Emma carefully slotted the envelope underneath her make-up tray in the top drawer of the dressing table. She ran a bath, even though she knew that a shower would have been much quicker, and relaxed in the warm water for half an hour, turning over the events of the past few hours in her head.
Of course, Alistair was the only reason that she was here. Conrad had been right when he'd guessed that she did not need the job, but had taken it for a very specific reason.
With unwelcome obstinacy her mind threw into focus a graphic picture of him—raven-haired, arrogant, with the same caustic sense of humour as Alistair, except that there was an element of danger to him that was not there in the old man.
He was definitely a complication on the scene. Emma stood up and began rubbing herself vigorously with one of the towels.
She tried to squash all thoughts of Conrad DeVere, but they kept popping up with aggravating regularity.
In prospect, it had all been so straightforward. She would come to the island, with the very legitimate excuse of working for Alistair, and that way she would be able to find out all about him. It was what her mother had wanted.
Most importantly, she would be able to do it incognito.
She dressed slowly, her eyes wandering over the bedroom, appreciating the attention to detail of the decor, and the stunning view overlooking the gardens.
She reasoned that Conrad's appearance was nothing to worry about. He did not know who she was, and he was only going to be around for a couple of days at the most, anyway. She would simply avoid him, and concentrate all her energies on getting to know Alistair. That was why she had come in the first place, for heaven's sake.
She shuddered as she thought what Conrad would say if he found out her true identity. She had felt him trying to unravel her secret, using all his powers of hypnotic persuasiveness, but he had been way off target.
How could he possibly even begin to guess that Caroline Jackson, that shadowy figure who eloped with an undesirable man all those years ago—twenty-three to be exact—was her mother?
And what would he think if he found out? The worst. He was a formidable businessman. Hardly the sort who was overflowing with the milk of human kindness. She thought back to his attitude towards her and decided that he definitely was not the sort who was overflowing with the milk of human kindness. There was no question but that he would assume she had made this trip for her own ulterior motives. The man, she thought, was naturally suspicious and aggressive with it.
Emma lay on the bed and closed her eyes, the weariness of the last twenty-four hours catching up with her. She made a determined effort to shut Conrad DeVere out of her mind.
Alistair had at least been a pleasant surprise. Perhaps he had mellowed over the years. Her mother certainly had. Towards the end, she had spoken about her father with regret.
'It was all a mistake,' she had once told Emma. 'I ran away because I felt claustrophobic and I wanted adventure. Your father seemed to provide that adventure. He was everything Dad disliked. Wild, unstable, penniless. The worst part was that your grandfather was right. He was no good. He cleared off the minute I became pregnant with you.'
She had been too proud ever to return to the family home and admit that she had made a mistake. If she had, things might have been quite different.
If she had, Emma thought, I wouldn't be lying here trying to push unwelcome images of Conrad out of my mind.
She groaned in annoyance as her mind raced back to the unpleasant scene of him accusing her of being a gold- digger.
What on earth did all those women see in him, anyway? True, he had money and he was good-looking, but any fool could take one look at him and know that he was not the settling type.
So why did the mere thought of him make her feel hot and bothered? There were more important things at hand for her mind to become cluttered up with some man.
It was just a good thing that he wouldn't be around for much longer.
In the meantime, there was a lot for her to think about.
CHAPTER TWO
The following two weeks were busy.
Because the days dawned earlier and brighter than in London, Emma found herself awakening before seven in the morning. Already at that hour the skies were blue and the sun was warming up in preparation for the intense heat which it would exude by midday.
She would normally have thought it a shame to waste the finest hours of the day cooped up in a study, but working with Alistair, apart from being of personal interest to her, was exciting as well. For an old man, Emma thought, with health problems, his dynamism was still formidable. He began the day at eight promptly and finished at one. Those five hours, Emma discovered, were utilised to the utmost.
I'll be wizened and grey-haired at the end of this job,' she had laughingly told him on their second morning. 'I've met people a quarter of your age who haven't got your kind of stamina.'
Naturally the old man had been pleased and, to Emma's delight, tickled pink. Perhaps, she thought, her mother had found Alistair's energy and thirst for perfection simply too difficult to handle. As he described to her the dawnings of his rise from rags to riches, she glimpsed a man with a will of iron. There was little room in him for vulnerability, and maybe he saw the expression of love for his daughter as an area of weakness from which he shied instinctively.
All hypothesis. And anyway, Emma wondered, did it matter so much? She only knew that she was beginning
to really like Alistair, to be fond of his ways and mannerisms.
He could be peculiarly thoughtful. It was a side to him which Emma found strangely touching. Coffee was always brought through to them at least once, accompanied by a plate of home-made cakes, which he insisted that she partake of.
'We can't have you wasting away, can we?' he joked. 'Besides, you're much too slim.'
'I don't think there's any danger of my wasting away,' Emma replied, casting her mind back to Esther's superb cooking. 'I haven't eaten so well in months.'
'No one to look after you, then?'
