reflected dazedly, but instead she felt overwhelmed with physical awareness. It was like someone pressing a switch, triggering a new set of emotions previously dormant…
‘I dislike hypocrisy,’ he added, as if she hadn’t spoken.
The shadowed amber gaze moved up and down her trembling body, lingering deliberately on the points of her nipples beneath the Paisley, on the parted fullness of her mouth.
‘Hypocrisy?’ she echoed faintly.
With a hard smile, he stepped back a fraction, freeing her. She found that her knees had weakened to the point where she found it hard to move.
‘I dislike females who are scarcely out of the nursery, yet feel compelled to pass judgement on other people’s failings,’ he went on remorselessly, watching as the colour came and went in her cheeks. ‘And at the same time suppress their own needs and desires…’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about…’
‘Oh, yes, you have,’ he grinned, reaching unexpectedly to capture her chin, tilting her face up for inspection. Their eyes met, and for a splitsecond, caught up in that magnetic golden gleam, Gabriella felt as if she was mentally slipping out of control. ‘I’m tempted to kiss you, ma petite, to prove the point.’
‘Just try it,’ she flung at him, choking on her fury. ‘I promise you’ll regret it!’
He gave a low, impatient laugh, and caught hold of her shoulders, twisting her round to him.
‘That’s a dare that is too tempting to ignore!’ he murmured, his voice thickening. Then he dropped his dark head to take slow, expert possession of her mouth.
IT WASN’T so much a kiss as a light, sensual caress of the lips. But while it lasted all comparisons between Piers and Rick Josephs vanished abruptly from Gabriella’s mind. The feel of the hard male lips brushing tantalisingly over hers, the wave of reaction as the muscular body made contact with hers, was overpowering. Everything else simply melted from her consciousness. All she was capable of thinking was that, even if she’d once imagined she’d been in love with Piers, he’d never had this devastating physical effect on her.
This was something new, shockingly intense. Unthinkable…
Battling to her senses, rigid with denial, she summoned the will-power to push Rick fiercely away. The emotion he’d aroused in her had left her feeling weak and shaky, and very frightened by her own responses.
‘If you’ve quite finished?’ she said in a low, choked voice. ‘Frankly, I need a lot more than a glass of white wine to stand being mauled by men like you!’
Rick Josephs’ face was a mask of cool mockery.
‘Next time I’ll have champagne on ice,’ he quipped with a bleak grin. ‘Won’t you stay and have dinner with me, Gabriella?’
‘Not in a million years!’ She grabbed the doorhandle, snatching it open. ‘I’d rather starve…!’
Uncaring of the Paisley robe, she escaped into the humid darkness and made her way, half walking, half running, towards the lights and laughter of the hotel.
No one seemed surprised to see her asking for her room key at Reception dressed in a man’s silk robe. But she felt acutely embarrassed. Mortified, she finally made it back to her room, and slammed and locked the door behind her, almost numb with disbelief at the events of the evening so far, and her own emotional overreaction to them.
She ought to ring Room Service, she supposed distractedly, order herself a snack in her room. The thought of going down to the restaurant again tonight was more than she could face. That hateful, mocking man…with his glamorous girlfriends at the bar, and his suspicious relationship with her boss…
Shivering, Gabriella went across to sit at the kidney-shaped dark wood dressing-table, gazing at her pale reflection in the oval mirror.
She touched her fingers slowly to her mouth. It hadn’t even been a madly passionate kiss. There’d been no dramatic fencing of tongues or hungrily devouring attempts to reach her tonsils, the way Piers had favoured. Ironically enough, it had been rather a chaste kiss. So why had it left her feeling as if she’d been seduced by someone in the master class…?
The silk robe felt like a caress against her skin. With trembling fingers, she abruptly tore it off, and threw it angrily into the corner of the room. How she was going to return it she couldn’t imagine. The thought of seeking him out for the purpose filled her with dread. Yet she could hardly hand it to Reception and ask them to return it to the man in the private villa. Not if she valued her reputation…
But then there was the small matter of her dress. Presumably, Rick Josephs would return that at some point. She could hand the robe back then. As quickly as possible. And then steer clear of him, as firmly as she could…
Blankly, she examined her face. Large sage-green eyes stared back, from a heart-shaped bonestructure strengthened by a firm, chisel-shaped chin. She was here in Mauritius to prove that she could do a good job, she reminded herself sternly. Preliminary set-backs such as these brief skirmishes with a man like Rick Josephs were trivial, and irrelevant.
Dragging her shattered defences together, she rinsed her face in the bathroom, then picked up the telephone and ordered a light salad to be sent up to her room. Food, a good night’s sleep, and a strict veto on her wayward emotions. That was all she needed to set her back on course, surely?
Digging in her luggage, she found the thick historical paperback novel she’d begun on the plane, settled herself on her bed, and determinedly lost herself in the fictional world of the nineteenth century.
‘Helicopter trips to surrounding islands?’ The girl at Reception nodded doubtfully. ‘Yes, it is possible. I will try to organise a trip for you…’
‘Thanks.’ Gabriella smiled hopefully. She was feeling a small glow of self-confidence returning this morning. She’d eaten a delicious breakfast, delivered to her room and consumed on her balcony with its breathtaking vista of ocean and beach. The warm rolls and exotic fruit juice and fragrant creamy coffee had done much to restore her equilibrium, even if she hadn’t slept as well as normal. With her long blonde hair in a high, tight plait, flat tan sandals on bare feet, and in a short white cotton sundress, the cross-over backstraps allowing maximum air to circulate, she was bright and raring to go. She shifted the roomy raffia bag, containing money, camera, sun-lotion and all manner of other necessities, a little higher on her shoulder, and waited expectantly.
‘The problem is the weather,’ the girl was saying, shaking her head as she consulted with another member of the hotel staff. ‘Regular trips around the islands are not running at the moment…’
‘The weather?’ Gabriella echoed, perplexed, glancing over her shoulder at the sapphire sky and dazzling sunshine. ‘What’s wrong with the weather?’
‘Cyclones are forecast.’
Gabriella stared at the girl pleadingly.
‘There’s no sign of any cyclones yet,’ she pointed out encouragingly. ‘My boss in London rang this morning. She’s very insistent that I take a look at Rodrigues as a potential location. There are some marvellous remote areas, with dramatic waterfalls and—’
‘Not even the all-powerful Ursula Taylor can play God with the tropical weather, Gabriella.’
The deep voice was all too familiar. As she spun round, her heart sank. Rick Josephs lounged against the end of the reception desk, wickedly dark and handsome in sawn-off denims, espadrilles and a plain white T-shirt.
‘Good morning,’ she supplied briefly, shooting him a cool, repressive look. ‘Do you never mind your own business?’
‘Such