‘I DIDN’T want to bring you to St Lucia with me.’
‘I know.’
They were walking hand in hand along the soft white sand, the moon and the stars their only witnesses. The soft breeze Lisa had longed for in the stifling heat of the nightclub wafted balmily over them. Rorke paused, slipping off his jacket, which he dropped on to the sand. ‘Sit down for a moment,’ he suggested, adding huskily, ‘God, Lisa, have you any idea what you do to me? Any idea of the jealousy I’ve endured watching you with young Peters?’
‘You jealous?’ Her voice sounded breathless.
‘I’m only human, Lisa,’ Rorke reminded her drily. ‘All too human where you’re concerned.’
‘But you’ve been so unkind to me…’
‘Not half as unkind as I’ve been to myself. You’re seventeen,’ he told her softly, cupping her face. ‘A little girl still in so many ways, and yet already a very desirable young woman. I tried reminding myself that you were my stepsister, but it made no difference. The last time you came home I wanted you, Lisa,’ he told her bluntly. ‘That was six months ago, and nothing has changed, except that I now want you twice as much,’ he told her hoarsely. ‘So much…’
Her whole body quivered in mute response, eager fingers trembling against his skin as she reached towards him.
‘Lisa,’ Rorke groaned grasping her fingers, and pressing a kiss against her palm. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this; shouldn’t be giving way to what I feel, but God help me, I can’t stop myself…’
‘And I don’t want you to,’ Lisa told him shyly. ‘I love you, Rorke.’
‘I thought you loved young Peters,’ he mocked sardonically. ‘How can you love me when every time I look at you you run away? What do you know of love, Lisa? Until you saw me today I don’t believe you’d ever seen a naked man before, never mind…’
Hot colour stained her cheeks, but she still found the courage to say hesitantly, ‘Does it matter so much, Rorke—that I’m not experienced, I mean? Can’t you teach me?’
‘Lisa!’
Her name was torn from his throat on an aching protest, and then she was in his arms, his mouth against her skin, tasting, exploring, his lips moving sensuously against hers, parting their soft innocence and probing the sweetness beyond until she was aware of nothing apart from the taste and feel of him as he lowered her to the sand, his hands exploring the contours of her body, his muffled gasp when he suddenly drew away from her confusing her as much as his abrupt withdrawal.
‘Leigh at least will be pleased,’ he murmured as he pulled her to her feet. ‘Surely you’ve realised how keen he’s been to throw us together?’ he prodded when Lisa made no response. ‘Dear God, you are an innocent, aren’t you,’ he muttered, and despite the warmth of his arm round her body, Lisa felt a strangely apprehensive chill strike through her body. It was almost as though Rorke resented wanting her, resented loving her.
As though he sensed her uncertainty his arm tightened.
‘Rorke, do you love me?’ she murmured softly.
For a moment she sensed his withdrawal and then he was saying smoothly, ‘Of course I love you, Lisa, who wouldn’t—but right now I think it’s time you were back in your virginal bed, don’t you?
She wanted to tell him that she would far rather spend the night in his arms, in his bed, but somehow she couldn’t find the words. Indeed she was surprised that he hadn’t suggested it himself, If she had been Helen! But she wasn’t Helen, she reminded herself. She was herself, and Rorke loved her, and surely once they returned to St Martin’s and he had told his father, they would be married?
They started the return journey to St Martin’s, earlier than had been planned. There was a storm warning, Rorke explained to Lisa when she joined him for breakfast, feeling shyly selfconscious in some of her new separates, and he wanted to get under way as quickly as possible.
‘You’re not sorry—about what happened last night, are you?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘Not half as sorry as I am about what didn’t,’ Rorke responded sardonically. ‘Lisa, do you have the faintest idea of what you’re letting yourself in for? You’re barely seventeen—you haven’t even begun to taste life.’
‘Rorke, I love you!’
‘So you keep telling me, and I’m selfish enough to want to believe it. I ought to send you away, for two years at least, but I can’t risk losing you. I love you too much.’
‘What do you think Leigh will say?’
‘Well, let’s put it this way,’ Rorke retorted wryly. ‘I don’t think it’s going to come as a complete surprise. Something tells me he’s already guessed how I feel about you. In fact I wouldn’t put it past him to have engineered this trip with a view to flinging us together. He’s been at great pains to point out to me how quickly you’re growing up—Growing up! Dear God, and to think I once thought it was only old men in their dotage who found pubescent children physically desirable!’
