by Natalie Fox
‘What, stay here together, live together?’ she breathed.
‘We wouldn’t be living together in the sense that your cousin and your boss hope. We’d be living under the same roof, that’s all. Providing you keep yourself to yourself, I don’t see a problem arising. We both have enough to occupy ourselves with; in fact, we could get away with not catching sight of each other for a month. This place is big enough for that. Are you big enough to give it a try?’
Verity slumped back into the sofa. She wasn’t sure, she wasn’t at all sure it would work, but for the life of her she didn’t know why she had any doubts.
‘Stuart and Alan would be sick as parrots if their plan didn’t work,’ she murmured at last, staring into the fire.
‘That’s one way of looking at it.’
She gave him a very small smile. ‘Revenge, you mean? Stick it out and show that neither of us can be manipulated? I’ll go back with my wedding book completed—’
‘And your honour intact,’ he added with a wry look.
Her smile widened. ‘My honour intact,’ she echoed. ‘Yours too.’
He smiled with her and stretched and then got up. ‘While you mull that over I’ll make us some coffee, but rest assured, it will be the last I make for you. If this is going to work we each do our own thing.’
‘Perhaps we ought to start tonight instead of tomorrow.’ As soon as she said it she realised that it was almost an agreement that she would stay.
‘No, stay where you are, you’re tired. Sugar in your coffee?’
She nodded, and as he moved away she closed her eyes. Yes, she was tired, too tired to make a decision. At this very moment in time she never wanted to see her cousin or Alan again for as long as she lived. She would give in her notice, of course. No way could she work for Looks Healthy any more. But Rupert Scott had a point—why give those bastards the satisfaction that their plot might work? And, besides, her job was a good one. Damn, she didn’t know what to think, but Rupert was being surprisingly civilised about it all. Perhaps he felt sorry for her; she was certainly the innocent party in all this. She sighed. It could work; it might work...
She opened her eyes suddenly and he was sitting next to her, closer than before, sipping his coffee and gazing into the dying embers of the fire. She must have dropped off for five minutes and hadn’t heard him come back. Her coffee was on the stone-tiled floor next to her and she reached down to pick it up.
‘Verity, there is something I think you ought to know about me before we go any further.’ He turned to her, and she looked at him with slumbrous eyes. She was so tired, and if he wanted to tell her that he had some strange habits that might disturb her work she would rather hear them tomorrow or, better, not at all.
‘Go ahead,’ she told him sleepily. ‘If you snore and grind your teeth in your sleep, I can survive it. My room is far enough away from yours for it not to keep me awake.’
He didn’t smile at that but somehow, without much effort, his face seemed to darken. She remembered that her sort of humour had gone down like a lead balloon at the dinner party. He didn’t find her faintly amusing. If this was to work she would have to button her lip if they came into contact at all.
He spoke at last, after draining his coffee and standing up to tower over her. ‘I have a lady in my life, Verity,’ he told her sombrely.
She looked up at him and for a crazy second didn’t think much of his humour either. But this wasn’t a joke and she wondered why she had thought it was. She also wondered why he had told her in that warning tone of voice. Was it to put her off or remind himself that he had a commitment to someone else—just in case he was tempted, as the options remark had suggested?
‘So? I can live with that,’ she returned coldly, surprised at the coolness of her own voice.
‘Good. I’m glad,’ he said flatly. ‘I just thought you should know. Goodnight, Verity. Sleep well.’ He turned and walked away, and she stared at the last dying embers of the fire, hearing his tread on the stone steps, the hollow sound of his bedroom door closing behind him.
Verity slowly stood up and shivered. Of course she could live with that; in fact, now she understood why he had made the suggestion that she stay. There was no fear of their having an affair here because he was already in love with someone else. Pity Stuart and Alan hadn’t checked that out before arranging all this. But why, then, had he caressed her hair that way, made that very suggestive remark which had unnerved her so? She didn’t know and hoped she never would. Attractive he might be; undoubtedly dangerous, though.
