Forgotten Sins

by Robyn Donald

  ‘Then I’ll swim,’ she cried, desperation driving her to rashness as she swirled around and took a couple of steps towards the sea.

  He brought her up short with an ungentle hand around her wrist. ‘How do you know you can swim?’ he asked, not trying to hide the taunting disbelief in his voice.

  She returned angrily, ‘I—don’t, but I can find out. Let me go, damn you!’ She gave her wrist a jerk, but his fingers tightened, holding her firm.

  ‘It’s five miles to the mainland. However good a swimmer you are—’ his eyes assessed her shoulders and upper arms, dismissing her chances of being any sort of swimmer ‘—the currents in the gulf are dangerous.’ When she stared mutinously at him he stated, ‘Don’t try it, Aline.’

  ‘I’m not—’

  ‘If you want to die,’ he said brutally, turning her to face him, lean fingers enclosing her wrist in a grip that hinted of steel, ‘you can do it when I’m not around.’

  ‘I don’t want to die!’

  ‘If you even look like doing something so criminally stupid,’ he said with icy determination, ‘I’ll keep you safe if I have to shackle you to me.’

  His fingers tightened a second. Unremembered fire surged high, needles of flame lancing through her, lighting an inferno inside. Aline lost herself in his half-closed gleaming eyes, and, in spite of the tension and her fear, excitement rose in a slow, merciless tide. Senses sharpening, she heard the increasing drumming of her heartbeat, saw the swift throb of the pulse at the base of his tanned throat, felt his strength and dynamic power beating against her.

  He knows, she thought, trying to extinguish her chaotic responses. He knows I feel like this…

  ‘Tell me you won’t try to swim off the island,’ he commanded, his lips barely moving.

  Unable to tear her gaze away from his, she hesitated, but eventually muttered, ‘Of course I won’t risk my life.’

  In a voice turned to iron by concentrated will-power, he said, ‘I need that promise, Aline.’

  ‘All right,’ she agreed furiously, ‘you have it. I won’t try to swim to the mainland. Satisfied?’

  ‘It will do to go on with,’ he said without emotion, dropping her wrist as though her skin burned.

  Aline began to pace back towards the house, her feet sinking into the dry sand. ‘What on earth are we going to do for a week?’ she demanded jerkily.

  ‘You need a holiday—you’ve been working like a maniac.’ His mouth hardened. ‘And don’t glower at me like that. I’m not interested in an unwilling woman.’

  His words reminded her of the suspicion that had sneaked across her brain and been hastily banished because she couldn’t bear to think of it. Cowardice, she realised now.

  ‘So you say, but why should I believe you?’ she asked, facing the ugly supposition head-on. ‘For all I know, yesterday you might have slipped a drug in that glass of champagne I drank and brought me here against my will. Date rape happens.’

  He didn’t move. The sunlight that warmed them both suddenly darkened and vanished as a cloud slid across the sky. Aline hid a shiver; holding her head high, she searched his handsome, uncommunicative face.

  ‘Anything’s possible,’ he said in a tone that lifted every tiny hair across her skin. Taking her by surprise with a sudden movement, he stripped his shirt over his head and swung around to expose the welts across his back, red and angry against his tanned skin. ‘But the marks you put on me,’ he said dangerously, ‘are on my back, not on my face and chest where they’d be if I’d raped you. And I don’t know of any drug that is both an aphrodisiac and a memory-killer.’ He pulled the shirt on again and turned to face her. ‘Do you?’

  Scarlet-faced, she held his gaze. Too much spoke in his favour—the suitcase packed with enough clothes to last a week was enough on its own—but she believed him because of an intangible trust that had nothing to do with facts. ‘No,’ she said curtly. ‘Do you believe that I’ve lost my memory?’

  After a crackling pause, he said, ‘The jury’s still out on that.’

  ‘Why would I pretend such a stupid thing?’ she cried desperately.

  Black, thick lashes screened his eyes. ‘I can think of several reasons. One being that you got cold feet at the idea of an affair with me.’

