Tender Assault

‘India?’ he said, half incredulously, and her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.

‘Nathan,’ she repeated. ‘Welcome home. I’m sorry it’s in such unhappy circumstances.’

‘Yes.’ Nathan couldn’t get over the change in her. When he had gone away, India had been five feet two at most, and, although she hadn’t deserved her mother’s description of her as being overweight and spotty, she had been suffering the usual pains of adolescence. ‘I’m sorry, too.’ He paused. ‘It’s good to see you again, India.’

Her smile was perfunctory. ‘Shall we go?’ she suggested. She glanced at his canvas holdall before gesturing towards the back of the building. ‘The buggy’s just over there.’ She turned to the pilot, who had been observing their reunion. ‘Raoul, will you fetch the rest of Mr Kittrick’s luggage off the plane?’

‘No,’ Nathan intervened before the pilot could speak. ‘That is—I don’t have any more luggage.’ He tapped the canvas holdall. ‘This is it.’

India’s brows, which were several shades darker than her hair, drew together in obvious confusion. ‘You mean—it’s coming on later,’ she said, evidently not enjoying having her arrangements thwarted in front of the staff, and Nathan shook his head.

‘I’ve got everything I need,’ he assured her smoothly. He gave the pilot and his companion a faintly mocking salute. ‘Thanks, Raoul. It was a very—enjoyable trip.’

He didn’t look at the stewardess, but he guessed she was relieved he hadn’t chosen to mention her. All the same, it made him wonder about the kind of stories that were circulating about him. What kind of man did they think he was? What other lies had Adele been spreading since she had learned she was not to inherit Pelican Island after all?

He felt a surge of irritation, not least because he didn’t like the idea of India hearing that her stepbrother was some sort of sex animal. She might already think it, of course. Goodness knew, she had been brainwashed into believing he had no scruples. He wasn’t a monk, and he’d never pretended to be one. But he’d spent most of his energies these past years in making a success of his business, not feeding his libido.

‘Oh, well …’ India lifted her slim shoulders in a dismissing motion, and started towards the black- and white-painted buggy parked in the shade of the building. ‘Let’s go.’

Nathan took a moment to observe the spectacle of her trim rear, tightly encased in black close-fitting shorts, before following her. He already knew her breasts were full and round and strained against the white silk of the vest that completed her outfit. The shadow of her bra had been clearly visible as he’d looked down at her, and he guessed she was one of the hotel’s less obvious assets.

This thought irritated him, also. He didn’t like the image of some rich banker feasting his eyes on India’s slender body. She was his sister, for God’s sake! He didn’t want anyone looking at her but him. He knew a sudden urge to protect her. Was Adele exploiting her daughter, as well as everything else?

India was sitting in the buggy when he reached it, her hands on the wheel, and the motor running. Nathan tossed his bag into the back, and swung himself into the seat beside her. ‘Right,’ he said, giving her a brooding sideways glance, and she put the gearstick into drive, and pressed her booted foot on the accelerator.

The road had been much improved, he noticed at once. The rutted track he remembered had been repaired and edged with coral, but it was an ongoing problem. It was impossible to control all the vegetation on the island, and trailing vines hid the road in places. On top of that, grass was pushing up among the coral, and here and there the heads of periwinkles nodded as they passed. There was a glorious inconsistency about the landscaping here, he thought ruefully. Tropical shrubs grew in the most unlikely places, and, despite the frustration, their beauty was unsurpassed.

‘Did you have a good flight?’

Her question took him by surprise, and he had to check the urge to ask her if she cared. Her attitude towards him—polite, but superficial—was not what he’d anticipated, not what he wanted. Didn’t she feel any emotion, for God’s sake? He’d expected anger, or resentment, but not indifference.

But it was too soon to voice his feelings. Particularly as he wasn’t entirely sure what those feelings were. At the moment, he was still assimilating his reaction to her appearance, reminding himself that this was the wide-eyed kid who’d once hung on his every word.

So, ‘Pretty good,’ he responded, half turning in his seat towards her, and resting one arm along the back of hers. He hesitated, and then, ‘How’s your mother? Was she here when the old man bought—er—died?’

