Sweet Tempest

by Helen Bianchin

  Sweet Tempest

  By

  Helen Bianchin

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  "I need a mistress, a smokescreen."

  Jake smiled. "Care to volunteer?"

  "No, thanks," Stephanie said quickly.

  "My dear Stephanie, would it be so terrible? I'd make it worth your while."

  Anger sparked in her eyes. "How dare you!"

  "You're prepared to do it gratis?" He was laughing now, showing fine white teeth. "For love?"

  She had to get away, out of this room, away from his compelling presence. "I couldn't love you if you were the last man on earth," she spat. "And I won't act as your scapegoat, keeping your ex-wife at bay. Alana's your problem. You handle it—and her!"

  But even as she spoke she knew it was a lie. With a little persuasion he could make her do anything. Anything at all…

  Books by Helen Bianchin

  Harlequin Presents

  271—THE VINES IN SPLENDOUR

  289—STORMY POSSESSION

  409—DEVIL IN COMMAND

  415—EDGE OF SPRING

  457—THE SAVAGE TOUCH

  527—WILDFIRE ENCOUNTER

  720—SAVAGE PAGAN

  744—SWEET TEMPEST

  HARLEQUIN ROMANCES

  2010—BEWILDERED HAVEN

  2084—AVENGING ANGEL

  2175—THE HILLS OF HOME

  2378—THE MASTER OF ULURU

  Harlequin Presents first edition December 1984

  ISBN 0-373-10744-7

  Original hardcover edition published in 1984

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  Copyright © 1984 by Helen Bianchin.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bacchus Marsh in south-west Victoria was a pretty town, quiet for the most part, and close enough to Melbourne for its inhabitants to enjoy the pleasures of a large cosmopolitan metropolis with none of the disadvantages of city living.

  Stephanie completed the last of her errands, then crossed the street to her car. It was cold, not quite sub-zero temperatures, but snow capped the distant mountains and the skies were heavy with impending rain.

  Slipping in behind the wheel, she fired the engine, then eased the sleek blue Datsun 280ZX out into the stream of traffic. Huge droplets began to splatter the windscreen, and with a faint sigh she flicked on the wipers, adjusted the heating, then sent the car speeding west out of town.

  The prospect of the weekend ahead was pleasing, despite her having no specific plans in mind. For the past three years she had acted as receptionist and general dogsbody for her father's veterinary practice, and although there were occasions when she missed the bustling Sydney hospital where she had completed her nursing training, she held no regrets about her present lifestyle.

  Within minutes she reached the splendid stand of beech trees bordering their sprawling property and eased the car down, the long gravelled driveway.

  The house itself stood well back from the road, a rambling double-storied grey stone structure with multi-paned windows picked out in white. An adjoining clinic, surrounded by ample parking space, lay to the right, and she garaged her car, then caught up her bag and made her way towards reception.

  Slim and attractive, she looked much younger than her twenty-two years. Wavy ash-blonde hair tended to thicken into irrepressible curls unless checked, and its length cascaded on to her shoulders, providing a perfect foil for her delicately-moulded features. Possessing startling blue eyes that lightened or darkened with every mood change, she had a fascination that had been remarked upon by a veritable string of ardent males dating back to her first year in high school. By the time she joined the work-force her academic qualifications refuted a 'dizzy blonde' image, although the 'cute' label still remained, despite any effort to dispel it.

  'Where have you been?'

  Stephanie raised an enquiring eyebrow at the owner of that slightly harassed voice, and gave a deprecatory shrug as she slipped off her coat. 'I got delayed. Where's Dad?'

  'In his office, waiting for you,' Michael responded dryly, his grimace deepening at her faintly puzzled expression. 'Of all the days to take an extended lunch break!'

  In his late twenties, Michael had been her father's assistant for the past two years, and was someone with whom she shared an easy friendship.

