by Lynne Graham
Jake groaned, muttered something ferocious under his breath. His dark, hard features clenched, his glittering gaze burning over her upturned face. Something stronger and older and infinitely more powerful than she was held her utterly still as long fingers twined into her hair and his dark head bent.
His hand settled impatiently on her spine, tipping her back. His mouth parted hers with a hot, hard urgency that sent sensation coursing through her in wild, primitive response. His tongue thrust a demanding passage between her lips and her head spun. He was above her and then he lowered his long, hard-boned frame, his unmistakable maleness as he shuddered against her yielding curves, making her blood race and throb through her veins in delight. Suddenly her arms were closing round him in collusion and acceptance.
As he slid on to his side, he carried her with him. He continued to hungrily probe her mouth, his hand curving over her breast to invoke an electrifying excitement that dragged a sharp little cry unawares from her throat.
The old mantel clock high above wheezed and rang out a tinny stroke of one. Instantly both of them froze. Jake lifted away without warning, sinking back on his heels, his breathing thick and fast as he studied her with smouldering charcoal eyes.
Sitting up, Kitty gave herself a faint shake, smoothing down the rumpled shirt, abysmally conscious of the betraying peaks of her breasts and the shocking unsteadiness of her hands. Yet, even flushed and tumbled, she managed to look like an exotic little cat, grooming herself with controlled cool.
‘The line you’re looking for is, “God, what have I done?”’ Never had Kitty’s ready tongue come more welcomely to her rescue than in that intense, lacerating silence.
‘Why the hell did you have to come back?’ he demanded with a raw, unexpected violence that made her flinch, flat savagery in his eyes.
An antipathy as potent as the passion they had shared had sprung up with equal suddenness.
‘I should keep this from Paula. Women are notoriously unforgiving creatures,’ Kitty hissed back at him.
Colour seared his blunt cheekbones, accentuating eyes still brilliant with unsettled emotions. ‘I was actually worried about you,’ he derided with a curled lip.
‘And just think, you don’t even have a teeny glass of sherry to use as an excuse for your lapse.’ She ignored the arrow of pain that that stinging taunt drove into her own heart.
He went white. ‘You poisonous little bitch,’ he bit out. ‘If you think that I’ve ever forgotten that night, you’re wrong. It’s never left me.’
But it had not marked him as it had marked her. He had had a wife, a child and now he was back inside another relationship. Where were his scars? They didn’t exist. Her head bent, silk-fine hair shimmering forward to hide her pinched profile. Dear heaven, why hadn’t she felt physically ill when he had touched her?
‘Go away,’ she whispered.
‘That is an invitation I don’t need.’ The door thudded on his exit.
She didn’t hear a car start up. But then she hadn’t heard one arriving. He must have walked up from the road, planning to take the intruder by surprise. Last of the macho heroes! Her bitter humour was short-lived. How could she respond to Jake when she couldn’t respond to other men? Admittedly the latter situation had risen very rarely to be tested. Jake had burnt her so badly that she had shrunk from putting her hand in the fire again. Was that why she had stayed with Grant for so long? Had she been sheltering her own inadequacy? Was it really fair of her to have accused her father of using her?
When she had moved into the town house, it had never occurred to her that the world would assume she was Grant’s mistress. She had honestly believed that, once she was presentable, Grant would be prepared to acknowledge their relationship openly. But Grant would never own up to fatherhood. He was extremely sensitive about his age, even more self-aware of his pin-up status. That he was closer to the half-century mark than forty was almost as big a secret as his possession of a twenty-five-year-old daughter.
And Kitty had become his defensive shield against persistent women. Kitty, though he had vehemently denied the accusation, was his excuse when one of his light-hearted affairs became too heavy. For so long all her energy had gone into her career. If she had been in no hurry to test herself out as an unattached woman, a large part of it had been lack of interest and the suspicion that she was frigid.
Frigid, she echoed dismally, shamed heat slinking through her in waves. Neither repulsion nor inhibition had attacked her in Jake’s arms. Was she some kind of masochist? Where had that absolutely terrifying response come from? In all this time she had never forgotten the humiliation and shame that Jake’s rejection had once taught her, forever afterwards making her repress her sexuality. She had feared an involvement with another man. She had to face that truth now.
Feeling intensely vulnerable, she curled up in a tight ball. Jake had hurt her savagely and those wounds were still raw. Drowsiness was overcoming her heavily. He was right, she allowed on her last coherent thought, I am depressed.
* * *
The aroma of coffee was in the air when she awakened. China rattled and she came bolt upright, clutching a quilt she didn’t remember bringing downstairs. Her mattress had moved during the night as well. It was now several feet away from the fire. But what made those puzzling developments absolutely unimportant was the sight of Jake emerging from the scullery bearing two cups.
‘What on earth…?’ she began incredulously.
‘I was worried about you. I came back.’ He set one of the cups down beside her on the floor and straightened lithely again to carry his own to his hard-set mouth.
