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Tidewater Seduction
Anne Mather


Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release. Back with her husband? Joanna had loved Cole Macallister with a passion which had taken her completely by storm. And she’d thought he felt the same. Theirs was a marriage made in heaven. But that didn’t stop it falling apart amid a tangle of accusation and suspicion.So she must be crazy to let him talk her into giving it another go!At Tidewater – Cole’s beautiful South Carolina home – Joanna’s shocked by their renewed passion. With chemistry as tempestuous as this, perhaps there is a chance they can re-capture what they have lost…?










Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!



I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.




Tidewater Seduction

Anne Mather







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#u1f4cc05e-913d-5d36-ad48-e560c3260de4)

About the Author (#u8feda516-d051-5d34-a453-fe3172013ec1)

Title Page (#u75bcc1b6-9b5b-5d46-accf-513824441cba)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#u7cc4d8f3-76a5-5fd5-843a-61cace406010)


IT COULDN’T be him: it shouldn’t be him; but it was. Striding towards her, across the terrace where she was having breakfast, giving every indication he had expected to find her there.

Joanna glanced, half guiltily, about her, wondering even then if she was making a mistake. Maybe he had seen someone else—some other guest. But no. She was breakfasting late, and the hotel coffee shop was almost empty, most of the other guests all too eager to acquire that all-important tan. She was the only person sitting in her corner of the terrace, her olive skin as brown now as it was ever going to get.

Uncle Charles, her father’s brother, used to say, teasingly, that she was the changeling in their otherwise so-English family. With her dark skin and silky black hair, she was nothing like her blonde and brown-haired parents. She had to be a throw-back to some scandalous liaison in the family’s history. But until her marriage to Cole Macallister she hadn’t found it a problem. Of course, that marriage, and the much-publicised divorce that had followed, had rather shaken her confidence. But, in recent months, she had managed to put the past behind her. Until this moment, she acknowledged tensely, experiencing an almost overwhelming urge to run, kicking and screaming, from a confrontation she had never thought to have to face.

Happily, she succeeded in controlling that compulsion, however, and by the time he stopped beside her table she had even contrived a faintly ironic smile. What the hell! She had nothing to be ashamed of, she assured herself tautly, crossing one long leg over the other in an unconsciously defensive gesture. She had just as much right to be here as he had.

‘Hello, Jo.’

His greeting was scarcely original, and she gained assurance from his diffidence. ‘Cole,’ she returned coolly, toying with the handle of her coffee-cup. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine.’

And he looked it, she conceded reluctantly. Even though he had never been a conventionally handsome man, the harsh planes and angles of his lean features possessed a much more potent attraction. A latent sexuality radiated from eyes as blue as amethysts, fringed by short thick lashes, several shades darker than his hair. There were rugged hollows beneath his arching cheekbones, and she knew his nose had been broken in his youth. But his mouth was what drew her gaze, thin, and hard, and masculine, yet infinitely sensual, and gentler than when she’d last seen it.

But the silvery blond hair was the same, she noticed, chiding the treacherous emotions that still found beauty in his face. Longer than was fashionable, it brushed the open collar of his chambray shirt, the fine strands upturned against his neck. He was not a man you could ever ignore, thought Joanna uneasily, though God knew she had done her best to do so for the past three years.

‘May I join you?’

The question was unexpected, and for a moment Joanna knew the mouth-drying sense of panic she had experienced when she first saw him coming towards her. No, she wanted to say harshly. No, you can’t. I don’t want you to. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you spoiling my affection for these islands by your presence.

But, of course, she didn’t say any of those things. Although she knew she was probably being incredibly stupid, she was far too—polite—to behave so childishly, so obviously.

So, instead, ‘Why not?’ she murmured, moving her glass of orange juice aside, and relocating the cooling pot of coffee. ‘Be my guest.’

‘Thanks.’

With the inherent grace that had always seemed so unusual in a man of his size, Cole pulled out one of the vinyl-cushioned plastic chairs, and, turning its back to the table, straddled it. His bony knee, clad in cream cotton trousers, brushed the side of her bare thigh as he positioned himself, and it was all Joanna could do not to flinch away from even that slight contact. But Cole seemed not to notice any withdrawal on her part, as he draped his arms along the back of the chair, and cast a casual eye over the palm-shaded stretch of sand only a few yards away.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he observed, and Joanna disciplined herself to make the obvious rejoinder.

‘Beautiful,’ she agreed, looking towards the ocean, creaming on to the crushed coral, beyond the coloured umbrellas, and oil-slick bodies. Although it wasn’t the Caribbean, the waters cradling the sun-rich islands of the Bahamas were every bit as warm and inviting, their blue-green depths a magnet for yachtsmen and underwater explorers alike. ‘I’ve always loved it.’

‘Yes.’ Cole’s mouth compressed. ‘Your family have a villa here, don’t they?’

His brows, distinctly darker than the ash-pale subtlety of his hair, drew together speculatively, but before he could voice the question his words had provoked Joanna forestalled him.

‘Not any more,’ she stated swiftly, avoiding his enquiring gaze. ‘In any case, it’s not important. And I’m sure it has nothing to do with why you’re here.’

‘No.’ Cole agreed with her. ‘But you are.’

Joanna stared at him. ‘You knew I was here?’

‘Obviously.’

‘No, not obviously.’ She felt her nails digging into her palms, and determinedly relaxed herself. ‘I assumed you must be here on holiday. That—that this meeting was accidental.’

‘Hardly.’ Cole regarded her dispassionately. ‘That would be quite a coincidence, wouldn’t it?’

Joanna took a steadying breath. ‘Then I think you’d better leave. Or I will.’

She wanted to get to her feet. She wanted to walk away from the table, and pretend this had never happened. Perhaps, if she pinched herself hard enough, she might wake up. Oh, what she would give to find out this was all a dream—or a nightmare!

But she had run away from Cole once before, and she was damned if she’d do it again. He couldn’t hurt her now. Not any more. And she would just be playing into his hands, if she allowed him to see he had upset her.

So, with admirable restraint, she helped herself to a croissant, from the napkin-lined basket in front of her, and picked up her knife to butter it.

Cole watched her. She was aware of his gaze, though she didn’t acknowledge it. He had always had the ability to make her aware of him, even when she least wanted it. There was a brooding intensity to his appraisal that pierced any façade of indifference she might raise against him. Even now, buttering her croissant, with hands that only by a supreme effort on her part remained steady, she could feel his eyes upon her. What was he thinking? she wondered. What did he want? And how had he known where she was?

‘Prickly, aren’t you?’ he said at last, and Joanna fought back the angry defence that sprang to her lips.

‘I’m—curious,’ she admitted, proud of the lack of aggression in her tone. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘Grace told me,’ he replied, mentioning his aunt’s name without inflexion. ‘You must know we keep in touch. And just because she’s English, you shouldn’t automatically assume she’ll take your side.’

Joanna swallowed hard. Grace, she thought grimly. She should have guessed. Blood was thicker than water, and the Macallisters—even estranged ones—evidently believed that stronger than most.

‘Don’t think badly of her,’ Cole said now, as Joanna stared down at the croissant. ‘She didn’t have a lot of choice. Not in the circumstances.’

But Joanna wasn’t listening to him. Damn Grace, she was thinking, abandoning the untouched roll in favour of another cup of coffee. She knew, better than anyone, that for the past three years Joanna had done her utmost to forget Cole, and what he had done to her life. How could Grace have told him she was here, taking the first holiday she had had in twenty solid months of hard slog? This was supposed to be her reward to herself for finishing ahead of time. The paintings for the exhibition were completed. She hadn’t even brought her materials with her. She had intended to have a complete break. And now——

‘Where’s—Sammy-Jean?’ she demanded, looking beyond him, as if expecting the other woman to appear. ‘You did marry her, didn’t you?’ She forced a mocking lilt into her voice, as she added, ‘Sammy-Jean Macallister! Oh, yes, that sounds so much better than Joanna Macallister ever did.’

Cole’s lips tightened. ‘You won’t get an argument from me,’ he retorted, but she realised to her amazement—and delight—that, for once, she had got under his skin. A faint trace of colour ran up beneath his tan, and the hands resting on the chair-back balled into fists.