  'There was the banking, mail to collect, more to post,' she defended, wrinkling her nose at him. 'A few other things to attend to—all part of the job. Why?' she queried lightly. 'There are no appointments scheduled until three o'clock.'

  'Patients—no,' he agreed, shooting her a wry glance. 'Your father, however, has been closeted with the owner of that impressive Lamborghini parked out front for almost an hour, and I've received no less than three directives to send you in the minute you arrive.'

  'An exalted visitor?' she hazarded, mildly curious.

  'God knows,' Michael dismissed. 'No ordinary mortal, for sure. It shows.'

  'You're scaring me,' she joked, slanting him a grin. 'In that case, I'd better report for duty!' Placing her bag down on to the floor beside her desk, she walked to the door marked Surgery, tapped its panels lightly, then reached for the knob.

  'Ah, there you are,' said Jim Matheson as she entered the room. There was no reproach in his voice, and she offered him a warm smile before letting her gaze drift casually to encompass the tall, dark-haired figure standing lazily at ease near the window.

  In his mid-thirties and ruggedly male, he possessed an arresting, raw virility that would quicken the beat of many a feminine heart, she perceived wryly. A moustache graced his upper lip, shaped and wholly masculine, drawing attention to the sensual curve of his mouth, and his clothes bore a casual yet expensive elegance that sheathed his powerful frame as if they had been tailor-made.

  'Jake, allow me to introduce my daughter. Stephanie—Jake Stanton.'

  'Stephanie,' he acknowledged, his voice a deep drawl, and dark brown eyes pierced hers before embarking on a swift analytical appraisal.

  All her fine body hairs rose in rapid instinctive self-defence, and she managed a polite response before turning towards her father.

  'You wanted to see me?'

  His smile became gentle, his eyes warming with enthusiasm as he laced his fingers together on the desk-top. 'Remember the Veterinary Conference and series of lectures to be held in the States this month?' he prompted, and she searched the recesses of her mind for some vague recollection, yet found none. 'I didn't think I could get away,' he continued, not at all disturbed by her failure to recall such an important event. 'By a stroke of good fortune I happened to mention it to a retired colleague of mine. Bart rang last night to say his son had recently returned from Canada and would be willing to act as locum. After discussing details with Jake, I suggested he take the opportunity to familiarise himself with the clinic and meet the two people he'll be working with.'

  The Conference obviously meant a great deal to him, and for his benefit Stephanie summoned as much enthusiasm as she could muster. 'How long will you be away?'

  'Almost a month. Jake has excellent qualifications.' He gave a slight laugh, then added, 'With more than sufficient experience to run things in my absence.'

  'When do you leave?'

  'Monday.' He paused, then cleared his throat. 'Jake will naturally occupy one of the guest rooms in the house, and I've arranged for Edith James to stay over.'

  That good lady had been their daily help for years, taking care of household chores and the preparation of their evening mea
ls. A widow, she was well known for her kindheartedness, and Stephanie breathed an inward sigh of relief. If first impressions amounted to anything, she'd need an adequate buffer against the cynical man destined to act as locum. Working with him would be bad enough—having him live in such close proximity was beginning to assume nightmarish proportion.

  'Jake will arrive on Sunday,' her father continued as she endeavoured to mask her thoughts. 'Shall we say in time for lunch?'

  'Of course,' Stephanie concurred evenly, her. voice carefully polite.

  'I'm quite used to simple fare,' Jake drawled, and gritting her teeth she summoned a slight smile.

  'I'm an adequate cook, Mr Stanton.' God, if she didn't escape soon, she'd say something reprehensible! 'If you'll excuse me? I'd better get back to reception.' She studiously swung her attention towards her father. 'Unless I'm mistaken, that's Mrs Woods' Bartholomew registering disapproval at being kept waiting!' Her exit was smoothly effected, but not before she caught the wry cynicism evident in Jake Stanton's expression.

  Damn, damn, damn, she cursed inconsequentially. Four whole weeks in that sardonic man's company. How on earth was she going to survive?

