Forgotten Passion

by Penny Jordan

  Rorke came to join them and Lisa was conscious of the pilot eyeing her admiringly. Fending off unwanted advances was something she had grown used to in London, and she rarely bothered even to acknowledge male interest now. Even so, she was surprised by the icy glint in Rorke’s eyes and the contemptuous way they raked over her body.

  ‘Just remember you’re coming back here as my wife,’ he drawled, grasping her arm in a parody of an embrace. ‘We’ve just been reconciled, Lisa, with all that the word implies, and don’t you forget it!’

  Even then, the full meaning of his words didn’t sink in properly. She was too concerned about the reception awaiting her at the house; about Leigh’s health and his reaction to Robbie.

  She had expected to find Leigh confined to bed, but the first person she saw as the car drew up in front of the porticoed entrance was Leigh; an older, gaunter Leigh, it was true, leaning heavily on Mama Case’s supporting arm, but Leigh nonetheless, and the tears that had been threatening for so long started to slide helplessly down her cheeks as she looked through the car window.

  Robbie with typical youthful curiosity and lack of tact chimed brightly, ‘Why is Mummy crying?’ drawing Rorke’s immediate attention to her averted profile.

  She expected him to make some cynical comment, and held herself rigid to ward off the anticipated pain, but instead he said softly, ‘I don’t know. Why are you crying, Lisa? It’s too late for regrets now—if you ever had any.’ His voice had taken on a hard note again, and she wasn’t prepared for the warmth of his arm round her shoulders or the tender concern in his eyes as he produced a handkerchief and carefully dried her damp face. Robbie watched the whole proceedings with round-eyed interest, and Lisa felt the world around her blur again as fresh tears started. What was the matter with her? What was she crying for? Her lost innocence? The love she had once thought hers? And that tenderness in Rorke’s eyes—all false, of course. They were ‘home’ now, and they were reconciled, and he was obviously determined that she would play her part.

  ‘You could almost be sixteen again.’

  The husky warmth of his voice shivered across her nerve endings and she had to steel herself not to respond; not to turn into the warmth of his body and beg him to give her a second chance, to love her again. Abruptly she dragged her thoughts to a halt. She didn’t want Rorke to love her. She didn’t need his love. What on earth was the matter with her?

  ‘I know we’re supposed to be reconciled, but if we stay here much longer, they’ll be sending out a search party.’

  Rorke eased himself out of the car as he spoke, coming round to Lisa’s side and helping her out. She thanked him curtly, smoothing the creases out of her skirt, keeping her eyes on the ground so that he wouldn’t see the fresh tears shimmering there.

  ‘Lisa.’

  The touch of his hands on her shoulders brought her head up. He was standing so close to her that she could see the texture of his skin, the scent of his cologne filling her nostrils. His eyelashes were thick and long, just like Robbie’s, and their deceptive vulnerability tugged at her heart. The sun was warm on her back, but not as warm as the lean fingers holding her shoulders. A sensation of déjà vu swept over her, and like someone in a trance Lisa gazed up at him, aware that his hand had left her shoulder to sweep up to her neck, tangling in the softness of her hair, his lips a mere breath away from her own. She only had to close her eyes to be in his arms.

  ‘Lisa!’

  Was it Rorke who murmured her name, or was it simply the palms whispering to the wind? The heat burned into her skin. She touched her tongue to dry lips, a heated turmoil sweeping through her body, reality crashing through the dreamlike state she was in, as she jerked away. But it was too late. Rorke’s fingers slid through her hair, his other hand sliding down over her spine to rest against her waist, holding her against the hard masculinity of his body. He bent his head, and Lisa’s eyes widened, her protest lost beneath the bruising pressure of his mouth. Dimly she heard a sound like the surf pounding on the beach and recognised, in its hypnotic rhythm, Rorke’s heartbeat. Her own sounded more like voodoo drums pounding out their message. Her entire body seemed to be on fire, burning with a fever that left her trembling and weak; too weak to do anything about Rorke’s ravishment of her mouth.

  When he released her she felt as helpless as a rag doll. His touch seemed to have dragged all the energy out of her. It was as much as she could do to fix him with a single killing look from eyes that blazed their defiance, before turning tremblingly towards the car and Robbie.

