Tender Assault

‘You don’t,’ she remarked now, noticing he had shaved the growth of stubble from his chin. It didn’t make him look any younger; it just accentuated the harsh beauty of his features.

‘Is that supposed to mean something?’ he enquired, rubbing his nose with a lazy finger. His eyes were lazy, too, dark and inscrutable behind their shield of sooty lashes.

‘I—we—guests are expected to wear a tie in the evening,’ she explained, not without some trepidation. She could tell herself that this was her stepbrother, that it was Nathan, with whom she had once shared all her girlish confidences, but it didn’t work. Too much had happened. He had gone away and they had grown apart. The man he was now bore little resemblance to the boy she remembered.

‘Really?’

Nathan’s fingers probed the open collar of his shirt, which she could now see was made of navy blue silk. So wherever he had been, and whatever he had done, he hadn’t been penniless, she reflected tautly, trying to avoid watching those long narrow fingers as they exposed the sun-burned column of his throat.

‘Yes, really,’ she confirmed, grateful that she sounded more resolute than she felt. Her gaze strayed to the faintly mocking curve of his mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’

Nathan’s lips parted, revealing teeth that were white and even. ‘And that’s the purpose of this visit?’ he enquired. ‘To tell me I’m not properly dressed?’ His lips twisted. ‘Forgive me, but are you saying that what you’re wearing is suitable, but I’m out of line?’

‘No!’ India was impatient. ‘No, of course not. I came to speak to Paolo. I didn’t know I’d find you here, did I?’

Nathan inclined his head. ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded, raising his glass to his lips. ‘So do you want me to leave you two alone?’

India refused to dignify his words with a reply. Instead she turned to Paolo, and, adopting the polite but authoritative manner she used with all the staff, she explained Carlos’s predicament.

‘He’d like you to avoid clattering glasses while he’s playing,’ she clarified carefully. ‘Most people are prepared to wait until each medley’s over before being served. And those who won’t wait will come to the counter. Your moving round the room, taking orders, is distracting the guests while they’re listening to the music.’

Paolo was scowling when she’d finished, and India suppressed a sigh. The Italian barman was not the easiest person to deal with, and he and Carlos had crossed swords before. ‘What he means is he’s afraid he won’t get his tips if I give them something else to think about,’ he retorted, in the hoarse accented English the women guests found so appealing. ‘Dio, doesn’t the idiota realise that so far as the guests are concerned I might just as well be playing the stereo?’

‘I don’t think that’s entirely true, Paolo,’ she declared evenly. ‘Carlos is a very accomplished musician——’

‘E puntura!’ grunted Paolo sulkily, and although India didn’t know what that meant she was sure it was nothing complimentary.

‘I don’t think——’ she was beginning wearily, when Nathan intervened.

‘I think you owe Miss Kittrick an apology,’ he said, his voice no less compelling because it was low and controlled. ‘And if she tells you not to serve drinks while this pianist is doing his stuff you won’t do it. Right?’

Paolo’s reaction was immediate. ‘But of course, signore,’ he exclaimed, and if India hadn’t already had experience of his belligerence she would have thought she had imagined it. ‘I was only joking, no? Carlos—he is my friend. We are all friends here on Pelican Island.’

India’s jaw compressed. It had not been a good day for her, and this was the last straw. It was bad enough that Nathan should have felt the need—or believed had the right—to involve himself in her affairs, but Paolo’s response was humiliating.

‘As I was saying,’ she continued, through her teeth, ‘I don’t think there is any advantage to be gained in insulting one another. Carlos has his job to do, just as you have yours. And I don’t think I need to remind you that good bartenders are easier to find than good musicians. Do I make myself clear?’

Paolo cast a grudging glance at Nathan, as if gauging his reaction to her words, and then, with a shrug of his dinner-jacket-clad shoulders, he submitted. ‘Yes, signora.’

‘Good.’ India permitted herself a taut look in her stepbrother’s direction, and then pushed herself away from the counter. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me——’

‘Wait!’

She had reached the shallow steps leading up into the foyer when Nathan caught up with her. For a brief moment she had thought he was going to let her go without saying anything more, but she ought to have known better.

