A Dangerous Taste Of Passion

‘No importa,’ he said and, although the words were anything but sensual, she felt an unfamiliar quiver in her stomach. ‘It does not matter,’ he continued. ‘I will speak to him myself when he returns.’

‘Okay.’

Lily expected he would go then, but instead he wandered over to the display of leaflets and brochures advertising the many activities—sailing, fishing, scuba-diving—available to visitors.

Flicking through the leaflets with a careless finger, he glanced back at her out of the corners of his eyes. ‘Did you enjoy your swim the other evening?’ he asked, bringing a surge of bright colour into her face.

From his attitude earlier, she’d begun to believe he couldn’t have recognised her from that distance away. She’d never dreamt that he might refer to the fact that he’d seen her, or that he’d guessed what she’d planned to do before he’d appeared.

Had he seen her on the beach before?

Licking her dry lips, she said stiffly, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, señor.’ And if her tone was tight and unfriendly, so what? ‘It’s some time since I took a swim in the evening.’

Abandoning any pretence of looking at the brochures, he strolled back to the counter, surveying her with a faintly amused gaze. ‘You object to my question?’ he queried lightly, making her painfully aware that he had no trouble in reading her at all.

‘Why should I?’ she retorted shortly, realising he was unlikely to believe her. ‘Now, is there anything else, señor? Because, if not, I have work to do.’

‘So conscientious,’ he remarked softly, lifting a hand to rake long fingers through the wind-tumbled darkness of his hair. The gesture caused a crease to form in the sleeve of his jacket, and she found herself wondering if the leather felt as soft as it looked.

Unlike the arm underneath, she thought, which she was sure would be taut and corded with muscle.

But such thoughts were not conducive to lowering her blood pressure. The air in the room felt suddenly thicker and Lily folded her arms, as if by doing so she could protect herself from his disturbing presence.

Why didn’t he go? she wondered. His business was finished here. Did it amuse him to make fun of her? And why, when he was so obviously out of her league, did her stomach keep tying itself in knots?

‘I think I have embarrassed you,’ he said, ignoring her very obvious desire for him to leave. ‘I did not mean to spy on you.’

Lily’s lips parted. ‘You’ve been spying on me?’ she exclaimed, as if she’d only just become aware of it, but his mouth compressed at her words.

‘You saw me on the cliffs the other evening,’ he told her flatly. ‘As I saw you. I have not yet acquired the ability to go about the island unseen. I assume that was why you changed your mind about going into the water. I am not a fool, Ms—’ He shrugged. ‘Ms Fielding, is it not? Your father is the local priest, no?’

Lily was taken aback. She hadn’t realised he might know her name. But it annoyed her that she cared. Dammit, he wasn’t the first man who’d shown her any attention.

‘All right,’ she said, deciding there was no point in denying it. ‘I saw you.’ And then, because she didn’t see why he should have it all his own way, she added, ‘Were you disappointed when I changed my mind?’

She knew she’d startled him. Dear heaven, she’d startled herself. Though startled wasn’t quite the word. She was shocked, stunned, gobsmacked at her own audacity. She’d never have believed she could say such a thing.

Predictably, Oliveira recovered first. But that was to be expected, she thought resentfully. He’d probably encountered every kind of provocation in his—what?—maybe almost forty years. A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth, but when he spoke his voice was gentle. ‘Sí,’ he said evenly. ‘But I was only disappointed to have invaded your privacy.’ He paused and then went on, ‘You prefer to be alone, no?’ His smile widened and Lily felt as if every bone in her body was melting. ‘Yet there was something...distinctly pagan...about a young woman behaving in such a reckless way.’ He arched a dark brow. ‘Am I forgiven?’

Lily’s mouth was dry. ‘I doubt it,’ she mumbled, not knowing what else to say, and he inclined his head before starting for the door.

‘No matter,’ he said, pushing the door open, allowing a little of the humid air to invade the air-conditioned coolness of the office. Then he turned back, but although Lily tensed all he added was ‘Perhaps you’d tell Myers that I called?’

CHAPTER TWO (#u3a5607dc-42a8-509f-a785-6716dc487cbd)

RAFE DROVE BACK to Orchid Point, cursing the impulse that had made him embarrass the girl.

He only knew who she was because his cook spoke of the girl’s father with such derision. But then, Luella, like many of the other inhabitants on the island, paid lip service to the Anglican church while secretly attending other forms of religious ceremonies after dark.

He scowled, annoyed with himself for baiting her. Didn’t he have enough complications in his life as it was? An ex-wife who persisted in stalking him; a reputation that was in ruins, despite the fact that all charges had been dropped; and the knowledge that living on Orchid Cay, unless he could find something to occupy him, would soon begin to pall.

