by Anne Mather
Predictably, she thought, she reached the shallows again without mishap. Wading up on to the sand, she squeezed out the sodden rope of her hair, which had wound itself about her neck, then picked up her towel to rub briskly at her chilled flesh. The bra and pants she was wearing were not strictly a bikini; in fact, they were simply two items of underwear. But, as they were cream, and made of cotton, she had adopted them as such when her other bikini was still wet. Now, however, they clung rather uncomfortably to her cold skin, and realising she could wear the pants and shirt without anything underneath just to go up to her room, she swiftly took them off.
It wasn’t until she was actually fastening the belt of her pants that she became aware that someone was watching her. In her haste to shed one type of clothing for another, she hadn’t given a thought to the fact that the person that Grant invariably phoned was actually here, on the premises. And there he was, standing silently by the low wall that separated the gardens from the beach, one foot raised to rest upon the roughly-built stones.
Sara was glad it was dark enough to hide her embarrassment. Had he seen her? She rather thought he had. For heaven’s sake, did he think she made a habit of stripping off on the beach? He certainly made a habit of coming upon her when she least expected it. Or wanted it, she acknowledged tensely, wondering what had been going through his mind as he watched her little tableau.
Picking up her towel and the two offending scraps of cotton, she realised she had no choice but to find out. He was making no attempt to leave and spare her blushes, and pressing her lips together, she crossed the sand and climbed the two shallow steps to where he was waiting. If he didn’t mention it, nor would she, she decided as she reached the lamplit terrace, her features schooled to politeness as she wished him a good evening.
‘Wait,’ he said, as she would have passed him, swinging his raised foot to the ground and turning to face her. ‘I want to talk to you, and now would seem to be as good a time as any.’
Sara halted with evident reluctance, conscious of her wet hair and bare feet, and the nervous erection of her breasts against the damp texture of her shirt. If she had known she was going to have to face an interview with Lincoln Korda, she would have kept her bra on, she thought childishly. As it was, she felt hot and exposed.
He was formally dressed this evening, the expensive elegance of his pale grey suit in sharp contrast to her own dishevelment. They should have had this conversation at lunchtime, she thought rebelliously. She had been ready for him then; she was not ready for him now.
‘You do realise how dangerous it is to swim without warning anyone of your intentions, don’t you?’ he remarked, as she shifted uneasily a few feet away from him. ‘Particularly at dusk, when shadows can be deceptive.’
Sara made no comment, other than to lift her slim shoulders in assent, and as if made impatient by her attitude, he added sharply: ‘You should always tell someone where you’re going. Apart from the current, which can be turbulent, you could get cramp. Even the strongest swimmers have drowned because of cramp!’
Sara took a breath. ‘I’ll be careful,’ she responded stiffly. ‘Is that all?’
‘No, that’s not all.’ There was a distinct edge to Lincoln’s tone now. ‘Why don’t you sit down? I might get to the point that much sooner if I wasn’t anticipating your disappearance at any moment.’
‘I can’t sit down. I’m wet,’ she said coolly, daring him to argue with her, and he moved his shoulders almost wearily.
‘No, you’re not,’ he said, making no attempt to avoid the fact. ‘I saw you dry yourself just a few minutes ago. Now, will you sit down?’
Sara swallowed. ‘You watched me!’ she exclaimed, making a bid for indignation, and his lean mouth turned down.
‘Yes, I watched you,’ he conceded. ‘You saw me doing so. I admire your persistence, but I must repeat—you’re wasting your time!’
Her lips parted. ‘You think I undressed deliberately to shock you!’ She didn’t need to pretend indignation now.
‘That isn’t the word I would have used, but something like it,’ he agreed drily. Then, observing the nervous rise and fall of her breasts, he added quietly: ‘Look, we’re getting away from what’s important here. I don’t give a damn about your motives——’
‘My motives?’ Sara was astounded.
