Sweet Seduction (15 page)

"You don’t want to drink too much wine, Mizz Dolly," the housekeeper said kindly, seeing the pallor of the girl’s skin and the fear lurking in her eyes. "You gonna be all right. He’s a good man."

"Yes, a good man," Dolly repeated.

She drew her knees up in the alien bed and hugged them. She wanted to go home. Her childhood bed was a rusty single with sagging mattress, but right now she wanted to be there more than anywhere else, curled into a tight ball. She felt like a wilting petal in the heat, all the life draining out of her body.

A door opened. Someone was moving quietly about the room, knowing their way around. There was a rustle of clothes. She squeezed her eyes shut, obliterating the shape of the man approaching her, but shadows danced against her lids.

Twenty

What on earth was she doing here, marooned in a ruined mill with only mice and bats and goodness knows what else for company? Kira’s shivering deepened with thoughts of the thin-legged creepy-crawlies that might exist in the old stonework.

A familiar sound disturbed the steady pattering of the rain. It was an engine, somewhere in the distance, climbing the hilly track in low gear.

Kira hesitated. Should she run out and try to get a lift from the driver to some sort of habitation? She thought with longing of hot water, a bath and a cup of tea. She did not really fancy spending the whole night in the old mill.

It was not easy to weigh up the advantages of a night in a hotel against the risk of cadging a lift from a stranger. There was less crime on Barbados than in England but Kira was still apprehensive. A sudden gust of wind blew rain in through the open doorway and Kira backed away, cowering from the blast of chilled air.

"Kira? Kira, are you here?"

Her name was buffeted away on the wind, like an eerie echo in the distance. The engine cut out. She held her breath. That voice, deep and resonant, could only belong to one man. A surge of panic and relief swept through her at the same time. Surely he would help, whatever he thought of her or believed?

"Giles?" she said, realising he would not hear over the rain.

"Kira! Where are you?" he shouted, the words swept away on gusts of wind.

Now it was panic that hammered into her head. She wanted to see him and it was too late to run away. But she did not want him to go. He was dangerous, attractive, aggressively masculine, too exactly what she wanted. But she was frightened. No matter what she told herself or tried to prevent, this special man could melt all her resistance.

"Hey, woman. Where are you? I know you’re here somewhere. That’s my yellow Moke you’ve parked in a ditch."

Kira flared. She peered briefly into the rain-misted dusk, bristling with indignation.

"I did not park in a ditch," she yelled back. "The Moke is in the yard and I took a lot of care. There’s not a scratch on it."

Giles appeared through the rain, trench coat flapping against his legs, the collar turned up, hair plastered against his head. The rain dripped off his face, running down his neck.

"I knew that would bring you out," he said with satisfaction. "Need any help?"

"No, thank you," she said stubbornly. "I’m doing perfectly well on my own."

"Managing perfectly well on your own, are you?" he drawled, taking in her bedraggled appearance. "A half-drowned rat would beat you on looks."

"Thank you. That makes me feel a whole lot better."

His eyes travelled down her long bare legs and the damp silk shirt clinging to the line of her lacy panties. A blush of embarrassment warmed her face. She tried to cover up, wrapping her arms across her breasts but the movement only lifted the hem of her shirt higher.

Giles’s breath sharpened as he came into the mill, his tall figure blocking out the last of the fading light. He was looking at her with an appreciation that should have warmed her heart,
but only served to alarm her.

It was an electric moment. Kira stood still, unable to move, hardly daring to breathe. She could not take her eyes from his face. Squally fumes of rain-laced wind whipped across her skin. The chill was icy along her spine. She was afraid of her longing for him. She was also cold.

"Why did you check out of Sandy Lane without telling me?" he asked, with more
restraint than he had intended.

Her departure had annoyed him. He had been surprised to find that she had checked out and it had taken him hours to track her route across the island that afternoon, as she criss-crossed St Lucy then took the road towards the East Coast. He realised she was asking for trouble when he lost track of her in the rain. He knew these roads in the north like the palm of his hand. He did not think she would find the track that led to the old mill.

