Читать книгу In The Best Man's Bed - Catherine Spencer - Страница 7

“YOU’RE supposed to be digging for oil in Venezuela,” she panted, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride.

“We don’t dig, we drill.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Oh yes,” he assured her, the seductive baritone of his voice laced with irony. “You have a way with words which leaves a man in little doubt about their meaning.”

Although she’d sooner have poked hot needles in her eyes than offer an apology, she knew one was called for. “I’m afraid I was out of line, talking to you the way I did when I first saw you, and I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Is it customary in your part of the world to criticize one’s host to his employees?”

The distaste with which he said “your part of the world” made it sound as if she’d emerged from under a very unsavory rock. “No,” she said. “But where I come from, hosts aren’t usually so inhospitable. Nor do they go around impersonating other people.”

“Inhospitable?” His sleekly elegant brows rose in mock surprise. “Your accommodation falls short of your expectations? The food is not to your liking? My staff have treated you discourteously?”

“Dinner was exquisite, your staff couldn’t be kinder or more helpful, and my accommodation,” she replied, thinking of the delicately fashioned iron four-poster bed with its Sea Island cotton sheets, and elegant draperies which more closely resembled silk wedding-veil tulle than mosquito netting, “is everything I could wish for. It’s the atmosphere around here that leaves something to be desired.”

“A sentiment which my future sister-in-law appears to share. Dare I ask why?”

“Let’s just say she’s hardly the poster child for bridal bliss, and leave it at that.”

He held back the fronds of a giant fern and waited for her to pass by. Just there, the path was narrow, an iridescent green lane awash with the scent of the jungle, a thousand hidden flowers—and him.

He smelled of morning and cool water faintly kissed by the tropics. He oozed raw strength, the kind which defied the elements. He would neither wilt under the sun’s heat, nor bend before the storms which swept over the island during hurricane season, and as long as she didn’t look at him, she could prolong the illusion that he was exactly what she’d first assumed him to be: a subordinate born to the grinding, endless toil of working the cotton plantation or tending the gardens.

But one glance at the elegant conformation of bone and muscle underlying the gleaming skin, at the well-shaped hands, the patrician features, and most of all, at the intelligence in those cool, spectacular eyes, and she felt herself dwindle into insignificance. This was a giant of a man, not so much because of his size and physical beauty, which were considerable, but because of the innate bearing in his manner. The mantle of authority, of culture and refinement, sat easily on his shoulders.

“Please proceed,” he said, waving her ahead with an imperious gesture. “And explain your last remark.”

She scuttled past and muttered, “I’ve forgotten what it was.”

“Then allow me to refresh your memory. You said you don’t find Solange the picture of bridal bliss.”

“Well, do you?”

“I hardly know her well enough to say.”

“Oh, please! Even a complete stranger, if he bothered to take a good look at her, would see at once that she’s anything but brimming over with happiness.”

“She has struck me as moody and difficult to please.” He gave a careless shrug. “Unfortunate traits in a woman about to become a wife, wouldn’t you say?”

Irked by the casual way he’d pigeon-holed Solange without bothering to learn what was really causing her so much distress, Anne-Marie said tartly, “Almost as unfortunate as finding yourself related by marriage to a man so ready to assume the worst of you!”

“If I’ve misjudged her—”

“There’s no ‘if’ about it! I’ve known Solange for over ten years and I can assure you she’s normally the most equable woman in the world. But finding herself sequestered as far away from the main house as possible, as if she’s carrying some horrible, contagious disease, doesn’t do a whole lot for her self-esteem.”

“I’m preserving her good reputation.”

“You’re isolating her and making her feel unwanted!”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “During the day, she’s welcome to spend as much time as she likes with the rest of the family.”

They’d reached the upper terrace by then. “She’s too intimidated,” Anne-Marie said, stopping to admire a bed of tall pink lilies with burgundy leaves. “She’d feel she was imposing, especially on those days when Philippe isn’t there to run interference for her.”

