His chin was level with her breasts so that she couldn’t mistake the taunt. Embarrassment rapidly turned to rage. She glared at him as she advanced another two steps, searching for some equally insulting retort.
'Ever thought of having a haircut? I hear that the hotel salon does wonderful things with feminine tresses like yours.'
He was undismayed by the slur on his masculinity, probably because they both recognised its absurdity.
‘I thought you liked playing with my hair, chérie. It certainly gave you something to hold on to that day you were panting in my arms...'
Her eyes were violently purple as they locked with his, her hands tense in his solid grasp as they reached the first landing in the downward spiral.
‘I was not panting-'
'Moaning, then.'
They argued fiercely on the long, slow journey, she spitting fury even as she realised the deliberate purpose of his outrageous comments. He was doing an extremely good job of keeping her mind on what they were saying and off what they were doing, but he needn’t expect her to thank him for his methods!
Reaching the ground was a relief in more ways than one. She had realised during the second half of the descent that she had just given him a perfect opportunity to ruthlessly interrogate her and he hadn’t taken it. And if it had occurred to her then it would certainly have occurred to him.
She stared at him as he turned and took her fallen hat from the concerned lighthouse-keeper, reassuring him with a few low words. Why, if he was so suspicious of her, hadn’t he grabbed at the chance to use her fear against her?
When he turned back and saw the puzzlement in her eyes his understanding was astonishingly swift and comprehensive. The wry amusement with which he had turned away the lighthouse-keeper's concern hardened into a sardonic bitterness.
'You do not have much of an opinion of my character, do you, chérie? I am not so lost to principle that I believe the end always justifies the means. I was supposed to be one of the good guys out there in the big, wide, wicked world, remember?'
She thought of his dead lover, who had not had his scruples, and the price he had paid for her lack, and felt guilty for doubting him.
‘I—I don’t know how to thank you,' she said awkwardly, trying to make amends with her meekness. She still felt weak and wobbly, and was glad of the hand under her elbow as they stepped back out into the sunshine. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along...' Her stilted primness made it sound as if he had just been wandering by, rather than intently pursuing her, and his sardonic expression melted into a punishing grin.
'Just shows you the dangers of sneaking off on your own,' he murmured silkily, placing her hat back on her glossy head. 'And the necessity of accepting help when it's offered, instead of stubbornly trying to do everything by yourself. Don’t worry about thanking me, Beth; I'm sure I'll eventually think of some suitable way in which you can express your gratitude.'
She looked at him warily, half expecting him to start bombarding her with belated questions, but again he confounded her by escorting her back to her things on the beach, setting up one of the gaily striped umbrellas over her towel and fetching her a drink bristling with fruit and flowers, while he chatted inconsequentially about the history of the lighthouse and the marine life of the surrounding reef.
'What's in this?' Elizabeth asked, as she took the chilled glass he handed her, eyeing its pink-tinged contents doubtfully.
'Knock-out drops,' he said cheerfully. ‘I thought I'd render you unconscious, smuggle you aboard my yacht and sail off into the wide blue yonder so that I could ravish you at leisure.'
Elizabeth took a hurried gulp of the mildly alcoholic cocktail, terrified at how appealing his words sounded, and started to cough.
'Was that an act of faith, or eagerness, chérie?' He knelt on the sand beside her, his tall glass of beer tilting precariously as he slapped her back with what she thought unne
cessary force. Then, ignoring her spluttering, he rummaged in a white canvas bag that had appeared among her things and produced a bottle of sunblock lotion.
'Remove your clothes and lie down.'
Elizabeth wondered if the drink had gone straight to her head, or perhaps his faultless English had failed him for once.
‘I beg your pardon?'
‘I choose not to grant it...yet. Even under the umbrella you will burn if you don’t use cream. Your skin is so fine and pale.'
‘I'll keep my ‘I-shirt on-'
'Later, then, when we swim.'
Her vision went hazy at the thought of his hands massaging lotion into her sun-warmed flesh. She would certainly need the cool embrace of the water afterwards!
‘I—I've already had my swim...' Mesmerised, she watched him wedge his beer into the sand and unselfconsciously shed his own clothes to reveal the familiar blue swimming-trunks.
'And snorkelled over the reef?' He uncapped the lotion, poured it into his cupped hand and stroked it across his chest and belly.