Moondrift. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
was coming, then?’
‘Y—e—s.’ Jordan drew the word out. ‘I—it’s not unnatural, is it? I mean, he does own the house at Planter’s Point.’
‘I don’t know how he has the nerve to come here,’ snapped Neil angrily. ‘But I suppose it’s all you can expect from artists!’ The way he said the word was an abuse. ‘I’d have thought he’d have better things to do than come here, raking up old gossip! From the little I’ve read about him in the American press, he’s not been short of female companionship during the past ten years.’
‘Neil, please!’ Jordan sat up, straightening her spine. ‘It’s not that important.’
‘It’s important to me,’ retorted Neil grimly. ‘I may not have had a personal interest in you at that time, but I know how you must have felt when his wife turned up like that. Everyone thought you were going to marry the fellow, didn’t they? No wonder your father didn’t approve!’
Jordan sighed. ‘Look, can we talk about something else? I appreciate your sympathy, but—well, it’s really not necessary. It all happened a long time ago. I was too young to know what I was doing. Let’s forget it, shall we? According to Rosa, he’s only staying a few weeks. I probably won’t even see him.’
IT was raining. After weeks of unmitigated heat, the weather had finally broken, and the downpour promised to soak Jordan long before she reached home. Already it was difficult to see where she was going, the tropical cloudburst causing giant puddles in the road, and almost blinding her as it swept across the bouncing bonnet of the buggy.
There had been only a hint of what was to come before she left the hotel. A distant rumbling had warned of thunder, but the sky had seemed clear enough. However, the storm clouds from the west had blown up with unexpected force, and now the clouds were leaden and the rain was falling with steady persistence.
Sighing, Jordan pulled the buggy over to the side of the road, ignoring the dangers of the bending trunks above her. There didn’t seem much point in scrabbling around in the back of the buggy looking for the storm canopy now. Her face and arms were soaked, as was her hair, and the short skirt of her cotton tunic revealed that her legs were dripping with water, too.
A brief appraisal of her whereabouts informed her that she was only about half a mile from Planter’s Point, and in other circumstances she would have had no hesitation in seeking shelter at her father’s old home. But having survived Rhys’s first week on the island without running into him, she was just beginning to relax, and she had no intention of precipitating a meeting.
Nevertheless, the idea of sitting in the buggy until the storm passed was not attractive to her, and deciding she couldn’t get any wetter than she was now, she slid out on to the grass verge. Through the belt of trees she could see the strand of beach, strewn with the debris blown from the trees, and beyond it the sea, rain-washed and inviting.
On impulse, she dropped her sandals into the back of the buggy, and padded across the turf to the sand. The texture of the grass was soft against her toes, stroking her bare legs in a curiously sensuous gesture. The sand, too, was fine and gritty as her feet sank into it, making walking difficult until she reached the damper stretches where the tide had reached.
The soles of her feet made footprints in the sand, but they disappeared almost immediately, absorbed into the springy wetness. And as she approached the sea, creaming in rivulets along the shoreline, the waves took the evidence of her occupation away, rippling round her toes and splashing over her ankles.
Her hair dripped lankly down her neck, and realising it would never dry in its present state, she reached up her arms and pulled out the pins that kept it securely in place. It fell down her back in a long silken curtain, and she ran her fingers through it, enjoying the unaccustomed freedom. Turning her face up to the heavens, she parted her lips and drank in the storm’s sweetness, then spread her arms wide in an all-encompassing attitude.
She didn’t know at exactly what moment she became aware of the man’s presence. It might have been an unconscious realisation in the back of her mind as she lifted her face to the sky. Or it could, conceivably, have been the moment when she spread her arms in that gesture of obeisance and caught sight of the still dark figure silhouetted along the beach.
Immediately, her arms fell to her sides, and she shifted a little uneasily. She felt as if she had been caught out in some flagrant act of abandon, not at all the kind of behaviour expected from the manager of the Trade Winds Hotel. Making an effort to justify her actions, she looped the rain-darkened rope of her hair over one shoulder and squeezed the moisture from it; then, with a careless lift of one shoulder, she started towards the buggy, realising as she did so that the rain was beginning to ease.
The man had started to move, too. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, and although she quickened her step, it was obvious he was going to intercept her before she reached the road. Damn, she thought impatiently, why had she decided to stop? This was a deserted stretch of the highway, and although she was not exactly afraid, she couldn’t help remembering her own reckless behaviour. Perhaps he thought she was looking for company; she could hardly blame him if he had got the wrong impression. And looking down at her breasts outlined against the thin cotton of her bodice, she knew it would be difficult to convince him otherwise.
With a feeling of frustration, she gave up the unequal struggle to reach the buggy and turned to confront her pursuer. Attack was the only method of defence left to her, she decided, and sweeping back her wind-blown hair she held it in place at her nape with both hands.
‘Are you following me?’ she began, before her breath caught in her throat, almost choking her. ‘Rhys!’ she exclaimed, swallowing convulsively, and then more evenly: ‘Rhys! What a surprise! Wh-what are you doing here?’
It was all so much different from the way she had intended their eventual meeting to take place. To begin with, she had expected him to come to the hotel, as Karen had said, to thank her for looking after his house if nothing else. When that didn’t happen, she had steeled herself to meeting him every time she went into the little town of Eleutha, but once again, she had not seen him. She had planned their meeting so minutely, even down to the clothes she would wear and the things she would say, but all that was useless now. She had never expected to encounter him on a rain-soaked afternoon, miles from the hotel, with her hair and clothes clinging to her like a second skin, and without a scrap of make-up to disguise the panic that raged inside her.
And he looked just the same—a little older perhaps, but not significantly so, his dark hair plastered to his head, outlining the lean contours of his face and jawline. He was still as attractive as ever, moving with that lithe, cat-like grace, that characterised his sexuality. Like her, his clothes were wet and sticking to him, though he had unbuttoned the denim shirt and it hung loose from his shoulders. Jeans moulded his thighs, but she determinedly kept her eyes on the silver clasp of his belt. She didn’t want to look at him, she didn’t want to remember what they had once shared; and most of all she didn’t want him to look at her, particularly not when his expression clearly mirrored a fine contempt.
‘I should ask you that question,’ he said now, covering the space between them. ‘You’re trespassing, or did you know that?’ His dark eyes compelled her gaze. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing back there?’
Jordan took several deep breaths to calm herself, but without a great deal of success. He was angry, that much was evident, and even being civil was obviously an effort.
Wrapping her arms closely about her, she lifted her head. ‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she said carefully. ‘I was just killing time until the storm had cleared. I didn’t know I was trespassing, but if you say I was, I’ll take your word for it.’
‘Thanks.’ Rhys’s features twisted. ‘Just tell me something—did you come here deliberately, even after I told Rosa to keep you away?’
‘You