Sleep well, he’d said; she doubted that. Too much had happened, far too much for her to sleep at all well.
CHAPTER THREE
‘Turn that damned thing off!’
Verity scrambled up from the rug on the floor where she was doing her callisthenics and pulled nervously at her pink leotard, horribly embarrassed at being caught so scantily dressed.
Rupert strode into her bedroom and snapped off the ghetto-blaster she’d found downstairs. She’d brought her exercise tapes and Walkman just in case but, finding the blaster, she’d opted to use that for ease.
‘I can’t have that raucous din when I’m trying to work!’ he stormed furiously.
‘It’s not loud!’ Verity protested hotly. ‘How can you possibly hear it across your side of the house?’
‘Because this damned house is solid stone and every sound ricochets off the walls like bullets. If you must do that ridiculous stuff, have the consideration to do it outside!’
‘Outside! It’s blowing a gale out there and if we’re talking consideration here,’ Verity fired back, ‘how about you clearing up your breakfast debris after you? The kitchen looked as if a missile had hit when I went down this morning!’
Crikey! Her first morning with him and it had started with him storming into her room in that baggy old tracksuit and attacking her so unfairly. She’d had a bad night, waking at every strange sound of the night. The wind had howled, vixens had screamed, an owl had hooted on the roof and she’d been sure someone had been scraping chains across the stone floors downstairs. The place spooked her and she had been glad Rupert Scott had been within screaming distance. Now this. It wasn’t going to work if he was going to be such a slob and so touchy about a little bit of noise.
His grey eyes narrowed warningly. ‘Look, we agreed to do our own thing—’
‘Within reason!’
‘That infernal row in the morning,’ he flung his hand out to the blaster, ‘isn’t within reason!’
‘And nor is your dirty dishes littering the kitchen table!’
‘That’s the way I live when I’m working! Now if you don’t like it, clear out and leave me in peace!’ He raked his fingers through his already unruly hair and Verity wondered what work he was doing that was causing him such frustration, for if all was going well he wouldn’t notice the sounds she was making.
‘No way! I’m staying. If you don’t like it, you clear out!’
They stood glaring at each other, defying each other. He was being totally unreasonable, Verity inwardly flamed. She had purposefully kept the cassette low, but how was she to know that the house acoustics were so bad? Well, she wasn’t going to apologise unless he did and if he didn’t do something about his washing-up...fat chance! He wasn’t the sort of man to stoop to such lowly tasks.
‘We’ll have to compromise,’ she suggested raggedly. It was the only way. Work out some sort of system.
‘I’ll compromise over nothing!’
‘Go hang yourself, then!’ Verity shouted furiously at his stubborn arrogance. ‘If you’re not prepared to bend a little nor am I, apart from my exercise routine, that is!’ she added pointedly. With one smart, calculated movement she sprang towards the blaster to snap it back on.
Rupert Scott’s reactions were so quick that Verity recoiled back in horror. He grasped her wrist and swung it away from the blaster and pulled her unexpectedly into his arms.
His mouth locked over he
rs and she was so stunned that she couldn’t stop what followed, his lips crushing hers, his tongue easing between her clenched teeth, his arms folding around her body so tightly that she could scarcely catch her breath. She was shocked, too shocked to resist or begin to understand the fierceness of his body hard against hers. She felt his every muscle mould against her, and as his arms slid down to her hips to grasp her into him she was flooded with a searing rush of sexual awareness. Her breasts fought the restricting fabric of her leotard and her pelvis melted against him. His mouth softened as if he knew what his kisses were capable of, as if he knew that the very next step was inevitable.
Verity’s mouth parted to emit a small sob of protest under his lips as his hand came up to her breast and caressed the small firm mound. His fingers hardened over her aroused nipple and a sound came from deep in his throat, a terrifying sound of desire.
