by Penny Jordan
‘Gemma.’ She could feel the sound of his groan moving his chest as her fingertips automatically smoothed the exciting heat of his skin. She bent her head and touched her lips to his throat, not knowing until that moment just how much she had wanted to touch him like that. Beneath her mouth she felt the rigid movement of his muscles.
‘Gemma.’ His voice was harsh with tension. She knew that she should stop, that she was doing something that was both wrong and dangerous, but the huge yellow moon and the soft sighing of the sea against the hull of the yacht wove a spell around her that she didn’t want to break.
Just one kiss, she told herself; just one kiss would harm neither of them, but when it came and Luke’s mouth opened over hers in famished, passionate need, she knew that she was wrong and that she would be hurt.
But it was too late to stop even if her body had let her, and so instead she gave herself up to the voluptuous heat flooding through her body, opening her lips to the demanding thrust of Luke’s tongue as it mirrored the fierce movement of his hips against her body.
She had had no idea that a kiss could be so sexual, that she could feel this savage clawing need to be closer and closer to him, to want to absorb him completely within her.
There was no thought in her mind of holding back. She welcomed the heat of his hand beneath her blouse as he caressed the fullness of her breast. His thumb stroked the hard point of her nipple and beneath his mouth she cried out in pleasure. One of them was shaking … both of them were shaking, she acknowledged. And then, so abruptly that she could hardly credit it, Luke was pushing her away from him.
‘They’re changing the watch,’ he told her thickly. ‘Come down to my cabin, Gemma.’
God, how she wanted to go with him, but now that he had stopped touching her, sanity flooded back. If he made love to her … If he made love to her he would bind her to him even more. She would be desperately hurt when the time eventually came when he grew bored with her. She didn’t think she had the strength to endure that sort of pain. No, it was better to call a halt now.
‘I’m sorry, Luke, I can’t do that.’
She could have wept for the expression of pain and bitterness in his eyes, but it was too late to call back the words, even if she had wantd to.
‘I suppose I should have expected that. What happened, an attack of conscience? Remembered Hardman, did you?’
Gemma didn’t answer, seizing on the escape avenue he had given her. If he thought that she and Tom Hardman were more than mere acquaintances then …
‘I should have taken you here on the deck,’ he sneered nastily. ‘You were certainly willing enough to let me. More than willing.’
Gemma felt her face burn, but she couldn’t deny that he was right. She had wanted him to make love to her, had invited it, in fact, so she bowed her head beneath the painful lash of his scorn.
Several yards away she heard the murmur of male voices as the watch changed. She couldn’t endure any more, not tonight. Unable to say a word, she whirled round and headed for the companionway, knowing without turning round that Luke was standing watching her.
Alone in her room she tore off her clothes. Her breasts still ached, missing the pleasure of Luke’s caress, and there was a restless, almost painful need coiling in her lower stomach.
She ought to have let well alone. Now she had only made things worse. She sensed that Luke would not allow her to break her contract, and she certainly could not afford to pay the penalty sum of three months’ wages, if she broke it without his agreement. She had thought at the time it was an odd clause to insert, but Luke had pointed out to her that, with so many of his staff coming from Britain, he had to ensure that they did not let him down half-way through a project. She was here and here she would have to stay.
She was tempted to find hotel accommodation, but it would be expensive, and she had very little cash. Her arrangement with Luke was that she would be paid in a lump sum once her contract was completed.
She was trapped, more by her own folly than by Luke’s machinations. If she had only let things be and not kissed him … But she had, and now it was too late, because once having tasted his mouth, having known that sweetly fierce surge of desire and need that he had aroused within her, she wasn’t sure that she would be able to stop herself from wanting more.
If she had merely desired him sexually it would have been bad enough, but she was very much afraid that she loved him as well, and had perhaps always done so. Certainly it would explain why no one else had ever been able to penetrate the protective aura of reserve she wrapped around herself. Mentally she had obviously always been comparing them to Luke, and finding them wanting, even if she hadn’t been prepared to admit as much before.