  ‘If I changed my mind I’d just tell you,’ she said desperately, ‘not hide behind a stupid lie.’

  He lifted his brows.

  Struggling for composure, Aline looked behind him to the mainland, distant, unreachable. The compulsion to go back home, to find herself there, burned inside her. She said in a flat, unemphatic voice, ‘You must be able to get off this place.’

  ‘No,’ Jake said brusquely.

  ‘But you must have a way of contacting other people.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘In case you need them—if you hurt yourself. A mobile phone…’ Her voice trailed away as he reached out and traced along her cheekbone.

  Astonished, she realised that she was weakening, her mastery of her will giving way before an unsubtle sexual chemistry. Their coupling the previous night, forgotten and bitterly regretted, had forged a physical connection between them that wouldn’t be ignored.

  But it could be leashed and controlled, she thought stoutly, refusing to flinch or pull away, wide eyes defiant as she met his half-closed ones. In a voice that cracked, she repeated, ‘Surely you have a mobile telephone?’

  ‘Bad reception makes it almost impossible to use one. I’ve already tried this morning.’

  The sun returned, dappling the huge, sweeping branches of the trees behind the beach. ‘What about a computer—e-mail?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘Nothing,’ Jake said brusquely. ‘You wanted to be out of touch.’ Something altered in his tone. In a swift movement he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck.

  He didn’t use his great strength to pull her any closer, but if he decided to she’d have no chance of fighting him off.

  ‘You’re marooned here with me, Aline.’ His voice dropped. ‘So what are you going to do about it, darling heart?’

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ she snarled, refusing to acknowledge the rapid pumping of her heart and the way her nostrils flared delicately at the faint scent of aroused male.

  ‘Why not? You didn’t mind last night,’ he taunted.

  She lost her temper, shouting, ‘I don’t remember last night, damn you!’

  ‘Remember it or not, it happened,’ he said insolently. ‘You made love as though you’d been starved for years, all your life, like a wildcat, calling my name as you writhed in my arms. If it meant nothing, why deny yourself?’

  ‘Because you’re a stranger to me! I’m not going to sleep with a man I don’t know,’ she hissed, reining in her temper with an effort that glittered in her eyes. ‘And perhaps it was an aberration, something I regret and am ashamed of. Perhaps that’s why I woke up this morning unable to remember it! Whatever, I’m not going to—to repeat it.’

  Although his expression didn’t alter, she sensed a concealed threat. Before she had time to do more than draw her breath he let her go, wiping his hands as though touching her had left them covered in slime.

  He said indifferently, his tone hard and contemptuous, ‘In that case, as neither of us can get off the island, I suggest you put aside your chagrin at behaving for once like an ordinary human being with ordinary human needs and desires, and settle down to enjoy a holiday away from telephones and computers and journalists.’

  Something nagged at her, something she couldn’t put a finger on. ‘It looks as though I’ll have to,’ she said sullenly.

  ‘Don’t sulk,’ he said without trying to moderate the sarcasm in his tone. ‘Think of it as a rest.’

  ‘Doing what?’ she demanded, frustration and anger riding her. ‘Quarrelling?’

  His burnished gaze mocked her. ‘There are plenty of books to read. You can swim if I’m around. I’ll even teach you to cook if you want to. But, judging by those shadows under your eyes, you need slee
p most. Why don’t you have a swim now and then try for a nap? Breakfast was late—we can eat lunch when you wake.’

  At least that gave some structure to the day—and would keep her out of his way! And the water, still cool so early in the season, might help jog her brain into action. ‘Yes,’ she said crisply, setting out for the bach, ‘a swim sounds like a good idea.’

  Back at the house, she escaped into the bedroom and got into her bathing suit, a sleek one-piece. On, it looked far too brief, and gave undue prominence to her breasts and legs, but she found a wrap in the same material; after winding it around her hips and draping a towel across one shoulder in what she hoped was an insouciant fashion, she left the bedroom.

  The house rang with a silence that told her Jake wasn’t inside. Her eyes caught by movement in the bay, she stopped on the edge of the deck. Unwillingly she watched, admiring his long arms cutting smoothly through the water.

