by Anne Mather
Her first instincts were to get to her feet. One look at his grim countenance was enough to warn her that this was no social visit, and she carefully put her fork aside, and clasped her hands together in her lap.
His dark eyes raked her face, and she was glad she wasn’t still wearing the skimpy bikini. The button-through blue cheesecloth did have a square neckline, but it wasn’t too revealing, and the short skirt was hidden by the hem of the tablecloth. In addition, its cap sleeves hid the pinking flesh on her shoulders, and with her hair drawn back with combs, exposing her pale profile, she was innocence personified. Or so she reassured herself as he came to stand over her.
‘Hi.’
His greeting was restrained, and Camilla managed to look up at him quite composedly. ‘Hello.’
‘You look nice and cool,’ he remarked, pulling his tie away from his collar and loosening the top button. ‘Did you enjoy your lunch?’
‘Oh—yes. It was lovely.’ Camilla used one finger to push the plate of crêpes away from her. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t very hungry, that’s all.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ She moistened her lips. ‘I suppose I’m not used to the heat.’
‘But Mama Lu tells me you’ve been swimming,’ he countered smoothly. ‘Didn’t that cool you down?’
Camilla lifted her shoulders. ‘A bit.’ But she was wondering what else Mama Lu might have told him, and whether, in spite of Virginia’s efforts, the housekeeper had recognised her voice. ‘The—er—the water was beautiful.’
‘How nice.’ Alex was watching her closely. ‘So…aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here? Don’t you want to know if there’s been any news?’
‘Has there?’ Camilla gazed up at him urgently. Perhaps Virginia had rung him, too. Was it possible that that was what all this was about?
‘God!’ Alex’s harsh oath quickly disabused her of that hope. Leaning forward, he rested his knuckles on the table in front of her as he added savagely, ‘How do you Englishwomen do it, huh? How do you sit there, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt, when all the time you’re lying through your teeth? God, it makes me sick!’
‘Mr Conti—’
‘Don’t…’ He took a breath and lowered his tone. ‘Don’t adopt that injured air with me! It won’t work. I know. Do you understand me? I know! So why don’t we cut the garbage and get to basics?’
Camilla abandoned all hope of avoiding a confrontation as she got stiffly to her feet. But she refused to allow him to browbeat her. ‘Yes. Why don’t we?’ she conceded politely. ‘If you’d like to tell me what you’re talking about, I’ll try and give you an answer. What is it you think you know? And what lies am I supposed to have told you? I don’t recall—’
‘Oh, can it, Camilla, why don’t you?’ he muttered, pushing himself up from the table and regarding her with weary eyes. ‘Virginia’s been on the phone to you, hasn’t she? Don’t bother to answer that. It wasn’t a question. She rang you, and told you to stay put, didn’t she? Without giving a thought to the fact that I might be monitoring the call.’
‘Monitoring the call?’ Camilla gulped. ‘You mean—?’
‘You didn’t think I hadn’t already considered the fact that she might ring?’ Alex demanded scathingly. ‘It was on the cards that, sooner or later, she’d try to make contact. She has to want something out of this, doesn’t she? Only, when your brains’s half scrambled with crack, you don’t always think rationally.’
‘Oh, God!’ Camilla shook her head. ‘So Mama Lu didn’t—’
‘Recognise Virginia’s voice? No, I don’t think so.’
‘Then…how…?’
‘All calls to this number are being recorded by the security firm I told you about.’
‘Not…the police?’
‘Not yet, no.’ Alex’s mouth was grim. ‘I’d prefer to avoid that kind of publicity if I can.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’ He regarded her without liking. ‘But you were going to lie for her, weren’t you? In spite of all I’ve told you, you’re still prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt.’
‘No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know.’ Camilla moved away from the table, and wrapped her hands around the back of her neck. ‘I—I didn’t know what to do. I was still thinking about it, when…when…’
‘When I interrupted you?’
