by Nicola West
Convulsively, Flair gripped him to her. But already her mind was beginning to work again. The moment's respite had told her just where she stood with Luke Seager. 'It was to be an affair, nothing more. And she knew now, with the shock of an explosion, that she wanted more—much, much more. The feelings that surged through her body whenever Luke touched her weren't just lust and desire. It wasn't merely a streak of unsuspected sensuality that tore at her body. It was more than that. It was love.
As Luke twined his limbs about hers, she knew that much as she longed to be his, she must never let it happen. Because once it had, she would be firmly committed to him for the rest of her life. Branded as his. Now—while that irrevocable step hadn't yet been taken—there was still chance of escape.
Nobody would ever know—least of all Luke—how Flair longed to stay where she was in his arms, responding to his lovemaking with all the fire and passion that surged so tumultuously within her. Nobody would ever know the supreme effort it needed to pull herself away, roll out of his surprised arms and grab her jeans from the floor where they had been left the night before.
'You gave me the option,' she panted as he stared up at her. 'You said you didn't want an unwilling partner. . . .' Clutching the jeans against her, she backed towards the shower-room, flinching under the sudden blaze of anger and frustration in his eyes.
'Damn you!' he ground out. 'You weren't unwilling—you wanted it as much as I did. Do you know what they call women like you?' he demanded savagely as she retreated. 'Do you know? And do you know what happens when you try it too often? Just once too often . . . that's all it takes. But it's the man who gets the blame, poor bastard.'
Flair slammed the door, losing the rest of his words as she turned on the shower. Shaking, she cowered under it, terrified that Luke would smash down the door to get at her. If he did that, there would be no hope. Even if he didn't—how were they to get through the rest of the day together? And . . . her body shuddered . . . the night. . . .
There was one thing clear. She couldn't, she couldn't go on working for him now. The whole situation had get completely out of hand. Obviously he had set his sights on an affair with her, whatever her reactions. And, unfortunately, he was all too well aware of her physical response to him. What he didn't know—and must never know—was that somehow, without ever meaning to, she had fallen in love with him. That she just had to keep to herself.
For her own sake, she knew she must get away. There would be nothing but pain now in working for Luke Seager; seeing him every day, talking to him, knowing that her love was returned only by a passing desire. Knowing that one day she was all too likely to give in, from her own urgent need; and regret it for the rest of her days.
At last she had to admit that she could stay under the shower no longer. Slowly she dried herself, dressed again in the same clothes she had worn yesterday, including the crumpled shirt that had been her night attire, and stepped warily out.
There was no sign of Luke. And when she looked into the other rooms they were as empty as the bedroom. Only a note, propped against the kettle, gave any hint that he had been there.
Flair picked it up and read it. When you're ready, it said, come over to the gymnasium. I want to finish work today.
It wasn't signed.
There was nothing Flair could do but obey. She ate a hasty breakfast, slipped into a clean white shirt and made her way to the gymnasium. The prospect of working all day beside Luke in the enforced intimacy of the deserted island was one she would rather not have faced. But until the job was completed, there was no other option.
Luke greeted her brusquely, hardly glancing up from what he was doing, and handed her several sheets of paper with the request to carry out some measuring on her own and to consider the decor for the sauna and rest rooms. That would keep them adequately apart for the rest of the morning, Flair reflected as she left him, and strangely she didn't know whether to be glad or sorry. To be with Luke was a sweet pain, a torment she had never before experienced. Yet, now that she knew she loved him, it seemed better than the gnawing ache of being apart from him. An ache, she realised as she began her work in the sauna, that looked like accompanying her through the rest of her life.
It was at about eleven o'clock, just as she began to think about coffee, that she heard the engine.
Straightening, she went over to the window that looked down on the bay and back to the coast. A white motor launch was throbbing its way across the blue water, its wake bubbling and foaming behind it as it came. To her astonishment, she saw that it was making for Blue Island. And beside the blue-clad helmsman was a figure in dazzling yellow.
