by Penny Jordan
‘It’s been in Rorke’s family for generations,’ Lisa told her, ‘and I can’t see him ever parting with it.’
‘He will if Helen has anything to do with it,’ Sandra laughed. ‘She’s told me she’s aching to get back to London.’
‘I don’t think Rorke would agree to that. He’d want his children to grow up on the island as he did,’ Lisa told her, surprised when Sandra’s eyes widened. ‘Have I said something wrong?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Not exactly—it’s just that Helen can’t have children—can’t, and wouldn’t anyway—she loathes them.’
‘But Rorke…’
‘Will want a son to come after him?’ Sandra supplied. ‘Yes, I got that impression too. Still, it’s their business, not ours. Personally I’ve always thought of Helen more as a mistress than a wife. Perhaps Rorke will come to think so too. He could find a dutiful little wife to bear his sons, and still have his fun with Helen.’
‘Oh no, surely not!’ Lisa protested, thoroughly revolted by the picture Sandra was drawing.
The older woman laughed. ‘You’re such a baby,’ she teased, ‘but then how old are you?’
‘Seventeen—almost,’ Lisa told her.
‘Is that all? I thought you were nineteen at least.’
Lisa found her words wonderfully uplifting after Rorke’s apparent unawareness of the change in her appearance, but it was hard not to notice how Helen constantly touched Rorke’s arm when she spoke to him; their low-voiced murmurs wafting across the table, making Lisa long to get up from the table and run as far and as fast as she could to escape the evidence of their intimacy.
After dinner Helen insisted that she wanted to dance. She knew of a nightclub, she told Rorke. They could all go on there. All except Lisa, she suggested, glancing pointedly at the younger girl.
‘Oh, of course she can come with us,’ Sandra protested. ‘If she wants to, and I’m sure she does. A pretty girl wearing a new dress always wants to show it off.’
Helen looked far from pleased, and Lisa held her breath, half expecting Rorke to tell her that she was to go to her room, but to her surprise he said nothing, merely looking grimly unforthcoming as Peter took her arm and escorted her from the table.
The nightclub was hot and cramped, and although she wasn’t going to admit it, Lisa would have much preferred to be walking along the beach at St Martin’s, the soft evening breeze cooling her overheated skin and blowing freely in her hair.
‘Lisa?’
She came out of her reverie to find Rorke towering over her while Helen glowered furiously, and Sandra and Peter exchanged comprehensive glances.
‘Lisa, I’m asking you to dance,’ Rorke reminded her.
‘To dance?’ She looked up at him wildly, heady excitement racing through her veins. Like someone in a dream she followed him on to the small crowded floor. The steel band were playing a tune with a powerfully sensual beat, and Lisa found her body seemed to have its own rhythm, as Rorke took her in his arms, his palms flat against the bare skin of her shoulders.
‘I don’t think Helen likes you dancing with me,’ Lisa murmured as she glanced towards their table and saw Helen watching them, fury in the catlike eyes.
‘Damn Helen,’ Rorke muttered ruthlessly, stunning her with the fierce intensity of his words, his fingers tightening on her shoulders as he drew her closer towards him. ‘And damn you, Lisa,’ he muttered thickly, ‘for making me feel like this. God, you’re a child… or so I keep telling myself, but seeing you tonight, holding you in my arms…’
A tremor ripped through him, and Lisa could see the sheen of perspiration on his face. Rorke—Rorke whom she had always thought of as invincible, was trembling because he was holding her in his arms. She could hardly believe it, but it was true!
‘Lisa!’ He groaned her name against her hair, holding her even closer, close enough for her to feel the fixed rigidity of his body, the pulsating heat it radiated. His mouth left her hair, seeking the tender curve of her throat. A maelstrom of emotion gripped her. Her body shivered delicately as his mouth plundered the soft sweetness of her skin. His hands shaped her to him, her breasts crushed against his chest, the hardness of his body compelling hers to yield and mould itself to him.
Distantly she was aware of Helen, glaring furiously at her, knowing that she was warning Lisa that she would make her pay for the pleasure of being in Rorke’s arms, but she felt too deliriously happy to care. Even so, it wasn’t pleasant, feeling Helen’s eyes boring into the back of her neck, and as though he sensed her distress Rorke questioned frowningly, ‘Is something wrong?’
