hurricane!

by Mary Lyons

  'I don't know about coping—but as far as our mar­riage was concerned, you certainly didn't try very hard, did you?' she retorted. 'You left me alone, day after day, in what you must have known was a totally alien environment.' She brushed aside the tangled length of her curly hair. 'There was nothing for me to do in that huge apartment, but you wouldn't let me have even a part-time job, would you? You were totally obsessed by your business affairs. . .'

  'Did you really expect me to dance attendance on you morning, noon and night?' he rasped.

  'No, of course not. But you never discussed any of your business deals with me, for instance, and you made it quite clear that I came a very poor second to your work. A poor third, in fact, if we take Adele Francis into account!' she added bitterly.

  'Adele?'

  She gave an unhappy laugh. 'You really are the pits, aren't you? You've been getting all steamed up about my relationship with Gerald—but we haven't heard a word about your love affair, have we? Talk about double standards!'

  'What love affair?' he growled.

  'Hah! Is your personal assistant still providing her very personal assistance? I bet you two have a lot of fun together! Do you remember all those nights you spent in the office?' Samantha asked, her voice husky with painful memories. 'I used to lie alone in bed, imagining you and Adele together. Only I didn't have to use my imagination for very long, because she was only too happy to tell me all about your intimate relationship, wasn't she?'

  'And you believed her?' His voice rose angrily.

  'Adele told me, time and again, that you and she. . .'

  'Spare me the sordid details!' he said curtly, his eyes glinting dangerously.

  Samantha stared at him in confusion. 'Didn't you. . .? I mean—was Adele lying to me all the time?'

  He swore under his breath, rolling on to his back and staring up at the ceiling. 'I don't think that whether Adele was telling the truth or not is of any relevance at the moment,' he said grimly. 'You were quite ready to be­lieve that I'd have an affair with a member of my staff, and you apparently couldn't even trust me so far as to talk about your suspicions.'

  'But I did! I told you that if you insisted on taking Adele off to Rio. . .'

  'For God's sake!' he exploded. 'That was hardly a discussion—just the usual half-baked complaint that you had in those days! How on earth was I supposed to alter all my arrangements, just because you'd taken an ir­rational dislike to my personal assistant? Why didn't you trust me?'

  'But don't you see, Luke, that's the whole problem,' she exclaimed angrily. 'How was I supposed to trust you, when you gave me so little of yourself? The only time I shared your life was during those awful, formal dinner parties, and a few hours at night—if and when you weren't too involved with business meetings.'

  'Nothing in life is that black and white, Samantha,' he said slowly. 'I'll admit that maybe I was over-preoccupied with work, but some of the problems in our marriage certainly weren't my fault. For instance, you expected me to look after you, just as your father had done, but I wanted a wife—not a spoilt child.'

  'I wasn't spoilt—that's a rotten thing to say!'

  'But true,' he insisted, raising himself to look down at her. 'Whenever I made an attempt to explain the harsh facts of life, you would retire into a fit of the sulks. You expected me to run your life for you, to make every single decision. . . in fact, as far as I could see, you were quite content to have exchanged one father-figure for another.'

  'No. . .that's not right. I didn't. . .I mean. . .' Her voice faltered as she gazed up into his quizzical eyes. 'OK, I guess you could be right,' she sighed. 'But that merely underlines the problem. Goodness knows why you married me, Luke, but if I ever wanted a father-figure, I certainly don't want one now.'

  'I'm pleased to hear it,' he drawled. 'It wasn't a role that I enjoyed being forced to play,' he added with a mocking grin as he ran a finger lightly down the side of her face.

  She could feel her heart beginning to pound at his soft touch. 'Yes, well. . .the fact is, we didn't have enough between us on which to base any sort of relationship, let alone a marriage. Which is all the more reason for you to give me a divorce,' she said breathlessly, desper­ately trying to control her wayward mind. But it was proving difficult to ignore the hand now trailing down over her neck, and gently caressing the hollows at the base of her throat. 'And.. .and you must see that we. ..we were totally unsuited and. . . and incompatible?'

  'I would have said that there was one, very important aspect of our married life, in which we were thoroughly compatible!'

  'No, Luke!' she gasped as his hands began moving slowly over her body. 'I—I thought you said that you had some. . .some other plans for this afternoon?'

