by Susan Napier
His swimming togs might be more modest than hers in terms of amount of material, but they certainly weren’t modest per se. The sleek, clinging, racing briefs in red which seemed to accentuate rather than cloak, his manhood, riding high at the top of the solid columns of muscle that were his legs. Shorn of his clothing he was definitely not shorn of his power! Julia sternly quelled a sudden urge to escape the approaching colossus, and concentrated instead on admiring his symmetry.
No wonder he was so hard to bump into—the flat, broad stomach was rippled with muscle, the high arch of his rib-cage supporting a deep chest and powerful shoulders. Each pace threw a different set of muscles into relief on his body, solid-packed yet beautifully proportioned as a whole. His skin was much paler than Julia’s but dark hair covered the strong forearms and legs and rode the muscles of his chest. There was a fine covering of hair in a line from his indented navel, thickening as it disappeared under the red nylon astride his hips. If he had been a friend, or merely an acquaintance of her own age, Julia would have wolf-whistled, but she contented herself with giving Hugh an approving sweep of her lashes … this time.
He slid easily into the water and Julia felt the long length of his leg slide momentarily along her softly rounded one. Hard and soft. Julia felt a shiver of self-awareness. It seemed much more intimate sharing the pool with one large man, than it had with two, bickering boys.
The breeze had died in the interim and a light rain began to fall, little more than a mist, to mingle with the steam. Julia let her head fall back so that she could taste the sweet purity as it descended on them.
‘Mmmm lovely. I hope it doesn’t cool us down too much.’ She lifted her tangled lashes to find herself under study. ‘Aren’t you glad you came?’ she teased. ‘Exactly why did you come, and not Olivia, if she took the messages?’
‘I offered to come. I happened to be downstairs, taking a break.’
Julia’s eyes went uncertainly to the taped hand he was taking care not to dip in the water. Hugh? Taking a break? Unheard of! ‘Is your hand bothering you?’
‘Among other things.’ He didn’t elaborate as to what they were. ‘It throbs a little.’ His lids drooped until his eyes were mere grey slits. ‘Michael tells me that you cried all over him that morning.’
‘I thought I’d wet someone else’s suit for a change,’ Julia grinned at him, unembarrassed. ‘I was sorry for being such an idiot and you wouldn’t let me relieve my feelings by helping you. You really were quite beastly about it. I was worried that you might be left-handed and not able to write at all.’
‘I’m right-handed. However, my manuscript to date has been typed.’
‘Oh.’ And: ‘Ooohh,’ as it sank in. ‘How long before you can use your fingers do you think?’
‘A week at least. They’re pretty badly bruised.’
‘Oh.’ She moved uneasily, creating tiny ripples in the water, aware that Hugh was watching her in a narrow, assessing way, uncertain of what he expected her to do.
‘Well, it’ll do you good to take it easy for a while,’ she said. ‘It’s done me good already … you were free to gallop to my rescue. I should have taken your advice days ago; now Richard and Steve are so wrapped up in the business of scoring off each other that they’ve forgotten all about listening to me. Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘You’re admitting that I was right?’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ she demanded. ‘You were. If you’d put it more delicately I would have agreed with you at the time, and maybe avoided all this.’
‘So now it’s my fault.’
‘It’s nobody’s fault, just an unfortunate set of circumstances.’ Julia gave a baffled sigh. ‘Richard’s always ear-bashing me about The Method … you have to live a part to make it believable … I would have clicked sooner if I hadn’t been so busy wondering whether it was one of his damned practical jokes. And as for Steve …’ she hesitated and made a quick decision. It wouldn’t be a betrayal of trust, since Hugh was the one member of the family on whom she could rely not to rush in with an excess of sympathy. He listened thoughtfully, the broad angles of his face sloping austerely as she told him about Steve’s struggle, and her own fears about rejecting him.
‘I think he’s tougher, more resilient, than you give him credit for. After all, the initial decision to stop was his.’
