Constantinou's Mistress (11 page)

‘I'd rather just have a shower and hit the sack, actually.' Lucy smiled slightly, and even with the shadows playing on her face he could see the shy curve of her mouth. ‘I think I'll get up very early tomorrow morning and have a walk around the grounds, if that's all right. I don't know when you want to start work but…'

‘Explore. Take your time. I can call for you around ten.' So that settled that. But he felt no inclination to go. He wondered what she was wearing under the severe little skirt and the sensible top. Was she feeling as hot as he was? Was a trickle of perspiration zigzagging between her breasts? He idly wondered what it would be like to swim naked with her right now, in the darkness. They would have all the privacy they wanted.

With an inner groan of frustration he moved away from the railing, prepared to take his leave.

For the moment.

Because he would have her and slay his curiosity and, he thought with sudden, dry perceptiveness, their lovemaking would free her from the delusion that she should marry her boyfriend. He was so ill-suited to her as to be laughable.

He would, he thought, with a bit of imagination, be doing her a favour.

With that thought in his head, he left the room, in pleasant anticipation of what the week ahead would hold.

L
UCY
surfaced from sleep to the sound of knocking on her door. Polite but determined knocking that seemed oblivious to the fact that all she wanted to do was stuff herself under the crisp white linen and carry on sleeping.

The room was very dark. She had closed the wooden shutters the night before and had also drawn the floor-length terracotta curtains across so that there was no chance of even a sliver of light penetrating the room.

There was a moment of silence, then a further knock, and with a groan of acceptance she padded out of her gauze cocoon of mosquito netting towards the door.

‘What's happened to your ambitious plans to go exploring?' a familiar dry voice asked as soon as she had pulled the door open. Her bleary eyes flew open and she slowly took in a fully dressed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Nick standing in front of her. He was wearing a loose shirt that hung open to reveal glimpses of his torso and a pair of green and cream bathing trunks. Under one arm was a rolled-up beach towel.

In an immediate gesture of dismayed self-consciousness, Lucy folded her arms and tried to sidle behind the door to conceal her state of virtual undress. One unappealing vest and a pair of extra-small boys' boxer shorts sporting a print of jolly smiling dinosaurs.

He wasn't having it. He gave the door a gentle push, forcing her to step aside so that he could engineer his way in.

Recently he seemed to have made a habit of intruding into her private space, Lucy thought sourly.

‘I thought you said that you were going to be up with the lark so that you could scamper around the grounds and have a look at the beach.'

Lucy scowled. ‘I doubt the lark has risen as yet,' she retorted, ‘and I'd be grateful if you could do away with your habit of invading my space.'

‘I thought you would have been up and out. In fact, I'm shocked to see that you're still in your room. I really only knocked on the off chance…'

Lucy had manoeuvred herself to the back of the room, where she was pressed against the wall, arms still folded across her breasts, the very picture of discomfort.

Nick, on the other hand, looked remarkably at ease as he pulled open the curtains, yanked up the shutters and announced without a hint of apology that it was a quarter to seven.

‘The lark has been up for hours.' He turned to her with a grin. ‘And this is the best time to have a swim. Which is what I intend to do now. Why don't you join me?'

‘Join you?'
Lucy's mouth dropped open. This was supposed to be a working situation, she thought wildly, not a one-week jaunt with a man who still managed to fill her head, however much she scoffed at her gullible stupidity.

‘As in accompany me for a swim? The beach will be deserted at this hour.'

If that was supposed to persuade her then he was barking up the wrong tree.

‘I can't,' she spluttered, wishing that she had eight hands instead of the two which were doing very little to conceal her vulnerably exposed body.

‘Why not? Other more pressing plans?'

He had her cornered and he knew it. What other pressing plans could she possibly have here? Typing? Phone calls? Memos to answer? She couldn't even cough up an unexpected emergency requiring the dentist!

‘Oh, it's just that…that I've only just woken up.' She gave him an apologetic smile. ‘Takes me ages to get my act together in the mornings.'

‘Really?' He looked at her with a show of puzzled disbelief. ‘You must get up at five in the morning when you're in London, in that case, considering you're usually in to work by eight. Anyway, I am happy to wait.' He beamed patiently. ‘Outside, of course.'

