Painted the Other Woman Read online

  With Athan.

  Day after day, every time she met with him, her response to him intensified. She became more and more vividly aware of the effect he could have on her. It might be foolish, it might be rash—but it was so powerful this rush that came whenever she thought of him, whenever she was with him.

  I can’t resist him—can’t resist what he’s offering me. I can’t …

  And for this brief idyllic time, here in this tropical paradise he’d brought her to, she would resist nothing of what he offered her.

  She gave a little sigh of pleasure at the view ahead of her—the time with Athan ahead of her. Happiness filled her, and a wonderful sense of carefreeness. Whatever else was complicated or difficult or troubling in her life this time was not going to be part of. This time was for her—and for the man she was with so willingly.

  ‘I’m glad not to disappoint,’ he said.

  For a long, bewitching moment his eyes caressed her. Then, as if reluctantly, his expression changed.

  ‘What would you like to do first?’ he asked.

  She had no hesitation as she answered, ‘I can’t resist that sea! It’s calling out to me!’

  He gave a laugh. ‘And to me. OK—let’s hit the beach, then.’

  He ushered her indoors and she stepped through into the shady interior of the cabana. It was designed as if it were a simple, palm-roofed hut, but it was a simplicity that belied a level of luxury that went with the whole ambience of the resort.

  On the flight over Athan had regaled her about the island and what awaited them there.

  ‘St Cecile has been fortunate to escape mass tourism,’ he’d told her. ‘It’s a little too off the beaten track, so until recently it’s been something of a backwater. But to my mind that’s all to the good. In the last ten years or so there has been some very careful development for tourism, but at the most upmarket end, so the handful of resorts are well separated from each other, and beautifully sited and landscaped. It’s a little gem of an island, to my mind.’

  Even without anything to compare it with, having seen it, Marisa could only wholeheartedly agree. It was like stepping into one of those luxury travel magazines, she thought. A place most people could never visit.

  And I am! she thought, with another little rush of excitement.

  With a companion anyone would swoon over …

  She slipped into the bedroom. As they had followed the bellhop from the main resort building along sandy, shell-lined paths amongst the palm trees and entered their cabana she had felt a little flutter of nerves on seeing the one bedroom. Somehow it had made very real just what this holiday would entail.

  So was it nerves she had felt, or a flutter of excitement?

  Anticipation?

  She felt it again now, as she searched through her suitcase for her bikini. She had bought it in a mad hectic rush spent raiding the West End stores the day before flying out, and now, as she looked at it lying on the counterpane, she felt another flurry of nerves. In the changing room she had felt brave about it—its brevity had seemed entirely right for such an exotic destination. But now, realising that she was about to don it and emerge in it, displaying herself to a man who up till now had only seen her in high-coverage winter clothes, it was unnerving to say the least.

  Nevertheless, she had bought it to be worn and to be seen in it. Even so, before she emerged on to the veranda she draped a matching voile sarong around her, which gave her a layer of veiling she was thankful for when, some moments later, Athan emerged as well.

  His eyes went to her immediately, visibly drinking her in. For all the fine voile veiling her, she still felt acutely revealed. But if Athan were drinking her in, she had to acknowledge she was doing exactly the same to him. He was wearing a pair of hip-hugging dark blue boardies, and his torso was completely exposed. Marisa felt her eyes widen automatically.

  Bare-chested, Athan was everything she’d imagined him to be—and more. Lean packed, with not an ounce of spare flesh on him, yet not overtly muscular. His smooth, tanned skin moulded over taut muscle, planed down over perfect pecs and delineated abs to arrow towards the low-slung waistband of his board shorts.

  She dragged her gaze away.

  ‘Race you to the sea!’ she exclaimed, with slightly forced gaiety.

  She turned to descend the wide shallow steps that led down to a path to the sea, a dozen metres or so beyond, set between palm trees framing the vista. But a hand stayed her, catching her shoulder.

  ‘Wait—have you got sunblock on?’

  She twisted her head back. ‘Yes—loads.’