A moment later Flair knew who it must be, and her heart sank. She watched dully as Luke emerged from the gymnasium and stared out across the bay. Then he too must have recognised the yellow figure, for he gave a shout and set off at a run towards the little harbour.
So Roxanne had grown tired of waiting for him to come back. She had come to see for herself just what was happening on Blue Island.
Flair returned with a sigh to her task. I bet he won't tell her, she thought with a twist of bitter humour. Though Roxanne's sharp enough to guess quite a lot. It might be quite interesting to see her reaction.
By the time Flair arrived at the chalet to make coffee, the boat had moored against Luke's launch in the harbour, and as Flair turned up the winding path through the trees she could see Luke holding out his hand to Roxanne, to help her ashore. The American girl certainly knew how to take advantage of every situation—the moment her foot touched land she was in Luke's arms, though whether by her design or his Flair couldn't tell. She turned abruptly away and went into the chalet.
The other two arrived just as coffee was ready. Flair put three cups on the tray with the coffee-pot and carried it out to the verandah.
'My, this is service!' Roxanne exclaimed gaily. 'You certainly know how to take care of yourself, Luke. He loves his creature comforts, Miss Pattison, or maybe you've noticed that already?'
Her dark eyes were sparkling with malice as she looked at Flair, who shrugged as she put the tray down on a low table.
'I'm afraid I've been too busy to notice much,' she answered casually. 'Blue Island's going to be marvellous for holidays when it's finished, but just at present it spells work, and hard work at that.' She let her eyes drift over the other girl's expensive-looking yellow jumpsuit, filled to perfection by the voluptuous curves beneath. 'It'll be nice to have another pair of hands.'
Roxanne gave a yelp of laughter. 'Honey, I haven't come here to work! Well, not unless you count being a messenger work, and even I can't do that—not when it means a boat trip on a lovely morning to the most attractive man I know.' She turned to Luke and reached up to let her slender fingers wander through the hair at the back of his neck. 'How about you, Luke baby? Do you think I've earned a reward?'
'Could be,' he answered noncommittally. 'Depends what sort of reward you have in mind.'
Roxanne laughed again, this time a deep-throated gurgle. 'Well, I don't really think that needs much explaining, do you?' she murmured suggestively. 'And it's a reward you might even enjoy giving me ... '
Flair stood up abruptly and gathered up her cup. They'd be making love under her very eyes in a moment! She turned to go back into the chalet, but Luke's voice arrested her.
'Flair, don't go.' Half turning, she could see his fingers playing with Roxanne's mass of dark hair. 'Look, I've had an idea. You've been working pretty hard out here, and I reckon you've had just about enough. Why don't you go on back with Roxanne's boat? I can finish what needs to be done on my own, and Roxanne can have a look around the island and come on back with me later, how'd that be?'
Stunned, Flair turned and stared down at him. He was lying back in a sunlounger, perfectly at ease and vitally masculine in his shorts that displayed tanned, muscular legs, and his shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist. Blue eyes glinted up at her and strong white teeth flashed as he smiled a slow, lazy smile that tu
rned her heart over.
He wanted to get rid of her, and it didn't take a genius to work out why. She risked a quick glance at Roxanne and saw triumph on the sultry face. Just how much work would get done once she was out of the way? she wondered bitterly. Luke had been a hard taskmaster during the past two days—would he be so dedicated with Roxanne around? It didn't seem very likely.
Flair knew a quick blaze of jealousy. She stamped it down ruthlessly. She'd had her chance—her flesh tingled again as she remembered those moments in the bed this morning—and she'd rejected it. And she'd been right, she told herself fiercely. Even if Roxanne could be magically whisked away, leaving Flair and Luke alone again, things wouldn't— couldn't—be any different. This was the best thing that could happen. The only thing.
Luke was still watching her, an enigmatic expression in his eyes.
'Well?' he asked softly. 'Don't you think that's a good idea?'
'Yes, of course,' Flair said quietly, hoping that the misery in her heart wasn't sounding in her voice. 'It's a very good idea. I—I'll just collect my things. Your boatman won't want to hang around too long.'
