by Anne Hampson
The spell was broken by his words, by the implication of doubt; and she drew away, her breasts rising and falling with the intensity of her emotions.
‘No,’ she murmured, sanity returning. ‘No, it isn’t what I want.’ At the apology in her tone Luke’s mouth quirked. It was with relief that she saw he was not angered by her change of mind. Somehow, he was making her feel at ease, unembarrassed and even unashamed. Tenderness and gratitude mingled and on sudden impulse she went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips. A little laugh escaped him before he swung her right off her feet, holding her aloft then lowering her gently to the ground. He looked at her and said, ‘Turn around,’ which she did, and another wild thrill of rapture was a deluge of warmth at the contact of his fingers as they dealt with the fastening of her bra. Instead of turning her around he left his hands inside her blouse, sliding them down until they were stopped by the tight waistband of her skirt. A small laugh, good-humoured and rueful, accompanied the action of bringing her round to face him.
‘Shall we go back?’ he suggested after a pause. ‘Phil’s expecting to have a drink with us.’
She nodded, marvelling at his calm, when she herself was having the greatest difficulty in gaining control of her emotions.
‘Yes, of course. We’ve been out ages.’
‘Not more than half an hour.’
‘It seems longer than that.’
‘What prosaic talk is this?’ he teased, tugging a lock of hair that had fallen across her face. ‘The time seems longer, my child, because we did so much. Not a second was wasted.’
To her own surprise she laughed and said, ‘I don’t suppose you ever do waste time.’
There was a hint of archness in her manner which, because it lacked coquetry, was very appealing to the man at her side, and he reached down to take her hand. They walked in companionable silence back along the moonlit beach to the hotel where, after meeting Phil in the lounge and having a drink with him, Luke took his leave of them, promising to come over the following evening and have a long discussion with Clare about the new project.
Clare was at the reception desk when the woman sauntered in, the waft of heady perfume preceding her. Clare glanced up, her breath catching at the sheer beauty of the woman’s features and the perfection of her figure.
‘I made a reservation.’ Big, widely-spaced eyes of cornflower blue travelled almost insolently over that part of Clare’s body seen above the desk and she found herself bristling instantly. ‘I booked a suite.’
‘A suite?’ echoed Clare shaking her head. ‘We don’t have suites here, I’m afraid.’
‘Mrs Wesley—Stella Wesley! You must have a suite for me! It was booked through an agent in New York.’ The fine nostrils quivered, accentuating the arrogance on the woman’s face. ‘Look, girl look! You haven’t even opened the book!’
Clare paled with anger. ‘I’ve no need to look in the book for a suite,’ she replied. ‘We have luxury rooms with private baths, and if you’ve booked in here it will be one of those which has been allocated to you.’ She slid the book towards her and opened it. She had no recollection of making a reservation for a Mrs Stella Wesley so she assumed it must have been made before she came to work at the hotel. Yes, the name was there, and it was a deluxe room facing the sea that had been reserved for her. She looked up at the woman and said, ‘We do have a room booked—’
‘I demand a suite!’ she interrupted rudely. ‘You’ll have to arrange one for me—put two or three rooms at my disposal! There are communicating doors, I presume?’
‘Yes, there are, but I’m afraid we can’t arrange a suite for you. There must have been some misunderstanding on the part of the travel agent—’
‘All right, there was some misunderstanding. We’ve already established that. The remedy is for you to shake yourself and see that a suite is made available!’
Claire’s chin lifted; she had taken just about as much as she could, and her voice was icily frigid as she said, ‘It will be the room, Mrs Wesley, or nothing.’
The other woman’s eyes opened wide. It was plain that she was not used to having her demands ignored.
‘Get me the manager—at once!’ she ordered, waving aside whatever Clare was going to say. ‘At once,’ she repeated when Clare had not moved.
‘Very well.’ She cast her a contemptuous glance, swiftly taking in the perfectly-tailored suit she wore, the pure silk blouse beneath the jacket. Ears and throat and wrists were adorned with diamonds, and on the third finger of her left hand she wore a gold wedding ring and a magnificent ring of sapphires and diamonds. ‘I’ll fetch my brother.’