  He nodded. ‘Good. It’s essential in this latitude. My skin can take more exposure than yours, being naturally darker, but even so I have to use it copiously. You—’ his eyes washed over her ‘—with your English rose complexion, must be totally protected. It would be sacrilege,’ he told her, his voice changing suddenly so that it seemed to caress her as much as his eyes, ‘to burn such pale, tender skin.’

  As he spoke his touch at her shoulder softened, echoing the caress of his eyes and voice. She felt her pulse skip a beat, butterflies flutter in her stomach.

  ‘OK, let’s race!’ He dropped his hand and surged forward, vaulting down the steps to the sandy pathway.

  ‘Cheat!’ she called out indignantly, and unfastening her wrap started after him.

  Inevitably he reached the sea first and plunged in, diving headfirst into the aqua water as soon as he was barely waist-deep. Moments later she followed suit, feeling the water close like liquid silk over her. She surfaced, hair streaming down her bare back, water droplets glistening like diamonds all over her body.

  Athan could only stare. It was impossible not to. Thee mou, but she was glorious. Like a sea nymph, a nereid foam-born as the translucent water washed around her—and as divinely beautiful as such a creature of ancient myth.

  He had known right from the first that she was beautiful, and had seen with his own eyes that her figure was perfect, but to see it all now, so gloriously displayed in only the skimpiest of coverings, veiled only by the water itself, was breath stopping.

  But even as he stood and gazed he could feel conflict writhing within him. How beautiful she was—how he desired her … ?. He wanted only to catch her in a rush of diamond water and feel her body close to his. Yet, like a flicker across his synapses, seeking to block the vivid visual image before him, came a whisper of warning.

  Take care. She is beautiful, yes, and you desire her—how could you not? But do not forget—do not allow yourself to forget—just why you are here. For what purpose …

  Impatiently, he pushed the warning aside. There would be time for that later, when they returned to England, but for now he could set aside all that and focus only on the glorious fact that he was here with Marisa.

  A sense of well-being descended on him as if from the hot, bright sun overhead. This was good—more than good. He was here, in this beautiful place, and the rest of the world with all its cares and worries, was an ocean away. This beautiful, breath-catching woman was for him—for him alone! Anticipation creamed through him.

  ‘This is heavenly!’ Marisa’s voice was full. She lay back, giving herself to the water, letting the buoyancy of the sea support her as she bobbed gently in the gentle swell.

  The sun poured down its blessing on her, and she had to close her eyes fully against its strength. Her arms drifted out as she rested on the bosom of the sea. How long she floated she wasn’t sure, because time was drifting now, just as her body was. Until she felt two hands lightly on her shoulders, slowly starting to turn her like a starfish.

  ‘I don’t like to wake you, but I think, for the first time in this climate, you should probably come out now,’ Athan told her. ‘Your body feels cool, but the sun’s rays still do their work, and more, even reflected off the sea.’

  Reluctantly she let her feet sink down to the soft sand and stood up. Sunlight was glancing off Athan’s tanned body, turning him to bronze, a sculpted work of a
rt. She could not tear her eyes away, and he gave her his slanting smile.

  ‘It’s the same for me,’ he said, his voice low, his meaning clear.

  She felt her cheeks flush and dipped under the water again, making a show of smoothing out her hair as she re-emerged. She waded towards the shore and as she gained the beach could feel the sun baking down on her back.

  ‘Time for a shower,’ Athan said, and immediately Marisa wished he hadn’t. It conjured images that she had to banish straight away.

  ‘Me first,’ she said laughingly, and ran up the steps of the cabana, gaining the tiled bathroom before him.

  The water sluicing down on her was not tepid and brackish, but beautifully refreshing, and she quickly gave her hair a light shampoo with the courtesy bottle provided. Feeling naked, she wrapped herself in one of the generous soft fleecy towels and emerged, wringing out her hair, and then her skimpy bikini, and wandered out on to their veranda to drape the wet bikini over the rail. It would dry fast, she knew, even in the shade.