‘Maybe,’ Julia admitted having the same thoughts herself. ‘If only I could find a graceful way to withdraw that wouldn’t damage his self-esteem. I can’t favour one of them at the expense of the other, that’ll only get me in deeper. What they need is a short, sharp, painless shock.’ She paused, expectantly.
‘Are you asking me?’ said Hugh, after a moment. ‘I wouldn’t like to provoke another violent reaction with gratuitous advice, I only have one undamaged hand left.’
The rain was beginning to come down a little more heavily and Julia was fascinated by the way the drops channelled themselves down the grooves in Hugh’s face, and the muscular indentations in his neck and shoulders. They both lounged lower in the water, Hugh’s bandaged hand immersed to the base of its thumb, like a white marker buoy bobbing on the surface. Julia wondered what excuse he’d given to the rest of the family … he must have been blessedly vague about the reason for his injury, for no one had questioned Julia.
‘Well?’
Julia shook her head slightly, wishing she wasn’t quite so aware of his physical presence, so disturbed by it. ‘Yes, I’m asking you.’
‘Perhaps you could introduce another man on to the scene.’
‘Another one.’ Julia was appalled. ‘That would be just compounding the problem.’
‘Not if he was tame, and impressive enough to stop the twins in their tracks, permanently.’
His eagle eyes missed none of her puzzlement. She had the definite feeling that this was all leading somewhere, but she couldn’t fathom the reason. It wasn’t at all what she had expected from him. ‘Perhaps you can tell me where I’m going to find a spare man around here? There’s Charley, of course, but I wouldn’t like to be accused of cradle snatching. There are no other men.’
‘Thank you,’ so drily as to crackle like an onion skin.
‘What? Oh,’ Julia giggled. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘I don’t think I do. Are you suggesting that I am not a man?’
‘No … er… what I meant was no other suitable men.’
‘What makes me unsuitable, apart from my size, of course?’
Julia turned her face up to the rain and laughed. Her whole body shimmered with it, creating interesting patterns in the water. ‘You and me?’ she gasped. ‘What a ridiculous thought!’ She was too contorted with laughter to see the strange expression slide across his face.
‘I knew you found me amusing, I didn’t know you also found me ridiculous.’
‘Not you … us.’ Julia unsuccessfully fought her giggles. ‘Can you just imagine it. Come on, Hugh, even you have to admit it’s funny.’
‘I’m not laughing.’
Julia hiccupped to a stop. ‘No, I can see that,’ she said in a voice that trembled. She pressed a hand over her mouth and a series of snorts and snuffles were emitted as tear-blurred blue eyes squinted with laughter.
‘Keep on laughing at me, Julia, and I might feel impelled to show you just how unfunny I can be.’
Julia sobered, almost, at the dangerous softness of his words. Without moving one magnificent muscle he was suddenly all affronted masculinity. She felt as if she had drifted out into the wide Pacific without a compass, so unexpected was this reaction from Hugh. ‘You weren’t serious, though, were you,’ she ventured carefully.
‘No?’ He gave a new kind of smile, small and threatening, that sent a tingle across Julia’s scalp.
‘But you can’t be,’ she protested, no longer laughing. ‘You and me? Nobody would believe it. I wouldn’t believe it! Not after what’s happened between us so far. It’s absurd, it’s …’ she stopped herself from saying ‘ridicul
ous’ just in time.
‘Why? Haven’t you ever heard of the attraction of opposites. We’ve been fighting against it, now we’ve given in. We can make it believable. My family is stuffed to the gills with romance; they’ll believe what they want to believe.’
Scepticism was stamped firmly all over Julia’s features as she stared at him. Was he finally cracking up?’
‘Are you having me on? Is this to pay me back for your hand? You can’t seriously mean that you and I should pretend to be mad about each other,’ her voice rose and cracked at the high note. Another giggle squeezed out of the crack and Julia gave a small scream as Hugh made a sudden lunging turn in the confined space, like the splashing charge of a big ‘gator. A thick forearm pressed against her collarbone, across her throat, stilling her in place while the other, injured hand, was supported by his elbow on the sandy bank. His face was close enough for her to see the firm, resilient texture of his pale skin, stretched across the bones of his skull like fine, expensive leather. Julia tried to slide down under his arm, but her way was blocked by a broad chest and the clamp of a powerful leg over hers.
