left the final cottages behind, they were now driving towards the ocean. Behind them, the mountains she’d seen from the taxi crowded closely towards the road. Thick vegetation turned their slopes into a lush green carpet, but ahead rough acres of uncultivated grasses descended inevitably towards the sea.
Rachel, who had been trying to remain detached about her feelings, couldn’t deny a breath of wonder at the sight of blue-green water lapping a beach of pure white sand.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said in a hushed voice, barely aware that they were the first words she’d spoken since they left the hotel.
Matt cast a fleeting glance in her direction, before agreeing that this was a pretty part of the island. ‘Mango Cove,’ he said after a moment. ‘St Antoine is reputedly one of a series of peaks from an underwater mountain range. Jamaica is another.’
‘Really?’
Rachel was fascinated, and Matt went on to explain that the Spaniards had first settled here at the beginning of the sixteenth century. ‘Then, when Jamaica became a British colony, they ignored this island and it was later taken over by the French. San Antonio became St Antoine. End of story.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I can’t understand anyone not wanting to hold on to such a beautiful place,’ she protested.
‘Economics, I suppose.’ They’d reached a bluff above the sand dunes and Matt brought the Jeep to a halt overlooking the bay. ‘Jamaica offered so much, whereas this place must have appeared to offer so little.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Hey, I’m grateful. At least St Antoine isn’t overrun with beach resorts and hotels.’
Rachel half turned in her seat to look at him. ‘The taxi driver told me that—that the Brodys own most of the island. That would be you, right?’
Matt pulled off his dark glasses to look at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Now, why would a taxi driver tell you something like that?’ he asked, and for a moment Rachel didn’t have an answer.
She was certainly not prepared to confront him about her mother at the moment. When—or even if—she did so, she would hope it was in a place less isolated than this. But at the same time she had to say something. Even if he must suspect her motives just as much as she suspected his.
‘I—er—I was asking him about the plots of land around the houses. I said I thought they were cute, but he said the tenants didn’t own them. That—that the Brodys did.’
‘Really?’ Matt looked sceptical. ‘Well, for your information, the island people do own their own plots of land.’ He gave her one final speculative glance and then thrust open his door. ‘We encourage people to be self-sufficient.’ His lips twisted. ‘Your taxi driver got it wrong.’
‘So it would seem.’ Rachel kept a wary eye on him as he got out of the Jeep. Then, pushing open her own door, she did likewise, feeling the heat of the sun on her arms and the delicious breeze off the water.
Matt pushed his glasses back onto his nose and went ahead of her. Slipping and sliding, he descended the dunes to arrive unscathed at the beach.
He turned then. ‘You coming?’ he asked, and Rachel decided she didn’t have much choice. Besides, she wanted to paddle in the water. Her feet were already itching to feel the sand between her toes.
Hauling her backpack out of the back of the Jeep, she removed the flip-flops and then followed him. It wasn’t as easy going down the dunes as he’d made it look, and she arrived at the bottom dishevelled and red-faced.
Thankfully, Matt had already walked away towards the water. And, putting down her pack, she combed her fingers through her hair again, realising that trying to look neat at the moment was far beyond her capabilities.
Shouldering the pack again, she started after him, and then paused for a second to examine a huge pink shell that was honeycombed with cracks. Evidently something had lived inside it once, but its sanctuary had been invaded. Or perhaps it was very old and had been eroded by the sea.
The sun was beginning to beat down on her head now, as well as on her shoulders. When she straightened, she lifted a hand to protect her scalp.
‘You hot now?’
Her interest in the shell had not gone unnoticed, and Matt had made his way back to her. Like her, he’d shed the Converse trainers he’d been wearing, tying the laces together and hanging them round his neck.
‘A bit,’ Rachel admitted, and Matt nodded towards the sea.
‘Take a dip,’ he advised. ‘That will cool you down. You might even enjoy it.’
Rachel pursed her lips. ‘How do you know I’ve brought a swimsuit?’
Matt pulled off his glasses again, his eyes mocking and intent. ‘Hey, I’m not a prude,’ he said. ‘We can go skinny-dipping, if you like. I’m game if you are.’
Why did he always have the power to embarrass her? As her face flamed with colour, Rachel hoped it would just blend in with the flush that already stained her cheeks.
‘I know you’re not serious,’ she said primly, although she was half afraid he was. ‘But I have brought a swimsuit, as it happens. If you’ll look the other way, I’ll put it on.’
Matt’s mouth showed his amusement. ‘Now who’s a prude?’ he asked. ‘I can’t believe you’ve never undressed in front of a man before.’
As a matter of fact she hadn’t, but Rachel wasn’t about to tell him that. ‘Just turn the other way,’ she said tersely. ‘I’m not about to undress in front of a man I barely know.’
‘Your loss.’
But to her relief he did turn his back and saunter away towards the ocean. Though her deliverance was tempered with disbelief when he hauled his shirt over his head and flung it down on the sand. Then his hands went to the waistband of his shorts.
Rachel’s mouth fell open and she paused in the middle of unbuttoning her skirt. What on earth was he doing? she wondered. And then let out a gasp when he dropped his shorts as well.
He was wearing underwear.
Rachel relaxed a little when she saw black shorts. She’d been half afraid he went commando. But, dear God, what would her mother think? she mused, dumbfounded. Did she know he flirted with other women when she wasn’t around?
And yet he hadn’t actually flirted with her, she conceded honestly, stripping off her skirt and panties, pulling her swimsuit over her hips. It wasn’t his fault that she reacted to him. He was just naturally unconventional, naturally uninhibited, the kind of man Rachel had never had dealings with before.
Her tank top and bra were quickly disposed of, and she expelled another sigh when the top of the swimsuit was securely in place. Okay, it was strapless, and probably not the most appropriate choice in these circumstances. But she’d change back into her clothes as soon as she’d had a swim.
Matt was already in the water, the sea lapping about his hips. His tattoo was fully exposed now, wrapped darkly around his upper arm. She noticed how brown his skin was above his black waistband, smooth and unblemished. He had narrow hips and strong thighs and a tight muscled butt.
Dear Lord, she wasn’t supposed to notice such things, not about a man who was apparently involved with her mother. But, for some reason she preferred not to dwell on, she was incapable of ignoring him, or his hard masculine beauty.
Choosing a spot some yards from where Matt had entered the water, Rachel dragged her eyes away from her tormentor and ran eagerly into the sea. It was so good to submerge her shoulders, to dip her head below the surface, to come up feeling exhilarated just to be alive.
The land shelved fairly steeply, she discovered, and in no time at all she was out of her depth. But that didn’t worry her. She was a strong swimmer, and the water itself was so warm and soft and delightful. Whatever else she took from this trip, she would always remember