by Anne Mather
‘They’re not reinforcements,’ he told her harshly. ‘If you’re referring to the girls, they’re not my concern. Chas brought them here—Charlie Pepper, for your information. He’s the drummer with the band, and the rest of them either play for me, or hang around with those who do. Does that satisfy you?’
Jordan lifted one shoulder. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Rhys agreed briefly, ‘but you’re making it so. Why the hell did you charge off like that? What did you think you’d seen, for God’s sake?’
‘I saw you,’ said Jordan shakily, and Rhys’s eyes darkened.
‘And that bothered you?’ he demanded, one hand moving almost absently to her shoulder, brushing the tendrils of hair aside and flicking the strap of her camisole over her arm.
‘I—yes,’ she admitted unwillingly, unable to lie to him when his eyes were so intent upon hers, and he expelled his breath on a shuddering sigh.
‘Good!’
‘Good?’
‘Yes, good,’ he said, his fingers still stroking the exposed skin of her shoulder. ‘But you have nothing to worry about.’
‘I wasn’t worried,’ exclaimed Jordan hotly, angry suddenly at his apparent arrogance. ‘You’d better let me get up. Your—friends—will be wondering what you’re doing.’
‘They know better than to come and find out,’ responded Rhys, moving so that he was lying between her trembling legs. ‘You’re beautiful, and I’m crazy about you. Does that make you feel better?’
Jordan moved her head unsteadily from side to side, but his tongue brushing the palpitating mound of her breasts, visible above the low-cut rim of her bodice was an intoxicating inducement. The moist caress was like an abrasion to skin already sensitised by his nearness, and Jordan’s legs went weak as he continued his exploration.
The other strap was disposed of and Rhys pushed the elasticated bodice of the dress down so that her breasts emerged, aroused and swollen. ‘You mustn’t,’ Jordan whispered, making a token move to protect herself, but Rhys’s mouth deterred her, and his muffled: ‘Why not?’ against one engorged peak seemed to negate her objections. He moved slowly, but sensually, arousing feelings she had not known she possessed, and she was soon breathless and clinging to him.
Her fingers curled around his nape, digging into the silky smooth hair she found there, and glorying in his apparent vulnerability. Her hands were free to roam over his body—naked, save for the shabby denim shorts he invariably wore around the house—and he groaned when she found some sensitive spot and exploited it. Then he possessed her mouth again until she was drugged and incoherent.
His own response was evident. Jordan had never felt the rigid thrust of a man’s desire before, but there was something dangerously exciting in knowing she could arouse him like this. The thin barrier of his shorts and her skirt and panties was little protection from the pulsating muscle that swelled against her stomach, and she found herself moving to accommodate him.
‘Oh, God!’ His shuddering withdrawal was unwelcome, and Jordan refused to let him go, her arms around his neck soft and clinging. ‘Come on,’ he groaned, extricating himself with difficulty. ‘Jordan, this has got to stop——’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ he muttered harshly. ‘Because you don’t know what you’re doing, and sure as hell, I don’t.’
‘Why not?’ Jordan looked up at him anxiously, her hands still lingering on his shoulders. ‘Didn’t you want to kiss me?’
‘Oh, Jordan!’ Rhys pressed his hands down on the sand at either side of her and pushed himself back on to his knees. ‘You know better than that.’
‘Then why——’
She levered herself up on her elbows, but becoming aware of her state of undress, she hastily pulled the bodice of her dress back into place, and Rhys closed his eyes for a moment against the unconscious sexuality of her movements.
‘That’s why,’ he said, jack-knifing to his feet and looking down at her. ‘You may be seventeen, Jordan, and back home a girl of that age would consider she knew the score. But you’re not like the girls back home, and I——’ he broke off to push the thick hair back from his forehead—‘oh, God! I don’t want to spoil what we have.’
‘How could we spoil this?’ Jordan blinked in some confusion, and then, holding out her hand, she invited him to pull her to her feet. But when he had done so, she fell against him, and his arms went automatically round her to support her.
Immediately her face turned up to his, and unable to resist the open invitation of her mouth, he bent his head to hers. ‘I love you,’ she breathed against his lips, and her husky words caused him to gather her even closer.
