Such Sweet Poison/Blind Passion

by Anne Mather

  ‘All right?’ asked Reed casually, going forward to cast off the lines, and Helen came abruptly down to earth.

  ‘Fine,’ she agreed, glancing nervously about her. Now they were completely alone, and that realisation robbed the scene of much of its previous glamour.

  Yet, in spite of her misgivings, Helen couldn’t deny a sense of well-being as the elegant vessel moved slowly away from her mooring. With Reed at the wheel, and the twin engines pro viding power until they were clear of the other craft moored off Palmer’s Sound, Ocean Tramp truly belied her name. She wasn’t a tramp at all, thought Helen, gazing about her. She was a lady; a beautiful, graceful lady, whose sleek lines and polished paintwork gleamed brilliantly in the sun.

  Beyond the dozens of small islands that littered the gateway to the Great Sound, Reed switched off the engines, and the yacht drifted on the tide while he hoisted the sails. Helen, who still had images of round-the-world yachtsmen and women in her mind, had expected this to be a rather arduous operation, but once again she was wrong. All the deck winches were hydraulically powered, and only the touch of a button was needed to accomplish the task successfully. She understood now why Reed had been so confident of handling the yacht single-handed. There was no hauling on ropes—or sheets, she amended ruefully. She had to get the jargon right, if she was going to tell Alexa all about it when she got home. Everything was automated, and technically advanced.

  But what was she going to tell Alexa? she wondered, momentarily distracted by the prospect. She could hardly say, ‘Your Daddy took me sailing,’ could she? Apart from anything else, so far as Alexa was concerned her father was dead.

  The yacht was picking up speed now, and Helen was obliged to abandon her anxieties in favour of keeping her balance. Not that the boat was tipping over on to its side, or anything revolutionary like that. But it was catching the wind, and pitching a little on the waves, and every time the yacht lunged her stomach lunged accordingly.

  She hoped she was a good sailor. It would be too embarrassing to be ill in front of Reed. But her knowledge of boats was limited to rowing craft and pleasure steamers. Which was hardly the best experience for someone in her present situation.

  Abandoning her stance by the rail, she felt her way aft to the cockpit. Reed had a chart spread over the wheel, and didn’t look up when she reached him. But he had evidently heard her approach, and, tipping his head towards the stairway that led down below decks, he said, ‘Do you want to make us some coffee? The galley’s forward of the main cabin. You’ll find what you need down there.’

  The idea of leaving the heaving deck to grope about below did not appeal to Helen at all, and she gripped the roof of the wheelhouse with desperate fingers. What was it her father used to tell her? Watch the horizon, was that it? When everything else was rising and falling, the horizon was always blessedly steady.

  ‘Hey—are you all right?’

  Reed had realised she was not moving, and now he was looking at her with some concern. She was probably as white as the chart in front of him, Helen thought impatiently. Was she forever doomed to be humiliated in front of this man?

  ‘I—I just feel a bit unsteady, that’s all.’ It was a modest distortion of the truth, but she couldn’t admit to feeling seasick. Goodness, they were hardly any distance away from land.

  ‘I see.’ Although she hadn’t been entirely honest with him, Helen had the depressing feeling that Reed knew exactly how she was feeling. ‘Well, don’t worry,’ he told her reassuringly, ‘this rough patch won’t last. Once we’ve cleared Spanish Point, it gets smoother. Believe me. This is just the turbulence caused by the Sound, which is fairly land-locked, meeting the open sea.’

  Helen nodded, understanding, but not wholly convinced of his logic. And where was Spanish Point, for heaven’s sake? she wondered. How much longer would this choppiness go on?

  ‘Come here,’ he said, after a moment, stretching out his arm towards her, as if he had sensed her trepidation. And, although she was sure it was not the wisest thing to do, she took his hand and allowed him to draw her into the cockpit. ‘Now,’ he said, bracing himself behind her, ‘take the wheel. That’s right. Hold it gently, but firmly. Give a little, but don’t let it spin out of your hands. OK. Have you got it? Right. Now, you’re in control.’

