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.
"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.
Sweet Seduction Page 15