by Anne Mather
‘We have.’ Sara’s voice was flat. ‘Ever since your father decided not to retire last year. I only agreed to sell the house and move into that poky apartment because he’d convinced me that it would give us more time and money to spend on holidays and travel. Instead of which he still goes off to work every morning, doing what he wants to do, and I don’t even have a garden to distract me.’
Rachel blew out a breath. ‘And have you told Daddy this?’
‘Only a hundred times.’ Sara’s lips twisted. ‘But he won’t listen to me, so why should I listen to him?’
Rachel tried to think. Something else her mother had said suddenly came back to her. ‘Have you been to St Antoine before?’
‘When I was younger.’ Sara was evasive. ‘As I say, I love it here. I feel younger here.’ Her eyes turned back to Rachel’s. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’
Rachel didn’t know how to answer her. The trouble with being in the middle of something was that you could see both sides. But, whatever her mother said, she couldn’t see any future for her with Matt Brody. Her hand strayed guiltily to the bite on her neck. Not when he didn’t consider anyone but himself.
‘Anyway…’ Rachel had been quiet too long, and her mother was getting impatient. ‘I don’t really care what you think. I suggest you get on the phone and book yourself a flight back to England. If your ticket isn’t viable I’ll sub you, if you like. Just leave me alone to deal with things my way.’
‘But, Mum—’
‘And you can stop calling me Mum all the time. While I’m here, I’m Sara. That’s what Matt calls me and I like it.’
Rachel didn’t have an answer. And with a casual wave her mother swung on her heel and started towards the door.
‘Don’t blame me for wanting a life, Rachel,’ she called back over her shoulder.
But Rachel had already turned away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RACHEL spent the rest of the day in a state of raw confusion. There was no more need for her to go looking for her mother, but that was hardly a relief. And she still didn’t know where Sara Claiborne was staying.
After drinking several cups of coffee in lieu of breakfast, she went up to her room and changed into a swimsuit and shorts. She couldn’t go home, whatever her mother had said. Not yet. Not until she knew whether Sara was serious about staying here.
Going downstairs again, she bought a magazine at the hotel kiosk and settled herself in a lounge chair by the pool. She knew she ought to have rung her father, but she hadn’t the first idea what she was going to say to him. It was really up to her mother to sort out her own problems, although the woman she’d met earlier didn’t appear to have any that Rachel could see.
The whole situation was a nightmare. Watching holidaymakers splashing about in the pool, Rachel envied them their freedom. Her situation was so uncertain. And it was all Matt Brody’s fault.
Despite her worries, the day passed remarkably quickly. She didn’t eat any lunch. But she did buy two mugs of the delicious island coffee from the poolside bar.
She used the sunscreen she’d bought liberally, but her skin still prickled. She knew she was overdoing it, but somehow sunburn seemed preferable to the torment of her thoughts.
She hadn’t had a dip in the pool yet, so in the late afternoon she slipped off her shorts. Then, refusing to feel self-conscious, she crossed the tiled apron surrounding the pool and gazed down into the water.
The smell of the swimsuit reminded her irresistibly of Matt, and she wished she’d brought more than one suit with her. Despite rinsing it thoroughly when she’d got back from the beach, it still retained the tang of the sea.
The pool itself was almost empty. Most of the guests had gone up to their rooms to prepare for the evening ahead. Only two younger children were playing at the shallow end. Rachel had the deeper end to herself.
It looked very inviting and, taking a deep breath, she stretched out her arms and dived into the water. It wasn’t exactly cold, but it wasn’t warm either. The sun had only heated the surface. Deep down, she felt the chill sting her burning arms.
She came up gasping and swam swiftly from one side of the pool to the other. That felt better. The physical exertion warmed her limbs, and she swam back and forth a couple of times before returning to cling onto the rim.
She was breathless now. The unusual activity had robbed her of any strength. In addition to which she felt slightly dizzy. Probably because she’d had nothing to eat that day.