She remembered quite startlingly how disappointed she had been by Tom’s kiss, and the desolation with which she had compared it to Luke’s. The warning signs had been there then, but she had been too young and ignorant to translate them. The seeds of her love for him had been there all the time, waiting for the right moment to germinate into adult love. Now that moment was here, and she suspected there wasn’t a single thing she could do to stop her love for him from going on growing and growing.
* * *
After a restless night, Gemma went on deck heavy eyed with tension and trepidation, only to discover that Luke had already left for the site, and that, what was more, he had left instructions for her to be taken over to the shore where the personnel officer would pick her up, and then take her round to meet the men.
There was no suggestion in his message of any degree of personal interest or desire. She could have quite genuinely been nothing more than his employee. She ought to have felt relieved, but instead … instead she felt let down and edgy, she admitted, as she toyed with the breakfast the steward brought her, unable to face even the delicious fresh fruit that had been prepared for her.
By the time she had finished her second cup of coffee she was feeling a little more robust. If Luke could be indifferent and distant, then so could she.
She dressed in a very workmanlike all-in-one peach cotton jumpsuit for her visit to the site, adding soft cotton boots, sunglasses and a sunhat.
When she was convinced that she looked as businesslike as possible she checked her canvas shoulder bag to make sure that she had notebooks and pencils, and then went up on deck to find someone to take her across in the launch.
As promised, Harry Barker was waiting for her. He greeted her with a brief smile, and now Gemma had no difficulty at all in interpreting the sidelong look he gave her. Of course, he and the others were all wondering about her relationship with Luke. Thank goodness her sunglasses hid the evidence of her broken night, otherwise he might put an interpretation of an entirely different and erroneous sort on the dark circles beneath her eyes.
As they got into the buggy he had parked by the jetty, he eyed her sunhat with a frown and reached behind her to produce a bright red safety helmet with the words ‘O’Rourke Constructions’ printed on it in white.
‘The boss said to make sure that you wore this.’
He paused as though expecting her to demur. It certainly clashed with her hair and her clothes, Gemma thought wryly, but she knew the safety rules operating on construction sites, and the reasons behind them, and she wasn’t about to argue.
‘Thanks,’ she said casually, taking it from him with a smile and exchanging it for her sunhat. It felt oppressively hot after the lightweight straw, and within seconds of putting it on she could feel the beads of sweat breaking out on her scalp, but she wasn’t going to give in. She was here to do a job, and she meant to do that job well.
It was hard, far harder than she had envisaged, to keep her mind on the men she was meeting and off Luke, but somehow she managed it, and by the time Harry Barker insisted on a brief break, her mind was teeming with information and impressions.
The men—well, boys really—to whom she had talked, were all so eager to learn that they had fired her own enthusiasm. Luke was already providing on-the-j
ob technical training, but it was the formal, educational knowledge behind that training that they needed so badly if they were ever to go out into the world and work elsewhere.
It hadn’t taken her long to discover how much all of them respected and admired Luke. There seemed to be no aspect of their lives he was not concerned in, from the establishment of a health clinic that was free to all his employees and their families, right down to crèche facilities for the women who worked in the site canteen.
The people of St George’s might be poor, but they were proud and independent; they respected what Luke had done with his life, and they trusted him, Gemma realised.
She had her meal in the works canteen alongside the men, and then afterwards she was given a tour of the immaculate kitchens.
‘One of the main problems we have with the locals is that they are inclined to be very much “come a day go a day”,’ Ian Cameron, the burly Scot explained to her when he joined them. ‘For many of them, while they can grow a few greens and keep a few fowl, they can’t see any need for anything else.’
‘Well, there’s a lot to be said for being content with one’s life,’ Gemma pointed out.