  He was a very physical man, his body impressive in its promise of power and energy. Unfortunately, his face revealed intelligence and determination and a bone-deep discipline that probably came from his early years. And with it all he was utterly disturbing and compelling, she thought, fire flickering through her again.

  A flash of white caught her attention; a yacht sailed around the point, its sails dipping as the wind caught it. If only she could signal to it…

  Without thinking, she dragged the wrap free of her hips and raced out onto the crisp grass, frantically waving the blue material in great sweeps from side to side.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE sailors waved back cheerfully before the yacht went about and veered towards the distant mainland.

  Sick with disappointment, Aline stood with the cloth clutched in her hands, watching the sails disappear behind the next headland while Jake swam ashore and walked out of the sea, big body shimmering golden, a potent mixture of sunlight and water gilding and highlighting every coil and flexion of muscle as he walked through the soft sand.

  Aline’s disappointment vanished as adrenalin and a pang of exquisite, forbidden hunger sizzled through her.

  Why deny yourself? His taunting words echoed in her ears. He bent to grab a towel from the sand, slinging it over his shoulder in one smooth movement as he came purposefully towards her. Lifting her chin, she met the tawny irony in his gaze.

  He’d seen her as soon as she emerged from the house, every curve of her graceful body outlined by the sarong. And swimming as fast and as far as he could hadn’t eased the slashing gripe of need a bit.

  A purely territorial impulse, aggressive and unvarnished, had brought him back to land. His body tightened in a prowling, primal hunger.

  She looked as she always looked—bandbox-fresh, cool, totally in control. From the first moment he’d seen her he’d wanted to ruffle that exclusive, prim neatness, discover for himself if the breasts that pushed so pertly against her silk shirts were as responsive as her lush mouth promised.

  Well, last night he’d found out; to his incredulous pleasure she’d been ferociously female, wilder and more demanding than he’d ever hoped for.

  And where had it got him?

  ‘Right back to square one,’ he said satirically, coming to a stop.

  Her arched brows rose. ‘Who is?’

  Ruthlessly he squelched images from the previous night when her voice had been husky with passion, when it had trembled as she’d touched him with eager astonishment…

  ‘Both of us.’ He tossed the towel onto the grass and smiled at her, saw her eyes widen, the muscles tighten in her throat. ‘You’re so scared you’re hiding behind a fake loss of memory, and I’m so hard I’m not decent.’ With savage satisfaction he watched colour flood her translucent skin. ‘We’re right back to where we were months ago when I saw you across a boardroom table and wanted you.’

  Although she managed to keep her eyes steadily on his, he knew the effort it took. Silently she turned and walked away from him, dropping her towel and the wrap onto the sand.

  Jake cursed quietly and without satisfaction as she waded into the water and dived. Frowning, he waited until her black head broke the surface, relaxing subtly when he saw that she swam strongly with the inherent grace particularly hers, her expensive suit hiding nothing of the sleek body it made a pretence at covering.

  She was running scared, retreating from him as fast as she could.

  He wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

  Aline swam until heavy limbs drove her ashore. Although Jake, lounging in one of the oversize steamer chairs on the wide terrace, appeared to be concentrating on a book, she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he wasn’t keeping a close watch on her.

  On the beach again, she turned her back to the house and submitted gratefully to the sun’s ministrations, almost purring as warmth soaked into her. The wash of water past her skin had heightened her senses, transforming her body into something painfully taut and eager and consumed by a dangerous anticipation.

  ‘You’ll burn,’ Jake said from behind her.

  She swivelled, to see him standing a few feet away. His glance swept her pale shoulders before lifting to her mouth, resting there for a significant moment.

  Staking a claim, she thought confusedly. He was crowding her, reminding her that they’d made love the previous night. ‘I’ll go inside and change shortly.’

  ‘Now,’ he said pleasantly.

  Fuming, Aline straightened up, pushing wet hair back from her face. Holding his eyes with her own, she said just as pleasantly, ‘Go to hell,’ and walked past him, spine stiff, shoulders held so rigid that every muscle protested.

