by Robyn Donald
Kyle’s reappearance in her life had brought a lonely bitter ache which shadowed her days and the long restless nights. Misery ate into the fabric of her life so that she found herself longing for him to go away. Yet his presence filled her with a forbidden delight. Every time she saw him her heart jumped in her breast and she knew that if he did leave the island she would be desolate.
In effect, everything was exactly as it had been at Te Nawe. Near him she was tormented; if he went her world became an alien place and this time there would be no Dan to pick up the pieces.
So she was doing her best to re-erect a barrier between them, bricking her heart up behind the high walls of polite indifference and cool courtesy.
Walls which Kyle had every intention of smashing down. He made no secret of the fact that for him as well as her that physical magic still burned as brightly as ever; just as he’d made it perfectly clear that his basic opinion of her hadn’t changed at all.
So—impasse. Frustration all round, she thought wearily as she brought the windsurfer back towards the beach. And, of course, there he was, big and lean and dominant beside Garth, watching. In the hot sun Arminel shivered, for he was always watching her, the pale cold eyes giving nothing away. In spite of Karen’s help and her own avoidance she had begun to feel like prey stalked by some inexorable hunter, merciless, determined, swayed by no emotion but the lust to conquer.
On the beach Garth grinned cheerfully at her, curiosity only half hidden as his eyes moved from the cold pure lines of her face to Kyle’s hard countenance.
‘You make it look easy,’ he said easily. ‘Why not explain the basics to Kyle here? He’s not done any either.’
‘Oh, you just don’t want to try,’ She looked at him and then beyond, searching for Karen.
‘She’s gone back to your place.’ Kyle’s voice was coldly satisfied. ‘Felice went with her.’ So you’re on your own, his tone said.
Arminel straightened. ‘Well, if you want to have a go. . .’
‘I do.’
He picked up the basics quickly; after a few minutes he took the wind-surfer out, balancing it perfectly against the wind, the lean athlete’s body silhouetted against the brilliantly coloured sail.
‘Some chap,’ Garth observed, watching her.
‘Yes.’ The monosyllable lacked any expression.
‘Why not put him out of his misery?’
She stiffened and he grinned without remorse. ‘You can tell me to go to hell if you like, but it’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it? He wants you and you want him, and neither of you will give an inch. I know it’s not fashionable to say so at the moment, but when Kyle’s character was forming Women’s Lib was only in its infancy. He’s not going to give in, so you’ll have to. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Do you really think you’re qualified to give an opinion?’ she asked in a stifled voice, head averted.
‘Why do you think I’m at the top of my tree, Arminel? Apart from the fact that I look good and I move well and my voice has been carefully trained, I’m a bloody good observer of human nature. Humanity in general, that’s my hobby, I’m a people-watcher. Neither of you is simple, in fact you’re both complex characters. I can see exactly why you’ve got yourselves into this situation. Pride can sometimes be stronger than love if you don’t watch it.’
‘Love?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘What makes you think love has anything to do with us?’
‘Hasn’t it? Why else is he bitterly jealous of anyone who flirts with you? Look, he’s coming back in now. He doesn’t like to see you and me alone for too long.’
‘You might be a brilliant observer of human nature,’ she said wryly, ‘and you’re an extremely nice man, but Kyle is one on his own. The normal—oh!’
For the wind-surfer spun and Kyle disappeared below the surface.
Garth laughed, but when no bobbing black head appeared above the surface he said uneasily, ‘Surely he should—’
‘There’s coral all through there!’ Arminel was already running down the soft, clinging sand towards the empty sea. Garth overtook her, diving through the water with all the strength and speed of his masculinity as he covered the fifty yards or so to where the wind-surfer bobbed like a butterfly with broken wings.
It wasn’t deep, and the water was crystal clear. When, Arminel reached the spot Garth had already dived and was on his way up again, dragging an obviously unconscious Kyle with him.
‘I can get him in,’ he gasped. ‘Get ashore!’
Arminel found that panic produced such a massive surge of adrenalin that she was back ashore without even realising it. Kyle was heavy, too heavy for Garth to do more than drag him free of the waves.
