Executive, she asked, ‘Do you own the resort, Mr Guy?’
Winged black brows lifted. ‘No,’ he said briefly. ‘It belongs to the local tribe.’ Without touching her, he steered her across to a table beneath a large thatched umbrella. ‘This is probably the coolest spot around, and it’s got a good view of the lagoon.’
Grateful for the shade, she lowered herself into a chair and persevered, ‘But you live here? In this particular area of Sant’Rosa?’ she amended, when his brows lifted in saturnine enquiry.
‘Off and on.’ He nodded to a waiter. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Papaya and pineapple juice, thank you.’
He ordered it for her, and a beer for himself. A tiny gecko scuttled across the table; smiling, Lauren watched it disappear over the edge. When she looked up, Guy was watching her.
‘You’re not afraid of them?’ he asked.
A subtle intonation convinced her that he wasn’t English. ‘Not the little ones, although some of the big ones have a nasty predatory gleam in their eyes.’
He laughed outright at that—another slow, sexy laugh that brushed her taut nerves with velvety insinuation.
‘They won’t bite, not even in self-defence,’ he said, stressing the first word just enough for Lauren to immediately wonder if he bit—and when…
He finished, ‘But you’d be surprised at the number of women who are terrified of even the tiny ones.’
‘Men too, I’ll bet. It makes you wonder why some people come to the tropics.’ Was the stubble soft to touch—or bristly? She’d never kissed a man with that much—
Whoa!
He leaned back in the chair, his pose utterly relaxed, but his level, cool gaze held her prisoner. ‘So why are you here? More specifically, why are you determined to find your way to one of the more untamed spots on Sant’Rosa?’
She parried, ‘Is that untamed as in dangerous?’
‘As in without conveniences,’ he told her, his keen gaze steady and intimidating. ‘But it’s in the border area, and the border between Sant’Rosa and the Republic has always been tense.’
‘I thought the treaty after the civil war stopped the threat of an invasion by the Republic.’
Wide shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. ‘A new player—a charismatic preacher—seems to have got together a ragtag following on both sides of the border. He’s preaching part religious revival, part cargo cult. Which is—’
‘I know what a cargo cult is,’ she said crisply. ‘Its followers expect a saviour to bring them the benefits of western civilisation. I’d not realised they could be violent.’
‘So far they’re not, but over the past couple of days there have been rumours that someone is supplying them with weapons.’
Not that anyone had actually seen the rifles and explosives that were being talked about. Guy suspected they didn’t exist. However, every islander was taught to use a machete from a very early age, and he’d seen the damage the long blades could inflict. If—and it was a big if—any hyped-up converts decided to go on the rampage, they could kill.
He watched her slender black brows draw together. What the hell was she doing here? And why was she so evasive? Women like her—sleekly elegant from the shiny top of her black head to the polished nails on her toes—demanded more from their holidays than a tiny resort with little social life and a heavy emphasis on family groups.
She looked up sharply, the eyes that had been ice-clear now silvery and impossible to read. ‘Only rumours?’
‘Almost certainly. Rumours—most of them false—run hot through Sant’Rosa. The people are barely coping with the aftermath of a bloody ten years of civil war, and in spite of the peace treaty they still don’t trust the Republic over the border.’ He paused. ‘The receptionist comes from the village you want to visit, and she’s just told me that the preacher has disappeared.’
‘And that’s bad?’
‘Almost certainly not,’ he said, hoping he was right.
Because it was too easy to watch her face, he switched his gaze to a family, parents shepherding two small children. Armed with beach toys and a couple of inflatable rings, the children dashed into the improbably turquoise lagoon, yelling and laughing as they splashed each other and their parents.
That itch at the back of his neck sharpened his senses to primitive alertness, a fierce, feral reaction to stimuli his rational brain couldn’t process.
Which was why he was resisting the compulsion to bundle up these helpless family groups—and the woman opposite with her cool touch-me-not air—and get them out of here on the next plane.
He didn’t dare follow his impulse because the local tribe had sunk every bit of cash they had into the resort; a false alarm, with the resultant bad publicity, could see them lose it all.
The woman opposite was watching the group too, her mouth curving as one of the children shrieked with delight. Grimly, he cursed his unruly loins for responding to that smile with piercing hunger.
Lauren Porter frowned. ‘So are this preacher’s followers likely to turn violent when no saviour turns up with all the blessings of western civilisation free for the taking?’
‘I doubt it. They’ve seen what fighting does, so they’ll almost certainly drift off through the bush to their native villages.’
But they were edgy and frustrated. Peace hadn’t brought the people the benefits they’d longed for, and many were ripe for unscrupulous manipulation. When the promised saviour didn’t eventuate the preacher might try to salvage his slipping authority by suggesting they collect the material benefits from the nearest place that had them.
They wouldn’t go to the mine, which had its own private security force; they’d choose easy pickings. In other words, the resort.
All ifs and buts, with absolutely nothing to base it on. Guy shrugged, trying to banish that needling premonition.
‘But they might not,’ she said shrewdly, and echoed his thoughts with uncanny accuracy. ‘Perhaps they might decide to come and get the goodies for themselves.’
‘It’s unlikely, and even if they did, the police are watching the situation very closely. The resort would be notified in time to get you out.’
‘And everyone else too, I hope.’
‘Trust me,’ he said with a smile he hoped was reassuring.
The arrival of the bartender with their drinks silenced her; Guy eyed her from beneath his lashes, controlling the sharp appetite her presence roused. The combination of thoroughbred lines and the gentle curves of her breasts and hips packed an explosive impact. Mix all that with silky black hair and eyes of cool, translucent grey, and you had trouble.
He wasn’t even going to think about her mouth; it did serious damage to his objectivity.
Lifting
