Storm Force

by Sara Craven

  She lay, staring into the darkness, picturing Jay dancing with Kylie, their bodies moving together to some slow and romantic melody.

  It was not an image she wanted to contemplate, she thought, but then neither was Jay’s dark head lying only a few feet away, on the other pillow, night after night, his body outlined under the thin sheet.

  She moved restlessly, her body burning. Among her contemporaries, she thought wryly, she couldn’t think of one who would have hesitated for a second. They would have snatched at the moment, however transitory, and enjoyed it, then walked away, shrugging, when it was over.

  But I can’t be like that, she thought. I’m pathetic. I’m practically a dinosaur. But I can’t give myself—casually, and pretend it doesn’t matter. And I can’t give myself to Jay, because it would matter all too much.

  She gave a small, trembling sigh. He could not, she thought with painful detachment, want her very much, otherwise why would he have put all the onus fairly and squarely on her? ‘You’re going to do the asking.’ The words still rang in her head.

  If she offered herself, he would probably take her, because to reject her would be cruel, and he was not, she knew, a cruel man. He had been kind to her while they were marooned together at World’s End, and sometimes abrasive—and when she had needed comfort, he had provided it. But, although he had teased her sexually, spoken and acted as if he found her desirable, he had applied no real pressure. Nor had he shown any obvious difficulty in treating her with the restraint that he had promised, at the same time making it clear that he knew her resistance to him was crumbling.

  ‘You will come to me, and we both know it.’

  As if it was just a matter of time, she thought achingly. But I don’t want to be—just another female body. I nearly settled for second-best with Robin. I can’t do that again.

  She was still awake when she heard the sound of the car returning. She turned instantly on to her side, facing the windows, away from the door, making herself relax and breathe softly and evenly.

  Jay came in quietly, but she was tinglingly aware of his every movement, the rustle of his clothes as he undressed. She heard him walk round the bed, and knew that he had come to stand beside her.

  He said very quietly, ‘Maggie?’

  It was sheer torture, lying there, pretending to be asleep, when every fibre of her being was urging her to answer him, to turn, reach out her hand, and draw him down to her.

  She sank her teeth into the softness of her lower lip until she tasted blood. Until, at last, she heard him move away. And the darkness became silence. And loneliness.

  It was late when she awoke the next morning, and the adjoining bed was empty. Maggie stared dazedly at her little travelling alarm clock, and sat up with a groan. So much for all her good intentions about work, she thought, as she scrambled out of bed and into her clothes.

  As she left her room, she met Leah.

  ‘You ready for breakfast now.’ She beamed at her. ‘You sure sleep good.’

  ‘I must have done.’ Maggie ran a distracted hand through her hair. ‘Has Miss St John been asking for me?’

  ‘No, ma’am. She’s taken the car and gone into Nassau, shopping. I guess she won’t be back all day.’

  Maggie swallowed. ‘I—see. Did Mr Delaney go with her?’

  ‘No, he said to tell you he’d be on the beach.’

  ‘Oh.’ Maggie looked down at her plain cream shirt and slacks and sighed. Kylie clearly had no intention of working on the book today, and there was nothing more Maggie could usefully do without her.

  I suppose I may as well take the day off, she decided reluctantly. But not on the beach. That would be asking for trouble. I’ll stay by the pool—draw an invisible line of my own.

  She breakfasted on hot rolls, coffee and fresh fruit, then changed into one of her new bikinis, patterned in black and white with a matching hip-length jacket, and went down to the pool.

  It was very hot, peaceful and still, the sky an unclouded blue. Maggie stretched herself out on a lounger in the shade of an umbrella. Presently, she would go for a swim, but for the moment it was good to relax and recover from her restless night, she thought, turning on to her tummy, and pillowing her head on her folded arms.

  Tonight she would have to pin Kylie down, set some kind of timetable for the alterations, or the days would just drift past and little would be done. Once Kylie had started, her innate professionalism would take over, Maggie knew. The hardest part would be forcing her to the word processor.

  Maggie had been tempted to bring some other scripts from the office to work on, but Philip had refused point blank to allow this.

