White Lies by Sara Wood Page B

situation—my concern for you and your vulnerability—is endangering my detachment, let alone your interests.'
    He slid his hands into her hair, pushing it back and cradling her head. And she let him; she just stood there, enjoying the feel of his warm fingers splayed out, massaging her scalp, lifting the heavy hanks of hair and letting them drift over her shoulders and back till she tingled all over. 'Your eyes have grown soft and warm,' he murmured, staring deeply at her. 'With flecks of honey-gold and green. Your lips keep parting and inviting me to kiss them and I'm finding it harder and harder to resist.'
    'We...' Mandy hastily sought to rid her throat of its alarming huskiness. 'We could talk from a distance,' she suggested, her face serious. 'I could get dressed and—'
    His finger touched her lips and it was all she could do to stop herself from taking it into her mouth. Maybe he knew-that too, because he withdrew it quickly.
    'No,' he said firmly. 'It's late. The wrong time, the wrong place. I know you're disappointed,' he murmured, sounding regretful.
    'I am,' she said quietly.
    'By the time I'd finished explaining to you, the early shift would be around, sweeping the paths, collecting flowers for the rooms and so on. I'd be seen leaving.'
    He pushed a weary hand through his tousled curls. 'And I'd be too bone-tired to think up some excuse. I must go. I need my sleep, Mandy.'
    'Oh! Of course. I've been selfish. But when...?' she began anxiously.
    He smiled. 'Come to the beach in the morning. Any time you're ready.' He patted her hand. 'And now you ought to eat something. The cold spiced chicken is very good. If you can't sleep any more, go for a walk, have a swim, whatever you like, but enjoy these luxury surroundings and put all your worries away. I know how to solve this situation.'
    She let his warm, honeyed tones slide into her fretting brain and felt instantly soothed. Her eyes were trusting as they met his, and her smile deepened when he smiled crookedly back at her.
    'That's wonderful, Pascal! I'm glad you came and... thanks. You've made me feel better. Thank you for everything,' she added fervently.
    The blue eyes flickered. 'My pleasure,' he murmured.
    They both jumped. Someone was knocking on the door! Mandy's eyes rounded in alarm. 'Who could that be?' she whispered under her breath, horrifyingly aware that their voices must have been heard from outside because of the nature of the open-sided deck.
    'Mrs Cook! Mrs Cook!' called an agitated voice.
    'Damn! It's Arcadia!' muttered Pascal. 'See what she wants.' And he quickly hurried back into the bedroom, out of sight.
    Baffled as to why anyone should want her at this hour in the morning, Mandy checked that she looked decent, hitched the sheet a little higher and opened the door. 'What is it?' she asked a little sharply.
    'Telephone call,' said the breathless Arcadia. 'For Monsieur St Honore.' Mandy stared at her blankly and the woman looked uncomfortable. 'I know he's around! I heard you yellin' all the way from the night desk in the reception building,' she said obstinately. 'I know he came up with a tray and never came back—not that I did see. It's important, Mrs Cook. His father—'
    'All right, Arcadia, I'm coming,' came Pascal's authoritative voice.
    Mandy froze, watching in dismay the widening of Arcadia's big brown eyes. She heard Pascal walking down the three tiled steps from the bedroom to the wooden deck. Arcadia would be able to see him from where she stood framed in the hall doorway. Mandy turned, walking stiffly away, knowing that his visit would be common knowledge to the hotel staff in the morning.
    She found herself clutching the deck rail as if it might save her from being branded a fallen woman. But it wouldn't and she wanted to scream her innocence, even though she was obviously naked beneath the sheet and Pascal had appeared from her bedroom at this ungodly hour. At least he was fully clothed, apart from the loosened tie and collar!