Dark stubble shadowed his strong jawline. A half-unbuttoned shirt revealed a strip of tawny skin and a crisp sprinkling of black chest hair. Never had she been more achingly, agonisingly conscious of his disruptive sexuality. Some natural barrier had tumbled down since last night. Her pulses were racing in an atmosphere that suddenly felt unbearably claustrophobic.
‘What time is it?’ Disorientated, she had to say it twice to get it out and she studied the quilt, not even sure what day of the week it was.
‘Half-eight.’
She pushed a hand through her hair. ‘What’s going on?’
‘You were sleeping like the dead when I came back,’ he asserted abrasively.
‘Is there something wrong with sleeping in the middle of the night?’ she muttered, seeking the cup with a blind hand. Her mouth was dry as a bone.
He released his breath in a sudden hiss. ‘You should have woken up when I came back. You didn’t. You obviously carried on drinking after I left.’
That did penetrate her mental fog. Her head flew up. ‘I what?’
‘You heard me. You were dead to the world.’ Fierce anger laced each harsh syllable.
‘Why don’t you take your assumptions somewhere where they’ll be less offensive?’ she snapped, equally angry. ‘I didn’t have anything more to drink!’
A dubious dark brow elevated. ‘No?’
She flung him an infuriated stare. ‘No!’ she repeated. ‘Do you have any idea how long it is since I had a decent night’s sleep? I was exhausted last night. I fell asleep within minutes of your departure.’
Dark eyes aimed a derisive and renewed challenge. ‘You can still be grateful that I did come back. You left the candles burning. Didn’t you realise that the electricity was only switched off at the meter? You didn’t even put a guard up on that fire,’ he informed her grimly. ‘This house has wood partition walls. You’re fortunate it wasn’t your funeral pyre last night!’
Pale now, she hunched under the quilt, her hands cupped round the coffee. ‘I’m not normally so careless, but if you’re looking for gratitude, you’re in the wrong place. Nobody asked you to interfere. How long have you been here?’
‘Since about three,’ he admitted shortly. ‘I didn’t like to leave you again until I was sure you were all right.’
Pinned to her mattress, sluggish and dishevelled, she felt grossly
disadvantaged. ‘Have you turned nocturnal?’ she enquired. ‘Won’t someone have missed you?’
‘Sophie’s used to my being out at night.’
Really? He stayed overnight with Paula, did he? Times must have changed in Mirsby. You’d have been a scarlet woman the length and the breadth of the neighbourhood if you had behaved like that when Kitty had lived here. Hating him, she let coffee scald her tongue. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Yesterday had been a truly ghastly day and Jake had clogged up far too much of it.
‘Throw on some clothes. I’ll take you home for breakfast. A neighbourly act,’ he specified drily.
She nearly choked on her coffee. ‘Breakfast?’
Abruptly he dropped down on a level with her. ‘I’ve had enough drama in the last twenty-four hours to last me into the next century,’ he warned abrasively. ‘I also have a suggestion I want to put to you.’
‘Keep it. Keep breakfast as well,’ she advised, bending her head to evade a collision with rich, dark eyes far too close for comfort.
‘Is it so hard for you even to be civil to me?’ he raked, low and rough.
Her eyes closed. Every minute she spent in his radius heightened her inner turmoil. It would not be long before he questioned the depth of her bitter sensitivity to an episode he had firmly set behind him under the forgivable heading of misspent youth. She was terrified of exposing her vulnerability to that extent. But she would never be able to forgive him for the impossible choice he had once laid before her. How could she forget the agony of losing her baby?
Her eyelids smarted with sudden stinging moisture. That was a period of her life that she did not want to recall in his presence. It made her too vulnerable.
Jake expelled his breath, searching the drawn tension of her shielded profile. ‘Look, I can understand that you feel pretty raw right now, but I’m not the enemy.’
With a shaken sound of disagreement, she pushed back the quilt. ‘Give me ten minutes.’
CHAPTER THREE
UP IN the bathroom Kitty shivered as she washed and tugged clothes on clumsily over goose-fleshed limbs. If she had one personal hate, it was a bathroom like a fridge. She combed her hair, grateful for the excellence of a cut that made the long, gleaming strands fall smoothly back into style. She rubbed her cheeks, saw some pink appear.
Downstairs again, she looked round the empty room thoughtfully. She could be comfortable enough here. She had hot and cold running water and the means to eat and keep warm. She wasn’t so soft that she had to have the luxuries. As she tossed her toiletries bag back into her case, she noticed the phone sitting on one of the chairs tucked under the table and she smiled. Now that was a necessity.
She climbed into the Range Rover, slim and bright in her black jeans and a red sweater, worn under a soft leather jerkin. His cloaked gaze whipped over her, leaving her feeling curiously self-conscious.
‘When did Gran get the phone in?’ she asked.
‘I persuaded her to get it in after your grandfather died,’ Jake answered, filtering the vehicle slowly down the lane to avoid the deepest pot-holes. ‘I’m fairly certain she never used it, but it gave her a feeling of security.’
Kitty had stiffened. ‘Something else I need to thank you for?’
