by Anne Mather
But before he could make any response, Cleo said awkwardly, ‘I don’t think we’ve ever talked about that—er—Jacob.’ She refused to call him ‘Grandfather’ in front of all these people, even if that was the way she was beginning to think of him. ‘I certainly don’t think this is the time or the place—’
‘Nonsense!’ But Jacob seemed to realise he’d embarrassed her and he patted her hand reassuringly. ‘We’ll leave it for now.’ He glanced round. ‘Now where’s Luella with the canapés? I told her I wanted them serving as soon as all the guests had arrived.’
There was a significant relaxing of the atmosphere as Jacob got determinedly to his feet. Refusing the help of either his grandson or his granddaughter, he stomped off towards the buffet tables that were set up beneath a sheltering canopy.
Catching Cleo’s eye, Dominic realised that she was more upset by what had happened than either himself or Sarah. He was used to his grandfather’s blunt way of speaking, but Cleo wasn’t, and, detaching himself from Sarah’s clinging hands, he said, ‘Come on. I’ll get us all a drink.’ He nodded towards Cleo’s glass. ‘Is that a pina colada?’
‘This?’ Cleo was taken aback. ‘Um—no. It’s just pineapple juice,’ she said, aware of Sarah’s displeasure at this turn of events. ‘And I don’t need another drink, thank you.’
‘Well, I do,’ said Dominic flatly. And before he’d given any thought to his actions, he’d gripped Cleo’s elbow with a decisive hand and turned her towards the bar set up beside the swimming pool.
He regretted it instantly. He hadn’t forgotten how soft her skin was, or erased the memory of her scent, that tonight was a mixture of musk and spice and some tropical fragrance. But he had blanked it from his mind.
Now, however, it was back, more potent than before.
The side of her breast was so warm and sexy against his suddenly moist fingers. And if she was wearing a bra, it was doing little to hide the way her nipples had peaked and were pressing unrestrainedly against the thin fabric of her dress.
Oh, God!
His arousal was as painful as it was inappropriate. With Sarah—the girl he’d brought to the party, dammit—following closely behind, he had no right to be feeling as if the ground was shifting beneath his feet.
Yet it was. And, heaven knew, he wanted to touch Cleo. Not as he was touching her now, but privately, intimately. To bury his hands in her silky hair and bury another part of his body—that was hot and hard and pulsing with life—in some place equally soft, but tight and wet as well.
He wondered if she’d heard his hoarse intake of breath, the surely audible pounding of his heart. She must have felt his fingers tightening almost involuntarily, because she turned to look at him, her eyes almost as wide and elemental as his own.
He abruptly let her go, surging ahead to where a handful of waiters tended the comprehensive array of drinks his grandfather had provided.
‘Scotch,’ he said without hesitation. ‘No. No ice. Just as it is.’ Then he raised the single malt to his lips and swallowed half of it before turning to address the two girls.
Cleo was wishing she’d accompanied her grandfather, after all. She was far too aware of Dominic, far too conscious of the fact that in other circumstances she wouldn’t have wanted him to let her go.
Everything about him disturbed her: from the lean, muscular strength of his body to the intensely masculine perfume of his skin.
When he’d taken her arm, his heat had surrounded her. The hardness of his fingers gripping her arm had felt almost possessive. She’d wanted to rub herself against him, like a cat that was wholly sensitive to his touch.
She still felt that way, she thought unsteadily, and then had to compose herself when Sarah caught her gaze. Was the other woman aware that Dominic was a fallen angel? That beneath his enigmatic exterior beat the heart of a rogue male?
‘How long do you expect to stay on the island?’
Sarah got straight to the point and Cleo told herself she was grateful.
‘I—Just a few more days,’ she said, aware that she’d lowered her voice in the hope that Dominic wouldn’t hear her.
‘Oh…’ Sarah looked slightly taken aback. But pleased, Cleo thought. Perhaps she’d expected a more aggressive kind of response.
