Wild Jasmine

by Yvonne Whittal

  Sarika crossed the hall towards the living-room, the heels of her white sandals clicking on the marble floor. She felt rested and relaxed, but when she entered the living-room, she stood rooted to the spot with her heart leaping into her throat, and her body tense with indignation. Sean O'Connor stood in front of the cabinet with its inlaid wood of Eastern origin, and he was helping himself to her father's best whisky. He turned, the ice tinkling in his glass, and for several seconds she was incapable of speech while his dark eyes travelled slowly down the length of her and burned their insolent way through the fine silk of her amber-coloured dress. His glance lingered on the gentle curve of her breasts and hips, making her feel oddly naked, and an angry flush stained her cheeks.

  'What do you think you're doing?' she demanded tritely even though her subconscious registered the fact that he looked magnificent in an immaculate beige suit with a wine-red shirt left unbuttoned to expose his sun-browned throat and part of his hair-roughened chest. His black hair was brushed back severely instead of curling on to his broad forehead as it had done that morning, and black eyes observed her intently from beneath arched brows.

  'I should have thought it was obvious,' he smiled derisively, indicating the glass in his hand.

  'You apparently had my father's permission to use my car,' she launched into an icy attack. 'But is he aware of the fact that you not only invade his home while he's away, but also his drinks cabinet?'

  'Your father is very much aware of my presence in this house.' His eyes glittered with mockery. 'I've been living here for the past six months.'

  'You live here?' she almost choked on the words. 'In this house?'

  'I have the suite in the east wing.'

  The suite in the east wing had always been reserved for important and highly honoured guests. Would her father install one of his employees in that particular suite?

  'I don't believe it!' she snapped suspiciously.

  'Suit yourself.' Sean O'Connor shrugged his wide shoulders. 'May I pour you a sherry?'

  He did not wait for her to reply, and she found herself staring a little stupefied at his broad back, and the way his hair curled slightly on to his collar. 'Why was I not told? Why did no one mention it?'

  'It must have slipped their minds.' He turned and lessened the distance between them with a few long, easy strides. 'Your sherry.'

  She accepted the glass from him in silence and swallowed down a small mouthful of sherry to steady her nerves, but Sean O'Connor was standing too close to her for comfort. So close, in fact, that the tantalising scent of his masculine cologne stirred her senses in the most alarming way, and she turned away from him to subside into one of the comfortably padded chairs.

  'I presume you're staying here until you find something more suitable,' she resumed their conversation while she arranged the skirt of her dress about her knees.

  'I think this place suits my needs admirably,' he replied, lowering himself into the chair facing hers and stretching his long, muscular legs out in front of him so that the tips of his polished leather shoes almost touched hers.

  'In other words,' she responded scathingly, 'you intend to stay on and make ill-use of my father's hospitality.'

  'Why not?' he mocked her. 'This house is big enough to accommodate a dozen people without anyone having to fall over someone else's feet.'

  'That's beside the point.'

  'The point is, Sarika Maynesfield, that you're a self-opinionated little bitch, and you can't bear the thought of your parents' attention being diverted from you for one moment.' The attack was so unexpected that she simply sat there staring at him while he continued to lash her cruelly. 'You've always been spoiled by your parents, and they've stupidly danced attendance to you, but with me around their attention is going to be divided, and that's what's eating you up inside.'

  Sarika could not decide whether she ought to laugh or cry. She had a strong desire to do both, but instead she sat there staring at him through a mist of pain which she veiled with her long, silky lashes. She wanted to defend herself; she wanted to tell him how completely wrong he was about her, but defending herself could lead to the baring of her soul, and anger came to her rescue before she made a complete fool of herself. Sean O'Connor was free to think what he wished. What did she care, after all?

  The atmosphere was strained and heavy with antagonism. She sensed that he was waiting for her to strike back, but she chose to ignore has obvious challenge, and it was at that moment that Ayah floated into the room in a fresh white sari to relieve some of the tension.

