by Anne Mather
Rhys’s hair was still damp from his swim, and as it had grown in the weeks since he came to the island, it now brushed the neckline of his short-sleeved sweat shirt. Unlike Neil, who was wearing shorts, Rhys wore trousers—white cotton pants, that clung to his lean body like a second skin, moulding his hips and outlining the powerful muscles of his thighs. And because his feet were bare, he had folded back the cuffs to halfway up his calves.
Jordan was intensely aware of him, aware of his eyes upon her, noting the daring dip of her neckline, the long length of legs exposed by the smock, and the sensual beauty of her hair, loose down her back. But she was also aware of Neil’s antipathy as he stood there, stiff beside her, and his unmistakable resentment at Rhys’s insolent appraisal.
‘Jordan,’ Rhys murmured now, inclining his head towards her, and taking a deep breath, she turned to Neil.
‘Do you know Rhys Williams?’ she asked, although she knew full well he didn’t. ‘And his daughter, Lucy.’ She paused. ‘This is—this is Neil Ferris, Rhys. The owner of the Coral Cay Hotel.’
‘Ferris.’
Rhys made no effort to shake hands, and the two men stood staring at one another, as if measuring the other’s capabilities. Beside Neil, Rhys had the rapier-thinness of a Toledo blade, and like the weapon he represented, Jordan thought he looked quite as dangerous.
‘I’ve been talking to Miss Lucas, Daddy,’ declared Lucy suddenly, breaking the ominous silence which had fallen on their small gathering. ‘She asked me if I’d like to join them, but I told her I was waiting for you.’
‘Did you?’ Rhys’s hand slid affectionately over his daughter’s shoulder, and watching those brown fingers, dark against Lucy’s much fairer skin, Jordan felt a shivery feeling deep down in her stomach. ‘That was kind of you, Jordan,’ he added, ensnaring her with his tawny gaze. ‘Remind me to thank you later.’
Later?
Jordan guessed that like her Neil had taken note of Rhys’s deliberately provocative statement, and the contraction of his hand against her shoulder seemed to confirm it. ‘There’s no need to thank me,’ she replied hastily, giving Lucy the benefit of a forced smile. ‘You’ll be all right now, won’t you, Lucy? I’m sure your father won’t abandon you again.’
She felt, rather than saw, the hostility her words had evoked from Rhys, but happily Lucy seemed unaffected by the undercurrents in the conversation. ‘I’ll see he doesn’t,’ she exclaimed, capturing his hand in hers and holding it to her cheek. She looked up at her father adoringly. ‘Let’s get some punch, shall we? Miss Lucas says it’s really something.’
‘Please—call me Jordan,’ said Jordan, half wishing she had not given in to the impulse to be bitchy. ‘Let’s all get some punch.’ She looked hopefully up at Neil. ‘The smell of food is making me hungry.’
To her relief, Neil allowed himself to be nudged down the verandah steps again and across the tiled area to the buffet tables. A glance over her shoulder had assured Jordan that although Rhys and Lucy were following, there was a comfortable space between them, and after collecting fresh glasses, she was quite willing to allow Neil to draw her away from the throng. But her hope that the incident with Rhys was over was shortlived.
‘It’s just as well we split up when we did,’ Neil muttered, his aggressive tone tempered somewhat by the piped music issuing from the loudspeakers set at either end of the verandah. ‘That fellow really got my goat, speaking to you like that. Bloody insolence! Who the hell does he think he is?’
Jordan sighed. ‘Oh, Neil——’
‘Don’t try to defend him to me! The fellow’s a barbarian, anyone can see that. What I don’t understand is, why you felt the need to go and console his daughter! For heaven’s sake, she’s not a babe in arms. She must be well used to her father’s behaviour by now.’
‘Does it matter?’ Jordan sipped nervously at the punch in her glass, hoping no one else was listening to them. ‘I felt sorry for Lucy, that’s all. And you were talking to the Chesneys …’
‘Yes, I was.’ Neil took a mouthful of his own drink, and then, with a shrug, he determinedly cast off his ill humour. ‘Okay, so I was neglecting you. I’m sorry.’ He bent to touch her temple with his lips. ‘I promise I won’t leave your side again tonight.’
