Such Sweet Poison/Blind Passion

by Anne Mather

  Helen stepped forward at once, ridiculously anxious to assure herself that he had surfaced, but when his sleek wet head appeared above the water she quickly stepped back again.

  What now? she wondered, feeling the sun hot on her shoulders, even through the cotton of her top. Now that the boat had stopped mov ing, the heat was quite intense, and she knew if she intended to stay on deck she would have to put some cream on her skin. But, at the same time, she knew it was pretty pointless to put cream on her shoulders if she did intend to go swimming. It would be more sensible to swim first, and put the cream on later.

  A glance across the water ascertained the fact that Reed had swum ashore, and watching him wade out of the shallows and walk up the white sandy beach she felt a sense of envy. She could be doing that, she thought frustratedly, pressing her lips together. And why not? What was she afraid of? Only herself!

  With a clenching of her teeth, she unbuttoned the midi top and dropped it on the deck. Her shorts soon followed, and she perched on the edge of the roof to unlace her boots and take them off, too. Then, pulling the hem of the panties of the swimsuit down over her buttocks, she walked to the side of the boat.

  As she dived into the water, she couldn’t help a sense of relief that she had chosen to wear a fairly modest maillot, instead of one of the bikinis she had brought on holiday with her. At least it could be relied on to stay in place. And, when they came back to the boat and she had to change into her dry swimsuit, which was a bikini, she would simply put on her clothes as well.

  The water was cool at first, but deliciously soft on her heated shoulders. It was the first time she had ever swum in really deep water, her outings with Jon always starting from the beach and seldom venturing far from the shore. In consequence, it was a whole new experience, and she ducked and dived delightedly, revelling in the new-found freedom.

  It was a pity Reed wasn’t with her, she reluctantly acknowledged. It would have been fun to have someone to share it with, but she knew it was just as well. It was hard enough to hang on to the past. She didn’t want to think how she would react if he ever chose to test her hollow resentment.

  She surfaced again, and looked towards the beach. Reed appeared to be stretched out on the sand, and she watched him for a few moments before kicking her legs and swimming into shallower water. She told herself she just wanted to find out where the shallower water began, but even after she was able to touch bottom with her toes she kept on going.

  And, because the only sound was the sound of the ocean, she wasn’t really surprised when Reed heard her splashing about, and sat up. ‘So, you decided to swim, after all,’ he commented, drawing up one leg and resting his elbow on it. ‘What are you waiting for? Aren’t you coming ashore?’

  Helen splashed her feet in the shallows. ‘It’s too hot,’ she said obliquely, lifting her shoulders. ‘It’s all right for you, but my skin burns.’

  ‘Yes.’ Reed picked up a handful of sand, and let it drift through his fingers, before saying thoughtfully, ‘You do have very fair skin, don’t you? I once knew a girl who had skin like yours.’ He frowned. ‘She was English, too.’

  Helen’s knees trembled, and she wished now she had never left the boat. Surely there was nothing about her that was familiar in a swim-suit. He had only seen her naked once.

  Thankfully, Reed seemed not to have noticed her consternation. He appeared to be deep in thought, and realising she had to distract him Helen uttered a sudden cry, and kicked at the water as if something had startled her.

  Immediately, Reed sprang to his feet, but her forced laughter caused him to halt, uncertainly. ‘Crabs,’ she exclaimed, hurrying to explain herself before he jumped into the water to help her. ‘Ugh!’ She gave a realistic shake of her shoulders. ‘I don’t like crabs anywhere near me.’ She paused, to allow her words to sink in, and then added firmly, ‘I think I’ll go back to the boat. It’s really too hot to sunbathe.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’ Reed’s eyes dropped swiftly down the whole length of her body, and then, as if he suddenly didn’t like what he was thinking, he turned away. ‘I may do the same.’

  It wasn’t exactly what Helen had had in mind, but she could hardly forbid him from boarding his own yacht. Still, she did have a few yards’ advantage, and turning she plunged back into deeper water.