From anyone else the question would have been too intrusive for Emma's liking. From Alistair she took it as something of a compliment. From what she read between the lines, he did not extend his friendship lightly.
When she responded with a laugh that she was all alone in the world, his eyes lit up for a split second, but he did not pursue the topic.
'I hope you don't find my pace of work too demanding?' he asked, as he gathered up his notes at the end of the morning.
Emma looked up at him. 'Just the opposite,' she replied truthfully; 'it's invigorating. On my last assignment, my employer had an unnerving habit of drifting off into hours of digression, and at the end of the day we would have a page or two of worthwhile substance to show for hours of work. I like the way you can concentrate on the important issues.'
'Flatterer.' He looked at her craftily. 'I taught Conrad everything I know. He's very much like me in a lot of respects. Works hard, that young man.'
'Mmm,' Emma murmured non-committally. She had managed to put Conrad to the back of her mind over the past few days.
As far as she was concerned, it was the best place for him, and she was determined that he would stay right there, and not intrude on her thoughts as he had done when they had first met.
'I suppose you know that he's quite a bigwig in the business world,' Alistair pursued.
'Mmm.' Emma obligingly altered the tone of her murmur, but she refused to be drawn into a discussion on him.
'Some say that he's relentless.'
'Do they?' I can think of quite a few other words to describe him, she thought to herself grimly.
'What did you think of him?' Alistair shot her another crafty look which he attempted to camouflage under the guise of guilelessness.
'I don't know him.'
'You know what they say about first impressions.'
Emma shrugged and said airily, 'He seemed the relentless sort.' And that's putting it mildly, she added to herself.
'Well, you'll get to know him a bit better,' Alistair informed her. 'He may have mentioned to you that he's going to be staying here for a while?'
'Well, he did say something of the sort, but...' But she had seen nothing of him for the past few days, and she had assumed that any such idea had been aborted. She had hoped that any such idea had been aborted. At the mere thought of him, she could feel her pulses begin to race. Damn man!
'But?'
'Well, he hasn't been around, so I thought that he'd decided against it. I thought he'd decided that someone with an empire to run couldn't afford the time off.'
'Everyone needs a rest now and then.'
'Do they?' Emma couldn't resist a touch of sarcasm. 'He struck me as the sort who ran on overdrive one hundred per cent of the time.'
Alistair chuckled delightedly. 'A girl with spunk. I like that. That's what...' He halted in mid-sentence and looked away. 'Those women Conrad goes out with— bubbleheads, the lot of them. I've met more animated Barbie dolls in my time.'
'Perhaps that's why he goes out with them,' Emma said coolly. 'Maybe he thinks that any woman with half a brain cell would be unfair competition for him.'
She was alarmed at the sudden twist in the conversation, and even more alarmed that the mere thought of Conrad DeVere and his love life was enough to make her ruffled.
Alistair laughed out loud with glee. 'I hope you tell that to him at the first possible opportunity!' he said.
'There won't be a first possible opportunity,' Emma informed him. 'I see no reason why our paths should cross, except possibly at mealtimes.' And even then, she thought, lengthy discussions won't be on the agenda. I'd rather chat to a boa constrictor.
She had begun stacking her work into piles for typing after lunch when Alistair interrupted her.
'Leave it.' He gestured magnanimously. 'Tomorrow's Saturday. You can deal with all that typing some time over the weekend. Why don't you go to the beach this afternoon. Have you been there yet?'
'Not for a swim, no.' She had walked along it in the evenings, paddling in the water and thinking that heaven must surely be a slice of this island. At dusk, the little private cove was so quiet that she could hear herself think.
Tut, tut, tut. You must think me a slave-driver. I insist you go to the beach as soon as lunch is out of the way. In fact, I could get Esther to bring something down for you. There are coconut trees that you could eat under.'
'No, really, it's.
'Nonsense.' He waved aside her objections. 'I'd accompany you for a short while, but my health'
'I know,' Emma chipped in with a laugh, 'your doctor, his instructions. When is Conrad due here, then?' she asked with as much nonchalance as she could muster, her hand on the doorknob.
Alistair mumbled under his breath, 'Oh, some time over the weekend, I should think. Tomorrow, probably.'
Better make the most of the rest of today, Emma thought to herself as she slipped into her bikini.
She had brought over a selection of swimwear and chose the style which she thought was least unflattering to her still pale complexion. The thought of a few hours on the beach, with nothing but a paperback for company, was delicious. What with one thing and another, she had not been on holiday for quite some time, and she had not been outside Europe for even longer.
Her mother had tried to encourage her to take a trip to Florida some years ago, but Emma had refused. It had seemed such a lot of money which could have been used on other, less self-indulgent things.
How her mother would have relished the thought of her now in Tobago.
In fact, Emma thought, as she skipped down the rocky incline to the cove, her mother would have been pleased at how naturally she got along with her grandfather. It might have compensated for her own stubborn pride and refusal to see him for all those years.
