you two girls were left alone? What sort of an upbringing did you have? Were your parents strong on discipline?’
Libby shot him a sharp glance at this unexpected question, feeling sure it had something to do with Rebecca. Or was she being too sensitive? ‘My father was, yes,’ she admitted. ‘He was very old-fashioned in his attitudes. My mother wasn’t so bad, but once he died she had no interest in anything. She was broken-hearted. It was left to me to bring up my sister. Do you think she’ll be long?’
‘I’m sure not,’ he said reassuringly, and, after a moment’s pause, ‘I see now why you’re so different. Rebecca would appear to take after your father. She has very strong convictions, and probably rebelled over what she saw as his totally outmoded views, whereas you are as soft and sensitive as your mother, and, although you did your best after she died, Rebecca went very much her own way.’
He was so uncannily accurate that Libby wondered whether Rebecca had told him about their home circumstances.
‘No, your sister hasn’t said anything,’ he assured her, almost as though she had asked the question out aloud. ‘Please, let me pour you a drink.’ Without more ado he walked across to the drinks cabinet. ‘Gin? Campari? Bacardi?’
‘Just a tonic water, please,’ she said. Unaccustomed to alcohol, she feared it might go to her head. It was all very well feeling attracted to him on the plane, where there had been safety in numbers, but here, with just the two of them, she could find herself in an uncomfortable situation. And she was still stunned by his summing up. Was he able to judge all people so accurately?
He looked surprised by her choice, but nevertheless filled a glass with ice and a slice of lemon and poured the tonic over it. With a flourish he presented it to her. ‘For you, señorita, one very special drink.’
Libby took it from him with a smile, feeling the power that emanated from him to her as their fingers touched. He seemed in no hurry to move away. ‘Aren’t you drinking anything?’ she asked, surprised to hear how breathless she sounded.
‘But of course.’ He turned and poured a generous measure of whisky into a glass and then resumed the seat he had been sitting in earlier.
As the minutes passed Libby began to get more and more restless, constantly looking at her watch. It was almost midnight now, and still no sign of Rebecca.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘your sister is a night-bird.’
‘What if she doesn’t come back?’ she asked worriedly. ‘What if she stays out all night? Has she ever done that?’ Frequently at home Rebecca had stayed with friends, but she had always rung Libby to tell her where she was—persuaded, Libby suspected, by her friend’s parents, but at least she had never needed to worry as to her whereabouts. Here she could be anywhere and doing heaven knew what. Into the drug scene, anything. It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Rebecca has always been here to cook my meals,’ he told her, which was no answer at all.
This was something else that had bothered Libby when Rebecca had written and told her that she had got a job as a cook and deck-hand on a cabin cruiser. Rebecca, cooking? It didn’t sound right; it was far too domesticated for her fun-loving sister. Her initial thoughts were that there was a man involved, but, having met Warwick, having heard him say that her sister was not his type, she knew this was not the case. So why was her sister working here, doing jobs she had always abhorred at home?
When Rebecca had announced six months ago that England had nothing to offer and she was going out to the Canary Islands to look for work, Libby had nearly had a fit. It was Rebecca’s own fault that she was unemployable, she’d told her. ‘If you’d worked harder at school you’d have had some qualifications. What do you think you’re going to do out there?’ But Rebecca had not listened and, together with Zelda Sanders, a friend from her school days, she had packed her bags and gone.
Zelda’s elder brother, Mark, was working out there selling timeshares, and he’d said he could get them a job too. From what Libby had gathered it hadn’t exactly worked out like that. They’d lived together in his cramped quarters for a while, but Rebecca had been unable to find work, and when Mark had lost his job and couldn’t afford the apartment Rebecca had been desperate until she’d landed this job with Warwick Hunter.
‘But what if she doesn’t turn up until early in the morning? What am I going to do?’
‘Sleep here,’ he told her simply. ‘You can use Rebecca’s cabin.’
But Libby, for all that this man aroused the most sensual feelings in her body, had no wish to sleep alone on the boat with him. He was still an unknown quantity, and, although he seemed like a gentleman, who could say whether his intentions were honourable?
‘I—I don’t think that would be a very good idea,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and find a hotel, and come back in the morning.’ When she’d decided to come out here her plans had been very vague. She had hoped there would be room on the boat where Rebecca worked for her to stay too, but she hadn’t banked on it, and had enough money with her to stay in a hotel if necessary—but only a very cheap one.
As she stood up she missed his frown of faint annoyance. ‘You don’t have to do this, Libby,’ he said, rising too, the frown gone now, the warm smile she had grown used to back in place.
His touch on her arm was electric. ‘I really would prefer it,’ she murmured huskily. ‘Perhaps you can recommend somewhere?’
The hotel was but a few minutes’ walk away from Puerto Colon. Warwick insisted on accompanying her, and she was glad of his assistance when she discovered that the night porter spoke only Spanish. In fact she was impressed by Warwick’s fluency in the language.
A room was found for her, and Warwick carried up her case, waving away offers of help. At her door he said, ‘You can still change your mind, Libby. You’re welcome to sleep on board my boat.’
His eyes looked deeply into hers, stirring her soul, making it almost impossible to refuse. But common sense asserted itself, and she shook her head. ‘Do you really think I’d be able to sleep?’
He grinned. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘And I’ll be back first thing in the morning.’
She was disappointed when he did not kiss her, when he merely took her hands and again looked at her with an intentness that set every nerve-end twitching and every pulse stammering. ‘Until tomorrow, then, my beautiful Libby.’
‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed with a faint whisper.
Warwick Hunter really was an extraordinary man—so different from anyone else she had ever met. His age had a lot to do with it, she supposed. He was far more sophisticated, more assured, more experienced. Yes, experienced. He knew how to look at a woman and have her melting without a word being spoken. He had mastered the art of flattery, and could probably bend any woman to his will.
So was she making a fool of herself? Did it mean nothing more to him than a casual flirtation? Libby did not like to think so. She had sensed a sincerity in him that was certainly not false. There had definitely been a strong chemical reaction between them, but something deeper too. It was not easy for her to decide what it was, but it went far beyond basic needs.
Although it was late when she went to bed Libby was still awake at seven, and, after a shower and a light
