Forty minutes later, Seth saw Lia heading for the dinghy. He got there first, trying to disguise how much it hurt to lever himself over the gunwales. When she reached the side of the boat, he held out his hand. "Let me help you," he said.
She yanked off her mask, throwing it over the gunwale, refusing to meet his eyes. The sunlight on her jaw … why had he taken so long to recognize her? It was all there. The slender line of her throat, the delicacy of her bones: he'd been an idiot not to have known who she was yesterday evening.
The instant he'd seen her, he'd lusted after her. That, too, had been a clue he'd ignored.
She said in a clipped voice, "I can manage."
"I'm sure you can. Grab my hand."
She could make a scene. Or she could do as he asked. With bad grace Lia took his hand, the strength in his fingers making her shiver with a mixture of panic and passionate longing. He lifted her as if she were weightless. When she'd gotten her footing in the boat, she tugged her hand free. "Thanks," she said grudgingly.
"No problem."
Scowling, she jammed her sunhat on her wet hair and threw the white shirt over her shoulders. She was going to need every one of the spa's ministrations to get rid of the tension that right now was tightening her muscles and seething along her nerves. Trying to gather her wits, she gave John the smile she hadn't given Seth, and said warmly, "That was wonderful, thanks so much for bringing us out here."
"You're welcome, ma'am."
He pulled the cord and the boat swirled in a circle to head back to shore. The scene was like a picture postcard, from the tall palms to the white sand ruffled by waves. Her shirt flattened to her body, Lia gripped the thwart and knew that the minute the boat docked she was going to run for her cottage, go inside and lock the door.
As the dinghy nudged the dock, Seth uncoiled a rope and tied it to the bollard. Picking up his gear, he stepped out. Lia followed suit, clutching her fins to her chest like a shield as she said goodbye to John. She then started marching down the dock, the wood hot under her bare feet. Seth seized her by the elbow. "Slow down … we have to talk."
She whirled, trying to pull free. "We don't have to do anything-go away and leave me alone. Or I'll complain to the management."
He said flatly, "We're not going to have a fight in full view of the resort. You've got two choices. You can walk to your cottage and we'll talk there. Or I can pick you up and carry you."
"That kind of behavior went out with the Neanderthals … you're kind of slow to get the message."
His answer was to swing her up into his arms and stride off the dock straight for her cottage. He grated, "You have a reputation for privacy. So, as it happens, do I. Let's hope no one's watching us right now."
Years ago he'd picked her up and carried her out on a balcony where the lights of Paris had twinkled and shone. Fighting against memories whose potency had never really subsided, as well as the all-too-present potency of steel-strong arms and a taut, warm shoulder, Lia struck out at him with her elbow.
A flash of pure agony crossed his face. "Don't! I've got sore ribs."
"If you can't take the heat, don't go out in the sun," she snapped. She sure wasn't going to apologize; even though he was white about the mouth.
What had happened to his ribs?
What did she care?
He was marching toward her cottage, with its thick screen of bougainvillea and hibiscus. Too much privacy, Lia thought frantically. Privacy plus Seth Talbot equaled danger. "Put me down," she seethed, wriggling in his arms.
His hold tightened. "Where's your key?"
"If you think I'm letting you inside my cottage, you've got the wrong woman."
"No, I haven't." On impulse-because where in that skintight swimsuit could she possibly have hidden a key?-Seth tried her door, finding it unlocked. He shoved it open and plunked her down on the smoothly polished floor. "If it'll make you feel better, we'll leave the door wide-open. Okay, Lia d'Angeli, let's cut to the chase. I know who you are. You're the woman I went to bed with in Paris eight years ago-I've finally figured it out."
Rage almost choked her. "You've known all along who I was!"
"What the hell do you mean? You never gave me your name and you sneaked out in the middle of the night while I was asleep. For the better part of two weeks I had investigators turning over every cobblestone in Paris. Not a trace. You even used a false name when you rented your costume, for Pete's sake. You didn't want to be found-and now you accuse me of knowing who you were? Don't make me laugh."
He looked as far from laughter as a man could. "I used a false name because I wanted to be anonymous," she blazed. "I'd just won the two top European prizes, and the press was falling all over me-I wasn't just talented, I was also beautiful, sexy, voluptuous, you name it. They were having a field day and all I wanted to do was get away for a few hours. So, yes, I covered my tracks that night and I did leave in the middle of the night. But-"
"You could have gotten in touch with me later-or did that night mean so little to you?" He took her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Forgettable sex-that's all it was for you?"
"I did!"
"Did what?" he snarled.
"I wrote you two letters," she said, biting off each word. "And now you dare pretend that you didn't get them?"
"When?"
Briefly she hesitated. His anger was so convincing, so powerful. What if there was a one in a million chance both letters had gone astray? What then? If she said two months later, wouldn't he twig to her pregnancy? Overriding all her other concerns was the certainty that she had to keep her beloved Marise out of the picture. "Not that long afterward," she said evasively and saw his eyes darken with suspicion.
"You're lying."
"I am not! I sent one to your headquarters in Manhattan, and the other to the Hamptons-I got the address off your Web site."
"That's my parents' place," Seth said, thinking furiously. "If you did write to me-and I'm far from convinced-what were the letters about?"
She said steadily, looking right at him, "I just wanted to stay in touch. That's all. But you never bothered answering. As we both know."
"It's pretty hard to answer a letter you never got," Seth said sarcastically.
"Why do you think I was so rude to you last night in the lobby? Delighted to meet you, you said. Then you had the gall to add, I can't imagine how I've offended you. As though we'd never made mad, passionate love for hours at a time in that ritzy hotel. It isn't me who's forgotten all that sex, it's you."
He pounced. "So you haven't forgotten?"
She bit her lip. As usual when she was in a temper, her tongue was running away with her. "When you didn't do me the common courtesy of acknowledging my letters, I forgot about you in a hurry," she said, with absolutely no regard for the truth.
He said furiously, "One letter going astray I could understand. But two?"
"That's why I know you got them. Or, at the very least, one of them."
"So now you're accusing me of lying?"
"You're such a smart man," she said mockingly.
He thrust her away from him, prowling around the room. A yellow sweater was thrown over one of the bamboo chairs. A closed laptop computer rested on the teak table, while a music stand had been set up by the window with its magnificent view of the ocean. "How long are you staying?" he demanded.
Her nerves had tightened to an unbearable pitch. She'd left her bedroom door ajar; on the bureau was her favorite photo of Marise. Her daughter, and his. "I could ask you the same question."
"I leave in three days. What about you?"
"It's none of your business," she said coldly, keeping to herself the fact that she'd have only a day left of her holiday after he'd gone. "We have nothing to say to each other. You think I'm a liar, and I know you're one. Yes, we shared something many years ago. But it's over and done with and we've both moved on."
"Speak for yourself," he said softly, taking two swift steps toward her.
"Do you honestly think I could ever trust you again?" she cried. "I took the risk of getting in touch with you, and you chose to ignore me. Now you're paying the consequences. Grow up, Seth."
"Once I get home, I'm going to find out what happened to those two letters. Assuming you wrote them."