Sara Craven - Thunder On The Reef

I wish I were going to be here to sample them all, she thought, wondering at the same time how long she was going to be kept dangling.

After due deliberation, she decided on asparagus tips in chive butter, baked in a pastry case, followed by lobster tails grilled with garlic and lemon juice, and accompanied by a bottle of crisp white wine.

As the waiter left, Macy realised uncomfortably that there’d been no relaxation in the attention she was attracting. In particular, she was being fixedly stared at by an overweight man with thinning red hair and the loudest sports shirt in the Western hemisphere, who was sitting at the bar with three male companions of similar age and build.

Macy delved into her bag and produced a paperback novel, using it as a barrier as she sipped her drink. Usually it worked. But not always, apparently.

An ingratiating voice said, ‘All on your own, sweetheart.’

The colours in his shirt were even more dazzling close at hand.

‘Yes.’ Macy kept her voice cool and level. ‘And that’s how I prefer it, thanks.’

‘Aw, come on, be friendly.’ The man put another Margarita down in front of her, then deposited himself in the opposite chair with his own beer. ‘Strangers in a foreign land, and all that.’

Macy’s lips tightened. She said quietly, with glacial emphasis, ‘Would you rejoin your friends, please? I didn’t ask you to join me, and I don’t want another drink.’

‘I’m under orders to bring you back with me,’ her unwanted companion said with a leer. ‘We’d like to buy you dinner, a few drinks, a few laughs—know what I mean?’

Only too well, she thought, her heart sinking.

Aloud, she said, ‘You’re beginning to annoy me. Would you please leave me alone?’

‘What’s the matter. Think we can’t afford you?’ He showed her a wallet, stuffed to the gills with Bahamian dollars.

‘Very impressive.’ Macy lifted her chin. ‘Now go away before I call the manager.’

He snorted. ‘Call who you like, girlie, and let them draw their own conclusions. Lookers like you don’t hang around on their own in bars for no reason.’

‘But the lady’s not by herself.’ Another voice, icily incisive, and all-too-familiar, cut into the confrontation. ‘She’s with me, and we’d both like you to leave.’

Macy’s lips parted in a gasp of astonished outrage as Ross bent, lightly brushing his lips across her cheek.

‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ His eyes smiled into hers, challenging her to deny him. ‘Has it caused problems?’

‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ she returned tautly, glaring back at him. This time her warning antennae had let her down badly.

‘So I noticed.’ He turned to Loud Shirt who was already making himself scarce, apologising volubly for any misunderstanding.

Ross watched him go, hands on hips, then turned back to Macy, who was struggling to regain her self-command. She could still feel the brief touch of his lips on her face as if she’d been branded there.

How dared he take advantage of the situation like that? she thought angrily. But she couldn’t tax him with it. The last thing she wanted Ross to know was that he still had the power to disturb her. Play it cool, she adjured herself, her stomach churning.

He was hardly recognisable as the man who’d accosted her that morning, she realised dazedly. The stubble had gone, his hair had been trimmed slightly, and instead of ragged denims he was wearing faultlessly cut grey trousers, fitting closely to his long legs, and a short sleeved, open-necked shirt, striped in charcoal and white. There was a thin platinum watch on his left wrist, too. He looked a combination of toughness and affluence.

Ross turned back to her. ‘You shouldn’t have any more trouble there,’ he said.

‘No,’ she acknowledged stiffly, adding a reluctant, ‘Thank you.’

His grin was sardonic. ‘I bet that hurt.’

She ignored that. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘This is a good restaurant. I like to eat.’

‘Oh.’ There was no real answer to that, she thought, nonplussed.

‘Also,’ he went on softly. ‘We have some unfinished business to conduct.’ He pulled up a chair and sat down, signalling the waiter to bring him a Bourbon and water.

Macy’s heart began to thud apprehensively. She said, ‘Rather an expensive place to do business, surely.’

‘Oh, I’ve been able to afford something better than hamburger joints for some time.’ The cool aquamarine gaze flickered over her, lingering openly and shamelessly on the thrust of her breasts against the white silk top.

Macey felt the breath catch in her throat, and the tremor of an almost forgotten weakness invade her stomach. She struggled to keep her voice level. ‘Of course. I was forgetting.’

‘No, darling,’ he said gently. ‘You haven’t forgotten a thing, and neither, I promise you, have I.’

Her uneasiness increased, and she was thankful to see the waiter approaching.

‘Your table’s ready, Miz Landin.’ He turned to her companion. ‘How yo’ doin’, Mister Ross. You dinin’ here tonight?’

‘Yes, with Miss—er—Landin here.’ Ross’s oblique glance dared her to object. ‘Just a steak, George, please. Medium rare with a side salad.’

When George had gone, Macy said thickly, ‘You have one hell of a nerve.’

‘Since childhood,’ he agreed. ‘But as I told your would-be admirer we were together, we can hardly eat in isolation.’ He paused. ‘Unless you’d prefer to join his party, after all. They look like a fun-loving bunch.’

Macy gave him a fulminating glance, and stalked ahead of him into the restaurant.

