The Bedroom Barter (10 page)

He nodded. 'Santo Martino less so, I'd have thought.'

'The actual ceremony was going to be held on Ramon's estate up country. He said the easiest way to reach it was by river, so we came here to catch a boat.

She attempted a laugh, trying to make a joke of it 'Instead, I caught a virus.'

'So you said. And Ramon?'

'Perhaps he took the boat home. He didn't wait around to tell me.'

'And of course the boat wasn't the only thing he took.' He sounded almost matter-of-fact.

Her mouth tightened. 'No. Do we really have to go through all this? It's hardly one of my favourite memories.'

'Are you still in love with him?'

'
What
?' She stared at him.

'It's a simple enough question. If he suddenly appeared here on deck now—would you forgive him—take him back?'

'Certainly,' she said. 'When all hell freezes over.'

'Yet once you cared enough to come halfway across the world with him.'

'I thought I did,' Chellie said tightly. 'I also believed that he cared for me. I was wrong on both counts.'

'So,' he said, 'when did you realise you weren't in love?'

She thought,
When we were in bed together. When I felt his hands on me
—
and he pushed himself into me. When he was hurting me, and he wouldn't stop
…

She said, keeping her tone deliberately light, 'I think I've told you quite enough. All other information is on a "need to know" basis.'

He moved swiftly, sharply. Came to her, taking her face between his hands and looking deeply into her startled green eyes.

He said softly, 'And just how the hell, songbird, would you know
what
I need?'

He let her go just as suddenly and walked away, leaving her leaning against the rail as if it was her sole support in the whole world. And staring after him with one shaking hand pressed to her parted lips.

She almost called to him. Almost asked him to come back. She wanted him to explain what he'd said—and the note of suppressed anger that she'd detected beneath the words.

But some providence—or maybe it was simple self-preservation—kept her silent. Because it was not just words that she wanted from him, and she knew it Nor was it anger. No, although she was ashamed to admit it, her needs were very different.

She went numbly back to her lounger and lay down, struggling to regain her composure. Her face still burned where he had touched her. His touch had been light, but she felt as if she would bear the marks of his fingers through all eternity.

'Oh, God,' she whispered to herself, 'why did he have to do that? Why did he have to put his hands on me?

And that was not the worst of it. He'd been so near to her that she'd found herself breathing the erotic male scent of his skin. She'd been aware that her nipples were hardening urgently against the flimsy cups of the bikini, felt the first scalding rush of arousal between her thighs.

The desperation of her own need had scared her. Had almost overwhelmed her.

If he had taken her in his arms she would have yielded completely. And he must have known that. He could not have been oblivious to the sheer physicality of her response. To that shock of trembling desire.

He had been as aware of her as she'd been of him— hadn't he?

But—he hadn't followed through. Instead he'd walked away. And perhaps, she thought painfully, his words could be interpreted as a warning to her not to expect more than he was prepared to give. He'd rescued her, given her temporary sanctuary, but that was as far as it went.

He'd probably decided she was more trouble than she was worth, and wanted no further involvement. And once they reached St Hilaire all contact between them would be severed.

She supposed she should be grateful to him for not taking advantage of her vulnerability, but she couldn't feel thankful. Or not yet, at least.

She closed her eyes, forbidding herself to cry, ashamed of her own reactions — her own weakness. Her experiences in Santo Martino must have affected her more deeply than she'd realised. That was the only explanation.

I don't seem to be the same person any more, she told herself. I don't think or feel as I did. I don't know myself. It's ludicrous—and it can't be allowed to go on. I've got to build up my immune system again—particularly against men like Ash Brennan.

She would certainly need to pull herself together before they arrived at St Hilaire. She couldn't afford to give the impression that she was still dependent on Ash in any way—that she was in want of his continued help. She had to show by her altitude that she'd recovered and was ready to take charge of her life.

And she would manage alone, she added grimly. She would have to, because she had no intention of asking her father for assistance.

Not when she'd put herself in terrible danger and come within a whisker of wrecking her entire life in order to escape his control in the first place.

Because that was what had happened. She could see that so clearly now. See that Ramon had simply seemed a lifeline—a way of resolving her frustration and unhappiness with her existence. Drastic but effective.

I wished myself into love with him, she thought, her mouth twisting wryly. He seemed to be offering me a lifestyle that was the opposite to everything I'd ever known. Something that had a surface glamour all its own.

But getting away from my father was always the main attraction, even if I didn't realise it at the time.

I had to learn it the hard way, she thought, shivering.

But there was no substance to my relationship with Ramon, and even if he'd turned out to be a thoroughly decent guy it couldn't have lasted.

