‘Do you think he might be going back this afternoon?’ asked Jake, with sudden optimism. ‘He could be, couldn’t he, Mum? He might just have come for the weekend, like me?’

  Julia hoped not, and then chided herself for wishing the alternative. There would be no happy outcome, whichever way it went. If Quinn left, she was sure he’d come back. He hadn’t finished with her yet.

  To Jake’s disappointment, and Julia’s dubious relief, there was no familiar Englishman waiting for the ferry. There were two passengers as well as Jake, but neither of them paid any attention to Julia. They were far too absorbed in one another, and she guessed they were honeymooners, returning home after a never-to-be-forgotten trip.

  The journey back to Renaissance Bay felt lonelier than usual. She always hated Sunday evenings, when she knew it was going to be five more days before she saw her son again. Not that she’d ever alerted Jake to her feelings of melancholy. Her son needed to spend time away from the island. She didn’t want him to grow up a recluse like herself.

  She saw the Moke as she rounded the bend in the drive. It was almost dark, but its white paint and chrome trimmings glinted in the final rays of the setting sun. It was parked on her drive, but there was no sign of its owner. If he’d invaded her home again, she thought angrily, she’d definitely call the police. The force might be small here on San Jacinto, but Henry Lafeyette was big enough to do what must be done.

  Pulling the keys out of the Mitsubishi, she found herself scanning her appearance with a critical eye. On the off-chance that she might see Quinn, she had worn wide-legged cotton trousers and a thin cotton jacket. Not because she wanted to impress anybody, she had assured herself drily, but simply because it was easier to face an opponent with her clothes on.

  Now she smoothed the creases out of the long jacket, checked that her vest hadn’t come out of her waistband and that her hair was secure in its braid, and walked determinedly along the path at the side of villa.

  Quinn had evidently heard the car—Damn him, she thought uncharitably. She had hoped he might be so absorbed in what he was doing that she could confront him as she’d done the day before. Which was ridiculous really, she acknowledged, when only minutes before she had been threatening to call the local constable for just that offence. And Quinn never did what was expected. She supposed he never had.

  Right now he was standing at the edge of the patio, staring out at the darkening waters of the bay. As before, he was wearing something dark—a black jacket, she thought, thin and fairly loose, over fine silk trousers that the wind was moulding against his legs. His hair was ruffled by the breeze, too, and with his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets the width of his shoulders was quite impressive. She supposed she had half expected this—but not the treacherous quickening of her blood.

  He heard her approach. She had barely reached the corner of the house when he turned his head and saw her. He looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes assessing every detail of her appearance. But if she had expected diffidence she was disappointed. His face registered nothing but contempt.

  In consequence, it was incredibly difficult to keep to her own agenda. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded, but her voice lacked conviction. She was very much afraid that she knew.

  Quinn turned now and walked back to her, without removing his hands from his pockets. Her instinct was to move away, but she stayed where she was anyway. If there was to be any violence she would rather it was out here.

  ‘Did you imagine I wouldn’t come?’ he enquired coldly, the warmth of his breath in direct contrast to what he was saying. ‘Surely you didn’t think you could get away with it? You must have known I was bound to find out!’

  Julia’s throat constricted. Her lips felt parched, and her tongue seemed to swell like some enormous gag in her mouth. Oh, God, she thought faintly, she was going to lose control. Her legs, her spine, her neck—all seemed to have turned to jelly.

  ‘What did you hope to achieve, I wonder?’ he asked harshly. ‘Or was it just a petty piece of spite? You had absolutely no reason to do it. The man who betrayed your whereabouts is dead.’

  Julia blinked. It was incredibly difficult to make any sense of what he was saying when her own emotions were in such turmoil. Any plans she had made for just such an emergency had all been nullified by the effects of the shock. She could only be grateful that Jake wasn’t here, that he’d shown some consideration for her son.

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother to deny it!’ exclaimed Quinn scornfully. ‘I can see the guilt written in your face. Just tell me, did you do it yourself, or did you get Hope to help you? I should report him to the authorities for prejudicing my rights.’

