No Greater Joy (2 page)

'Hello, Alison.'

The use of her first name was unexpected, jolting her.

'Hello, Mr Demaine.' She licked lips that were dry all at once. 'I thought I'd come and talk to you. You see, I've decided...'

'Hold it!' he interrupted.

A lithe movement brought him out of the pool, then he was standing beside her. Involuntarily, Alison's gaze went to his body. Six feet two inches of overwhelming maleness; copper skin glistening; muscles in his arms and chest smooth beneath his tan; wet hair clinging to his head like a cap.

It was a moment or two before she managed to look away. She said, 'Mr Demaine...' and for some reason her voice was not quite steady.

'Nice,' he murmured, his eyes going over her in a look that was intensely male. 'Quite a transformation!'

Alison's cheeks were warm as her hand touched the dress she'd changed into before coming here—a simple dress, yet one which showed off her slender figure to perfection. 'I don't
live
in jeans, Mr Demaine.'

He laughed softly. 'With a figure like yours, I'm glad to hear it!'

She made her voice brisk. 'Look, Mr Demaine, I came here to talk to you.'

His eyes were sparkling. 'And talk we shall. Let's just find a place to sit first.'

Without waiting for an answer, he walked towards a couple of deck-chairs. After a moment, Alison followed him.

The chairs were close together, as if the people who had vacated them had been having an intimate conversation. A little too close for Alison's liking. She was about to move a chair when something made her glance at Clint Demaine.

His lips were tilted at the corners and his eyes were teasing. Darn the man! Lifting her chin, Alison allowed the chair to remain where it was, and sat down.

He sat down himself then in the chair beside hers, so close to her that his thighs were just a hand's reach from her own, and his bare, wet toes might have touched hers in their open sandals if she had not deliberately moved her feet beneath her chair.

'What can I get you, Alison? Coffee?' And when she shook her head, 'A beer? Something cold?'

'Nothing, thank you.'

'You said you wanted to talk,' he hinted.

'Yes...' Nervousness had made her throat dry, so that in a way she regretted her refusal of something to drink. 'I've .changed my mind, Mr Demaine.'

'Oh?'

'I think I would like the job.'

'I see.'

She stared at him, beginning to feel more than a little unnerved. 'I wonder if the offer is still open.'

'What made you change your mind?' he asked.

'Is that really important?' Her voice was low.

'Put it down to interest,' he said mildly. 'A couple of hours ago you seemed adamant that the job wasn't for you, so now I'm interested. What made you change your mind?'

Unable to meet his probing gaze all at once, she looked down. His body was beginning to dry in the hot sun, and her eyes were riveted to his thighs. They were so taut, and for one appalling moment she wondered how the tanned skin would feel beneath her fingers.

'Well, Alison?'

She forced her eyes back to his. She had an uncomfortable feeling that her face was flushed.

'I realised.. .that I'd made a mistake,' she began.

'A mistake?'

Damn him! Did he have to make it quite so difficult for her?

'Well, yes. I thought I might not be able to get away from home at this time,' she improvised, 'but I was wrong. It's the kind of job I've always enjoyed. I loved working at Morley's Camp. And...'

'And?' he prompted.

'There's the money, of course.'

'Now, that's something I can understand,' he agreed.

'I love working with horses and children, Mr Demaine. Dad pays me what he can for the work I do at the stables, but I could do with some extra money.'

'Because you're going to be married?' There was an odd note in his tone.

Alison was on her feet in a second. 'What 1 do with » my money is my own business!'

A cool hand reached for her wrist. She tried to jerk away, but Clint Demaine's grip was too strong for her.

'Let me go!' she ordered tersely.

'Sit down.'

'No!'

He stood up too now, the movement pulling her against him. His body was cool from the water, and his skin was still slightly damp. A distinctive male smell filled Alison's nostrils, so that for a moment she felt dizzy.

'Sit down,' he said again. 'Please.'

'There's no point.' Her throat hurt.

'I think there is.' His voice was so gentle now that after another moment she let herself be persuaded, and then he sat down, too.