‘It’s just that it’s so hot in here,’ Lisa told him, not wanting to admit that Helen made her feel uncomfortable. What was between them was too new and precious for her to talk freely. She had no idea what had brought about the transformation in Rorke, but she wasn’t going to jeopardise it by criticising Helen to him.
‘Feel like a walk, then, to cool off?’
There was a disturbing glint in his eyes, a curve to his mouth that made Lisa’s heart race.
‘That would be very nice,’ she managed sedately, hoping he wouldn’t guess how understated her comment was.
CHAPTER THREE
‘I DIDN’T want to bring you to St Lucia with me.’
‘I know.’
They were walking hand in hand along the soft white sand, the moon and the stars their only witnesses. The soft breeze Lisa had longed for in the stifling heat of the nightclub wafted balmily over them. Rorke paused, slipping off his jacket, which he dropped on to the sand. ‘Sit down for a moment,’ he suggested, adding huskily, ‘God, Lisa, have you any idea what you do to me? Any idea of the jealousy I’ve endured watching you with young Peters?’
‘You jealous?’ Her voice sounded breathless.
‘I’m only human, Lisa,’ Rorke reminded her drily. ‘All too human where you’re concerned.’
‘But you’ve been so unkind to me…’
‘Not half as unkind as I’ve been to myself. You’re seventeen,’ he told her softly, cupping her face. ‘A little girl still in so many ways, and yet already a very desirable young woman. I tried reminding myself that you were my stepsister, but it made no difference. The last time you came home I wanted you, Lisa,’ he told her bluntly. ‘That was six months ago, and nothing has changed, except that I now want you twice as much,’ he told her hoarsely. ‘So much…’
Her whole body quivered in mute response, eager fingers trembling against his skin as she reached towards him.
‘Lisa,’ Rorke groaned grasping her fingers, and pressing a kiss against her palm. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this; shouldn’t be giving way to what I feel, but God help me, I can’t stop myself…’
‘And I don’t want you to,’ Lisa told him shyly. ‘I love you, Rorke.’
‘I thought you loved young Peters,’ he mocked sardonically. ‘How can you love me when every time I look at you you run away? What do you know of love, Lisa? Until you saw me today I don’t believe you’d ever seen a naked man before, never mind…’
Hot colour stained her cheeks, but she still found the courage to say hesitantly, ‘Does it matter so much, Rorke—that I’m not experienced, I mean? Can’t you teach me?’
‘Lisa!’
Her name was torn from his throat on an aching protest, and then she was in his arms, his mouth against her skin, tasting, exploring, his lips moving sensuously against hers, parting their soft innocence and probing the sweetness beyond until she was aware of nothing apart from the taste and feel of him as he lowered her to the sand, his hands exploring the contours of her body, his muffled gasp when he suddenly drew away from her confusing her as much as his abrupt withdrawal.
‘Leigh at least will be pleased,’ he murmured as he pulled her to her feet. ‘Surely you’ve realised how keen he’s been to throw us together?’ he prodded when Lisa made no response. ‘Dear God, you are an innocent, aren’t you,’ he muttered, and despite the warmth of his arm round her body, Lisa fe
lt a strangely apprehensive chill strike through her body. It was almost as though Rorke resented wanting her, resented loving her.
‘Rorke?’
As though he sensed her uncertainty his arm tightened.
‘Rorke, do you love me?’ she murmured softly.
For a moment she sensed his withdrawal and then he was saying smoothly, ‘Of course I love you, Lisa, who wouldn’t—but right now I think it’s time you were back in your virginal bed, don’t you?
She wanted to tell him that she would far rather spend the night in his arms, in his bed, but somehow she couldn’t find the words. Indeed she was surprised that he hadn’t suggested it himself, If she had been Helen! But she wasn’t Helen, she reminded herself. She was herself, and Rorke loved her, and surely once they returned to St Martin’s and he had told his father, they would be married?
