She’d had no idea that her black top particularly suited her, that her tangle of curls was breathtaking and the make-up she’d applied had added the gloss to a highly desirable girl, now glowing in her second trimester of pregnancy…
She didn’t realise that Rafe Sanderson was thinking some rather grim thoughts along the lines of-safe from her?
That was becoming highly debatable because it was becoming increasingly difficult to divorce Mairead Wallis from the infuriated waif he’d fished out of the water. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he not only felt protective, but more…
Above all, though, how the hell could he spend another night, even in a separate bed, chastely with her when the stirring of his body told him he wanted her? Wanted to run his fingers through her curls and down her body, that smooth pink-and-white lovely little body. And that he rather urgently needed to see the reaction in those green eyes to the things he did to her, to test his suddenly-formed theory that he could make her sparkle in the act of love-for him alone?
He moved restlessly.
‘What have I done now?’
He came out of his amazing thoughts to see her watching him a little nervously.
He shrugged. ‘Nothing. But here’s what I suggest: I might have a nightcap in the bar while you take yourself to bed.’
Maisie blinked and examined the feeling that she’d been metaphorically slapped in the face. Then she closed her eyes and castigated herself for being ridiculous. It was the obvious answer for two people sharing a room in the circumstances they were. So why did she feel chilled and shut out?
She folded her napkin and put it on the table. ‘Good idea. Incidentally, when are you going to tell me what you know-about things? I mean, now I’m here, you might as well.’
There was a cool silence, then he said abruptly, ‘Tomorrow, Maisie. Goodnight. Sleep well.’ He stood up.
She had no option but to follow suit. She murmured ‘Goodnight’ and made her way back to the room.
But she stopped halfway and looked up at the moon, and was struck by a feeling of loneliness that nearly took her breath away…
She tossed and turned for over an hour but he didn’t come.
She wondered what impression this would make on the staff. A reluctant husband? How ironic was that?
She wondered about all sorts of things. She’d set out on this trip full of a crusading spirit on her baby’s behalf, not to mention full of righteous indignation.
Then, under the influence of his company, she’d forgotten all about that until she’d been brought rather sharply back to earth by him.
But had it been even worse than that? she asked herself.
Had she given off the vibes of a girl who fancied Rafe Sanderson because she just couldn’t help herself? Was that why he’d decided to shut a metaphorical door in her face?
The thought was mortifying and made her feel helpless and confused. It also presaged a feeling of doom as she remembered that attack of loneliness she’d suffered in the moonlight…
Would she ever get over Rafe Sanderson?
No, no, it could hardly have come to that yet, she assured herself. Even if she couldn’t stop herself from loving his company, even if she felt so restless and unloved, yearning, even burning a little to be loved…
She finally fell asleep with it all going round and round in her head.
When she woke the next morning she realised she hadn’t heard him come to bed although his bed had been slept in. But there was no sign of him.
Instead, there was a note on the pillow.
She reached for it groggily. It said,
She lay back and closed her eyes. She thought about how she’d sparkled last night in his company, quite unwittingly but, perhaps, quite revealingly. And now this.
Yet another disengagement. Could the message be louder or clearer? He didn’t want anything more to do with her.
CHAPTER SIX
AT FIVE o’clock that afternoon, Maisie came back from her whale- watching cruise in a much better frame of mind than when she’d set out.
Hard not to be, she reasoned, on a glorious day when she’d got to within metres of three humpback whales-a mother, a day-old calf and an escort-for the islands of Vava’u were right in the path of the annual whale migration north from the Antarctic.
She did have one regret. The stronger swimmers of the party had actually snorkelled in the crystal-clear Pacific waters with the giants but she’d, at the last minute, changed her mind about it although she was a good swimmer. But it had been made clear to everyone that they did so at their own risk.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she told the girl guide, ‘so maybe I shouldn’t.’
‘If they suddenly start to breach and you have to get away fast it can be really strenuous, so no, I wouldn’t,’ the girl agreed. ‘It’s also not that easy to get back on the boat in a hurry. But you could probably snorkel later at the Swallow Caves.’
So with that Maisie had had to be content, and it had still been a unique experience.
Once the swimmers were back on board the boat, their three whales had put on a magnificent display of breaching, propelling themselves backwards out of the water in an arc, and flapping the water with their tails. The calf had copied everything its mother and escort did and was especially endearing, looking so small against the other two.
Maisie decided it was an emotional experience that actually brought a lump to her throat, and she discovered that her fellow cruisers, all from the resort, felt the same.
She didn’t realise amidst all the clicking cameras as everyone photographed the whales that one of the cameras was trained on her as much as the whales.
She failed to notice that one of the guests, a man in his late twenties who’d actually been in the dining room the night before but had left before she and Rafe had, was studying her curiously from time to time and he continued to do so throughout the day.
She had no idea that he’d heard her tell the guide she was pregnant.
After that they’d cruised around the islands, stopped on a perfect white beach for lunch and finally snorkelled in the fabulous Swallow Caves.
Their boat dropped them off on the Tongan’s jetty and she was still exhilarated as she walked to the room. She even stopped to look around affectionately at the Tree House built on stilts over the beach and used for private dinners, at the red-gold leaves of the cotton-wood trees that lined the beach, the Sand Bar with its beach-sand floor, the distinctive shape of the palm thatch roof of the dining room.
But then it hit her that she was the only one alone, all the others were couples, and she didn’t even have anyone to describe her wonderful day to.
She closed herself sadly into her room, actually dabbing at a couple of stupid tears, to find Rafe stretched out on his bed, but awake with his hands crossed behind his head.
He sat up as she dropped her holdall in her surprise.
‘You!’ she gasped.
He sat up and frowned. ‘Yes, me. What’s wrong?’
‘N-nothing,’ she stammered. ‘I mean, I’m all sandy and salty, some of it must have got in my eyes, and I really need a shower, but-that’s all.’
He got up and came over to her. ‘You looked as if you were crying.’ He shrugged as he inspected her closely. ‘How was your day?’
