by Anne Mather
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JORDAN gasped in indignation, but already people had noticed them together, and to fight with Rhys now, in so public a place, could only cause the kind of gossip she had wanted to avoid. And she had to go on living here, after he had returned to his home in England or Florida or wherever it was he spent most time …
‘I don’t want to dance with you,’ she insisted, in an unsteady tone, and he acknowledged her protest.
‘But you will,’ he replied, nodding towards the black musicians, and immediately the music changed to a languid calypso, much different from the upbeat rhythms they had been playing previously.
‘Did you bribe the band?’ she exclaimed, submitting to his arms about her waist, but keeping her own hands firmly between them.
‘I didn’t have to,’ he assured her, overcoming her attempt to keep some distance between them, and allowing her to feel the muscled strength of his legs as they moved. ‘I was talking to them earlier. They admired my taste.’
Jordan gasped. ‘You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Not sure at all,’ he retorted huskily, and his simple admission accomplished what his confidence had not.
There were few other couples dancing at this time, and Jordan guessed Lucy and Martina, and Neil, too, had all observed their participation. It didn’t help her self-confidence to know that deep down her objections had been tempered by a secret excitement at the knowledge that Rhys still found her attractive, and the feel of his body touching hers was a purely sensual experience.
‘Do you get the feeling we’re being watched?’ he asked suddenly, and her fingers curled against his shirt.
‘Does that surprise you?’ she murmured. ‘No one expected us to speak to one another, let alone dance together.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Rhys’s lips brushed her hair. ‘So let’s really give them something to talk about, hmm?’
‘What?’ Jordan was apprehensive.
‘Walk with me,’ he said, stopping in the middle of the dance and looking down at her. ‘Just along the beach.’ He paused. ‘Away from all these prying eyes.’
She moved her head uneasily from side to side. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’ His voice was harsh now.
‘Neil——’
‘Ferris is in the water,’ said Rhys flatly. ‘He passed us a few minutes ago, wearing a pair of white trunks. I guess he didn’t expect you to join him.’
Jordan looked anxiously towards the circle of figures bobbing about in the shallows. ‘Are—you sure?’
‘I won’t forget Ferris’s face,’ retorted Rhys shortly. ‘Come on, Jordan. Is it so much to ask? I want to talk to you about Lucy, and I can’t do that here.’
‘Lucy?’ she queried.
Jordan looked up at him doubtfully, and Rhys took the opportunity to turn her about and propel her gently but firmly off the improvised dance floor. ‘Among other things,’ he agreed huskily, guiding her away from the torchlit area around the buffet tables. ‘Isn’t this better?’ he added, as the softer light of the moon fell around them.
Jordan admitted silently that it was, but she also acknowledged that their behaviour would not go unremarked. Nevertheless, it was a little late now to start worrying about it, and giving herself up to the demands of the moment, she fell into step beside him, when Rhys started to walk along the sand.
‘You said you wanted to talk about Lucy,’ she reminded him after a few moments, and he turned his head to look at her.
‘Do you know why I came back to the island?’ he asked, ignoring her opening, and Jordan expelled her breath carefully as she considered her reply.
‘I—I assumed you wanted to check that the house was still in order. To—show it to Lucy, perhaps.’
‘That’s what you thought?’
‘Yes.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘What else is there?’
Rhys hesitated. ‘You.’
‘Me?’ Jordan was glad of the moonlight to hide her heated skin. ‘Well——’ she endeavoured to keep her tone light, ‘I never would have guessed!’
‘Don’t be facetious,’ said Rhys harshly. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’
‘Well, I’m sorry.’ Jordan twisted her trembling fingers behind her. ‘But you have to admit, that’s an original opening, when every time you see me you blow a fuse!’
‘Whose fault is that?’ Rhys halted now, and she was forced to halt, too, suddenly aware of how far they had come from the reassuring lights of the party.
Jordan drew an unsteady breath. ‘Are you saying it’s mine?’
Rhys nodded. ‘You can hardly blame me.’
‘Can’t I?’ Jordan held up her head. ‘Not even though you ordered me off your land the first time we met?’
