No different at all in one respect. She still didn’t know who he really was—and that was something he was going to have to deal with very, very soon…
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY went cross-country, avoiding the M25 and the M4 as long as possible. Their journey took them through the picturesque Cotswolds to Cheltenham, then through the Forest of Dean via Ross-on-Wye and down to Monmouth, picking up the M4 at Newport for the last stretch to Cardiff.
It was a beautiful day, and Annie found herself dozing, cosseted in the big comfortable passenger seat while Michael drove.
All the way.
He turned off the motorway just before six, cut through a few back roads and headed north again, then turned into the drive of the hotel and pulled up facing south with the hotel behind them.
And in front of them was the most fantastic view over Cardiff to the Bay, across the Bristol Channel and all the way to Weston-Super-Mare in the distance.
Lights were starting to come on, the sun low in the sky now, and an amazing sunset was streaking the clouds a stunning pink. Michael got out of the car, bent over and smiled at her.
‘Come on. We can see the sunset from our rooms.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I know which rooms we’ve been given.’
She opened the door and got out. ‘How do you know? Have you stayed here before?’
He nodded. ‘Several times. Ruth and I used it when we were researching in the area. I’ve set a book in this part of Wales.’
She remembered it. Remembered the vividly drawn characters, the banked emotions held back of necessity, the wild explosion of heat when those emotions were finally released. Was that what it would be like with him—?
‘Come on.’
She went, following him as he picked up their cases as if they weighed nothing and headed for the steps.
‘Mr Harding, welcome back. Here you are—your keys. Could you just sign there for me? Thank you. I hope you enjoy your stay. If there’s anything you need, just give us a call.’
The receptionist slid the card keys across the desk to him, and he handed them to Annie and led the way through doors and down stairs and round the corner until she wondered why he’d be taking her on a tour of the basement; then at the end of the wide corridor he stopped.
‘We’ve got these two in the corner,’ he said, and taking the keys from her he opened one of the doors, ushering her in.
She didn’t know what to expect, but it was amazing. Nothing like a basement, but at ground level, taking advantage, obviously, of the sloping site, and the room was stunning. Gorgeous. An enormous room, with a bathroom on one side as she entered it, hanging space and shelving on the other. As the room widened out, a huge double bed sat on one wall, with a sofa and chair beyond it arranged around French doors which led out on to a terrace.
Beyond the terrace the ground fell away again, and there stretched out in front of her was the most spectacular sky she’d ever seen.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, unable to take her eyes off it, and he ushered her out of the doors and stood close behind her, his arm over her shoulder, pointing out various landmarks around the Bay and in the city centre sprawling below them.
More and more lights came on as they watched, and then finally the sun sank into the sea, the sky darkening to ink as night enveloped the landscape, broken only by pinpricks of light in the velvet blackness.
She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head, pulling her back firmly against his chest so she could feel his powerful body reassuringly solid behind her.
‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ she said softly. ‘It’s lovely. I haven’t been away for so long.’
‘When?’ he asked. ‘When was the last time you went away for a night?’
She shook her head, feeling the rasp of his chin against her hair. ‘I don’t know. Years. When Stephen was small. Roger and I went to London to a show. Five years ago?’
His arms tightened. ‘You need spoiling,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll leave you to unpack and change, then we can go and have a drink before dinner. How long do you want? Do you need to lie down for a while?’
She laughed softly, guilt prickling her. ‘Hardly. I’m afraid I dozed in the car. So much for sharing the driving.’
‘You were tired. What time were you up?’
‘Four,’ she confessed. ‘I remembered there weren’t enough tray bakes.’
He sighed into her hair. ‘You work too hard. So what do you want? An hour?’
‘Half an hour? How dressy is dinner?’
‘Not very. Smart casual.’
She grimaced. She wasn’t sure she could do smart casual, but she’d brought the dress. He’d seemed to like it on Tuesday, at least, and let’s face it, her choices were distinctly limited! She could dress it up with her only bits of jewellery and the lovely soft cream pashmina the girls had given her for Christmas.
‘I’ll book us a table for eight, shall I? That’ll give you half an hour to get ready and an hour for us to unwind and look at the menu.’
She nodded. ‘Sounds good.’
He brushed a kiss on her cheek, and she felt his stubble graze her skin lightly, leaving it tingling.
‘See you soon,’ he murmured.
He went out, and she looked around at the huge room. It seemed much too big just for her, and she found herself wishing she was sharing it with him.
Still, at least he was treating her with respect. Any other man would have expected her to sleep with him if he’d gone to all this trouble and expense. She should be grateful.
But she wasn’t grateful. She was lonely, and tingling with anticipation, and she was more than ready for the next step.
* * *
He contemplated a tie, but it was so long since he’d worn one he thought it would strangle him.
Damn. Was it necessary?
