Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Sinful Pleasures

Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD been snowing when she left London. Great fat flakes that brushed against the aircraft’s windows and covered the runway in a feathery coat of white. She had wondered if the plane would be able to take off in such conditions; or perhaps she had hoped that it wouldn’t, she reflected tautly. Then she would have had a legitimate excuse for staying at home.

And it wasn’t as if she didn’t like the snow, she assured herself. It was much more the sort of weather she was used to at this time of the year. A blazing sun and blue-green seas were out of place in January, even if the shops back home were already anticipating the holiday season ahead.

Not everyone would agree with her, of course; she knew that. Indeed, most people would consider the opportunity to spend four weeks in the Caribbean a godsend. Particularly in her circumstances, she conceded. After a miserable Christmas spent in a hospital bed.

But most people were not her, Megan reminded herself impatiently, shifting somewhat uneasily in the comfortable aircraft seat. She didn’t want to be going to the Caribbean, in good health or in bad. She had no incipient longings to see her so-called stepfather and his family again. Since her mother died, she had had little or no contact with the Robards, and that had suited her very well. Very well indeed.

Below the aircraft, the turquoise waters mocked her feelings. Whether she wanted it or not, she was now less than an hour from her destination. Already the huge jet was beginning its descent towards Cap Saint Nicolas, and the island of San Felipe would soon be beneath them. However reluctant she might be to renew her acquaintance with her mother’s second family, it was no longer an option. By stepping aboard the aircraft, she had taken any alternative out of her hands.

It was a small consolation that it had not been entirely her decision. The fact that her stepsister had phoned while she was still in the hospital had been pure chance. Simon had answered the call, knowing nothing of the rift that had developed between herself and the Robards. He had had no hesitation in telling Anita that Megan was ill; had probably exaggerated her illness, in fact, as he was prone to do; and he had thought Anita was being kind when she had suggested Megan might like to spend a few weeks with them to recuperate. It had never occurred to him that she might not want to go.

And, of course, Anita was being kind, Megan acknowledged ruefully. Anita had always been kind, and in other circumstances their friendship might have survived. Anita was much older, but she had always treated the younger girl with affection. After all, if it hadn’t been for Anita and Remy, Megan would have found those holidays spent with her mother and the man who was to become her stepfather very lonely indeed.

But, even so, she would never have accepted Anita’s invitation in the ordinary way. Her stepsister might have issued the invitation, but Megan knew she wouldn’t have done so without her father’s consent. Ryan Robards probably controlled his daughter now, just as he had done all those years ago. If Megan was coming to San Felipe, it was because it suited Ryan Robards that she should.

The trouble was, it didn’t suit her, Megan thought frustratedly. And now that she was actually nearing her destination she couldn’t imagine how she had allowed herself to be persuaded to come. But her illness, and the weakness it had engendered, had left her susceptible to Simon’s inducements. She needed a break, he had told her firmly. And where better than with people who cared about her?

Only they didn’t care about her, she protested silently. Not really. Not the grown-up woman she had become. They remembered Meggie, the child, the fifteen-year-old adolescent. The girl who had been naïve enough to think that her parents would never get a divorce.

Megan sighed, and adjusted the pillow behind her head yet again, drawing the attention of the ever vigilant stewardess. ‘Can I get you anything, Ms Cross?’ she enquired, her smile warm and solicitous, and Megan forced herself to answer in the same unassuming tone.

‘No, thanks,’ she replied, wishing she could ask for a large Scotch over ice, with a twist of lemon for good measure. But the medication she was still obliged to take denied any use of alcohol, and she was sufficiently considerate of the tenderness of her stomach not to take any risks.

The stewardess went away again and Megan tried to relax. After all, that was what she was here for. To relax; to get away from phones and faxes, and the never-ending demands of the designer directory she and Simon Chater had founded almost eight years ago. Work had become her life, her obsession. Nothing else had seemed so important. Not possessions, not people, and most especially not her health.

The ironic thing was, she didn’t honestly see how coming to San Felipe was going to help her to relax. On the contrary, even the thought that they’d be landing shortly set her nerves on edge. Nothing Anita had said had convinced Megan that her stepfather would be pleased to see her. So far as Ryan Robards was concerned, she had betrayed her mother by choosing to live with her father. And even though Giles Cross was dead, too, the bitterness he’d suffered lived on.

The only optimistic note was that Anita had phoned without being aware that Megan was ill. After years, when their only contact had been through Christmas and birthday cards, she had called totally out of the blue. Even now, Megan wasn’t precisely sure why Anita had phoned. Unless the goodwill of Christmas had inspired a sudden need to renew old ties.

But it was going to be difficult even so. Megan had no idea what she would say to someone she hadn’t had a proper conversation with for more than sixteen years. How could she share her problems with a virtual stranger? She didn’t even know if the other woman was married, let alone what might have happened to her son.

Remy.

Megan tilted her head against the cushioned rest and sighed. It was strange to think that Remy would be grown up, too. He’d been—what? Five? Six?—when she’d last seen him? A dark-haired little boy, who’d run around half naked most of the time, and who had taken a delight in teasing his older playmate: herself.

She hadn’t asked Anita about Remy when she’d spoken to her. She’d been tense and uncommunicative, too intent on trying to find excuses why she shouldn’t come to show any interest in Anita’s affairs. Not that that had deterred her stepsister, she acknowledged. Anita had probably thought that Megan’s attitude was the result of the weeks she’d spent under medication. She’d been adamant that Megan should come to San Felipe to regain her strength. It was what Megan’s mother would have wanted, she’d insisted, and Megan couldn’t argue with that.

She was getting more and more edgy, and, deciding she needed to reassure herself that she didn’t look as sick as she felt, she took herself off to the toilet. In the narrow confines of the cubicle, she examined her pale features critically. Lord, she thought ruefully, it would take more than a re-application of her lipstick to give her face any life.

The truth was, she had been neglecting herself recently. But with Simon spending so much time in New York, or-ganising the launch of the directory there, she had naturally had a lot more work to cope with. She should delegate more; she knew that. Simon was always telling her so. But she liked to feel that she was needed. A hang-up from her childhood, she supposed.

She leaned towards the mirror. Was that a grey hair? she wondered anxiously. Certainly, the fine strand glinted silver among the corn-silk helmet of hair that framed her face. She shook her head and the offending hair disappeared, absorbed by the bell-like curve that cupped her chin.

Did she look too severe? she fretted, smoothing damp palms over the long narrow lines of her jacket. The trouser suit, with its fine cream stripe, was navy blue and not really a holiday outfit. She’d known Simon didn’t approve of her choice from the minute she’d come downstairs that morning.

But she couldn’t have worn something light and feminine, she told herself, not in her present state of mind. The navy suit was smart, if a trifle impersonal, and it was certainly more in keeping with her mood.

Someone tried the toilet door, reminding her that she was spending far too long analysing her appearance. What did it matter what she looked like, after all? She grimaced. She could be stopping someone from keeping an intimate assignation. As unlikely as it seemed, such things did go on.

Outside, the purser gave her a searching look. ‘All right, Ms Cross?’ he asked, his cheeky grin proving that he was not above having such thoughts about her. ‘We’ll be landing in a few minutes. If you’ll take your seat and fasten your seatbelt, we’ll soon have you safely on the ground.’

‘Oh—good.’ Megan managed a polite smile in return, and groped her way back to her seat. The aircraft was banking quite steeply now, and it was difficult to keep her balance. She put the sudden sense of nausea she felt down to a momentary touch of air-sickness.

Yet she guessed her feelings was mostly psychosomatic. The prospect of seeing the Robards again was what was really causing her concern. She wondered if her stepfather would come to the airport to meet her. What on earth was she going to say to him that wouldn’t sound abysmally insincere?

Her stomach dropped suddenly, but this time it really was the effects of the plane levelling out before landing. The pilot lowered the undercarriage as they passed over the rocky promontory of Cap Saint Nicolas, and then they dipped towards the runway that ran parallel to the beach.

