Sweet Tempest

by Helen Bianchin

  'You're taking a hell of a risk,' she threw angrily. 'I could easily deny the whole thing in front of him.'

  Jake slanted her a wry glance. If you were going to deny it you would have done so last night.' His lips curved to form a cynical smile. 'Relax, Stephanie. It really won't hurt at all.'

  That's what you think, she felt like screaming out at him. I hurt all over, and it gets worse every day. I don't want to be involved with anything that brings me close to you—anything that will fracture the tenuous hold I have on my emotions.

  As he turned and walked towards the door it took considerable effort not to hurl something at his departing back!

  With a gesture of impatience she pushed her plate to one side, her appetite gone. The thought of spending the afternoon alone was infinitely depressing, and with determined resolve she cleared the table, told Mrs Anderson she would be at the clinic for most of the afternoon, then gathered up her coat.

  A week's absence had wrought little change, although it rankled considerably to see Maryanne sitting behind the reception desk coping with such admirable ease.

  'Stephanie, should you be back so soon?' Brown eyes widened with a show of concern. 'Jake said I could have tomorrow afternoon off so that you can get slowly back into the swing of things, but I didn't imagine you would come in today.'

  So it was Jake, was it? A hollow laugh died in her throat. What else did she expect? Jake wasn't the formal type, and Maryanne was anything but backward in taking her chances where she could!

  'I feel fine,' she said lightly, giving a faint smile.

  'Just experiencing the classic symptoms of an almost recuperated patient—boredom.' She gave a slight shrug. 'I thought I'd look in and see how you were coping, and maybe help with the files or answer the phone for an hour or two.'

  The other girl cast her a speculative glance beneath thick mascara-fringed lashes. 'Well, everything is up to date. Michael mentioned something about making up accounts ready to send out at the end of the week. Do you want to start on those?'

  Maryanne had certainly settled in well—almost too well, Stephanie thought wryly. 'Good idea.' She moved behind the desk, pulled out a chair and sat down, then reached for the appointment book.

  The phone rang, and she automatically moved to answer it, only to find Maryanne had picked up the receiver. The girl's manner was smoothly professional, yet pleasant, and Stephanie tried to dampen down a vague feeling of irritation. This was her domain, and she wondered why it bothered her to have anyone usurp it. Honesty forced her to admit that if her temporary replacement had been comfortably middle-aged, she wouldn't even give it a thought.

  'Hey, welcome back.'

  Stephanie glanced up and met Michael's warm grin, and reward him with one of her own.

  'You look pale and thin,' he perceived. 'And I doubt you should even be here.'

  'Thanks,' she responded wryly. 'Just what I need to give my confidence a boost!'

  'Seriously, we've all been concerned about you. Why risk a relapse?'

  'My thought entirely,' a deep voice drawled, and she glanced beyond his shoulder to see Jake regarding her with a dark inscrutable expression.

  'Anyone would think I'd been close to death's door!' she parried with an attempt at humour.

  Jake leaned forward and picked up a file. 'Simpkins' Bridget is next?' His glance rested on Maryanne, his eyes faintly enquiring.

  'Mrs Simpkins rang to say she'd be delayed,' the girl responded. 'I was about to bring the following file forward.' She handed it to him with a vivacious smile. 'Fortunately Mr Bradburn and Sheik arrived early.'

  The magnificent German Shepherd was worthy of his name, and one of Stephanie's favourite patients. As he drew close he paused at his master's heels and lifted his head so that she could lean forward and fondle his ears.

  'You re-scheduled those two appointments I mentioned?' Jake asked, and received Maryanne's affirmative.

  At three o'clock Stephanie made coffee and set out some biscuits. Jake and Michael would have theirs in between patients, and neither appeared to place any importance on its tepidity, or otherwise.

  By three-thirty the waiting room was empty, and Stephanie was about to question why when the door opened and a man and a woman walked in. Their reason for being there was obvious, and she cursed herself for not remembering. No, that wasn't strictly true. It was something she'd put at the back of her mind in the hope that it would stay there. Now it surfaced with a vengeance.

