A Woman Of Passion

His mouth turned down. ‘I don’t know your surname,

Miss—?’ he mocked her carelessly. ‘Why don’t you

tell me what it is, and I’ll see what I can do?’

Helen swallowed, remembering suddenly that she shouldn’t—couldn’t—give this man her name. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, hoping to end the discussion. But when she moved to go past him, he caught her arm.

She wasn’t afraid—although she supposed she should have been. After all, this was the man who had seduced her mother, and he was hardly likely to quibble over a nanny. Even without being aware of the lean body, partially concealed by the laced ties of his sweat-suit, the hand gripping her forearm was hard. There was strength in every finger digging into her skin, and his musky heat enveloped her in its warmth.

‘What is it with you?’ he asked, his breath cool against her cheek. ‘Just because I spoke out of turn yesterday,

you’re determined to hold it against me? Look—’ he

released her, as if realising that force wasn’t going to aid his cause ‘—I’ll apologise, OK? If the kid’s anything like his father, I guess you’ve got my sympathy.’

Helen caught her breath. ‘And that’s supposed to be an apology?’

‘No.’ Aitken shook his head. ‘If anyone needs to apologise, it’s Sheridan. He didn’t correct me when I made an error of judgement. I guess he thought it was amusing. Making fun of the locals.’

Helen told herself she didn’t care where he and her mother lived, but she found herself asking the question just the same. ‘Are you a local, Mr Aitken? I wouldn’t have thought this was quite your style.’

‘But you don’t know anything about my style,’ he countered smoothly. ‘And, as it happens, Barbados suits me very well.’

‘I’m so glad.’

Helen was sarcastic, but she couldn’t help it, and Aitken regarded her with studied eyes. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I’m glad we’ve cleared up that misconception.’ He glanced towards the water. ‘Were you about to go for a swim?’

‘I—no.’ Helen made the decision quickly, even though the reason for her previous prevarication had now been removed.

‘Shame,’ he remarked. ‘I thought I might join you. Swimming alone can be dangerous. Did no one tell you that?’

‘Dangerous for whom?’ enquired Helen tautly, and then, with a shiver of impatience, she shook her head. ‘I have to get back,’ she added crisply, aware that it would be fatally easy to be attracted to this man. And, because it had to be said, ‘I’m sure your wife will be wondering where you are.’

‘My wife!’ Chase Aitken stared at her disbelievingly. ‘I don’t have a wife, dammit. What gave you that idea?’

Helen swallowed, incapable of answering him right away. He hadn’t married her mother, then, she thought incredulously. They’d only been living together all these years. No wonder Fleur had greeted him so—so hungrily. She must never be sure he hadn’t found someone else.

Helen felt a little sick. The realisation that Chase Aitken had treated her mother with as little respect as Fleur had treated her father should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. Yet Fleur’s problems were no concern of hers. She’d forfeited the right to have Helen care about her when she’d ignored her daughter’s existence for the past eighteen years. Helen’s nausea stemmed from her own unwilling reaction to the news. In spite of all that had happened, it was Chase Aitken’s dark disturbing face that had haunted her dreams last night.

‘I don’t know,’ she muttered at last, turning away and suppressing the urge to confront him with all she did know. She wrapped her arms about her waist. ‘I’d have thought it was a reasonable assumption, considering the woman was all over you at the airport.’ Her lips tightened. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a job to do.’

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_8cb7a6d6-379f-57cc-ae05-2473d1b6474e)

MATTHEW strode back to Dragon Bay in a foul temper.

It might have been a novelty for him to be put down by a skinny blonde with more mouth than sense, but it didn’t amuse him. He didn’t even know why he’d bothered to speak to her. It wasn’t as if he cared what she thought of him. He’d been civil, that was all, and she’d insulted him. What the hell did she know about his life?

For God’s sake, he thought, letting himself into the grounds of his house through the iron gate set into the wall, there were plenty of women around who didn’t take offence when he offered advice. Nothing could alter the fact that the boy had got away from her. So what if the other kid was being sick? She hadn’t been about to choke, had she?

But it was that crack about Fleur that had really got to him. Bloody cheek, he fumed angrily. What did it have to do with her? It was little consolation to know that she’d been watching him. He’d known that, dammit. He’d seen the accusation in her face.

For once, the gardens surrounding his villa didn’t appease him. Almost two acres of green lawns, flowering shrubs and brilliant flame trees provided a fitting setting for the sprawling Spanish-style villa that was his home. Cool, shaded rooms surrounded three sides of a paved courtyard, with a stone fountain in the centre whose rippling pool was edged with lilies.