  'Oh, yes—indeed I do!' he drawled, the gleam in his eyes and the explicit touch of the fingers caressing her full breast making his intentions quite plain.

  'But. . . but, this isn't the answer. . .'

  'I'm not interested in answers—or questions for that matter.' His soft, mocking voice seemed to echo in her ears as he moved his body to trap her beneath him, once more. 'Only in the total certainty that you want me, every bit as much as I want you.'

  'No,' she gasped. 'No—let me go!'

  'Like hell I will,' he muttered huskily as his dark head came down towards her.

  Other than their brief encounters following his arrival on the island, it was four years since she had been in his arms. But from the moment his mouth hungrily claimed hers, parting her lips with savage intensity, all the past days, months and years seemed to vanish as if they had never been. The stark impact of his rampant desire, the force of his kiss and the hands sweeping down over her body to brush aside her gown, was a potent reminder that the physical bond between them had always been a compelling force, sufficiently strong to melt all her re­sistance, even during the most unhappy days of her marriage. Now, as then, she found herself being swept inexorably along on a fast tide of rising passion and desire, instinctively responding to the heavy pressure of his body against hers, the shivering excitement of his warm hands on her bare skin.

  And then the hard, demanding possession of his mouth slowly softened, gently bewitching and beguiling her senses, and bringing her to a shocking awareness and belated realisation of her true feelings. She now knew, with every fibre of her being, that she didn't want him to stop. The truth was that she wanted to feel his lips on hers, the touch of his hands on her body. . . and that she had wanted it, with increasing desperation, ever since he had arrived on the island.

  'You want me—don't you, Samantha?' His hoarse voice seemed to echo her own distraught thoughts as he raised his head to look at the girl lying dazed in his arms, his lips parting in a slow, sensual smile as he gazed down at her confused, bewildered expression. And then he lowered his head to kiss the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat.

  Samantha moaned, a sharp thrill of pure, physical pleasure exploding inside her at the downward path of his mouth, the exquisite excitement and the deep, aching need for fulfilment as his lips closed over first one swollen nipple and then the other.

  'Tell me. . .' he whispered thickly against her flesh. 'Tell me that you want me. . .'

  'Oh, God! Yes—yes, I want you,' she gasped help­lessly, oblivious to everything but a driving, imperative need to succumb A> the wanton desires of her own body, the compulsive urge to surrender to the increasingly erotic, sexually explicit touch of his mouth and hands.

  Luke gave a deep groan, swiftly tearing off his clothes, and then lifting her like a doll as he ripped away her thin gown before tossing her back against the pillows. There was nothing gentle or tender in their lovemaking. They both seemed possessed by a savagely raw, emotional hunger which had been repressed for too long, passion exploding between them as their bodies merged in a fiercely wild, untamed consummation. Drowning in ec­stasy, Samantha was scarcely aware of repeatedly crying out his name, the breath rasping in her throat as she eagerly yielded to the thrusting possession of
his power­ful body, his heart thudding and pounding against hers as they both fell shuddering into a deep, dark abyss of mutual joy and satisfaction.

  Much later, as they lay drowsily replete, Samantha was just drifting off to sleep when she found herself being forced back into reality. Still dazed by the overwhelming passion which had flared between them, and incredu­lous at the force of her own response to Luke's frenzied, hungry possession, it was some moments before she managed to drag herself up to the surface of full con­sciousness. Oh, God! What had she done? As she gazed at Luke's recumbent form in dawning horror, her body writhing with ever-increasing shame and self-disgust, it became slowly borne in upon her that she hadn't been disturbed solely by a bad conscience. Wasn't that. . .? She was sure she'd heard something. . .? A heavy crash as the front door was thrown open confirmed her worst fears. Someone was entering the sugar mill! 'Sam? Hello, Samantha? Where are you?' It was Gerald! She'd completely and utterly forgotten that he'd said he was coming over to St Pauls this after­noon. Oh—oh, help! What on earth was she going to do now?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dazed and stunned as she was by Gerald's sudden ap­pearance, it was a moment or two before Samantha managed to collect her scattered wits. And then the sound of his voice calling her name as he looked into the small kitchen below quickly galvanised her drowsy, lethargic body into action. Scrambling off the bed, she grabbed the corner of a sheet, frantically tugging it from beneath Luke's comatose figure and wrapping it hurriedly around herself, before staggering across to the balcony which overlooked the room below.

