Sweet Seduction

by Whitelaw, Stella

  "Yes," said Benjamin. "I’ve always dreamed of living somewhere special. Not a traditional great house like Sugar Hill or Farley House, but something so different people will stop and stare."

  "They’ll certainly stop and stare at this," said Dolly, stepping carefully over the piles of rubble. "It looks like a castle, a fairy pink castle."

  "Careful. The stone mason’s chippings are sharp. You might cut your feet."

  Dolly looked at Benjamin with interest. People didn’t care if she hurt herself. She often fell from things. He was older but he had a nice face, pleasant and easy-going with sea-faring eyes. Not handsome like Reuben. Nor was Benjamin tall. He was lean and wiry, his thatch of hair bleached by the sun.

  The coral stone was a rich shade of pink that would soften with time. The house was already built to the first floor, a sweeping flight of steps leading up to the front door and veranda.

  "What are these?" she asked, running her hand over half-finished animal and bird shapes that stood about.

  "Statues. They’re supposed to be lions and eagles but the stone mason has never seen a lion or an eagle. He’s doing the work from pictures."

  Dolly laughed and the sound rang out like music. "They are so funny," she said. "They don’t look anything like eagles and lions."

  "Don’t tell him they’re funny," said Benjamin, unable to take his eyes from her face.

  "Of course not, silly. I would never hurt anyone’s feelings."

  "I know that," he said, watching her closely. "That’s why I care for you so much."

  "Don’t say that," said Dolly, suddenly panicking. "I haven’t said anything. I haven’t agreed. Look, I’ve only come to see your house."

  "I know that. I won’t push you into anything. I’m glad that you’ve come. I wanted you to see what I’m building for you."

  Benjamin reached for her hand but Dolly was already skipping away, her interest taken by something else.

  * * *

  The meal arrived and it was delicious. Giles was right. The chef cooked fish to perfection.

  "I’m glad to see that your appetite has returned," said Giles, as Kira picked at the decorative design of sliced fruit and vegetables of the side salad. "You had a mere sparrow’s breakfast this morning. In fact the sparrows ate more than you. I was beginning to think you were one of those women who are always on a diet. You are far too thin, all bones."

  "I’ve always been this slim," she lied.

  It was not true. The weight had fallen off her since Valentine’s Day. It was one way to lose weight but not to be recommended. She went quiet. The aching place inside the halls of her head hardened into a knot of pain. Her mind was a cage, lost in a prison of her own making.

  "Thin, I said, not slim."

  Their eyes locked across the table. Kira could not fathom the message in those dark, glinting nuggets of ocean blue. It was more than a casual interest. A burning look as if he was striving to imprint his authority on her. Cinderella never had to cope with that kind of look from Prince Charming as they waltzed around the ballroom floor. Not that Kira could waltz any more. She loved dancing but dancing was out.

  Giles was even on her wavelength.

  "So, how come the limp?" he asked briskly. "Some irate client trip you up on the way out of a high-powered board meeting?"

  "Do you always ask so many personal questions?" Kira was bewitched by the music.

  "No, only when I like someone. Then I want to know all about them. You are a mass of contradictions. One minute angry and the next sensitive and upset. Sometimes you act the efficient businesswoman, then in a flash you are a lonely little girl. Kira, you intrigue me. I want to know what the real Kira Reed is like," he said evenly. "And I’d like to understand you."

  "That’s an unlikely event," Kira heard herself saying. "I doubt if I shall ever see you again after tonight. There’ll be no reason."

  His eyes narrowed and his tone became intolerant and patronising. He was gauging her reaction.

  "But what if I offer you a research job connected with my sugar plantation? Would that tempt you to stay around? I’d pay well. Somehow I want to find a way to melt the snow that surrounds your heart," he added.

  A young woman stopped by their table, her pixie face full of mischief. She was wearing a skimpy red satin dress with narrow straps, her dark hair tumbling on her shoulders. She put her arms possessively round Giles’s shoulders.

