Beaumont Brides Collection (114 page)

She kept her lashes firmly lowered. She’d said enough. More than enough. She’d invited him to the party, but if he was determined not to boogey she wasn’t going to make any more of a fool of herself than she had already.

But refusing to meet his eyes made not one jot of difference. She knew he was looking at her, she could feel him looking at her.

The air around them was charged with electricity, the touch of his fingers as they brushed against her ankle was relaying glorious messages to her brain, firing new, explosive synapses that set off an unstoppable chain reaction of awareness.

It was as if for the last twenty-one years she had been asleep. And now when everything was wrong, when it was impossible, she was quite suddenly wide awake to a whole new world of possibilities.

Jack Wolfe had hit the “on” switch and she was lit up like the Trafalgar Square Christmas tree. The trouble was, it wasn’t Christmas.

He had finished the first foot and let it go. Then he took her other foot, holding her firmly around the ankle as he pushed it into the second flipper. Once more her heel was pushed firmly into his abdomen as he tightened the strap. It was as hard and flat as an ironing board, the skin warm against her heel.

She held her breath as he straightened, fastened his hands about her waist.

‘Ready?’ he said. She nodded, unable to make her mouth form the words and he lifted her from the rocks, for a moment holding her against him, her feet inches from the bottom, their bodies touching - warm skin against warm skin in the cool water. The messages grew thunderous and she clutched almost desperately at his smooth, muscle-packed shoulders. Well, heck, she wasn’t that innocent.

Maybe, just maybe, Christmas was coming early this year. Maybe it was time to send Santa a list.

‘Kiss me, Jack,’ she murmured, sliding her arms up and around his neck. ‘I want you to kiss me.’

‘I can see that.’

Could he? Of course he could. She was flashing out signals like a June bug in heat. Oh, God! ‘Then what’s stopping you?’ Who said that?

‘I’m still not sure why you should want me to kiss you.’ Jack couldn’t believe he’d said that. ‘I know you said you were acting your socks off. But why? If you were looking for a little excitement, why did you make such a point of insisting you didn’t?’

Why? He wanted to know why? For God’s sake the man had been kissing her left, right and centre whether she wanted him to or not ever since they arrived on this damned island. Now she wanted a piece of the action and he was asking why? If he didn’t know...

Her eyes snapped open as the haze of sexual desire cleared.

‘Actually, Mr Wolfe, I can’t remember. In fact I’ve quite suddenly gone off the whole idea.’ She tried to wriggle free, but he continued to hold her, the wide space between his eyes puckered in a frown as regarded her with a slightly puzzled look. It was as if he was trying to weigh something up, almost, she thought, as if trying to decide whether he could trust her. But that was ridiculous.

Or was it? Damn the champagne for running away with her tongue last night; she’d said too much and now he was suspicious of her. Well, if she was honest, he had every right to be. But she didn’t have to dangle there and take it.

‘Could you please put me down? I’d like to swim now.’

She blinked back a stupid self-pitying tear that trickled down her cheek as he obediently released her. He didn’t have to do that. She hadn’t meant it! Oh, damn!

She pushed herself away from him, lunging at the water before he could see, but she hadn’t gone a yard when his hand clamped about her ankle bringing her to an abrupt halt.

Floundering, unable to put a foot down and right herself she was at his mercy, unable to tell him to get lost, or even shout for help without swallowing half the Caribbean. He took full advantage of the situation, hauling her back towards him with deliberate slowness. Then he caught her around the waist, flipped her over and pulled him hard against him, the cool wetness of her skin against his warm, hair spattered chest.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.

‘You didn’t mean that did you?’

He seemed taken aback. As if he’d just stumbled across the key to some unbreakable code and now he knew all the answers.

Suddenly the gold flecks were blazing and there was no mistaking his intention, but even before she opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn’t interested, that she’d meant every word, she knew it was too late.

He hadn’t waited for an answer, because he didn’t need one. And, as his mouth sparked off a mark ten earthquake somewhere in the region of her midriff, Melanie realized that whatever she had been about to say couldn’t possibly have been important.

Important was the way he tasted of the sea and the hot sun; the way the warm musky scent of his skin filled her mouth; the way his fingers were cupping the nape of her neck, his thumb stroking against the pulse hammering in her throat and turning her bones to warm putty.

She already knew that he was a major league kisser, that he could kiss for Great Britain, captain of the team, Olympic gold medal material. But it was obvious to Melanie that until now he’d simply been toying with her, doing exactly what he had said he would, just enough to convince anyone who was interested that they were the lovers they seemed to be. It had suddenly stopped being a game and the difference was - staggering.

As his arm tightened around her, his tongue ravaging the softness of her mouth until breathing was no longer an option, Melanie finally understood why they called him The Wolf. It was more than an easy play on his name by the headline writers. This man was dangerous. And she’d been flirting with him, making it plain that she’d welcome any advances he cared to make.

Whatever had happened to sensible? She was behaving just like the dizzy girl in the sitcom she’d turned down. At least that had been make-believe, while this... She ought to be kicking him, not kissing him.

‘Jack -’ she pleaded faintly into his mouth, but there was no escape. She’d asked him to kiss her and she was getting the full treatment whether she wanted it or not. And oh, dear God, she wanted it.

Wanted his teeth nibbling at her mouth, wanted his tongue sliding seductively inside her lower lip, bringing her slowly to melting point. His name became a groan and then even that was lost as his fingers opened across her waist, across back drawing her tight against him so that she was left in no doubt about the way he was feeling. And for the first time since they’d met they were in total agreement.