  As she reached for the car door he was behind her, his, ‘Welcome home, Lisa,’ shivering over too sensitive flesh. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She didn’t want to know, she thought feverishly, as she helped Robbie from the car. Once down on the ground he said matter-of-factly to Rorke, ‘You were kissing my mummy.’

  ‘It’s something that mummies and daddies do,’ Rorke agreed with an oblique look at Lisah. ‘You’ve seen your mummy being kissed before haven’t you?’

  Lisa’s eyes blazed at him as Robbie shook his head, his little face serious. ‘My mummy doesn’t kiss anyone but me,’ he told Rorke stubbornly, eyeing him for the first time with a hint of doubt, as he added, just in case Rorke had missed the point the first time round, ‘She’s my mummy.’

  ‘How long do you think you’re going to be able to hide the truth from him?’ Rorke drawled scornfully to her, over Robbie’s head. ‘Okay now he’s young enough to be packed off to bed when you entertain your lovers, but not for much longer, Lisa.’

  There was no response she could make without completely losing her temper, and already she could see the anxiety and pain carved deep on Leigh’s sunken features. For Leigh’s sake she wasn’t going to quarrel with Rorke now, but there would come a time of reckoning both for the comment and the insulting way he had kissed her. Kissed her! She bit back a strangled sob; it had been more like rape.

  ‘Lisa!’

  There was no mistaking the emotion colouring Leigh’s voice, nor the tears shimmering in the dark eyes so like his son’s, and grandson’s.

  ‘Miss Lisa!’ Mama Case echoed, beaming widely. ‘You sure am a sight for these old eyes! And who do this be?’

  ‘I’m Robbie,’ Robbie supplied importantly, ‘and this is my mummy and my daddy.’

  ‘Say hello to your grandson,’ Rorke broke in dryly to the emotional silence that followed, adding, ‘You got my cable, then?’

  ‘It arrived this morning,’ Leigh assured him. He turned to Lisa. ‘Lisa, my darling girl, you’re everything I always thought you would be. Rorke has made me promise not to ask questions—the past is the past, but you can’t know how happy it makes me seeing you both here together, and with your child. I still can’t believe it…’ His voice trailed away, the suspicion of tears moistening his eyes again. Lisa reached out towards him, too full of emotion to speak herself, and it was left to Rorke to supply curtly,

  ‘If the truth were told, I welcomed the excuse of going to find her because you were asking for her, Dad. And once I found her I was determined I wasn’t going to let her go again.’

  ‘It must have come as quite a shock to realise you were a father as well,’ Leigh chuckled,

  ‘You could say that.’ Rorke bent to ruffle Robbie’s hair, his expression concealed from Lisa. ‘We were going to sail back, but Lady had developed engine trouble. Helen met us at St Lucia airport to give us the bad news.’

  ‘Helen?’ Leigh’s voice and expression sharpened.

  ‘It’s all right, Leigh,’ Lisa assured him with a smile. ‘Years ago I was jealous of Rorke’s relationship with Helen, I know, but I’ve grown up a lot since then. After all, he married me.’

  ‘And you have his son,’ Leigh added emotionally. ‘Poor little Lisa, why did you run away like that? It must have been some quarrel the two of you had.’

  Lisa frowned. What did Leigh mean? He knew why she had left Rorke—she had written to him.

  Mama Case had prepare
d a celebration lunch for them, and Lisa felt tears sting her eyes as she recognised all her old favourites. Robbie, who could sometimes be a little awkward about his food, tucked in with an enthusiasm that surprised her. Ever since their arrival on the island he had stuck close to Rorke.

  After lunch, Leigh announced that he had to go and rest.

  ‘Doctor’s orders, I’m afraid,’ he grimaced to Lisa. ‘Rorke will have told you that they’re trying to persuade me to have some damned operation, but it means flying to Florida, and even then there’s only a fifty-fifty chance.’

  ‘You know what Doctor James said, Father,’ Rorke interrupted. ‘First of all you’ve got to get well enough to have the operation.’

  ‘I sometimes have a rest after lunch,’ Robbie piped up, looking at Leigh with interest. He had been quiet during the meal, but now astounded Lisa by saying, ‘You’re my daddy’s daddy, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Leigh agreed gravely, ‘and you’re my grandson.’

