by Liz Fielding
‘A man could burn while you’re thinking about it,’ he said.
‘Is that so?’ She slapped the cream on to his back, taking some satisfaction from making him jump for a change, rubbing vigorously in all directions, determined not to let her mind know what her hands were thinking as they plied his warm skin and felt the muscle-packed flesh contract beneath her fingers. But his skin was like warm silk, and her hand gradually slowed to a gentle caress as a delicious languor seemed to seep through her body. ‘Can I have some more cream?’ she asked. Then looked up, to find herself being regarded with disconcerting intensity.
‘I think you’ve had quite enough for a public place,’ he said, rising to his feet and dropping the bottle beside her. Then he walked into the water. Angrily she tugged the straps of her costume back into place, glaring at him as he sliced vigorously through the water. Then, realising what he had said, horrified at her own lack of self-control, she looked around, expecting to be the object of a row of dark, accusing eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE beach was deserted. Sophie leapt to her feet in a sudden panic. Where on earth had everyone disappeared to? Then she caught a glimpse of Gian and Cesare, their hands full of ice-cream cones, as, Pied Piper-like, they made their way down to the cove with an eager band of children at their heels.
She hurried to help. ‘I’m sorry, Gian,’ she said. ‘I would have come with you if you’d said…’
‘You were busy. And Cesare helped,’ she said, handing out the cones to the children and warning them not to drop them in the sand. She glanced at the figure in the water. ‘Could you eat two? I’m afraid that Chay’s will have run to liquid by the time he’s… cooled off,’ she continued innocently.
As good as her word, Gian had brought along her camera and a couple of films. Sophie took a number of shots of the children paddling and playing a game of French cricket that Chay organised. Cesare kept his distance, restricting himself to long, passionate glances when he thought Chay wasn’t looking.
As they settled down for tea she began to snap away at them to use up the remainder of the second roll. Tom turned to Chay to offer him an apple. As she focused on the boy Chay leaned into the shot. It was so natural, so charming a scene, that she had taken it before she had time to consider the wisdom of defying him. For a moment she held her breath, but he hadn’t noticed, and she quickly moved the camera on to a safer target. But he had not forgotten his warning and when they were packing up Chay picked up the films.
‘Give them to me,’ Gian said firmly, scooping them from his hand before he could prevent her. ‘I have to go into town tomorrow. It only takes a day to get them developed, you know. I’ll get you copies of any that you want.’
For just a moment Chay hesitated, but he made no objection, simply shrugged. ‘Fine. Bring them over when you come to the party on Saturday. We’ll have a look then.’
‘How are the preparations going?’ she asked.
‘I’ve barely started,’ Sophie confessed. ‘I’ll have to make the cake tomorrow.’
Gian grinned sympathetically. ‘Shall I take Tom home with me?’ she offered. ‘He can spend the day with us tomorrow and give you a clear run at it. You can come over in the evening to collect him and have supper with us.’
‘I know he’d love to,’ Sophie said, but doubted that Chay would let his little gaoler out of her sight.
She was wrong. ‘Sounds like a good idea, if it’s not too much for you, Gian?’
‘I won’t notice another one,’ she laughed. ‘Cesare can help. And Paul’s home tomorrow. He’s got a long weekend.’
‘Then tell him to save Saturday to give me a hand, will you? He has more experience of dealing with vast quantities of children than I have.’
‘How many are you expecting?’
‘Hundreds,’ Chay said.
‘Sixteen,’ Sophie amended. ‘His entire class at school, apparently. And your children, of course.’
‘Then we’ll both come early and give you a hand,’ Gian promised.
‘Won’t you bring Cesare?’ she asked, unable to resist annoying Chay. The younger man’s eyes brightened at this encouragement.
‘I have to return to duty, Saturday night,’ he murmured. ‘But perhaps dinner, this evening…?’
She shook her head quickly, hoping that Chay hadn’t heard.
