Chapter 1

THAT FEELING OF DISSATISFACTION came back, unwelcome and distracting. I stopped working and stared out through the open dark wood shutters and across the wide veranda. The view, a vista of succulent tropical trees dropping in a carpet of rich glossy green to the startling aqua blue water of the bay, its water so crystal clear I could see the undulating sandy bottom even from this distance, did nothing for me. The lazy ceiling fan stirred hot air with its wide wooden blades, just enough to cool sweat at the nape of my neck. A sea breeze, fragrant with the scent of blossoms, touched my skin like soft silk.

Trading precious metals may have brought moderate wealth, but it didn't bring happiness or fulfilment. Living in the paradise of Sainte-Lucie, better known as Saint Lucia, had, at first, brought excitement and a sense of accomplishment. Being able to live on my dream island and not yet thirty years old - six months shy of it - should have brought pleasure and a feeling of achievement. It didn't.

I stood, pushing the solid wood chair back from the desk with a slight screech. Restlessness made me itchy and unfocused. Walking out onto the veranda, I leaned on the railing and stared at paradise - Marigot Bay. Life hadn't panned out as I'd expected. I'd been naïve assuming money would fill my need and banish the emptiness inside me.

"Je suis fini, Monsieur Nuit," a rich musical voice said behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder I smiled at Marie. "Trez be-in," I replied, mangling French deliberately.

"Your dinner is in the oven. Don't forget it," she admonished. "À demain," she added, a smile flashing bright white teeth at me before turning and leaving.

Marie was my housekeeper. I'd hired her nine months ago, six months after buying the house. My dream of owning a property had dissolved in a complete disaster when keeping the place clean and orderly proved beyond my capabilities, due to either ineptitude or, more likely, a lack of motivation. And, as mess accumulated inside the house and perfect tropical gardens grew out of control, my mood darkened. Martin, a local bar owner, had, when hearing me bemoan my plight over a cool beer, suggested a housekeeper and given me Marie's name. Two days later she was hired. Neatness and cleanliness were restored in my small corner of the world in remarkably short order.

I loved Saint Lucia. It was an interesting island full of history. It had been ruled by both France and Great Britain so the population spoke French, English, and even Creole. Marie spoke them all fluently but a subtle sense of humour had emerged when she heard my name was Sylvan Knight, and, pretending not to understand English, had called me Monsieur Nuit - Mr. Night. It had stuck. Not one to lose, I'd retaliated by mangling French when speaking to her, getting great pleasure from seeing her wince every so often until she caught onto me and understood I was kidding. But it had stuck. It was the way we communicated.

"À demande!" I called after her.

A rich laugh floated back to me and made me smile briefly. The front door closed.

Turning back to the view, I tried to understand my plight. By all rights I should be a happy man. Having graduated from the London School of Economics and finding my calling in margin trading of precious metals, a talent I was remarkably skilled at, I'd achieved my dream of escaping the poverty of Birmingham, the council estate I'd been raised in, and a bleak future as a labourer in some Public Service union. I'd escaped halfway around the world.

The sun blinded me as it slowly dropped towards the horizon, four hours until sunset, and still blazingly hot. Shielding my eyes, I watched pure white yachts sail into the bay after day-long cruises. Over the distance the faint sound of luxury cruisers' motors reached me as they returned to their berths. The tropical breeze cooled perspiration on my forehead.

I was restless. I wanted a beer.

The scent of lamb stew hit me when I walked barefoot into the kitchen. Hardwood flooring cooled my feet. A blast of beautifully cool air washed over me when I tugged the fridge door open and grabbed a Carib beer. The bottle popped and hissed with escaping gas when I pried off the beer cap. Beer gurgled enticingly, a rich amber filling the glass and a head of foam developing as I poured. I paused, contemplating the glass, enjoying the way condensation developed on the outside; a frosty promise of ice-cold hops and malt awaiting me.

Leaning back against the counter, I took the first sip, the perfect sip, foam on my upper lip, cool elixir sliding down my throat, coolness hitting an empty stomach. Flavours of hops and malt and yeast lingered after swallowing. I closed my eyes and sighed; a small pleasure in life.

