Holiday in Jamaica
By
Tracy Sinclair
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
"Do You Know How Long It Would Take to Repay Ten Thousand Dollars?"
"I'll work for half pay," she cried, sensing a weakening. "I'll do anything you say."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, regarding her insolently. "Anything?" he asked in a silken voice.
Her cheeks flamed as Jason's eyes wandered over her slender body, sending a chill of apprehension up her spine. But she nodded her head and said in a low voice, "Yes… anything."
"Well, now, that's very interesting. It just might provide a whole new solution. You said that I have everything I want, but that's not true. Suppose I were to tell you I want you?"
TRACY SINCLAIR has worked extensively as a photojournalist. She's traveled throughout North America, as well as parts of the Caribbean, South America and Europe.
Dear Reader:
Silhouette Books is pleased to announce the creation of a new line of contemporary romances—Silhouette Special Editions. Each month we'll bring you six new love stories written by the best of today's authors— Janet Dailey, Brooke Hastings, Laura Hardy, Sondra Stanford, Linda Shaw, Patti Beckman, and many others.
Silhouette Special Editions are written with American women in mind; they are for readers who want more: more story, more details and descriptions, more realism, and more romance. Special Editions are longer than most contemporary romances allowing for a closer look at the relationship between hero and heroine with emphasis on heightened romantic tension and greater sensuous and sensual detail. If you want more from a romance, be sure to look for Silhouette Special Editions on sale this February wherever you buy books.
We welcome any suggestions or comments, and I invite you to write us at the address below.
Karen Solem
Editor-in-Chief
Silhouette Books
P.O. Box 769
New York, N. Y. 10019
Other Silhouette Romances by Tracy Sinclair
Paradise Island
Copyright © 1981 by Tracy Sinclair
ISBN: 0-671-57123-0
First Silhouette Books printing December, 1981
Chapter One
A special hum of excitement ran through the big office, and Erin Brady looked up to see what was causing it. There were dozens of desks in the large room and an equal number of women occupying them, so a certain amount of chatter was always going on; but this was different. An underlying current of excitement had been added to the prosaic sounds of telephone and typewriter.
When she spied the big boss, Jason Dimitriou, stalking arrogantly through the room, the mystery was solved. Erin's soft mouth turned down disapprovingly. She could never understand the slavish adoration heaped on this man by every woman from eighteen to eighty.
Of course he was handsome; even she had to admit that. To start with, that tall, slim-hipped athlete's body made him stand out in any crowd. And those strange gray eyes, too thickly fringed with lashes for a mere male, were startling in his hawklike face. Add crisp black hair that fell carelessly across a tanned forehead and you had the sex appeal of a Hollywood actor. But that was the whole point. It would make just as much sense to fall in love with a movie star. How could every woman in the office be crazy about a man who barely knew she was alive?
Look at him now, for instance, striding imperiously by like a Greek god, oblivious to all the attention he was generating. Or maybe he was just used to it, since it happened wherever he went.
At thirty-two, Jason Dimitriou was already a legend, the darling of society columnists and gossip writers alike, who documented his every activity. It was common knowledge that he had taken over his grandfather's shipping line while still in his twenties and had built it into an empire encompassing everything from tankers to cruise ships and a multitude of allied enterprises as well. Now it was his personal life that the media was interested in, and they dogged his footsteps, each reporter hoping for a scoop when the playboy bachelor took a wife. So far, they had all been disappointed.
He appeared at every glittering function, and photographers couldn't seem to get enough pictures of him. But the dazzling women clinging tightly to his arm changed as rapidly as the seasons.
Erin's brother Bob was only a junior accountant at Dimitriou Shipping Lines, but he longed to emulate this flamboyant life-style. Avidly observing every movement of his illustrious boss, he tried to pattern himself along the same lines.
Bob Brady was only twenty-five, but he already considered himself the complete sophisticate. Only the absence of sufficient funds separated him from the good things in life to which he felt entitled. His job at DSL wasn't as challenging as he would have liked and didn't pay nearly enough to provide all the luxuries he craved. But it was a good job with a promising future, as his sister kept reminding him, although she wasn't interested in the business world herself. In fact, if anyone had told Erin that the day would soon come when she would join Bob as a Dimitriou employee, they would both have laughed.
Erin's future had been headed in an entirely different direction. She was in her first year at college and, with the confidence of youth, had her whole life mapped out. She was an art history major and would go on to graduate school after her degree and from there to a good job in a museum. Her entire future stretched happily ahead like a broad highway with no detours.
Even Bob's disapproval didn't shake her determination. She had always adored her older brother and accepted his word as law, especially after their father died. But this was the one thing on which they disagreed.
"Why would you want to work in some dusty old museum?" he asked. "There's no money in it, that's for sure."
"There is more to life than money," she protested.
