Layla looked ahead, shielding her eyes from the hot glare of the sun. There was a forty-foot schooner moored out in the deeper waters of the bay. And there was a man stepping out of a small rowing boat at the end of the pontoon. He was wearing cut-off denim shorts, nothing else. His blond hair was bleached almost white by the sun and the wind, and his tall muscular frame was tanned and fit. He gazed along the pontoon, saw her standing there. His laser-blue eyes met hers, and Alberto started to smile.
Layla smiled too, her heart beating very fast. It was him. It really was.
She began to walk towards the man she’d loved all her life.
Then she broke into a run.
118
Not fifty miles from where his daughter was being reunited with Alberto, Max Carter lay in blissful ignorance in the sun on his Bajan terrace, wearing black Speedos. He loved lying in the sun. It refuelled him, made him stronger, and he was soaking it up, making the most of it, because he’d decided that he was going back to grey blustery England soon, see that crazy bitch Annie again, why not? Put her out of her misery.
He missed her.
That was what he’d been trying so hard to blank from his mind these last eight years, with the heat and the women and the easy-living style of the Caribbean. The fact that he missed his ex-wife. And… he could see now that he’d been a fool. He’d allowed his jealousy and his deep insecurity where she was concerned to run riot. Maybe he would tell her that, but he didn’t think so. Keep her on her toes.
Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.
Wasn’t that what his old man had told him? Oh yeah, and Keep ’em well fucked and poorly shod. That was another favourite of his.
Fat chance of keeping Annie Carter poor, she liked the high life too much for that.
He was drifting off into a light doze, perfectly relaxed, when someone kicked his sun bed, hard.
‘What the fuck?’ he asked, springing into a sitting position.
Someone was standing over him, blocking out the sun. He squinted, unable to see a face.
‘Is this all you’ve got to do out here? Lie in the sun all day?’ demanded a very familiar female voice.
‘Well what would you like me to do?’ he asked her. He could feel a grin forming on his face: couldn’t stop it.
‘You could say hello, that’d be a start.’
He grabbed her hand and yanked her down so that she was sitting on the sun bed in front of him.
‘Hey!’ Annie protested, suddenly on his level. ‘Not so rough.’
‘You want me to say hello or don’t you?’ he asked, looking her over. The dark green eyes, the mouth that was now beginning to smile. Her long dark hair was moving gently in the breeze. She was wearing a cream linen sun dress, and a large gold cross he hadn’t seen her wearing before glinted in the valley between her breasts. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
She shrugged. ‘Wanted to surprise you.’
‘Missed me, yeah?’
‘Not especially.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Really.’
‘Yeah, really.’
Max stood up. Reached down, pulled her to her feet and into his arms.
‘You’re hot,’ she murmured, feeling the warmth radiating from his sun-heated skin. She twined her arms around his neck. Later, she was going to have to break the news about Layla joining up with Alberto – she knew he was going to be spitting mad about it – but for now she just stood there and enjoyed the feel of his arms around her.
‘So are you,’ he said, running his hands down over her body. ‘Let’s go inside, where it’s cooler.’
He picked her up.
‘What the hell?’ protested Annie.
‘Ah, shut up,’ he said, and took her into the villa.
Annie shrieked with laughter as he tossed her on to the bed.
‘Bastard,’ she said, opening her arms.
‘Bitch,’ said Max, and kissed her.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To all the usual suspects – you know who you are: love & thanks for your support, laughs and general cheerleadership.
Also to Andy Woodward, External Communications Manager of the Cessna Aircraft Company, for the advice.
About the Author
Jessie Keane was born rich. Then the family business went bust and she was left poor and struggling in dead end jobs, so she knows both ends of the spectrum and tells it straight. Her fascination with London and the underworld led her to write the No.1 Heatseeker Dirty Game, followed by bestsellers Black Widow, Scarlet Women, Jail Bird, The Make, Playing Dead and Nameless. She now lives in Hampshire. You can reach Jessie on her website www.jessiekeane.com.
