Pacific Heat

by Anne Mather

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not even a particularly strong swimmer. But I expect you are.’ She paused, and then added nervously, ‘Does—er—does Mr Castellano go surfing, too?’

  ‘Only on the Internet,’ replied B.J. ruefully. ‘He’s usually too busy to waste time having fun.’ He glanced her way. ‘Except on special occasions,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘You’ll have to teach him to relax.’

  Olivia stiffened. ‘I don’t think I could teach Mr Castellano anything,’ she said, alert to any insinuation. ‘I don’t know Mr Castellano very well as it happens. But I expect you know that. You were there when we met.’

  ‘Yeah.’ B.J. gave her another studied look, and then nodded his head. ‘Yeah, I was,’ he repeated, with a curious inflection to his voice. ‘I guess you don’t know Mr Castellano at all.’

  Olivia barely had time to consider what he might mean by that before B.J. took an exit ramp for the Pacific coast highway that curved down towards the gleaming waters of Santa Monica Bay. The road curved around a headland where flowering broom and cyprus trees screened the ocean, and then the iron gates of a private estate appeared on their left.

  An octagonal-shaped gatehouse that B.J. carelessly announced had once been a mission chapel stood beside the entrance, but no deferential retainer hurried out to open the gates. Instead, B.J. inserted a plastic card into a slot beside the mailbox, and the gates opened automatically to allow them through.

  Despite the fact that Diane had called it a beach house, Joe’s sprawling residence bore little resemblance to the kind of place Olivia had expected. An image of a clapboard house, with a wrap-around porch, and deckchairs under the awning, suddenly seemed so inadequate. At least she didn’t have to worry about their isolation, she thought ruefully. It must take an army of staff to run an estate like this.

  Yet, for all her misgivings—and the still lurking belief that she shouldn’t have accepted his invitation—Olivia was enchanted by her first sight of the house. Nestling on a bluff of land, overlooking its own private stretch of beach, it was, quite simply, breathtaking

  Like the gatehouse, the first impression she got was of an octagonal building, with an uninterrupted view of the ocean. But as they drew closer she realised that it was a kind of conservatory she could see, and that the single-storey dwelling itself was reassuringly rectangular in shape.

  But there were windows everywhere, each with its own set of shutters. Square windows, round windows, and oriel windows in the glass-walled conservatory. The shutters were painted black and were a stark contrast to the white-painted walls, while the double doors that stood wide looked solidly substantial.

  Another car stood on the crushed-shell drive: an open-topped convertible that was clearly built for speed. ‘You can relax, he’s back,’ said B.J. cheerfully, but Olivia wasn’t so sure. As her pulse quickened and her knees turned to jelly, she wondered if she’d ever relax again.

  It wasn’t until she was getting out of the car that another worrying thought struck her. What would she do if Diane was here? She’d said she was going to find Joe, so why not come out to the house? It was possible, she thought apprehensively. Anything was possible in this totally unreal environment, and she licked her lips rather anxiously as B.J. sauntered round the bonnet of the car.

  ‘Go right ahead,’ he said, indicating the open doors, and as they crossed the forecourt she was intensely conscious of the noise their feet were making. It seemed inordinately intrusive, and she wondered if it was a good or bad sign when Joe didn’t come to meet them.

  The entrance hall briefly distracted her attention. The high ceiling was inset with a row of skylights that cast bars of sunlight down across the veined marble floor. Urns, overflowing with flowering plants and shrubs, provided oases of colour and delicate sculptures in ebony and bronze were set against the walls.

  There were paintings on the walls too, mostly modern pieces, she thought, that blended well with their surroundings. It would have been impossible for the place to look cluttered. It was far too spacious for that, the walls a neutral shade of oyster beige, with earth-toned rugs to give the room depth.

  ‘He’s probably in the den,’ said B.J., dismissing the maid who came to meet them and crossing the hall with the familiarity of long use. He started down a long gallery, whose windows were screened against the sun, bidding her to follow him, and despite the screening the whole place had an open feel to it, with tall archways on either side inviting further exploration.