‘I’m not a child,’ Lisa protested, hating the cynicism in his eyes and voice. ‘In another month I’ll be seventeen—another year and…’
‘And you’ll be eighteen—I can count, Lisa. Come on,’ he said abruptly. ‘Get your things together and I’ll check us out. If we leave now we should make it back to St Martins before the weather breaks.’
They left Castries harbour an hour later. The sky was completely free of cloud, but there was a certain dull brassiness about the sun that made Lisa conscious that the storm forecast could not be lightly ignored.
This time there was no question of her staying below. Like Rorke she had changed into her frayed denim shorts, and her body pulsated with excitement as his eyes narrowed over the curves of her breasts, outlined by the stretchy fabric of her tee shirt, as he helped her aboard.
‘We’d better use full sail and the auxiliary engine,’ Rorke announced laconically once they were both on board. ‘I don’t like the colour of that sky.’
They had completed just over a quarter of their journey, and Rorke was busy checking their progress in the wheelhouse when he suddenly called to Lisa.
‘Damn, we’re getting so much interference I can’t do a thing with the radio. These electric storms play havoc with the equipment.’ The wind had started to pick up and Lisa was relieved when he came back to join her, checking on the sails, frowning occasionally as the schooner started to pick up speed.
‘Hell!’ he swore softly. ‘By the looks of it we’re heading right for the storm. It must have changed course. I wish to God we could get some decent radio signals.
‘Go below and put on a lifejacket, will you, Lisa,’ he instructed curtly, ‘and bring one up for me. Don’t look like that,’ he added when he saw the concern in her eyes. ‘I’m just taking precautions.’
‘How bad is it going to be, Rorke?’ Lisa asked him steadily, her eyes reminding him that she was no longer a child to be placated.
For a moment she thought he was going to fob her off, but suddenly he grimaced and said, ‘Bad enough—it’s not a hurricane, but it isn’t going to be far short. This morning’s forecast suggested that we would be out of the main path. Let’s just hope that things continue that way. Right now I’d feel one hell of a lot better if we could make radio contact.’
After that there wasn’t much opportunity for conversation. Rorke snapped out curt orders which Lisa obeyed automatically, and between them somehow they kept the schooner on course as the wind increased in strength and the sea ran steadily higher, waves crashing down over the boat’s bows as she sliced swiftly through the turbulence, but even Lisa could see that the weather was deteriorating rather than improving. The sky had turned a dull yellow-bronze, and Rorke had to shout his instructions over the keening of the wind as it tore at the sails.
‘We’re carrying too much sail,’ he announced at one point. ‘We’re running too fast. I’ll have to go and bring some in. Can you hold her on a steady course while I do it?’
Grimly Lisa nodded. She knew without Rorke having to put it into words that the slightest change in wind direction could mean that they might capsize. At the moment they were running before the wind, but if it should veer in the slightest and catch them sideways on, with the amount of sail they were carrying they would capsize immediately.
Her heart in her mouth, she struggled to keep the schooner on course, almost jolted off her feet when the very thing she had dreaded happened, and the wind veered, the shock shuddering through the slender craft with bone-jarring ferocity. Wildly Lisa fought for control of the helm, praying that Rorke would succeed in reefing in some of the sail. In a few split seconds the sky seemed to have turned almost black, the boat wallowing and plunging in the heavy seas.
Rorke must come back soon! Lisa felt another deep shudder tear at the schooner followed by an ominous crack as the wind took advantage of the boat’s vulnerability to tear at the sails. She had to go out and see what was delaying Rorke!
Setting the schooner on automatic pilot and praying that it would hold for the length of time she needed to go outside and check on Rorke, Lisa opened the door, bracing herself against the blast of the wind, feeling her way aft.
One of the sails flapped loosely, suddenly ripping free and disappearing into the darkness as she approached, and she stumbled over an obstruction on the deck. It was only as she reached out to save herself that Lisa realised the obstruction was Rorke, and that he was unconscious. Instantly she realised what had happened. The jib had obviously worked free, and when Rorke went to secure it, the wind had whipped it backwards, hitting him before he could get out of the way.