It was beautiful, she thought reluctantly as memories of the holidays she had spent here sent a painful thrill through her veins. She had been so naive in those days; so innocent. Which was why she’d been so hurt when the truth had come out.

But she didn’t want to think about that now. That period of her life was dead and gone—like her parents, she reflected bitterly. It was no use believing that her father would still be alive if her mother hadn’t betrayed him; no good wondering if Laura—her mother—would have developed that obscure kind of skin cancer if she’d continued to live as his wife...

The plane landed without incident and taxied slowly towards the airport buildings. Megan remembered that when she’d first come here the formalities had been dealt with in a kind of Nissen hut, with a corrugated-iron roof that drummed noisily when it rained. And it did rain sometimes, she recalled unwillingly. Heavy, torrential rain that left the vegetation green and the island steaming.

But now, when the plane door was opened, and her fellow passengers began to disembark, Megan felt the heat almost before she stepped out onto the gantry. She was immediately conscious of the unsuitability of her clothes, and her skin prickled beneath the fine cashmere.

Consequently, she was glad to descend the steps, cross the tarmac, and step into the arrivals hall. Gladder still to discover that air-conditioning had also been installed, and the debilitating heat was left outside.

All the same, for once she wished she hadn’t travelled first-class. On this occasion, being at the front of the queue that was forming had little appeal. She would have preferred to hang back, to let the rest of the passengers disperse before she collected her luggage. She was uneasily aware of how ill-prepared for this meeting she was.

Beyond Passport Control, the building opened out into the customs area. Two carousels were already starting to unload luggage from the British Airways plane. She saw, to her dismay, that her suitcases had already been unloaded, and, realising she was only delaying the inevitable, she went to claim them as hers.

She didn’t know whether to feel glad or sorry when she emerged from the customs channel to find that neither Ryan nor Anita was waiting for her. She had acquired a porter to transport her luggage to where taxis traditionally touted for fares, but she hadn’t considered that she might have to hire one herself.

She didn’t know what to do. Her formal clothes set her apart from the regular holidaymakers, most of whom were dressed in lightweight summer gear. She looked more like a returning resident, she reflected. If only she’d had her own car in the car park.

The heat was really getting to her now. Even beneath the canopy that jutted out over the taxi rank, the moist air was sapping what little strength she had. On top of which, the porter she’d hired was beginning to get restless. Megan guessed he was thinking of all the gratuities he was missing, hanging about with her.

‘Megan.’

The voice was unfamiliar, but he evidently knew her name, and she turned to give the man an enquiring look. Perhaps Ryan Robards employed a chauffeur these days, she reflected, regarding him with some reserve. In faded jeans and a skin-tight vest, with a single gold earring threaded through the lobe of his left ear, he didn’t look the type of person to win anyone’s confidence.

‘Are you speaking to me?’ she asked, somewhat stiffly, wondering if he was some kind of beach burn who haunted the airport looking for gullible tourists to fleece. Her eyes dropped to the suitcases on the porter’s cart, suspecting he had got her name from the labels, but all her secretary had done was put ‘Ms M Cross’ on the tabs.

‘It is Megan, isn’t it?’ he asked, tawny eyes mirroring his slight amusement at her formal response, and she realised he wasn’t about to go away. On the contrary, he was watching her with intense interest, and she suddenly wished that Ryan Robards would appear.

‘What if it is?’ she asked now, glancing somewhat impatiently about her. For God’s sake, she thought, where was Anita? Didn’t she know what time the plane was due to land?

‘Because I’ve come to meet you,’ the man said coolly, and a look of consternation crossed her face. He handed the porter a couple of notes and plucked her cases from the trolley. ‘If you’ll come with me, the car’s parked just along here.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Megan knew she was probably being far too cautious, but she couldn’t just go with him without knowing who he was. ‘I mean—I still don’t know who you are,’ she added uncertainly, licking her lips. ‘Did Mr Robards send you? I expected—Anita—to come herself.’

The man sighed. He was still holding her cases, and she knew they must be heavy for him. Not that it seemed to bother him. His arms and shoulders looked sleekly muscular, the sinews rippling smoothly beneath honey-gold skin.

‘I guess you could say they—sent me,’ he agreed, at last, inclining his head with its unruly mane of night-dark hair. For a moment there was something vaguely familiar about his lean features, but she would still have preferred to send him on his way.

He started along the walkway and she had, perforce, to follow him. Either that, or say goodbye to her luggage, she decided, with some resignation. Besides, although it was after four o‘clock, the sun was showing no signs as yet of weakening, and she was longing to get out of her formal clothes.

She was hot and sticky by the time they reached the car, though the fact that it was a long, low estate car, the closed windows hinting of air-conditioning, was some consolation. ‘You get in,’ the man suggested, a quick glance in her direction ascertaining that she was already wilting with fatigue. He flipped up the tailgate. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute. Mom guessed you’d prefer the Audi to the buggy.’

Megan blinked. ‘Mom?’ she echoed, gazing at him in disbelief, and her companion permitted her a rueful grin. ‘You’re—Remy?’ she gasped weakly, feeling in need of some support. ‘My God!’ She swallowed. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

‘No.’ There was a faintly ironic twist to his lips as he responded. ‘Welcome to San Felipe, Aunt Megan. I hope you’re going to enjoy your stay.’

Megan blinked and then, realising she was staring at him with rather more curiosity than sense, she hastily folded her length into the car. But, ‘Remy!’ she breathed to herself, casting an incredulous look over her shoulder at the young man loading her suitcases into the back of the vehicle. She’d expected him to have grown up, but she’d never expected—never expected—

What?

She shook her head a little impatiently. What had she expected, after all? That the boy she remembered should have lost that lazy teasing humour? That he couldn’t have turned into the attractive man she’d just met?

Nevertheless, she wouldn’t have recognised him if he hadn’t spoken. It was hard to associate the child she remembered with the man. He’d been little more than a baby when her mother had first brought her to San Felipe. It made her feel incredibly old suddenly. He’d called her ‘Aunt’ Megan, and she supposed that was what she was to him.

She wondered what he did for a living. Whether he worked for his grandfather at the hotel. There was the marina, too, of course, and an estate that grew coffee and fruit. He could probably have his choice of occupations. Just because he dressed like—tike he did, that was no reason to assume he spent his time bumming around.

The tailgate slammed and presently Remy swung open the driver’s door and got in beside her. Megan permitted him a rueful smile as he started the engine, but she was uncomfortably aware that her feelings weren’t as uncomplicated as his.

‘I recognised you,’ he remarked, checking his rear-view mirror before pulling out. ‘I did,’ he averred, when she looked disbelieving. ‘You haven’t changed that much. Apart from your hair, that is. You used to wear it long.’

So she had. Megan had to steel herself not to check her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her hair had always been straight, and in those days she’d used to curl it. By the time she was a teenager, it had been a frizzy mop.

‘I don’t know whether to regard that as a compliment,’ she remarked now, grateful for the opening. ‘God, I used to look such a fright in those days. And I was about twenty pounds overweight.’

‘But not now.’ observed Remy, his tawny eyes making a brief, but disturbing, résumé of her figure. ‘Mom told us all about the operation. Imagine having ulcers at twenty-eight.’

‘I’m almost thirty-one actually,’ said Megan quickly, not quite sure why it was so necessary for her to state her age. ‘And it wasn’t ulcers, just one rather nasty individual. I’d been having treatment for it, but it didn’t respond.’

‘And it perforated.’

Megan nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Mom said it was touch-and-go for a few hours.’ He paused. ‘Your boyfriend gave her all the gory details.’

‘Did he?’ Megan was about to explain that Simon wasn’t her boyfriend, and then changed her mind. They did share a house, because it was convenient for both of them to do so. But anything else—well. that was their business and no one else’s.

‘Yeah.’ Remy pulled out into the stream of traffic leaving the airport, his lean hands sliding easily around the wheel. ‘I guess your job must stress you out. You need to learn to relax.’

Like you?

Megan pressed her lips together, turning to look out of the window to distract her eyes from his muscled frame. Dear God, she thought, who’d have thought that Anita’s son would turn out to be such a hunk? If he ever got tired of island life, she could get him a modelling job in a minute.

