Spirit Of Atlantis. Anne Mather
as if she didn’t have the right to be there. She probably had more right than he had, even if no one had troubled to put up signs saying it was private land.
She was still standing there, gazing rather morosely in his direction, when he turned and saw her. There was no mistaking his sudden reaction, or the fact that he was now swimming strongly towards her. It made her unaccountably nervous, but she stood her ground as he got nearer. It was only as he got near enough for her to see his face that she realised his appraisal was coolly insolent, and her denim shorts seemed unsuitable apparel for someone who wanted to appear distant.
‘Hi!’
To her astonishment she realised he was addressing her, and indignation at his audacity made her gulp a sudden intake of breath. He was obviously under the delusion that she had been watching him out of curiosity, and perhaps he thought she was interested in him.
Ignoring him, she deliberately turned her head, shading her eyes, and making a display of gazing out across the water. Perhaps if she showed him she wasn’t interested, he would take his clothes and go away, and she could enjoy the solitary swim she had looked forward to.
‘Hi— you !’
The masculine tones were faintly mocking now, the familiar salutation suffixed by an equally annoying pronoun. Just who did he think he was? she thought indignantly, and turned glacial green eyes in his direction.
He was treading water a few feet from the shore, making no apparent effort to get out. The lake bed shelved quite rapidly, and he was still out of his depth, but she could see how brown his skin was, and how long the slick wet hair that clung below his nape.
‘Will you please stop bothering me?’ she exclaimed, unhappily aware that the skimpy halter bra of her bikini was hardly the kind of attire to afford any degree of dignity, and his crooked grin seemed to echo her uneasy suspicions.
‘Those are my clothes on the rock beside you,’ he called, and she was momentarily struck by the familiarity of his accent. Was he English? Was it possible to meet another English person in this very Canadian neck of the woods, or was it simply his accent didn’t match that of the Galloways or any of the other residents staying at the hotel? Whatever, she quickly disposed of her curiosity, and in her most frigid tones, she retorted:
‘I can see that. Now will you please put them on and get out of here?’
‘I will—put them on, I mean, if you’ll be a good girl and go away,’ he replied, allowing his mocking gaze to move over her in admiring appraisal. ‘Unless you’d like to join me?’
‘No, thank you.’ Julie was not amused by his invitation. ‘And why should I go away? This land belongs to the Kawana Point Hotel. You’re trespassing!’
‘The lake belongs to everyone,’ he retorted, pushing back his hair with long fingers. ‘Now will you let me get out of here? It’s pretty damn cold.’
‘I’m not stopping you,’ Julie responded coldly, flicking the towel she carried against her legs. ‘And no one asked you to swim.’
‘No, they surely didn’t,’ he agreed, his accent sounding distinctly southern at that moment. ‘But I don’t have no swimsuit, little lady, so unless you have no objections—’
Julie turned away before he had finished speaking, her features burning with indignant colour. How dare he go swimming without a pair of trunks? It was disgusting, it was indecent!
‘Okay, you can look now.’
The mocking voice was nevertheless disturbing, and she glanced round half apprehensively to find he had put on the denim jeans and was presently shouldering his way into the matching shirt. He had obviously not brought a towel either, and the pants clung in places Julie would rather not look, emphasising his lean hips and the powerful muscles of his thighs. He was tall, easily six feet, with a lean but not angular build, and he carried his height easily, moving with a lithe and supple fluidity as he crossed the rocks towards her.
Julie took a backward step. Somehow he had seemed less aggressive in the water, but now he was all male, all forceful energy, and evidently sure of himself in a way Adam could never be. But then Adam was older, more mature, and infinitely less dangerous, although how she knew this she couldn’t imagine.
‘Hi,’ he said again, holding out his hand. ‘My name’s Dan Prescott. What’s yours?’
Julie was taken aback. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she exclaimed, in faintly shocked tones, making no attempt to return his gesture. ‘I—er—how did you get here?’
‘Motorbike,’ he said laconically, bending down to push navy canvas shoes on to his feet. ‘It’s parked up there.’ He nodded towards the trees. ‘How about you?’
Julie debated whether to answer him, and then decided it would be easier if she could prove her right to be here. ‘I’m staying at the hotel,’ she declared distantly. ‘As I told you, this land—’
‘—belongs to the Kawana Point Hotel,’ he finished lazily. ‘Okay, so I’m trespassing. What are you going to do about it?’
Julie had no answer to that. Glancing up at him, she was intensely conscious of his size and his strength, and she didn’t think she altogether trusted him. Perhaps she had been a fool to challenge him. After all, she was at least a quarter of a mile from the hotel. What could she do if he suddenly decided to attack her? No one was likely to be about at this hour of the morning.
‘If—if you’ll just leave, we’ll say no more about it,’ she said, with what she hoped sounded like calm assurance, and long thick lashes came to shade eyes that were the colour of the lake on a stormy day.
‘And if I don’t?’ he countered, half amused, and Julie realised she had as much chance of controlling him as she did one of the wild cats that occasionally roamed down to the cabins in search of food.
With a helpless gesture she turned aside. His accent was confusing her again. Sometimes he sounded almost English, but at others he had a definite transatlantic drawl. She couldn’t make him out, and she was infuriatingly aware that he was getting the better of the discussion.
‘You’re English, aren’t you?’ he asked, regarding her intently. ‘Are you on holiday? Or do you work at the hotel?’
‘You really don’t give up, do you?’ she flared, giving him an angry look. ‘Why don’t you just go back to wherever you came from and leave me alone?’
‘I’m curious.’ He shrugged. ‘As to where I came from—I’m staying along there …’ He indicated the curve of the lake.
‘I didn’t ask,’ she retorted sharply. ‘I really don’t care who you are or where you’re staying.’
‘No?’ He tipped his head on one side, drops of water from his hair sliding from his jawline to the strong column of his neck. ‘That’s a pity, because you interest me. Besides,’ the grey eyes danced, ‘we’re almost fellow countrymen. My mother is English, too.’
‘How interesting!’ Julie’s tone was full of sweet acid. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr—er—’
‘Dan,’ he supplied softly. ‘Dan Prescott. You never did tell me your name.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ Julie forced a faintly supercilious smile. ‘Now, do you mind …’
‘You want to swim?’
‘Yes.’
‘Go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you.’
The inclination of his head was mocking, and Julie was infuriated. Did he really expect her to step into the water under his insolent gaze? She had no intention of giving him that advantage, and the glare she cast in his direction was venomous.
‘What’s the matter?’ he probed. ‘Afraid I may decide to join you?’