An All-Consuming Passion Read online

  The apartment had also been kept in a reasonably decent state of decoration. The dusty-pink damask wall hangings were still in good condition, and brightened by a handful of Holly’s watercolours. Micah had framed the paintings for her, and they gave a more personal feel to the old-fashioned armoire and dressing-table, and the carved cheval mirror and dower chest which were so essentially Victorian in appearance.

  Now, Holly unbuttoned her dress and, slipping it off her shoulders, she walked into the bathroom. She did feel hot and sticky, but instead of stepping into the shower, she bent and turned on the bath taps. The idea of soaking in a soapy tub was just too appealing, and if Morgan came back in the meantime, so what? He could hardly blame her, if he hadn’t been around when she got home.

  While the water ran into the circular bath, Holly cleaned her teeth and examined her profile in the mirror above the hand basin. What did Morgan Kane really think of her, she wondered. Did he still think of her as a kid, or had she convinced him she was a child no longer? Whatever his present opinion of her might be, she was committed to exploiting her appearance, and whether she succeeded or not, nothing was going to stop her from trying.

  Stepping out of the scrap of silk that was all that still covered her she got into the bath, sinking down into the foaming bubbles. The water was scented, and the clouds of steam that rose about her perfumed the air with their own fragrance. The mirrors that lined the walls hazed, condensing the proportions of the room, and Holly relaxed completely. For a few moments she forgot all about her father—and Morgan Kane—and allowed her mind to drift without direction.

  The unexpected invasion of her domain took her totally by surprise. One moment she was lying, idly watching the rainbow-coloured bubbles nudging the curve of her breast, and the next she was looking up into Morgan Kane’s outraged face.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ he muttered, backing off towards his bedroom. ‘Couldn’t you at least have locked the door?’

  Although Holly was as shocked as he was by his unexpected intervention, the opportunity it afforded was quickly absorbed. It was amazing, she mused. She had thought her brain was dormant. But the minute she looked up and met Morgan’s dark grey eyes, the cells sprang instantly into action.

  ‘If I don’t object, why should you?’ she countered softly, making sure her nipples were safely concealed beneath the foam. ‘Besides, there are no locks on these doors. These rooms used to be used by my grandparents.’

  Morgan’s jaw compressed. ‘You told me I was occupying your father’s room.’

  ‘Well, you are,’ said Holly carelessly. ‘It’s the master bedroom. But he hardly ever uses it.’

  ‘Even so——’

  ‘Even so, nothing,’ exclaimed Holly, lifting her arms to release her hair from the elastic band she had secured that morning. She was beginning to enjoy this, and there was a heady delight in knowing she had the advantage. ‘Don’t be stuffy, Mr Kane,’ she teased. ‘Surely you’ve seen a woman in the bath before?’

  Morgan’s eyes, which had been so dark a few moments earlier, now glittered angrily. He really was an attractive animal, she thought unwillingly, forced, in spite of herself, to an awareness of his undoubted maleness. For all he must be forty-one or forty-two, there was nothing soft about Morgan Kane. His body was lean, and whipcord hard, with none of the thickening around his waist that she had half expected. Unlike the night before, when he had worn a suit more fitted to an English boardroom than a tropical island, he was wearing close-fitting white trousers and a short-sleeved cotton-knit shirt, both of which bore traces of seawater. His normally smoothly combed hair was ruffled, and his skin gleamed with sweat. Although he was not an excessively hairy man there were dark hairs on his arms, curling about the leather strap of the watch that circled his wrist with loving insistence. And where his shirt fell open, it revealed a faint shading on his chest, a darker shadow that showed even through the cloth.

  Holly was staring, but she couldn’t help it, a curious frission that was half pleasure, half pain, stirring in the pit of her stomach. As her eyes dropped lower, over the muscles outlined beneath his taut trousers, she forgot everything but the illicit enjoyment she was gaining from just looking at him, and the muffled oath he uttered before slamming out of the room took several minutes to penetrate.

