by Maggie Cox
‘Piers…’ The soft little whisper in the shape of his name fluttered against his earlobe like a butterfly’s breath, teasing him and sending goose-pimples scudding in all directions, hardening him even more.
‘What is it, you little seductress?’
‘Am I?’ Momentarily Emma stilled, awed at the concept of her own power, her long-lashed eyes round with wonder as she stared up at him in the dimmed light created by the drawn curtains.
‘Of course you are.’ His acknowledgement was low and husky as he reached down between them, parted her thighs and slid into her with one hotly possessive, powerful stroke. Emma arched in surprise, her breath leaving her body in a long, shuddering gasp.
‘You could look at any man and make him want you. But right now, Emma…you belong to me.’ As he moved inside her, momentarily silencing her with his fiercely possessive affirmation, Emma slid her arms across his powerful shoulders, secretly delighting in the strongly contracting muscles rippling beneath her hands. Then she found herself praying that the afternoon would stretch long into the night and help her forget her sorrow for just a little while. He would never love her in the way she yearned for him to love her, but if all they ever had was this breathtaking, earth-shattering joining together—then she would have to be content. What else could she do? She would simply have to bear it, even though she knew now with certainty that what she felt for this man was not some passing passion that would fade in a few days, months, years even. Her heart was his, even if he never found out the truth. After today, she would guard her feelings with more care, not let him see that if she had to walk away from him one more time it was probably going to be the hardest thing she’d ever done. He had ruined her for any other man that came along in the future but even that Emma would surmount because she was strong—stronger than she had thought she was. Circumstances had made her that way and nothing was going to bring her down or make her feel less than ever again.
Tomorrow she would buy one of those pregnancy tests from the chemist and put herself out of her misery. She was only two days late for her period but once she knew the result for sure she would take action and begin to see just what she was capable of—because wasn’t that what her beloved grandmother would have wanted for her?
The solicitor’s office hadn’t been too difficult to find, tucked down a short side-street amid bars and restaurants not far from bustling Leicester Square. Miles got her there bang on time, telling her he would go and get a cup of coffee somewhere before returning to the car to wait for her. Inside the rather gloomy offices of Arbuthnot, Johnson and Harris, it was hot and stuffy and surprisingly old-fashioned. With its antiquated furniture in the waiting-room and a rather foreboding receptionist with a cut-glass accent that reminded Emma of an old-style school headmistress, after the cosmopolitan noise and colour of the streets outside it was like stepping into another world. When Emma was briskly shown into the necessary office, she could just about see the short bespectacled little man with his military-style black moustache that inhabited it behind the mounds of papers and files that threatened to topple over on his desk.
‘Ah, Miss Robards. So pleased to meet you.’ Standing up, he briefly shook her hand then waved her into the rather tattered red leather chair that was made available for clients. Seated once again, Mortimer Harris, as he’d introduced himself to Emma, made a brief but interested assessment of her neatly attired figure as she opened her coat, his gaze finally settling on her outwardly calm, pale complexion with apparent satisfaction. ‘Well, let us not waste time, eh? I am sure you are as anxious to hear the reading of your grandmother’s will as I am to avail you of its contents…’
After that Emma fell into a kind of numbed silence, and when she left the office just twenty minutes later she was still reeling with disbelief at what she had heard.
The heels of her smart but despised high heels clicked against the polished black and white marble floor of the large, imposing entrance hall. Emma thanked Mrs Mayes for letting her in then immediately forgot to ask the affable housekeeper if Mr Redfield was at home. Sighing as the woman’s own retreating heels echoed down the hall into the distance, Emma stood for a moment to gather her thoughts, automatically slipping off her shoes and flexing her throbbing toes with relief at the blessedly cold marble beneath her feet. A little shiver ran down her spine. What would Piers’s reaction be when she told him that besides being left her grandmother’s house she’d been left twenty thousand pounds from her absent father? Twenty thousand pounds… She still couldn’t take it in. But right now the thought brought Emma little joy. She’d discovered from the solicitor that Helen Robards had written to Emma’s father when she was seriously ill and appealed to him to help his daughter. It had come as a shock to learn that her grandmother had known her son’s whereabouts all this time but had kept it from Emma because he expressly hadn’t wanted to be contacted. Now she also learned that her father still didn’t want any contact with his child. The money was a one-off payment he’d clearly made out of deference to his mother—not because he wished for a chance to renew his relationship with Emma. Conscience money…that was what it was. For a moment rage and distress made her dizzy. The bastard hadn’t even sent flowers to his own mother’s funeral.
Clamping her hand to her head, Emma told herself she was better off without him. Conscience money or no, at least now she would be able to support herself and the baby, should she find herself pregnant… The thought made her tummy swim anxiously for a moment. In her bag was a pregnancy test she had purchased at a local chemist, and as soon as she got the opportunity she would do the test and see once and for all what she had to deal with. Either way, she’d made her mind up about one thing. As soon as she could talk to Piers she would tell him that she was going back to her flat—damp walls or no damp walls. She couldn’t bear being in limbo any longer. Besides, the sooner they made a clean break the better. Piers could go back to the high-octane corporate world he knew and loved, and Emma could get on with her life—maybe even think seriously about undertaking some further education. With her grandmother’s legacy, that was no longer out of the question.