  The sun was lowering in the sky. Facing westwards, towards the sheltered Caribbean shore, the beach would be a fabulous place to watch it set, she realised. A little to the left of their cabana was a structure like a fixed palanquin, with a huge bleached canvas mattress and a matching awning. Generous cushions tumbled on the surface, and the edges turned into a kind of tabletop—to put drinks on, she reckoned.

  Combing out her hair, she gazed out at the peaceful scene. She could tell there were other cabanas along the shoreline, but such was the distribution of vegetation and palms that each seemed to have its own portion of beach. It was designed, she realised, to be totally private.

  Intimate.

  Another of those electric flutterings skittered across her nerve endings. How would the evening end? she wondered.

  But she knew—of course she knew! There could be only one way to end such an evening. Only one outcome beneath the tropical stars.

  She would be in Athan’s arms … She felt her heart give a little skip, her lungs a little squeeze.

  How wonderful life was! To grant her this—so idyllic a place—and such a man as Athan to experience it with.

  To experience far more than this beautiful island …

  With a delicious shiver of anticipation she headed indoors to get dressed. It was too early yet to change for dinner, so instead she put on one of the lovely loose fine cotton sundresses she’d bought, with narrow straps and almost ankle length. Not bothering to put on a bra—it was too hot for that!—she slipped her feet into a pair of flip-flops, shook out her hair the better to dry it, and wandered into the little lounge-diner that the front of the cabana opened into.

  She could hear the shower running, indicating that Athan had taken her place there, and she wandered across to the fridge set into the mahogany sideboard. She took out a carton of mango and orange juice, diluting it with chilled water before heading outdoors again. The shaded palanquin looked so inviting that she drifted in its direction, settling herself back with a comfortable sigh against the piled-up cushions.

  ‘So this is where you are.’ A deep voice sounded lazily behind her.

  Marisa half crooked her neck and saw Athan approaching. He had changed into a pair of long cotton shorts and a pale blue short sleeved shirt, open at the neck. He looked cool, casual, and completely devastating.

  He, too, had a glass in his hand.

  ‘It’s a little too early for a sundowner, but the moment that sun hits the deck I’m going to crack open the bottle of champagne that’s in the fridge,’ he told her with a grin. ‘Till then, it’s fruit juice only.’

  ‘Me too,’ she answered with a smile.

  He climbed lightly up onto the mattress, but lounged back at the far end. Marisa was grateful. It was so overwhelming, this whole experience of being here with Athan, knowing what was to come, wanting to savour ever step of the journey.

  I don’t want to rush things, she thought. I want them to be perfect.

  Unforgettable!

  So for now it was perfect just to sit there, comfortably in her own space, with Athan unpressurised company, relaxed and carefree.

  ‘I can’t really believe I’m here,’ she mused. ‘It is just so unbearably gorgeous. Like being in a dream.’

  ‘Oh, it’s real all right.’ Athan’s voice was dryly amused.

  But there was something else in it—some note she couldn’t identify. She glanced at him.

  He was looking at her, but just as in his voice there was something in his eyes she could not see—as if he were holding something back from her. Then, a moment later, it was gone as he leant forward to clink glasses with her.

  ‘To a holiday we’ll never forget,’ he said. His eyes were warm, caressing.

  ‘I’ll never forget this!’ she breathed.

  For the briefest second that strange, half-hidden look was back in his eyes.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ he agreed.

  Then it was gone, and he was taking a long draft from his glass, turning his head to look out over the sea, where the sun was lowering its golden orb towards the waiting embrace of the ocean.

  Just like I am waiting for Athan’s embrace … thought Marisa dreamily.

  They sat half in silence, half in companionable chit-chat, listening to the warm wind soughing in the tops of the palms, the gentle susurration of the wavelets breaking on the silver shore. It was so incredibly quiet and peaceful they might have been the only people on the beach or even the island, Marisa thought.

  ‘Is that actually a coconut?’ she asked, her gaze drifting to the top of one of the nearby palms.