But then, exercising the same kind of control Joanna had used earlier, he expelled his breath. ‘I didn’t come here to talk about Sam,’ he said tautly, meeting her gaze. ‘My father’s dying.’

Joanna gulped. She couldn’t help it. Ryan Macallister had always appeared invincible to her. It scarcely seemed credible that he was mortal, like the rest of them.

Even so, he had never been any friend of hers, and her dark brows rose without sympathy. ‘Is that supposed to mean something to me?’

Cole regarded her grimly. ‘He wants to see you.’

‘To see me?’ Joanna’s voice came out several degrees higher than normal, but Cole only nodded.

‘That’s what I said.’

Joanna caught her breath. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not?’ She made a sound of disbelief. ‘Why—he doesn’t even like me!’

Cole’s eyes dropped. ‘Maybe he does,’ he said, picking up the spoon that was lying beside the unused place-setting in front of him. ‘Maybe he doesn’t.’ He spun the spoon between his fingers. ‘In any case, he says he wants to see you, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘You wish!’ Joanna stared at him incredulously. ‘If you think I’m going to give up my holiday to go and see an old man who never even gave me the time of day, if he could help it, you’re very much mistaken!’

Cole looked up, and the blue eyes were as cold as steel between narrowed lids. ‘Are you really that hard?’ he asked, his lips curling contemptuously. ‘God, Ma said you wouldn’t come, but I didn’t believe her.’

‘Believe it,’ said Joanna flatly, pressing her hands down on the table and getting to her feet. ‘I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, Cole, but lying was never my strong point!’

‘Like hell!’

Cole had kicked the chair out from under him, and was up on his feet to confront her, before she could make good her escape. And, even though she stood a good five feet nine inches in her ankle boots, she was no match for his six feet plus. Add to that broad shoulders, a flat stomach, and long muscular legs, and she could see no means of retreat. Short of causing a scene, of course, and Joanna didn’t want to do that, when this was only the second morning of her holiday.

‘Isn’t this rather ridiculous, Cole?’ she asked, looking up at him rather tensely. ‘What do you hope to achieve? You can’t force me to go with you.’

‘Can’t I?’

Cole’s response was predictable enough, but it lacked conviction, and Joanna realised that, for all his belligerence, he was unsure of his ground. It gave her a feeling of triumph just watching him—a rippling sensation of pleasure she hadn’t felt before.

‘I think you’d better get out of my way,’ she said, not afraid to meet his gaze. ‘What can you do to me—that you haven’t already done?’

‘Son of a——’

Cole bit off the expletive, but not before Joanna had glimpsed the raw frustration in his eyes. It was the first time she ever remembered him being at a loss for words, and there was a tantalising enjoyment in watching him squirm.

‘So, if you’ll excuse me——’

Brushing his chest with just the tips of her fingers, Joanna edged around him—and he let her. It was rather like baiting a tiger, she thought, the fluttering excitement in her throat threatening to choke her. It was so intoxicating that she felt quite high, and she could hardly contain herself as she deliberately sauntered across the terrace and into the hotel.

She knew his eyes followed her. She could feel them, boring into her back, as she swayed provocatively between the tables. And she was glad he would see nothing to betray the emotional trauma he had once wrought in her life. Her figure was as slim now as it had ever been, due as much to hard work as careful dieting. Her legs were long, and shown to some advantage in the frayed Bermudas she was wearing with a buttoned vest. Even her hair had the shiny patina of good health, longer now than she used to wear it, and caught at her nape in a silver barrette.

Of course, she came down to earth again as quickly as she had gone up. As soon as she was inside the glass screens, which had been folded back to allow free access between the indoor and outdoor sections of the restaurant, the sense of exhilaration she had felt while she was with Cole quickly abated. Besides, once the desire to thwart his plans had been accomplished, she was troubled by an annoying twinge of conscience. Whatever Cole thought, she was not as hard as he imagined. And, although it was true that Ryan Macallister had never accepted her as Cole’s wife, he was an old man, and dying, if Cole was to be believed.

She paused in the lobby of the hotel, not sure now of what she wanted to do. She had been intending to get a book from her room and spend the morning sitting in the sun, but her confrontation with her ex-husband had left her disturbed and restless.

She needed her swimsuit anyway, so, forcing thoughts of Cole aside, she took the lift up to her room. She was on the fourth floor just one below the penthouse suites. She had a large room, that was part-sitting-room, part-bedroom, with a wide balcony overlooking the Atlantic. All the rooms had balconies, but they were made private by the solid walls that divided them.

As she stripped off her vest and shorts and put on a scarlet maillot, Joanna couldn’t help wondering where Cole was staying. She guessed he must have flown down from Charleston yesterday evening, and it was infinitely possible that he was staying at this hotel. But he had probably just booked in for one night. He had no doubt expected to persuade her to fly back with him later today.

She sighed, regarding her reflection in the long closet mirrors, without really noticing how well the strapless swimsuit looked. Perhaps she should just sunbathe on her balcony this morning, she was thinking. She didn’t think Cole would know her actual room number, and even if he did he was unlikely to come looking for her.

Then she frowned. No, she told herself firmly. She was not going to run away from this. She had proved she could challenge Cole and get away with it. Why shouldn’t she do so again, if it was necessary? It didn’t matter what he said, or what he thought of her. She was a free woman. She could do what she liked.

In any case, she added, in a less than radical afterthought, Cole was unlikely to hang around, once he realised she meant what she said. It was early May, after all. A busy time of the year for him. And if his father was seriously ill——

But Joanna refused to think about it. She would not allow herself to feel guilty about a man who had always hated her, and her beliefs. Dear God, he had even destroyed his own son in his efforts to get what he wanted!

The phone rang as she was pulling an outsize T-shirt over her head. The baggy cotton garment barely skimmed her thighs, but its shoulders would keep her cool if the sun got too hot. It served the dual purpose of covering her swimsuit and providing protection, and she liked it better than some custom-made jacket.

When the phone rang, she hastily jammed her arms into the sleeves, and tugged it down around her. Then, halfway to answer the call, she halted. What if it was Cole? She was not sure she was ready yet for another altercation. She needed time to build her defences. She wasn’t sure she was as immune to his censure as she thought.

But the realisation that it was more likely to be her mother, calling to make sure everything was OK, forced her to think again. Neither of her parents had been particularly keen on her taking this holiday alone, not to mention travelling so far from her home in London. In spite of her abortive marriage to Cole—or perhaps because of it—they had become increasingly protective, and, although she had phoned them on her arrival two days ago, they probably wanted an update on her movements.

Even so, there was a definite edge to her tone as she picked up the receiver, and the woman’s voice that greeted her revealed a similar tension.

‘Jo? Jo, darling, is that you? Oh, God, you sound so clear. Are you really thousands of miles away?’

Joanna’s relief was almost palpable, and, running her tongue over her dry lips, she smoothed one damp palm down the seam of her T-shirt. But with the relief came a kindling of resentment towards her caller, and her voice was only slightly warmer as she answered, ‘Yes. Yes, Grace, it’s me. A sitting duck, as you expected.’

‘Oh, Jo!’ Grace sounded anxious now. ‘I know what you must be thinking, but try to understand my position. Ryan is my brother-in-law, after all. When—when Cole asked where you were, I had to tell him.’

Joanna absorbed this in silence. Although she still resented the fact that Grace had betrayed her whereabouts, without even clearing it with her first, she wasn’t unmindful of Grace’s family responsibilities. Oh, it was easy enough to dismiss them by reminding herself that Grace’s marriage to Ryan Macallister’s brother had been no more successful than her own, but the truth was Grace was more dependent on the Macallisters than she was. Grace and Luke Macallister had two sons, Evan and Luke Junior. If she wanted to continue seeing her sons on a regular basis, she couldn’t afford to offend the man who could deny her that privilege.

‘Jo? Jo, are you still there?’

Grace’s worried tones brought Joanna’s attention back to the phone. It was her own fault really, she thought. As soon as her marriage to Cole broke up, she should have found herself another agent. But she had known Grace for almost ten years. Grace had recognised her talent long before the water-colours she produced became popular. Heavens, it was through Grace that she had met Cole—though the virtues of that particular introduction had long since been debased. Nevertheless, she was fond of Grace, she owed her a lot, and it wasn’t fair to expect her to jeopardise her relationship with her own flesh and blood.

