Thunder On The Reef. Sara Craven
absurd optimism, that they might learn to get along for her sake.
But then I was very naïve in those days, she thought in self-derision. My father, of course, saw through Ross right away—realised he was simply on the make. Why couldn’t I have believed him instead of finding out the hard way?
In the thatched roof bar, adjoining the hotel dining-room, she chose a table overlooking the sea, and ordered a Margarita while she studied the menu.
Once again she knew she was the object of scrutiny, but this time no mental alarms were being sounded. She was simply encountering the usual speculative, semi-lustful attention that women on their own tended to be subjected to. And apart from closeting herself in her bungalow, or wearing a bag over her head, there wasn’t a great deal she could do except ignore it, and hope the hint would be taken.
The menu was heavily weighted towards seafood. Macy had noticed the huge conch shell displayed at the dining-room entrance, and conch was being offered cracked, frittered, as a salad or in the ever-popular chowder, along with grouper, snapper, and stewfish.
I wish I were going to be here to sample them all, she thought, wondering at the same time how long she was going to be kept dangling.
After due deliberation, she decided on asparagus tips in chive butter, baked in a pastry case, followed by lobster tails grilled with garlic and lemon juice, and accompanied by a bottle of crisp white wine.
As the waiter left, Macy realised uncomfortably that there’d been no relaxation in the attention she was attracting. In particular, she was being fixedly stared at by an overweight man with thinning red hair and the loudest sports shirt in the Western hemisphere, who was sitting at the bar with three male companions of similar age and build.
Macy delved into her bag and produced a paperback novel, using it as a barrier as she sipped her drink. Usually it worked. But not always, apparently.
An ingratiating voice said, ‘All on your own, sweetheart.’
The colours in his shirt were even more dazzling close at hand.
‘Yes.’ Macy kept her voice cool and level. ‘And that’s how I prefer it, thanks.’
‘Aw, come on, be friendly.’ The man put another Margarita down in front of her, then deposited himself in the opposite chair with his own beer. ‘Strangers in a foreign land, and all that.’
Macy’s lips tightened. She said quietly, with glacial emphasis, ‘Would you rejoin your friends, please? I didn’t ask you to join me, and I don’t want another drink.’
‘I’m under orders to bring you back with me,’ her unwanted companion said with a leer. ‘We’d like to buy you dinner, a few drinks, a few laughs—know what I mean?’
Only too well, she thought, her heart sinking.
Aloud, she said, ‘You’re beginning to annoy me. Would you please leave me alone?’
‘What’s the matter. Think we can’t afford you?’ He showed her a wallet, stuffed to the gills with Bahamian dollars.
‘Very impressive.’ Macy lifted her chin. ‘Now go away before I call the manager.’
He snorted. ‘Call who you like, girlie, and let them draw their own conclusions. Lookers like you don’t hang around on their own in bars for no reason.’
‘But the lady’s not by herself.’ Another voice, icily incisive, and all-too-familiar, cut into the confrontation. ‘She’s with me, and we’d both like you to leave.’
Macy’s lips parted in a gasp of astonished outrage as Ross bent, lightly brushing his lips across her cheek.
‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ His eyes smiled into hers, challenging her to deny him. ‘Has it caused problems?’
‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ she returned tautly, glaring back at him. This time her warning antennae had let her down badly.
‘So I noticed.’ He turned to Loud Shirt who was already making himself scarce, apologising volubly for any misunderstanding.
Ross watched him go, hands on hips, then turned back to Macy, who was struggling to regain her self-command. She could still feel the brief touch of his lips on her face as if she’d been branded there.
How dared he take advantage of the situation like that? she thought angrily. But she couldn’t tax him with it. The last thing she wanted Ross to know was that he still had the power to disturb her. Play it cool, she adjured herself, her stomach churning.
He was hardly recognisable as the man who’d accosted her that morning, she realised dazedly. The stubble had gone, his hair had been trimmed slightly, and instead of ragged denims he was wearing faultlessly cut grey trousers, fitting closely to his long legs, and a short sleeved, open-necked shirt, striped in charcoal and white. There was a thin platinum watch on his left wrist, too. He looked a combination of toughness and affluence.
Ross turned back to her. ‘You shouldn’t have any more trouble there,’ he said.
‘No,’ she acknowledged stiffly, adding a reluctant, ‘Thank you.’
His grin was sardonic. ‘I bet that hurt.’
She ignored that. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘This is a good restaurant. I like to eat.’
‘Oh.’ There was no real answer to that, she thought, nonplussed.
‘Also,’ he went on softly. ‘We have some unfinished business to conduct.’ He pulled up a chair and sat down, signalling the waiter to bring him a Bourbon and water.
Macy’s heart began to thud apprehensively. She said, ‘Rather an expensive place to do business, surely.’
‘Oh, I’ve been able to afford something better than hamburger joints for some time.’ The cool aquamarine gaze flickered over her, lingering openly and shamelessly on the thrust of her breasts against the white silk top.
Macey felt the breath catch in her throat, and the tremor of an almost forgotten weakness invade her stomach. She struggled to keep her voice level. ‘Of course. I was forgetting.’
‘No, darling,’ he said gently. ‘You haven’t forgotten a thing, and neither, I promise you, have I.’
Her uneasiness increased, and she was thankful to see the waiter approaching.
‘Your table’s ready, Miz Landin.’ He turned to her companion. ‘How yo’ doin’, Mister Ross. You dinin’ here tonight?’
‘Yes, with Miss—er—Landin here.’ Ross’s oblique glance dared her to object. ‘Just a steak, George, please. Medium rare with a side salad.’
When George had gone, Macy said thickly, ‘You have one hell of a nerve.’
‘Since childhood,’ he agreed. ‘But as I told your would-be admirer we were together, we can hardly eat in isolation.’ He paused. ‘Unless you’d prefer to join his party, after all. They look like a fun-loving bunch.’
Macy gave him a fulminating glance, and stalked ahead of him into the restaurant.
Their table, to her annoyance, was in a secluded corner, lit by a small lamp under a pretty glass shade. The centrepiece was orchids, cream edged with flame, swimming in a shallow bowl. Macy sat down, her lips compressed at the overt romanticism of it all, aware, also, of the resentful gaze of Loud Shirt and his friends a few tables away.
At least she’d been spared any further harassment from that quarter, she thought, but at what cost to her own peace of mind? Instead she had to dine with a man who’d rejected her love, and whose mercenary heartlessness was almost beyond belief.
‘So, why Miss Landin?’ Ross asked, as he took his seat. ‘Are you travelling incognito for some reason?’
Macy gave a shrug, trying to sound casual. ‘Not particularly.