‘Are you trying to kill yourself?’
The harsh masculine voice shouldn’t have been familiar, but it was. Lifting her eyes, Rachel let her gaze travel up over formal suit trousers, that still couldn’t quite disguise the impressive bulge between his legs, and an equally formal shirt and jacket, black on black. His tie was pearl-grey, the only splash of colour in his outfit. And, despite telling herself that she hated him, Rachel couldn’t deny how completely stunning he looked.
‘Well?’
He was waiting for her answer, and, dragging her eyes away from such perfection, she dug her nails into the tiles to ground her racing pulse.
‘I don’t see what business it is of yours, Mr Brody,’ she said tightly, knowing the formality of her response would annoy him. ‘I was having a swim, as it happens. As I’m sure you’ve seen for yourself.’
He didn’t say anything for a moment, but she could feel his frustration coming off him in waves. And, in spite of her determination not to let him intimidate her, she had to look up at him. If only to assure herself that her words had found their mark.
‘How long have you been out here?’ he demanded. ‘I assume you know your shoulders and arms are sunburned? It’s probably just as well you can’t see your face.’
‘Why?’
‘Guess.’ He spoke impatiently. ‘For God’s sake, Rachel, I thought you had more sense.’
‘Like my mother, you mean?’
Rachel couldn’t resist the accusation, but if she’d expected any defence from him, she was disappointed.
‘Let me help you out,’ he said instead, bending and offering her his hand.
‘I don’t want to come out.’ It was childish, she knew. Her limbs were already trembling with fatigue and she was beginning to shake.
‘D’you want me to come in and get you?’
Rachel caught her breath. ‘As if that’s likely in that outfit,’ she said scornfully. ‘Go away, Matt. I don’t need your help to get out of the pool.’
‘Now.’
‘Soon,’ she compromised, even if the idea of letting go of the rim again filled her with apprehension.
‘Now,’ he insisted, and to her horror he took off his jacket. He dropped it onto the lounge chair she’d been occupying and then returned to the pool-edge to pull off his shoes.
At once, Rachel realised he’d meant what he said when he’d threatened to come in and get her. ‘Don’t,’ she cried, before he could remove the expensive loafers. ‘All right. I’ll get out. You don’t have to continue the charade.’
‘It’s no charade,’ retorted Matt bleakly, making no attempt to move away. ‘Give me your hand.’
Rachel felt ridiculously mutinous. ‘I don’t need your assistance,’ she insisted. But when she tried to press down on her hands to swing herself out of the pool there was no strength left in her arms.
Her fingers slipped off the ledge, and her arms flailed helplessly before she found herself sinking beneath the surface. And, because she wasn’t prepared for the sudden submersion, her nose and mouth both filled with water.
Oh, God, she was drowning, she thought, momentarily panicking as the water closed over her head. Why couldn’t she have acted sensibly and accepted Matt’s help when he offered it? Could she do nothing right where he was concerned?
; Her feet touched the bottom of the pool at that moment, and somehow she summoned all her strength and pushed upward again. And when she did Matt’s hand grabbed one of her arms, bringing her to the surface.
He was kneeling on the side of the pool, and as she choked and gasped and tried to get her breath, he leaned into the water and caught her other arm. Then, getting to his feet, he hauled her unceremoniously out onto the side.
She heard him mutter something under his breath as she lay there panting. She could feel the weight of the water that was inside her, but she didn’t have the energy to bring it up. Then, as if aware of her plight, Matt pressed a firm hand down on her stomach, rolling her onto her side as soon as she started regurgitating all the liquid she’d swallowed.
She coughed and coughed, fluid spilling out of her mouth in such profusion she was sure she must have brought up every drop of liquid she’d swallowed that day. She felt hot, and shivery, and totally humiliated. Dear Lord, could this day get any worse?
Apparently it could.
