Tender Assault. Anne Mather
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 jaw compressed. It had not been a good day for her, and this was the last straw. It was bad enough that Nathan should have felt the need—or believed had the right—to involve himself in her affairs, but Paolo’s response was humiliating.
‘As I was saying,’ she continued, through her teeth, ‘I don’t think there is any advantage to be gained in insulting one another. Carlos has his job to do, just as you have yours. And I don’t think I need to remind you that good bartenders are easier to find than good musicians. Do I make myself clear?’
Paolo cast a grudging glance at Nathan, as if gauging his reaction to her words, and then, with a shrug of his dinner-jacket-clad shoulders, he submitted. ‘Yes, signora.’
‘Good.’ India permitted herself a taut look in her stepbrother’s direction, and then pushed herself away from the counter. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me——’
‘Wait!’
She had reached the shallow steps leading up into the foyer when Nathan caught up with her. For a brief moment she had thought he was going to let her go without saying anything more, but she ought to have known better.
‘Yes?’ she said now, turning to face him with what she hoped was calm indifference.
‘What was all that about?’ he demanded, casting a meaningful look behind him. ‘Why the cold shoulder?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ India pretended ignorance. She glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist, the watch her stepfather had bought her for her twenty-first birthday, and frowned. ‘I don’t have time to talk now. I have to get changed.’
‘That’s not what I mean and you know it,’ retorted Nathan flatly. ‘What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?’
India stiffened. ‘Why should you think that?’
‘I didn’t mistake that look you gave me just now,’ he answered. ‘It was lethal. Well, OK, if there’s something you want to say to me, let’s have it. I don’t like innuendo; I never have.’
India took a deep breath. She didn’t want to get into this. Not right now. She was hot, and she was tired, and the prospect of a cool shower was all she wanted to think about. ‘You’re imagining things,’ she said, deciding there was no point in making a big thing of it. After all, Nathan owned the place now. If he chose to remonstrate with the staff, who was she to complain?
She would have turned away again, but Nathan’s fingers curled about her arm, preventing her. ‘I am not imagining things,’ he said, with quiet force. ‘I guess you didn’t like me butting into your conversation with the barkeep. That’s the only thing it can be, unless I said something this afternoon that’s made you mad. Hell, tell me if it bugs you! I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.’
India swallowed, wondering why Nathan’s hand was causing such a furious reaction inside her. Where those hard fingers touched, her skin felt as if it were on fire, and a hot stream of awareness was shooting up her arm. It was as if her whole body was focused on that careless grip, and she could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
She was over-reacting. She knew it. Heavens, it wasn’t as if Nathan had never touched her before. In the days before her mother had made her aware of her own foolishness, he had often grabbed her arm to emphasise a point, or to drag her out to go fishing. Of all his activities, going fishing had been the one she liked least, and they had often done battle over who was to get their way. He even used to pick her up and throw her into the water sometimes, and she’d try to wrestle him underwater to get her own back. They’d been totally unselfconscious with each other in those days, so why was she getting so upset that it took every bit of determination she possessed not to tear herself away from him?
Realising there was only one way to deal with it, she tipped her chin towards him. ‘I think you know what you did,’ she declared, her tone clipped and aggressive. ‘It might have slipped your notice, but the hotel’s been running just fine while you’ve been away!’
Nathan’s lips tightened. ‘You thought I was interfering,’ he stated evenly. ‘So why didn’t you just say so?’
India snorted. ‘I thought I just did.’
‘Not before I had to practically drag it out of you,’ retorted Nathan. ‘And while we’re on the subject, why don’t you let Adele do her own dirty work? If she wants the Italian put in his place, let her do it. You’re not her lackey.’
India blinked, momentarily distracted from her efforts to avoid his dark, accusing gaze. ‘Adele?’ she echoed blankly. ‘My mother? What’s she got to do with this?’
Nathan frowned, his eyes searching her increasingly hot face. ‘She does have the final say about what goes down, doesn’t she?’
‘What goes down?’ India gave an impatient exclamation. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘All right.’ Nathan’s tone was considerably less friendly now. ‘She may employ a manager—who may or may not be you, I don’t know—but she signs the cheques, doesn’t she? Or rather she did, when my father was alive.’
‘No!’