‘Yes, I’m still here, Grace,’ Joanna answered now, expelling her breath on a long sigh. ‘OK, I forgive you. I suppose you didn’t have a lot of choice. But, dammit, you should have warned me! I couldn’t believe it when I saw Cole across the terrace.’

Grace made a sound of surprise. ‘You’ve seen Cole?’

Joanna frowned. ‘Of course.’ She paused. ‘What did you expect?’

‘Oh—I don’t know.’ Grace sounded doubtful. ‘When he phoned, I got the impression he didn’t want to leave Tidewater at this particular time.’

Joanna shrugged. ‘Well, he must have changed his mind.’

Grace hesitated. ‘And are you going back with him?’

‘No.’

‘No?’ Grace sounded dismayed. ‘But Jo, Ryan’s dying!’

‘So?’ Joanna refused to allow the other woman to influence her.

‘He has cancer,’ Grace persisted. ‘According to Cole, the doctors give him a few weeks at most. Jo, he is Cole’s father. Can’t you find it in your heart to feel some compassion? I know you and he have had your differences, but——’

‘Differences!’ Joanna almost spat the word. ‘Grace, that man and I did not have differences! We were totally opposed to one another in every way. Ryan Macallister doesn’t deserve anyone’s compassion. He’s a twisted, evil man!’

Grace sighed. ‘You really hate him, don’t you?’

‘Wouldn’t you? Don’t you?’

‘Not hate, no.’ Grace was tentative. ‘Oh, I know what you’re going to say. If Ryan hadn’t made such a big thing of my wanting some independence, Luke would never have found the guts, strength—call it what you will—to make that ultimatum. But Jo, it was Luke who made me choose between staying at Tidewater, and vegetating, or making a life for myself. Ryan might have fashioned the bullets, my dear, but Luke fired them.’

‘Yes, but——’

‘Hear me out, Jo. I want you to know I haven’t regretted what I did. Not really. Oh, I miss the boys, of course, but it’s not as if they were babies when I left. And I’ve had a good life here. Running the gallery, becoming Ray’s partner. He and I have more in common than Luke and I ever did. Luke was different. He was exciting. And I don’t deny that Ray and I—well, we don’t have the same kind of relationship. Ours is more—intellectual, if you know what I mean. But I’m not bitter. I have everything I need. I can afford to feel pity.’

‘Well, I can’t.’

Joanna pressed her lips together, and Grace breathed deeply. ‘No,’ she conceded, after a moment. ‘No, I see that. I suppose I’d forgotten how much you love Cole——’

‘Loved!’ Joanna amended harshly. ‘You’d forgotten how much I loved Cole. Not any more. That love died when they killed Nathan. Or did you forget about him, too?’

There was silence for a while, and when Grace spoke again there was regret in her voice. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘No, of course I haven’t forgotten Nathan. I’m sorry, Jo. Naturally you must do what you think best.’

Conversely, Joanna felt guilty now. Oh, not about Ryan Macallister, she consoled herself, but perhaps she had been hard on Grace.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, forcing her mind on to other things. ‘Um—how are the arrangements for the exhibition going? Do you think it’s going to attract enough interest?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Grace responded eagerly, evidently as anxious as Joanna to turn their conversation on to a business footing. ‘I’ve already had acceptances to the opening from all the most important critics, and even Howard Jennings has agreed to make an appearance.’

‘Oh, good.’

Joanna tried to summon some enthusiasm for the news that the editor and presenter of a monthly television arts programme was apparently interested enough to attend, but somehow the importance of the exhibition had been blurred. In spite of all she had said, the image of Cole’s father, sick and dying of that most pernicious of diseases, would not go away, and she was inordinately grateful when Grace said she would have to go, and rang off.

But, if she had hoped that by severing the connection with Grace she could sever all thoughts of the Macallisters, she was mistaken. Memories of Cole, and his father, and Tidewater just kept on coming back, and it was with an angry sense of resentment that she snatched up the bag containing her book, sun-screen, and dark glasses, and left the room.




CHAPTER TWO (#u7cc4d8f3-76a5-5fd5-843a-61cace406010)


THE sun was soothing. It was hard to think of anything with its rays beating against her closed eyelids, and bringing a film of perspiration to her supine body. It was hot beside the pool, hotter than on the beach, where there was at least a breeze off the water to temper the humidity. But Joanna welcomed the numbing effects of the heat, and the mindless lethargy it engendered.

Her hands uncurled against the cream towel she had spread over the slatted sun-bed, and she arched one leg in an unknowingly provocative pose. Oh, yes, she decided contentedly, this was definitely the life! She refused to think about anything, except what she was going to have for lunch.

She had chosen a chair in a secluded corner of the pool deck. It wasn’t that she was unsociable. It was just that she had no wish to appear in need of company. She knew perfectly well that a woman alone often attracted unwelcome attention from the opposite sex, and indulging in any kind of holiday flirtation was not what she had come here for. At home, she did accept an occasional invitation to dinner, or the theatre, but that was different. On the whole, her escorts knew that she was not interested in any serious commitment, and if any of them showed they would prefer a more intimate relationship they were quickly discarded. She liked men, but at a distance. She was polite, and friendly, but nothing more. She had been hurt badly once, and she had no intention of repeating the experience.

Consequently, she was not a little irritated when someone came to occupy the chair next to hers. Through half-closed lids, she glimpsed the cuffs of dark blue swimming-shorts, and brown, muscular legs that curved beneath the cuffs into tight masculine buttocks.

Damn, she thought, closing her eyes again, and pretending she was unaware of him. There were at least fifty other sun-beds set at different angles around the pool. And surely among them were other single women, who would be flattered to receive his attention. Why couldn’t he have chosen one of them? She wanted to relax, not spend her time fending off passes.

The seductive stroke of a cool finger along her arm brought her eyes open with a start. The light, sensitive touch was unwillingly sensual, but she was too angry to admit its effect. What cheek! she thought furiously, pushing herself up. Was it too much to expect that she should be left alone?

Jerking down her sunglasses, which she had been wearing as a kind of surrogate head-band, she turned her incensed gaze on the man beside her. And then her jaw sagged disbelievingly. It wasn’t some pool-side Romeo who was resting on the chair beside hers. It was Cole!

‘Hi,’ he said non-committally. ‘I’m pleased to see you don’t encourage boarders.’

Joanna’s anger floundered. ‘What are you doing here, Cole?’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought you’d be on the next flight back to South Carolina.’

‘Hmm. I guess you did.’ Cole stretched his long legs comfortably, and laced his hands beneath his head. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m still here.’

‘I won’t change my mind, you know.’

Joanna’s response was half peevish, and she wished she hadn’t felt the need to defend herself, when Cole merely shifted to a more restful position.

‘I haven’t asked you to, have I?’ he countered, looking up at her through the sun-bleached tips of his lashes. ‘Relax, Jo. It’s much too hot to fuel all that adrenalin.’

Joanna pressed her lips together mutinously, trying to regain her composure. Now that she was assured that no one was trying to proposition her, she ought to be able to rekindle her sense of well-being.

But, of course, she couldn’t. Although she determinedly lay down again, the feeling of tranquillity had left her. She felt on edge, and agitated, and far too aware of the man on the sun-bed beside her.

His arm was only inches from hers, she observed covertly, tautly muscled, and displaying the tiny tattoo of a venomous bushmaster, which he had had etched when he was just a boy, and for which, he had told her, his father had soundly beaten him. The muscle flexed, as she watched it, tightening and hardening, before relaxing once again. The skin that covered the rest of his arm was brown and smooth and flawless, almost hairless, and lightly sheened with sweat.

Without any volition on her part, her body responded to the sensual appeal of his. The sight of his bare chest, with its flat nipples, and light dusting of hair, disturbed her. She found her eyes following the provocative arrowing of hair that disappeared beneath the elasticated waistband of his shorts. His restless movements had inched the waistband of the shorts down below his navel, and his pelvis made a cradle of his sex.

God! She tore her eyes away, and stared blindly across the pool. What was the matter with her? she chided, as her hands coiled into tight fists. It wasn’t as if Cole’s naked body was any novelty to her. She had lived with him for more than two years, for heaven’s sake! She had seen him in every pose and attitude, in every state of undress. He had a beautiful lean body—a perfect specimen of American manhood. It was a pity the contents didn’t live up to the wrapping!