She laid the towel close to some coconut trees and abandoned herself to the sheer bliss of lying prone under the sun.
With the heat at its height, she could feel it pricking against her skin. She half opened her eyes and, glancing around the deserted beach, carefully undid her bikini- top, resting it conveniently within arm's reach, although there was practically no danger of anyone else coming on to the beach. The house and grounds, Alistair had told her on their very first day, was simply too remote to invite casual passers-by. The actual cove itself was
even more secluded, set as it was down an incline and totally hidden from prying eyes.
Emma looked lazily out at the sea, turquoise and clear. The soft lapping of the ripples along the sand was soporific and soothing. It would be easy to fall asleep, she thought, and emerge three hours later looking like a lobster. It wouldn't be a pretty sight. She slapped on another layer of suntan oil and ran down to the water- line, treading cautiously at first, then, as her body adjusted to the temperature of the sea, splashing in, swimming languorously away from the beach.
No wonder people came to islands such as these and never left. The hubbub of London city life seemed more than thousands of miles away. It seemed like light years away.
Emma lay back, floating on the water, her eyes half shut. The gentle swelling of the water under her was the closest thing she could imagine to lying on a vast water- bed. She folded her arms behind her head, delighted to find that she did not immediately sink to the bottom as she had expected.
A wet slap on her stomach made her eyes shoot open.
When Conrad resurfaced a moment later there was the lazy glint of enjoyment in his eyes.
'What the hell are you doing here?' Emma yelled furiously. With desperate, splashing movements she tried to shield her bare breasts from him without drowning at the same time. 'How long have you been around? Don't you have anything better to do than to prowl around scaring people?'
She was puffing and panting and all too aware that her face was probably blotchy and red as well. He, on the other hand, was calmly treading water, an amused smile on his lips.
'Did I disturb you?'
Emma felt her body burn as he lazily inspected her frantic movements.
'No! Of course not!' she shouted, her green eyes flashing with anger, 'I always enjoy people sneaking up on me and frightening me to death!'
She began swimming purposefully back to shore, realising with dismay that Conrad was keeping up with her, his bare brown arms cutting swiftly through the water.
'Shall I turn my back like a true gentleman?' he asked as they approached the beach, his mouth curving in what looked suspiciously like a grin.
'I'd appreciate it!' Emma snapped back. 'And if you're any kind of gentleman you'll swim right back out to sea and continue swimming until you reach some other island! And if I see you struggling, don't count on me to send help!'
She could hear him laughing as she walked towards her bundle of clothes. Her hands were trembling with anger as she slipped on her bikini-top, only managing to snap together the fastening clasp with difficulty.
She sat stiffly on her towel, watching him as he stood on the water's edge and ran his fingers through his wet hair. Damned if he was going to drive her off the beach and back up to the house. She had been enjoying herself until he came along, and she had every intention of continuing to do so. She would simply ignore him. She lay on her back, annoyed with herself for continuing to watch him as he walked towards her.
He moved with a lithe and curiously pleasing grace. Even from a distance there was something dangerously attractive about him. Emma firmly shut her eyes, trying to stifle a prickle of awareness.
'Mind if I join you?' she heard him ask from somewhere over her.
'Yes.'
He ignored her and tossed his towel alongside hers, stretching down slowly on to it.
Emma glanced at him covertly out of the corner of her eyes. Tiny droplets of water remained on his bronzed body, trickled from his hair on to his forehead. With his eyes half closed, she noticed, his eyelashes were long and black but, against the angular planes of his face, not in the slightest feminin
e. If anything, they emphasised his disconcerting physical sensuousness.
'You seem to have made quite a hit with Alistair,' he drawled without looking at her.
'We're getting along well, if that's what you mean,' Emma replied coolly, refusing to be drawn into an argument with him.
'I left him singing your praises.'
'He appreciates efficiency and my typing speeds are well above average.'
She turned round to find Conrad's fierce blue eyes fixed on her. As her eyes rested briefly on his mouth, alarm bells began ringing in her head and she looked away.
She would be stupid if she did not find Conrad attractive. Everything about him was put together in a way that almost screamed sexuality. But there was no way that she would allow herself to be attracted to him.
'I was under the impression that you weren't due here until tomorrow,' she said tersely.
'Were you? I told Alistair that I would be down today. In fact, Esther's already prepared my room for me.'
Emma wondered whether Alistair had forgotten. It wasn't like him, but everyone was allowed their fair share of memory-lapses.
'Disappointed?' he asked.
With a swift movement, he sat up and regarded her with cool eyes. Emma glared at him. She had had an unexpected thought. Perhaps his sudden craving for rest and relaxation at Alistair's house had its origins in a desire to keep his eye on her, to make sure that she didn't throw off her well-schooled and aloof front the minute
his back was turned, and revert to the gold-digging vamp which he had assumed she was.
The thought was not pleasing, and Emma immediately began to feel her hackles rise. Why else would his opening remark be an observation on how well she got along with Alistair?
Caribbean Desire Page 3