His tone was cynical, and she turned to look at him defensively. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact,’ she retorted, not caring at that moment whether he believed her or not. ‘Virginia’s a friend. Whereas you…you—’
‘I’m just a stranger, right?’ Alex grimaced. ‘And what about Maria? Don’t you care what happens to her? Or is she just a stranger, too?’
Camilla swallowed. ‘Of course I care. And all I did was hesitate about betraying a friend’s confidence. You…you don’t have to look at me as if I’d committed some terrible crime!’
‘How would you like me to look at you?’ he countered harshly, and, despite the antagonism between them, the moment was taut with other emotions.
Camilla shook her head. In spite of herself, her eyes were drawn to the lean muscles flexing beneath the thin material of his shirt. The air-conditioning was running, but the cloth was clinging to his skin in places, and the heat of his body reached out to her. Although there were at least a dozen feet between them, she could smell the musky scent of his sweat, and, contrary to what she might have expected, the odour was not offensive to her. Instead, it made her unwillingly aware of the male flesh beneath the formal business suit, and how thin a veneer civilisation really represented.
But then Alex turned away, and she was again left with the uncomfortable awareness of her own complicity. Everyone else was worried sick about Virginia and Maria, and her only contribution was to lust after Virginia’s husband. For that was what she was doing: she knew it. But, because something like this had never happened before, she didn’t know how to handle it.
‘Anyway,’ he said, standing with his back to her, gazing out over the balcony and the terrace below, ‘it didn’t occur to you to warn Mama Lu who was really on the phone, did it? You didn’t think that, if I’d known who it was, I might have been able to put a trace on the call?’
Camilla shrugged. ‘I…I thought things like that had to be set up beforehand.’
‘How do you know they weren’t?’
Camilla hesitated. ‘Well—I didn’t. But…but you just said you hadn’t told the police—’
Alex swung round. ‘And that’s why you didn’t do it?’ he demanded contemptuously.
‘No. No, you know it wasn’t.’ Camilla sniffed. ‘Did…did you have a trace on it?’
‘No.’ Alex shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over one shoulder. ‘As you say, I’d need official permission for something like that.’
Camilla bit her lip. ‘So…so you’re no further forward?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
She frowned. ‘But—’
‘Forget it.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Why should I tell you anything? We know whose side you’re on, don’t we? And it’s certainly not mine!’
‘That’s not true.’
‘What’s not true?’ He crossed the floor then, until he was standing right in front of her, and she realised that any faint emotion he might have felt earlier had been resolutely controlled. ‘You take a call from Virginia, and as far as I know you might never have told me about it. You sat here, exchanging small talk, when as far as you were concerned I was still desperate for news of her and my daughter. And you say you’re on my side! Stuff it, Camilla! I don’t believe you.’
Camilla quivered. ‘I’ll go, then.’
‘Go?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Go where?’
‘To…to pack my suitcase, of course,’ replied Camilla unevenly. ‘It’s obvious I can’t stay here now—’
‘Like hell you can’t stay!’ Alex’s eyes held hers with savage determination. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Camilla. You’re staying here. Do you ho
nestly think I’m going to lose the only lead I’ve had in nearly two weeks?’
Camilla stepped back. ‘You can’t expect me to stay now.’
‘Can’t I?’
‘No.’ She moved her hands in a helpless little gesture. ‘You…you may feel you have some justification for saying what you did, but you can’t force me to remain in this house. I…I’ve come to the conclusion it would be better all round if I went back to England. As…as soon as Virginia realises I’m not here any more she’ll probably come home. I mean, she’s made her point, hasn’t she? She’s proved she can do whatever she likes, and…and my advice to you is that you two should sit down and talk about this like…like reasonable human beings—’
‘Only Virginia’s not a reasonable human being,’ snarled Alex angrily. ‘For God’s sake, what does she have to do to prove that she’s not capable of reasonable thought? As she said on the phone, she’s doing this to make me sweat. Well, OK, I’m sweating. But is she coming home? No. And why? Because that’s not all she wants, damn her!’
Camilla was perspiring now. She could feel the line of sweat beneath her hairline and round the back of her neck, and no amount of air-conditioning was going to make it go away. ‘But—what does she want?’ she protested, and Alex closed his eyes against the unknowing appeal of hers.