  There were three reluctant canine patients in the company of their owners awaiting attention, and Stephanie dealt with each of them in turn, extracting files and marking the appointment book accordingly before despatching a sweet-natured Labrador and her equally sweet owner into Michael for a routine injection. Bartholomew was something else, and she had little hesitation in alerting her father via the intercom that the highly-strung dog was fast becoming neurotic.

  She was aware of the moment Jake Stanton took his leave, and it didn't help that she was in a position where a dignified, even aloof, farewell was impossible. Perched high on the third step of a ladder in the midst of collecting a file for an incoming patient, and with no less than four people with four pets of varying description as interested bystanders, she could only afford him a polite farewell before going about her business as if his presence had had no effect on her at all.

  When the last patient for the day had been attended to, Stephanie put the cover over her typewriter, locked the outer door, then slipped into the surgery.

  'So—we're to have a new boss as from Monday,' Michael declared, shooting her one of his wolfish grins.

  'Only for a month,' she returned swiftly, and glimpsed his silent laughter.

  'Wow!' he derided softly. 'And our new locum gets to stay in the house, too. What will the boyfriend have to say about that, I wonder?'

  'Friend,' she corrected. 'Anyway, what can Ian object to? Mrs James will be there.'

  'Did you get a, look at him? Sweet mother in heaven, girl—he's dynamite!'

  'He is?' she arched deliberately. 'Funny, he doesn't grab me at all.'

  'Not yet, but what's the betting he will before the month is out?'

  'He won't stand a chance with Satan sleeping outside my bedroom door, and Mrs James occupying the room next to mine.' She shot him a cross look. 'Besides, there's Ian to consider.'

  He simulated a mocking leer. 'My dear, you could do so much better with almost anyone else. Even me. I like you an awful lot—I even respect and admire you. Certainly, I could lobe you without any effort at all. Yet you consistently refuse every invitation I extend. Why? is what I want to know. Is it something my best friends won't tell me about?'

  Stephanie picked up a near-by pencil and threw it at him. 'Wretch! You know perfectly well I like you.'

  His expressive features assumed wry humour. 'Sure—as a brother.'

  'Do me a favour,' she began slowly; letting her lashes veil her eyes.

  'Anything. Ask, and it shall be done.'

  'Fool! Seriously,' she admonished.

  'Okay—seriously'

  'Keep Jake Stanton off my back. He—irritates me.'

  'That's tantamount to an admission of sorts,' Michael pronounced wickedly. 'Perhaps I should move in temporarily and keep an eye on the both of you.'

  'One day,' she threatened mockingly, shaking her fist at him, 'I'm going to do you an injury!'

  'Promises, promises,' he grinned, unabashed, and she gave a prodigious sigh.

  'I'm off to the house. Dad will be back from the Edwards' farm in an hour. That will give me time to shower, finish off whatever preparations Mrs James has made for dinner, then afterwards I'm going to retire early to bed with a book.'

  'What a waste—when you could be out on the town with me.'

  'You're all talk, Michael,' she grinned. 'If perchance I took you up on any one of your many invitations, you'd backtrack so fast you'd fall over your own feet!'

  'Try me!'

  'Maybe I will—next week.'

  'Name a night.'

  She leant out a hand and gave him a friendly push. 'Oh, go home. I have more important things to do than stand here exchanging nonsensical banter with you!'

  'I'm deeply hurt.'

  Stephanie pulled a face at him, then turned and left the clinic by the side door. The outside air was fresh and cool, and she hurried towards the house, let herself into the kitchen, then crossed to the table to read the note Edith James had left propped up against the sugar bowl. A casserole reposed in the oven, vegetables were ready in their saucepans atop the stove, and there was an apple pie cooling in the pantry.

  Over dinner Jim Matheson was elated about his proposed trip, and Stephanie endeavoured to be enthusiastic for his benefit. If the truth be known, getting away would do him the world of good, for he hadn't had a break during the past three years. Together they sifted through numerous brochures, traced the various routes and stopovers, then by mutual consent viewed a television documentary until it was time to go to bed.