  ‘Are we going to live here for ever?’ Robbie asked Lisa, round-eyed.

  ‘I…’

  ‘Yes,’ Rorke interrupted, frowning her down, and quickly changing the subject. It wasn’t fair of him to lie to Robbie. The little boy was too young to understand the reasons behind it and when the day came when they eventually had to leave the island he wouldn’t understand. What were Rorke’s real intentions? she wondered as she went upstairs with Robbie. Leigh had been looking very tired, and Mama Case explained as she led the way to their rooms that he had only been allowed out of bed because Doctor James had been frightened that he would make himself ill if he didn’t agree.

  ‘Him one very sick man,’ Mama Case told her, and suppressing a sigh Lisa agreed. Eventually Rorke would have to come to some decision concerning his future. As long as Leigh was so gravely ill she couldn’t see him doing anything that would prejudice his father’s health, but if Leigh were to have the operation and survive it… what then? Would Rorke sue for divorce and marry Helen?

  Mama Case stopped outside a bedroom and opened the door.

  It was a large room, one Lisa dimly remembered as being empty during her childhood. It was furnished with French Empire furniture, delicate and feminine, festoons of pastel cotton and lace falling from the gilt circlet set in the ceiling above the double bed. The air-conditioning hummed softly, and the French windows were open on to the balcony outside the window.

  ‘The master had this room decorated special for you as a wedding present.’ Mama Case explained, adding with a wide smile, ‘That sure some quarrel you and Master Rorke have, Miss Lisa. Master Leigh sure was as mad as fire with Rorke when he came back without you. Him say you too young for marriage bed, but not too young to have Rorke’s baby, eh?’ she concluded with a sly grin at Robbie, who was watching open-mouthed.

  Was that what Leigh had thought? Lisa wondered. That Rorke had rushed her into a marriage she wasn’t ready for? Had Rorke allowed him to continue thinking that? But what had happened to her letter? It was becoming more and more obvious that Leigh hadn’t received it. Could Rorke have kept it from him, preferring to be thought cruel rather than a cuckold? But she had written the truth to Leigh. It was pointless raking up the past now, she thought, suppressing another sigh. For one thing, Leigh’s health was too precarious for her to risk upsetting him by dragging up what had happened over five years ago.

  ‘Master Robbie him sleep in here,’ Mama Case told her, indicating a room that led off her own room. In it there was a small bed and a chair. The room had obviously once been a dressing room, but it was more than adequate as a bedroom for Robbie and it had the advantage of being close to her. Another door revealed a bathroom decorated in the same colours as her bedroom. Had that too been intended as a wedding present from Leigh? Her heart ached with remembered pain. How had he felt when he learned that she wasn’t coming back?

  ‘We’m sure all glad you’ve come back, missie,’ Mama Case said softly. ‘Sure as hell missed you, especially the master. When you go it seem you took all the sunshine with you,’ she added softly, ‘but you’m back and you’m brought this young feller with you. He’m all right,’ she added, laughing. ‘He’m his daddy all over again!’

  With Robbie fast asleep, Lisa prowled tensely round her room. She ought to be sleeping herself—she was tired enough, but somehow she was too restless.

  On a sudden impulse she opened her bedroom door and went downstairs. The entire house seemed deserted, but then, of course, this was the time of day when most people slept. Rorke had always been the exception, she remembered, and she too had always disdained the siesta period in those days.

  Almost of their own volition her feet trod the old familiar path down to the cove below the house. The steps cut in the rock face were hollowed and worn in places, and Lisa imagined, as she had always been prone to, those buccaneering ancestors of Rorke’s returning to this bay, climbing these steps, triumphant, their hands full of the booty they had claimed as they roamed the Caribbean seas.

  The beach was a crescent of soft white sand, and Lisa gave in to the urge to remove her shoes and curl her toes into its warmth. The breeze caught her hair, teasing soft tendrils of it, the surf a soft lullaby of sound. No one was about, she had the beach to herself, and suddenly the urge to be once again the carefree girl she had been five years ago overwhelmed her. Without giving herself time to think Lisa pulled off her skirt and top. Her skin looked almost as pale as the sand, and she grimaced ruefully, remembering the tan she had once had. The sea beckoned, and without giving it a second thought Lisa discarded the lace bra and briefs she had been wearing under her suit. The water was warm, like liquid silk, and she struck out for the reef, swimming strongly, turning to lie on her back and gaze back at the cove. She had always enjoyed swimming, preferring the sea to the pool by the house. There was something about the Caribbean that no other sea could match. She remembered a brief holiday she had spent by the Mediterranean with distaste, recalling the scum and rubbish tainting the water. Here the sea was so clean that you could see the bottom, and unlike the Mediterranean, the islands of the Caribbean had not been over-developed, nor ever would be.

