Follow Thy Desire Read online

  Helen was indignant. ‘Of course I’m sure.’ She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘What did she tell you?’

  ‘Oh—just about being ill, not being able to eat.’

  ‘And Rolf Havastad?’

  ‘Well—yes.’

  Morgan’s jaw was taut. ‘I nearly killed him, you know. Did she tell you that?’ He expelled his breath with remembered vehemence. ‘When I saw what they’d done to her…’

  Helen gazed at him understandingly, her love for him shining in her eyes, and as he encountered her stare, Morgan’s anger faded, to be replaced by emotions of a different kind.

  ‘Aphrodite!’ he murmured, his fingers exploring her nape. ‘I must go and get dressed.’

  ‘Must you?’ She rose beneath his hands, aware what the sight of her body was doing to him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said thickly, but almost involuntarily his fingers were stroking her breast, and she stretched up to touch his lips with hers.

  ‘Helen,’ he muttered achingly, his mouth against hers. ‘Helen…’ Then with a groan, he kicked off his boots and uncaring of his clothes, he slid into the water beside her.

  His hand behind her head was all that kept her afloat beneath the liquid sweetness of his kiss. His arms gathered her fully against him, and for the first time, she understood what it was like to be kissed and caressed without the unnecessary encumberance of clothes.

  ‘Beautiful!’ he breathed, his hands touching every part of her. ‘But I knew you would be. So cool and calm on the outside, and so warm and passionate within.’

  ‘I don’t feel very cool and calm,’ she confessed, winding her arms around his neck. ‘Take off the rest of your clothes…’

  ‘God, no!’

  That was when he surfaced, releasing her abruptly and clambering out on to the tiled rim. His hair was soaking like the rest of him, and the Levis clung to him like a second skin.

  ‘Morgan…’ she pleaded, resting her arms on the side of the bath, chin resting on her hands. ‘Morgan, you can’t go like that.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know it?’ he muttered half impatiently. ‘God, I must have been out of my mind!’

  ‘Or your senses?’ she suggested softly, and a wry smile twisted his lips.

  ‘That’s right. You go to my head—’

  And then, as if he disliked the metaphor, he unzipped his pants and stepped out of them, hauling on the towelling bath robe that hung behind the door before turning to face her again.

  ‘I’ll go. I’ll explain these somehow.’ He indicated the soaking Levis in his hand. ‘See you at dinner.’

  The evening was an anti-climax after that. Sitting opposite Morgan at the dinner table all Helen could think of was the sensuous feel of his body against her, the tantalising caresses of his hands, the bulging strength of his thighs. She wanted him so badly, there was a physical ache inside her, and she knew he was avoiding her gaze for the self-same reasons. But it wasn’t fair, and no amount of self-delusion would make it so.

  Her gown of black crêpe silk had attracted a satisfying amount of appreciation. Plain though it was, it accentuated the rounded curves of her body, and the honey-gold tanning of her flesh complemented the chestnut streaks in her hair. But although Andrea had expressed her admiration, Morgan had scarcely spoken to her, and it was left to James to assure her she looked most desirable.

  When dinner was over, however, Morgan insisted that they would have to be going. ‘I’m not at all sure what Kori’s packed in the way of food,’ he said, ‘but whatever it is, it needs unpacking tonight. And there are beds to make up, and water to draw…’

  ‘Why not stay here?’ suggested James at once, but Morgan shook his head.

  ‘No, thanks.’ For the first time since dinner Morgan looked at Helen. ‘We want to go swimming in the morning, and we’ll have to leave again in the late afternoon.’

  Convinced he couldn’t change their minds, James gave in with good grace, and they left amid a chorus of farewells, and the friendly chatter of the children.

  ‘They’re nice people,’ said Helen, involuntarily, glancing back out of the window, and Morgan silently agreed.

  * * *

  Despite the fact that it was late when Helen finally got to bed, she was awake almost at first light. The bedroom she was sharing with Andrea had windows that opened on to the side of the house, and moving stealthily so as not to disturb the girl, she ran across the composite floor to take her first real look at Selena Beach. Andrea told her she had named it that, after the first doll Morgan had ever bought her.

