Eliot’s hands clenched into fists. ‘You stay away from Reba! You hear me, Hunter?’
Briefly Hunter switched his glance to the other man, and she could breathe again. ‘Oh, I hear you fine, cousin,’ he confirmed, totally unimpressed, eyes drifting back across the table. ‘Reba? Now that’s a name which reeks of hot blood and passion. And those eyes! Man, couldn’t you just drown in them?’
Already it was beginning, and Reba’s soul cried out in agony as his words bombarded her. Things he had said with love were now used to wound. He was deliberately tormenting her. The way he said her name, and the way he looked at her, invited her to remember, and he was so attuned to her that he knew her skin prickled with that awareness she couldn’t hide. She wanted to cry out, do something, but all she could do was stare helplessly as he began to cross the room towards her.
Mrs Thorson suddenly found her voice, although it wavered in a fashion Reba would not have believed. ‘Hunter, you are not welcome in this house!’
He laughed, and there was something pitying in the look he sent her. ‘Don’t I know it, Aunt Helena? Rest assured, I’ll be going just as soon as I’ve greeted my new cousin.’
Reba couldn’t believe he was doing this. Before them all he was taking a revenge they knew nothing about, and she could do nothing, for fear of betraying herself. He knew it, and he used it. Not words now, but elemental responses. She felt her body absorb the wave of heat which came from his as he reached her side and bent down towards her. A tiny whimper of something which she recognised as fear lodged in her throat. Eyes with impossibly long lashes and rays of tiny laughter lines bored into hers. ‘Welcome to the family, Reba,’ he intoned huskily, and, before she could make a move to avoid him, his mouth lowered to hers.
Though she fought not to, she closed her eyes as, with incredible arrogance, he plundered her lips. This was no searching out; he knew the moist trail of his tongue over her lips would make her gasp, and when she did, his tongue slid between them, stroking erotically for what seemed endless moments. A frisson of emotion shot through her system, lighting it up. Then it was over. He removed his lips and straightened up, leaving her bereft. Her lids seemed weighted when she lifted them, and then she wished she hadn’t when she saw the look in his eyes. It sent the colour rushing from her cheeks, and made him laugh.
Eliot’s hand on his shoulder swung him round. ‘You bastard. I ought to knock you down for that!’ he shouted, his face mottled with angry heat.
Hunter’s brows lifted scornfully. With perfect ease he removed the hand from his shoulder and dropped it away. ‘Try it, if you think you can.’
Reba’s golden eyes widened in alarm at the thought that they might be going to fight, and she knew she had to stop it. She couldn’t allow Hunter to hurt Eliot for something she had done. From somewhere she found the strength to get to her feet. Breathing as if she had been in a gruelling race, she placed herself in front of Eliot.
‘Leave him alone!’
Hunter allowed himself the luxury of running his shocking gaze down the length of her and up again. ‘How touching. You must love him a lot to rush to his defence.’
She winced, knowing the words were a deliberate taunt. He doubted her, and he was right, but for the wrong reasons. But she had made her choice, and must defend it. Her chin lifted. ‘Get out!’
He didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to. The inclination of his head said he was going because he chose to go, not because she ordered it. With that gracefully lazy stride, he headed for the terrace again. In the opening he stopped briefly, his expression serious as he looked at his aunt. ‘Thought I’d let you know there’s a storm brewing. Be here in a few days, and it’s going to be bad. If you need any help, you know where I am.’
Mrs Thorson had regained her poise. ‘Thank you, Hunter, but I’m sure we can manage.’
He shrugged, as if he had expected no other response. ‘The offer’s still there. Goodnight.’ He allowed himself a glance round the small tableau. When he found Reba, he raised his finger in salute. ‘Reba.’ Her name was a husky undertone, and then he was gone.
With his departure the awful tension left the room. Just as suddenly the strength went out of Reba’s legs, and she would have fallen if Eliot hadn’t been there to prevent it.
‘Reba, darling, are you all right?’ he cried, assisting her to a chair and kneeling beside her anxiously. ‘Damn Hunter. I’ll kill him if he’s hurt you!’