  Athan gave a laugh. ‘Do you think it’s a fake one, then?’ he challenged, amused.

  ‘Maybe the hotel ties fake ones to the tops of the palm trees to impress the visitors,’ she responded, entering into the spirit of the banter.

  ‘We’ll ask one of the garden staff to get it down for us, if you like,’ Athan said. ‘You should see them climb palm trees. It’s quite ingenious—they use a short length of rope which they hook around the trunk, then use it to lever themselves up to the top—it’s quite a skill!’

  ‘You sound like you’ve seen it before,’ she said.

  ‘Well, not here,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve never been to this resort before.’

  That, of course, was why he’d chosen it. He wasn’t known here, and he was unlikely to bump into anyone who knew him. Or his sister. Besides, this resort was specifically aimed at couples who wanted to get totally away from it all—including any other couples.

  That was what made it so ideal a place for him to bring Marisa Milburne.

  Remote, luxurious, discreet. Perfect for his intentions.

  A shadow of a flicker fleeted across his face. She was so trusting of him—lounging there, sipping her juice, gazing out over the vista ahead, her pose relaxed and graceful.

  Should I really do this?

  The question he didn’t want to hear came from nowhere—sliding like a needle under his consciousness.

  His conscience?

  You’ve brought her here to make her want you instead of him.

  And she did want him! Wanted him as much as he wanted her—all his senses told him so. And for that reason he crushed down his disquiet.

  England, his sister, his philandering brother-in-law—all seemed very, very far away.

  And Marisa … ah, she was blissfully close.

  He raised his glass to her again. ‘To us,’ he said softly.

  And her eyes glowed like jewels in the golden light of the setting sun.

  Marisa narrowed her eyes in concentration, listening intently. One of the serving staff was talking to another islander, and she was trying to make out what they were saying.

  She abandoned the attempt, turning her attention back to Athan, sitting opposite her at the table.

  ‘Do you know, I can’t make out a single word?’ she said. ‘It doesn’t even sound like English.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ he told her, amu
sed. ‘The island Creole is French-based, dating from the time when St Cecile was ruled by France, but it also includes fragments of African languages, as well as the original Carib languages. Don’t worry if you can’t understand it—outsiders seldom do. All the island Creoles across the Caribbean have virtually evolved into their own languages. They have their own literature as well, and these days there’s a real effort to preserve them for future generations of islanders.’

  Marisa shook her head. ‘It doesn’t sound like French, either,’ she admitted.

  She glanced across at Athan. He was looking, as the habitual little catch in her throat informed her, lethally attractive. Since lolling on the palanquin—where they had, as he had promised, toasted each other in champagne as the sun set—he’d changed into tan chinos and another short-sleeved open-necked shirt, and he looked disgustingly, casually gorgeous. His sable hair was slightly feathered, and his relaxed pose seemed to emphasise the lean, muscled power of his body.

  What she wanted to do, she knew, was simply sit there and gaze at him. But what she had to do, she also knew, was keep chatting to him to stop herself being reduced to such a gormless level. It was hard, though—and not just because of her own sharpened awareness of him. It was also because he had the devastating habit of relaxing back in his chair and letting his gaze wash over her, making no bones about showing that he liked what he was seeing.

  That he liked it very much …

  Again that flutter in her stomach came, and she knew that the effort she’d made to look her absolute best tonight was paying off. After the champagne on the beach she’d disappeared into the bathroom, taking excruciating care over her make-up—not too much for the climate and setting, but enough to enhance her eyes to the maximum—glossing her lips with dew, and styling her hair so that it looked artlessly tumbled. Her choice of clothes was equally careful. A long dress in a swirling mix of vermilions and gold, with spaghetti straps and a high waist that made her seem taller and more slender. She’d wrapped a piece of filmy gauze picked out in the same vermilion and gold thread around her shoulders. The temperature had dropped, but by very little—the night was sweet and balmy, as caressing as a silken touch to her skin.