"Name three things," he scoffed. "And besides that, who are you ever going to meet? The kinds of guys who work in places like that wear sweaters with suede patches on the elbows." With an unconscious reflex, he smoothed down the lapels of his new Italian jacket.
"I'm not looking for a husband," Erin said indignantly. "If I meet somebody, fine; but I'm going to prepare myself for a career in the meantime."
"Mother, can't you talk some sense into her head?" Bob asked disgustedly. "First thing you know, we're going to wind up with an old maid on our hands."
Mrs. Brady smilingly shook her head, refusing to get drawn into this running argument. It was her private opinion, which she was careful not to voice, that Erin would be married long before she finished college, in spite of her statements to the contrary.
Gazing at her daughter, she marveled at this delicate beauty as she did every time she took a good look at her. The Brady clan was presentable enough but had never before produced a child of such breathtaking loveliness. She studied the long auburn hair, the color of maple leaves in late autumn, and the deep blue eyes, slightly tilted at the corners, giving their owner a wide-eyed, breathless look. The creamy skin was flushed a soft pink now from the earnestness of her argument, and Mrs. Brady smiled. No, they didn't have to worry about this girl. Her future was assured.
But Fate dislikes being taken for granted, and, almost overnight, Erin's world fell apart. It began when her mother became sick and died after a very short illness. While she and Bob were still in a state of shock, the attorney called them into his office and talked a great deal of mumbo jumbo. There were papers to sign and explanations, none of which made much sense. The upshot was that there was no money left.
Ab
out the only thing remaining was the modest family home, but it was heavily mortgaged. The lawyer advised them that they would be better off living there and meeting the payments rather than trying to sell it and having to pay rent somewhere else. It went without saying that Erin would have to drop out of college and get a job. The problem was, where? With no experience and no prospects, the future looked decidedly grim until Bob got her a job in the steno pool at DSL.
At first she was so numb with grief over her mother and the collapse of her own dreams that nothing else seemed to matter. She was like a sleepwalker groping her way through an endless night. It was a dark period, but gradually Erin's naturally sunny nature surfaced and she began to take an interest in life once more. Everyone was delighted to see her smile again, and the women at the office went out of their way to be helpful. They took a personal interest in teaching her the routine and warning her of possible pitfalls.
"The one to watch out for is Harry Martin. He's our resident wolf," Melissa Jones cautioned almost immediately.
Before Erin could ask the obvious question, Terry Turnbull said, "He's the office manager. If he ever calls you in, be sure to keep the door open."
Erin laughed. "You must be exaggerating. Surely he wouldn't try anything at work."
"Well, maybe not," Mary Gordon admitted grudgingly, "but if he ever asks you for a date— don't go!"
Erin had seen Harry Martin, a flashy dresser with an overly friendly manner and something rather suggestive in his eye. It was obvious that he considered himself a lady-killer. Maybe he appealed to some girls, but he certainly wasn't her type. Nor was Jason Dimitriou.
"Do you mean to say you don't think he's the most handsome man you've ever seen in real life?" Terry demanded.
"Oh, he's handsome enough," Erin admitted reluctantly, "but he knows it. I don't like conceited men."
"What makes you think he's conceited? You've never even talked to him."
"But that's just it. He walks through this office with his nose in the air, as if we didn't even exist."
"Erin, he's involved in business deals all over the world," Terry said impatiently. "He's probably juggling millions of dollars in his head. Can you blame him for being preoccupied?"
Erin stuck out her lower lip stubbornly. "Well, he could say good morning or at least smile or something. I'll bet he's a real tyrant to work for."
"Not according to Helen," Melissa disagreed. "You should hear her sing his praises, and I don't think it's just out of loyalty to the boss."
Helen Demarest was Jason's private secretary, and Mary looked thoughtful. "I wonder if there's anything going on between those two?"
"That's a terrible thing to say," Erin protested. "Helen is a wonderful secretary and a lovely person. I don't think you should start any rumors."
"Since you've only been here three months, how did you get to be such an authority on Helen?" Terry asked with some asperity. "I didn't know you knew her that well."
"I don't, really. I've spoken to her a couple of times, but she seems very nice," Erin defended herself. "Just the other day I made a mistake on a report she gave me to type for Mr. Dimitriou, and, instead of bawling me out, she stalled him until I had a chance to do it over. I bet he'd have a fit if he knew."
Their opinion of Jason was the only thing they really differed on, and Erin was grateful to the women for all their help. It was a pleasant office and the working conditions were good. She realized things could have been a lot worse.
Another convenient thing about working for DSL was the fact that she and Bob could drive to and from work together. It was a nice way to start the day, as she didn't get to see much of him otherwise. Bob spent very little of his free time at home.
One morning a few days before Christmas, they were on their way to the office as usual. The sun shone down from a cloudless blue sky and it didn't seem like December. Miami was filled with tourists methodically basting their bodies so they would have a suntan to show to their less fortunate friends shivering in the northern snows, and the weather was cooperating enthusiastically.
