hurricane!

by Mary Lyons

  And you never spoke a truer word! Samantha told herself grimly, slipping off the breakwater and down into the sea for a last, cool dip before going back to the hotel. That strange girl, Corrine, didn't know what she was getting into, but if she wanted Luke, she must be nuts. And as for. . . Her thoughts were rudely interrupted as she felt a hand grab hold of her right foot, tugging her down beneath the water. She kicked out, frantically trying to free herself as she bobbed up to the surface. 'Ouch—that hurt.'

  'Serve you right!' she spluttered, trying to catch her breath, her heart still thumping with fright as she stared at Luke's sleek, wet head surfacing beside her. 'What are you doing here, anyway?'

  'Bathing in the sea, of course—what else?' he mocked, a disturbing gleam in his blue eyes as he gazed at her breasts, inadequately covered by either her skimpy white bikini, or the still, crystal-clear water.

  Samantha glared at him. 'You know that isn't what I meant,' she retorted, twisting away to avoid his hands as he tried to clasp hold of her waist. Swimming quickly over to the breakwater, she climbed up to sit down on the concrete wall.

  'Hey—that's mine,' she said indignantly as she turned to see Luke had swiftly followed her example, and was now using her towel to dry his face.

  He gave a bark of sardonic laughter. 'Wow—it sounds as if you got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning!'

  'Unlike you—at least I got out of my own bed this morning!' she flashed back, before clasping her arms about her legs and burying her burning face against her knees. Why did she always go immediately on to the attack with Luke? Why couldn't she have held her tongue—just for once? Feeling sick with apprehension, she waited for the storm to break about her head.

  To her surprise, Luke didn't say anything for a while, and then she heard him give a sigh and felt the touch of his hand on her back. 'Let's cool it, huh?' he murmured.

  The warmth of his fingers as they stroked her skin had a calming, almost soporific effect on her ragged emotions, and she slowly turned her head to gaze at the man sitting beside her. And that was a mistake, she re­alised as she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his broad shoulders, the tanned skin and dark, hairy chest still covered with glistening drops of water. A sudden spasm of excitement deep in her stomach broke through her bemused state, and, heeding the urgent warning of her body, she quickly sat up.

  'I'm sorry to snap like that,' she mumbled, grabbing the towel and concentrating on drying her hair. Honestly—she'd done nothing for the last two days but apologise right, left and centre. She was fed up to the back teeth with always finding herself in the wrong, and. . . Oh, lord—any minute now Luke was going to mention the scene in the kitchen last night, and if she didn't say she was sorry—yet again—they'd be straight into an argument. Her heart sank at the prospect of yet another furious quarrel with her husband.

  'About last night. . .' He paused.

  She shuddered. 'Please, Luke, I—I can't bear to even think about it.'

  'You're not the only one! How about if we both write the episode down to a mutual loss of temper, and agree to forget it, hmm? In fact,' he added with a slight laugh, 'I would definitely appreciate some sort of non-aggression treaty—for a few days, at least!'

  'So would I,' she agreed shyly, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, her cheeks flushing as she met his warm, lazy smile.

  Neither of them said any more for some time, Samantha surprised to find that for the first time since his arrival, she was able to relax in Luke's company.

  'My mother would love it here,' he said, his voice breaking into the companionable silence. 'This must be one of the most peaceful places I've ever come across.' 'How is your mother?'

  'She's fine, although nowadays she prefers to spend the winter in a warmer climate than New York.'

  'And Barbara?' Samantha asked. Other than a few brief letters and an occasional card at Christmas, there had been no real contact between them for the past four years. 'The last time I heard from her, she was working for some whizz-kid on Madison Avenue.'

  He laughed. 'And driving him up the wall, I expect! I don't need to tell you that my kid sister was always far keener on her busy social life than on being a career girl. And when she met a Frenchman, Edmond Vignaux, she quickly threw up her job to get married. In fact, she's on her honeymoon, right now.'

  'That's great news.' Samantha smiled at him. 'I do hope she'll be very happy. And now, I really must go,' she added, quickly rising to her feet. 'You'll un­doubtedly be pleased to hear that we have a new chef starting today, so I must go and see that all's well in the kitchen.'