‘I could meet you down there…'

‘Nonsense.' He walked towards the door and pulled it open. ‘I'll wait.'

All remnants of sleep were banished as Lucy sped around the bedroom, rummaging on the shelf to extract her black bikini and something suitably drab to wear over it. She had somehow imagined that swimming would be a few snatched minutes at the end of the evening after a long day hard at it, cooped up in the hotel conference room, poring over files and records.

The hotel, for starters, did not possess a conference room, and work, she was beginning to realise, was not going to be the conveniently consuming exercise she had previously imagined.

Nor, it would appear, were her dealings in Nick's company to be conducted with various hotel employees around as unknowing chaperons of her wayward imagination.

He obviously felt obliged to show her something of his hotel and its grounds and thought that he was doing her a kindness in the process. Doubtless her jibe the
night before about him sounding cynical about his hotels had struck a chord somewhere. He had probably thought that, for the likes of her, being in these surroundings was a heady experience, and had decided to play tour guide to all those things he took for granted. She sincerely wished she had never opened her mouth.

Only when at the last minute she paused to glance at her reflection did she see that her bikini, modest as it was in colour, was far from modest in style. It was high-cut, revealing the shape of her thighs, and dipped well below her navel with two strings on either side, which, tied into bows, constituted a half-hearted attempt at ensuring the garment didn't unravel at the first hint of mobility.

It had looked adequate enough for the circumstances when she had picked it up from its hanger. Now it looked ridiculously sparing on coverage.

‘Ready?' Nick's voice reminded her that he was still waiting outside, ready to do his gentlemanly show-the-secretary-round-the-resort bit, and she quickly pulled a flimsy short-sleeved blouse over her and grabbed one of the beach towels with which the bathroom cupboard was abundantly stocked.

‘Have you brought some sun-block with you?' he asked as they walked away from the hotel in the direction of the beach.

‘At
this
hour?'

‘The sun over here is fierce, even early in the morning.'

‘Well, I
want
to get a bit of a tan, actually, if I can.'

‘Do you burn?' He glanced down at her and his eyes dipped lower to where her loose blouse beckoned a closer look at the soft, round breasts encased in their strip of black.

He definitely could not look too hard there, he thought wryly. Becoming aroused would be impossible to hide beneath his trunks. He dragged his eyes back to the dazzling scenery, a splash of greens and browns interspersed with the succulent high colours of tropical flowers and foliage. She was informing him that she tanned quite easily, considering, and was beginning to relax as she looked around her, trying and failing to hide her delight at everything they passed.

He was more than happy to oblige her in her progress towards relaxation. He had one week to do what he needed to do. There was no race. He told her about the hotel, the renovations that had been necessary when his company had bought it out from an ageing English couple who had maintained it for years as more or less a family-style place with the options of a few rooms for paying guests.

‘How could they possibly bear to leave?' Lucy asked, gazing longingly at the strip of white sand which they were approaching.

‘One half of the couple died and old Mr Cooper-James couldn't face the uphill task of running the place on his own. He was more than happy to leave and get back to England. I gave him an extraordinarily good price, enough for him to retire without any financial concerns to bother him in his old age. Can you smell the sea?'

Lucy inhaled and smiled. ‘Clean and tangy. The opposite of what I usually smell at this hour in the morning when I'm heading for the underground.'

‘I admit London has its own peculiar scent.'

‘The scent of pollution,' she agreed, stopping when they reached the bank of swaying palm trees that fringed the border of the beach. ‘This is the bluest water I have ever seen in my life. It's like a swimming pool!'

‘Some of the most tranquil sea in the Caribbean.' His eyes lazily scanned the horizon before resting on her. ‘And all ours at the moment.' He led the way along the beach until the hotel grounds were no longer in sight, and spread his towel on the sand, making sure not to look at her as she wandered up to where he had taken position, sitting on his towel with his knees up and his arms hanging lightly over them.

‘What time…?'

‘Do people start surfacing? Depends.' He shrugged off his shirt and lay back on his towel with his hands folded behind his head. ‘Sometimes there are one or two who like to get an early start, but for the most part people come here to relax utterly and that usually doesn't involve early rising. There's no need for them to get out of bed until midday if they don't want to. Breakfast can be served at any time and anywhere you want it, including on the beach.' He turned slightly so that he was watching her as she carefully spread her own towel, noticeably making sure that there was sufficient space between them so that their bodies could not even accidentally brush against one another.