  His low laughter behind her set fire to her temper. Her long stride faltered but a fierce pride drove her on.

  After she’d showered and dressed she stripped the bed with angry speed, bundling the sheets and pillowslips into a pile with the clothes she’d discarded the previous night.

  The house was still quiet when she emerged, but she sensed Jake’s presence, a dangerous energy in the air.

  Common courtesy dictated that instead of searching for the laundry and the linen cupboard she ask where they were. Setting her jaw, she went out onto the terrace.

  A book face-down on his lean stomach, he was lying back in the lounger apparently gazing out to sea. Or sleeping.

  The sight of him sprawled in the shade couldn’t affect her emotionally because she didn’t know him. No, the sudden quickening of her breath had to be a meaningless female acknowledgment of his strong sexual charisma, a hint from her body that although she didn’t recall their lovemaking, it was imprinted in her cells.

  What else didn’t she recall? Humiliating panic almost broke through her fragile composure. She hated feeling vulnerable—it terrified and antagonised her. Coolly, baldly, she said his name.

  His black head turned; lazy, half-hidden eyes scanned her with something very close to insolence. ‘Yes?’ he said indolently.

  She needed every advantage she could gain to deal with this man. Briefly she fought a wild desire to challenge his unfaltering self-assurance.

  ‘Where’s the laundry?’ she asked, forcing the words into a calmly conversational mould. ‘And where can I find some bed linen?’

  His lashes drooped. ‘The laundry’s beyond the kitchen, and the linen cupboard’s in the corridor outside the bedroom.’ He paused before drawling, ‘Need help to make the bed?’

  Tension sparked across her nerve-ends. Oh, he knew how to get to her! ‘No, thank you,’ she said in a tone too clipped to be safe or wise, and marched back into the house.

  It helped slightly to fling the clothes and linen into the large washing machine, set the controls with short, vicious jabs and, when it whooshed into life, stride back through the house and yank open the door of the linen cupboard. Shelves of sheets in sun-kissed shades of sand and straw and driftwood met her infuriated eyes.

  Clearly Jake’s decorator had overlooked no touch that would emphasise the beach ambience.

  With grim deter
mination Aline chose linen and carried it into her room where she set about remaking the bed. The fresh sheets eased the frightening tension that seethed beneath her surface, and if that was illogical—well, a woman who had lost her memory was practically obliged to be illogical.

  ‘There,’ she said defiantly when it was done, smoothing the coverlet. Beneath her breath she muttered, ‘That’s exorcised you, Jake Howard.’

  And knew she lied. Whenever she slept in this bed he’d be there with her.

  A knock on the door jerked her upright. Mouth tightening into a straight line, she stared across the room, then walked over and pulled the door open. Jake stood in the hallway, broad of shoulder, narrow of hip, long-legged and dominant, his slow smile not softening his face.

  In spite of his perfect bone-structure, nobody would ever have accused him of being magazine-model handsome. One glance at him proclaimed mental and emotional toughness backed by a steely intelligence that was a threat in itself.

  And that disconcerting tinge of fire in the black hair suggested a temper behind his implacable self-possession. Even the way he moved—with the aggressive grace of a hunter, silently, every muscle coiled and alert—stated that this was a man to be wary of.

  Infuriatingly, Aline had to swallow before she could say, ‘Yes?’

  ‘I thought you might like something to drink.’

  She showed her teeth in a smile that wasn’t conciliatory. ‘I thought a nap was next on the programme.’ And could have bitten out her tongue the moment the words left it.

  Of all the idiotic things to say!

  Unkind amusement glittered in the golden depths of his eyes and his mouth quirked, but he said evenly, ‘I’m making myself a cup of coffee.’

  Common sense nagged that they had seven days to get through; the time would go faster and more pleasantly if she was polite. Was she always so—so edgy and antagonistic? It was stupid to search his every word for ulterior motives—and the offer of a drink could hardly be more harmless.

  Aline glanced at her watch and made up her mind. ‘Tea would be lovely, thank you. Then I thought I’d go for a walk.’