  ‘You’ll have enough to do with Kylie,’ he said bluntly. ‘And this is supposed to be your vacation as well. Your fiancé will expect to have what’s left of your time.’

  She had bought a selection of the latest paperbacks at the airport, but she wasn’t in the mood to begin any of them yet. She was still too keyed up—too work-orientated to lose herself in a novel. She would only start analysing—editing, and that wasn’t the idea at all.

  She found her thoughts beginning to drift drowsily, and decided to let it happen. After all, she hadn’t slept properly for days. It was little wonder the long flight and the change of environment had knocked her out. Her eyelids felt as if they had lead weights attached, and it was just too much effort to keep them open. In fact, she wasn’t even going to try …

  The sun was baking hot, and she could smell newly cut grass. It was as if an alarm had been triggered in her head, and she moved restlessly, anxiously.

  I’m dreaming, she told herself. This is only a dream. It isn’t happening. It’s—only a dream.

  But the first drops of oil, cool on her warm skin, were only too real—and the hand touching her—smoothing the length of her spine.

  She screamed hysterically, her body jack-knifing, as she turned on her assailant, striking out at him, her nails ripping at his shoulders and chest.

  He swore violently, seizing both her slender wrists in a punishing grip, pushing her down on the lounger and holding her there helpless.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ he demanded furiously. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you? I was only putting some oil on you, for Pete’s sake. The sun’s moved round. You were beginning to burn up.’

  She looked up dazedly into Jay’s angry face.

  ‘You,’ she said chokingly. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘Who did you think it was?’

  ‘Leslie,’ she said hoarsely. ‘My—stepfather.’

  Jay released her, and she sat up, covering her face with her hands.

  ‘No.’ His voice was quiet but inexorable. ‘Don’t hide away. Is this the dream that you have?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I want to hear about it.’ He took her hands away from her face. ‘I think you owe me that.’

  Horrified, she looked where he was indicating. Saw the weals her desperate nails had left. One of them was bleeding slightly.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ A tear trickled slowly down her cheek, then another. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Tell me the dream.’ He sat down beside her. ‘Tell me all of it. How does it begin?’

  ‘I’m in the garden. It’s—very hot. Someone’s mowing a lawn. I can smell the grass.’ The words came slowly and painfully.

  ‘This Leslie?’

  ‘No—the next-door neighbour, Mr Halloran. He heard me screaming—and he came to help.’

  ‘What made you scream, Maggie?’

  ‘It was Leslie. I thought he was at work—really I did. That’s why I’d undone my top. I wasn’t lying. I wasn’t leading him on deliberately. I didn’t know he was coming to the house. It wasn’t true.’ She was shaking so hard that her whole body was juddering.

  Jay picked her up in his arms, and sat, cradling her across his thighs.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Of course it wasn’t true.’

  ‘My mother said it was. She didn’t believe me.’ Her voice sounded bre
athless and very young. ‘She—she was angry with me. So angry. She said I was out to make trouble between them. That she’d seen me—displaying myself—trying to catch his eye. She said Mr Halloran had told her that when he found me I was practically naked. That it must have been on purpose.’

  She took a deep, sobbing breath. ‘It wasn’t true. But no one believed me. No one’s ever believed me.’

  ‘I believe you. What did Leslie do?’

  ‘He put suntan lotion on my back,’ she said with a gasp, and Jay winced. ‘I—I didn’t want him to. I hated him. I was afraid of him. I always had been, though I didn’t know why. But when he started touching me—I knew.’

  ‘Where did he touch you, baby?’

  ‘Here,’ she said. ‘And—here. And then he tried—he wanted to …’ Her voice broke.

  ‘Hush,’ he said. ‘Did he get what he wanted?’

  ‘No, because I bit him and screamed, and Mr Halloran heard me, and came to see what was wrong. I thought he believed me, but Leslie told him later that I’d been encouraging him, and then made a fuss. He told Mother the same—that I’d taken my top off and asked him to put oil on me. He said that he’d—lost control for a moment, and he was terribly ashamed. He said I was a little tease, and that I’d come to a bad end. He—apologised to her, and asked her to forgive him.’