‘I don’t know,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I wish I did. But until I do you’re staying here.’
‘Am I?’ Camilla held up her head. ‘You can’t keep me a prisoner, too.’
‘Too?’ Alex’s eyes opened, and now they were harsh with warning. ‘Don’t push me, Camilla. Right now I’ve had just about as much as I can take, and I’m in no mood to be made a fool of a second time. Just remember, you need a passport to get off the island. And you’re going to give me yours, just to avoid any mistakes.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
CAMILLA was dancing. She was outdoors; on a moonlit terrace; where Chinese lanterns provided a flickering illumination. Music was drifting on the soft evening air, a wonderfully romantic ballad, and the scent of a thousand different blossoms assailed her senses. She was wearing a gorgeous dress; made of silk chiffon, it was a flowing, wraith-like confection, in subtle shades of blue and mauve and grey, that floated about her bare limbs and caught between the legs of her partner. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, a glorious riot of colour, and when she turned her head and it caught the light it turned to fire against her pale skin.
She was excited. She sensed that. Her heart was beating fast, and the blood was thundering through her veins. But it wasn’t just the night and the music that was filling her being with such exhilaration. It was the passion she could clearly see in the eyes of the man who was dancing with her. His eyes told her she was radiant; beautiful; desirable. And he wanted her…
His arms were around her, and, although they moved to the exotic rhythm of the guitars, it was only an excuse for him to hold her. And he held her so tightly, so close to his lean powerful body, that she could feel every movement he made.
His hands were on her back, her bare back, she realised half guiltily. Apart from the flimsy dress, she was wearing nothing else, and the bootlace straps were the only barrier to his touch. The dress dipped to her waist at the back, and his palms were spread against her skin, skin that reacted wildly to his caressing fingers. She arched against him, and he gathered her even closer.
Her own hands were looped behind his head, her fingers threading through the silky darkness of his hair and raking the warm flesh at his nape. When she turned her head her lips encountered the faintly abrasive skin of his jawline, and the aroma of his shaving lotion filled her nostrils. It was a sensual smell, strongly masculine, like its user, with the hint of bay rum to tantalise her senses.
Almost instinctively, her tongue slid between her teeth to touch his skin. She wanted to taste him as well as feel him, and through that tenuous contact she felt his tightening response. His hands slid down her back to mould her hips to his, and she felt the hardening pressure of his arousal against her stomach.
When he bent his head, and his mouth slanted across hers, she was swept into a dizzying vortex of feeling. Heat spread from his body into hers, and her blood felt like liquid fire in her veins. She was suffused with warmth, and pleasure, and the aching need to wind herself about this man and never let him go.
His tongue invaded her mouth, hot and wet and possessive, and a little moan escaped her as he dragged her even closer. His tongue wound about hers, sucking it into his mouth, and her legs sagged beneath her as he took her breath away.
She clung to him obsessively, convinced now that her destiny lay in his hands, and his mouth left hers to seek her throat and the sensitive curve of her breast. He trailed his tongue over her skin, leaving a dampness she hardly noticed, and when he found her nipple he bit on it gently, moistening the flimsy folds that were all that covered her.
She was filled with an emotion she had never felt before. Her limbs were weak, and yet every inch of her was taut with longing for a fulfilment she sensed only he could give her. Her thighs trembled; between her legs the moist core of her femininity was proof—if any proof were needed—that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. They were made for one another, and she didn’t care who knew it. If there were other dancers on the terrace, let them look. She loved him, and she had nothing to hide.
When he picked her up and laid her on a cushioned swing, whose canopy gave only the scantest of protection, she knew he was going to make love to her. No: not to her, with her, she thought sensuously. They would share the pleasure of their bodies. With a little cry of, ‘Alex,’ she pulled him down on top of her, and wrapped her legs about him…
* * *
Camilla came awake with a start. She couldn’t breathe, and she realised it was because she had wrapped herself around her pillow and her face was buried in its folds. She was hot, too; hot and sticky, her arms and legs slick with sweat.
