by Janet Dailey
‘I don’t mind,’ Lawrence shrugged, his light blue eyes gazing back at her through the wire frames.
‘Well, you should mind!’ The stamping of her feet was negated by the soft sand. ‘Why should you be responsible for Vance Wakefield’s daughter? And I am his daughter, whether he likes it or not!’ A diamond mist shimmered over her violet blue eyes as outrage gave way to despair. ‘Oh, Lawrie, why can’t he be like other parents? Is it so much to ask to have him spend two weeks with me? Am I not entitled to two weeks out of twenty years?’
‘He isn’t like other parents, Erica, because he’s Vance Wakefield,’ Lawrence returned calmly, very accustomed to Erica’s swift changes from anger to tears. ‘You have to see him the way he is, and not the way you want him to be.’
‘In other words, enjoy the sun and fun of Acapulco but don’t make waves,’ Erica mocked him scathingly. ‘Forget that I have any rights to his time.’
‘In his own way, he cares very much about you.’
‘I’m not giving up.’ Her voice was low with determination and her chin was tilted at a defiant angle. ’daddy is not going to be able to ignore me for two weeks!’
’don’t do anything foolish,’ Lawrence cautioned.
Erica didn’t answer, but there was a mischievous and challenging glint in her eyes as she hooked her arm around his elbow. ‘Let’s walk down by the water,’ she commanded.
‘We can’t go far,’ he said, leading her towards the gentle waves rolling on to the beach. ‘Your father will be expecting us back.’
‘So what?’ Erica taunted. ‘I’ve waited for him long enough. Let him wait for me for a change!’
Her rebellious mood brought a worried frown to his thin face, but Erica ignored it. She deliberately focussed her attention on her surroundings, absently enjoying the warmth of the sun on her shoulders, glad she had changed out of her heavier travelling suit to the gold sundress with white polka-dots. The salty breeze from the Pacific fanned her cheeks, lifting long strands of her hair so it could reach her neck.
Her gaze skipped over the scanty attire of the swimmers and sunbathers, noting instead the thatched, open shelters on the beach to provide places for shaded afternoon siestas. Behind them were the gently swaying palm trees while rows of high-rise hotels formed a necklace for the bay. Beyond them were the mountains, grey, craggy sentinels guarding the golden sand and the sapphire blue sea.
‘It reminds me a bit of Hawaii,’ she commented idly. A laugh bubbled from her throat. ’remember that silly old maid Daddy hired that time, Lawrie? Prudence Mulier, her name was. She used to get so outraged if anyone tried to flirt with me, but you could tell she was dying for them to look at her.’
‘Was that the one with the good figure, blonde hair that was black at the roots?’ he chuckled.
‘That’s Prudence!’ Erica grinned as Lawrence pulled her out of reach of an adventurous wave, its watery fingers stroking the golden sand in front of them. She turned to him eagerly. ‘Let’s wade in the ocean.’
‘Not me.’ He shook his head, reaching up to smooth back the hair the breeze had ruffled, revealing his receding hairline. ‘Go ahead, if you want to.’
Before the words were out of his mouth, Erica had slipped her sandals off and was walking towards the waterline. The smooth sand beneath her toes was warmed by the sun, so were the waves that curled around her ankles. Wading was an ageless sport and she pitied Lawrence who was too staid and self-conscious to take part.
Twenty feet or more in front and to the ocean’s side of Erica, a swimmer broke water, rising majestically to stand hip-deep before he began to wade ashore. The lean yet very muscular torso gleamed bronze gold in the sun and a medallion winked at Erica from the cloud of jet black hair covering his chest. Almost in spite of herself, her gaze raised to the man’s face. Black — his hair, his eyes, his brows all were black, glistening and shining from the wetness of the ocean, but no other shade than black.
As that physical impact receded, she was struck by the aloof arrogance etched in the patrician features, a ruthlessly moulded jaw and chin, high cheekbones, nobility stamped in the forehead and nose. As Erica waded closer, their paths intersecting, she was conscious of his height. She was five foot six inches, and few men towered above her, but this one did.