‘Your brother?’ with an interrogating lift of her delicately-curved eyebrows. ‘Is he the manager?’
Clare nodded and turned away without answering. Her blood boiled and she could easily have told the woman to clear off as the hotel had no room for people like her, but by some supreme effort she kept a firm rein on her temper, deciding it was Phil’s place to deal with this objectionable client, not hers.
She found him in his office, and immediately he saw her pallor and he asked what was wrong.
Clare explained, saw him grimace as he rose from the chair, swivelling it away from the desk as he did so.
‘She’s alone, yet she wants a suite?’
‘Some people do, and it’s their choice. I’ve nothing to say to that. What riled me was her attitude; anyone else, although disappointed, perhaps, at the mistake, would have been gracious about it and either taken the room or refused it. She hasn’t done either. She just stood there arrogantly demanding the suite she had expected to get.’
Shrugging his shoulders, Phil went off and Clare followed, not wanting to return to the desk but forced to do so in case she was needed by other guests. The woman glowered at her before giving her haughty attention to Phil. There was an argument, with heated words coming from Mrs Wesley and quiet, apologetic ones from Phil.
‘It isn’t any use your continuing to complain like this,’ he said at last, still in that calm unruffled tone. ‘We can’t supply what we haven’t got.’
The woman’s mouth went tight, indicating the fury within her.
‘You just won’t go to any trouble!’ she rasped. ‘That’s what it amounts to! I shall make it my business to get in touch with the owner of this hotel and make a complaint—about you both!’ she said as her eyes slid to Clare.
‘You can have the room,’ offered Phil, ignoring her threat. ‘It’s reserved for you and I do assure you it’s a charming room, recently redecorated and furnished. There’s a settee and an easy chair, a desk, and all the other furniture necessary for your complete comfort.’
Mrs Wesley drew a loud, exasperated breath.
‘How do you know what is necessary for my comfort?’ she asked insolently. ‘One room would stifle me!’
‘It’s a very large room, Mrs Wesley, and the long window opens onto a verandah which faces the hotel gardens and the sea. I assure you you won’t feel stifled.’
Clare, marvelling at his patience, certainly was not so inclined. In dealing with this insufferable creature she would long ago have ordered her off the premises.
‘I suppose,’ said the woman at last, ‘that I shall have to take it, seeing that there isn’t another hotel on the island!’ With an angry flounce she swung away, waving an imperious hand to the waiting porter. ‘Take my luggage up!’ she commanded and then, turning to Phil, ‘Does he know the number?’
‘It’s two hundred and twenty-four.’ He stood until the porter had taken the luggage to the lift before turning away and going back to his office.
‘I wish she’d refused the room,’ Clare was saying later when she and Phil were having afternoon tea on the patio. ‘She’ll be so unpleasant with the other guests, and we’ve such a charming crowd in this time.’ Her face was troubled, her eyes clouded. ‘I wonder why she came here for a holiday; it’s no place for anyone on their own.’
‘I must admit that has puzzled me, too. Howev
er, we have had people on their own before.’
‘Not often since I came, and in any case, they’ve been elderly. This woman’s no more than thirty—or perhaps a year or so older. I wonder why she’s on her own.’
‘She’s devastatingly beautiful,’ declared Phil, bypassing his sister’s last sentence. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen such perfection in a woman.’ He passed the muffin basket to Clare, but she shook her head.
‘I’ve had enough, thank you, Phil.’
‘Yes,’ mused Phil, selecting a patty case stuffed with minced chicken and biting into it, ‘extraordinarily beautiful.’
‘But hard, and thoroughly detestable. I wonder what her husband’s like.’
Phil gave a wry grimace.
‘I don’t envy him,’ he said with fervour. ‘I’ll bet she leads him a dance!’