  'Oh, h-hello, Gerald. . .' she croaked huskily, her pale cheeks surrounded by a flame-like halo of tangled curls as she gazed down at the upturned face of the handsome, fair-haired Englishman. 'I. . .um. . .I forgot that you were coming today, and. . . well, I guess I. . . er. . . I must have fallen asleep. . .'

  'That's OK.' Gerald beamed up at her. 'I must say, you look really fantastic! Shall I come up and join you?' he added hopefully.

  'No!' she gasped breathlessly. 'I mean. . . I. . .' She closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to control her trembling figure, desperately hunting through her numb, sluggish mind for an answer to the predicament in which she now found herself. 'I'm very tired. . .and. . .um. . .well, Gerald, the fact is. . .'

  'The fact is—darling Samantha isn't receiving visitors today,' a voice drawled from behind her shoulder. 'Maybe you should come back another time?'

  Samantha's eyes glazed with horror and she gave a helpless moan, slumping against the wooden rail of the balcony as she turned to see Luke walking over to smile blandly down at the Englishman.

  'Who. . .? What. . .? Who's that? And what's he doing up in your b-bedroom?' Gerald stuttered, growing red in the face as he pointed an angry, shaking finger up at Luke.

  'For God's sake!' Samantha hissed urgently. But her detestable husband clearly didn't intend to take a blind bit of notice of anything she said.

  'Tsk, tsk.' Luke shook his head in mock sorrow. 'Really, Gerald, old boy, you seem to be a bit slow on the uptake,' he drawled in an atrocious English accent.

  'Oh—Samantha!'

  'Oh—God!'

  'Oh—dear!' Luke murmured, before he burst out laughing at the deep, heartfelt groans of dismay issuing from both his wife and her boyfriend.

  Samantha whirled on him, trembling with fury. 'Shut up! Shut up—you rat!'

  'There's no need to scream at me like a fishwife!' The Englishman bristled angrily.

  'I didn't mean you, Gerald,' she moaned helplessly. 'And I certainly don't deserve to be treated in this way. How was I to know that you were that sort of woman?' he added in a high-pitched aggrieved tone of voice. 'I never dreamed. . .'

  'Just a minute!' she snapped, frowning down at the man below. 'What do you mean by "that sort of woman"? This is my husband, for heaven's sake!'

  'Oh, yes?' he sneered.

  'Yes—of course he is.'

  'Humph! This is the first I've heard about any so-called husband!' Gerald gave an angry laugh as he glared up at Luke.

  'But it's true!' Samantha wailed, almost dancing with frustration and convinced that she was in the midst of some appalling nightmare. 'Oh, for goodness' sake, Luke, will you please telk Gerald that we really are married?'

  Luke shook his head sorrowfully. 'But you're always telling me that we're not really married. . .' he said with a heavy, dramatic sigh.

  Struggling with the thick sheet enveloping her figure, Samantha's bellow of rage was abruptly terminated as Luke calmly picked her up and tossed her carelessly back on to the bed.

  'I sure go for a woman with spirit!' he laughed, re­turning to grin down at the Englishman, whose fury had temporarily given way to a puzzled, angry frown.

  'Hang on—I've seen you before, haven't I?' Gerald muttered. 'Let me see. . .in Antigua. . .last month, wasn't it?' He snapped his fingers. 'Yes, of course—that's it! You were coming out of my lawyer's office. And now I come to think of it. . . he told me, just the other day, that he had an American client who was thinking of buying this hotel from old Emily Ward. So, that's what you're doing here.'

  'Well, no—not entirely old boy. . .' Luke drawled. 'Believe me, this little lady is really hot stuff!' He winked down at the Englishman, his eyes gleaming with laughter as he struggled to keep a straight face.

  'You. . .you evil bastard!' Samantha yelled, fighting to free herself from the sheet, and gibbering with rage as she contemplated the great pleasure—not to say deep, deep satisfaction—of blackening Luke's other eye.

  'Hot stuff. . .?' Gerald's cheeks had taken on a livid, purple hue, and it looked as if he was going to explode at any moment. 'I don't normally associate with loose women!' He gave a jeering, scornful laugh.