‘You’re crazy,’ he muttered, but he didn’t push her away, and the kiss deepened and lengthened to a passionate obeisance.
They walked back to the house together, their arms around each other, and Chas Pepper and the other members of the party regarded them with good-humoured tolerance.
‘I should have known you’d have everything under control here, Williams,’ the drummer declared in grudging deference. ‘Who is she? When did you find her?’
‘I bought this house from her father,’ retorted Rhys easily, unperturbed by their frank inquisitiveness. He looked down into Jordan’s face and she saw the possessive light smouldering in his eyes. ‘So hands off—she’s mine. Aren’t you?’
Jordan coloured. ‘Do you want me to tell you—or them?’ she murmured, refusing to let him disconcert her, and his arm about her shoulders enfolded her against him.
‘They’ll be leaving soon,’ he averred, casting a meaningful glance in Chas’s direction, and the drummer grimaced disappointedly as he shifted from his position on the verandah rail.
‘What a party this has turned out to be,’ he muttered, finishing the beer in his can. ‘Get your clothes on, Susie. We’ve got our marching orders.’
‘Oh, but——’ Jordan looked troubled now. ‘Please—don’t send them away because of me, Rhys. I—er—I have to get back to the hotel soon.’
Rhys’s face hardened slightly. ‘Your father?’
‘Partly.’ She paused. ‘But I borrowed Josef’s Mini to get here and it broke down, just up the road from the house.’
‘Oh, great!’ Rhys released her to counter Chas’s undisguised delight at this turn of events. ‘Okay, you lot: Dave, Luke, you know something about engines, don’t you? Come on, we’ll go and check the damage.’
While the four men went to find the Mini, Jordan found herself at the mercy of the other girls present. There were three of them: two blondes and a redhead, the latter being the one Chas had called Susie, and who was presently retying the bra of her bikini.
‘How long have you known, Rhys?’ one of the blondes asked, her brows arching insolently. ‘I thought I knew all his girl-friends.’
‘Well, evidently you don’t,’ retorted Susie, giving Jordan time to weather this particular piece of information. ‘Take no notice of Petra, kid. She’s only jealous.’
‘I am not.’ Petra reached for a wrap-around miniskirt, and fastened it about her hips. ‘Rhys always was kind to children. Why should he change now?’
‘Miaow,’ mocked Susie, getting to her feet. ‘What’s your name, kid? We know it’s Lucas, but what else?’
‘Jordan,’ said Jordan uncomfortably, unused to the cut and thrust of female bitchery. ‘And I’ve known Rhys for about six weeks. Ever since he came to the island.’
‘You’re kind of young for him, aren’t you?’ queried the girl who had not previously entered the conversation, and Jordan’s face flamed. The other girl’s words had not been said spitefully, but both Petra and Susie were waiting for her answer, and it was difficult to think of a clever response.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said at last, lifting her shoulders, and Susie came to the rescue again.
‘Nor do I,’ she declared, tossing back her mane of bright red hair. Her eyes challenged the other girls. ‘Remember Jennifer.’
‘Jenn
ifer wasn’t a kid!’ exclaimed Petra impatiently, but Susie was not deterred.
‘I know,’ she said meaningfully, her expression telling her companions something it could not tell Jordan, and the blonde who had spoken last nodded.
‘I get your point,’ she remarked, bending to take some cigarettes out of a flowered beach bag. ‘Okay. So what are we doing?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ said Petra, giving Jordan a contemptuous glance. ‘Rhys said nothing about her when he invited us here.’
‘That’s his business,’ said Susie wryly.
‘But how long is it likely to last?’ exclaimed Petra impatiently, only to turn away in frustration when Rhys himself vaulted up on to the verandah beside her.
‘A lifetime, I hope,’ he answered, putting a possessive arm about Jordan’s waist. He drew her back against him so that she could feel his instantaneous response. ‘Thanks for entertaining Jordan, Petra. I knew I could rely on you.’
