Sinful Pleasures

Although she was tempted to step out onto the balcony. where a cushioned lounger and several wicker chairs were set beneath a bougainvillaea-hung awning, Megan decided that a shower might liven her up. It would be too easy to get disheartened, particularly as her body clock was still on European time, and she determined to concentrate on the positive aspects of her trip. Who wouldn’t like to recuperate in such surroundings? She had four whole weeks to get completely well.

Which was part of the problem, she acknowledged, when she stepped into the mosaic-tiled shower and turned on the gold-plated taps. At this point in time, four weeks seemed like a lifetime. She’d never have committed herself to such a long stay if it had been left to her.

But it hadn’t been left to her. Simon had made all the arrangements while she was still too weak to protest. It was too long since she’d taken a real holiday, he’d told her. She needed plenty of time to recover her strength.

By the time she went downstairs again, Megan was feeling considerably better.

When she’d emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in one of the soft towelling robes the hotel provided, it was to find a tray of tea and biscuits awaiting her. While she’d been taking her shower, someone—Anita, she guessed—had let herself into the suite and deposited the tray on the round table by the window. There was milk and cream, and several kinds of home-made biscuits. Although she’d been sure she wasn’t hungry, she’d sampled all the biscuits, and drunk three cups of tea as well.

Afterwards, she’d rested on the square colonial bed that was set on a dais, so that its occupants could see the sea. Megan had watched the darkening waters of the Caribbean until the sun had disappeared into the ocean, and then she guessed she’d dozed for perhaps another hour after that.

She’d awakened to a darkened room and for a few moments she’d felt a sense of disorientation. But then she’d switched on the lamps, and the memory of her arrival had come back to her. She hadn’t felt much like resting after that.

Still, after unpacking her suitcases, there’d been plenty of time to get ready for dinner. Anita had told her to come down at eight, but not to worry if she was late. There were often problems associated with the hotel that required her attention, and if she wasn’t there Megan should just make herself at home.

As if she could do that! Going down in the lift, Megan had to admit that such an instruction was probably beyond her. Besides, what if Ryan Robards was waiting for her? What on earth was she going to say to him?

The apartments the family used were on the first floor, immediately behind the reception area. Megan was familiar with them, of course. Before the ugly break-up of her parents’ marriage, the Crosses and their daughter had often had drinks with Ryan Robards and Anita. In those days, Megan and her parents had rented one of the cottages that stood in the grounds and belonged to the hotel. Her father had always preferred self-catering to the blandness of hotel food, but because of his love for sailing he and Ryan had become good friends...

Now, Megan stepped out of the lift feeling decidedly self-conscious. It was some time since she had taken as much trouble with her appearance, but for some reason she had felt the need to make an effort tonight. But although the black silk leggings and matching beaded top were perfectly presentable she was intensely aware that they exposed the narrow contours of her bones.

A belief that was made even more apparent when she entered her stepsister’s sitting room to find only Remy waiting for her. He was standing at the open French doors that led out onto a private terrace, one hand supporting himself against the screen, the other wrapped around a glass.

The indrawn breath she took upon seeing him attracted his attention, and he swung round at once, surveying her with cool shaded eyes. What was he thinking? she wondered as his brows arched in a silent acknowledgement of her presence. After what he had said earlier, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

His appraisal of her appearance was deliberate, she thought. Was he trying to intimidate her, or was he simply waiting tq see what her reaction would be? He was far too sure of himself, she thought, stiffening her resolve not to let any of them upset her. Yet, as she felt her features hardening, his unaccountably softened.

‘Feeling better?’ he enquired, before swallowing the remainder of the liquid in his glass with one gulp. ‘Let me get you a drink. You can probably use one.’

Could she not?

Megan linked her hands together at her waist and contemplated the advantages that alcohol could bring. It would certainly make this interview easier, smooth the rough edges of her tension, so to speak. But her doctor had been quite specific, and she had no desire to fall ill again.

‘Um—do you have a mineral water?’ she asked at last, and he regarded her with narrowed eyes.

‘A mineral water?’

‘I’m still on medication,’ she explained, moving further into the room, even though she would have preferred to keep her distance from him. She swallowed. ‘Where’s your mother? She asked me to join her here.’