  "Hello, I thought it was you, Giles. So this is where you eat these days. I thought you had given up civilised eating for the casual beach life. Coconuts and figs."

  "Don’t exaggerate, because you are always in bed when I leave Sugar Hill." Giles stifled a sigh. "This is Lace, my sister. Twenty-five, going on barely twelve."

  "He’s so hunky, isn’t he?" Lace went on, helping herself to a strawberry from his plate. "I wonder how long you’ll last. No woman lasts long with Giles. He’s a workaholic, you see. No female can compete with the plantation or Sugar Hill."

  "Kira may be coming to work for me," said Giles dryly.

  "Kira?" Lace was already losing interest. "What an unusual name!"

  "It’s Russian," said Kira.

  "Oh, you’re a foreigner. That’s the attraction. Giles likes something different," said Lace, her hand going to Giles’s glass of wine. He stopped her. "Don’t be mean, Giles. Just a sip."

  "I think you’ve already had more than a sip. Go back to your friends."

  "We’re going dancing," said Lace to Kira. "Do you want to come with us?"

  "No, thank you," said Giles, answering for her. "We’re not in the mood for dancing."

  "Then what are you in the mood for?" she laughed as she walked away, swaying to the music. "Or would that be telling, big brother?"

  Eleven

  "Take no notice of Lace," said Giles. "She enjoys being a pain. It’s her main hobby."

  "Perhaps she needs a job to keep her occupied."

  "She’d never arrive on time. She’s not like you. You’re probably a nine-to-five slave driver."

  "It would depend on which slave I was driving," said Kira.

  Giles had many advantages over her. He was one of the plantocracy. He owned a plantation and a sugar factory and a great house. He probably owned another chain of businesses she knew nothing about. He would be the kind of person who would invest his money and time in local enterprises.

  She was an emotionally-adrift secretary with big ideas that had not yet taken shape, but she knew she was not destined to pound a keyboard for the rest of her working life. There had to be more to life than that for Kira. She was never going to be as short of money or worn out as Tamara, her mother.

  "So what do you think of doing some research for me?"

  "That also depends on the area of research. It has to be realistic. You could be contriving some light-weight problem with no spine to it, simply because you don’t think I’m capable of real work."

  Giles gave a short laugh and spiked a slice of mango. "Surely you give me more credit? There would be nothing in it for me. You’ve made that clear enough. No, this is a genuine piece of research that I want, and I need it done accurately and efficiently. It also has to be completed fast. I’ve been waiting long enough for the information."

  Kira felt as if she was drowning in gallons of black molasses. Work for Giles? It would be like treading a minefield.

  A flicker of impatience crossed his face. He would be a formidable person to work for. Kira did not know if she could cope with the day-to-day contact.

  He cut in abruptly. "Make up your mind, woman. We’re up to our necks in problems, not the least of which is the falling world consumption of sugar. We have an enormous capital investment in the sugar refining factories and a large workforce in the fields. Fortunately for Barbados, sugar is not only stirred in tea and sprinkled on cornflakes. The health gurus of the Western world have given us the calorific thumbs-down, but our sugar still goes into the making of excellent rum. Barbados fine and mellow rum is the best on the mar
ket."

  "Alcohol."

  "Don’t be a puritan. World-famous."

  "What do you want researched?"

  "Grassroots problems."

  "Not those awful monkeys?"

  Her dismayed expression softened the hard line of his mouth.

  "Relax. It’s not the monkeys," he grinned. "Though I’d pay good money to get rid of them."

  "Tame them. Open a zoo."

  "OK. That’s your second project."

  "I can’t stand the creatures," she burst out. "So what is it? Fire bugs?"

  "No, that’s for the police department. One of my men was killed earlier this year. He was caught in the circle of fire that rushed towards him on the wind. He was trapped. There was nothing anyone could do for him. He was dead before we got him to hospital."

  Giles’s voice dropped to a harshness that did not disguise his feelings. He clearly found it difficult to control his anger at the incident, seeming miles away from the moon-drenched garden setting of Cobblers Reef and the racing white waters.