Their table, to her annoyance, was in a secluded corner, lit by a small lamp under a pretty glass shade. The centrepiece was orchids, cream edged with flame, swimming in a shallow bowl. Macy sat down, her lips compressed at the overt romanticism of it all, aware, also, of the resentful gaze of Loud Shirt and his friends a few tables away.

At least she’d been spared any further harassment from that quarter, she thought, but at what cost to her own peace of mind? Instead she had to dine with a man who’d rejected her love, and whose mercenary heartlessness was almost beyond belief.

‘So, why Miss Landin?’ Ross asked, as he took his seat. ‘Are you travelling incognito for some reason?’

Macy gave a shrug, trying to sound casual. ‘Not particularly. I like to use my mother’s name sometimes.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ There was an odd note in his voice which she found it impossible to decipher. But that was the least of her problems, she thought grimly.

Her appetite seemed to have deserted her, but to cancel dinner would give Ross some kind of psychological advantage, which she couldn’t allow. She had to convince him—and herself too—that his presence was a matter of indifference to her.

So, she’d eat this meal if it choked her. As well it might.

‘The chef’s name is Clyde,’ Ross said, watching her push her first course round her plate. ‘He’s a sensitive soul, and it’ll spoil his night if you send one of his specialities back to the kitchen.’

‘Oh.’ She gave him a hostile look and dug her fork into the puff pastry crust. To her annoyance, it melted in the mouth, and the asparagus tips were ambrosial.

‘I’d say this holiday of yours is long overdue,’ he went on. ‘You have that indoor look—very unhealthy.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ she offered curtly, ‘I’ve never felt better in my life.’

‘Then you should be extremely worried.’ Ross poured the wine. ‘For one thing, you’re like a cat on hot bricks.’

‘Is it really any wonder?’ She put down her fork. ‘I thought I’d made it clear you’re the last person in the world I ever wanted to meet again.’

He lifted his glass in a mock toast. ‘I apologise for my inconvenient existence.’ He paused, his glance speculative. ‘You sound incredibly bitter, Macy. They’re not all bad memories, surely.’

‘Not for you, perhaps,’ she snapped.

‘Or for you, my lovely hypocrite. ‘ A reminiscent smile played about the corners of his mouth. ‘We had our moments.’ He leaned forward, his eyes holding hers across the table. ‘Shall I jog your memory?’

‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I don’t...’

‘That sexy French film we went to see,’ he said softly. ‘My God, you were so turned on, you practically dragged me back to the flat. We were undressing each other on the way up the stairs.’

‘Stop it,’ she hissed desperately.

‘And then there was that evening at the bistro round the corner,’ he went on relentlessly. ‘When the guitarist played all your favourite love songs, and a girl came round, selling roses.’

He touched the edge of one of the orchids with the tip of his finger.

She remembered the rose he’d bought her, crimson and long-stemmed. In bed that night he’d teased her nipples with its dusky velvet petals...

Her throat closed.

‘Enjoy your trip down memory lane,’ she said harshly. ‘It does nothing for me.’

‘No?’ His smiling gaze shifted again to the revealing outline of her breasts. ‘You don’t seem entirely unmoved, darling.’

‘You disgust me.’ She pushed her plate away.

‘Then I’ll try and control my baser urges for the rest of the meal, at least.’

He paused. ‘So—why Fortuna, Macy?’

Her heart jumped. She had not, she thought grimly, been expecting that. She swallowed. ‘Why not? I’ve been working very hard. As you say, I needed a break.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But unless you’re into big-game fishing, the island hasn’t a great deal to offer.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ I’m after a different kind of game, she added silently. Mr Boniface Hilliard himself. She shrugged, allowing herself a negligent smile. ‘But maybe I’m just easily pleased.’

‘No,’ he said gently. ‘I don’t think so.’ He sat back giving her a reflective look over the top of his glass. ‘You haven’t told me yet what you do to earn this arduous crust of yours.’

Macy hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to mention her connection with Gilmour-Denys.

‘I’m involved with the Landin Trust now,’ she returned neutrally.

‘A heavy responsibility, indeed.’ His tone was ironic.

‘As you, with your fondness for money, would be the first to appreciate,’ she bit back, and saw his mouth tighten.

‘You’ve always found cash the answer to everything yourself, my pet. Let’s not forget that.’ He paused. ‘I hope it hasn’t been your only means of fulfilment over the past years.’

‘By no means,’ she said sharply, and he lifted an eyebrow.

‘Why, Macy,’ he drawled. ‘Are you telling me you’ve been unfaithful?’

‘I’m telling you nothing,’ she said.

‘You’re denying my right to know?’

‘You have no rights where I’m concerned,’ she said. ‘Not any more.’

He looked at her bare hands, clenched in front of her on the table. ‘You seem to be overlooking one salient fact, darling,’ he said. ‘Whether we like it or not, you and I are still legally married.’

‘That is a mere formality.’ Her voice shook. ‘Which I intend to dispense with shortly.

Ross was silent for a moment, toying with the stem of his wine glass. Then he said mildly, ‘Do I take it you’re here to ask me for a divorce?’

‘I’m not here to ask you for anything,’ she said. ‘I don’t need to. In another year, I can end our so-called marriage, even without your consent.’

‘How convenient,’ he said. ‘I’m only surprised you didn’t set the ball rolling long ago.’