  The local newspaper, journalist and photographer, the interview they planned with Jake's permission—and supposedly hers.

  'The house, I think,' Jake indicated with an urbanity Stephanie resented, and, mindful of both Maryanne and Michael's curiosity, she simply followed his lead. Not difficult as he caught hold of her hand in a grip that made it impossible for her to break free.

  'Go with the flow', a tiny voice prompted inside her brain. Well, it sure as hell was the only way she was going to get through however long it took for the journalist to complete her interview.

  The photographer clicked away with apparent delight as Jake alternatively curved Stephanie close against him, and smiled tenderly into her eyes. All the time he offered information, answered questions, then when it all seemed too much, he very smoothly called a halt.

  Afterwards Stephanie could only admire his adroit professionalism, and she watched in a daze as they left, Jake showing them out and following them towards the clinic. Tomorrow it would be news, and she didn't care to contemplate the consequences.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Those next few days were something Stephanie never wanted to relive again.

  From early Tuesday morning the phone rang with repeated persistence, and she accepted the expressed congratulations with suitable aplomb, agreeing with a slightly hysterical attempt at humour that indeed she had been swept off her feet. A lot of the calls were genuine, but unfortunately there were a few that were not.

  One from Ian fell into the latter category, and she had just finished telling him what she thought of him when she received a call from Mrs Bryant. That too was hardly a pleasant experience.

  Michael managed a mournful, facade for all of an hour in an attempt to let her know he regarded her misplaced affections to be a defection of sorts, then he gave one of his inimitable grins and declared he was delighted.

  Maryanne looked piqued, but managed to overcome it whenever Jake emerged into the reception area.

  As for Mrs Anderson, she seemed overwhelmed by this latest turn of events, and vowed she'd seen it coming for days. Stephanie, and least of all Jake, didn't care to disillusion her.

  There was also the matter of an engagement ring. At Jake's insistence they drove to Melbourne Wednesday afternoon, and in one of the city's exclusive jewellery stores he requested that a number of quality rings be brought out for inspection.

  Stephanie was almost afraid to choose, and after she had deliberated for several minutes the manager, no doubt recognising a potential client of obvious means, excused himself on the pretext of retrieving a few items from the safe.

  'I don't want one at all,' she whispered fervently, and met Jake's sardonic amusement.

  'It's essential window-dressing,' he murmured, and she retaliated fiercely, 'So I have to grin and bear it!'

  'Something like that.'

  In the end it was Jake's selection that graced her slender finger. A magnificent diamond set in platinum and mounted on a slim gold band, it looked far too valuable to wear, and Stephanie said as much as they walked from the store.

  'It suits you,' he said with a careless shrug, and nothing she said succeeded in changing his mind.

  Friday morning over breakfast he dropped a verbal bombshell. At least, it certainly felt like one.

  'I'm taking you to meet my parents.' Just like that, with all the calmness of announcing a drive into town.

  'I beg your pardon?' Stephanie swallowed a mouthful of coffee, then carefully replaced her mug down on to the table.


  'Appropriate, don't you think? They're expecting us for the weekend.'

  'You've joking! At least, I hope you are,' she added quickly.

  'I'd like to leave as soon as the clinic closes,' Jake drawled, rising to his full height and negligently pushing in his chair. 'Make sure you pack something adequate for dining out. And suitable attire for Flemington. They're keen racegoers.'

  'I could take my entire wardrobe,' she offered with a flash of temper, and he reached out and tapped her nose.

  'Don't be facetious.'

  'Are you going to allow me the afternoon off to make myself beautiful? At a guess, I'm meant to impress.'

  'Why not the whole day?' Jake slanted, his eyes creasing with cynical amusement.

  'Thanks,' she said wryly. 'I needed that.'

  'You'll do fine as you are.'

  'You mean—no expensive session with the beautician? I'm disappointed.'

  His expression was impossible to discern, but his voice held laughter. 'I'm due at the clinic.'

