Kissed by Moonlight, page 9
One hand still held hers, the other was by his side, but not for long. Anticipation of being swept into his arms held her on dagger points, impaling her nerve ends, her breath. It was almost a relief when the tormenting wait ended and she felt herself being crushed against his chest.
Would she always experience this jolt of surprise? Before marrying David, she had never realized what a delicious sensation it was to be touched. Tiny buds of excitement seemed to burst just beneath the surface of her skin as his caressing fingers compelled a craving in her that matched his own. Her traitorous body was hungry for him, but her mind refused to succumb. Her restraint turned the pleasure pulses he had aroused into points of pain.
She clenched her fingers, trying to support her determination with movement, but instead of hitting wildly at nothing, her knuckles grazed down his hips. The unexpected contact uncurled her hands; they turned and flattened against his thighs. The muscular hardness of his body soaked the strength out of her fingers. It took barely two weakening seconds for her arms to lift and slide around his neck where twining finger met twining finger. “The ring of seduction,” he called it. But there was no seduction mirrored in her eyes, only the loving passion she felt for him.
Her hands slid down to trace, through his shirt, the line of his spine and the outlines of his strongly muscled chest. Almost surprised by her willing acquiescence, he trailed his fingers lightly over her breasts and touched his lips to the hollow at the base of her throat. His eyes grew smoky with passion as he led her gently to the bed.
He drew her down beside him and pushed aside the straps of her slip, dropping the thin cloth barrier from her breasts, then buried his face in the hollow between them before letting his tongue trace sensuously over their rosy tips. Petrina made a small sound of pleasure as she pressed him closer, her body arching against the muscular length of his. That he desired her was evident in his husky breathing and the pounding of his heart, and when at last she gave herself completely to him, it was in loving submission.
Some time later, he said, “Sorry to sound repetitive, darling, but I must drag myself away. I have work to do.”
She bit back a plaintive “Must you?” and said, “What about your lunch?”
“I’ll get something and eat it as I go along.”
“Go along where?”
“I’m not very happy about one stretch of the road we went along this morning.”
“Only one stretch? I wasn’t very happy about most of it.”
His head went to one side. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a storm brewing.”
Now he came to mention it, she had wondered at the peculiar yellow brightness of the sky and the stillness of the air.
“It’s forecast to hit us by tomorrow morning. Just to be on the safe side, I’ve decided to direct the entire work force to that one piece of road. I don’t want all that effort to be washed away.” He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. “I’ll get a lunch tray sent up for you.”
“You won’t,” she protested. “I’m going down to the dining room.”
He looked at his watch. “It closed five minutes ago.”
Oh, dear! What will the staff think? And Ginny? We were supposed to be joining her!”
His eyes glinted wickedly. “Ginny is very understanding. Her romantic heart will be making a big sighing ‘Aaah’. The staff is more likely to be saying, ‘That terrible Senor Palmer can’t keep his hands off his little esposa and gets her into bed at every possible moment’.”
“Thank you very much,” she said, blushing rosily, scrambling to make herself look presentable.
She was sitting on the balcony when the waiter .arrived with her lunch tray. It all looked delicious. Fillet of hake in a spicy tomato sauce with slivers of lightly toasted almonds, a cold meat salad, and fruit. There was also a small bottle of white wine.
As soon as the shops were open again after siesta, she intended to do some shopping. As well as sunglasses and protective cream, she also required soothing lotion for her lobster-red shoulders and a tender bit at the top of her right thigh, earned from her ill-fated drying off in the sun yesterday. She must also remember to buy a postcard to send to Uncle Richard.
On stepping out of the elevator she bumped into the one person she most wanted to avoid: Justine Hyland.
“Hello,” she said hollowly.
“Hi!” Justine responded in an overfriendly tone. “All set for the barbecue tonight?”
“Barbecue?”
“On the beach, if the weather holds. Didn’t David tell you?”
“No,” she said, unwisely letting her irritation show. It was just that he never seemed to tell her anything. She had to find out everything the hard way.
“Perhaps he didn’t think you’d fancy it,” Justine suggested slyly.
“Well, he’s wrong. Because I do.”
“Splendid. He makes a wonderful dancing partner. See you there!”
“You can count on it.” And we’ll see whose dancing partner he is, she thought. “What’s the dress?”
“Anything, as long as it’s casual.”
She mentally plundered her wardrobe and added another item to her shopping list: something special to wear this evening.
The sunglasses, the various lotions, a postcard, and stationery were no trouble to acquire. The something special to wear took rather longer to be selected. She had an idea what Justine meant by “casual” and she wasn’t going to be caught out. The final choice rested between a revealing slinky black dress and a pair of tight-fitting white trousers, which she teamed with a plain black top that was so skimpy it was nearly a miss, but scored a hit when she put it on. The trousers and top were the less daring of the two, so she decided on those.
Back at the hotel, settled in her favorite chair on her balcony, she wrote both the postcard and a letter to Uncle Robert. The postcard showed an aerial view of the island with a border of scenic pictures. There was one bay in particular that captured her heart, but she had no idea just where on the island it was. The letter paper gave more space for writing.