  ‘And your mother believed that?’

  She nodded. ‘She loved him, you see. She was going to marry him. She’d been very lonely since Daddy … She hated me for spoiling things.’

  ‘Did she tell you so?’ Jay stroked her hair, gently.

  ‘Not in words. But she was—different with me. She avoided me—she didn’t tell me things any more—or kiss me. And she made me apologise to Leslie.’

  ‘Dear heaven,’ he said.

  ‘Was it my fault? Even Louie seemed to think so, although she was kind about it.’ Maggie swallowed. ‘I—I didn’t go to the wedding. I couldn’t.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should you?’ There was silence, then he said, ‘I’m beginning to understand quite a few things now—why you were so antagonistic to me when we first met, for one. And Robin, for another.’

  ‘He made me feel—safe. He didn’t—make demands.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t,’ Jay agreed drily. ‘I’d say he had his own hang-ups to cope with.’

  Maggie suddenly realised how closely he was holding her, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his hand resting on her thigh. She tried to sit up, and he let her go immediately. She sat on the lounger, a few inches apart from him.

  She pushed her hair back from her wet face, not looking at him. ‘I didn’t mean to tell you all this,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to tell anyone else, ever.’

  ‘Not Robin?’

  ‘No—never. I—I just wanted to—blot the whole thing out.’

  ‘But it didn’t work. Hence the nightmares.’ He put a finger under her chin, and tilted her face towards him. ‘Know something, Maggie Carlyle? I’m willing to bet a year’s earnings that you’ll never have that nightmare again.’

  He bent and picked up the bottle of sun oil, lying on its side on the tiles at their feet. He weighed it in his hand for a minute, his face enigmatic. Then he looked at her.

  ‘Let’s try an experiment.’

  ‘I—don’t think I can.’

  ‘And I think you must.’ He watched her steadily. ‘Trust me, Maggie.’

  She gave a little shaken sigh. ‘All right.’ She lay down again, closing her eyes, waiting rigidly.

  She felt the first cool drops of oil on her back and bit her lip, trying not to flinch.

  His hands were warm and very gentle. He began with her shoulders, his fingers barely brushing her skin, anointing her with the scented lotion. Gradually, imperceptibly she began to relax under the impersonality of his touch. When he reached the barrier of her bikini top, he hesitated, then, feeling her tense swiftly, skipped over it to the lower part of her back.

  Maggie buried her face in the cushions of the lounger, not knowing whether to be glad or sorry.

  His fingers were firmer now, surer as they stroked the oil into her flesh, and although she was still nervous, she could feel, incredibly, her skin beginning to tingle with excitement in response to his touch.

  She wanted this slow, lingering contact to go on forever. She wanted …

  ‘There.’ His tone was brisk. ‘Was that too unbearable?’

  She sat up slowly, keeping her flushed face averted.

  ‘No—you were right. Thank you.’

  ‘Any time.’ He paused. ‘I think I’ll go for a swim. Why don’t you come down to the beach and join me? There’s a delicious breeze.’

  ‘I—I like it here.’ The defensiveness in her tone was unmistakable.

  There was a pause, then he shrugged, his voice hardening slightly. ‘As you please.’

  She watched his tall figure stride away down the path between the casuarinas and disappear.

  Then she lay down again, with a little tremulous sigh. Jay might have dispelled one nightmare for her, but now she had another to face.

  The misery, she thought, the darkness of her life—her future—without him, when eventually he walked away from her for good. Because that, she was beginning to realise, would be the greatest nightmare of all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MAGGIE PUT DOWN the page of typescript and breathed a sigh of sheer relief.

  It was done. It was all over, and she could go home.

  In fact, she thought, there had been no real need for her to come here in the first place. All she had had to do was give Kylie her notes and nag her into beginning the revisions. Once Kylie had stopped grumbling and started working she had taken fire, and there had been no holding her.

