Which one would do the least damage? she wondered. The little black dress?
No. It was way too little, halter-necked with no back and a short tight skirt which looked as if it was sewn on, owing to the material being stretchy.
What about the blue silk petticoat-style number with the swishy skirt?
No. Not with her nipples standing out all the time like ready-to-fire cannons. The material was too thin and the bodice too clingy.
It would have to be the emerald and gold trouser suit. Although still provocative, she at least got to wear a bra, of sorts. But the outfit did have other hazards. Such as the fulfilling of an old fantasy of hers to look like a harem girl. The pants were harem-style, and the emerald material semi-transparent, shot with gold thread. The outfit was only saved from indecency by being overlaid with a thigh-length jacket. The bra of sorts was a strapless corselette, heavily beaded in green and gold glass beads and designed to manoeuvre even the smallest of breasts into a cleavage. Isabel’s breasts, though not large, were not small either. The result was eye-catching to say the least.
Once dressed and made-up, Isabel stared at herself in the floor-length mirror which hung on the back of the walk-in wardrobe door and thought she’d never looked sexier. Her hair was up, though not in its usual French roll. She’d just bundled it up loosely in a very casual topknot, leaving strands of various lengths to fall around her face. The long green and gold crystal earrings in her ears would swing when she walked. If she could walk, she amended as she squeezed her feet into the outrageously high gold sandals she’d bought to go with the outfit.
‘Shake a leg in there, lover,’ Rafe called out. ‘It’s gone six.’
With a shudder which could have been excitement or apprehension, she dragged on the gauzy green jacket, sprayed on some perfume, then went to meet her master.
Rafe was out on the terrace, admiring the view in the dusk light and thinking that this place really was a fantasy come true when Isabel emerged from the bure, looking like something out of the Arabian Nights.
‘Well,’ he said, smiling wryly to her as he scraped back the chair and stood up. ‘If ever there was an outfit designed to turn a gay man straight, then you’re wearing it tonight.’
She laughed a slightly guilty-sounding laugh. ‘I didn’t bring any let’s-do-something-else clothes with me, I’m afraid.’
‘I see,’ he said drily. And he did. She was only here with him for the sex. She’d made that quite clear from the start.
And he’d been with her all the way. Till their little mishap this afternoon. Now, suddenly, everything had changed. Now, suddenly, when he looked at her, he didn’t see a delicious bedmate but a possible pregnancy.
Not that he didn’t still desire her. He’d have to be dead not to. It was just that other thoughts were now overriding his X-rated ones. Such as perhaps he should still tell her what had happened. It wasn’t too late for her to get the morning-after pill. They had a doctor on the island, he knew. And a chemist shop. He’d read the list of services available in one of the coffee-table brochures.
But, oddly, he hated the idea of her ridding her body of his baby—if his baby was in there. Peculiar, really, when he’d never wanted to be a father before. He still didn’t.
But she did. Want to be a mother, that is. She wanted one enough to have one on her own. So why not his? Better than having herself artificially inseminated. Bad idea, that.
‘Rafe! Why are you just standing there, frowning at me like that? What on earth are you thinking?’
‘What am I thinking?’ He took her arm and started propelling her down the path towards the jetty. ‘I was thinking that your idea of having a baby all by yourself is not a good one. In fact, it’s a very bad one. My mother found it extremely difficult raising me by herself, and she had help for the first eight years.’
‘Yes, well I can understand how raising you would have tried the patience of a saint,’ Isabel said. ‘But my baby won’t be having your impossible genes, Rafe, so hopefully my job won’t be quite so difficult.’
‘Is that so?’ Rafe smiled. He couldn’t help it. Irony always amused him.
‘Yes, that’s so!’ she pronounced haughtily.
‘But if you go through with this plan of yours to be artificially inseminated with some unknown donor, then you won’t have any idea what kind of genes your baby will inherit from its father. Surely even my genes would be better than the lucky-dip method.’
‘All that will be unknown is his name and address,’ she informed him somewhat impatiently. ‘I will know a lot of information about the donor. A complete physical description, all aspects of his health, his level of education, plus other personality traits such as his sporting interests and hobbies. That’s how I aim to choose him. I will look at the list of available donors and select the one which best fits my prerequisites.’
‘Fascinating. Here, I can see you’re having trouble walking in those heels. I’ll carry you.’ She went to object but he just swept her up into his arms and carried her across the sand towards the jetty.
‘Mmm. You’re as light as a feather. You know, I think you’ve lost weight since coming to this island. Too much exercise and not enough eating,’ he said, at which she pulled a face up at him.
‘We have to make sure you’re in tippy-top health, you know, if you’re planning to have a baby soon. Three good meals a day, and no silly dieting.’
‘Yes, Dr Saint Vincent,’ she mocked.
‘Just talking common sense. Of course perhaps you’re not serious about having a baby soon, or on your own at all. Maybe that was just talk.’
‘I’m deadly serious. We’re on the jetty now,’ she said curtly. ‘Please put me down.’
Rafe stared down into her eyes, suddenly aware of how stiffly she was holding herself in his arms. It hadn’t occurred to him when he picked her up that she might be turned on by it. Whilst her vulnerability to his closeness was very flattering, taking advantage of it wasn’t a priority of his at this precise moment.
He lowered her carefully onto those wicked-looking shoes. ‘So tell me, Isabel, what are your prerequisites for choosing the father of your child?’
‘No.’
‘No? What do you mean, no?’
‘I mean no, Rafe,’ she said firmly as she marched on ahead of him out along the jetty. ‘I am not going to have this conversation with you,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you about my plans now. Why you’re even interested is beyond me.’
He hurried after her. ‘Oh, come on, don’t be like that. If we’re going to sit across the table and have dinner for a couple of hours we have to talk about something. And I’m curious.’
She spun round to look him straight in the eye. ‘Why?’
‘Why not?’
For a moment her eyes flashed with frustration, but then she shrugged. ‘I might as well give in and tell you whatever you want to know, because you won’t give up, will you? You’ll get your way, like you did with the black and white photos. You’re like that Chinese water torture.’
He grinned. ‘I’ve been told that before.’
‘I can imagine. But you can’t have it all your own way all the time. If I’m to answer such highly personal questions then I have a few of my own I want answered.’
‘Fair enough.’ He had nothing to hide and, frankly, was intrigued