  'How typical,' she sneered, shooting him a dark glance. 'Just for that, I will take the afternoon off.'

  'Maryanne will be there.'

  'In that case, why am I worrying?' she managed sweetly, and could have hit him for the low husky chuckle he gave as he left the room.

  'Is this, really necessary?' Stephanie demanded, standing in the hall with her overnight bag at her feet. She wasn't at all sure a weekend spent in Jake's company was wise. Even worse, spending it with his parents and having to maintain an affectionate front.

  'It's my weekend off,' Jake reminded her smoothly. 'What more natural than to take my new fiancée home to meet my parents?' His dark glance skimmed over her slight frame, then settled with brooding appraisal on her finely-etched features. 'Besides, it will do you good to get away.'

  'Great,' she retorted with a trace of truculence. 'At least the effects of turning my life upside down haven't escaped you.'

  His eyes became faintly hooded.- 'I was thinking more in terms of your health.'

  'My goodness, don't tell me you want to make amends?'

  He reached out and trailed his fingers down her cheek, then tilted her chin. 'Don't be sarcastic.' He gave a half-smile, and she endeavoured to resist its melting effect. 'My mother will love you,' he promised softly.

  'Hooray,' she mocked,, sending him a wry glance. 'After the flak I've been receiving the past few days, any warmth will be a welcome change.'

  'Hmm,' he drawled. 'Perhaps I should do something about that.'

  As his hands settled on her waist she pulled backed in alarm. 'Don't,' she said involuntarily, her eyes widening as his head lowered down to hers.

  'Shut up,' Jake murmured gently scant seconds before his lips began a teasing evocative trail over the delicate bones of her face.

  His touch sent the blood pulsing through her veins like quicksilver, making her bones fluid and infinitely malleable so that she swayed towards him, her body traitorous and totally at odds with the dictates of her brain.

  Of their own volition her hands wound slowly up to clasp themselves behind his head, and there was no power on earth to stop the way her mouth parted beneath his, inviting its possession like a flower to the morning sun.

  His slow sensual exploration did strange things to her equilibrium, and she was barely conscious of the inaudible moan that rose in her throat, a silent plea for him to go on without thought to where it might lead. The slow ache that had begun in the region of her stomach increased until it became an agonising pain demanding release—the release only his body could give, and the knowledge had an alarming effect, stilling her response as she tried to pull free.

  'What's wrong?' Jake demanded huskily, and she could only look at him, seeing the deep slumbrous passion evident in those dark, eyes so close to her own.

  'This is,' Stephanie whispered shakily, and felt rather than saw his slight smile.

  'What could be wrong about something that feels so right?'

  His faint cynicism acted like a douche of cold water. 'You don't give a damn, do you?'

  'Because I react like any red-blooded male with a warm giving woman in my arms?' There was tension evident, and with it a certain hardness that made her want to cry.

  'Go to hell, Jake,' she condemned hollowly.

  'I've trodden that path—all the way there, and back. I don't aim to repeat the experience.'

  'Then leave me alone!' Her voice was raw with painful emotion, and his gaze narrowed.

  'Don't get involved, Stephanie,' he warned. 'I can't promise I'll live up to your expectations.'

  'Involved!' she exploded. 'Expectations! What do you take me for? A naive love-struck fool? My God, you must possess a giant-size ego!' Her eyes flashed with barely controlled anger. 'I know exactly what you are, Jake Stanton. An analytical calculating bastard who'll use anyone to further his own ends!'

  'Have you finished?'

  'Yes!' she fairly screamed at him, hating herself for resorting to childish temper.

  'Then let's go.'

  'I'm not going anywhere with you!'

  'You are,' he declared pitilessly. 'Even if I have to pick you up and carry you.'

  'Try it!'

  He regarded her silently for timeless seconds, taking in her stormy features, the defiance, then without a word he lifted her over one shoulder, bent to collect the straps of both overnight bags into one hand, and opened the front door with the other.

  'Put me down, you—you fiend!' Stephanie hissed as with careless agility he hooked a foot round the door and brought it closed behind him. It was just as well it was dark. Heaven knew what anyone witnessing the scene would think, she considered, struggling wildly as he moved towards the car.