Petra said nothing, and Jordan could hardly think with his bronzed arm brushing her breasts and the heat of his body against her buttocks. But she had to say something, and taking a deep breath she asked: ‘Did you find the car?’
‘We did.’ Rhys sounded amused now. ‘And it’s fixed. Or at least it will be, in a couple of minutes.’ He rubbed his cheek against her hair, causing Petra’s lips to tighten in irritation. ‘Don’t you know you should always check the petrol gauge?’
Maybe she should have paid more attention to what Petra had said, thought Jordan, getting up from her dressing table. Every word all three girls had spoken had been relevant, only she had been too bemused to see it at the time. They had even indirectly warned her about Jennifer, if she had had the sense to listen.
She sighed. If only things could have been different! They had been happy together, albeit that happiness was founded on a false premise, but she had loved him. She had never dreamed that anything could come between them, and although that seemed a naïve assumption now, at the time it had not seemed so foolish. He had said he was in love with her; he had even talked about marriage; and she had defied her father’s warnings to take what Rhys had offered.
Shaking her head, she moved towards the door. Her headache had eased considerably, but she knew if she allowed this regression into the past to continue it could well return. Nevertheless, she did wish she had handled tonight’s interview with more maturity. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was still carrying a torch for him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘DADDY!’
Lucy’s voice floated up from the terrace below, and Rhys knew he couldn’t ignore it. Right now, he could do without his daughter’s company, but as he had no intention of explaining why, he could hardly tell her that.
He was in a foul mood. He had been in a foul mood since the confrontation with Jordan the night before, and the amount of alcohol he had consumed before he eventually crawled into bed had left his system hung-over and his mouth tasting like a sewer. He felt dour and unsociable, and it took an effort to push himself up from the lounging chair on the balcony and walk to the rail.
‘I’m here,’ he answered now, resting his hands on the wrought iron as he looked down at her. In her skimpy blue and white bikini, her skin darkening daily to a deeper tan, Lucy looked the picture of health, but her expression was petulant as she met his jaded gaze. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, trying to be tolerant. ‘I’ve got a headache.’ Which was true. ‘If you need something, ask Rosa or Tomas. I’m working.’ Which wasn’t!
Lucy’s lower lip jutted. ‘I can’t ask the Simms,’ she retorted sulkily. ‘You said you’d go swimming with me this morning. I’ve been waiting for ages, and you’re not even dressed!’
‘Oh, that!’ Rhys pushed his hand into the unruly tangle of his hair, looking down guiltily at his legs, bare beneath the silk hem of his robe. ‘I forgot.’
‘You seem to be forgetting a lot of things lately,’ said Lucy accusingly. ‘Like making that reservation for dinner yesterday evening. I was looking forward to some hotel food for a change. Instead of which, we had to make do with Rosa’s gumbo!’
‘I shouldn’t let her hear you speaking so disparagingly of it,’ remarked Rhys dryly, flexing his shoulder muscles. ‘Oh, all right. I’ll be down in a few minutes. Just give me time to put on my shorts and comb my hair.’
‘Okay.’
Lucy was placated, and Rhys turned away from the rail to enter the bedroom behind the balcony. The room he was occupying was decorated in shades of cream and beige, and he welcomed its restful coolness. Light walls, lit by locally-painted watercolours, framed the darkwood furniture, most of which had been locally made, too. The bed was four-postered and old-fashioned in design, but a modern interior-sprung mattress bought in Nassau made it superbly comfortable, and the pattern of the fine linen sheets and pillowcases was echoed in the raw silk curtains at the windows.
It was a comfortable room, though by no means as luxurious as the one next door. Ten years ago, his desire to enjoy the accoutrements of success had led him to install a quadraphonic stereo system in both his bedroom and his bathroom, and the circular sunken bath with its smoked glass surround and gold taps was a further indication of his search for identity. These days, however, such sybaritic tendencies had left him, and besides, he had no wish now to sleep in the bed he and Jordan had once shared.
Shedding his robe now, he walked naked into the bathroom adjoining the bedroom and examined his reflection in the mirror above the handbasin without satisfaction. There were pouches beneath his eyes that had not been there when he left Nassau ten days ago, he acknowledged impatiently, so why did he stay? It wasn’t as if he would be depriving Lucy of a holiday. They could stay in Nassau, at the Beach Hotel, and enjoy themselves just as much, with the added attraction of shops and entertainment on their doorstep.
