Tidewater Seduction

But then she shook her head and hailed a taxi to take her back to the hotel. This was supposed to be a holiday, she chided herself. Just because Cole had come, upsetting her carefully arranged schedule, and reminding her that she had once used her work as a means of escape, was no reason to go rushing for the charcoal. She could handle Cole now. She had proved it earlier. And this evening he would realise she was no longer the vulnerable girl he had married and divorced.

Selecting what to wear that evening was rather more difficult than she had expected. While she wanted to look provocative, she did not want to appear tacky. Sexy clothes were all very well, but it was all too easy to go over the top. Luckily, she had gone shopping before she left England, so her choice was not limited. But whether it should be a mini cocktail dress, or a slinky trouser suit, was not an easy decision to make.

She eventually chose to wear a dress. A silk-satin sheath in shades of green and purple that complimented her dark colouring, and brought out the tawny highlights in her eyes. It was short, barely reaching mid-thigh, and the on-the-shoulder, off-the-shoulder neckline exposed the creamy beauty of her skin. She wore no bra or tights, only a lacy brief, for modesty’s sake. It made her look—interesting, she decided. Thank God the extra inches she had acquired after the divorce, when eating and drinking had seemed her only consolations, had all been coaxed away by careful dieting. These days, the energy she gave to her work burned off any unwanted calories. And attending a weekly work-out class kept her body lean and supple.

She left her dark hair loose, securing it away from her face on one side with combs. Although it was silky straight, it was thick and shining, and swung smoothly against her shoulders. Like the rest of her, it was sleek and healthy, and she spared a moment’s unwilling consideration for the man who’d sent Cole here.

If the thought of how what she was planning to do might affect Sammy-Jean disturbed her, she dismissed it. Sammy-Jean had shown no qualms about seducing her husband, so wouldn’t it be ironic now if she could return the compliment? Not that she wanted Cole back again, she assured herself. But taking him away from Sammy-Jean did have a certain malicious appeal.

She needed very little make-up. Her lashes were naturally dark, and only a little dusky eyeshadow was needed to add mystery to the depths of her eyes. A trace of blusher over her cheekbones gave a little colour to her face, and a shiny amber lip-salve enhanced the sensitive fullness of her mouth.

When she viewed her reflection in the mirror, before going downstairs, she was reasonably content with her appearance. She looked young, and sexy, but tantalisingly remote.

The lobby of the Coral Beach Hotel was an atrium, arching to a high, glass-vaulted ceiling. The several floors of rooms curved round the central area, which served as both reception and shopping mall. Tall plants and flowering shrubs filled every available space, with a stone-carved fountain providing a focal point.

As Joanna came down the staircase from the mezzanine, she could see Cole waiting by the fountain. She had chosen to get out of the lift at the floor above ground level, so that she might observe him before he saw her. It was a careful ploy, born of her desire to control every aspect of the evening they were to spend together. Besides, it gave her the opportunity to compose her entrance. Streaming out of the lift, with a throng of other passengers, right where he was standing, was not what she had in mind.

As she had hoped, he saw her before she reached the bottom of the stairs. His searching gaze alighted on her slender figure, as she negotiated the last three steps, and although she affected not to have seen him she was instantly aware of his sharp reaction. He didn’t come to meet her, but his eyes followed every move she made. Much the way the snake he had tattooed on his shoulder watched its victim, she mused fancifully. But that was not a comparison she wanted to make.

He was wearing a jacket, she noticed, a concession to the fact that it was evening. He certainly didn’t need it, even in the air-conditioned lobby of the hotel. Bahamian nights were deliciously warm and inviting. But the more exclusive restaurants insisted on this small formality, so evidently they were dining somewhere expensive.

And God, didn’t he look good! she acknowledged objectively. So good, in fact, that for a moment she doubted her ability to pull this off. But then the reluctant admiration she saw in his eyes restored her confidence. Even if he had deserted her bed for Sammy-Jean’s, he was not indifferent to her. Though she guessed he would hate to admit it.

‘Hi,’ she said, as she closed the space between them. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’

Cole shrugged, his broad shoulders moving sinuously beneath the beige twill of his jacket. ‘I had nothing better to do,’ he said, his eyes flickering swiftly over the tantalising curve of her breasts, exposed by the dipping neckline of the dress. Then, looking beyond her, he added, ‘I didn’t realise there were guest rooms on the mezzanine.’

Joanna’s dark brows arched enquiringly. ‘Does it matter?’

‘You walked down from the mezzanine,’ Cole reminded her sardonically. ‘Funny. I got the impression you were staying on one of the higher floors.’

Joanna hid a smile. Evidently, Cole had made it his business to find out exactly where she was staying, but she had been prepared for his question, and her lips tilted charmingly.

‘I made a mistake,’ she lied ruefully. ‘The lift stopped and I got out.’ She grimaced. ‘Silly me!’

‘Hmm.’

Cole’s grunt of assent was hardly sympathetic, but Joanna had achieved what she wanted to achieve, and she could afford to be generous. ‘Does it matter?’ she exclaimed, looking up at him disarmingly. ‘I’m here now. So—where are we eating?’

Cole’s mouth flattened. ‘I thought we might eat at the Commodore Club. They have an excellent restaurant, and you might like to visit the casino later.’

