White Lies. SARA WOOD
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have given anything to have a father. ‘But what’s the point of revenge? It will only hurt you both,’ she argued.
‘I’m not looking for revenge,’ he said tightly. ‘I’m looking for justice. Don’t interfere in my life. Don’t offer advice and smother me with your sweet, sentimental idea of close family ties! You know nothing of what’s going on!’
‘No, I don’t. It’s obviously something immensely important to you. I’m sorry,’ she conceded with contrition.
Pascal looked strained. ‘Yes. You should be. Now you know the score. Enjoy your holiday and then go home.’
‘I can’t do that,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry you won’t help me but it doesn’t make any difference to my decision. I have to see him.’ And she set her mouth in firm lines.
‘I’ll stop you. Come hell or high water, I’ll keep you two apart.’
His voice was quiet but utterly determined and Mandy felt a quiver of alarm run through her body. The circumstances which had put father and son at loggerheads must be more serious and far-reaching than she could imagine. Something terrible had happened between them that caused the bleakness in Pascal’s cold blue eyes and the tensing of every muscle in his body to straining point whenever he referred to his father.
‘There’s more to this than I know, isn’t there?’ she said.
Pascal nodded. ‘Much more. You don’t want to get caught up in it. Do the sensible thing. It’s in your own interest not to stay.’
Feeling defeated, Mandy miserably picked up her shoes and stood up in a liquid flow of limbs and body. ‘I’m sorry you’re both so unhappy,’ she said, feeling sad for Pascal and his father, and he gave her an odd, suspicious look. ‘I’ll make my own enquiries. People here will know where your father is—’
‘They don’t,’ he said coldly. ‘He’s in a private hospital. Strictly no visitors. No calls.’
She heaved a sigh. ‘Then I won’t disturb him. You said he didn’t have an office but he must have a colleague who can help me—’
‘A colleague?’ Pascal said scathingly. ‘He doesn’t have one.’
Mandy drew in an exasperated breath. ‘Then I’ll ring the solicitor in London,’ she said, beginning to lose patience. ‘Mr Lacey will give me a contact address—’
‘Don’t waste your time asking,’ said Pascal. ‘He’s had strict instructions not to reveal any information whatsoever. Only to give you the airline tickets and the accommodation voucher.’
‘How do you know?’ she asked suspiciously.
He gave a small smile of triumph. ‘I saw the instructions to Lacey when I was sorting through my father’s papers.’
‘I see. Well, it doesn’t matter,’ she said, bravely stopping her lower lip from wobbling. Somehow she needed to see those papers. Pascal wouldn’t help, but maybe someone else would. ‘I’ve come so far, I can’t give up now! I can still ask around. People are always willing to talk to me. I’ll find out. I’ve spent half my life battling against the odds. Finding your father won’t be any problem for me, and I’m sure he’ll see me when he feels a bit better. I can be very persuasive.’
‘With a body like that, I’m sure you can,’ he commented insolently.
Her eyes flared in astonished affront but she forced herself not to dignify his insult with a reaction. Furious with him, she turned haughtily on her heel and walked to the shoreline, determined to prove that she felt so full of confidence that a mid-afternoon paddle was the only thing uppermost in her mind now.
In fact, she needed time to think. Tired from travelling all day, shaky from Pascal’s awful reception, she was finding it hard to pull her woozy brain together. The earlier elation had vanished, leaving a heavy depression, and she’d need to overcome that if she was to make any headway with her plans.
As she walked through the cooling water with her head held high to catch the light breeze on her hot face, she wanted to cry because she felt quite weak with disappointment. This had begun with such promise!
She was tired of struggling. She wanted Dave back. Strong arms to hold her. Someone who cared, who’d give her support and encouragement. The world was a lonely place when you had no one, and she’d been alone for too long.
The tears threatened to spill out and she blinked rapidly in case Pascal could see her face and would think that she was upset because of him. She didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. What a brute he was!
She’d almost reached the rocks at the end of the beach when a hand gripped her shoulder. And she flinched because it was so similar to Dave’s—similar but different. Harder. Less loving, less gentle, more masterful and compelling. Pascal.
‘Oh, why are you following me?’ she asked in despair.
‘You need persuading,’ he said curtly.
‘I won’t be persuaded! Get lost!’ she snapped over her shoulder, almost at the end of her tether.
Abruptly, she found herself being pivoted around like a doll. They stood very close in the rolling surf and the drag of the water was so strong that she kept losing her balance as the sand was sucked from under her feet.
‘Careful.’
Pascal steadied her, his hands sliding to her arms. Irrationally, she longed for him to hold her closer and say sorry, he’d help. And then she’d cry the tears she’d been holding back in sheer relief.
‘I don’t need you!’ she muttered, more for her own benefit than his.
‘You will always need men,’ he observed, a husky warmth threading his voice. ‘Need them, want them, encourage them.’
She blinked in surprise and turned her head away to gather her composure. He was horribly right—not about the encouragement, but yes, to be totally honest, she did need them, want them.
Dave’s death had rendered the thought of loving another man inconceivable. But certain things—lovers kissing in a bus shelter, passionate scenes on the television, and personal memories of making love on a warm, moonlit night with the curtains fluttering in the soft breeze—all these and more had repeatedly jolted her deep sexuality into life again, driving her crazy with the torment, brutally reminding her how wonderful married love could be. And she hungered for something she could no longer have, because she’d never fall in love again and sex without love—without marriage—was unthinkable.
She missed being hugged by her beloved husband. She missed the joy of sex. And the bliss afterwards.
Slowly her limpid gaze came back to focus on his. ‘Spoken like a true chauvinist,’ she said resentfully. Yet the memories had roughened her voice and she sounded horribly husky and inviting.
‘You need men... and I need women. There’s something terrible about the sex urge, isn’t there, Mandy?’
Taking advantage of her astonished silence, he slowly displayed his masculine approval by openly studying her body. Mandy squirmed uncomfortably, aware that her sweat was holding her thin dress against her damp skin and that he must be learning more about her figure than he should.
‘Don’t!’ she husked, reeling from his intense sexuality. It was making her body throb... It was such a long time since a man had been so bold and poured desire from the depths of his eyes! Her mouth trembled and pouted. ‘Don’t!’
‘Invitation and rebuke. Little-girl sweetness, womanly sensuality. Demure and innocent, yet offering the promise of curves that will fire an old man’s loins. What a joy you must be to lustful old satyrs,’ mused Pascal with breathtaking insolence.
‘What?’ she gasped.
‘Easy arousal is vitally important when you’re dealing with lowered libido,’ he drawled.