the hell are you doing here?’ he had demanded softly.
‘I want you to make love to me.’ She had said it as calmly as she could, her eyes defying him to reject her. If that was the sacrifice demanded of her to prove her love then she was prepared to make it. No doubt she had looked the complete tragic heroine, Christy reflected sardonically now, and that was doubtless the reason for the alien twist of emotion she had seen blaze momentarily in his eyes.
‘Do you now.’ He had pulled her down on to the bed alongside him, his hard, experienced hands dealing efficiently with her nightclothes, his eyes hooded and mysterious as he studied her trembling, naked body in the light through the open windows.
‘Be still my little sacrificial lamb,’ he had murmured to her as he bent towards her. ‘You wanted this—remember?’
His mouth was hot and forceful on her own, his touch drugging her senses, everything else forgotten as he brought her body burningly alive. A wild elation sang in her veins; an overwhelming compulsion urging her forward.
‘I hope you’re remembering that this is only lust,’ he had muttered the words against her mouth and instantly her blood had chilled, her eyes enormous, frozen pools of pain in her pale face.
‘You really don’t love me?’ She had stammered the words, colour stinging her skin as he mocked.
‘No, I really don’t. If I take you now it will be because my body craves yours, that’s all, Christy, and if you’re honest, you’ll admit that it’s the same for you …’
‘No!’ The denial had burst past her lips as she sprang off the bed, all her desire suddenly gone, and a deep sense of humiliation taking its place. She couldn’t remember finding her nightclothes or going back to her own room, but she must have done so. She had cried long into the night, muffling the sound against her pillow, not sure whom she hated the most Simon, or herself. He didn’t love her at all … he had never love her …
It was only pride that enabled her to face him the following morning. She refused his invitation to play tennis, marvelling at his ability to put aside what had happened, ignoring it almost. She could not do so. For the remainder of the duration of his stay she had treated him with a frozen politeness, breaking down only when he had gone, pouring out her pain to her mother.
Georgina had sighed and berated herself for not realising what was happening. ‘Simon is a loner, darling,’ she had told her. ‘He’s also, unfortunately for you, an extremely sexy man. You’ll get over it,’ she had promised, but Christy hadn’t believed her. Not then.
She had of course, but the pain of her humiliation at his hands had left a legacy that still stung. He could have let her down more easily. Realising that she was not going to go back to sleep she got up and showered.
Downstairs the house drowsed in the early morning sun. She went into the kitchen and started to prepare her mother’s breakfast tray. Georgina was normally a late night person, and preferred to have breakfast in bed.
Christy was just pouring water on to the tea when she heard the squeak of the back door. Harry didn’t come on a Thursday and it wasn’t Mrs Carver’s day either. She turned round slowly, her nerve endings prickling warningly as her eyes met those of the man leaning against the kitchen door.
Six years had barely changed him. He was a little thinner perhaps, but his hair was still just as dark, his skin just as tanned, his eyes impossibly golden.
‘Hello, Simon.’
She was pleased that her voice was so even.
‘Still the devoted handmaiden I see.’
‘My mother likes to have breakfast in bed, I like to get up early.’ She kept her voice deliberately neutral. ‘Have you come to see her?’
‘No, I’ve come to see you, as you damn well know. Why won’t you come and work for me?’
‘Why should I?’ She shrugged slim shoulders.
‘Still not forgiven me?’ His mouth twisted derisively, and anger quickened inside her. Her eyebrows arched, her eyes coolly meeting his.
‘What for? Inviting me to share your bed? My dear Simon, I’m old enough now to realise what an accolade that was, especially in view of my own pathetic lack of experience.’
‘Are you?’ His voice was infused with mild irony. ‘What are you trying to tell me, Christy? That given the choice now, you’d choose differently—lust in preference to virtue?’
‘I wasn’t aware that I did make the choice,’ she replied evenly, but he confounded her by saying.
‘You were scared to death of me making love to you, you simply thought that if I did I’d have no option but to marry you.’
‘That’s not true.’ The denial was a cry of pain, her face white under her tan.
‘What does it matter? It’s all water under the bridge now anyway. Why won’t you come to the Caribbean with me? What are you so afraid of? That I’ll try to make love to you?’
‘Hardly.’ Her voice was extremely dry. ‘In point of fact, I’m not afraid at all, Simon, simply uninterested.’
He came towards her, taking her chin between his fingers, before she could avoid him, his expression mocking as he drawled, ‘Well, well, you have grown up, haven’t you? And what have you been doing with yourself for the last six years?’
His voice suggested that whatever it was it couldn’t have been anything of any merit and where once his cynicism would have unnerved her now it simply made her angry.
‘Living well,’ she told him sweetly, shaking herself free. ‘Didn’t you know—it is the best revenge.’
His mouth twisted. ‘All grown up with a vengeance, aren’t we? I wonder how far that sophisticated veneer goes? It might be interesting to find out.’
‘Far enough to deal with men like you, Simon,’ she told him coolly. ‘Please stop baiting me and go and find someone else to work for you?’
‘Sure you’re indifferent to me?’ he mocked, grasping her wrist, his thumb on her racing pulse. ‘If so, prove it and come and work for me.’
‘I don’t have to prove it.’ She gave him a tight smile.
‘Come with me, and I promise I won’t put your indifference to the test.’
His arrogance infuriated her. It flashed darkly in her eyes, her mouth tightening with temper. ‘Why me?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘God, you could have your pick.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Very flattering, but I’m not prepared to pay the price. You, on the other hand, I know I’m safe with.’
‘Get a male assistant if you’re that scared.’
‘A man probably wouldn’t be prepared to cook and clean,’ he told her arrogantly. ‘I want to keep what I’m doing as secret as possible. I can manage the boat we’ll be using single-handed, and I want as few people as possible involved. You fit the bill on every count.’
‘Right down to not wanting to share your bed,’ Christy seethed.
‘Oh, it’s not sharing my bed that worries me, it’s the price I might be expected to pay for the privilege of enjoying my female companion’s favours,’ he returned cynically.
‘Still the same old Simon.’
‘But of course. Now will you come with me?’
‘If I refuse?’
‘Then perhaps I’ll just stay around and see just how deep your indifference goes, gipsy.’ He laughed at her expression. ‘Come with me, you know in your heart-of-hearts you want to. How can staying here compare with a summer spent in the Caribbean?’
‘Extremely favourably,’ Christy flung