‘Perhaps that’s why she’s on her own. I expect he made the excuse that he couldn’t get away from the office—’ She broke off, laughing, and said they were both assuming things which were in all probability wrong. ‘She could be a widow,’ she ended, little knowing that she had hit upon the truth.
Chapter Five
True to his word, Luke came over to the Rusty Pelican that evening. Clare, having taken extra care with her appearance, watched from the flower-draped sun-terrace as he strode across the lawn, taking a short cut from Silver Springs to enter the hotel grounds where they joined the beach. He saw her and waved; her heartstrings tugged with a pleasure-pain sensation. How she loved him ! And yet memories and promises had intruded again. Yes, from waking this morning to bright sunshine pouring into her room until now, the promise she had made to Frank’s mother had continually intruded. What must she do? Her own resolve to be true to the memory of her dead fiancé was weakening with every meeting with Luke, and yet there were moments when Frank’s face was clear before her mind and then all her love for him seemed to well up and she felt sure no one could ever take his place. To be married to one man and thinking of another . . . It would be sheer hell, trying to deceive her husband.
Her husband. . . . As yet Luke had made no mention of love, so marriage was obviously not yet in his mind. It was even possible that he did not love her at all, that he merely wanted to succeed in making her forget the past and learn to live again. Or he could possibly be interested in her only as a potential mistress. The thought was too painful and she thrust it from her mind. In any case, Luke was close, his majestic strides bringing him to the terrace where several groups of guests were relaxing in loungers or sitting at white wrought-iron tables drinking iced lemonade through long straws, chatting, enjoying the cool evening breeze wafting in from the crystal clear sea.
‘I’m early,’ stated Luke after a cordial greeting and a long appreciative examination of her face and figure, and the dress of white lace she was wearing over a copper-rose underskirt. Ankle-length, with a full flowing skirt, nipped in waist and tight bodice—sleeveless and low-cut—it suited her to perfection, accentuating her adorable curves and contrasting most attractively with the honey-peach tone of her skin. ‘I thought we could have a little preliminary chat over drinks.’ He stood, towering over her, his oyster-coloured linen suit superlatively cut to fit his equally superlative frame. Clare’s eyes wandered over him, and she thought that he could not be carrying an ounce of excess weight. But the slender body was deceptive, as she had already learned, having experienced his powerful animal strength, the coiled-spring hardness of his body. It must be all muscle, she thought. ‘What, child, are you thinking?’ A hint of amusement in his voice and a glimmer in his eyes. She coloured a little but her fluttering smile was impish.
‘My thoughts are secret,’ she told him archly. ‘Mind your own business.’
‘My girl,’ he said warningly, ‘everything you do is my business, and don’t you forget it.’
She laughed, a happy, tinkling laugh that set that nerve pulsating in his throat. He bent to whisper softly in her ear, ‘If it wasn’t for all these people I’d kiss you! Where can we go? There are times in one’s life when the presence of others is definitely unnecessary!’ His eyes were dancing and a quirk of amusement lifted the corners of his mouth.
‘If it’s a drink you want,’ she returned mischievously, ‘then we could sit here. Or perhaps you prefer the lounge?’
The grey eyes glinted, but the smile still lingered as he said, giving her hair a tug, ‘Evasion will get you nowhere. I thought you knew me better than to try that.’
‘But you did say you wanted to chat over drinks,’ she countered, feigned innocence in her glance. ‘Er—have you changed your mind?’
‘No, he answered. ‘I haven’t changed my mind. Drinks and talk it is.’
‘Oh. . . .’ Taken aback by his words, Clare forgot her pose, staring at him in comical dismay. He gave a gust of laughter, regarding in some amusement the rising colour in her cheeks.
‘How very transparent you are! It serves you right if you’ve missed a special treat; you asked for it!’
‘Treat? What an opinion you have of yourself! I wouldn’t care if you never kissed me again!’
‘You little liar,’ he returned softly. And then, taking her arm. ‘Come on if we’re to have that drink. I want to tell you what’s happening on Windward Cay.’