‘What luxury.' Lucy sighed. ‘I'm beginning to see what you mean by the sun. It's hardly possible that it can be hot at this hour in the morning.'

‘Luckily for you, I have thought to bring some cream.' He fished into the top pocket of his shirt and extracted a tube of sun cream. Not for him. He had never worn any of the stuff in his life before and had only picked it up from the bathroom shelf as an afterthought before he had left his room earlier. He barely glanced in her direction as he handed her the tube.

‘What time shall we think about starting work?' Lucy
asked as she rubbed the lotion onto her shoulders and over her face.

How could the woman even begin to contemplate work when she was out here, with the sun beating down and the gentle lapping of the turquoise sea only yards away? He felt a little spurt of irritation.

Was she thinking about Robert as well? he wondered. Work and her absent boyfriend with his pleasant dullness and uninspired life? Could Robert ever afford to bring her to a place like this? Not in a million years!

‘As soon as we have had breakfast.' He propped himself up on one elbow and scrutinised her profile. ‘Do you intend to keep your shirt on for the entire time that we're here on the beach? For a start, the sun may not feel too vicious at the moment, but its effect, even now, can still be damaging, and there is no way that you can rub the cream all over yourself with your shirt on.'

Lucy wanted to ask him if he credited her with any intelligence at all. Show the secretary around, she thought, and make sure to point out the obvious because she's never been to a place like this and won't have a clue about the simple measures she would have to take for self-protection. Wasn't he taking his laboured consideration and thoughtfulness a little too far?

She pulled off the shirt and, still sitting up, began to massage the lotion over her arms.

Nick watched through half-closed eyes. There was no way he could afford to stretch himself out on his towel now, he decided, not when the appealing bounce of her breasts as she creamed herself was sending his imagination into wild overdrive.

He couldn't remember ever feeling like this towards any woman in his life before. Was it because he had slept with her once and the memory of it—what he could
remember, at any rate—was powerful enough to keep his interest levels at this fever pitch? Had that one-night stand forged some invisible bond that was pulling him towards her? Or maybe it was because she was unattainable, virtually engaged to a man who gave the word ‘dull' a new meaning.

‘Lie on your stomach,' he drawled, taking the tube of cream from her slippery fingers, ‘and I'll put some of this stuff on your back.'

‘That won't be necessary.' Their eyes met and Lucy gave him a polite smile of refusal.

‘Why is that?' He squeezed some of the cream onto his hand and looked at her with a raised, enquiring eyebrow. ‘You think that the sun will somehow manage not to go anywhere near your back?'

‘I…'

‘Lie down. You might as well, Lucy, or else you might find yourself stuck to your bed for the remainder of the week with sunburn. A very painful experience, so I understand. It can also,' he couldn't resist adding, ‘lead eventually to skin cancer.'

‘Is that right?'

‘Absolutely,' he assured her gravely. ‘Something one should not take lightly. Why do you think that every room in this hotel is supplied with sun-block cream? Most of our guests are fair and the fairer you are the more prone you will be to burning.'

He wasn't about to give up and with a clipped sigh of resignation Lucy flopped onto her stomach, her body as rigid as a board.

‘Relax.' His big hands descended onto her bare back and he began massaging the cream onto her skin, simultaneously rolling his thumbs along the top of her
spine until she could no longer fight the squirm of enjoyment.

He dribbled a bit more cream on her back and resumed his thorough massaging. With the sun on the side of her face and the soft, rhythmic lull of the sea rippling over the sprinkling of white pebbles left from when the tide came in, Lucy felt her body slacken.

‘Now, we must not forget the legs.'

‘I can manage that myself,' she said, her eyes closed, not stirring.

‘Well, now that I have the cream…'

She felt the pressure of his hands as he started with the back of her calf and lingeringly moved upwards, up towards the back of her thigh, and she only gave a horrified squeak when his fingers stole delicately a few centimetres under the stretchy band of her bikini bottom. Then she hustled herself back into a sitting position, her face bright red.

It was, he conceded, a very revealing costume, despite its drab colour. He doubted she realised just how revealing, but when she was leaning forward like that most of her breasts were exposed. Only her nipples remained concealed. Lord, he needed to go for a swim right now.