‘All I care about is that we should understand one another,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I guess it can be a bit frustrating for a girl like you, living down here, miles from anywhere, with no shops, no entertainment——’
‘Why don’t you say—and no men?’ she interrupted him hotly. ‘That’s what you’re implying, isn’t it? You think I’m attracted to you, don’t you? You think that’s why I took my clothes off just now; to show you what you’re missing!’
Lincoln pushed one brown hand into the pocket of his trousers, sweeping back the dark weight of his hair with the other. His expression mirrored his impatience with the scene that was taking place, and she wondered why he didn’t simply tell her she was unsuitable and be done with it.
There was silence for a few pregnant moments, and then he spoke again. ‘If I tell you I don’t care why you took your clothes off, will you believe me?’ he enquired flatly, his grey eyes impassive. ‘This may sound arrogant, and I’m sorry, but believe me, the sight of another naked female form is no novelty.’
She flinched. ‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, God!’ The sudden imprecation was unexpected, but she knew better than to be moved by it. This must be very inconvenient for him, she thought bitterly. Not only a failure, but an hysterical one as well.
‘You don’t understand,’ he continued, just as she was on the point of making some excuse and escaping. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. I just don’t see how I can avoid it. Not if you persist in pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. I live in New York, remember? Crass though it sounds, sex is pretty cheap in that city. Even for a married man. Besides—well, money is a powerful aphrodisiac.’
Sara’s lips twisted. ‘You think I’m attracted to your money?’
‘I think you’ve thought about it. And, on reflection, I’d guess Grant hasn’t exactly been discreet about my relationship with Michelle.’
She gasped. ‘You flatter yourself, Mr Korda!’
‘I dare say. It’s not true, then?’
‘What’s not true?’ She was deliberately obtuse.
‘That you don’t find all this …’ he indicated the terrace and the lamplit colour tones of the house itself ‘… appealing.’
She faltered. ‘Anyone would find this place appealing,’ she protested. ‘That’s not to say——’
‘I disagree,’ Lincoln interrupted her. ‘I know a lot of people who don’t care for Orchid Key at all. Michelle’s one of them.’
Sara sighed. ‘Well, I’m sorry——’
‘Why are you sorry?’ Lincoln’s thick lashes narrowed the probing gleam of his eyes. Then, scornfully: ‘Oh, yes, of course, I almost forgot. You’re going to offer me sympathy now. That is the next ploy, isn’t it? The offer of a consoling shoulder to cry on? You see, Miss Fielding, I know all the moves. Unfortunately for you, I’ve been this way before.’
‘You—you swine!’ Sara was stunned at the strength of her own revulsion. ‘I don’t know what kind of women you usually associate with, Mr Korda, but rest assured, they’re only what you deserve!’
His lips twitched. ‘You still insist that—that that striptease was innocent?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ His jaw hardened. ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’
Without giving her time to apprehend his intentions, he reached for her, dragging her close against him, and capturing her throat in a choking grasp. As she fought to free herself from that suffocating hold, his mouth sought the parted convulsion of hers, and she realised that that had been his intention. Gasping for breath, she was in no state to prevent the intimate invasion of his tongue, and she sagged against him
as its hot wetness blocked what little air she had left.
As if he realised she was nearly unconscious, the pressure on her throat eased, and the hand that had previously bruised the tender skin below her jawline moved sensuously down the opened neckline of her shirt. Only then was she able to clench her teeth on his tongue, and he swore volubly as it was withdrawn.
Fortunately for him, she thought frustratedly, she was still too weak to do much damage, and although he did not kiss her again, he did not release her either. Instead, he studied her flushed face while allowing his thumb to rub intimately over the hardened crest of her nipple, palpable beneath the thin silk of her shirt. There was mockery in his gaze, and insolence too, and Sara had never hated anyone as she hated him at that moment.
‘Well,’ he said provokingly, ‘don’t you have anything to say? Or are you biting your tongue, too?’
She seethed, but she refused to answer him. He should not gain any more amusement from her, she thought, and as if he sensed her withdrawal, his hand stilled.
