Mistress for a Night

‘Too long! Why, when your step-daddy first bought this place for your mother—God rest her dear soul—you came two, three times each year. I watched you grow from a young thing—all long skinny arms and legs and enough daredevil mischief to turn my head grey! And now here you is—handsome as the devil himself. How come you don’t have a wife and six kids? You tell me that! Now stop squeezing the breath out of my old body and come along in.’

She made a swoop for his discarded belongings, clucking her tongue. ‘What’s come into you? You were never heedless of your possessions before; that I do vouch for.’ She shook the jacket violently, as if to rid it of careless contamination, still smiling besottedly as she led the way into the house. ‘Do you still have a taste for old Blossom’s chocolate cookies and fresh-made lemonade?’

Jason grinned broadly, responding lightly, ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’ll settle for a large G and T with plenty—and I do mean plenty—of ice.’

Still grinning, he followed the housekeeper into the cool recesses of the marbled hall, and forgotten, disregarded, Georgia sagged back against one of the supporting columns and folded her lower lip between her teeth. She bit down as hard as she could without actually drawing blood.

She could take being overlooked, left behind like yesterday’s newspaper. No problem.

What she couldn’t take was the fierce stab of jealousy that had rooted her to the decking when Jason had folded his strong arms around Blossom and greeted her with genuine affection.

She surely hadn’t wanted him to greet her that way! If he so much as touched her she would scream with revulsion, she reminded herself.

So why the primeval stab of jealousy?

CHAPTER SIX

IT WASN’T like Georgia to sulk, Jason thought as he stood on the low cliffs and scanned the empty white

sands of the sheltered bay. Unless, of course, her character had changed as much as her outward appearance. Which, from his recent encounter with her around Harold’s funeral, seemed highly possible.

He’d evaded as many of Blossom’s questions—largely to do with his unmarried state—as he decently could, taken his gin and tonic to his room, tossed the meagre contents of his grip into a drawer and gone to look for Georgia.

She’d taken off. He didn’t flatter himself that it was because her guilty conscience wouldn’t let her face him. This new Georgia acted as if she could outface the Archangel Gabriel if she had to. She’d taken off in a fit of the sulks because his unexpected arrival on the island had given him the upper hand. She would hate that, just about as much as she hated him.

So why was he bothering? he asked himself as he turned towards the thickly treed hills and spurs that formed the interior of the small island. She’d have to put in an appearance some time, and he could have done himself a favour, stayed back at the house, relaxing in the shade, recovering from the journey out that had at times seemed interminable, waiting until she eventually showed her face.

The short answer was that he didn’t know. Where she was concerned he felt driven by something beyond sense or reason, beyond control. He was used to being in control and felt edgy, as now, when he wasn’t.

A rough path skirted the base of the hills, winding through the suddenly dark green silence of creeper-clad trees. He remembered it well. It led him into the memories of the distant past when Harold, having acquired his second million, had bought the island, a couple of years after Jason’s mother had married him. It had been paradise to a boy who had been too young to have lost either innocence or trust.

It also led to the other side of the island, where the woodland almost touched the shore, the trees sheltering swampy ground and the quiet pools where the pond turtles lived.

And she was there, as—instinctively, inexplicably—he had known she would be. He paused, his chest suddenly expanding, as if to accommodate the near painful surge of his heartbeats.

She had her back half turned to him, her bare feet planted in the deep, springy moss as she stared down into the cool depths of one of the larger pools. The plait she’d made of her hair hung forward over one of her slight shoulders, exposing the tender nape of her neck.

A tight ache took his heart and squeezed it. Suddenly, she looked vulnerable again, and very much alone, calling forth the old urge to protect and cherish that had formed the basis of his relationship with her—until that fateful night when, half stupefied by alcohol and fever, stunned by the raw explosion of desire that he had never equated with their relationship before, it had become, without him being fully aware of it, something else entirely.

He didn’t want it. He didn’t need the painful tug at his heart, the urgent need to hold her in the comfort and safety of his arms. But it held him, despite his mental repudiation, drawing him silently on through the last of the trees to where she stood, lost in thoughts he could only guess at, because for all the entwined strands of the past he had never known her, not truly.

His footfalls had been silenced by the moss, but she showed no surprise when he lightly touched her shoulder, just lifted her head and looked at him, her golden eyes hazed, as if she’d been looking deep into the past, or far into the future—who could tell?

‘I think this must be one of the most peaceful spots on earth,’ he said quietly, noting the pallor of her skin beneath the recently acquired tan—skin that had the softness and smoothness of rose petals. The vibrant colour of her mouth magnetised his attention, keeping it on the full, sensual curve of her lips.

Just looking at her mouth made him ache right through to his soul. He wanted to take it with his own, feel her lips part for him, inviting him into paradise. She, he was discovering, had the unsettling ability to turn him on more than any other woman.

The knowledge bewildered him, must have fuddled his brain, because he found his hand moving, his fingers untwisting her braided hair, and his bemusement deepened when she didn’t object, simply tilted her head slightly towards him, as if to make the task easier.

‘I wonder if that’s what brought us both here? Because we both felt the need for peace,’ she responded thoughtfully, as if the slightly trite remark had struck a chord within her mind.

‘It’s a fairly elusive commodity,’ he concurred softly, his fingers freeing her hair, sensually sliding through the silky strands as if they had taken on an independent life of their own.

He saw her lips part on a gentle sigh, felt the soft flutter of her breath on the triangle of exposed chest where he’d opened his shirt before setting out to look for her, and felt himself slipping into uncharted territory, as if his mind had become utterly divorced from reality.

Weakly, Georgia lowered her eyes and gazed down into the dark, translucent depths of pool. Unable to follow the other two, to listen to Blossom’s endless chatter, she’d walked away from the house like a robot, her feet unwittingly bringing her to this secluded, tranquil spot. Where she’d waited. Because some deep, primeval instinct had told her he would come. Because it was fated.

What had he said? Unfinished business.