Sweet Tempest

by Helen Bianchin

  A quick sideways glance was sufficient to identify the gleaming silver metal, and for one crazy moment she didn't know whether to be apprehensive or grateful.

  The driver's door slammed, and scant seconds later hard hands bruised her arms, then without any more ado she was hauled bodily sideways and thrust into the car's interior.

  'Make one move to get out, and I'll thrash you within an inch of your life!' Jake growled the instant before he slammed the passenger door, then he crossed round and slid in behind the wheel to send the car forward with a burst of speed.

  The water from my clothes will damage your upholstery,' Stephanie said through chattering teeth. She was so cold she began to shake with it, and all the anger and abuse she longed to hurl at him remained unsaid. An unbidden voice taunted any attempt in her present state would be nothing short of ludicrous!

  His choice of epithets was explosive. To hell with the upholstery,' he snapped savagely, sparing her a rapid scrutiny. What he saw made him swear, and she closed her eyes against such suppressed violence, willing the powerful car to transport them home as quickly as possible.

  It did, and in no time at all she was being bundled indoors like a recalcitrant waif, much to her indignation.

  'Do you have to be so—brutally bossy?' she flung resentfully, hating his easy strength, the sheer masculinity he exuded.

  'Get those wet clothes off,' Jake instructed in a tone that was nothing less than a command, and she cast him an angry glare.

  'I fully intend to,' she returned waspishly, peeling off her drenched coat. Her hands shook, and with an impatient gesture he helped her tug her arms free. 'I can manage,' she bit out, hating him afresh.

  His eyes raked her mercilessly. 'You stupid little fool,' he grated harshly. 'You'll be lucky if you get away with just a cold—let alone anything else. Now get upstairs and into a hot bath. I'll fix you a Stiff brandy.'

  'I won't drink it, I hate the stuff.'

  A menacing glint leapt into his dark eyes. 'If you don't do as you're told now,, I'll make myself responsible for ensuring that you do.'

  'You wouldn't dare!'

  'Try me.'

  Capitulation was obviously the only course she could take. The consequences of defying him didn't bear thinking about, she decided shakily as she turned and made her way upstairs. He was too much—too arrogant, too self-assured, and far too ruggedly handsome for his own good.

  Upstairs she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, then dispensed with her clothes. She was soaked to the skin and each individual garment clung, making it difficult to undress.

  The hot needlespray was a welcome relief, and she shampooed her hair, luxuriating in the steamy warmth as her limbs slowly lost their frozen numbness, gradually returning to life, and after an age she reluctantly closed the taps. A large fluffy towel took care of the excess moisture from her body, and, dry, she wrapped it round her hair and donned her pyjamas and dressing-gown. It was too late to bother putting oh clothes, she decided wryly as she plugged in her electric hair dryer.

  Within minutes the wet straggly length of her hair was restored to dry curling softness, and she surveyed her features in the mirror, deciding that she looked none the worse for her ordeal—-if one could call a two-kilometre walk in pouring rain an ordeal.

  Her discarded clothes lay in a sodden heap in the bathtub, and she elected to leave them there until morning. The thought of squeezing them out and carrying them downstairs to the laundry didn't appeal. At the moment all she wanted to do was fall into bed.

  Crossing the hall to her room, she came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Jake standing lazily at ease just inside the doorway.

  'What are you doing here?'

  He lifted the tumbler he held in his hand. To ensure you drink this.'

  Her eyes met his with a touch of defiance. 'I told you I didn't want anything. If you remember, the last time I drank some it made me ill.'

  A muscle tensed along his jaw. That was because you were foolish enough to take tablets at the same time.'

  She moved forward, stepping round him in order to reach her dressing-table where she picked up a brush and tugged it through her hair, then she turned to face him. 'If you'll kindly leave? I want to get into bed.'

  His gaze was remarkably level. 'Trust me, Stephanie, and drink it, hmm?'

