Sinful Pleasures

She sighed. Why couldn’t she ignore him? Yet, crouched in front of her as he was, she would have had to be numb as well as blind not to notice the straining seam between his legs. Despite her irritation with him earlier, she couldn’t deny his sexuality. It was as natural to him as breathing. Just like his grandfather’s had been...

‘Will—will Mr Robards be joining us?’ she asked stiffly—anything to distract herself from what he was doing—and as if her words had diverted him, too, he rose abruptly to his feet.

‘I guess I owe you an apology, don’t I?’ he said, without answering her question. ‘I was an ignorant lout before. I’m sorry.’

Megan was confused. ‘Oh—well, I—it was my fault really—’

‘I don’t mean for spilling your drink,’ he contradicted her drily. ‘I mean for the way I spoke to you in the car. I guess I had no right to criticise you or your father as I did.’

‘Oh.’ Megan let her breath out slowly. She was finding it difficult to keep abreast of his changes of mood. Or at least that was the excuse she gave herself. But there was no denying that he disturbed her, and it would be fatally easy to respond to his charm. ‘Let’s forget it, shall we?’

‘I’m forgiven?’

‘Of course.’ She was abrupt.

‘Is your drink all right?’

Her glass was still more than half full, and she hurriedly took a sip. ‘It’s delicious,’ she said, hoping she sounded more controlled than she felt. ‘Um—will your grandfather be joining us?’

Remy hesitated for a moment, and then he shook his head. ‘Not tonight,’ he said, his tone flatter now. ‘And I’ve got to be getting back to town myself.’

‘You don’t live here?’

Megan realised at once that her response had been far too revealing. Dammit, she should have guessed he’d have his own place as soon as he’d told her he worked in Port Serrat.

‘I have an apartment near the harbour,’ he said, his eyes assessing her. ‘It’s handy for the office. Like tonight, I sometimes have to work in the evenings.’

She swallowed. ‘You’re working this evening?’ she asked, managing to sound less daunted, and he smiled.

‘I’ve a client who works in one of the hotels,’ he explained. ‘It’s difficult for him to keep sociable hours.’

‘So you accommodate him?’

‘I’m an accommodating fellow,’ he remarked mockingly, and she realised how easily he could disconcert her. How did he do that, when she was usually so at ease with men? It was as if he had a conduit to her soul.

‘So,’ she persevered firmly, ‘do you often work long hours?’

‘When I have to.’ He shrugged. ‘Otherwise I’d like nothing better than to join you and Mom for dinner.’ His eyes held hers with deliberate provocation. ‘I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been doing with yourself. Apart from nearly killing yourself, that is.’

Megan shook her head. ‘It was hardly that.’

‘I heard it was,’ he contradicted her gently. ‘Is that why you’re so edgy? Or is it just me?’

Megan coloured then. She couldn’t help it. She could feel the heat spreading up her neck, darkening the exposed hollow of her throat, and seeping into her hairline.

‘I’m not edgy,’ she denied, producing a smile that probably gave her words the lie. ‘I’m tired, I suppose, but that’s understandable. It’s been a long day.’

‘Yeah, I guess it has,’ he said, his tone softening. He lifted one hand and to her dismay he rubbed his knuckles along the curve of her jawline. ‘You’ll feel better in the morning. All you need is a good night’s sleep.’

Megan drew her chin back automatically. His warm knuckles were absurdly sensual, hinting at an intimacy she couldn’t begin to cope with.

She didn’t say anything, but she knew he was aware of her withdrawal. His hand fell to his side, and his eyes narrowed on the way her chest rose and fell in a nervous display.

‘Relax,’ he said. ‘What are you afraid of? I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘I never—I don’t know what you mean—’

Megan stumbled to deny his mocking accusation, but before she could get coherency into her words Anita’s voice interrupted them.

‘I’m sorry, Megan—’ she was saying as she came into the room, before breaking off in some surprise when she saw her son. ‘Why, Remy!’ she exclaimed, not without some asperity. ‘I thought you were leaving half an hour ago.’

There was an awkward pause, when Megan wondered if what had gone before was visible on their faces, and then Remy seemed to find his voice. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m still here,’ he remarked tersely. ‘I wasn’t aware I had to report my whereabouts to you.’

