Sweet Seduction by Stella Whitelaw Page A

being invaded by foreigners, but on the other hand they might buy her father’s paintings. They were always short of money and a few sales could mean a new stove. She was sick of cooking on that old thing.
    Not that it mattered, being poor white on Barbados. It was warm. There was plenty of cheap food in the market, and although their house was old and desperately needed repairs, it could withstand the rainy season with a few strategically placed buckets and that new stuff, plastic sheeting stretched across the leaking roof.
    But Dolly dreaded another hurricane. Even now the wind rattled the doors and windows and sometimes lifted the red corrugated roof. Her father’s studio would not survive the first onslaught of a big wind. The wooden outbuilding would collapse card-like on its non-existent foundations.
    She searched the sweeping palms, shading her eyes, but there was no-one there. Perhaps she was early. She never wore a watch, did not possess one.
    "It’s either getting up time or going to bed time. I’m either hungry or not hungry. I don’t need a clock-watch."
    Dolly used the Bajan double-nouns all the time. It was her way. She had been born on the island.
    Dolly’s eyes sparkled. She had an enormous zest for life, and being poor did not diminish her joy. She was never more than seven miles from the sea and she lived in a climate of perpetual summer. It was a paradise.
    She did not work. She was too busy to work. André made enough money from his paintings to feed them and buy new paints and brushes. People often gave him old canvases to paint over. She was wearing one of her mother’s cut-down frocks, a floral cotton.
    At seventeen, Dolly was not likely to grow any more. She was a slim sprite of a girl, figure unformed, hair wild, green eyes always full of merriment and laughter.
    She saw a tall figure striding through the coconut palms and ran towards him, pushing her hair from her eyes. She flung herself into his arms, her head pressed close to his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin.
    "I thought you weren’t coming," she gasped. "I’ve been here ages."
    "Liar. I saw you climbing over the rocks."
    "Why weren’t you here?"
    "Some of us have to work. We don’t all laze about like visitors."
    "Your father is a monster. I hate him. He makes you work too hard."
    Reuben Earl shook her shoulders and laughed. He had strong facial bones that were nearly handsome, a thick thatch of dark hair, eyes as blue as the Caribbean ocean.
    "Don’t be daft, Dolly. We have a big plantation and refinery to run. It doesn’t run itself and the monkeys would soon take over. You’ll be glad too, one day, when I’m a big success, factory owner, a planter. Now stop talking, you minx, and let me kiss you."
    They sank onto the sand, arms entwined, half in the shade of a sweeping palm, shielded by the big leaves from any curious eyes that might pass by. Reuben cradled her in his arms and took her sweet lips, offered so generously and warmly.
    His hands moved to her small breasts, pert against the thin material of the cotton frock, and he felt his groin contract with desire. He could not resist her softness and the scent of her flesh. He kissed her face, her neck, moving down to the silken skin of her exposed shoulder, pressing his lips close to the almost revealed, shadowed valley. He groaned. He would have to stop. This was killing him as usual. Reuben rolled over and stared up at the flawless sky between the branches. He had been in love with Dolly since they were at school together.
    For years they had walked and talked, teased each other, swum in the sea, played cricket, gone to a few parties. Everything had been light and easy until the day he kissed her. Now he could barely leave her alone. His love had changed into a monster invading his veins, urging him to take her, possess her, make this wilful creature his own. His dreams were full of her soft body, of crushing her beneath his weight, of penetrating her secret