‘You’re back.’
‘Yes.’ Startled by his sudden appearance, Emma felt an answering shiver roll down her spine. Yesterday they’d been outrageously self-indulgent, spending nearly the whole of the afternoon in bed, and last night Piers had still not tired of making love to her. Today her tingling body—more alive than it had felt in years—definitely registered the after-effects of his passionate attention. So much so that Emma could hardly bring herself to look him in the eye without her cheeks shading a revealing rose-pink—even if he was smiling at her as if he was remembering her willing and naked in his bed and maybe wanting to take up where they had left off…
‘Did everything go all right?’ he asked conversationally. No other man could make an ordinary black sweater—even if it was cashmere—and jeans look so good, Emma decided.
‘Yes, fine. We have to talk. Can you spare a few minutes?’
Piers wondered that she had to ask. Right now he’d postpone pretty much everything to spend time with her and much to his surprise had actually found himself relishing the time away from work. Nothing and nobody had ever effected such a change before.
‘Of course. Come into the library. Mrs Mayes has lit the fire and if we’re lucky she’ll bring us a cup of tea shortly.’
Helping her off with her coat, Piers smiled to himself as he glanced down at her stockinged feet minus her shoes. One day soon, he vowed, he would buy her a pair of high heels that wouldn’t hurt her feet. Something classy and expensive that would make her endlessly long legs look even more sensational.
Making herself comfortable in one of the fireside chairs, Emma immediately stretched out her hands towards the glowing coals in the grate. Her complexion was flushed from the cold wind outside and her eyes were as bright as topaz. Folding her coat over the back of his chair, Piers sucked in his breath with deeply male satisfaction at her b
eauty—opting to stand for the moment as he waited for her to speak. He could only hope that all had gone well at the solicitor’s because God knew the woman didn’t need any more bad news.
‘It seems that I’m a woman of means. My gran always said she was leaving her house to me but I also received some money from my father.’
‘Your father?’ Piers’s eyes narrowed in surprise.
Emma dipped her head. ‘When my grandmother knew she was going to have to face a major operation she apparently wrote to him and asked him to help me. I never even knew she knew where he was. He sent money to ease his conscience but he still doesn’t want anything to do with me.’
Absorbing the news with strangely mixed emotions when he knew he should be fiercely glad for her good fortune at least, Piers was taken aback by the sudden little niggle of disquiet that arose in him. That it might have something to do with the fact that if she now had means she might decide she didn’t need his help, he refused to consider. But there was also the fact that she was clearly perturbed by this new turn of events concerning her father. ‘He’s the one who’s lost out, Emma. As for the rest…well, you deserve it.’
Compared to the losses she had suffered, her grandmother’s death and her father’s desertion, Emma wondered how she was supposed to derive any satisfaction at all from her unexpected legacy. Feeling suddenly terribly cold, she rubbed her hands briskly together in front of the fire to warm them. ‘So you think I should just accept the fact he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me and keep the money?’ she asked quietly.
‘Of course.’ The fact that she would even contemplate not keeping it was so typically Emma that Piers could hardly be surprised.
‘Will you give up your job at the bistro?’ he asked.
‘Why? What’s wrong with my job?’
‘We’re not back to that old chestnut again, are we?’ Exasperated, Piers briefly turned his back on her to stem his temper. ‘Why should I care what you do for a living, Emma? I’m not your keeper!’
‘No,’ Emma agreed softly, rubbing her trembling hands down her soft wool skirt. ‘You’re not. I can do just as I please, can’t I? In fact, that’s the main reason I wanted to talk to you. I’ve decided to go back home to my flat. There really isn’t any good reason for me to stay here any longer, is there? I mean, I’d rather get on and do the things I need to do than stay here getting under your feet. I’ll go and pack my things and—’
‘No.’
‘What do you mean, no?’
Startled, Emma glanced up in surprise as Piers planted his feet squarely in front of her, glaring down at her with the full force of those crystalline blue eyes. ‘I told you I’d prefer it if you stayed under my roof until your landlord gets those repairs done. I spoke to him this morning and he’s sending a contract hire team in to do the work starting from tomorrow. So you see, you can’t go home yet. The flat’s going to be in chaos for at least the next three weeks or so.’
‘Three weeks?’ Emma blinked. ‘Why is it going to take three weeks? They’ve only got to do something about the damp.’
‘Not so. They’re completely redecorating as well as putting in a new bathroom and shower.’ He’d seen the horrendous damp on Emma’s bathroom walls the day he’d sent her into her bedroom to pack and the bathroom suite had clearly come out of the ark. Piers hadn’t wasted a second in reading her landlord the Riot Act about the conditions his tenant was living in, and using his not inconsiderable name as leverage to get every one of his demands met. Piers was only thankful that Lawrence was getting out of the place to move to Cornwall. The whole house should be condemned, in his view. If he had his way, he’d move Emma out of there for good as well.
