by Flora Kidd
'No. Mother and I flew down this morning from L. A. That's our place… the one like a birthday cake, all pink icing.' He pointed to a villa half hidden by trees which was set back from the narrow beach road. 'Why do you ask?'
'I'm looking for a way to get to Manzanillo,' she said.
'Then why don't you ask old Carlos there to drive you in?' he replied.
Dawn glanced over her shoulder. Carlos was still standing at the bottom of the steps, his white coat glimmering in the shade of the trees which drooped from the cliffside over the beach. Then she turned back to the young man and for the first time in her life tried using her feminine wiles. Sighing and letting her eyelashes flutter down, she made her mouth curve petulantly.
'I have, and he won't,' she murmured, and watched for the effect on him through her lashes. His blond eyebrows shot up in surprise and his glance went sideways towards the ocean.
'How about Sebastian?' he asked.
'He won't, either.' She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and looked up at him pleadingly. 'Oh, please, will you help me? I must get away from here. I'll tell you all about it on the way.'
'Now?' he exclaimed. 'You want to go now?'
'No,' she began. 'Tomorrow would…'
'Look, lady,' he interrupted her suddenly, 'you're very nice and pretty, but I came here to ride the surf, not to drive strange girls about.' And turning abruptly, he went leaping down to the thundering crashing surf.
Dawn watched him go, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she realised why he had run away. Sebastian was walking up from the sea carrying his surfboard over one shoulder. Drops of water spangled his wet clustering curls and a golden chain and medallion glinted against his sun-bronzed hair sprinkled chest. Brief black bikini swimming shorts only just saved him from being completely nude. She dragged her greedy glance away from the attractions of his lean muscular body and looked up at golden eyes hard and bright glinting at her from between thick black lashes and at firm chiselled lips which were curving back over square white teeth in a smile of lazy mockery.
'Toby's a friendly young guy but not very obliging,' he said tauntingly, and slid a cool damp hand down her arm to grasp her hand with his. 'You were trying to fly away again?'
'Yes,' she replied, her head held high. 'Are you surprised?'
'No, not really, because I realise that yours is a spirit which doesn't like to be constrained,' he replied, his face suddenly very serious. 'But I'm a little hurt.'
'Hurt?' she exclaimed, wishing that they were standing anywhere but on that public beach with the thunderous sound of the surf making quiet talk impossible and with curious eyes of women and children watching them. 'Why?'
'Because I was hoping that by now you would be getting used to the idea of staying with me,' he replied, and bending his head quickly, kissed her on the mouth, taking her lips in a flagrant act of possession which set rebellion flaring through her even while she felt that swift flame racing along the fuse of her nerves to set off an explosion of desire which weakened her so that she had to lean against him for support, her hands catching at the muscle-ridged hardness of his arms. And her fingers, liking the feel of his sea-cool skin, moved sensuously, almost hungrily, wanting to feel more of him.
'Why did you do that?' she whispered when his mouth lifted from hers yet still remained close.
'To show Toby and anyone else on this beach who might be interested just how things are between you and me,' he replied, and before she could do anything about it he kissed her again, a swift taunting kiss which left her breathless and clinging. 'Want to do something about it?' he scoffed, when it was done and she was glaring at him helplessly. 'Want to tell me to go to hell or slap my face?'
'And give you some reason to show off your superior strength?' she retorted, breaking free of him and wiping her hand across her mouth. 'Not likely!' she seethed, and he laughed at her. A movement caught her eyes and she glanced sideways. The young man Toby was standing quite near on the edge of the surf, his back to the sea, his hands on his hips, and was staring at her and Sebastian. Her glance wandered further round. Several tawny-skinned, black-haired, black-eyed children were also staring at her and giggling. She turned on Sebastian. 'Oh, I think I hate you!' she cried, and swinging round she floundered over the soft sand towards the cliff, knowing that Toby would never believe that she wanted to get away now.