  Below the cabin, the sand sloped away to the curve of the beach. At this hour of the morning, the sea had a greenish-gold haze to it, and the horizon shimmered before her entranced eyes. There were seabirds squabbling at the water’s edge, but her attention was caught by something climbing rapidly up one of the coconut palms nearer the cabin. It was a monkey, only a tiny thing, with reddish fur, and patches of white on its undersides. Helen was so astounded she let out a small exclamation and then clapped her hands to her mouth, afraid she must have disturbed Andrea. But the girl still slept soundly and Helen was forced to enjoy the unexpected discovery alone.

  She wondered if Morgan was awake. But after last night she shrank from the impulse to find out. He had made it very clear after their arrival at the cabin that so long as they were here, he would do nothing which might disturb Andrea. It had made Helen wonder whether this had been his intention all along—to gain some breathing space, knowing if they stayed at Hawk’s Drift it would be only too easy to give in to their mutual attraction.

  To begin with, she had been charmed by the beach house, and she still was, up to a point. But the vain hopes she had cherished of spending hours alone with Morgan had not materialised. Andrea was constantly with them, and when she went to bed, Morgan went to bed too.

  The bedrooms were small and functional. There were two beds in this room, and one in Morgan’s. Helen guessed Morgan and his first wife had used this room in the old days while Andrea slept in the other, but the night before there had been no question of Andrea sleeping alone. Besides, Helen knew she herself could never do anything to hurt the girl, and while a small voice inside her taunted that she and Morgan would not have needed two beds, she had determinedly put such tantalising thoughts aside.

  Even so, it would have been nice if Morgan had been more friendly. His withdrawn manner had deterred even the most innocent overtures, and Helen had gone to bed feeling very much the interloper.

  But it was morning now, and irrepressibly her spirits were rising. The sea beckoned in all its untamed beauty, and without stopping to worry what Morgan might think, she stripped off her nightshirt and dived into her case for her bikini. It was a scanty thing of brown striped cotton, held together with gypsy hoops, and fringed with russet braid. It had been part of her trousseau and had never been worn, and she hesitated a moment before putting it on. Then the desire to submerge herself in that green-gold ocean overcame her misgivings, and she quickly fastened the rings in place. A swift brush of her hair and she was eagerly opening the bedroom door, glancing back half regretfully at Andrea, who still snoozed on. Should she wake her? But no. These few minutes were for her alone, and she intended to enjoy them.

  The outer door of the beach house was not locked, and she went down the steps lightly, halting only when a huge sand crab rose blindly in her path. Her skin prickled at the sight of those waving pincers, but she guessed it was more afraid of her than she was of it and side-stepping, she continued down to the water’s edge.

  The shifting eddies were cool to her toes, but soon, as her body temperature adjusted itself to the water, she realised they were quite warm. This made her braver, and she skipped further into the gentle waves, suppressing gurgles of delight when they lapped about her knees and thighs. Down through the water, which was crystal clear, she could see a varied assortment of plant life, and even small fishes, darting in and out of the grasses.

  Sh
e waded in up to her waist and then, shivering slightly, she plunged into a slow crawl. The water was extremely buoyant, and only the minimum effort was needed to keep afloat, but she swam strongly through the waves, enjoying the rare freedom of movement.

  She saw nothing unusual. No sharks braved the ragged ramparts of the reef that was exposed at low tide, no devil rays or barracudas came to disturb her peaceful idyll. The only company she had was the seabirds wheeling and crying overhead, and the tiny shoals of coloured fish she could see when she turned on to her stomach, and swam a little distance underwater. The cathedral-like silence and magical beauty of that underwater scene enchanted her. There was so much to see and she wished she could explore the reef. But that required equipment and technical skill she did not possess, so she contented herself with the calmer waters of the lagoon.

  She had reached shallower water where she could walk ashore before she saw Morgan. Wading up out of the water, pushing the soaking hair back out of her eyes, she saw him squatting motionless on the sand, watching her, his only attire a pair of frayed denim jeans, cut off just above the knee. Immediately she was selfconscious of her scarcity of attire, and impatiently aware that she had forgotten to bring a towel. Not that she really needed one. The sun was already burning on her shoulders, and in no time at all her swimsuit would be dry.

