Edge of Paradise (8 page)

With the feel of Paul's hand still tingling through her body she asked herself how she was going to hold herself aloof from him in these unreal surroundings. It wasn't just like being in a different part of the world; it was like being in another world altogether. Unreal sky, unreal noises, unreal smells. The air was laden with the distinctive, heavy scent of some unidentified blossom. Carried to her on the breeze, it was drugging, hypnotic almost, drawing her into the unreality so that she was no longer sensible, circumspect, even slightly prim Catherine Mason, who could have repulsed Paul's hand just now, but a strange wild creature who frightened herself with her own wayward thoughts and who was on the brink of running headlong into self-destruction.

She sighed so deeply that it was almost a
groan.
She could have stayed out on the balcony for much longer, just looking, soaking up all the beauty before her, but she knew that time was getting on. The light was changing even as she watched; the brilliant glare that had been an assault to her unaccustomed eyes was leaving the sun, and the sky was a kinder, less vivid blue. The view would be there for her tomorrow. For tonight there was a shower to be taken, dinner to be looked forward to, and one more door in her bedroom still to be investigated.

Did it communicate with Paul's bedroom? She tried the knob less gingerly than she would have done had she not been absolutely certain in her mind that it would be locked. She gasped in astonishment when it yielded under her fingers and she found herself looking into a connecting sitting room between the two bedrooms. She knew this because the door on the opposite wall was ajar and to her consternation she was not only looking straight into Paul's bedroom, but straight at Paul himself.

He turned his head, answering her startled gaze with one of inquiry. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Yes, thank you,' she said, hastily closing the door on his mocking jade eyes.

She supposed the reason there was no key in the lock was because it gave entry into a shared sitting room. It meant, and this was the disconcerting part, that Paul could just walk in
on
her any time he was so minded. She could ask for a key, but if she did, would it look as though she was making an issue out of it, even serve to put ideas into his head?

The Bahamian porter arrived with her luggage. She decided not to unpack properly. Her clothes wouldn't come to any harm for having to spend a few more hours in her suitcase. So she carefully took out the things she needed right away. Toiletries and makeup, her precious hairbrush set, a bathrobe, and a dress and evening sandals to go down to the dining room. On a last minute impulse she'd packed the book she'd recently bought, the one written by Paul, and as this was right at the top she took it out and put it on the bedside table. She remembered to fish out her shower cap. She would have liked to stand directly under the jet of water, but she was really hungry and didn't want to have to wait for her hair to dry before eating.

Emerging from the bathroom, feeling tingly and clean, she was taken aback to see Paul in her room.

‘You certainly took your time,' he said. ‘I was on the point of coming in to get you.'

‘What are you doing in my room?' she demanded coolly.

‘I said I'd come back for you when you'd had your shower. Well, I have.' Doubtless he saw the way her eyes turned to the keyless communicating door, because then he said,
‘We
also share the same balcony. I came in that way. Cozy, isn't it?'

She was glad she had taken the precaution of putting on her bathrobe before coming out of the bathroom. All the same, she wished there were a little more of it. The neckline was all right, but she would have preferred it to be longer and was conscious of the amount of leg it exposed.

She expected him to make some comment about her legs, he'd certainly had a good enough look at them, but his eyes flicked over to the book on the bedside table, his book, and it prompted him to say, ‘You've got a hot taste in bedtime reading.'

‘You should know,' she said, more than a little puzzled by his comment.

In case he thought she was a fan of his it would have been honest to admit that it was the only book of his she'd ever bought, but her slight hesitation lost her the opportunity to speak up.

‘Have you ever been to the tropics before?' he asked abruptly.

‘No.'

‘That's what I thought. That's why I wanted to hurry you out of the bathroom. Dawn is the best time to be up and about on a tropical island, but the sunset is the most spectacular sight you'll ever see. Your first tropical sunset is an experience you'll never forget. I quite envy you. I'm glad I'm here to share the
moment
with you.'

He held out his hand to her and her own went into it without hesitation. He led her out to the balcony, putting her in front of his lean frame, resting his hands lightly, not in a distracting way, on her shoulders.

He was right. It was magnificent. Dramatic and beautiful. And the colors—pinks and blues and mauves. So incredible. It began with bits of bluish pink turning into blood-red splashes which quickly changed to mauve. Mauve and purple swaths draped the clouds and slid across the horizon. When it was over, and it was quite dark, the afterglow remained in her heart. She stood, absolutely motionless, savoring it in silent homage.

The hands on her shoulders tightened their grip, turning her fully 'round into his arms. She was conscious of his fingers dealing with the tightly secured knot on the sash of her bathrobe, the sensation of air circulating 'round her body as the robe loosened from her waist. Her heart was palpitating wildly. She had never been so close to a man, so scantily clothed—because beneath the bathrobe there was only her—in the whole of her life. It wasn't right. But on this night that was surely made for lovers, how could it not be right?

His hand touched her trembling mouth before sliding along her shoulder and across her back.

She must speak up or it would be too late.
Somehow,
summoning up a superhuman effort, she found her voice, hoping its aching reluctance didn't betray her true desire. ‘I'm hungry, Paul.'

‘So am I, but not for food.'

‘I couldn't eat on the plane.'

‘Later—we'll eat later.'

‘Later I'll be asleep,' she said, using her weariness to prevent something happening which she wanted desperately at this moment, but which she knew she would regret when she was her normal self again.

She had said the right thing. It secured her immediate release.

‘I'm being inconsiderate again. Run along and get dressed and then we'll go down to the dining room. I'll wait for you in the sitting room.'

But once he'd gone, and she was back in her room again, she didn't fly into action. She stood awhile, clutching her bathrobe more closely 'round her, waiting for the trembling in her limbs to subside and the ache of longing to diminish.

