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  ‘Thank you,’ she said, pulling her hand away as if she had been stung.

  Suddenly she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she could not bear to go into the Pearl Centre and watch Nadine flirting with Alain. Nor to watch the way he responded to it. She did not stop to try and analyse why the thought gave her such pain. All she knew was a blind urge to escape. Ducking her head, she strode hurriedly away along the road.

  ‘Claire!’ cried Marie Rose in amazement. ‘Where are you going? Aren’t you coming inside with us?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Claire in a muffled voice. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache. I’ll walk on towards the hotel and you can catch me up when you’re ready.’

  I should never have come, she thought desperately as she hurried along the grass verge. I should have known any encounter with Alain Charpentier was bound to be pure disaster for me. If only he didn’t have that appalling sexual magnetism about him. I feel such a fool when my mouth goes dry and my heart starts pounding whenever he comes near me. And it’s not as if he even likes me. All he’s interested in is that superficial, conceited Nadine. Well, I wish something would happen to show him she’s not so perfect as he thinks!

  Miserably Claire left the roadside and began wandering down a muddy track leading to the bay. She was so preoccupied by her thoughts that she did not even notice the clouds gathering again overhead. Until with a thunderous boom the skies opened and rain poured down in a soaking torrent.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘OH, NO,’ groaned Claire.

  Her first intention had been to walk along the path that led around the waterfront to the hotel. But with the driving rain that was now falling this was impossible. Already wet from the previous storm, the path was now beginning to vanish beneath a chain of muddy brown puddles. The only sensible thing Claire could do was run back to the bus and rejoin the others. With a gasp of frustration she swung round and launched herself into the battering downpour. Before she had gone more than ten yards she was drenched to the skin and her hair was flapping in wet streamers about her face. The rain was coming down so heavily that she was half blinded by its force and, stepping unwarily on a loose stone, she tripped and fell headlong in the mud.

  ‘Damn!’ she cried angrily.

  Stumbling to her feet, she ran on, feeling ready to sob with annoyance. Just her luck! And how infuriating that it had to happen when Nadine Hugo was waiting for her on the bus. She could just imagine the smug way that Nadine would greet her when she returned looking like a survivor from a flash flood. And not only Nadine, but also Alain. No doubt he’d be very amused to see Claire making such a fool of herself!

  Yet at that moment Claire blinked and saw a powerful figure sprinting through the rain towards her. She had never seen Alain running before and she could not help feeling a surge of admiration. His powerful, male body was quite simply magnificent. His damp hair clung close to his head and his wet clothes revealed the virile outlines of a physique that was completely primitive in its appeal. He was brandishing a large black oilskin slicker in his hand and, as he drew near, he flung it around Claire’s shoulders like a matador swirling a cape. The garment enclosed the pair of them in a makeshift tent, cutting off some of the roar of the storm. Claire’s nostrils filled sharply with the distinctive scent of Alain’s aftershave and the warm, clean smell of his body.

  ‘W-what are you doing?’ she demanded as he adjusted the raincoat so that it covered both of them.

  ‘Trying to save you from looking like a drowned rat,’ he replied curtly. ‘Although I must say you already do.’

  Claire flushed, suddenly conscious of the huge splash of mud all over the front of her dress. Conscious too that her clothes, like Alain’s, were clinging to her closely. She saw him glance swiftly at the taut peaks of her nipples under the damp cloth and then look just as swiftly away. Her whole body went rigid with embarrassment and some other indefinable emotion. Twisting away from him, she tried to fling off the oilskin.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘But you shouldn’t have bothered.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool!’ retorted Alain roughly. ‘You’re my guest and it’s my responsibility to look after you. Now get under this jacket at once!’

  Claire flinched at the brusqueness of his tone, but obeyed. Alain’s muscular arm tensed around her shoulders as he drew her under the shelter, enclosing her tightly, and she could not help being aware of every movement that he made. The sense of intimacy was alarming, but Alain did not even seem to notice it. After a swift, unsmiling glance, he lowered his head and strode forward vigorously, making no concessions to her shorter legs or hampering skirt, so that she had to scurry to keep up.