‘Well?’ he murmured, when he had finally made any point she’d care to think of, and quite a few she’d never even considered until now. ‘Shall we continue this somewhere less public, or shall we swim?’

Melanie froze. Why on earth did he have to ask? Didn’t he know? Did he expect her say “carry me to the nearest cave, strip me naked and make a woman of me, darling”? It was like being asked by a boy if he could kiss you. Only a hundred times worse. And there could only ever be one answer. ‘Go to hell, Jack Wolfe,’ she said.

‘All in good time, sweetheart,’ Jack said.

And he laughed.

The sound was like something strange, unreal. When had he last laughed out loud, for sheer happiness? Too long ago. She might be playing some deep and devious game, but there was nothing cold or calculating about Miss Melanie Devlin.

Calculating would have seized its opportunity.

Calculating would have given him the green light.

Calculating would not have sent him to hell but would have said, “Let’s get out of here, fast...”

It was plain now that Melanie was working on a purely emotional level. What was happening between them had nothing to do with takeovers, or commercial espionage, or anything he gave a damn about right now. She had wanted him. Even the most experienced seductress could not pretend that kind of arousal.

Melanie didn’t know enough to pretend anything. But it hadn’t been her all too obvious desire that had convinced him. It had been her eyes.

Her beautiful eyes had smoked with anger that he could have been so insensitive.

He laughed.

Melanie couldn’t believe it. He had been leading her on, tormenting her, driving her crazy - she ducked out of his arms and kicked away from him. But not fast enough. Not even with the flippers.

He was still laughing as she righted herself, spluttering with rage from her second dunking. ‘I know, I know,’ he said, quickly as she opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of him. ‘Hell. In a handcart no doubt. But first I have to give you a snorkelling lesson. Or have you changed your mind about that, too?’

She was speechless, utterly speechless.

‘Right, since you’ve obviously made your mind up, shall we begin?’ And without waiting for her reply, he proceeded to demonstrate the use of the snorkel and mask calm as you like; as if the earth hadn’t just moved; as if a tidal wave of emotion hadn’t just swept her off her feet; as if kissing someone like that was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to get out of breath about. Well, maybe for him it wasn’t. ‘Now, have you got that?’ he asked, glancing up.

She was staring at him as if he was a being from another planet and he discovered that the urge to kiss her again was almost overwhelming. But making love on a beach was for masochists.

An hour ago he wouldn’t have cared.

Now he wanted it to be a pleasure, for both of them. First they would swim and afterwards they would shower together and use that bed for the purpose it had been intended. It would, he knew, be worth the wait.

‘Melanie?’ he prompted.

‘Yes,’ she said, dragging her mind back to the task at hand. ‘I think so.’

‘Try it, let me see.’ Cool as a cucumber? Oh, no. Not a cucumber. More like a great big prize-winning marrow.

Well, she’d do her best to respond in kind. Except that as she lowered her face beneath the surface trying to remember everything he’d said about breathing through her mouth and not all the other things she would rather be doing with it right then, he placed his hand at her waist, keeping her at his side in case she got into difficulties.

But the snorkel was the least of her worries. All her difficulties involved far simpler things, like the way her leg would keep brushing against his, the way that he held her so that his hip and thigh pressed against hers. Considering that simply remembering to breath was something of a problem, the snorkel was a doddle.

And then, while she was still trying to work out what exactly was going on between them, he used his other hand to take hold of hers and lead her out into deeper water. As if she wasn’t already dangerously out of her depth.

At least the fish were a diversion. Jack led her around the deep pools created by the huge rocks, startling shoals of brightly coloured fishes that turned and flashed and then crowded round them curiously.

The sea was mysterious and cool and beautiful. Another world, but she was scarcely aware of it. All her senses were concentrated on those small portions of it where Jack’s fingers curled around her waist and her hand, anchoring her to him.

She dared a glance at him and behind his mask he might have been smiling, or he might not. Why was it so difficult? Why did men and women play these games when the rest of the animal kingdom seemed to have the whole sex thing down to fine art.

They swam into a shoal of vivid blue and yellow parrot fish that for a little while stayed to explore these strange new beings and before she knew it Melanie was staring cross-eyed at one of the fishes peering in at her face mask as if she were the one in the gold-fish bowl.

She caught Jack’s eye and she could see he was thinking the same thing and suddenly there was no doubt that he was smiling at her, or that she was smiling back.

For a while they drifted over starfish and crabs scuttling over the sand and then Jack tapped the stainless steel watch strapped to his wrist and turned them back towards the shore, but instead of heading for the sand, he released her waist and leading her by the hand, headed into a gap between the rocks, where they had tumbled to form sea-caves. Melanie grasped his hand nervously, hating to be in dark, enclosed spaces, but these caves were not like that. They weren’t dark. Inside, the sunlight seeped through the gaps in the roof to lend a translucent green light that rippled the surface of the water and reflected back against the roof.

‘Wow,’ she said, as she pulled off her mask, her voice echoing in the dim cavern. ‘This is beautiful.’

‘I thought you might like it.’ He tugged off his flippers and tossed them with his mask onto the small bar of sand where the beach had been sucked through the rocks. ‘Here hop up and I’ll take those things off your feet.’

Melanie hauled herself onto a small boulder that protruded from the water, offering each foot in turn while she raked her fingers through her hair, pushing it back off her face.

Jack looked up and suddenly he was very still. ‘All you need is a shell comb, Melanie,’ he said, he words echoing softly off the rocks. ‘Then, you’d look like a proper mermaid.’

She too was still. ‘There’s nothing proper about mermaids, Jack. They sing strange songs and lure sailors to their doom ...’

‘I remember. You said that you were overdressed for the part.’