‘On his back,’ Arminel gasped, helping him to pull Kyle’s flaccid body over. ‘Is he—?’
She dropped on her knees, supported the nape of his neck and pushed his head backwards, lifting the strong chin upwards. The wide chest remained inert. Banishing her terror, she lowered her mouth to cover his and began to breathe, into it, pinching his nostrils together.
‘Good girl,’ said Garth, stooping to hold his fingers against the carotid pulse in the brown throat. ‘His heart’s still beating. He’ll be all right. He couldn’t have been under water for more than a minute—that’s well within the safety margin.’
Three times Arminel’s breath lifted Kyle’s chest, three times she watched it fall, then he gave a gasp and his chest rose of its own accord. The dreadful pallor receded, he began to choke.
‘Quick, turn him over.’
It took their combined efforts to get him into the recovery position, his head turned to one side as he lay halfway on to his stomach, his hand by his face. The wide shoulders heaved; he began to retch.
Arminel collapsed on to the yielding sand, paper-white and trembling, tears running down her face. Dimly she heard voices from farther up the beach. Garth pushed her head between her knees and the world swayed.
An hour later Kyle was on his way to the hospital in Suva and Arminel was shivering on her bed, her mouth dry with the taste of the brandy Karen had forced on her, her mind cowering from the images that filled it.
‘Mummy?’ Felice peeped around the door. ‘Mummy, can I come in with you? Karen said you might like me.’
Wise, clever, darling Karen. With her daughter’s sturdy little body warm against her that dreadful shivering eased and faded.
‘Poor Kyle,’ said Felice. ‘What will he do in hospital, Mummy?’
‘Rest. They’ll look at his head to make sure that it’s all right.’
‘He banged it on the coral, didn’t he? Is that where all the blood came from?’
‘Yes, he grazed it badly.’
‘That’s why you wear sandshoes.’ The little voice was important. ‘Mummy, was he going to die?’
Pain clutched at Arminel’s body. ‘He might have, if Garth hadn’t been there. He—he pulled him up.’
‘And you made him breathe again.’ The small body squirmed. ‘I like Kyle. He’s nice. I’m glad he’s not going to die. He’s nice . . .’ she repeated, yawning.
As she lay on the big bed Arminel stared at the ceiling and listened to her child’s quiet breathing; slowly, out of the hours of pain and relief, a resolution formed within her brain. You must be the one to give in, Garth had said, watching her with those knowing eyes. What he had meant was that Kyle would never surrender. Well, she had always known that. These days on the island she had been fighting her own instinct to give him that surrender he needed while trying to find some way to accept what he offered without losing her pride or self-respect.
Now she knew that self-respect did not depend on anyone’s opinion of her but her own. Not even Kyle’s, which left only pride.
And after seeing his limp body so close to death she knew pride no longer meant anything. If he had died— well, if he had died something in her would have died too, for he was inextricably part of her now.
Could she accept his desire and his disdain? Lie in his arm
s in the frantic sensuality only he could arouse and know that to him she was a woman who had sold herself for the good life?
It would be difficult, but she could do it. And after a while perhaps he would come to understand her better. Could she cope with the rejection she had always seen as inevitable? Yes, she was strong enough for that.
Perhaps there would be no need for that, though. If she gave him a child . . . Her whole being clenched, then relaxed. Yes, if she gave him a child he was possessive enough to want it to bear his name. It was the oldest ploy in the world, but there was an additional twist. She would not need to marry him. Oh, there would be gossip, some of it highly unpleasant, but she could outface that.
Money talks, she thought wryly. Dan’s money. And if he ever asked her to marry him she could tell him of that condition in Dan’s will which had so upset the lawyer. What it amounted to was a complete repudiation of her if she married again. Everything went to Felice. If Kyle asked her to marry him surely he would realise that she was giving up an enormous income for him. Kyle too was rich, richer by far than most men, but Dan had been a multi-millionaire.