“If she thinks he’ll constantly be at her side once they’re married, she’s in for a rude awakening. By his own choosing, Philippe has led a very carefree bachelor life up until now, and is no more equipped to be a husband than I am to tame a tiger. In order to fulfill his marital obligations, he’ll be kept very busy learning to pull his own weight in the family business. And that, I’m afraid, will involve his spending a certain amount of time off the island.”

“Will it?” she said heatedly. “Or is this simply your way of sabotaging a marriage you don’t approve of?”

His mouth curved in displeasure. “I’ve never found it necessary to stoop to such underhand measures. If I don’t like something, I make no secret of my intent to change it.”

Who did he think he was—God? “And what if you can’t?”

“There’s always a way,” he said impassively. “It’s simply a matter of finding it. But you may rest easy on one score at least. I take no pleasure in reducing innocent women to tears or despair. Whatever else might be upsetting Solange, she has nothing to fear from me. I have only her best interests at heart.”

“I’d like to believe that’s the case.”

“I’m not in the habit of lying, Mademoiselle.”

He uttered the words with such a wealth of dignity that she was ashamed. No, he would not stoop to lying. Whatever his faults, he would never compromise his integrity.

He indicated the pool, stretching before them like an eighty-foot length of satin undulating in a whisper of breeze. “Enjoy your swim. You look as if you need it. You’re more than a little flushed.”

Hidden by the shadowed fretwork of the door opening onto his bedroom verandah, he watched her approach the shallow end of the pool, and cautiously lower herself over the side. In every other respect, she appeared to be exactly as he’d anticipated: brash, abrasive, and disagreeably self-confident, like most North American women.

It surprised him that she was so tentative in the water, and it annoyed him, too. He didn’t want to be made aware of any vulnerability she might possess. Dealing with Solange’s fragility was more than enough.

“Papa!” The door burst open and Adrian catapulted into the room. “When did you come home?”

“Last night,” he said, scooping his son into his arms.

“You didn’t kiss me good night!”

“Of course I did. But you were sleeping so soundly, you didn’t know.”

“I’m scared when you go away, Papa.” The sweetly-rounded arms crept around his neck and held on tight. “What if you forgot to come home again?”

“Don’t be scared, mon petit,” he said. “Parents never forget to come back to their children.”

“They do, sometimes. I heard Tante Josephine say that’s why I don’t have a mama.”

Damn you, Lisa! Inwardly cursing his ex-wife, he said, “You’ll always have me, son,” and made a mental note to remind his aunt to watch her words around the boy.

Adrian wriggled to the floor and tugged at his hand. “Teach me to swim some more, Papa.”

His glance slewed back to the pool. She’d ventured in a little farther and was floating on her back, with her hair fanned out around her head like the tentacles of a pale sea anemone. Just as well she wasn’t expending much energy. Any sudden movement, and she’d lose the flimsy excuse for a bathing suit clinging precariously to her frame.

To her very slender, distractingly feminine frame.

He turned away, annoyed again. “Not right now, son. Later, perhaps.”

“But you said you would as soon as you came home again. You promised! And you’ve been home for hours!”

“You’re right.” He sighed, accepting defeat.

“And you told me it’s bad to break a promise.”

“Right again.” He buried a smile. “Okay, you win. Give me ten minutes to clean up and change, and we’ll have a quick lesson before breakfast.”

Perhaps she’d be gone by then, and they’d have the pool to themselves.

The water lapped around her like warm cream. Very pleasant, very relaxing. I could make a habit of this, she thought, stretching luxuriously and breathing deeply of the flower-scented air. Given enough time and exposure, I might even learn to enjoy it.

From within the house came the faint clink of dishes and the whispery sound of soft-soled shoes hurrying over marble-tiled floors. She had no idea of the time, but it occurred to her that if the servants were readying breakfast for the family, she should vacate the premises. She had no wish for further contact with Ethan Beaumont. She’d seen enough of him, for one day.

