fellow diners enviously. How nice it would have been to have nothing more momentous on her mind than what bikini she would wear to the beach, Laura mused wryly. With her pale skin, she was definitely a rarity, and it was not a distinction she enjoyed.
After the waitress had taken away her half-eaten plate of eggs, Laura sipped her third cup of coffee and wondered what she ought to do now. She supposed she should stay around the hotel, if only to be on hand should Jason make an attempt to contact her. On the other hand, if he had not ‘phoned by lunchtime, she could surely discount his doing so, and then she would have to decide whether or not to try the club in person.
Her decision made, she told the receptionist at the desk she was expecting a call, and then joined the other holidaymakers congregating beside the small pool. Seated in the shade on a padded lounger, she made an effort to appear as nonchalant as the other guests, but she was acutely alert to the paging call of the receptionist’s voice.
From time to time, a lissom Polynesian girl, dressed in a flowered bikini, with a matching kanga looped about her waist, came to offer cocktails, fruit drinks or coffee. But Laura always refused her lilting inquiry, and when a shadow fell across her for the fourth time, she lifted her head impatiently.
‘Thank you, I don’t want …’ she was beginning rather tersely, when her throat dried and the words choked to silence in her mouth. ‘Heavens—Jason!’ she got out disbelievingly, scrambling hastily to her feet, but her knees felt ridiculously unsteady as she faced the man across the width of the lounger.
‘HELLO, LAURA.’
Jason’s voice was cool and polite, his tone detached and incurious, as if her arrival in the islands was no surprise to him. On the contrary, there was a cynical gleam in the depths of his pale gold eyes, and his expression was resigned and only slightly guarded.
‘I … er … I thought you’d ring,’ Laura stammered now, caught unaware by her own unwelcome response to his dark magnetism. She had thought she had recovered from that unhealthy infatuation, but it seemed she had been premature in dismissing his attraction.
‘I did,’ he replied briefly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and she noticed, inconsequently, how much older he looked. The lines that etched his dark features were deeply ingrained, and the hair that lay so smoothly against his head was distinctly threaded with grey. ‘You were not available,’ he added, glancing behind him to where two other men were lounging by the pool bar.
Realising he had not come alone, Laura felt a resurgence of the resentment which had sustained her through the long weeks following her return to England. Of course, she thought bitterly, a man like him would need a bodyguard. He must have many enemies, not just here, but on the mainland.
‘I rang yesterday evening,’ he continued, observing her changing expression with impassive eyes. ‘Logan said it was urgent. I presume he exaggerated.’
‘I … why … no!’ Laura gathered her wandering thoughts, and adopted an air of concentration. ‘He—Logan, that is—doubted you would wish to speak to me. I’m afraid I went for a walk. You should have left a message.’
Jason expelled his breath evenly. ‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘Yes, I expect I should. Well—I am here now. I suggest we find somewhere we can talk.’
‘Oh—yes.’ Laura looked about her awkwardly, realising for the first time that their conversation was being observed by at least a dozen pairs of curious eyes. And why not, she reflected drily. They must be wondering what a man like Jason Montefiore could possibly want with a pale-skinned English girl of nondescript appearance, when he could evidently have his pick of any of the golden-skinned beauties lining the pool.
‘I assume you have no objections to coming with me?’ Jason inquired, as they walked towards the hotel entrance, and Laura cast him a sideways glance.
‘Coming with you?’ she echoed faintly, acutely aware of the shortcomings of her outfit compared to the fine silk of his beige suit.
‘I thought we might use the yacht,’ he essayed politely, allowing her to precede him into the hotel. ‘We can hardly talk here.’
‘Why not?’
Laura’s braid swung over one shoulder as she twisted her head towards him, and his lips parted in a thin smile. ‘I think we will use the yacht,’ he responded, striding lithely through the lobby and pushing wide the swing door for her to precede him out on to the front steps of the building. ‘You initiated this meeting, Laura,’ he added crisply. ‘The least you can do is to allow me to choose its venue.’
Aware of the two men from the bar following them, Laura had little choice but to step out into the sunlight. Rubbing her palms against her upper arms, she saw the sleek silver Mercedes waiting at the kerb, and her heart beat a little faster in spite of her misgivings.
Jason went ahead of her down the steps, and she saw him loosen the button beneath his tie and pull the knot away from his collar. So even he felt the heat, she reflected tensely, glad of the small imperfection. Then, as the doors opened behind her, she descended the steps, just as a uniformed chauffeur emerged to open the car doors for them.
‘Get in,’ advised Jason briefly, his eyes already looking beyond her to the two men behind. She did so, with reluctance, closing her ears to the terse instructions Jason was issuing, not looking his way again even when she felt the depression of his weight on the cushioned seat beside her.
The door was closed, and immediately the air-conditioning inside the car chilled her flesh. With the glass screen between front and back raised, they were enclosed in a world of smoked glass sophistication, and Laura couldn’t help remembering the last occasion she had ridden with him. There had been antagonism between them then, as there was now, but also a compelling familiarity—an addictive intimacy Laura had found it so hard to live without. She had known him so well—or at least she had thought she had—and there were times in those early days when she had wondered how she had ever found the strength to leave him, even after what she had learned. The truth, she had discovered to her cost, was that love did not always conform to a code of ethics. It was headstrong and unpredictable, and it had taken many months and many sleepless nights to get Jason Montefiore out of her blood …
‘You flew in—when? Yesterday?’ he inquired now, and she was forced to withdraw her attention from the leather strap hanging by the window.
‘Yesterday afternoon,’ she agreed, giving him a swift look of appraisal. He had lost weight, she noticed unwillingly, but the deeply-set eyes and thin-lipped mouth were still as disturbingly sensual as ever. His cheeks had hollowed, but the skin stretched tautly over his bones gave his dark face the strength and character she remembered, his Italian ancestry only evident in the burnished darkness of his hair.
‘From London?’ he persisted, raising one leg to rest his ankle across his knee, and the fine cloth of his pants tautened across his thighs.
‘No,’ she responded shortly, turning her eyes away from his unconscious sexuality, and concentrating on the back of the chauffeur’s head. Evidently the two other men were riding in a separate car, for there was only themselves and the driver in this one. After all, what use had Jason for a bodyguard with her? He was perfectly capable of subduing her, should he so wish.
She thought he might pursue his questions, but he didn’t. As if deciding he could wait if she could, he lounged a little lower in his seat, resting one leanfingered hand on his drawn-up ankle and gazing broodingly out of the tinted window.
It didn’t take them long to reach the marina. Jason’s driver evidently knew the city well, and in only a few minutes they had reached the basin where dozens of yachts had their mooring. The Mercedes drove into the parking area, but before he could get out to open the door for his passengers, Jason had already taken care of it.
‘You can pick me up at four o’clock,’