Lucie?' The dark brows went up.

  She couldn't speak or move. When his arms went round her and his mout
h touched hers she was lost in a new world of sensation. She closed her eyes and her lips parted to his, then a slow burning started low down and began to spread over her body as his hands moved downwards from her waist, drawing her against him. Thrill after thrill rippled through her, leaving her limbs weak and shaking. These were the sensations she had half glimpsed that night in the garden in Paris, but she had been so young, so inexperienced then, and her own rush of desire had terrified her.

  'Oh God, Lucie—' Guy's voice came brokenly as he buried his mouth in the hollow of her neck and for a moment they stood locked together as he held her tightly against him as if he were staunching a wound.

  Then, abruptly, he released her and turned away. Lucie had to hang on to the edge of the worktop to steady herself. She was dazed and quite unable to think; all she wanted was to be back in his arms.

  When he looked round at her his face was wry. That wasn't on the agenda,' he said. 'Not at this stage of the proceedings. And there isn't any rose-bed for you to push me into here, so I was taking an unfair advantage.'

  Five bleeps came from the microwave oven and Guy opened the door and took out the pizza. 'I've no intention of apologising for a perfectly normal little incident,' he said, and it occurred to Lucie that he was probably mistaking her stunned silence for angry resentment. 'Anyway, I'm hungry.'

  He found cutlery and set a knife and fork on the breakfast bar, opened a pack of butter and sliced a crusty loaf. Then, without further ado, he sat down and began to eat.

  Lucie stood transfixed, feeling like a zombie, mindless and will-less. A perfectly normal little incident, he had said. Well, it probably was—for him. For the first time she wished she had taken time off from her resolute dedication to her art to learn more about men and what to expect from them. She was painfully at a loss with a man like Guy Devereux.

  She searched desperately for something to say and her eyes went to the pizza, adorned with mushrooms and colourful bits of this and that, which was fast disappearing. 'I think I'm hungry after all,' she said in a very small voice.

  Guy looked up with a grin and waved his fork towards the packet of pizzas. 'Help yourself. Pop one on the oven tray and time it five minutes on high speed.'

  Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the living-room of the apartment with a tray of coffee between them on a low table.

  'I feel much more like a human being now.' Guy leaned back in a big, cushiony chair, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. 'It's been quite a day, one way and another. But the ending of the day makes up for the rest of it.'

  Lucie sipped her coffee and said nothing. Indeed, she had hardly spoken since that shattering moment when she had found herself in Guy's arms.

  'I mean,' he said, 'that it's good to have crossed one hurdle.'

  'Hurdle?' she murmured.

  He smiled, that narrowed, piercing blue smile. 'Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I mean you've finally had to admit to yourself that you're not exactly immune to my—er—alluring charms.'

  'Have I?' she said woodenly. So she had been wrong, he had known what was happening to her, damn him. He had known how much she wanted to relax and respond to his kisses.

  'My sweet, I wish you'd get out of the habit of batting questions back at me like ping-pong balls. It doesn't make for interesting conversation.'

  'I don't particularly want to converse with you.'

  'No? Well, I want to be able to converse with you. You're an intelligent girl, and I'm not the kind of man who expects to live quite all his married life in bed, you know.' There was a certain sharpness in his tone.

  Lucie winced painfully. Oh God, why had she given him a chance of humiliating her like this? Why couldn't she have smacked his face as she had done that night in Paris? But what would have been the good of that, she thought, she was going to marry him. Of her own free will she had laid herself open to any taunt he cared to throw at her. Which wasn't to say that she couldn't fight back. She would have to gather all her strength and her wits together, otherwise he would walk all over her, as her father had done.

  'I'm glad to hear that,' she said stiffly. 'I've never believed that marriage begins and ends in bed.'

  'I'd like ours to begin there, anyway.' Guy poured himself a whisky from a decanter he had found in a drinks cupboard. 'And talking of our marriage, I want it to take place as soon as possible. I expect your brother will have to get back to England soon after the funeral, but it would be nice if he could stay long enough to see us married. I don't imagine there'll be much difficulty in getting a licence, I'm pretty well known around these parts. I'll get in touch with the official concerned tomorrow.'

  Lucie glared at him. 'Haven't you forgotten something? I don't remember you asking me what I wanted. As a matter of fact I would prefer to wait until we get back to England.'

  'You fancy a white church wedding with all the trimmings?' he mocked.

  'Certainly not. If I took marriage vows in church it would be because I loved my husband and intended to keep those vows. In the circumstances I would agree only to a civil wedding. But I won't be rushed into it.'

