Bittersweet Passion

‘We’ll be out there for weeks,’ he stressed. ‘You need to relax and get all this out of your system.’

Brainwash me then, she nearly said. Everything that had passed between them was etched permanently into her soul. Why was it that when Dane was patently trying to mend fences, he only succeeded in hurting her more? Confused and deeply unhappy, she slept again, copping out in the only way she could from her own conflict.

‘Now you can look!’ He lightly dropped his hands and her eyes were seared by the brilliant sunlight and the spectacular sight of the Trafalgar Falls crashing down on t

o the black rocks far below. ‘See, it was worth the climb.’

‘Yes.’ Her husky answer was abstracted. Occasionally over the past three weeks she had been tempted to pinch herself just to check that she really was here on Dominica with Dane being so attentive and incredibly even-tempered all the time. That dreadful day in London when she had felt her world was folding in round her ears seemed a lifetime ago. Here in this beautiful lush setting, it was impossible not to relax and to be conscious that Dane could be marvellously entertaining company when he wanted to be.

They had been out on many such sightseeing trips together, although Dane spent two or three days a week in Jamaica, days when Claire sat about the old whiteboarded plantation house with Hannah and sunbathed and read. The hollows in her slender frame had already filled out and her skin was a pale, healthy gold. She loved the island and the house, adored the unspoilt glory of the nature that ran rampant on Dominica and attracted more botanists than tourists to its shores.

Dane casually tipped up the brim of her sunhat to gaze down mockingly into her self-absorbed face. ‘Time for a cold drink, I think. There’s a restaurant not far from here.’

It was a downhill walk back to the jeep and at the foot she sniffed the still hot air appreciatively. ‘Wherever you are this island smells like a greenhouse. Everything’s so fresh and alive. Not at all like home.’ A faint edge laced her voice and she was irritated with herself for letting reality creep in. But of course this fabulous holiday had to end.

She supposed—practically speaking—that they were already separated since they no longer shared a bed or even a room. Dane only gave her little pecks in Hannah’s presence. He never touched her otherwise. She had been firmly slotted back into her former role as an honorary kid sister. Dane had had no problem in smoothly making that switch, she reflected with a frown. Their former intimacy might never have existed any place outside her imagination. It hadn’t been so easy for Claire to adapt.

‘Home as in Ranbury?’ he drawled. ‘The Hall’s sold—remember? And I don’t know why you’re thinking about home. After all, we’re off island hopping on the yacht next week.’

At the reminder she smiled. Dane hadn’t thrown Max in her teeth again, so she hadn’t had to tell any lies. But it had gradually sunk in on her that naturally he would hope that Max was waiting in the wings. He wouldn’t want to think he’d done irreparable damage to her life. Much as she was enjoying herself, she had to face that Dane was being so attentive and charming simply because he was settling debts of conscience.

He did feel guilty. Not that he showed it now, but she had seen enough guilt in his eyes that day she’d been ill to be aware that that had to be influencing his treatment of her. Still, there was no harm in her staying on here as long as Dane seemed content. The moment he revealed a sign of being restless or bored, then she would know that the time had come for her to be practical and tactfully mention going back to England again. There she would look for a job although she did at least have some of the allowance Dane had made her, to fall back on in case of emergency. She would let Dane believe Max was still in the picture, otherwise he would worry about her. In that way it would all be terribly civilised. She would just melt back out of his life again.

‘You’re very quiet.’

‘Admiring the scenery,’ she assured him, hurriedly vacating the jeep before he could help her out. In her embarrassment she caught the hardening of his jawline and coloured miserably, knowing what he had to be thinking and cursing her own overt physical awareness of him.