But she knew it wasn’t a fear of suffocation, or the fact that her nightgown was sticking to her, that had brought her awake. It was the dream she had been having, and the name she had called in those moments before her conscience had brought her back to reality, that had torn aside the veils of oblivion.
Trembling, she thrust the damp pillow aside, and, coming upright in the bed, she swept back her tumbled hair with an unsteady hand. Dear God, she thought sickly as the memory of the dream tumbled into her unwilling consciousness. She had been dreaming about Alex. And not just dreaming about him either, if the evidence of her shaking body was anything to go by. She had been living in her subconscious, and the waves of disappointment that were sweeping over her now were eloquent of her denial.
God! She thrust her legs over the side of the bed, and sat for several minutes with her head buried in her hands. This had never happened to her before, and all those stories she had heard and laughed about, of people actually being aroused by something they had dreamed, were no longer so funny. Her whole body was alive to the sexual fantasy she had conjured up, and the frustration she felt at its disintegration was just as real as the clammy texture of her skin.
Getting up from the bed, she crossed the carpet and went down the steps on to the cold wood floor. Her toes curled against its chilly surface, but the coolness that spread up her legs was welcome.
Drawing the curtain aside, she peeped outside and was rewarded by the faint glow on the horizon. She didn’t know what time it was, but it was obvious it would soon be daylight, and she was relieved. She didn’t think she could bear to get back into bed again and risk rekindling the emotions that had brought her awake. Apart from anything else, they were totally outrageous, not just because she hardly knew the man, but because he was Virginia’s husband. And whatever kind of disaster his marriage had turned out to be she had no right to get involved. Besides, he hardly knew she was alive, she thought dully. She was just his link with Virginia, a particularly annoying thorn in his side who now and then aroused his frustration.
But not his sexual frustration, she appended, feeling the first twinges of a headache assaulting her temples. Just an awareness of his delusion.
With a feeling of dejection, Camilla unlocked the sliding door and stepped out on to the balcony. The air was cool and refreshing, and she linked her fingers together and stretched her arms above her head. Her back muscles flexed obediently, and by the time she lowered her hands she was feeling minutely better. After all, it was only a dream, she told herself impatiently. All she had done was create an hallucination in which her subconscious had substituted some scene from the past. It wasn’t as if she had never danced with a man before. She had done so, dozens of times. Granted, the kind of dancing she did most frequently did not resemble her dream, but recently one of the partners in the law firm for which she worked had taken her to a hunt ball in Gloucestershire. Of course, the dress she had worn then had been different, she remembered, recalling its sequined bodice with some pride. Though not as sexy, a small voice chided drily, and her spirits slumped again.
She couldn’t help remembering how transparent the gown in her dream had been, and how she had been wearing nothing underneath it. Was that how she really wanted to appear to Alex Conti? she wondered unhappily. Was it only in her subconscious that she was completely honest with herself?
But he had thought she was beautiful, she reminded herself unwillingly. And she had never felt so sophisticated, or so desirable, before. No man had ever looked at her the way he had looked at her, even if it was only in her imagination. And no man had ever pressed himself against her so that the outline of his manhood felt as if it were still imprinted on her stomach.
Camilla’s hand probed her flat stomach, quivering now, beneath the thin material of her nightgown. What would it feel like if Alex really held her like that? she pondered. If his hand explored her breasts and thighs, and his tongue explored her mouth…?
She brought herself up at that point. Standing on the balcony, swaying in the cool draught from the ocean, she was in danger of deluding herself that such a possibility might exist. It didn’t. She was fooling herself if she believed that Alex would ever view her as anything more than a rather annoying intruder, whose connection to Virginia forced him to keep her here. She had had an example of how he felt about her the day before, when he had warned her not to leave the island, and, although he hadn’t yet made good his threat to confiscate her passport, she had no doubt that he would, if necessary. As it was, there was a state of almost armed neutrality between them, and until Virginia made her next move there was nothing Camilla could do.