His arms went around her and drew her to him, and Carly’s fingers tightened on the sheaf of paper in her hands, crumpling it.
‘D-don’t!’ she tried vainly, desperately.
But he did. The kiss went on, teasing, tempting, persuading. Piran’s hands slid up under her shirt; one flicked open the fastener to her bra with practiced ease, the other moved the thin scrap of lace aside and found the aching fullness of her breast. His fingers stroked and teased, stimulating her, maddening her.
She tried to wriggle away, but the wriggling only made his touch inflame her more. She seemed frozen right where she was. She could only manage words. ‘Piran, stop.’
‘Why? You want it. Tell me you don’t want it, Carlota. Tell me and I’ll stop.’
Even as he spoke, his other hand moved to cup her other breast, then to stroke it, arousing it as well.
Carly squirmed against the sofa, feeling the heat of desire curl open deep inside her even as she tried to fight it down. A tiny moan escaped her.
Piran made a satisfied sound deep in his throat. ‘I thought so.’ His voice was ragged and the color was high in his cheeks. He looked very much the way he had nine years ago—the aroused male, hungry for her.
No, not for her, Carly corrected herself. For a woman. Any woman. There was nothing to do with love in his response to her. It was biology.
And so, damn it, was her reaction to him. She didn’t love him! Not the way she once had. Her body wanted him. She didn’t.
And, realizing that, at last she found the strength to shove him away. ‘Get off!’
She wriggled desperately until she fell right off the sofa on to the floor. Then she scrambled to her feet and put the width of the room between herself and Piran.
He shoved himself up and stood looking at her, still clearly aroused and a bit dazed. ‘For God’s sake, Carlota, you don’t have to act like some frightened virgin!’
What if I told you I am one? Carly wondered, and suppressed an almost hysterical laugh.
She reached behind her, under her blouse, fumbling with the clasp of her bra, trying desperately to hook it again. Piran took a step toward her. ‘Stay away from me,’ she warned him.
‘It’s a little late for the outrage, sweetheart. You were panting for me.’
Maybe so, but, ‘I’m not panting now, and I’m telling you, I don’t want you coming anywhere near me,’ she asserted.
‘That’s not what your body was saying.’
‘It’s what I’m saying, and I mean it, Piran. You touch me again—’
‘Kiss you again,’ he corrected her mockingly.
‘Touch me, kiss me, anything, and I will be gone on the next boat. And I’ll tell Diana exactly why I left.’
She saw his jaw tighten and a muscle tick in his cheek. ‘You liked it,’ he told her flatly.
Carly didn’t answer him, just met his gaze levelly, trying to mask the hurt with outrage, determined not to let him destroy her again.
Finally he gave a sound that was close to a snort. ‘I suppose you’re still holding out for marriage, Carlota?’
Carly lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye. ‘You’re damned right I am.’
Marriage.
God, what did it have to recommend it?
Not a damned thing Piran could think of as he wandered along the beach that night after dark.
His own parents’ version had certainly been a sham. What a naive fool he’d been to believe in it all those years. He’d just thought his parents liked going their separate ways.
How was he supposed to know that for years his mother had had a lover? How was he supposed to know that his father had known it, but hadn’t challenged it, preferring instead to bury himself in his work?
It was only when Des was eighteen—’old enough to know what life is all about’, his mother had said—that she and Arthur had let their sons in on the truth—and his mother had left to marry her long-time lover.
Good riddance, Piran had thought savagely, feeling betrayed to the depths of his soul. He’d turned his back on her too, determined to align himself with his serious, devoted, beloved father.
And then Arthur had let him down as well.
He couldn’t believe it when, just six months after the divorce, his father had called to invite him to his wedding.
‘You’re getting married?’ He’d been appalled.
‘I am. I’m in love,’ Arthur had said. And even over the phone he’d sounded brighter, younger, happier.
‘Who is it?’ Piran had asked.
‘Her name’s Sue,’ Arthur had told him. ‘She’s a dancer.’
‘A dancer?’ Even now Piran could remember the astonishment he’d felt. He couldn’t believe his fatherArthur St Just, BA, MA, Ph.D., D. Litt., Oxon, for heaven’s sake—was about to take a nightclub dancer for a bride.
‘Don’t be a snob,’ Arthur had told him.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Piran had snapped back at him.
He had heard his mild-mannered father’s sharp intake of breath, but Arthur had only said quietly, ‘I’m going to forget you ever said that. And you will keep a civil tongue in your head whenever you’re around your stepmother, or you won’t come around her.’
‘Fine,’ Piran had retorted. And he hadn’t gone to the wedding. But he hadn’t been able to stay away. He’d gone to visit them a few times—just out of morbid fascination, he told himself. He’d wanted to see Sue and his father together.
Or had he wanted to see Carly?
He raked his hands through his hair. Then he stripped off his shirt and plunged into the surf. Maybe working off his frustration would help him figure things out.
Well, they had certainly determined the boundaries of their relationship, though to Carly it seemed a pretty drastic way to do it.
She could still taste him on her lips hours later, but, if that was what it was going to take to get things out in the open, maybe it was all for the good.