He leaned towards her, his hand cupping her chin. 'I seem to have caught you on the raw with that last question. You were quite right, Alison, it's really none of my business what you do with your money. I'm sorry.'

Sorry was a word Raymond had never found it easy to say. Even after he'd hurt her.

'You haven't even said whether the offer's still open,' she muttered.

'Haven't I?' He laughed softly, so close to her that his breath fanned her hot cheek. 'Yes, Alison, the job is yours if you want it.'

'I do. Thank you.'

'But I wonder—have you had time to discuss this with your boyfriend?'

Alison was beginning to regret that she hadn't been honest with him from the start, yet she didn't see how she could back down now without making a fool of herself.

'I believe in making my own decisions,' she said.

Clint's eyes glinted. 'A modern relationship.'

'Yes, it is.'

'He doesn't mind, then?'

'Should he?' she asked abruptly.

'That's something only you can answer.' There was a look in his face that she could not define.

Alison pushed back her chair. 'I'm going to need some information, Mr Demaine. When exactly does camp start? And what is the best way of getting there?'

'I was just coming to that. How soon would you be free to leave here, Alison?'

'As soon as I'm needed.'

'How does tomorrow sound?'

Her head jerked up.
'Tomorrow?'
she echoed.

'Camp doesn't start till the beginning of the week, but you'd be doing me a real favour if you could travel down with me tomorrow. I just had word yesterday that the girl who takes care of the administrative side of things is going to be delayed a day or two, and I could do with some help setting things up.'

'Tomorrow...' Alison said again, slowly.

'I'd pay you for the extra days, of course. It's short notice, Alison, I know, but do you think you could possibly manage it?'

She stared at Clint, unaware that he wondered at the sudden light in her huge green eyes. He couldn't know that by going with him tomorrow, she would be getting away from the small village before the razzmatazz engagement party Edna's father was throwing for the young couple. Away from the hurt and the humiliation—for Alison had fully intended going to the party—of having to watch Raymond and Edna publicly pledge their newfound love for each other.

As for her own father, Alison knew he would not mind her leaving the stables at such short notice, for Dad would be glad she was taking the first step towards an independent life of which he thoroughly approved. It wasn't even as if he would have to manage on his own. Lynn was always willing to help, as was Rob, a boy from the village, who grabbed every chance he could to work with the horses.

Clint was looking at her. 'Well, Alison, do you think you could make it?'

'Yes,' she said at last, 'I think I can.'

'D
ID
I get you up too early?'

Alison turned from the window to smile at the extraordinarily attractive man at her side. 'Not at all.'

'Family didn't curse at being dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour to say goodbye?''

She laughed. 'Mom and Dad are up with the birds every morning. We're a farming family; the stables are just part of what we do.'

The first time I've heard her laugh, Clint thought. And then, I wish I could see her eyes. I wonder whether the sadness goes when she laughs.

'We've something in common,' he observed. 'I grew up on a farm too.'

Alison stared at him. 'Really, Mr Demaine?' Somehow she hadn't expected that.

'Yes, really. A sheep farm. And don't you think it's time you started calling me Clint? Things are pretty informal at Bushveld.'

'Clint...' The name had a strange kind of feel on her tongue.

'Have you always lived out in the country, Alison?' he asked.

'Always. It's the only life I know, and I love it.'

'The boyfriend's not of farming stock, I take it?'

Wary suddenly, Alison looked at him. 'Why do you ask?'

to'Just drawing conclusions. I noticed he wasn't around to say goodbye to you.' It was said lightly enough.

Alison curled her nails into her palms. 'That's because Raymond and I...' She stopped.

Though she had decided she would tell him the truth, now she hesitated. Alison was not a girl given to lying, but yesterday, when she could have told Clint about Raymond, she had chosen not to do so. And today, perhaps, there was an advantage in continuing with the deception. She knew next to nothing about Clint Demaine. If he had any ideas about sex—and what man didn't try to make the most of whatever might be available?—then it was as well if he thought that she was off limits.

'Because we said our goodbyes last night.' Her voice was stiff.