‘Oh——’ Rhys pushed impatient fingers through his hair, ‘I thought I’d explained that. God, I came to apologise, didn’t I? Even though you wouldn’t listen to me.’
Jordan bent her head, trying to calm the pounding in her chest. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I was—suspicious of your motives.’
‘Suspicious!’ Rhys massaged the muscles at his nape. ‘You were downright bloody-minded! I wanted to wring your neck!’
Jordan’s lips twitched. ‘I apologised, too,’ she reminded him, suddenly seeing the humour in their argument. ‘So—let’s agree to disagree on this point Why have you brought me here?’
Rhys looked down at her. ‘Because I wanted to be alone with you.’
‘But you said——’
‘About Lucy, I know.’ He sighed. ‘Does there have to be a reason?’ He turned, thrusting his hands into his pockets and gazing broodingly towards the water. ‘Let’s swim.’
‘Swim?’ Jordan gazed at him. ‘But—you don’t have any shorts, do you?’
He looked at her. ‘So what? You’re not about to ravish me, are you?’
Jordan flushed. ‘We can’t.’
‘That word is too often used in your vocabulary,’ he retorted, unfastening the belt of his slacks and propelling the zip downwards. ‘I guess you’re wearing a bikini, so that’s all that need concern you. If you’re prudish, don’t look until I’m in the water.’
But she did, even though all she saw was the muscled length of his spine above the taut curve of his buttocks as he plunged into the sea. She stood for several minutes just watching his dark head moving further and further away from the shore, then she gave in to the urge to follow him. After all, if she returned to the party without him, it was bound to cause speculation, and the lure of the water was too tempting to resist.
Shedding the smock on to the sand, she ran into the waves, shivering at the first cool surge of the water. But soon the creaming surf was like warm silk against her skin, and she swam out strongly into the fast-moving current.
‘You changed your mind, I see,’ remarked Rhys, appearing beside her, and Jordan’s pulses quickened.
‘I was hot,’ she said, moving away from him, but he came after her and grasped a handful of her hair.
‘Not so fast,’ he taunted, using her hair to draw her towards him. ‘Now, don’t you wish you weren’t wearing a bikini? Don’t you remember how good it feels to swim in the raw?’
Jordan twisted away from him, trying to avoid contact with his powerful frame. ‘You do everything in the raw, don’t you?’ she retorted. ‘Well, I don’t want to. I just want you to let me go.’
‘Okay.’ He released her. ‘But you’ll regret it. I can’t imagine Neil swimming in the raw—or sleeping in the raw either.’
‘You know nothing about Neil,’ she exclaimed, keeping a safe distance between them. ‘He’s everything you’re not, as it happens. He’s good and decent, and dependable——’
‘And boring,’ Rhys finished for her contemptuously. ‘Has he touched you yet? Or is he saving himself for your wedding night?’
Jordan caught her breath. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’ she exclaimed unsteadily.
‘Yes, I would, actually,’ Rhys repl
ied, and, disturbed by his sudden movement towards her, Jordan turned and swam strongly for the shallows.
She was on the beach when he caught up with her, trying to find the right way to put on the smock, but when his hands closed on her arms, it fell from her trembling grasp.
‘Oh, Jordan,’ he breathed, drawing her back against him, and she felt his taut arousal unashamedly between them.
‘Rhys——’ she began, turning her head from side to side, but his hands had already disposed of the bootlace straps on the bikini bra, and when her breasts spilled into his hands, she was lost.
‘Don’t say it,’ he implored, turning her to face him. ‘Don’t tell me I can’t do this, because I must!’ and his mouth found hers with unerring accuracy.
She wanted to resist him. She wanted to remember all the bad things he had done to her, and the weeks and months and years she had spent despising him and all he stood for—but she couldn’t. When he coaxed her lips ever wider so that the melding of their mouths became a passionate consummation, she could only wind her arms about him, and even the skimpy bikini briefs became an intolerable barrier between them.
