Tender Assault. Anne Mather

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      She’d thought he’d enjoyed her company, too, and perhaps he had, to begin with. Perhaps, like her, he’d found having a ready-made sibling quite appealing. Particularly one who admired him, and hung on his every word.

      But there was an enormous difference between the hero-worship of a seven-year-old and the embarrassing persistence of a post-pubescent teenager. And, as soon as her mother remarked on it, India had known she must be right. Of course then she hadn’t realised where his desires lay, hadn’t understood that his tolerance with her had just been a means to an end …

      Now she straightened her spine, made a reassuring remark to the red-faced receptionist, and walked determinedly across the foyer. She couldn’t blame the girl for responding to Nathan’s charm. She knew only too well how lethal that charm could be.

      The cocktail bar was four steps down from the level of the foyer. Cool and dim, with a long counter strung with lights, it overlooked the beach, and the lights of the marina in the distance. Her stepfather had built the marina in the days before Kittrick’s Hotel had become a household name. The old house, where they had lived when she and her mother had first come here, had been both hotel and residence. However, since the new hotel had been constructed, it had been turned into a haven for yachtsmen. There was a clubhouse now, on the upper floor, and a comprehensive chandlery beneath. And, although the store was supposed to be there for the benefit of the yachting community, it also sold golf and scuba-diving gear, and female guests could often be found browsing through its racks of designer sportswear, or chatting up the manager, who was, admittedly, quite a hunk.

      India halted at the top of the steps leading down into the bar, and surveyed the territory. The piano where Carlos Mendoza played most evenings was as yet unattended, and there were no couples smooching on the tiny dance-floor. The neat armchairs and tables that were set by the long windows to take advantage of the view were still empty, and the distant sounds from the stereo were soft and not intrusive.

      She saw Nathan at once, seated on one of the tall stools at the bar, talking to Paolo. And why wouldn’t she? she asked herself impatiently. Apart from the bartender, he was the only occupant. Nevertheless, it was galling to feel her pulses racing, and she thrust aside the feeling that he had already taken control.

      He had changed, she noticed. The well-worn jeans that had clung to his muscled thighs had given way to black chinos and a dark shirt. His dark hair overhung his collar at the back, and even from here she could see it was still damp from his shower. But, when Paolo suddenly noticed her, and said something to his companion, Nathan turned his head in her direction, and she focused on the fact that the tie they insisted upon was absent.

      All the same, it was a little unnerving to have him watch her descend the steps and cross the polished floor towards them. She was intensely conscious of her windswept hair and bare arms and legs, and she prayed she wouldn’t trip or do something equally stupid.

      ‘Hi,’ he said when she reached them, and she was glad he didn’t slide off the bar-stool to greet her. As it was, with his arms on the counter, and his shoulders hunched over the Scotch and water in front of him, he was almost her own height, and she didn’t experience the same lack of advantage she’d felt at the airport.

      ‘Hello,’ she responded, managing a smile, even if it was a trifle chilly. But Nathan disturbed her, and she didn’t like the sensation. She was letting his lack of sensitivity get to her, and she knew she would have to deal with it.

      ‘You look harassed,’ he remarked, and she thought how typical it was of him to make such a personal comment. She knew how she looked. She didn’t need him to tell her. And, when it came right down to it, it was none of his business, so why didn’t he butt out?

      ‘You don’t,’ she remarked now, noticing he had shaved the growth of stubble from his chin. It didn’t make him look any younger; it just accentuated the harsh beauty of his features.

      ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’ he enquired, rubbing his nose with a lazy finger. His eyes were lazy, too, dark and inscrutable behind their shield of sooty lashes.

      ‘I—we—guests are expected to wear a tie in the evening,’ she explained, not without some trepidation. She could tell herself that this was her stepbrother, that it was Nathan, with whom she had once shared all her girlish confidences, but it didn’t work. Too much had happened. He had gone away and they had grown apart. The man he was now bore little resemblance to the boy she remembered.

      ‘Really?’

      Nathan’s fingers probed the open collar of his shirt, which she could now see was made of navy blue silk. So wherever he had been, and whatever he had done, he hadn’t been penniless, she reflected tautly, trying to avoid watching those long narrow fingers as they exposed the sun-burned column of his throat.

      ‘Yes, really,’ she confirmed, grateful that she sounded more resolute than she felt. Her gaze strayed to the faintly mocking curve of his mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’

      Nathan’s lips parted, revealing teeth that were white and even. ‘And that’s the purpose of this visit?’ he enquired. ‘To tell me I’m not properly dressed?’ His lips twisted. ‘Forgive me, but are you saying that what you’re wearing is suitable, but I’m out of line?’

      ‘No!’ India was impatient. ‘No, of course not. I came to speak to Paolo. I didn’t know I’d find you here, did I?’

      Nathan inclined his head. ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded, raising his glass to his lips. ‘So do you want me to leave you two alone?’

      India refused to dignify his words with a reply. Instead she turned to Paolo, and, adopting the polite but authoritative manner she used with all the staff, she explained Carlos’s predicament.

      ‘He’d like you to avoid clattering glasses while he’s playing,’ she clarified carefully. ‘Most people are prepared to wait until each medley’s over before being served. And those who won’t wait will come to the counter. Your moving round the room, taking orders, is distracting the guests while they’re listening to the music.’

      Paolo was scowling when she’d finished, and India suppressed a sigh. The Italian barman was not the easiest person to deal with, and he and Carlos had crossed swords before. ‘What he means is he’s afraid he won’t get his tips if I give them something else to think about,’ he retorted, in the hoarse accented English the women guests found so appealing. ‘Dio, doesn’t the idiota realise that so far as the guests are concerned I might just as well be playing the stereo?’

      ‘I don’t think that’s entirely true, Paolo,’ she declared evenly. ‘Carlos is a very accomplished musician——’

      ‘E puntura!’ grunted Paolo sulkily, and although India didn’t know what that meant she was sure it was nothing complimentary.

      ‘I don’t think——’ she was beginning wearily, when Nathan intervened.

      ‘I think you owe Miss Kittrick an apology,’ he said, his voice no less compelling because it was low and controlled. ‘And if she tells you not to serve drinks while this pianist is doing his stuff you won’t do it. Right?’

      Paolo’s reaction was immediate. ‘But of course, signore,’ he exclaimed, and if India hadn’t already had experience of his belligerence she would have thought she had imagined it. ‘I was only joking, no? Carlos—he is my friend. We are all friends here on Pelican Island.’

      India’s СКАЧАТЬ