Anita flushed, as stung by his words in her turn as Megan had been earlier. ‘You don’t, of course,’ she said. ‘But I could have done with your assistance. The air-conditioning went out in one of the bungalows, and I couldn’t get in touch with Carlos.’

‘Have you fixed it?’

Remy was slightly less aggressive now, and his mother took a steadying breath. ‘At last,’ she said. ‘It was only a fuse, thank goodness. But—but—your grandfather’s rather fractious this evening, and I didn’t really have the time to go charging about looking for spares.’

‘I’m sorry.’

There was still an edge to Remy’s voice, and, realising she should say something in his defence, Megan chipped in. ‘Um—Remy’s been keeping me company, I’m afraid,’ she said apologetically. ‘I probably delayed him, or he would have been gone.’

Anita managed a faint smile. ‘Don’t give it another thought. Either of you,’ she added, looking at her son. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded harassed. It’s just one of the joys of running a hotel.’

Remy straightened his spine. ‘Then I guess I will get going.’ He looked at Megan. ‘Now that you’ve got my mother to entertain you, you won’t need me any more. Enjoy your evening, won’t you? I’ll think of you while I’m earning my lonely crust.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Remy.’ Anita evidently thought her son’s manner was due to what she’d said, but Megan wasn’t so sure. ‘Naturally, if I’d thought you had the time to stay and have a drink with us, I’d have suggested it. It was you who said you had work to do this evening.’

‘And I do,’ said Remy flatly, arching a mocking brow in Megan’s direction. ‘I’ll see you—both—later, though maybe not tomorrow. I’ve got to go to the Beaufort plantation in the afternoon.’

‘All right, darling.’ Reassured, Anita gave her son’s arm a squeeze. ‘Give my love to Rachel when you see her, won’t you? Tell her it’s been far too long since she’s come to visit.’

CHAPTER THREE

MEGAN slept fitfully, even though she was tired, waking the next morning before it was really light. Even the lingering effects of her illness were not enough to counter her body’s rhythms. It was obvious her system was still running on London time.

She lay for a little while mulling over the events of the previous evening. She knew now that Anita’s invitation had not been as spontaneous as it had at first appeared. Oh, her stepsister was pleased to see her, and she had been concerned when she’d learned Megan had had an operation. But she had had another reason altogether for making the call that had brought her stepsister to San Felipe.

Not that Megan had learned that immediately.

After Remy’s departure, they had both felt the need to get their relationship back on an even footing, and while Anita had a martini, and during the course of their dinner—which was taken on the candlelit terrace—they had talked about less personal things.

Then, at Anita’s instigation, Megan had told her how she had come to be in the hospital. Her stepsister had seemed to find it incredible that Megan should have developed an ulcer at her age. She didn’t seem to understand the stresses and strains involved in trying to start a business, and Megan had been loath to tell her that the specialist had intimated that she might have had the ulcer since she was in her teens.

‘And are your rooms comfortable?’ Anita asked at last, clearly eager that Megan should have every opportunity to relax while she was here.

‘They’re perfect,’ Megan assured her. ‘I just don’t think I should be taking up such luxurious apartments. This must be the busiest time of the year for you.’

‘You’re family. Where else would I put you?’ Anita retorted firmly. ‘And it’s not as if you haven’t always been welcome. I told you when—when your mother died that you had an open invitation. Any time you’d wanted to come for a visit, you had only to pick up the phone.’

Right. Megan nodded politely, wondering somewhat cynically how often she had said those same words herself. In business, people often offered hospitality without meaning it. And contacting the Robards had never been on her list of priorities.

‘Anyway,’ went on Anita, as if sensing the other woman’s reservations, ‘you’re here now, and that’s what matters.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I bet you were surprised to see Remy at the airport. He told me that you thought he was some toy-boy trying to pick you up.’

Hardly that, thought Megan indignantly, feeling somewhat hurt that Anita should feel the need to tell her exactly what Remy had said. Besides, it was not what he had said to her, though perhaps his assertion that they could meet on equal terms had been meant to flatter her, after all.

‘I didn’t recognise him,’ she admitted, and Anita gave a short laugh.