After they had all gone it suddenly seemed very quiet. It made Sophie nervous. She had suggested that Tom was an inadequate chaperon. But when he was there she felt…safer. But after her reaction when Chay had covered her with the sun-block…
‘I’m going to take the boat back to the marina and pick up the car,’ Chay said, as she was clearing away the picnic debris. ‘You’d better come with me.’
‘What’s this? Parole?’
‘I’ll feel safer with you under my eye. I’m certainly not leaving you here to keep an assignation with Cesare.’
‘I haven’t…’
He made a dismissive gesture. ‘I saw that little whispered interchange before they left. What did you arrange?’
‘Nothing!’
‘No? You’re very edgy.’
‘How kind of you to notice. What a pity you are less astute about the reason.’
His forehead creased in a frown. ‘It makes no difference. Cesare will think of some excuse to return.’
She glared at him. ‘I have to organise dinner.’
‘We’ll eat out,’ he snapped. ‘Can you be ready in half an hour?’ He held up a hand before she could protest. ‘My apologies. I forgot, temporarily, that in five minutes you can be ready for anything.’
‘But not twice in one day.’ And she stormed up to her room to stand under a cool shower until her skin tingled and she had regained control of her temper. Although as she dried herself she acknowledged with a certain wryness that the touch of one man had more to do with the way her body glowed than the effects of the sun and the needle-sharp shower together.
She dropped the towel and turned to the mirror, lifting her hand hesitantly to her breast. She drew her fingers lightly across the slight swell of her cleavage, wondering what it would be like to be crushed naked against his chest, to be made love to by a man like Chay Buchanan. Gian had seen Chay’s response to Cesare and misunderstood. She had thought that by whisking Tom away for the night she was conspiring to aid romance. Offering two adults who desired each other the perfect end to the perfect day. And it would have been. She knew that. If only it were that simple.
How pleased Nigel would be if he knew how well his perverted little plan was going. The thought sickened her. Because between the nightmare, when she had woken in his arms, and this moment, something had happened. She didn’t quite know what. Only that one perfect night with Chay Buchanan would almost certainly break her heart.
She shook her head and, realising with a shock how the time was flying by, grabbed her hair-drier.
She made it with a minute to spare, flying down the stairs, only to come to an abrupt halt two steps up as she saw that he was waiting for her, staring somewhere into space, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his trousers. He turned as he heard her, and paused for just a moment. And, just for a moment, the dangerous thrill as she caught the widening of his eyes was worth the effort she had made.
She had applied the merest touch of make-up to skin already golden from days in the sun; to eyes made startlingly large with a touch of shadow and a whisper of mascara; to a full mouth that now smiled with a lipgloss echoing the vivid pink in the print of her fullskirted sundress, its fitted bodice crossing her back in a pair of lattice straps. She had tied her hair back with a scarf and a white linen blazer hung from one hand.
His expression was quickly cloaked. ‘You barely made it,’ he said, without comment on her appearance.
But she didn’t need the words. She had seen his eyes. And, as they made their way down to the jetty, she remembered the shocking kiss that neither of them had wanted…and that neither of them had been quite able to
resist.
Chay jumped down into the boat, then turned to lift her in, holding her for a moment, suspended in his arms. Sophie, already vulnerable to this man’s deadly attraction, felt her lips soften and part under the strong tug of desire. He must know, must feel the wild beating of her pulse as he held her.
The temptation to melt into his arms and take him with her was almost unbearable. Then Nigel’s smug smile intervened. This was what he wanted. And afterwards he would want chapter and verse. She pushed herself away and stepped back, breathing a little heavily but infinitely safter on her own feet. ‘I think I’ll stay out here for a while,’ she said quickly.
‘It’ll be chilly once we’re moving,’ he objected abruptly, and, taking her arm, led the way to the wheelhouse.