‘Do you want a drink?’

She was so tied up with her thoughts that Cole’s first question didn’t register. ‘I—beg your pardon?’

‘I said—do you want a drink?’ he repeated, propping himself up on his elbow, drawing up one leg, and half turning towards her. ‘There’s a waitress making a tour of the deck, taking orders. I thought you might like something long and cold and refreshing.’

‘Oh——’ Joanna swallowed, and explored her dry lips with her tongue. ‘Well, yes. I think I will have some lemonade. But I’ll get my own. You don’t have to bother.’

‘It’s no bother,’ Cole assured her, swinging his feet to the ground. He moved swiftly, so that by the time the bikini-clad waitress reached them he was standing up, and Joanna saw to her chagrin that his southern courtesy did not go unnoticed.

‘You didn’t have to stand up,’ she muttered irritably, as he resumed his seat, and Cole’s mouth tilted.

‘No, I know,’ he agreed, brushing an insect from his thigh with a lazy hand. ‘But it costs nothing to be polite.’

‘Would you have stood up if it had been a man?’ she persisted, and Cole’s lips parted to reveal a row of even white teeth.

‘I guess,’ he said, his eyes leaving hers to move insolently over her body. ‘What’s the matter, Jo? Something eating you?’

Joanna shifted uneasily beneath his taunting gaze, and she was aware that she was still aroused from her thoughts earlier. Her own nipples were as taut as buttons, and she tugged surreptitiously at the front of her swimsuit to hide their provocative display.

Unable to think of an answer sharp enough to puncture his mocking self-confidence, she turned her head, and pretended to watch the antics of two young people in the pool. They were teenagers, she guessed, holidaying together for the first time, and from the way the girl draped herself around her companion they were not ignorant of each other’s bodies. There was an intimacy between them that spoke of long nights exploring the intricacies of love. She and Cole had once explored those same intricacies, she remembered. During those long southern nights, before things started to go wrong …

The waitress returned with two tall glasses of lemonade, liberally spiked with ice. Cole took one for himself, and held the other out towards Joanna, and although she was loath to take anything from him it would have been childish to refuse. So, sitting up, cross-legged, she took the perspex tumbler from him, drinking from it thirstily, before tipping her head back on her shoulders, and luxuriating in the intense heat.

Cole was still sitting sideways on the sun-bed, legs spread, bare feet resting on the tiled surface of the pool-deck. It meant she was constantly aware of his eyes upon her but, despite her irritation, she supposed his presence was deterring any unwelcome attention.

‘You look good,’ he said suddenly, and her eyes jerked towards his before she could prevent them.

‘Thank you,’ she returned, striving for a careless tone as she took herself in hand again. ‘So do you. Sammy-Jean’s evidently doing something right.’

Cole’s expression hardened for a moment, but then he returned to the attack. ‘You always were a beautiful woman,’ he murmured. ‘And, if anything, you look better now than you did when we got married.’

‘Then I must be doing something right, too,’ declared Joanna shortly, impatient at the wave of colour that swept into her neck at his words. ‘Living in London isn’t all bad, whatever you think. Our climate may not be as good as yours, but it has its compensations.’

Cole’s brows arched for a moment, and then he looked down at his drink, resting in hands hanging loosely between his thighs. ‘I guess it does,’ he conceded at last. ‘I’m sure Grace would agree with you.’

‘I’m sure she would.’ Joanna nodded. But she didn’t like this conversation. It wasn’t what Cole was saying that troubled her exactly. But the tone he was using did. He was so polite. His lazy southern drawl scraped across her nerves, like a nail over raw silk, and every time he looked at her she grew more and more tense.

‘Um—how—how’s your mother?’ she asked, hoping to divert the conversation away from herself, and Cole lifted his head.

‘Ma’s OK.’ His eyes skimmed her mouth, and although she had just drunk about a quarter of a pint of lemonade Joanna’s lips felt parched. ‘She’s getting older, like the rest of us. But she still works just as hard as ever.’

‘And—and Ben and Joe?’ Joanna felt compelled to keep him talking about his family. ‘And the twins? I bet Charley can swim now, can’t she? Did they start high school yet? Oh, yes, of course, they must have done.’

Cole regarded her between narrowed lids. ‘Are you really that interested?’ he queried, his brooding gaze bringing a deepening of colour in her cheeks. ‘Sure, Ben and Joe are fine. Joe’s married now, and his wife’s expecting their first baby. Charley and Donna started high school last year, and Sandy’s going to join them come fall.’ He paused. ‘I guess that about covers it, wouldn’t you say?’

Joanna bent her head, the weight of her hair sliding over one shoulder to expose the vulnerable curve of her neck. ‘I was just being—polite, that’s all,’ she said, half defensively. ‘I—like your brothers and sisters. And, I used to think that they liked me.’

‘They did.’ Cole shook the ice around in his empty tumbler. ‘Charley often used to talk about the time you and she got stuck out on Palmer’s Island. If you hadn’t swum back to get help, you might both have been swept away.’

‘Oh——’ Joanna made a deprecating gesture. ‘You’d already discovered we were missing. When the boat was washed on to the bank, you’d have guessed where we were.’

‘Maybe not soon enough,’ he insisted, and Joanna felt a remembered sense of apprehension. She could still recall how scared she had been in the water, fighting her way against the current, feeling her arms getting weaker by the minute. She had been unable to stand, when she hauled herself out of the river. If Cole and his brothers hadn’t been searching for them, it might still have been too late. The flooding torrent of the Tidewater River had left Palmer’s Island under several feet of water for hours. No one could have survived its fury, least of all ten-year-old Charley, who couldn’t even swim.

Joanna grimaced now, unwilling to think of that near-tragedy, and Cole stretched out his hand towards her. She thought for one heart-stopping moment that he was going to touch her, and she instinctively drew back against the chair. But, although his lips flattened for a moment, revealing his awareness of her reaction, all he did was lift the empty tumbler out of her hand.

‘I’ll get rid of these,’ he said, dropping one inside the other, and while she tried to recover her self-possession he sauntered across the deck to dump the tumblers.

By the time she heard the depression of his chair’s plastic slats, she was once again reclining on her towel, on her stomach this time, with her eyes closed, and her face turned deliberately away from him. Surely he would get the message, she thought tensely. She didn’t want to have to spell it out for him again. He was wasting his time if he thought he could get her to change her mind. They had a saying in the south, about catching more bees with honey than with vinegar, but if that was Cole’s intention it wasn’t going to work. He was an attractive man, sure, and, even though she had more reason than most to regret the fact, she wouldn’t have been a woman if she hadn’t found him easy to look at. But that was all. She wasn’t attracted to him. Not any more.

‘You’re going to get burned,’ his lazy voice observed, revealing his skin was thicker than even she had thought, and Joanna clamped her jaws together.

‘No, I’m not,’ she retorted, through her teeth. ‘My skin’s too dark, remember?’

‘It’s also used to a colder climate,’ Cole replied, and she heard him get up from his chair again.

God! Joanna lay completely still for a moment, and then, unable to withstand the suspense a moment longer, she rolled over on to her back—just as Cole was lowering his weight on to the side of her slatted mattress. It was just by a swift removal of her arm that she avoided being sat on, and her eyes sparkled indignantly at his uninvited presumption.

‘What the hell do you——?’ she was beginning, when Cole showed her the tube of sun-screening cream in his hand.

‘This is yours, isn’t it?’ he asked, and she guessed he had rifled it from her bag. ‘Turn over,’ he added, unscrewing the cap and squeezing a curl of its contents into his palm. ‘There’s no point in torturing yourself just to spite me.’

Joanna pressed her lips together and stared up at him, resentment oozing from every pore. The last thing she wanted was his help, in anything. And she certainly didn’t want him touching her. But once again he had her at a disadvantage, caught between the desire to show her real feelings, and the knowledge that by doing so she would be handing him all the cards.

So, instead of snatching the cream out of his hand and hurling it into the pool, she forced a tight smile and obediently rolled over again. Let him do his worst, she thought, stifling her angry reaction against the towel. After all, although her skin didn’t tan, it did burn sometimes, and she could do without that aggravation as well.