  Claire had a disturbing sense of déjà vu, as if this whole incident had happened to her before. And then with vivid certainty she remembered when. It was a long time ago, before Marcel had arrived to wreck her life. One afternoon she had been caught out on Acajou Beach in just such a tropical downpour and Alain had come striding to her rescue with an umbrella. She could see him now, his aloofness banished by the ridiculous intimacy of the occasion. Could see herself too, gauche and tongue-tied, speechless with delight at the twist of fate that had thrown them together. She cringed inwardly at the memory, feeling as if the intervening years had somehow vanished. Trotting along beside Alain, she felt as if nothing had changed and she was still the shy, awkward teenager she had been then. A feeling which was deeply unsettling. Particularly since it was accompanied by the same fluttering awareness of Alain’s masculinity that had caused her such torments in the past. Was it really possible that she still had a crush on Alain? she wondered incredulously. Certainly his kiss the previous day had awoken a disturbing physical craving deep inside her. But she was old enough now to know that sexual chemistry didn’t necessarily equate with love or even liking. And while Alain obviously felt the same urgent physical attraction towards her, she wasn’t fool enough to imagine that he liked her. No, the whole situation was impossible! And, as for Marie Rose’s optimistic belief that Alain was in love with her, it was plainly ludicrous. All in all, the sooner Claire could escape from this damned raincoat, the happier she would be!

  By the time they reached the roadside, the tropical downpour was easing off as abruptly as it had started. With an expressionless face, Alain whisked the oilskin off Claire’s head, folded it briskly and stuffed it under his arm. Then he gave her a faint, hard smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘You should be all right now,’ he said. ‘Although I doubt if Paul will be thrilled to have you aboard his nice, clean bus.’

  He was right. When they rejoined the others, Paul gave a loud guffaw of amusement at Claire’s bedraggled appearance.

  ‘You little mud crab!’ he exclaimed. ‘Stay right there until I get a sheet of plastic for you to sit on.’

  Ridiculously, Claire felt her eyes begin to fill with tears. Through the windows of the bus she could see Nadine wearing an expression of haughty amusement and Denise Halévy looking frankly disgusted.

  ‘Don’t bother, Paul!’ begged Claire miserably. ‘I don’t want to get your bus all dirty. ‘I’ll be happy to walk.’

  ‘Then I’ll join you,’ chipped in Alain unexpectedly.

  Claire stared at him in horror, but before she could protest Paul spoke again.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, both of you,’ he said. ‘You know I was only teasing, Claire. Hop in and we’ll have you back at the hotel in no time.’

  Claire hesitated, but at that moment Marie Rose appeared in the doorway of the bus beside her fiancé. There was a speculative gleam in her eye that made her sister feel deeply uneasy.

  ‘Actually it might be better if you and Alain do walk, Claire,’ she suggested. ‘It isn’t far and it will give you a chance to chat about old times.’

  Claire felt a pang of dismay and, glancing sideways, she saw Alain’s lower lip curl with sardonic amusement. Obviously he could read Marie Rose’s motives just as well as she could, but surprisingly he made no obj
ection.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed indifferently. ‘But can you and Paul lend us some clean clothes when we get there?’

  ‘Sure,’ replied Marie Rose. ‘We’re all going to the restaurant in the main building and I’ve told the chef we want lunch at one o’clock, so that will give you half an hour to get cleaned up. Just go to our house and borrow whatever clothes you want from our bedroom. There are two bathrooms, so you should be all right. But don’t get mud on my new carpets or I’ll personally murder you both. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ said Claire in a subdued voice.

  To her relief, Alain did not talk at all on the remainder of the walk, although he did cast her one or two disturbingly keen glances. They crunched along the damp gravel verge of the road and Claire tried to concentrate on the scents and sights around her. The smell of salt air, the yellow hibiscus dripping with raindrops, the changing play of light and darkness as the clouds fled before the breeze, sending their shadows scurrying across the emerald hills. Anything to take her mind off the man striding beside her, whose brooding presence seemed to reduce her to a quivering heap. It was a relief when they turned into the hotel driveway. Paul and Marie Rose’s house proved to be a thatched building in the native style surrounded by a lush garden and with a superb view over the bay. It was so beautiful that Claire was startled into comment.