She didn't miss the flash of pleasure in the American girl's eyes as she turned back to the chalet. But it was nothing to do with her, she reminded herself, hastily packing the bag she'd brought with her. She couldn't have Luke herself—not the way she wanted him. And she didn't have any right to prevent anyone else from enjoying what he had to give.
So why, she wondered as the boat left the tiny harbour and sped away from Blue Island—why did she feel like a naughty girl who'd been sent home early from a party? Why was her unhappiness a weight so heavy that she was surprised it didn't sink the boat?
Was she never to be free of Lucifer's brand?
CHAPTER FIVE
Once back in Perth, Flair went straight home. She felt tired, scruffy and dishevelled, needing a good long shower and completely fresh change of clothes. The short time she had spent on Blue Island seemed an age. She felt that she wouldn't be surprised to see herself looking ten years older.
The house was empty, and Flair felt herself begin to relax under the shower. She let the water flow over her body, sponging, herself with shower gel, revelling in the clean, sharp smell of it. It was her second long shower of the day, yet she felt the need for thorough cleansing; something to wash away the memories of the morning, something to give her a fresh start. Shame washed over her with the water as she remembered her sensual response to Luke's advances, the surge of delight she had experienced as his hands explored her body and his mouth trailed kisses like flames from her eyelids to her breasts. No wonder he had been angry at her final rejection. No wonder he had left her, sent her back to the mainland and kept Roxanne, so much more compliant, with him. Just what would happen during the afternoon, on those white beaches? Flair mused bitterly as she washed her hair until it squeaked. But there was really no need to wonder. She could guess.
Leaving the shower at last, and slipping on a long white robe of broderie anglaise, she wandered into the sitting-room and stopped in surprise to see her father there, stretched out in his favourite armchair with his eyes closed.
She crossed over the room and was looking down at him with some anxiety when he opened his eyes and smiled at her, his thin face creased with affection.
'I didn't hear you come in,' Flair said. 'Is anything the matter? You look exhausted.'
'Nothing's the matter, my dear.' Jeff eased himself upright in the chair and ran his fingers through his faded coppery hair. 'I've just been working rather hard these past few days on the designs for the new motel. You're back sooner than I expected. Did everything go well?'
Flair turned away. How could she tell him what had really happened? It was bad enough having to tell him that she wasn't going to continue working for Luke—and she hadn't even decided how she was going to explain that. She turned back and gave her father a brilliant smile.
'Yes, fine. We got most of the job finished by this morning. Luke's still over there, tying up some loose ends.'
'Luke is?' Jeff frowned. 'How did you get back, then?'
'Oh, Roxanne turned up this morning—with a message, I think she said,' Flair answered carelessly. 'Luke suggested I take the chance to come back early in her boat and she stayed on to look round. She hadn't been there before.'
'Roxanne arrived? With a message, you say? Hmm.'
Jeff looked thoughtful. 'Wonder what that was about.'
'Oh, it was probably just an excuse,' Flair remarked, as if the subject didn't interest her. 'She does seem on rather friendly terms with Luke, after all.'
Jeff shot her a glance. 'Does she? Well, that may be, but any message she's likely to take him could still be interesting. Did she say if it was from her father?'
'Her father? No, why should it be?'
'Why should --' Jeff broke off and laughed. 'Don't tell me you don't know who Roxanne is? Who her father is?'
Flair flung herself into an armchair and stared at him. 'No, I don't. Why? Are they important? All I know is Roxanne's American, and I presume her father is too.'
'He certainly is. Well, you haven't been here long, I know, but I'm rather surprised that Luke hasn't put you in the picture. Maybe things aren't so far advanced as I'd thought.'
'Dad,' Flair said patiently, 'if we're going to talk in riddles give me fair warning so I can think up a few. What picture? What things? Just who are Roxanne and her daddy? And what do they have to do with Luke, apart from the obvious?'
Jeff smiled at her, unperturbed by her exasperation.