His glance flicked dismissively over her as he strode by. Erica was accustomed to a more thorough appraisal by men. This arrogant rejection stung. She jerked her gaze to Lawrence, who was strolling out of reach of the waves, but parallel to her. Her joy in wading in the warm salt water was gone, somehow disrupted by the dark stranger. This dissatisfaction carried her to Lawrence’s side, using his arm as a support while she slipped back on her sandals.
Yet the pull of the bronze shoulders tapering down to narrow waist and hips magnetically drew her gaze. There was something very compelling about the man. He was handsome, yet not in the same wholesomely open way of the American men Erica knew. His looks were foreign, ultimately male, striking some primitive chord of attraction inside Erica and creating an impression of underlying steel.
Erica was not aware that Lawrence had noticed the direction of her gaze until he spoke. ‘He’s quite something, isn’t he? Lord of all he surveys.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed absently, watching the stranger approach one of the thatched shelters nearest them. At the same instant a golden arm reached for a crisply white towel and she saw the woman reclining there.
Even at this distance, Erica could tell that the woman was no longer youthful. Her first instinct was that the woman was a relative until she saw the blonde hair beneath the sunhat. There was a flash of white as the man smiled at some comment the woman made. Erica glanced at Lawrence, curious what his opinion was.
‘Who do you suppose she is?’ asked Erica.
‘I don’t know what the modern terminology is, but at a guess, I would say he’s the woman’s lover — for a small fee, of course,’ Lawrence replied.
‘Are you serious?’
‘It’s a fairly common occupation in resorts like this,’ he chided her open-mouthed amazement. ‘A lot of wealthy women come here. I would guess they would be quite anxious to have an escort who looked like that.’
Silently Erica agreed, knowing there were some women who would adore that arrogant, lordly air, just as others were drawn to the titles of impoverished counts and dukes. Her back stiffened in anger at the dismissive glance he had given her. She was so anxious to be out of sight of the despicable stranger that she raised no objections when Lawrence directed her back to their hotel.
The following morning Lawrence rented a car. The plans made the evening before were that all three of them, Lawrence, Erica and her father, would take a trip to the colourful open-air market. At breakfast, Vance Wakefield changed the plans, insisting that he had to remain at the hotel because he was expecting an important telephone call.
Resentment smouldered, destroying Lawrence’s obvious attempts to lighten the atmosphere and Erica’s usual enjoyment of the extensive display of handcrafted items. The only satisfaction she obtained was by flagrantly spending every cent of the money her father had given her. Nearly everything she purchased was designed to anger him.
It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon when Lawrence drove up to the hotel entrance and patiently unloaded the innumerable packages.
’do you suppose you can get one of the bellboys to carry all this up to our rooms?’ Lawrence asked with a teasing smile, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow. ‘I’ll go and park the car.’
Erica nodded reluctantly, feeling suddenly hot, sticky, and irritable and wishing she hadn’t given in to such a childish impulse that resulted in the mound of sacks and boxes. Glancing towards the hotel entrance, she searched for the usually ever-present, uniformed bellhops, but oddly there were none in sight. As she pivoted towards the car to send Lawrence into the lobby, it pulled away from the kerb. An exasperated sigh hissed through her clenched teeth. It would be foolish for her to leave all these package
s unattended while she went in search of assistance.
An impatient movement of her head brought a tall figure into view, lithe strides bringing him closer to Erica. A vengefully haughty expression swept across her face as she recognized the stranger from yesterday. The white tropical suit he was wearing enhanced his dark attraction even as he retained that savagely noble look.
Her hand raised in an imperious gesture to summon his attention. When the glitter of her purple gaze locked with the blackness of his, it was Erica who came away with the feeling of being bruised.
‘You wish something, señorita?’ The condescension of his inquiry scraped at her already irritated nerves so that she missed the flawless English and the seductive pitch of his voice. Her chin raised a fraction of an inch higher.