She put down her pen and sat back, thinking how dramatically her life had changed in the span of a few days. The postcard of the island was responsible for triggering nostalgia. In particular, the tiny bay that was the unspoiled image of her father’s dream of Chimera caught her eye. What would he think if he could see how cruelly his dream had been misused? Everything that had been accomplished was the exact opposite of what he had set out to create.
Big money had come in to achieve the violation. She had an idea stirring in her mind that David was more than a key man employed to do a responsible job. She thought it possible that he’d invested some of his own money in the project and was entitled to a say in the way things were conducted. But there was a major shareholder who had the final word. In her mind he had always been The Opportunist or The Profiteer. Now she had another name to link with those two: Geoffrey Hyland.
What was he like? Not the kind of man who would meet with her approval, she feared. She could never like him for what he’d done to Chimera, for destroying her father’s dream. David condemned her attitude. A tiny part of her knew that he was right and she was being unreasonable. Only a fool would have followed her father’s exact plan and not been guided by his mistakes. Geoffrey Hyland was neither a fool nor a philanthropist. By all accounts he was a hard-headed businessman who had come in to bail her father out, not out of the goodness of his heart, but to make a profit.
She was glad now that when her father came out of exile she’d abandoned her own plans of getting a job, or embarking on some kind of training to equip her to get a job, to keep house for him. Those two years had been good. There hadn’t been any money to spare, because her father had failed to climb back onto the bandwagon of success, but they’d reached a better understanding, grown closer.
On his death, David had unexpectedly come to rescue her from the bad publicity raked up by a ghoulish press. And here she was.
Chapter Seven
Petrina was ready for the barbecue and still David hadn’t returned. When he did, she half wished she wasn’t so obviously ready to go out. It wasn’t just the flicker of annoyance on his face when he took in her appearance and made the correct interpretation, but the tiredness that showed around his eyes and mouth and seemed to have eaten up his normal vitality. Even the usual sardonic twinkle was absent from his eye. Thé twist of sadness in her stomach took her by surprise because she would never have thought that roguish gleam was something she’d yearn to see. Difficult as it was to believe, it was easier on her emotions to be plagued by him than to feel compassion for him.
“I heard about the beach barbecue,” she explained. “I thought it might be fun.”
She felt guilty now about whimpering on about being neglected. He worked too hard, against pressures she knew nothing about and a clock that remained steadfastly just a bit ahead. She had been an unwanted complication, and instead of being grateful that he was fitting her in she had been fiercely resentful, too engrossed in herself to spare a moment of wifely concern for him.
“Who told you about the barbecue?”
“Justine,” she said, puzzled by his angry tone.
“I’d guessed – Bob,” he said more amenably.
Had the idea of going to the barbecue become more attractive because Justine was behind it?
“If you’re too tired ...?” she began tentatively. “I’ll feel better when I’ve had a shower.”
“I don’t mind. I’d just as soon have a quiet meal and an early night.”
“I’ve told you I’ll be all right,” he said grittily. “Why do you have to be so perverse? If I’d said I was too tired, you’d have sulked.”
Her eyes blazed into anger. “I do not sulk. I might lash out in temper and even throw things, but I never sink into crabby silence, which is what I presume you mean by sulking. And it’s insulting of you to suggest I do.”
The faintest of smiles was tempted to his mouth. “You’re right, I’m wrong. I apologize. Now stop arguing. If you don’t, then I’ll stop you arguing and we’ll have that early night. But I promise you it won’t be restful.”
His eyes caught hers and she held her breath. She was incapable of releasing it until that predatory gleam, only lightly restrained, finished stalking her. She escaped the shackles of one hold only to be seized by another. As his eyes let her go his strong fingers bound her wrists and pulled her forward into his arms.
“Which will please you most,” he said roughly against her cheek, “the barbecue or bed?”
“The barbecue,” she said in a whisper.
Her release came too soon. “The barbecue it is. Pour me a drink, Pet, while I’m showering.”
She went over to the cart containing an assortment of bottles and glasses. She said, with a touch of mischief of her own, “What would you like? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. Lemonade? Orangeade? Ginger Ale?”
“The last one sounds all right. Dry Ginger Ale. Oh, and a generous measure of whisky.”
She crossed her fingers and hoped this lighter mood would prevail. In combat with David she used herself up and she wanted to keep something in reserve, in case Justine had anything in store for her. It was bad enough fighting David; the prospect of fighting for him was not one she viewed with confidence. The new outfit had not provided the prop she thought it would despite, or perhaps because of, the prolonged inspection his eyes had given it.
When he appeared again, she found herself running her glance over his choice of attire with appreciation and a jolt of surprise. He, too, had opted for a change of image. In faded and obviously well-worn slacks that were an indiscriminate color between blue and grey and a dark red sweat shirt with a striped red-and-black scarf around his throat, he looked more like a beachcomber than a shrewd man of business. No, he looked less civilized than a beachcomber. A more barbaric character altogether. Yes, that was it, a pirate.