'You know, there are times when you're very like your mother,' he observed. 'In the nicest possible way, of course. I wonder how she's getting on without you. . . . All right, all right!' He held up both hands to ward off the cushion Flair was aiming at him. 'I'll come clean. Well, Roxanne is the daughter—the only child, in fact—of Hailey Ryan. Have you heard of him?'
'Hailey Ryan?' Flair repeated. 'You mean Hailey Ryan of Ryan Hotels? The big American chain— they've just opened one in London and another in Paris? You mean he's Roxanne's father?'
'That's right. Now do you see why I'm interested? The talk is that Ryan and Seager are considering a merger, at least in this country. It could be a big thing for Luke if it goes through and it won't do Ryan much harm, either. He hasn't been able to get so much as a toe in Australia so far, and it's Luke who can let him in if he wants.'
'But would he want? I mean, he'd be giving up a lot of what he's built up.'
'No, not really. The name would stick, I think, and Luke would still be kingpin here. It would help him to expand more, though, and of course he'd have a finger in the Ryan pie worldwide. I told you, it could mean a really big thing for him.'
'And you think Roxanne came over this morning with some message from her father to do with this?'
Jeff shrugged. 'Could be. Can you think of any other reason?'
Flair could, and especially for Roxanne's staying behind on the island while she herself was sent home like a schoolgirl. She said nothing, however, and thought over the new situation.
Obviously Roxanne was aware of her father's interest in Luke—or rather, in Seager Hotels. It was Roxanne's own interest that was in Luke himself.
And clearly, if Luke, already doing well with his own hotel chain, were also to go in with Hailey Ryan, he would be a good catch for someone like Roxanne. Flair recalled the American girl's words at their first meeting—the sneer about Flair looking for a wealthy hotelier. The idea had been the first to come to her mind just because it was her own plan.
As for Luke, Roxanne would be the ideal match. It would clinch the merger to find Roxanne only too ready to throw herself at him. Not only a Ryan-Seager Hotel merger, but marriage with the heiress to all the Ryan share—that couldn't be bad!
Flair glanced up to find her father watching her quizzically. She blushed and rose quickly to her feet. He mustn't see that it mattered to her.
'I'm parched,' she said, making for the
kitchen. 'Want a drink, Dad? Something long and icy?'
'Fine.' He waited until she returned with a drink and, taking his and thanking her, added: 'You are happy here, aren't you, Flair? I mean, with me and the country, and your job. You are getting along all right?'
'Yes, of course,' she answered automatically, then bit her lip. Somehow she had to tell him she was leaving Luke, and what assumption was he going to make then?
She glanced at her father and was struck afresh by his tiredness. Perhaps this talk of a merger was worrying him more than he revealed. After all, it would probably mean a good deal to him too. There would be a lot more work if Luke were to expand even more than he was already doing—but would the work come to Jeff Pattison or to some American architect brought in by Hailey Ryan? Was that what was in his mind?
'I'm glad you're happy,' Jeff said quietly. 'I was afraid—when I wrote asking you to come out—that you wouldn't like it. You wouldn't have stayed long in that case—and I admit I'm very selfish and want you to stay as long as possible. I've missed you a great deal over these past years, Flair. One keeps in touch, but it isn't the same. The little, everyday things—they can never be replaced.'
Flair reached over and took his hand, her eyes brimming. She knew exactly what he meant. There'd been so many times when she had needed him too. Coming home from school; weekend outings. The times when her bicycle had had a puncture, or her skipping-rope had needed its handles mending. The times when she'd watched other girls at the boarding school being fetched by their fathers. Her father had known about those things and missed them too.
'I'm sorry, Flair,' said Jeff, and she squeezed his hand, the moment of self-pity gone.
'It wasn't your fault, Dad. It wasn't anyone's fault really.'
'I wanted your mother to come, you know,' he told her. 'But I knew she wouldn't It was the old story of the irresistible force and the immovable object. I had to come; she had to stay.'
'I know. It's all right.'