Constantinou's Mistress (12 page)

‘That should protect you,' he said briskly, standing up. ‘I'm going in. Coming?'

‘In a minute.' You should be ashamed of yourself, she told herself restlessly, getting turned on by someone sticking a bit of sun-block on your back. But her nerves still felt feathered with electric currents as she watched him stroll down to the water's edge and wade in until he could strike out and swim. He was a strong swimmer. He cut through the water until he was virtually by the reefs that protected the bay and beyond which the light
blue of the sea turned a deeper, more ominous shade of navy.

Only then, with him safely out of bounds, did she head for the sea, marvelling at its warmth. No need to test the water cravenly before gritting her teeth and taking the plunge. She splashed around for a few minutes, one eye warily keeping a look-out, then lay on her back, face turned upwards to the sun, floating.

She barely heard him swiftly skimming the water towards her and shrieked as he pulled her under, hands on her waist. She surfaced, spluttering, to find him grinning at her, his hair wet and slicked back.

‘Now, what did I tell you about being careful in the sun?' he admonished, wagging his finger at her while she tried to recover some of her composure. ‘Worst place to get the sun is when you're in the sea, and the easiest way you can do that is by floating on your back and drifting off to sleep.'

‘I was
not drifting off to sleep
!'

‘Your eyes were closed.'

‘So what?' She paddled away from him and he swam towards her, his brown body alarmingly visible under the transparently clear water. Every muscle in his body seemed to ripple with strength and virility when he swam.

‘Why don't you swim out a bit further with me?' he invited lazily. ‘There is a sliver of coral reef just out here and you can see some wonderful fish, even without the aid of a snorkel.'

‘No, thanks. This is as far as I go. And I think we ought to be getting in now. I shall have to wash my hair and blow dry it before we get to work.'

‘You're right.'

Lucy could feel his black eyes boring into her, turning
her breathing into laboriously shallow inhalations that left her out of breath.

‘It would be too easy to stay out here and forget why we came in the first place.'

‘Oh, I don't think so.' She swivelled round and began swimming back to shore. She could feel him cutting through the water alongside her, his movement as fluid as a dolphin's. As soon as she could touch sand she stood up and half-waded, half-paddled up to the sand.

‘You mean,' he said, latching on to her throw-away remark as they walked towards their towels, ‘you cannot envisage being relaxed enough in a situation like this to forget about work?'

‘How can I relax when I'm…?' Lord, she had been on the verge of saying
when I'm with you?

‘When you are…?'

‘…when I'm being paid to be here to do a job?' Lucy finished lamely. She was reaching out to take the towel from his proffered hand when she realised that he was looking at her, no,
staring
at her, at her breasts, and as her eyes drifted down she realised why. Her bikini, which had already proved itself to be nothing along the modest lines with which it had wooed her in the department store, had now achieved the added bonus of turning into the consistency of clingfilm the minute it was wet.

The already minuscule top revealed the very pronounced jut of her nipples, lovingly outlining the generously sized circles with their protruding peaks.

As Lucy met his amused eyes with her dismayed ones he shot her a crooked smile, tilting his head to one side.

‘You look as though you are about to explode. Don't be embarrassed. I
have
seen women's nipples before.' He knew that his matter-of-fact observation would have
her floundering even more and he was right. If she could have willed the ground to open up and swallow her whole, she would have. As it was, she remained in frozen embarrassment, clutching her shirt. God, but he wanted to reach out and brush one of those hard peaks with his finger, dip behind the second skin of her swimsuit until he could feel the throbbing bud pressed into the palm of his hand. He felt a rush of restless, adolescent urgency that had him wrapping his towel around his lower half.

‘I don't believe I asked for that piece of information,' Lucy said icily. Her brain had finally caught up with the situation and she hustled herself into her shirt. ‘And if you were any kind of a gentleman, you wouldn't have…have…'

‘Stared?' He didn't want to let this conversation go as yet. He wanted to make her aware that, however much she reminded him that they were on this sun-kissed island on business, there was a sexual awareness at work. He would make her see that until it filled her head and all memories of London, the rat race and most of all Robert were forgotten.

‘That's right.'

‘I apologise,' Nick murmured seriously, his eyes never leaving her flushed face. ‘You are absolutely right. Forgive me. I sometimes forget that you English do not believe in being outspoken.'

There was no answer to that one and Lucy had no intention of attempting to find one. Instead she marched off along the beach with the blood pounding furiously through her veins, vibrantly aware that he was following her every step of the way with his eyes and equally aware that she would not give him the slightest opportunity to get under her skin again.

Why had he said what he had? So that he could see her squirm? She certainly didn't believe his excuse about forgetting the culture differences between them. He was as sophisticated as it was possible to be and would never have made any kind of
faux pas
unless it was intentional.

The memory of those brilliant dark eyes casually gazing at her breasts, at the outline of her nipples, the thought that he had had the sheer gall to mention them burned in her head for the full two hours it took her to shower, wash her hair and eat the succulent breakfast she had ordered from Room Service.

It was nearly ten by the time she went across to the reception area and she was tautly aware that it was in her interests to squash any incipient signs of informality from drifting into their relationship. What they had was about business. What Nick did for pleasure never had and never would include her and for that she should be grateful. Especially, she thought belatedly, with Robert on the scene.

But there was no need to squash anything. He was waiting for her, standing by the desk with two of the employees, casually but smartly dressed and back to being the supreme businessman that he normally was.

He introduced her to the two men to whom he had been talking and informed her that one of the two offices at the back of the hotel had been vacated for their use.

‘All the hotel records will be brought to us so that we can inspect them and wrap this thing up. As quickly as possible.' His eyes were gimlet-hard as they alighted on the men, who were nodding with enthusiastic compliance. ‘I will want the accountant to be available as and when we decide we need him. And get me Rawlings.'