He approached her with a slow stride, even though his shower had done the revitalizing trick. His eyes strolled over her, the stubborn tilt of her chin, along her shoulder and down to the curve of her thigh, gently emphasized by the fit of her trousers. His finger trailed down accordingly, but instead of finishing the course it stayed in the shadowed hollow between her breasts.
“I don’t care for my wife to show this much cleavage.”
At first she thought it was a joke, but then she saw he was deadly serious.
“I went to a lot of trouble to select this outfit. I’m not changing into something else.”
“I’m not asking you to. But if I were, you’d change. I’m warning you. Just because you’re dressed like a tart, don’t act like one.”
Her frustration and hurt wanted an outlet. She was afraid she would either strike him or burst into tears. The one would have been ineffective, the other humiliating, so she only turned away from him with a painful, sinking feeling.
The air conditioning of the hotel was something that was taken for granted, barely noticed even until it was left behind. Walking out into the oppressively warm evening, she perceived that the curious yellow light of the day had plunged into an even stranger honey glow.
“Will the rain hold off for the barbecue?” she asked.
“No,” David prophesied grimly. “Before the night’s out we’ll all be running for cover.”
What thoughts were going on behind that daunting frown? Trying to probe the puzzle of his funny mood, she asked, “Is it that stretch of road you were concerned about earlier?”
“No. I did what I set out to do. It should hold up as well as anywhere.”
She had supplied the opening. He obviously didn’t want to tell her what was troubling him, so she let it drop.
A trail of people in antlike formation marked the route to the beach. The women stood out like a sprinkling of lotus petals in their pretty dresses or pants outfits, and she didn’t feel at all outrageous in her choice.
The beach was already beginning to look quite crowded and the convivial atmosphere was infectious. Her nose tingled at the scent of wood smoke and roasted suckling pig; her blood danced to the music supplied by three gitanos, authentic Spanish gypsies in traditional costume.
A small welcome-to-the-party glass was put in her hand. She tipped it to her lips and drank fire. Her smarting eyes latched on to David’s taunting grin.
“You could have warned me, you beast,” she said between gasps and splutters.
He took her hand and guided her to a vacant spot at one of the long tables that had been set up, temptingly arrayed with bowls containing crusty hunks of bread that smelled oven fresh, green salad, bottles of red and white wine, and pitchers of sangria afloat with fruit.
As the tables filled up, more bowls appeared, chunky with potatoes, and immense platters of chicken and suckling pig. Everything was refillable – as soon as the level of anything dropped, it was heaped up again, and the empty bottles of wine and pitchers of sangria were whisked away and replaced with new ones.
“Room for one more?”
Petrina’s head jerked around to see Justine’s sweetly smiling face fixed on David. She gulped. Her gaze flitted between David and Justine, assessing Justine’s appearance, wanting to imprint on her mind David’s reaction to his former lover in her presence. He edged nearer to her, but only to make room for Justine to sit next to him on his other side. His blank expression told her nothing she didn’t already know – that he was adept at hiding his feelings.
Justine’s black hair was worn piled high. She wore a heavy Aztec necklace that made her throat look even more fragile than usual, emphasizing her collarbone and drawing the eyes down to the seductive cling of her black dress of shimmering satin. Was this casual? It was so tight she might have been poured into it. The sheen of the material gave her thigh a gentle curve and showed up the slightest movement of stomach muscle. Only someone as snake-supple as Justine could have got away with such a highlighting effect; on her it was the most sensational thing Petrina had ever seen.
She was not unhappy to have her thoughts distracted by the ceremony of serving the punch. Huge vats were set alight and the potent liquid was ladled into glasses. She caught a glimpse of Ginny, who was seated a few tables away, a new superlook Ginny in a green dress, her blond hair free of the usual brown ribbon, falling in a silky flick to her shoulders.
When the dancing began, she saw that the majority of the women were kicking off their sandals and dancing barefoot. She followed suit.
Taking her into his arms, David looked down at her diminished height and said, “The falsehoods you women practice.”
“High heels are my only falsehood,” she asserted.
“Who should know that but I?” he said, crushing her more fiercely to his body.
The wine had affected her tongue. “That would be telling.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I know.”
“Really?” His laugh grated on her nerves, goading her to add, “You know you were the first man to make love to me properly, I’ll grant you that. But you can’t know how many times I’ve been tempted before.”
“You knew your destiny at an early age. I spoiled you for other men.”
“That’s an arrogant remark. Do you think yourself so superior that I can’t find other men attractive?”
“You’d better not.”
“But you find other women attractive.”
“That’s different.”
“How is it? You don’t own me and you can’t dictate how I feel. I’m an independent person. I’m my own woman.”
“You are my wife. You can only be as independent as I allow you to be.”
“That is the most biased male viewpoint I’ve ever heard.”
It wasn’t even as though it was worth arguing about. She didn’t want to be independent of him and she knew she could never become emotionally involved with anyone else. She loved him and he didn’t have to force his mastery over her. But set against this was the driving force of her deeply hurt pride. She could not forget that he had told her she looked like a tart. If that weren’t bad enough, he’d carried the insult a step further by warning her not to act like one. She wouldn’t even know how, although doubtless she could get a few pointers by watching Justine.
