Edge of Paradise (14 page)

‘Yes'm, Miss Catherine. This way if you please.' As they went up the stairs she asked, ‘Which side of the house do you want? You've got the choice of the sunrise or the sunset.'

‘I'm not fussy. It doesn't matter either way.'

Again Catherine was rewarded with a flash of those perfect white teeth as the housekeeper replied, to puzzle her, ‘In that case I'll give you the sunset. More romantic.' The accompanying laugh was distinctly ribald.

The room she was shown into was truly beautiful. Catherine left off pondering Cleopatra's strange manner to voice her delight and appreciation. It was huge, tastefully yet luxuriously furnished, cool and restful, with a long balcony, shared with the next room. The sunrise side would have the mountains; this side appealed to Catherine much more, as it had a view of the sea.

She couldn't think of a tropical sunset without thinking of Paul, how he'd been waiting for her to come out of the bathroom—had it only been the night before?—to show her her first tropical sunset, witness her enjoyment and share the precious moment with her.

She
realized, after she'd let Cleopatra go, that she ought to have been more practical, asking things like where everyone was and what time dinner would be served. She didn't bother going after her, but stepped out onto the balcony. The air was as sensuous as perfumed velvet, the sea lagoon-calm and serene, the only sound the distant roar of the surf on the reef. The sun had begun its nightly slide; the color of the sky was changing. In her mind she was back on that other balcony, her shoulders pressing against Paul's muscular chest. She heard a step behind her. Had Deirdre come up? Reluctant to curtail her thoughts, and needing a few seconds to compose her face, she didn't turn 'round.

‘Come and see the sunset,' she called over her shoulder. ‘It's a sight not to be missed.'

‘Stop pinching my lines,' a voice—not Deirdre's—said.

She spun 'round, not realizing that he'd crept up behind her, and the unexpected collision of bodies would have sent her reeling backward if he hadn't reached out to steady her.

‘Paul! I didn't . . . expect . . . to see you.'

‘You mean not this soon?'

‘I mean I didn't expect to see you here.' This habit of walking into her room without invitation had to stop. ‘Where have you been?'

‘Didn't Cleopatra tell you? I took Deirdre back to New Providence and while I was there
I
called in at our hotel to collect our luggage and check out. The maid repacked the odd things you had taken out of your case.'

‘Cleopatra didn't tell me. It must have slipped her mind.'

‘She probably assumed I'd mentioned it to you. You were asleep when we left. You knew we were moving on. As this was our ultimate destination, it seemed a pity to wake you and drag you off to New Providence only to bring you back.'

With Paul standing this close it was difficult to assimilate the facts. ‘You said you took Deirdre back to New Providence?'

‘That's right. Escorted her to the door of her hotel. She asked me to say her goodbyes and to tell you how much she enjoyed today and meeting you, and that she very much hopes your paths cross again some time.'

‘Deirdre didn't—' She swallowed painfully. ‘—return with you?'

‘Why should she?'

‘Oh, dear. I thought—' What would Cleopatra think of her, asking for a double and not two singles? Because it was now appallingly obvious whom she was sharing with. She remembered the housekeeper's smothered laughter and saucy appreciation when she'd said they'd have a double room, and
knew
what she had thought. Perhaps of even greater concern, what was
he
thinking? He'd been chasing her pretty constantly from
the
moment she arrived. Did he think he'd won her 'round to his way of thinking? What had she agreed to?

Paul touched a finger to her hot cheek. His eyes took in the distress and agitation in hers. ‘Hey, what is this?'

‘When Cleopatra asked me if we wanted singles or a double, I assumed I'd be sharing with Deirdre. You
know
that.'

‘I know no such thing,' he replied in biting, frightening fury. ‘Although, thinking about it, I don't know why I'm so surprised. It's typical of you. You've blown hot and cold since we first met. The big come-on followed by the door slam. Will you tell me what game you're playing?'

‘I'm not playing any game. I think your familiarity is contemptible. You've taken things for granted that no decent man would.'

