Innocent Virgin, Wild Surrender

by Anne Mather

  ‘You could be right,’ he said non-committally. ‘I can always rely on you to keep me in line.’

  ‘As if I could.’ Juno was scornful. Then she turned to Rachel again. ‘You on holiday, Rachel? Or did this galoot invite you here?’

  ‘Hey, I’m no galoot. I’m a pussycat,’ Matt broke in before Rachel could answer her. ‘Don’t you be putting me down, woman.’

  ‘Ain’t no one could put you down, Brody,’ declared Juno flatly. ‘And you sure as hell ain’t no pussycat, neither. A cougar, yeah? Or a jaguar. Anything else, you be kidding yourself.’

  ‘I do that a lot,’ replied Matt without rancour. His eyes flickered over Rachel again, and she was sure he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. But she still had no idea what he was thinking when he said casually, ‘Well, you have to admit I have good taste.’

  ‘Can’t argue with that.’ Juno was studying Rachel again with her dark assessing eyes. ‘But you look out for this one. She looks fragile. Don’t you go breaking her heart, you hear?’

  Matt’s lips twisted. ‘I don’t think I could,’ he said drily, but Rachel had the uneasy feeling that he might be wrong. Though perhaps not in the way Juno anticipated. There was more than one way to tear a life apart.

  ‘Anyway, I guess you’ve come for some of my Blue Mountain brew, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Matt nodded. ‘Okay if we sit out on the deck?’

  ‘Looks like you got it to yourselves,’ agreed Juno. ‘You take your ease. I’ll see if Oscar’s muffins are out of the oven yet.’

  ‘From your lips to God’s ear,’ said Matt easily, before ushering Rachel ahead of him into the shadowy bar.

  The bar was just a way to reach the deck outside. But even at this hour of the morning there were one or two men draped over the bar stools or leaning over a table, enjoying a game of chess. Rachel wondered how they could sit inside on such a lovely morning, but the effort to distract herself with commonplace musings didn’t quite come off.

  What had Juno meant? What other woman had come here with Matt? And how could she find out if it had been her mother?

  Matt directed her to a table overlooking the street. It enabled them to enjoy the view of the harbour, and the flapping canopy overhead protected them from the worst excesses of the sun.

  ‘Like it?’ he asked, and Rachel dragged her mind from thoughts of her mother to give a little nod.

  ‘It’s very—very—’

  ‘Quaint?’ he suggested, arching dark brows, but Rachel shook her head.

  ‘Atmospheric,’ she decided firmly. ‘It’s the kind of place you can imagine pirates gathering to plan their next voyage.’

  ‘Pirates, hmm?’ Matt was sardonic. ‘I assume you think I’d fit in very well?’

  ‘If the cap fits,’ said Rachel lightly, wondering how she could bring the conversation round to more personal matters. ‘Juno seems to think you’re a bit of a heartbreaker.’ She paused. ‘Are you?’

  ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ he remarked, picking up the salt cellar and weighing it in his strong hands. Long fingers shaped the shoulders of the small container, and Rachel felt that careless caress all the way down to her toes.

  Then he looked up and found her watching him, and his eyes darkened to a shade of green only found at the bottom of the sea. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘What are you thinking? I can feel your eyes undressing me. Or am I wrong?’

  ‘You’re wrong!’

  He was always able to disconcert her, and she wished she dared ask him outright if he’d brought her mother here. That might disconcert him, but she couldn’t guarantee it. Besides, she was such a wuss she didn’t have the guts to do it.

  ‘Okay.’ While she’d been worrying over her options, Matt’s eyes had remained on her. And now she could feel the hot colour rising up her cheeks. ‘Would you like me to undress you instead? I’d enjoy that enormously. I might find an English rose tattooed on your butt.’

  ‘You might not!’

  Rachel stared at him angrily, and Matt gave her another considering look. ‘You don’t like tattoos?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Okay.’ His eyes danced. ‘I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.’

  Rachel pressed back against the slats of her chair. ‘I’ve seen yours,’ she said tightly, and Matt’s lips quivered with amusement.

  ‘So you have,’ he agreed, sobering. ‘Which doesn’t seem fair, does it?’