The second beer was consumed over dinner, eaten on the veranda with a setting sun. The stew was rich and thick, melt-in-your-mouth chunks of lamb spicy and delicious with hints of rosemary, and gravy-soaked hunks of potato. Marie had outdone herself, again. I debated heading down into town. Maybe stop at Chez Jacque, a popular restaurant, bar, and dance establishment on the main street. However, surrounding myself with strangers didn't appeal to me.

I wasn't happy. In the lap of luxury, living in Paradise, I was lonely. Loneliness was at the heart of the dissatisfaction that plagued me. Selfish devotion to myself hadn't brought joy. Dedication to the art of creating wealth hadn't brought satisfaction.

Perhaps I was depressed, too.

There were cures: go out, mingle, re-involve myself with island social life, communicate, connect. Yet I'd tried before and bored of it. I could try again and boredom would no doubt follow. It astonished me how different social life was on a Caribbean island when you were a resident, not a vacationer. I'd experienced the unique position of being neither. As a resident I had not been welcomed into the social circles - I had no one to introduce me, to be my guide, my entry ticket. As a resident I had no interest in fleeting relationships with single or married women who were seeking temporary validation of their sexual attractiveness while on vacation.

Sighing, cleaning up the dinner plates, I found a book and took it to bed. Had I sacrificed companionship in my all-consuming drive to be independent? Was this all there was in my future?

Morning brought cool breezes through the open veranda double doors. Sun from behind the hill sparkled off the ocean far away. The single sheet over me was soft and cool. Above, in the vaulted ceiling, a lazy fan turned silently, its wide wooden blades circling with a mesmerizing regularity. The pillow was soft under my head. What day was it? Loneliness, my faithful and unwelcome companion, returned.

There was no one to wake up to. No one to look forward to seeing. Nothing exciting to stir my blood or edge my pulse above its morgue-like tempo.

The sound of the front door closing reached me. I listened to the sound of productivity: the rattling of dirty dishes, water running, pots clanking. An aroma of coffee percolating through the air finally made me move. Showered, not shaved, with jeans, bare feet, loose T-shirt - my daily uniform - I entered the kitchen.

"Ah. Enfin. There you are," Marie said with a smile, pouring me a mug of coffee and placing it on the counter in front of me.

I grunted my thanks and sipped, the elixir of wakefulness burning its way down my throat, and studied Marie as she continued washing dishes.

Marie was of East Indian descent; a true islander. She was tall, a few inches short of my height, willowy and slender hipped. She had the most amazing skin colour; a stunning mocha that glowed with a sheen of health. Yet in bone structure she was almost Caucasian. Her nose was small and slender with a slight up-turn, her chin sharp, her eyes an exotic dark mahogany. She had an easy smile that, with her colour, made her teeth look brilliant white, her smile lighting up the room.

I watched her move, her long, mid-shin loose cotton skirt swishing and moving. She had narrow ankles, on the right one a thin gold chain. Her simple leather sandals were flat and open. Her skirt and blouse were a riot of colours, her hair - a long wild mop of very dark brown soft waves - was gathered back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, strands escaping to frame her face. I knew she was about my age, just not her exact age. It wasn't something I was willing to ask, either. It seemed too personal.

Sipping coffee and watching her clean the kitchen was relaxing. I enjoyed her presence. Caffeine slowly seeped into my bloodstream and woke up my lazy heart. A breeze flowed through open windows cooling the interior. I wondered why I hadn't really seen Marie before. She was actually a very beautiful woman. I noticed the sensual swell of her compact rear under the skirt, the shapely curve of her back, her slender arms. She was delicate and almost coltish, yet full of energy and fluidity, moving with the grace of a dancer.

Almost a year and I hadn't actually seen her? Where had I been living?

"Arrêtez, alors. What are you staring at?" Marie asked in a chiding voice, jolting me out of my rather rude inspection.

MARIE TURNED TO LOOK at Sylvan. He was sitting so quietly, unmoving and watching her clean up. While not to-die-for handsome, Sylvan was unusually attractive, extremely masculine. She hadn't figured it out yet. When she looked at his chin it appeared too large and firm, the cleft too obvious. His nose was slightly too large, his brows heavy. When she studied his wide mouth, his lips seemed slightly too narrow. He had eyes that penetrated, a sky blue, unreadable. His dark tanned complexion and dark, dark hair made his eyes shine bright and disconcert her at times.

