Sweet Seduction (16 page)

"There, there, did you think I had left you? Dear girl, you don’t have much opinion of me, do you? I would never leave you like that."

Kira lay against the warmth of his chest, inside his coat, his arms closing round her, caressing her tenderly with his hands, drowning in the miracle of his return. She did not care what he thought of her sudden capitulation. He had come back and that was all that mattered.

Twenty-One

"Do I have to stay outside in the rain?" he asked. "I will, if that’s more acceptable to you."

Kira shook her head. “Come in."

He guided her back inside the mill, his hand firmly on her arm, his thigh brushing her side.

"My shirt looks better on you," he teased. "It could become high fashion at Sandy Lane. But only to be worn by women with long legs."

Kira extracted herself from his grip, hiding the lurking hunger in her eyes. She dabbed at her face with a corner of the shirt, turning away for modesty’s sake.

"I thought you had gone, that you had left me to endure a night here on my own in this creepy place. I was sure you had sneaked off to the warmth and comfort of your Land Rover."

"You have no confidence in me," Giles chided. "I had gone back to the jeep, yes, but not to stay. I went to fetch the candlelight and roses ordered by m’lady. The boot of my vehicle is as mysterious as the contents of a woman’s handbag. Now, there must be a furnace somewhere so we can light a fire without burning the place down. We must get you dry and warm."

"A fire would be lovely, but with what?"

He kicked at the bundles of dry cane. "Remember? It burns a treat." A shadow seemed to cross his face so quickly that Kira thought she had imagined it. Fire. She had seen that look once before, when he was showing her the furnaces at the factory.

He heaved aside rusty bits of machinery and rubbish, searching for the blackened bricks of an old furnace. Kira watched his deft movements as he cleared a space inside the hollow, put his lighter to a pile of torn paper then fed broken cane to the uncertain blue flames. They caught greedily at the dry cane, enveloping them in creeping red sparks, the flickering tongues growing into a blaze that threw out light and warmth into the crumbling ruin of the mill. The rough lines softened into rounds and curves, shadows swallowing the cobwebs and dirt.

Kira held her hands to the flames. Her chilled body leaned into the heat. "That’s lovely," she said. "Thank you."

Giles was busy unwrapping a bulky polythene-covered package, heaving the weight as if it was nothing. Kira realised how strong he was. He ripped away the last of the industrial tape and shook out the contents. Kira caught her breath in surprise at the rainbow of bright colours that glowed in the firelight as masses of material fell in glorious folds onto the floor.

"It’s the new sail for my catamaran," he explained. "I bought it this morning. I didn’t realise how soon it would be useful. Help me unfold it."

"Are we going sailing?" said Kira.

They stretched the polythene packing sheet on the floor first, then arranged the huge sail on top, folding it into several thicknesses. Kira went onto her knees, smoothing out the rainbow striped nylon. A catamaran sail. She had seen the gaudy-sailed craft racing across the bay from Sandy Lane, billowing in the strong wind. It looked so exciting and exhilarating. She might have known Giles would have a boat.

"Will this do for a table and seat?"

"The best in the house."

He fixed up a length of nylon rope. "Also from my boat. A washing line for you to dry your clothes. They’ll dry in no time now."

Every movement was deft and economic. He had some ripe melons and a knife. Kira remembered seeing a basket of melons and sweet corn in the back of his car. "They are from my plantation," he said. "An appetizer. You’ll have to take a rain-check on a full meal." He raised an eyebrow to acknowledge the low-key joke. Kira smiled again, accepting his offerings with pleasure.

"This is the nearest I could get to a rose," he added, his voice suddenly low and intimate. He handed her a sprig of frangipani, still dripping with rain, its fragile tissue-thin petals stuck together like butterfly wings.

There was a drenching silence. Giles was weaving a spell around her as Kira feared he would, looking at her as though no expression or gesture was going to escape him. This kindness, this imagination and sensitiveness to her feelings, so wonderful in a man who was almost a stranger. And in such a big man, yet a man who moved as sensuously as a panther. She knew his kiss was only a breath away and she both longed and feared the moment of their lips meeting.