  When it did, Holly found to her annoyance that her hands were trembling. As she reached for the soap, it slid elusively away between her fingers, and she had to grope for it in the water, dislodging a load of bubbles in the process. Damn, she thought irritably, rescuing the soap at last; it was not part of her plan that she should become attracted to him. The hopeless passion she had nurtured in her school-days was dead and buried, and she must not allow herself to be diverted by his physical appearance. He was attractive, it was true, but she had known attractive men before, and it wasn’t as if she was starved of male admiration. The idea was that he should be attracted to her, and to that end she had made a promising beginning. There had been a definite awareness in that initial look he gave her, and she had certainly proved to him that she was not a child.

  Deciding it would be safer to meet him again downstairs, Holly wrapped a towel about herself and retired to her own bedroom after her bath. The temptation to reverse their positions was appealing, particularly when she heard Morgan in the bathroom, but she resisted it. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to rush things, but that wasn’t entirely true. In all honesty, she needed time to compose herself, and she had no intention of ruining her plans trying to prove her indifference.

  It was too early for supper and, as she wanted to give Morgan the opportunity to think about what had happened, Holly spent some time drying her hair and applying a pearlised polish to her nails. She also took some trouble over her make-up, using a bronze lustre over the arch of her brows and a darker shadow on her lids. With her pale hair the contrast was very successful. It toned well with the full-sleeved shirt and tie-waisted trousers she was wearing, both made of a coffee-brown raw silk fabric.

  With low-heeled strappy sandals to complete her outfit, Holly eventually went downstairs at about a quarter to seven. Moving with sinuous grace across the hall, she was aware of the unmistakable quickening of her blood at the thought of seeing Morgan again, and she chided herself impatiently for allowing emotion to colour her judgment.

  Although she thought he might be on the verandah, he wasn’t, and she turned instead to the small, family dining room where they had eaten the night before. But he wasn’t there either, and she was just beginning to feel anxious when he appeared in the doorway of her father’s study.

  Apart from the living room and the dining room, Andrew Forsyth’s study was the only other room used with any frequency on the ground floor, but she resented his assumption that he could use it as his right.

  ‘Looking for me?’ he enquired, his voice low and lacking in expression, and she had to bite back the angry retort that sprang to her lips.

  ‘I—wondered where you were,’ she amended smoothly, pushing her hands into the waistline pockets of her trousers. ‘You soon find your way around, Mr Kane.’

  ‘I had plenty of time,’ he responded, propping his shoulder against the jamb, ‘You don’t mind me using your father’s study, I assume. He has given me power of attorney to act on his behalf.’

  ‘Why should I?’ Holly had succeeded in controlling her temper, and when she approached him, he fell back to allow her to enter the room. She noticed the tray of drinks on the cabinet and permitted a tight smile. ‘I see Lucinda has been looking after you. I hope you made yourself at home.’

  ‘I have.’ Morgan straightened away from the door, and now she saw the half-empty glass in his hand. ‘Can I fix you a drink? We seem to have everything.’

  Holly hesitated a moment, stung by his assumption of command, and then she relaxed. ‘Why not?’ she acknowledged, walking to the french doors that opened on to the verandah and guessing he had seen her looking for him. She turned back and seated her
self in a buttoned leather armchair. ‘I’ll have some wine, please.’

  ‘White, of course,’ said Morgan, examining the bottles on the tray. ‘My ex-wife drinks white wine. It’s become quite fashionable to do so.’

  Holly tilted her head. ‘And is your ex-wife fashionable, Mr Kane?’ she enquired, guessing he had brought her up deliberately, to put her in her place. She was gratified by the distinct hollowing of his cheekbones as he sucked in his breath at her implied insolence. But his expression was unrewarding as he handed her her glass.

  ‘I think so,’ he replied evenly, meeting her gaze with narrowed eyes. ‘Now—can we cut the small talk and get down to business? I didn’t come here to discuss my personal affairs.’

