Читать книгу Tender Assault - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

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.’

Nathan absorbed her anger as he poured himself a glass of golden juice. ‘Will you join me?’ he asked, gesturing towards her glass, but she turned it upside-down, and stared mutely out of the window.

With her profile turned towards him, and her determined chin supported by the knuckles of one hand, Nathan was able to watch her undetected. Despite the beauty of her complexion, she looked tired, he thought. Tired, and troubled, and he guessed Adele had given her a hard time when he had failed to show up the night before. Her knuckles shifted, and she brushed her hand across her cheek, revealing short, rounded nails, only palely tinged with polish. Her fingertips brushed the faint shadows beneath her eyes, and drew his attention to the slender arch of her brows. And when his eyes moved to her mouth, he knew his control was slipping again.