‘Yes?’ she said now, turning to face him with what she hoped was calm indifference.

‘What was all that about?’ he demanded, casting a meaningful look behind him. ‘Why the cold shoulder?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ India pretended ignorance. She glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist, the watch her stepfather had bought her for her twenty-first birthday, and frowned. ‘I don’t have time to talk now. I have to get changed.’

‘That’s not what I mean and you know it,’ retorted Nathan flatly. ‘What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?’

India stiffened. ‘Why should you think that?’

‘I didn’t mistake that look you gave me just now,’ he answered. ‘It was lethal. Well, OK, if there’s something you want to say to me, let’s have it. I don’t like innuendo; I never have.’

India took a deep breath. She didn’t want to get into this. Not right now. She was hot, and she was tired, and the prospect of a cool shower was all she wanted to think about. ‘You’re imagining things,’ she said, deciding there was no point in making a big thing of it. After all, Nathan owned the place now. If he chose to remonstrate with the staff, who was she to complain?

She would have turned away again, but Nathan’s fingers curled about her arm, preventing her. ‘I am not imagining things,’ he said, with quiet force. ‘I guess you didn’t like me butting into your conversation with the barkeep. That’s the only thing it can be, unless I said something this afternoon that’s made you mad. Hell, tell me if it bugs you! I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.’

India swallowed, wondering why Nathan’s hand was causing such a furious reaction inside her. Where those hard fingers touched, her skin felt as if it were on fire, and a hot stream of awareness was shooting up her arm. It was as if her whole body was focused on that careless grip, and she could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She was over-reacting. She knew it. Heavens, it wasn’t as if Nathan had never touched her before. In the days before her mother had made her aware of her own foolishness, he had often grabbed her arm to emphasise a point, or to drag her out to go fishing. Of all his activities, going fishing had been the one she liked least, and they had often done battle over who was to get their way. He even used to pick her up and throw her into the water sometimes, and she’d try to wrestle him underwater to get her own back. They’d been totally unselfconscious with each other in those days, so why was she getting so upset that it took every bit of determination she possessed not to tear herself away from him?

Realising there was only one way to deal with it, she tipped her chin towards him. ‘I think you know what you did,’ she declared, her tone clipped and aggressive. ‘It might have slipped your notice, but the hotel’s been running just fine while you’ve been away!’

Nathan’s lips tightened. ‘You thought I was interfering,’ he stated evenly. ‘So why didn’t you just say so?’

India snorted. ‘I thought I just did.’

‘Not before I had to practically drag it out of you,’ retorted Nathan. ‘And while we’re on the subject, why don’t you let Adele do her own dirty work? If she wants the Italian put in his place, let her do it. You’re not her lackey.’

India blinked, momentarily distracted from her efforts to avoid his dark, accusing gaze. ‘Adele?’ she echoed blankly. ‘My mother? What’s she got to do with this?’

Nathan frowned, his eyes searching her increasingly hot face. ‘She does have the final say about what goes down, doesn’t she?’

‘What goes down?’ India gave an impatient exclamation. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘All right.’ Nathan’s tone was considerably less friendly now. ‘She may employ a manager—who may or may not be you, I don’t know—but she signs the cheques, doesn’t she? Or rather she did, when my father was alive.’

‘No!’ Now India did pull herself away from him. ‘My mother’s never taken any part in the running of the hotel. When Daddy … when your father was alive he trusted me to handle the practical side of it. My mother—she travels a lot. This is a small island. People get—restless.’

‘Don’t you mean bored?’ suggested Nathan harshly, though he was evidently having some difficulty in coming to terms with what she had said. ‘So … Kittrick’s Hotel, Pelican Island—this was your baby?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ India was defensive now. ‘You know it was my mother’s idea to expand the resort——’

‘Because it wasn’t earning enough money to satisfy her as it was,’ put in Nathan caustically, but India chose to ignore him.

‘And Daddy—that is, your father—arranged the finance.’

‘You mean he put himself in hock to the bank?’ Nathan’s mouth curled. ‘Oh, yes, I know about that.’