  Morgan rose to his feet as she emerged from the water, and came down the sand to meet her, his bare feet making prints on the packed coral sand.

  ‘Hi,’ he said civilly. ‘I guess you enjoyed that.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Helen made an instinctive gesture to cover herself, realised how suggestive it would be, and pressed her palms tightly against her thighs. ‘The water’s gorgeous! I couldn’t wait to try it.’

  ‘Obviously not.’ Morgan inclined his head, chewing on the blade of grass he had between his teeth. ‘I thought you might have waited for me to join you.’

  ‘You?’ Helen stared at him defensively. ‘Why, I thought you were still asleep.’

  Morgan shrugged. ‘I didn’t do much sleeping last night.’

  ‘No?’ Helen’s throat felt suddenly dry. ‘Why not?’ She paused. ‘Weren’t you comfortable?’

  ‘If you mean by that, was the bed comfortable, then yes, I guess you could say it was.’ His eyes held hers intently. ‘If, on the other hand, you mean, did I sleep easily, knowing you were just on the other side of the partition, then no, I wasn’t comfortable at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Helen refused to run the risk of being accused of taking too much for granted. ‘Never mind,’ she added, turning to shade her eyes and stare towards the reef. ‘We’ll be back at Hawk’s Drift tonight. And no doubt your work will compensate.’

  There was silence for a moment and then Morgan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Is that an attack—or a defence?’ he asked softly, and despising herself she glanced sideways at him.

  ‘I never know,’ she conceded unevenly. ‘But I know I have feelings, too, and I don’t think they can stand any more bruising.’

  ‘Ah, Helen!’ He ran restless fingers through his hair. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ He shook his head. ‘Do you know what James said I should do last night? He said I should marry you. How about that? After—after everything, he thinks I should marry you!’

  Helen’s heart was palpitating rapidly. ‘I see. And—and of course you told him that you couldn’t.’

  ‘There was no need to tell him that,’ retorted Morgan enigmatically. Then he heaved a sigh. ‘He’s crazy! I told him so. But when I’m with you…’

  ‘Yes?’ Her heart almost stopped beating.

  ‘…when I’m with you, I find it incredibly difficult to behave sensibly.’

  Helen licked her dry lips. ‘Is that so important?’ she ventured. ‘Behaving sensibly, I mean? Doesn’t everyone deserve to act madly sometimes?’

  ‘No, not everyone,’ replied Morgan flatly. ‘Sometimes—sometimes there are—circumstances that—preclude that kind of madness.’

  ‘Oh!’ Helen’s heart plunged. ‘And—and James doesn’t understand this?’

  She didn’t even know what they were talking about, she thought wildly. But so long as they were talking, there was always a chance…

  ‘James sees things—differently,’ he conceded slowly. ‘But James is a hedonist, and hedonists don’t always think before they act.’

  Helen’s lips trembled. ‘Hedonism,’ she echoed softly. ‘It sounds a pretty good doctrine to me.’

  Morgan stared at her for a long, disturbing moment, and then strode towards the water’s edge, kicking savagely at the ripples. He had thrust his hands into the pockets of his denims and was staring tight-lipped towards the heavens, as if praying for guidance. Then he turned, and although Helen couldn’t read the expression on his face, she guessed he had come to a decision.

  ‘All right,’ he said, walking back to her with slow deliberation. ‘All right, I give in. I can’t hold out any longer. God knows, it’s what I want—what I need!’ He reached for her urgently, drawing her close against the hard male strength of his body, finding her parted lips with his. ‘Marry me,’ he said against her mouth. ‘Marry me—as soon as I can get a licence.’

  Helen’s limbs gave out on her, and she sank down weakly on to the sand, overbalancing him and bringing him down beside her, half crushing her with the weight of his body. ‘Mmm,’ he breathed, burying his face in her hair. ‘You know what I’d like to do? I’d like to make love to you here on the sand, with the seabirds crying overhead and the sand crabs looking on.’ He drew back to smile down at her. ‘Do you think they’d observe us as we observe them? Do you think they’d know what we were doing—and why we were doing it?’

