Love Islands…The Collection. Jane PorterЧитать онлайн книгу.
a rugged kind of way, but truthfully, she had been expecting something a little more Robinson Crusoe.
But so what if the island was a little less pretty than her mental image of paradise? It was obviously completely untouched, which was surely closer to the true meaning of paradise. Surprised that Malachi would be sensitive enough to recognise that fact, she felt some of her anger fade.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said stiffly, managing a small, tight smile.
Smiling back at her, he reached out, and before she could protest he had taken her hand in his. ‘I like to think of it as a little bit of Eden. Somewhere I can be completely uninhibited.’
Mesmerised by the shimmering molten heat of his voice, she wondered how such a short sentence could contain so much promise of pleasure and danger.
But of course paradise wasn’t perfect, she thought dully. As well as cool streams and sunshine there were snakes. Or in this case one particular snake.
But as the dinghy slid through a narrow gap in the rocks she completely forgot her doubts, for in front of her was the most beautiful beach she had ever seen. At the end of a shell-shaped pool of clear blue water was a large curve of pale gold sand, fringed with picture-book palm trees. For a moment she stared in silence, struggling to find words to put into a coherent sentence as Malachi watched her stunned reaction.
‘Is it a lagoon?’ she said finally.
He nodded, his face impassive but his eyes suddenly intent. ‘I’m guessing this is more what you were expecting to see.’
Before she could reply he lifted his hand and waved at a man and woman who were waiting at the end of a short wooden jetty.
‘That’s Terry Clarke and his wife, Leonda. They take care of everything on the island. Maintenance. Laundry. Cleaning. And Leonda enjoys cooking, so anything you fancy just tell her and she’ll make it. But don’t worry!’ His eyes mocked her. ‘We’ll have plenty of time on our own, sweetheart. And plenty of space. Sixteen acres, in fact. Although not all of it is accessible.’
Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulled her against him.
‘Imagine it. Just you and me in paradise. Alone. Doing whatever we want.’
His eyes seemed to reach inside her and suddenly her whole body was squirming with a flickering, treacherous heat. She didn’t need to imagine what she wanted to do with Malachi. Since meeting him in the restaurant it had been playing inside her head like a slow motion erotic film.
But thankfully at that moment the dinghy bumped gently against the jetty, and with relief she climbed out of the boat and away from the gravitational pull of his gaze.
Terry and his wife, Leonda, were both charming. Having grown up on Antigua, they were well informed and enthusiastic about the Caribbean island experience. Still slightly stunned by the thought that this idyllic paradise was going to be her holiday home, Addie hardly managed to do anything other than make a few polite, meaningless remarks about the colour of the sand and her fondness for mangoes. Not that it mattered. Their attention was fixed on Malachi, and who could blame them when his handsome face looked so absurdly flawless in the pure, white sunlight?
Finally they were alone.
‘The villa is this way!’
Pushing aside a tangle of foliage, Malachi stepped aside to let her pass.
Addie breathed in sharply. She had thought that nothing could surpass that first view of the beach, but the villa was quite simply stunning. A clean-lined, contemporary house, set on a bleached wood deck, it was surrounded by lush grape trees and looked across another, smaller lagoon.
‘There used to be a colonial-style building here, but after Hurricane Helena came we had to rebuild everything. I actually prefer the look of this. It feels less intrusive. Come on, I’ll show you around.’
Inside the villa, Addie had to pinch herself. It was luxury on a scale she’d never imagined, let alone seen. Five years ago Malachi had been wealthy, but his casino empire had only just started to expand, and although the money had been there it had been in the background. Gazing round at the state-of-the-art kitchen, at the understated glamour of the lounge area and the marbled luxury of the bathroom, she started to realise just how much he had changed over the last five years.
Watching her eyes widen at the sight of the huge open-plan living area, with its linen-covered sofas and vases of frangipani, Malachi felt his stomach twist. In the way of all wealthy and sophisticated people, most of the men and women of his acquaintance would have made a concerted effort not to notice, much less remark on their surroundings. But why? What was so wrong about being open and honest?
His eyes narrowed. He must have been out too long in the sun if he had to even ask himself that question. And while it might be amusing—charming, even—to listen to Addie go into raptures over the view from his bedroom window, it reminded him why their relationship had failed. Why it could never have worked. Her fervour for life was fine when carefully managed, as part of the overall package he had envisaged for their marriage. It had even played out well with the media, giving him a new, warmer, more caring image. But that was where it should have stayed. In public. He had no use for uncontrolled emotional outbursts in his private life.
No use for it.
No understanding of it.
And definitely no need for it.
‘What’s that over there?’
Addie’s voice broke into his thoughts and, turning, he looked towards where she was pointing, over the lagoon to a wavering white line cut through the verdant foliage.
‘I think it’s a waterfall.’ He squinted across the water. ‘I seem to remember there being one.’
She frowned at him. ‘How can you not know if there’s a waterfall?’
He frowned. ‘I do know. I just can’t remember if that’s where it is. I haven’t been round the island for years. When I stay I don’t generally bother leaving the villa. I don’t need to. There’s enough to keep me entertained here.’
She gritted her teeth. By ‘enough’, he clearly meant some eager, sexually responsive female companion. It was a surprisingly unwelcome discovery, although she hadn’t for one moment imagined that he had been single for the last five years. But did he have to rub in that fact here, now?
‘If you’re expecting some kind of sexual Olympics then I think you might be in for a disappointment,’ she said tartly. ‘Maybe you should have brought whichever woman you normally come here with instead.’
He stared at her in silence and then, smiling slowly, he leaned forward. ‘You’re the first and only woman I’ve ever brought here, sweetheart. The first and only I’ve ever wanted to bring here.’
It was true. He usually only visited the island on his way to or from a business trip, and he had certainly never brought a woman. Not even his mother. Especially not my mother, he thought grimly.
‘I come here four or five times a year. As a reward for sitting through interminable discussions with people I’m only meeting so they remember my face.’
He smiled at her slowly, and suddenly her mouth was dry and her heart was pounding against her ribs. People didn’t forget a man like Malachi King, his dark, restless gaze and pure, clean profile. And they always remembered his slow, devastating smile. She knew just how far someone would go to make Malachi King smile like that—and how much they would be prepared to sacrifice.
She had the scars to prove it.
The watch on his wrist made two small beeping noises and, grateful for the chance to break free of the tension swelling between them, she took hold of his arm and turned it gently.
‘Is that the time?’ she said quickly. ‘No wonder I feel so hungry. Why don’t we go down and I’ll see if I can rustle up something to eat?’
Frowning, he