  ‘I am?’ Helen was so intent on holding on to the wheel that she forgot about her queasiness. There was something so exhilarating about actually having control of a boat of this size, and as the hull sliced cleanly through the water she began to understand the fascination people acquired for sailing.

  ‘I guess you like it,’ remarked Reed over her shoulder, and Helen was so excited by the sense of power she was experiencing that she forgot to be offhand.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ she exclaimed, turning her head, and then wished she hadn’t when she realised how close he was. Although he wasn’t exactly touching her, she could feel the heat of his body at her back, and when she turned her head his face was only inches from hers.

  Helen was mesmerised, her green eyes caught and held by his amused gaze in a moment of shared communion. She wanted to look away—she knew she ought to look away—but she couldn’t. For that fateful second, she was totally helpless, in the grip of emotions too basic to be controlled by conscious thought. Instead of twisting round again, and giving her attention to steering the vessel, she continued to stare at Reed instead, and his teasing, humorous expression gave way to a questioning awareness.

  The ground seemed to be tilting beneath her feet. Suddenly, it was impossible to keep her balance, and she knew a fleeting sense of incredulity. What was happening to her? To both of them? she wondered wildly, half prepared to believe it was all in her mind. And then Reed lunged past her and grabbed the wheel.

  Immediately, the world righted itself, although the deck heaved a little as Reed fought to bring the yacht back under control. And, as Helen struggled to keep her balance, she re alised, with some dismay, that she had been responsible for what had happened. In her stupid fascination for Reed, she had allowed the wheel to spin, and without his swift reaction the vessel could have turned over.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said miserably, as Reed anchored the wheel and went forward to secure the boom, and he lifted his head to give her a wry smile.

  ‘It was my fault,’ he said, checking the sails with a practised eye. ‘I should have realised sooner what was happening.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself,’ she exclaimed, and he straightened to come back to her.

  ‘Oh, I can,’ he assured her drily. ‘It was your first time at the wheel, and I should have known better than to distract you.’

  Helen lifted her shoulders helplessly, feeling the colour invading her cheeks at his words, but Reed seemed indifferent to her discomfort. Was it possible he hadn’t been conscious of her reaction to him? she wondered unsteadily. Had she only imagined his awareness?

  ‘Well—I was stupid, anyway,’ she muttered, pushing her hands into the pockets of her shorts. ‘Um—shall I make that coffee now?’

  Reed shrugged. ‘If you think you can?’

  ‘It is calmer now,’ Helen explained, indicating the smoother waters around them. She licked her lips. ‘Sugar, but no cream, is that right?’

  Reed’s lips twitched. ‘You noticed.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Helen didn’t stay to debate yet another example of her own weakness, and, going forward again, she carefully descended the companion-way. She found herself in a teak-lined cabin, with areas set apart for both dining and sitting. Comfortably cushioned banquettes flanked an oblong table at one side, while soft leather armchairs provided a luxurious living area at the other.

  The galley was beyond the main cabin, as Reed had said, and it was provided with every conceivable appliance. There was a microwave, and a dishwasher, as well as a fridge-freezer and a regular oven. When she checked inside the cupboards that lined the walls, she found china, and glassware, and canned and freezedried foods of all kinds. Like the
rest of the boat, it was lavishly equipped, with no expense spared to make it more efficient.

  A chrome-plated tap ran fresh water into the electric kettle, and all she had to do was sit back and wait for it to boil. While it did so, she took the opportunity to explore a little further, and beyond the engine-room she found two more cabins—one a double, and the other fitted with twin bunks—and two bathrooms, or heads, as she knew they were properly called.

  It was certainly a beautiful boat, she admitted, running her fingers over the rich Sanderson fabric that had been used to quilt the luxurious duvet in the double cabin. No minor detail had been omitted, and even the showers in the bathrooms had gold-plated taps.

  The kettle was boiling when she got back to the galley, and in her absence the wicker basket Reed had hauled aboard the yacht had been set on the marble console. It meant he had brought it down while she was exploring the sleeping cabins, and she sighed impatiently at the thought that he might think she was nosing into his private apartments. Which she was, she acknowledged ruefully. She had just hoped he wouldn’t find out.