  'Won't?' he said gently, raising his eyebrows. 'Don't forget you're not exactly in a position to dictate terms, my love. What I say goes, and I say we're going to be married as soon as possible. I shall have to stay in the Caymans for a while; there's a lot of work to be got through here, your father's companies are all registered here and the bank's lawyer will be coming out presently. It will be more convenient if you're my wife.'

  Suddenly Lucie's mind became very clear. She saw that until this minute she had acted on impulse. Her first need had been to save James from what seemed to be a break-up of his whole life. Now she was beginning to appreciate fully what she was letting herself in for if she married Guy Devereux.

  He was arrogant, hard, domineering, high-handed, and his life was devoted to the soulless task of manipulating money. In short, he was everything that she disliked most in a man. She had to admit, after what had just happened in the kitchen, that he disturbed her physically, but that made it even worse, would put her even more in his power.

  Guy put down his glass and sauntered across the room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him leaning nonchalantly against the window-frame, arms folded, watching her. This was a trial of strength between them and would set the pattern for their future relationship—if there was going to be one.

  It's not too late, she thought, I could tell him I'd decided not to go through with it. I never promised to marry him. He took it for granted because of what he overheard me saying to James. I could refuse his blackmail even now. Perhaps (a small, tempting voice murmured) it would even be wrong to interfere with James's life. Perhaps she should let him take his own knocks. But—bankruptcy? And his marriage?

  And the little girls? And the prospect of the Martin name being splashed all over the sensational dailies?

  'Well?' The intense blue gaze was fixed on her relentlessly.

  She lifted her chin a fraction. She said, 'I should warn you that I shan't be a submissive wife, if that's what you're expecting. I will keep the contract in the letter, but I can't promise to keep it in the spirit. If you still want to marry me and will keep your promise about James's company, then I agree to marry you when and where you decide.'

  'Good,' he said briskly. 'I'm sure we're going to get on splendidly. And now, if you've finished your coffee, I mustn't keep you from your bed any longer. We'll have a look at the bedroom accommodation, shall we?'

  Lucie's heart began to beat painfully as he led the way round the luxury apartment. 'Three bedrooms,' he said finally. 'That's OK. Derek says we can have the place for up to a month—they won't be coming back themselves just yet.'

  'The small room at the back will do me splendidly,' she said, wishing she could keep her voice steady.

  'Oh, I don't think so.' Guy carried her travelling bag into the largest room of the three and put it down on the double bed. 'We can do better than that f
or you. You can lie here and look out at the sea.'

  She passed her tongue over her dry lips. 'I don't really need a room this size all to myself.'

  He stood beside the door regarding her under thick dark lashes. 'What exactly are you trying to tell me?'

  That I'm scared stiff, she wanted to say. That the whole situation terrifies me. She had begun to shake uncontrollably. 'I—I—' she stammered.

  He came across the room and put his hands on her shoulders, and at his touch she jumped like a startled rabbit. 'Don't worry, Lucie,' he said quite gently. 'I'm not about to ravish you, if that's what you're afraid of. You can have the main bedroom all to yourself, until we're married. Then I shall expect to be allowed to share it with you, is that understood?'

  'Yes,' she whispered.

  'James can join us here tomorrow, there's plenty of room for all three of us and you'll have an excellent chaperon,' he added with that touch of irony that she had come to expect. 'Now I suggest that you go to bed and get a good night's sleep. I've got a lot of paperwork to get through before I turn in. Goodnight, Lucie.' He touched her cheek briefly and went out.

  Lucie looked at the closed door and felt that she had been dismissed. She was relieved that he had left her alone, of course she was, she assured herself. It was only her feminine pride that made her feel this odd sense of disappointment.

  The days that followed had the feeling of a dream, sometimes events crowding in on each other, and then long intervals when Lucie was alone with her fears and doubts about the future. It was the waiting that was so nerve-racking, having no idea what the future would hold: where she would live, and what life-style would be expected of her. All the things an engaged couple should be discussing constantly were a closed book to her. Guy made no attempt to speak of their future together and Lucie would rather have died than ask him.

  She bought pencils and paper in Georgetown and tried to make preliminary sketches for her next book, but the urge had gone. Most of the time she sat on the patio trying to read, or just lay back and let the heat of the sun soak into her. She couldn't bring herself to swim in the sea alone, but there was a fresh-water pool in the grounds of the condo complex, and she swam there now and again and made friends with some of the children staying in the neighbouring apartments. One or two of her new neighbours made friendly overtures, but she smiled and thanked them and refused their invitations to join their parties on outings or picnics or for drinks, and after a day or two they took the hint and left her alone.