"Do I have to ask your permission to leave a hotel? I can go when I want to."

That smudge of yellow appearing between the windscreen wipers was the sight he had been searching for desperately in the last hour. He was sure she was lost, the tropical rain blurring all landmarks.

"Why didn’t you leave a message? This isn’t an island for wandering around on the off-chance of picking up a room. You need to book in advance. You should leave your next address with the hotel in case you break down. There’s no auto pick-up service waiting to tow you home."

"I’d have found somewhere," she argued. "It was the sudden rain that threw me. It fell in sheets. I couldn’t see where I was and that map of yours is out of date. It’s got roads that don’t exist and others that aren’t on it."

"So a place changes. I’m beginning to think this idea is a big mistake," said Giles, face set coldly. "I can’t keep coming out to rescue you. Go back to the beach, Kira, and get yourself a nice body tan. Buy a few necklaces."

Kira swung round, facing him, the colour burning in her cheeks.

"Don’t patronise me. I haven’t broken down and I’m not lost. I’ve done a good day’s work. If it hadn’t been for the rain I’d be sipping a Mount Gay Flapper cocktail in a bar at River Bay right now."

"The nearest hotel is at Bathsheba and that’s small, miles away, and you need to book in advance. We’ll scrub the whole idea."

She was fast losing control. Kira hoped he could not see her conflicting emot
ions or guess at her confusion.

"That’s ridiculous," she said. "No-one could get lost on an island this size, so there’s no need to fuss. As soon as the rain stops, I’ll be on my way and my first report will be in your office by tomorrow evening."

It was a brave boast. She had no idea if she would be able to deliver a decent report so soon and she didn’t care. Anything to wipe that look off his face. Her eyes sought the hollow of his throat, burnt brown by the sun and harbouring a drop of rain like a quivering pearl.

He was out of her reach. He stood like a statue, leaning an arm on the wall, blocking her view of the doorway. She could smell the tangy warmth of his aftershave and the cool freshness of the rain on his dark hair. She imagined burying her face in his wet skin, and the thought almost destroyed what was left of her composure.

The moment lingered in the air, intangible and glittering with magic. He was looking into her eyes, delving into her soul. Kira held her breath. Could this be her life changing at last? Was fate going to be kind and deal her something wonderful – a man like Giles, strong, demanding, taking all from her but giving her love, a caring person, everything she had ever wanted?

"I don’t think you are going anywhere," he said firmly.

His voice was still clipped with sternness, but with one finger he was lifting a tendril of damp hair from her neck. It was a gesture so gentle and tender that Kira knew she was falling in love with him. She was weakening, stunned by the knowledge, not wanting to run into the arms of pain again but quite unable to stop herself from the headlong flight.

He moved closer and the broad body of his chest was only inches away from her nose. She turned her head away, feeling more tremors as his hand moved into her tangled hair and down her back. What was she doing here, allowing his man to evoke feelings she wanted buried and forgotten? A small moan came from her lips, escaping on a surprised sigh.

"As soon as the rain stops, I’m going," she repeated. "I’m definitely going."

He shook his head, his eyes glinting with a maddening approval of what he saw. He was looking at the long length of her naked legs. Kira knew the scar was less vivid under her slight tan, but it still distressed her for the wound to be on view.

"Don’t look at me," she said.

"How can I stop looking at you? You’re so lovely. The road is being washed away and we are stuck here for the night, unless you fancy a long walk. Got your walking boots?"

He was laughing at her. The thought of being marooned with this devastating man was more than she could bear. But she was struggling with odds against herself until her sense of humour came to the rescue. This crazy feeling could not be real. She tossed back her hair and went over to her hanging skirt, pretending to feel if the fabric had dried. She was giving up on love, letting it go.

"Welcome to the Barbados Hilton," she said, more cheerfully than she felt. "Will this room suit you, sir? It’s our premier suite. No jacuzzi, but note the magnificent view of the Atlantic if the mist lifts. The mice are reasonably tame and bats promise not to have a party. Room service is a little unreliable but there’s plenty to drink, outside."

