change. There was disapproval set like concrete in his expressive mouth. Not one ounce of compassion.
His gaze slid away. ‘Simon’s on his way with our drinks from the beach bar at last. Wipe your eyes,’ he ordered.
Pride was enough to have her surreptitiously wiping her tear-stained face with her handkerchief, thankful that Simon had a long way to come still and that she’d be halfway decent by the time he arrived.
She felt worried. There must be a reason why Pascal felt such disgust for her. For the first time she questioned the wisdom of seeking her roots. Maybe the cost would be too great and the anguish of knowing the truth could hurt her badly.
‘I need your help,’ she said in a low voice.
‘You have serious doubts now, don’t you?’ murmured Pascal soothingly. ‘You’re beginning to see that it might be unwise to pursue your goal.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
‘Good. Very good,’ he approved.
He gave her a tong, slow look that seemed to heat her very soul. Something was crackling across the space between them—an electricity, a wave of male energy that poured through her lowered defences and seared directly into the secret places of her body. Her lips parted, her breath shortened in dizzying confusion. Muscles tightened in spasms in that core deep inside her that only Dave had ever liquefied before.
‘Pascal, I—’ she began doubtfully.
‘Act normally,’ he muttered in an undertone. ‘Wait till Simon’s gone and then I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to do for you.’
The words trembled with a warmth that seemed to slip through every vein in her body. And she wasn’t sure what he meant, only that he was going to help.
‘Thank you,’ she breathed gratefully.
Pascal’s golden brow winged upwards, his voice still rich with sensuality. ‘You’ll thank me more thoroughly than that before I’m through with you,’ he promised.
His meaning was now plain. Mandy’s eyes widened in shock. ‘You’re shameless!’ she said indignantly.
‘With a father like mine, it’s inevitable,’ he drawled.
‘Drink, lady?’
Mandy looked up at the young St Lucian, bestowed a shaky smile on him and accepted the exotically decorated glass of juice. It would give her something to do with her hands. Right now she felt an overwhelming urge to slap Pascal’s smug face.
‘Thanks, Simon. I needed this,’ she said with heartfelt gratitude, and took several long sips through the straw. ‘It’s very good,’ she said, trying to take her mind off the hovering Pascal. ‘Lots of spices.’
‘I’m sorry it took so long,’ Simon said to them both. ‘One of us was up at the main bar getting more ice and I was trying to catch a dog running loose on the beach. I brought a refill for you both, in apology.’
‘I can certainly drink them both. I’m so hot. Wait a minute. I can finish this one now... There.’ She exchanged the empty glass for the full one, a little worried that her body was definitely not acclimatising to the sun. Suddenly she felt quite heady. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to come all this way,’ she said with a warm smile.
The young man grinned at her, slid two tumblers of amber liquid from the tray and handed each one to Pascal. ‘No problem. Signature, please,’ he said, handing a receipt book to Mandy.
Pascal and Simon indulged in another round of friendly banter while she went over to a rock and settled herself down on it with her feet in the surf. The white, frothy juice slipped down her parched throat and eased her tension at once. Was there rum in it? It was difficult to tell, it tasted so spicy.
‘What’s in this?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Papaya, mango, sour-sop, cinnamon, ginger, cumin,’ Pascal replied. She nodded. The warming spices. No wonder her body glowed. ‘What do you know about my father?’ he shot at her suddenly, catching her unawares. ‘Do you know he’s a lecher and a liar?’
She stared wide-eyed at his expressionless blue eyes and felt a deep sympathy. Hating your father might actually be even worse than growing up without one. At least if you were ignorant of your father’s character you could pretend that he was everything you would have wished for. She shivered as a tremor of dread iced her spine. Maybe she would do better to remain ignorant of her own parents.
‘I know nothing about him. Whatever the truth, I’m very sorry for you both because you hate him,’ she said earnestly, swishing her hot feet in the cooling water. Languidly she tipped back her head. She ought to find some shade soon. The sun’s glare was very fierce and it was making her a little dizzy, so she brought her head level again.
Pascal flicked away the sticky drops of water that had condensed around the bottom of his empty glass which he’d been resting against his chest. He placed the glass on a rocky ledge behind him and picked up his second drink.
‘If you like,’ he suggested, ‘I will give you a free ride on my boat to the airport when your two weeks are up. I must strongly advise you never to make any attempt to see my father, however tempting the idea might seem. You would almost certainly regret it.’
Mandy felt her heart beating faster. His threat had scared her. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she decided that maybe he was being kind and trying to keep her from being hurt by discovering the secret of her family. She shook her head to clear it. ‘I need time to think,’ she said slowly.
It was difficult. Her brain seemed addled. For the life of her, she could think of no other logical reason why Pascal should warn her. Unless it was somehow to his advantage.
Advantage... That popped a memory into her head: the wording of the cryptic advertisement. ‘Please contact the office below where you will learn something to your advantage.’ She pursed her lips. His father had placed that advert and he’d virtually promised her something good. Her eyes shone. Something good! Not bad. Not frightening or disgusting!
Either he or Pascal was lying. But which of them?
‘Decided?’ he asked silkily.
‘No.’ She moistened her mouth with another long sip of juice, closed her heavy eyes and let the sun warm her lids. She was getting tired. The journey had sapped her strength and she wanted to lie down and rest, but she couldn’t let Pascal see that she felt weak to her very bones.
Her eyes seemed reluctant to open. Slowly her lashes lifted, fluttering with the effort. The sun and sea were so dazzling to her eyes that they were blurred. As though through a fog, a thought surfaced in her mind.
‘You were looking through his papers.’ She frowned, finding it difficult to formulate words, and wondered if she was suffering from jet lag. One of the people whom she delivered mail to had said that it only happened on west-east journeys, but he could have been wrong. ‘What did you dis-discover about me?’ she asked carefully.
‘Enough,’ he answered curtly, draining his glass. He shot her an assessing look. ‘Enough to damn you.’
She stiffened, her eyes rounding in distress. She couldn’t form the question