India took a deep breath. ‘If you’re going to persist in making rude remarks, then I don’t think I want to go on with this,’ she declared stiffly. ‘I’m sure Mr Hastings must have given you all the details. If you need any more information, I suggest you ask him.’

‘Ah—damn!’

Nathan swore volubly and colourfully, and India squared her shoulders and started up the steps. She had no reason to tolerate his crudeness, she told herself. She didn’t have to defend herself to him, and she particularly didn’t have to defend her mother.

‘All right, all right, I’m sorry.’ His unexpected apology came from behind her left ear, and she realised he had followed her out of the bar. He was now standing on the step immediately below her, which accounted for the fact that his breath was fanning her neck and not the top of her head. ‘As far as Hastings is concerned,’ he went on, ‘he supplied all the necessary information, sure, but not the details. Dammit, I haven’t even met with the guy. As soon as I read his cable, I came right here.’

India turned towards him with some reluctance. And, because he was lower than she was, their eyes were almost on a level. It meant she had no chance of avoiding his defensive stare, and she crossed her arms across her midriff in an unconsciously protective gesture.

‘So,’ she said, moistening her lips with a wary tongue, ‘what more can I say?’

‘You can tell me how my father’s modest plans to build an extension to the original building turned into this place,’ he replied, spreading his arms. ‘When I left, he’d built the marina and was talking about putting in a swimming-pool and some tennis courts. Nothing like this.’

India lifted her head. ‘Well—it seemed like a good investment, that’s all.’

‘To whom?’

‘To—all of us,’ she replied, choosing her words with care.

‘But it must have cost the earth!’

‘It was worth it.’

‘Was it?’ He came up the final step so that he was standing beside her. ‘Your mother had big ideas, and my father would have done anything to please her.’

India stepped back. ‘Your father was proud of what he’d achieved!’

‘But it was a strain, right?’

‘If you’re implying that his heart attack had anything to do with money worries, you couldn’t be more wrong!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘My God! This place is worth a small fortune! Well, not small. Quite a large fortune, actually. How dare you suggest that his illness was in any way to do with the hotel?’

Nathan’s face was unrelenting now. ‘Well, you have to admit the old man did die years sooner than anyone could have expected,’ he retorted, and India’s stomach hollowed at the realisation that in a matter of minutes he had lost all veneer of politeness. He was cold and arrogant, and every bit as aggressive as her mother had expected.

‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ she hissed, aware that the heat of their exchange was being monitored by at least two members of the staff. Paolo was obviously straining his ears to hear what was being said, and the young woman on the reception desk couldn’t help noticing that something was wrong. ‘If you have any complaints, I suggest you take them up with Mr Hastings when he gets here. I don’t want you upsetting my mother any more than she’s been upset already.’

Nathan scowled, but when he spoke it wasn’t Adele he was interested in. ‘Hastings?’ he said. ‘He’s coming here?’

‘In a couple of days, yes.’ India found it much easier to cope with this conversation with the cloak of hostility between them. ‘I asked him to delay his arrival, to give you time to familiarise yourself with the island again. Of course, I didn’t know then that you were going to start throwing accusations around as soon as you got here.’

Nathan’s jaw clamped. ‘I’m not throwing accusations around. Hell, India, I’m just trying to find out what’s been going on! Dammit, he was my father!’

‘I know.’ India squashed the feeling of sympathy that stirred inside her. ‘But that doesn’t give you the right to come here and impugn the reasons for his illness. You just might have played some part in that yourself!’

CHAPTER THREE

THE morning air was always cool, deliciously so, and one of Nathan’s favourite occupations had been to take a stroll along the beach before anyone else was about. He saw no reason not to do so now, even if he hadn’t slept in a bed. At this hour, the sand was clean and un-trampled, without the prints of other feet to deny his isolation.

Nevertheless, he was well aware that his actions were not wholly innocent. By delaying his return to the hotel, he was deliberately putting off the moment when he would have to deal with the situation his father’s will had created. Sooner or later, he would have to come to a decision about what he was going to do, but for the present he preferred to avoid a confrontation.

He had spent the night aboard the Wayfarer, more at home on the yacht on which his father had taught him to sail than in the absurdly opulent suite India and her mother had allotted him. In his more generous moments, he supposed it wasn’t really their fault. What did you do with someone who was, yet wasn’t, a member of the family? Particularly someone who was not welcome in the family apartments of the hotel.

