felt herself quiver. They were still all there—the feelings she had felt so strongly on the plane, and once Rebecca was found, once she knew her sister was safe, then they could take up where they had left off. She gave him a wan smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘It’s not your fault,’ he replied and, lifting her hands, he placed a kiss, gently, in each palm. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
When he had gone Libby paced the saloon anxiously, then, because it was so stiflingly hot, she made her way out on to the deck and sat in the sunshine, her hands clasped around her knees, absently watching holidaymakers strolling by, but not really taking in the busy scene.
When she tired of sitting she pushed herself to her feet and took a walk around the marina. It was filled with boats of all sorts: yachts, motor cruisers such as the Estoque—some larger, some smaller—catamarans, speed-boats. It was a fascinating sight. Most of them were silent and empty, but some were a hive of activity, decks being hosed, paintwork touched up; one was slowly making its way out of the mouth of the harbour and another was getting ready to leave.
She strolled around and climbed some steps up on to the harbour wall, where she had an uninterrupted view across the Atlantic Ocean. Here the breeze lifted her hair and cooled her skin, but never did she let the Estoque out of her sight. When she saw Warwick return she quickly joined him.
‘Well, what did they say?’ she asked at once.
He grimaced. ‘As I said, it’s too soon for them to do anything. A few hours is nothing. A few days might be more serious.’
‘“A few days”?’ asked Libby in alarm. ‘This is preposterous. I can’t just sit and wait, it’s out of the question.’
‘I’m afraid that’s all we can do.’ His hand was comforting on her arm, his voice soft and reassuring.
She felt a feathering along her nerves, and again wondered how she could feel such sensations when Rebecca was missing. It seemed that this man had the ability to make her forget everything except him.
‘You must be hungry,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘How about if I cook us a meal?’
‘I couldn’t eat,’ confessed Libby. The very thought of food made her feel ill.
‘You need to keep up your strength,’ he told her firmly. ‘I’ll make us something you’ll find impossible to resist.’
Libby knew it would be pointless to protest, and to be truthful it felt good to let him take over. She sat down again and closed her eyes, letting the late afternoon sun wash over her, and the next thing she knew Warwick was touching her arm and telling her to wake up.
For a few seconds Libby did not know where she was. She felt warm and lethargic, and Warwick’s face close to hers made her heartbeats quicken. She wanted to pull him down beside her, to draw her strength from him, to savour once again all the new and wonderful sensations she had experienced on the plane.
She had no idea how appealing she looked, her amethyst eyes soft and misted from sleep, her cheeks flushed, her ash-blonde hair attractively tousled. She took his extended hand and let him help her up, and the next second found herself pulled against a chest that was packed with hard muscle.
‘My lovely Libby, you’re irresistible,’ he muttered against her ear.
Her heart hammered with all the intensity of a jungle drum; in fact it was so painful she could feel it right up into her throat. She let herself savour for a moment the unusual experience of having a man such as Warwick Hunter find her desirable.
With one hand still behind her back his other moved up to touch her throat, to feel the shape of her chin and the softness of her lips. Libby felt she was drowning in a thousand different sensations. He kissed the tip of her retrousse nose, each cheek, her eyelids, her brow, her ears. Her lips parted as she hungrily waited for him to claim her mouth. For the moment all thoughts of Rebecca had fled.
His kiss was a long time in coming. He touched her lips again with gentle, exploratory fingers, almost like a blind man trying to familiarise himself with the shape of her wide mouth. Involuntarily she ran the tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips, feeling a spasm of pleasure pulse through her as she accidentally touched the abrasive roughness of his fingertip.
When he pulled down her lower lip and kissed the warm, soft moistness inside she squirmed with unexpected pleasure, surprised to hear a whimper, an animal sound almost, escape the back of her throat. Without even kissing her properly he was arousing her more than all the other boys she had dated put together.
He feathered her lips with tiny kisses, traced the outline with his tongue, creating a new flurry of excitement so that she felt as if her bones were melting, and if he let her go she would sink into a heap on the floor and disappear like a snowball in the sunshine.
Without her even realising it, her arms had snaked behind him, and beneath her palms she felt the ripple of powerful muscle. She had an insane urge to work her hands up beneath his shirt and explore the exciting warmth of his bare skin. She had never, in the whole of her life, felt like this. It was a wanton, primeval feeling that both shocked and thrilled her, but, when her hips ground instinctively against his, when she discovered that he was equally excited, she pulled abruptly away, daunted by the thought that she had been able to do this to him.
He smiled, a gentle smile that suggested he understood, though Libby knew he didn’t. How could he know that for her age she was very naive? That looking after her mother and Rebecca had left her little time for personal relationships? Or the fact that because she was the ugly sister she had been reluctant to go out anyway? It all added up to the fact that she knew nothing at all about men, and was scared now of the situation in which she found herself.
‘Let’s eat,’ he said, tucking her arm through his, and leading the way back inside.
An unexpected sight met her eyes. Fresh bread, sliced thinly and made into salmon and cucumber sandwiches, fruit cake, strawberries and cream. A pot of tea and china cups. So typically English that she was stunned. She had thought he would cook a proper meal, something Spanish, something which, in her present agitated condition, would be completely indigestible.
His eyes looked wickedly amused. ‘You look surprised.’
‘I am,’ she confessed.
‘I thought you needed something to tempt your tastebuds. Do sit down.’
Libby astonished herself by eating hungrily. The bread was crusty and fresh, spread with butter and plenty of salmon. It was the most appetising meal she had eaten in a long time. The fresh strawberries, too, were sweet and juicy, and by the time she had finished she felt somehow happier. Pleasantly replete, and with a man looking at her as though she were a princess, what more could she want?
After they had finished eating they moved into the saloon, Warwick surprising her by sitting a distance away. Even so his eyes were constantly on her, keeping the flame alight that he had ignited earlier, making her wish that the world were theirs alone, that there were no external worries to take her mind away from him.
But of course there was Rebecca—Rebecca her recalcitrant sister who was disturbingly missing. It was dark again now; another day had passed, and still there was no sign of her.
‘Worrying about your sister won’t do you any good,’ said Warwick.
Libby