  'Dinner is served,' Ayah announced, and her glance went from Sean O'Connor to rest sternly on Sarika. 'I shall expect to see an empty plate this evening after the way you nibbled at the lunch I had sent up to your room.'

  Sarika rose to her feet and was surprised to find that her legs were shaky, but she managed somehow to smile. 'I shall do my best, Ayah.'

  Sean O'Connor had also risen to his feet, and he drained his glass quickly before gesturing towards Sarika's sherry. 'May I top up your glass, Miss Maynesfield?'

  'No, thank you, Mr O'Connor.'

  'Now what is all this formality?' Ayah exploded with mock severity. 'In this house there has never been such a thing, and you are well aware of that, Sarika.'

  Sarika chose not to answer her, and it was Sean who broke the awkward silence. 'Would you like a small sherry, Ayah?'

  'Sherry goes to my head,' Ayah scowled at him playfully, 'and well you know it.'

  'In that case,' he put down his glass and crooked his arms, 'may I escort you ladies to the dining-room?'

  Ayah linked her arm through his without hesitation, and Sarika, standing on his right, had no option but to do the same. She could feel the hard, bunched-up muscles through the thinness of his jacket, and touching him like that sent an electrifying sensation charging through her. Her nerves vibrated, her pulse quickened, and she removed her hand from his arm the instant they entered the dining-room. She caught a glimpse of his mocking glance as he escorted Ayah to her chair and helped her into it, and Sarika did not wait for his assistance. She sat down in her usual place, expecting him to sit down next to Ayah, but instead he seated himself at the head of the table where her father always sat.

  Sarika seethed inwardly. The effrontery of the man! He was behaving as if the house belonged to him, and as if she was a mere guest in it! She glanced at Ayah, expecting to see a similar reaction, but Ayah behaved as if it was the most natural thing for Sean O'Connor to assume the position of the head of the house. Sarika felt totally bewildered. What exactly was going on in this house?

  Ayah served the consommé. It was not a favourite of Sarika's, but Sean O'Connor appeared to enjoy it, and he downed two bowls of it to Sarika and Ayah's one. Ayah rang the bell for one of the kitchen staff. The soup bowls were removed, and Ayah lifted the lids off the serving dishes while Sarika took a sip of her sherry. Sean was served first, while Sarika stared at the excellent cuisine as if she had not seen food in months. There was spiced rice with peri-peri chicken covered with a tangy sauce, a beef and onion stew which had been marinated in wine, and meatballs flavoured with nutmeg, olives and various cheeses. There was also a bowl of yoghurt into which had been added cucumber cubes, dill and garlic.

  'Your plate, Sarika,' Ayah captured her attention, and Sarika watched in dismay as Ayah loaded her plate with a substantial helping of everything.

  'Ayah, I can't possibly eat all that!' protested Sarika, but Ayah was suddenly conveniently deaf.

  Sarika stared in dismay at the heaped plate of food in front of her. She would never manage to finish it all. Something made her raise her glance, and she found herself looking directly into Sean O'Connor's mocking, challenging eyes. Damn the man! Did he have to make everything seem like a challenge to her? She picked up her knife and fork and started eating, and it was after the first few mouthfuls that she realised how hungry she actually was. The last decent meal she had had was on the eve of her departure from Paris, and that was a
week ago. Ignoring Sean O'Connor's amused glances, Sarika continued eating, and when Ayah rang for the kitchen staff to clear the table, Sarika lowered her knife and fork to her empty plate with an involuntary smile of satisfaction lifting the corners of her mouth.

  'That was an excellent meal, Ayah,' Sarika complimented the woman seated opposite her.

  'And I echo that,' added Sean O'Connor. 'I shall have to watch myself in future, or you'll have me picking up weight instead of Sarika.'

