Somerville. He might claim that her mother gave wild parties, but she had never seen any evidence of them; her mother was very strict about her behaviour whenever she was at home.
Rourke shrugged. ‘Maybe the daughter’s arrived from the convent. You have her to thank for not being able to show us all that beautiful body of yours.’
She gulped. ‘I—I do?’
He nodded. ‘Mm. Carlene ordered bathing suits to be worn in her daughter’s honour.’
Did that mean they usually bathed nude …? Including her mother? No, she couldn’t believe that. And this man obviously didn’t realise that she was ’the daughter’ who was spoiling all his fun.
‘You’d better go,’ she advised softly.
‘Yes,’ he sighed, looking impatient. ‘Are you coming down to join us?’
‘I—In a minute.’ When she had recovered from the shock of the last fifteen minutes!
He strolled casually over to the door, tall and lithe, moving with an animal grace that was totally sensual. ’I’ll be waiting for you,’ he said softly. ‘And don’t forget the rest of your bikini—we wouldn’t want to shock the child.’
Clare’s mouth compressed in consternation as Rourke Somerville left the room. How old did he think she was, for goodness’ sake!
Her sense of humour got the better of her, and she giggled at the idea of the little girl he expected her to be. How surprised he was going to be when he found out he had just been making love to ’the child’!
But it wasn’t really funny, and she sobered instantly. Rourke Somerville had touched her intimately, hadn’t expected her to be surprised by his behaviour. Just what sort of man was he? And what sort of girl did he think she was!
She had all her bikini on when her mother entered the room a few minutes later, running to meet her with a tiny sob. She hadn’t seen her mother for almost a year because she had been busy filming, and yet she found her little changed, her beauty as youthful as ever.
‘Mummy!’ She hugged her, feeling ridiculously tearful.
‘Hello, darling,’ her mother greeted in her offhand voice. ‘Don’t cling, Clare, it’s much too hot for body contact.’ She stepped away from Clare, her sunglasses now pushed back into her hair.
Her mother’s words reminded her of the body contact she had just had with Rourke Somerville, and she felt suddenly shy. ‘You’re looking well, Mummy,’ she said awkwardly, feeling tall and gauche against her mother’s petite beauty and grace.
‘Thank you, darling.’ Carlene looked pleased by the compliment. ‘And so are you,’ she frowned, tiny lines appearing at the sides of her eyes. ‘When did you grow to be so—attractive?’
Clare gave a happy laugh, flushing her pleasure. ‘I’ve slimmed down, that’s all.’
‘No, that isn’t all!’ Her mother’s voice was sharp. ‘Oh well, never mind,’ she dismissed irritably. ‘Gene’s waiting for you downstairs.’
Clare’s face lit up with excitement. Gene was Perry’s son, and the two of them had dated casually the last time she was home. It would be lovely to see him again.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen—No,’ her mother answered her own question, ’I don’t suppose you have. Come along, Clare, I can’t neglect my guests any longer.’
The two of them walked down the stairs together, totally different to look at, both startlingly beautiful, although Clare would never have guessed that her own youthful beauty far outshone that of her mother. In her opinion no one could be as beautiful as her mother. All her life she had been in awe of that beauty, and now was no different.
‘Seen who, Mummy?’ she asked casually.
‘What?’ Her mother seemed preoccupied. ‘Oh, one of the guests seems to have wandered off. I didn’t know if you’d seen him.’
So she was still looking for Rourke. Maybe he had left; he seemed to have been bored by the party. But he had said he would be waiting for her, and somehow she believed he would be.
The two women stepped into the pool area together, one with hair like sunshine, her youthful perfection giving her a feline grace, the other with hair like flame, a woman conscious that her own beauty was beginning to fade—and determined to hang on to it, and the power it gave her, at all costs.
‘Hello …’
Clare instantly recognised that husky purr, and turned apprehensive eyes on Rourke Somerville. He had a drink in his hand now, a long, slim glass that contained some form of alcohol, she felt sure. And his hair was completely dry now, loose black curls that lay in complete disorder across his brow, giving him a rakish attraction that made her pulses race.
‘Ah, there you are, Rourke.’ It was her mother who answered him, slipping her arm into the crook of his. ‘I thought you’d gone, darling,’ she added throatily, looking very small and feminine against his broad masculinity.
He looked down at her with amused indulgence. ‘And miss meeting your beautiful guest?’ His deep blue gaze caught and held Clare’s gold one, and her breathing was suddenly constricted.
Her mother frowned, her normally smooth brow creased into lines of puzzlement. ‘Guest? What guest——? Oh, you mean Clare,’ she snapped her irritation.
Rourke ignored her, his gaze slowly caressing Clare, his mouth curved into an intimate smile, as if they shared a secret.
She blushed scarlet, knowing that because of her behaviour with him earlier he had a right to look at her in that—knowing way.
‘If that’s her name, yes,’ he answered her mother but continued to look at her, his gaze on her mouth almost a caress.
‘Well, it is,’ her mother’s voice was sharp. ‘And she isn’t a guest.’
His eyes narrowed, his expression wary now. ‘She isn’t?’ he asked slowly.
‘Of course not. This is my daughter,’ he was informed almost angrily.
Her mother had all of his attention now; all the lazy sensuality disappeared as he looked from one to the other of them, apparently trying to see some sign of likeness between them. Clare knew he would find none. She took after her father, Drew Anderson, both of them being tall and fair. Even her features were nothing like her mother’s, her mother having an almost elfin beauty, while her own features were more regular and rounded.
Now he frowned. ‘This is ‘‘little Clare’’?’ he derided.
Her mother flushed. ‘Yes.’
His mouth twisted. ‘She’s hardly little, Carlene.’
Her mother’s laugh sounded forced. ‘She is rather tall——’
‘I wasn’t talking about her height,’ Rourke drawled, his gaze frankly admiring on Clare’s curves.
‘Really, Rourke,’ her mother’s