‘Ay, just as long as they’re allowed to live that life. Very few of them own their own land outright.’ He frowned suddenly and looked at his watch. ‘I forgot, the boss said to take you along to his office after you’d eaten.’
‘The boss’. How well that appellation fitted Luke. He wore the mantle of authority and responsibility well. His men trusted him; just as she had trusted him, she remembered, leaning on him and drawing strength from his maturity. Intrinsically he was still that same Luke, despite the sophistication and the cool accentless voice, and surely she could still trust him?
But in what context? As a friend, as one human being to another, yes, but as a man … as a lover …
She was being unfair to him, Gemma told herself. She could trust him as far as the limits he put around his relationship with her sex; it was just that those limits were too narrow to control her own emotions.
She stiffened abruptly, staring into space, not seeing the puzzled look Ian Cameron gave her.
‘The office is this way.’ He touched her arm lightly, and Gemma shook off the feeling of shock weakening her body, numbly following his lead as they skirted foundations and plant, and headed for one of the Portacabins. It was frighteningly disconcerting to realise how vulnerable her love for him made her. She only had to think about him and she became deaf, dumb and blind to everything else.
Ian Cameron and Harry Barker stopped outside the Portacabin door, and rapped on it. Gemma heard Luke’s voice call out curtly, ‘Come …’ and then Ian Cameron was pushing her gently towards the open door, leaving her alone with Luke, Gemma realised, whilst her heart jolted crazily like a rubber ball bouncing on a string.
CHAPTER NINE
ONLY they weren’t alone. Someone else was in the cabin with them; someone else who leaned so close to Luke’s hard shoulder that he must be aware of the full curve of her breast pressed against his body, of the musky essence of her perfume, because she could smell it from where she stood, Gemma thought miserably, averting her eyes from the sight of Samantha clinging possessively to Luke’s side.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you weren’t alone.’
What on earth was she apologising for? Luke had sent for her, after all.
She saw the triumph flare in Samantha’s eyes, and felt the earth rock slightly beneath her feet with the shock of the white-hot stab of jealousy that tore through her.
She had never experienced such primitive emotion before, and it almost tore her apart with its violence. That such an intensity of feeling could be aroused by something as simple as the fact that Samantha was leaning possessively against Luke’s body made Gemma realise how much she must love him. They were so alien to her previous experience, these charged, desperate feelings, and she wanted to turn away from them, just as she wanted to turn and run away from Luke, she acknowledged.
‘Samantha was just leaving,’ Luke told her, disengaging himself from the other woman’s grasp with fluid ease and walking across the small hut to hold open the door for her.
When she saw that she had no alternative but to go, Samantha pouted slightly at him, protesting, ‘But Luke, you haven’t given me your answer.’
‘You can tell your uncle that I’ll be in touch.’
Gemma didn’t want to turn round and look at them, so instead she studied the maps and plans pinned to the walls, trying desperately to pretend that she was too fascinated by them to be aware of Samantha’s pouting protests, or Luke’s responses to them.
The other woman was a trier, she recognised, or had Luke had a change of heart and decided to reinstate their relationship?
The icy chill that ran through her veins at the thought of Luke with any other woman frightened her, the pain holding her in its fierce grip was such that she almost thought she might faint. In fact, the cabin was starting to sway around her in a decidedly odd fashion, and she reached instinctively to remove her hot, confining helmet, a small tortured sound of panic escaping from her throat as she fought to escape the waves of nausea and darkness sucking her down into their depths.
From behind her she heard the door close, and then Luke’s sharp exclamation. She was aware of falling, falling frighteningly fast, as in the very worst kind of nightmare, and then there was only comfort and warmth, a sense of peace and security that she accepted and clung to gratefully, unaware that it was Luke to whom she clung, who caught her just before she collapsed, and who quickly carried her over to the makeshift narrow bunk he used on those occasions when he was required to stay overnight at the site.
‘Gemma.’
She didn’t try to open her eyes, but focused all her inner attention on Luke’s voice.