  Olivia heard Joe’s voice before they reached the den, and the withdrawal she felt at knowing they weren’t going to be alone was tempered by her reaction to his voice. It was so familiar to her, and she knew she ought not to be so aware of him. She was doing this for Richard, she told herself fiercely, but the words had a hollow ring.

  The den was at the back of the house and, in spite of her nerves, Olivia’s first impression was of light and space. Once again, the room was dominated by the windows that overlooked the ocean, the book-lined walls and leather-topped desk barely registering when compared to the view.

  But it was the man seated behind the desk, his booted heels propped indifferently on a corner of the polished wood, who instantly drew her eyes. In a cream silk shirt and the dark trousers of a suit, the jacket of which was thrown carelessly across the desk, his only concession to informality was in the fact that he’d removed his tie and loosened his collar. Yet, for all that, he looked just as attractive as ever, particularly so when she realised he was alone and merely talking on the phone.

  His dark brows arched ruefully when she and B.J appeared in the doorway, and, swinging his feet to the floor, he got abruptly to his feet. ‘Yeah,’ he said, to whoever he was talking to. ‘I’m sorry about that, too. No. No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Um—well, maybe, later in the week.’

  It was obvious he was trying to get off the phone, but when B.J. mimed that they would go away again he shook his head. ‘Stay,’ he mouthed. And then, into the receiver, he said, ‘Oh, of course. I am, too. I’ll speak to you soon. Yeah. Right.’

  He hung up with obvious relief, his face lightening as he turned to his guests. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, raking back his hair with a weary hand. ‘I’ve not even had time to change.’

  ‘Well, I’ll get back to L.A.’ said B.J., saluting his employer good-naturedly, and Joe nodded gratefully as the other man turned to go.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, and Olivia felt a little shiver slide down her spine. So they were to be alone, then, she thought uneasily. She’d half hoped that B.J. would be around to drive her back to the hotel.

  B.J. sauntered off, his deck shoes making little squeaking noises on the marbled floor. Olivia hadn’t noticed the sound when they were coming here, but then her heart had been thundering in her ears. Now, the silence was oppressive, and she wondered if Joe was wishing she hadn’t come.

  He sighed suddenly, his breath escaping from his lungs in a rush, and Olivia couldn’t help flinching at the sound. ‘So,’ he said, as if aware of her state of tension, ‘will you excuse me while I go and take a shower?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Olivia was only too pleased at the prospect of having a few moments to herself. She needed the time to get used to the luxury of her surroundings; to come to terms with the unwilling emotions that seeing him again had aroused.

  ‘Good. Good.’ Joe looked at her a little too intently for a minute. ‘You’re okay with this, aren’t you?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing. ‘As you turned me down before, I suppose it was slightly autocratic bringing you here to the house.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Olivia knew she had to handle this, and behaving like a shrinking violet was not going to do any of them any good. ‘It’s fine,’ she added, when he still continued to stare at her. ‘Do you mind if I go outside?’ A safer option? ‘I’d like to look around.’

  ‘No problem.’ Joe came round the desk, and although her instincts were to retreat she stayed where she was. ‘I’ll show you the wa
y,’ he said, halting beside her. ‘Perhaps you’d like to take a swim. There’s a pool in back that gets sadly underused.’

  ‘I’ll—er—I’ll just look around for now,’ Olivia murmured tensely, her skin warming at his closeness, prickling with the awareness of his powerful frame. She forced herself to look up at him. ‘Perhaps we could both swim later. I don’t like swimming alone.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ There was a wealth of experience behind those two words, and she was sure he knew exactly what she was trying to do. The strange thing was, he was letting her get away with it, and she pondered his motives for doing so. ‘Well, we’ll see,’ he conceded now, and to her relief he moved towards the door. ‘D’you want to look around the house first?’