She didn’t think she’d ever be all right again. ‘He didn’t hurt me,’ she lied, for he had, so deeply that she knew it would take a long time, if not forever, to recover. She looked up to find herself surrounded. Hysterically she knew she had to say something, and there was only one thing to say. She had to keep up the fiction of not knowing him. ‘Did you call him Hunter?’
‘That’s right. Hunter Jamieson is my nephew, and could best be described as the black sheep of the family. He owns property at the other side of the island,’ Mrs Thorson informed her in an icy voice. ‘I’m sorry you were subjected to his peculiar brand of…humour. He knows he isn’t welcome here, but he does things like this to annoy us.’
If there was more to it, and Reba didn’t doubt that for a second, she was in no state to hear it. Outwardly she had to look no worse than shaken by the experience, while deep inside she was still reeling. What she really wanted right now was to find a place where she could assimilate the awfulness of what had happened to her tonight. She needed to be by herself.
‘I’m sorry, but would you mind if I went to my room?’ Her eyes went to the older woman, to find she was already watching her in some concern.
‘Not at all, dear. You’ve had quite a shock. Eliot will take you up.’ She watched as he slipped an arm around Reba’s waist and helped her to her feet. ‘I’ll wish you goodnight, Reba. Do try to sleep well. Eliot, I’ll see you in the library shortly. We have some talking to do.’
‘Very well, Mother,’ he acknowledged over his shoulder as they left the room.
Halfway up the grand staircase which swept up from the hall, Reba felt in control enough to ask a much-needed question.
‘Hunter’s the man you spoke about, isn’t he? The one who owns part of the island? Why didn’t you tell me?’
Eliot glanced down at her, a nerve ticking away in his jaw. ‘I hoped he wouldn’t be here. You never know with Hunter; he comes and goes as he pleases. We do our best to ignore him.’ His fist thumped the banister rail. ‘When I think of him kissing you…!’
Reba’s throat closed over. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him kissing her! ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
‘No,’ he agreed, seeing her pale face and mistaking the reason for it. ‘I was proud of the way you stood up to him, Reba, but you’d better take care to avoid his part of the island. I wouldn’t want you to run into him when you’re alone.’
He made Hunter sound like some sort of criminal, and she was forced to hold back a sharp retort that he wasn’t like that. Oh, tonight he had been cruel, but he had had cause. Usually he was kind and warm and loving. All this she could have said, but she wasn’t supposed to know him, and could only steel herself to bear it. It was all part of the tangled web her life had become.
‘I don’t think he’s dangerous,’ was all she could say in his defence, and it carried no weight with Eliot.
‘No, but you’ve already seen he’s no respecter of property or person.’
By this time they had reached her room, and she opened the door, holding on to the handle, reluctant to have him enter. ‘I’m sorry to have spoilt the evening.’
‘Hunter did that already,’ Eliot pronounced grimly. He took her by the shoulders and would have kissed her lips if she hadn’t twisted just enough for him to catch her cheek instead. She didn’t want any more kisses tonight. Or, her treacherous heart taunted, didn’t she want Eliot’s superimposed on that other? However taunting it might have been, it had been Hunter’s kiss, and she had never expected to experience it again.
‘Goodnight,’ she said hoarsely as he released her.
‘Poor darling, you’re all done in. Damn that man! Somehow he always manages to spoil everything. Sleep well, I’ll see you at breakfast.’ He turned away and Reba slipped inside her room, closing the door and locking it.
Flicking on the light, she stared at her surroundings without seeing them. Earlier she had found the large bedroom-cum-sitting-room, decorated, like the adjoining bathroom, in shades of cream and the palest of pinks, charming and elegant. But that was before dinner—and Hunter.
Legs still suffering from a betraying tremble took her to the dressing-table where she dropped down on to the stool. The shock when he had walked into the room was still reverberating through her. Reba felt a lump of ice form in her stomach. Hunter owned part of the island! This was a continuing nightmare. Wherever she turned, Hunter’s dark shadow loomed over her. She couldn’t even be free of him here.