He swung the four-by-four round a tight curve where hedges of scarlet hibiscus brushed against the side of the Lexus. Nevertheless, his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the blue-green waters of the ocean, creaming on sands that had been bleached a palest ivory by the tropical sun.

It was beautiful, he thought. He’d missed sights like these while he’d been living in New York. His father still lived in Miami, of course, and he’d visited him fairly regularly. But he’d been so busy building up his business, he’d forgotten all about the simple delights of his childhood in Havana.

That was the excuse his ex-wife had given when he’d discovered she’d been cheating on him. He was never home, Sarah had complained, and she’d been lonely. But their marriage had been a mistake from the start, and he’d certainly not been too distressed when he’d had reason to sue for divorce.

Unfortunately, Sarah had fought him every step of the way. Despite the very generous settlement he’d given her, she’d wanted him to forgive her, to take her back, to move back into their penthouse apartment as if nothing had happened.

But Rafe had considered the loss of the luxurious duplex a small price to pay for his freedom. Even when, some months later, Sarah had bluffed her way into his new home and trashed his bedroom, he hadn’t brought any charges against her. He’d believed that sooner or later she’d accept that their relationship was over.

But in the last few months Rafe had realised that wasn’t going to happen. He’d been arrested for drug smuggling. And, although he’d never had any dealings with the South American cartel Sarah had accused him of joining, it had meant serious lawyer’s bills and a court case that had drained him of any enthusiasm to remain in New York.

The experience had made him think seriously about his life. He was almost forty, and for the past twenty years he’d concentrated all his energies into his work.

That was why, when the opportunity to sell out came, he’d taken it. He’d retained only a nominal interest in the Oliveira Corporation and bought land and property from a man who’d won it playing poker in Las Vegas.

For the next couple of years, however restless he became, he intended to take a break, to do some sailing and fishing, and to generally chill out. He need never work again, but he didn’t think he could stand that prospect. Nevertheless, in future, he intended to invest in small enterprises. Like Cartagena Charters, for example.

Rafe drove through the village of Coral Key. His home, a sprawling villa made of coral and limestone, occupied the cliffs overlooking a private sandy cove. Rafe had taken to swimming there most mornings, usually before most of his household was awake.

Perhaps the Fielding girl should follow his example.

The gates to the property swung open at his approach, thanks to the electronic pad Steve Bellamy, his butler-cum-assistant, had installed in the car.

As well as vetting all visitors, the ex-policeman acted as chauffeur, computer programmer, and gourmet chef, if required to do so. Though this was a skill he’d sworn Rafe never to divulge to any of his erstwhile colleagues on the New York force.

Rafe parked the Lexus in one bay of the six-car garage and, leaving the keys in the ignition, he strolled around to the back of the villa.

A swimming pool lay basking in the noonday sun and, on either side of the pool, tubs of hibiscus and fragrant oleander tumbled exotically onto the painted tiles. Beneath a striped awning, a teak table was already laid for lunch. Just in case he should choose to eat outdoors.

His housekeeper appeared as he was standing gazing out towards the ocean. Carla Samuels had worked for him for over fifteen years, since long before the breakdown of his marriage. And, although his ex-wife had threatened her with all manner of retribution, she’d insisted on going with Rafe when he’d moved out of the apartment and ultimately to Orchid Cay.

‘What time will you be wanting lunch, Mr Oliveira?’ she asked, and Rafe turned to her with a lazy shrug.

‘I cannot say I am particularly hungry, Carla,’ he confessed ruefully. ‘Maybe later, hmm?’

‘A man needs to eat,’ insisted Carla staunchly. ‘Wouldn’t you like a delicious fillet of grouper, cooked simply with a little butter and lemon?’ And when this aroused no apparent interest, ‘Or a salad? Luella has got some shellfish, fresh off the boat this morning.’ She touched her fingers to her lips. ‘You would love them.’

Rafe grinned, sliding his arms out of his jacket and hooking it over one shoulder. ‘You don’t give up, do you, Carla?’ He strolled towards her. ‘Okay. I’ll have a salad. But tell Luella no mayonnaise, me oye?’

Carla’s response was indicative of what she thought of his decision. But, apart from checking with him whether he wanted to eat outdoors or in, she’d learned to keep her opinions to herself.

‘Outdoors, I think,’ Rafe decided, following her into the house. He grimaced. ‘God, it’s cold in here!’

Carla shrugged. ‘Mr Bellamy likes it that way,’ she said smugly, hurrying away before her employer could take her up on it.

Rafe tossed his jacket onto a chair in the glass-walled entry and then walked on into a huge reception hall. The floor was Italian-tiled, with a central table overflowing with orchids and lilies. Beyond, a curving stone staircase led to the upper gallery, where all the main bedroom suites were situated.