They started the return journey to St Martin’s, earlier than had been planned. There was a storm warning, Rorke explained to Lisa when she joined him for breakfast, feeling shyly selfconscious in some of her new separates, and he wanted to get under way as quickly as possible.
‘You’re not sorry—about what happened last night, are you?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘Not half as sorry as I am about what didn’t,’ Rorke responded sardonically. ‘Lisa, do you have the faintest idea of what you’re letting yourself in for? You’re barely seventeen—you haven’t even begun to taste life.’
‘Rorke, I love you!’
‘So you keep telling me, and I’m selfish enough to want to believe it. I ought to send you away, for two years at least, but I can’t risk losing you. I love you too much.’
‘What do you think Leigh will say?’
‘Well, let’s put it this way,’ Rorke retorted wryly. ‘I don’t think it’s going to come as a complete surprise. Something tells me he’s already guessed how I feel about you. In fact I wouldn’t put it past him to have engineered this trip with a view to flinging us together. He’s been at great pains to point out to me how quickly you’re growing up—Growing up! Dear God, and to think I once thought it was only old men in their dotage who found pubescent children physically desirable!’
‘I’m not a child,’ Lisa protested, hating the cynicism in his eyes and voice. ‘In another month I’ll be seventeen—another year and…’
‘And you’ll be eighteen—I can count, Lisa. Come on,’ he said abruptly. ‘Get your things together and I’ll check us out. If we leave now we should make it back to St Martins before the weather breaks.’
They left Castries harbour an hour later. The sky was completely free of cloud, but there was a certain dull brassiness about the sun that made Lisa conscious that the storm forecast could not be lightly ignored.
This time there was no question of her staying below. Like Rorke she had changed into her frayed denim shorts, and her body pulsated with excitement as his eyes narrowed over the curves of her breasts, outlined by the stretchy fabric of her tee shirt, as he helped her aboard.
‘We’d better use full sail and the auxiliary engine,’ Rorke announced laconically once they were both on board. ‘I don’t like the colour of that sky.’
They had completed just over a quarter of their journey, and Rorke was busy checking their progress in the wheelhouse when he suddenly called to Lisa.
‘Damn, we’re getting so much interference I can’t do a thing with the radio. These electric storms play havoc with the equipment.’ The wind had started to pick up and Lisa was relieved when he came back to join her, checking on the sails, frowning occasionally as the schooner started to pick up speed.
‘Hell!’ he swore softly. ‘By the looks of it we’re heading right for the storm. It must have changed course. I wish to God we could get some decent radio signals.
‘Go below and put on a lifejacket, will you, Lisa,’ he instructed curtly, ‘and bring one up for me. Don’t look like that,’ he added when he saw the concern in her eyes. ‘I’m just taking precautions.’
‘How bad is it going to be, Rorke?’ Lisa asked him steadily, her eyes reminding him that she was no longer a child to be placated.
For a moment she thought he was going to fob her off, but suddenly he grimaced and said, ‘Bad enough—it’s not a hurricane, but it isn’t going to be far short. This morning’s forecast suggested that we would be out of the main path. Let’s just hope that things continue that way. Right now I’d feel one hell of a lot better if we could make radio contact.’
After that there wasn’t much opportunity for conversation. Rorke snapped out curt orders which Lisa obeyed automatically, and between them somehow they kept the schooner on course as the wind increased in strength and the sea ran steadily higher, waves crashing down over the boat’s bows as she sliced swiftly through the turbulence, but even Lisa could see that the weather was deteriorating rather than improving. The sky had turned a dull yellow-bronze, and Rorke had to shout his instructions over the keening of the wind as it tore at the sails.
‘We’re carrying too much sail,’ he announced at one point. ‘We’re running too fast. I’ll have to go and bring some in. Can you hold her on a steady course while I do it?’
Grimly Lisa nodded. She knew without Rorke having to put it into words that the slightest change in wind direction could mean that they might capsize. At the moment they were running before the wind, but if it should veer in the slightest and catch them sideways on, with the amount of sail they were carrying they would capsize immediately.