Just as she was hoping he’d go away and let her die, he reached for his jacket and put it on. Then, to her horror, he bent and lifted her up into his arms.
‘Your—your suit,’ she croaked in protest, aware that she was soaking wet and probably smelling of vomit. But he didn’t seem concerned.
‘The suit will clean,’ he said indifferently, and she had to admit she was grateful not to have to walk through the lobby. ‘You need to get into the shower. You’re burning up and shivering all at the same time.’
Rachel knew she ought to protest when he headed for the stairs. She cringed at the curious eyes that followed their progress, though she noticed no one attempted to say a word. It was Matt who said briefly, ‘Bring a key, Toby,’ to the porter, and she remembered she’d left her bag containing her key card and sunscreen beside the pool.
‘Oughtn’t I to—?’
‘Later,’ said Matt tersely, and she guessed he’d known exactly what she was going to say.
Toby overtook them on the landing, hurrying to open her door so that by the time Matt got there he could just carry her into her room. He nodded his thanks to the young porter and Toby said, ‘No problem, Mr Brody,’ before letting himself out again and closing the door.
Matt set her on her feet and nodded towards the bathroom. ‘Do you think you can manage?’ he asked, and Rachel wondered what he’d do if she said no.
‘I think so,’ she said instead. ‘Um—thank you. And I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your suit. Let me at least pay for it to be dry-cleaned.’
‘Get your shower,’ said Matt, taking off his jacket again and looping it over one shoulder. She guessed he’d done it because the jacket was wet, and probably slimy, too. ‘I’ll arrange for you to have a meal sent up from Room Service.’ And when she would have protested, he added, ‘You need to eat. Something sweet, preferably. You’ve had a shock.’
She didn’t argue. She didn’t have the energy. And, as Matt seemed prepared to stay until she entered the bathroom, she decided to do as he said. She gave him a tentative smile before closing the door and locking it. He probably thought she was locking it against him, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.
She ran the shower warm at first, and then slowly increased the pressure. He was right. The cascade of water did make her feel better, although she thought it might be some time before she entered a pool again. How could she have been so foolish? To risk the chance of sunstroke, and then wear herself out so completely she couldn’t get out of the water.
She didn’t let herself think what might have happened if Matt hadn’t been around to save her. If he hadn’t had the strength to haul her out. It was all too awful to imagine. Though she suspected she’d have nightmares for some time to come.
When she eventually emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in one of the white towelling bathrobes that was hung behind the bathroom door, she was feeling much better. Still shaken, but at least the shivery feeling had left her.
The mirror in the bathroom had told a different story, however. Her face, and what part of her arms and legs that had been exposed, were still red and angry-looking. Thank goodness her back hadn’t been exposed. She might be able to sleep without too much discomfort.
Her eyes widened when she saw someone had entered the bedroom in her absence. The bag she’d left beside the pool was now lying on the bed. In addition, a serving cart had been left near the windows, its folding leaf extended and laid for one.
Her lips parting in surprise and anticipation, Rachel approached the cart. Silver domes hid a variety of dishes, including grilled fish and poached chicken, boiled green bananas and rice, baked crab and mixed salad. There were sweet things, too: sugary dumplings, a roasted pear torte, and ice cream flavoured with either mango or coconut.
A bottle of wine resided in a cooler, but Rachel doubted she’d drink any of that. The bottled water she found in a chilled compartment was much more appealing, and she drank almost a whole bottle before touching the food.
She tasted the fish and found it a little salty, but the poached chicken went smoothly down her throat. It was absolutely delicious. As, too, were the little dumplings. She tried one with a helping of mango ice cream, and was considering having another when someone knocked at her door.
She was reluctant to answer the door, looking as she did. What if it was her mother? What if Matt had informed Sara of her daughter’s near drowning? What if the reason Matt had been so formally dressed was because he was taking her mother out to dinner?