Yet that wasn’t really fair, she acknowledged, noticing that the road from the airport into the town of Port Serrat was now a dual carriageway. Remy might be a hunk, but he didn’t possess the bland good looks of the models she’d dealt with. There was character in his lean features, and a rugged hardness about his mouth. The camera might love him, but she doubted he’d give it a chance.

In fact, he looked a lot like his grandfather, she thought with tightening lips. Ryan Robards had possessed the same raw sexuality that was so evident in his grandson. Of course, Remy might resemble his father, too, but that was something that had never been talked about, not in her presence anyway. She only knew that Anita had been little more than a schoolgirl herself when he was born.

‘So what do you think of the old place?’ he asked now, casting a glance in her direction, and Megan forced her disturbing memories aside. She hadn’t come here to speculate about his parentage, even if her father had used that in his arguments more than once.

‘It’s—beautiful,’ she said, and she meant it. The blur of white beaches and lush vegetation she had seen from the air had resolved itself into the colourful landscape she remembered. Between the twin carriageways, flowering shrubs and vivid flamboyants formed an exotic median, and away to her left the shimmering waters of Orchid Bay glistened in the sun. ‘I always loved coming here.’

‘So why have you stayed away?’ asked Remy flatly, and then, as if realising that was a moot point, he went on, ‘I know Mom’s looking forward to seeing you again. She’s talked about nothing else for days.’

‘Hasn’t she?’ Megan caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing her, too.’ She moistened her lips. ‘Um—how—how is your grandfather?’ There, she’d said it. ‘I suppose he must be ready to retire if he hasn’t done so already.’

Was it her imagination or did Remy consider his words before replying? ‘Oh—Pops is still around,’ he said vaguely, but it was obvious he didn’t want to speak about him. Why? she wondered. Because he wasn’t part of this package? Oh, God, she wasn’t strong enough to handle Ryan’s recriminations right now.

There was silence for a while, and Megan stared at the road passing under the car’s wheels without really seeing it at all. She was hot, and even in the air-conditioned comfort of the car she felt uncomfortable. And she was nervous. Why had she agreed to put herself through this? she wondered. She had the feeling she was going to regret it, after all.

The speeding tarmac made her feel dizzy, and she cast a surreptitious look at her companion as he concentrated on the road. His profile was strong, despite the softening effect of thick dark lashes, and the moist hair that curled a little at his nape.

He was attractive, she thought wryly, aware that it was a long time since she had been affected by any man. Not that she was attracted to him, she told herself, except in a purely objective way. He was her ‘nephew’, after all. All he did was make her feel old.

‘What’s wrong?’

He was perceptive, too, and Megan hoped all her thoughts were not as obvious to him. She was going to have to get used to being around him without showing her feelings.

‘Um—nothing,’ she said, forcing a lighter tone. ‘It’s just—strange, being here again. It’s quite a relief to see the island has hardly changed at all.’

Remy’s straight brows ascended. ‘Unlike me, you mean?’ he queried, and she nodded.

‘Well, of course.’ She shrugged. ‘We’ve all changed. I’ve only to look at you to see how much.’

‘Don’t patronise me, Megan—’

‘I wasn’t—’

‘It sounded like it to me.’ Remy’s tawny eyes had darkened now, and she experienced an involuntary shiver. ‘I guess it is hard for you to accept that we can meet on equal terms these days. You were always so conscious of your couple of years’ superiority when we were young.’

Megan gasped. ‘You make me sound like a prig.’

Remy’s lips twitched. ‘Do I?’

‘And it wasn’t—isn‘t—just couple of years’ seniority—’ she emphasised the word ‘—between us.’ She moistened her lips. ‘You were just five or six, the last time I saw you. I was nearly fifteen!’ She grimaced. ‘A teenager, no less.’

‘I was nearly nine,’ declared Remy doggedly. ‘I’m twenty-five, Megan, so don’t act like I’m just out of school.’

Megan swallowed. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you...’

‘You haven’t.’ Remy’s lips twisted. ‘But stop making such a big thing about your age.’ He slowed at the intersection before taking the turning towards El Serrat instead of the island’s capital. ‘Still—as you’re practically senile, haven’t you ever felt the urge to get married?’

Megan felt a nervous laugh bubble up into her throat, but at least it was better than sparring with him. ‘Not lately,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve been too busy. Being your own boss can be a pain as well as a pleasure.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

His response was too laconic, and she gave him a curious look. ‘You know?’

‘Sure.’ His thigh flexed as he changed gear. ‘I work for myself, too. I guess it’s not so high-powered, but it pays the rent.’

Megan looked at him. ‘I suppose you run the hotel now?’ ‘Hell, no.’ He shook his head. ‘I guess you could say I have more sense than to work for Mom. No,’ he said again, ‘I’m a lawyer. I’ve got a small practice in Port Serrat.’

‘A lawyer!’ Megan couldn’t help the incredulity in her tone.

‘Yeah, a lawyer,’ he repeated. ‘A grown-up one as well. I actually defend naughty people in court.’

Megan could feel the colour seeping into her throat. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’

‘Then quit acting like my maiden aunt.’

‘Well—that’s what I am,’ said Megan, with a rueful smile. Then, ‘All right. I apologise. I guess I’ve got a lot to learn about—about all of you. So—how’s your mother? She does still work in the hotel?’

Remy expelled a resigned breath, as if her words had hardly pacified him at all. Then, ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘She practically runs the place these days.’

‘And she’s never married?’ asked Megan, hoping to keep their conversation on a less—personal level, but the look Remy levelled at her was hardly sympathetic.

‘To make me legitimate, you mean?’ he asked, and she wanted to kick herself. ‘No, I guess you could say Pops is the only father-figure I’ve ever known.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it,’ said Megan defensively. ‘Only she’s still a—a comparatively young woman. I thought she might have—fallen in love.’

‘Perhaps she loved my father,’ said Remy sardonically. ‘However unlikely that might seem. Besides—’ his lips adopted a cruel line ‘—I wouldn’t have thought love meant that much to you.’

Megan’s jaw sagged. ‘I beg your—’

‘Well, you did abandon the woman who loved you for a man without any perceptible emotions that I could see,’ he continued, with some heat. ‘Your mother loved you, Megan. Or have you conveniently forgotten that? How can you talk about love when you broke her heart?’

CHAPTER TWO

NOW why had he said that?

Remy’s hands clenched on the wheel, and he couldn’t bear to look her in the face. It wasn’t as if what had happened was anything to do with him, after all. He had no right to criticise her when she’d been too young to understand what was going on either.

She seemed to be speechless, and he was uneasily aware that the colour had now drained from her cheeks. For a moment there he’d forgotten how seriously ill she had been, and he felt as guilty as hell for upsetting her this way.

‘Look—I’m sorry,’ he began harshly, wishing they were still on the wide airport road where he might have been able to stop and apologise properly, instead of on the narrow road to El Serrat. He dared not stop here, not on one of these bends, where he’d be taking their lives into his hands. He’d done enough without risking an accident as well.

‘My—my father loved me,’ she said, almost as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘He loved me, and he’d done nothing wrong. How do you think he felt when he found out my mother had been cheating on him with your grandfather? My God! He’d made a friend of the man! How would you feel if it happened to you?’

Remy’s mouth compressed. ‘Like I said—’

‘You’re sorry?’ Megan appeared to be trembling now, and he hoped he hadn’t ruined everything by speaking his mind. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough. And if your mother feels the same way I suggest you turn around and take me back to the airport.’

‘She doesn’t.’ Remy swore. ‘Ah, hell, she’d be furious with me if she knew what I’d said. Okay, you have your memories of what happened, and I accept that. But I lived with your mother for almost six years. Believe me, she was devastated when you wouldn’t come to see her. You were the only child she had.’

Megan slanted a cool look in his direction. She looked like the Megan he remembered, even if the plump, pretty features she’d had as a child were now refined into a pale beauty, but she wasn’t the same. The softness had gone, replaced by a brittle defensiveness, and he wondered if he had been naïve in thinking he might be able to change her mind.