He groaned and started to struggle to his feet as Lisa reached for him, relief flooding over her as he regained consciousness.
‘My God, what happened?’ he muttered, getting up. ‘I feel as though I’ve been hit by a ten-ton lorry!’
‘I think it was the jib,’ Lisa told him. ‘The sail’s gone…’
‘Umm, I suspect you’re right,’ he agreed grasping her just in time to stop her staggering as the boat wallowed again.
‘We’d better get below!’ he shouted to her above the noise of the storm. ‘We’re going to have to ride this one out. We’ll drop the sea anchors and take in what’s left of the sails.’
Under his instructions Lisa managed to help him take in the sails, but it wasn’t until they got below and he lit one of the lamps that she was able to see the damage the jib had inflicted on his skin. His forehead was cut and grazed, blood oozing slowly from the torn flesh, and there was another matted patch of blood in his hair.
‘I’ll clean that up for you,’ Lisa offered, trying not to let him see how concerned she was. He winced a little when she applied the antiseptic, and despite her protests insisted on going back on deck to check on the damage.
‘The wind seems to have dropped a little,’ he announced when he came back. ‘But we won’t risk putting on any more sail for now. We’ll give it a little bit longer just to make sure, although I’m pretty sure we’re through the worst of it.’ He started to yawn, and Lisa realised how tired he must be.
‘Why don’t you go and rest for a while?’ she suggested. ‘You might as well.’
‘Umm, I do feel a bit drowsy. Make sure you wake me in an hour, though, won’t you?’
Lisa heard him moving about in his cabin. Soon, whenever they used the schooner, she would be sharing it with him. The thought brought her out in a rash of goosebumps. Even now she could hardly believe that he actually loved her. It all seemed like a marvellous dream.
True to Rorke’s prediction, the wind dropped gradually. She looked in on him after half an hour and he was deeply asleep, his head buried against one outflung arm. A wave of melting tenderness washed over her as she looked at him, her hand reaching out to stroke the tousled hair back off his forehead. He opened his eyes and stared up at her with the unfocused blindness of the newly awake.
‘Lisa?’ he muttered hoarsely at last. And then his fingers were curling round her wrist, tugging her down beside him, his mouth hotly possessive as it burned against her skin, with an urgency that shattered her defences in its raw need.
‘God, Lisa, I want you!’ he groaned as his lips burned heatedly against the smooth skin of her throat, his hands moulding her body against the taut contours of his, tightening on her waist before sliding beneath the fine fabric of her tee-shirt to smooth the tanned skin of her midriff.
‘Kiss me. Touch me,’ he muttered thickly on a harshly uneven breath, and Lisa felt her body respond to the sensual demand implicit in the words, making no protest when he pushed aside the frail barrier of her tee-shirt to cup and caress the taut curves of her breasts, his thumbs stroking erotically over the already aroused nipples, until Lisa was trembling in his arms, pressing feverishly distraught kisses against his damp skin, her husky moan seeming only to incite him to further sensual forays as he removed her tee-shirt completely, his eyes darkening as he gazed down at her.
‘You’re so perfect I can hardly believe you’re real,’ he said softly at last, and then his mouth was burning a path over her skin, kindling a need within her to arch her body beneath him and entice him to possess the throbbing peaks of her breasts with the hard warmth of his hands.
His mouth stroked against her skin, the rough rasp of his beard as he explored the slender curve of her shoulder making her shiver with delicious response. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips moved questingly downwards, seeking and then finding the taut nipples he had aroused. Sensations exploded inside her as Lisa felt his mouth against her breast. Her fingers curled protestingly into the thick hair of his nape, her gasp of protest checked by the spiralling pleasure building up inside her. When she felt Rorke tugging impatiently at the zip of her shorts, protest couldn’t have been further from her mind.
This was what she wanted; what she had been born for, she thought wildly as she felt the feverish urgency of his hands stroking over her stomach, holding her, lifting her against him until she could feel his own arousal.
His lips followed the path of his hands, shock waves of incredulity washing over her at the intimacy of his touch, and then he was removing his own shorts, and the hard maleness of his body was against hers; his skin burning with a dry heat echoed by his lips as they moved feverishly over her skin. Locked in his arms, Lisa could think of nothing but that she loved him and wanted desperately to be a part of him, even though she was surprised that he should have chosen this moment to make her his own.
