Sinful Pleasures

‘Hasn’t she?’ Megan caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing her, too.’ She moistened her lips. ‘Um—how—how is your grandfather?’ There, she’d said it. ‘I suppose he must be ready to retire if he hasn’t done so already.’

Was it her imagination or did Remy consider his words before replying? ‘Oh—Pops is still around,’ he said vaguely, but it was obvious he didn’t want to speak about him. Why? she wondered. Because he wasn’t part of this package? Oh, God, she wasn’t strong enough to handle Ryan’s recriminations right now.

There was silence for a while, and Megan stared at the road passing under the car’s wheels without really seeing it at all. She was hot, and even in the air-conditioned comfort of the car she felt uncomfortable. And she was nervous. Why had she agreed to put herself through this? she wondered. She had the feeling she was going to regret it, after all.

The speeding tarmac made her feel dizzy, and she cast a surreptitious look at her companion as he concentrated on the road. His profile was strong, despite the softening effect of thick dark lashes, and the moist hair that curled a little at his nape.

He was attractive, she thought wryly, aware that it was a long time since she had been affected by any man. Not that she was attracted to him, she told herself, except in a purely objective way. He was her ‘nephew’, after all. All he did was make her feel old.

‘What’s wrong?’

He was perceptive, too, and Megan hoped all her thoughts were not as obvious to him. She was going to have to get used to being around him without showing her feelings.

‘Um—nothing,’ she said, forcing a lighter tone. ‘It’s just—strange, being here again. It’s quite a relief to see the island has hardly changed at all.’

Remy’s straight brows ascended. ‘Unlike me, you mean?’ he queried, and she nodded.

‘Well, of course.’ She shrugged. ‘We’ve all changed. I’ve only to look at you to see how much.’

‘Don’t patronise me, Megan—’

‘I wasn’t—’

‘It sounded like it to me.’ Remy’s tawny eyes had darkened now, and she experienced an involuntary shiver. ‘I guess it is hard for you to accept that we can meet on equal terms these days. You were always so conscious of your couple of years’ superiority when we were young.’

Megan gasped. ‘You make me sound like a prig.’

Remy’s lips twitched. ‘Do I?’

‘And it wasn’t—isn‘t—just couple of years’ seniority—’ she emphasised the word ‘—between us.’ She moistened her lips. ‘You were just five or six, the last time I saw you. I was nearly fifteen!’ She grimaced. ‘A teenager, no less.’

‘I was nearly nine,’ declared Remy doggedly. ‘I’m twenty-five, Megan, so don’t act like I’m just out of school.’

Megan swallowed. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you...’

‘You haven’t.’ Remy’s lips twisted. ‘But stop making such a big thing about your age.’ He slowed at the intersection before taking the turning towards El Serrat instead of the island’s capital. ‘Still—as you’re practically senile, haven’t you ever felt the urge to get married?’

Megan felt a nervous laugh bubble up into her throat, but at least it was better than sparring with him. ‘Not lately,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve been too busy. Being your own boss can be a pain as well as a pleasure.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

His response was too laconic, and she gave him a curious look. ‘You know?’

‘Sure.’ His thigh flexed as he changed gear. ‘I work for myself, too. I guess it’s not so high-powered, but it pays the rent.’

Megan looked at him. ‘I suppose you run the hotel now?’ ‘Hell, no.’ He shook his head. ‘I guess you could say I have more sense than to work for Mom. No,’ he said again, ‘I’m a lawyer. I’ve got a small practice in Port Serrat.’

‘A lawyer!’ Megan couldn’t help the incredulity in her tone.

‘Yeah, a lawyer,’ he repeated. ‘A grown-up one as well. I actually defend naughty people in court.’

Megan could feel the colour seeping into her throat. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’

‘Then quit acting like my maiden aunt.’

‘Well—that’s what I am,’ said Megan, with a rueful smile. Then, ‘All right. I apologise. I guess I’ve got a lot to learn about—about all of you. So—how’s your mother? She does still work in the hotel?’

Remy expelled a resigned breath, as if her words had hardly pacified him at all. Then, ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘She practically runs the place these days.’

‘And she’s never married?’ asked Megan, hoping to keep their conversation on a less—personal level, but the look Remy levelled at her was hardly sympathetic.