The intimacies, the pat on her bottom and the audacious way he had unfastened her bathrobe and slid his hands underneath, had been far from distasteful to her, had given her pleasure. Oh, dear Lord, what was happening to her?

She couldn't even draw comfort from the thought that he'd tricked her, because she had
seen
through him. Back in England she had known that his coldness was a deliberate ploy to get her there, which he would then drop. But the puzzle was becoming more tangled and mystifying, because the coldness hadn't dropped.

The ice was still there; something was seriously disturbing him, but whatever it was it was unable to quash his hunger for her. If it had just been a case of working out his normal male passions on a woman he would have had plenty of takers. Deirdre had all but served herself up on a plate for him, and made it patently obvious that she would be happy to oblige any time he crooked his finger. But he hadn't wanted Deirdre. He wanted
her,
perhaps for no better reason than that she had resisted his earlier advances, and he intended to pursue her until he got her. You might as well face up to it, she told herself. You've thrown your lot in with a calculating and tenacious charmer who won't give up until he gets you into bed.

She might have been able to cope with that. A situation faced up to was half way to being solved; at least, she'd always thought so. What she couldn't seem to cope with was herself. Her worry about his motivations was nowhere near as great as her worry over her own inability to deal with the reaction of this person who inhabited her body, this woman who looked like her, spoke with her voice and
bore
her name, but who harbored thoughts and desires which, less than a week ago, would have shocked her to the core of her being.

His passions she could handle; it was her own that were causing her concern. She could hardly believe such a wanton, shameful, humiliating thing of herself, but she had wanted him as much as he had wanted her.

CHAPTER FIVE

She woke next morning to the sound of birds, though it was different somehow from the usual birdsong her ears were accustomed to; and to the uncanny feeling that someone was looking down at her.

As she lifted her eyelids and saw that it was Paul who stood by her bed, her cheeks turned rosy not so much from sleep as from the memory of what had passed between them the night before on the balcony—and afterward.

The balcony incident had tied her emotions in knots. Coupled with her fatiguing day of travel, it had resulted in her loss of appetite. When Paul had eventually escorted her down to the hotel dining room she had been too tired to do more than push her food around on her plate. When he had solicitously suggested that they ‘turn in' she'd nodded eagerly, grateful to be released. The dining room was
too
bright and crowded. The clatter of cutlery and the garrulous mingling of voices were beginning to have a jarring effect on her already strung-up nerves, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep a social smile on her lips. The thought of her bed in the dark solitude of her quiet room had been infinitely appealing. It had come as a shock, if not a total surprise, when Paul had hesitated by her door, seemingly reluctant to continue to his own room.

‘Good-night, Paul,' she had instructed coolly. Because that was what it had been, an instruction to move on and a firm put down to the inquiry in his eyes.

Had he really expected to be invited in? The dark frown hardening his features had answered that unspoken thought and increased her misgivings. Yes, no doubt about it, he had expected to come into her room, with everything that implied.

Her indignation of the night before renewed itself with vigor at this current intrusion on her privacy. She was annoyed to think that he'd been watching her while she slept and it blasted into her voice at full volume. ‘Do you mind!'

‘Mind what?' He had the audacity to look taken aback.

‘Going. What else? In future, it would be polite to knock—and wait for permission before you enter.'

‘It's
like that, is it?'

‘Like what?'

‘Last night, jet lag. Yes, that was in order. What's it this morning? The big rip off? No way will I go along with that.'

‘I think you should explain that remark.'

‘You do? That's a laugh.' But there was no mirth or humor on his face.

She recoiled as his contempt brought a fresh reminder of that scene before dinner when he had untied her bathrobe with such familiarity. His fingers should never have been allowed to slide underneath, she realized with a rush of shame which deepened the color in her cheeks. Instead of trembling like an excited, overheated schoolgirl and making excuses about being hungry, she ought to have rebuffed him instantly and with no trace of indecision, to let him know where he stood. Had he taken it into his head that, by not doing so, she had been stringing him along? Playing hard to get as a face-saving gesture, because it wasn't seemly to appear too eager?

‘I should think you would feel ashamed!' he sneered, mistaking consternation for guilt as she averted her gaze. ‘Little Alley Cat. The name you and your conniving partner call yourselves is spot on. Do you take it in turns, or does she always send you because of your air of purity and your big innocent eyes?'

She gasped in indignation at the insult. If she was at a loss for words, he still had a
mouthful
to churn out.

‘You can take it from me, they're not going to stay innocent, not this time. When I've finished with you you'll have lost that kitten-faced butter-wouldn't-melt look. The butter will fry.'

‘This is absurd,' she finally managed in near desperation.

‘Drop the pretense and accept that this time you've met your match.' The anger gathering within him showed in the muscle working in his cheek, communicating itself to her so that she crossed her hands in front of herself and cringed away from him as though in fear of what was coming next.

If she hadn't done so she didn't think he would have offered to touch her, but the unconscious action incited him. He dragged her hands away and pulled down the elasticized neck of her cotton nightgown, exposing the firm creamy flesh of her full breasts, and surely also the tumultuous beating of her heart.

‘No, Paul!' she cried out.

‘No?' he mocked.

‘Don't you know what no means?' she screamed at him.

‘I guess not.'

‘It probably isn't a word you hear very often.'

‘You're beneath contempt,' he spat at her. ‘I thought it was only morals you lacked, and
that
was bad enough. Now I see that you're without principles, as well. Even in your game there's a code of conduct to be observed. All right, it's “no” again, but only for the moment. I came to tell you that I've ordered breakfast and it should be up in approximately five minutes. We'll take it on the balcony, and consider yourself lucky that I've a bigger appetite for food than I have for you.'