As they crossed the causeway, Erin looked at the sleek luxury crafts bobbing at anchor in the bay. "Isn't it a gorgeous day?" she remarked.
Bob spared a quick look at the regal homes on Shell Island, their velvety green lawns rolling down to the water's edge. Scowling, he said, "A fat lot of good it does us. We might as well be a couple of slaves going off to the salt mines."
Erin looked at her brother curiously. "I thought you liked your job. Is something the matter or did you just get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"
"Oh, the job's okay, I guess, but I'm tired of working at a desk. I want to be out there where the action is." He took one hand off the wheel and gestured expansively at the trim yachts. "If I weren't stuck in an office all day, I could be out there water-skiing, or on a plane to Paris or—oh, you know. What's the point in waiting until you're too old to enjoy things? If I just had more money…" His voice trailed off.
"You're still awfully young," Erin said to console him, but he took immediate offense.
"Oh, no, not you, too! Every time I ask for more responsibility at the office, I get that same line. 'You're young, Bob, have a little patience, your day will come.'" His voice was a bitter mimicry. "Why am I the one who has to wait while guys like Jason Dimitriou are born with silver spoons in their mouths? Have you seen pictures of that mansion he lives in or the car he drives?"
Erin's soft mouth thinned in disapproval. "As far as I'm concerned, that silver spoon tarnished his whole personality. If that's what money does for you, then I'm glad you don't have any."
"What do you mean?"
"I think he's a creep, that's what I mean."
Bob looked at her incredulously. "Do you mean to say you're not bananas over him like every other female in that office?"
"I think he's arrogant and rude, and it's just fine with me that he doesn't know we lowly women in the steno pool are even alive. Does that answer your question?" she asked scornfully.
"Yes, but you're wrong about one thing, I can tell you. He's aware of everything that goes on in that office, even if he isn't exactly the glad-handing type. As a matter of fact, he's really a nice guy when you get to know him, although I'll admit he's kind of formidable. They let me sit in as a trainee on a few conferences he held, and he's an all-right Joe as long as you don't try to con him. One of the men tried to bluff about some reports he hadn't done, and I thought the roof was going to fall on the guy. But if you're straight with him, he's something else."
"Well, you're certainly changing your tune, aren't you? A minute ago you were complaining he was just a rich playboy."
"That's not exactly what I said, although he sure is that," Bob commented appreciatively.
"How can you admire a man with a reputation like he has?" Erin cried.
He grinned at her. "It isn't admiration so much as envy."
"Oh, you men, you're all alike!" They had reached the office, and Erin flounced angrily out of the car. "I'll see you tonight," she called over her shoulder.
The day's work was already piled on her desk, and the top sheet had a red flag pasted to it, denoting a rush job. Speak of the devil, Erin thought. The note clipped to the page was from Helen Demarest informing her that the report was for the big boss himself and was to be delivered as soon as it was ready. She rolled a piece of paper into the typewriter and set to work.
When the job was done, Erin stapled the pages together, pushed her chair back and started for the executive offices.
Terry hailed her. "Where are you going, woman? It's too early for a coffee break."
"I have to deliver a report to The Great One."
"How did you get so lucky? Can I go in your place?"
Erin grinned and continued on without answering. If she were truly lucky, he wouldn't be in yet, she reflected. Not that it mattered one way or another. She would just give the papers to his secretary and be in and out in nothing flat. But when she
entered the executive suite, Helen Demarest wasn't there.
Erin hesitated. Should she put the papers on her desk and leave? But the note had indicated it was urgent, and she hadn't even seen Helen this morning. Suppose she was out sick or at the dentist or something? Erin preferred not to dwell on what would happen if he didn't get his report and she was the one responsible.
Taking a deep breath, she started down the corridor to Jason Dimitriou's big office, checking over the pages one last time as she went. There were voices coming from his office, but they didn't penetrate her consciousness until she reached the door and realized something was wrong—terribly wrong!
Helen was crumpled in a chair by the desk, her head cushioned on her arms, sobbing as though her heart would break. Jason stood at the window with his back to the room.
"It's up to you," he was saying, in a voice tight with repressed emotion. "You can either keep the baby or put it up for adoption. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything. But for your own sake, I'd strongly urge that you give it up."
Helen responded in a strangled voice that was almost incoherent. He evidently understood her, for he answered, "You mustn't let this ruin your life; these things happen." Turning abruptly, he spotted Erin standing uncertainly in the doorway. For a moment they just stared at each other, and then, scowling ferociously, he asked, "What are you doing here?"
She was rooted to the spot and could barely find her voice. "I—I just came to deliver this report."
He crossed the room in a few giant steps and towered over her threateningly. She could almost feel the repressed fury in his powerful body. "How long have you been standing there?" he demanded.
"I just got here," Erin lied, praying he would believe her.
He scanned her face suspiciously. "How much did you hear?"
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