Cole’s hands were amazingly cool against her hot flesh. Of course, he had just been handling the tumblers containing the ice, she reminded herself grimly, as his long fingers slid across her shoulders, and his thumbs found the nubby column of her spine. She found it was important to keep a sense of proportion, as his probing hands found every inch of exposed skin. She was relieved she wasn’t wearing a bikini. At least the modest maillot left her some dignity.

But not a lot, she had to concede, as the sinuous brush of his fingers began to lull her into a false sense of security. It would be so easy, she thought, to go with the flow; to allow her flesh to respond to the sensuous touch of his; to admit she was enjoying his expert ministrations. Because of the limitations of the sun-bed, his leg was wedged beside her hip, and although the swimsuit protected the upper half of her pelvis his hair-roughened thigh was against the exposed curve of her bottom. It meant that every stroke of his hands on her shoulders brought a corresponding increase of pressure against her hip, and the images that evoked were all sexual …

‘I—think that will do,’ she declared firmly, arching her back away from his fingers, and getting up on to her knees. ‘I’m not planning to stay out here that much longer.’

‘No?’ With a resigned shrug of his shoulders, Cole moved obediently back to his own chair. ‘What are you planning to do, then?’

Joanna didn’t look at him. ‘I think that’s my business, don’t you?’

‘I guess.’ Cole screwed the top back on the tube of sun-cream and dropped it carelessly into her bag. ‘Only askin’, lady.’

‘And I’m telling you, it’s none of your business,’ said Joanna shortly. ‘In any case, don’t you have a plane to catch, or something?’

‘Not until tomorrow,’ Cole replied, wiping his greasy hands over his knees. ‘Sorry.’

‘I should have guessed.’ Joanna’s impatient gaze darted over him. ‘You obviously came prepared.’

‘You mean these?’ Cole hooked a thumb into the waistband of his shorts. ‘I bought them this morning in the shop, here in the hotel. Along with a couple of pairs of underpants, and a fresh shirt.’

Joanna’s lips pursed. ‘Really.’

‘Yes, really.’ Cole inclined his head. ‘It wasn’t my intention to stay away from Tidewater any longer than I had to.’

Joanna dropped her sunglasses down on to her nose again. She had pushed them up into her hair, while she had been lying on her stomach. But now she felt the need for them again, and the doubtful protection they provided.

‘I guess this is a good place to paint, huh?’ Cole murmured, gazing narrow-eyed towards the ocean. ‘Grace told me you’ve got an exhibition coming up.’

‘Oh—yes.’ Joanna wondered what else Grace had told him. ‘The—er—the opening’s a couple of weeks after I get back.’

‘A couple of weeks?’ His eyes flickered. ‘Maybe I should buy a ticket. Get myself an investment for the future.’

‘You’re not serious!’

Joanna’s reaction was unguarded, and he turned to look at her with mild enquiry. ‘Why not?’ he countered. ‘I can tell everyone it was painted by my ex-wife. Should add a lick of glamour to the price, if I ever want to sell it.’

‘That’s sick!’

‘Is it? Why? Just ‘cause maybe I wan’ somethin’ to ‘member you by?’

‘Don’t talk like that!’

Cole’s brows arched. ‘Like what?’

‘Like you didn’t know better,’ retorted Joanna crossly. ‘Oh—do what you like. I can’t stop you.’

His shoulders hunched, and when he spoke again his voice was low and husky. ‘You could have dinner with me tonight.’

‘Have dinner with you?’ Joanna was taken aback.

‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Well——’ Joanna floundered. ‘I—can’t.’

‘You having dinner with someone else?’

‘No.’

The response was automatic. But she could hardly say she was, when if he walked into the restaurant he would find her eating alone. Too late she realised she could have gone out to eat, or ordered room service, but she had answered without thinking. In any case, she didn’t see why she had to make an excuse. It wasn’t as if she wanted to have dinner with him.

‘You afraid to eat with me?’ he suggested slyly, and her resentment flared anew.

‘No,’ she denied tautly. ‘Why would I be? But I don’t think your father, or Sammy-Jean, would approve of our socialising, do you?’

‘And that’s why you’re refusing? Because you don’t want to offend my father?’

‘No!’ Joanna tore the dark glasses off her nose, and stared at him frustratedly. ‘Cole, why are you doing this? You know you don’t really want to have dinner with me at all.’

‘Don’t I?’ His deep blue eyes ranged disturbingly over her flushed face. ‘Maybe I do. For old times’ sake. What do you say?’

Joanna’s hands clenched around the stems of her glasses. Of course, she did know why he was doing this, she told herself. Cole was nothing if not tenacious, and he had evidently got it into his head that sooner or later she would crack. The small talk, the lemonade, and the massage were all intended to soften her up, to make her more receptive, when he mentioned his father’s illness again. He had even bitten the bullet and asked about the exhibition. That must have really galled him. Her work had always been a source of conflict in the past.

Her lips twisted. So how far was he prepared to go, to gain his own ends? If she agreed to have dinner with him, what then? He could hardly talk about something as serious as cancer over the red snapper. So, when did he intend to make his next move? And how?

An imp of vengeance stirred inside her. It might be amusing to find out. In spite of the casual way he had handled the conversation this morning, she hadn’t forgotten his reaction when she turned the tables on him. So long as she was on the defensive, he had nothing to fear. But if she decided to play a different game …

Could she do it? That was what she had to ask herself. She hadn’t to forget that people who played with fire sometimes got burned. But she was over Cole, completely and irrevocably. Her body might still respond to the sexuality of his, but her mind was not involved. And how she chose to behave was no one’s business but her own.

Taking a deep breath, she came to a decision. ‘All right,’ she said, sliding the dark glasses back into place. ‘For old times’ sake. Why not?’

Protected by the glasses, she caught the fleeting trace of surprise that crossed his face at her words. Evidently, he had expected it to be harder to get her to change her mind. None the less, he recovered himself with admirable efficiency, and his lazy smile tugged the corners of his mouth upwards.

‘OK,’ he said, making no objection when she began to gather her belongings together with the obvious intention of leaving. ‘I’ll meet you in the lobby of the hotel at seven o’clock, right?’

‘Right.’

Joanna forced a matching smile. But her expression was distinctly cat-like, as she negligently made her departure.




CHAPTER THREE (#u7cc4d8f3-76a5-5fd5-843a-61cace406010)


Joanna decided to skip lunch, and go into town. She had intended to get a snack from the poolside bar, but the prospect that she might run into Cole again before the evening decided her against it.

Besides, she hadn’t been into Nassau since her arrival. The international airport on New Providence was situated at the north-western end of the island, and the Coral Beach Hotel was on the coast that lay between the airport and the town of Nassau. The previous day she had spent recovering from her jet lag, and basking in her new-found freedom. But today she felt too strung-up by the thought of the evening ahead to relax anywhere. She needed action, and distraction, and the chance to spend some of the dollars she had brought with her.

After taking a shower to remove the combined effects of the heat and the protective cream Cole had applied, Joanna dressed in the shorts and soft boots she had worn earlier. But instead of the vest she donned a loose-fitting T-shirt. No point in risking sunburn, she told herself sardonically. Not when she wanted to look her best that evening.

She took a taxi from the hotel into town. The garrulous Bahamian driver dropped her in Bay Street, and she spent a pleasant couple of hours browsing through the shops and the Straw Market. She bought herself a length of vividly patterned cotton, to wear sarong-wise around the pool, and a chunky handful of bracelets, sculpted from shells, that clattered attractively every time she moved her wrist. She also treated herself to a new swimsuit, a bikini this time, patterned with the many exotic flowers of the islands.

Before going back to the hotel, she bought herself a can of Coke, and strolled down to the harbour to drink it. A huge cruise liner was tied up at Prince George’s Wharf, and she sat for a while on the sea-wall, watching the activity around the ship.

Passengers came and went, stores were taken on board, members of the crew took time out to stretch their legs on dry land, and local youths on bicycles milled about the quay. If she had had her sketch pad with her, Joanna knew, she would not have been able to resist trying to capture the scene on paper. There was so much colour and excitement, and when she eventually left the harbour the images were still buzzing inside her head.

Perhaps she ought to buy herself a sketch pad, she thought, strolling up into Rawson Square. She had no doubt she would be able to get what she wanted along Bay Street. Although it wasn’t pretentious, it was one of the most comprehensive shopping streets in the world.

