A Dangerous Game (5 page)

semi-darkness.
 
It was the first time she had ever been told to relax

at the beginning of a new job.
 
She was certain that Major Fairhaven

had not been honest with her about La Primavera.
 
From what she had

seen so far, the place looked more like a health spa than a hospital.

And if the major was interested in weather reports, why hadn't he told

her about Lohaquin?
 
She recalled the gaunt, fanatical face on the

posters.
 
This man was obviously keen to change the political climate

of Guachtal.
 
I'll have to check him out, she thought.
 
And I think I

know someone who might help.
 
I'm sure Paulo knows more about Lohaquin

than he pretends.

She suddenly remembered the warmth of Paulo's tanned skin when her

fingers had touched his cheek.
 
She remembered his slim body,

loose-limbed and leggy as a young colt.
 
Exactly how old was he?

Sixteen?
 
Seventeen?
 
Was he a virgin?
 
Somehow she knew he was.
 
It

was strange, but she found she could think of him as sexually

attractive, without actually desiring him.
 
He was a sweet boy.
 
Sweet

and innocent.
 
Her memories stirred.
 
Appearances could be deceptive.

She turned restlessly on the wide bed.
 
Don't think about it, she told

herself.
 
But her mind was already forming the pictures, unwinding them

like a film.
 
And she watched, even though it hurt.

A beach.
 
Golden sand and palm trees, a picture-book exotic location.

A girl with auburn hair, sunbathing, eyes closed.
 
On holiday.
 
Her

first holiday abroad, without her parents.
 
Jacey remembered that it

had taken sustained nagging to get her parents to allow her to join a

group of friends for that trip.
 
And some lying.
 
Their destination was

a singles-only holiday camp and her friends were determined to sample

the local talent.
 
She had not told her parents that, but had justified

the deception by telling herself that she had no intention of behaving

immorally.
 
She simply wanted a holiday where she could do as she

wished without considering anyone else.
 
Get up when she wanted, go to

bed when she wanted, laze about all day on the beach without being told

that too much sun was bad for you.

Behaving immorally?
 
Jacey thought.
 
She had actually used words like

that when she was eighteen, when she was still a virgin with her body

and her ideals untouched.
 
Apart from daydreaming wistfully over the

glossy, flattering photographs of a couple of good-looking actors, her

main interest in her teenage years had been sport.
 
Any sport, the more

dangerous and athletic the better.
 
Men were simply companions, or

sometimes rivals.
 
She rode, did martial arts and went rock-climbing.

Her father taught her to shoot.
 
She raced Go-carts and learned to

glide.

She realised later that she had been lucky.
 
As an only child she had

been thoroughly spoiled by her proud parents.
 
Life was easy.
 
Her

parents were delighted when she told them she wanted to study medicine.

She did well academically, and this holiday was her reward, a chance to

relax prior to university.
 
She had made it clear to her friends that

she was not interested in man-hunting, so while they were, in their own

words, 'looking for a good fuck', she swam, read a book, did some lazy

shopping, dozed in the sun.
 
And enjoyed it, she remembered.
 
For seven

of the ten days.
 
And on the eighth day everything changed.

The memory was as sharp as reality.
 
She could almost feel the sun that

had warmed her as she dozed on the beach in a secluded spot that she

had discovered earlier that week.
 
She remembered how the sand had

shifted slightly, and she knew someone had stopped in front of her.
 
If

I hadn't opened my eyes, she thought, what would my life have been

like?
 
How different would it have been?
 
But I had to be NOSEY.
 
What

a fool I was.

She remembered her first view of Faisel.
 
He was looking down at her.

He wore a bright red, silky bathing slip, so brief it was almost a

posing pouch.
 
It was tied at both sides and did absolutely nothing to

disguise the bulge of his sexual parts, a bulge made even more

impressive because his hips were jutting forward and his legs were

slightly apart.
 
He was reed-slim and the sun had enhanced his natural

tan.
 
His hair was jet black, and his eyes, which captured hers as soon

as she opened them, were liquid brown.
 
