Tahitian Wedding

by Angela Devine

  ‘There, don’t you think they’d like that?’ he asked, as a sudden jet of spray shot high into the air, sending them darting back out of range.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Claire.

  Normally she would have delighted in the caress of the moist sea breeze, the lavender-blue hues of the water and the dark volcanic rocks with their scuttling crabs and salamanders. But now she found herself possessed by a fierce impatience. She wanted the trip over and done with, so that she no longer had to endure the torment of being close to Alain without any hope of ever being closer.

  ‘Can’t we go?’ she asked.

  His head jerked up sharply, almost as if she had slapped his face, but he stepped back from the viewing platform readily enough.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to bore you. We’ll just make a quick visit to the waterfall and then I’ll take you home.’

  Yet Claire felt as if there were electrical currents pulsing in the air between them as Alain drove along the leafy track leading to the falls. Once she caught his gaze on her and turned away, blushing hotly. It was a relief when he parked the car and led the way down an uneven path towards the sound of rushing water. Claire stopped, entranced.

  ‘Isn’t that beautiful?’ she breathed.

  Ahead of them was a sheer cliff of craggy, dark rock, covered with clinging ferns and spongy green mosses, everywhere except in the direct path of the falls. Craning her neck, Claire saw how the water hurtled over a sharp rampart at the top, bounded from crag to crag and finally splintered into numerous silver showers in the pool below.

  ‘We can change in the hut,’ said Alain.

  Claire followed his gaze and saw a small thatched hut set on the rocks a few metres from the water’s edge. It was open-sided with no separate partition for men and women. Her throat constricted.

  ‘I’m not sure that I want to swim—’ she began, but Alain cut her off.

  ‘Shy?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Surely not, Claire? But I promise to turn my back if that’s what’s worrying you.’

  It seemed more dignified to give in than to argue. Scarlet with embarrassment, Claire followed Alain into the hut. Draping a voluminous beach towel around her, she stripped off with quick, furtive movements and began fumbling her way into her bikini. This was not made any easier by the fact that a large, juicy mosquito was whining around her legs and the floor of the hut was uneven and pebbly. By the time she was ready, Alain had already disappeared over the rocks and was wading into the pool.

  Claire picked her way gingerly across the rough ground and stood watching him. He was built like an athlete with wide shoulders, narrow hips and powerful back muscles and she could not suppress an instinctive flutter of excitement at the sight of him. As he reached the main cascade at the foot of the cliff, he plunged his head under the rushing water and then turned around, raising his arms to brush his wet hair back from his face. With a hail of white spray drumming off his brown shoulders, the dark hair on his chest and underarms lying sleek and flat and the taut, muscular outline of his solar plexus in sharp relief, he looked like a Greek god. Claire found her gaze wandering to the arrow of dark hair which vanished into his navy bathing trunks and looked hastily away.

  ‘Come on in,’ he shouted. ‘The water’s fine once you get used to it.’

  But that was an exaggeration, as Claire soon found out. She let out a squeal of shock as she entered the pool.

  ‘You lie like a rug!’ she cried accusingly. ‘It might be fine for polar bears, but not for humans.’

  ‘Oh, stop squeaking and come under the falls,’ ordered Alain. ‘You’ll soon get used to it.’

  The water was too shallow for any real swimming and the bottom was covered with large, uneven rocks, so that progress was difficult. But, crouching low and uttering stifled gasps of cold and surprise, Claire made her way across to join Alain. The moment she reached the foot of the cliff, he reached out one strong, brown hand and pulled her under the waterfall. She gave a cry of shock at the icy impact of that thunderous shower, then she found that Alain was right. It was fine once you got used to it. A marvellous feeling of exhilaration swept through her as she stood shuddering and laughing, watching great jets of water detonate against the rocks and ricochet into the pool below.

  ‘It’s fun, isn’t it?’ she shouted above the roar of the water.

  ‘Can’t hear you!’ he yelled back.

  She stood on tiptoe.

  ‘Fun!’ she bellowed.