Shaking his head, he bent to sluice his face with water, then used the electric toothbrush before lifting a cream towel from the metal rack above the clothes basket. Burying his face in its soft folds, he wondered why he didn’t just pack up and go. His wisest course would be to put this house up for sale. Ten years on, he should make a handsome profit, and he could use the extra money to buy a home in California or Hawaii, or some other place that took his fancy.
Sighing, he tossed the towel aside and resumed his self-contemplation. He needed a shave, he thought, running his hand experimentally along his jawline. But that could wait, he decided, noticing the slight tremor in his fingers. The way he felt right now, he might easily cut his throat, and he had no wish to put temptation in his way.
Swearing savagely, he turned and walked back into the bedroom. He had been a fool to come here, and he was an even bigger fool for staying. After last night’s little fiasco, he had no illusions that Jordan might have forgiven him. Although she had tried to be civil, it had obviously been an effort, and it hadn’t taken much to tear aside the façade of polite indifference she had affected. She hated him; she hated both of them; and by staying here he was running the risk of Lucy finding out why.
As he pulled on the black shorts he wore to swim in, his face contorted angrily. What was the matter with him? he asked himself harshly. What did he care what Jordan Lucas thought of him? She was part of the past, not the present, and that was why he was staying. Because if he walked out now, he would never be able to convince himself he had not been running away.
Down on the beach, a little of his depression left him. Who could remain unmoved in such surroundings? he thought impatiently. White sand, blue-green water, waving palms—it was an island paradise, and he would not have been human if he hadn’t found some enjoyment in it.
Lucy was waiting for him, and summoning all his reserves of energy, Rhys uttered a cry and caught her around her waist. Hustling her, squealing and struggling, into the water, however, he was irresistibly reminded of other occasions when Jordan had responded in much the same way. He didn’t want to think of such things, but it was impossible not
to compare his daughter’s reactions with Jordan’s playful responses, and once they were both engulfed by the waves, he swam strongly away. Jordan had loved the water, still did probably, and because she was a native of the island and not just a holidaymaker, her skin had been deeply tanned. Except where her bikini covered, Rhys remembered now, feeling an unwelcome heat in his loins. Her breasts and the rounded softness of her rear had been so much paler, until he had persuaded her to sunbathe without any clothes at all …
‘Daddy!’ Once again, Lucy’s voice broke into his mood, and he looked half impatiently towards the shallows where she was still splashing about. ‘Who’s that?’ Lucy added, pointing to a slim figure standing motionless on their verandah, and Rhys felt an unfamiliar constriction in his gut. He would have recognised Jordan anywhere, let alone on his verandah, where he had seen her so many times before.
‘I—it’s Miss Lucas,’ he answered now, swimming back to shallow water and wading up on to the beach. ‘You remember? You met her last night.’ And what the hell is she doing here? he added silently.
‘Oh, yes.’ Lucy waded out beside him, looking resentfully towards the house. ‘Well, what does she want? I paid for my drink with that money you gave me.’
Rhys shook his head and swept back his wet hair with a careless hand. ‘How should I know?’ he countered sharply, too disturbed to moderate his tone. And then, as she started to accompany him up the beach, he appended: ‘You stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
‘But, Daddy——’
‘A few minutes,’ Rhys repeated flatly, and leaving her sulking, he strode up the beach.
Jordan stepped back as he came up the steps of the verandah, and he saw at once how nervous she was. But at least she hadn’t scraped her hair back from her face this morning, he reflected, even if the matronly chignon was no more to his taste. She looked pale and tired, the outfit of beige shirt and matching cotton pants hardly complimenting her tan, and he thought at once how thin she looked, and then again, how young …
‘Hello, Rhys,’ she murmured, putting her hands behind her back in an unconsciously childish gesture. ‘I—er—Rosa told me where you were, and although I know you said you didn’t want me to come here, I felt I had to apologise.’