‘I don’t suppose you did,’ she said. ‘He was just a boy the last time you saw him. Did he tell you be got a law degree? He’s started his own practice in town.’

‘Yes.’ But Megan was aware that her stepsister’s explanation had caused a sudden tightening in her stomach. It was Anita’s persistence in treating Megan like an equal that disturbed her. Which was silly after the way she’d reacted to what Remy had said.

‘We’re very proud of him.’ went on Anita, clearly taking Megan’s silence as a cue to elaborate. ‘Even his grandfather sings his praises, when he isn’t grumbling about him neglecting the hotel. I think we were all afraid when he went to college in the States that he wouldn’t come back.’

‘But he did.’

Anita nodded. ‘Despite—well, despite everything, this is still his home. I don’t think he’d be happy living in Boston or New York, even though he could have earned a lot more money there.’

“I’m sure.’

Megan was impressed in spite of herself, understanding a little of Anita’s pride in her son. After all, he was her only child. And because she’d never got married their relationship was that much more special.

‘Of course, Rachel probably had something to do with it,’ added Anita, pulling a wry face, and Megan was reminded of her stepsister’s remark when Remy was leaving. She’d said, ‘Give my love to Rachel,’ but Megan hadn’t paid much attention to it then. She’d been too relieved that Remy was leaving after the tenseness of their exchange, and she supposed she’d assumed the woman worked for him or something.

‘Rachel?’ she said now, faintly, hoping her tone didn’t imply anything more than a casual interest, and Anita nodded.

‘Rachel De Vries,’ she said comfortably. ‘Her family own the De Vries plantation that adjoins the land we own on the other side of the island. Her father sits in the local legislature. Remy and Rachel have been dating one another since they were in their teens.’

‘I see.’

Megan was impatient at the feeling of emptiness this news engendered. For heaven’s sake, she thought, what did it matter to her? Despite what Simon had said she intended to stay here as short a time as possible. She’d find some excuse for leaving, and then their lives would go on as before.

‘Of course, I live in hope,’ continued Anita ruefully, and Megan forced herself to respond.

‘In hope of what?’

‘Of him getting married, naturally!’ exclaimed Anita, reaching across the table to tap Megan’s hand. ‘I want to be a grandmother, before I’m too old for it to be any fun.’

Megan sought refuge in her wine glass at that point. Despite her medication, she’d decided that one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt her, and she was grateful now for the diversion it offered. For all the room was air-conditioned, she was feeling uncomfortably hot suddenly. This was harder than she’d expected, and she hadn’t even met Ryan Robards yet.

‘Anyway, I’m sure you must be tired of me going on about Remy,’ Anita concluded, possibly putting Megan’s restlessness down to the fact that she was bored. She shook her head. ‘Tell me about your job. What is it you do exactly?’

‘Oh—I’m sure you’re not really interested in my work,’ said Megan hurriedly. ‘I believe Simon told you about the directory, and that’s all it is. My role is fairly simple; I’m just the gofer. I coordinate the designs, and deal with the printers and so on.’

‘I’m sure it’s not as simple as all that,’ declared Anita reprovingly, but, as if sensing that Megan didn’t really want to elaborate, she chose another topic. ‘I know your—father would have been very proud of you. You always were the apple of his eye.’

‘Perhaps.’

Megan wasn’t at all sure that Giles Cross would have approved of his daughter getting involved in a business that was so trivial—in his eyes, at least. He’d expected so much of her. Without her mother to mediate, it hadn’t been easy.

‘Well, whatever.’ Anita’s lips tightened. ‘It’s not as if he could have expected you to follow in his footsteps.’

‘No.’

‘There are so few women in the ministry—none at all here—and his work was very demanding.’ Anita frowned. ‘He put so much of himself into his work. Your mother said you were often on your own.’

Megan caught her breath. ‘We didn’t mind.’

‘You didn’t.’

‘Are you saying that my mother did?’

Anita sighed. ‘Laura was a wonderful, vital woman, Megan. Of course she minded.’ She paused. ‘Particularly as your father didn’t have to do as much as he did. All those missions to African countries, for example. Why didn’t he ever take your mother along?’

Megan stiffened her back. ‘She didn’t want to go.’