Verity’s heart thundered at what was happening, but her head wouldn’t clear enough to reason what to do about it. It simply buzzed out a need, a need that was so fierce and had been aroused so frighteningly easily. And then suddenly it was over. The contact, initially so unexpected, eased away from her, leaving her breathless, frightened and...and oddly empty.
Rupert Scott held her at arm’s length and his breath came quickly, as if holding her away from him was causing him pain. His eyelids were heavy and his eyes brittle with anger. His voice was thick when he spoke. ‘That wasn’t very clever, was it?’
She shook her head in bewilderment. No words came to her lips because her mind was full of only one thought: the unexpected passion he had aroused in her. It had been coaxed so easily by a man she didn’t even like very much. At that moment she couldn’t help but think of Mike, though she didn’t know why.
‘Haven’t you anything to say for yourself?’ he said, his voice in control now.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she uttered feebly, lowering her eyes so as not to meet his. She was ashamed of succumbing to that kiss when she should have known better and kicked him in the shins for taking it so daringly.
‘Wasn’t it?’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t start that again.’ She pulled away from him and snatched up her robe from the bed to slide into it to cover her revealing leotard.
He stood back and watched her. ‘The kiss or what?’ he teased. How quickly he had regained control when she was still trembling with the shock of what had happened.
‘Forget the kiss,’ she husked back, ‘you know what I mean. I suppose you think I did all this on purpose. Played my cassette at full blast so you would come to my bedroom and I would tempt you into seducing me for that wretched advertising contract for my cousin.’
‘I didn’t suppose anything of the sort but, now that you mention it, it could be a possibility.’ There was mockery in his tone, a teasing mockery that irritated her.
‘It isn’t! I do this every morning and it isn’t a sexual invitation to any passing male.’ She looked across to him then, her eyes bright with determination. ‘You shouldn’t have stormed into my bedroom like that. I refuse to take the blame for what just happened. You were angry with me and that was my punishment, wasn’t it?’
‘Something like that. If I hadn’t kissed you I might have killed you,’ he drawled lazily.
‘Huh, kiss or kill. I believe you. There are a hell of a lot of men like you around,’ Verity sliced back disdainfully.
He frowned. ‘Like what? Wanting to appease their frustration and anger with sex?’
Now she knew why her thoughts had spun to Mike. That kiss had reminded her of when their relationship had begun to go wrong. When she had realised she was being used.
‘It’s obvious your work isn’t going well; that’s why you’re so touchy, and then you switch to punishing me for it,’ she husked morosely.
‘Was the kiss a punishment? I thought it was just one of those unavoidable accidents.’
‘Huh, like slipping on a banana skin!’ Verity retorted sarcastically. ‘You don’t fool me. My last boyfriend used me the same way,’ she told Rupert Scott quite openly. ‘When life wasn’t going easy for him he turned on the sex, his way of blaming me for his own inadequacies. I think you suffer from the same syndrome. He didn’t make love to me because he loved me, he just had to prove he was good at something.’
‘Was he good?’
The question rattled her. The man had nearly succeeded in making love to her and now he was asking impertinent questions of her as intimately as if it had happened and they were now fully fledged lovers opening up their hearts and their pasts to each other. Well, they weren’t and never would be, but she had rather asked for it by mentioning Mike that way.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ she told him defensively. ‘I’m not a whore and I don’t have a vigorous sex life—’
‘So you don’t have anyone else to compare him with?’
She held his mocking grey eyes. ‘Exactly, and if you’ve any ideas on supplying me with any comparisons, forget it!’ she retorted hotly.
He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. If we make love I’d like to be sure it’s for the right reasons, not for tallying up the scoreboard.’
‘Well, you’ll never know, will you?’
‘Meaning, you believe we won’t make love?’
‘Meaning, if we did you’d never know if I was chalking up a score for your performance or not!’ This was the only way to handle him. Give as good as he expected her to receive. He was pushing her, mocking her, and two could play that duet.
‘We might get so desperate that we wouldn’t care,’ he suggested in that same mocking drawl.