  Julia stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What—what rights?’ she asked unsteadily, although she knew. But he couldn’t be certain, could he? It might still be within her grasp.

  ‘The rights of any guest in the hotel,’ retorted Quinn, with even less coherence. ‘Dammit, Jules, you have no right to search my belongings. What on earth did you hope to find?’

  Julia swayed. ‘Search your belongings?’ she echoed, and the sound seemed to come to her from a great distance. ‘I—I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t touched your belongings.’ Her voice broke uncontrollably. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  Quinn groaned now, and, despite her efforts to avoid him, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and took her upper arms in a forceful grip. ‘Calm down,’ he said as her head lolled, feeling too heavy for her to support it. ‘Come on, Jules. Let’s go inside. You’ll feel better when you’ve had something to drink.’

  ‘No.’

  She tried to drag herself away from his too familiar hands, the scent of his shaving lotion evident now as he attempted to turn her towards the villa. She didn’t want him in her house, she didn’t want him to touch her, and most of all she didn’t want to wonder what damage she might have done.

  ‘I said calm down!’ he exclaimed, impatience getting the better of discretion. Without giving her a chance to defy him, he swung her off her feet and into his arms, carrying her across the patio as if she weighed no more than Jake. ‘We’re going to have this out,’ he told her as he mounted the steps to the veranda and confronted the French doors that led into the kitchen. He set her on her feet, though he kept a firm hold of her shoulders. ‘Where are your keys? In your purse?’

  ‘I don’t have a purse,’ she replied, annoyed to find that her voice was no less unsteady. ‘It’s not locked, as if you didn’t know. Don’t pretend you didn’t try the door.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Quinn flatly, reaching past her and pushing the glass door open. He propelled her inside, and switched on the track of spotlights that illuminated the various working surfaces. ‘I suppose you thought you’d pay me back for reading your damned manuscript.’

  At last Julia succeeded in wrenching herself away from him. Putting the width of the kitchen between them, she endeavoured to make a stand. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I tell you.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve just been to the harbour. To put Jake on the ferry.’

  ‘I know where you’ve been just now,’ said Quinn, shutting the door against an enormous moth that had been attracted by the lights. He folded his arms and faced her. ‘I don’t mean now, I mean last night.’

  Julia moistened her dry lips. Her head was spinning, but the realisation that somehow she had got this wrong, that he wasn’t here to confront her about her son, was slowly sinking in.

  ‘Last night?’ she repeated blankly, still wary of saying anything more that might prejudice her case. Now that her brain was working again she was running frantically over what she had said. Had she given him any reason to doubt her words? Given time, could he detect any hidden meaning?

  ‘Yes, last night,’ said Quinn shortly, and then, noticing how pale she still looked, he muttered a savage oath. ‘Look,’ he went on, ‘it’s obvious you’re still feeling shaky. Where do you keep your whisky? You’ll feel better after you’ve had a drink.’

  ‘I don’t drink,’ said Julia unevenly. ‘Not whisky, anyway. And I’m not opening a bottle of wine just to satisfy the—the guilt you’re feeling—’

  ‘The guilt I’m feeling?’ he snarled. ‘What the hell do I have to feel guilty about? You’re the one who’s got some explaining to do. I was just feeling sorry for you, that’s all.’

  ‘Sorry? For me?’

  Julia tried to sound contemptuous, but for once her acting skills had forsaken her. Instead of sounding scornful, she sounded as if she was about to burst into tears, and Quinn swore again as he strode across the room towards her.

  ‘For God’s sake, go and sit down before you fall down,’ he ordered harshly. Ignoring her instinctive withdrawal, he turned her round and pushed her into the living-room. ‘Now,’ he said as she was struggling to hide her weakness, ‘where do you keep the brandy? And don’t tell me you don’t have any, because I simply won’t believe you.’

  ‘I don’t want any brandy,’ said Julia resentfully, sinking rather inelegantly on to one of the matching sofas. In actual fact, she was afraid to take any alcohol. She was feeling far too muddled as it was.