‘To make me legitimate, you mean?’ he asked, and she wanted to kick herself. ‘No, I guess you could say Pops is the only father-figure I’ve ever known.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it,’ said Megan defensively. ‘Only she’s still a—a comparatively young woman. I thought she might have—fallen in love.’

‘Perhaps she loved my father,’ said Remy sardonically. ‘However unlikely that might seem. Besides—’ his lips adopted a cruel line ‘—I wouldn’t have thought love meant that much to you.’

Megan’s jaw sagged. ‘I beg your—’

‘Well, you did abandon the woman who loved you for a man without any perceptible emotions that I could see,’ he continued, with some heat. ‘Your mother loved you, Megan. Or have you conveniently forgotten that? How can you talk about love when you broke her heart?’

CHAPTER TWO

NOW why had he said that?

Remy’s hands clenched on the wheel, and he couldn’t bear to look her in the face. It wasn’t as if what had happened was anything to do with him, after all. He had no right to criticise her when she’d been too young to understand what was going on either.

She seemed to be speechless, and he was uneasily aware that the colour had now drained from her cheeks. For a moment there he’d forgotten how seriously ill she had been, and he felt as guilty as hell for upsetting her this way.

‘Look—I’m sorry,’ he began harshly, wishing they were still on the wide airport road where he might have been able to stop and apologise properly, instead of on the narrow road to El Serrat. He dared not stop here, not on one of these bends, where he’d be taking their lives into his hands. He’d done enough without risking an accident as well.

‘My—my father loved me,’ she said, almost as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘He loved me, and he’d done nothing wrong. How do you think he felt when he found out my mother had been cheating on him with your grandfather? My God! He’d made a friend of the man! How would you feel if it happened to you?’

Remy’s mouth compressed. ‘Like I said—’

‘You’re sorry?’ Megan appeared to be trembling now, and he hoped he hadn’t ruined everything by speaking his mind. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough. And if your mother feels the same way I suggest you turn around and take me back to the airport.’

‘She doesn’t.’ Remy swore. ‘Ah, hell, she’d be furious with me if she knew what I’d said. Okay, you have your memories of what happened, and I accept that. But I lived with your mother for almost six years. Believe me, she was devastated when you wouldn’t come to see her. You were the only child she had.’

Megan slanted a cool look in his direction. She looked like the Megan he remembered, even if the plump, pretty features she’d had as a child were now refined into a pale beauty, but she wasn’t the same. The softness had gone, replaced by a brittle defensiveness, and he wondered if he had been naïve in thinking he might be able to change her mind.

‘Was I?’ she asked pointedly, and he had to concentrate for a moment to remember what he’d said.

He blew out a breath. ‘You’re talking about the miscarriage,’ he intimated at last. ‘She was devastated when she lost the baby. And it didn’t help when your father wrote and told her she deserved it, too.’

Megan gasped. ‘He didn’t do that.’

‘No.’ Remy conceded the point. ‘His actual words were, “God moves in mysterious ways.” He didn’t say that he was sorry for what had happened. That he understood how she must be feeling or anything like that."

‘He was hurt—’

‘So was she.’

Megan’s hands were clenched together in her lap, he noticed, but her voice was dispassionate as she spoke. ‘Well, I don’t know why she bothered to let Daddy know what had happened. It wasn’t as if—as if it mattered to him.’

‘Perhaps she hoped for some words of comfort,’ said Remy flatly. ‘Your father was supposed to be a man of God, after all.’

‘He was also human,’ retorted Megan tightly. ‘Would she have expected him to congratulate her if the baby had lived?’

Remy silenced the angry retort that rose inside him. It wasn’t fair to blame her for her father’s sins. And who knew what he might have done if he’d been in the same position? It was easy to see both sides when you weren’t involved.

‘I believe your work is in the fashion industry,’ he forced himself to say at last, in an attempt to change the subject. ‘Mom said something about a catalogue. Do you sell mail-order or what?’

‘Do you really want to know?’

Megan was terse, and he couldn’t altogether blame her. His mother was hoping to heal old wounds, but all he’d done was exacerbate them.