  He overtook her long before they reached the boat, and Helen’s legs lost all co-ordination when he slowed to adjust his pace to hers. In consequence, she took an unwary breath and filled her lungs with salt water, and she added coughing and spluttering to her other humiliations.

  ‘Come on—I’ll help you,’ Reed said, hiding his amusement with difficulty. But Helen spurned his offer of assistance.

  ‘I can manage,’ she choked, testily, catching hold of the ladder hanging over the side of the yacht, and forcing her feet on to the bottom rung. Then, ignoring the pain in her chest, she made a wobbly ascent to the deck, her legs as weak as water as she climbed over the rail.

  Reed followed her up the rope-ladder, and as he was able to move rather more agilely than she was he reached the deck only seconds after her. And, although Helen would have preferred to escape to one of the heads to get changed, his presence made that impossible. It was his boat, after all, and as she realised belatedly that she hadn’t even brought a towel with her she knew she had to ask before taking anything for granted. But he beat her to it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, as she struggled to compose herself, and for a moment she could only stare at him, uncomprehending. ‘For laughing at you,’ he explained, squeezing the moisture out of his hair. ‘But you did look funny, floundering about like that. I thought you were kidding, at first, but then I realised you were in real trouble.’

  ‘I was not in real trouble,’ retorted Helen shortly, pulling the securing band from her braid, and tugging angry fingers through her own hair. ‘I just swallowed some water, that’s all. Haven’t you ever done that?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ said Reed soothingly. ‘Ev eryone has. I just don’t want you to think I was making fun of you.’

  ‘Weren’t you?’ demanded Helen tautly, forgetting, in her anger, that she was supposed to be avoiding any controversial arguments, and Reed sighed.

  ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  ‘Like hell,’ retorted Helen rudely, turning away, but Reed’s hand on her arm prevented her escape.

  ‘I’ve said I’m sorry,’ he reminded her tersely, his fingers around her quivering biceps both firm and cold, and Helen shivered.

  ‘All right,’ she said, realising she had gone too far, but although she tried to twist her arm free he didn’t let her go.

  ‘It’s not all right,’ he contradicted, looking down at her reddening flesh between his fingers. ‘What is it with you? Why is it that I have to be so careful not to offend you? For God’s sake, I’m not unreasonable. Why can’t you act like a normal woman?’

  Helen took a deep breath. ‘And how would a normal woman act?’ she retorted, not knowing how else to answer him, and Reed’s eyes darkened until they were almost black.

  ‘Well, perhaps like this,’ he said, jerking her towards him, and she sensed that in that second they had crossed an invisible line. Until then, he had been in command of the situation, and, although she had been the one who had started the argument, Reed had always been in control. But suddenly the tenor of their exchange had altered. In that fateful moment, the realities of their situation ceased to exist. They were just a man and a woman, and when Reed’s mouth came down on hers Helen was incapable of preventing it.

  His arms went around her, hauling her close against his wet body. And, in spite of the fact that his skin was cold to her touch, heat was pulsing from him. She knew she ought to protest, to stop him, to prevent what was happening from going any further, but she didn’t. Not then. As his mouth moved hungrily over hers, she felt herself responding, a blind, instinctive reaction to forces that were stronger than she knew.

  It
was strange, she thought unsteadily, as her hands spread helplessly against his damp chest, how the subconscious refused to follow the dictates of the conscious mind. She was sure she had stifled the feelings Reed had once aroused inside her, but she was wrong. With his arms around her, with the lean strength of his thighs pressed against hers, the memories were inescapable—and almost as seductive as they had been so long ago.

  Only she wasn’t a naïve teenager now. She was a woman, who was not unaware of the demands of a man’s body. Particularly this man’s body. And, when the moist pressure of his tongue sought entry to her mouth, she forced herself to press her lips together and turn her head away.

  He let her go at once. It was as if her enforced refusal had brought him to his senses. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he put some distance between them, making an effort to calm himself before looking at her again.

  ‘Hell,’ he said at last, smoothing both hands over his head as he spoke, plastering his hair to his scalp. ‘That was not meant to happen.’

