Sinful Pleasures. Anne Mather
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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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