by Anne Mather
Oh, God!
Rachel couldn’t understand why she was so aware of him. Of all the men she’d ever met, and goodness knew there’d been plenty, why did she feel such a powerful reaction when Matt Brody was near?
Like mother, like daughter, perhaps?
But she refused to go there.
‘Did you sleep well?’
Rachel decided she’d get a crick in her neck if she was forced to look up at him. Pushing back her chair, she got to her feet, but she still had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. Green eyes—were they mocking her?—looked mild and inoffensive. But why was he bothering with her? Had he guessed why she was here?
‘Very well, thank you,’ she answered, aware of the crispness of her tone. ‘Did you?’
‘I always sleep well, Ms Claiborne,’ he said, his thin lips twitching with what could only be amusement. He paused. ‘I wondered if you had any plans for this morning.’
Rachel’s jaw nearly dropped. ‘Plans?’ she said somewhat blankly. And then, deciding he couldn’t possibly know what she was thinking, she added, ‘I—why, no. I was just considering my options, actually.’
Like, should I try and find out where you live, and whether my mother is staying in your house? Or if I should just wait and see what happens if you tell her that I’m here?
‘Good.’ He gave her a swift appraisal, and Rachel felt as if those shrewd green eyes had stripped her naked and found her wanting. ‘So how do you feel about seeing a little more of the island?’
Once again Rachel felt that sense of disbelief that had accompanied his first question. ‘I—yes,’ she said, not at all sure what she was committing to, but prepared to take it anyway. ‘I was thinking about that myself.’ She took a breath. ‘Are there guided tours?’
‘You could say that.’
Matt grinned, and Rachel’s stomach quivered in response. When he was relaxed, as now, he looked quite devastating, his eyes crinkling at the corners, their expression softening his masculine features.
‘I was offering my services, actually,’ he murmured. ‘I was born in England, but apart from college I’ve lived all my life on St Antoine. I know this place—intimately.’ Had he used that word deliberately? ‘I guess I know places the guidebooks couldn’t know.’
Rachel was sure he did. But she wasn’t half as sure about taking him up on his invitation. It was an ideal opportunity to question him without giving herself away. But it was also far too attractive a proposition, and she wasn’t at all certain her father would approve.
‘Um—will anyone else be coming with us?’ she asked, innocently, and for a moment she thought his eyes darkened with sudden impatience.
‘No,’ he said at last, his tone flat. ‘Does that bother you? If I promise to keep my hands off you, will you come?’
Rachel’s face flamed with colour. ‘Oh, I—that is, I wasn’t implying—’
‘Yes, you were.’ He gave a careless shrug. ‘So? What’s your answer?’
Rachel let out a nervous breath. ‘Do I need to bring anything?’ she asked, holding up her head, and his mouth twisted consideringly.
‘What did you have in mind?’ he queried. And then, as if aware of her embarrassment, he took pity on her. ‘Just some sunscreen, I guess. And your swimsuit, if you have one.’
Rachel put a little space between them. ‘All right,’ she said, mentally assuring herself that her swimsuit was the last thing she’d be putting in her bag. ‘When do we leave?’
He glanced at the thick gold watch on his wrist. ‘Is fifteen minutes long enough?’
Rachel nodded. ‘I should think so.’
His smile was ironic. ‘A woman who doesn’t need the better part of an hour to get ready. How lucky am I?’
We’ll see, thought Rachel, but she didn’t make any comment. She was already feeling apprehensive about her decision. Regretting it, no. Fearing it, yes.
‘Then I’ll see you in the foyer in fifteen minutes,’ he said, and with a polite nod he strode into the hotel.
Rachel had to sit down for a minute after he’d left her. She told herself it was so she could finish her coffee, but the truth was her legs felt decidedly weak.
Dear God, what had she let herself in for?
But she couldn’t sit here indefinitely, she thought. She needed to go back to her room and collect the sunscreen he’d mentioned. She was determined not to take a swimsuit, though she was aware that her skirt was almost as revealing. But then when she’d packed her suitcase for the trip she hadn’t expected her mother’s—what? Boyfriend? Lover?—would be, at the most, ten years older than herself.
Oh, to hell with it, she chided herself impatiently. She might be a virgin, but she was still capable of taking care of herself. On her father’s advice, she’d taken classes in both karate and tae-kwon-do, and although she wasn’t a black belt in either, her height made her a worthy opponent.
She pulled her backpack out of the wardrobe and stowed suncream and her dark glasses inside. Then, snatching up the one-piece black swimsuit she’d bought the previous year in Barcelona, she packed that, too, adding one of the hotel’s towels and daring Brody to object.
A glance in the mirror above the vanity had her pulling her hair free from the scrunchie. She usually wore it straight, but she hadn’t brought her tongs with her. In consequence, it spiked up at the ends, just past her shoulders. She combed her fingers through its silky strands and decided it would have to do.
It was almost exactly fifteen minutes later when she left the room. And. to her surprise, she saw Matt Brody just coming out of the double doors at the end of the landing. So did he live in the hotel, or had he just been checking up on his house guest? she wondered. If the doors were unlocked, she might check it out herself later in the day.