At least afterwards he’d walked out and left her alone with her answer: marriage was apparently still not on the cards for Piran St Just.
Did she really mean that she wanted to marry him?
Heaven knew she hadn’t come down here with any desire of the sort.
And now?
Well, she certainly hadn’t proved to anyone’s satisfaction that she was over him. On the contrary, he could still make her blood boil and her heart sing.
But marry?
Oh, lord, why did the thought still tempt her? It shouldn’t. And it didn’t make any difference that it did, she told herself sharply. He didn’t want to marry her.
The following day they worked steadily, albeit in silence. The day after that brought with it a thundering rainstorm and Piran kept the computer turned off, afraid to risk having the system damaged by lightning.
It didn’t keep Carly from working, but it did mean that every time she slashed through a paragraph or redpenciled a line he demanded to know what she thought she was doing.
‘My job,’ she answered shortly.
‘You’re tearing it apart as fast as I write it,’ he grumbled.
‘Then write better.’
‘I’m doing the best I can.’ Outside the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled. ‘I’m no writer.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Carly muttered under her breath. ‘Now go away. I need to concentrate to make sense out of this.’
Piran looked affronted. ‘It already makes sense.’
‘To you. And perhaps to the three or four other people in the world who have your level of expertise,’ Carly allowed. ‘But Bixby Grissom is not an academic publisher, Piran. We’re aiming this book at the mass market.’
‘And that makes them stupid?’
‘No,’ she said patiently. ‘It makes them generalists. Your other books weren’t this difficult to understand.’
‘Thank Des.’
At the moment thanking Des was not high on Carly’s list of priorities. The thunder rumbled again as the
storm moved closer, and, closer still, she heard the car and the thump of the mail in the basket on the veranda.
‘I’ll get it,’ she said, glad of the excuse to escape even for a moment.
She brought back in several more journals, some business correspondence and two more lightly scented pastel envelopes. She flipped them on to the table closest to Piran. ‘She’s an eager little soul, isn’t she? Maybe you’ll marry her.’ The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was pining for him.
But he seemed not to notice. He grunted, but left the letters where they were.
Carly scowled at him, then at the letters. Then, heaving a sigh, she forced herself to focus once more on the manuscript in her hands.
The sun came out and set the jungle-like growth steaming. Carly opened all the windows and turned on all the fans but still the sweat ran down her neck and between her breasts. It soaked the waistband of her shorts. The heat was bad enough. Piran prowling around the room made things worse.
‘The rain’s stopped, so you can type,’ she told him.
‘I’m composing in my head.’
It looked more like prowling to her. She tossed the manuscript down on the sofa and headed for her room.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To change. I need a swim.’
‘Not alone.’
‘Well, not with you.’ That was more than she could bear. ‘And I’m not refraining from swimming the whole time I’m here just because there’s no one to come along,’ she told him before he could suggest it.
She went into her room and changed into her swimsuit. It was a very respectable royal blue maillot, its only eyecatching attribute the high cut of the leg openings. She wrapped a towel around her waist and went back out and down the steps.
Piran followed her down.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Coming with you, obviously.’
‘I told you I don’t want—’
‘And I don’t give a damn what you want. It’s a matter of safety.’
‘I don’t need you.’
‘I thought you wanted to marry me,’ Piran said mockingly.
‘Go to hell, Piran.’
But he didn’t. He went with her.
Carly did her best to ignore him, practically running down the path, then dropping her towel and plunging straight into the crystalline water, swimming out toward the reef. Only when she neared it did she turn and tread water as she squinted back in Piran’s direction.
He was standing on the beach, hands on his hips, watching her. She thanked God that he didn’t come in after her. Instead, once he was apparently satisfied that she wasn’t going to require rescuing from her own folly, he stripped off his shirt and lay down on his towel.
Carly hoped he’d forgotten to bring his sunscreen. Maybe he’d broil like a lobster.
She swam for half an hour, letting him swelter. But finally she got tired and knew she couldn’t outlast him. He would stay as long as she did, and she knew it. So she came out, grabbed her towel, and, without a word to him, began to walk back up the beach to the house.
Piran followed.
She felt naked, walking up the path with Piran’s eyes on her the whole time. But she didn’t stop and wrap her hips in the towel. He’d only laugh at her if she did.
‘If you think wriggling your rear at me when you walk up the beach is going to get me to marry you, you’ve got another think coming,’ he said when they got there.
‘You didn’t have to come along.’
‘Whenever you go for a swim, I’m coming with you,’ he replied in a tone that brooked no argument.
‘Don’t strain yourself,’ Carly said. ‘Maybe you can find some other watchdog to do it for you.’
Over the next few days she even tried to find someone herself. But no one could. Everyone was busy working and preparing for Christmas.
Christmas.
Well, at least that part of her trip was working. Days had gone by and she hadn’t even thought about it.
Until Ruth came and, along with dinner, brought a sprig of mistletoe.
‘You don’ got a tree,’ she chastised them. ‘I bring you this. Got it at the grocery store. This be better for you young single people anyway,’ she added, giggling.