‘Of course she was here.’ With the first flash of spirit he had seen, India answered him. ‘He’d been ill for several weeks. The local doctor thought it was just over-work. He wouldn’t go to see a specialist. He was having some pain, you see, and he insisted it was just a pulled muscle.’

Nathan felt an unwilling tightness in his throat. ‘But it wasn’t.’

‘No.’ India shook her head and a silky strand of her long hair brushed his knuckles. ‘Afterwards—after the heart attack that killed him—they discovered a small embolism in his chest. It—was very quick.’

Nathan turned his hand and captured the fiery thread, smoothing it between his fingers. ‘I see.’

‘We did try to reach you,’ she added. ‘But we didn’t know where you were living. Fortunately, Mr Hastings——’ his father’s lawyer, he remembered ‘—located an address in New York. But, as you know, you weren’t there.’

‘No.’ She moved her head again and he let go of her hair. ‘I was—out of the country. Still——’ his lips twisted ‘—I doubt if I was missed.’

Her eyes turned to him then, cool and dispassionate. ‘You are his son,’ she said, as if that was enough, and the rawness of injustice stirred inside him.

‘Not for the past eight years,’ he said, baring his resentment. ‘The old man threw me off the island, if you remember. I didn’t get the impression he ever wanted me back.’

India’s fingers tightened on the steering-wheel, and for a few moments she said nothing, allowing him to draw his own conclusions. But it was difficult to sustain any bitterness here, with the spicy scents of the island invading his nostrils, and the lowering sun touching everything with a golden brilliance. He’d forgotten exactly how beautiful it all was, and he gazed at the drooping heads of mimosa and oleander with an equal measure of ambivalence.

The road was dipping down towards the shoreline, and, to their left, the manicured lawns of a golf course defied the hand of nature. Beyond the trunk of a flowering jacaranda, he could see the coral roof of the clubhouse, and the gaily painted carts that ferried the guests around.

Evidently Adele had been busy, he reflected wryly, remembering this area as being a flowering wilderness. But these days no resort worth its salt could do without a golf course, and even a desultory glance disclosed that this was a rather better one than most.

‘He never stopped loving you, you know,’ India said suddenly, into the faintly hostile silence that had fallen, and Nathan gave her a searching look.

‘No?’ He was sceptical.

‘No.’ She clung to the wheel as the buggy bounced over a wooden bridge that arched a small ravine. ‘He used to talk about you a lot.’ She paused. ‘Particularly towards—towards the end.’

Nathan’s jaw compressed. What was he supposed to say to that? What was he supposed to think? Did she think it comforted him to believe his father had forgiven him? Dammit; as far as he was concerned, there was nothing to forgive.

‘And what about you?’ he asked, somewhat mockingly, eager to change the subject, and she gave him a startled glance.

‘What about me?’

‘Do you still love me?’ he asked, wanting to disconcert her, and a feathering of colour brushed her skin.

She had beautiful skin, he noticed, pale and delicate, but with the rich lushness of cream. She had never tanned, but she had also escaped the bane of freckles that many redheads suffered. Instead, her arms and legs were smooth and unblemished, and disturbingly appealing.

‘Of course,’ she said at once, her reply swift and defensive, and he found himself staring at her, resenting her generosity. How could she love someone who, if she believed her mother, had despised and insulted her? Someone, moreover, who had betrayed them all, particularly his father? But, ‘You’re my brother,’ she added simply, and Nathan felt as if someone had just kicked him in the gut …

CHAPTER TWO

‘SO WHERE is he?’

Adele Kittrick turned from applying a moisturising foundation to her face and neck, and regarded her daughter impatiently. In a coral silk wrapper, with her skilfully bleached hair hidden beneath a black turban, she looked rather more than the forty-two years she admitted to. It didn’t help that her expression was taut and demanding. India was the only person who ever saw her mother at her worst.

‘He said he was going to take a shower,’ India replied now, hooking her hip over the arm of a satin-striped chaise-longue, and meeting her mother’s gaze without rancour. ‘I’ve put him in 204, as we decided. If I’d known you wanted me to bring him here, I’d have made other arrangements.’