  ‘Oh, Morgan…’ Helen pulled his mouth back to hers and then, against his lips, she whispered: ‘I’ll marry you whenever you say. You know that, don’t you? But please, don’t make me wait till then…’

  ‘I won’t,’ he promised huskily, and suddenly the prospect of returning to Nrubi was charged with excitement.

  For several satisfying minutes there was silence between them, then, as if unable to sustain her nearness without possessing her completely, Morgan reluctantly drew back to stretch his length beside her, eyes closed. Helen rolled on to her side and lay looking at him, scarcely daring to believe that this was really happening. Morgan had asked her to marry him. Whatever there had been in his past, whatever misgivings he had had, he was prepared to try again.

  ‘Darling,’ she ventured at last, causing him to open his eyes and gaze at her through the thick stubble of his lashes. ‘You won’t—change your mind, will you? Not again?’

  Morgan’s tawny eyes flickered for a moment, but he shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘I’m glad. I couldn’t bear it if—’

  ‘Leave it, Helen, will you?’ Morgan’s air of relaxation vanished and he jack-knifed into a sitting position. ‘Look, I think it’s time we went back and wakened Andrea. She’ll be sorry she’s missed an early morning swim, and besides,’ he added determinedly, ‘I’m hungry.’

  All through breakfast, Helen expected Morgan to tell his daughter he was going to get married again, but he didn’t. It was as if after making the decision he wanted to forget all about it, and she was hurt by his casual manner towards her.

  Andrea appeared to notice nothing amiss. She had still been in bed when they returned and she said she would rather have breakfast before going for a swim. They ate on the verandah that overlooked the beach, Morgan having prepared a meal of scrambled eggs and coffee on the tiny Calor gas stove. Helen had offered to do it, but he had told her he could manage, and she had spent an agonising few minutes in the shower, rinsing the salt from her body with water that had become ice-cold overnight.

  They drove back to Nrubi in the late afternoon. Helen was sorry to be leaving so soon, but the prospect of the night ahead filled her thoughts to the exclusion of all else. It didn’t matter if Morgan was offhand with her. She knew it was only a façad
e. Beneath that mask of curtness was a man of passion and strong emotions, and she was confident that soon all their troubles would be resolved.

  It was dark when they reached Nrubi, but there were lights in the villa. Then, as they reached the turn-off to the house, they heard the voices—shrill, excited voices that, incoherent as they were, spelled trouble of a very different kind.

  ‘Kori!’ muttered Morgan savagely, slamming on the brakes and thrusting open his door. ‘My God! What’s been going on?’

  His words were not unwarranted. The entry to the house was strewn with broken furniture, cane chairs from the courtyard patio, torn cushions and tumbled rugs, all combining to make a terrifying introduction to their return.

  ‘Morgan!’ Helen was right behind him. Andrea behind her, exclaiming at the damage, but Morgan turned and ordered them back to the car.

  ‘God knows what’s happening,’ he declared grimly. ‘I’ll find out myself, but you stay here.’

  ‘Morgan!’

  ‘But Daddy—’

  Both the girls protested at once, but he was adamant, and they were forced to turn away and clamber back into the station wagon. They watched with misgivings as Morgan picked his way between the rubble and entered the house, the noisy clatter of voices hardly subsiding as his presence was made known.

  ‘What do you think has happened?’ exclaimed Helen, unable to remain silent, and Andrea shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know. If I knew who it was, I might be able to hazard a guess, but as Daddy insists on keeping us out here…’

  Helen fretted anxiously. ‘Do you think there’s been a robbery? Do you have much violence out here?’

  Andrea frowned. ‘Not really. Just tribal things mostly—one man taking another’s woman, that sort of thing. Wait a minute—’

  She broke off abruptly and Helen stared at her dry-mouthed. ‘What is it? What have you thought of?’

  ‘Bosumi!’ declared Andrea dramatically.

  ‘Bosumi?’ Helen had heard the name, but she couldn’t remember where. ‘Who is Bosumi?’