"What about the champagne and the steel band?" She lightened the mood, reminding him of his preferences.

He unscrewed the flask and poured a thimbleful of the golden liquid into the top. He handed it to Kira. She put the rim slowly to her lips, knowing the fiery liquid would ignite more than she could handle.

"The champagne will have to wait," he said, his eyes devouring the silky glimpses of her thigh. "And the rain is making enough racket for a steel band. But one day, I promise you, we will dance under the stars to the rhythm of a steel band and you will know the pure joy of Barbadian dancing. You will wear a silk sarong, your feet will be bare and your hair loose, as it is now. Without any doubt, you will be the most beautiful woman on the island. We should have met ten years ago," he added with a wry grin. "Before things changed."

"What do you mean?"

"Before my mother became ill. I give her all my spare time and that isn’t much. I haven’t time for romancing."

The heat from the fire was reaching her in waves, the air dry and crumbling, gritty with dust.

He cut the melon into thin slices, lay them on a glistening palm leaf. "Eat," he said. They ate the sweet flesh, juice running down their fingers.

They sipped the strong rum in turns, sitting in the wedge of light, letting it relax their caution as the alcohol raced through their veins. They did not notice that the rain was beginning to ease. They were both so engrossed with each other, imprinting memories, both knowing that the magical night could not last, that reality and the morrow lay ahead. Kira had never felt so happy, knowing this was how she wanted to be with a man, curiously moved that anyone could make her feel so good again.

Neither knew who reached out for whom. It was a blind response, but too late to deny.

In a moment of unbelievable ecstasy, his mouth hovered over hers, barely touching, his breath fanning her skin. Then he drew her into his arms, his body becoming a haven and shelter. With a small sob, she let old pains fade and vanish as his kiss deepened and he took knowledge of her mouth as if he had been a lifetime searching for her.

She returned his driving passion with a ravening hunger that matched his, clinging to him, raking him with her nails, senses swimming, shivers flying across her silken flesh as his hands sought the softness of her body.

He crushed her possessively, his body enveloping her so close she could barely breathe. He was lost in the alluring honey of her mouth. One kiss slipped sweetly into another, without beginning or end, mouth, lips, cheeks, face, hair, eyes. She threaded her fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, moving, turning, clinging. She could not get close enough, fitting her body against him like pieces of a jigsaw.

"Kira
. . . Kira . . ." he murmured against her hair, burying his face in the slope of her neck, finding the tantalising hollow of her throat. She threw back her head, being cradled in the curve of his arm, her legs pinned very low, very intimately by his own strong limbs.

He caught at her hand and brought each finger, slowly and exquisitely, into his mouth. She watched, transfixed by the tenderness of his caress, hardly believing that this was reality. That she would not suddenly wake up, cramped and stiff from the long flight.

He pushed up the shirt and reached for the soft inside of her thigh and she gasped as he began stroking the sensitive skin with long touches. She stretched the length of her body beside him, not caring if the front of the shirt was being unbuttoned with the same deft movements. He slipped the material apart and drew a sharp breath at the perfection of her body in the glimmering firelight. He put his hand on the flatness of her satiny stomach and groaned.

"You’re beautiful," he said, kissing her tilted face, again and again. "So very beautiful."

She pulled him down onto her, rejoicing in the weight of his body, cleaving to him, her long bare legs entwined with his, rolling on the multi-coloured sail, hardly aware of the hard floor beneath them. Kira forgot her livid scar which had haunted her for months. Giles did not seem to notice it, though his fingers were careful not to inflame the sensitive area. It was as though he gave no thought to the blemish, took her injury as part of the whole woman.