It should have been what she wanted to hear—it was what she wanted to hear, Jordan told herself severely—but that didn’t prevent her eyes from straying in Rhys’s direction when his appearance aroused the usual response from the other guests. As Jordan and Neil stood to one side, each endeavouring to ignore what was going on, Martina Hammond drew Rhys into the limelight, and the genuine warmth of his welcome was difficult to disregard.
‘You will sing for us later, won’t you, Rhys?’ Cilla Hammond exclaimed confidently, only to look decidedly put out when he politely declined the invitation.
‘Rhys doesn’t do that sort of thing. Mother,’ Martina protested half impatiently. Then to Rhys: ‘Except in very special circumstances. Or if someone special asked him.’ She paused, then added softly: ‘Would you sing if I asked you?’
‘Not even for you, Martina,’ Rhys responded firmly, and Jordan saw Lucy, clinging to his arm, look up at him delightedly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t bring my guitar to the party.’
Martina pouted. ‘But couldn’t I persuade you?’ she persisted, ignoring Lucy’s triumphant expression. ‘I do have a guitar you could borrow.’
‘I don’t sing unless I’m being paid for it,’ replied Rhys shortly, deliberately alienating the majority of the Hammonds’ guests with a statement Jordan knew to be false. ‘I’m on holiday, Martina. Now excuse me. I left my shoes around here somewhere.’
Neil, who had listened to what was going on with a taut expression, now expelled the air in his lungs in an angry breath. ‘Isn’t that just typical!’ he snarled, his lips curling. ‘That’s how he repays the Hammonds’ hospitality in inviting him here. I tell you, the fellow’s a barbarian. He hasn’t got the manners of a pig!’
Jordan bent her head. ‘It’s not true, you know,’ she said unwillingly, and Neil stared at her.
‘What’s not true? That Williams has no manners? Of course it’s true. I——
‘No.’ Jordan sighed. ‘I meant about him not singing unless he’s paid for it.’ She moistened her lips. ‘He does. Often. I—oh, he does quite a lot of concerts in aid of children’s charities, that sort of thing.’ She coloured. ‘I’ve read about them in the newspapers.’
Neil’s features hardened. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ Jordan took a deep breath.
‘And you feel you have to defend him?’ Neil enquired tautly. ‘Is that right?’
Jordan shook her head. ‘I just didn’t think it was fair that you should get the wrong impression about him.’
‘Oh, I haven’t got the wrong impression,’ retorted Neil harshly. ‘Williams knows exactly what he’s doing. He knew the Hammonds would expect him to perform so he deliberately chooses not to. Who was it who said there was no such thing as bad publicity? He doesn’t care what these people think about him. Just so long as they don’t forget who he is.’
Jordan caught her lower lip between her teeth. She was unwillingly aware that Neil’s attitude was not entirely unbiased, and while she wanted to agree with him, honesty prevented her from doing so. Rhys wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t simply refuse to sing because he enjoyed embarrassing the Hammonds. She didn’t know why she was so certain of that, but she was. It was far more likely that he found the invitation unacceptable because he had hoped to escape from his public image, and Martina’s attempt to back him into a corner was not a situation he would condone. Martina should not have asked him, Jordan acknowledged silently, squashing the disturbing memories of the way Rhys had once sung for her …
With some relief she noticed that the other guests were dispersing from the area around the swimming pool and making their way down to the beach. Evidently Rhys’s refusal to respond to Martina’s pleas was not to be allowed to dis
rupt the rest of the evening, and Rhys and Lucy had both disappeared into the shadows beyond the terrace.
‘Let’s go and get ourselves a steak,’ suggested Neil, finishing his punch and depositing Jordan’s empty glass along with his own. ‘Who cares what Rhys Williams does or doesn’t do? You’re right—it’s not worth bothering about.’
This wasn’t exactly what Jordan had said, but she was quite willing to abandon that particular topic of conversation. ‘The food does smell delicious,’ she exclaimed, with an effort, aware that her appetite had suffered along with her conscience. ‘Oh, look—they’ve hired a steel band, too.’ She pointed to the gleam of the metal instruments being set up on the sand. ‘How exciting!’
‘And more appealing than that trashy stuff Williams plays,’ added Neil, unable to resist the taunting comparison.