‘That’s not true. To begin with, she’d have gone anywhere with him to try and make their marriage work. The trouble was, he wouldn’t let her leave the parish. You must know your father preferred to travel alone.’

Megan swallowed. ‘What are you implying?’

‘I’m not implying anything, Megan. I’m telling you that your mother was not wholly to blame for what happened. If it hadn’t been my father it would have been someone else, can’t you see that? She needed company; companionship; love.’

‘She seemed happy enough until she came here.’

Anita gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, Megan, you’re a woman now. Can’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you? Your mother wasn’t—wasn’t the evil woman your father tried to make her. She was just lonely, that’s all.’

‘And your father took advantage of that!’ exclaimed Megan bitterly. ‘Oh, Anita, we’re never going to agree on this. Can we just—change the subject, please?’

‘If you insist.’ But Anita looked a little disappointed now, and Megan wished she’d been a little more forthcoming about her work. At least that was a safe subject, despite what she thought about her relationship with Simon.

‘Anyway,’ Megan continued, ‘Remy said you practically run the hotel single-handed these days. I think he said your father had retired.’

‘Oh, God!’ Anita took a deep breath, and then, as if she couldn’t sit still any longer, she got to her feet and paced about the room. ‘If only that was true.’

‘What do you mean?’

Megan was confused now, and Anita turned to give her a strangely bitter look. ‘You don’t know, do you? Remy never told you? Well, of course, he couldn’t. He doesn’t know the truth himself.’

‘Told me what?’

‘That his grandfather’s very ill?’

Megan shook her head. ‘No.’ She moistened her lips. ‘I—I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Are you?’ Anita’s tone hadn’t altered, and Megan wondered why she was looking at her with such a wealth of emotion burning behind her eyes. ‘Yes. Maybe you mean it. For his sake, I hope you do.’

‘Anita!’ Megan’s hands gripped the arms of her chair. ‘What is it? What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘He’s dying, Megan,’ replied the other woman tremulously. ‘That’s why I rang you, why I begged you to come. I’ve been carrying the burden alone for so long, and I—I need someone to talk to, to share the pain.’

‘But Remy—’

‘I’ve told you, he knows his grandfather is ill, but that’s all. I—I couldn’t tell him the truth. He and his grandfather are so close. He’s going to be devastated when he finds out.’

‘Oh, Anita!’ Megan got up from her chair then, and almost without thinking how her stepsister might react she went to her and put her arms around her. ‘Anita,’ she said again as the older woman clutched at her with desperate fingers. ‘I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do, you only have to ask.’

It was little wonder she had slept fitfully, thought Megan now, throwing back the sheet and sliding her legs out of bed. Such sleep as she had had had been punctuated by dreams of her father and mother, and her own encounters with Remy, who apparently was unaware of how ill his grandfather really was.

Biting her lower lip, Megan crossed the floor to the windows and, unlatching them, stepped out onto the balcony. Even at this hour of the morning the temperature was warm, and a little sultry, too, the clouds hanging over the horizon a lingering reminder of the rain that had come in the night. Megan had heard it pattering against the panes, and it had reminded her of how she and Remy used to go hunting for crabs after a storm when they were children. The pools that had dotted the shoreline had been a source of all sorts of exciting mysteries, with seashells and other flotsam capturing their attention.

Propping her elbows on the wrought-iron rail, Megan gazed out now at a view that was still disturbingly familiar. Beyond the paved walks and exotically planted gardens of the hotel, white coral sand edged an ocean that was fringed with foam. Seabirds swooped along the beach, always scavenging, and in the distance the tide turned to mist against the rocks. It was all inexpressibly beautiful—a tropical paradise that was no less magical than she remembered

Or was it?

Certainly, her father would have said it had its serpent. The wonderful holiday island he had found had turned into a nightmare for him. She knew he would not have approved of her coming here, consorting with the enemy. Even if Ryan Robards was a very sick man. That didn’t excuse his behaviour of years before.

Yet she couldn’t deny feeling a certain compassion for the man. She was not a vindictive creature by nature, and although she would not have chosen to see her mother’s husband again she did have sympathy for him. And, after all, before her parents had separated, she had regarded Remy’s grandfather as a kind of surrogate uncle. He had been kind to her in those days. Had his affection only been a means to get close to her mother, as her father had said?

