Passionate Protectors?

by Anne Mather

  Nothing had dented his reputation as a serious artist more effectively than the effect of her presence when he’d been artist in residence at Chelsea. He had laughed easily and readily, no one more surprised than him when he transcended the melancholy that had sometimes dogged him, simply giving himself up to the natural pleasure of enjoying a joke with his students.

  Christa just oozed a joy for life, so much so that a person couldn’t fail to be uplifted after spending time in her company. Apart from the fact that in Kyle’s opinion Megan was in desperate need of a holiday, he knew meeting Christa would be a tonic for her in itself—for both of them.

  Glancing round him, he took in the cosy hotchpotch of chintzy mismatched furniture dotted around, a smile pulling irrepressibly at the corner of his lips. The big old-fashioned armchairs, with their overstuffed cushions and mahogany arms; the cosy love seat at the window, upholstered in a rich pink velvet; a plethora of antique lamps with tapestried shades and silk fringes; and—oh, boy. He couldn’t fail to notice the veritable gallery of Victorian art on the heavily floral wallpapered walls, suitably hung in fading gold leaf frames that were ever so slightly crooked. He almost felt as if he’d walked onto the set of a Sherlock Holmes film.

  ‘I can hardly believe you’re here! It’s such a shame that Justin’s away on business, because he would have loved to see you again, but never mind. I’m going to make sure you enjoy the best hospitality I can muster or die in the attempt!’

  Christa restrained herself from a further hug to note that his dark hair was longer than when she’d last seen him—suitably unstyled, as was his trademark, but nonetheless gleaming fiercely with flecks of burnished copper beneath the twinkling lights of her beloved crystal chandelier. The man was sexier than ever, with those indescribably wanton tawny gold eyes of his and bone structure to die for. No wonder his classes had been so popular.

  In spite of her best efforts, Christa had never been able to progress further than friendship with Kyle. He just hadn’t been interested in her that way—no matter how much she could make him laugh. But things had turned out for the best in the long run, because after Kyle had gone to Greece she’d met Justin. He might have been twenty years older and at least a couple of stone heavier than the younger man, but Christa had fallen deeply in love, moving with her new husband to the west of England to set up home and business in Lyme Regis. It was an area famed for its fossil beaches, and Christa had genuinely grown to love it.

  Now, as her blue eyes flicked happily over Kyle, she told herself it was about time her former colleague and friend—a man who had made such a name for himself in the art world—had finally relented and come to pay her a visit.

  ‘Megan.’ Kyle turned swiftly from his contemplation of Christa, irked that he hadn’t yet introduced the reason he had come. But the shapely brunette in the dark brown suede jacket, black ribbed sweater and dark blue jeans was peering closely at one of Christa’s Victoriana paintings just inside the door, her dark gaze clearly intrigued by whatever she saw there.

  She turned her head as he said her name, faint colour highlighting her pretty complexion as her soft brown gaze bounced from Kyle to Christa.

  ‘Megan, this is Christa MacKenzie. Along with her husband Justin she’s the proprietor of the Lady Rose Hotel.’

  It was the apple-cheeked blonde from the painting in Kyle’s bathroom; Megan was certain. The lady had grown even more comely since she’d posed for the picture, and was no less lovely for the more generous curves she’d since acquired. Smiling tentatively, because a hot bolt of jealousy had jack-knifed through her, taking her by surprise, Megan registered the shock of scarlet-red lips and nails—not to mention the revealing siren-red blouse with its explosion of frills down the front, teamed with a silky black satin skirt that swished round her ankles and red stiletto heels that made Megan’s feet ache just looking at them. It was clear that Christa MacKenzie liked to make an impact—with bells on. And there was a strong possibility she was Kyle’s ex-lover…

  ‘Megan.’ She was holding out her hand, advancing on the startled brunette in a noisy perfumed jangle of bangles and beads. ‘I’m sorry, love, but Kyle’s barely told me anything about you. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. I know that he guards his privacy fiercely, but you must be his best-kept secret! Anyway, the fact that he’s brought you with him says more than a thousand words. Believe me.’