Surely that would prove that she thought little of material assets? Beside her Felice sighed and turned away, her smooth face creased by its contact with the pillow. Arminel echoed her sigh. That was all in the lap of the gods. She could only make her throw and hope for the best. Those minutes on the beach this afternoon had shown her exactly what life without Kyle would be. Nothing could be worse than that. Nothing.
He came back the next day and ignored Helen’s scandalised objections to walk down to the beach. It was late afternoon and the day was still hot; Karen and Felice were shelling out on the reef with Garth and Samuela, Asena’s husband. Arminel had watched them for a time from the shade of the coconut palms, but when Kyle appeared she had got to her feet and was on her way back to the house.
The sight of his figure stopped her. She pressed back against a palm tree and watched him with a steady gaze as he came towards her, lean and purposeful, the sun gilding his bronze hair into flames.
‘Hello,’ she said conversationally. ‘You look fine. How’s the head?’
‘Not even a headache.’ The deep voice was cool, but he was watchful.
Arminel resisted the temptation to touch the red stain which showed where antiseptic had been painted on to the coral graze.
‘It pays to have a hard head,’ she said lightly, suddenly nervous.
He smiled. ‘It does indeed.’ For the first time he looked around. ‘No Karen?’ he drawled. ‘Didn’t you expect me back so soon?’
‘I should have known better.’
‘You should have indeed.’ A pause before he said, ‘I believe I have you to thank for saving my life.’
Embarrassed and wary, Arminel shrugged and turned towards the path, walking through a thicket of banana palms. The wide fringed leaves hung limply; beneath them the grass was coarse and green. High above the coconut palms swayed gently. It was a still, green haven and she was very conscious of the fact that there was not a soul in sight; even if someone came along either the path of the beach they could not be seen.
Something like panic quickened her steps. Over her shoulder she said, ‘Don’t be silly, Kyle. I don’t need your thanks. If you want to give them to anyone then thank Garth. He got you up from the bottom and on to shore.’
His hand on her shoulder stopped her in mid-stride. ‘I’ve already thanked Garth,’ he bit out, turning her to face him. ‘Why are you running away? Do I frighten you?’
‘When have you not?’
The hard grey eyes scanned her face speculatively while she looked up at him in an agony of apprehension. His face tightened.
‘You don’t really mean that,’ he said, icily unpleasant. ‘I can think of several occasions when you forgot any fear you might have had. In fact, I often think of those occasions.’
Arminel stared at him then turned away, angry as only he could make her.
‘Don’t turn your back on me!’ he gritted, long fingers closing with hurtful force over the smooth bone of her shoulder.
She looked back, the dark blue of her gaze cool and cynical. ‘I turned my back on you five years ago,’ she reminded him, grabbing for control. ‘You watched me go, remember, and never said a word to stop me. I find your behaviour now rather strange.’
He was held in the grip of some powerful emotion; she could feel it against her skin, a dark force gathering to rend her, intent on hurting her. For a moment she was afraid until she thought of Dan, meeting death with dignity and courage. Her chin lifted as her eyes, maddeningly composed, met his.
‘Every time I see you,’ he said between his teeth, ‘I see dollar signs.’
‘And do you think it’s any different for me?’ Her face had whitened, but she held fast to her courage. ‘You’re obsessed with money!’
‘No, I’m obsessed with you.’
She held his gaze, her own ironic and weary. ‘Do you still blame me entirely, the temptress who seduced you in spite of yourself?’
For a moment she thought she had pushed him too far. His teeth snapped together and from deep in his throat came a harsh noise like an animal in great pain. And then he was dragging her back against him, the hand which had been free joining the other to bind her tightly to him as he bent his head and spoke into the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
‘I remember everything,’ he said thickly. ‘I remember how you begged me not to take you—and later, how you pleaded with me to make love to you because you were burning up and couldn’t bear it. Do you remember that, Arminel? Do you?’ His lips moved against his skin, as dry and hot as if he had a fever. ‘I’ve never forgotten. And I’m going to take you again because I must have it. I want it again and again because it’s never been like that for me since. Whatever you did to me that night was permanent, it left a mark on my body, it changed my brain patterns. I’ve had women since then and each time I knew it was going to happen, their face would change and I’d be staring into your wild eyes as they drowned me in desire. And I’d hear your voice—’
Somehow she had been turned in his arms so that they were standing face to face, his hands cupping her face, trembling, his low, impassioned voice harsh with feeling, hurting her ears, although of course she knew that there must have been other women, he was a sensual man. Her jealousy thickened, clotted in her throat. To stop the bitter words she swung her hand across his mouth.