‘You may be mollified to hear that you hurt me just now,’ he remarked, but if it was an attempt at mitigation, it failed. ‘So,’ he murmured, as a drop of water fell from her hair on to his hand, ‘You’re giving up the fight. Shame on you! I was just beginning to enjoy it.’
Sara’s jaw clenched, and she contemplated what he would do if she resorted to more physical methods. She might conceivably succeed in hurting him with her knee, but what might he do in retaliation? Vicki had always said you should never push a man too far, not unless you were prepared to take the consequences, and the situation was quite volatile enough without inflaming it further.
‘Will you let go of me?’ she ventured at last, and Lincoln’s lips parted.
‘Of course,’ he conceded, inclining his head, but when she attempted to move out of his arms, he prevented her. ‘In a moment,’ he appended, bending his head towards her, and her startled protest was lost beneath the searching pressure of his mouth.
It was not like the other time he had kissed her. Even though she fought him just as vehemently, his lips moved insistently on hers, and in spite of herself, she was disarmed. He didn’t force her, although his hand wound into the soaking tangle of her hair bound them together. Nevertheless, it was the potent caress of his mouth on hers that stifled her resistance, and giving herself up to the wild sweet fire, she linked her arms around his neck.
His arms slid around her, moulding the narrowing curve of her waist, before his hands cupped the firm swell of her buttocks. She was brought intimately against him, so intimately she could feel the sudden stirring of his body, and when she pressed herself even closer, his tongue once again sought possession.
It was arguable what might have happened had Grant’s voice not rung out at that moment. He was talking to Cora, and the sound carried easily on the still night air. ‘Where?’ he was saying. ‘Oh—outside. Okay, Cora, thanks. I’ll find him.’
Lincoln set Sara free only seconds before Grant walked out on to the terrace. She just had time to gather her wits before the younger man came to join them, but obviously he was not surprised to see her, and she realised he would have no suspicion of what had happened. Why would he? she asked herself unsteadily. She wouldn’t have believed it herself less than an hour ago. She hardly believed it now, and she had been a participant.
‘Hey, Sara,’ said Grant, after greeting his employer, and Sara had to steel herself to meet his casual gaze. ‘What’s going on? Isn’t it time you changed for dinner?’
‘It’s my fault,’ said Lincoln coolly, and looking at his lean, impassive face, Sara wondered if she had imagined what had happened after all. Certainly there was no evidence of passion in his expression now, and his tone when he addressed Grant was lightly apologetic. ‘I’m afraid I kept Miss Fielding talking,’ he added, as if daring her to contradict him, and she knew a blinding anger at his smug self-congratulation.
‘Yes,’ she said now, and she knew she had startled him by the sudden gleam that entered his eyes. ‘Mr—er—Mr Korda was just telling me that it will probably be better for all concerned if I leave right away. I’m sure you’ll agree with him, Grant. Jeff and I are getting nowhere.’
Before Grant could speak, however, Lincoln intervened. ‘Did I say that?’ he countered, the grey eyes warning now. ‘Oh dear, Miss Fielding, you do seem to have misunderstood me! I can’t deny the idea of sending you back to England hasn’t crossed my mind.’ He allowed that little barb to find its mark before continuing: ‘But my son’s unpredictability is nothing if not predictable. When I happened to mention, in his hearing, that I thought you were wasting your time here, he actually got quite animated. It seems he wants you to stay. He wants to see you. Tomorrow.’
Sara blinked, her throat closing on her protest. ‘You’re not serious!’
‘Oh, but I am.’ Lincoln’s features hollowed, and she wondered for a moment what he was really thinking. ‘I’ve given Keating orders that you’re to have a free hand where Jeff is concerned. I think I can promise you, you’ll receive no further obstruction from that quarter.’
Sara shook her head. She didn’t know what to say. After what had happened, he must know it was the last thing she had expected. Was that what he had come to tell her? Had she really jumped to the wrong conclusion?
‘Well—um—thank you,’ she mumbled now, and Grant came to lay a familiar arm across her shoulder.