'I see.'

'A
private
goodbye.'

'The best kind.' His face was turned forward to the road, so that Alison could not see his eyes.

'The very best kind,' she agreed firmly.

The Porsche had devoured another couple of miles when Clint threw out his next question.

'Are you engaged?'

'No...'

'Will you be?'

Talk about putting her on the spot!

After a moment, she said, 'Does it matter?'

'Something in your voice says, "and make of that what you will",' commented Clint.

'Yes, that's right,' she agreed.

'Which is what I have in mind.'

The outrageousness of the remark had her swinging round to him. Just for a second he took his eyes from the road, and she saw that they gleamed—a most unholy gleam.

Alison was suddenly intensely aware of Clint Demaine. The confines of the car dictated that she could only sit so far from him. Clint's legs, taut and tanned, his broad shoulders, his arms with their constant play of ligament and muscle, were just inches from her. She could not have said quite why, but the man had an inherent sexuality that made her nerve-ends feel raw.

Turning her head away from him, she said brightly, 'I really know very little about Bushveld Camp.'

'You do know that it's an adventure camp for children?'

He sounded amused that she had changed the subject, but she didn't care. 'I know that there's riding...'

'There's swimming too—canoeing, hiking, tennis, outdoor survival techniques.'

'Sounds like fun.'

'Yes, it's fun. Many of the kids come back year after year.'

'What happens if a family can't afford your fees?' she asked.

'That happens, of course, but no child has ever been turned away because of financial problems.'

She glanced at him, allowing herself to respect him for that.

'Do you live at Bushveld all year?' she queried.

'On and off during the camping weeks, and now and then when I want a break. Not as much as I'd like to, unfortunately, I'm afraid—my hotels keep me busy most of the year.' 'Hotels?' she exclaimed in surprise. 'You don't mean* the Demaine chain?'

'You know them?'

'Of course! At least,' she amended, 'I know about them.'

The Demaine hotels were a buTgeoning chain of luxury hotels, each one known for its high standards of comfort and efficiency. Wherever they were situated in the country, tourists came flocking.

'Do you actually own them?' she asked.

Clint laughed. 'Yes, I do. And I wish you wouldn't look so awed, Alison.'

'You can't fault me for that.' She looked at him with new interest. 'I don't understand, Mr Demaine—with all those hotels, where does the camp fit in?'

'It's the thing I love,' he explained. 'When I was a youngster, my happiest times were spent with my three brothers out-of-doors.'

'And so now you're giving other young people a similar opportunity?'

'Something like that,' he agreed.

'That's wonderful!'

'Thank you.' He paused a moment before asking, 'Is there anything else you'd like to know about the camp?'

Alison was caught by something in his tone. 'Do you mind me asking questions?'

'Not at all. In fact, I'd be very pleased if I thought you were really interested.'

'You think I'm not?'

'I think,' Clint said smoothly, 'that you try very hard to turn the subject away from yourself.'

She dug her nails deeper into her palms. 'That's absurd!' she muttered.

'Is it?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Then why are you so uptight whenever I mention your boyfriend?'

'Look, Mr Demaine, I don't want to talk about him...'

'Clint. And you're uptight again now. Every time I mention your boyfriend there's a kind of leave-that- subject-alone in your manner.'

'I'm a private person, Mr Demaine,' she said stiffly.

'Clint,' he insisted.

'Clint,' she complied in a choked voice.

'Private—and not very happy?'

Alison's head jerked up. Was he deliberately trying to hurt her? But the look in eyes that turned momentarily to meet hers was not malicious.

'I'm very happy,' she told him. 'Why shouldn't I be?'

'That's something you might tell me.'

'Even if I wasn't...happy...and I am!...that wouldn't concern you. You're just my employer.'

Only
my employer.

'Anything that affects the well-being of my staff is my concern,' he said softly.

'Well, I am happy.' She made her voice as bright as she could. 'I wish you'd believe me.'

'I might if you'd relax.'

'I'm relaxed... Clint. And I really wish you wouldn't go on with this.'