Mistress for a Night

After what she’d said about their baby the instinct to follow her, insist on clearing the air, find out if he shared the blame—if only for believing her to have been more mature than she actually had been at that time—had been utterly compelling.

Maybe if he’d made doubly sure she’d known she had his total and willing support, explained the poleaxing certainty of wanting both her and the child, then she wouldn’t have panicked and rushed into an abortion.

But the wanting had been so new to him he’d hardly been able to understand it himself at that time, so how could he have made her understand what he himself had found to be inexplicable?

He knotted his dark brows as the plane taxied slowly towards the hut that passed as an airport terminal, uncomfortable at the rarity of finding he was making excuses for himself.

Besides, there was the other unpalatable aspect. Her relationship with Harold.

When his stepfather had first accused her of throwing herself at him he had dismissed it out of hand. He’d known for years what Harold was like. In any case, it had become a very secondary consideration after he’d learned of her abortion.

To begin with he’d been too angry over the ending of the life that he’d helped to create to trust himself to tackle her about what she’d done, and by the time he’d got his head together it had been too late. Because he’d heard, through Vivienne, that she’d blithely swanned off to the States without, apparently, a single regret, and after that he’d worked hard to put her out of his thoughts.

And had succeeded, until she’d returned to England and Harold had told him of those lunch dates. So what, precisely, had she done to persuade him to leave his entire fortune to her? After seeing this new, sophisticated Georgia, a woman who obviously knew her way around, a woman who positively radiated sex-appeal—and knowing Harold of old—he didn’t imagine for a second that there was an innocent explanation.

He unclipped his seat belt and stood up, his mouth grim. He didn’t give a damn for Harold’s wealth, only the motivation behind his decision. He had come here for one purpose only: to find the truth. The truth about her reasons for the abortion and her real relationship with Harold. Once that was achieved he could lock her away in the past again. And leave her there.

The moment Georgia saw the boat slip round the headland and chug into the bay she let the louvres drop back into place and turned her back on her bedroom window.

She was as ready as she would ever be to face her uninvited, unwanted guest. Across the room she saw herself reflected in the long pier glass. Her slender figure was monotone: narrow oyster-coloured cotton trousers topped by a long-sleeved matching collarless skinny shirt, her mane of hair tamed into a single braid. A deliberate understatement. The only primary colour was the scarlet she’d painted on her mouth. And that was deliberate, too. A single flag of defiance.

She left the room quickly, before Blossom could holler for her to show her face and behave like a proper hostess, her bare feet silent on the cool marble floors. She crossed the main hall area, then moved slowly through the open double doors to stand waiting in the shade of the veranda.

So far and no further.

Once upon a time the merest hint of Jason’s arrival in her vicinity would have had her bounding out to meet him, all adoring eyes and a smile wide enough to meet round the back of her head.

Not any more. Never again.

Taking a deep breath of the warm air, heavily perfumed by the flowering vine which coiled exuberantly from one of the glazed earthenware planters, she eased the rigidity from her spine. She had no intention of looking stiffly defensive, as if she had something to hide or be ashamed of. Cool, uninterested should do it.

But when she saw him mount the steps that led up from the natural harbour her stomach twisted over, then tied itself in knots.

He had no right to do this to her, she thought angrily, surreptitiously wiping her suddenly damp palms down the sides of her cotton trousers. She felt nothing for him now, nothing but contempt. She set her teeth, willing her knotted muscles to relax.

Contempt shouldn’t make her heart flutter, her mouth go dry.

He was walking with all the remembered loose-limbed grace that she’d never seen in any other man, and the ice-green shirt he wore above stylish, beautifully cut fawn chinos did nothing to disguise the strength of the man. And the casual way he hooked the lightweight suit jacket over one shoulder, carrying what appeared to be an overnight bag in his free hand, didn’t fool her. There was nothing casual about the cold appraisal of his eyes when he reached her.

She barely registered Elijah’s cheery, ‘Good mornin’, Miss Georgie,’ as he carried the cool box full of goodies from San Antonio market round to the back of the building and the kitchen quarters. Registered nothing but a searing sense of intrusion as Jason deliberately held her eyes, invaded her space.

Her nerves had tensed so much she found it impossible to speak. It was up to him to explain his unwanted presence. She jerked her chin up, refusing to let him see that he could affect her in any way at all, except, perhaps, to give her an acute case of terminal boredom!

He regarded her stony expression for long, achingly silent seconds before one dark brow tilted upwards and he condescended to speak. ‘Settled in, have you?’

The hint of slightly scornful patronage behind the drawled words loosened her taut vocal cords, but she chose her words carefully, matching his cool drawl.

‘Perfectly. Though I won’t say I’m pleased to see you. Perhaps you could pander to my curiosity and tell me why you’re here.’

To check up on her, quite probably, to make sure she hadn’t thrown Blossom and Elijah out on their venerable necks, hadn’t invited all her friends along for a monster rave-up. Or merely to make certain, just by his being here, that she didn’t enjoy a further second of her time on her island.

A muscle jerked along the hard jawline, the smoke of his eyes turning to slate as he told her heavily, ‘To settle the unfinished business between us. It’s past time.’ Long past time, if he were ever to be allowed to get on with the rest of his life in peace.

Her heart jolted at the implication. She silently, sternly denied it. There was no unfinished business. The slight shrug she gave him was as coolly dismissive as she could make it. ‘As far as I’m concerned, any business between us—’ she emphasised the echo of his words with the sharp touch of ice ‘—was well and truly finished many years ago.’

But she would never know how he might have countered that statement, because, behind her, Blossom boomed ecstatically, ‘Mr Jason! My, you’ve grown into something mighty special!’

‘Blossom!’ Overnight bag and jacket discarded, Jason stepped on to the veranda and folded the stout, elderly islander in a bear hug. ‘As I was saying to Elijah, it’s been a long time.’