  'Just a minute,' he said, catching hold of her hand as she bent down to pick up her towel. 'We've still got a lot of things to thrash out between us.'

  'I'm far too busy,' she muttered, trying to tug her hand away from his firm grasp. 'Don't be silly—let me go,' she pleaded as he, too, stood up while still maintaining his grip on her wrist.

  'I want to have a long, serious talk to you,' he said firmly. 'So, when's it to be?'

  'Oh, for heaven's sakes—I don't know.'

  'This afternoon?'

  'Yes. . . OK. . . all right!' she said quickly as he began pulling her closer to his tall figure. 'You're nothing but a bully!' she ground out, massaging her wrist as he let go of her hand.

  He gave her a mocking grin. 'I'm not going to quarrel with you, Samantha. Not when I now know just how to get you to do what I want.' He laughed as her cheeks flushed a deep crimson before she turned on her heel and began walking quickly away.

  'Now, don't forget. We have a date for this after­noon,' he called out after her swiftly moving figure.

  Oh, no! Her mind and body seemed to be in a chaotic state of contradictory and disorientating emotions, but as she made her way back to the hotel she knew with absolute certainty that she must find some way of avoiding Luke's disturbing presence. He seemed to have guessed that she was anxious not to have any close, in­timate contact with him. And of course he was quite right—she wasn't a total idiot! It was all very well for Luke to say that he wanted to talk, but the only talking he had done so far had rapidly ended up with her being clasped firmly in his arms. And wasn't that just like a man? They seemed to think that sex was the answer to everything. Well it certainly wasn't, she told herself roughly, desperately trying to ignore the confusing, sick, fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. The answer— if not to everything, to at least most of her problems-was to find some way of avoiding her husband. It wasn't because she was intent on running away again, she re­assured herself, recalling Betty's words last night as she marched into the sugar mill to shower and change. It was because she was feeling so bewildered and confused by her mental and physical reaction to Luke that she simply had to find some time and space in which to try and think calmly about the situation—something she couldn't do here, at the hotel.

  As she stood beneath the cascading water, the answer suddenly struck her with a blinding flash. Of course! Now she had Marvin in the kitchen, she could safely leave Penny to run the hotel for a few days. All she had to do was to get into the aeroplane and fly away—what could be simpler than that? It would mean getting up very early tomorrow morning, of course, and taking off for another island, but which one. . .? A moment or two later she hit on the obvious answer: St Barts.

  The four gift shops, which she owned on the islands within easy flying distance of Antigua, were running smoothly and doing very well. It was only the fifth, opened last year on the French island of St Barts, which seemed to be having constant teething troubles. The message she'd received this morning from Janina, the manageress, had raised yet more problems. She had known that she really ought to fly over there and sort matters out as soon as possible, but up to now she hadn't seen how she could manage to do so.

  At the sudden prospect of having some time away from the hotel—and the pressure being exerted by Luke—her spirits rose dramatically. In fact, apart from her presence being necessary in the kitchen during lu
nch and dinner, she could shut herself away, here in the sugar mill, for the rest of the day. And if her husband wanted to have a talk. . . well, that was just too bad, wasn't it?

  It was well over two hours later when Samantha re­turned to her refuge in the sugar mill, the fresh dress she had put on before lunch already damp and clinging to her figure. Even the guests were beginning to com­plain about the excessive heat and the almost un­bearable humidity. Maybe the storm forecast by Jason would clear the air? she thought hopefully, going straight into the bathroom to have yet another cold shower.

  At least she'd managed to get through to Aunt Emily who, as she had rightly guessed, had been hopping mad at not having heard from her niece for two days. Samantha grinned as she recalled some of the old woman's language. If anyone else had been listening on the line, they'd have had a blue fit! she thought, not bothering to dry or cover herself as she left the bathroom in search of some fresh clothing.

  What the hell. . . ?' she gasped, hardly able to believe the evidence of her own eyes as she came to a sudden, startled halt at the top of the open staircase.

  'Ah, Samantha, here you are at last,' Luke said, smiling lazily up at her as he lay comfortably stretched out on her bed, his arms folded behind his dark head.