  The following day became a flurry of activity, with morning surgery proving even more demanding than usual, and no less than four emergency calls during the afternoon and early evening.

  Consequently when Ian called shortly after seven, Stephanie viewed their impending date with something less than enthusiasm. Of all things, it was a party, and any attempt to get him to leave early was thwarted by the obviously great time he was having. Rather wearily she bore with him until shortly after midnight, then sensing her obvious reluctance to stay longer, he allowed her to lead him out to the car. Her quiet insistence on taking the wheel was met with a philosophical shrug, and when she deposited him outside his home his clumsy attempt to kiss her was something less than desirable. All in all, it was a forgettable evening, and later in bed on the edge of sleep Jake Stanton's forceful image rose to taunt her. She saw his enigmatic, faintly sardonic smile, the cynical gleam in the depths of his eyes, and not for the first time she cursed the circumstances that were about to throw them together.

  Sunday dawned with dismal showers and the promise of more to come. Stephanie spent the hours before breakfast alternating whether to prepare an elaborate luncheon, or stick with something simple, like soup followed by steak and an assortment of vegetables, with stewed fruit and fresh cream to follow. In the end, she elected to roast a leg of pork with all the accompaniments, then serve a light evening meal.

  Around eleven o'clock she began to get tense and edgy, one ear straining for the sound of a car pulling to a halt in the driveway. It was crazy to feel this way over a relative stranger. He had shown no particular interest in her at all, and there was no reason to suppose the ensuing four weeks shouldn't go smoothly. Her father appeared impressed with Jake Stanton's ability, and had no qualms that he wouldn't be able to cope. As to the qualities of the man himself, it was doubtful he had even given them a thought. Jake's being the son of a friend and fellow colleague undoubtedly exonerated any misgivings.

  The temptation to invite Ian for lunch was great, but at the last moment she decided it might not be such a good idea. Her father would want to discuss the clinic, bring various aspects of it to his locum's attention, and Ian was not a lover of animals. It wasn't that he disliked them, simply admitted they held no appeal.

  Stephanie decided t
o serve lunch at one, and at twelve-thirty she crossed to the dining room and set the table, following her mother's tradition in utilising one of the fine damask cloths, the silver cutlery, and crystal goblets. It was something she liked to continue, for her father's sake, like ensuring that there were always fresh flowers in the lounge and the study, a supply of his favourite raspberry jam. After her mother's death, he had expressed the desire that everything should proceed exactly as before, and with Edith James' collaboration she saw that it did.

  At ten to one Stephanie put the plates to warm in the oven, removed her apron, then went upstairs to change. Deliberately understating her appearance, she selected a woollen skirt and topped it with a lambswool jumper of soft lilac. Make-up comprised a light dusting of powder and a touch of lipstick. Casting her hair a wry glance, she took up her brush and attempted to restore a measure of order to the mass of riotous curls, then she hurried quickly downstairs in search of her father. If Jake Stanton hadn't arrived, she could delay lunch by as much as half an hour. Beyond that, it would spoil.

  She found him in the study, engrossed in conversation with their guest, and she endeavoured not to show her surprise. It was feasible that any sound of the man's arrival had been masked by the very recent fall of rain, but it was irritating to think he'd been here in the house without her knowledge.

  'Ah, come in, my dear,' Jim Matheson beamed, his gesture expansive, and there was little else she could do but cross to his side.

  With considerable civility she let her gaze swing towards the man standing close by, and her smile was polite. 'I see you've arrived, Mr Stanton.'

  'An hour ago,' he informed her imperturbably, his slanting glance faintly cynical as it rested on her slightly flushed cheeks. 'Perhaps you won't find it too difficult to use my Christian name?' he added sardonically, and Jim Matheson glanced from one to the other, then let his eyes rest on his daughter's fair head.