  Megan’s hand was enthusiastically enfolded by the other woman’s more fleshy palm, then in the next instant she found herself clutched to her ample bosom as though she were a long-lost friend. Over Christa’s shoulder she saw Kyle grinning, and, finding herself unexpectedly and suddenly at ease, she grinned foolishly back.

  She’d done her best to resist, practically arguing herself into a standstill, but in the end Kyle had fairly easily persuaded her to join him for a break at the quintessentially English Lady Rose. Now she was absurdly glad he had—even though she had to contend with the fact that he might have had a much more intimate relationship with Christa than he was letting on.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you, Christa.’

  ‘And you, too. You’re very welcome at my little hotel.’ As the blonde released Megan her avid blue gaze swept with unreserved interest over the younger woman. Kyle had been typically tight-lipped about the ‘friend’ he was bringing with him, but Christa had intuitively expected someone pretty special. There had been plenty of gorgeous fresh-faced girls on the college campus, but as far as Christa knew Kyle hadn’t dated any of them. In her book, the odd one-night stand didn’t count. The man had needs, just like everyone else, but actually dating someone was infinitely more meaningful. And the girl in front of her had ‘meaningful’ practically stamped across her forehead.

  In her exotic brown eyes there was a dreamy look that even the most cynical male would surely find impossible to resist. Apart from that look of guarded vulnerability, the woman was without doubt stunning, from the top of her glossy black hair to the tips of her small elegant feet in her brown kid leather boots. A girl with looks like that wouldn’t have to resort to flashy or expensive clothes to get a man’s attention. A girl like Megan just had to smile and the men would run howling round the block—beating their chests to boot! And, if Christa wasn’t mistaken, she had a shape on her that no amount of dieting or working out would give Christa a hope in hell of replicating.

  Still, to be fair, the woman must possess a whole lot more than eye-catching good looks to keep a man like Kyle Hytner interested for long. The man had an innate appreciation for the beauty of the female form, but he wasn’t shallow. Christa knew he was equally appreciative of less physical attributes.

  ‘I expect you’d both like to freshen up and unwind before dinner? I’ll get Simon, my young porter, to take your bags up to your room. In the meantime I’ll send you up some tea and biscuits. How does that sound?’

  The blonde spun round on her impossibly high heels to beam at Kyle, mentally ticking off a list of possible guests whom she would ask to join them at a special dinner she was planning for the following evening. It wasn’t every day they had a world-renowned artist in their midst and, while Christa wouldn’t dream of actually exploiting Kyle’s celebrity in any way, she wasn’t exactly averse to making the most of it.

  ‘That sounds good. Megan must be tired after the long drive—she was working this morning, before we made our way down here. Tea is just what the doctor ordered.’

  He might have been reading her mind, Megan thought wistfully as his tawny gaze settled with concern on her face. She’d slept for most of the journey—a combination of sheer mental exhaustion from the events of the past few days and the sleek, seductive comfort of Kyle’s luxurious Mercedes. The drive had been so smooth she’d burrowed herself deep into the cream leather upholstery and drifted off with practically no bother at all. That in itself had been a miracle. She rarely if ever fell asleep so easily, but then it wasn’t every day that she walked out on her job without so much as a backward glance.


  Leaving her suitcase next to Kyle’s leather holdall, Megan clutched her voluminous brown leather shoulder bag to her chest, then followed Kyle and Christa up the winding wooden staircase, with its red and gold Turkish-style carpeting, to the floor above. As she took her time negotiating the stairs behind them, her hungry gaze couldn’t help but linger on every single painting that lined the walls on the way.

  ‘Let’s go look at the sea.’

  Megan stopped brushing her hair, glancing up in surprise as Kyle came out of the bathroom. He’d taken a shower and all he was wearing were black silk boxers and a smile. Megan’s gaze was fixated on the deeply tanned muscles of his biceps and chest, and the way it tapered down to his flat lean stomach. Beyond that she dared not go. The room was hot enough as it was.