Though why should she? She and Dominic had looked very much a couple when they’d arrived tonight.
‘So you’re not planning on making your home here?’
Sarah was persistent, and Cleo wished she could just leave her and Dominic to sort out their own problems.
‘Not at the moment,’ she replied at last, not wanting to say anything to offend her grandfather. But she was grateful when someone else attracted Sarah’s attention.
She didn’t really dislike the girl, she assured herself. It was just that they had nothing in common.
Except Dominic…
‘Here!’
She was forced to look at him again when Dominic took her drink from her and thrust another glass into her hand.
‘What is this?’ she protested, managing to instil a convincing edge of indignation in her voice. ‘I said I didn’t want another drink.’ She sniffed suspiciously. ‘Ugh—this is alcoholic!’
‘Damn right,’ agreed Dominic, finishing his own drink and turning to ask the waiter for a refill. ‘This is supposed to be a celebration. You can’t celebrate with a pineapple juice and soda.’
‘Who says?’ Cleo leant past him to replace the glass on the table that was serving as a bar, intensely aware of him beside her. She cast a nervous glance behind her. ‘I wonder where your grandfather is. I think I ought to go and find him.’
Dominic sucked in a breath. Her bare arm had brushed along his midriff as she deposited the glass and he felt as if someone had scorched him with a burning knife.
‘Don’t,’ he said barely audibly, his voice rough with emotion. ‘The old man knows what he’s doing.’ He blew out a tortured breath that seared along her hairline. ‘God knows, I wish I did.’
Startled eyes lifted to his, liquid dark eyes that Dominic felt he could have happily drowned in.
‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, a catch in her breathing, and his hard-on threatened to drag him to his knees.
You do, his eyes accused her. But then Sarah was beside them, and Cleo hurriedly made good her escape.
Chapter Eight
CLEO walked along the shoreline in the coolness of early morning.
It was barely light and, apart from a few seabirds, she was alone on the beach.
All the guests had left in the early hours. They’d stayed much longer than she’d expected, particularly as her grandfather had retired soon after midnight.
In his absence, Serena had done her best to provide entertainment for their guests. Earlier in the evening, a group of West Indian musicians had arrived, and although Cleo had anticipated a lot of noisy percussion, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
These musicians used their steel drums to produce melodic liquid sounds that played on the senses as well as the mind. Rippling chords of magic that filled any awkward silences with rhythm and enchantment.
The area around the pool had been cleared and there’d been some dancing. But, even though Cleo had danced with a couple of Jacob’s friends, she’d avoided the younger men like the plague.
The last thing she needed was for these people—who probably neither liked her nor trusted her—to get the idea that she was like her mother. She didn’t know much about Celeste, of course. Only what her grandfather had told her. But nothing could alter the fact that she’d had an affair with a married man.
Her employer, no less.
She supposed, from the Montoyas’ point of view, the evening had been a success. She’d been introduced to San Clemente society, and Jacob’s intentions towards her had been made plain for all to see.
But they were wrong.
There’d been a subtle change in the atmosphere after her grandfather had retired. No one had been ru
But it wasn’t her fault that her father had seduced her mother, she told herself fiercely. And if they had fallen in love…
She had made sure she’d kept out of Dominic’s way. And with Sarah constantly at his side, it hadn’t been too difficult. Besides, with talk of a possible wedding on everyone’s lips, she’d had little to contribute.
She’d wondered a couple of times if Sarah was speaking more loudly for her benefit. She was obviously suspicious of Cleo, and she and Dominic’s mother seemed to have a lot in common.
Whatever, Cleo had been glad to leave the party herself at about 2 a.m. She hadn’t been tired, exactly, but she’d definitely had enough of being treated like the skeleton at the feast.
Now it was a little before six, and she’d left the house with a feeling of deliverance. She’d wanted to get away; not just from Magnolia Hill, but from her thoughts.
The tide was coming in. The cool water brushed against her toes, and Cleo kicked off her sandals and allowed the waves to swirl about her feet.