Perhaps the ferocity of the storm had reminded him of their own mortality; and indeed, she sensed a storm equally ferocious building up inside him as the urgency of his lovemaking increased and she was swept along in the fierce swell of it, unable to reason or protest.
Rorke trembled with the pent-up force of his desire for her, a husky groan of protest leaving his lips before they burned against hers. His whole body seemed to be on fire, burning against her, turning her blood molten with need.
‘Lisa, Lisa!’ He muttered her name hoarsely against her skin like a refrain, his eyes blind with the urgency of his growing need for her. ‘Lisa!’
He moaned her name against her mouth, his hands moulding her hips as he lifted her towards him and she felt the tense urgency of his need.
There was a brief searing moment of pain, lost in the sweet savagery of his possession, when they were both swept by the storm of their emotions.
Later while Rorke slept Lisa looked down at him, marvelling at their new closeness. Now they were man and wife, in deed if not in actual law, and that would soon follow. Lost in a happy daydream it was some time before she could rouse herself sufficiently to check that all was in order on deck. The storm, like their lovemaking had left behind it an oasis of perfect calm. When she went back to the cabin Rorke was still asleep sprawled on the bunk, his breathing deep and slow.
There wasn’t really room for both of them on the bunk, and rather than disturb him, Lisa spent what was left of the night in her own cabin, longing for morning, longing to whisper the words of love that had trembled on her lips when he made love to her but which, then, she had been too shy to utter. How glad she was that Rorke had been her first lover. How she longed for his arms around her, his mouth on hers…
‘Lisa…’
At first the deep voice was an intrusion on her dream state, and then when she opened her eyes and realised who it was who was standing there, Lisa smiled happily, taking the mug of coffee he proffered.
‘Rorke…’
She had been about to ask him if he still loved her, but he was already turning away, his voice completely matter-of fact as he told her that the storm had died away.
He rubbed his forehead as he spoke, and Lisa noticed the bruise darkening it.
‘Are you feeling okay now?’ she asked him. ‘I was so worried…’
‘I’m fine. A little bit of concussion, I suspect—all I can remember is going out like a light and then nothing until I woke up this morning…’
‘Nothing?’
Lisa stared at him. Was he teasing her?—but no, he was perfectly serious.
She took a deep breath, laughter bubbling up inside her. ‘You mean you don’t remember anything?’
He shrugged, heading for the door. ‘No. Thanks for getting me down to my cabin, by the way—that couldn’t have been easy. Nor undressing me. God knows what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been there. I want to get back as fast as we can—Father will be worried.’
Now wasn’t the time to discuss what had happened between them last night, and Lisa suppressed a chuckle, imagining how she would tease him later about not being able to remember their lovemaking. Concussion had strange effects on people, she knew that, and she ought perhaps to have realised the potential danger of Rorke suffering from it last night, but she had been so relieved that his injuries weren’t any worse that it hadn’t occurred to her.
‘Breakfast in fifteen minutes,’ Rorke warned her, ‘and don’t come on deck before—I’m going for a swim.’
What would he say if she told him that there was no need for her to stay below, that she already knew his body—intimately!
Three hours later the island was in view. There had been scant opportunity for any conversation. In fact Rorke seemed curiously tense, and once or twice Lisa had found him watching her silently.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked hesitantly when she saw him watching her for a third time, a curiously intent expression in his eyes. ‘Have you changed your mind about—about us?’
‘No, God help me,’ he told her softly. ‘I ought to—you’re far too young to be tied down in marriage, yet, Lisa, but it’s either that or make love to you anyway, and I can’t see Leigh approving of that, can you?’ he asked wryly.
‘You want me very much?’
‘More than you can imagine.’ he told her succinctly. ‘And desire is notorious for clouding men’s minds. I ought to have sent you packing the moment I knew how I felt about you, but by then it was already too late…’
She took a step towards him, hoping that he would kiss her, but he had already turned away and was concentrating on bringing the schooner into the channel through the coral.
* * *
The telephone ringing woke her. She struggled downstairs to answer it, smothering a faint sigh as she recognised her agent’s voice.