  Deciding there was no point now in wishing for the impossible, she took two ceramic mugs from one cupboard, and spooned instant coffee from a jar she found in another. The cof fee smelt delicious, and after adding sugar to Reed’s she looked for some milk for her own.

  She found tiny pots of long-life cream in the fridge, and, determinedly ignoring the wicker basket and its possible contents, she put the two mugs on a small silver tray and carried them up the stairs to the deck.

  ‘Mmm, great,’ said Reed, taking his mug and swallowing a mouthful of the steaming liquid. ‘Just what I needed.’

  Helen half smiled, and propped her hips on the raised roof of the cabin as she drank hers. In spite of her misgivings, there was something companionable about sharing a cup of coffee, and she was beginning to feel almost relaxed. But she had to mention something about what she had been doing below-decks, and licking her lips she said awkwardly, ‘By the way, I hope you don’t think I was being nosy just now. I mean—when you brought the basket down. I—er—I was just curious about—about the layout of the rest of the boat.’

  Reed regarded her steadily. ‘I know.’

  ‘I wasn’t looking into drawers, or opening cupboards, or anything like that,’ she added, feeling compelled to expound on her explanation. ‘At least, I was in the kitchen—I mean, the galley—but I had to find the cups and the coffee.’

  ‘I’m not complaining, am I?’ Reed shrugged. ‘In any case, you’re welcome to look around as much as you want. Apart from the leather handcuffs and whips under the bunk in the spare cabin, I’ve got nothing to hide.’

  Helen’s jaw dropped, and then, as she realised he was teasing her, a smile spread over her face. But their shared amusement was too disturbing to sustain, and, looking down into her cup of coffee she murmured, ‘I just didn’t want you to feel that—well, that I was one of those awful people who can’t help poking their noses into other people’s affairs.’

  ‘I never thought that for a moment,’ replied Reed softly, finishing his coffee, and setting the mug aside. He paused. ‘Did you open the basket?’

  ‘No!’

  Helen’s denial was instinctively defensive, and he grinned. ‘OK, OK,’ he said placatingly. ‘I just wondered. You could have, anyway. It contains our lunch.’

  ‘Our lunch?’ Helen stared at him now, and Reed inclined his head. ‘But—what about Jon?’

  ‘Jon will sleep for at least four hours,’ re plied Reed evenly. ‘Those tablets Laura gave him weren’t just pain-killers. They contain a sedative, too.’

  ‘But—’ Helen was aghast. ‘Does he know that?’

  ‘I guess so. He has taken them before.’

  ‘Oh.’ Helen took another sip of her own coffee, and considered what this meant. Not just a morning spent in Reed’s company, but the better part of a whole day.

  ‘Is the prospect so daunting?’ Reed enquired now, and Helen lifted her head.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The idea of spending the day with only Jon’s old man for company,’ declared Reed drily, and Helen shook her head.

  ‘I—I just thought—we were going out for—for a couple of hours,’ she admitted, her slim fingers massaging her coffee-cup.

  ‘Well, we can do that,’ said Reed, indicating the coastline that paralleled their course. ‘That’s Pembroke over there. We can turn back, and be home in less than an hour.’

  Helen hesitated. ‘Where—where were we going?’

  Reed bit down on his lower lip. ‘A bay I know, a few miles out of St George’s,’ he replied at last. ‘But—no sweat. I’ll turn this thing around.’

  ‘No.’ The word was out before she could prevent it, and although Helen could hardly believe she had been so reckless, it was too late to retract it.

  ‘No?’ Reed, who had been looking up at the mast-head and measuring the force of the wind, now looked at her instead, and Helen felt the spread of heat all over her body.

  ‘Well, it seems—ungrateful,’ she said uncomfortably, not knowing how to answer him, and Reed groaned.