‘Was I?’ she asked pointedly, and he had to concentrate for a moment to remember what he’d said.

He blew out a breath. ‘You’re talking about the miscarriage,’ he intimated at last. ‘She was devastated when she lost the baby. And it didn’t help when your father wrote and told her she deserved it, too.’

Megan gasped. ‘He didn’t do that.’

‘No.’ Remy conceded the point. ‘His actual words were, “God moves in mysterious ways.” He didn’t say that he was sorry for what had happened. That he understood how she must be feeling or anything like that."

‘He was hurt—’

‘So was she.’

Megan’s hands were clenched together in her lap, he noticed, but her voice was dispassionate as she spoke. ‘Well, I don’t know why she bothered to let Daddy know what had happened. It wasn’t as if—as if it mattered to him.’

‘Perhaps she hoped for some words of comfort,’ said Remy flatly. ‘Your father was supposed to be a man of God, after all.’

‘He was also human,’ retorted Megan tightly. ‘Would she have expected him to congratulate her if the baby had lived?’

Remy silenced the angry retort that rose inside him. It wasn’t fair to blame her for her father’s sins. And who knew what he might have done if he’d been in the same position? It was easy to see both sides when you weren’t involved.

‘I believe your work is in the fashion industry,’ he forced himself to say at last, in an attempt to change the subject. ‘Mom said something about a catalogue. Do you sell mail-order or what?’

‘Do you really want to know?’

Megan was terse, and he couldn’t altogether blame her. His mother was hoping to heal old wounds, but all he’d done was exacerbate them.

‘Look.’ he said, feeling obliged to try and mend fences before they got to the hotel, ‘forget what I said, okay? What do I know anyway? Like you said, I was only a kid. Kids see things in black and white. I guess you did, too.’

Megan glanced at him again, her eyes shadowed beneath lowered lids. She had beautiful eyes, he noticed; they shaded from indigo to violet within the feathery curl of her lashes, and glinted as if with unshed tears. He knew a totally unexpected urge to rub his thumb across her lids, to feel their salty moisture against his skin. Her face was porcelain-smooth, and so pale he could see the veins in her temple, see the pulse beating under the skin. He knew a sudden urge to skim his tongue over that pulse, to feel its rhythmic fluttering against his lips. To taste it, to taste her—He fought back the thought. Megan hadn’t come to San Felipe because of him.

He dragged his eyes back to the road, stunned by the sudden heat of his arousal. For God’s sake, he thought, was he completely out of his mind? What the hell was he doing even thinking such things? This woman wouldn’t touch him with a bosun’s hook.

‘You didn’t want me to come here, did you, Remy?’

Her question, coming totally out of the blue, startled him. In his present state of mind, that was the last thing he’d have said. But then, she didn’t know how he was feeling. thank God! She couldn’t feel the tight constriction of his jeans.

‘That’s not true,’ he got out at last, feeling his palms sliding sweatily on the wheel. It irritated him beyond belief that he’d betrayed any bias to her, but it irritated him still more that he couldn’t control himself.

‘So why are you giving me such a hard time?’ she asked, and he was aware of her watching him with a wary gaze.

‘I’m not,’ he said tensely, giving in to his frustration. ‘I just don’t think you’re entirely even-handed when it comes to your parents. Your father was a vindictive bastard.’ He paused. ‘I should know.’

Megan had been given the penthouse suite, which, in island terms, meant that her rooms were on the sixth floor of the hotel. None of the hotels that bad sprung up along the coast was allowed to build beyond six floors and these days, she had noticed, there were quite a number of new ones.

Which meant, Megan assumed somewhat uneasily, that the Robards were sacrificing quite a large slice of their income by accommodating her in such luxurious surroundings. This was, after all, their most lucrative time of year, when the island was flooded with visitors from North America and Northern Europe escaping the cold weather back home.

Yet, despite her anxieties—and the fact that by the time they’d reached the hotel she and Remy had barely been on speaking terms—Anita had made her feel welcome. The other woman had behaved as if it were sixteen weeks—not sixteen years—since she had last come here. She had greeted her stepsister with affection, and dispelled the apprehension Remy had aroused.

Anita had been waiting on the verandah of the hotel when the estate ear had swept down the drive. Megan had barely had time to admire the hedges of scarlet hibiscus that hid the building from the road before her stepsister was jerking the door open and pulling Megan out into her arms. There had been tears then, tears that Megan couldn’t hide even from Remy. She was still so weak, she’d defended herself silently. Any kind of emotion just broke her up.

Blinking rapidly, she’d been grateful for the cooling breeze that swept in off the ocean. Apart from the immediate area surrounding the hotel, where artificially watered lawns and palm trees provided the guests with oases of greenness, the milk-white sands stretched as far as the eye could see. But she hadn’t been able to ignore the fact of the car door opening behind her, or Remy getting out and walking around to the back of the vehicle to unload her bags.

‘Oh, Megan,’ Anita was saying as she hugged her in her protective embrace, ‘it’s been far too long. It’s a sad thing if you have to be at death’s door before you’ll accept our invitation.’

Our invitation?

Megan wondered who Anita included in that statement. Not Remy, surely. But she could only shake her head, unaccountably moved by her stepsister’s welcome. After the way Remy had behaved, she’d been dreading this moment.

And Anita had hardly changed at all. She’d been pleasantly plump as a teenager, and she was plump still, with round dimpled features that could never disguise her feelings to anyone. As before, she was wearing one of the loose-fitting tee shirts and the baggy shorts she had always favoured, her curly dark hair scooped up in a ponytail.

Yet, despite her welcome, Megan sensed that Anita wasn’t quite as carefree as she’d like her to think. She noticed as the other woman drew back that there were dark lines around her eyes, and a trace of more than wistfulness in her tears.

But perhaps she was being over-sensitive, Megan considered, and, avoiding Remy’s eyes, she allowed Anita to lead her into the hotel. She found some relief in admiring the changes that had been made and consoled herself with the thought that this was the most difficult time for all of them. No matter how accommodating they might try to be, they couldn’t ignore the past.

A fountain now formed a centre-piece in the newly designed foyer, with the lounges and reception area moved to the floor above. ‘I suggest I show you your room and let you freshen up before dinner,’ Anita declared, leading the way across to the bank of lifts. ‘I imagine you could do with a rest. Did you have a pleasant journey?’

The lifts were new, too, much different from the grilled cage that Megan remembered. Would her mother have become so enamoured with the place if it had always been as impersonal as this? she wondered. Laura had always said it was the informality of Robards Reach that made it so unique...

‘There’s so much I want to tell you,’ Anita continued as they went up in the lift—not with Remy and the luggage, Megan was relieved to find. ‘So much time we have to make up. I want to know all about what’s been happening in your life. Your boyfriend—partner—’ She coloured. ‘Simon, isn’t it? He sounds really nice. I’m glad you’ve found a decent man to care for you.’

‘He doesn’t—that is—’ Megan pressed her lips together and didn’t go on. As with Remy, she was loath to deny that she and Simon were an item. She didn’t know when it might be useful to have that excuse to turn to, and, hoping Anita would put the colour in her face down to the heat, she finished, ‘It was good of you to—to invite me here.’

‘Well, it’s not as if it was the first time,’ declared Anita, with a trace of censure, but with none of the aggression her son had shown. ‘Anyway, it’s so good to see you.’ She took a breath. ‘You’re so like—so like Laura when I first knew her.’ She touched Megan’s face. ‘It’s going to be hard for—for my father.’ Her lips tightened. ‘But you’re so pale. We’ll have to try and put some colour into those cheeks before you leave.’

Anita left her alone in the luxurious suite then, ostensibly to allow her to relax for a while before dinner. Megan was grateful for the respite, grateful that she was going to have a breathing space before meeting Ryan Robards, but she doubted she’d relax in her present mood.

A bellboy brought her luggage. When the polite tap sounded at her door, she was apprehensive for a moment, expecting Remy to bring her suitcases in. But she should have known better. As he had told her, he was a lawyer, not a hotel employee.

