Helen looked far from pleased, and Lisa held her breath, half expecting Rorke to tell her that she was to go to her room, but to her surprise he said nothing, merely looking grimly unforthcoming as Peter took her arm and escorted her from the table.
The nightclub was hot and cramped, and although she wasn’t going to admit it, Lisa would have much preferred to be walking along the beach at St Martin’s, the soft evening breeze cooling her overheated skin and blowing freely in her hair.
‘Lisa?’
She came out of her reverie to find Rorke towering over her while Helen glowered furiously, and Sandra and Peter exchanged comprehensive glances.
‘Lisa, I’m asking you to dance,’ Rorke reminded her.
‘To dance?’ She looked up at him wildly, heady excitement racing through her veins. Like someone in a dream she followed him on to the small crowded floor. The steel band were playing a tune with a powerfully sensual beat, and Lisa found her body seemed to have its own rhythm, as Rorke took her in his arms, his palms flat against the bare skin of her shoulders.
‘I don’t think Helen likes you dancing with me,’ Lisa murmured as she glanced towards their table and saw Helen watching them, fury in the catlike eyes.
‘Damn Helen,’ Rorke muttered ruthlessly, stunning her with the fierce intensity of his words, his fingers tightening on her shoulders as he drew her closer towards him. ‘And damn you, Lisa,’ he muttered thickly, ‘for making me feel like this. God, you’re a child… or so I keep telling myself, but seeing you tonight, holding you in my arms…’
A tremor ripped through him, and Lisa could see the sheen of perspiration on his face. Rorke—Rorke whom she had always thought of as invincible, was trembling because he was holding her in his arms. She could hardly believe it, but it was true!
‘Lisa!’ He groaned her name against her hair, holding her even closer, close enough for her to feel the fixed rigidity of his body, the pulsating heat it radiated. His mouth left her hair, seeking the tender curve of her throat. A maelstrom of emotion gripped her. Her body shivered delicately as his mouth plundered the soft sweetness of her skin. His hands shaped her to him, her breasts crushed against his chest, the hardness of his body compelling hers to yield and mould itself to him.
Distantly she was aware of Helen, glaring furiously at her, knowing that she was warning Lisa that she would make her pay for the pleasure of being in Rorke’s arms, but she felt too deliriously happy to care. Even so, it wasn’t pleasant, feeling Helen’s eyes boring into the back of her neck, and as though he sensed her distress Rorke questioned frowningly, ‘Is something wrong?’
‘It’s just that it’s so hot in here,’ Lisa told him, not wanting to admit that Helen made her feel uncomfortable. What was between them was too new and precious for her to talk freely. She had no idea what had brought about the transformation in Rorke, but she wasn’t going to jeopardise it by criticising Helen to him.
‘Feel like a walk, then, to cool off?’
There was a disturbing glint in his eyes, a curve to his mouth that made Lisa’s heart race.
‘That would be very nice,’ she managed sedately, hoping he wouldn’t guess how understated her comment was.
‘I DIDN’T want to bring you to St Lucia with me.’
‘I know.’
They were walking hand in hand along the soft white sand, the moon and the stars their only witnesses. The soft breeze Lisa had longed for in the stifling heat of the nightclub wafted balmily over them. Rorke paused, slipping off his jacket, which he dropped on to the sand. ‘Sit down for a moment,’ he suggested, adding huskily, ‘God, Lisa, have you any idea what you do to me? Any idea of the jealousy I’ve endured watching you with young Peters?’
‘You jealous?’ Her voice sounded breathless.
‘I’m only human, Lisa,’ Rorke reminded her drily. ‘All too human where you’re concerned.’
‘But you’ve been so unkind to me…’
‘Not half as unkind as I’ve been to myself. You’re seventeen,’ he told her softly, cupping her face. ‘A little girl still in so many ways, and yet already a very desirable young woman. I tried reminding myself that you were my stepsister, but it made no difference. The last time you came home I wanted you, Lisa,’ he told her bluntly. ‘That was six months ago, and nothing has changed, except that I now want you twice as much,’ he told her hoarsely. ‘So much…’
Her whole body quivered in mute response, eager fingers trembling against his skin as she reached towards him.
‘Lisa,’ Rorke groaned grasping her fingers, and pressing a kiss against her palm. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this; shouldn’t be giving way to what I feel, but God help me, I can’t stop myself…’
‘And I don’t want you to,’ Lisa told him shyly. ‘I love you, Rorke.’
‘I thought you loved young Peters,’ he mocked sardonically. ‘How can you love me when every time I look at you you run away? What do you know of love, Lisa? Until you saw me today I don’t believe you’d ever seen a naked man before, never mind…’
Hot colour stained her cheeks, but she still found the courage to say hesitantly, ‘Does it matter so much, Rorke—that I’m not experienced, I mean? Can’t you teach me?’
‘Lisa!’
Her name was torn from his throat on an aching protest, and then she was in his arms, his mouth against her skin, tasting, exploring, his lips moving sensuously against hers, parting their soft innocence and probing the sweetness beyond until she was aware of nothing apart from the taste and feel of him as he lowered her to the sand, his hands exploring the contours of her body, his muffled gasp when he suddenly drew away from her confusing her as much as his abrupt withdrawal.
‘Leigh at least will be pleased,’ he murmured as he pulled her to her feet. ‘Surely you’ve realised how keen he’s been to throw us together?’ he prodded when Lisa made no response. ‘Dear God, you are an innocent, aren’t you,’ he muttered, and despite the warmth of his arm round her body, Lisa felt a strangely apprehensive chill strike through her body. It was almost as though Rorke resented wanting her, resented loving her.
‘Rorke?’
As though he sensed her uncertainty his arm tightened.
‘Rorke, do you love me?’ she murmured softly.
For a moment she sensed his withdrawal and then he was saying smoothly, ‘Of course I love you, Lisa, who wouldn’t—but right now I think it’s time you were back in your virginal bed, don’t you?
She wanted to tell him that she would far rather spend the night in his arms, in his bed, but somehow she couldn’t find the words. Indeed she was surprised that he hadn’t suggested it himself, If she had been Helen! But she wasn’t Helen, she reminded herself. She was herself, and Rorke loved her, and surely once they returned to St Martin’s and he had told his father, they would be married?
They started the return journey to St Martin’s, earlier than had been planned. There was a storm warning, Rorke explained to Lisa when she joined him for breakfast, feeling shyly selfconscious in some of her new separates, and he wanted to get under way as quickly as possible.
‘You’re not sorry—about what happened last night, are you?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘Not half as sorry as I am about what didn’t,’ Rorke responded sardonically. ‘Lisa, do you have the faintest idea of what you’re letting yourself