Innocent Virgin, Wild Surrender. Anne Mather

As she went down the stairs Rachel wondered what was beyond them. Offices, perhaps, or a boardroom? Or the private apartment of the owner of the hotel?

      Shrugging, she decided that could wait until later. She followed her neighbours down to the lobby, noticing that they knew their way around. For obvious reasons, she hadn’t ventured out of her rooms again the night before.

      The receptionist—not Rosa this time, but another girl—called a greeting, and Rachel had to admit that the staff were very friendly. Was it company policy, she wondered cynically, or were they just naturally gregarious people?

      Like Matt Brody?

      But she didn’t want to go there, so instead she trailed her neighbours across the lobby and through open double doors into a casual dining area. Some of the tables were occupied inside, but most people who were there seemed to have opted for the patio. Leaving the others behind, Rachel stepped out into the sunshine with a feeling of optimism she couldn’t suppress.

      ‘Table for two?’

      A waitress appeared at her elbow, and Rachel pulled a wry face. ‘Just for one,’ she said, half apologetically, and was unaccountably pleased when the young woman looked surprised.

      She was seated at the far side of the patio. It was still early—barely eight o’clock—but the sun was already gaining in strength. She was glad of the awning that protected the tables. She didn’t want to start her trip with sunstroke.

      She drank freshly squeezed fruit juice and several cups of strong black coffee. Jamaica was famous for its coffee, and unless this was home-grown Rachel suspected she was enjoying a Jamaican blend. She ate only a warm roll and a Danish pastry, passing up French toast and maple pancakes, despite their delightfully appetising smell.

      She was tempted to go for a swim after breakfast. Her usual routine, when she was on holiday, was to go sightseeing in the morning, before the sun became too unbearable, and then swim or sunbathe in the afternoon. But she wasn’t on holiday, she reminded herself, as if any remainder was necessary. And as far as sightseeing was concerned, wasn’t she more likely to find her quarry here?

      She was lingering over one final cup of coffee when she became aware that someone had stopped beside her table. Someone who was tall and dark and disturbingly familiar, so that her nerves tingled and her breathing quickened, and she really had no need to look up from her abstract contemplation to find out who it was.

      But of course she did.

      ‘Good morning, Ms Claiborne.’

      Matt Brody’s voice caused the little hairs on the back of her neck to rise expectantly. Rachel found herself putting up a hand to calm them, half surprised to find the stubby ponytail she’d made of her hair that morning was still in place.

      ‘Um—good morning.’

      Her brief appraisal told her everything about him, and that was worrying. He, too, was wearing shorts this morning, cargo shorts that exposed brown legs and muscled calves. A white body shirt clung to every heft and sinew of his torso, once again revealing the arrow of air on his stomach.

      Oh, God!

      Rachel couldn’t understand why she was so aware of him. Of all the men she’d ever met, and goodness knew there’d been plenty, why did she feel such a powerful reaction when Matt Brody was near?

      Like mother, like daughter, perhaps?

      But she refused to go there.

      ‘Did you sleep well?’

      Rachel decided she’d get a crick in her neck if she was forced to look up at him. Pushing back her chair, she got to her feet, but she still had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. Green eyes—were they mocking her?—looked mild and inoffensive. But why was he bothering with her? Had he guessed why she was here?

      ‘Very well, thank you,’ she answered, aware of the crisp-ness of her tone. ‘Did you?’

      ‘I always sleep well, Ms Claiborne,’ he said, his thin lips twitching with what could only be amusement. He paused. ‘I wondered if you had any plans for this morning.’

      Rachel’s jaw nearly dropped. ‘Plans?’ she said somewhat blankly. And then, deciding he couldn’t possibly know what she was thinking, she added, ‘I—why, no. I was just considering my options, actually.’

      Like, should I try and find out where you live, and whether my mother is staying in your house? Or if I should just wait and see what happens if you tell her that I’m here?

      ‘Good.’ He gave her a swift appraisal, and Rachel felt as if those shrewd green eyes had stripped her naked and found her wanting. ‘So how do you feel about seeing a little more of the island?’

      Once again Rachel felt that sense of disbelief that had accompanied his first question. ‘I—yes,’ she said, not at all sure what she was committing to, but prepared to take it anyway. ‘I was thinking about that myself.’ She took a breath. ‘Are there guided tours?’

      ‘You could say that.’

      Matt grinned, and Rachel’s stomach quivered in response. When he was relaxed, as now, he looked quite devastating, his eyes crinkling at the corners, their expression softening his masculine features.

      ‘I was offering my services, actually,’ he murmured. ‘I was born in England, but apart from college I’ve lived all my life on St Antoine. I know this place—intimately.’ Had he used that word deliberately? ‘I guess I know places the guidebooks couldn’t know.’

      Rachel was sure he did. But she wasn’t half as sure about taking him up on his invitation. It was an ideal opportunity to question him without giving herself away. But it was also far too attractive a proposition, and she wasn’t at all certain her father would approve.

      ‘Um—will anyone else be coming with us?’ she asked, innocently, and for a moment she thought his eyes darkened with sudden impatience.

      ‘No,’ he said at last, his tone flat. ‘Does that bother you? If I promise to keep my hands off you, will you come?’

      Rachel’s face flamed with colour. ‘Oh, I—that is, I wasn’t implying—’

      ‘Yes, you were.’ He gave a careless shrug. ‘So? What’s your answer?’

      Rachel let out a nervous breath. ‘Do I need to bring anything?’ she asked, holding up her head, and his mouth twisted consideringly.

      ‘What did you have in mind?’ he queried. And then, as if aware of her embarrassment, he took pity on her. ‘Just some sunscreen, I guess. And your swimsuit, if you have one.’

      Rachel put a little space between them. ‘All right,’ she said, mentally assuring herself that her swimsuit was the last thing she’d be putting in her bag. ‘When do we leave?’

      He glanced at the thick gold watch on his wrist. ‘Is fifteen minutes long enough?’

      Rachel nodded. ‘I should think so.’

      His smile was ironic. ‘A woman who doesn’t need the better part of an hour to get ready. How lucky am I?’

      We’ll see, thought Rachel, but she didn’t make any comment. She was already feeling apprehensive about her decision. Regretting it, no. Fearing it, yes.

      ‘Then I’ll see you in the foyer in fifteen minutes,’ he said, and with a polite nod he strode into the hotel.

      Rachel had to sit down for a minute after he’d left her. She told herself it was so she could finish her coffee, but the truth was her legs felt decidedly weak.

      Dear God, what had she let herself in for?

      But she couldn’t sit here indefinitely, she thought. She needed to go back to her room and collect the sunscreen he’d mentioned. She was determined not to take a swimsuit, though she was aware that her skirt was almost as revealing. But then when she’d packed her suitcase for the trip she hadn’t