Although she was tempted to step out onto the balcony. where a cushioned lounger and several wicker chairs were set beneath a bougainvillaea-hung awning, Megan decided that a shower might liven her up. It would be too easy to get disheartened, particularly as her body clock was still on European time, and she determined to concentrate on the positive aspects of her trip. Who wouldn’t like to recuperate in such surroundings? She had four whole weeks to get completely well.

Which was part of the problem, she acknowledged, when she stepped into the mosaic-tiled shower and turned on the gold-plated taps. At this point in time, four weeks seemed like a lifetime. She’d never have committed herself to such a long stay if it had been left to her.

But it hadn’t been left to her. Simon had made all the arrangements while she was still too weak to protest. It was too long since she’d taken a real holiday, he’d told her. She needed plenty of time to recover her strength.

By the time she went downstairs again, Megan was feeling considerably better.

When she’d emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in one of the soft towelling robes the hotel provided, it was to find a tray of tea and biscuits awaiting her. While she’d been taking her shower, someone—Anita, she guessed—had let herself into the suite and deposited the tray on the round table by the window. There was milk and cream, and several kinds of home-made biscuits. Although she’d been sure she wasn’t hungry, she’d sampled all the biscuits, and drunk three cups of tea as well.

Afterwards, she’d rested on the square colonial bed that was set on a dais, so that its occupants could see the sea. Megan had watched the darkening waters of the Caribbean until the sun had disappeared into the ocean, and then she guessed she’d dozed for perhaps another hour after that.

She’d awakened to a darkened room and for a few moments she’d felt a sense of disorientation. But then she’d switched on the lamps, and the memory of her arrival had come back to her. She hadn’t felt much like resting after that.

Still, after unpacking her suitcases, there’d been plenty of time to get ready for dinner. Anita had told her to come down at eight, but not to worry if she was late. There were often problems associated with the hotel that required her attention, and if she wasn’t there Megan should just make herself at home.

As if she could do that! Going down in the lift, Megan had to admit that such an instruction was probably beyond her. Besides, what if Ryan Robards was waiting for her? What on earth was she going to say to him?

The apartments the family used were on the first floor, immediately behind the reception area. Megan was familiar with them, of course. Before the ugly break-up of her parents’ marriage, the Crosses and their daughter had often had drinks with Ryan Robards and Anita. In those days, Megan and her parents had rented one of the cottages that stood in the grounds and belonged to the hotel. Her father had always preferred self-catering to the blandness of hotel food, but because of his love for sailing he and Ryan had become good friends...

Now, Megan stepped out of the lift feeling decidedly self-conscious. It was some time since she had taken as much trouble with her appearance, but for some reason she had felt the need to make an effort tonight. But although the black silk leggings and matching beaded top were perfectly presentable she was intensely aware that they exposed the narrow contours of her bones.

A belief that was made even more apparent when she entered her stepsister’s sitting room to find only Remy waiting for her. He was standing at the open French doors that led out onto a private terrace, one hand supporting himself against the screen, the other wrapped around a glass.

The indrawn breath she took upon seeing him attracted his attention, and he swung round at once, surveying her with cool shaded eyes. What was he thinking? she wondered as his brows arched in a silent acknowledgement of her presence. After what he had said earlier, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

His appraisal of her appearance was deliberate, she thought. Was he trying to intimidate her, or was he simply waiting tq see what her reaction would be? He was far too sure of himself, she thought, stiffening her resolve not to let any of them upset her. Yet, as she felt her features hardening, his unaccountably softened.

‘Feeling better?’ he enquired, before swallowing the remainder of the liquid in his glass with one gulp. ‘Let me get you a drink. You can probably use one.’

Could she not?

Megan linked her hands together at her waist and contemplated the advantages that alcohol could bring. It would certainly make this interview easier, smooth the rough edges of her tension, so to speak. But her doctor had been quite specific, and she had no desire to fall ill again.

‘Um—do you have a mineral water?’ she asked at last, and he regarded her with narrowed eyes.

‘A mineral water?’

‘I’m still on medication,’ she explained, moving further into the room, even though she would have preferred to keep her distance from him. She swallowed. ‘Where’s your mother? She asked me to join her here.’

‘She won’t be long,’ replied Remy, depositing his empty glass on the small bar that was recessed into the wall. He examined the row of small bottles that occupied one shelf in the refrigerated cabinet. ‘Mineral water, you said,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, here we are. Will sparkling water do?’

‘Fine.’ said Megan quickly, moving across the room and taking up his former position by the French doors. Beyond the terrace, the sound of the sea was a muted thunder, the warmth of the night air scented with spice and pine.

‘There you go.’

He was behind her suddenly, his reflection visible in the glass door, his height and darkness disturbingly close. Once again, she was made aware of how the years had changed him. It was difficult to remember now exactly what she had expected.

‘Oh—thanks,’ she said, half turning towards him to take the glass, her efforts to avoid brushing his lean, tanned fingers almost causing an accident. Only a swift recovery on his part prevented the glass from ending up on the floor, and a splash of ice-cold liquid stung her leg.

‘Dammit!’ Remy stared down impatiently at the damp spot on her leggings, and Megan felt like a fool. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ he demanded. ‘I’m not contaminated, you know.’

‘I didn’t do it on purpose!’ she exclaimed, even though she doubted he believed her. ‘I—I wasn’t thinking. You startled me, that’s all.’ She brushed her leg almost dismissively. ‘Anyway, there’s no harm done.’

‘Isn’t there?’

She wasn’t sure what he was referring to, so she chose to say nothing, relieved when he walked back to the bar. But he was back a few moments later, holding a napkin, and, squatting down on his haunches in front of her, he pressed the white linen against her leg.

‘Oh—please.’ He was really embarrassing her now, and she attempted to take the napkin from him. ‘Let me,’ she said. ‘Let me do that.’ But he merely tipped his head back and cast her an ironic look and carried on.

She glanced down, her eyes unwillingly drawn to his bent head. His hair was glistening with moisture, she noticed, tiny drops of water shining on the dark strands. He had either taken a shower or a swim while she’d been resting, she reflected, the images her thoughts were evoking causing a moistness in her palms.

She sighed. Why couldn’t she ignore him? Yet, crouched in front of her as he was, she would have had to be numb as well as blind not to notice the straining seam between his legs. Despite her irritation with him earlier, she couldn’t deny his sexuality. It was as natural to him as breathing. Just like his grandfather’s had been...

‘Will—will Mr Robards be joining us?’ she asked stiffly—anything to distract herself from what he was doing—and as if her words had diverted him, too, he rose abruptly to his feet.

‘I guess I owe you an apology, don’t I?’ he said, without answering her question. ‘I was an ignorant lout before. I’m sorry.’

Megan was confused. ‘Oh—well, I—it was my fault really—’

‘I don’t mean for spilling your drink,’ he contradicted her drily. ‘I mean for the way I spoke to you in the car. I guess I had no right to criticise you or your father as I did.’

‘Oh.’ Megan let her breath out slowly. She was finding it difficult to keep abreast of his changes of mood. Or at least that was the excuse she gave herself. But there was no denying that he disturbed her, and it would be fatally easy to respond to his charm. ‘Let’s forget it, shall we?’

‘I’m forgiven?’

‘Of course.’ She was abrupt.

‘Is your drink all right?’

Her glass was still more than half full, and she hurriedly took a sip. ‘It’s delicious,’ she said, hoping she sounded more controlled than she felt. ‘Um—will your grandfather be joining us?’

Remy hesitated for a moment, and then he shook his head. ‘Not tonight,’ he said, his tone flatter now. ‘And I’ve got to be getting back to town myself.’

‘You don’t live here?’

Megan realised at once that her response had been far too revealing. Dammit, she should have guessed he’d have his own place as soon as he’d told her he worked in Port Serrat.

‘I have an apartment near the harbour,’ he said, his eyes assessing her. ‘It’s handy for the office. Like tonight, I sometimes have to work in the evenings.’

She swallowed. ‘You’re working this evening?’ she asked, managing to sound less daunted, and he smiled.

