Tremaine’s eyes.
And where, she wondered, grabbing the heavy loop of rope from the islander who slung it down into her hands, had she heard that name before? If he’d been an athlete she’d have remembered him. He wasn’t the sort of man you forgot. Not if you were a woman anyway.
She squinted down at the stern. Yes, he knew exactly what to do. The group of divers stayed respectfully away from him while he dropped the rope loop into its place and straightened to fend the boat off from the piles. Beneath the cotton shirt, muscles moved across his back and down his arms. Something tightened inside her; hastily she transferred her gaze across to the white line of the reef.
The engine increased its noise as they swung away from the wharf. Lucas stepped back into the cockpit and smiled down at one of the women. Anet reminded herself that she had to entertain this group until they reached the coral gardens where they’d anchor to dive.
Back in the cockpit, she picked up the microphone and began to expound on the sights as Scott headed the craft towards the gap in the reef formed by the flow of fresh water from the river.
Ahead was a busy day. They’d dive, then call in at one of the small motu—the Polynesian word for island—on the reef, where they’d eat a barbecue beneath the coconut palms. After that this group would be brought back to the town to be replaced by a load of snorkellers who didn’t want to venture beyond the silken aquamarine waters of the lagoon.
She was glad she’d been able to answer Scott’s call for help three weeks ago. Although she found some tourists rude, and others foolish, most were very pleasant. And she loved Fala’isi. The island, its green mountain spine and lush vegetation forming a beautiful backdrop to the sea and the blindingly white beaches, epitomised the South Sea paradise embedded so deeply into the fantasy life of those who lived in colder climates. Scott was her favourite cousin, and the social life was fun too—a vigorous mixture of expatriates, locals and tourists.
All in all, she thought, looking across the glinting waters of the lagoon, life probably couldn’t be more perfect.
The cool, challenging speculation in a man’s sea-blue gaze meant nothing.
Although she did her best to keep her eyes off Lucas Tremaine, she noticed when Georgia approached him and engaged him in conversation, her sparkling eyes and tempting little smiles making her interest only too obvious.
It should have been amusing to watch her hastily hidden pique as first one, then another woman drifted across, eager to join in the conversation, yet an ignoble pang of envy shot through Anet.
And that’s enough of that, she told herself sternly. You’ve accepted that you’re never going to know the easy, casual interest these women feel, or their confidence. Experience had taught her that her height, combined with the powerful build of an ex-javelin-thrower, was not alluring.
No man ever saw Anet Carruthers as sexy; likeable, certainly—almost one of the boys—but not feminine, not the sort of woman who could drive a man mad. Even the man she had been engaged to, the man who’d dumped her for a slim, small woman barely reaching her shoulder, had liked her.
Mark had worried about hurting her, but he hadn’t thought her capable of intense emotional distress. Of course, she thought aridly, turning her head to point out the position of a famous shipwreck, he’d been right.
Although she’d been hurt, she hadn’t been shattered. She must have missed out on the capacity to lose herself in love as other women seemed able to do. Even her unrequited love—and she had loved him—for Drake Arundell when she was eighteen hadn’t blighted her life.
She’d recovered with astonishing speed, although Drake was still her ideal of what a man should be like. Which might, she thought, eyeing Lucas Tremaine covertly, be the reason this man made strange things happen to the base of her spine. He and Drake were alike, both big men, but there was more to their similarity than the physical; both possessed an air of controlled power.
Anyway, she was now in full command of her life, looking forward to a happy and useful future.
‘Great view,’ an amiable masculine voice said.
It belonged to an amiable masculine face. Supporting herself against the side of the boat, Anet smiled at him. ‘Isn’t it just?’ she said. ‘What more could anyone want? Glorious weather and the prospect of a day spent diving and eating, then lolling the afternoon away on a coral beach-’
‘Heavily anointed with sunscreen,’ he interpolated, his brown eyes laughing.
Her eyes gleamed with answering amusement. ‘Of course,’ she said solemnly.
‘And you forgot something in your catalogue of pleasures.’
‘Oh, a hundred things. Fala’isi is full of delights.’ Sunlight soaked through her, drying out the material of her T-shirt and bathing suit, melting down to her bones.
‘Well, this is important. Good company.’
She looked around the boat, feeling a bit sorry for him. Lucas Tremaine seemed to have snaffled all the available women. As her gaze passed over the cluster of them about him her mouth curved sardonically. He looked up, and for a moment she had the giddy and entirely erroneous idea that they duelled across the distance.
‘Well,’ she said vaguely, looking unseeingly at the man beside her, ‘every pleasure is intensified by good company.’
A wave sloshed across the bow, sending a glittering, evanescent veil of spray into the air. Warned by the sprinkle of drops across her face, Anet flicked on the microphone again. ‘We’re approaching the gap in the reef and it looks as though it could be a bit bumpy today, so hang on everyone. If you don’t like getting damp, it might pay to take shelter.’
A few seconds later the first comber caught them. Although Scott knew the opening as well as any islander, and was ready for it, a gurgle of laughter whipped Anet’s head around. Her mouth compressed. Georgia was once more snuggled against Lucas Tremaine, her sleek, pale body a blatant contrast to his golden tan and corded muscles.
An odd little quiver wrenched Anet as Lucas set the woman on her feet, smiling down at her while he said something that brought a slow, sleepy smile in response.
Immediately he stepped back, made a further comment that tilted Georgia’s lushly blooming mouth into more laughter, and left her, heading towards Anet.
He was the most handsome man she had ever seen—as beautiful as a god. And as dangerous, instinct warned her; the magnificent combination of form and face was almost overshadowed by the aura of authority and power that he radiated.
As he came towards her the smile he’d bestowed on Georgia faded. Anet was accustomed to being sought out—many New Zealanders knew who she was, and quite a few people liked to talk to someone who had won a gold medal for New Zealand at the Olympics—so there was absolutely no reason for her stomach to clench and her palms to sweat.
‘Is he a friend of yours?’ the man beside her asked casually.
‘Of Scott’s,’ Anet responded absently, then, aware that she was being rude, smiled at him. ‘Scott owns the boat.’
He had good manners. When it became obvious that Lucas Tremaine intended to speak to her he said easily, ‘I’ll see you later, then.’
She gave