  She would have to swim back to the shore, she acknowledged, otherwise she was in danger of falling asleep, lulled by the gentle action of the waves. Her swim had accomplished what remaining in her room had not, and now her mind seemed to be ready for the rest her body craved.

  The sand felt hot beneath her damp feet. She had no towel, and she glanced uncertainly at her clothes. There was something pagan and wanton in the stroke of the sun on her body. She had never swum nude before nor ever wanted to, and yet now she felt a strange reluctance to return to the bonds of civilisation. Her skin seemed to crave the warmth of the sun, drinking it in as though it had been starved of it for years.

  It wouldn’t do any harm simply to lie down for a few minutes and let the sun dry her skin she decided impulsively, although she would have to shower once she got back to her room, otherwise her skin would be sticky and salty.

  Robbie! Lisa’s eyes flew open, guilt and anxiety filling her mind. She had left Robbie alone! She stretched out a hand for her clothes, stiffening suddenly as she saw Rorke walking towards her, dressed in jeans and a thin cotton shirt open to the waist. She saw his eyes widen fractionally as he took in the exposed curves of her body, and she had to fight against an overwhelming urge to run and hide herself from him. Hot colour seared her skin, and she wished desperately that she had not given in to the childish impulse to swim.

  ‘Well, well, what have we here? You have changed, Lisa,’ Rorke drawled, coming to a halt in front of her, his appraisal of her so intimate and thorough that she had to clench her fingers against her palms to stop herself from hitting him. ‘It seems to me that I can remember a time when you were too shy even to expose yourself in a swimsuit, and now…’

  ‘I came down here on impulse, and decided to swim,’ Lisa gritted, fury sparkling in her eyes as she reached for her clothes. ‘Turn your
back,’ she commanded angrily, ‘and I’ll get dressed. I fell asleep.’

  ‘Yes, Mama Case was getting in quite a panic about you. Just as well that I was the one who remembered how much you used to love this cove, or don’t you care any more who sees you naked?’

  ‘Of course I care!’ Lisa stormed at him, her fingers trembling as she grasped her clothes. Why on earth didn’t he simply go away and leave her in peace? Already her dignity was in shreds. It was like the very worst kind of nightmare, to be exposed and without the protection of clothes while everyone else was fully dressed.

  ‘What were you doing down here in the first place?’ Rorke demanded lazily, making no attempt to ease her embarrassment.

  ‘I’ve told you I was swimming. I came down for some fresh air.’

  ‘Did you, Lisa? Are you sure you didn’t remember that I used to swim down here? Are you sure you didn’t come down for this?’

  She was in his arms, his hands moulding her nakedness against the tautness of his own body, sliding upwards to cup her breasts, his eyes glittering down into her pale face as she fought to deny his claim, but it was like looking at a stranger.

  She put out her hands instinctively to fend him off, but it was like trying to stop a steamroller. She could feel the heat coming off his body, burning against her palms despite the cotton shirt between them.

  Rorke bent his head, his eyes narrowed against the sun, and instantly her pulses set up a fierce clamorous beat. His mouth touched hers, lightly, tormentingly, and it was like being claimed by the ferocity of the sea pretending calmness while beneath the surface a tempest raged.

  She pulled her mouth away from his, shuddering as she fought to free herself from his embrace, hating the sensations his touch aroused as his lips burned hotly against the sensitive skin of her throat, his hands enforcing captivity on her while she struggled helplessly in his arms, hating him with her eyes.

  Her anger burned through her in a molten flood, her nails raking protestingly against his back when he refused to release her. She could feel the fierce pounding of his heart, and when he twined his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back sharply so that he could look into her face, she felt the first frisson of fear. The Rorke she knew was barely recognisable in the face above her.