  ‘Isn’t Marie Rose lucky?’ she exclaimed, following Alain on to the veranda. ‘I’d give my eye-teeth to live somewhere like this.’

  ‘Would you?’ asked Alain in an odd voice.

  Then he seized the front door handle.

  ‘It’s not locked, is it?’ asked Claire.

  ‘No. Nobody ever locks anything on Moorea,’ replied Alain, turning the handle.

  They found themselves in a cool, marble-floored hallway with another corridor leading off at right angles. Claire felt intensely self-conscious about finding herself alone with Alain. Yet his manner was quite impersonal as he advised her to wash her filthy feet in the laundry sink before setting foot on the carpet. And when she lost her balance, standing on one leg, and had to hop around shrieking and flailing desperately, he came to her aid and steadied her. Even so, his manner as he led her to the master bedroom was cool to the point of rudeness.

  ‘I’ll shower and change in the other bathroom,’ he said curtly, tossing a pair of shorts and a polo shirt on to the bed. ‘You can meet me on the veranda when you’re ready.’

  And, holding the clean clothes at arm’s length, he picked his way cautiously out of the door. Left alone, Claire shook her head unhappily, wounded by his obvious hostility. If only I’d never met Marcel, perhaps Alain and I could have been really good friends, she told herself. A strange pang went through her at the thought. Perhaps because the image of Marcel still haunted her, although not from any feelings of love towards him. Quite the reverse. The emotions which swept through her whenever she thought of Marcel Sauvage were all negative. Guilt, torment, disgust, rage, despair. Yet by now she had become adept at shutting it all out with a clang like the closing of a fire door. There was no way she could change what had happened, so it was better to ignore it. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling an odd, wistful yearning for Alain to like her. Was that still possible or not?

  Ten minutes under a warm shower and a leisurely perusal of Mane Rose’s wardrobe made Claire feel both cleaner and more hopeful. She chose a pink tie-dyed pareu, sprayed herself liberally with some of Marie Rose’s heavenly French perfume and pulled on a pair of leather sandals. As she sat down to fasten the straps, she noticed guiltily that she—or perhaps Alain—had left a steak of brown mud along the caramel-coloured carpet.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she murmured. ‘My little sister isn’t going to like that at all. I’d better get a sponge or something from the laundry and see if I can clean it up.’

  As she padded back along the hall shortly afterwards, she glanced outside, but the veranda was deserted, so she assumed that Alain was still under the shower. Consequently she was completely taken aback when she pushed open the bedroom door and found him standing in front of the chest of drawers with only a knotted towel around his waist.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped, backing away. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you were still in the other bathroom.’

  ‘It’s my fault,’ he said hastily. ‘I thought you’d left.’

  There was a moment’s strained silence and Claire distinctly heard her heart bumping against her ribs. In spite of the towel, she felt agonisingly conscious of Alain’s nearness and masculinity. A faint, warm odour that was primitive and deeply erotic emanated from him. It was a scent reminiscent of salt air or wild parsley that filled her with an insane urge to step forward and boldly strip the covering from around his hips. Unconsciously she darted a swift downward glance at him and was tormented by the contours of his flat muscular belly and the line of dark hair that plunged out of sight. She swallowed hastily and looked away, conscious that her cheeks were burning. Alain looked at her with narrowed, watchful eyes.

  ‘W-what are you doing here?’ she stammered.

  ‘Paul’s shorts didn’t fit me so I came back for another pair. The room was empty, so I thought——’

  ‘There was mud on the carpet,’ she babbled nervously. ‘I went to get a——’

  Then suddenly, incredibly, he just swept her into his arms. The embrace was so raw, so violent, so overwhelming that Claire had no time to resist. The sponge dropped unheeded from her fingers as Alain caught her against him. She made a soft, choking sound in the back of her throat, then, without any conscious intention, she kissed him back. The room seemed to spiral around her in a dizzying kaleidoscope of sensations as Alain’s warm mouth forced her lips apart. At the touch of his tongue, fire pulsed through her veins. Closing her eyes, she let herself melt sensually into his embrace. His hands were hard and urgent and maddeningly skilful, kneading her back and trickling deliciously down to the base of her spine. Then with a low groan, he cupped her buttocks fiercely in his hands and hauled her against him. There was nothing subtle about the movement and the warm, quivering thrust of his masculinity against her left her in no doubt of what he wanted.