‘Look.’ he said, feeling obliged to try and mend fences before they got to the hotel, ‘forget what I said, okay? What do I know anyway? Like you said, I was only a kid. Kids see things in black and white. I guess you did, too.’

Megan glanced at him again, her eyes shadowed beneath lowered lids. She had beautiful eyes, he noticed; they shaded from indigo to violet within the feathery curl of her lashes, and glinted as if with unshed tears. He knew a totally unexpected urge to rub his thumb across her lids, to feel their salty moisture against his skin. Her face was porcelain-smooth, and so pale he could see the veins in her temple, see the pulse beating under the skin. He knew a sudden urge to skim his tongue over that pulse, to feel its rhythmic fluttering against his lips. To taste it, to taste her—He fought back the thought. Megan hadn’t come to San Felipe because of him.

He dragged his eyes back to the road, stunned by the sudden heat of his arousal. For God’s sake, he thought, was he completely out of his mind? What the hell was he doing even thinking such things? This woman wouldn’t touch him with a bosun’s hook.

‘You didn’t want me to come here, did you, Remy?’

Her question, coming totally out of the blue, startled him. In his present state of mind, that was the last thing he’d have said. But then, she didn’t know how he was feeling. thank God! She couldn’t feel the tight constriction of his jeans.

‘That’s not true,’ he got out at last, feeling his palms sliding sweatily on the wheel. It irritated him beyond belief that he’d betrayed any bias to her, but it irritated him still more that he couldn’t control himself.

‘So why are you giving me such a hard time?’ she asked, and he was aware of her watching him with a wary gaze.

‘I’m not,’ he said tensely, giving in to his frustration. ‘I just don’t think you’re entirely even-handed when it comes to your parents. Your father was a vindictive bastard.’ He paused. ‘I should know.’

Megan had been given the penthouse suite, which, in island terms, meant that her rooms were on the sixth floor of the hotel. None of the hotels that bad sprung up along the coast was allowed to build beyond six floors and these days, she had noticed, there were quite a number of new ones.

Which meant, Megan assumed somewhat uneasily, that the Robards were sacrificing quite a large slice of their income by accommodating her in such luxurious surroundings. This was, after all, their most lucrative time of year, when the island was flooded with visitors from North America and Northern Europe escaping the cold weather back home.

Yet, despite her anxieties—and the fact that by the time they’d reached the hotel she and Remy had barely been on speaking terms—Anita had made her feel welcome. The other woman had behaved as if it were sixteen weeks—not sixteen years—since she had last come here. She had greeted her stepsister with affection, and dispelled the apprehension Remy had aroused.

Anita had been waiting on the verandah of the hotel when the estate ear had swept down the drive. Megan had barely had time to admire the hedges of scarlet hibiscus that hid the building from the road before her stepsister was jerking the door open and pulling Megan out into her arms. There had been tears then, tears that Megan couldn’t hide even from Remy. She was still so weak, she’d defended herself silently. Any kind of emotion just broke her up.

Blinking rapidly, she’d been grateful for the cooling breeze that swept in off the ocean. Apart from the immediate area surrounding the hotel, where artificially watered lawns and palm trees provided the guests with oases of greenness, the milk-white sands stretched as far as the eye could see. But she hadn’t been able to ignore the fact of the car door opening behind her, or Remy getting out and walking around to the back of the vehicle to unload her bags.

‘Oh, Megan,’ Anita was saying as she hugged her in her protective embrace, ‘it’s been far too long. It’s a sad thing if you have to be at death’s door before you’ll accept our invitation.’

Our invitation?

Megan wondered who Anita included in that statement. Not Remy, surely. But she could only shake her head, unaccountably moved by her stepsister’s welcome. After the way Remy had behaved, she’d been dreading this moment.

And Anita had hardly changed at all. She’d been pleasantly plump as a teenager, and she was plump still, with round dimpled features that could never disguise her feelings to anyone. As before, she was wearing one of the loose-fitting tee shirts and the baggy shorts she had always favoured, her curly dark hair scooped up in a ponytail.

Yet, despite her welcome, Megan sensed that Anita wasn’t quite as carefree as she’d like her to think. She noticed as the other woman drew back that there were dark lines around her eyes, and a trace of more than wistfulness in her tears.