  ‘OK. I do,’ declared Quinn, going back into the kitchen, and she heard him opening and shutting her cupboard doors with a distinct disregard for caution.

  She drew a trembling breath, unable to stand any more of that noisy invasion. ‘It—it’s in the cabinet in the dining-room,’ she called reluctantly, deciding she didn’t have to join him. But until he’d said what he’d come for he wasn’t going to leave.

  ‘Thanks.’

  His response was laconic, but Julia was too busy composing herself to care whether he was being polite or not. While he switched on lights in the dining-room and collected the bottle of brandy from the cabinet she made a concerted effort to regain her composure. It was obvious now that they had been talking at cross purposes, and if he was accusing her of being a thief he must have some justification.

  He came back with the brandy and two glasses, and although she ignored the glass he set beside her the aroma it gave off was reviving. However, when he seated himself beside her, its recuperative properties were somewhat reduced. Instead she had to contend with his nearness, and the fact that she was by no means indifferent to his mood.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he asked, arching one dark brow, and Julia wished she were half as confident as he appeared to be.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she replied offhandedly, but it was hardly an answer. For someone who was having to press her knees together to stop them from trembling she was barely struggling to survive.

  ‘So...’ He extended one long leg and brushed a speck of dust from his turn-up. ‘What did I get wrong?’

  Julia swallowed. ‘It appears you believe I—I’ve searched your room at the hotel.’

  ‘Damn right.’ He eyed her with a narrowed gaze. ‘Waste of time, wasn’t it?’

  Julia expelled her breath slowly. ‘I’m sure it would have been,’ she agreed, ‘if I’d done it.’

  ‘What do you mean, if you’d done it?’ Quinn’s mouth curved sardonically. ‘Julia, I have it on good authority that a woman was seen coming out of my room last night.’

  ‘Really?’ Julia managed to sound sardonic too. ‘What a novelty!’

  Quinn breathed a heavy sigh. ‘What’s the point of denying it?’ He raised his glass to his lips and took an impatient mouthful of the brandy. ‘Look, I was mad when I got here, I admit it. But—all right, I am prepared to discuss it. I guess you thought you had your reasons. I just want to know what those reasons are.’

  Julia glared at him. ‘No,’ she said angrily, regaining a little of her reason. ‘No, I won’t discuss it. It wasn’t me, I tell you. Last night—last night I had supper with my son.’

  ‘And after supper?’

  ‘I went to bed,’ said Julia harshly. ‘For God’s sake, Quinn, what do you take me for? Why on earth should I wish to prolong our association?’

  He winced then, his skin darkening with unexpected colour. ‘Then who was it?’ he demanded grimly, and Julia shook her head.

  ‘That’s your problem, not mine.’ Though she shifted a little uneasily. ‘Why would anyone want to search your room? Are you accusing this person—whoever it is—of being a thief?’

  ‘No.’ Quinn’s mouth compressed. ‘Nothing was stolen.’

  ‘Nothing?’ Julia’s breath escaped in a gasp. ‘Then why—?’

  ‘I was sure it was you,’ he muttered, emptying his glass in a single gulp and pouring himself another. ‘I thought you were curious to know how I’d found you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Julia’s throat moved convulsively. ‘Oh, well—I suppose I am curious about that,’ she admitted honestly. ‘But I wouldn’t do what you’re suggesting. I have some pride, you know.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Quinn regarded her out of the corner of his eye, and Julia wondered if her legs were strong enough to enable her to get up and switch on some more lamps. The lamp beside the sofa where they were sitting was the only illumination in the room, and, because they were alone and it was almost completely dark outside, the intimacy of their situation was becoming increasingly pronounced.

  ‘What makes you think it wasn’t one of the housemaids?’ she asked quickly, to distract those all-knowing eyes, and Quinn lifted his shoulders in a dismissing gesture.