Carlos wasn't at the bottom of the steps, but he was on the terrace when she reached it. He was pretending to cut off the dead roses from the bushes which clustered along the wall. He turned to glance at her as she hurried towards the salon window. Half-way across the room she turned to look and he was there following her. He didn't follow her up the spiral staircase, nor did he watch her go along the gallery to the bedroom but pretended to be attending to the azaleas again.
In the shuttered quietness of the bedroom Dawn flung herself across the bed and buried her head on her folded arms, listening to the frantic beating of her heart. Perspiration was beading her forehead and her hair was limp with it. Groaning, she rolled over and sat up. It must be the tropical climate which was making her behave so irrationally, causing her emotions to explode like firecrackers and awakening in her an awareness of her own sexuality. She had never behaved like this before, shouting at a man that she hated him while all the time her senses were clamouring to be with him, to give herself in sweet reckless abandonment.
She knew why she had told him she hated him. She recognised the power he had to defeat her. But she must try to cool down and think sensibly. In a few hours she would have to answer his ultimatum. Agree to marry him or be turned out to find her own way to Manzanillo or some other centre, there to begin the uphill task of explaining to the Mexican authorities that although she was in this country quite legally she had been robbed of all her possessions.
She lay on the bed a long time thinking, only becoming aware that night had come when light slanted into the room through the archway from the gallery. Hands under head, she lay in the sort of hazy contentment which coming to a decision had brought to her. She would marry Sebastian Suarez. She would be his wife as he had requested and in return he would help her find her sister.
Rolling off the bed, she went into the bathroom and turned on the bath taps. In a few minutes she was relaxing in foam up to her chin. She washed her hair and feeling refreshed stood up in the bath to examine her reflection in the mirrors around it, looking critically for flaws in her appearance. Never had she looked at herself in such a way before, but then she was doing many things for the first time in her life since she had come to this house.
Maybe it was the sunshine which had liberated her, had thawed out her inhibitions? Almost at once she ridiculed the idea of being liberated. Since she had been saved from the ocean by Sebastian and brought here to this gilded cage of a house she had lost her freedom. She had lost her youthful immunity to the powerful forces of sexual attraction and she was now trapped here by her own desires.
In the bedroom she found the hair-dryer and blew her hair dry. Then she dressed in the cotton gown again and was putting the touches to the arrangement of her hair when Sebastian's reflection appeared in the mirror. Laying down the comb, she watched him come up behind her, apprehension leaping along her nerves.
He was wearing dark light-weight slacks and a magnificent shirt made from soft white silk. Its fullness was gathered into a deep shoulder saddle and the wide sleeves were caught at the wrist by neat cuffs. Both saddle and cuffs were embroidered with Mexican designs, as was the wide collar. Its opening was a deep slit down the front going almost to the waist where a hand-tooled leather belt cinched the shirt to his leanness.
'You're not going to wear that cotton rag to eat dinner with me,' he said autocratically, taking her by the shoulder and spinning her round to face him, and as usual rebellion at such highhanded treatment flared with her.
'I like it,' she retorted. 'It's very pretty and Manuela embroidered it herself.'
'So what if Manuela did e
mbroider it herself? It's like a sack and does nothing for you.' He turned away and slid open the closet, reached in and took down a gown of shimmering dark green silk. He laid it on the bed. 'Wear that,' he ordered crisply.
'No!' Her refusal rang out clearly as she stared with revulsion at the lovely dress.
'Why not?' Hands on his hips, he stared at her across the width of the bed.
'I'm not going to wear a gown which has been worn by another woman,' she retorted.
'What other woman?' he queried, frowning at her.
'Your… your last mistress!' she quavered, and his eyebrows went up in haughty disdain.
'Dios, you're inconsistent,' he drawled. 'That cotton rag you're wearing belongs to Manuela's daughter, another woman, yet you don't object to it. This gown is new,' he pointed at the green one on the bed. 'I bought it for you in Guadalajara and I'm interested to see if it fits.'
'You bought it for me?' she said incredulously, and rebellion flared up again. 'Oh, you had no right to buy me clothes. No right at all.'