  That was the living end. 'Trust you?' Her eyes flashed with opalescent blue fire. 'Why the hell should I?' Her breasts heaved with the force of her pent-up anger. 'Everything you do has an ulterior motive. Not only have you deliberately suggested there's something between us in an attempt to shake off your wife—your ex-wife's attentions—as if that wasn't bad enough, tonight you arranged to see her and dragged me along as an unwilling and totally ignorant decoy!' A sudden bout of the shivers shook her slight frame, followed by a horrendous trio of sneezes which she found difficult to cope with and still project the right degree of indignant anger.

  'In the name of heaven—get into bed!' Jake growled emotively, and when she made no move to obey him he placed the glass down on a near-by pedestal.

  'What are you doing?' Stephanie demanded, her eyes widening as he came towards her, and she took a backwards step as he reached for the ties that belted her dressing-gown. Firm fingers quickly dispensed with the knot before she had a chance to desist, and in a battle of force there could be only one victor.

  'As I thought,' he drawled with a slight smile. 'Pretty pink, but hardly the latest fashion in alluring nightwear.'

  'What did you expect?' she retaliated with swift fury. 'Sheer nylon and lace?'

  He gave a deep sigh that behoved great patience. 'Will you get in beneath those covers, or must I put you there?'

  'You damned well would, wouldn't you?' she retorted resentfully, giving in with obvious reluctance. The bed was deliriously warm, and she realised he must have switched on the electric blanket while she was beneath the shower.

  'Now, the brandy,' Jake insisted, reaching for the glass.

  'And if I refuse, I suppose you'll hold my nose and pour it down my throat.' It wasn't a question, merely a statement of intent which he admitted with damning urbanity. 'I think I hate you,' she muttered hollowly. 'In fact, I'm sure I do.'

  'Don't let it bother you,' Jake said smoothly, holding the glass to her mouth.

  Stephanie cast him a venomous glare the instant the raw spirit hit her lips. Undiluted and warm, the liquid stung in her throat, then slid smoothly down to her stomach. One sip was enough, and she pursed her lips against any more.

  'Be a good girl, hmm?' he coaxed, but when she remained resolute he drawled. softly, 'I intend staying here until you drink it, even if it takes all night.'

  'So I have to choose between the lesser of two evils,' she flipped incautiously, and saw. his eyes narrow and darken.

  'You're hardly in a position to bargain.' His voice was inflexible and vaguely menacing, almost as if he had come to the end of his tether.

  'Oh, for heaven's sake,' she muttered wretchedly, reaching for the glass. 'I'm in no mood for male domination.' Her fingers came into contact with his, and she retreated as if from an electrical charge. 'Give me the glass, damn you, and I'll drink the blasted stuff.'

  'You won't fling the contents in my face, or worse, tip them on to the floor?' he taunted, retaining the glass firmly against her lips.

  With that she simply leant slightly forward and took the liquid in one long swallow without thought to its effect. 'Satisfied?' she demanded trenchantly, hating him anew. 'Now, get the hell out of my bedroom!'

  Satan, who had been lolling head between paws just inside the door, became instantly alert, his head high, ears pricked at the slight note of hysteria in his mistress's voice.

  'I didn't intend to stay,' Jake told her with veiled mockery, and she missed the clinical assessment in his gaze as he stood upright and moved away from the bed.

  Stephanie closed her eyes, then tried and failed to summon any further resentment. She seemed to be slowly floating towa
rds merciful oblivion, deliciously warm both inside and out. Tomorrow, she decided drowsily, would be time enough for recriminations—right at this moment she didn't care to be bothered with anything.

  CHAPTER SIX

  There was a note propped up against her bedside clock, making it the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes next morning.

  Stay where you are. Have taken care of 'home' animals. Mrs Anderson will bring you breakfast in bed.

  Indignation replaced curiosity as Stephanie read the vibrant scrawl, and it was only as she replaced the note on to the pedestal that she became fully aware of a series of aches and pains racking her recumbent form. Even her arm seemed strangely heavy as she slid it back beneath the bedcovers.

  Stay in bed, indeed! she thought resentfully. How could she? As if she would, anyway!