  ‘It was late,’ he said, as if that were explanation enough. And then, as if reconsidering, ‘Hell, I don’t know. Perhaps it was the housemaid. What do I know? They usually turn down the beds earlier in the evening, but who knows? Maybe they were late last night. Maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe I’m getting paranoid.’

  His eyes were dark with some emotion she couldn’t identify now, and Julia felt her breath catch in her throat. He looked so young suddenly, so much like the boy she used to know. And the awareness terrified her.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said as she was preparing to put some much needed space between them, ‘I guess I have to apologise yet again. I didn’t mean to come on so strong.’

  Julia’s mouth dried. ‘It’s—it’s all—right—’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ To her horror, he moved closer, his thigh depressing the cushion nearest to her hip and causing her to tip ever so slightly towards him. He captured one of her hands and smoothed his thumb across her quivering knuckles. ‘I know we didn’t get off to a very auspicious start, Jules, but I have to tell you it was a shock for me too.’ His mouth tilted half humorously. ‘It’s not every day you meet the woman who taught you all you know.’

  ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘You did, but we won’t go into that now.’ Her head was bent, but she could feel his eyes searching her downy cheek. ‘I never did get the chance to tell you how I felt when you went away like that.’ He made a rueful sound. ‘I was shattered, Jules. You’ve got to believe it.’ He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t believe you’d do such a thing. Not to me. Not to us. Which just goes to show what an arrogant little pri—prig I was.’

  Julia attempted to pull her hand away, but when it proved harder than she’d expected she allowed it to stay where it was. She had to stop acting like an outraged virgin, or he was going to find something else to be suspicious about, and after all what harm could it do?

  A lot, a small voice inside her warned. Those firm brown fingers were absurdly sensuous, and it didn’t help when she remembered how they had felt touching her heated flesh. It seemed incredible now that she had once allowed the young Quinn such liberties with her, but the trouble was that he had never seemed that young to her...

  ‘Do you remember the first time I came to your apartment?’ he asked softly, his thumb finding her palm and the sensitive nerves that were dampening her skin. His gaze skimmed her exposed nape, and she felt as if he’d touched her there, too. ‘You were so surprised to see me.’

  ‘I was amazed,’ she said quellingly. ‘Quinn—’

  ‘You didn’t send me away,’ he reminded her evenly, and she felt rather than saw him switch hands and raise his thumb—the thumb with which he had been caressing her moist palm—to his lips.

  ‘I should have,’ she retorted shortly, aware of him sucking the taste of her from his thumb. And, taking the opportunity to snatch her hand out of his absent grasp, she demanded, ‘Quinn, what are you doing, sitting here, reminiscing about a past that I for one would prefer to forget? This is hardly an act of contrition.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’ She was forced to look at him then, if only to reinforce her argument. ‘I think you’d better go, before—before we both say something we’ll regret.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Quinn’s dark eyes were wide and sensual. ‘I don’t regret—anything.’

  ‘Well, I do.’ Julia swallowed. That, at least, was true. Though even then the interpretation was open to contradiction... She licked her lips. ‘Quinn—please.’

  ‘Please what?’

  With an abrupt movement, Julia severed the attempt to reason with him. Getting to her feet, she had only one intention: to put herself beyond his reach both mentally and physically.

  But, to her dismay, Quinn rose with her, and when she would have moved away he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. ‘Jules,’ he said huskily, ‘what are you afraid of? Don’t you know I’d never hurt you?’

  That was too close for comfort. ‘I’m not—afraid—of anything,’ she denied quickly. ‘But it is ten years, Quinn. People change.’

  ‘They stop loving one another, is that what you mean?’ he enquired, his fingers far too possessive on her shoulder. He wasn’t hurting her, but he was determined, and his breath fanning her cheek was hot and uneven.

  ‘We—never—loved one another,’ she replied, though she didn’t look at him as she said it, and she was sure he was aware of it. But she hadn’t loved him, she assured herself. She’d been infatuated with him, that was all. Just as he had been with her. A brief and, as it turned out, bitter experience. And certainly one she had no wish to repeat.

 

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