‘Hugh, what are you doing!’ Julia was shocked and excited at the same time. Hadn’t she secretly wondered what it would be like to touch that muscle-padded body, to admire it with her fingers as well as with her eyes?
‘Wiping the smile off your face,’ came the implacable reply. ‘I … don’t … like … being … laughed at.’ His words were punctuated by small nips in a line down her vulnerable throat from her ear.
‘Hugh!’ Julia squealed. This had to be a fantasy, it couldn’t be happening, though goodness knows why she should conjure up Hugh in a fantasy … why not Warren Beatty, or Robert Redford? ‘You’ll only make me laugh more, I’m ticklish—especially on my neck.’
The great grey head lifted and Julia could have sworn he was laughing … it had to be a fantasy! ‘You would be,’ he sighed. ‘What about your mouth, is that ticklish?’
She couldn’t answer; he was kissing her, lips parted and parting hers. She forgot all about laughing, about where she was and who he was. She was too busy making the startling discovery that she was enjoying his technique.
Oh well, I may as well make the best of it, she thought hazily and she lowered her long, brown lashes and tilted her mouth under his, inviting him further. For a moment she felt his muscles bunch, then she felt his chest settle lightly against her, the thick curling wet hairs caressing the swell of her breasts. The pressure came off her collarbone as a large hand slid around to the nape of her neck and down, to the centre of her back as he lifted her softly against him.
Julia put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the shifting strength, the smooth, slick wetness of curving muscle. His lips and teeth and tongue were excitingly active, tugging gently at the soft inner skin of her mouth, exciting her taste-buds, drawing her own small tongue into the depths of his dark mouth with gentle sucking motions that were incredibly erotic. All sensation was centred on her face, but she was gradually becoming aware of his hand splayed on her spine, the hard stomach pressing against the ridge of her hip.
Hugh made a deep sound of satisfaction which reverberated in his chest, vibrating the water around Julia so that she felt totally immersed in him, part of him. His explorative, explosive kiss changed tempo, his tongue making tiny, swift, stabbing forays into her mouth. Julia’s hands slid up into the amazingly soft dampness of his grey hair, feeling the short strands slip strokingly through her fingers as she gripped, trying to stop those erotically frustrating withdrawals. In the water she felt weightless, he felt weightless on her and he was so incredibly gentle for his size, touching and stroking delicately, the big hands both firm and controlling, yet tender.
Suddenly it was over and Julia sighed, opening her eyes wide, unable to believe it had really happened and that she had reacted so strongly. ‘Where on earth did you learn to kiss like that?’
‘Didn’t you like it?’
He had to be kidding! ‘Did you get a degree in kissing, as well as law, at university?’
He rolled sideways, staring at the small face alight with pleasure and mischief, flushed with heat, and something else.
‘Do I get an A for believability?’ he countered drily and Julia winced imperceptibly. She preferred to think that the kiss had been unplanned, an impulse from an unimpulsive man.
‘OK, so I admit that, kissing-wise at least, we might be able to carry it off.’ A part of her noticed with interest that the tips of his ears had a faint pink tinge. Perhaps she had discovered the secret of reading his emotions—an ear-indicator as it were. Did it mean that he wasn’t as unmoved as he appeared to be? She continued, with a slight frown. ‘But what do you get out of it? I can’t believe you’re offering out of the goodness of your heart.’
‘I …’ he looked down, encountered the intriguing curves and tucks of three magenta triangles and flicked the grey eyes hurriedly up again, emptied of expression. ‘I need your help.’
‘Help? You?’ Delight and suspicion jostled for supremacy. ‘What for—kissing practice?’
He wavered only slightly. ‘I’m working to a strict schedule, delivering chapter by chapter to my publisher. I haven’t a hope of sticking to deadline unless I can find a typist.’ He raised his bandaged hand with a gesture of helplessness. ‘The other night you offered to help Michael if he needed the odd page re-done in a hurry. Would you consider typing for me, though it’s more than just the odd page. We could kill two birds with one stone.’