‘She won’t be long,’ replied Remy, depositing his empty glass on the small bar that was recessed into the wall. He examined the row of small bottles that occupied one shelf in the refrigerated cabinet. ‘Mineral water, you said,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, here we are. Will sparkling water do?’

‘Fine.’ said Megan quickly, moving across the room and taking up his former position by the French doors. Beyond the terrace, the sound of the sea was a muted thunder, the warmth of the night air scented with spice and pine.

‘There you go.’

He was behind her suddenly, his reflection visible in the glass door, his height and darkness disturbingly close. Once again, she was made aware of how the years had changed him. It was difficult to remember now exactly what she had expected.

‘Oh—thanks,’ she said, half turning towards him to take the glass, her efforts to avoid brushing his lean, tanned fingers almost causing an accident. Only a swift recovery on his part prevented the glass from ending up on the floor, and a splash of ice-cold liquid stung her leg.

‘Dammit!’ Remy stared down impatiently at the damp spot on her leggings, and Megan felt like a fool. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ he demanded. ‘I’m not contaminated, you know.’

‘I didn’t do it on purpose!’ she exclaimed, even though she doubted he believed her. ‘I—I wasn’t thinking. You startled me, that’s all.’ She brushed her leg almost dismissively. ‘Anyway, there’s no harm done.’

‘Isn’t there?’

She wasn’t sure what he was referring to, so she chose to say nothing, relieved when he walked back to the bar. But he was back a few moments later, holding a napkin, and, squatting down on his haunches in front of her, he pressed the white linen against her leg.

‘Oh—please.’ He was really embarrassing her now, and she attempted to take the napkin from him. ‘Let me,’ she said. ‘Let me do that.’ But he merely tipped his head back and cast her an ironic look and carried on.

She glanced down, her eyes unwillingly drawn to his bent head. His hair was glistening with moisture, she noticed, tiny drops of water shining on the dark strands. He had either taken a shower or a swim while she’d been resting, she reflected, the images her thoughts were evoking causing a moistness in her palms.

She sighed. Why couldn’t she ignore him? Yet, crouched in front of her as he was, she would have had to be numb as well as blind not to notice the straining seam between his legs. Despite her irritation with him earlier, she couldn’t deny his sexuality. It was as natural to him as breathing. Just like his grandfather’s had been...

‘Will—will Mr Robards be joining us?’ she asked stiffly—anything to distract herself from what he was doing—and as if her words had diverted him, too, he rose abruptly to his feet.

‘I guess I owe you an apology, don’t I?’ he said, without answering her question. ‘I was an ignorant lout before. I’m sorry.’

Megan was confused. ‘Oh—well, I—it was my fault really—’

‘I don’t mean for spilling your drink,’ he contradicted her drily. ‘I mean for the way I spoke to you in the car. I guess I had no right to criticise you or your father as I did.’

‘Oh.’ Megan let her breath out slowly. She was finding it difficult to keep abreast of his changes of mood. Or at least that was the excuse she gave herself. But there was no denying that he disturbed her, and it would be fatally easy to respond to his charm. ‘Let’s forget it, shall we?’

‘I’m forgiven?’

‘Of course.’ She was abrupt.

‘Is your drink all right?’

Her glass was still more than half full, and she hurriedly took a sip. ‘It’s delicious,’ she said, hoping she sounded more controlled than she felt. ‘Um—will your grandfather be joining us?’

Remy hesitated for a moment, and then he shook his head. ‘Not tonight,’ he said, his tone flatter now. ‘And I’ve got to be getting back to town myself.’

‘You don’t live here?’

Megan realised at once that her response had been far too revealing. Dammit, she should have guessed he’d have his own place as soon as he’d told her he worked in Port Serrat.

‘I have an apartment near the harbour,’ he said, his eyes assessing her. ‘It’s handy for the office. Like tonight, I sometimes have to work in the evenings.’

She swallowed. ‘You’re working this evening?’ she asked, managing to sound less daunted, and he smiled.

‘I’ve a client who works in one of the hotels,’ he explained. ‘It’s difficult for him to keep sociable hours.’

‘So you accommodate him?’

‘I’m an accommodating fellow,’ he remarked mockingly, and she realised how easily he could disconcert her. How did he do that, when she was usually so at ease with men? It was as if he had a conduit to her soul.

‘So,’ she persevered firmly, ‘do you often work long hours?’