‘Don’t try to move. You fainted. Heat shock, I suspect.’ Suddenly his voice sounded very grim, and Gemma wondered if he was having second thoughts about her suitability for her job. As much as she had wanted to leave the island when he told her he wanted to sleep with her, she now wanted to stay. Recklessly she admitted to herself that she wanted him on any terms he was prepared to make. After all, how many women ever had even as much as she would have if she and Luke were lovers?
It was high time she joined the twentieth century and accepted that life did not come guaranteed with happy ever afters. Luke wanted her … he had told her so. Let that be enough. From somewhere she would find the strength to blot out the future, to live only for the present, to take each day, each hour she had with him and savour them. Somehow she would keep her secret from him, would hide from him the fact that she loved him. She owed both him and herself that.
She opened her eyes and looked directly at him. He was frowning, deep creases scoring the tanned planes of his face. He looked older, sterner. Her whole body ached with yearning for him. She reached up and touched his face with trembling fingers, her eyes widening with shock and pain as he suddenly jerked back as though her touch burned like acid.
‘Luke.’
He ignored her soft protest, saying harshly, ‘I’ve got to get you back to the yacht. You’re obviously not properly acclimatised yet.’
Had he recoiled from her touch because he no longer wanted her? It was frustrating to realise that she knew so little about the actuality of male sexuality that she had no way of gauging how intense or otherwise his desire for her might be. Luke was adept at concealing his deeper feelings; he had learned how to do so in an extremely hard school … But he must still want her, she thought frantically. He had told her only last night that he did.
Round and round her tortured thoughts pursued one another while Luke reached for the phone and gave several harsh commands into the receiver. When he replaced it he looked at her.
‘The launch is coming across to pick you up.’
Her ears were so finely attuned to all the subtle nuances of his voice that she picked it up immediately, and repeated questioningly, ‘To
pick me up? Aren’t you coming with me?’
‘I’ve got work to do, Gemma.’ How harsh and uncompromising his voice was. ‘I can’t play nursemaid to you. I warned you about overdoing things.’
‘Yes, and then you insisted that I wear a safety helmet, almost guaranteed to fry the inside of my head,’ she protested bitterly.
‘When you’re on a building site you have to abide by the safety rules … you know that. Or didn’t Daddy ever let his delicate little daughter go near any of the places that earned the money that sent her to that exclusive girls’ school, and paid for that nice house in the country?’
God, what was happening to them? They were on the verge of quarrelling. Luke was deliberately trying to hurt her. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it. ‘Luke, please …’
He hesitated, his eyes betraying the fact that he was torn by conflicting emotions. He did still want her, Gemma recognised, but something was holding him back, stopping him from coming to her. Unashamedly she held out her arms, but to her hurt dismay he turned away from her, clamping the muscles in his jaw so that she caught the betraying movement as he turned away from her and strode over to the door, flinging it open.
‘Ray,’ Gemma heard him shout. ‘I want you to escort Miss Parish down to the launch. Keep an eye on her,’ he warned the young coffee-coloured boy who came into the cabin. ‘She’s suffering from heatstroke.’
The boy was one of those Gemma had talked to earlier. She recognised him and forced herself to smile at him. After all, it wasn’t his fault that Luke had chosen to reject her.
Luke had rejected her. The words hammered at her heart and pulse points all the way back to the yacht. She felt sick inside, and dreadfully weak and shaky, but it wasn’t heatstroke that was bothering her, she was sure. More like emotional exhaustion, a complete inability to face up to and deal with the fact that, having said he wanted her, Luke had apparently now decided to control that wanting and turn away from her.
But Luke was a very sexual man. Jealousy hit her like the tip of a knife inserted skilfully and deliberately just below the heart. She could feel the pain of it bursting inside her. She wanted to scream and rage against it, but all she could do was make tiny whimpers of pain and misery into the softness of her pillow.