But even as she rolled over and swam sedately toward the steps at the corner of the pool, a child in bright blue swimming trunks came roaring across the terrace, squealing with glee the whole time. And right behind him came Ethan.

“Wait!” he called out.

But the child either didn’t hear or chose not to, and with another squeal, shot through the air like a bullet and landed practically on top of her. The relatively calm surface of the water churned in a turbulent froth, smacking her in the face and blinding her. Choking, she lunged for the side of the pool, misjudged the distance, and went under.

To panic when she knew all she had to do was stand up and she’d find herself only waist-deep in water was ridiculous, but that didn’t stop her from flailing and thrashing around like a wild thing. The humiliation of that exhibition, though, paled beside the insult of suddenly finding herself being hauled upright by the hair.

Spluttering, she surfaced again and came eyeball to eyeball with Ethan Beaumont. He knelt on the tiled deck, his mouth quivering with suppressed laughter. “Idiot!” he said softly.

“Caveman!” she spluttered. “Do you make a habit of dragging women around by the hair?”

“Only when they’re in danger of drowning or otherwise causing themselves grievous bodily harm.” Releasing her, he rose smoothly to his feet, and she saw that he’d exchanged the denim shorts for black swimming trunks which showed rather more tanned skin than she felt able to cope with at that moment. “Stay put and I’ll give you a lesson on water survival.”

“No, thanks,” she told him, but she might as well have saved her already tortured breath. He’d turned away and was striding to the other end of the pool, and any inclination she might have had, to escape while she could, faded as she watched him. Tall, broad at the shoulder and narrow at the waist, he moved with the sort of masculine grace few men possessed.

A splashing at her side drew her attention to the child treading water furiously to stay afloat. “That’s my papa,” he panted, his sweet little face beaming with pride. “He can teach you to swim. He can do everything.”

Perhaps not everything, she thought, swinging her gaze back just in time to see Ethan Beaumont dive into the pool so cleanly that he barely caused a ripple, but I can see why his son might think so. The man is frighteningly competent.

He surfaced next to her, his hair seal-dark against his skull and water streaming down his torso in sparkling rivulets. “Lesson number one,” he said. “Learn to be comfortable with your face submerged.”

“It’ll never happen,” she said flatly. “At least, not with me.”

“That’s what Adrian said, in the beginning. But he soon changed his mind.” He looked at her inquiringly. “Have you met my son?”

“Not formally. I’d hoped to meet him last night, but by the time we’d finished dinner, it was past his bedtime.”

“Then allow me to introduce you now.” He extended his arm for the child to grasp. “This is Adrian, who just turned five.”

“Hello, Adrian.” She smiled at him. He was a beautiful child, black haired like his father and with huge dark brown eyes fringed in long black lashes. “I’m Anne-Marie.”

He smiled back, but Ethan frowned disapprovingly. “I prefer that he call you Mademoiselle.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she didn’t care what he preferred, but decided it was something better said when they didn’t have an audience. So, keeping her smile in place even though doing so made her face ache, she said, “I should be getting back to my quarters. Solange is surely awake by now, and wondering where I am.”

“No hurry,” he said, clamping his free hand around her wrist. “I sent a message for her to join us for breakfast on the terrace. She should be here any moment. We’ll make use of the time until she arrives, and start your swimming lesson. Now, to begin—”

“I’m sure you mean well, Ethan,” she said, taking private delight in the way his mouth tightened at the familiarity, “but just as you have your preferences, so do I have mine. And I prefer not to take advantage of your offer, especially not if it means leaving your son to his own devices when he’s clearly expecting to spend this time with you.”

He released her just long enough to boost Adrian onto the pool deck and murmur something in his ear which sent the boy scooting over to a canopied stall loaded with towels and swimming paraphernalia. Then, turning his attention back to her, he said implacably, “Adrian doesn’t mind waiting a few minutes. So, to begin, I’ll fit you with a face mask. That way, you’ll be able to see under water without discomfort to your eyes.”