His hand curved around the fullness of her honey-tanned breast and the nerve ends contracted with the pleasure of his touch, his thumb stroking the swelling skin. His lips took the brown rose nipple into his mouth, his tongue tasting the sweetness, arousing her feelings to fever pitch. A tide of passion threatened to drown her, any control left losing its way. All sane thoughts of reason and morals had gone and they could only rejoice in the ultimate
joy of loving and being loved.

"Don’t be afraid," he murmured. "I won’t hurt you. I have waited years for this moment."

He lowered himself on top of her, finding the moist and aching softness, pinning her down with his powerful hips. She was imprisoned by his steely grip, unable to move, his passion hardened now into inescapable desire and a storm of longing.

A flash of panic surged through the throbbing deep in the pit of her stomach. Her body was crying out for release, for relief, for the waves of pleasure to reach the heights of joy. She wanted to feel satiated and fulfilled as never before. But something else was happening, some gremlin from the potent rum, and she began to struggle.

The edges of her mind were fraying and she twisted her head away from his probing mouth, her arms struggling free to push him flat against his chest.

"Giles. Giles." Her voice was raw and uneven. She was trembling, tear-streaked, her legs twisting away from under him.

He stopped abruptly, shattered, his breath rasping. "Don’t be frightened," he said again, despairing. "Kira, please. This is for us. You know how we both feel."

Twenty-Two

"I’m sorry. It’s not right." Her voice sounded far off, miles away.

Giles moved off her awkwardly like a man devoid of any will. "Perhaps you’re not ready for the grown-up world," he said. "Go to sleep. I won’t touch you again."

Kira lay apart, a quivering mass of frustration and bruised flesh. She did not understand what had happened. The flame had flashed out of control and she had panicked, unable to let her body reach the fulfilment she longed for, afraid of that unknown magical realm of womanhood.

She faced the reality of disappointment, humiliation and despair. She had spoilt one of the most wonderful moments in her life. Giles would never come to her now. He had his pride. There was no need, with so many ripe beauties on the island; he would never look her way again.

"Forgive me," she whispered, worn thin by an inner emptiness. "I was afraid."

He was stretched out, one arm flung behind him, eyes closed, lashes like a fan. She fell asleep eventually, fitfully, feeling sick, her face nuzzled into the strong curve of his neck, her hair drying on his skin.

She dreamed of him loving her again and this time there was no fear and pyramids of stars burst in the heavens. But in her dream his face changed into that of an eyeless stone lion, and she awoke, shuddering and gasping, only to find that he had gone from beside her.

He had walked.

The embers of the fire still glowed and he had wrapped a fold of the sail over her bare shoulders. But she awoke as cold as ice and sat up abruptly. Her heart once again was frozen. There would never be anyone to thaw it out. She had made damned sure of that.

"You fool," she howled. "You stupid fool."

* * *

Reuben’s face was permanently set in grim lines. Hurt and bitterness had deepened the nose to mouth groove overnight. He rarely laughed. A twenty-year-old who did not laugh. His humour had dried up like a vital body juice. There was only work now that Dolly had married Benjamin Reed.

He’d heard that she was already pregnant and the thought stirred memories of their rapture together at Sugar Hill the night before the wedding. He was racked with jealousy and hatred. Surely Dolly would say something to him if she had the slightest suspicion that the child might be his? But she had not even spoken to him since that sunny morning when half of Bridgetown turned out for the wedding of the year.

Reuben did not go to the wedding. He had flown to Jamaica the same morning to tour their new sugar plants, talking to managers, gathering ideas. Right up to the last moment, he did not believe Dolly would go through with it, that it was part of one of her silly daydreams. And surely not after their glorious time-after-time lovemaking? How could she? But when he returned home and opened a newspaper . . . it was all there. The black and white photographs, the description of the bride’s dress, a list of guests; even the name of the baker in Bridgetown who had made the three-tiered wedding cake.

The pain had been physical. Reuben had staggered outside into the garden, sick to his very soul.

The new Reed & Earl sugar factory was being built at speed. Reuben was pouring all his energy and frustration into it, taciturn and short-tempered with everyone. New machinery stood in the yard, crated and waiting to be unpacked and installed, most of it imported from the United Kingdom or the States.