‘Bowry’s want those illustrations for the new children’s series earlier than planned. How are they coming along?’
‘Quite well,’ she reassured him, ‘but how early is “earlier”?’
‘Well, I thought I’d take what you’ve done to show them—they went wild over that first one you did on spec.’
‘Well, I’m about halfway through,’ Lisa began slowly. ‘Well ahead of schedule—mainly because I’d planned to give myself a week off when Robbie has his half term.’ Her work was a special and private joy, partially because it enabled her to earn her own living at home, and partially because she was doing something she particularly enjoyed. When she had left home her sense of self-worth had been so low; but gradually over the months and years her self-confidence both in herself and her ability had grown. She was not under any illusions about her talent; she was never going to make the Royal Academy, but she did have enough ability to make a small name for herself and support herself and her child.
‘Look, I’ll come round and collect what you’ve done so far,’ Greg suggested.
Lisa agreed, putting down the phone with a faint sigh when they had finished. Greg wouldn’t be too pleased to hear what Rorke wanted her to do. She could complete her existing contract, but what would happen after that? She had a little money put by, but it wouldn’t last her very long if she was forced to live on it. And yet if she refused to go; if she never saw Leigh again…
All morning her common sense battled with her emotions. Leigh who had stood as father to her needed her, but if she went to him she stood to lose so much; her independence not least of all.
She was still racked with indecision when Greg arrived. He gave her his usual perfunctory peck on the cheek as she let him in. Lisa smiled warmly at him. In addition to being her agent, Greg was one of her closest friends. She had met him just after Robbie’s birth and although he had never said so, Lisa knew that he believed Robbie to be the result of a brief and unhappy teenage affair. He had helped her tremendously with her work, encouraging her to persevere and eventually getting her the commissions that enabled her to work from home.
He was in his late thirties, divorced and very much a man about town. Lisa would have been blind not to notice the look in his kind brown eyes whenever they rested on her. She often wondered ironically why she was destined to attract such gentle, kind men and yet to love a far different type; a type personified by Rorke with all his inbuilt arrogance, his intense masculinity, and worst of all his wilful blindness.
‘Mmm, these are very good, Lisa,’ he pronounced when he had finished examining the work she had done so far. ‘The best to date, I think—the expressions you’ve managed to put into these faces!’ He indicated a group of small woodland creatures Lisa had sketched. ‘I’m sure they’re going to be delighted with them, Lisa, and I’ve got some good news—well, it could be good news. They’ve dropped a hint that they’re looking for an artist for a new series they intend to bring out—another range of children’s books, and you’re a serious contender for the illustrations. They’re set in Scotland—the Highlands, so you could well get a free holiday thrown in so that you can get yourself some atmosphere. I should know definitely by next week, and I’m sure these,’ he waved the folio of sketches, ‘will clinch it!’
‘Greg—Lisa bit her lip, pondering the best way to break the news to him, and it was only as she searched for the right words that she realised that without admitting it, subconsciously her mind was already made up—it had to be, otherwise she would not be wondering how to tell Greg that she wouldn’t be going to Scotland—at least not in the immediate future.
‘Lisa, is something wrong?’
She was just about to tell him when the doorbell rang.
‘Want me to get it?’ Greg suggested helpfully. He was standing closer to the hall door than Lisa, and she smiled her agreement rather abstractedly, still wondering how she was going to break the news to him.
The sound of Rorke’s voice in the hall mingling with Greg’s lighter tones shocked her. She was standing in front of the fire, her hands clasped in a gesture of subconscious supplication.
‘I believe I left my gloves here last night,’ Rorke announced tersely. ‘I wouldn’t have interrupted you, only they happened to be a gift from a close friend.’
‘Helen?’ Lisa queried swiftly, anger colouring her skin, her eyes glittering in an entirely feminine reaction.
‘And if it was?’
Suddenly realising that Greg was watching them curiously, Lisa said levelly, ‘If it was, I’m surprised you didn’t take more care of them. Or were they left here simply as an excuse to come back and spy on me?’
She could tell from the dull tinge of red creeping up under his skin that her barb had found its mark.
This was the price one paid for knowing a person too well, she thought achingly. No wonder when marriages broke up it could be with such acrimony; there was nothing like intimacy to reveal the other’s weaknesses and how best to make use of them.