But perhaps she was being over-sensitive, Megan considered, and, avoiding Remy’s eyes, she allowed Anita to lead her into the hotel. She found some relief in admiring the changes that had been made and consoled herself with the thought that this was the most difficult time for all of them. No matter how accommodating they might try to be, they couldn’t ignore the past.

A fountain now formed a centre-piece in the newly designed foyer, with the lounges and reception area moved to the floor above. ‘I suggest I show you your room and let you freshen up before dinner,’ Anita declared, leading the way across to the bank of lifts. ‘I imagine you could do with a rest. Did you have a pleasant journey?’

The lifts were new, too, much different from the grilled cage that Megan remembered. Would her mother have become so enamoured with the place if it had always been as impersonal as this? she wondered. Laura had always said it was the informality of Robards Reach that made it so unique...

‘There’s so much I want to tell you,’ Anita continued as they went up in the lift—not with Remy and the luggage, Megan was relieved to find. ‘So much time we have to make up. I want to know all about what’s been happening in your life. Your boyfriend—partner—’ She coloured. ‘Simon, isn’t it? He sounds really nice. I’m glad you’ve found a decent man to care for you.’

‘He doesn’t—that is—’ Megan pressed her lips together and didn’t go on. As with Remy, she was loath to deny that she and Simon were an item. She didn’t know when it might be useful to have that excuse to turn to, and, hoping Anita would put the colour in her face down to the heat, she finished, ‘It was good of you to—to invite me here.’

‘Well, it’s not as if it was the first time,’ declared Anita, with a trace of censure, but with none of the aggression her son had shown. ‘Anyway, it’s so good to see you.’ She took a breath. ‘You’re so like—so like Laura when I first knew her.’ She touched Megan’s face. ‘It’s going to be hard for—for my father.’ Her lips tightened. ‘But you’re so pale. We’ll have to try and put some colour into those cheeks before you leave.’

Anita left her alone in the luxurious suite then, ostensibly to allow her to relax for a while before dinner. Megan was grateful for the respite, grateful that she was going to have a breathing space before meeting Ryan Robards, but she doubted she’d relax in her present mood.

A bellboy brought her luggage. When the polite tap sounded at her door, she was apprehensive for a moment, expecting Remy to bring her suitcases in. But she should have known better. As he had told her, he was a lawyer, not a hotel employee.

Although she was tempted to step out onto the balcony. where a cushioned lounger and several wicker chairs were set beneath a bougainvillaea-hung awning, Megan decided that a shower might liven her up. It would be too easy to get disheartened, particularly as her body clock was still on European time, and she determined to concentrate on the positive aspects of her trip. Who wouldn’t like to recuperate in such surroundings? She had four whole weeks to get completely well.

Which was part of the problem, she acknowledged, when she stepped into the mosaic-tiled shower and turned on the gold-plated taps. At this point in time, four weeks seemed like a lifetime. She’d never have committed herself to such a long stay if it had been left to her.

But it hadn’t been left to her. Simon had made all the arrangements while she was still too weak to protest. It was too long since she’d taken a real holiday, he’d told her. She needed plenty of time to recover her strength.

By the time she went downstairs again, Megan was feeling considerably better.

When she’d emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in one of the soft towelling robes the hotel provided, it was to find a tray of tea and biscuits awaiting her. While she’d been taking her shower, someone—Anita, she guessed—had let herself into the suite and deposited the tray on the round table by the window. There was milk and cream, and several kinds of home-made biscuits. Although she’d been sure she wasn’t hungry, she’d sampled all the biscuits, and drunk three cups of tea as well.

Afterwards, she’d rested on the square colonial bed that was set on a dais, so that its occupants could see the sea. Megan had watched the darkening waters of the Caribbean until the sun had disappeared into the ocean, and then she guessed she’d dozed for perhaps another hour after that.

She’d awakened to a darkened room and for a few moments she’d felt a sense of disorientation. But then she’d switched on the lamps, and the memory of her arrival had come back to her. She hadn’t felt much like resting after that.

Still, after unpacking her suitcases, there’d been plenty of time to get ready for dinner. Anita had told her to come down at eight, but not to worry if she was late. There were often problems associated with the hotel that required her attention, and if she wasn’t there Megan should just make herself at home.