  The sound of her name sounded strange and oddly exciting on his lips, but it was the smile he bestowed on Ayah that held Sarika temporarily spellbound. It softened the harsh contours of his rugged features in a way that made Sarika wish he would smile at her like that just once. It was a crazy desire, and she was angry with herself the next instant for daring to think about something so ridiculous.

  'It's such a warm night,' Ayah interrupted her thoughts. 'If you would both go out on to the terrace then I shall have your coffee served there.'

  Sarika started to say that she would rather go up to her room, but Sean O'Connor was already standing beside her chair to assist her to her feet. 'Come, Sarika,' he said. 'Coffee on the terrace will be an excellent way to finish off such a delightful meal.'

  For a fraction of a second there was a strange look in Ayah's eyes when Sarika glanced at her, but it was replaced so swiftly by an encouraging smile that Sarika could almost believe she had imagined it as she left the table in silence and walked out on to the terrace which overlooked the pool and tennis court.

  The air was warm and scented, and Sarika breathed it deeply into her lungs as she stood with her hands resting on the low wall. Sean O'Connor lowered himself into a cane chair, and it creaked protestingly beneath his weight. He looked relaxed when she turned slightly to observe him unobtrusively, but she sensed an alertness in him which could make him leap into action at a moment's notice. Her body stiffened with an unfamiliar tension, and her nerves began to quiver. She was convinced that she looked outwardly calm, but she could not shake off the humiliating suspicion that this man was very much aware of how she was reacting to his presence.

  'We were having an interesting conversation before dinner.' The sound of his deep, gravelly voice made her nerves coil themselves into knots. 'I think it would be even more interesting to continue with it.'

  Both the living-room and dining-room doors stood wide open, and they shed sufficient light out on to the terrace for Sarika to see his rugged features quite clearly. She also had to remember that she was facing directly into the light, and she masked that feeling of distaste that rose in her as she said sharply, 'I don't wish to pursue the subject.'

  'Why not?' he mocked her, stretching his long legs comfortably out in front of him and leaning back in his chair. 'Was I getting too close to the core of your problem for comfort?'

  She winced inwardly, and clenched her hands at her sides. What was it about this man that he could arouse her to such a terrifying peak of anger? 'Mr O'Connor, I—'

  'Sean,' he interrupted her smoothly. 'My name is Sean, remember?'

  'Sean…' she repeated hesitantly, feeling like a balloon which had been partially deflated. 'You jumped to a few nasty conclusions about me, and I don't think you had the right to do that without knowing me better.'

  'So I jumped to a few nasty conclusions, did I?' His mouth twisted derisively, and his dark eyes glittered harshly in the subdued light. 'You explain to me, then, why you don't like the idea of having me in this house?'

  Sarika was saved from answering immediately when a young Punjabi girl stepped out on to the terrace with a tray of coffee, and Sarika stared absently at the girl in the straight blue tunic of mid-calf length with matching pants fitting tightly about the slender ankles. The girl walked silently on soft-soled sandals, and when she turned to leave Sarika glimpsed the long dark plait hanging down her back.

  Relieved to have something to do, Sarika poured their coffee, and left Sean to help himself to cream and sugar. She sat down in the chair beside the low table and drank her coffee, but her mind was whirling with thoughts. How did she feel about Sean O'Connor's presence in her home? She was puzzled, and perhaps also a little indignant, she had to admit to herself. She was also intensely curious.

  'I'm still waiting for an explanation,' Sean reminded her, lighting a cheroot when they had finished their coffee, and blowing the aromatic smoke through his nostrils.

  'It's not that I like or dislike the idea of you living here,' she answered carefully. 'I simply find it… strange.'

  'That's not a very good explanation, but I'll accept it for the moment,' he mocked her, and she turned her head away when she felt herself blushing like a child caught out on a lie.