Inside the cool, shady restaurant she went straight into the ladies’ and ran cold water over her damp hands. It was so much easier for Dane to forget. He had had so many women in his bed. She had only had him, and for her the memories were slower to fade. Slipping back into the undemanding camaraderie of before their marriage was tougher for Claire. Dane had been her first lover. She had only to look at him to remember and simultaneously shrivel with a mixture of anger and shame that she could still be so sensitised to him. Dane was across the room reading a map when she took a seat and ordered. Nearby, several youthful female tourists were subjecting him to a flagrantly sexual appraisal. Everywhere Dane went he attracted avid female attention. In the tight-fitting white canvas jeans and electric-blue T-shirt, his luxuriant hair streaked even lighter by the hot sunlight, he was breathtaking. He had a stunning physical aura that turned heads and it exasperated her.

‘Haven’t you been served yet?’ Dane slid fluidly down opposite, and a waitress was over with the speed of a landslide, delivering their chilled drinks. ‘We ought to take a trip into the rain forest, although I don’t know if roughing it would be quite your thing.’

All vibrancy and mockery, he leant back in his chair, sapphire-blue eyes fixed intently to her. ‘We’d probably have to share a tent in case some nasty creepy crawly bug attacked you,’ he murmured wickedly.

Her smile was strained. ‘I don’t think it would be quite me,’ she replied quickly, certain he was trying to encourage her to laugh about what had happened between them and thus finally clear away the lingering constraint upon her side. Oh, not on his, most definitely not on his! Not if she turned cartwheels and limbo danced was Dane ever likely to look at her again as he had in London. The wonder was that he ever had.

‘And if it was a choice between me and a tarantula, you’d go for the bug, right?’ He laughed irrepressibly and she could have kicked him. She was blushing and she wished he’d stop staring in that penetrating fashion as if he was willing her to be all jolly hockeysticks about the recent past. Did pigs fly?

‘I take it you and Max don’t flirt.’

He hadn’t mentioned Max in three solid weeks. Why now? Come to think of it, she was surprised he hadn’t demanded to know more about him. ‘I don’t know how to flirt.’ She just evaded the question.

‘What do you think you’re doing now with those big green eyes?’ he challenged provocatively and then he groaned, a flicker of clear annoyance in his level gaze. ‘You’re terrific company, you know, but you’re always putting yourself down. You’ve got very few irritating habits.’

It amused her that he was letting her know she had some. Automatically she grinned. ‘Tell me more.’

‘You never fuss about the weather or your clothes or the food or when I’m late. In fact, you never complain about anything.’ A dark-winged brow climbed. ‘That bugs me sometimes. You ought to be more assertive.’

‘Yes, then we could argue about where we go and what we do when we get there. You’d just love that,’ she teased.

A flashing smile slanted his cynical mouth. ‘I’m pretty selfish, aren’t I?’ he agreed without remorse. ‘That comes from never having had anyone else to consider. Now I’ve got you.’

He looked up and smiled again and her heartbeat went haywire behind her ribs. ‘I suggest,’ he declared mockingly, ‘we head home and go down to the beach. Maybe you’d like to take a vote on that …’

Two hours later Claire was duly arranged on her towel under the parasol Dane had insisted on bringing down. Always self-conscious in Dane’s vicinity when she was in a bikini, she lay on her stomach. All the shapely Amazonians he had ever featured with in newsprint had been bountifully blessed with curves. Her own were of the modest variety. She was reaching for her sun lotion when Dane’s long fingers got in ahead of her.

‘I’ll do it. Lie there.’ He advised lazily.

The cool, firm massage of his skilful fingers on the heated flesh of her back paralysed her. When he carelessly snapped free her bra, she trembled, her skin dampening all over as his hands roamed perilously close to the soft underside of her breasts. Her nipples tightened urgently in response, a bone-melting liquidity surging through her lower stomach in an aching, agonising flood of arousal, and suddenly she couldn’t stand her own weakness any longer. She was too terrified he would guess exactly what was wrong with her. Rolling over, awkwardly clutching her bra to her breasts, she breathed, ‘I’m too hot. I think I’ll go in for a while.’