But then she shook her head and hailed a taxi to take her back to the hotel. This was supposed to be a holiday, she chided herself. Just because Cole had come, upsetting her carefully arranged schedule, and reminding her that she had once used her work as a means of escape, was no reason to go rushing for the charcoal. She could handle Cole now. She had proved it earlier. And this evening he would realise she was no longer the vulnerable girl he had married and divorced.

Selecting what to wear that evening was rather more difficult than she had expected. While she wanted to look provocative, she did not want to appear tacky. Sexy clothes were all very well, but it was all too easy to go over the top. Luckily, she had gone shopping before she left England, so her choice was not limited. But whether it should be a mini cocktail dress, or a slinky trouser suit, was not an easy decision to make.

She eventually chose to wear a dress. A silk-satin sheath in shades of green and purple that complimented her dark colouring, and brought out the tawny highlights in her eyes. It was short, barely reaching mid-thigh, and the on-the-shoulder, off-the-shoulder neckline exposed the creamy beauty of her skin. She wore no bra or tights, only a lacy brief, for modesty’s sake. It made her look—interesting, she decided. Thank God the extra inches she had acquired after the divorce, when eating and drinking had seemed her only consolations, had all been coaxed away by careful dieting. These days, the energy she gave to her work burned off any unwanted calories. And attending a weekly work-out class kept her body lean and supple.

She left her dark hair loose, securing it away from her face on one side with combs. Although it was silky straight, it was thick and shining, and swung smoothly against her shoulders. Like the rest of her, it was sleek and healthy, and she spared a moment’s unwilling consideration for the man who’d sent Cole here.

If the thought of how what she was planning to do might affect Sammy-Jean disturbed her, she dismissed it. Sammy-Jean had shown no qualms about seducing her husband, so wouldn’t it be ironic now if she could return the compliment? Not that she wanted Cole back again, she assured herself. But taking him away from Sammy-Jean did have a certain malicious appeal.

She needed very little make-up. Her lashes were naturally dark, and only a little dusky eyeshadow was needed to add mystery to the depths of her eyes. A trace of blusher over her cheekbones gave a little colour to her face, and a shiny amber lip-salve enhanced the sensitive fullness of her mouth.

When she viewed her reflection in the mirror, before going downstairs, she was reasonably content with her appearance. She looked young, and sexy, but tantalisingly remote.

The lobby of the Coral Beach Hotel was an atrium, arching to a high, glass-vaulted ceiling. The several floors of rooms curved round the central area, which served as both reception and shopping mall. Tall plants and flowering shrubs filled every available space, with a stone-carved fountain providing a focal point.

As Joanna came down the staircase from the mezzanine, she could see Cole waiting by the fountain. She had chosen to get out of the lift at the floor above ground level, so that she might observe him before he saw her. It was a careful ploy, born of her desire to control every aspect of the evening they were to spend together. Besides, it gave her the opportunity to compose her entrance. Streaming out of the lift, with a throng of other passengers, right where he was standing, was not what she had in mind.

As she had hoped, he saw her before she reached the bottom of the stairs. His searching gaze alighted on her slender figure, as she negotiated the last three steps, and although she affected not to have seen him she was instantly aware of his sharp reaction. He didn’t come to meet her, but his eyes followed every move she made. Much the way the snake he had tattooed on his shoulder watched its victim, she mused fancifully. But that was not a comparison she wanted to make.

He was wearing a jacket, she noticed, a concession to the fact that it was evening. He certainly didn’t need it, even in the air-conditioned lobby of the hotel. Bahamian nights were deliciously warm and inviting. But the more exclusive restaurants insisted on this small formality, so evidently they were dining somewhere expensive.

And God, didn’t he look good! she acknowledged objectively. So good, in fact, that for a moment she doubted her ability to pull this off. But then the reluctant admiration she saw in his eyes restored her confidence. Even if he had deserted her bed for Sammy-Jean’s, he was not indifferent to her. Though she guessed he would hate to admit it.

‘Hi,’ she said, as she closed the space between them. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’

Cole shrugged, his broad shoulders moving sinuously beneath the beige twill of his jacket. ‘I had nothing better to do,’ he said, his eyes flickering swiftly over the tantalising curve of her breasts, exposed by the dipping neckline of the dress. Then, looking beyond her, he added, ‘I didn’t realise there were guest rooms on the mezzanine.’

Joanna’s dark brows arched enquiringly. ‘Does it matter?’

‘You walked down from the mezzanine,’ Cole reminded her sardonically. ‘Funny. I got the impression you were staying on one of the higher floors.’

Joanna hid a smile. Evidently, Cole had made it his business to find out exactly where she was staying, but she had been prepared for his question, and her lips tilted charmingly.

‘I made a mistake,’ she lied ruefully. ‘The lift stopped and I got out.’ She grimaced. ‘Silly me!’

‘Hmm.’

Cole’s grunt of assent was hardly sympathetic, but Joanna had achieved what she wanted to achieve, and she could afford to be generous. ‘Does it matter?’ she exclaimed, looking up at him disarmingly. ‘I’m here now. So—where are we eating?’

Cole’s mouth flattened. ‘I thought we might eat at the Commodore Club. They have an excellent restaurant, and you might like to visit the casino later.’

Joanna nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.’ She tucked her leather bag against her side, and slid her fingers round his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

The muscles of his upper arm were taut beneath her grip. She sensed he would like to release himself, and she wondered how he had expected her to behave. It was obvious he was confused by her apparent willingness to co-operate, and he was wary of her appearance, and the provocation it presented.

A row of taxis waited on the forecourt of the hotel, and a black-suited major-domo summoned one at Cole’s request. Joanna climbed into the back of the cab unaided, smoothing down her tight skirt as she scrambled across the seat. She had noticed before that no one bothered to walk round the cabs, and get in at the opposite side. And Cole was no exception as he followed her inside.

But she noticed he kept his distance during the fifteen-minute ride to the Commodore Club. His dark-clad thigh—had he bought a whole wardrobe at the hotel shop?—rested on the worn leather upholstery, several inches away from hers. And, because the majority of taxis Joanna had seen were old American limousines, there was plenty of room.

Getting out of the taxi, he was obliged to offer her his hand. Whatever else he might be, Cole considered himself a gentleman. One of the South Carolina ‘good ole boys’, thought Joanna cynically. Just like his father, and his father before him.

Even so, putting her hand into Cole’s was a disturbing experience. His hand was cool and firm, with calluses at the base of his fingers. And when those fingers curled around hers she was hard-pressed not to hold on.

But, even if she’d wanted to, Cole had to pay the fare. After helping her out, under the striped canopy of the club, he bent to speak to their driver. Then, returning his wallet to his hip pocket, he straightened, urging her into the foyer, with his hand in the small of her back.

It saved touching her skin, Joanna thought ruefully, as they stepped on to the escalator which would take them up to the bar and restaurant. She wondered what he was thinking. Somehow, she sensed she was not going to have it all her own way.

‘Do you want a drink before we eat?’ Cole asked, as they crossed the carpeted upper floor, and Joanna tilted her head.

‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘Something long and cool, with a bite to it. What would you recommend?’

Cole’s eyes glinted. ‘I’m sure I’ll think of something,’ he said, guiding her towards an empty table. ‘I seem to remember you had quite a fancy for mint-juleps. You used to down quite a few of them, while Pa and I were out in the fields.’

Joanna’s lips tightened for a moment, as the memories his words evoked came back to haunt her. But when she looked at him none of her anguish showed in her face. You shouldn’t have said that, Cole, she thought malevolently. I’m going to make you pay for every little dig you make!

‘So I did,’ she warbled now, and no one listening to her would have imagined the offence she had felt at his words. Bastard, she said silently, while her eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘I was a pain, wasn’t I? No wonder you preferred Sammy-Jean to me.’

It was Cole’s turn to look bitter now, but the arrival of the waiter to take their order prevented him from venting his spleen. Besides, she guessed he couldn’t be entirely sure exactly how she had meant it, and although he might suspect her motives he really had no proof.

‘Bourbon and branch,’ he said sourly, ‘and something sweet for the lady. What do you suggest?’

‘How about pineapple rum?’ asked the waiter cheerfully. ‘Pineapple rum, coconut rum, and pineapple juice, shaken over ice. Delicious!’

