Miranda Lee - It Started With A Kiss - The Secret Love-Child / Facing Up to Fatherhood / Not a Marrying Man

Rafe was startled by her response. The way she melted against him. The way she moaned. Wow, this was no ice princess. This was one hot babe he had in his arms!

When his head lifted, she made a small sound of protest.

He gave her one final peck on her wetly parted lips before putting her away from him. ‘I can see this is going to be one fantastic holiday, honey,’ he murmured throatily. ‘But perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we should get going before we really do miss that plane.’

Isabel hoped she wasn’t blushing. She’d done enough blushing since meeting this man. Blushing was for female fools. And wishy-washy wimps. Not for a woman who’d decided to fashion her own destiny in every way.

So Rafe turned her on with effortless ease. Good. That was his job for the next fortnight.

But what about after that? she wondered, throwing him a hungry glance as she climbed back in behind the wheel. Mmm, she would see. Maybe she would keep his number in her little black book for the occasional night of carnal pleasure. Depending on how good he was at the real thing. If his kissing technique was anything to go by, she was in for some incredible sex.

Rafe didn’t know quite what to make of the smug little smile which crossed that pink mouth.

Frankly, he didn’t know what to make of Ms Isabel Hunt at all!

But he wasn’t going to worry about it. He’d lost enough sleep over her this last two weeks. The next fortnight was going to be a big improvement, particularly in the insomnia department. He always slept like a log after sex.

‘So, who did you tell your mother you were going away with?’ he asked as soon as they were on their way.

She slanted him a curious look. ‘What makes you sure I told her anything?’

‘I have a mother,’ he said drily. ‘I know what they’re like. They want to know the ins and outs of everything. Often, you have to resort to little white lies to keep them happy. I keep telling my mother that the only reason I haven’t married is because I haven’t met the right girl yet.’

‘And that works for you?’

‘I have to confess it’s losing its credibility. I think by the time I’m forty she’ll resort to taking out ads for me in the newspapers. You know the kind. “Attractive single male seeks companionship view matrimony from attractive single female. Must be able to cook well and like children.’”

‘If she does, I might answer. I cook very well and I adore children.’

‘Very funny, Isabel. Now answer the question. Who is supposed to be going with you?’

‘Rachel.’

‘Who’s Rachel?’

‘My best friend. The one who was going to wear my wine-red bridesmaid gown.’

‘And your mother believed you were taking a woman to Dream Island with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow. My mother would never have believed that.’

‘That you were taking a woman to Dream Island?’

‘My, aren’t we witty today?’

She smiled. ‘Amongst other things.’

‘What other things?’

‘Excited. Are you excited, Rafe?’

He stared over at her. What was he getting himself into here? Whatever it was, it was communicating itself to that part of himself which he’d been trying to control for fourteen interminable days and nights.

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ he confessed.

Her head turned and their eyes locked for a moment. He’d never felt a buzz like it. He could hardly wait.

But wait he had to. For two hours at the airport when the plane to Cairns was delayed. Then another short delay at Cairns for the connecting helicopter flight to Dream Island.

It was almost five in the afternoon by the time they landed on the heliport near the main reception area of the resort, then another hour before they were transported by luxury motor boat to—yes! Their own private bure on their own private beach!

Rafe was over the moon. Talk about fantasies coming true!

As he helped Isabel from the boat onto the small jetty, he glanced up at where the bure was set, on the lushly covered hillside on a natural terrace overlooking the water. Hexagon-shaped, it looked quite large, with what looked like an outdoor sitting area, a fact confirmed as they came closer. There was even a hammock strung between two nearby palm trees. Rafe eyed it speculatively when they walked past, wondering what it would be like to make love in a hammock.

The young chap named Tom who’d brought them there in the boat took them through the place, explaining all the mod cons which were state of the art, especially in the bathroom. The spa was huge. There was no expense spared with the white cane furniture and linen furnishings either, all in bright citrus colours with leafy tropical patterns.

No air-conditioning, Tom pointed out. Apparently that didn’t work well in the humidity. But the bure had a high-domed ceiling and quite a few fans. Rafe wasn’t sure how comfortable visitors would be in the height of summer, but at this time of year the climate was very pleasant, especially with the evening sea breeze which was at that moment wafting through the open doors and windows.

The bed, Rafe noted, had a huge mosquito net above it on a frame which they were warned should be used every night. If they wanted to sit outside in the evenings, they were to spray themselves with the insect repellent provided and light the citronella-scented candle lamps dotted around.

Holidaying in the tropics, it seemed, did have some hazards.

‘Because of all your travelling today,’ Tom told them, ‘the manager thought you’d be too tired to return to the main resort for dinner, so he had the chef pack you that special picnic dinner.’ And he nodded towards the large basket he’d placed on the table in the eating nook.

‘The refrigerator and cupboards are well stocked with more food and wine. The bar in the corner over there has every drink on its shelves you could possibly imagine. As I’m sure you are aware, all drink and food is included in the tariff here, so please don’t stint yourself. Each day, you can either eat in the various restaurants in the hotel on the main beach or have something sent over. You only have to ring for service. Cigarettes are included also, if you smoke.’

‘We don’t smoke,’ Isabel said for both of them, before frowning up at Rafe. ‘You don’t, do you?’ she whispered and he shook his head.

‘I’ll be going, then,’ Tom said crisply. ‘There are brochures on the coffee-table explaining all the resort’s facilities. You have your own little runabout attached to the jetty which I will show you how to operate before I leave. You must understand, however, that you can’t walk to anywhere from here, except up to the top of the hill we’re on. The path is quite steep from this point, but the view’s pretty spectacular, especially at sunrise. Worth the effort at least once. I think that’s all, but if you have any questions you only have to pick up the phone and ring Reception. Now, if you’d like to come with me, sir, I’ll show you how to start the runabout’s motor and how to steer.’

Isabel watched them leave, then walked over and sat down on the side of the bed, testing it for comfort. It was firm. Luke’s bed had been firm, she recalled.

Luke…

He’d rung her yesterday and told her he and Celia were getting married in a couple of months. For a honeymoon, he was going to take her around the world. For a whole year. After that, they were going to start trying for a baby.

Isabel didn’t envy Celia the trip. She’d travelled a lot herself. Saved up during her twenties and gone to those places she’d always thought exotic and romantic. Paris. Rome. Hawaii.

But she envied her that baby. And Luke as its father. He was going to make a truly wonderful father.

Suddenly, all her earlier excitement faded and she wanted to cry. Before she knew it she was crying, tears flooding her eyes and overflowing down her cheeks.