  Olivia’s jaw dropped. ‘The house?’ she echoed faintly. ‘But—I thought you were going to take a shower.’

  ‘I am.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I’m not suggesting you join me. I just thought you might like to find your way around, that’s all.’

  Olivia swallowed. ‘All right.’

  ‘Right.’ His eyes slid thoughtfully over her determinedly smiling face, and then he shook his head. ‘Right,’ he said again. ‘Follow me.’ And Olivia squared her shoulders as she trailed him out into the gallery.

  They turned away from the entrance hall this time, passing through what appeared to be another reception room before entering an enormous room on their right. Here a cathedral-like ceiling with more of the signature skylights spread light over what seemed like acres of polished wood, with curving armchairs and hide sofas in cream and beige and brown.

  Like the entrance hall she had seen earlier, the colour in the room came from plants and flowers, with an enormous Chinese carpet occupying the centre of the floor. There were glass-topped tables and tall lamps with bronze shades, and a stately baby grand against the far wall.

  But it was the light streaming in through wide sliding doors that drew Olivia into the room, and without waiting for Joe to accompany her she stepped outside. Only not outside, she saw at once. Instead, she was in the octagonal solarium she’d seen as they’d driven up to the house, with the blue sweep of the bay all around her.

  ‘D’you like it?’

  Apparently prepared to delay his shower indefinitely, Joe lingered in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. His cuffs were turned back and the hands he had been running through his hair had left it ruffled and standing on end in places. Yet for all that he was still the most disturbing man she’d ever seen.

  ‘It’s—incredible,’ she said, speaking impulsively at last. ‘I don’t know what I—Well, I never expected anything like this.’

  ‘I like it,’ he declared simply, propping one shoulder against the frame of the door and crossing one ankle over the other. ‘It used to belong to an old movie actress, believe it or not, but that was many moons ago. She’d dead now, sadly, but they say she used to love this place. When it came on the market, I made an offer.’

  ‘That they couldn’t refuse, I’ll bet,’ said Olivia without thinking, and Joe’s mouth compressed into a rueful smile.

  ‘You could say that,’ he conceded. ‘Do you blame me? When you want something, you don’t hang around.’

  Olivia moved towards the long windows. ‘Is that your credo in life, Mr Castellano?’ she asked lightly. ‘If you want something, go for it, no matter who gets hurt?’

  ‘The woman was dead—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But you’re not talking about Lilli Thurman, are you, Olivia?’ His voice roughened. ‘If you’re talking about yourself, that’s a whole different ballgame.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘MYSELF!’ Olivia had bent one knee on the cushioned window seat that circled the solarium to enable her to look down at the beach, but now she lowered her foot rather jerkily to the floor. ‘I don’t know quite what you mean,’ she said, and meant it. She wasn’t in any danger of hurting anyone—least of all him.

  ‘If you say so,’ he said, cupping the back of his neck now with both hands and stretching the muscles of his spine. His eyes turned towards her. ‘Why did you come?’

  Olivia’s throat felt tight. ‘Why did you invite me?’

  ‘Good question.’ His arms fell to his sides and he straightened away from the door. He regarded her from beneath his thick straight lashes. ‘Perhaps I was curious to see how far you intended to go.’

  Olivia stiffened. ‘Perhaps that’s why I came, too,’ she declared coolly, refusing to let him see that he’d disconcerted her. She paused. ‘Do you want me to go?’

  ‘No.’ But his response was harsh, and although his gaze moved down over the betraying contours of her breasts to the slim bare legs below her shorts the brooding darkness of his expression made her think he was having some trouble with his feelings as well. He took a deep breath. ‘I guess this is where I go take that shower.’

  ‘If you must,’ she said recklessly, and although he had turned away her words brought him to an ominous halt.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he demanded, looking back at her over his shoulder.