She’d been mad to come down to the beach in high-heeled wedges anyway. But then, she was still wearing the dress she’d worn the evening before. Having spent the last three hours lying sleepless on her bed, it had seemed like too much trouble to change.
She’d stopped to examine the pearly spiral of a conch shell when she felt the distinct vibration of footsteps on the sand.
Lifting her head, she saw a man approaching, his profile still indistinct in the morning half-light. He was some distance away, but he was running in her direction. Long legs pumping rhythmically, arms swinging to match his muscular pace.
It looked like Dominic, but it couldn’t be him. He had brought Sarah to the party. It was a cinch he’d taken her home. To his home, if she was any judge of the other girl’s intentions, thought Cleo ruefully. There was no way he’d have stayed at Magnolia Hill.
But it was Dominic!
As he drew nearer, Cleo recognised his height and his muscular build. Broad shoulders, narrow hips and a tight butt, she conceded reluctantly. Outlined to perfection in black Lycra shorts.
He obviously enjoyed running, judging by the damp patches on his black cotton vest, and the streams of perspiration running down his chest. Despite the fact that she’d had no sleep, her adrenalin kicked up another notch.
‘Hi.’ Dominic slowed as he reached her, his eyes taking in the fact that she hadn’t changed from what she’d been wearing the night before. ‘Going somewhere special?’
Cleo’s chin jutted. She wouldn’t allow him to make fun of her. ‘I haven’t been to bed,’ she said, as if that wasn’t already obvious. ‘I’m sorry. Is that a problem for you?’
Privately Dominic thought it was one hell of a problem, judging from the way he reacted to her. But after last evening’s fiasco, he was determined to keep things simple.
‘Not for me,’ he said, bending forward and bracing himself with his hands on his knees to avoid looking at her. He was uncomfortably aware that his quickened heartbeat was as much mentally as physically induced.
But eventually, he had to straighten. ‘So,’ he said evenly, ‘did you enjoy the party? I seem to remember the guest of honour disappeared.’
Cleo forced herself to look at the horizon. The faintest trace of pink was brushing the ocean and she pretended an interest in the view. ‘I wasn’t the guest of honour,’ she said tensely. ‘Or if I was, your guests didn’t know it.’
Dominic scowled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? What did they say to you?’
‘Oh—nothing.’
Cleo wished she hadn’t started this. Not when he was standing so close that the heat of his body enveloped her in its spell. She could smell his sweat; smell him; and her mouth was suddenly as dry as parchment. Even her legs felt unsteady as she met his accusing gaze.
‘Forget it,’ she said, trying to behave naturally. ‘Why aren’t you at—what was it you called your house—Pelican Bay?’ She paused, and then added brightly, ‘Did Sarah stay over as well?’
Dominic ignored her question. ‘I want to know what’s upset you,’ he said. ‘Did my mother say something? Did Sarah?’
‘Heavens, no.’ Cleo spread her hands, not allowing herself to look at him again. ‘But, let’s face it, your guests didn’t just come to be polite. They were—curious. About me.’
Dominic stifled a groan. ‘They were curious, sure—’
‘I rest my case.’ Cleo permitted herself another brief glance in his direction. ‘Curious—and suspicious. They think I want Jacob’s money!’ She made a sound of disgust. ‘If they only knew!’
‘Only knew what?’
Dominic’s hand reached for her bare arm and instantly her skin felt as if he’d burned her. The pain that flared in the pit of her stomach was purely sexual, its fiery tendrils spreading down both her legs.
She knew an urgent need to press herself against him, to allow the fever smouldering inside her to take control. But no matter how sorry he was, how sympathetic, he could do nothing physically to ease her pain.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, stepping back from him, breaking his hold, and Dominic raked frustrated fingers though his hair.
But it was just as well one of them had some sense, he conceded, even if he could have done without her conscience asserting itself right now.
He felt the ache between his legs, glanced down and saw the unmistakable swell of his erection. What did this woman do to him? he wondered. One touch and his body took control.