“I don’t want a face mask. I don’t want a lesson. How much more plainly do I have to put it?”

“You’re afraid.”

“Yes, I’m afraid. Is that all right with you?”

“No, it isn’t. As long as you’re cavorting in pools on my property, I’m responsible for your well-being. I could ensure it by forbidding you to use them, but in this climate they’re less a luxury than a necessity. So for your own comfort and my peace of mind, I must insist you allow me to teach you the rudiments of water safety.” He paused and surveyed her mockingly. “If a five-year-old can master them, surely a woman your age can at least try to do likewise?”

For a moment, she glared at him without replying, but already the heat was intense and she knew that, as the day progressed and the sun climbed higher in the cloudless sky, it would only get worse. So when it became obvious he wasn’t about to accept silence as an answer, she said grudgingly, “Much though I loathe to admit it, it’s possible you’re right. On all counts.”

He selected one of the two masks Adrian had dropped on the side of the pool, declared with irritating superiority, “Of course I am, so let’s get on with it,” then proceeded to clamp the wretched contraption snugly over her face, and adjust the strap holding it in place. “How does that feel?”

“Fine, I suppose,” she said, vibrantly conscious of his touch and the proximity of their near-naked bodies. Although harmless enough on the surface, there was something implicitly intimate about the situation.

“Excellent!” Quickly, he slipped on the other mask, and taking her by both hands, backed away from the steps.

Instantly, the fear grabbed at her. “Don’t pull me into deep water!” she begged, resisting him.

“Relax, Mademoiselle! All we’re going to do is remain perfectly still and look at the bottom of the pool, like so….” He took a breath, lowered his face into the water, blew out a stream of bubbles, then raised his head. “Very simple, very safe, yes?”

“You make it look easy.”

“Because it is. Try it and see for yourself.”

Cautiously, she followed his instructions and surprised herself. It wasn’t nearly as terrifying or alien an experience as she’d expected. The tiles on the bottom of the pool glimmered in the sun-shot blue light. By turning her head slightly, she could see the steps in the corner, a reassuring sight. And when she felt herself running short of air, she simply lifted her face and filled her lungs with a fresh supply.

“I can’t believe I’m able to do this!” she said, absurdly pleased with her small accomplishment.

“But you are, and very well, too.” Without warning, he tugged her off her feet. “So now we progress to the next level and float.”

“Ahh!” She let out a little yelp of fright as, powerless in his hold, she found herself traveling even farther away from the steps.

But he wouldn’t let fear get the better of her. “Concentrate,” he ordered, his voice low and hypnotic as he towed her effortlessly alongside him. “Remember—lift and breathe, lower and blow.”

She did, becoming so engrossed in following his directions that she didn’t notice how far they’d traveled until a shadow fell across the water and, looking up, she found herself under the diving board at the deep end of the pool. Again, the familiar panic rose up, and again, before it got the better of her, he tightened his hold and said soothingly, “You’re perfectly safe, Mademoiselle. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I believe you,” she panted, and the amazing thing was, she did. A total stranger had lured her far out of her depth and into dangerous territory, and for some insane reason, she trusted him implicitly. Not for years, not since she was a little girl, had she known such a sense of security, and she rather liked it.

Her voice must have betrayed something of what she was feeling because he pushed up his face mask and, for the first time since they’d met, he smiled. The problem then was not that she’d forget to breathe properly with her face in the water, but that she’d forget to breathe at all. Because his smile transformed him and he became not merely handsome, but truly gorgeous. Flawless in every detail, from his dazzling white and perfect teeth to the brilliant azure of his eyes. And she, fleetingly paralyzed by the moment, could only gaze in spellbound admiration.