Whatever, in the beginning, Megan had looked forward to their holidays in San Felipe with great excitement. She remembered the girls at the exclusive day school she had attended had all envied her those yearly trips to El Serrat. She hadn’t even been too upset when her father hadn’t always been able to accompany them, though later on she’d realised that that was when her mother’s affair with Ryan Robards had begun.

She’d been eight years old when she’d first come to the island, and almost fifteen when her parents had divorced. She had no idea how long her mother and Ryan Robards had been conducting their relationship; she only knew that her father had been the one who had been badly hurt.

What had always amazed her was how her mother could have allowed herself to become involved with someone like Ryan in the first place. All right, he was fun to be with, but compared to her father he was brash and insensitive, and lacking in any formal education. Indeed, in the early days of their relationship, Megan could remember her father laughing about some expression Ryan had used in error. He’d described the other man as a philistine, although Megan hadn’t understood then what he had meant.

Looking back, she conceded that there must have been more to what had happened than she’d imagined. No one gave up almost twenty years of marriage on a whim. She’d been far too defensive of her father to listen to any explanation her mother might have given her. She’d been totally prejudiced, she acknowledged, not prepared to give her mother a chance.

After the divorce, Megan had never gone back to San Felipe. She’d seen her mother from time to time, but always at some neutral location. Then, six years after Laura had married Ryan, she had developed an obscure form of cancer that was incurable. Although she’d been treated in a London hospital, and Megan had spent a lot of time with her, the looming presence of her new husband had prevented any real reconciliation being made.

Not that Megan had seen Ryan then, nor afterwards at her mother’s funeral service. She had been too distressed herself, too concerned about her father, who had taken his ex-wife’s death very badly, to pay any attention to either Ryan or Anita. Afterwards, after the cremation, she’d learned that Ryan had taken his wife’s remains back to San Felipe to be scattered in a garden of remembrance there. It had been the final bereavement so far as Giles Cross was concerned—the realisation that there was nothing left of the woman he had loved.

His death some six months later, in what could only be described as suspicious circumstances, had left Megan completely alone. She had been in her final year at college, and to learn that her father had died from an overdose of the painkiller he’d been taking for some time, and with whose properties he was perfectly familiar, had been the final straw. She’d dropped out of college after his funeral, and rented a cottage on the Suffolk coast, spending several weeks in total isolation. She’d been trying to come to terms with her life, trying to understand how a man who had loved God, and to whom he had professed such allegiance, should have become so depressed that he’d taken his own life.

Eventually, loneliness—and the need to get a job—had driven her back to London. The vicarage, where she had lived for most of her young life, had now been occupied by another incumbent, and the few possessions left to her had had to be rescued from storage. What little money her father had left had been used to furnish a small, rented flat in Bayswater, and she’d initially got a job in an advertising agency to try and put some order back into her life.

It was soon after that that she’d run into Simon Chater again, and their eventual collaboration had led to her leaving the flat and sharing a house with him. It suited both of them to project a united image, and the fact that they both had their own rooms was no one’s business but their own.

The sun had risen as she’d been musing, and, straightening, Megan stretched lazy arms above her head. There was no doubt she was feeling better this morning, but it was time to remove her scantily clad figure from public view.

She decided to have a shower and get dressed, and then take a pre-breakfast stroll along the shoreline. Anita was taking her to see Ryan at ten o‘clock, but that gave her plenty of space. She refused to admit she was looking for a diversion. Good Lord, Ryan wasn’t a monster, he was a very sick man.

By the time she had had her shower and dressed in cream silk shorts and a matching vest it was still barely seven o‘clock. Slipping her feet into soft leather loafers, she surveyed her appearance critically. She didn’t really want to wear make-up, but a touch of blusher and some lipstick seemed mandatory. She looked so pale otherwise, and she had no wish for her stepsister to suspect she hadn’t slept.

The lift hummed silently to the ground floor, and when she stepped out into the marble foyer she was surprised to see that there were already guests about Obviously, judging by their attire, they belonged to the indefatigable band of joggers who insisted on taking their exercise whatever the weather. For her part, Megan preferred to confine her activities to the gym.