‘I didn’t want you to bring him here,’ retorted her mother shortly, turning back to survey her reflection in the mirror of the dressing-table. ‘I just find it hard to believe that he didn’t mention the will as you were driving back from the airport. It must be on his mind, for God’s sake. It’s why he’s come here. To make fools of us all!’

India drew her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I don’t think you can blame Nathan for what his father did,’ she said cautiously. ‘He knew nothing about the will. And he certainly didn’t influence Daddy.’

‘How do you know that?’ Adele screwed the cap back on to the jar of cream and slammed it down on the tray in front of her. The crystal rang protestingly, but fortunately it didn’t shatter. Nevertheless, India’s nails curled into her palms at this obvious display of temper.

‘Mother, you know Daddy hasn’t spoken to Nathan for over eight years,’ her daughter replied steadily. ‘Why, even Mr Hastings didn’t have his address.’

Adele snorted. ‘Oh, yes, go on. Defend him, India. You always did. Even though you knew what he’d said about you, how he’d treated you, you still ran around after him like a lovesick puppy!’

India drew a calming breath. This was an old argument, and one she had learned not to pursue. It used to hurt—it might still hurt, if she let it. But she knew it was just her mother’s way of expunging her frustration, of letting out some of the bitterness that was eating her up.

‘Well, what did you talk about, then?’ Adele persisted now, when it became apparent that her previous taunt was not about to bear fruit. ‘Is he still as arrogant as ever—as aggressive? What?’

India carefully uncurled her fingers and smoothed them over the expanded Lycra of her shorts. She was glad her mother was looking at her own reflection at that moment, and not at her. But that didn’t prevent her palms from growing moist, or stop a trickle of sweat from running down between her breasts.

‘He’s—older,’ she said at last, realising that was hardly a satisfactory response, but needing to say something before her mother became suspicious of her silence. ‘And—he’s very brown. I’d say that, whatever he’s been doing for the past eight years, it hasn’t been in an office.’

Adele’s eyes shifted to her daughter’s face. ‘Well, what did you expect?’ she demanded scathingly, and India was so relieved she had noticed nothing amiss that she didn’t voice any protest. ‘He’s probably been herding cattle or working on an oil rig! God knows, he wasn’t fit for anything else. When I think of how we’ve worked to make a success of this place, I could weep. It’s just not fair that he should get it all.’

‘No.’ India had to concede her mother’s final point at least. But Nathan was his father’s flesh and blood. She had only ever been second-best.

Adele picked up a tube of lip-gloss, and examined the colour intently. ‘Did—er—did he ask about me?’ she enquired, and, although India had been expecting the question, it still caught her unawares.

‘He—asked how you were,’ she admitted honestly, managing to contain the wave of heat that threatened to invade her neck. And then, rushing on, ‘But mostly he talked about Daddy. He wanted to know the details of how he died.’

Adele’s mouth took on a sullen twist. ‘As if he cared,’ she exclaimed malevolently. ‘I hope you told him his father never spoke of him. I don’t remember Aaron even mentioning his name in my hearing.’

India got abruptly to her feet. That wasn’t true, but she knew better than to say so. ‘I’d better go,’ she said, aware that, for all her apparent composure, she couldn’t take much more. It hadn’t been an easy day for her either, and even her cultivated detachment was wearing dangerously thin. ‘I promised Carlos I’d speak to Paolo about serving drinks while he’s playing. And I’ve got to get changed yet. I’m supposed to be having dinner with Senator Markham and his wife.’

Adele grimaced. ‘He won’t expect you to keep to that arrangement, India. Besides, it was business, wasn’t it? Why should you continue to take bookings when, as far as we know, Nathan could boot us out tomorrow?’

India breathed out slowly. ‘I—don’t think he’ll do that, Mother.’

‘How do you know? Has he said so?’

‘No——’

‘There you are, then.’ Adele sighed with frustration. ‘I wish you’d stop thinking that you know him better than I do. He’s a rat, India. A bastard! He’s totally without scruples, and you’d better start believing it!’

She did!

As India made some perfunctory comment about not having time to discuss Nathan now, and left her mother’s room, her nerves were working overtime. And, with the door closed behind her, she took a moment to get herself back together. But her mother’s words were far too potent to dismiss that easily, and the fact that they were true made them impossible to forget.