'But, chiquita,' he sounded tolerantly amused as he came round the bed to stand in front of her, 'you have no clothes of your own. I bought this for you and the dressing gown you were wearing earlier, and the other dress and the linen suit which are hanging in the closet. Manuela hung them in there. Didn't she tell you?'
'I must have been asleep when she brought them in,' she muttered. 'But you still had no right to buy them for me. You're far too arrogant and domineering, far too fond of having your own way.'
He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in a fatalistic gesture.
'I am as I am,' he replied. 'So now you know this gown is for you, you will wear it, hmm? And I'll see you by the pool in a few minutes.'
He had gone from the room before Dawn had time to think up a retort. Anyway, might as well save her breath. He didn't care a hang what she thought of him. She could tell him he was arrogant and had no rights over her until she was blue in the face, but he was only going to either laugh at her or ignore her and go his own way. His self-confidence was overpowering and it grated on her.
She looked at the green dress. She was very tempted to defy him further, refuse to put it on and stay in her room, refuse to join him for dinner. Yes, very tempted, even at the risk of missing a meal and going to bed hungry, just to see what he would do.
The whisper of rope-soled sandals heralded the arrival of Manuela, who entered the room without ceremony, making Dawn wish the house wasn't so open, that there were a few doors to close and give privacy. Manuela pointed to the green gown and looked across at her.
'Buenas noches, seňorita,' she said, and lifted the gown by its shoulders. 'I 'elp you,' she added very slowly, and then smiled a wide dazzling smile which changed her whole face.
'No, thank you. No, muchas gracias,' said Dawn coldly. Manuela's smile faded and she looked very sad.
'Si, seňorita, I 'elp you. Seňor Suarez…' She broke off and then burst into a spate of Spanish, waving her hands about while tears spurted from her big dark eyes and ran down her face, much to Dawn's amazement.
'Okay, okay,' said Dawn, rushing forward and speaking the one word she knew the woman would understand at once. 'Okay, you can help me,' she said. 'Only please don't cry, please don't cry.' And to show she meant what she said she began to pull the cotton gown over her head.
Almost at once Manuela's tears stopped and her wide smile appeared again, like the sun shining through the rain, and when the cotton gown was off she slipped the silky green evening dress over Dawn's head.
It was expensively simple, with a sleeveless halter bodice which left her back bare and plunged in a deep V right down to her waist in front so that her small breasts were only just covered. The rich dark colour played up the whiteness of her skin and set off the silvery torch of her hair and in the long mirror she looked so different from usual that she could only stare in surprise.
Manuela stood back eyeing her critically and gabbled in Spanish, twitched the full skirt of the gown this way and that, stood back again and smiled.
'Me gusta, muy bonita,' she said. 'Veni, seňorita.' She gestured towards the archway.
'In a little while,' said Dawn, and Manuela frowned in a puzzled way. 'Dentre di poco,' said Dawn slowly, and the woman nodded.
'Si, seňorita,' she said, and left the room.
She couldn't go down to join Sebastian in the hall by the pool yet, thought Dawn, because she had to get used to this new self. Strange how a few pieces of coloured material could change one's appearance. She had never taken much interest in clothes, had always worn shirts and jeans when in her teens and slack suits when she had gone out to work as a typist for a publishing company. Judy had been the one who had dressed up, had believed in emphasising her femininity in order to draw the attention of the opposite sex, and it had often been a source of disagreement between them when Dawn had criticised her for playing up to male chauvinism.
How could she go down and face Sebastian wearing this flattering gown which hinted so much at what it concealed? She imagined how his eyes would glint and his mouth would take on that wanton curve as his gaze roved over her possessively. No, she couldn't go. She was too shy. If only she had a little of her sister's confidence, could put on an act and pretend she was used to dressing like this and dining tête-à-tête with a man who had admitted quite honestly that he found her physically attractive.
She wouldn't go down and if anyone came looking for her she would pretend she felt ill again, that her head was still aching. Her mouth quirked into a rueful grin. Now she was behaving in a typically feminine fashion! A headache had always been a woman's way of avoiding a confrontation or a proposal of marriage.