‘God, I’ve wanted this,’ he groaned, his hands on her hips probing the shred of fabric that divided them, and a flood of heat surged down her legs as she strained towards him.
With infinite ease, he drew her down on to the sand, and the coral grains at her back were an intoxicating reminder of their whereabouts. There was something intensely exciting about making love on the beach, and Rhys’s leg imprisoning both of hers was achingly familiar.
‘Touch me,’ he urged huskily, and her hands explored his taut body with increasing recognition. She found she remembered every sinew, every muscle, every male angle, and his uncontrolled responses evoked a similar need inside her.
‘You’re beautiful!’ he muttered, his mouth blazing a trail from her throat to her breast, capturing one swollen nipple between his lips and allowing his tongue to inflame its already sensitised crest. ‘And you always did taste so good …’
His hand stroking the inner curve of her thigh was incredibly sensuous, and when his knee nudged her legs apart, she felt the air cool against her bare flesh.
‘Can we?’ she whispered unsteadily, and his twisted smile was full of irony.
‘How can we not?’ he responded, covering her body with his, and she felt his pulsating maleness rigid against her.
‘Oh, yes—yes,’ she panted, unable to deny him any longer, and Rhys’s mouth possessed hers as he thrust himself upon her.
The involuntary cry she uttered was stifled by his lips. And in any case, the enormous satisfaction she was experiencing more than compensated for any momentary discomfort she had had. Ten years was such a long time, she thought achingly, before the intense pleasure his sensuous movements was creating drove all other considerations from her mind. Her senses swam beneath the hungry onslaught of his mouth, and beneath her hands his skin was smooth and still damp from his swim. Her nails curled into his taut flesh as the need for fulfilment built inside her. She wanted him, she wanted all of him, she knew fiercely, and the little cries she was uttering gave way to gasps of ecstasy as she reached the mountain peak and felt the wild explosion …
The sound of voices, albeit from a distance, brought Jordan back to reality, and she turned her head anxiously towards them. She couldn’t actually see anyone yet, but within minutes whoever it was would be upon them, and panic flared at the realisation of what they would find.
‘Rhys!’ she exclaimed frantically, trying to wriggle out from beneath him But he was still drowsy and satiated with their lovemaking, and when she endeavoured to escape, he captured her face between his hands and covered her lips with his.
‘I don’t want to move,’ he muttered, his mouth caressing hers. ‘I want to stay here all night.’
‘Well, we can’t.’
‘Why can’t we?’
‘Someone’s coming,’ protested Jordan agitatedly. ‘Come on, Rhys. We have to get dressed. Or do you want to be seen like this?’
‘I don’t mind,’ he retorted broodingly, and Jordan drew a trembling breath.
‘Well, I do!’
He rested his hands on the sand for a moment, looking down at her, and then, without another word, he rolled on to his back. ‘Okay,’ he said harshly, resting one arm across his forehead. ‘Don’t let me stop you. If your public image means that much to you, go!’
‘Oh, Rhys!’ Jordan scrambled to her feet and tugged on the bikini briefs he had taken from her earlier. ‘Rhys—please! Put your clothes on. It could be anyone.’ She paused. ‘Even Lucy.’
‘Why should you care about Lucy?’ he demanded roughly. ‘I’d have thought this was the ideal way to get your own back. Proving how—weak I am where you are concerned.’
‘Weak?’
‘Yes, weak,’ he retorted grimly, at last getting to his feet. ‘I came to the island to get you out of my system, Jordan, and what happens? Within a month of getting here, I’m lusting after you like some callow teenager!’ He shook his head, reaching for his pants. ‘God, I must be out of my mind!’
‘Rhys——’
‘Forget it!’ He hauled up his zip and fastened his belt. Then he pulled his sweat-shirt over his head and faced her. ‘Are you ready? Then let’s go and show our faces, shall we?’
They encountered the owners of the voices Jordan had overheard some way back along the beach. It was Martina and a young man Jordan didn’t recognise, but she thought how typical it was that it should be the other girl who had provided the intrusion. She had probably observed their departure, Jordan reflected tensely, resentful of the piercing scrutiny they were being subjected to. It was an actual physical effort not to check on her appearance beneath the cold appraisal, and the awareness of Rhys’s anger towards her didn’t help.