Nathan was everything her mother had said. He had behaved abominably, and had almost broken his father’s heart. It had taken Aaron Kittrick years to get over what his son had done, and her mother had borne the brunt of the depression he had suffered because of it.

Squaring her shoulders, India determinedly put that memory behind her. However Nathan had behaved, whatever he had done, it was pointless thinking about it now. Evidently his father had forgiven him, or he would not have made him his heir. It was no use her feeling bitter. Her mother was nursing enough bitterness for both of them.

The family apartments were situated in a separate wing of the hotel. Connected to the main building by means of a vine-hung colonnade, it was a single-storey dwelling, with a pink-tiled hipped roof, and long windows, opening on to a paved terrace. It was sufficiently apart from the other hotel buildings to ensure complete privacy, but near enough so that any problems could be dealt with at once. After all, it was the very personal service they offered that had made Kittrick’s Hotel and Pelican Island world-famous. It prided itself on its reputation for providing both comfort and individuality, and, although it had accommodated many visitors over the years, a careful record was kept of each guest’s likes and dislikes.

Of course, it helped that the hotel could only accommodate a maximum of thirty guests at any one time. Eighteen suites catered to the needs of visitors as diverse as politicians and pop stars, their exclusivity ensuring that if privacy was sought it would be found. There were no sensation seekers on Pelican Island, no publicity hounds, no fans wanting autographs. Indeed, there were times when the whole hotel was filled with a single party, and it wasn’t uncommon for an anonymous guest to turn out to be a very familiar face.

It was almost dark as India entered the cathedral-like foyer of the hotel. But the enormous chandelier suspended from the cavernous ceiling cast its mellow glow over the many plants and floral displays that gave the huge reception area a colourful ambience. As well as the chandelier, a sprinkling of lamps, set beside groupings of chairs and sofas, created small oases of intimacy and comfort, while the stripped pine floor was strewn with Chinese rugs, thick and rich and delicately patterned.

There were few people about at this hour of the evening. From experience, India knew that most guests were either bathing or resting at this time, or enjoying a rejuvenating massage from one of the hotel’s team of health therapists. After a day spent swimming, or sailing, or simply soaking up the sun, it was good to relax and be pampered. Kittrick’s Hotel was equipped with every device necessary to make their guests happy, and men, as well as women, took advantage of its many facilities.

It was later that the bar would fill up and the poolside restaurant would start serving the score of gourmet delicacies cooked up by their French chef and his expert staff. But for now the public rooms were practically deserted, except for the ever present army of stewards, some of whom were always on duty.

Nevertheless, India felt slightly under-dressed as she crossed to the reception desk. By this time, she was usually changed for the evening, and although her presence wasn’t always necessary, she preferred to keep an eye on things. But Nathan’s arrival had upset the normal scheme of things, and she was still struggling to come to terms with her own reaction to it.

‘Oh, hello, Miss Kittrick.’ The receptionist left the pile of credit slips she had been systematically entering into the computer, and came to greet her. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘What?’ For a moment, India wondered if she meant Nathan, and then, realising it was her appearance that had produced such a comment, she shook her head. ‘Oh—no. No.’ She forced a smile. ‘I just wanted to have a word with Paolo. Do you know where he is?’

‘He’s in the bar, Miss Kittrick,’ said the girl at once. ‘Your—er—brother wanted a drink.’ She paused. ‘He’s very nice, isn’t he? Your brother, I mean. So—easy-going and friendly. Not—not at all like … well, like his father, is he?’

She was embarrassed and showed it, but, having started the sentence, she had had to finish it. India sympathised with her. And it was true, she thought unwillingly. In latter years, Nathan’s father had become more and more remote. India had put his uncertain moods down to his health. There was no denying that, for the past eighteen months at least, Aaron Kittrick had not been a well man. He had been withdrawn and unsociable, even with her. But now she was not so sure of her conclusion. Had his estrangement from Nathan been preying on his mind? she wondered. She would probably never know.