Up and down the room she paced, the skirt of the gown rustling about her bare legs as she struggled with herself, and almost half an hour had gone by before she came reluctantly to the decision to go down and give Sebastian her answer, telling herself all the time it was for Judy's sake.
She left the room quickly before she could change her mind again, sped along the gallery, then paused, hand on the railing, to look down. He was just below her, standing beside the pool looking down into it. Light winked on the facets of the cut glass tumbler he was holding when he raised it to his lips and drained it. He moved, went over to one of the round glass-topped tables, lifted a decanter and poured liquor into the glass, drank from it, looked up and saw her.
Slowly he paced across until he was standing below her again and raised his glass to her.
'I drink to you, seňorita. You look charming,' he drawled. He drank half the liquor in the glass then his eyes glinted up at her again. 'Are you coming down? Or are you hoping I'll come and fetch you?'
His mood was unpredictable, Dawn could see. Because she had kept him waiting? Or because of the liquor he had drunk? Her glance went uneasily to the decanter on the table and back to the glass in his hand, then to his face. His grin mocked her.
'It's tequila,' he said. 'And you're quite right. I have drunk too much of it. You see, I don't like being kept waiting. So if I behave badly you have only yourself to blame. You should have come down sooner.' He turned away. 'But what would you like to drink? Nothing alcoholic, I'm sure. Lemonade, tamarind or Jamaica flower juice? Or perhaps the inevitable Coke?' he asked dryly.
She had a feeling he had turned against her for some reason, had decided he didn't like her after all. Perhaps she had gone too far that afternoon by telling him she hated him and later by accusing him of arrogance. Perhaps he had taken offence and now didn't want to help her any more. It would just be her luck, she thought, for him to have changed his mind and have decided he didn't want to marry her when she had decided to accept his proposal.
She became aware that he was still waiting for her to answer his enquiry, an expression of impatience thinning his mouth. And that Carlos had appeared with his usual magic and was waiting too.
'Lemonade, please,' she gasped, and hurried along to the spiral staircase. By the time she
reached the hall Carlos was returning from the kitchen carrying a tall frosted glass on a silver tray. He came right up to her. She took the glass which clinked with ice and seemed to freeze her fingers, and thanked him. He inclined his head and went away, disappearing beyond the potted palms.
'A cool innocent drink for a cool innocent virgin,' murmured Sebastian provocatively, coming to stand close to her, and she flashed him an upward wary glance. The lighting in the hallway was subtly arranged to make the place seem seductively intimate, but she could very clearly see the glitter of mockery in his eyes. She raised her glass and sipped some of the cold bittersweet drink, hoping that if she refused to rise to the bait he had trailed before her he would refrain from making any more provocative remarks. But as she lowered the glass he slid his fingers around the bottom of it and took it from her. Still watching her with narrowed eyes, he drank from it.
'Cool, innocent, seemingly sweet, with an acid kick to it—just like you, chiquita,' he taunted, handing the glass back to her and raising his own to his lips and drinking from it. 'I think I prefer my own native potion even if it is likely to give me a sore head in the morning. It fires the blood, not chills it.'
'If that's your opinion of me,' she retorted, moving away from him and going to stand at the edge of the pool, 'I wonder that you've asked me to marry you.'
'I admit I am wondering too,' he murmured, and she felt dismay stab her like a knife. Turning slowly, she looked at him, hoping to see that he was smiling that half-sweet, half-malicious smile which would mean he was teasing her. But he was standing too far away from her to see his face clearly. Above the white shimmer of his shirt it was a dark mask.
'H-have you changed your mind?' she asked hesitantly.
'Is that strange quiver in your voice expressive of hope or disappointment?' he parried mockingly. He went over to the table again and the decanter clinked against his tumbler as he poured more liquor into it. He sipped from the glass, looking across at her with narrowed eyes. 'Is it possible you have come to a decision at last?' he taunted.