  ‘You brought her up,’ Holly reminded him softly, allowing her tongue to touch the rim of the glass, and Morgan sighed. Expelling his breath heavily, he walked to the desk and eased his weight on to one corner. Then, with a gesture of resignation, he swallowed the remaining liquid in his glass.

  Tonight, he had reverted to the lounge suit he had worn the previous evening, but without the benefit of the waistcoat. Lucinda must have pressed it for him, for there were no signs of creasing in the jacket that fitted his shoulders like a glove. A grey silk shirt and matching tie completed his apparel, and Holly was not unaware of how well his clothing suited him. But then, she reflected somewhat dourly, he looked good in anything. She rather thought he would look equally good without his clothes, and as her cheeks deepened with becoming colour, she was glad he was not observing her so closely.

  ‘Where did you go today?’ he asked at length, looking across at her, and Holly lifted her shoulders.

  ‘I thought Lucinda told you.’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘Oh——’ She shrugged and got up from her seat again. ‘I went to Charlottesville. It was a standing arrangement. I couldn’t get out of it.’

  ‘What kind of standing arrangement?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  Morgan sustained her enquiring gaze without flinching. ‘You tell me.’

  Holly sighed. ‘Very well. I teach at the mission school there.’

  Morgan inclined his head. ‘Very commendable.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me!’

  The words were out before she could prevent them, and she thought she saw the glimmer of a smile touch his lean mouth. Damn him! she thought again, resenting his apparent mastery of their conversation. She had had the advantage. Where had it gone?

  ‘I mean it,’ he said now, putting his empty glass aside and linking his hands loosely between the parting of his legs. ‘I didn’t realise you had a job.’

  ‘It’s not a job,’ said Holly flatly, taking a sip of her wine. ‘At least—well, I enjoy it. I like working with children. They’re so—uncomplicated.’

  ‘And is your life so complicated?’ enquired Morgan drily, looking up at her. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

  ‘But you don’t know what my life is like,’ retorted Holly quickly, and then, drawing back from a more vituperative retaliation, she added, ‘Do you?’

  Morgan half smiled. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘You only know what my father tells you, right?’

  ‘Right.’ He was conciliatory. ‘But I do read his correspondence and make my own interpretation of the facts.’

  ‘I rarely write to my father,’ said Holly at once, and he tipped his head to one side.

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘So you know very little about me.’

  ‘I pay your allowance—or rather, I arrange for it to be paid,’ he amended mildly, and she stared at him with troubled eyes.

  ‘You—pay my bills?’

  ‘Would you rather someone else did?’

  Holly expelled her breath on a gasp. ‘I thought—my father——’

  ‘That’s what he employs an accountant for,’ remarked Morgan without emotion. ‘Relax. It’s all quite normal, I assure you.’

  Holly’s lips compressed. ‘Of course. You would say that. I suppose you pay your own salary, too.’

  ‘I suppose I do,’ agreed Morgan evenly. ‘But I think that’s enough about financial matters for the present. I want to talk to you about something else.’

  Holly set down her glass on the desk and gave him a guarded look. ‘I know you do,’ she said, forcing herself to remain there, only an arm’s length away from him. ‘I didn’t think you’d flown all this way just to enjoy my company. You wouldn’t do that, would you, Mr Kane? That’s not why my father sent you.’

  ‘Holly——’

  ‘If you can call me Holly, can I call you Morgan?’ she interrupted him abruptly, turning fully to face him. ‘I mean—it’s not as if we’re not old friends, is it? I felt I knew you even before we actually met face to face.’

  His lips thinned. ‘If it pleases you.’

  ‘It does.’ Holly felt the excitement of feeling she was gaining the ascendancy again. ‘Morgan.’ She smiled. ‘That’s a well-known name in these islands—though not usually a well-loved one, I have to say.’

  Morgan sighed. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Doing this? Doing what?’ Holly regarded him innocently and he got slowly to his feet.

  ‘This,’ he said succinctly, making no attempt to move away from her, and her pulses fluttered at his disruptive nearness. ‘You shouldn’t start things you can’t finish, Holly. You haven’t got the experience.’