  And, as she did, she lost her footing on the slippery rocks, flailed wildly and lurched sideways. Alain’s arms seemed to come from nowhere and he steadied her against him. Claire gasped breathlessly and clung to him, with her heart thudding. His body was cool and hard and rock-solid against her and she longed to remain there. For an instant she stayed still, tormenting herself with the fantasy that this was a real embrace, that Alain’s arms were tightening about her so ruthlessly not merely to protect her, but to engulf her. Half blinded by the flying spray, she could not see the expression on his face, but for a second he seemed to be staring at her with stormy blue eyes, almost as if he intended to kiss her. Then she recovered her balance and edged away from him.

  ‘T-thank you!’ she gabbled, retreating back across the rocky floor of the pool. ‘Look, shouldn’t we be going now? It’s really rather chilly in here, isn’t it?’

  He followed her in silence, his muscular body looming up out of the water with alarming vigour and a small, contemptuous smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

  ‘I thought you hated meaningless small talk,’ he reminded her as they reached dry ground.

  She flinched at the hostility in his tone.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.

  ‘Don’t bother apologising,’ said Alain, clenching his fingers in her wet hair and jerking up her head so that she was forced to look at him. ‘I’ve no real objection to your flirting with me, as you must have noticed. But what I really can’t stand is the way you’ve brought the advance and retreat technique to a fine art. It’s always one step forward and two steps back, isn’t it, Claire? I think I’d prefer an outright invitation myself.’

  Claire stared at him in horror.

  ‘Flirting?’ she echoed. ‘Invitation? Oh, how can you?’

  Her voice broke and she twisted her head away to hide the sudden rush of tears that were stinging her eyes. Alain’s grip on her hair loosened fractionally, but he turned her ruthlessly back to face him.

  ‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d think that I had hurt you,’ he murmured throatily.

  Claire felt her pride slipping away from her and knew that tears were perilously close. So she took refuge in repartee.

  ‘You have!’ she retorted. ‘In case you don’t know it, you’re pulling my hair!’

  He released her at once and strode away, swearing softly under his breath. By the time she returned to the hut, he had already stripped off his bathing trunks and was towelling himself dry with angry, jerky movements, clearly quite indifferent as to whether she saw him naked or not. She waited until he was fully clothed and on his way to the car before she undressed herself. As she dried herself savagely with the towel, it was all she could do not to burst into tears.

  The drive back home was spent in smouldering silence. Claire had assumed that he would take her straight home, but when they reached Point Cupid he turned into the hotel driveway.

  ‘We’d better check whether there are any bookings for your inland tours tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Come inside with me and we’ll ask the desk clerk.’

  Sulkily Claire climbed out of the car and followed him into the cool, shady reception area. The moment Alain was inside the building, his surly manner vanished completely, and Claire would have been amused if she had not felt so aggrieved. It was rather impressive to see how Alain’s staff snapped to attention the moment he came into sight and she had to give him credit for not inflicting his bad temper on his subordinates.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ sai
d a smiling doorman. ‘Good morning, mademoiselle. The Paris papers have arrived, sir, and they’re in your office if you want them.’

  ‘Thank you, Edouard,’ replied Alain pleasantly. ‘And how’s the new baby coming on?’

  Edouard’s smile widened even further.

  ‘Very well, thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘My wife’s going to write and thank you for the gift voucher.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Alain assured him, guiding Claire across the lobby.

  Everywhere they went Alain seemed to meet with the same warmth and respect. He must be a good employer, thought Claire shrewdly. It’s obvious that people aren’t just being pleasant because that’s part of their job. There’s real friendliness in the way they speak to him. Alain stopped at the tours desk and smiled at a middle-aged woman dressed in a blue pareu with a garland of flowers in her hair, who was talking on the telephone.

  ‘One moment,’ she mouthed.

  As soon as she had hung up, she smiled at Alain.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘This is Mademoiselle Beaumont of Beaumont’s Tours,’ said Alain. ‘We’d like to know if you have any bookings for the inland tours this week, Anne.’