As if she could do that! Going down in the lift, Megan had to admit that such an instruction was probably beyond her. Besides, what if Ryan Robards was waiting for her? What on earth was she going to say to him?

The apartments the family used were on the first floor, immediately behind the reception area. Megan was familiar with them, of course. Before the ugly break-up of her parents’ marriage, the Crosses and their daughter had often had drinks with Ryan Robards and Anita. In those days, Megan and her parents had rented one of the cottages that stood in the grounds and belonged to the hotel. Her father had always preferred self-catering to the blandness of hotel food, but because of his love for sailing he and Ryan had become good friends...

Now, Megan stepped out of the lift feeling decidedly self-conscious. It was some time since she had taken as much trouble with her appearance, but for some reason she had felt the need to make an effort tonight. But although the black silk leggings and matching beaded top were perfectly presentable she was intensely aware that they exposed the narrow contours of her bones.

A belief that was made even more apparent when she entered her stepsister’s sitting room to find only Remy waiting for her. He was standing at the open French doors that led out onto a private terrace, one hand supporting himself against the screen, the other wrapped around a glass.

The indrawn breath she took upon seeing him attracted his attention, and he swung round at once, surveying her with cool shaded eyes. What was he thinking? she wondered as his brows arched in a silent acknowledgement of her presence. After what he had said earlier, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

His appraisal of her appearance was deliberate, she thought. Was he trying to intimidate her, or was he simply waiting tq see what her reaction would be? He was far too sure of himself, she thought, stiffening her resolve not to let any of them upset her. Yet, as she felt her features hardening, his unaccountably softened.

‘Feeling better?’ he enquired, before swallowing the remainder of the liquid in his glass with one gulp. ‘Let me get you a drink. You can probably use one.’

Could she not?

Megan linked her hands together at her waist and contemplated the advantages that alcohol could bring. It would certainly make this interview easier, smooth the rough edges of her tension, so to speak. But her doctor had been quite specific, and she had no desire to fall ill again.

‘Um—do you have a mineral water?’ she asked at last, and he regarded her with narrowed eyes.

‘A mineral water?’

‘I’m still on medication,’ she explained, moving further into the room, even though she would have preferred to keep her distance from him. She swallowed. ‘Where’s your mother? She asked me to join her here.’

‘She won’t be long,’ replied Remy, depositing his empty glass on the small bar that was recessed into the wall. He examined the row of small bottles that occupied one shelf in the refrigerated cabinet. ‘Mineral water, you said,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, here we are. Will sparkling water do?’

‘Fine.’ said Megan quickly, moving across the room and taking up his former position by the French doors. Beyond the terrace, the sound of the sea was a muted thunder, the warmth of the night air scented with spice and pine.

‘There you go.’

He was behind her suddenly, his reflection visible in the glass door, his height and darkness disturbingly close. Once again, she was made aware of how the years had changed him. It was difficult to remember now exactly what she had expected.

‘Oh—thanks,’ she said, half turning towards him to take the glass, her efforts to avoid brushing his lean, tanned fingers almost causing an accident. Only a swift recovery on his part prevented the glass from ending up on the floor, and a splash of ice-cold liquid stung her leg.

‘Dammit!’ Remy stared down impatiently at the damp spot on her leggings, and Megan felt like a fool. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ he demanded. ‘I’m not contaminated, you know.’

‘I didn’t do it on purpose!’ she exclaimed, even though she doubted he believed her. ‘I—I wasn’t thinking. You startled me, that’s all.’ She brushed her leg almost dismissively. ‘Anyway, there’s no harm done.’

‘Isn’t there?’

She wasn’t sure what he was referring to, so she chose to say nothing, relieved when he walked back to the bar. But he was back a few moments later, holding a napkin, and, squatting down on his haunches in front of her, he pressed the white linen against her leg.

‘Oh—please.’ He was really embarrassing her now, and she attempted to take the napkin from him. ‘Let me,’ she said. ‘Let me do that.’ But he merely tipped his head back and cast her an ironic look and carried on.

She glanced down, her eyes unwillingly drawn to his bent head. His hair was glistening with moisture, she noticed, tiny drops of water shining on the dark strands. He had either taken a shower or a swim while she’d been resting, she reflected, the images her thoughts were evoking causing a moistness in her palms.