A shiver of anticipation glided down her spine and she hurried down the stairs ahead of him. This was proving to be more exciting than she’d thought. She pretended she hadn’t seen Matt, hoping to reach the foyer before he did. But she should have known he would be wise to a move like that.
‘No hurry,’ he remarked, closing the gap between them. A surprisingly callused palm closed on her bare shoulder. ‘I’m right behind you.’
Rachel felt the heat of that momentary possession pass through her body like an electric current. It was only momentary, because she stumbled forward in an effort to shake him off. And almost succeeded in breaking her neck when her foot came out of one of her flip-flops. She felt herself pitching forward, her arms flailing helplessly for the rail.
But then Matt’s arm slipped around her waist, dragging her back from certain disaster. Well, one disaster, anyway, Rachel taunted herself silently, feeling a hysterical desire to laugh. Being hauled up against Brody’s pelvis was hardly the safest thing. She was almost sure she could feel his body stirring against her, and that offered what might be greater dangers than she’d ever anticipated.
‘Th-thank you.’
Somehow she managed to extricate herself from his hold, pick up the offending flip-flop and complete the staircase on one bare foot. Then, reaching the lobby, she hastily lifted her leg and restored her footwear. In the normal way she would have bent over to accomplish the task, but the idea of giving her rescuer an uninterrupted view of her bottom was not something she wanted to pursue.
Particularly not at present.
‘You okay?’
Matt came round her as she was lowering her foot to the floor again, and Rachel managed a careless nod.
‘As I’ll ever be, I suppose,’ she declared lightly. ‘It’s my fault for wearing these things.’ She indicated the flip-flops. ‘I’d have been better off in flats.’
‘You’d have been better off if you hadn’t tried to outrun me,’ Matt replied drily. ‘What’s the matter, Ms Claiborne? Do I mak
e you nervous?’
Rachel was about to deny it, but then changed her mind. ‘Perhaps a little,’ she admitted tightly. ‘I’m not a very tactile person, I’m afraid.’
Matt arched dark brows. ‘Maybe what you mean is you’re only tactile with people you like.’
‘I neither like nor dislike you, Mr Brody,’ she retorted, realising he was going to be more difficult than she had even imagined. She glanced towards the palm-fringed forecourt. ‘Do you have a car?’
Matt regarded her silently for a long moment, and she was half afraid he was going to blow her off. She didn’t want that, she realised. However reckless that made her. But, after all, this was why she’d come to St Antoine.
Then, with a casual flick of his shoulders, he gestured that she should lead the way outside. And Rachel did so, supremely aware of him following her. She should have worn her Capri pants, she thought. They would have been far more suitable. She felt totally exposed in the short cotton skirt.
CHAPTER THREE
THERE were several cars on the forecourt, some of them owned by members of the hotel staff, she assumed. Few of the guests would have their own vehicle. Unless there was a hiring franchise at the airport.
She paused, waiting for Matt to point out his car, but he passed her without a word. He headed towards the gates and she saw an open-topped Jeep parked in the street outside.
So what did that mean? she wondered. Had he just arrived at the hotel this morning? Or had the Jeep been parked there all night?
Not that he was likely to tell her. He swung open the nearside door and waited until Rachel had folded herself into the front seat. If he noticed her attempt to keep her skirt from disappearing up her thighs, she was unaware of it. But then he took her backpack from her and slung it into the back of the vehicle, apparently uncaring what might break.
‘Oh, I need my sunglasses,’ she objected, but Matt just ignored her and walked round to get into the driving seat.
‘Try these,’ he said, tossing an expensive pair of designer glasses into her lap. And, although she was sure they would be far too big for her, they fitted her face like a glove.
‘Thanks.’
She glanced sideways at him as he started the engine, wondering if she dared ask him who the glasses belonged to. They were evidently not his. He’d donned a pair of Raybans as soon as he’d taken his seat, their dark lenses successfully concealing his expression.
But she said nothing, forcing herself to look about her as Matt drove away from the hotel. The small town was buzzing, even this early in the morning, with local people and tourists milling about the narrow streets.
They passed close to an open-air market, and Rachel could smell fresh fish and garlic and exotic vegetables, all mingling with the musky scents of animals and humanity. A stall selling straw hats reminded Rachel that she hadn’t brought any protection. It was all right as long as the Jeep was bustling through the air, but she guessed she’d feel the heat on her head if she left the car.
However, she refused to ask Matt to stop so she could buy a hat. She would have to take care she didn’t spend too long in the sun. And she probably wouldn’t have the chance, she mused, judging by the speed with which Matt was driving. She had the suspicion that he was now as unenthusiastic about this outing as she was.
And that was her fault. She knew it. She had behaved quite rudely back at the hotel. It wasn’t his fault that she wasn’t used to being handled. He’d only saved her from a nasty fall, for heaven’s sake. Not mauled her for his own ends.
The streets were quieter now. They were leaving the town behind, and now children played freely in the road, apparently indifferent to passing traffic. If Rachel had expected Matt to be impatient at having to brake every couple of minutes she couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead he waved at the reckless youngsters, answering their greetings, proving how well-known and obviously well-liked he was with them.