‘Hey, you did good!’ he exclaimed, embarrassing her still further by planting a kiss at the corner of her mouth. ‘You can relax now. You’re staying on.’
Sara didn’t know whether that was a reason for relaxation or not. She rather thought not. And for all his words of endorsement, there was no trace of compassion in the enigmatic gaze Lincoln was bestowing on her.
‘Say, Cora tells me you’re dining out this evening, Link,’ Grant said now, withdrawing his arm, much to Sara’s relief. ‘You’re not flying back to the city tonight, are you?’
She tensed, waiting with some apprehension for Lincoln’s answer, but when it came, she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. ‘No.’ he said, parting his jacket to push his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘I’m dining with the Steinbecks, that’s all. And,’ he glanced pointedly at the slim gold watch circling his narrow wrist, ‘I should be leaving right now.’
Sara heard the car come back around two a.m. She hadn’t been to sleep. She had been lying listening to the ocean, and anticipating her meeting with Jeff the next day—and trying not to think about where Lincoln was and who he was with.
It was Grant’s fault that she had found sleep so elusive, she told herself. Until tonight, she had known nothing of Lincoln Korda’s private affairs, except the fact that he was separated from his wife. And she hadn’t wanted to know, she thought tensely. After what had happened this evening, the less she knew about Lincoln Korda, the better. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Jeff himself had asked to see her, she would have handed in her resignation there and then, but her sympathy for his son far outweighed any personal grievance she might have towards Lincoln Korda. A man who had neglected his own flesh and blood for so long could have no real affection for the boy, and she had no intention of collaborating in yet another betrayal of his responsibilities. She would stay, at least until she had convinced herself that there was nothing more she could do. And if that meant confronting Lincoln Korda’s ego, then so be it.
But her brave defiance took a definite battering when Grant chose to tell her where his employer had gone. ‘Old man Steinbeck owned the investment bank on Wall Street where Link got his first break. That’s how he made his money, you know. He started out as a tax consultant, but he soon graduated to investments. I’ve heard him described as a financial genius, but Link insists it was all luck!’ He grimaced. ‘Anyway, these days he has his own trust company, and a seat on the board of several other corporations, including Steinbecks. Which is very convenient considering the old man is hankering for Link to become a full
y-fledged member of the family.’
Sara had known it was nothing to do with her, but Grant’s revelations had been couched in such a way that she couldn’t resist the automatic: ‘What do you mean?’
‘Rebecca Steinbeck,’ Grant had responded gratuitously. ‘The old man’s granddaughter. He had no daughters, you see, only one son, and he died in a yachting accident when Rebecca was three. Unfortunately, Link was married himself by that time, but the old man’s kept a close eye on the relationship, if you know what I mean.’
Sara knew what he meant, and in spite of her reluctance, she had to ask: ‘Does Rebecca live with her grandfather, then?’
‘No,’ Grant shrugged. ‘She has a place of her own in New York. But she spends a lot of time down here, with her grandfather. He’s virtually retired now, of course, and it’s common knowledge that Link’s expected to get the presidency next year.’
‘I see.’
Sara had absorbed this information without comment, and to her relief, Grant had found another topic for discussion. But she had wondered why he had chosen now to reveal so much about their employer, and she wondered if it was his way of warning her off. Of course, he knew nothing of what had passed between her and Lincoln Korda that evening, but perhaps he had seen something in her nervous expression to alert his suspicions. After all, he knew, as well as anyone, that his employer was an attractive man. And he might be trying to get his own back at her for the way she had persistently held him at bay.
Whatever the reason, he had turned to her prospective meeting with Jeff as an alternative, and she had been shocked by the derision he had shown. ‘You don’t honestly believe he means to co-operate with you, do you?’ he had scoffed. ‘Just you wait until Link goes away, then you’ll see what happens. So long as Link’s here, so long as Jeff believes his father thinks you’re wasting your time, he’ll make a fuss. But once Link’s safely back in New York, you may find you’re not so popular.’