Spirit Of Atlantis. Anne Mather

he saw her. ‘Do you remember that yacht I told you about? Well, this is Mr Prescott who owns it.’

      ‘I didn’t say that, Brad.’ Dan Prescott’s voice was just as disturbing as she remembered. ‘I said it belonged to my family. It does. I just have the use of it now and then.’

      His grin was apologetic, both to the boy and to Julie, but she refused to respond to it. In fact, she refused to look at Dan Prescott at all after that first dismaying appraisal. Yet, for all that, she knew the exact colour of the bluish-grey corded jacket he was wearing, and the way the dark blue jeans hugged the contours of his thighs. His clothes were casual, but they fitted him well, and she realised something she had not realised before. Men like Dan Prescott did not need to exhibit their wealth. They accepted it. It was a fact. And that extreme self-confidence was all the proof they needed.

      ‘What do you say, Julie?’

      Brad was looking at her a little querulously now, and she forced herself to show the enthusiasm he was expecting. ‘That’s great,’ she murmured, realising her words sounded artificial even to her ears. ‘You must tell me all about it tomorrow.’

      ‘Why not right now?’

      The words could have been Brad’s, but they weren’t, and Julie was obliged to acknowledge Dan Prescott’s presence for the first time. Even so, it was almost a physical shock meeting that penetrating stare. The lapse of time had been too brief for her to forget a second of their last encounter, and it was only too easy to remember how she had had to tear herself away from him, breaking the intimate contact he had initiated. Nevertheless, she had broken the contact, she told herself firmly, and he had no right to do this to her. But as his eyes moved lower, over the firm outline of her breasts and the rounded swell of her hips, she felt a wave of heat flooding over her, and nothing could alter the fact that if she were as indifferent to him as she liked to think, it wouldn’t matter what he did.

      With a feeling of mortification she felt his eyes come back to her face, and then the heavy lids drooped. ‘Why not right now?’ he repeated, as aware of her confusion as she was herself, and conscious of Brad’s puzzled stare Julie tried to pull herself together.

      ‘I—why, I don’t have time just now, Brad,’ she offered, addressing her apology to the boy. ‘Some other time perhaps …’

      ‘Okay.’

      Brad shrugged, obviously disappointed, and she was sorry, but then, to add to her humiliation, Pam appeared. It only took her a couple of seconds to sum up the situation, and acting purely on instinct Julie was sure, she exclaimed:

      ‘Oh, there you are, Brad. I’ve been looking for you.’ Her smile flashed briefly at Dan Prescott. ‘Come along, I want you to help me hang those lamps in the yard.’

      ‘Oh, Mom!’

      Brad’s voice was eloquent with feeling, and after only a slight hesitation Dan said: ‘Perhaps I could help you, Mrs Galloway.’

      Pam was obviously taken aback, but Julie’s hopes of reprieve were quickly squashed. ‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Prescott, thank you,’ her friend assured him warmly. ‘Brad will do it—he always does. He’s such a help around the place.’

      ‘I’m sure he is.’ Dan’s expression was amused as it rested on the boy’s mutinous face. ‘Sorry, old son, but there’ll be another time.’

      ‘Will there? Will there really?’

      Brad gazed up at him eagerly, and with a fleeting glance in Julie’s direction Dan nodded. ‘You have my word on it,’ he nodded, pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, and Brad’s demeanour was swiftly transformed.

      ‘Oh—boy!’ he exclaimed, and grinned almost defiantly at Julie before his mother ushered him away.

      But when Julie would have left too, lean brown fingers looped themselves loosely around her wrist. ‘Wait …’

      The word was uttered somewhere near her temple, and the warmth of his breath ruffled the strands of silky hair that lay across her forehead. It was a husky injunction, a soft invocation to delay her while Pam and her son got out of earshot, yet when she tried to release herself his fingers reacted like a slip knot that tightened the more it was strained against. His command might have been mild, but it was a command nevertheless, she realised, and she was forced to stand there, supremely aware that if she moved her fingers they brushed his leg.

      ‘So,’ he said at last, when they were alone, the student receptionist having departed to take his dinner some time before, ‘why are you running out on me?’

      Julie contemplated denying the allegation, but she had no desire to start an argument with him. Besides, he was experienced enough to know if she was lying, and opposition often provoked an interest that otherwise would not have been there.

      ‘Why do you think?’ she asked instead, assuming a bored expression, and the long thick lashes came to shade his eyes.

      ‘You tell me,’ he suggested, and with a sigh she said: ‘Because I don’t want to get involved with you, Mr Prescott.’

      ‘I see.’ His look was quizzical.

      ‘Now will you let me go?’

      He frowned. ‘Why don’t you like me? What did I do to promote such a reaction?’

      ‘I neither like nor dislike you, Mr Prescott,’ she retorted twisting her wrist impotently. ‘Please let go of me.’

      ‘Is all this outraged modesty because I kissed you?’

      ‘I’d rather not discuss it.’ Julie held up her head. ‘I don’t know why you’re here, Mr Prescott, but I’d prefer it if you’d forget we ever met before.’

      ‘Would you?’ The smoky grey eyes drooped briefly to her mouth, and it was an almost tangible incursion. ‘Would you really?’

      ‘Yes,’ but Julie had to grind her teeth together to say it. When he looked at her like that she found it incredibly difficult to keep a clear head, and almost desperately she sought for a means of diversion. ‘I—where is your cousin? Won’t he be wondering where you are?’

      ‘Drew?’ Dan Prescott’s look changed to one of mocking inquiry. ‘How did you know I came with Drew?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know him?’

      ‘Of course not.’ Too late Julie realised she had made a mistake. ‘I—er—I saw the two of you come in, that’s all. And—and Pam said something about him being your cousin.’

      ‘Pam? Oh—Mrs Galloway, of course.’ With a shrug he released her, but as she moved to go past him he stepped into her path. ‘One more thing …’

      ‘What?’

      ‘I want you to come out with me tomorrow.’

      The invitation was not entirely unexpected, but its delivery was, and Julie felt a sense of stunned indignation that he should think it would be that easy.

      ‘No,’ she said, without hesitation.

      ‘Why not?’

      He was persistent, and she found it was impossible to get by him without his co-operation. ‘Because—because I don’t want to,’ she retorted shortly. ‘I’ve told you—’

      ‘—you don’t want to get involved with me, I know.’ He pulled his upper lip between his teeth. ‘But you don’t really believe that any more than I do.’

      ‘Mr Prescott—’

      ‘And stop calling me Mr Prescott. You know my name, just as I now know yours—Julie.’

      Julie found she was trembling. This verbal fencing was more exhausting than she had thought, and she looked round helplessly, wishing for once that Pam would interfere. But apart from the Meades, who were leaving the dining room with their arms wrapped around each other, there was no one to appeal to, and she could not intrude