  Rachel couldn’t look at him. In her mind’s eye she could see the outline of the nighthawk very clearly. Indeed, she thought she’d glimpsed it earlier through the thin fabric of his shirt, its dark plumage unmistakable against his skin.

  Once again the conversation had got away from her, and she was almost relieved when Juno returned with the coffee he’d ordered.

  ‘Here we go,’ she said, setting down two mugs of steaming black liquid. ‘Now, I’ve brought you cream and sugar, Rachel. But I know Matt, here, likes it just the way it comes.’

  ‘Don’t I always?’ remarked Matt lazily, and Rachel knew it was another comment that could be taken two ways.

  ‘And Oscar’s sent you each a pecan and maple syrup muffin,’ Juno added, evidently used to his innuendos. She squeezed Rachel’s shoulder. ‘You try one of these, girl. It’ll put a bit more flesh on those bones.’

  ‘She doesn’t need any more flesh on her bones.’ Matt’s protest was good-humoured. ‘I think she’s perfect the way she is.’

  ‘Well, you be careful, girl.’ Juno touched Rachel’s shoulder again, almost in warning. ‘When he tells you that you’re perfect, he wants something. You can be sure of it.’

  Rachel didn’t have an answer to that, and she was almost as relieved when Juno went away again as she’d been when she’d arrived.

  ‘Try the muffin,’ Matt suggested, lifting his own and burying his strong white teeth in the soft sponge. ‘Mmm, it’s almost worth getting fat for.’

  Rachel broke open the muffin in front of her, glad of something to do with her hands. And the smell almost made her salivate. She could easily forget why she’d invited him here. Crispy nuts, maple syrup, and rich fluffy sponge cake. Wonderful!

  She nibbled on a corner, wondering how to begin. Then, after adding a slurp of cream to her coffee, she took a sip. As Matt had promised, it was delicious, the caffeine giving a much-needed boost to her psyche.

  ‘Tell me about yourself.’

  For a moment Rachel thought she must have conveyed the words by osmosis. But it wasn’t she who’d spoken them. It was Matt.

  ‘Tell me about Rachel Claiborne,’ he said, watching the play of emotions crossing her face. ‘Do you have a job in England? An occupation?’

  ‘Well, I’m not a lady of leisure,’ said Rachel tartly, before realising she was not going to get anywhere if she was offhand. ‘I—well, I work for a newspaper.’

  Matt regarded her with interest. ‘You’re a reporter?’ he asked. ‘What—are you some hot-shot columnist I should have heard of?’

  Rachel had to smile then. Shaking her head, she said, ‘Nothing so glamorous. I work for the Chingford Herald. It’s just a local newspaper that mostly survives because of its advertising pages. I work in the advertising department, sometimes on the computer and sometimes on the phone, soliciting customers.’

  ‘Soliciting, hey?’ said Matt lazily, taking a mouthful of his coffee and savouring the taste. He grinned. ‘Why am I not surprised?’

  Rachel’s lips tightened. ‘Soliciting advertising,’ she corrected him primly, and saw the way his lips twitched at her words. ‘I’m actually quite good at it.’

  ‘I believe you.’ Matt allowed his eyes to drop to her mouth. ‘Honestly, I do.’

  He was teasing her, she knew, but Rachel was too tense to take it. ‘No, you don’t,’ she retorted angrily. ‘You’re too busy trying to think of your next gibe. Let me guess: you think the only reason I got my job was because my boss fancied me.’

  ‘No!’ Matt groaned. ‘
I didn’t say that. Boy, do you have some opinion of men! What happened? Did some cheap bastard seduce you and let you down?’

  Rachel gasped, but when she would have jack-knifed out of the chair Matt’s hand shot across the table to grasp her wrist. His fingers were surprisingly cool, but his grip was powerful. Rachel could feel its strength all the way up her arm.

  ‘Calm down,’ he demanded, and she was glad the deck was empty. ‘What the hell else was I supposed to think when you react like crazy every time someone mentions your looks?’ He shook his head. ‘You are good to look at, Rachel. There, I’ve said it. So sue me. But I’ve known dozens of good-looking women who hold down responsible jobs purely on their own merit.’