Even so, he had guessed that Adele would be expecting to see him. How had she taken his father’s death? He couldn’t believe she was devastated by the tragedy. Only by what it had precipitated. The night before, he had actually anticipated the prospect of telling her to get out with some satisfaction. But that was before he had spoken to India, before he had discovered that she, and not Adele, had been running the hotel.

That was why he had taken himself off to the marina, guessing, accurately as it turned out, that no one would come looking for him there. He had needed time: time to consider the situation, time to think. He couldn’t get rid of Adele without getting rid of India as well, and, in spite of what had happened, he found he didn’t want to.

It was crazy. He knew that. Even thinking about keeping her on was going against every grain of intelligence he possessed. She had sided with her mother. She, like his father, had believed every word her mother had said. But, what the hell, she had only been thirteen! What kind of objectivity did a thirteen-year-old possess?

His father had left her future in his hands. That bugged him, too. Was the old man so sure he’d be magnanimous? Or didn’t he care what happened to either of them—Adele or her daughter? Hell, what did he know about India, come to that? He’d been away for eight years. She might be more like her mother than he thought.

Beyond the marina, the coastline scalloped in a series of rocky coves. The sand here was pink-tinged, untouched, too rigorous for the lotus-eaters at the hotel to reach. They were the coves where he had spent his childhood, shared with no one until India had invaded his life.

He grimaced. How sentimental could you get? And he had believed he’d banished all sentimentality from his soul. Yet there was no denying that India did hold a special place in his heart. She was his stepsister, dammit. It wasn’t something he needed to be ashamed of.

It was after eight when he got back to the hotel, and he was hungry. He’d made do with a sandwich the night before, but now he fancied eggs and bacon, and lashings of buttered toast. Not the kind of diet he recommended at a Sullivan’s Spa, but exactly what he needed to fill his groaning stomach.

Breakfast was apparently served in the Terrace Restaurant, a sunlit octagon overlooking the ocean. It was a room made almost completely of glass screens, which could be shaded or rolled back, depending on the weather. At present, several of the screens were open, and a pleasant draught of air kept the temperature in the low seventies.

Nathan paused in the doorway, looking round the attractive room. Circular tables, each spread with a crisp white cloth, were set with gleaming silver and crystal glasses. There was the scent of warm bread and freshly brewed coffee, and his stomach rumbled in sympathy with the pleasant thought of food.

‘Can I help you, sir?’

A white-coated waiter was viewing him rather doubtfully, and Nathan realised that, as on the previous day, his appearance wasn’t winning him any friends. It was the first time he had considered that an overnight growth of beard was bristling his jawline, and that his shirt and trousers bore witness to the perils of salt water.

‘I …’ He hesitated, and then, deciding that however disreputable he appeared he was hungry and this was his hotel, he plunged on. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Just point me to a table, and fetch me a pot of coffee, will you? I’ll let you know what else I want after I’ve studied the menu.’

The waiter tucked the menu he was holding under his arm as he considered his response. ‘Er—you are a guest of the hotel, are you, sir?’ he enquired, his tone just bordering on unfriendly, and Nathan nodded.

‘Room 204,’ he agreed, deciding not to embarrass the man. ‘Now—where do I sit? That table there—in the window?’

The waiter lifted one shoulder. ‘I—I’m not sure,’ he was beginning, when a familiar female voice intervened.

‘I’ll look after Mr Kittrick, Lloyd,’ India declared smoothly, bringing a look of horror to the waiter’s face. ‘Oh—didn’t Mr Kittrick introduce himself? Nathan, this is Lloyd Persall. He looks after our morning guests.’ She gave him a considering look. ‘He’s particularly good if they have a hangover.’

Nathan felt a sense of resentment stir inside him. ‘Good for Lloyd,’ he intoned, in no mood to get into another argument with her. ‘So what do I do to get some service around here? Produce my ID or what?’

India’s lips tightened. ‘Get Mr Kittrick what he wants, Lloyd,’ she said, dismissing the discomfited waiter with a reassuring gesture. ‘I’ll take care of his seating arrangements.’