  The way she was feeling was doubtlessly related to the quantity of brandy she had had last night. A wry grimace twisted her lips as she reached for the covers and tossed them aside. This terrible weightiness of limb and brain had to be a hangover. Inevitably she would feel better on her feet—better even when she'd eaten.

  After the initial few minutes she had to concede the former to be incorrect, for even dressed and having completed her toilette she experienced no improvement, and if anything felt worse. Her head seemed to be filled with cottonwool, slowing the motor responses from her brain, so that every movement she made appeared to be in slow motion.

  A sudden shiver made her seek an additional cardigan to put on over her uniform, then she made her way downstairs to find Mrs Anderson putting the finishing touches to a breakfast tray in the kitchen.

  'My dear, I was about to bring this up to you.'

  Quite clearly the good lady was astonished, and Stephanie cursed Jake afresh.

  'As you can see, I'm fine,' she began lightly, meeting the older woman's gaze with equanimity.

  'You look rather pale. Are you sure you feel all right?'

  'A bit headachey, but nothing a few Paracetamol won't cure.' She sat down at the table and summoned enthusiasm for the appetising meal placed before her. Normally she would have done justice to the plate of steaming porridge, toast and coffee, whereas now she could only manage a few token mouthfuls before replacing the spoon. The coffee quenched her thirst, and she refilled the cup and drank it before realising that it was almost nine-thirty and she was an hour late for the clinic.

  Quickly she rose to her feet and left the house, going into the waiting room seconds later to find Michael attending to reception, three canine patients awaiting attention, and no sign of Jake.

  'What brings you here?' Michael quizzed almost beneath his breath. 'I was told you were ill in bed.'

  'Well, I'm not,' she disclaimed shortly, pulling the appointment book towards her. 'Are these files in order?'

  'They are. I've just made a two o'clock appointment for the Goodsons' Benji—routine shots.' He frowned slightly, then suddenly grinned. 'Oh yes, our favourite and most regular pooch Bartholomew is being presented for inspection at ten.' He shot her a swift encompassing glance. 'Are you sure you're okay?'

  'Such concern over a tiny head cold,' she mocked, pulling the portable typewriter towards her and rolling paper through the platen. 'If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to make me feel redundant.'

  'I'm going,' murmured Mike, sloping her a cheeky grin, and she was saved from further comment by the insistent peal of the telephone.

  Somehow she managed to get through the day, although by the end of it she was hardly able to speak and she felt as if she was burning up with a fever.

  Jake, upon casting her a brief hard glance when he became aware of her presence in the clinic, held back whatever he had in mind by way of remonstrance until late afternoon when the last patient exited with its owner.

  'Get the hell out of here,' he said tersely, then speared Michael with a brooding glare. 'Get on to an agency and find a replacement receptionist for what remains of the week, and tentatively part of next.'

  'You can't do that,' Stephanie protested, then to Her total chagrin fell into a coughing spasm that left her far more weakened than she imagined possible.

  'I just did,' he asserted with unnecessary force. 'One more word out of you and I'll have your hide, understand?'

  Michael's expression was comical, then assumed shrewd speculation as he glanced swiftly from one to the other before crossing to the desk.

  'After you've made that call,' Jake instructed brusquely, 'make another to her doctor. Request a house-call, but if that's not possible, tell the receptionist I'll bring her to the surgery now.' He cast her a brief encompassing appraisal. 'If necessary, I'll speak with him myself.'

  'Hey, who do you think you are, giving orders as if I have no say in the matter?' she spluttered indignantly.

  'You don't,' Jake returned succinctly, and she glared at him, aware of Michael's voice in the background as he spoke on the phone.

  'You're nothing but a damnable tyrant,' she choked, trying to inject a degree of vehemence into her voice and failing miserably- Her vocal chords seemed to have lost all their former power, and attempting forceful speech only resulted in a mortifying whisper that totally lacked conviction.

  The only response she received was a wry scrutiny that served to incense, her further, and she longed to hurl something at his hatefully arrogant head!

  'All dealt with,' Michael announced with satisfaction. 'Doctor Reynolds has another call to make in the area, and should be here around six-thirty. The agency have a number of temporary receptionists on their books, and guarantee one of their girls will report for work tomorrow morning.'