Her heart was still beating erratically, and she placed a hand on her breast as if to calm it. But even that soft touch brought a gasp as it made contact with tender flesh, and she realised with a shock that her nipple stood in a state of proud arousal.
Slowly her eyes lifted to their own reflection, and read the truth there. Just looking at Hunter had sent a charge of electricity through her system. It was almost funny to realise that everyone else had assumed her shock was for something other than recognition. Hunter had known otherwise; that was why he had chosen to kiss her. At his touch her body had come alive, and he had known it. He knew every inch of her intimately, and every one of her responses. Nothing had changed. Nothing was forgotten…or forgiven. The contempt she had seen in his eyes had told her that.
Jumping to her feet, she paced to the window, resting her flushed cheek against the cool glass. He had taken great delight in taunting her! Daring her to—what? Admit that she knew him? Her hand shot to her throat. She would never do that—but what if he did?
Dear God, what if he told Eliot that they had once had an affair?
Surely he wouldn’t do that? Or would he—if he hated her enough? The thought made her go cold. She had made him hate her by throwing away his love in her supposed search for wealth. Wouldn’t it be poetic justice for him, to cause her to lose Eliot just when she believed she had him?
Hunter had suddenly become dangerous. He was a threat she couldn’t afford to ignore. Which meant she had to go and see him, find out what he intended to do. Once, she couldn’t have waited to see him, but that was in the past. Now, looking for Hunter, she would not find a man who loved her, but one who hated her.
The sun was already high when Reba woke the following morning. When she tried to move she discovered that the sheet was tangled around her body, as if she had been threshing about in her sleep, and in the recesses of her mind the tendrils of a dream still lingered, taunting her. She couldn’t recall a single part of it, but she knew it must have been about Hunter, and it left her restless and uneasy as she climbed from the bed.
The air was heavy and oppressive, and the humidity level well on the way to becoming stifling. She showered, and felt moderately better, yet just moving brought a glow to her skin, negating the effect within minutes. Deciding to wear as little as possible, she donned a brief turquoise cotton halter-top and white Bermuda shorts over her panties. Avoiding make-up, which would only run in this heat, she simply brushed her hair, leaving it to flow loosely around her shoulders. If Hunter was right, and there was a storm coming, she prayed it would break soon, shattering the tension which snagged at her nerves. She paused in the act of slipping her feet into comfortable espadrilles.
Thinking of him brought back the need to see him. She had to go, but what excuse could she give for leaving the party? If she was discovered, she could destroy everything herself, without Hunter having to lift a finger! Yet she had no choice. His silence last night meant nothing. She needed to know what he was going to do.
It was that thought which sat uncomfortably on her shoulder as she went down to join the family for breakfast. However, only Mrs Thorson occupied a seat at the table on the terrace when a maid showed Reba out. Eliot’s mother greeted her with a pleasant smile.
‘Good morning, Reba. I trust you feel better today?’
‘Much better, thank you,’ she confirmed, as the older woman put aside the letter she had been reading.
‘I’m so glad. I thought a good sleep was better for you than an early breakfast; that’s why you weren’t disturbed. Do help yourself to croissants or fruit. I’ll ring for fresh coffee, unless you would prefer tea?’
‘Coffee’s fine,’ Reba agreed, taking a seat.
‘I really cannot apologise enough for Hunter’s behaviour last night.’
Reba was unable to stop herself from tensing. ‘Please don’t let it worry you. I certainly won’t,’ she lied diplo-matically. ‘We’re hardly likely to meet too often.’
Mrs Thorson smiled wryly. ‘You don’t know him, my dear. He turns up just to spite us. A most disagreeable young man.’
Once more Reba was plunged into the pretence of not knowing him, even as her heart wanted to protest his aunt’s claim. It was hard to bite her tongue, and suddenly she saw the years stretch out ahead of her. Years in which she had to keep up the fiction. How on earth could she do it? Every lie demanded another to back it up. It was an impossible task, and the chances of being found out were so many. To lie cold-bloodedly was one thing, but to lie against her own feelings was a betrayal. Never had her loyalties been so divided, and the chances of discovery so great. But she had no choice. She was in this now, and had to go on. She wouldn’t make a mistake, because she simply couldn’t afford to.