‘So there you are,’ Martina remarked unnecessarily. ‘We thought you must have got lost.’
‘I doubt that somehow,’ Rhys responded curtly. ‘However, here we are, safe and sound. As you can see.’
Martina’s lips tightened. ‘What have you been doing, Jordan? Your hair’s wet—and there’s sand in it.’
‘We’ve been swimming, and I guess the wind is stronger than we thought,’ said Rhys, before Jordan could think of a response. It was true, she had not been able to get all the sand out of her hair, but now Rhys slipped his hand beneath her elbow and propelled her forward without waiting for Martina’s comments.
‘I—thanks,’ Jordan murmured, as soon as they were out of earshot, and Rhys released her.
‘Don’t thank me,’ he retorted. ‘I don’t want Martina suggesting to Lucy that her father can’t be trusted!’ and reaching the circle of torches, he walked away. Jordan was left with the disturbing image of him striding grimly across to the group of young people surrounding his daughter, and a sense of desolation swept over her.
‘Jordan! So there you are. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking for you.’
It was so very hard to adopt an air of composure when the man who had brought her to the party appeared beside her, but Jordan knew she owed it to Rhys to behave equally casually. ‘I—went for a walk,’ she admitted, avoiding Neil’s eyes. ‘Are you having a good time?’
‘You went for a swim, too,’ he accused, touching her damp hair. ‘Who with? Or shall I guess?’
‘I was with Rhys, I admit it,’ she responded quickly, amazed at her own audacity. ‘What’s wrong with that? You’ve been with Joanna Chesney, haven’t you?’
It was a pure guess, but to her astonishment, Neil went red. ‘Well,’ he blustered hotly, ‘we are old friends. And there wasn’t any harm in it.’
‘Oh, Neil!’ Suddenly Jordan felt intensely weary. ‘I would like to go home now. Do you mind? If you do, I can always ring Karen and ask her to come and fetch me.’
‘Of course not!’ Neil was affronted. ‘I’ll take you home. But I don’t think you should get upset over my friendship with Joanna. We’re like
brother and sister. Honestly, it’s quite innocent.’
‘I believe you.’ Jordan pushed her hand under the weight of her hair and lifted it tiredly off her neck. If only she could say the same about her relationship with Rhys, she thought defeatedly. But no matter how she tried to fool herself, he was, and had always been, the only man she ever wanted.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THREE days later Jordan learned that Rhys and Lucy had left the island.
She had been living in a kind of daze, doing her work automatically and trying not to think about what had happened the night of the Hammonds’ party. But when Karen brought the news, it was a nerve-wrenching shock, and she couldn’t prevent the colour draining from her cheeks.
As luck would have it, she was alone in the office when Karen came to find her, but her sister noticed her pallor immediately. ‘Hey, are you all right?’ she exclaimed anxiously, coming round the desk to lay a cool hand on Jordan’s temple. ‘You feel hot, but your face is as white as a sheet. Don’t you feel well?’
‘I’m—fine,’ protested Jordan hollowly, brushing Karen’s hand away and endeavouring to concentrate on the invoices in front of her. ‘Did—er—did we get those melons I ordered? I’ve got an invoice here, but no delivery note.’
‘Forget about the melons.’ Karen perched on the corner of Jordan’s desk and refused to be dislodged. ‘It’s Rhys Williams again, isn’t it? Heavens, I should have guessed. Barging in here, announcing blithely that he’d left without even saying goodbye. I should be hanged! I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Jordan rubbed her nose with a determined finger. ‘Why should you imagine Rhys Williams’ departure means anything to me? I’ve told you before. That affair is over. And as for not saying goodbye—why should he?’
‘Because it would have been the decent thing to do,’ declared Karen staunchly. ‘I thought—after what Neil said——’
‘Neil?’ Jordan looked up then, unable to hide her consternation. ‘What did Neil say?’ She moistened her lips. ‘When were you talking to him?’