Reuben was intensely proud of the new plant taking shape before his eyes. The progressive systems being installed were the latest in sugar production. He worked from dawn to dusk, barely taking time to eat or sleep. Work helped him through the tormented months when thoughts of Dolly dominated every waking moment. The nights were a different torment, knowing she was in another man’s arms and that Benjamin was taking an intimate pleasure in her soft body.

Often Reuben rode half the night, riding his horse through the plantation or down onto the cool empty beaches, hooves making no sound on the soft sand. The waves soothed his anguish with their relentless wash, till the unwilling light of dawn drove him back to Sugar Hill and his responsibilities.

Reuben checked the new furnaces once again. They were an economic innovation and would cut their fuel bills by half. Even Benjamin, who hated waste, had reluctantly agreed to their installation. Not that the two men were talking. They communicated by memo.

"Evening, Mr Earl. You’re here late," one of the workmen called up from below. "It’s not a twenty-four hour shift yet."

"It would be if Reed had his way," Reuben snapped. He could barely say the man’s name.

"He’s too soft taken with his new bride-woman to even show his face in the factory these days. We don’t see him for a whole week now." The workman chuckled, wiped his face on a red kerchief, then turned the cackle into a cough. "Beggin’ y’pardon, sir. No offence meant . . ."

"None taken," said Reuben heavily. Everyone knew. He had been the subject of much well-meant sympathy since the wedding, but everyone thought he would find a more suitable partner when he was ready to marry. It didn’t help. He only wanted Dolly. His own passionate Dolly, beach girl, half wild, half tamed, pressing the memory of their love in the pages of his mind. Benjamin had his hands full with his child bride. They said she ran barefoot in his new house.

Reuben breathed deeply into his gut, making the oxygen steady his hands. He knew he was not properly co-ordinated these days. He had never made mistakes before but now he was making mistakes. Nothing important, but enough to make him extra careful over the most mundane of actions; switching off, cutting a control, adjusting a dial. A foolish accident would be unforgivable, when so much was at stake. His reputation, his pride. And he had to keep working, working, working . . . it was his only salvation.

* * *

Kira could not believe that she had rejected Giles with such finality. What had she been doing? Women all over the world, since time began, faced first-ever love-making with a new partner with courage tinged with apprehension, and with hope in their hearts. What would it be like? Would it be a disappointment? Why had she been so timid and cowardly? Because she did not want to be hurt again?

Commonsense told her that it might have been the rum.

She breathed deeply into her diaphragm, trying to steady her shaking hands. Just what was she doing here? Alone in this ruined mill when all she wanted was Giles’s arms around her, holding her close, crushing her body, bring the wreckage of her spirit back to life. She looked down at her bare legs, remembering how they had wrapped themselves wantonly round his body, then denied their true purpose by struggling.

She was a fool. Her soul was not being fed and she was letting it shrivel. She was starving for love, isolating herself, fading away as a person, yet when this so special man wanted her, she could not let go. She had to let go of these chains. He had lifted her spirits by being there. But he would not want her again. He was too proud a man to even glance her way another day.

He had every right to be angry. She had given him all the wrong signals.

There was no way she could stand another emotional see-saw, and loving Giles would shatter her. Loving Giles? Did she love him? After only a few days? Surely not? Her mind was playing tricks. It was only an infatuation, a fancy, a crush or pure lust.

But Kira was sure that she wanted her life on an even keel, and this man caused earth-tremors that rocked her to the core.

The rain was beginning to stop. It dripped from palm leaves in slow, uneven beats. Kira rubbed her stiff limbs. Her bad leg was beginning to hurt. There were dry clothes in her bags in the mini-
Moke and she went outside to fetch them.

She did not want to shed tears for Giles. But they were there, waiting to be shed. For a moment she held them back. But they were too strong. She folded her arms over her head and leaned against the rough wall.