The Baby Verdict (11 page)

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Authors: Cathy Williams

BOOK: The Baby Verdict
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He began walking away, and after a moment's hesitation she ran after him and said, without preamble, ‘If the offer still stands, I'll come with you to see...whatever it was you wanted to show me...'
‘You sure about that?' he asked, looking at her narrowly, and she nodded.
They walked out together, onto the beach, while her mind furiously went over what he had said to her and what she had said to him. He was right, she thought with a pang of shame: she projected a veneer of hard, single-minded ambition and she had fought hard to get where she was. But her detachment was off-putting, and she knew that her demeanour did not invite criticism. Oh, she was fine if something critical was said about her work, but she did not encourage personal criticism. Bruno Carr was the first man who had ever bluntly spoken his mind, and she had, she thought, confused, dropped all her defences and confided in him.
They turned the corner of the beach and continued walking as the lush vegetation became denser.
‘Small question,' Jessica said, determined now to be bright and cheerful and to pretend that their conversation had never taken place. ‘Should we have a map?'
He turned and raised both eyebrows expressively and she felt a shiver of awareness dart down her spine. He was perspiring and there was a certain animal heat about him that made her limbs feel slightly uncontrolled.
‘Map? Map?' He gave her a wolfish grin. ‘Only wimps need maps! I can orient myself anywhere in the world just by glancing at the sun.'
‘Good job it's a very small island,' she returned with a shaky laugh. ‘That has the ring of famous last words before two people end up hopelessly lost and going round in circles.' She had an insane desire to wipe a trickle of perspiration from him with one finger, and lick it away.
‘Oh, ye of little faith.' He turned away, whistling under his breath, and continued weaving his way through the bush and coconut trees until they finally arrived at another strip of white sand, narrower and more coral-strewn than the area by the house. Moored to a tree was a small boat, with a small engine and a couple of oars inside. Jessica stared at it, uncertain as to what her reaction ought to be. It wasn't what she had been expecting. She had thought he had wanted to point out something of peculiar natural beauty—a rare flower, or tree or shrub. Certainly not a boat.
‘Et voilà!'
he said, turning to her, and she looked at him dubiously.
‘It's a boat,' she said finally. ‘What's it doing tethered way out here?'
‘Sheer cussedness on my part.' He began loosening the rope that secured it to the tree trunk. ‘I enjoy the sweaty, physical exertion of getting here. Also stops it being used randomly by visitors when they come.'
‘What are you doing?' she asked, stifling another of those little panic attacks that seemed to strike whenever she was faced with the prospect of being alone with him.
‘What does it look like?' He glanced briefly at her. ‘I'm going to take you to a part of the island that's only accessible by boat.' He pushed it towards the water and she watched his sinewy body with trancelike concentration, then she gathered herself and smiled. No overreacting, she told herself. No ridiculous teenage hysterics—he's being the perfect host and wants to show me as much as he can because he knows that when I get back to England I'll return to my nose to the grindstone.
‘Great!'
He looked at her with amusement. ‘Hop in.'
‘The engine works, doesn't it?' She climbed into the boat which was bobbing in the shallow, seaweedy water and he climbed in after her.
‘Let's hope so. Rowing can be tiring work.'
‘But doubtless something you see as another challenge.' She was looking around as she spoke, and missed the glint of laughter in his eyes.
‘Doubtless.' He pulled twice on the cord to start the engine, and it put-putted into life with the high-pitched whine of a sewing machine. Then he sat back down on the bench facing her and picked up speed as they cleared the shallow water and headed out to sea. He explained the layout of the island, and as he spoke she looked off to the horizon and tried to ignore her heart hammering madly against her ribcage. Within five minutes he slowed the engine and headed inland towards a cove, very small, with a backdrop of thick trees and bush. The water was clear enough for her to see the grains of sand at the bottom of the sea bed. Swimming-pool water. Idyllic. But deserted.
‘Great place to swim,' he announced as he killed the engine and allowed the boat to drift towards shore. ‘The water's incredibly warm just here.'
‘Brilliant!' Jessica said faintly.
‘Isn't it?' He stood up, steadying himself, then stepped out of the boat and pulled it up onto the sand. There was that thread of laughter in his voice that made her think that he could read her mind, see inside her head to every thought. ‘I knew you'd agree!'
Tentatively she climbed out, keeping her eyes firmly averted from him.
‘And don't look so terrified,' he whispered in her ear, making her jump, ‘the sea is clear of man-eating barracuda. Relax. Nothing around here bites...' He gave a low laugh, then moved away from her. ‘It's absolutely perfect.'
Yes, she thought. Wasn't it?
CHAPTER SIX
B
RUNO stripped off his shirt, then his shorts, and Jessica was relieved to see that he was wearing a pair of swimming trunks underneath. Dark green, and low slung, so that she could see the arrow of dark hair running from his navel downwards, disappearing beneath the trunks.
How on earth was he so
bronzed
? She wondered whether he had Italian or Spanish blood in him. He certainly bore no passing resemblance to any English man she had ever seen on a beach. She had long come to the conclusion that English men on beaches were not sights for sore eyes. With no clothes to hide them, their whiteness was almost blinding. Even men who looked passable enough in their suits were rendered laughable when caught with nothing on but a pair of trunks on a beach somewhere.