  With an ease that was galling he unlocked the passenger door and tossed in their bags, then placed her recalcitrant form on to the seat and leaned over to fasten the safety-belt.

  Even as she tried to undo it, he smiled, and in the projected light from the small interior pilot, it had a chilling effect.

  'Escape is impossible,' he told her ruthlessly. 'I've engaged the door's self-locking device.' With that he slammed the door, and she watched him stride round to slip in behind the wheel.

  'I hate you!' It was said with deadly vehemence, and earned a wry slanting glance.

  'At the moment, I imagine you do.' The engine sprang to life from a deft twist of his wrist, then purred as he sent the vehicle down the driveway with swift competence.

  They reached the outskirts of Melbourne in a relatively short space of time. Stephanie kept her attention steadfastly on the passing scenery, the delicate tracery of street lights as they stretched into the distance, and listened to the tape Jake had inserted into the cassette-deck, likening the forceful tones of various classical masters to the man himself.

  The intensity of her dislike was such that it precluded any thoughts as to his parents, the weekend ahead, and it was only when the powerful Lamborghini had negotiated the inner city and was heading in an easterly direction that she identified with her surroundings.

  Kew was a gracious suburb, its homes providing a pleasant blend of old and new by vying with modern town houses and apartment blocks. It was into the underground car park of one of the latter that Jake eased the vehicle, bringing it to a halt in a numbered space alongside a superior Rolls-Royce.

  A key-operated elevator took them high to a penthouse suite, and within seconds an intricately-carved door was flung open to reveal an elegantly attired woman whose features were alive with pleasure.

  'Jake, it's so good to see you!' She gave him an affectionate hug, then stood back a pace to regard Stephanie with uncontrived warmth. 'Stephanie. You're every bit as beautiful as Jake described you. Do come in.'

  Beautiful? She sent Jake a quick glance, then offered his mother a faint smile. 'It's very kind of you to invite me.'

  'Nonsense, my dear. We're delighted to have you.'

  Now that she was actually here, the enormity of what she was undertaking beg
an to have its effect.

  Jake's hand pressed into her waist, to all intents an outward gesture of devoted attention, but his fingers held a steely strength as if daring her to misbehave.

  'Dinner will be in half an hour,' Mrs Stanton declared, leading the way into a luxuriously furnished lounge. 'Bart is on the phone—it rang only seconds before you came—but hell join us in a few minutes, then we'll have a drink and get to know one another better.' She glanced up at her son. I've put you both in the guest wing.'

  'I'll get rid of these,' Jake indicated the bags, and his mother gave an approving nod.

  'Do that, darling. When you come back you can pour us a drink.' As if to set Stephanie's mind at rest, she explained, 'We enjoy a constant flow of visiting relatives and friends. The guest wing is quite private, and has spectacular views. I'm sure you'll like it.'

  Whatever happened to old-fashioned convention? Stephanie contemplated with abstracted confusion as Mrs Stanton's implication sank in. God forbid she should share a room with Jake, let alone a bed! The thought was enough to send her into a state of near hysteria which Jake's return to the lounge did little to lessen.

  Perhaps it was as well that Bart Stanton entered the room simultaneously with his son, and the ensuing introduction coupled with an adroit flow of conversation and the bolstering effect of very good sherry provided a necessary diversion.

  Dinner was served at eight and comprised four courses, each a superb complement to a very well planned whole, and Stephanie's compliment was genuine, even if she failed to do complete justice to the meal.

  'My dear, don't feel you must apologise,' Rebecca Stanton dismissed kindly. 'Jake has already told us you've been ill, and I've no doubt your appetite will return before long.'

  She was so nice, it was almost more than Stephanie could bear, and in Bart Stanton she saw exactly the man Jake would be in thirty years' time. Mellowed, but still retaining an excellent physique; possessing a quiet strength that would prove invaluable to the woman in his life, and in Bart there was none of the cynicism so clearly evident in his son.