  ‘Hey, changing your mind I can take,’ he exclaimed ruefully. ‘But—ungrateful! I’m not a charity case, you know.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Helen was getting more and more embarrassed. ‘I mean—I am enjoying myself.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ Reed grimaced. ‘You have the perfect knack of putting me down.’

  ‘No.’ But Helen could feel a smile tugging at her own lips now, and Reed compounded her self-betrayal by grinning at her.

  ‘How about if I say, you’re making an old man very happy?’ he suggested irrepressibly. ‘It’s not every day I get a chance to take a beautiful girl out on my boat.’

  But Helen sobered now. The connotations of this statement were too painful to ignore. ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ she said, meeting his teasing gaze with suddenly guarded scepticism. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Mr Wyatt. I don’t think that’s your style.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE BAY WHERE Reed anchored the Tramp was small and deserted. Which was remarkable, considering this was the height of the holiday season. But, he told Helen, it was usually possible to find solitude somewhere on these islands. The whole coastline was scattered with secluded bays and coves.

  An attractive proposition, if you wanted seclusion, thought Helen wryly, still not convinced she had made the wisest decision in agreeing to spend the whole day with Reed. But, so far as Reed was concerned, she was Jon’s girlfriend, and despite what had happened earlier she didn’t think he would do anything to betray his son. As to what had happened ten years ago—well, she supposed that had been at least partially her own fault. She was not excusing him, she reminded herself tautly, but nothing could alter the fact that she had been attracted to him, and let him know it. And, although he had taken advantage of her, she had not been an unwilling accomplice.

  The trouble was, Reed was an attractive man, and the longer she spent in his company the more she became aware of it. Which was probably why she was making excuses for him now, she thought impatiently. But, she argued, if she really thought about what she was doing, she wouldn’t be able to go through with it, and putting the fact that Reed was the father of her child out of her mind was the only way she could function normally.

  But was she functioning normally? the insistent voice inside her protested. What on earth was normal about treating Reed like a decent, caring human being, when he had played such a destructive role in her life? She should have told him who she was as soon as she got here. She should have confronted him with the consequences of his behaviour. She wondered how he would have reacted then, if she had accused him of seducing her. She doubted she would be here now, pretending to enjoy his company.

  She sighed. The trouble was, she wasn’t pretending, not completely, she admitted unwillingly. And she couldn’t have told the truth—not when she arrived; not ever. She had too m
uch to lose; more than he would ever know. She could not run the risk of losing Alexa, however unfair to her daughter that might be.

  The bay Reed had chosen shelved steeply away from a sickle-shaped wedge of coral sand. It meant he could anchor the yacht within swimming distance of the beach. And, because the bay was small, they were not far from one of the rocky headlands that jutted out into the water. Helen knew, from past experience with Jon, that the waters around the rocks teemed with fish, and she wondered if Reed had snorkelling equipment on board. Not that she wanted to go snorkelling with him, she reminded herself severely. So far and no further, she thought, tipping her face up to the sun. She’d be civil to Reed, but that was all. Anything else was pure insanity.

  Thinking of Reed, she looked around, and found he was tugging his polo shirt over his head. It left his silvery blonde hair standing on end, and he raked lazy fingers over his scalp to straighten it. It also exposed the muscled expanse of his chest, with its slight covering of sun-bleached hair, which arrowed down into the waistband of his shorts. Revealed, too, the fact that it was not only his face, arms and legs that were lean and sun-tanned. His body was, too, his shorts hanging low on sharply angled hips.

  ‘So,’ he said, tossing his shirt aside, and Helen quickly averted her eyes, ‘Do you want to come swimming before lunch?’

  Helen took a steadying breath. ‘Um—I don’t know,’ she murmured, wishing she could be as unselfconscious as he was. ‘I think I’d rather sunbathe.’

  ‘If that’s what you want to do,’ he remarked flatly, pulling off his trainers, and then going forward to squat down beside a locker set into the polished deck. Opening it, he unravelled the rope-ladder that was stored inside, and dropped the end of it over the side. ‘OK,’ he said, straightening and looking at her again. ‘I’ll see you later.’ And, stepping over the rail, he dived into the water.