‘He must be cursing my name.’ Wincing at the idea of her notoriously mean landlord receiving that particular phone call from Piers, Emma glanced down at her linked hands and shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble on my behalf. And what about my personal things? I should go and sort them out if they’re going to be moving things around to decorate.’
‘I’ve already left strict instructions that if anything goes missing or is broken I will hold your landlord one hundred per cent accountable.’
Emma didn’t doubt he would by the stern glitter in his eyes. ‘I’ll still need some more clothes. I didn’t bring nearly enough with me.’
‘I’ll buy you some new ones. It’s not a problem.’
She didn’t suppose anything was if you happened to be Piers Redfield. ‘Well, if the flat is uninhabitable for the next three weeks, I’ll simply go to my grandmother’s house and stay there, then.’
But even as the words left her mouth, Emma didn’t think she could face going to the house just yet. Not when her feelings were still so raw.
‘I want you to stay here. It makes sense, doesn’t it? It’s warm and comfortable. Mrs Mayes and Miles are both on hand to help, and I’m here to help too—that goes without saying.’
Their gazes met and locked, with Emma being the first to look away. It wasn’t his help she was craving. Reaching for the moon was what she was doing and it was a waste of time. The longer she stayed in Piers’s house, the harder it would be for her to leave. Their relationship didn’t have a future—how could it, when he was who he was and she was way down the scale of women deemed suitable for a man in his position? He’d made it perfectly clear from the beginning that theirs was just a brief affair, so there was no way she was going to hang around feeling hopeful…not unless she didn’t mind having her heart ground down into the dust.
‘I’m sorry but I can’t stay.’ Shakily, she rose to her feet, sweeping back a silky dark tendril of hair that refused to behave itself. ‘I really can’t.’
Short of locking her in the house and being charged with kidnapping, Piers realised there was nothing else he could do to force Emma to stay. But the idea of her leaving to go back to an empty house with too many memories to haunt her was almost too much for him to contemplate. Last night, holding her in his arms as she dozed gently beside him, he had actually dreaded letting her go. That had never happened with any other woman since his early days with Naomi, but the idea that he might at long last be needing someone in his life permanently after all these years was not one he willingly entertained. His was a responsible position and his work was everything to him and—to be brutally honest—the idea of marrying again filled him with apprehension. Look what a disaster he’d made of his marriage to Naomi! She’d been too young to be tied down with a baby and so was Emma. He’d be crazy to even consider repeating the same mistake—especially considering the effect it had had on his son. Piers took pride in giving one hundred and ten per cent to his work. Could he jeopardise another relationship with the unrelenting demands of his job just because he imagined he was mellowing in his old age? He didn’t think so.
‘Then, if you insist on going, I’m going to book you into a nearby hotel. At least you’ll have some of the comforts of home and I can still keep an eye on you. Let me make a phone call and see what I can fix up.’
‘You don’t need to do that. I’m perfectly capable of—’
‘Emma.’
That coldly commanding gaze of his was surely designed to instil immediate compliance, but it incensed Emma. ‘What?’ She rolled her eyes heavenwards.
‘You have only two options. Either you stay here under my roof or you let me book you into a hotel. What’s it to be? Tomorrow I’m helping Lawrence move down to the West Country and I need to know what you’ve decided before I leave.’
‘You’re helping Lawrence?’ Once again Emma felt as if the wind had been taken out of her sails.
‘Don’t look so stunned. He can’t do it all on his own. We’ve hired a removal company to do the bulk of the lifting and carrying but he’s still going to need help sorting it all out when he gets there, and besides…I want to see the place he’s renting. He might need a few things. I’ll probably stay overnight and drive back the following day.’
It was becau
se he was helping Lawrence that Emma decided not to give him an argument after all. The idea that father and son were hopefully on the road to reconciling warmed her heart, making her feel glad that at least one relationship was being sorted out. ‘I don’t want you paying for me to stay in a hotel, so I guess I’ll stay here. But if at any point my presence becomes an inconvenience, I insist you tell me straight away. Is it a deal?’
Transfixed by that sexy little beauty spot at the top of her left cheekbone, Piers couldn’t help the pure smile of gratification that curved his lips. ‘Deal. But this is a big house, Emma. I don’t see how it’s possible for you to inconvenience me in any way. By the way, I’ve got a couple of friends coming over for dinner tonight—think you can face some company?’
Emma would really rather not, but because he was still smiling and she didn’t want to break the mood, she found herself agreeing. ‘Why not?’ she said.
Blinking at the pink box of the test stick, Emma raised her gaze to stare dazedly into the bathroom mirror. Overwhelmed with relief one moment, her face crumpling in dismay in the next, she angrily scrubbed the tears from her eyes and threw the offending test-stick into the little sea-grass wastebasket. So she wasn’t expecting Piers’s baby after all. The knowledge made her feel oddly hollow, as if a vital part of her body was suddenly missing. Now there was no reason—no reason at all—for him to maintain contact after Emma vacated his house in three weeks’ time. She would have to walk away and never see him again. With Lawrence taking up residence in Cornwall, they would have no reason to even set eyes on each other. The tension in her ribcage making it difficult to breathe, Emma shuddered out a deeply affected breath then went out into the adjoining bedroom to reluctantly dress for dinner.