‘It sounds it,’ put in Joanna smoothly, crossing her legs, and running spread fingers over her knee. She smiled at the man. ‘Cold, but hot. Exactly what I need.’

The waiter’s eyes danced. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, swinging on his heel, and walking back to the bar. ‘A Valentine’s Special, man,’ he ordered from the bar-keep. ‘And make it real cold!’

Cole’s eyes were far from friendly when he looked at Joanna again. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his tone hard and explosive. ‘Do you want everyone to think you’re using?’

‘Using?’ Joanna’s eyes widened innocently. ‘Using what?’

‘You know!’ retorted Cole savagely. ‘Hell, maybe you are. What would I know about it?’

Joanna’s humour evaporated. ‘I don’t use—or shoot up—or mainline—or any of the other ways people take drugs,’ she declared scornfully. ‘I was having fun, that’s all. Fun! Or have you forgotten the meaning of the word?’

Cole’s mouth compressed. ‘You weren’t just having fun,’ he argued. ‘God, you were coming on to the man!’

Joanna’s brief spurt of anger died. ‘What’s the matter, Cole?’ she asked mockingly. ‘You jealous?’

Their drinks came before Cole could make any response, but his brooding expression was eloquent of his feelings. Oh, this was fun, thought Joanna, a little breathlessly. Why had she never realised it was far more exciting to be bad?

The pineapple rum was delicious. It came complete with an assortment of tropical fruits, with a long curling straw to enable her to avoid the tiny striped umbrella. The umbrella bore the logo of the Commodore Club, and she was tempted to keep it as a souvenir of the evening.

‘Have you and Sammy-Jean had any family yet?’ she queried after a moment, risking Cole’s displeasure yet again. She knew perfectly well that had Cole become a father she would have heard about it. Grace would surely have told her. But why should she avoid a subject that was clearly so exploitable?

Cole regarded her over the rim of his glass. ‘No,’ he said, and she could tell by his tone that he was not unaware of her intentions. ‘But it’s not for want of trying, if that’s what you’re implying.’

Joanna looked down into her drink. Her hands had tightened around the stem, and, noticing her white knuckles, she forced herself to relax. If she wasn’t careful, the glass would break, and Cole would imagine he had scored a victory. What did it matter to her how many times Cole made love with Sammy-Jean? Sammy-Jean was his wife now, and she, Joanna, didn’t give a damn!

‘Something wrong?’ Cole’s blue eyes were smugly intent, and Joanna expelled her breath on a rueful sigh.

‘No,’ she said, deliberately wistful. ‘I was just remembering how good you were in bed.’

‘Good God!’ Cole’s jaw hardened. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ He swallowed the remainder of his drink in one violent gulp, and gestured for the waiter to bring him another. ‘What do you want from me, Jo? Blood?’

Joanna knew a fleeting sense of conscience, but then the waiter arrived to replace Cole’s glass, and she consoled herself by taking another mouthful of her own drink. But her lips around the pink straw were unconsciously provocative, and Cole uttered an imprecation as he lifted his bourbon to his mouth.

‘You folks dinin’?’ enquired the waiter, and at Cole’s curt nod he flourished two enormous menus from under his arm. ‘Take your time,’ he added, his knowing gaze taking in the situation at a glance. ‘I’ll be back later to take your order.’

Propping her menu on the table in front of her, Joanna continued to enjoy her drink as she studied its contents. There was a vast array of dishes to choose from, with imported American steaks and locally caught seafood providing the main selections. There was fried chicken, too, prepared with the familiar ‘peas ‘n’ rice’, which was a national passion.

‘What do you want?’ asked Cole, after a few minutes, his tone cool and unfriendly, and Joanna felt a trace of regret.

‘The grouper, I think,’ she answered, mentioning the name of the most popular fish in the area. ‘And melon, to begin with. I’m not very hungry.’

Cole acknowledged her choice with a brief inclination of his head, and the waiter, who had evidently been keeping an interested eye on their table, came to take their order.

Cole ordered the grouper, too, but with a salad starter. ‘And bring the lady another of those,’ he said, as Joanna set down her empty glass. ‘And I’ll have another bourbon.’

Joanna arched her brows, half in protest, but the waiter was already sauntering away between the tables. Besides, the drink had been delicious, she conceded. And fairly innocuous, too, judging by the clearness of her head.

There was silence between them for a while. Joanna could have broken it with some other audacious comment, but she realised she was in danger of alienating Cole completely, and that hadn’t been her intention at all.

So, instead of sniping at him, she pretended an interest in their fellow guests, thanking the waiter for her drink when it came, without any further attempt to provoke her companion.

And, as she had half expected, Cole was eventually forced to say something. She guessed he was not unaware that their lack of communication had been noticed by the people at the next table, and as he had been the one to cause their isolation he chose to be the one to end it.

‘Do you see much of Grace?’ he asked, in a voice that would have cracked ice, and Joanna turned her gaze from a bowl of exotic plants to look at him.

‘That depends,’ she said, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue.

‘On what?’

The question was wrung from him, and Joanna smiled. ‘On whether I’m working or not,’ she declared smoothly. ‘Grace is my agent. She’s only interested in when I’m going to finish my next painting.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Cole’s tone had lost some of its chilliness. ‘Grace always liked you. She considers you a friend.’

‘Mmm.’ Joanna stirred her drink with the straw. ‘Well, let’s say things have been a little strained between Grace and me, since we—broke up.’

Cole frowned. ‘I don’t believe it. Hell, I’d have thought you and she had a deal in common.’

‘Would you?’ Joanna looked at him through her lashes. ‘You should know Grace won’t have a word said against your father.’

Cole’s mouth thinned. ‘Unlike you, huh?’

‘I don’t have two sons whose livelihood is dependent on someone else’s goodwill,’ she countered lightly. ‘Your father can’t hurt me, Cole, and that must be a real source of aggravation to him.’

‘I doubt if he cares that much, one way or the other,’ retorted Cole bitterly. ‘But you always had to face him down, didn’t you? You’d never admit that sometimes he just might be right!’

‘Like when he accused Nathan of sleeping with your wife?’ she enquired tautly, and then, seeing the dark, tormented, expression her words had provoked, she quickly regressed. ‘Forget I said that. It doesn’t matter. He did us both a favour, didn’t he? Oh—here’s the waiter. Our table must be ready.’




CHAPTER FOUR (#u7cc4d8f3-76a5-5fd5-843a-61cace406010)


A FOUR-PIECE West Indian band was playing in the grill room, and Joanna was glad that the music negated any real obligation to talk while they were eating. Not that she ate a lot. The melon slid down smoothly enough, but the fish, which was served with a bouquet of vegetables, was rather more difficult to swallow. Instead, she turned to the wine Cole had ordered to accompany the meal, drinking several glasses of the chilled Californian Riesling.

There was a small dance-floor beyond the tables, where those guests who had finished their meal indulged in a little after-dinner exertion. Joanna spent most of her time watching them, uncaring for once if Cole was looking at her. With her elbow propped on the edge of the table and her chin cupped in one slender hand, she was unaware of the dreamy expression that crossed her face as she watched the swaying couples. For a while, she was completely oblivious of her surroundings, and it took a definite effort to concentrate again when the waiter came to ask if they wanted a dessert.

‘Just coffee,’ said Cole, without consulting her, and Joanna pulled an indignant face.

‘I might have liked a dessert,’ she pouted, and although she suspected he was only acting Cole’s face softened.

‘Coffee first, like back home,’ he insisted wryly. ‘I don’t want to have to carry you out of here.’

‘Would you do that?’ she asked huskily, a feeling of heat sweeping over her, and although it wasn’t all that easy to focus on his lean face she thought his eyes darkened at her words.

‘If I have to,’ he answered. ‘Why? How do you feel?’

‘Muzzy,’ she admitted, emitting a rueful little laugh. ‘Maybe I do need that coffee, after all.’

‘You always were a cheap drunk,’ he said, but for once there was no malice in his tone, and Joanna knew an overwhelming urge to make him as aware of her as she was of him.

Concentrating hard, she stretched out her hand and ran her fingers over his thigh. He jerked back automatically, but not before she had felt the instinctive tautening of muscle under her touch. From his groin to his knee, his leg stiffened defensively, and his lazy humour disappeared beneath a scowl of irritation.