Joanna nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.’ She tucked her leather bag against her side, and slid her fingers round his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

The muscles of his upper arm were taut beneath her grip. She sensed he would like to release himself, and she wondered how he had expected her to behave. It was obvious he was confused by her apparent willingness to co-operate, and he was wary of her appearance, and the provocation it presented.

A row of taxis waited on the forecourt of the hotel, and a black-suited major-domo summoned one at Cole’s request. Joanna climbed into the back of the cab unaided, smoothing down her tight skirt as she scrambled across the seat. She had noticed before that no one bothered to walk round the cabs, and get in at the opposite side. And Cole was no exception as he followed her inside.

But she noticed he kept his distance during the fifteen-minute ride to the Commodore Club. His dark-clad thigh—had he bought a whole wardrobe at the hotel shop?—rested on the worn leather upholstery, several inches away from hers. And, because the majority of taxis Joanna had seen were old American limousines, there was plenty of room.

Getting out of the taxi, he was obliged to offer her his hand. Whatever else he might be, Cole considered himself a gentleman. One of the South Carolina ‘good ole boys’, thought Joanna cynically. Just like his father, and his father before him.

Even so, putting her hand into Cole’s was a disturbing experience. His hand was cool and firm, with calluses at the base of his fingers. And when those fingers curled around hers she was hard-pressed not to hold on.

But, even if she’d wanted to, Cole had to pay the fare. After helping her out, under the striped canopy of the club, he bent to speak to their driver. Then, returning his wallet to his hip pocket, he straightened, urging her into the foyer, with his hand in the small of her back.

It saved touching her skin, Joanna thought ruefully, as they stepped on to the escalator which would take them up to the bar and restaurant. She wondered what he was thinking. Somehow, she sensed she was not going to have it all her own way.

‘Do you want a drink before we eat?’ Cole asked, as they crossed the carpeted upper floor, and Joanna tilted her head.

‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘Something long and cool, with a bite to it. What would you recommend?’

Cole’s eyes glinted. ‘I’m sure I’ll think of something,’ he said, guiding her towards an empty table. ‘I seem to remember you had quite a fancy for mint-juleps. You used to down quite a few of them, while Pa and I were out in the fields.’

Joanna’s lips tightened for a moment, as the memories his words evoked came back to haunt her. But when she looked at him none of her anguish showed in her face. You shouldn’t have said that, Cole, she thought malevolently. I’m going to make you pay for every little dig you make!

‘So I did,’ she warbled now, and no one listening to her would have imagined the offence she had felt at his words. Bastard, she said silently, while her eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘I was a pain, wasn’t I? No wonder you preferred Sammy-Jean to me.’

It was Cole’s turn to look bitter now, but the arrival of the waiter to take their order prevented him from venting his spleen. Besides, she guessed he couldn’t be entirely sure exactly how she had meant it, and although he might suspect her motives he really had no proof.

‘Bourbon and branch,’ he said sourly, ‘and something sweet for the lady. What do you suggest?’

‘How about pineapple rum?’ asked the waiter cheerfully. ‘Pineapple rum, coconut rum, and pineapple juice, shaken over ice. Delicious!’

‘It sounds it,’ put in Joanna smoothly, crossing her legs, and running spread fingers over her knee. She smiled at the man. ‘Cold, but hot. Exactly what I need.’

The waiter’s eyes danced. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, swinging on his heel, and walking back to the bar. ‘A Valentine’s Special, man,’ he ordered from the bar-keep. ‘And make it real cold!’

Cole’s eyes were far from friendly when he looked at Joanna again. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his tone hard and explosive. ‘Do you want everyone to think you’re using?’

‘Using?’ Joanna’s eyes widened innocently. ‘Using what?’

‘You know!’ retorted Cole savagely. ‘Hell, maybe you are. What would I know about it?’

Joanna’s humour evaporated. ‘I don’t use—or shoot up—or mainline—or any of the other ways people take drugs,’ she declared scornfully. ‘I was having fun, that’s all. Fun! Or have you forgotten the meaning of the word?’

Cole’s mouth compressed. ‘You weren’t just having fun,’ he argued. ‘God, you were coming on to the man!’

Joanna’s brief spurt of anger died. ‘What’s the matter, Cole?’ she asked mockingly. ‘You jealous?’

Their drinks came before Cole could make any response, but his brooding expression was eloquent of his feelings. Oh, this was fun, thought Joanna, a little breathlessly. Why had she never realised it was far more exciting to be bad?

The pineapple rum was delicious. It came complete with an assortment of tropical fruits, with a long curling straw to enable her to avoid the tiny striped umbrella. The umbrella bore the logo of the Commodore Club, and she was tempted to keep it as a souvenir of the evening.

‘Have you and Sammy-Jean had any family yet?’ she queried after a moment, risking Cole’s displeasure yet again. She knew perfectly well that had Cole become a father she would have heard about it. Grace would surely have told her. But why should she avoid a subject that was clearly so exploitable?

Cole regarded her over the rim of his glass. ‘No,’ he said, and she could tell by his tone that he was not unaware of her intentions. ‘But it’s not for want of trying, if that’s what you’re implying.’

Joanna looked down into her drink. Her hands had tightened around the stem, and, noticing her white knuckles, she forced herself to relax. If she wasn’t careful, the glass would break, and Cole would imagine he had scored a victory. What did it matter to her how many times Cole made love with Sammy-Jean? Sammy-Jean was his wife now, and she, Joanna, didn’t give a damn!