She felt sick, hating herself for allowing her feelings to betray her into such an acid comment, but the thought of Rorke cherishing the gloves Helen had given him more than he cherished the child she had given him sickened her.
‘Old friends, I take it?’ Greg interrupted, watching her.
‘Not friends, exactly,’ Rorke replied for her, his eyes warning her to say nothing. ‘Lisa is my wife.’
Lisa could tell that Greg was stunned by Rorke’s statement. He looked first at Rorke and then at her for corroboration. His urgent, ‘Lisa, is this true?’ drew a brief nod of her head from her.
‘We’ve been separated for years,’ she said huskily, hoping he would understand all that she could not say; and forgive her for the hurt she knew she was causing him. ‘I…’
‘What I think Lisa is trying to say,’ Rorke interrupted reaching for her hand and giving it a warning squeeze, ‘is that we’ve both had a change of heart. We’re going to wipe the slate clean; make a fresh start. She’s coming back to the Caribbean with me.’
‘Lisa?’ Greg was plainly disbelieving. ‘Lisa, is this true? You said nothing…’
‘We haven’t known ourselves very long,’ Rorke told him coolly. ‘My father is very ill, and wants to see Lisa. That was what originally brought me here.’
‘Leigh has been like a father to me,’ Lisa said huskily, her eyes pleading with Greg for understanding. ‘I…’
‘Of course I understand, Lisa,’ he assured her quickly. ‘I suppose that means that you won’t be interested in the new contract.’ He sighed ruefully. ‘A pity.’ He turned to Rorke. ‘Lisa’s a very talented artist, although she tries to pretend otherwise. But then of course you’ll know that.’
‘I don’t think Rorke is particularly interested in my artistic talents, Greg,’ said Lisa in a tight voice.
‘As I recall it,’ Rorke drawled in a deeply suggestive tone, ‘we didn’t have enough time to get round to swapping hobbies.’
Even though he said nothing it struck her quite forcibly that he hadn’t been surprised to hear about her work, but surely she was wrong?
‘So Robbie’s your son,’ Greg murmured, obviously feeling ill at ease. ‘There’s a distinct resemblance.’
Lisa saw Rorke’s mouth tighten grimly.
‘Er—Lisa—look, I’d better be going. I’ll take these along and see what they think.’ He looked uncomfortably at Rorke. ‘About the others…’
‘I’ll finish the contract, of course, Greg,’ Lisa assured him, walking with him into the hall.
‘I’m sorry about all this,’ she apologised quietly, aware of Rorke behind her in the living room. ‘It’s…’
‘Look, you don’t have to explain a thing to me. I hope you’ll be happy, Lisa.’ Greg reached out, touching her hair and smiling wryly. ‘I thought I’d give you time—not rush you because I could tell things had gone wrong for you, but it seems I took too much.’
‘Touching!’ Rorke sneered behind her as Lisa closed the door on Greg. The acid sound of his voice triggered off a bitter reaction, and she whirled round, anger blazing from her eyes.
How dare you sneer at Greg!’ she stormed. ‘Without him Robbie and I could never have managed!’
‘Typical of you,’ Rorke grimaced. ‘That’s your standby isn’t it, Lisa, find another man to shoulder your responsibilities.’
‘Don’t you mean your responsibilities, Rorke?’ Lisa flung at him. ‘Yes, that’s right’ she told him bitterly. ‘Robbie is your child—your child, Rorke, and nothing you can say or do can alter that, no matter how much you may want it to.’
‘Still sticking to the same old story? Come on, Lisa, we both know I’m not Robbie’s father, don’t we?’
‘Mummy, Mummy, I’m home!’
Lisa bit back the angry words she had been about to utter and turned to welcome Robbie with a hug and a kiss.
She had a neighbour with whom she shared the chore of taking Robbie and his friend Jonathan to and from school, and Robbie was full of the day’s happenings, pausing briefly to glance uncertainly at Rorke before continuing with his saga.
Lisa listened, but all the time her heart was thudding as though she had been running. Robbie was Rorke’s son; dear God, she had thought she was over the agony of hearing him deny it, but it was still as fresh as ever; the anguish of Rorke’s rejection of them both still just as intense. She could remember every detail of those days leading up to her flight from the Caribbean.