‘I would like you to carry these packages into the hotel for me.’ But it was spoken not as a request, but as a command. Erica noticed with satisfaction the hardening of his gaze and the arrogantly arched brow.
‘I do not work for the hotel,’ he informed her icily.
The rapier thrust of his gaze sent the adrenalin pumping through her system, heightening her senses as she extracted some of her own money from her purse. The man obviously had an inflated idea of his own importance.
‘That doesn’t concern me,’ retorted Erica, extending a handful of bills towards him. When he failed to accept it, her head tilted loftily to one side. ‘Aren’t you accustomed to accepting money from a woman?’
Her question was put forth with the unmistakable certainty that the answer was yes. His gaze travelled with insolent slowness over the length of her body until it stopped once again on her face. A mirthless smile curved the hard line of his mouth at the red flags that had run up her cheeks.
A Mexican of shorter stature and a more swarthy complexion appeared at her side, wearing the uniform of the hotel. ‘Would you like me to take your packages, señorita?’ he asked in heavily accented English.
Her hand still held the folded bills. Erica looked directly at the taller man. ‘This man will carry my things,’ she said to dismiss the hotel employee and thus succeed in putting the stranger in his place, but she wasn’t prepared for the torrent of protest.
‘Oh, no, señorita!’ the hotel bellhop declared in a horrified voice. A stream of rapid Spanish followed the outburst while he darted wary looks at the man now regarding Erica with smug amusement.
When the incomprehensible flood stopped, the stranger replied in the same tongue, no doubt guessing by the blank look on Erica’s face that she had not understood a word that had been said. Whatever was said seemed to satisfy the bellhop, but the only words Erica was able to distinguish were turista and American. She felt their usage had not been complimentary.
Aristocratic fingers took the money from Erica’s hand and gave it to the uniformed Mexican. Her mouth opened to make her own protest, but the arrogant stranger forestalled her.
‘It is his job, señorita.’ The chiselled mask of his face was inclined graciously towards her. A caustic smile edged his mouth, black lashes veiling the bold mockery of his gaze at the mutinous set of her chin. ‘Or would you have me take money from the mouths of his hungry family?’
His gaze flicked distastefully over the ill assortment of purchases, arrogantly reminding her that not everyone had an abundance of wealth at their fingertips as she undoubtedly did. And Erica was shamed.
In a sense she had been spoiled since her father had never deprived her of anything money could buy, but she had never flaunted her wealth. And she wasn’t about to explain to this stranger the reason for her flagrant extravagance this time which even she recognised as being childish and in bad taste.
She didn’t bother to reply to his taunting question as she pivoted sharply and marched towards the hotel doors with the laden bellhop following in her wake.
On the fifth day in Acapulco, Erica rose early in the morning. Restless and thwarted in her attempts to spend time with her father, she wandered on to the beach, peacefully silent and empty at that hour of the morning. The temperature was mildly warm, although the wind blowing off the ocean was unusually strong. She hoped that an early morning swim might soothe her restlessness and put her in a better mood before she met her father and Lawrence at the breakfast table.
Slipping off the decorative lace beach jacket, she laid it beside her towel and sandals on the sand. She took her time wading into the warm water, absently watching the soaring gulls. Not until she was almost hip-deep did she realise she had forgotten to put on her bathing cap.
With an irritated sigh, she turned back to the shore. Walking into the waves, she had not noticed the force as they broke around her. Her thoughts had been preoccupied with her father and not on the slight choppiness of the normally calm sea.
Her foot slipped off a sea shell at the same moment that a strong wave struck the back of her knees. Already off balance as she was, the wave swept her feet from beneath her, and her cry of surprise was cut off as she was suddenly submerged in salt water. Erica struggled for the surface, trying to get her feet beneath her again. A toe touched bottom. She gulped for air and another wave covered her, its following outward flow dragging her into deeper water.
An iron grip closed over one of her arms, then another hand was taking the opposite shoulder and drawing her to the surface. Instinctively she reached out to cling to her rescuer, coughing out the water she had involuntarily swallowed. Her hands closed around the muscular upper portion of his arms and her legs were weakly supporting her.