A few moments later they were in the lounge, tucked away at a table for two behind some potted palms, and after ordering the drinks he began to outline his plans for the development of the island he had bought. The building plans were, for the most part, no problem, as at one time the two families had themselves decided to develop and in consequence plans for two hotels had been passed already.
‘They soon realised that they hadn’t sufficient money,’ Luke continued, ‘and so the idea was dropped. However, to have plans already passed is a great advantage as work can begin almost immediately.’
‘Are the plans what you want?’ she asked, feeling sure they were not. ‘I mean, their ideas would be vastly different from yours, wouldn’t they?’
‘Yes, but it’s far easier to alter than to start from scratch, mainly because then it takes time to get the plans passed. I’ve studied them carefully and although the alterations will be major ones, they’re mainly internal, so it should not be any problem to get the actual building under way without much delay at all.’ He was brisk, enthusiastic, his eyes faraway. ‘Additions externally can come later. For the present I shall be satisfied with the sizes of both hotels as I’d like to get them ready for next season.
‘Next season?’ blinked Clare. ‘But that’s only about nine months away!’
‘What of it? With enough workers it’s possible.’
‘You know better than I, Luke, but it seems a very short time to me.’
‘I shall submit the plans for the third hotel as soon as I’ve thought them out and had them drawn up,’ he decided, bypassing what she had said. ‘But of course that one will not be built until next year, or perhaps the beginning of the following year. However, I must get you a plan of the first hotel so that you can begin buying what you want. We bring in most of our requirements from Miami, but you already know that. You’ll have to order everything soon, so as to be sure to get them here in time.’
‘I hope I won’t let you down, Luke.’
He smiled at her from above the rim of his glass.
‘Have confidence in yourself, Clare,’ he advised, ‘for I have plenty in you.’
‘You’re very . . . kind.’
He laughed and reminded her that she had not always thought so.
‘I seem to remember you calling me a beast,’ he added on a teasing note.
‘Well, you did ask for it!’
‘I was only trying to teach you something.’ He paused as if unsure of himself, a circumstance which staggered Clare, who would never have believed he would ever be without that innate confidence that had struck her from the very first. ‘Have I taught you anything?’ he queried at last.
The question took her unawares and she flounde
red, saying, before she quite knew it, ‘I don’t know, Luke. I can’t say. Sometimes—’ She stopped, not knowing just how to put into words what was in her mind. Luke did it for her, with ruthless bluntness, his voice hardening, his eyes cold as steel.
‘So we’re back to memories again. You’re the most infuriating woman I have ever met!’ he exploded, making her give a start that set her pulses racing. ‘Your warped ideas are positively unhealthy—!’
‘Luke,’ she broke in unhappily, ‘you haven’t given me time to speak—’
‘You didn’t know what to say. Admit it.’
‘You’re right, I didn’t.’ She swallowed hard, trying to clear her throat of the blockage that was making speech so difficult. ‘It isn’t easy to change one’s ideas—’ She broke off and spread her hands. ‘I loved Frank desperately—you have no knowledge of how it is to lose someone so very dear to you.’ She stopped again as he uttered a muffled oath. Of a surety his temper was giving him trouble, and Clare felt righteously indignant because she had certainly not given him an excuse for being as angry as this. His impatience with her she could understand, but anger of this strength she could not. He ought to give her time, show a little patience, try to understand her feelings and her doubts. ‘I said just now that you’re kind,’ she went on perseveringly, ‘but sometimes you’re hard and unfeeling. . . .’ Her voice trailed as, through a gap in the greenery, she perceived the tall svelte figure of Stella Wesley entering the lounge. Luke, puzzled by her expression, twisted his head, then gave an exclamation of disbelief.
‘Stella,’ he muttered to himself, appearing to have forgotten Clare’s presence. ‘What is she doing here?’
‘You know her?’ Something decidedly unpleasant caught at Clare’s throat as an inexplicable sense of foreboding flooded over her.
‘I used to be engaged to her.’ Luke spoke automatically, scarcely able to take his eyes off the incredibly beautiful woman who was gliding along the middle of the lounge, glancing about her as if looking for someone.