Carly and Piran both looked at the mistletoe as if it were poison ivy.
‘You got to hang it here, see?’ Ruth said when neither of them made a move to take it from her. She pointed to the opening between the kitchen and the living room. ‘Lotsa chances for kissin’, see?’
Carly saw. Piran did too. ‘We’ve got work to do, Ruth,’ he complained.
‘Too much work not good for you,’ Ruth said. ‘Here. You come hang it now.’ And she wouldn’t serve dinner until he had.
‘Good. Now the kiss.’ She stood back and looked at them expectantly.
Carly looked at her toes. She didn’t know what Piran was looking at until all of a sudden Ruth squealed.
‘Not me, you dumb boy! You s’posed to kiss Miss Carly.’
‘She doesn’t want to kiss me,’ Piran said.
‘Course she does. All us women like to kiss handsome men. Don’tcha, honey?’ she asked Carly.
Carly, seeing that sinking through the floor wouldn’t be an option, shrugged.
‘She says yes,’ Ruth translated. ‘You kiss her now.’
Piran kissed her.
It was supposed to be a duty peck and Carly knew it. They both knew it. But something happened. Something fierce, something elemental, something between the two of them that no amount of common sense ever seemed to be able to control. One second it was a brief touch of his lips, and the next it was a hungry, desperate kiss that asked for things that Carly hadn’t even dreamed of.
‘Yeah, mon, that’s a kiss all right!’ Ruth cheered when at last Piran let her go and Carly stumbled back, shaken. ‘Come along now. I done fixed a box fish for dinner.’
They barely spoke after that. There seemed nothing to say that wouldn’t make things worse.
Then on Friday, while Carly was still working over the morning’s writing, she heard a car and the thump of the mail on the porch. Glancing at her watch, she frowned. It wasn’t even quite noon.
‘Mail’s early today,’ she said. ‘You get it. I’m in the midst.’
Piran glanced up from the article he was reading, looked about to protest, then shrugged. He walked out on to the veranda. Carly muttered the sentences in her head, trying to hear the way they sounded. She scribbled some more, then muttered what she’d written.
Piran came back in empty-handed.
‘No mail? But I heard the car.’
Piran just looked at her. He was very pale.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked him.
‘It wasn’t the mail.’
Carly set down the manuscript and stood up. ‘What was it?’
‘A baby.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘WHAT do you mean, is it mine?’ Piran said. No, he didn’t actually say it; he shouted it. How dared she ask him something like that?
He paced to the far end of the veranda, then whirled round to glare at Carly. ‘I think I’d know if I had a child!’
‘Not necessarily,’ Carly said so casually that he itched to smack her. ‘If you were a woman, yes, of course, you’d know. But—’
‘You think I just go around getting women pregnant?’ She didn’t answer at once, which made it all too clear exactly what she thought. He scowled at her, then at the baby.
Cripes, a baby! He still couldn’t believe it.
‘Stop pacing, for heaven’s sake,’ Carly snapped at him. ‘You’re scaring it.’
Not half as much as it scared him, he thought grimly. But he stopped pacing and watched as Carly crouched next to the wicker basket and peered in at it.
The baby looked back with something akin to worried curiosity.
Piran came to loom over her sh
oulder and stare down at the infant, too. ‘Where do you suppose it came from?’
Carly looked over her shoulder at him. ‘Is this a request for a discussion on the birds and the bees?’
Damned if he didn’t feel his face begin to burn. ‘You know damned well what I mean.’
‘Yes, and you know where it came from. The car that drove up.’
‘Yes, but who—?’ He stopped and shook his head, still dazed. He felt light-headed and this time it had nothing to do with his rapid decompression.
‘I should think you’d know that better than I would,’ Carly said. ‘If you’re the father—’
‘I am bloody well not the father!’
‘Then why would someone leave it here?’ she asked with maddening logic.
‘How should I know? And stop looking at me that way!’
Carly didn’t say anything, but she didn’t stop looking at him. Piran glared back at her. He could still feel the heat creeping up his neck and he hoped to God she didn’t see it. She’d probably take it as a physical manifestation of paternity.
‘Just because, once upon a time, you and I got carried away…’ he muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.
‘Once upon a time? What about when you wanted to go to bed with me just the other day?’
‘Yes, well, we didn’t, did we?’
‘No thanks to you. And don’t tell me you’ve been celibate for the entire past nine years. What about the pastel-envelope lady?’
Piran scowled. ‘What about her?’
‘Well, she’s certainly been trying to communicate with you about something.’
Piran said something very rude under his breath. He didn’t want to talk about the girl Carly called ‘the pastel-envelope lady’. She was from a time he just wanted to forget. He hunched his shoulders.
‘What about her?’ Carly persisted.
Piran gritted his teeth. She—Wendy Jeffries was her name—had been pursuing him with single-minded determination ever since he’d met her at a party in Washington a little over a year ago.
He should have known better than to get involved with her, but it had been a hard time for him. His best friend and diving partner, Gordon Andrews, had just died in a car accident. Piran had been driving.
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