‘God Almighty! What things?'

‘That you could—'

‘You two having a fight?' Cleopatra called out to them, her face appearing at the balcony door. ‘I knocked. If you didn't want me to barge in on you, you should have locked your door. You knows I was coming to unpack your bags, Mister Paul; I did told you.'

‘That's right, you did,' Paul said tersely, not looking at Cleopatra, but keeping his eyes fixed on Catherine. ‘I need to cool off. If you don't mind, I'll shower first.'

His expression said that he wasn't skipping
out
of an argument, and he waited until she made a sign of assent before turning on his heel and slamming into the bathroom.

With Cleopatra looking at her with her big, anxious, disapproving eyes, what else could she have done but let him go?

‘You giving Mister Paul a bad time, girl?' Cleopatra chided.

‘You don't understand, Cleopatra.'

‘I understands enough. He's a good man and he's had it mighty rough. I can't figure out you modern girls. Mebbe your mommas didn't smack your bottoms often enough when you were li'l children.'

‘Cleopatra!' Catherine gasped in gentle remonstrance.

‘I knows. Knows my place. My place is to unpack your things and get back to my kitchen.' She was still muttering to herself as she turned and waddled back into the room.

Catherine didn't want her clothes unpacked. Even though it was partly her fault, she had no intention of sharing a room with Paul. But she didn't follow Cleopatra to tell her so because she didn't think it was fair to involve the housekeeper in their private battle, and it wouldn't take her long to push her things back into her suitcase once the woman had departed. Also, if she were truthful, she was just a little bit scared of Cleopatra's candid tongue. It had certainly reduced her to size. That, coupled with the way Cleopatra had
looked
at her, had made her feel guilty when she had nothing to feel guilty about.

‘All done, Miss Catherine,' Cleopatra said, once again popping her head 'round the balcony door.

‘Thank you, Cleopatra.'

Now that she'd gone, Catherine went back into the room. On cue, Paul came out of the bathroom, a towel secured 'round his middle. He'd washed his hair. He raised a hand to push back its dripping wetness from his forehead.

‘I'll dry off in here. You'd better take your shower. We're going to be late for dinner. Informality is the rule for the daytime only. Gus likes punctuality at his dinner table and for his guests to pay him the courtesy of dressing up. Bear in mind what I said to you this morning. Wear something special. I want you to be a knockout.'

‘I won't be displayed as though I'm part of your personal effects. I'm neither a trophy nor a chattel, and I won't be treated as such.'

‘You will,' he said through gritted teeth. ‘That's little enough to ask.'

She fumed, knowing that Paul's check had been exceptionally generous expressly to cover the cost of a new wardrobe to suit the climate and conditions. At the time there had been an unspoken agreement between them that she would do him proud. Now, though, she objected most strongly to the crude
connotation
of his words. While he was in the bathroom she had considered the possibility of having to put in an appearance downstairs, and had mentally selected the floating chiffon in shades of blue—the one Ally had convinced her to buy. But instead she reached into the long fitted cupboard where Cleopatra had hung her clothes and defiantly stopped at another gown, still pretty but more subdued, lacking the impact of her first choice.

Paul's hand stretched imperiously in front of her. ‘Wear this,' he commanded, holding her original choice, the blue chiffon dress, out to her.

Her eyes blazed into his. ‘I will not be dictated to. We're going to have to talk this out.'

‘I agree. You're not getting off this easily. But it will have to wait until later. You are
not
going to embarrass me by causing a spectacle in my friend's house. You will put on this dress and we will go down to dinner and make pleasant and inconsequential conversation, and then we will come back up here for a serious discussion.'

The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene. In embarrassing him, she would also embarrass herself. Furthermore, she had eaten very little lunch and she was hungry now. And since Cleopatra was in sympathy with him, the girl who supposedly hadn't had her bottom smacked often enough as a child wouldn't have
her
supper sent up to her room on a tray, but would be made to go without as punishment. It would be foolhardy to continue the battle on an empty stomach. So she accepted the dress from him and stormed into the bathroom with it.