"I’ve slept in worse places," said Giles, inspecting the collection of old machinery and debris in a detached way. There were at least a dozen old mills in this condition, but they were solidly built and most of the stonework was sound. "And I never travel anywhere without my own room service."

He drew out a flat silver flask from an inner pocket of his trench coat.

"The best Barbadian rum," he said, holding it up to the fading light. "Will you join me, Kira? Don’t look so afraid. I promise not to get you drunk and seduce you. The lady must always be willing."

"How very reassuring," said Kira, giving herself time to adjust. "And this is not exactly my idea of a romantic rendezvous for two. I prefer candlelight and roses."

"Champagne and a steel band for me," he grinned, but his eyes darkened as they locked onto her. "But, Kira, you’re soaked through and getting cold. Even in this climate, you can catch a chill."

His face was full of concern. He came and touched her shoulders and she shivered. The silk shirt was clammy with damp and cold. "Get out of those wet clothes right away."

"Into what?" said Kira, her teeth chattering. "There’s probably a nice line in sacks somewhere if I could find one."

Giles shrugged out of his trench coat. He was wearing denim jeans and a waistcoat over a black cotton shirt. He peeled off the waistcoat and pulled the shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning the cuffs and front. He tossed the shirt over to her.

"Get into that," he said. "And no false modesty, woman. You can’t stay in those wet clothes."

Kira clutched the shirt. It was still warm from his body.
She averted her eyes from the matted expanse of his bare chest, darkly curled. He was thrusting his arms back in the trench coat with a jerky movement as if he was angry.

"Don’t worry," he said. "I’m going now."

He disappeared through the doorway and was swallowed immediately by the torrential rain. Kira almost ran after him. Was he really leaving? Surely not? She remembered when she used to cry over Barry Manilow singing "
But We Still Have Time
" and the same tears came into her eyes. Her fingers were trembling as she unbuttoned her shirt and bra and stepped out of her lacy pants. Her body gleamed like silk in the half light.

For a moment she stood naked, then she pulled on Giles’s shirt, glad of its warmth and oversize to wrap around her. It came halfway down her thighs and way past her wrists. She rolled up the sleeves, glad of the extra folds. He’d left behind the denim waistcoat and she put that on too, feeling almost decent with two garments covering her body.

She went to the doorway but there was no sign of him. She stared into the darkening rain. Had he left her? The palm trees spattered a fan of rain into her face and she drew back, suddenly knowing where Giles had gone. She listened to the wind-lashed waves, crashing on the shore, somewhere not too far distant.

He was waiting out the storm in the Land Rover. The sturdy vehicle was infinitely more comfortable than an old ruin. No wonder he had been amused. She could have the bats and mice. He was probably already stretched out on the back seat, half asleep, waiting for the rain to stop.

No wonder he had said: "Don’t worry. I’m going." She had been abandoned again.

Kira slumped against the rough stone wall. History was repeating itself in a small but different way. Men thought she was strong and resilient and treated her so. She always insisted she could stand on her own two feet and therefore men let her do that. If they dropped her, with a jolt, it was her own fault.

But she longed for a man with strength, someone who recognised that she needed to be cared for. A man who would fight for his woman, who would think of her as a flower, who would cherish her. It was an old dream.

Kira had never felt so isolated. She let the tears come again, unchecked, falling onto the shirt. She wept for Bruce, for the baby, for her mother, for Benjamin and her own loneliness.
Perhaps this trip had been a mistake. She should be in the calm quiet of her flat in Pimlico, working as a temp in an office somewhere or coping with the relentless pressure of the Commons. She wiped her eyes on a sleeve.

"Hey, that’s no way to treat my shirt."

"Giles, I thought you had gone. Where did you go?"

Giles was standing in the doorway, laden with gear, his bigness and height blocking out the remaining light. With a cry, Kira flung herself at him and he had to drop his packages. He tucked her inside his raincoat, murmuring small, half-heard words of astonishment and consideration.