The Hawk and the Lamb

His eyes narrowed to conceal a fugitive gleam in the grey eyes. 'Hmm. I'll have to find some other way for you to work your passage.'

Arrogant pirate! No doubt he expected every woman to fall at his feet just because he was handsome and rich and powerful and... sexy...

'I'm sure I could swab the decks quite efficiently,' Elizabeth replied coldly, thinking that she could very well also swab his mouth out with soap. He was actually flirting with her while his mistress awaited him above!

'Oh, I'm sure I could think of a more comfortable position for you than on your hands and knees,' he mur­mured, watching her speaking eyes go purple with outrage before he continued almost seamlessly, 'The galley for instance. Would you mind foraging for a snack while I get us under way? Even with the wind behind us Ile de Faucons is about two hours' sailing time away and we're bound to get peckish before then.'

He left while she was still simmering over a pithy reply. The knowledge that he could tie her up into verbal as well as physical knots was galling.

The cupboards in the galley were another salutary lesson on the dangers of pre-judgement. They were stocked not with the expensive luxuries but with plain, practical fare. Cheeses, brown bread and beer were the main inhabitants of the small refrigerator.

As Elizabeth made a selection of hearty sandwiches she could feel the difference beneath her feet. The gentle rock of the boat had become a rhythmic sway and out of the porthole she could see the craft moored in the marina slipping by as they left the harbour.

It took a bit of juggling for her to get the tray of sand­wiches and beer up the narrow companionway, along with the camera she had grimly shouldered in order to take maximum advantage of her enforced voyage, but Elizabeth managed it without spilling anything. She had left her sunglasses back in the cabin and the colours of the sea and sky enchanted her with their glittering in­tensity. Wary of the stability of her new sea legs and keeping a nervous eye on the shifting sails, Elizabeth edged carefully past the raised cabin to the rear deck, ignoring Jack's approving click when he saw the loose white cotton trousers she had teamed with his shirt.

Serena Corvell was reclining elegantly on the padded stern seating, not lifting a manicured fingernail as she watched Jack at the wheel. Although she, too, was wearing flat shoes they were of expensive snakeskin rather than canvas and the lightweight cream trouser-suit accentuating her slim figure made Elizabeth feel like a lumpy street-urchin in comparison. Thank goodness the cotton trousers and loose shirt hid her over-generous lines from those critical brown eyes.

At the moment they were regarding the tray with a seething discontent that Elizabeth instinctively sensed had little to do with what was actually on offer.

'Surely there must be something other than beer to drink? Go back down and find a bottle of wine. White. And make sure it's cold.'

Elizabeth's easy temper simmered at the order, but Jack was there before her. 'Beth isn’t a servant, Serena. She's just as much my guest as you are. If you want something else go and get it yourself.'

Serena glowered but she didn’t stir. She poked broodingly at the thick sandwiches. 'I suppose there weren’t any knives down there, either. These are like doorsteps. I doubt if I could get one past my lips.'

You would if I shoved it down your throat, thought Elizabeth with unaccustomed savagery. Without a word she removed the tray from under the disdainful nose and offered it instead to the man at the wheel.

'Thanks.' He bit into a brown square with a throaty sound of satisfaction. 'Mmm, you obviously know the way to a sailor's heart. You can work passage in my galley any time.'

Elizabeth told herself the funny hollow feeling in her stomach was merely hunger and selected a sandwich for herself. 'No, thank you, I get enough of that at

home.'

'You have a large family?'

'No—there's only me and my two elderly uncles—they brought me up but they were never very clever in the kitchen so when I was old enough I was very glad to take over.'

'Do you work, as well as keep house for your uncles?'

Elizabeth bit her lip as she realised that she was chat­tering as if she had nothing to hide. If she was a good detective she would be worming information out of him, not vice versa.

She muttered an affirmative and quickly asked him about the reef which surrounded New Caledonia, at the same time offering him another sandwich. He seemed easily diverted by the twin distractions, obligingly in­forming her that the coral reef was the second largest in the world and that it could be seen from the high ridge that divided Ile des Faucons into two distinct halves.

'The reef is one of the reasons for the hotel's fame. The waters around our island are spectacularly good for snorkelling and skin-diving. Have you done either before?'

'No. Although I like swimming.'

'You must try diving, while you're here.'

'Perhaps,' Elizabeth temporised. Snorkelling she thought she could cope with, but skin-diving was a little too radical.

- 'My mother used to say that.' His smile in profile was only tantalisingly half revealed. 'What?'

'Perhaps. When she wanted to let me down gently, without causing conflict by an outright refusal. She hoped that if she procrastinated long enough I would forget my desire to do whatever it was she didn’t want me to.'

'And did you usually?'

'Never.' There was satisfaction in his smile.