  ‘Yes, certainly,’ agreed the clerk. ‘And, mademoiselle, may I say that we were all very sorry to hear of your father’s heart attack? Monsieur Beaumont is very well liked here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Claire sincerely, as she took the pile of booking forms from the other woman. ‘I’ll tell him that.’

  ‘Oh, and monsieur,’ added Catherine as Alain turned away, ‘your housekeeper Paulette said that if you came in I should ask you whether you and the young lady would be eating lunch at your house. I believe she’s cooked something special for you.’

  ‘Claire?’ prompted Alain. ‘Will you be able to stay for lunch?’

  Trapped, Claire stared at him in dismay. The last thing she wanted to do was spend an hour or more staring at him across a dining table, but it seemed ungracious to refuse. Particularly if Paulette had made something special.

  ‘I…’ she began. ‘Well, that is…Yes, of course. Thank you. I’d be delighted.’

  As they made their way back to the car, Alain smiled thinly.

  ‘You’re a hopeless liar,’ he remarked, opening Claire’s door and bundling her in. ‘Delighted to have lunch with me, are you? I can’t help feeling you’d look more delighted if you were attending your own funeral service.’

  Claire scowled.

  ‘Well, I didn’t want to hurt Paulette’s feelings,’ she muttered. ‘But I can’t imagine why she made lunch for me in the first place.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ drawled Alain, starting up the engine with a vicious twist of the keys. ‘Well, I’ll let you into the secret. I asked Paulette to make lunch for us on the off-chance that you might want to stay. Of course, at that stage I thought we might be on friendly terms instead of at each other’s throats.’

  ‘Well, it’s not my fault if we’re at each other’s throats,’ retorted Claire heatedly.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ sneered Alain. ‘That’s obviously a matter of opinion. But I assume you will at least be pleasant in front of Paulette so that she isn’t upset by our differences?’

  ‘Yes, I will,’ hissed Claire with icy dignity.

  When they reached Alain’s house, Paulette was in the dining-room, putting the finishing touches to a beautifully arranged table near the huge window overlooking the sea. She turned around with a friendly smile as Alain ushered Claire into the room.

  ‘Hello, Paulette,’ said Claire, returning the smile. ‘That looks lovely.’

  She walked around the table, admiring the housekeeper’s artistry. It was covered in a peach-coloured cloth and set with plain white plates of fine bone china, gleaming silver and Waterford crystal. In the centre was a lavish floral arrangement of frangipani, hibiscus and delicate spider ferns. Even the dishes of food were works of art. There were giant king prawns set in a circle on a huge platter garnished with wedges of lemon and sprigs of watercress, a lavish salad with the tomatoes cut into rosettes and a huge tropical trifle covered in rosettes of cream and slices of golden pawpaw and green Kiwi fruit.

  ‘It’s much too pretty to eat,’ marvelled Claire.

  Paulette beamed.

  ‘Well, I hope you enjoy it, mademoiselle,’ she said. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ replied Alain. ‘You can take the rest of the afternoon off now.’

  When Paulette had left, he picked up a bottle of chilled white wine from a silver ice bucket and glanced enquiringly at Claire.

  ‘A glass of Riesling?’ he suggested.

  ‘Please.’

  If she had not felt so conscious of the tension between them, Claire would have enjoyed the lunch. The food was delicious and Alain was an excellent host, casual but attentive, with an easy flow of witty conversation. But Claire could not get rid of the feeling that they were both acting a part, circling around each other like a couple of fencers, alert for the real struggle to begin. Yet it was not until she had eaten her last delectable mouthful of trifle and accepted Alain’s offer of a liqueur that the tension between them came to a head.

  ‘Cointreau, did you say?’ queried Alain.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Their fingers touched as he passed her the glass of clear, orange-scented liquid. Then he spoke in the same low, pleasant voice he had used with the hotel staff.

  ‘Did you find Marcel a satisfactory lover?’ he asked.

  It shocked Claire as badly as if he had slapped her face. The glass jerked uncontrollably in her hand, sending a jet of sticky fluid over her shorts. She caught her breath and stared at him, her shoulders heaving.