The air was getting warmer and more humid. Rachel could see the dampness on Matt’s forehead and felt a trickle of perspiration running down between her breasts. What she wasn’t prepared for was Matt pulling up his shirt and using it to fan his stomach, the hair around his navel glistening with sweat.
Rachel’s own stomach quivered in protest. Dear God, he was such a physical man. She discovered that, contrary to previous experiences, she wasn’t immune to this man’s sexuality. Quite the reverse, in fact. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to brush her fingers over that provocative growth of hair and feel the smoothness of taut brown skin.
The knowledge horrified her. As far as she knew this was the man her mother had flown over three thousand miles to see. Whatever their relationship—and she couldn’t believe, having met him, that it was just friendship—her father certainly didn’t expect her to get involved with him herself.
Having left the final cottages behind, they were now driving towards the ocean. Behind them, the mountains she’d seen from the taxi crowded closely towards the road. Thick vegetation turned their slopes into a lush green carpet, but ahead rough acres of uncultivated grasses descended inevitably towards the sea.
Rachel, who had been trying to remain detached about her feelings, couldn’t deny a breath of wonder at the sight of blue-green water lapping a beach of pure white sand.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said in a hushed voice, barely aware that they were the first words she’d spoken since they left the hotel.
Matt cast a fleeting glance in her direction, before agreeing that this was a pretty part of the island. ‘Mango Cove,’ he said after a moment. ‘St Antoine is reputedly one of a series of peaks from an underwater mountain range. Jamaica is another.’
‘Really?’
Rachel was fascinated, and Matt went on to explain that the Spaniards had first settled here at the beginning of the sixteenth century. ‘Then, when Jamaica became a British colony, they ignored this island and it was later taken over by the French. San Antonio became St Antoine. End of story.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I can’t understand anyone not wanting to hold on to such a beautiful place,’ she protested.
‘Economics, I suppose.’ They’d reached a bluff above the sand dunes and Matt brought the Jeep to a halt overlooking the bay. ‘Jamaica offered so much, whereas this place must have appeared to offer so little.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Hey, I’m grateful. At least St Antoine isn’t overrun with beach resorts and hotels.’
Rachel half turned in her seat to look at him. ‘The taxi driver told me that—that the Brodys own most of the island. That would be you, right?’
Matt pulled off his dark glasses to look at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Now, why would a taxi driver tell you something like that?’ he asked, and for a moment Rachel didn’t have an answer.
She was certainly not prepared to confront him about her mother at the moment. When—or even if—she did so, she would hope it was in a place less isolated than this. But at the same time she had to say something. Even if he must suspect her motives just as much as she suspected his.
‘I—er—I was asking him about the plots of land around the houses. I said I thought they were cute, but he said the tenants didn’t own them. That—that the Brodys did.’
‘Really?’ Matt looked sceptical. ‘Well, for your information, the island people do own their own plots of land.’ He gave her one final speculative glance and then thrust open his door. ‘We encourage people to be self-sufficient.’ His lips twisted. ‘Your taxi driver got it wrong.’
‘So it would seem.’ Rachel kept a wary eye on him as he got out of the Jeep. Then, pushing open her own door, she did likewise, feeling the heat of the sun on her arms and the delicious breeze off the water.
Matt pushed his glasses back onto his nose and went ahead of her. Slipping and sliding, he descended the dunes to arrive unscath
ed at the beach.
He turned then. ‘You coming?’ he asked, and Rachel decided she didn’t have much choice. Besides, she wanted to paddle in the water. Her feet were already itching to feel the sand between her toes.
Hauling her backpack out of the back of the Jeep, she removed the flip-flops and then followed him. It wasn’t as easy going down the dunes as he’d made it look, and she arrived at the bottom dishevelled and red-faced.
Thankfully, Matt had already walked away towards the water. And, putting down her pack, she combed her fingers through her hair again, realising that trying to look neat at the moment was far beyond her capabilities.
Shouldering the pack again, she started after him, and then paused for a second to examine a huge pink shell that was honeycombed with cracks. Evidently something had lived inside it once, but its sanctuary had been invaded. Or perhaps it was very old and had been eroded by the sea.
The sun was beginning to beat down on her head now, as well as on her shoulders. When she straightened, she lifted a hand to protect her scalp.
‘You hot now?’
Her interest in the shell had not gone unnoticed, and Matt had made his way back to her. Like her, he’d shed the Converse trainers he’d been wearing, tying the laces together and hanging them round his neck.
‘A bit,’ Rachel admitted, and Matt nodded towards the sea.
‘Take a dip,’ he advised. ‘That will cool you down. You might even enjoy it.’
Rachel pursed her lips. ‘How do you know I’ve brought a swimsuit?’
Matt pulled off his glasses again, his eyes mocking and intent. ‘Hey, I’m not a prude,’ he said. ‘We can go skinny-dipping, if you like. I’m game if you are.’
Why did he always have the power to embarrass her? As her face flamed with colour, Rachel hoped it would just blend in with the flush that already stained her cheeks.