Each element of his face, in and of itself, was not particularly handsome, but when put together ... she wondered if he was aware of how devastating and intimidating it was. Sylvan was intensely male. He was slender and lanky, perhaps three inches taller than she was. That would make him almost six feet tall. He moved lazily, loose-limbed, as if in no hurry to go anywhere, relaxed. He made her uncomfortable at times when she couldn't read him.

Life on Saint Lucia was far from the paradise people thought it was. Life was hard. Wages were meagre, food expensive. She'd struggled to make ends meet, taking two jobs at once just to afford the tiny apartment. She'd come close to being evicted, too, when one job was eliminated, the bar she had waitressed at folding in bankruptcy.

Sylvan Knight had saved her, even if he didn't know it. For the first time since she'd been a teenager and alone she could breathe. She didn't worry about the rent cheque and could splurge on a nice cut of beef for dinner on the weekend. Every time she paid a bill she said a silent thank you to him. He was a quiet boss, fair and, occasionally, a very funny man. She didn't know what he did for a living and didn't care. She'd found a job she loved. He was an easy man to look after, astute, undemanding, and easy to please.

But.

There were times like now when he'd have a lost look in his eyes. She didn't understand why. He had everything; a beautiful house in the hills overlooking the bay, a crystal clear swimming pool, lush tropical gardens, food on the table, money ... freedom. By all rights he should be happy, have a girlfriend, party the nights away, and suffer hangovers. She knew he was a year older than she was, twenty-nine. That was still young, so why wasn't he all those things?

"Vous êtes..." She paused. "You're still staring at me," she said.

I LOOKED UP AT Marie's eyes. "Sorry. Did you know you're a beautiful lady?" I asked.

She frowned at me. "Now you're joking?"

"No," I insisted. "You really are quite exceptionally beautiful."

She snorted in derision. "Are you feeling ill? Where did this come from? Ce qui se passe?"

"Nothing. Rien. Thanks for the coffee," I said, slipping off the stool and retreating to my home office, feeling a bit embarrassed for being so personal with her.

Work absorbed my morning. Gold dropped to below USD $1,350. Good. I bought six-month options. The price would climb as Syria proved difficult in eliminating chemical weapons. By buying now I was playing the spread, betting the actual price of gold would be higher than the future price quoted, the difference between the two pure profit.

Absorbed in tracking my trades, Marie's interruption when she called me for lunch surprised me. But, what surprised me even more was myself. Sitting on the large veranda at an outside dining table, shaded by the overhanging roof, when Marie placed a plate of cold cuts and cheeses in front of me and a basket of fresh-baked bread, I glanced up at her.

"Have you had lunch?" I asked.

"Non. Not yet," she replied, laying cutlery next to my plate.

"Would you eat with me?" I asked.

She looked shocked for a moment. I'd never invited her before, but loneliness was haunting me. "S'il vous plaît?" I added when she hesitated.

Her smile was warm and bright. "D'accord. If you're sure."

"I'm very sure," I insisted. I wanted company.

Rising, while Marie fetched a plate for herself, I found a bottle of ice-cold white Chablis in the fridge and uncorked it, pouring two glasses just as she returned. She glanced at the wine, then at me.

Lunch started out a tad stiff, neither of us having dined together before. Relationships, boss and employee, were hurdles the wine slowly eroded with every sip and I discovered a perfectly charming woman underneath. Her laughter was deep and husky and heart-felt. She talked about growing up on the island, the class differences between native Saint Lucians and tourists, and other small inconsequential things. I lost myself in her sparkling, exotic mahogany eyes and the dainty way she ate, small mouthfuls carefully chewed as if relishing every bite. She was a graceful woman.

She asked questions and I answered, honestly. And somehow lunch dragged on into afternoon until, with an exclamation of shock, Marie noticed it was five o'clock, her normal finishing time.

"Ah! Mon Dieu! Look at the time! I haven't even done the laundry," she exclaimed, jumping up from the table.

"Forget it. I have lots of clothes," I said, not wanting the magical moment to end. "Would you let me buy you dinner in town?"

Marie paused, bent over while collecting plates. Dark eyes studied me. She smiled ruefully. "I'd like to but I can't."

"Sure you can," I insisted. "Just leave the plates and we'll go."