  Helen, who was not half as controlled as he apparently assumed, managed a slight shrug. ‘These things happen,’ she murmured unsteadily, desperate to regain some sense of balance, but Reed’s angry expression decried her attempt to escape the consequences.

  ‘Not to me,’ he contradicted harshly, his mouth a forbidding line. ‘For God’s sake, Helen, what kind of man do you think I am?’

  Helen could have told him, but she kept her mouth shut, not least because she was devastated by the realisation that she was still so vulnerable to him. She had to remember that, as far as he was concerned, they hardly knew one another. If she started acting as if something terrible had happened, he was bound to get suspicious.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said at last, when it became apparent that something was required of her. ‘Look, we—I—provoked you. Can’t we just forget it? It isn’t that important.’

  ‘Can you?’

  Reed’s face was half contemptuous now, but whether that contempt was for her, or himself, she couldn’t be certain.

  ‘Please,’ she said, realising she had to defuse this situation before it got totally out of hand, ‘it was just a—a momentary aberration. On my part, as well as yours. All—all we can do, is—put it out of our minds.’

  Reed regarded her with a speculative gaze. ‘And will you tell Jon what happened?’ he enquired flatly.

  ‘No!’ Helen’s response was rather more force ful than she could have wished, but she couldn’t help it. ‘What—what would be the point of that?’ she asked, less aggressively. ‘I mean—it’s nothing to do with Jon, is it?’

  ‘Isn’t it!’ Reed arched one cynical brow. ‘Oh—what the hell!’ He turned away. ‘How did we get into this situation?’

  Helen took a steadying breath. ‘I’m cold,’ she said, and although she knew the shivery feeling she had was coming from inside rather than outside her body, she effected a convincing shudder. ‘Could I take a shower?’

  Reed looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Of course,’ he conceded, with an indifferent gesture. ‘You do know where the bathrooms are, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Helen bit her lip. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Amazingly, the water in the shower was hot. In fact, she could have had it scalding hot, if she’d wanted. And she was tempted. Indeed, if she had thought it was possible to burn the memory of Reed’s touch from her skin, she would have done it. But, of course, it wasn’t possible. Instead, she adjusted the heat to a temperate forty degrees, and allowed the pulsing jets to rain down upon her body.

  And there was something infinitely soothing about standing there, letting the water stream unheeded over her head and shoulders. She tipped her head back, and let the spray beat against her closed eyelids. Even so, she couldn’t wash her thoughts away, and the unbelievable awareness of what had just happened was always present.

  But how had it happened? she asked herself bleakly. How had she let herself respond to him, however fleetingly? She hated him, didn’t she? She despised him for what he had done to her, and to Alexa.

  She opened her eyes again, and tried to re-evaluate the situation. At least she had stopped him before anything irrevocable happened, she thought with some relief. And he had only kissed her, for goodness’ sake. She was overreacting like mad, to what had been—in actuality—a simple mistake.

  A mistake!

  She reached for the plastic container of shower gel that was suspended from the wall of the cubicle with shaking hands. Opening it, she discovered it had a distinctly masculine fragrance, and she guessed it was Reed’s. But, although the idea of using his soap was not appealing, she decided she didn’t care what it smelled of. So long as it did the job, she thought grimly, scooping a handful into her palm.

  She lathered her arms and legs with rather more effort than was strictly necessary, but she still couldn’t erase thoughts of the possible consequences of Reed’s actions. Even though she told herself that if she had never set eyes on him before this holiday, she would be acting differently, it didn’t help. She had set eyes on him. She had slept with him, for God’s sake! And she had a daughter to prove it.

  But he didn’t know that, a small voice inside her argued. And if she was over-reacting to what had happened, so was he. Why hadn’t he made light of it? Why hadn’t he laughed it off? And why was he behaving as if something disastrous had happened?

  Helen shook her head. She didn’t want to think about Reed’s reactions. His behaviour was not her concern. It was her own feelings she had to get into perspective, and she wasn’t making a terrifically good job of it.