  So much for imagining she was indispensable!

  'I'll push off,' Michael continued, glancing at Jake for verification. 'Unless you want me to stay?'

  'No,' Jake said briefly, and when the younger man had left he let his glance skim over Stephanie's slim form. 'For God's sake go home and get into bed. And don't,' he warned softly, 'so much as open your mouth to refuse.'

  She longed to give vent to her anger, but she didn't possess the energy to do anything but temporarily concede defeat.

  Once inside the house she made her way wearily upstairs, collected clean pyjamas and took a leisurely shower, then turned back the covers and slid into bed.

  She must have dozed off, for it seemed only minutes later when Jake walked into her room, and she merely glared at him.

  'Soup,' he indicated, placing the tray down on to the pedestal. 'Sit up and have it. The doctor should be here soon.'

  She tried to voice a scathing retort, but no sound emerged from her lips, and she could only direct him a baleful look.

  He, damn him, simply stood there and waited until she'd spooned the last drop, then took the tray and left.

  Dr Reynolds arrived shortly afterwards, conducted a thorough examination, added a homily on the inadvisability of walking without adequate protection in the cold winter's rain, then filled two pages of his prescription pad.

  'I'll hand these to Mr Stanton to have filled,' he declared, standing to his feet, then replacing everything back into his bag, he snapped it shut, then spared her a kindly look from beneath drawn grey brows. 'Plenty of fluids, take all your medication, and for the next few days, stay where you are.'

  Stephanie wanted to be indignant, to say she only needed a good night's rest, and with the aid of antibiotics could easily return to work—if not tomorrow, then the day after. Except that a dreadful lethargy seemed to have taken control, making her feel totally enervated, and she simply sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

  A hand shaking her shoulder forced a reluctant response, and she let her eyelids sweep slowly upwards. She wanted to tell whoever it was to go away and leave her alone, except that her tormentor was flagrantly persistent, insisting on wakefulness as she was bodily lifted into a sitting position.

  Jake's face swam into view within the incandescent glow projected by the bedside lamp, and she wasn't capable of off
ering resistance as he pressed a succession of tablets, one by one, into her mouth aided by an alternating sip of water.

  Events over the next twenty-four hours retained a haziness in which some things penetrated and others remained beyond recollection. She remembered someone changing fever-soaked pyjamas for fresh ones, being bundled into blankets while sheets were renewed; and, it seemed fluids were being forced between her lips with too frequent regularity.

  When next she woke it was night, and although she felt weak, the listless weightiness of her limbs had gone. The strange woolliness in her head seemed to have disappeared too, and feeling dreadfully thirsty she reached out a hand to switch on the bedside lamp.

  There was a pitcher of diluted fruit juice as well as water, and she took a glass and carefully poured in some juice. Its taste was sharp and refreshing, satisfactorily slaking her thirst, and she was about halfway through sipping the contents when she let her eyes rove slowly round the room.

  All of a sudden she froze, unable to comprehend for an instant that the spare bed just five feet distant was occupied. Not only that, she discovered with mounting consternation, but the dark watchful gaze observing her every move belonged to none other than Jake himself.

  'What are you doing here?' The words slipped out unbidden, and she watched with mesmerised fascination as he levered his powerful frame into a sitting position. His chest was bare, and the thought rose hysterically to mind that he probably wore little else but briefs beneath the covers.

  'You've regained your voice.'

  Surprise registered momentarily, to be quickly replaced by a surge of indignant anger. 'Why are you sleeping in my room?'

  'Purely out of necessity,' he drawled. 'I can hardly keep an eye on you from the other end of the house, and suffering temporary laryngitis there was no way I would have been able to hear you.'

  'Why should you want to?'

  His mouth sloped to form a wry smile. 'My dear Stephanie,' he informed her tolerantly, 'you've been in the grip of a raging fever for the past two days. If you hadn't come out of it by morning, the good Doctor Reynolds was going to put you in hospital. We've all been most concerned.'