  Kyle stared back at her, his dark chestnut hair sleek with moisture, his hard jaw dark with five o’clock shadow, an unreadable glint behind his riveting hazel eyes that made Megan long to know exactly what he was thinking.

  ‘Before we do anything else we need to talk,’ she told him, glancing quickly away from the sardonic little quirk at the corner of his mouth that told her exactly what he thought about that.

  Leaning back against the doorframe, a white towel draped round his toned glistening shoulders, he shot her a look of amused resignation.

  ‘I think women must learn that line before they come out of the womb.’

  His gaze pinned her to the beautiful hand-crafted walnut bed where she sat—virginal white linen beneath her jean-clad legs, long hair like a jet waterfall cascading over her shoulders—challenging her to look away. As the air grew thicker between them, Megan’s heart thudded in response.

  ‘Even—even so.’ She cleared her throat in a bid to shore up her flagging courage, because she got the distinct impression that he was going to be even less forthcoming than she’d hoped. ‘I wanted to talk to you about that offer you made earlier…’

  ‘Oh?’ One dark eyebrow shot deliberately up to his hairline. ‘And which offer might that be?’

  Megan blushed furiously at the innuendo, wishing those lascivious sexy looks of his didn’t reduce her brain to mush every time he trained them on her. ‘The one you mentioned on the phone, when I was at work. About—about using your studio to work in, about maybe you giving me some tutoring.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Feigning disappointment, he dropped down casually beside her, his cologne and the clean sharp smell of soap and man playing havoc with her senses, making her fervently wish she had waited until he at least had some clothes on before instigating a discussion.

  ‘Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?’ Megan’s mouth went dry at the thought that maybe she’d got it all wrong, then she silently cursed herself for always waiting for the other shoe to drop—automatically expecting that things wouldn’t turn out as she hoped. If she really was going to change her life, then that kind of negative thinking had to change, too.

  ‘Stop putting words into my mouth,’ he scolded, looking faintly disgruntled. ‘Of course the offer still stands. As soon as we get back to London you’re moving in with me. There’s no excuse not to now.’

  No excuse? Megan’s stomach flipped. It was hardly any way to ask her, was it? In fact he hadn’t even really asked her at all if she’d like to move in; he’d more or less just told her. Something in her balked at that. She’d had nine years of living with a man who’d told her what to do every day; she was damn sure she wasn’t going to repeat that with Kyle—no matter how deeply she cared for him.

  Entwining a silky strand of hair round and round her finger, she pulled it tight, then dragged it loose again. ‘I don’t—I don’t think it’s necessary for me to move in with you. I’m not far away…there’d be no need.’

  His features tightening at every tremulous word she uttered, Kyle glared.

  ‘Not necessary for you to move in? What are we talking about, here, Megan? A cold-blooded business arrangement? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I was under the distinct impression that we had a lot more going for us than that!’

  ‘Do we?’ she ventured weakly. The truth was she didn’t know what he really wanted from her. Did he just want a live-in girlfriend who shared his passion for painting, or was he looking for something a little deeper? Like a life-long partner…a wife, perhaps? Someone who would love him for ever, to the end of her days, and wouldn’t hesitate in telling him so at every opportunity?

  ‘I want you to move in, Megan. I want you to share my life. If I was just looking to tutor somebody, hell—I could give you a list a mile long of students who’d jump at the chance!’

  His words didn’t make her feel any better. Megan pushed off the bed and stood up. ‘Then maybe you should do that,’ she said nervously, dark eyes darting round the room, trying to ascertain how long it would take her to pack, call a cab to the nearest station and get the next train home. ‘I don’t want you to offer me anything on sufferance. If you feel under some sort of obligation to tutor me just because we’ve slept together then we’d better call the whole thing off right now. You won’t even miss me. You’ve got your career, haven’t you? A career you’ve deliberately kept me in the dark about. Damn it, you’ve played all your cards pretty close to your chest, haven’t you? Yet you know practically all there is to know about me!’

  Tears had filled her eyes and she jammed her hand impatiently into her jeans pocket, searching for a crumpled tissue to dab at them.