She reached for a peach from the fruit bowl, biting into it with little relish. Her gaze slipped to the view. The flowers were a riot of exotic colours and scents, bordering a lawn which sloped down towards the trees. Through them, and over them, she could glimpse the sparkling blue waters of the ocean, while the breeze carried with it the rhythmic crash of the waves breaking on to the golden sands. ‘You have a marvellous view.’
‘Its always been one of my favourites. Eliot’s too.’
‘He can’t still be in bed, surely?’ Reba asked, belatedly realising it would be very odd if she didn’t make some enquiry about her fiancé.
Mrs Thorson consulted her watch. ‘No, dear. He had his breakfast several hours ago now. He’ll be well on his way.’
‘On his way?’ Reba echoed in surprise, the peach halting short of her mouth.
‘Forgive me, this was all decided in a rush this morning. He’s gone to fetch Sibyl. Eleanor was supposed to go, but unfortunately she has one of her sick headaches. Eliot was the natural choice to go and get her,’ Mrs Thorson explained calmly, making room for the maid, who had brought a fresh tray.
Reba forgot about the peach as her mind assimilated the news. ‘I thought they didn’t get along?’ she said, and saw a faint pink wash enter the other woman’s cheeks.
‘They had a falling-out, that’s true. But good manners still exist. Someone had to go and collect her, and my son put his dislike aside, as I expected him to do, and agreed to go. We knew you wouldn’t mind,’ his mother went on casily, pouring a cup of coffee and holding it out to her.
Reba thought it was too late to mind, even if she did. But she would have liked to be asked. All the same, it gave her the opportunity she had been seeking. Provided she was careful, no one need ever know where she had gone. Taking a deep breath, she reached across to take the cup. ‘No, I don’t mind,’ she responded with a wry smile. ‘It will give me a chance to do some exploring on my own. Eliot doesn’t much care for walking,’ she added teasingly.
Mrs Thorson’s smile broadened. ‘There we are then, everyone’s happy. Sibyl and Eliot will be back in plenty of time for dinner, and then we can really begin to enjoy the holiday. It couldn’t have worked out better.’ She rose as gracefully as ever, retrieving her letter. ‘You must excuse me now. I have some letters to write.
Lunch is at one—an informal affair for those who want it.’
Reba watched her disappear into the house, and heard her talking to the housekeeper before silence fell. Her heart thudded a beat or two faster. She mustn’t rush, or do anything which would make it appear she had somewhere to go. In fact, there was no better time to go in and make some phone calls: the daily one home to her mother, and another checking the progress of the hospital arrangements. Yet her mind winged ahead. Hunter would be expecting her, and somewhere between now and then she must repair the defences he had breached so easily last night.
CHAPTER FIVE
HALF an hour later, having decided she had waited long enough, Reba left the house by the front door. She didn’t know exactly where Hunter lived, and there was nobody of whom she could safely ask directions. But on an island this size she must surely come across his house, if she kept walking long enough. Taking a deep breath, she headed down the road, which was little more than a track, grateful that it was at least marginally cooler under the trees.
Before very long she reached the fork which led down to the small collection of houses by the jetty. It was well-used, unlike the slightly overgrown one which she now discovered ahead of her. Pressing on, she very soon found that the undergrowth seemed to close in around her. It was hard to remember that human beings lived not very far away. Yet somebody used the track, probably the children. They had the run of the island.
She continued to follow the deteriorating track, which twisted and turned so much that she was completely disorientated, and she was just beginning to think she was on the wrong track altogether when she rounded another bend and came upon a building. It wasn’t like those by the jetty, or the white two-storey one she had left earlier. Set at the end of the track, it was little more than a large shack, and looked in dire need of repair. It nestled at the foot of a slope, in the curve of a small cove, and, to Reba’s critical eye, looked abandoned.
The Bitter Price Of Love Page 7