"Sorry. I really can't. My daughter is waiting for me."

That brought me up short. I'd never known she had a daughter. "Who's looking after her?" I asked, picturing a five-year-old girl.

"She is. Sophie can look after herself."

"Her name's Sophie?" Man what a stupid question, I thought immediately after blurting it out. To cover, I suggested Sophie join us for a casual dinner.

Tropical evenings in Saint Lucia were full of dark skies and stars and sounds of busy streets and tourists and music spilling out from bars. There are two types of evenings: one full of charm and relaxation when the evenings are shared, the other lonely in the midst of crowds when alone. I was used to the latter so experiencing the former was thrilling.

We picked Sophie up in my Moke, an ancient British Motor Corporation contraption that one could only describe as a Land Rover re-envisioned by the makers of the tiny Mini Cooper and interbred with a dune buggy. It lacked doors, comfortable seats, working springs, and power - it was the perfect vehicle for island transportation.

Dinner was eaten outside on the patio behind Chez Jacques overlooking the bay. Moonlight reflected off small waves and a gentle breeze cooled. Christmas lights were strung up around the patio in a chintzy effort at adding charm. It didn't matter. Food was excellent and very French.

Dinner started slightly stilted. Some of the magic I'd had with Marie was lost in the trip. But another bottle of a bright and fruity Chablis helped. Marie's daughter, Sophie, was perfectly charming. She was a young Marie, slender and coltish, taller than I'd have expected a fourteen-year-old to be, with the same stunning mocha skin, the same exotically shaped eyes of dark mahogany that, at night, appeared almost black. The only difference was a couple of dimples that emerged with each bright smile.

We chatted. But it was Sophie's open questions that brought easy comfort to our dinner. It started with a remarkable comment.

"Maman says you live alone. What do you do?" Sophie asked.

I smiled and answered, "I trade precious metals."

Fully expecting her to ask what that meant, I prepared my answer.

"You're handsome," she said. "Are you and Maman lovers?"

"Sophie!" Marie gasped.

Sophie, exhibiting no discomfort at all, said, "Quoi? He's handsome and you don't have a boyfriend."

"Sophie! He's my employer."

"So? You said you thought he's handsome." Sophie tilted her head and studied me. "He really is, too."

I never explained what trading precious metals involved. Dinner arrived providing a welcome distraction. Yet I noticed Marie's slight smile and it looked good on her. I also watched a rather remarkable relationship. Marie chatted with her daughter as if Sophie was an adult. She never talked down to her, dismissed her, or ignored her. The result was evident. Sophie was amazingly articulate with no shyness or hesitancy. She contributed to the conversation and made me smile, then laugh.

Through it all, Marie's eyes kept drifting towards me. When my eyes met hers she smiled gently, pleasure dancing in her eyes.

It was a wonderful dinner, perhaps the best I'd had in years. Without realizing it I was happy. But it was more than that. Attraction is a strange phenomenon. It starts with a separate part of your brain that processes things differently. While carrying on a conversation, participating and laughing, that part of your brain notices small things.

Mine did. I noticed how beautiful Marie's smile was and how it was reflected in her eyes. I liked it. I noticed her subtle smile, too. It was a soft curl of lips, a private smile knowing I was studying her. I noticed how long her fingers were and how they moved with elegance, her well cared for nails free of nail polish.

I noticed the small interlocking dolphins ring on her finger. I noticed how her silky top, a multi-coloured print, draped on her revealing very small breasts that seemed to suit her slender body.

Under the dark tropical sky, with music floating to us from inside the restaurant, and a view of the moonlit bay, with wonderful food and marvellous company, I had the best time I'd had since moving to Saint Lucia. It was magical.

She filled my mind when I woke up, morning sun bright. I was up, showered and shaved, when Marie let herself in the front door. The shyness I felt when I emerged from the bedroom surprised me.

"Bon jour, Monsieur Nuit," Marie greeted me with a smile, turning the coffee maker on. "Thank you again for last night. Sophie really enjoyed it."

"Did you?" I asked, climbing onto the stool at the counter.

"Mais oui! It was wonderful not to have to cook dinner."

Disappointment at her comment vanished when I saw her smile. She was having me on. I grinned. "Then, we must do it again sometime."