  'Do make yourself at home!' she invited with angry sarcasm, scowling down at the bronze limbs of the figure, clothed only in a pair of white shorts, who was lying there as if he owned the place.

  'Umm. . .very nice!' he murmured appreciatively as he gazed up at her naked body.

  Oh, no! She'd been so startled and angry that she'd completely forgotten. . . 'You—you rat!' she wailed, quickly diving towards a chair and grabbing the first garment she could lay hands on. 'Shut your eyes,' she commanded as she scrambled into a thin muslin gown, wrapping it tightly around her wet, trembling figure and swiftly tying the sash. Turning to confront him, she found herself being regarded by a pair of gleaming blue eyes. 'You were looking,' she accused him bleakly.

  He gave her a mocking smile. 'How could I be expected to resist such an entrancing sight?' he said, his gaze moving slowly over the beautiful girl who was glaring at him with such fury. This was possibly not the time to tell his wife that the sight of the thin gown, clinging so tightly to her damp body and full breasts, whose swollen rosy tips were clearly visible as they thrust against the diaphanous material, presented a far more sexy and pro­vocative sight than her nude body had done.

  'Relax, sweetheart,' he murmured. 'This isn't the first time I've seen you without any clothes. We were married and lived together for a year—if you remember?'

  'How could I ever forget?' she ground out harshly. 'What do you think you're doing here?'

  'You agreed to meet me for a talk, this afternoon.' He yawned and stretched his long body. 'I got tired of waiting for you and decided to take a short nap.'

  Samantha glowered. 'Oh, you did, did you? Well, you can take your nap somewhere else! Come on, Luke— playtime's over. I want you to get up, get out, and—if I'm really lucky—to get lost!'

  'Oh, no. You and I have some important matters to discuss, and I intend staying here until we do so. All night, if necessary,' he added, a deep rumble of laughter shaking his broad-shouldered frame.

  It was his vile laughter that did it. Thinking about the episode later, and seeking some rational explanation for her quite deplorable behaviour, it occurred to Samantha that Luke might have deliberately tried to provoke her. If so, he had certainly succeeded! As the sound of his laugh echoed around the room, a thick red mist seemed to cloud her vision, her body shaking and trembling as she was suddenly overcome by an avalanche of over­whelming rage and fury. With an exasperated cry, she scooped up one of his shoes from the floor and rushed blindly towards the bed.

  She did, of course, have the advantage of surprise, but there was no doubt that her impromptu weapon proved to be surprisingly effective. Raining blows down upon her husband, Samantha was successfully inflicting some considerable damage before her victim managed to gather his superior forces, and swiftly began taking retaliatory action. The shoe was wrenched from her hand, and a moment later she found herself sprawled on her back with Luke's hard, heavy body pinning her firmly to the mattress as he glared down into her dazed eyes.

  'OK—that's it, sweetheart!' he snarled, breathing heavily. 'You have some lessons to learn, and lesson number one is: when I tell my wife that I want to talk to her—I expect her to listen to what I have to say! Do-I-make-myself-clear?' he demanded savagely through clenched teeth.

  'As daylight—you foul bully! Let me go,' she panted, wincing with pain as the fingers grasping her shoulders bit like talons into her soft flesh.

  'Oh, no. Not until you and I have the discussion from which you've been running away for the past two days. It won't take long,' he assured her with a grim smile. 'I have other plans for this afternoon.'

  'Big deal!' she muttered, trying to wriggle from be­neath his heavy body.

  'Don't do that. . . or I won't be responsible for my ac­tions!' his voice rasped, but she had already felt the warning, heated pressure of the body stirring against hers, had recognised the message conveyed by the glit­tering eyes staring so fixedly down into her own.

  She froze, hardly daring to breathe. However much she wanted to hit him on his determined chin, it seemed as if her only route out of this very fraught situation lay in calm, reasoned argument.

  'All right, Luke.' She swallowed nervously. 'I'll listen to what you have to say, but please let go of my arms because you're hurting me.'