They covered the distance to Sliema at a seemingly breathless rate of knots, while Chay explained the radar and the radio with a briskness that she could not help but envy. Her own feelings were much harder to control. Perched on a high stool beside him, she found her eyes constantly wandering from the instruments to dwell instead on the strong line of his jaw, the passionate curve of his mouth.
He had kissed her. Thrilled her. But she suspected that those angry kisses were simply a foretaste of the pleasure that he might bestow in return for total surrender. He turned and caught her look.
‘You’re not paying attention,’ he said, a little fiercely.
‘I…I’m sorry.’
‘Not half as sorry as you’re going to be if you keep looking at me like that.’
‘Chay,’ she begged, her eyes wide.
‘Sophie.’ He mimicked her cruelly.
She shot out of her seat to drag in great lungfuls of fresh air, and by the time he had slipped the boat into its berth she was feeling steadier. But he wasn’t about to let the matter drop.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ he demanded, as they made their way along the decking to the shore, passing row upon row of expensive and beautiful yachts and powerboats.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Yes, you do. You’re not a child. You’re flashing out unmistakable signals. Good God, I could have undressed you on the beach this afternoon and you wouldn’t have cared if the Royal Marine Band had been playing a tune while I did it.’
Colour stained her cheeks, but, unable to deny it, she kept her eyes fixed ahead of her, unable to meet his, although she knew he was looking at her with a slightly perplexed expression.
‘I don’t mean to be a tease. Truly.’ Her colour deepened. ‘I’m not normally quite so…excitable. I’m afraid it’s you, Chay.’ It was a painful admission.
They had reached his car. He said nothing while he unlocked it and helped her in. But his fingers didn’t linger on her arm. The sun had gone and it would soon be dark, but it was stifling inside the car. He lowered the windows then turned to her.
‘But?’ He refused to let it drop. ‘With you there always seems to be a “but”.’
‘Of course there’s a “but”. Do you expect me to fall into your bed?’
‘Have I asked you to?’ His jaw tightened convulsively, and she shook her head. ‘But you wish I would?’
Was it that simple for him? ‘Wouldn’t Poppy object?’
‘Poppy?’
‘It was three o’clock when you came home last night.’
‘Was it?’ His eyes gleamed dangerously in the near darkness.
‘Well, you hadn’t been to bed…’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I hadn’t.’ He reached forward and started the engine, reversing the sleek dark shape of the Lotus Esprit out of its parking space and heading towards the town, where the shops had opened for the evening and the streets were filling with people out to enjoy a walk along the promenade.
‘Chay,’ she said suddenly, relieved to have something, anything, to break the awkward silence. ‘Can you take me to a toyshop?’
He threw her an exasperated glance. ‘A toyshop?’
‘I’d like to get Tom a present for his birthday.’
‘You don’t have to—’
‘I would like to.’ Then she bit her lip. ‘But…’
‘But?’ he repeated, dangerously.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to lend me the money, until you give me back my bag.’
His face darkened, but he executed a sharp turn and drove up into the town, braking sharply in front of a store. It didn’t take long to find exactly what she was looking for. A pair of cap-firing six-guns in a holster.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘I think…that he’ll love them.’ He looked around. ‘Theresa left some money for Tom to choose something for himself, but I think I’ll get that stetson to go with the guns.’
‘What have you bought him?’ she asked.
‘He needed new tack for Melly.’
‘Oh,’ she said, as she waited for him to pay for her purchases.
‘Oh, what?’ he demanded, then followed her eye and saw the cowboy outfit hanging on a stand. ‘You think he should have something to unwrap on the big day?’ She didn’t answer. ‘We’ll take that, too,’ he told the assistant.
‘Thank you,’ she said, as he stowed the packages in the car.
He looked up and met her eyes across the roof of the car. ‘Well, now that my son is about to achieve his wildest dreams, do you think we could do something about mine?’ He smiled slightly as a slow flush crept across Sophie’s cheeks. ‘I was actually thinking about dinner,’ he murmured.
Overcome by confusion, she ducked into the car. ‘Where are we going?’