  But it wasn’t just enthusiasm for the book which had been driving her, Maggie had to acknowledge, flinching inwardly. Jay’s company had been a far more effective spur.

  When Kylie had finished her day’s working stint the rest of her time had been spent quite openly with Jay, swimming, sunbathing, exploring the island by car, golfing and playing tennis. They had even had a couple of days deep-sea fishing together. And in the evenings, after dinner, they were to be found at nightclubs or discotheques.

  Maggie had always been urged to join them on these expeditions, it was true, but she had invariably made some excuse, ignoring Jay’s ironic stare, protesting that such energetic pursuits were not her idea of a holiday and she preferred to stay by the pool or have an early night.

  It might hurt, here and now, to know that he and Kylie were together, but it would be infinitely less painful in the long term than seeking his company herself. She knew that, because she kept telling herself so at regular intervals during the long lonely afternoons and nights.

  When he came back to their room, usually some time in the small hours, she still pretended to be asleep. She sometimes thought she had turned pretence into an art form, although she couldn’t be sure how good the deception was. He still came and stood for a few minutes beside her bed each night, she knew. Perhaps he was waiting for her to have another nightmare, or perhaps he was listening to her breathing. Certainly she had been the target for a few edged and sardonic remarks about the soundness of her slumbers on the rare occasions whey they’d been alone together.

  She had to admit, however, that Jay had been punctilious over allowing her all the privacy she could possibly want. There had been few of the awkward moments she’d dreaded.

  She sighed, and shuffled the pages of script into a neat pile, securing them with a rubber band. That was hardly to be wondered at, of course. After pouring her heart out to him like that about the dream, he probably regarded her as some kind of basket case.

  Once, and only once, thinking he was already on his way into Nassau with Kylie, Maggie had emerged from the bathroom in one of her sheer and sexy nightgowns and found him there. For a moment, he’d stood there as if turned to stone, his eyes like a blue flame as they travelled over her—then, as she
grabbed for her robe, he’d turned away with a muttered word of apology.

  She stood up, picking up the script. She would put this safely away and maybe begin her packing. And then, she thought, giving the garden, shimmering in the midday heat, a wistful glance, she would go for a last swim.

  It was an hour later that she finally made her way down to the pool. She was so used to having it to herself that she checked with a start of real surprise on finding Jay there, reading.

  Her reaction wasn’t lost on him, and his brows snapped together.

  ‘Would you like me to leave?’

  She smiled nervously. ‘Of course not. As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you.’

  For a heady moment, she let her eyes devour him. He was wearing nothing but brief swimming-trunks, and the marks she had made on his skin were still faintly visible. She wondered, with a pang, whether Kylie had ever noticed them and demanded an explanation, and, if so, what he had said to her.

  ‘I’m duly honoured,’ Jay said after a pause. ‘What did you want to discuss? The imminent termination of our supposed engagement?’

  Maggie swallowed. ‘Among—other things. I’ve—finished finished here, so I thought I’d catch the next available flight.’ She paused. ‘Will—will you be staying on?’

  It was the hardest question she had ever had to ask.

  He nodded. ‘I thought I would.’

  ‘That’s—what I thought too.’

  ‘Do you have any objections?’

  ‘Of course not,’ She forced a smile. ‘How—how could I?’ She tore her eyes from his face, and looked at the book he was holding. ‘Isn’t that one of Kylie’s?’

  ‘It is indeed. She’s a good story-teller. I’m very impressed.’

  ‘Her sales figures are even more impressive.’

  ‘In fact, she’s a fairly stunning woman altogether. She knows what she wants, and she goes straight for it. Won’t take no for an answer.’ He tapped the page with his finger. ‘Apparently I remind her of the hero of this, Scott Maxwell.’

  ‘I’ve seen so much of her work, I tend to get the characters confused.’

  It wasn’t the truth. No one who had read The Midnight Hour would ever forget Scott Maxwell, she thought. He was probably the reason the book had never been out of print. He was every woman’s dream man, rich, sexy and impossibly attractive. And the love scenes between him and Victoria, the heroine, had been among the most erotic Maggie had ever read.