She retreated to the shade of a coconut tree and looked at Bruno out of the corner of her eye. He had strolled towards the water's edge, and was obviously contemplating swimming out.
‘Why are you lurking there?' he shouted over to her, and Jessica hurriedly plastered her gaze somewhere else, shading her eyes with her hands. ‘You must be baking with all those clothes on!' She saw the flash of white teeth and felt the familiar bristle as she caught the laughter in his voice.
‘I'm fine,' she told him. She could feel the sweat trickling under her armpits and at the back of her neck, where some coils of hair were glued to her skin.
‘Join me for a swim!' he commanded, walking towards her, and she eyed him warily. There was no one around, and it was very unlikely that anyone would suddenly appear on the scene. For a small island, this was a remarkably remote spot
‘Can't.' She flashed him a smile. He moved, she thought, with the grace of a panther.
‘Why not?' He raked his fingers through his hair and half turned away, so that he was looking out to sea, his face in profile.
‘Sun's too hot out there. This is the worst time to be in the sun if you're fair, and I forgot to bring my sun cream.' She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘So you go ahead and have a swim. I must say, the water looks very inviting.' She sighed wistfully and gazed at the calm, turquoise sea, as clear as a pool. ‘Maybe I'll have a dip in a minute.'
‘Well, you're probably right,' Bruno told her sympathetically. ‘You just stay well wrapped up, and take refuge in some shade.' He folded his arms and flicked his eyes over her. ‘You know, I have a tin with some oil clothes on the boat...I could always rig up a hat of sorts for further protection...' So much for that air of sympathy, she thought crossly.
‘That won't be necessary.' She headed off for the nearest tree, sat down, and watched as he walked at a leisurely pace towards the sea, then pushed out, moving quickly away from shore, until his form became smaller and smaller.
She felt a sharp pull of anxiety when he disappeared altogether.
Where the hell was he?
She could remember him telling them that there were no currents around the beach because of coral reefs further out, but then, since when was he an expert on the tidal movements of the ocean?
She stood up, squinting against the glare, her body reaching forward as she tried to distinguish any bobbing figure that might be his. When he finally surfaced, waving at her, she clicked her tongue with irritation and promptly sat back down. Then she lay on her back, stretched her legs out in front of her, and closed her eyes.
Her heart was still beating fast at the thought that he might have been swept out to sea, even though she knew that it had been a ridiculous, passing urge to be worried about him.
If there was one person in the world who could take care of himself, it was Bruno Carr. An ocean current would have to be particularly reckless to think that it could carry him away. She doubted that he had ever been carried away by anything or anyone in his life. His life was utterly and completely in control. Events were things, she imagined, which he manipulated for his own ends, just as he no doubt manipulated the people around him.
A slight breeze blew, and without opening her eyes she hoisted her tee shirt over her head, then folded it roughly and shoved it behind her, pillow-style.
She was on the verge of drifting off into a delicious doze when she felt a spattering of water on her, and her eyes flew open.
There he was, standing over her, and with the sun behind him his face was thrown into shadow. She jerked up into a sitting position, ready to throw him the well-rehearsed smile, to find that he wasn't smiling at her. That ironic, amused grin which seemed permanently to play on his lips whenever he was in her company had been replaced by something else.
He was looking at her.
Really looking at her.
She could feel her skin begin to prickle, and she had to clear her throat before she spoke because she knew that, if she didn't, her words would trip over one another in nervousness.
What was he playing at?
‘Good swim?' she asked, in a high voice, and he didn't say anything. ‘Wish I could have ventured in...' she volunteered in a cheery voice.
‘You look very different when you're asleep.'
‘What?' Jessica looked at him, shocked by the intimacy of the remark.
‘You heard me.' He sat down alongside her, and every nerve in her body went into immediate overdrive. He leaned against the trunk of the coconut tree, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, loosely crossed at the ankles, and proceeded to look at her.
‘How long were you...standing there...staring at me?' She tried to inject some righteous anger in her voice, but failed. She was very much aware that if she shifted a few inches to her left, she would touch him. The thought of that sent a wave of faintness through her.
‘Not staring...observing.'
‘Oh, right. And the difference is enormous.'
She couldn't maintain his stare, so she turned away and looked out across the white sand, across the water to the sharp blue line of the horizon.
She couldn't believe that she was sitting here, her toes sifting through the castor-sugar sand, next to a man who had swept into her life like a tornado, and feeling things that she knew were absolutely out of order. It was almost as though the change in the scenery had cast a spell on her, released some invisible plug on her emotions.
Why, for God's sake, was her heart doing such feeble things? Beating like a damn drum just because a man had looked at her?
‘When you're asleep—'
‘I wasn't
asleep.
I had my eyes closed.'
‘When you're asleep,' he drawled, paying no notice to her interruption, ‘you look soft and defenceless.'
‘Everyone looks defenceless when they're asleep,' Jessica said shortly, uncomfortable with the conversation. Her fingers played restlessly with the edge of her shorts.