She gaped at him in startled

amazement.

"Hello," he said politely, and added in perfect English "You have the

most amazingly beautiful hair."

Today, faced with such an opening compliment, she would have retaliated

with something like "And you have the most amazingly beautiful body',

but at eighteen her repartee was limited by shyness.

She remembered saying, "Thank you'.
 
She remembered that he squatted in

front of her with easy grace, smiled, his white teeth contrasting with

that beautiful brown skin, and asked her name.

"Jacey?"
 
he repeated.

"That's unusual."

"It's really Jane Catherine," she explained.

"Jacey is from the two initials.
 
No one calls me Jane."

"Well, that's sensible," he said.

"You shouldn't be called Jane.
 
Plain Jane, don't they say?"
 
He sat

down and relaxed next to her.

"You're not a plain Jane, are you?"

His eyes wandered over her body, and she felt flattered and confused.

She was strangely aware of his closeness, and his almost indecent

near-nakedness.
 
His skin was surprisingly hairless and his nipples

were clear, dark aureoles on his smooth chest.
 
Why did she feel so

disturbed when she looked at him?
 
There were plenty of other young men

on the beach in brief bathing slips and many of them had bodies more

muscular than his.
 
Some of them had already tried to pick her up.
 
A

girl on her own in a tourist area known for its singles-only holidays

was an obvious target for locals and fun-seeking tourists.
 
But she

hadn't felt anything except slight irritation when they had stopped,

posed, and tried to chat.
 
They did not interest her.
 
So why did this

dark-haired boy make her feel both awkward and excited at the same

time?

He told her he was an Arab, his name was Faisel, and he had been

educated in England.
 
He knew London very well and had an apartment

there.
 
He had recently graduated from Cambridge and intended to work

in his father's business.
 
That surprised her.
 
She told him she had

assumed that he was her age.
 
He laughed.

"I look young, do I?
 
That's because I lead a blameless life.
 
I don't

smoke.
 
I don't drink.
 
Novices at all."
 
He captured her eyes

again.

"And no girlfriend, either."

She remembered giggling like a silly schoolgirl.
 
And that's what I

was, she thought.
 
A silly, inexperienced virgin schoolgirl, bowled

over by her first taste of sheer physical lust.
 
Lusting after that

beautiful, soulless bastard, and thinking that lust was love.

"And how about you?"
 
he had asked, smoothly.

"No boyfriend?"

"No," she said.

"I find that amazing."

"It's true."

"So it's OK if I ask you out tonight?
 
For a meal at the Gala Hotel?"

The Gala was the most expensive hotel in town.
 
She had seen the guests

arrive, the men in dinner suits, the women in long gowns.

"Oh, but I couldn't," she said.

"I haven't anything suitable to wear."
 
She knew now that she had

responded exactly as he'd planned.
 
How could she have been so pliable?

So stupid?

"That's not a problem," he said.

"We'll go shopping."
 
He stood up, and again she studied the outline of

his penis and the curve of his balls beneath the thin, silk bathing

slip.
 
Tell me the name of your hotel, and I'll come and collect

you."

It had been a perfect afternoon and a perfect evening Faisel had been

attentive, funny, and generous.
 
He bought her a beautiful white silk

dress and a gold chain, plain and tasteful.
 
The meal was excellent but

when it was finally time to go home, she felt suddenly nervous.
 
Now

he's going to expect his payment she thought.
 
He hasn't spent all this

money on me for nothing.
 
And although the idea excited her, she was

afraid she would disappoint him.
 
He might not have a girlfriend but he

would certainly have had other women.
 
Maybe even professionals, who

would have entertained him with their repertoire of exotic tricks.

What could she offer?
 
She'd never touched a man in a sexual way in her

life.

But it didn't happen like that.
 
Clever bastard, she thought, turning

on the bed, the pictures clear in her mind.
 
Taking me home, kissing my

cheek.
 
Thanking me for a wonderful evening.
 
Waiting a moment, then

kissing me gently on the lips.
 
Treating me like the romantic innocent