She knew that it suited her and she was glad that Ally had talked her into the extravagance of buying it. Its subtlety did not stop at the clever merging of blues, but also lay in its creation of a sensuous yet romantic image. It left her shoulders, throat, back, and quite a lot of her front bare, caressing her full breasts, scooping in to her tiny waist and drifting out 'round her hips as she moved. Up-to-the-minute stylish, yet hauntingly old-fashioned. Her color-matched evening sandals picked out two of the shades of blue and were sensationally high; she would need to walk carefully, but decided that the extra caution would be a small price to pay for the additional height she achieved. She applied her make-up with care, eye-shadow for a touch of mystery, lipgloss for shiny sensuality. In her present heated mood she didn't need blusher. As she stared critically at her appearance she knew that she couldn't do better, yet at the same time there was about her an underlying diffidence that gave her an appealing air of modesty and charm.

‘I'm ready,' she called out to Paul, who was on the balcony.

As
he came toward her she wouldn't have been a woman not to look for his response. It was favorable, but not in a way she could accept.

‘Enchanting! Adorable!' His eyes were gloating as they traveled over her; his breath was expelled with self-satisfaction and insufferable smugness. ‘I've never seen you look lovelier than you are now. A certain party, accustomed to having the limelight all to herself, won't be disposed to welcome such formidable competition. The others are going to look at you and envy me.'

‘That is the most pompous and ridiculous thing I've ever heard,' she said, giving vent to her feelings. ‘No one's going to envy you a thing. They'll look at my temper-flushed cheeks and know we've been quarreling.'

‘On the contrary, precious heart,' he drawled in amusement. ‘They'll look at the sparkle in your eyes, couple it with your
passion
-flushed cheeks, and think we've been making love.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

Despite that disturbing observation, she got through the evening without finding it too much of an ordeal, her thoughts frequently absconding to sift and resift every word that
had
passed between her and Paul in an effort to make some kind of sense of his attitude toward her. She didn't like the way he made her feel that she was doing wrong by not letting him do what she knew wasn't right.

He had enough going for him in the way of looks, wealth and fame to have been spoiled by a certain kind of woman into thinking that all women would be willing to leap straight into bed with him, and he was piqued at her for resisting. But it wasn't only that. If it had been, she could have hardened herself, albeit with great difficulty, against the charm he was pouring on, which she knew was for the benefit of the others 'round the table. But she had a strange, persistent, uneasy feeling—a presentiment almost—that there was more to it than that, something she still had to uncover.

‘I'm sorry,' she said when Jeremy had to repeat something he'd said to her for a third time because of her inattentiveness.

‘Too bad, Jeremy,' Gus cut in. ‘This girl only has eyes for Paul.' His distinctive, hearty laugh marked his appreciation of this rare occurrence. ‘Jeremy Cain, superstar, having to fight for a girl's attention!'

True, she had kept looking at Paul, but only in inquiry, to try to work out what this was all about and not because—well, not
totally
because—she found him distractingly handsome in formal clothes. The men all wore dinner jackets. Gus and Jeremy had opted for
frills
and embroidery in their choice of shirts with velvet cummerbunds, but Paul's more sober selection served him equally elegantly. In fact—

‘I'm sorry,' she had to say yet again, bringing her wandering concentration back to Jeremy, ‘I didn't quite catch that.'

‘You're a difficult girl to compliment, an unusual one, too. Until this moment I've always found that a sure-fire way of making a girl hang on to your every word is to tell her how charming she looks. Did you realize that there's one shade of blue in your dress which exactly matches your eyes?' Jeremy said, looking into them with barely a trace of rebuke.

‘Oh, come on now!' Zoe interjected sourly. ‘That's clever feminine strategy. You didn't really think it was coincidental, did you?'

‘Is someone's delectable nose feeling slightly out of joint?' was Jeremy's wry comeback.

‘Now, children,' Gus intervened. ‘I won't have bickering at my table. You look charming, too, Zoe.'