  He smoked his cheroot in silence, but she felt restless beneath the steady probing of his eyes. If she jumped up now and went to her room he would find yet another reason to mock her, so she got up with as much casualness as she could muster, and walked slowly towards a section of the terrace which was in partial darkness. She felt safer there, as if the shadows offered her some protection, but she remained tense and wary.

  There was not a breeze to mar the stillness of that oddly perfect night. The city lights flickered in the distance, and Sarika forgot briefly that she was not alone as she wished that she could see beyond those lights. She wondered about her parents as they cruised up along the coast in a yacht, and wished she could know what they were doing. It was a beautiful, balmy night for sitting out on the deck, and the visibility at sea would be good.

  Sarika raised her glance towards the velvety, star-studded sky and, without realising it, she voiced the remaining fragment of her thoughts. 'The moon is full, and it's such a marvellous night.'

  'And a very provocative sight you present standing there in the moonlight,' drawled Sean, his American accent more pronounced, and she spun round a little startled to see him strolling towards her with his fingers dipped into the pockets of his pants. He had removed his jacket, and his wine-red shirt accentuated his powerful shoulders. 'Are you as innocent as you pretend to be, or are you trying to tempt me, Sarika?'

  'I wouldn't want to tempt you if you were the last man on earth!' she bit out the words, her heart pounding wildly in her breast. 'You're not my type.'

  That was the wrong thing to say—she knew it! And Sean did not let the opportunity pass to goad her.

  'What kind of man is your type, then?' he laughed softly, but it was not a pleasant laugh, and she leaned back against the pillar when he stopped no more than a pace away from her. 'Do you go for the type you can pick up when you're interested, and drop the minute you're bored?' he probed derisively.

  'Most certainly not!' she gasped indignantly. 'I have no interest in men, or in any kind of relationship which involves a man.'

  'Don't put on that ice-maiden act with me, Sarika,' he laughed again, and the sound jarred her nerves. 'I know women, and I suspect that underneath that layer of ice there lurks an unawakened but passionate woman who's simply crying out for the right man to come along.'

  'And he'll sweep me off my feet, and I'll melt into his arms?' she retorted contemptuously. 'Oh, don't make me laugh!'

  'Perhaps you would like to indulge in a little experiment?'

  'With you?' she asked sarcastically, her heart beginning to thud uncomfortably against her ribs.

  'Why not?'

  'No, thanks!' she snapped.

  'You make that sound like a challenge, Sarika, and I've always been a sucker for challenges.'

  He leaned towards her, one hand resting on the low wall beside her, and she shrank against the pillar in an attempt to escape that overpowering aura of maleness which seemed to reach out with the threat to envelop her. 'If you touch me I'll scream!'

  'What are you afraid of, Sarika?' he mocked her.

  'I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're thinking.'

  'Then you must be afraid of yourself,' he hit on the awful truth. 'Are you afraid you might enjoy my touch?'

 
'I know I shall loathe it!' she hissed fiercely, warning bells clanging in her mind. She knew she had to get away from him, but she stood trapped against the pillar and the low wall, and Sean's large body looked as immovable as a rock.

  'Let's find out, shall we?' he laughed throatily as he towered over her, and her mouth went dry as fear clamoured through her.

  'No, I don't want—'

  Her protest died in her throat when his big hand captured hers, and the shock of his touch sent a paralysing current of electricity through her that left her powerless to resist when he raised her hand to his lips. His mouth explored the delicate network of veins along the inner side of her wrist, and the erotic caress of his tongue against her palm sent a charge of fiery sensations surging through her body. It frightened her that he could awaken such unfamiliar feelings, but his compelling eyes held hers captive, and she stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe.

  'You were saying, Sarika?' he mocked her, his lips trailing up along the inside of her arm and creating havoc with her emotions.

  Her pulse was racing madly, and she had the awful feeling that she was sinking into a pool of sensual awareness from which there was no escape. He had no right to make her feel this way, and from the recesses of her mind came the warning that she had to stop him before it was too late. 'I—I think this experiment has— has gone far enough.'