  Rachel felt foolish. ‘I bet you have,’ she muttered, in an effort to defend herself. But her awareness of him was now stirring like a fire in her belly. And that was bad.

  ‘You have to have the last word, don’t you?’ he demanded harshly. ‘But it may surprise you to know the world doesn’t revolve around what you think.’

  It wasn’t easy, but somehow Rachel managed to drag her wrist away. ‘I never thought it did,’ she denied, rubbing the feeling back into her arm. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you again, Mr Brody.’ She thrust back her chair. ‘I think it would be best for both of us if I just leave.’

  ‘Rachel!’

  She’d barely got to her feet before he moved into her path to stop her. Rachel turned then, desperately seeking for another way to get off the deck, and scurried towards the exit. She heard him coming after her, heard his feet thudding across the boards, so that when his arm snaked about her waist she panicked.

  She was beating frantically at his arm when he hauled her back against him. ‘Pack it in!’ he exclaimed, his patience shredding. ‘What do you think I’m going to do to you?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I?’ she countered ridiculously, wondering what had happened to the cool, controlled individual she’d used to be. But as soon as he laid his hands on her all commonsense deserted her.

  ‘Well, you’re quite safe with me,’ he told her grimly, the muscles of his chest and stomach hard against her quivering form. ‘You’re not irresistible, Rachel. Whatever you’ve been led to believe.’

  Rachel let out a cry of protest. ‘I don’t believe I am irresistible. You—you just make me say things I don’t mean.’

  ‘And why is that?’ he asked, bending his head close to her ear so she could hear the whispered words. ‘Could it be because this is what you want? And you don’t have the guts to ask for it yourself?’

  Rachel’s breathing constricted. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Sure about that?’ He deliberately pushed himself closer, so she could feel the unmistakable pressure against her bottom. ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said, but the words wobbled. She could feel his body stirring against her, and the knowledge was exhilarating and terrifying both at the same time.

  She had to get away.

  “Course, you know I’m enjoying this,’ Matt went on roughly. And she suspected he wasn’t quite as cool as he appeared when she heard an edge in his voice.

  ‘I’m—sorry.’ The words stuck in her throat. She was having to fight the urge to lean back against him. It was years since she’d allowed any man to touch her, and she had to remember her reasons for being here.

  She glanced back over her shoulder, and any moisture there’d been in her mouth dried at the predatory gleam in his eyes. ‘I—have to go,’ she said, but she wondered if she really meant it. The feel of him, the smell of him, the raw male power of his nearness, was enveloping her in an unfamiliar haze of longing. And when his lips brushed her neck she felt as if her body was burning up.

  But when his hands moved to her waist she sensed a certain ambivalence. Was he going to pull her even closer, or was he going to push her away? Her sudden intake of breath caused him to hesitate. And every nerve in her body tingled in anticipation of his kiss.

  But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, although his breath moistened her bare shoulder, it was his teeth that grazed her skin. He nibbled at her neck, pulled a pearl of soft skin into his mouth and suckled greedily. And wetness exploded between her legs as his tongue caressed her. It was as if he was possessing her, and she didn’t want him to stop.

  When he lifted his head, she felt almost dizzy with longing. She’d forgotten all about where she was, and that they were visible to anyone passing by on the harbour road.

  But she didn’t move. She wasn’t sure her legs would support her if he released her. She just lay against his shoulder, panting, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, all aching for him to go on.

  It was Matt who spoke. ‘You said something about leaving,’ he muttered in a harsh voice, and Rachel needed several seconds to bring sanity back into focus again.

  ‘I—I did,’ she agreed at last. She forced herself to move away from him, knowing she’d made a terrible mistake. Thankfully, her legs did support her. But her whole body had stiffened with the callousness of his rejection.

  ‘Yeah.’

  As she turned, Matt ran an impatient hand down over his abdomen. She guessed he was making sure there was no evidence for her to see. ‘Finish your coffee,’ he said, striding away towards the bar behind them. ‘Juno will be offended if you don’t empty your cup.’