  Reason told her to call a halt, but reason seemed a poor substitute for the tide of primitive, urgent longing that was sweeping through her. Instead of protesting, she uttered a series of soft, mewing cries, wound her arms around his neck and kissed him lingeringly. She could feel the frantic thudding of his heart and his swift, shuddering intake of breath, then his hard, muscular thigh forced its way between her legs. Coarse, masculine hair rubbed against the silky smoothness of her own skin and all she could feel was an abandoned, wanton delight. Pointing her toe, she drew her own leg up so that the sole of her foot ran teasingly up the back of his calf.

  ‘You sensual little witch,’ he groaned. ‘I always knew you’d be like molten fire, but even in my wildest fantasies I never expected this. Come here, damn you…!’

  With a sudden swift movement, he lifted her right off the floor and stood, gloating down at her. His face was suffused with passion and his eyes looked dark and strange. Somewhere, distantly, warning bells rang in Claire’s head. She knew that this encounter was pure madness, but she was in no mood to listen to warnings, even her own. The moment Alain had laid his hard, urgent hands on her, she had been aware of nothing but a torment of throbbing, sensual need. And, as he strode purposefully towards the huge, king-size bed, her body arched towards him in a convulsive spasm of longing. Then abruptly he flung her down and crouched over her, his eyes glittering.

  ‘Do you know how badly I want you?’ he demanded hoarsely.

  Her breasts were heaving with the shallow, rapid intake of her breath and she found she could not speak. But she nodded mutely. He picked up a strand of her long, damp hair and drew it slowly through his teeth.

  ‘You’re like a fire in my blood,’ he muttered. ‘Sometimes I think I’ll go out of my mind with wanting you. I thought perhaps you were indifferent to me, but it’s the same for you, isn’t
it? The same frenzy, the same desperate, intoxicating need that takes no account of reason? You want me too, don’t you, Claire?’

  She shuddered.

  ‘Say it,’ he rasped.

  Her eyes met his, darted away again.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  His hands tightened exultantly in her hair, bunching it in a frame around her face.

  ‘Tell me,’ he coaxed in a husky voice that sent tingles of excitement through her. ‘Tell me that you want me.’

  ‘I—I want you,’ she responded and gave a low gasp as his right hand moved from her hair and slipped sensually down inside her pareu.

  ‘Badly?’ he prompted, tracing a whorl of fire on her nipple.

  She moaned softly.

  ‘Badly,’ she breathed.

  His other hand was still resting on her hair and she turned her head suddenly and bit him softly on the warm cushion of flesh at the base of his thumb.

  ‘Oh, would you?’ he growled, seizing her jaw in mock reproof. ‘You need taming, you little hell cat!’

  ‘Do I?’ purred Claire.

  And with a sudden, swift movement she drew his thumb into her mouth and sucked on it hard. A thrill of mingled shock and excitement sparked through her as she saw his response to that teasing caress. His entire body stiffened, his eyes flashed fire and, without warning, he lowered himself on to her, crushing her warm curves mercilessly beneath him. Seizing her hands, he pinioned them above her head and then took her mouth in a long, sensual kiss that left her aching for more.

  ‘Yes,’ said Alain in a hard voice. ‘And I’m going to enjoy taming you, believe me.’

  A tide of warmth seemed to be pulsing through her entire body, urging her to press closer to him and filling her with impetuous need. However hard she strained against him, she could not get enough of that powerful, masculine body whose weight was imprisoning her so satisfactorily. Yet as Alain’s hand suddenly travelled downwards and began to stroke the inner surface of her thigh, some vestige of sanity asserted itself.