  "I’m so sorry," said Kira, breaking the silence. She was remembering the misery on Bruce’s face vividly. "People do cruel things to each other for no reason. That was barbaric."

  He dragged his thoughts back and covered her hand with a swift movement. He rubbed his thumb over her skin in contemplation, as if reassuring himself that she, at least, was real.

  "But you would never be cruel, would you, Kira? There’s a gentleness about you that tells me that the cool look is a cover."

  "Gentle, yes, with animals and children. But never with men," she said, withdrawing her hand. "They have to earn my approval and not many of them do."

  "I plan to be the first man on Barbados to win your approval," said Giles. Kira could not see his expression clearly in the nebulous gloom but she was sure he was laughing at her.

  "You’re too late," said Kira, with one of her rare smiles. "A young man called Moonshine on the beach this morning got there first."

  "Ah, yes. Moonshine. I know of him. He’s trying to put himself through business college."

  "That’s very ambitious. I’m sorry I didn’t buy anything." Kira was touched with guilt. "I should have."

  "Don’t worry. You’re earmarked now. He’ll be back till you do. Anyway, when you learn how many dollars I’m going to pay you for this research, your generosity will overflow into his briefcase of necklaces."

  Kira didn’t ask how much, even though she wanted to know. "But you haven’t told me anything yet about the work."

  "It’s transport, basically," he said, back in control. "Sounds boring, eh? But it’s vital, I assure you. Let me explain. There are lots of small growers, family smallholdings, even one-man cane fields, scattered all over the island. They need to get their cane to my factory. At the moment there is an inefficient local lorry system and a lot of complaints. The small growers feel they are being swindled."

  "And you need to keep your factory working at capacity," Kira cut in.

  "We need each other. I haven’t time to go around and talk to everyone, but I want an overall picture before I can come up with some solution. Could you do this? Or perhaps it’s not sophisticated enough for a smart London woman?" he added with a touch of sarcasm. "Noisy lorries and cane fields are hardly status."

  Kira hid the surge of eagerness and relief. It was exactly the kind of research she could do. She was good with people. She could ferret out the real facts of a situation. She’d always been able to find answers for Mr Connor, and wondered how the blonde temp was getting on. Giles wasn’t asking her to do something that was out of her depth.

  "Lorries are OK," she said casually.

  "Your eyes are saying they are more than OK. Never underestimate your eyes, Kira. They mirror your soul. That’s settled then. You’ll need a Barbados registration from the police so that you can drive. Get one at the police station at Holetown. It’s only up the road from Sandy Lane. I’ll lend you a vehicle so that you can get around. Charge me expenses."

  "Hold on, Giles. I haven’t said . . ."

  "There’s a file this thick at the factory, all the complaints that you’ll need to go through and a list of the small growers. I’ll give you some kind of written authority from me, in case anyone is suspicious of your questions. Though I’m sure with your personality, you’ll be able to sweet-talk the most reticent grower."

  "My non-existent charm," Kira said acidly.

  "Your air of vulnerability," he said smoothly. "And your limp. They’ll be sorry for you and curious."

  "I’ll wear an accident declaration badge."

  "And they’ll be too polite to ask how you got it. Not like me, I want to know everything about you. I want to take you to pieces and then put you back together again."

  "That doesn’t sound very nice," Kira murmured, shocked, as if he had actually violated her body.

  Giles was saved from replying by the arrival of a waiter with a laden sweets trolley. The selection was mouth-watering but Kira did not have room for even one of their famous .

  "How about the lime soufflé, light and sharp like you?" said Giles with a straight face. "Or the coconut flan, rich and sweet like me?"

  "Just coffee please," she said, ignoring the absurdity.

  "Two coffees please. And two French brandies; the best. I hope you like brandy. It’s the finest way to end a meal."

  "Not Barbados rum?"

  "Rum is an anytime drink. Elevenses, before lunch, on the beach, before an evening meal, when one is relaxing and socialising. We invent the most fabulous sundowners. I’ll get my housekeeper to show you how to make them, then when you are back in your wet and gloomy London, you will be able to cheer yourself with thoughts of sunny Barbados."