  Chapter Six

  MATT drove back to the plantation house with Caleb clinging anxiously to his seat every time the Range Rover skirted the edge of the cliffs or came close to plunging down a ravine. The old man knew his employer was in a foul mood, and knew better than to complain about his driving.

  But the breaths he kept sucking in eventually attracted Matt’s attention, and he turned to Caleb with an impatient expression.

  ‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you trust me to get you back to Jaracoba in safety?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of saying such a thing, Mr Matthew,’ said Caleb with dignity. And then, because he couldn’t help himself after all, ‘Please, sir. Keep your eyes on the road.’

  Matt blew out an irritated breath, but he did as the man suggested and slowed the vehicle. He didn’t want Caleb making some comment in his father’s hearing when they got back to the house.

  Nevertheless, he was cursing himself for the way he’d behaved at Juno’s. It wasn’t good enough to say Rachel had got under his skin—although she had. The truth was, he’d wanted to go a hell of a lot further than he’d permitted himself. And then only a massive effort of will had held him back.

  He wasn’t supposed to handle the merchandise, he thought bitterly. She was a guest at the hotel, and he’d had no right to touch her. Particularly knowing who she was. But his desire for her had got the better of him—or almost. He couldn’t remember ever feeling such an attraction for a woman before.

  Which was crazy, in the circumstances. She’d evidently come out here looking for her mother, and she wouldn’t thank him for keeping information from her. But Sara had her own reasons for keeping their relationship a secret, and it wasn’t really his place to interfere with her plans.

  Nonetheless, it bugged him. It would be so much easier if Rachel knew who he was. But then, unless Sara changed her mind about being honest with her daughter, Rachel herself would want nothing to do with him. She would probably be horrified that he’d touched her at all.

  Dammit!

  He flung the vehicle through the gates of his family’s plantation, barely skimming the stone posts as he accelerated past. An avenue of banana trees and coconut palms swept unnoticed by the open windows of the Range Rover, the fragrant scents of the orchids that grew beside the river as commonplace to him as the beautiful plantation house that stood at the end of the drive.

  He brought the car to an abrupt halt beside the row of garages. Once these buildings had housed the carriages his ancestors had owned, and his father still retained a horse-drawn buggy that he occasionally used about the estate.

  Caleb climbed out gratefully, and Matt pulled a wry face a
s he handed over the keys. ‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘You’re glad to be back in one piece.’

  Caleb’s lined face broke into a grin. ‘Fastest trip from town I ever made,’ he replied humorously. ‘Even your daddy never went faster than fifty miles an hour on those roads.’

  Matt shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m a better driver than he is. Only don’t tell him I told you.’

  Leaving the old man laughing, Matt turned away from the garages to approach the house. Massive oak trees shaded the front of the building and Matt vaulted up the steps to the wraparound porch whose roof was supported by a dozen elegant pillars.

  Double doors stood wide to the enormous hallway beyond, its polished boards gleaming from a thousand rubbings. Pale aqua-coloured walls created an atmosphere of lightness, the larger windows his father had had installed adding to its airy grace.

  To the right of the hall double pocket doors gave access to a spacious morning room. And beyond this another door led into the library, which these days served as his father’s study as well. To the left, a grand dining room led into a high-ceilinged sitting room, with his stepmother’s music room at the back of the house.

  Although it was already late afternoon, Matt made his way to his father’s study. Giving a light tap on the door, he entered the room that Jacob Brody had made essentially his own. Although the stroke he’d had three months ago had left him partially paralysed down one side of his body, he was gradually regaining the use of his limbs.

  Jacob was seated on a chaise-longue near the open window when Matt came into the room. He’d evidently been working, because his desk was covered with papers. But exhaustion had got the better of him, and he was taking a well-earned rest.

  His eyes had been drooping when Matt entered the library, but they opened wide when they saw his son. ‘You’re late,’ he said, attempting to sit up straight despite the weakness in his lower spine. ‘Did you see Carlyle?’

  ‘Yeah, I saw him.’ Matt dropped into the chair at the other side of his father’s desk. ‘He’s going to send the shipment out when the next supply boat arrives. That way it will go straight to Kingston and pick up the cargo ship from there.’