‘What do you mean?’ Julia felt very thick. The kiss had shattered some of her illusions about big men, about Hugh in particular, and now she felt all at sea with him.
‘I mean you come and type for me in the evenings. Let everyone draw their own conclusions about your visits.’
Left to herself Julia would have leapt at the idea, but she had to point out one very large stumbling block. ‘Isn’t it a bit out of character for you to fling your cap over the windmill with one of the hired helps? Highly unlikely, I would have thought. And might not Richard and Steve still …’
‘I think you can safely leave the twins to me, Julia. They won’t presume to trespass.’
When he spoke in that tone of voice Julia didn’t presume to doubt his success. But she hesitated, disconcerted by the surge of pleasure she had felt when he had said he needed her. Needed, not wanted. His eyes were steady and unreadable and some of her pleasure faded. Still, he had asked her, even if it did seem as if it was against his better judgment …
‘I’ll pay you of course,’ he added on, with casual cunning, as the silence lengthened, and Julia reared up, offended.
‘You will not! I’ll do it for free or not at all!’ She stopped when she saw his satisfaction, realising she had played straight into his hands. ‘You … you …’
Hugh undermined her indignation by getting up, drawing her attention to his injured hand in the process, reviving all her passionate guilt feelings.
‘Oh well, I suppose it’s worth a go,’ she sighed, following him out of the pool. ‘When do we start?’
‘As soon as possible. Tonight. I’ll take you out to dinner.’
‘Out!’ squeaked Julia, trotting, shivering, up the beach after him. ‘I can’t just go swanning off …’
‘You’re due an evening off—I checked with Connie. Don’t look so outraged, Julia, nobody’s going to starve—the girls are quite passable cooks when they try. Come on, you’re going blue with cold. Pick up your things and let’s get down to the changing sheds.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Fix-it, sir,’ saluted Julia with a grin. He sounded so confident. But he needn’t think he could order her around so casually all the time. No. She, Julia, was a human being, a woman, and she wasn’t going to let him forget it. Especially now that she knew how exquisitely he kissed!
CHAPTER SEVEN
JULIA sighed as she screwed up and discarded another hand-written foolscap page. Her fingers ached from the intensive exercise. At first glance Hug
h’s IBM golfball self-correcting machine had seemed terrifying, a sleek, fearsome monster baring its keys like rows of gleaming teeth at her. Surprisingly, though, it had proved easy to use … so far.
Julia looked over to where Hugh sat in his brown leather wing-chair, grey head bent over his papers. The music of one of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos ebbed and flowed around them, absorbing the silence with its beauty. The lovely room made Julia appreciate why Hugh spent so much time up here. Long and rectangular, in the past it had been divided up into servants’ quarters. When the renovations had been done, the timber from the walls had been re-cycled into a small bathroom and tiny kitchenette, and an extra dormer window added, bringing the number to three. Now it was a room to suit a large man and furnished in comfort, if not luxury. Travelling spotlights were attached to the heavily oiled kauri rafters, throwing warm pools of yellow on to the large desk where Julia sat, the leather suite which surrounded the large brick fireplace, and picking out the rich highlights in the beautiful Persian carpets which covered the polished floorboards.
At the far end of the room, in semi-darkness, was an enormous, ornately carved four-poster bed with feather mattress, down pillows and plain brown duvet. How Julia envied Hugh that bed! Whenever she took a break from the typewriter she would throw herself into the feather depths under Hugh’s faintly amused gaze and relax in blissful pleasure.
Julia smiled to herself as her eyes wandered back to Hugh in his chair. In a way the bed was rather like its owner—large, dominating everything around it, yet on further exploration unexpectedly soft and warm. Julia had been working for him for three nights now and was aware that slowly, slowly, he was lowering his guard. No longer was she being treated with wary distaste, as a small, potentially explosive package. She was being useful, and at the same time showing him a quieter, calmer side of her personality.