She sighed. It could, of course, be the maid, come to collect the cart. And if she didn’t answer would the girl let herself in, thus defeating any decision to ignore the knock?
Pushing back her chair, she padded across to the door and peered through the eyehole. Matt was standing outside, and her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest. Obviously she had him to thank for the meal she’d just enjoyed. But she doubted he’d arrived to collect the cart.
Although she was sure he couldn’t see her, she stepped back automatically. ‘Wh-who is it?’ she called, and heard the impatient oath he uttered even through the door.
‘You know who it is,’ he told her shortly. ‘You’ve been eyeing me up for the last two minutes. Open the door, Rachel. I’ve brought some cream to treat your sunburn.’
‘Oh!’
Rachel didn’t hesitate any longer. Flicking the latch, she opened the door a few inches, keeping mostly out of sight. Matt had changed his clothes, she saw. He was now wearing casual drawstring sweats and a white tee shirt. And, judging by the drops of water sparkling on his hair, he’d had a shower, too.
‘Thanks for dinner,’ she said, attempting to keep her eyes on the jar of cream in his hand and not on the wedge of brown skin exposed by the low-slung pants. ‘I—is that the cream?’
Matt glanced down at the jar. Then up again to meet her nervous eyes. ‘Yeah,’ he said without expression. ‘May I come in?’
Rachel expelled an uneven breath. ‘You—er—you were going out for dinner, weren’t you?’ she ventured, which was hardly an answer. ‘I suppose I spoiled your plans.’
‘You could say that,’ agreed Matt, his eyes moving beyond her. ‘Are you going to invite me in, or have you already got company?’
Rachel gasped. ‘As if!’
‘So?’
‘I’m not dressed.’
‘I can see that.’
‘Oh, well—’ Deciding she was as adequately clothed as she’d been that afternoon, Rachel stepped away from the door. ‘I suppose you can come in.’ How could she refuse when he’d practically saved her life?
He came into the room, immediately making it seem smaller. She hadn’t noticed that phenomenon earlier, but then she’d been too shocked to notice much beyond the relief of knowing she was safe.
/> He glanced about him, his eyes taking in the remains of the meal she’d consumed, his brows arching at the unopened bottle of Chablis. Then he closed the door behind him, leaning back against it as his eyes turned back to hers.
‘I—er—I liked the chicken,’ she said hurriedly, desperate for something to say to normalise the situation. ‘And—and the ice cream. It was scrummy.’
‘Scrummy?’ His lips twitched. ‘I don’t think I’ve heard that word before. I assume it means you enjoyed it, too?’
‘Mmm.’ Rachel found herself wrapping the folds of the bathrobe closer about her. ‘I know I thanked you before for—you know—saving my life and all, but I want you to know I do appreciate what you did.’
‘Particularly as you were such a prickly little cat?’ suggested Matt drily, straightening away from the door. ‘But I can’t take credit for saving your life. You’d have got out of there somehow. The human need for survival’s a powerful thing.’
‘All the same…’
‘All the same, you’re grateful I was there.’ Matt pulled a wry face. ‘But not soon enough to save you from burning that delicate skin.’
Did he really think she had delicate skin?
Rachel found the prospect totally intriguing, before commonsense surfaced again. But she couldn’t help being irresistibly aware of the intimacy of him being here, in her room. He was far too attractive. Far too close.
In an effort to distract herself, she pointed to the jar he was holding. ‘And that’s the cream?’
‘You asked me that before,’ Matt reminded her mildly. ‘And, yes, once again, this is the cream. It’s a special recipe that my grandmother used when she first came to the island. She was pale-skinned, too, and in those days there were no handy pharmacies with a dozen prescription remedies on hand.’
Rachel put out her and. ‘What is it?’
‘That would be telling.’ Matt looked at the jar, but he didn’t give it to her. ‘It contains lanolin and witch hazel, and cocoa butter, and a few other ingredients. The housekeeper makes it up whenever it’s needed.’