Over the next two weeks Marie and I entered into a strange relationship. We were still employer and employee but a friendship emerged. I found myself seeking her out during the day and chatting with her. Marie took to eating lunch with me every day and our conversations were wide-ranging; world events, island politics, raising a child. We talked about Sophie, and Marie's pleasure and pride was evident when I told her how impressed I was with her daughter.

Things evolved. It wasn't blatant. Over time we stood slightly closer to each other. There was no awkwardness when either of us would brush against the other when manoeuvring in the small kitchen. Marie's laughter was freely given, deep and contagious. Her hand would occasionally touch my forearm like a butterfly when making a point or drawing my attention.

Over those two weeks I became conscious of her. She wore a subtle jasmine perfume that seemed to touch my nose when she moved. Her colourful blouses and patterned mid-calf skirts hinted at her gazelle-like stature. Her skin glowed with health, a beautiful mocha, silky and flawless.

It took me two weeks to build up the courage to ask her out to dinner again, pre-empting her refusal by including Sophie in the invitation.

Marie studied me with her beautiful eyes, her expression neutral. Her lack of an immediate response wasn't good. But she knew. This time it wasn't an employer asking an employee to eat dinner together. This time it was a guy asking a remarkably attractive woman out; a woman he found fascinating. This time it was different, there was an implicit romantic aspect to the invitation. This time I was asking her out on a date.

Nerves built with each passing second of her silence. Then she graced me with a broad, bright smile.

"D'accord. I think I'd like that."

I was to pick her and Sophie up at seven.

MARIE STUDIED HERSELF IN the bathroom mirror, condensation still coating the edges from her shower. She smoothed her hand over her cheeks and searched for wrinkles with an eagle eye.

"Maman, where is my blue skirt?" Sophie yelled.

"In your closet," Marie called out, studying tiny crow's feet.

"No it isn ... Oh. Got it."

Marie smiled and turned the hair drier on, drying her hair with practiced precision. Her mind played over the past few weeks with Sylvan. He was such an unusual man, unlike those she'd known before. He was so gentle and relaxed in his skin.

It wasn't a weakness. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted. He wasn't shy about asking her to do something and was firm with the gardeners when he noticed something being overlooked. But his manner was gentle, considerate. She couldn't remember him treating her with anything but respect.

She pictured his blue eyes. To her it felt like he could read her, see inside her. They were very sexy. Marie's little voice sounded alarm bells. Sylvan could seriously hurt her if she let him close.

So what am I doing going out with him?! Am I folle? Crazy?

Yet, in his easy, laconic way Sylvan was very attractive. She just knew he'd never deliberately hurt her and that's what would hurt. He'd be too easy to fall for.

With her hair dry, Marie started adding a trace of makeup to her eyes. Getting involved with Sylvan, she decided, was too risky. She'd tell him tonight and steer the relationship back to a formal one before it was too late.

"So, what do you think?" Sophie asked from the bathroom door, striking a pose.

Marie studied her daughter, the simple pleated blue skirt, colourful blouse, hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Tres belle," she said with a smile. "I have competition."

Sophie laughed with pleasure. "Hurry up. It's almost time. Is Sylvan taking us to the same restaurant?"

THE HOUSE WAS DARK. A gentle breeze wafted through the open windows and across me. The cotton sheet felt light and soft on my body. An owl hooted. Despite the late hour faint sounds of music and laughter floated up to me from the town below.

My mind was full and busy. I'd been treated to another wonderful dinner under the stars, full of easy laughter and sparkling eyes. I'd been charmed by a fourteen-year-old who possessed the awareness and intellect of a young lady much older than she was.

I'd been gifted to watch Marie and Sophie jest and chide and joke; an amazing relationship. And I'd seen soft smiles from Marie when I'd laughed with Sophie. Throughout one of the best dinners I'd ever had, Marie's eyes had assessed me.

But, perhaps best of all, when dropping them off, that moment had arrived; the moment when things end or progress, the moment of statements, of intent, acceptance there was more to the attraction or not enough.

After Sophie climbed out of the Moke, I'd leaned over towards Marie. Marie didn't ease away, her beautiful mahogany eyes sparkling in the night, dark, exotic, and full of mystery. Some sort of decision was made. She leaned towards me with a gentle smile and our lips brushed against each other. Her jasmine perfume filled my senses. Her lips were silky and warm and soft.