  She finished soaping her body, and then let the spray cleanse her skin. She watched the rivulets of water running from her breasts and thighs, pooling in the tray at her feet, and then disappearing through the grille. She waited until the water ran crystal-clear before turning off the taps. Then, stepping out of the cubicle, she wrapped herself in one of the huge emerald bath-sheets she found stacked on a rack.

  Towelling herself dry, the truth, which so far she had avoided facing, refused to be ignored any longer. There was only one explanation for the way she had reacted, and although she might not like it, it had to be confronted. No matter how unreasonable it might seem, Reed’s kiss had done more than just initiate a response from her. It had ignited some dormant fuse inside her, and while it was possible that the way she was feeling now had nothing whatsoever to do with what had happened between them ten years ago, the fact remained that what had attracted her to him then attracted her still.

  The mirror above the small Vanitory unit reflected the confusion she was feeling. How was it possible that she could feel any attraction towards a man who had taken their previous association so lightly? How could she allow his kiss to mean anything to her, when he didn’t even remember her name?

  It was a painful revelation, and it was difficult to put on her clothes and prepare to join him again. Once more, she was in the position of wishing she had never set foot on this most beautiful of islands. How simple, in retrospect, her life in England seemed.

  Reed had evidently followed her example, and taken a shower. When Helen emerged into the main cabin, she found him in the process of preparing lunch, but although he was wearing dry shorts he had not bothered to replace his shirt.

  The polished wood dining table was set with place mats and silver cutlery. The fragile stems of wine glasses reflected in its shining surface, and Helen concentrated on the table to avoid looking at Reed’s powerful torso.

  ‘I hope you like smoked salmon,’ he said suddenly, revealing that, although he had not actually looked in her direction, he was aware of her presence. And taking her cue from him, Helen hesitated only a moment before seating herself at the table.

  ‘Mmm, I love it,’ she replied, as he set an iced dish of butter beside a crusty wholemeal baguette. ‘This looks nice,’ she added, for good measure, almost as if the idea of sitting in this confined space with him, and eating anything, did not
sound like anathema to her.

  ‘That’s good.’

  Reed looked at her then, a long considering look that Helen deflected by refusing to meet his eyes. But she was aware that he shook his head somewhat grimly, before turning away to take a bottle of white wine from the fridge.

  ‘Do—er—do you need any help?’ she ventured, after a moment, wondering if he had forgotten to put out the rest of the food, but Reed made another negative gesture.

  ‘I can manage,’ he assured her drily, uncorking the bottle and filling her glass, before setting it down on the table. ‘Try the wine. I think it’s been chilling long enough.’

  While Helen sipped her wine, Reed produced a whole smoked salmon, sliced and scattered with capers, on a silver tray. A wooden bowl was next, spilling over with a crisp salad, and tub of soft cheese that looked white and creamy. Evidently, when the master of the house asked for a picnic lunch, nothing was too much trouble, she thought irrelevantly. Certainly, this meal bore no resemblance to any picnic she had ever prepared. But then, she was not in the habit of sharing her food with someone of Reed’s unlimited resources.

  ‘Help yourself,’ he said now, sliding on to the banquette opposite, and pushing the smoked salmon towards her. He picked up the bottle. ‘More wine?’

  ‘Oh—no. Not yet.’

  Helen slid her fingers protectively over the rim of her glass. The wine was delicious, and she could feel it releasing at least a little of the tension inside her. But, because of that, it was dangerous, and she had no intention of being caught off guard again.

  ‘As you like.’ Reed filled his own glass, and watched her as she made a complete hash of trying to lift a little of the smoked salmon on to her plate. ‘Do you want me to do that?’

  Helen sighed, and put down the serving fork. ‘If you wouldn’t mind…’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ he replied, in a completely neutral voice. ‘Give me your plate.’

  A few moments later, the plate was set in front of her again, the salmon glistening appetisingly on a bed of salad, with a generous portion of cream cheese for garnish. There was more than she would have given herself, and she couldn’t help noticing that he was not half so generous when it came to his own plate. Indeed, he seemed as lacking in appetite as she was herself, and she found herself wishing she could say something to alleviate the situation.