  ‘And you have,’ she murmured breathily, doing her best to appear casual, and he gave her a weary look.

  ‘Let’s say I understand the situation better than you do,’ he conceded flatly. ‘Now—do you want to start again?’

  She was forced to look up to meet his eyes, and her senses stirred at the searching appraisal of his gaze. She had never been this close to him before, and it was quite unnerving. It wasn’t just that he was a disturbing influence; she was also aware of who he was, and what he could do to her if he related this conversation to her father. And he was also so much older than she was, when all the men she had ever associated with had been contemporaries of hers.

  ‘You’re a very—attractive man,’ she managed to say at last, her hands pushed once more into her pockets to disguise their trembling. ‘I’ve always thought so.’

  ‘Really?’ Morgan did not sound convinced. ‘But I am also twenty years older than you are, and that much wiser.’

  Holly held up her head. ‘So?’

  ‘So I don’t play games with little girls,’ he said quietly, exploding all her hopes. ‘And what’s more, I don’t believe you mean a word of what you’re saying. I think this is just another ploy to avoid discussing the reason that brought me here, but if you’re desperate for sexual activity, I suggest you find someone of your own age to practise with.’

  Holly’s temper flared, but before she could think of a suitable retort, Lucinda put her head around the door. An expression of astonishment crossed her face as her sharp eyes took in their close proximity, and Morgan made a sound of impatience before putting Holly firmly aside.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Er—meal’s on the table,’ said the housekeeper, with her usual lack of formality. ‘And I chilled another bottle of that hock, Mr Kane, just like you told me.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Morgan’s acknowledgment would have oiled the buggy for a month, thought Holly frustratedly. ‘We’re coming now,’ he added, equally smoothly. ‘Holly, will you lead the way?’

  Lucinda had taken trouble with the table, putting out the best linen and polishing the cutlery to a high shine. She had even made a centrepiece of scarlet hibiscus and creamy white oleander, threading the two together with feathery strands of fern. The first course of pink-lined shells of papaw, filled with a cocktail of pineapple, celery and prawns, was already waiting on conch-shaped dishes, but Holly hardly noticed. All she could think was how stupid she had been to underestimate her adversary. She should have known that someone her father trusted so implicitly was unlikely to be deceived by h
er amateurish overtures. If she wanted Morgan Kane to take her seriously, she had to be more subtle. But how could she be subtle when she had so little time?

  She only picked at the papaw cocktail, and left most of the chopped chicken and beef that followed it. She noticed once that Morgan did not appear to be hungry either, but he seemed to enjoy the wine and so did she. It was something to do with her hands in the long intervals between courses, a fragile barrier perhaps, but a barrier nevertheless, between her uncertainty and Morgan’s impatience.

  ‘Are you going to speak to me?’ he remarked at last, after Lucinda had cleared their plates with an offended air. ‘You haven’t even asked me how your father is keeping. Don’t you care?’

  Holly shrugged. ‘Does he care about me?’

  ‘That’s a stupid question.’

  ‘Is it?’ Her artificially darkened brows arched. ‘Since when have I figured highly in his scheme of things?’

  ‘Your father’s a busy man.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know.’ Holly grimaced. ‘He’s busy making money, and getting married, and trying to produce an heir! Oh, yes,’ she added bitterly, twisting her wine glass between her fingers, ‘I know all about his efforts in that direction. His last wife—what was her name? Cherry? Yes, that’s right. Cherry put me squarely in the picture. What a pity it didn’t work out. He couldn’t impregnate her, either.’

  ‘That will do.’ Morgan’s mouth snapped shut. ‘I don’t find this kind of conversation amusing.’

  ‘Nor do I.’ Holly met his eyes defensively. ‘But when a girl not much older than you are starts telling you she’s going to be the one to put you out of the picture, you can’t help feeling a little—pleased, when it doesn’t happen.’

  Morgan sighed. ‘Well, that was not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘I know.’ Holly’s tongue appeared momentarily. ‘But you didn’t have any problems in producing an heir, did you, Morgan? You produced two of them.’