‘There is another wave coming, señorita. Brace yourself against me,’ a familiar voice ordered succinctly.
In ready compliance, Erica slid her arms around his waist as she reclined her head on his chest. Through the watery spikes of her lashes, she saw the gold medallion in the curling black hairs of his chest.
At that moment the wave broke around them. Its force carried her against him, her motion stopped by the taut muscles in his thighs and legs. The severe constriction of her lungs, robbing her of breath, had no basis in the wave as the water moulded her against his body.
When it receded, Erica reluctantly tilted back her head to gaze, rather frightened and bewildered, into his face. A hand left his waist to brush the wet hair from her eyes.
‘Th — Thank you.’ Her sincere words were met by an impassive look.
‘Come.’ An arm was firmly around her waist and he was half dragging, half carrying her towards shore. ‘You can catch your breath in shallower water.’
Her mind, her senses, her body were in a chaotic state. Her mind was insisting that she reject the gratitude that surged through her for her rescuer, the stranger who had antagonised her. All the while her senses were reacting to his male virility and her body was still tingling from the burning warmth of his.
They didn’t stop in the shallow water but continued all the way to the shore. His arm was no longer supporting her as Erica walked under her own power, his hand firmly resting on her back guiding her steps. When they reached her small pile of belongings, the pressure on her back was taken away, stealing some of the strength in her legs as it went. She sank gratefully on her knees, using the thick towel to rub her shivering skin, wondering how she could be cold when she felt so warm inside.
‘It isn’t wise to swim alone, señorita, especially when the beach is so deserted,’ he said curtly.
The stern reprimand jerked Erica’s head up sharply. He towered above her, his hands resting on the band of his black swimming trunks. Her gaze swung away from the unnerving, masterful stance and searched the empty beach.
‘You were,’ she pointed out crisply.
An eyebrow flicked upward, the small gesture emphasising Erica’s impression that he was not accustomed to being questioned.
‘I am familiar with the beach and the tides, señorita. You are not.’
‘No,’ Erica agreed dryly. ‘I am a tourist. An American tourist.’
The eyebrow descended to its proper place and she sensed a softenin
g in the hard lines of his face. ‘Who spends many dollars on the handiwork of my country.’ Amusement glittered behind the mask. ‘It is good that I saved you to spend more, no?’
‘I . . . ’ Patches of red appeared in her face at his mention of her embarrassing spree and Erica bent her head to let the wet hair cover the betraying flush as she reached for her lace jacket. ‘I’m grateful you were here.’ But her thanks didn’t match the sincerity of her earlier words. ‘I honestly didn’t believe anyone else was around.’
‘Then it is lucky I saw you as you came down to the beach and heard your cry.’
Erica slipped on her jacket and scrambled to her feet, clutching her towel and sandals in front of her as if they were a shield, although her bikini was considerably more modest than some she had seen.
Again she was jolted by the sight of so much bronze skin. Seeing a man in bathing trunks had never disturbed her before. But there was a dangerous fascination to this man, pulling her, compelling her attention even as she reminded herself, in old-fashioned vernacular, that he was a gigolo, escorting wealthy, older women for the monetary favours they would bestow.
‘You are not going to swim?’ The lilting inflection of his low voice turned the sentence into a question.
Swallowing nervously under the intent regard of his eyes, Erica shook her head firmly. ‘No. I was only going to take a short swim before breakfast.’ Her hand self-consciously touched her dripping hair. ‘My father will be expecting me.’
‘Of course,’ he nodded.
‘Thank you again,’ she added over her shoulder as she turned to leave.
’de nada.’ But there was a vague smile of acceptance on his lips.
Erica wondered a bit breathlessly as she hurried away how devastating a genuine smile of his would be. Then she firmly pushed such conjecture from her mind and fervently hoped she never saw him again.
But she did the following day, although she was certain that he hadn’t seen her. He had been with the blonde from the beach. Under the stranger’s spell, the older woman had looked quite youthful and animated. Erica had been disgusted.