‘Shut up!’ she hissed, watching as the mark of her fingers reddened against the teak tan skin. ‘How dare you! I could kill you. . .’ Her hand moved slowly, lovingly over the mark of the blow, her fingers smoothing the sore skin, massaging it.
‘How do you think I felt when I heard that you’d married?’ Kyle drew a ragged breath, his smoky eyes hazed with pain and anger. ‘I wanted to kill you. I would have killed you if I’d seen you. You knew you were mine, didn’t you? Didn’t you!’ shaking her as she closed her eyes.
‘You threw me out. I begged with you to let me stay, I said I would be exactly what you wanted if you’d only let me stay near you, and you said I was . . .’
‘No, no, my darling.’ This time it was his hand, but it was gentle and beneath it her lips moved as she kissed it. ‘Oh, God,’ he groaned, ‘you terrify me. Until I met you I’d always been the one in control, able to take what I wanted, detached. No woman had ever meant more to me than an attractive companion to amuse myself with. Then Rhys brought you back as if you were a jewel for his finger and all the devils in hell laughed at me. I only had to hear your voice and I felt my hunger claw at my guts; I loved Rhys, and at night all I could think of was of Rhys’s girl in my arms, in my bed. And the hell of it was that I knew it was the same for you. And you would do nothing about it. Why? Why didn’t you tell him it was over?’
She shuddered at the husky, dangerous note in his voice, the hurried angry words. Above his hard mouth tiny beads of sweat gleamed on his skin. It was always hot here, but this was a different
heat, primeval, his desire summoning an answering desire from her, and between them tension sang and quivered.
‘Kyle,’ she whispered, ‘I must—Kyle, we’d better go back to the house. Please!’
He watched the words form on her lips, the soft trembling movements, and said savagely, ‘You drive me mad! With you I lose all self-control, and you like that, don’t you? You hated the fact that loyalty to my brother could keep me from accepting the invitation you offered, and you tantalised me until I could bear it no longer. Then you left, but you were always there, wherever I went, tormenting me until—’ He stopped, breathing deeply and erratically, the pupils of his eyes dilated as they registered her fear. ‘No!’ he groaned, as the proud head bent and he rested his forehead on her shoulder.
Very gently she touched his heated skin, her mouth moving in small kisses over his cheek and the hard angle of his jaw. The sun’s rays diffused in golden streams through the canopy of leaves. A small butterfly became a miracle of glowing colour as it flew up towards the canopy. Kyle began to speak again, muttering in a thick monotone so that she had to strain to catch the words.
‘I’ve tried so hard to hate your ghost,’ he said wearily, ‘blamed you for the fact that I wanted you, and all the time I knew it would come to this, me pleading for your love, unable to fight it any longer. No, don’t say anything, not yet. Please just hold me.’
But she did more than that, offering, with a generosity which made him speechless, the matchless comfort of her body.
‘See,’ she said smiling at him as she slipped free from the maillot she wore, ‘I can hold you so much better when you lie in my arms.’
This time he loved her with a desperation that was little short of savagery, reinforcing his ownership of her body with a hard thrusting desire which should have frightened and hurt her, but she found that, as before, her need flared to meet and match his, so that they came together in the hot green shade beneath the banana palms in a frenzy of passion that left them too exhausted to do anything but lie clasped together in the slow downward spiral of satiation.
At last Kyle lifted his head and touched his mouth to her throat and the delicate curve of her breast. ‘I love you,’ he said, almost without expression. ‘What are we going to do about it?’