‘Yes, Miss Kittrick.’

The waiter looked as if he wanted to say something more, but thought better of it, and Nathan waited, somewhat irritably, for India to indicate where she wanted him to sit. Damn, he thought, was this the kind of treatment guests came back for?

The table he was shown to was the one he had chosen in the window. A table for two, it was shielded from the glare by clever tilting of the vertical blinds, while yards of white tulle billowed in the breeze.

Despite his irritation, he felt obliged to say something after he was seated, and, offering India a faintly perfunctory twist of his lips, he said, ‘Thanks. I guess I’ll have to have my picture circulated to the other members of the staff if I want to avoid any more embarrassment.’

India stretched her arms to thigh level and linked her hands together. It was a vaguely protective gesture, though she seemed not to be aware of it. ‘That won’t be necessary if you allow me to introduce you to the rest of your employees,’ she said, her tone clipped and reproving. ‘If you hadn’t disappeared yesterday evening, you’d probably be known by now. Our grape-vine is quite efficient, and you are creating quite a stir.’

Nathan lay back in his chair and looked up at her. Although he realised her remarks were justified, he knew a quite unwarranted desire to disturb her composure. Was this what happened when familiarity gave way to estrangement? Why did he want to treat her differently now, when she was obviously doing her best to keep it civil?

He refused to consider that the way she looked had anything to do with his attitude. The short pleated skirt and collarless white blouse were an unlikely incentive to his mood. The fact that they were black and white again respectively, as her outfit had been the day before, seemed to point to their being a kind of uniform, even if the cap sleeves did reveal her arms, and the skirt expose her legs from mid-thigh.

Even her hair had been confined in a French plait, and the tight way she had drawn it back from her face should have added severity to her profile. But it didn’t. Instead, the austere style revealed the purity of her jawline, and the delicate curve of cheeks, which were as flawless as a peach.

God! The words flooding into his head appalled him. Appalled him, and disgusted him, too. He didn’t want to analyse exactly what he was thinking, but when his gaze drifted from her face to the taut thrust of her breasts emotions of a different kind caused the harshness in his voice.

‘I didn’t “disappear” last night,’ he corrected her shortly, suddenly aware of the tightness of his trousers. He shifted in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position, and concentrated on the menu lying on the table in front of him. ‘I just needed a little time to myself, that was all. I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you—and your mother—but I didn’t know I had to inform you of my whereabouts.’

India’s intake of breath was revealing. ‘No one’s saying that, Nathan——’

‘Then what are you saying, then?’ he demanded, slanting a gaze up at her vivid face. Yes, that was better, he thought; she was angry with him now. It was easier to deal with anger than combat her cool control.

‘My mother expected you would want to see her,’ she declared at last. ‘That’s not so unusual, is it? For heaven’s sake, Nathan, she was your father’s wife. Whatever grudges you may still bear her, she has taken Aaron’s death badly. They’d been together for almost fourteen years! Can’t you show a little consideration?’

Consideration? Nathan was tempted to ask what consideration Adele had ever showed towards him. But India wasn’t to blame for her mother’s duplicity. She was innocent of any treachery. Innocent of malice.

‘Look, why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk about it?’ he suggested, seeing Lloyd fast approaching with his coffee. ‘Hey, that’s great,’ he added, as the waiter set a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice and a steaming pot of coffee on the table. He gave the man an approving smile. ‘Just what I need.’

Lloyd looked relieved. ‘Your eggs and bacon are on the way, sir,’ he exclaimed. And then, after casting a doubtful glance in India’s direction, ‘I’m sorry if I caused you any upset earlier, Mr Kittrick. If I’d known——’

‘No sweat.’ Nathan could afford to be magnanimous. ‘Miss—er—Miss Kittrick will be joining me for breakfast. Perhaps you’d like to take her order as well.’

India looked as if she wanted to refuse, but propriety won the day. ‘Er—just toast and coffee, Lloyd,’ she declared as he ushered her into her seat. And then, as the waiter went away again, she appended, ‘Don’t make my decisions for me, Nathan. I’m not a schoolgirl now.’