  'I don't trust you an inch,' he said flatly, but he re­laxed his cruel grip, raising a hand to brush away a lock of dark hair which had fallen over his brow, and grim­acing as his fingers touched the corner of his eye. 'I reckon you've given me a black eye. Thanks a bunch, sweetheart!' he grated.

  'Oh, dear. . .' she murmured, trying not to smile as she noted a dark bruise already forming on his skin.

  There was no doubt about it, Luke was going to look really terrible in a few hours' time!

  'Don't laugh too soon—you're hardly in a fit state yourself,' he drawled, grinning as she raised her head and realised, with dawning horror, that her gown had become completely undone. 'However, since I want to talk to you, I think we'd better cover these lovely breasts of yours, hmm?'

  Samantha clamped her eyelids shut as he adjusted the garment, a deep tide of crimson sweeping over her face at the touch of his fingers, which seemed to be brushing quite unnecessarily often across her swollen nipples. 'That's enough!' she croaked, desperately trying to ignore the flames of desire flicking through her trem­bling body. 'I—I thought you said you wanted to talk,' she added breathlessly.

  'So I do.' His body continuing to hold her pinned firmly beneath him, he stared silently down into her green eyes. 'You've changed so much, Samantha—almost beyond recognition.' He shook his head, his lips curving into a warm, intimate smile. 'I married a beautiful child, and now I find that she's become a vitally attractive, very desirable woman.'

  'There's no need to turn on the heavy charm,' she said caustically, painfully aware of her quickening heartbeat, and the way her pulse seemed to be racing out of control. 'Of course I've changed. It's been four years, for heaven's sake! And now you've got the brass nerve to suddenly turn up here out of the blue—just who in the hell do you think you are?'

  'Your husband,' he grated harshly.

  'Oh, yeah . . .? Big deal!'

  There was a heavy silence for a moment, shivers of apprehension feathering down her spine as she saw a muscle tighten along his jaw, his eyes narrowing to an icy glare. 'Don't push me too far, Samantha,' he thun­dered. 'Believe me—there's no way I'm prepared to have my wife indulging in a rip-roaring, public love affair with some damned Englishman!'

  'I'm not!'

  'Oh, yeah?' he echoed, his cynical, mocking drawl bringing a hectic flush to her cheeks.

  'You don't understand. . .'

  'You're damn right, I don't,' he growled menacingly
.

  '. . . Gerald and I . . . we don't. . . well, we don't have that sort of relationship,' she muttered, her face growing scarlet beneath the unwavering scrutiny of his cold blue eyes.

  'The man's obviously a fool!' Luke gave a harsh bark of laughter. 'OK, sweetheart, let's get this business sorted out once and for all, hmm? In words of one syllable— have you, or have you not, slept with the guy?'

  'Well. . .?' he demanded fiercely as she remained ob­stinately silent, glaring resentfully up at the hard, im­placable expression on his face.

  'All right. . . all right, there's no need to shout,' she said bitterly. 'If you must know—no I haven't. And now, will you kindly mind your own business?'

  Luke stared silently down, his eyes boring into hers for what seemed eternity. 'You're still my wife, Samantha,' he said at last. 'And therefore what you do is very much my business.'

  She gave an angry laugh. 'On the principal of "What's mine is mine"?'

  He shrugged. 'While you remain married to me, I'm not prepared to have anyone messing around with my wife.'

  'OK—fine. Agree to a divorce, and then there won't be a problem.'

  'There's going to be no divorce,' he said flatly.

  'But. . . but you said. . .'

  'I said that I would listen to what you have to say— that's all.' He pushed a hand roughly through his dark hair. 'Against my better judgement I once listened to your aunt, and took her advice. Never again!'

  'Aunt Emily?' She gazed at him in astonishment. 'Are you trying to tell me that you—and my aunt—have been interfering in my life behind my back? I—I don't believe she'd ever do such a thing.'

  Luke sighed, moving his body to allow her to sit up. 'You were so young when I married you—half-child, half-woman—and still confused by your father's death at the time you ran away. Where else would you go, but to your aunt?' His eyes grew bleak, his mouth tight­ening into a grim line. 'Of course I talked to her. It was obvious that you were deeply miserable and unhappy with me, and I needed advice on how to cope with the situation.'