“The Barracuda, at St Julian’s Bay.’
‘Oh, yes, I know it.
‘Have you been there?’ She shook her head; she hadn’t, although she had passed the spot frequently. The bay was always full of dghajsa, the colourful boats painted with the eye of Osiris to ward off the evil eye, but now the sea was dark, only visible because of the reflection of lights from the buildings that piled almost on top of one another at the water’s edge.
They parked a little way from the restaurant, and when Chay took her hand to help her out of the car he did not surrender it, but kept it tucked in his, and Sophie didn’t dare pull away.
The restaurant was perched precariously on a sharp bend, hanging out over the harbour with steps that led directly down into the sea like a smuggler’s haunt. ‘This is lovely,’ Sophie exclaimed as she took in the warm, intimate atmosphere, the only lighting the glow from candles at the small tables.
‘Two martinis please, George, and a table looking out over the harbour.’
George swept them to a table by the window, quickly whisking away the ‘Reserved’ sign and placing it on another near by. He brought their drinks and a menu, and lingered to discuss the choice of food and wine with Chay. Sophie sipped her drink and stared out at the lights of the shipping on the horizon, leaving Chay to choose for her. ‘You’re not allergic to seafood are you, Sophie?’ he asked. She shook her head and he ordered for them both.
She felt odd. Light-headed. Maybe it was too much sun, but she didn’t think so. She felt drawn by his eyes upon her and turned to face him. Her heart turned over, like a puppy rolling on to its back to have its tummy tickled. No, it definitely wasn’t too much sun.
‘Tell me about your family,’ he said, twisting his glass between his long fingers. ‘You’ve told me about Jennie, but what about your parents?’
‘My father is an art teacher at a comprehensive school a few miles from our home, my mother works part-time as a secretary. We’re very ordinary people.’
‘No boyfriend?’
‘No one special.’
‘No?’ There was an edge to his voice. ‘What about the journalist you wanted the photograph for? I thought you said that he was “very special”.’
She recalled her angry declaration that first night of her captivity. ‘Nigel is…’ Quite suddenly she wanted to spill out the whole truth. Unburden herself. But if she told him what had really happened when Nigel came to
the tower he would never believe that she wasn’t up to her eyes in something too nasty for words, and she wouldn’t blame him. ‘I can’t explain.’
‘You don’t have to explain anything to me, Sophie. I’m the last person to pry into someone else’s business,’ he said. But she could almost hear the shutters slamming down.
‘No…’ she protested, but he had already turned away from her as George arrived with dishes piled with huge prawns sautéed in their shells.
And what was the point of protesting that he had misunderstood? She could never tell him. She took a large gulp of her martini. It bit like fire at the back of her throat and she gasped. By the time she had recovered the prawns had been served, and she was able to devote her full attention to the task of dismembering them. Perhaps, after all, it was better if he thought she had someone else. Safer.
‘The prawns are delicious,’ she said at last, in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence.
‘Have you finished?’
She glanced at her plate, surprised to find a pile of debris. She had hardly noticed that she was eating. ‘Yes, thank you.’
His glance brought George to clear away. ‘So,’ he said briskly. ‘You’d better tell me what’s happening tomorrow.’
And they spent the rest of the meal discussing the arrangements for Tom’s beanfeast.
It was odd, she thought, as they drove home in silence, the haunting strains of Sinatra in September mood filling the gap in the conversation, but when Chay had withdrawn from her, the uncomfortable need he had woken in her had seemed to fade. She risked a sideways glance at the hard profile, dark against the dim lights from the dashboard. Could it be that it wasn’t just her? That the charge of desire was a two-way circuit and, when he had misunderstood about Nigel, he had somehow broken the connection? It was all very confusing.
He drew up outside the tower and opened the door for her. ‘I’ll go and put the car away.’
‘Do you want coffee?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘No, thanks.’ His voice did not encourage her to linger.
‘Then I’ll see you in the morning.’