Looking back, she realised she'd had doubts even before they'd left England. There had been details about his background that didn't jell. Vague contradictions in the stories he'd told her that should have alerted her.

If I'd given myself time to stop and think, she told herself with sudden energy, I wouldn't have gone to the end of the street with him. And I'd have saved myself a hell of a lot of misery—and sheer terror.

Above all, I would not have met Ash, and that, in itself, would have been a kind of safety. A security I've lost for ever now. Because he's under my skin—in my blood.

And the first thing I need to do on St Hilaire is get away from him, as far and as fast as I can. And start to forget. Or try to, at least.

She found herself shivering.

Ash strode into the pilot house, his body taut, his mouth set.

Laurent swung round in his leather chair, giving him a quizzical look. '
Cą va
?'

'Not particularly.' Ash flung himself into the adjoining seat, his expression brooding.

'Then I regret I must add, to your troubles. Another fax from Victor. There has been a change of plan.' He paused. 'The girl is now to be taken directly to England, and handed over there.'

'Not by me,' Ash returned curtly. 'The deal was St Hilaire—nowhere else—and that's how it's going to stand.' He shook his head. 'Oh, God, I knew I should never have got involved in this.'

Laurent grinned wickedly. 'But you were ideal—the only choice,
mon vieux
. Your irresistible charm was essential, to entice
la petite
Michelle away from her lover. How were we to know that the
affaire
had already ended in tears?'

A muscle moved beside Ash's mouth. 'He told her he had a country estate.' He gave a short laugh. 'A shanty in a clearing, I don't doubt.'

Laurent gave a philosophical shrug. 'Then it is as well, perhaps, that it ended while she still had some of her illusions.

Ash sighed harshly. 'I don't think she had many to start with. And she'll be left with even fewer when she realises she's just swapped one cage for another. That she's been bought and sold. What price her illusions then?

'You are in danger of breaking your own rules, my friend,? Laurent warned quietly. 'Do the job—earn the money—don't get involved. Isn't that you've always said? How you have survived?'

'I haven't forgotten,' Ash said shortly. 'And the rules still apply.' He sighed again. 'And now I'd better fax Victor and tell him to give Clive Greer a message—that I'll keep his daughter under wraps on St Hilaire until he hands over the money and comes to fetch her. In person. As agreed.'

'He will not like that'

Ash shrugged 'Victor and I stopped agreeing about a lot of tilings some time ago. That's one of the reasons I decided to make this my last assignment and move on.'

'I know that,
mon ami
. But I did not, in fact, refer to Victor. I meant Clive Greer—a very different opponent, I think. Maybe you should be careful.'

'I intend to be.' Ash sent him a swift bleak smile.

And thought, as he bent forward on the pretext of studying the instruments, I have to be—for all kinds of reasons…

Chellie had every intention of thinking positively, but it wasn't easy when her unhappy thoughts insisted on marching round and round in her head as if they were on a treadmill.

Instead of asking Ash a lot of questions he didn't wish to answer, she'd have done better to find out more about St Hilaire, she thought ruefully, applying more sunblock to her exposed skin. And that way she might have avoided undergoing an interrogation herself—and its aftermath.

But the plan she'd formulated in Santo Martino, to find the local consular office and ask for assistance, still seemed good to her, although she would certainly need to conceal her father's identity if she wanted them to help her in any practical sense.

Because they would feel Sir Clive was the obvious person for her to approach, particularly if a financial loan was involved, and she was certainly going to need money to get herself out of the Caribbean.

But she would not ask her father for assistance under any circumstances. For one thing it would put her under a crushing psychological disadvantage to present herself to him as a loser, although she didn't doubt that was how he thought of her anyway.

But I don't need my nose rubbed in it, she told herself.

And now that she'd managed to win herself a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card, she was determined not to relinquish it, however hard the going might become. And no job, no home and no prospects was about as hard as it could get.

By the time she faced her father again she had to hold some kind of winning hand.

Somehow I have to be in a position to dictate my own terms, she thought with resolution.

What she did need, however, in the short term, was her passport. She'd assumed that once they were safely out of Santo Martino Ash would simply hand it over, yet it hadn't been mentioned since she came on board, and this made her uneasy.

It might just have slipped his mind, of course, but somehow she did not think so. There didn't seem to be much the matter with his mental processes.

In fact, she had the distinct impression that he was invariably several steps ahead of her, and maybe it was time she redressed the balance a little.

After all, she argued, her passport was a valuable piece of her personal property. Certainly the local consul would want to see it as proof of her identity, so she had every right to retrieve it without further reference to anyone.