  A surprisingly lazy warmth invaded his voice, which sent a silver shiver of recognition down her spine. He was getting too personal. She wondered if there was a woman in his life. No man so attractive and influential could exist on this small island without a woman wanting to share his bed and his life.

  So what if he had a string of women? Kira remembered that the moral code of the island accepted sex before marriage. It was important that a woman was not barren. Marriage was important too, and many brides went to their weddings already pregnant.

  She wondered what Giles’s current lover was like. Some dark beauty with voluptuous curves and masses of tumbling curls. She saw them entwined in bed, all naked legs and arms, thrashing and straining, the woman’s voice husky with orgasmic pleasure. Kira shuddered, eyes half closed.

  "Cold?"

  "No, thinking of London," she lied. "It’s a cold grey place." And it had become colder and greyer without Bruce to lighten her days.

  "I think I should take you back to Sandy Lane. I don’t often have a dinner guest falling asleep on me. Do you think that you could manage to stay awake long enough for a quick glimpse of Cobbler’s Reef?"

  "It’s the balmy air and left-over jet-lag. Yes, I’d love to see the reef. As long as we don’t meet any pirates."

  "Haven’t seen a genuine one for years," said Giles, folding some dollar bills without counting, and leaving them on the table.

  The garden was full of the sweet and spicy aroma of tropical flowers, hibiscus, bougainvillaea, frangipani, growing like weeds, the grass strewn with the day’s fallen petals. They took the path to the sea in silence, occasionally their hands brushing. Each encounter brought a sensation to Kira’s body that she had not felt for a long time and had thought she would never feel again.

  She stepped aside and put a distance between them. His tall figure hesitated in the dusky light, as if unprepared for her defensive action. The distance felt like an empty mile.

  Giles noticed the way she moved to one side as if no-one must invade her space. It saddened him that someone had hurt her so badly that she trusted closeness with no one. It was strange that he should already feel so drawn to her. It had not happened to him for a long time. Those eyes seemed to dominate her smooth, calm face. He wanted to touch h
er face to see if her skin was really as silken as it looked. He could smell the sweet perfume of her body in the warm air and it stirred his senses. He wanted to drown in that sweetness and hold her in his arms till the cool dawn came.

  The path ended with a small viewing area at the cliff edge. A wooden seat invited a rest, but instead Kira went as close as safety allowed to the edge, watching the breakers crash and foam over the reef. The sea roared as it pounded the coral. No ship had any chance against the power of the waves and the jagged rocks.

  "We still have lots of shipwrecks," said Giles, reading her thoughts. "This part of the coast is very dangerous. Fishing boats and small sailing boats get caught in riptides. It’s the meeting of currents or abrupt changes of depth in the water."

  "I can feel it," she said.

  "It’s the ghosts you can feel."

  The beach below Sam Lord’s Castle was bone white in the darkness, dotted with trees and stacks of striped lounge chairs. It was easy to imagine those long-ago slaves creeping down in the gloom to hang lanterns of death in the swaying branches.

  "I’ve enough ghosts in my life," she said.

  He did not ask her what she meant.

  Even though Kira was tall, Giles towered beside her. Everything about him was so splendid, so aggressively masculine and strong. He was like a heady wine going to her head, taking her into an enchanted garden where one walked on clouds.

  "I’ll take you home now," he said, as if the island was already home for her. He laced his fingers through hers and the touch was electric. She felt her breasts tingling although he was not that near.

  She tried to extract herself from his grasp but it was already too late. He was moving closer and his other arm went round her shoulders, his hand tracing her back though the thin material. She felt her breasts crushed against his hard chest and the sensation was bliss.

  He kissed the furthest curve of her neck and the few inches of shoulder that were bare with light, feathery touches. The kisses were like a butterfly supping nectar from her skin. His nose brushed the lobe of her ear, and his hand came up to tangle itself in the softness of her hair. She stood still with wonder.