Jordan made no response to his derisive words, simply going ahead of him down the steps, taking off her sandals as her feet encountered the soft sand. Leaving the sandals on the steps, she trod lightly across to the torchlit area surrounding the barbecue fires, and accepted a plate from Paul Hammond and a thick wedge of steak from his steward.
Neil followed, and fortunately there was no further opportunity for private conversation as other members of the party surrounded them. The food, the quality of the wine, and the abilities of the steel band took precedence over everything else, and Jordan was happy to make up the numbers without actually taking an active part. She noticed Neil had been cornered by the Chesneys’ daughter, Joanna, who was presently on holiday from the nursing post she held at a hospital in Miami, and was grateful. It meant he wouldn’t notice how little she was eating, Jordan reflected thankfully. She had no wish for him to start suspecting her defence of Rhys Williams had been anything more than a desire for fair play.
‘All alone?’
The voice that had always had the power to stir the downy hairs of her spine spoke softly from behind her, and Jordan did not have to turn to feel his dark, disturbing magnetism. But turn she did, if only to assure herself that Lucy was beside him, and then knew a sense of dismay when she found that he was on his own.
‘I—where’s your daughter?’ she exclaimed, looking past him to avoid looking into those brilliant tawny eyes, and he raised the glass he was carrying to his lips and looked at her over the rim.
‘She’s dancing,’ he said, nodding to where some of the younger guests were gyrating to the rhythm of the steel band. ‘Martina asked a boy called Steve Mallory to look after her, and he was persuasive enough to get her to join them.’
‘Steve Mallory.’ Jordan nodded politely. ‘His father runs the importing company in town. I believe he’s at school in England for most of the year.’
‘Is that right?’ Rhys absorbed the information. ‘Well, you’d know that better than me.’
‘Yes, I would.’ Jordan pushed the steak round on her plate, wishing she felt more hungry. ‘Er—where is Martina? She told us you and she had been swimming earlier.’
Rhys bent his head. ‘There was quite a group of us,’ he conceded flatly. ‘Martina; her father; Joanna Chesney; and several others I can’t remember the names of.’
‘I see.’ Jordan knew an unwarranted lightening of her spirits. ‘I—your hair’s still wet.’
‘But drying fast,’ he assured her levelly. ‘Want to feel it?’
Her colour rose. ‘Of course not.’
Rhys shrugged. ‘I see you’re wearing your hair loose. Is that for the boy-friend?’
‘Um—Neil likes it loose, yes.’ Jordan moistened her lips. ‘It was Karen’s idea, as a matter of fact.’
‘That girl has sense,’ remarked Rhys drily. He paused, then added: ‘Are you trying to eat that steak, or play games with it?’
Jordan’s hand trembled, and she lifted her other hand to steady the plate. ‘I’m not very hungry,’ she said tightly. ‘And it was a very large piece of meat. I—er—I’ll get rid of it.’
‘Let me.’ Rhys took the plate out of her hands and after tossing the meat on to the sand, he dropped the plate into the container provided for the purpose. Then he rescued two glasses of wine from a passing attendant, and handed one to Jordan. ‘Less difficult to get rid of,’ he essayed sardonically.
Jordan looked behind her doubtfully. ‘You shouldn’t throw meat on to the sand,’ she protested.
‘Why not? Let the seabirds have a feast,’ he retorted carelessly. ‘Do you have any idea how many dead bodies are disposed of that way?’
Jordan looked down into her glass. ‘I’d rather not talk about such things.’
‘Okay.’ Rhys sounded indifferent. ‘Let’s talk about you. You look beautiful tonight.’ His voice had thickened slightly. ‘Has your boy-friend told you that?’
Jordan glanced around, half afraid that their conversation could be heard but happily the shadows around the barbecue tables concealed them from too many interested eyes. And besides, most people seemed intent on enjoying the food and with the wine flowing freely there was a constant buzz of voices to compete with the music.
‘I think I ought to go and find Neil,’ she said now, edging away from him, but Rhys’s hand closed round her wrist, preventing her. Without her volition, his hand slid down into hers, the fingers separating hers and pushing between them. In seconds, her hand was enfolded, the hard warmth of his palm pressed against hers, and her breathing quickened uncontrollably as she looked up into his tense face. ‘Rhys——’
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he said huskily, his eyes on her parted lips, and Jordan’s skin feathered with goosebumps. ‘I want to talk to you,’ he added, ‘without the benefit of an audience. No one will miss us, not just for fifteen minutes.’