Slowly, he disentangled his fingers from hers, as if he were as reluctant to release her as she was to have him let go. “One more thing, and then it’s Adrian’s turn,” he said, giving her slight push. “Swim to the ladder over there, under your own steam.” Then, before she could give voice to the protest rising in her throat, he added. “It’s either that or make your way back to the shallow end which is five times the distance away.”

Did pride give her the courage to do as he asked, or was winning his respect what motivated her? That she hardly knew how to answer the question disturbed her. What he thought of her shouldn’t matter. And yet, it did. Rather more than she cared to admit.

Heart pounding, she breast-stroked to the ladder, grasped the lowest rung and pushed off her mask. Then, aware of his gaze focused on every inch of her as she climbed out of the water, she hoisted herself onto the pool deck, resisted the impulse to check that her bikini remained in place, and said, “Thank you for the lesson.”

Then, with as much nonchalance as she could muster, she strolled to where Solange waited with Adrian on the bench at the shallow end of the pool. “I thought you’d never get here,” she muttered, picking up a towel.

A smile twitched at the corners of Solange’s mouth. “I hardly think you missed me.”

Anne-Marie waited until Adrian had jumped into his father’s waiting arms and was happily splashing his way toward a huge red ball floating on the water, then she said, “Exactly what do you mean by that?”

“Just that you and my future brother-in-law appeared too wrapped up in each other to notice anyone else.”

“He insisted on teaching me to use a face mask.” She mopped the dripping ends of her hair, then tucked the towel around herself, sarong-style. “And all I can say is, it’s a pity no one ever taught him how to take ‘No’ for an answer. He’s very bossy.”

“And you’re unusually flustered.”

Unwilling to debate the truth of that statement, she said, “Never mind me. How are you, this morning? You’re looking a bit more cheerful than you were last night.”

“That’s because you’re here. I don’t feel so alone anymore.” She gestured to the terrace. “Breakfast is ready. Shall we go over and sit down?”

Anne-Marie glanced covertly at Ethan who was still in the pool with his son. “Shouldn’t we wait for the lord and master to give us permission to eat?”

“He’s not an ogre, Anne-Marie! He won’t be upset if we help ourselves to coffee. Finish drying off and let’s go. I’m never properly awake until—”

“You’ve had your morning café au lait.” She laughed, then pulled on her cover-up and slipped her arm through Solange’s. “I remember!”

The inflated ball hit Ethan squarely on the shoulder and bounced into the water. “Papa,” Adrian called out reproachfully, “you’re not paying attention!”

“I know.” How could he be expected to, with her laughter floating through the air like music, and the graceful, easy way she moved her scantily-clad body distracting him every other second? But since he could hardly tell his son that, he sniffed conspicuously, boosted the boy onto the pool deck, and said, “I’m thinking about food instead. Jeanne made fruit crêpes for breakfast. I’ll race you to the terrace.”

The women were chatting animatedly as he approached, and Solange had color in her cheeks, for a change. “You’re looking more rested this morning, ma petite,” he said, dropping a kiss on her head. “Having Mademoiselle Barclay here appears to agree with you.”

“Oui. I am very happy.”

“As happy as when you’re spending time with Philippe?”

His technique must leave something to be desired because, as usual, she didn’t recognize that he was teasing her. “Oh, never that, Ethan!” she said, horrified. “No one can take his place.”

“I’m glad to hear it, especially since he phoned this morning to say he’ll be home in time for dinner tonight.”

Her face lit up—she really was a pretty little thing which, no doubt, was what had first caught Philippe’s eye—but she had a fragility about her, and a desire to please at all costs which, combined with a lack of confidence in her own judgment, worried Ethan. This friend, this Anne-Marie Barclay with the long, tanned legs, minuscule bikini, and outspoken manner, didn’t strike him as the best influence. The sooner Philippe reappeared and kept Solange occupied, the better.

“So, Mademoiselle,” he said, taking a seat opposite his guest, “tell me something about yourself.”