‘I’ve a client who works in one of the hotels,’ he explained. ‘It’s difficult for him to keep sociable hours.’

‘So you accommodate him?’

‘I’m an accommodating fellow,’ he remarked mockingly, and she realised how easily he could disconcert her. How did he do that, when she was usually so at ease with men? It was as if he had a conduit to her soul.

‘So,’ she persevered firmly, ‘do you often work long hours?’

‘When I have to.’ He shrugged. ‘Otherwise I’d like nothing better than to join you and Mom for dinner.’ His eyes held hers with deliberate provocation. ‘I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been doing with yourself. Apart from nearly killing yourself, that is.’

Megan shook her head. ‘It was hardly that.’

‘I heard it was,’ he contradicted her gently. ‘Is that why you’re so edgy? Or is it just me?’

Megan coloured then. She couldn’t help it. She could feel the heat spreading up her neck, darkening the exposed hollow of her throat, and seeping into her hairline.

‘I’m not edgy,’ she denied, producing a smile that probably gave her words the lie. ‘I’m tired, I suppose, but that’s understandable. It’s been a long day.’

‘Yeah, I guess it has,’ he said, his tone softening. He lifted one hand and to her dismay he rubbed his knuckles along the curve of her jawline. ‘You’ll feel better in the morning. All you need is a good night’s sleep.’

Megan drew her chin back automatically. His warm knuckles were absurdly sensual, hinting at an intimacy she couldn’t begin to cope with.

She didn’t say anything, but she knew he was aware of her withdrawal. His hand fell to his side, and his eyes narrowed on the way her chest rose and fell in a nervous display.

‘Relax,’ he said. ‘What are you afraid of? I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘I never—I don’t know what you mean—’

Megan stumbled to deny his mocking accusation, but before she could get coherency into her words Anita’s voice interrupted them.

‘I’m sorry, Megan—’ she was saying as she came into the room, before breaking off in some surprise when she saw her son. ‘Why, Remy!’ she exclaimed, not without some asperity. ‘I thought you were leaving half an hour ago.’

There was an awkward pause, when Megan wondered if what had gone before was visible on their faces, and then Remy seemed to find his voice. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m still here,’ he remarked tersely. ‘I wasn’t aware I had to report my whereabouts to you.’

Anita flushed, as stung by his words in her turn as Megan had been earlier. ‘You don’t, of course,’ she said. ‘But I could have done with your assistance. The air-conditioning went out in one of the bungalows, and I couldn’t get in touch with Carlos.’

‘Have you fixed it?’

Remy was slightly less aggressive now, and his mother took a steadying breath. ‘At last,’ she said. ‘It was only a fuse, thank goodness. But—but—your grandfather’s rather fractious this evening, and I didn’t really have the time to go charging about looking for spares.’

‘I’m sorry.’

There was still an edge to Remy’s voice, and, realising she should say something in his defence, Megan chipped in. ‘Um—Remy’s been keeping me company, I’m afraid,’ she said apologetically. ‘I probably delayed him, or he would have been gone.’

Anita managed a faint smile. ‘Don’t give it another thought. Either of you,’ she added, looking at her son. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded harassed. It’s just one of the joys of running a hotel.’

Remy straightened his spine. ‘Then I guess I will get going.’ He looked at Megan. ‘Now that you’ve got my mother to entertain you, you won’t need me any more. Enjoy your evening, won’t you? I’ll think of you while I’m earning my lonely crust.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Remy.’ Anita evidently thought her son’s manner was due to what she’d said, but Megan wasn’t so sure. ‘Naturally, if I’d thought you had the time to stay and have a drink with us, I’d have suggested it. It was you who said you had work to do this evening.’

‘And I do,’ said Remy flatly, arching a mocking brow in Megan’s direction. ‘I’ll see you—both—later, though maybe not tomorrow. I’ve got to go to the Beaufort plantation in the afternoon.’

‘All right, darling.’ Reassured, Anita gave her son’s arm a squeeze. ‘Give my love to Rachel when you see her, won’t you? Tell her it’s been far too long since she’s come to visit.’

CHAPTER THREE

MEGAN slept fitfully, even though she was tired, waking the next morning before it was really light. Even the lingering effects of her illness were not enough to counter her body’s rhythms. It was obvious her system was still running on London time.

She lay for a little while mulling over the events of the previous evening. She knew now that Anita’s invitation had not been as spontaneous as it had at first appeared. Oh, her stepsister was pleased to see her, and she had been concerned when she’d learned Megan had had an operation. But she had had another reason altogether for making the call that had brought her stepsister to San Felipe.

Not that Megan had learned that immediately.

After Remy’s departure, they had both felt the need to get their relationship back on an even footing, and while Anita had a martini, and during the course of their dinner—which was taken on the candlelit terrace—they had talked about less personal things.

Then, at Anita’s instigation, Megan had told her how she had come to be in the hospital. Her stepsister had seemed to find it incredible that Megan should have developed an ulcer at her age. She didn’t seem to understand the stresses and strains involved in trying to start a business, and Megan had been loath to tell her that the specialist had intimated that she might have had the ulcer since she was in her teens.

‘And are your rooms comfortable?’ Anita asked at last, clearly eager that Megan should have every opportunity to relax while she was here.

‘They’re perfect,’ Megan assured her. ‘I just don’t think I should be taking up such luxurious apartments. This must be the busiest time of the year for you.’

‘You’re family. Where else would I put you?’ Anita retorted firmly. ‘And it’s not as if you haven’t always been welcome. I told you when—when your mother died that you had an open invitation. Any time you’d wanted to come for a visit, you had only to pick up the phone.’

Right. Megan nodded politely, wondering somewhat cynically how often she had said those same words herself. In business, people often offered hospitality without meaning it. And contacting the Robards had never been on her list of priorities.

‘Anyway,’ went on Anita, as if sensing the other woman’s reservations, ‘you’re here now, and that’s what matters.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I bet you were surprised to see Remy at the airport. He told me that you thought he was some toy-boy trying to pick you up.’

Hardly that, thought Megan indignantly, feeling somewhat hurt that Anita should feel the need to tell her exactly what Remy had said. Besides, it was not what he had said to her, though perhaps his assertion that they could meet on equal terms had been meant to flatter her, after all.

‘I didn’t recognise him,’ she admitted, and Anita gave a short laugh.

‘I don’t suppose you did,’ she said. ‘He was just a boy the last time you saw him. Did he tell you be got a law degree? He’s started his own practice in town.’

‘Yes.’ But Megan was aware that her stepsister’s explanation had caused a sudden tightening in her stomach. It was Anita’s persistence in treating Megan like an equal that disturbed her. Which was silly after the way she’d reacted to what Remy had said.

‘We’re very proud of him.’ went on Anita, clearly taking Megan’s silence as a cue to elaborate. ‘Even his grandfather sings his praises, when he isn’t grumbling about him neglecting the hotel. I think we were all afraid when he went to college in the States that he wouldn’t come back.’

‘But he did.’

Anita nodded. ‘Despite—well, despite everything, this is still his home. I don’t think he’d be happy living in Boston or New York, even though he could have earned a lot more money there.’

“I’m sure.’

Megan was impressed in spite of herself, understanding a little of Anita’s pride in her son. After all, he was her only child. And because she’d never got married their relationship was that much more special.

‘Of course, Rachel probably had something to do with it,’ added Anita, pulling a wry face, and Megan was reminded of her stepsister’s remark when Remy was leaving. She’d said, ‘Give my love to Rachel,’ but Megan hadn’t paid much attention to it then. She’d been too relieved that Remy was leaving after the tenseness of their exchange, and she supposed she’d assumed the woman worked for him or something.

‘Rachel?’ she said now, faintly, hoping her tone didn’t imply anything more than a casual interest, and Anita nodded.

‘Rachel De Vries,’ she said comfortably. ‘Her family own the De Vries plantation that adjoins the land we own on the other side of the island. Her father sits in the local legislature. Remy and Rachel have been dating one another since they were in their teens.’

‘I see.’