Through a belt of palms, he could just glimpse the painted roofs of the cabanas, and beyond that the swimming-pool was a smooth slash of aquamarine, glinting in the sun. The way he felt right now, he would have liked to have plunged his sweating body into the cool water. But the thought that Fleur might choose to

join him had him opting for a shower.

Dammit, he thought, crossing the patio, where hanging baskets spilling scarlet geraniums provided a startling splash of colour, he couldn’t even do what he liked in his own home. Stepping beneath a shadowed balcony, woven with bougainvillaea, he entered a marbled hallway and mounted grimly to his suite of rooms. He’d always enjoyed his morning walks before, but today he felt decidedly out of tune with himself.

He ran the shower hot, then cold, soaping his limbs aggressively as he endeavoured to lighten his mood. Fleur couldn’t stay here forever, he thought, deliberately turning his thoughts from the woman on the beach. She’d soon get bored without the social life she’d enjoyed as Chase’s wife. Besides, although there were plenty of stores in Bridgetown to suit her needs, Fleur was an avid shopper. She’d spent a small fortune in beauty parlours alone, and she’d had a new wardrobe of clothes every season.

He wondered in passing where she was planning to live, now that Chase was no longer a factor. He doubted she’d stay on at the ranch, even if his father was willing. She’d always been more at home in the capital cities of the world. He couldn’t see her vegetating at Ryan’s Bend.

He was shaving when his assistant knocked at his door. At his shout, Lucas came into his bedroom, and Matthew paused in the doorway to his bathroom, his razor still in his hand.

‘Problems?’ he asked, and Lucas pulled a face.

‘Your sister-in-law has already asked where you are, if that’s what you mean,’ he remarked, propping his stocky frame against a chest of drawers. ‘She’s having breakfast in the dining-room, would you believe? I thought you said she rarely got up before midday.’

‘She doesn’t—usually,’ Matthew replied flatly, turning back to the mirror and expelling a weary breath. He cursed as the razor nicked his jaw. ‘Damn, I guess that means she wants something, doesn’t it? You may be right. This is not just a social visit.’

Lucas shrugged. ‘Has it occurred to you that she may be short of money?’

‘Of course it has.’ Matthew rinsed his jaw with fresh water and turned back again, drying his face with a towel. ‘But I don’t see how. Chase always had insurance. And his horses were worth a small fortune, you know that.’

Lucas considered. ‘Could he have been in debt?’

‘I guess he could.’ Matthew frowned. ‘But if he was, he never said a word to me. And wouldn’t he have discussed it with my father?’ He grimaced. ‘Perhaps he did. The old man always was as close-mouthed as a shrew.’

A shrew…

Matthew tossed the towel aside, annoyed to find that the connotations of that particular word were not to his liking. It reminded him again of the young woman he had encountered on the beach. The truth was, for all his irritation with her, she had disrupted his morning walk and his equilibrium. And where that disturbance was rooted, he didn’t care to consider.

‘So, what are you going to do?’ Lucas watched as Matthew tossed the towel aside and pulled on a pair of frayed denim shorts and a loose black T-shirt. ‘Ask her right out? Or let her make the first move?’

‘That depends.’ Matthew forced his thoughts back to Fleur, and scanned the bedroom with narrowed eyes. Then, observing that his watch was lying on the cabinet where he had left it, he went to pick it up. ‘I don’t intend to allow her to stay here indefinitely.’

‘So you’ll play it by ear,’ remarked Lucas, straightening. ‘D’you want to look over the manuscript this morning, or shall I concentrate on the accounts?’

Matthew gave him a resigned look. ‘What do you think?’

Lucas grinned, his fair features crinkling humorously. ‘Accounts it is,’ he said. ‘And I’ll eat breakfast in the kitchen. I’m not sure I’m in the mood for Fleur’s particular kind of chat.’

‘And I am?’ queried Matthew drily, buckling the slim gold Ebel on to his wrist. ‘Remind me to thank you for your support some time, won’t you? I don’t know what I’d do without you in circumstances like this.’

Leaving the spacious, if slightly austere surroundings of Matthew’s bedroom behind, both men walked along the wide gallery that connected all the rooms on the upper floor. Open on one side at present, with sculptured arches giving an uninterrupted view of the ocean, there were tight-fitting shutters which could be closed if a tropical storm blew in from the Gulf. In the latter months of the year there was the risk of hurricanes, too, but thankfully they were few and far between. In the main, the weather was fairly temperate, with humidity being the biggest source of complaint.