‘I think you’re exaggerating people’s reactions,’ he said harshly, in an effort to ground himself. But even to his own ears, his voice was edged with strain.
‘Well, I don’t want your grandfather’s money,’ she said. ‘So tell that to whoever’s prepared to listen. I’ll be leaving here in a few days anyway. Then it won’t matter either way.’
Dominic stared at her with anguished eyes. Dammit, he didn’t want to see her go. But to tell her that would be madness. He wasn’t interested in making that kind of commitment, to her or anyone else.
He had to put any thought of a relationship between them out of his mind…
With a muffled oath, he abandoned any attempt to reason with her. Turning, he plunged into the water, hoping against hope that the ocean would ease his mangled emotions.
Cleo’s lips parted in astonishment when she saw what he was doing. Dominic had gone into the water still wearing his vest and shorts. Was he mad or simply reckless? Why did it matter so much what he did?
She stared after him, watching as he struck out strongly into the current. The weight of his clothes didn’t appear to hamper his progress, but she was anxious just the same.
Allowing herself to tread a little deeper into the shallows, she wished she had the nerve to do something reckless. And as the salty water swirled about her ankles, she could feel the erratic beating of her heart.
Dominic had almost disappeared. His head appeared only fleetingly above the waves. She prayed he knew what he was doing. That he had the sense to know when to turn back.
A thin line of gold was fringing the horizon now, and in the growing light she saw—much to her relief—that he was swimming back to shore. She envied him his skill, the strength with which his arms attacked the waves and defeated them. He looked like a dark, powerful predator moving through the water, and she knew if she had any sense she’d be long gone before he reached the beach.
But still she waited.
Dominic reached the shallows and, pushing himself to his feet, he walked towards her. He was dripping water everywhere, from his hair, from his arms, from his legs. Even from his lashes as he blinked to clear his gaze.
Pushing his hair back with both hands, he caught Cleo’s gaze and held it. He knew she’d been watching him, had felt her staring at him, even with so many yards of ocean between them. And, as her eyes dropped down his body, he realised his swim had done nothing to kill his lust.
With a feeling of inevitability, he closed the gap between them. Then, before she could do anything to stop him, he reached out and jerked her into his arms.
His mouth found hers and it was just as sweet and lush and hot as he had imagined. His tongue licked, probed, seeking and finding entry. And she opened to him eagerly, it seemed, welcoming his invasion.
Cleo’s world spun. To try and steady herself, she clutched his hips above the cropped waistband of his shorts. And found smooth muscled flesh, narrow bones that moved beneath her fingers. Raw, uncontrolled passion in the way his body ground against hers.
‘Cleo!’
She heard his strangled groan as if from a distance. But whatever protest it might have signalled made little difference to his urgent assault on her emotions.
His tongue mated with hers, velvet-soft and undeniably sexual. Cleo felt as if she was drowning in sensation, the will to keep a hold on her senses as fleeting as the clouds that briefly veiled the sun.
Dominic deepened the kiss, his hands slipping the narrow straps of her dress off her shoulders. He seemed to delight in the silky smoothness of her olive-toned skin.
As the thin fabric dropped away, Cleo made a futile attempt to stop it. Drawing back from his kiss, she gazed at him wildly, her breathing as uneven as her pounding heartbeat.
‘Let me,’ Dominic insisted, removing her fingers. And, as the dress fell to her waist, he cupped her breasts in his eager hands.
His thumbs rubbed abrasively over the tender dusky nipples. They were already tight, he saw, and swollen with need. Then, dropping onto his knees in front of her, he let the dress fall about her ankles. He apparently didn’t care that it was now as wet as he was. Instead, he buried his face against her quivering mound.
Cleo’s legs shook. Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to think coherently, let alone push him away. She was naked, but for the lacy thong that Norah had assured her was all she needed under the flimsy chiffon. And when Dominic licked her navel, she let out a trembling cry.
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