He nodded curtly to Lucy before heading off towards
the back of the reception area and she trotted along behind him.

‘Close the door,' he commanded as soon as they were in the office. It was a compact square room, air-conditioned and very sophisticated in comparison to the understated, laid-back charm of the rest of the hotel. No concessions were made in this room for fastidious, fussy guests. Here efficiency was of the essence.

The attractive man of only hours before, whose flagrant masculinity had had her senses reeling, was no more. In his place was her boss, the man who moved quickly and efficiently through piles of work, barking out orders, expecting her to keep up with him, as she usually did.

It had gone one before either of them realised that they were hungry, and rather than eat in one of the restaurants they chose instead to have a platter of sandwiches brought to them, along with cold beverages.

Nick risked switching off the air-conditioning so that he could fling open the French doors that led out to one of the more secluded areas of the extensive gardens, wryly informing her that as soon as they were finished eating they would have to return to artificial cooling or else they would never be able to get any work done.

Lucy readily agreed. The air outside was too languorously fragrant for concentration. In fact, as they sat outside on one of the wooden benches randomly placed to take advantage of the shade provided by a mature tree laden with flowers, she could feel her ability to concentrate begin to ebb.

‘So what do you think?' he asked, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

‘About what?' Immediately her advance-warning sys
tem leapt into gear, but when she stole a look at him it was to see him frowning into the distance.

‘About those discrepancies in the accounts.'

‘They seem pretty consistent,' Lucy said thoughtfully. ‘Invoices paid but without any back-up paperwork for supplies that don't appear to have any proof of receipt.'

The sandwiches were exquisite, stuffed with salad and an array of cold meats and tuna that melted on the tongue. With some effort, she listened to Nick, following the swerving of his mind as he explored the various possibilities for fraud that were beginning to emerge after only a few short hours, her eyes half closing to shut out some of the glare of the midday sun.

‘I hope you've applied some sun-block to your face,' he remarked, breaking into his own flow of thoughtful speculation.

Lucy inclined her head slightly in his direction but kept her eyes closed. ‘I wish you'd stop acting as though you need to protect me. I'm old enough to take care of myself, Nick.'

Nick felt a muscle in his jaw begin to pulse and he opened his mouth to deny that he was doing any such thing, then closed it again. For some odd reason he
did
want to protect her, although he knew from the tone of her voice that she was hardly aware of how accurate her observation had been.

What next? he thought impatiently. ‘It wouldn't do for you to have to retire ill to bed when we only have one week out here to sort everything out,' he said brusquely, and her eyes flickered open. She sat up, having realised that she had somehow flopped back onto the wooden bench.

‘And I won't,' she retorted with equal brusqueness. ‘I
did
apply some sun-block. I wouldn't dream of coming
all the way over here and then promptly falling ill from sunburn.'

‘Oh, good God, Lucy, there's no need to get angry because—'

‘I'm not angry. I'm just setting your mind at rest.' She stood up, brushing her hand along the front of her thin cotton skirt, which had seemed appropriate for working. More formal than the Bermuda shorts that she had glimpsed everyone wearing, and more comfortable than long trousers, which would have been unbearable in the heat. As it was, her stretchy shirt was already beginning to cling to her like glue.

‘I see what you mean about needing the air-conditioning to work in,' she said lightly, aiming to defuse the sudden atmosphere that had sprung up between them.

‘Without air-conditioning we would have melted an hour ago.' He shot her a smile that indicated a truce. ‘And it seems hotter and stiller than I remember.'

Lucy looked at the flawlessly blue sky. Not a breath of wind was blowing. ‘So,' she said, ‘what next?'

‘On with the accounts, and I think it's time we got the accountant in.'

Their food was cleared away with the silent speed of highly trained staff, barely interrupting their methodical progress through the stack of files that had been brought in and their full use of the computer to try and tally the increasing discrepancies.

By the time the accountant was called, Nick's single question was enough to make the man squirm with every semblance of misery.

‘Mr Rawlings did a lot of the accounting,' he mumbled. ‘He said that, as the manager, it was up to him to handle his fair share of the finances.'

Nick sat back in the chair and Lucy watched as he turned up the heat, firing questions until the man was visibly sweating.

Finally, at the end of two gruelling hours, during which Lucy had been taking notes, jotting down names of suppliers that didn't quite ring true, Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and proceeded to subject the man to an intense scrutiny.

‘And you didn't find it suspicious that your head office was making phone calls to you, asking questions which you patently should have been able to answer and yet could not?'

‘Mr Rawlings always said that everything was fine, that he was in contact with you.'

Nick sighed heavily. ‘How old are you, Peter?'

‘Twenty-two, sir.'

‘And you live at home with your family?'

‘I'm married, sir!' He roused himself into an offended outburst that made Lucy want to smile, despite the gravity of the circumstances. ‘I have a child. A boy. He is just over one.'

Nick held his head in his hands for a few silent moments. When he looked up his face was weary and drained of colour.

‘So where do you live, Peter?'

‘On the mainland. We have a small house. Matter of fact, I just got a mortgage from the bank.' His face creased into lines of worry. ‘I need this job, Mr Constantinou, sir.'

‘When are you expecting Rawlings to be back here, Peter?'

‘Not sure, sir.' Peter looked hesitantly at Nick. ‘He…'

‘Spit it out.'

‘He has family on one of the other islands near the
Bahamas. They say that there's a hurricane heading that way and he wanted to make sure that his family was going to be all right. If the hurricane comes, well, it could be one day, two…' he shrugged ‘…maybe even a week.'

‘Hurricane? I haven't heard anything about a hurricane.'