But, more immediately, she had the unenviable prospect of facing Nathan again, if she wanted to speak to Paolo before the evening’s entertainment began. She would have preferred to avoid seeing Nathan, at least until she had had time to bathe and change. Without the armour of clothes and make-up she felt absurdly vulnerable, a circumstance for which Nathan was wholly responsible.

He had embarrassed her horribly that afternoon by asking her that unforgivable question. And she had made it worse by admitting that she still cared about him. She should have evaded an answer, made some glib response that wouldn’t commit her either way. Instead, she had been so desperate to prove her own detachment that she had laid herself open to the kind of ridicule he could so readily produce.

Once it wouldn’t have bothered her. She had grown up with his teasing, and she’d always believed it was without malice. Until her mother had pointed out how unsuitable it was for a thirteen-year-old to go on treating Nathan as her contemporary. Until she had made it plain that he was just too polite to tell her to get lost.

India remembered how humiliated she had felt when she’d realised that truth. She had followed Nathan everywhere, it was true, but she’d never had a brother before, especially not an older brother who could do all the things she herself was desperate to learn.

She’d thought he’d enjoyed her company, too, and perhaps he had, to begin with. Perhaps, like her, he’d found having a ready-made sibling quite appealing. Particularly one who admired him, and hung on his every word.

But there was an enormous difference between the hero-worship of a seven-year-old and the embarrassing persistence of a post-pubescent teenager. And, as soon as her mother remarked on it, India had known she must be right. Of course then she hadn’t realised where his desires lay, hadn’t understood that his tolerance with her had just been a means to an end …

Now she straightened her spine, made a reassuring remark to the red-faced receptionist, and walked determinedly across the foyer. She couldn’t blame the girl for responding to Nathan’s charm. She knew only too well how lethal that charm could be.

The cocktail bar was four steps down from the level of the foyer. Cool and dim, with a long counter strung with lights, it overlooked the beach, and the lights of the marina in the distance. Her stepfather had built the marina in the days before Kittrick’s Hotel had become a household name. The old house, where they had lived when she and her mother had first come here, had been both hotel and residence. However, since the new hotel had been constructed, it had been turned into a haven for yachtsmen. There was a clubhouse now, on the upper floor, and a comprehensive chandlery beneath. And, although the store was supposed to be there for the benefit of the yachting community, it also sold golf and scuba-diving gear, and female guests could often be found browsing through its racks of designer sportswear, or chatting up the manager, who was, admittedly, quite a hunk.

India halted at the top of the steps leading down into the bar, and surveyed the territory. The piano where Carlos Mendoza played most evenings was as yet unattended, and there were no couples smooching on the tiny dance-floor. The neat armchairs and tables that were set by the long windows to take advantage of the view were still empty, and the distant sounds from the stereo were soft and not intrusive.

She saw Nathan at once, seated on one of the tall stools at the bar, talking to Paolo. And why wouldn’t she? she asked herself impatiently. Apart from the bartender, he was the only occupant. Nevertheless, it was galling to feel her pulses racing, and she thrust aside the feeling that he had already taken control.

He had changed, she noticed. The well-worn jeans that had clung to his muscled thighs had given way to black chinos and a dark shirt. His dark hair overhung his collar at the back, and even from here she could see it was still damp from his shower. But, when Paolo suddenly noticed her, and said something to his companion, Nathan turned his head in her direction, and she focused on the fact that the tie they insisted upon was absent.

All the same, it was a little unnerving to have him watch her descend the steps and cross the polished floor towards them. She was intensely conscious of her windswept hair and bare arms and legs, and she prayed she wouldn’t trip or do something equally stupid.

‘Hi,’ he said when she reached them, and she was glad he didn’t slide off the bar-stool to greet her. As it was, with his arms on the counter, and his shoulders hunched over the Scotch and water in front of him, he was almost her own height, and she didn’t experience the same lack of advantage she’d felt at the airport.

‘Hello,’ she responded, managing a smile, even if it was a trifle chilly. But Nathan disturbed her, and she didn’t like the sensation. She was letting his lack of sensitivity get to her, and she knew she would have to deal with it.

‘You look harassed,’ he remarked, and she thought how typical it was of him to make such a personal comment. She knew how she looked. She didn’t need him to tell her. And, when it came right down to it, it was none of his business, so why didn’t he butt out?