‘What made you stop trusting the human race?' he asked softly, and without warning he placed one finger under her chin and tilted her face towards his.
Jessica opened her mouth to say something clever, but when she tried to speak she found that her vocal cords had dried up. She thought she could hear her heart, if that was possible. She could almost hear the surge of her blood crashing through her veins.
‘Was it just your father or was there a man as well to compound the problem?' he asked.
‘No.' She made a small movement to look away, but he stilled her.
‘What, then?'
‘I...' She couldn't believe that she was having this conversation. Worse. That she felt compelled to confide in him. The heat was magical, turning her brains to mush. ‘I'm afraid my childhood...left a lot to be desired.'
‘Your father...'
‘Was a tyrant.' There was fierceness in her voice, and she frowned at him. ‘He ruled the household with a rod of iron. We weren't allowed...to do anything. Running in the house, shouting...' Her memories were so real that she felt as though she had been swept back into time. ‘We all crept around like mice, too afraid to even laugh when he was around.' She looked nervously at him, waiting for him to say something dismissive about what she had told him, but his gaze was steady and unfaltering, and utterly serious.
‘The worst of it was...my mum...she must have been full of laughter once...but by the time I grew up, all that had been sucked out of her. All the joy...gone.' She met his eyes without flinching. ‘He fooled around, you see. Mum was someone who stayed at home, raising the children and looking after the house, and all the other women...' She shook her head, bewildered now, as she had been then, when she had first overheard her parents arguing behind a semi-closed door. ‘He saw nothing wrong in what he did, and when Mum eventually tried to leave, she found that she couldn't. Her self-confidence had taken such a battering over the years that she no longer had any faith in herself. So, you see...' she shrugged lightly and blinked ‘...I learned pretty fast that it was up to me to sort my life out. I couldn't trust anyone else to do it for me. Aren't I a sad creature?' She attempted a laugh, but it was wobbly and unconvincing.
He stroked some hair from her face, and his fingers burnt her flesh.
‘Absolutely not.' He gave her a slow smile. ‘No more than the rest of us sad creatures that inhabit this good planet of ours.'
‘Are you telling me that you had a miserable childhood?'
‘Virtually trouble free,' he admitted, and she gave a low, shaky laugh.
‘Now, why do you think I would have guessed as much?' she asked lightly.
‘No idea. You tell me.'
She hoped he wasn't seriously expecting an answer to that.
‘Shouldn't we think about leaving?'
‘Why?'
‘Why? Because...'
‘Ah, those rumours...might start flying around again...'
‘No!'
‘Well, then...' he shook his head thoughtfully ‘...I guess the sun is beginning to make you feel a bit dizzy...'
‘The sun's fine...' Enough of a cool breeze to dilute the intensity.
He smiled, a slow, lazy smile, and raised one eyebrow expressively. ‘Then the only other reason I can think of is that you're afraid to stay here alone with me...are you? I make you nervous, don't I? I can see it in your body movements. The minute I get too close, you shift a bit just in case I touch you. Why do you think that is? Are you scared that I might make a pass at you...?'
Jessica could feel herself holding her breath. She could also feel the slow, burning flush that spread outwards and upwards, engulfing her.
‘I'm afraid of no such thing!' she protested, instantly mortified at the thought that he might be laughing at her, feeling sorry for her with her silly sob stories.
‘You should be...'
It took a few seconds for the impact of what he had said to sink in, but when it had her mouth flew open and remained parted. A slow, hot excitement uncurled inside her, like a spiral of smoke. The first sign of a conflagration.
He cupped her face with his hand, and then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. His head lowering to hers, his mouth touching hers, then the feel of his tongue as the kiss became deeper and more urgent.
She had never felt this response before, had never felt dizzy with want.
She reached up and clasped her hands behind his head, and returned his kiss with an abandoned passion she never would have thought possible.
Their tongues met and clashed, wet and thrusting, and she moaned as his fingers slid under the strap of her bikini top, tugging it down.
‘God knows, I've wanted to do this...' he groaned, his voice husky and thick. She arched back, fiddling with the clasp at the back, until the bikini top was off and her breasts, larger than they appeared under the camouflage of clothes, hung unrestrained.
Her nipples had hardened into aching peaks, and she shuddered uncontrollably when his fingers began rubbing and teasing.
‘Big nipples,' he murmured into her ear. ‘I like that.' His tongue flicked wetly in her ear, sending electric currents through her, and then he began licking her neck, while he massaged one full breast with his hand.
In the olden days, ladies swooned. Jessica thought that this must have been what it felt like. As though all her bones had turned to liquid.
She cradled his head, squirming and gasping as he trailed his mouth lower, along her collar-bone. The anticipation of that mouth suckling on a nipple was akin to ecstasy. She urged his head down, and groaned softly as wetness enfolded the pink, throbbing peak. He sucked, pulling her breast into his mouth, arousing the nipple with his tongue, and she ran her hands over his hard, muscled torso, loving the feel of his skin beneath her palms.
‘Feel good?' he asked, and she opened her eyes and smiled drowsily at him.

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