‘Speak for yourself! I haven’t any problems in that way.’
‘Implying I have?’
Verity smiled sweetly at him. ‘I’d say you have. You can’t keep your hands off me and yet last night you felt the need to tell me you have a lady in your life. I’d say your hormones are niggling at your conscience. Well, I’m no sex therapist, so don’t even think about taking what happened just now any further.’
He didn’t let up on the teasing smile. ‘You could be very right in your pyschoanalysis. My lady doesn’t give me any ear drill any more and I find yours sexually stimulating. Keep it up, treasure, and we just might fall into the trap that’s been set for us.’ With that he turned and left the room.
Verity stared at the back of the door he’d closed after him. So that was a warning, was it? Keep your mouth shut and I won’t make any more advances towards you! Or, keep it up and I will! What a choice! She would have to vet every word that came to her lips, and that was going to be quite a strain. But the consequences if she didn’t were certainly a deterrent. No problem. She’d just keep out of his way. It was as simple as that!
Verity was cold. Even with a blanket tucked round her legs, she couldn’t generate much warmth, nor could the oil-filled electric radiator she’d found in one of the other bedrooms. She’d chosen to work in her bedroom to keep her distance from Rupert Scott, and had set up her computer on the dressing-table. Candice’s diets and exercise routines were spread out all over the spare bed. It wasn’t the ideal environment to work in but there was no other choice. Downstairs was even colder.
She wondered how he was keeping warm. Better than her, no doubt, in his cosy tracksuit and ex-army boots.
Verity wriggled her toes to get the circulation going and glanced at her watch. Four in the afternoon and so far the day had not been very productive. This morning he had ranted that he couldn’t work with the din from her cassette; now she was finding the deathly silence equally irritating. Trouble was, she was listening out for every sound from his quarters. Not that she was remotely interested in what he was doing, she just hadn’t wanted to bump into him when she popped downstairs to make lunch or a cup of tea.
She slipped on a jacket and went downstairs. It was a lot warmer outside then in, she discovered when she let herself out of the old mill house. She bared her face to the warmth of the sun and let out a deep breath. She felt better
already. Who was she fooling? She sighed deeply. She didn’t feel right at all and she knew why she hadn’t achieved much all day: her thoughts had wandered down too many leafy lanes of speculation with wretched Rupert Scott for a companion.
That kiss hadn’t been too surprising. He might have a lady in his life but she wasn’t here, and all men were the same: the first opportunity and they would try it on. Stuart and Alan would have known that, being men themselves. How clever they thought they had been, but she wasn’t feeling so clever. That kiss had shaken her for more than one reason. Last night Rupert Scott had convinced her they could handle the situation. Twelve hours later he obviously couldn’t, and she wondered about herself. If he hadn’t stopped, would she?
Funny, but his mouth hadn’t been mean when he had kissed her. It had turned her on. She shivered at the memory of it and turned back from the dirt-track lane she had been wandering aimlessly down and headed back to the mill house.
It was then that she saw him at his bedroom window. Tall, dark, powerfully built and very slightly sinister in the frame of the window. He was watching her. She lowered her violet eyes and carried on back to the house.
‘I’m going out tonight. I’ll be late. Will you be all right on your own?’
They met on the lower stairs, Verity going up to her room with a scalding mug of tea in her hands, and he coming down, dressed in jeans and a chunky dark green sweater. He was freshly shaved and his hair gleamed in some order and he smelt of cologne.
Verity stood back to let him pass. ‘I’d planned on being alone here for a month, don’t forget, and don’t feel obliged to tell me you’re going out for the night. You can manifest yourself into a werewolf and howl through the hills all night, for all I care.’ She hadn’t intended to sound quite so barbed, but nevertheless it had come out that way.
‘I wasn’t suggesting you did care, Verity,’ he said solemnly. ‘I just wanted to know if you’ll be all right on your own. The house is probably more isolated than you expected and—’