Megan was impatient at the feeling of emptiness this news engendered. For heaven’s sake, she thought, what did it matter to her? Despite what Simon had said she intended to stay here as short a time as possible. She’d find some excuse for leaving, and then their lives would go on as before.

‘Of course, I live in hope,’ continued Anita ruefully, and Megan forced herself to respond.

‘In hope of what?’

‘Of him getting married, naturally!’ exclaimed Anita, reaching across the table to tap Megan’s hand. ‘I want to be a grandmother, before I’m too old for it to be any fun.’

Megan sought refuge in her wine glass at that point. Despite her medication, she’d decided that one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt her, and she was grateful now for the diversion it offered. For all the room was air-conditioned, she was feeling uncomfortably hot suddenly. This was harder than she’d expected, and she hadn’t even met Ryan Robards yet.

‘Anyway, I’m sure you must be tired of me going on about Remy,’ Anita concluded, possibly putting Megan’s restlessness down to the fact that she was bored. She shook her head. ‘Tell me about your job. What is it you do exactly?’

‘Oh—I’m sure you’re not really interested in my work,’ said Megan hurriedly. ‘I believe Simon told you about the directory, and that’s all it is. My role is fairly simple; I’m just the gofer. I coordinate the designs, and deal with the printers and so on.’

‘I’m sure it’s not as simple as all that,’ declared Anita reprovingly, but, as if sensing that Megan didn’t really want to elaborate, she chose another topic. ‘I know your—father would have been very proud of you. You always were the apple of his eye.’

‘Perhaps.’

Megan wasn’t at all sure that Giles Cross would have approved of his daughter getting involved in a business that was so trivial—in his eyes, at least. He’d expected so much of her. Without her mother to mediate, it hadn’t been easy.

‘Well, whatever.’ Anita’s lips tightened. ‘It’s not as if he could have expected you to follow in his footsteps.’

‘No.’

‘There are so few women in the ministry—none at all here—and his work was very demanding.’ Anita frowned. ‘He put so much of himself into his work. Your mother said you were often on your own.’

Megan caught her breath. ‘We didn’t mind.’

‘You didn’t.’

‘Are you saying that my mother did?’

Anita sighed. ‘Laura was a wonderful, vital woman, Megan. Of course she minded.’ She paused. ‘Particularly as your father didn’t have to do as much as he did. All those missions to African countries, for example. Why didn’t he ever take your mother along?’

Megan stiffened her back. ‘She didn’t want to go.’

‘That’s not true. To begin with, she’d have gone anywhere with him to try and make their marriage work. The trouble was, he wouldn’t let her leave the parish. You must know your father preferred to travel alone.’

Megan swallowed. ‘What are you implying?’

‘I’m not implying anything, Megan. I’m telling you that your mother was not wholly to blame for what happened. If it hadn’t been my father it would have been someone else, can’t you see that? She needed company; companionship; love.’

‘She seemed happy enough until she came here.’

Anita gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, Megan, you’re a woman now. Can’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you? Your mother wasn’t—wasn’t the evil woman your father tried to make her. She was just lonely, that’s all.’

‘And your father took advantage of that!’ exclaimed Megan bitterly. ‘Oh, Anita, we’re never going to agree on this. Can we just—change the subject, please?’

‘If you insist.’ But Anita looked a little disappointed now, and Megan wished she’d been a little more forthcoming about her work. At least that was a safe subject, despite what she thought about her relationship with Simon.

‘Anyway,’ Megan continued, ‘Remy said you practically run the hotel single-handed these days. I think he said your father had retired.’

‘Oh, God!’ Anita took a deep breath, and then, as if she couldn’t sit still any longer, she got to her feet and paced about the room. ‘If only that was true.’

‘What do you mean?’

Megan was confused now, and Anita turned to give her a strangely bitter look. ‘You don’t know, do you? Remy never told you? Well, of course, he couldn’t. He doesn’t know the truth himself.’

‘Told me what?’

‘That his grandfather’s very ill?’

Megan shook her head. ‘No.’ She moistened her lips. ‘I—I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Are you?’ Anita’s tone hadn’t altered, and Megan wondered why she was looking at her with such a wealth of emotion burning behind her eyes. ‘Yes. Maybe you mean it. For his sake, I hope you do.’

‘Anita!’ Megan’s hands gripped the arms of her chair. ‘What is it? What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘He’s dying, Megan,’ replied the other woman tremulously. ‘That’s why I rang you, why I begged you to come. I’ve been carrying the burden alone for so long, and I—I need someone to talk to, to share the pain.’

‘But Remy—’

‘I’ve told you, he knows his grandfather is ill, but that’s all. I—I couldn’t tell him the truth. He and his grandfather are so close. He’s going to be devastated when he finds out.’

‘Oh, Anita!’ Megan got up from her chair then, and almost without thinking how her stepsister might react she went to her and put her arms around her. ‘Anita,’ she said again as the older woman clutched at her with desperate fingers. ‘I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do, you only have to ask.’

It was little wonder she had slept fitfully, thought Megan now, throwing back the sheet and sliding her legs out of bed. Such sleep as she had had had been punctuated by dreams of her father and mother, and her own encounters with Remy, who apparently was unaware of how ill his grandfather really was.

Biting her lower lip, Megan crossed the floor to the windows and, unlatching them, stepped out onto the balcony. Even at this hour of the morning the temperature was warm, and a little sultry, too, the clouds hanging over the horizon a lingering reminder of the rain that had come in the night. Megan had heard it pattering against the panes, and it had reminded her of how she and Remy used to go hunting for crabs after a storm when they were children. The pools that had dotted the shoreline had been a source of all sorts of exciting mysteries, with seashells and other flotsam capturing their attention.

Propping her elbows on the wrought-iron rail, Megan gazed out now at a view that was still disturbingly familiar. Beyond the paved walks and exotically planted gardens of the hotel, white coral sand edged an ocean that was fringed with foam. Seabirds swooped along the beach, always scavenging, and in the distance the tide turned to mist against the rocks. It was all inexpressibly beautiful—a tropical paradise that was no less magical than she remembered

Or was it?

Certainly, her father would have said it had its serpent. The wonderful holiday island he had found had turned into a nightmare for him. She knew he would not have approved of her coming here, consorting with the enemy. Even if Ryan Robards was a very sick man. That didn’t excuse his behaviour of years before.

Yet she couldn’t deny feeling a certain compassion for the man. She was not a vindictive creature by nature, and although she would not have chosen to see her mother’s husband again she did have sympathy for him. And, after all, before her parents had separated, she had regarded Remy’s grandfather as a kind of surrogate uncle. He had been kind to her in those days. Had his affection only been a means to get close to her mother, as her father had said?

Whatever, in the beginning, Megan had looked forward to their holidays in San Felipe with great excitement. She remembered the girls at the exclusive day school she had attended had all envied her those yearly trips to El Serrat. She hadn’t even been too upset when her father hadn’t always been able to accompany them, though later on she’d realised that that was when her mother’s affair with Ryan Robards had begun.

She’d been eight years old when she’d first come to the island, and almost fifteen when her parents had divorced. She had no idea how long her mother and Ryan Robards had been conducting their relationship; she only knew that her father had been the one who had been badly hurt.

What had always amazed her was how her mother could have allowed herself to become involved with someone like Ryan in the first place. All right, he was fun to be with, but compared to her father he was brash and insensitive, and lacking in any formal education. Indeed, in the early days of their relationship, Megan could remember her father laughing about some expression Ryan had used in error. He’d described the other man as a philistine, although Megan hadn’t understood then what he had meant.

Looking back, she conceded that there must have been more to what had happened than she’d imagined. No one gave up almost twenty years of marriage on a whim. She’d been far too defensive of her father to listen to any explanation her mother might have given her. She’d been totally prejudiced, she acknowledged, not prepared to give her mother a chance.

After the divorce, Megan had never gone back to San Felipe. She’d seen her mother from time to time, but always at some neutral location. Then, six years after Laura had married Ryan, she had developed an obscure form of cancer that was incurable. Although she’d been treated in a London hospital, and Megan had spent a lot of time with her, the looming presence of her new husband had prevented any real reconciliation being made.