No. It was a Savile Row shirt, one of his favourites, and with his navy chinos and a linen jacket he was sure he’d do. But then he thought of Annie, of what she’d be doing now. Hair, make-up, those ridiculous little shoes that were all pointy toes and heels so high she’d need oxygen. And that dress? Please, God, let her wear the dress—
He put on the tie, checked his watch and tapped on her door.
‘Coming!’ she called, and after a few seconds the door swung in.
He nearly punched the air.
She was wearing the dress, and she looked if anything even more stunning than she had the other night. And she smelt of— Oh, God help him, she was wearing that perfume. The perfume she’d worn in France, the perfume that had haunted him for years.
He sucked in a slow, measured breath, took a step back and groped around for a smile.
‘All set?’ he said, his voice sounding even more strained than usual, and she nodded.
‘I’ll just get my things.’
She disappeared for a second, coming back with her bag in one hand and a cream shawl thing in the other. ‘Do you think I’ll need this?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Bring it. You don’t want to be cold.’
He knew it wouldn’t be a problem for him. Just looking at her was putting him in danger of spontaneous combustion. They went up to the bar, and he turned to her and raised a brow.
‘Fancy champagne? To celebrate escaping?’
She hesitated, then that soft, lovely smile lit up her eyes. ‘What a good idea. Thank you.’
So they started with champagne—just a half bottle, because they would have something different with their meal—and he lifted his glass and met her eyes.
‘To you—for being the most special woman I’ve ever met. One of the bravest, kindest, least sel
fish people it’s ever been my privilege to know. And to us.’
She swallowed, her eyes sparkling, and lifted her glass. ‘To us,’ she said, her voice thready with emotion. A tear shimmered on her lashes, then slid down her cheek, and he reached out and caught it with his thumb, sweeping it gently away.
‘I love you,’ he said gruffly.
She looked down. ‘Oh, Michael,’ she began, but then the waitress came to take their order, and the moment was lost.
He didn’t mind. There’d be others, and he’d rather hear the words when she knew who she was saying them to. His jaw clenched. He was dreading telling her, but he’d have to do it soon. Tomorrow night?
Not tonight, because they were trapped together, and she’d probably need time to get used to the idea, and if she wanted to get away from him it would be somewhat difficult with two kids in the car and a two hundred and fifty mile trip to get through.
So, tomorrow night, then.
And God help him.
* * *
The meal was wonderful.
Elegantly presented, cooked to perfection, the flavours a perfect complement to each other.
All of this she noted, the cook in her taking an academic interest. The rest of her, the woman who was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she’d fallen headlong in love with the man sharing this experience with her, wouldn’t have cared if they’d been in a greasy spoon eating beans on toast.
So long as she’d been with him.
They laughed, they argued about education and politics and advertising, and all the time all she could think about was being alone with him.
Holding him in her arms. Loving him. Him loving her.
‘Was everything all right for you?’
Michael glanced up, smiled distractedly at the waitress and nodded.
‘Wonderful. Thank you. Can we have our coffee by the fire?’
‘Of course, sir. I’ll bring it through to you. Any drinks?’
‘Want a liqueur?’ he asked her, but she shook her head.
‘I’ve had enough.’ Any more and she was likely to disgrace herself. Her inhibitions were well out of the window anyway.
‘Just the coffee, thank you,’ he said, getting to his feet and helping her out of the chair, then placing a warm, proprietorial hand on the small of her back and ushering her through to the lounge.
They sat by the window again, so they could see the flames licking through the logs on the fire and the lights stretched out below them, twinkling in the distance.
‘All right?’
She nodded. ‘Wonderful. Never better.’
‘Good.’
His smile was tender, but there was a burning intensity about him that made the breath catch in her lungs.
Suddenly she didn’t want the coffee. She just wanted to be alone with him. But it was here now, and he was pouring it and handing her a cup, so she drank it, nibbled one of the sinful little chocolates and wished she knew how to tell him what she was feeling.
‘You look tired,’ he said suddenly, and put his cup down. ‘Come on. Let’s call it a day.’
She nodded, got to her feet, walked down to their rooms with her heart in her mouth because she was going to ask him—
‘Key?’
She fumbled in her bag, handed him the card, and he slid it into the slot, turned the handle and gave her back the key.
‘Are you coming in?’ she asked, holding her breath for his reply, but he shook his head.
‘No.’ He swallowed, his Adam’s apple working. ‘Don’t tempt me, Annie,’ he said, his voice low and rough with desire, making her body ache. ‘It’s difficult enough to be a gentleman. I’ll see you in the morning.’
He brushed her lips with his, backing away and closing her door before she could reach for him, and she turned and slumped against the door. She could have screamed with frustration.
‘Goodnight, my love,’ he murmured through the door, then she heard his door open and close, and she shut her eyes and dropped her head forwards and sighed.