"Bon nuit, Sylvan," she whispered, her hand caressing my cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful dinner."

"À domani," I said as she slipped from the car.

"Ooh-la-la!" she exclaimed. "Demain, not domani!"

Sophie's peal of laughter followed me as I drove away with a big smile on my face.

I stared up at the dark ceiling, the circulating fan barely discernible. Where was this relationship going? Was it even going? Could it? I felt like Marie had made a decision during dinner but what decision? And had that kiss been a "you're a nice guy but sorry" kiss? It had been so long since I'd done this I couldn't remember what the signals meant. What if I misinterpreted and embarrassed her? How awkward would that be!

Sleep was slow in arriving and restless in its visit.

MARIE SAT ON THE decrepit bus as it made its way up the steep road, her purse in her lap. The engine complained, straining, gears crunching as the driver downshifted. It was already warm, the breeze fresh.

Her nerves tingled, heart beating slightly faster. Last night she'd found herself relaxing and simply enjoying Sylvan's company. She loved his easy-going way with Sophie and noticed how happy her daughter was. Somehow that simple relationship made Sylvan even more attractive. Why?

She'd planned to discourage Sylvan and everything had backfired. Somehow she'd not just let him kiss her, but that gentle brush of lips had struck her hard. She'd felt it deeply and all her plans to steer their relationship back onto an impersonal track vanished.

What now?

The bus slowed. She stood and, when it came to a halt, Marie stepped down. She walked up the final fifty yards to his house, her mind wondering what she should do.

"Bon jour!" she called out as she entered his house. Out of habit she dropped her purse on the hall table and glanced around, immediately planning her day. The hall needed a vacuum. She should do the living room, too.

Entering the kitchen, she measured coffee grinds and started brewing. With no dirty plates to clean she puttered around. An omelette today.

The scrape of a stool made her turn. Sylvan smiled quietly, his hair damp from the shower, bright blue eyes searching hers. Awkwardness emerged. "Bon jour. Comment allez-vous?" she asked, a small shiver of attraction hitting her.

Sylvan nodded as if thinking. "Okay, I think."

"Would you like an omelette for breakfast?" Marie asked.

"Okay."

Awkwardness was a physical presence in the kitchen. Marie studied Sylvan and knew. She understood his hesitancy wasn't driven by a lack of desire. The twit was worried about how she'd react or concerned he'd do something wrong. Maybe he didn't understand her implicit message last night.

Either way, this was too awkward, too uncomfortable. She couldn't stand it.

"Bon," she exclaimed. Walking around the counter to his side, she turned his face towards her. His blue eyes were watchful as she brought her mouth to his. He watched her as her lips touched his. She saw them soften and twinkle, her lips pressing harder. She liked his expression - delight.

Somehow he turned and wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands caressing her back. Somehow he drew her in, her body pressed to his. Then the kiss deepened.

Marie tilted her head, her arms slipping around his neck. She felt the tip of his tongue touch her lips and, with an unheard moan, her tongue touched his. Dizziness set in, tongues teasing lightly. Her nipples tingled, arousal flowing in.

Ending the kiss, she rested her cheek on his shoulder briefly. It was too much, too fast, the power of her response to him too strong. Disengaging herself from his gentle hug, she turned her attention to making breakfast, her heart racing. It made her smile. She felt like a sixteen-year-old again and boy did he know how to kiss!

I WATCHED MARIE MAKING an omelette. My erection was still strong, tightly confined in jeans. My lips still tingled from the kiss, my senses still full of her clean scent and her jasmine perfume. I could still feel how slender and wonderful she'd felt in my arms. I could still feel where her breath had wafted against my neck when the kiss ended and she'd rested her head on my shoulder.

Marie moved fluidly, competent and at ease. There was a brightness and bounce in her that made me smile. I'd done that. I'd made her smile so brightly. It felt good.

"You'll eat with me?" I asked, sipping coffee.

"Non. Merci. I ate breakfast with Sophie."

"I like your daughter. She's a mini you; just as pretty and with the same sense of humour."

Marie smiled. "She likes you, too." Taking a plate, she slipped the omelette onto it, added buttered toast and slid it across the counter to me.