She didn’t like to think what her father would say if he could see her. Yet what had she done, after all? Swum after dark—albeit topless—without his permission? Taken off her wet briefs so her legs would dry.
It wasn’t anything any other girl her age might have done, she assured herself. However strictly he treated her, she needed some freedom. And he needed to remember she wasn’t a child.
Lily had reached the modest rectory before she saw the vehicle parked to one side of the building. It was a large four-by-four, and it was unfamiliar to her.
Which made her apprehensive. She’d have thought she’d recognise any automobile that might turn up at her father’s door. After the feelings she’d had while she was taking her swim, it was worrying. If they had visitors, then Reverend Fielding was unlikely to be holed up in his study as she’d anticipated.
Before she could formulate any plan as to how she was going to get into the house without being seen, a man stepped out of the shadows to confront her.
‘Buenas noches, Ms Fielding,’ he said with suave politeness. ‘Are you well?’
Rafe Oliveira!
Lily was instantly conscious of the amber lace clinging to her breasts like a second skin and the embarrassing knowledge that, whether he knew it or not, she was naked under her skirt. The pleasant draught of cool air that had fanned her thighs as she walked up the beach was now banished by the rush of heat that spread down from her stomach. And an insistent pulse made itself felt between her legs.
Because of this, because she felt so damnably vulnerable, her response was uncharacteristically sharp.
‘Have you been spying on me again, Señor Oliveira?’ she demanded, not caring right then whether the accusation was justified or not.
The veranda behind them was lit by hanging lanterns and in their muted light she saw the way his eyebrows rose. His dark eyes registered first surprise, then amusement.
‘I have not been spying on you, Ms Fielding,’ he said mildly. ‘Though I have to admit I think it is most unwise to swim alone at this time of the evening.’
‘So you were watching me!’
‘No! Por el amor de Dios.’ He was impatient. ‘Your father was worried about you. He said you’d gone for a walk. As he was worried, I offered to look for you. I have just stepped out of the house. And here you are.’
Lily chewed on her lower lip. ‘I suppose you guessed I hadn’t gone for a walk?’
‘I did not give it a great deal of thought,’ retorted Rafe not altogether truthfully. But he knew exactly what she meant.
Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Lily didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He was wearing black this evening, or some dark colour anyway. It accentuated his disturbing appeal and, despite her irritation, Lily was not immune to it.
‘Are you going to tell my father I was lying to him?’ she persisted, and Rafe made a careless gesture with his hands.
‘Why should I?’ he asked indifferently. ‘You are not a child, Ms Fielding. If you choose to behave recklessly, that is your…um…funeral, no?’
Lily’s expression was mutinous. ‘So why did you offer to look for me?’
Rafe shook his head. ‘I could say I was concerned about you, but in all honesty I was more concerned about the poor bastardo who might be arrested as a—what do you say?—a Peeping Tom, no?’
Lily held up her head. ‘There was no one else around,’ she insisted.
‘You are sure?’
She wasn’t. Remembering her nerves when she’d heard the drums earlier, and her belief that there had been someone hiding in the trees, Lily had no answer to that.
‘Well, as you can see, I am safely home,’ she said stiffly. ‘Don’t let us keep you.’
Rafe’s teeth ground together in frustration. ‘Do you think it is wise to alert your father to your return until you have had time to change?’
‘I’m sure Daddy is working in his study. He’s probably forgotten all about my absence by now.’
‘You think?’ Rafe’s dark eyes swept down her body. ‘Having met Father Fielding—’
‘It’s the Reverend Fielding, actually.’
‘Bien.’ Rafe allowed himself to be corrected. ‘No obstante, having met Reverend Fielding, I would not put my faith in that belief.’ He gestured to the house behind him. ‘I am of the opinion that he is waiting for us both to return.’
Lily’s face flamed. ‘Well, so what? He’s unlikely to ask what I’ve been doing while you’re here.’
‘Possibly not.’ Rafe thought he was being extremely patient in the circumstances. ‘But, perdón, is that not part of your bikini dangling from your fingers? It is, as they say, a dead giveaway, no?’
Lily caught her breath. She’d forgotten she was carrying the briefs. And how revealing was that?
Rafe sucked in a breath. ‘I assume you are aware there are certain—illegal—activities taking place at this moment in the old slave cabins at the end of the beach.’
Lily suppressed the urge to cross her legs. How did he know what was going on in the old cabins? It increased the possibility that someone else might have been watching her? she thought uneasily.
She shivered. There was something disturbingly intimate about this conversation.
‘I… I’d better go and change, señor,’ she said, deciding she might have misjudged him. But when she attempted to go past him, Rafe stepped into her path.
‘You should not take your safety for granted, you know,’ he said softly, and Lily suddenly found it difficult to take a breath. He put out his hand and lifted a strand of her wet hair, rubbing its silky texture between his thumb and forefinger. ‘It would be very easy for…someone…to take advantage of you.’
Lily swallowed a little convulsively and Rafe’s hand fell to his side. Whatever vibes she’d been giving off, he’d evidently thought better of the impulse to touch her.
Which was a shame because, for a heart-stopping moment, she’d wanted him to pull her into his arms.
And how crazy was that?
He stepped back, spreading his hands again in a gesture of acceptance. But when Lily moved to leave, he said softly, ‘Please, when next we meet do not address me as señor. My name is Rafe.’ His lips twisted. ‘I wish you would use it.’
The air left Lily’s lungs on an uneven breath. Had he sensed what she’d been thinking? It was difficult to know. But one thing was certain—on an island as small as Orchid Cay, the chances of them meeting again were almost unavoidable. And she should remember that.
‘I must go,’ she said and hurried past him, her flesh tingling uncontrollably at the brush of his taut muscular frame against hers.
He followed her inside, intercepting her father, enabling her to make her escape upstairs. And for that she was grateful. But if he hadn’t turned up as he had, her father would probably have been none the wiser.
He was gone by the time she came downstairs again. She’d taken a quick shower and changed into clean shorts and a tee shirt. But her father was standing in the doorway to his study, and one look at his face as he bid her to join him warned her that he expected an explanation.
‘Where have you been?’