  'I heard that!' Samantha cried, finally managing to free herself. 'How dare you call me a loose woman?' she shouted furiously. 'Get out of here you. . . you louse!'

  'Don't worry—I'm going!' he shouted as he hurried towards the exit. 'And as far as I'm concerned, it's good riddance to bad rubbish!'

  Following the loud crash as the front door was slammed shut with considerable force, a long silence de­scended on the sugar mill. Feeling totally exhausted, Samantha rewound the sheet about her trembling figure, staring at her husband who was leaning over the balcony, doubled up with laughter.

  'OK, Luke,' she said as his mirth began to subside. 'I've certainly got to hand it to you—old boy. That was a really good performance you've just put on.'

  'Oh, God—I haven't laughed so much in years!' His tall frame was shaken by another peal of hilarious laughter.

  'That's good, because now you've had your fun—you can get out of here,' she said grimly. 'Out of here. . . and out of my life—permanently!'

  'Aw, come on, sweetheart,' he grinned. 'You know I was only kidding.'

  'Kidding. . .?' she echoed bitterly. 'If you think that I'm likely to be amused by your Oscar-winning act, just now, you're going to have to think again!'

  'Face facts, Samantha—I did you a big favour,' he said crisply. 'That guy was a real wimp—one of the dregs of humanity, for God's sake! Even if I was prepared to tolerate any man fooling around with my wife—which I certainly am not!—he was absolutely the wrong person for you. Surely you must see that?'

  Samantha sighed heavily and went over to stare out of the window. 'What I do see is that while I may have been blind and stupid these last few days, there's nothing wrong with my hearing.' She turned around, her eyes dazed with pain as she watched him getting dressed. 'You are buying the hotel, as Gerald said, aren't you? It all makes sense now,' she added, pushing a trembling hand through her long red hair. 'Corrine—who's obviously the architect for the new hotel; the way you've been examining the fabric and structure of the buildings; how you knew about Aunt Emily's operation. And why not— since you've obviously been negotiating secretly together. You never could resist a good business deal, could you, Luke?' she added scornfully.

  'It's not like that.'

 
; 'Oh, no?' She gave a derisory laugh. 'Aunt Emily may be old, but I've still got my wits about me. Don't tell me that you aren't picking up a prime piece of property dead cheap, because I won't believe you.'

  'You're wrong,' he retorted curtly. 'I'm paying a very fair price—considerably over the odds, in fact. And you know very well that I would never cheat your aunt,' he added, moving across the floor towards her. 'Emily will be glad to retire from a job that's become too much for her to cope with, and now she'll be able to live in comfort for the rest of her life.'

  'It sounds as if it's just one of your usual typically clever deals!' Samantha groaned out angrily. 'I haven't forgotten your favourite business maxim: divide and rule. And that is exactly what you've done, isn't it? You've very sneakily kept the whole thing a secret from me— since you knew I'd never agree—and all the while you've been dangling your money bags in front of a confused old woman.'

  Luke's hands gripped her slim shoulders, his tense fingers biting into her flesh. 'That simply isn't true,' he said angrily. 'It was your aunt who contacted me, and not the other way round.'

  'I don't believe it! She'd never. . .'

  'Oh, yes, she did,' he grated. 'We've been in constant touch with each other during these past years, and Emily knew that one of my companies has recently taken over the Prestige Hotels chain. She also knew that I had de­cided to sell off some hotels, and to concentrate on sites with a superb location—such as the one here, on St Pauls—with a view to offering total luxury for those who can afford it. She approached me in the first instance, and it has taken me some months to finally agree to pur­chase this place. And do you know why?' he added grimly.

  'No, I. . .'

  'Because Emily, far from being the "confused old woman" you seem to fondly imagine her to be, is in fact a double-dealing, rapacious old trout, who would skin me alive if I gave her half a chance'.' He gave a grim snort of sardonic laughter. 'Not only am I going to have to spend a fortune on doing up this ramshackle place, but your dear old aunt has also bargained for an ex­tremely large capital sum, in addition to the purchase price of the hotel. Heaven knows, I may not be too happy about the deal, but at least you must be pleased to know that Emily is now going to have an easy, comfortable life?'