LITMIR.BIZ

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place, startled by the unaccustomed violation of their privacy.

      Samuel balanced Morgan’s suitcase on his head, holding it steady with one hand, as they left the beach to climb a shallow flight of steps to the house. There must have been fifty of them, Morgan decided, feeling the constriction in his chest as he followed Samuel’s unhurried tread. It made him realise that a weekly work-out at the squash club was not a total compensation for a sedentary life, and he was panting pretty badly by the time they reached the top.

      It was fully dark now, but the air was fragrant with the scent of night-blooming plants and delicate honeysuckle. They picked their way across a garden that had evidently been left to go to seed, and brushed between a mass of statuary before climbing two more steps to a lawned area in front of the house. The lights from the house gave more illumination here, revealing that the grass had, at least, been cut, and the borders trimmed. An old cane chair reclined in the shade of a flowering acacia, and on the verandah a pair of cushioned sun-loungers were set beside a basket-woven table.

      It wasn’t until they were actually climbing the steps up to the verandah that Morgan realised someone was standing there, in the darkness, watching their approach. She had not occupied either of the sun-loungers that flanked the circular table, where a jug of iced cordial drew his thirsty gaze. She was standing in the shadows, against the wall of the building, and she only moved into the light when she was obliged to do so.

      Even then, Morgan had some difficulty in relating this golden-skinned creature to the Holly Forsyth he remembered. Setting down his briefcase, he ran a hand around the back of his neck, flinching from the dampness of his skin. He was sweating quite profusely now, and it didn’t help to be confronted by someone as cool and self-possessed as this young woman seemed to be.

      Although the skinny vest and skimpy shorts she was wearing in no way compared to the expensive suits and dresses her father had bought her, Holly had an air of elegance all her own. It was something to do with the way she moved, a natural co-ordination that had not been in evidence the last time they had met. She was still slim, but her bones were less obviously visible and, although he had not intended to look, he couldn’t help his awareness of breasts fuller and firmer than when he had last seen her in England. She had let her hair grow, too, and it now hung a couple of inches below her shoulders, smooth and silky, and bleached several shades lighter by the sun. It was odd, he thought inconsequently, that sun lightened the hair but darkened the flesh. And because Holly was wearing no make-up, her skin had the lustre of good health.

      ‘Hello, Mr Kane,’ she said now, holding out her hand. ‘Did you have a good trip?’ and Morgan dried his palm down the seam of his trousers before accepting her polite salutation.

      ‘It’s good to be here,’ he acknowledged, threading long fingers into the clinging dampness of his hair. ‘I feel like I’ve been trapped in a steel girdle for the past twelve hours.’ He grinned. ‘I guess I’m getting too old to sit still for so long. My spine feels like it’s been kicked by a mule.’

      Holly’s lips parted to reveal even white teeth. ‘You’re not old, Mr Kane,’ she said, her eyes frankly admiring, and as Morgan’s stomach twisted, she added, ‘Now—which would you like first? A drink or a shower?’

      Morgan took a deep breath. ‘Would I be rude if I said both?’ he queried drily, deciding he had imagined that provocative glance. ‘Something long and cool would be just perfect. And then I’d like to get out of these unsuitable clothes.’

      ‘Of course.’ Holly turned to Samuel then, and directed him to take Mr Kane’s bags to his room. As the boy rescued Morgan’s briefcase and departed, she appended, ‘You don’t appear to have brought very much. But that’s just as well, because we don’t go in for formality around here.’

      Morgan gestured to a chair, too weary right now to go into the details of why he had brought so few clothes, and Holly nodded. ‘Oh—please,’ she said, moving to the table and picking up the frosted jug. ‘I hope you like daiquiris. I asked Lucinda to prepare these earlier.’

      Morgan sank gratefully on to the cushioned sun-lounger and arched one dark brow. ‘Lucinda?’

      ‘Samuel’s mother,’ explained Holly, as the chink of ice clunked satisfyingly into a glass. ‘She and Micah—that’s her husband—and Samuel, of course, are all the staff there are here now.’

      Morgan rested his head back against the cushions, allowing an unaccustomed feeling of peace to envelop him. He didn’t know why exactly, but he was relaxing for the first time in days and, in spite of the fact that this was not a holiday, he knew an unexpected sense of well-being.

      Of course, it might have something to do with the fact that he knew Alison could not reach him here. In spite of the divorce, which had severed all formal connections between them, she still played a considerable part in his life, and it was a relief to be free of her continued complaints. With the twins having a constant claim to his affections, there was little he could do to escape her demands, unless he was prepared to risk their alienation, too. Living with their mother, they were prone to take her side in any argument, and Morgan knew Alison lost no opportunity of blaming their father for the break-up of the marriage. Even this trip to the Caribbean had not met with her approval, even though she had accepted Andrew’s plans for the boys without demur.

      ‘Why can’t the girl simply get on a plane by herself?’ she had exclaimed, when Morgan had told her what he intended to do. ‘She’s not a child, is she? From what I hear, she’s hardly an innocent!’

      ‘Did you tell Andrew that?’ enquired Morgan drily, retaliating with more cynicism than usual, and even over the phone he heard her sudden intake of breath.

      ‘Don’t bait me, Morgan,’ she retorted fiercely, and he could sense the cold resentment she still felt for the security of his position. She had always been jealous of his friendship with Andrew, and not even the prospect of destroying her own lifestyle had prevented her from trying to lose Morgan his job when he first moved out of the house. ‘Just because you would do anything that man asked you, doesn’t mean that I can’t have my own opinion of the Forsyths. Just don’t imagine Andrew would let you anywhere near his precious daughter! He may have no time for her himself, but I’m sure he appreciates the potential she offers!’

      Her words had at last got under Morgan’s skin, and his gritted response revealed the fact. ‘She’s twenty years old, Alison,’ he had told her, his voice harsh with contempt. ‘She’s young enough to be my daughter! For Christ’s sake, what do you take me for?’

      Morgan thrust these thoughts aside now as Holly came to hand him a tall glass. He had known Alison was just taking out her spite on him, but he had been furious that she could still penetrate his defences. Of course, she still resented the fact that physically she no longer attracted him. She had thought that, in spite of her infidelities, Morgan would continue to want her body, but he hadn’t. The discovery that she had been sleeping with other men while he had been away had destroyed any feelings Morgan had still had for her, and since their separation he had satisfied his needs elsewhere.

      ‘Is it all right?’

      Holly’s query caused him to look up at her ruefully, raising his glass to his lips as he did so. ‘Very good,’ he said, somewhat hoarsely moments later, as the raw spirit caught his dry throat. ‘But I think—Lucinda, did you say—has a heavy hand with the rum. Do you always drink them this potent?’

      Holly laughed, a low musical sound that was entirely feminine, and seated herself on the sun-lounger beside him. To do so, she swung one leg across the cushioned footrest, giving him a revealing glimpse of her inner thigh as she did so, before scooping both knees up in front of her and circling them with her arms. ‘Oh—I don’t drink them,’ she assured him, her oval features alight with amusement. ‘Besides, I’m not thirsty right now. I just had a shower.’

      ‘An inviting prospect,’ remarked Morgan wryly, swallowing a generous portion of the liquid in his glass as thirst got the better of discretion. ‘But much more of this and I won’t be able to see the shower, let alone the taps.’

      ‘Would

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