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’ But Olivia was suddenly aware of how easy it was to heighten the tension here, and the knowledge excited her. She ran a provocative tongue over her upper lip. ‘Unless you want it to, of course.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said abruptly, turning fully to face her. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  ‘Think about what?’ she asked innocently. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘Not yet,’ he retorted harshly, one hand balling into a fist at his side. His mouth twisted ‘It doesn’t suit you, Olivia.’

  It was a deliberate insult, but she chose not to let it upset her. She sensed that Joe had only said it to try and take charge of a situation that was running beyond his control, and although he could have meant what he said she’d never have a better chance to put her own sexuality to the test.

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ she countered now, turning sideways so that the sun profiled the upward tilt of her breasts and lifting the moist hair from her nape. ‘So what does suit me, Mr Castellano? Saying nothing? Doing as I’m told? Letting other people walk all over me?’

  ‘No one’s walking over you!’ exclaimed Joe tightly, and when she arched a mocking eyebrow he demanded, ‘Well, who is it? Not me, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ She didn’t know what was driving her to say these things; she only knew she felt compelled to go on. ‘You feel sorry for me, don’t you, Mr Castellano? Go on. Admit it.’

  ‘I don’t feel sorry for you,’ he grated between his teeth. ‘For myself, maybe.’ He raked back his hair with a hand that wasn’t entirely steady. ‘Why are you doing this, Olivia? You’re not really interested in me.’

  Her breath caught in the back of her throat. ‘Aren’t I?’ she asked faintly, and then took a gulp of air when he uttered an oath and came towards her.

  He halted directly in front of her, the scent of his male sweat mingling with the warmth in the room to create a potent mixture. ‘Stop this!’ he ordered angrily. ‘It’s gone on long enough, do you hear me? I don’t know what the hell you think you’re playing at, but I think you’ve forgotten I’m no green youth and you’re definitely no femme fatale!’

  Olivia winced. He certainly didn’t pull his punches, and what had been an exciting game suddenly became an embarrassing confrontation. He wasn’t amused, that was obvious, and she had to steel herself not to flinch when he thrust his face towards her.

  She was breathing shallowly, nonetheless, and in spite of her efforts to appear unmoved by his deliberately cruel words she was forced to take a step backwards, her hand raised in an involuntary gesture of defence. No one, not even Richard, had ever made her feel so small, but she refused to let him see what he’d done.

  ‘Do you always attack things you can’t deal with?’ she demanded tensely, hoping he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were afraid to show your emotions—or
afraid of them, perhaps.’

  Joe glared at her. He was breathing rapidly, and the movement of his chest caused a curl of dark hair to appear in the opened neckline of his shirt. She could see more of his chest hair, outlined beneath the fine cloth of his shirt, and she concentrated on this to avoid looking into his grim face.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said savagely, and she felt a ripple of anticipation feather her skin. She was right, she thought incredulously. She had upset his cool self-control. Whatever reason he’d had for inviting her here, she’d confounded him, and she felt a little burst of power at the thought.

  ‘Don’t I?’ she said now, holding her ground with difficulty nevertheless. The urge to move away from the aggressive inclination of his body was tempting, but she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Olivia—’

  With an angry exclamation, he raised his hand to push her away from him. Or, at least, that was what she thought he’d planned to do, judging from the fury in his face. But although his fingers connected with her body just below her shoulder they curled into the soft fabric of her shirt, bunching it into a ball, and using the leverage to jerk her towards him.

  Her breasts thudded against his chest, but although she clutched at him for support he made no attempt to put his arms around her. What was happening here was no gentle flirtation but a primitive demonstration of sexual domination.

  ‘Take my word for it,’ he said in a low voice, his hot breath filling her nostrils, ‘this is not a good idea!’

  She believed him.

  Trapped against him as she was, she had a whole different slant on the situation, and while there was something infinitely appealing about the muscled strength of his body crushing her breasts she doubted she would sustain any credibility if he attempted to call her bluff.

  ‘All right,’ she said, lifting her hands from his waist and pressing them against his chest. ‘All right, I believe you.’ But when she tilted back her head to look into his face she saw not anger there but raw frustration.