  ‘You’re crazy.’ Frustration was like a coiled spring inside Kyle’s chest, waiting to unravel. Yanking the towel from round his neck, he got up and threw it angrily down on the bed. This wasn’t what he’d intended to happen at all. What he’d wanted to tell her was that he loved her, that he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Instead he’d fouled up big time. He’d come off as patronising and condescending, and at that moment he hated himself for not having the words to adequately explain what was in his heart.

  ‘Yes, I’m crazy!’ Megan threw back at him, distraught. ‘I think I have a right to be, don’t you? When a woman is deliberately pushed down the stairs by a man who made vows to take care of her and she loses the only thing that made all those horrible years of marriage worthwhile—’ She broke off, feeling choked and appalled at what she was saying.

  She could hardly swallow over the terrible pain in her throat, in her heart. There was no way she could even bring herself to look at Kyle. The last thing she needed to see was pity in his eyes. It was his love she wanted—not his pity.

  ‘You were pregnant.’ He felt as if he’d been suckerpunched. Why hadn’t he realised it before?

  Megan spun away from him to move across to the window. Lifting the pretty gauze curtain, she stared blindly out at the sea, agitated and furious that she’d been forced to reveal her deepest secret when the man she’d revealed it to didn’t even trust her enough to tell her about his own life.

  ‘Yes, I was pregnant. I lost the baby.’ Megan uttered the words through lips that were numb with pain. She continued to stare out of the window as Kyle came up behind her.

  ‘So you were still sleeping with him right up until that night?’ Kyle didn’t know how he managed to grind the words out, because his chest was so tight with jealousy it was suffocating him.

  Megan began to cry—soft, desperate sobs that made her shoulders shake and her hands cover her face. Right then, Kyle could easily have hung himself for being such a crass, insensitive oaf. What was his jealousy compared to the inconsolable grief Megan was feeling over the loss of her baby?

  ‘He forced me,’ she said brokenly, turning to look at him. ‘But I didn’t care. All I wanted was my baby.’

  As her face crumpled in pain Kyle pulled her hard against his chest and held her there. ‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry…so sorry.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘LEG hurting?’ Kyle stopped Megan in her tracks as they negotiated the potentially treacherous wet cobble stones of the harbour path, staring down into her rain-dampened features as concern grippe
d him deep inside.

  Around them, the wind howled gustily, whipping Megan’s glorious black hair across her face so that she resembled some wild dark gypsy from romantic folklore. Her deep brown eyes were underlined with kohl, glistening like two dark jewels as she met his gaze, the dark fringe of her lashes spiked with the rain, her teeth briefly worrying at her full and naked lower lip.

  ‘No, it’s fine. This is a beautiful place, Kyle. I’m so glad you brought me.’

  And she was, Megan thought fiercely, as her gaze swept the vast turbulent sea, its waves lapping slate-grey at the sides of the famous Cobb harbour walls. A couple of fishing boats bobbed on the horizon, and apart from herself and Kyle, and the odd seagull or two, there was no one else about on the harbour as twilight faded to dusk. The outside temperature had dropped significantly in the past few minutes, but the change was bracing rather than cutting—just what she needed to blow the cobwebs away.

  Taking a deep lungful of air, Megan smiled warmly back at the man regarding her so intensely, wanting desperately to convey to him the depth and breadth of her own profound emotions. She couldn’t imagine feeling like this about any other man on earth…ever. Her senses were completely beguiled by the sheer warrior-like beauty of his fiercely male visage: the carved angular cheekbones, the intense golden eyes, the hard yet sensual mouth that made his smile the most lethal weapon she’d ever come across…

  There were tiny drops of rain glistening like crystal in his chestnut hair, and, helplessly compelled, Megan reached up to touch a damp lock that had strayed onto his forehead. Immediately she found her hand taken prisoner, then her body hauled hard against his, so that from the neck down she was pressed intimately into the damp smooth surface of his jacket, the smell of leather mingling provocatively with the scent of the rain. The urgency in him was immediately evident, the hard ridge behind the button fly of his jeans straining deep into her abdomen, starting an ache deep inside her that suspended her breath somewhere between a gasp and a sigh.