Her heart in her mouth, she struggled to keep the schooner on course, almost jolted off her feet when the very thing she had dreaded happened, and the wind veered, the shock shuddering through the slender craft with bone-jarring ferocity. Wildly Lisa fought for control of the helm, praying that Rorke would succeed in reefing in some of the sail. In a few split seconds the sky seemed to have turned almost black, the boat wallowing and plunging in the heavy seas.
Rorke must come back soon! Lisa felt another deep shudder tear at the schooner followed by an ominous crack as the wind took advantage of the boat’s vulnerability to tear at the sails. She had to go out and see what was delaying Rorke!
Setting the schooner on automatic pilot and praying that it would hold for the length of time she needed to go outside and check on Rorke, Lisa opened the door, bracing herself against the blast of the wind, feeling her way aft.
One of the sails flapped loosely, suddenly ripping free and disappearing into the darkness as she approached, and she stumbled over an obstruction on the deck. It was only as she reached out to save herself that Lisa realised the obstruction was Rorke, and that he was unconscious. Instantly she realised what had happened. The jib had obviously worked free, and when Rorke went to secure it, the wind had whipped it backwards, hitting him before he could get out of the way.
He groaned and started to struggle to his feet as Lisa reached for him, relief flooding over her as he regained consciousness.
‘My God, what happened?’ he muttered, getting up. ‘I feel as though I’ve been hit by a ten-ton lorry!’
‘I think it was the jib,’ Lisa told him. ‘The sail’s gone…’
‘Umm, I suspect you’re right,’ he agreed grasping her just in time to stop her staggering as the boat wallowed again.
‘We’d better get below!’ he shouted to her above the noise of the storm. ‘We’re going to have to ride this one out. We’ll drop the sea anchors and take in what’s left of the sails.’
Under his instructions Lisa managed to help him take in the sails, but it wasn’t until they got below and he lit one of the lamps that she was able to see the damage the jib had inflicted on his skin. His forehead was cut and grazed, blood oozing slowly from the torn flesh, and there was another matted patch of blood in his hair.
‘I’ll clean that up for you,’ Lisa offered, trying not to let him see how concerned she was. He winced a little when she applied the antiseptic, and despite her protests insisted on going back on deck to check on the damage.
‘The wind seems to have dropped a little,’ he announced when he came back. ‘But we won’t risk putting on any more sail for now. We’ll give it a little bit longer just to make sure, although I’m pretty sure we’re through the worst of it.’ He started to yawn, and Lisa realised how tired he must be.
‘Why don’t you go and rest for a while?’ she suggested. ‘You might as well.’
‘Umm, I do feel a bit drowsy. Make sure you wake me in an hour, though, won’t you?’
Lisa heard him moving about in his cabin. Soon, whenever they used the schooner, she would be sharing it with him. The thought brought her out in a rash of goosebumps. Even now she could hardly believe that he actually loved her. It all seemed like a marvellous dream.
True to Rorke’s prediction, the wind dropped gradually. She looked in on him after half an hour and he was deeply asleep, his head buried against one outflung arm. A wave of melting tenderness washed over her as she looked at him, her hand reaching out to stroke the tousled hair back off his forehead. He opened his eyes and stared up at her with the unfocused blindness of the newly awake.
‘Lisa?’ he muttered hoarsely at last. And then his fingers were curling round her wrist, tugging her down beside him, his mouth hotly possessive as it burned against her skin, with an urgency that shattered her defences in its raw need.
‘God, Lisa, I want you!’ he groaned as his lips burned heatedly against the smooth skin of her throat, his hands moulding her body against the taut contours of his, tightening on her waist before sliding beneath the fine fabric of her tee-shirt to smooth the tanned skin of her midriff.
‘Kiss me. Touch me,’ he muttered thickly on a harshly uneven breath, and Lisa felt her body respond to the sensual demand implicit in the words, making no protest when he pushed aside the frail barrier of her tee-shirt to cup and caress the taut curves of her breasts, his thumbs stroking erotically over the already aroused nipples, until Lisa was trembling in his arms, pressing feverishly distraught kisses against his damp skin, her husky moan seeming only to incite him to further sensual forays as he removed her tee-shirt completely, his eyes darkening as he gazed down at her.