Jordan dug her toes into the sand. ‘Ha-have you been drinking, Rhys?’ she demanded in a low voice. ‘You know I can’t go with you. I don’t really know how you have the nerve to ask me after what you did! I can only assume it’s Paul’s punch that’s responsible for this sudden bravado. Please let go of me. Neil’s looking for me.’
‘To hell with Neil!’ said Rhys almost inaudibly. ‘Okay—yes, I have been drinking. Why else would I expect human behaviour from you?’
‘That’s a foul thing to say!’ exclaimed Jordan, dragging her hand out of his grasp, and he let it go.
‘But apt, don’t you think?’ he countered harshly, and without another word, he stalked away.
By the time Neil did come looking for her, Jordan had herself in control again, and she was able to reply to his apologies without embarrassment. She assured him that she had not felt neglected in his absence, and Neil glanced ruefully over his shoulder.
‘You know, Jo and I were once quite close,’ he admitted, with a grimace. ‘We’re about the same age, and when we were kids, we were always together.’
Jordan listened with interest, realising as she did so that she felt no twinge of jealousy at his words. And she should, she thought impatiently. If she cared about Neil, she should feel something when he was telling her he had just spent the best part of an hour with a girl he had once been close to.
‘She seems a nice girl,’ she commented now, and Neil nodded. Then he slipped his arm about her.
‘Not as nice as you,’ he whispered, touching her temple with his lips, and Jordan was angry with herself for the feeling of revulsion his tender caress evoked.
Fortunately, the food was being cleared away now, and more of the guests were taking to the impromptu dance floor. The damp sand near the water’s edge was springy under their feet, and Jordan joined in determinedly when Neil led her out to participate.
It should have been an enjoyable evening, but it wasn’t. Jordan found her eyes wandering restlessly over the other guests, unconsciously searching for Rhys’s lean frame, and when she did see him standing by the buffet table, her feet refused to obey her and she almost tripped. The fact that he was alone made her that much more selfconscious, and she wondered where Martina was and whether Rhys’s earlier recalcitrance had soured their relation
ship.
Lucy, at least, seemed to be having a good time. Steve Mallory was a nice boy, and he had evidently no objection to being appointed her escort for the evening. An appropriate choice, thought Jordan bitterly. She couldn’t believe Martina had had no hand in the most attractive youth present being employed to distract Lucy’s attention from her father.
It was a warm evening and gradually people began to drift away from the music in favour of cooler pursuits. In two and threes, they disappeared in the direction of the changing cabins situated beside the swimming pool, reappearing minutes later in trunks or bikinis. Their voices echoed shrilly as they splashed into the ocean, and Neil turned to watch them, smiling at their antics.
‘Shall we join them?’ he suggested, gripping her forearms and holding her in front of him, and Jordan moistened her lips.
‘I don’t know …’ she began, not terribly eager to participate in the improvised game of water polo some of the guests had struck up, but Neil was enthusiastic and she didn’t like to disappoint him. ‘Maybe later,’ she evaded, assuming an interest in the piece of music the band was playing, and Neil frowned a moment before turning towards the steps.
‘I’ll get changed while you make up your mind,’ he declared shortly, striding off across the sand, and Jordan watched him go with some misgivings. He probably thought she was being deliberately awkward, she thought, but the idea of being one of the crowd did not appeal right now.
‘My dance, I think.’
The two hands gripping her waist from behind needed no identification, and she turned towards Rhys with undisguised resentment. ‘Can’t you leave me alone?’ she exclaimed, in a low angry voice, but when he drew her resisting body towards him, she felt a treacherous warmth invade her lower limbs.
‘I should, I know,’ he averred, but the compliance in his tone was not matched by the possession in his hands as he pulled her against him. ‘Unfortunately, as you remarked earlier, the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed has somewhat weakened my resistance to your not inconsiderable charms, and in spite of your ingratitude, I’m prepared to overlook your faults—for this evening, at least.’