Tender Assault. Anne Mather
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she hadn’t deserved her mother’s description of her as being overweight and spotty, she had been suffering the usual pains of adolescence. ‘I’m sorry, too.’ He paused. ‘It’s good to see you again, India.’
Her smile was perfunctory. ‘Shall we go?’ she suggested. She glanced at his canvas holdall before gesturing towards the back of the building. ‘The buggy’s just over there.’ She turned to the pilot, who had been observing their reunion. ‘Raoul, will you fetch the rest of Mr Kittrick’s luggage off the plane?’
‘No,’ Nathan intervened before the pilot could speak. ‘That is—I don’t have any more luggage.’ He tapped the canvas holdall. ‘This is it.’
India’s brows, which were several shades darker than her hair, drew together in obvious confusion. ‘You mean—it’s coming on later,’ she said, evidently not enjoying having her arrangements thwarted in front of the staff, and Nathan shook his head.
‘I’ve got everything I need,’ he assured her smoothly. He gave the pilot and his companion a faintly mocking salute. ‘Thanks, Raoul. It was a very—enjoyable trip.’
He didn’t look at the stewardess, but he guessed she was relieved he hadn’t chosen to mention her. All the same, it made him wonder about the kind of stories that were circulating about him. What kind of man did they think he was? What other lies had Adele been spreading since she had learned she was not to inherit Pelican Island after all?
He felt a surge of irritation, not least because he didn’t like the idea of India hearing that her stepbrother was some sort of sex animal. She might already think it, of course. Goodness knew, she had been brainwashed into believing he had no scruples. He wasn’t a monk, and he’d never pretended to be one. But he’d spent most of his energies these past years in making a success of his business, not feeding his libido.
‘Oh, well …’ India lifted her slim shoulders in a dismissing motion, and started towards the black- and white-painted buggy parked in the shade of the building. ‘Let’s go.’
Nathan took a moment to observe the spectacle of her trim rear, tightly encased in black close-fitting shorts, before following her. He already knew her breasts were full and round and strained against the white silk of the vest that completed her outfit. The shadow of her bra had been clearly visible as he’d looked down at her, and he guessed she was one of the hotel’s less obvious assets.
This thought irritated him, also. He didn’t like the image of some rich banker feasting his eyes on India’s slender body. She was his sister, for God’s sake! He didn’t want anyone looking at her but him. He knew a sudden urge to protect her. Was Adele exploiting her daughter, as well as everything else?
India was sitting in the buggy when he reached it, her hands on the wheel, and the motor running. Nathan tossed his bag into the back, and swung himself into the seat beside her. ‘Right,’ he said, giving her a brooding sideways glance, and she put the gearstick into drive, and pressed her booted foot on the accelerator.
The road had been much improved, he noticed at once. The rutted track he remembered had been repaired and edged with coral, but it was an ongoing problem. It was impossible to control all the vegetation on the island, and trailing vines hid the road in places. On top of that, grass was pushing up among the coral, and here and there the heads of periwinkles nodded as they passed. There was a glorious inconsistency about the landscaping here, he thought ruefully. Tropical shrubs grew in the most unlikely places, and, despite the frustration, their beauty was unsurpassed.
‘Did you have a good flight?’
Her question took him by surprise, and he had to check the urge to ask her if she cared. Her attitude towards him—polite, but superficial—was not what he’d anticipated, not what he wanted. Didn’t she feel any emotion, for God’s sake? He’d expected anger, or resentment, but not indifference.
But it was too soon to voice his feelings. Particularly as he wasn’t entirely sure what those feelings were. At the moment, he was still assimilating his reaction to her appearance, reminding himself that this was the wide-eyed kid who’d once hung on his every word.
So, ‘Pretty good,’ he responded, half turning in his seat towards her, and resting one arm along the back of hers. He hesitated, and then, ‘How’s your mother? Was she here when the old man bought—er—died?’
‘Of course she was here.’ With the first flash of spirit he had seen, India answered him. ‘He’d been ill for several weeks. The local doctor thought it was just over-work. He wouldn’t go to see a specialist. He was having some pain, you see, and he insisted it was just a pulled muscle.’
Nathan felt an unwilling tightness in his throat. ‘But it wasn’t.’
‘No.’ India shook her head and a silky strand of her long hair brushed his knuckles. ‘Afterwards—after the heart attack that killed him—they discovered a small embolism in his chest. It—was very quick.’
Nathan turned his hand and captured the fiery thread, smoothing it between his fingers. ‘I see.’
‘We did try to reach you,’ she added. ‘But we didn’t know where you were living. Fortunately, Mr Hastings——’ his father’s lawyer, he remembered ‘—located an address in New York. But, as you know, you weren’t there.’
‘No.’ She moved her head again and he let go of her hair. ‘I was—out of the country. Still——’ his lips twisted ‘—I doubt if I was missed.’
Her eyes turned to him then, cool and dispassionate. ‘You are his son,’ she said, as if that was enough, and the rawness of injustice stirred inside him.
‘Not for the past eight years,’ he said, baring his resentment. ‘The old man threw me off the island, if you remember. I didn’t get the impression he ever wanted me back.’
India’s fingers tightened on the steering-wheel, and for a few moments she said nothing, allowing him to draw his own conclusions. But it was difficult to sustain any bitterness here, with the spicy scents of the island invading his nostrils, and the lowering sun touching everything with a golden brilliance. He’d forgotten exactly how beautiful it all was, and he gazed at the drooping heads of mimosa and oleander with an equal measure of ambivalence.
The road was dipping down towards the shoreline, and, to their left, the manicured lawns of a golf course defied the hand of nature. Beyond the trunk of a flowering jacaranda, he could see the coral roof of the clubhouse, and the gaily painted carts that ferried the guests around.
Evidently Adele had been busy, he reflected wryly, remembering this area as being a flowering wilderness. But these days no resort worth its salt could do without a golf course, and even a desultory glance disclosed that this was a rather better one than most.
‘He never stopped loving you, you know,’ India said suddenly, into the faintly hostile silence that had fallen, and Nathan gave her a searching look.
‘No?’ He was sceptical.
‘No.’ She clung to the wheel as the buggy bounced over a wooden bridge that arched a small ravine. ‘He used to talk about you a lot.’ She paused. ‘Particularly towards—towards the end.’
Nathan’s jaw compressed. What was he supposed to say to that? What was he supposed to think? Did she think it comforted him to believe his father had forgiven him? Dammit; as far as he was concerned, there was nothing to forgive.
‘And what about you?’ he asked, somewhat mockingly, eager to change the subject, and she gave him a startled glance.
‘What about me?’
‘Do you still love me?’ he asked, wanting to disconcert her, and a feathering of colour brushed her skin.
She had beautiful skin, he noticed, pale and delicate, but with the rich lushness of cream. She had never tanned, but she had also escaped the bane of freckles that many redheads suffered. Instead, her arms and legs were smooth and unblemished, and disturbingly