But when he would have pushed her hand away, she thwarted him with an appealing smile. ‘Dance with me,’ she invited, turning her hand into his, and letting her thumb drift against his palm. ‘Please, Cole. To show you’re not mad at me. For old times’ sake, as you said.’

He wanted to refuse. The evidence of that was clear in his face. And he resented her for using his words against him. But something—the memory of why he had come here, perhaps, or a desire to prove he was in control of his own destiny, who knew?—made him hesitate long enough for her to draw him to his feet.

‘I don’t dance,’ he said, then, his voice clipped and harsh, ‘I think we should get out of here. You need some fresh air.’

‘Do I?’

Joanna swayed, most convincingly, which wasn’t too surprising considering the wine had made her feel decidedly unsteady on her feet. But she could handle it, she told herself, not prepared to lose the advantage now.

‘Yes, you do,’ he muttered, as she continued to cling to his fingers. ‘Jo, what do you think you’re doing? This isn’t the way to the exit.’

‘I’ll leave after we’ve danced,’ declared Joanna firmly, tugging him after her. ‘We used to dance before. Don’t you remember?’

‘That wasn’t dancing,’ snapped Cole, but Joanna’s behaviour was attracting attention, and she could see he didn’t like it.

‘Whatever,’ she murmured, reaching the square of polished tiles, and turning into his arms. ‘Don’t be a spoil-sport, darling. Don’t you want to dance with me?’

Cole scowled, but there was no turning back. Besides, the face she turned up to his was innocent of all deceit, the amber eyes pleading with him to give in.

And he did. With a grim tightening of his lips, he gripped her waist, and held her away from him. Then, fixing his gaze on some distant point above her head, he began to move rather awkwardly in time to the music.

Joanna caught her lower lip between her teeth, as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Oh, lord, she gulped, trying to contain her mirth, she had forgotten what a hopeless dancer Cole was. He had never mastered any step, beyond the square dances he had learned in school, and only her guidance had made him half decent on a dance-floor.

But not like this, she conceded drily, with at least six inches between them. She didn’t want to remember the other occasions when they had danced together, but she couldn’t help it. Then, the steps they used hadn’t been important. They had moved to the rhythm of their bodies—just like when they were making love …

She shivered, and the feathering of her flesh reminded her of where she was, and what she was doing. The dance-floor was getting crowded, and when a careless elbow nudged her in the ribs her determination hardened. She could have withstood the painful jab quite easily, but she chose not to. With a startled cry, she launched herself against him, successfully dislodging his hands, and clutching his lapels.

‘God!’

Cole’s reaction was just as violent as she had anticipated, but when he would have drawn back again her hands slid up to his neck.

‘Sorry,’ she breathed, her breath wafting sweetly across his cheek, and a nerve jerked spasmodically at his jawline.

‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his hands reaching up to grab her forearms, with the obvious intention of hauling them down from his shoulders. ‘Damn you, keep still!’

‘I’m just dancing,’ she protested innocently, rotating her hips against his. ‘Don’t be so touchy! You need all the help you can get.’

‘I did warn you,’ he grated, and with a little sigh Joanna allowed him to pull her arms down to her sides.

But she didn’t move away from him. And, although Cole would clearly have preferred to leave the dance-floor, they were trapped within the circle of the other dancers.

‘Is this so bad?’ she asked, looking up at him with wide tawny eyes, and she saw the glittering awareness enter his. He might not want to admit it, but his reasons for keeping her at a distance were not because he didn’t like dancing with her. And when his gaze dropped to the appealing curve of her soft mouth Joanna felt her own senses sharpen.

‘We’re leaving,’ said Cole abruptly, taking her upper arm between his forefinger and thumb, and pushing her determinedly through the swaying press of people. His nails bit into her flesh as he steered her back to their table. ‘Get your bag. I’ll pay the bill.’

‘But what about our coffee?’ she argued, looking longingly at the breakfast-size cups of the aromatic brew waiting on the table, but Cole was unrepentant.

‘You can get some coffee back at the hotel,’ he stated bleakly, and summoned the startled waiter who had served them.

Outside, Joanna did feel slightly unsteady in the night air. But Cole’s expression forbade any attempt to use his arm for support, and when the taxi came she collapsed gratefully into the back.

Cole gave the driver his instructions, and then joined her on the back seat. But his mouth was scornful in the half-light. ‘You really are smashed, aren’t you?’ he declared, shaking his head. ‘My God! And I thought we might have a serious conversation.’

Joanna turned her head towards him, her dark hair falling sensuously over one shoulder. ‘What about?’ she asked silkily, sweeping it back again. ‘The fact that you still want me?’

Cole swore, and turned his head away. ‘You wish,’ he snarled, clenching his fists. ‘God, why did I ever agree to this pointless exercise?’

‘Because Daddy asked you to,’ retorted Joanna shortly. ‘And you always do everything Daddy says, don’t you? You’re Daddy’s blue-eyed boy. Even if it means sacrificing other people in the process!’

Cole’s jaw clamped. ‘Shut up!’

‘Why?’ Joanna felt fairly safe in baiting him, with the comfortingly broad shoulders of the Bahamian taxi driver firmly in view. ‘You don’t like to hear the truth, Cole. In fact, you don’t hear anything but what Daddy says. I’m surprised you ever learned how to have sex with a woman! Or was Daddy in on that, too——?’

Cole moved then, covering the space between them in one swift lunge. His hand closed about her throat, cutting off her words with unexpected violence, and his eyes glittered dangerously in the twilight world of the cab.

‘Shut up,’ he commanded again. ‘Shut the hell up!’ And then, as her eyes fought with his, and terror gripped her stomach, he uttered a muffled oath and brought his mouth down on hers.

As kisses went, it wasn’t pleasant. With Cole’s hand practically cutting off the air to her windpipe, Joanna could hardly have been expected to enjoy it. On top of that, despite the lightness of his hair, and the fact that he had probably shaved before coming out, Cole’s chin was abrasively male. And as his mouth ground against her teeth, all Joanna could think of was how abused she was going to look when he let go of her.

But something happened when he kissed her. Although his original intention had been to hurt and humiliate her, that melding of their mouths seduced his reason. A groan of anguish rumbled in his throat, and he tore his mouth from hers, only to return again with an urgent imprecation.

And when he did so, his fingers relaxed, releasing her throat from his throttling grasp. Instead of bruising her flesh, they became achingly gentle, smoothing the tortured skin with a sensuous caress.

Now, Joanna felt as if her breathing had been suspended. Her chest rose and fell with the tumult of her emotions, but she didn’t seem to be getting any oxygen into her lungs. Indeed, there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the car, and her senses swam dizzily beneath his searching touch.

Cole’s kiss became hungry, and fiercely demanding. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, and she let it have its way. That hot, wet invader was disturbingly familiar, and her tongue twined around it, helpless to resist. There was nothing gentle about him now, but his demands inspired a matching need. Her legs splayed, her head dipped low against the squabs, and when his hand slid inside the neckline of her dress and touched her breasts she felt her arousal, clear down to her thighs.

The cab, braking outside the brilliantly lit foyer of the Coral Bay Hotel, brought Cole, belatedly, to his senses. With a groan of anguish he pushed himself up and away from her, but not before the smirking taxi driver had glimpsed what had been going on.

Joanna struggled up with rather less energy. She was still bemused by the upheaval of her senses, and it was difficult to think coherently, when her body was dewy with perspiration. Her hair was mussed about her shoulders, and even in the semi-gloom of the cab she guessed her swollen lips had not gone unremarked. And even Cole made a point of buttoning his jacket as he got out of the car.

She knew why, thought Joanna tensely, stumbling out after him. Standing on the floodlit forecourt, she wet her bruised lips with a soothing tongue. Cole had been as aroused as she was. She had felt the heavy heat of his manhood against her stomach, its throbbing tumescence straining at the zip of his trousers. Known, too, that Cole’s self-control had been slipping. He had wanted her; she knew it. And if they hadn’t been interrupted …

‘Let’s get inside.’

Cole’s hand at her elbow, and his harsh impersonal tone brought her swiftly back to earth. With a gesture that was barely civil, he escorted her inside the hotel. Then, after accompanying her to the bank of elevators, he inclined his head and released her.

But, when he would have walked away, Joanna caught his arm. ‘Where are you going?’




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