So much for her night of passion.
* * *
He stood in the shower under the pounding spray for what seemed like hours. He didn’t believe in cold showers. They were just unpleasant and only worked for a few minutes. So the water was hot, and so was he, but at least the tension was gone from his neck and shoulders and he was squeaky clean.
He sluiced the water from his face and hair, grabbed a towel and rubbed himself roughly dry, then put on the towelling robe from the back of the door and went out into the bedroom.
The bed mocked him, acres of it lonely and empty and taunting. When he’d come down with Ruth to research the book set in Cardiff and the Brecon Beacons, he’d imagined bringing Annie here.
Making love to her on just such a bed, in the room next door, where she was lying now.
The result had been the hottest, most passionate and emotional ending he’d ever written. Ruth had cried. Ruth, who never showed any emotion, had cried.
So had he.
And he could cry right now, with frustration.
‘One more day. That’s all. Just one more day. Hang in there.’
He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, then forced himself to relax. He’d got to drive tomorrow. Make that today. It must be after midnight. He didn’t want to crash and kill them all when he’d come this far.
He slowed his breathing, his heartrate, consciously tensed and relaxed each muscle group, and gradually he dozed off.
* * *
A noise woke him, just a slight click, but after all the years of training it was enough. Senses on full alert, he opened his eyes a crack and checked the room.
Nothing.
He eased out of bed and padded silently to the French doors. The noise had been outside—Annie’s door opening?
And then he saw her, huddled in the hotel’s towelling robe, staring out over the twinkling lights. He opened his door and went out, and she turned to him and smiled ruefully.
‘I’m sorry—did I wake you?’ she said softly.
‘I wasn’t really asleep,’ he admitted.
She walked up to him, placed her hand on his heart, looked up into his eyes.
‘Nor was I. I couldn’t sleep without you,’ she said, and he groaned and closed his eyes.
‘Annie, no. We can’t do this—’
‘Why?’
‘It’s too soon.’
She gave a funny, brittle little laugh. ‘It doesn’t feel too soon, believe me.’
He took her hand in his, gripping it like a lifeline. ‘We need to talk. There are things you don’t know about me—’
‘Are you married?’
He shook his head. ‘No—’
‘No mystery woman stashed away somewhere?’
‘Only you.’ Only ever you, for so, so long—
‘Can I trust you?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then that’s all I need to know.’ She swallowed, and he realised she was nervous. Her eyes, though, locked with his, and he could see all the way down to her soul. ‘I need you, Michael,’ she whispered. ‘Make love to me—please.’
Dear God, forgive him, he wasn’t strong enough—
With a shattered groan he hauled her up against his chest, slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her as if his life depended on it. When he came up for air he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except scoop her up in his arms, kick her door open and then closed behind them and then lay her on the huge, soft bed and follow her down.
Her robe parted, giving him access to the warm satin skin that he’d longed to touch. His mouth raided it, plundering her body, touching it all—her bre
asts, full and soft and achingly aroused, her waist, slender and neat, the smooth, taut bowl of her abdomen, the fine, tender skin of her inner thigh—then finally, the most intimate caress of all.
She came apart under his touch, tugging at him wildly, his hair, his robe, pulling him up her, taking his face in her hands and kissing him as the tears poured down her cheeks and the climax tore through her.
‘Please—now!’ she begged, and he buried himself in her sweet, welcoming body and gave in to the passion that had ridden him for nine long, endless years.
‘Annie!’ he groaned, then arching up, he felt a great cry rip through him as his body slammed against hers for the final time, the sensation too much as she convulsed around him, her own cry lost in the echo of his as he spilt deep inside her.
As the echoes died away, he felt her body go limp against him, cradling him in its softness. ‘Michael,’ she whispered raggedly. ‘Oh, Michael—’
He dropped his head into the hollow of her shoulder and struggled for air. ‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I know, my darling,’ she murmured, her voice unsteady, her hands stroking him tenderly—tenderly enough to bring tears to his eyes. ‘I love you, too.’
Her arms tightened around him as he tried to shift his weight from her, so he eased to his side, taking her with him, and collapsed against the pillows, cradling her against his chest.
She fell asleep almost instantly, but he lay awake, berating himself for his weakness, cursing his stupidity, his lack of self-control.
He should have told her before he’d allowed this to happen. It was wrong. So many lies.
‘Forgive me, my love,’ he whispered soundlessly. ‘Please forgive me…’
* * *
She woke to the sound of his heartbeat under her ear, one leg wedged between his solid, hair-roughened thighs and her hand enfolded in his.
His other hand curled protectively over her back, the fingers splayed across her ribs. She moved a fraction, and his eyes flew open and locked with hers.
‘Good morning,’ she said softly, and he searched her eyes, his face expressionless.
‘Good morning.’
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