  ‘Stop it!’ she choked.

  ‘Why?’ he demanded huskily.

  Crouching down beside her so that his glittering blue eyes were on a level with hers, he suddenly seized her chin and stared at her with an angry, devouring expression.

  ‘I can’t help thinking I could satisfy you at least as deeply as Marcel,’ he murmured. ‘Do you think we should give it a try?’

  And to her horror and disbelief, he took her face between his hands and kissed her so violently that she let out a whimper of protest. She struggled furiously, but even as she struggled she was conscious of a deep, shuddering impulse to surrender. In a single, powerful movement, Alain dragged her out of the chair and lifted her off her feet, so that the entire length of her body was pressed forcibly against him. She made a low sound in the back of her throat and then her lips opened tremulously against his. For an instant she gave herself up to pure sensual abandonment, aware of nothing but his wildly thudding heartbeat, the unendurably virile smell of his body, the warm, intoxicating thrill of his kisses, then some distant warning rang in her ears. Flattening her palms against his chest, she tried feebly to push him away.

  ‘Put me down,’ she whispered unsteadily.

  He gave a harsh groan of laughter.

  ‘Say that as if you mean it and I will,’ he retorted.

  His eyes were dark and narrowed with desire and there was an intent, brooding savagery in his face.

  ‘Well?’ he taunted. ‘Tell me that you really want me to stop and I will.’

  As he spoke, his grip tightened on her back, dragging her against him so that she felt the warm, insistent pressure of his manhood through the flimsy barrier of their clothes. She wanted to protest, but their mouths were locked greedily together, her eyelids were fluttering shut and there was an insistent, pulsating warmth spreading through her entire body. Time lost all meaning as they stood there, but at last Alain set her down and gripped her shoulders.

  ‘Well?’ he growled. ‘Do you really want me to stop?’

  Her eyes opened mistily and she looked up at him, dazed with love and yearning. Wordlessly she shook her head. Alain gave a low, exultant laugh and swept her off her feet. In a few swift strides, he was out of the room and striding down the hall.
When he reached the bedroom, he flung her down on the bed, stripped off her sandals and hurled them across the room. His own shoes followed suit, then he knelt above her, devouring her with his eyes.

  ‘Do you know that I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you?’ he demanded hoarsely.

  ‘In the airport?’ she faltered, tracing the outline of his jaw with one tentative finger.

  A shudder went through his entire body.

  ‘No. Earlier, much earlier,’ he muttered, half to himself. ‘But you were too young, only a girl. It wouldn’t have been right. But now you’re all woman, aren’t you, Claire? Ripe and beautiful and ready for a man to possess you?’

  A strange ache spread through Claire’s limbs at these words. She loved Alain so desperately that it was all she could do not to gasp out her feelings in an incoherent babble of emotion. Instead she reached up and locked her hands around his neck, drawing his head down to hers.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed.

  Her lips parted softly and she brushed her open mouth against his. With a strangled moan, he seized her by the head and kissed her with a violence that both terrified and exalted her. Then he sat back on his heels, and slowly and deliberately began unbuttoning her blouse. Feasting his eyes on her emerging nakedness, he drew her up into a sitting position and slid the garment off her shoulders.

  ‘I want to kiss every inch of you,’ he growled.

  With merciless fingers, he unfastened her bra and flung it away. Her large, pink-tipped breasts swung free and he cupped them in his hands and caressed them provocatively.

  ‘Now I want to taste you,’ he murmured hoarsely and, pushing her back on to the pillows, he bent his head and tugged her nipple gently with his teeth.

  She gasped at the tingling warmth of that sensual, biting caress. Bewildered by the urgent sensations that were pulsing through her, she tried to struggle up, but found herself pushed ruthlessly back.

  ‘All in good time,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll have your chance, believe me. But for the moment I’m going to do exactly what I want with you, Claire. And what I want is to take you in my mouth and tease you until I feel your nipples go hard and hear you begin to gasp and call my name. Oh, yes, like that, my darling. Just like that.’