Not that Megan had seen Ryan then, nor afterwards at her mother’s funeral service. She had been too distressed herself, too concerned about her father, who had taken his ex-wife’s death very badly, to pay any attention to either Ryan or Anita. Afterwards, after the cremation, she’d learned that Ryan had taken his wife’s remains back to San Felipe to be scattered in a garden of remembrance there. It had been the final bereavement so far as Giles Cross was concerned—the realisation that there was nothing left of the woman he had loved.

His death some six months later, in what could only be described as suspicious circumstances, had left Megan completely alone. She had been in her final year at college, and to learn that her father had died from an overdose of the painkiller he’d been taking for some time, and with whose properties he was perfectly familiar, had been the final straw. She’d dropped out of college after his funeral, and rented a cottage on the Suffolk coast, spending several weeks in total isolation. She’d been trying to come to terms with her life, trying to understand how a man who had loved God, and to whom he had professed such allegiance, should have become so depressed that he’d taken his own life.

Eventually, loneliness—and the need to get a job—had driven her back to London. The vicarage, where she had lived for most of her young life, had now been occupied by another incumbent, and the few possessions left to her had had to be rescued from storage. What little money her father had left had been used to furnish a small, rented flat in Bayswater, and she’d initially got a job in an advertising agency to try and put some order back into her life.

It was soon after that that she’d run into Simon Chater again, and their eventual collaboration had led to her leaving the flat and sharing a house with him. It suited both of them to project a united image, and the fact that they both had their own rooms was no one’s business but their own.

The sun had risen as she’d been musing, and, straightening, Megan stretched lazy arms above her head. There was no doubt she was feeling better this morning, but it was time to remove her scantily clad figure from public view.

She decided to have a shower and get dressed, and then take a pre-breakfast stroll along the shoreline. Anita was taking her to see Ryan at ten o‘clock, but that gave her plenty of space. She refused to admit she was looking for a diversion. Good Lord, Ryan wasn’t a monster, he was a very sick man.

By the time she had had her shower and dressed in cream silk shorts and a matching vest it was still barely seven o‘clock. Slipping her feet into soft leather loafers, she surveyed her appearance critically. She didn’t really want to wear make-up, but a touch of blusher and some lipstick seemed mandatory. She looked so pale otherwise, and she had no wish for her stepsister to suspect she hadn’t slept.

The lift hummed silently to the ground floor, and when she stepped out into the marble foyer she was surprised to see that there were already guests about Obviously, judging by their attire, they belonged to the indefatigable band of joggers who insisted on taking their exercise whatever the weather. For her part, Megan preferred to confine her activities to the gym.

Continental breakfast was being offered in the lobby in a small bar divided from the rest of the area by a vine-hung trellis, and, grateful to be anonymous for once, Megan helped herself to a warm Danish pastry and a cup of black coffee. Carrying them across to a small table, she settled herself by the window, deciding there were advantages to being here, after all.

She garnered a few interested glances from the men who passed her table, but for the most part she was left in peace. And it was pleasant sitting in the sunlight, with air-conditioning to mute the heat, munching on her apricot Danish and watching the world go by.

‘I see you couldn’t sleep.’

She hadn’t seen him come into the lobby, if indeed he had just arrived at the hotel, and his lazy greeting caught her unawares. Child-like, she had tom the pastry apart and saved the apricot until last, and Remy discovered her savouring the juicy item, her lips moist and her fingers sticky from the fruit.

‘Um—jet lag,’ she mumbled, stuffing the rest of the apricot into her mouth and licking the tips of her fingers rather guiltily. ‘Where did you come from anyway? I thought you said you lived in town.’

‘I do.’ Remy glanced behind him, then raising a hand, as if to impress her to stay where she was, he strode across to the buffet table and helped himself to a coffee. He was back almost before she had swallowed the remains of the apricot, swinging out the wicker chair opposite and straddling it, its back to the table. ‘I thought I might join you for breakfast.’

Megan’s eyes widened, but she tried not to let him see how his words had affected her. It was hard enough coming to terms with his appearance. In a beige silk shirt and the trousers of a navy suit, the jacket looped carelessly over one shoulder, he looked vastly different from the beachcomber she had met the day before. He looked—unfamiliar, she thought fancifully: dark, and enigmatic, and mature. And he was watching her with disturbing closeness, as if those tawny eyes could actually read her thoughts.

‘I’m flattered,’ she said, trying to keep her tone noncommittal. ‘But how did you know I’d be up?’

‘Jet lag?’ he suggested, turning her words back on her before taking a mouthful of his coffee. And when her brows arched in disbelief he gave a grin. ‘I hoped,’ he added, with rather more diffidence. ‘Of course, I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to find you here.’

Megan grimaced. ‘Well, I admit, I never can adjust to the time change. I doubt I ever will.’

Remy folded his arms along the back of the chair and regarded her with a wry look. ‘Any minute now you’re going to tell me you’re too old to change. Come off it, Megan, anyone knows a five-hour time lag takes some getting used to.’

Megan shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so.’ He propped his chin on his wrist. ‘Did you have a pleasant evening after I left?’

‘Very pleasant, thank you.’ Although that wasn’t quite the description she would have used. ‘Your mother and I are old friends. It was good to see her again.’

‘I bet.’ But Remy’s expression was suddenly guarded. Then, as if overcoming some inner conflict, he said, ‘I wished I could have stayed.’

‘Yes.’ But Megan didn’t make the mistake of saying, So do I. She had no wish to rekindle those disturbing moments from the night before.

‘Believe it or not, I enjoyed our conversation,’ he continued evenly. ‘I guess you’re not what I expected, after all.’

‘Why?’ Megan was intrigued. ‘I thought you said I’d hardly changed.’

‘Physically, you haven’t, but I’ve decided you’re much nicer than you used to be. You were quite a little prig when you were younger.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘You were.’ She suspected he was teasing her now, but she didn’t quite know how to deal with him in this mood. ‘You always thought you knew everything,’ he insisted. ‘I thought you were a smartarse, if you want the truth.’

Megan gasped. ‘Well, thank you.’

He grinned. ‘It’s my pleasure.’ He paused. ‘Of course, as I said before, you’ve much improved. You’re much more feminine for one thing. I’ll never forget those khaki shorts you used to wear.’

Megan flushed. ‘They weren’t khaki. They were fawn. And all the church Scouts wore them.’

‘Not the girl Scouts, I’ll bet,’ retorted Remy, laughing. ‘Of course, you always wanted to be a boy.’

‘I did not!’

Megan was defensive, but she couldn’t deny that she had been a bossy creature in those days. It came from being an only child, she defended herself. And the suspicion that her father had wanted a son.

‘Well, you weren’t exactly a little angel,’ she declared now. ‘You practically frightened the life out of me when you put that frog in my bed.’

Remy chuckled reminiscently. ‘It was only a little frog,’ he protested, but Megan wouldn’t have it.

‘When it jumped out of the sheets, I nearly died.’

Remy grimaced. ‘Well, thank goodness you didn’t. I dread to think what your father would have said if he’d known. Which reminds me, I never did thank you for not telling him. And you were a lot nicer to me after that,’ he added irrepressibly.

‘I wonder why?’ Megan pulled a face at him. ‘I’d forgotten what a disgusting little boy you were.’

Remy’s eyes darkened. ‘Have I changed?’ he asked with sudden seriousness, and Megan coloured.

‘I hope so,’ she said, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted, but Remy chose to put her on the spot.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘Have I changed a lot? I’m interested to hear what you think.’

Megan sighed, suddenly aware of the dangers of getting too close to him. ‘Of course you’ve changed,’ she said hurriedly. ‘You’re sixteen years older to begin with.’ She paused. ‘Your mother’s very proud of you, you know.’

Remy regarded her through narrowed lids. ‘Is she?’ he said carelessly. ‘Well, that’s some consolation, I suppose. But it doesn’t really answer my question.’ He grimaced. ‘I doubt your father would have been so reticent about what he thought.’

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