‘I don’t want your thanks,’ he parried flatly. ‘To get down to my suggestion—I think you ought to stay up at Torbeck for a few days.’
In sharp disconcertion she turned to look at him. ‘At your farm?’
His hard-set profile was impassive. ‘As I understood it, you’ve nowhere else to go until you get yourself sorted out.’
She stole a startled glance at him under her lashes, oxygen trapped in her convulsed throat. Dear heaven, had he taken her derisive plea of poverty seriously last night? Only a spendthrift fool could have been broke after the well-paid employment she had enjoyed. Too late she recalled how the Press had lovingly interpreted Grant’s roared assurance that without him she wouldn’t have a penny to bless herself with. Furthermore, Jake had two sisters and a mother, who had reputedly run up debts everywhere locally before he had been able to convince them that they could no longer afford the costly extras they had once taken for granted. Jake had no experience of women possessed of financial common sense.
Carefully she breathed in, oddly reluctant to subject him to the full absurdity of his misapprehension. ‘You know, I was joking last night. I’m not suffering from a cash-flow problem, Jake.’
He interrupted her drily, paying no heed to her firmly voiced assurance. ‘Possibly the invitation didn’t come out quite as I intended, but it was well meant. You need peace and privacy right now. It’s available at Torbeck. Sophie spends half her day in bed and the other half down at Merrill’s. You’re welcome to take up the offer. There are no strings attached to it, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘No, that wasn’t what—’
‘I won’t touch you again. Neither of us really knew what we were doing last night,’ he cut in grimly.
‘Speak for yourself.’ Did he have a whole list of excuses? she wondered in disgust. I was drunk; I didn’t know what I was doing. Did maniacal passion resulting in temporary insanity only strike him in her radius?
Something far from cold had leapt into his incisive gaze. ‘You mean it didn’t matter who it was? Any port in a storm?’
Tempted to slap the unpleasant smile off his darkly handsome features, she curled her fingers tightly into her palm. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m not a sailor.’
‘You’re right there,’ he conceded smoothly. ‘You were drowning last night.’
The muscles in her stomach contracted sickly. Had he noticed something surprisingly inexperienced in her response? Determined not to show her shrinking discomfiture over the suspicion, she breathed mockingly, ‘Did that give you a buzz? I like men. Do you have a problem with that, Jake? Human sexual response is all about pressing the right buttons, and you’re not exactly without virtuosity in the field, are you?’ Warming up, she let a languorous smile form on her lips. ‘Surely you’re not complaining because I enjoyed the demonstration?’
A white tension had hardened his jawline. ‘You sound like a tramp.’
‘No, you don’t like women who enjoy it. Do I make you feel threatened in some way?’ Kitty dealt him a condescendingly interested appraisal from beneath her curling lashes. ‘Do you need the pretence of fumbling innocence to turn you on? Is that what Paula—’
The Range Rover suddenly shot to a bone-jolting emergency stop. Snaking out both his hands, he yanked her forward. Wide-eyed and pale, she stared up at him. Rage burned in his blazing dark scrutiny. His hand rested with whiplash accuracy against her slender throat. ‘Leave Paula out of this. One more word and, so help me God, Kitty, I’ll…’
‘You’ll what?’ Shaken by the tenor of her own cheap taunts, she was trembling. But on a secret level a hand-in-the fire exhilaration had gripped her to power her through her verbal assault on his masculinity.
Abruptly his hands left her. ‘That is one bait I won’t bite. No games, Kitty. I warn you,’ he gritted.
Sliding back, she jerked a shoulder, mutinously silent. At least her scornful attack had obliterated any unfortunate impression she might have left behind. Woodenly she stared out of the windscreen. Games? That was his department. Or it had been eight years ago. Stop it…stop it, a voice shrieked inside her head. Eight years ago, Kitty. Eight years ago.
Brown fingers drummed a soundless tattoo on the wheel. Without looking at him, she could tell that he was shaken up as well. The vibrations in the air were suffocating. ‘We don’t have to be at each other’s throats. I want to be a friend. That is all,’ he said roughly.
‘Don’t put your hand on a Bible and say it if you’re hoping to get through the Pearly Gates unchallenged.’
He bit out a humourless laugh. ‘You’ve got no make-up on and you ought to look like hell after the last week, but you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Is that what your ego needs to
hear from me?’ he demanded scathingly. ‘Is that what you wanted last night? You don’t need that confirmation from me or anybody else.’
Unmovingly she watched him, her oval face clean of all expression. Her looks had brought her more disillusionment than happiness. Beauty had been a necessary passport into her father’s superficial affections. It had been her possibilities, not her personality which had persuaded Grant to take her under his wing.
And if she hadn’t been beautiful, Jake would have left her alone. At seventeen she had been defenceless. He had not even needed to lie about loving her to have his careless hour of satisfaction. There was nothing she would have denied him then. The knowledge made her stomach clench.
‘Will you stay at Torbeck?’ he prompted impatiently.
For a malicious second she savoured the prospect of his mother’s horror should she be saddled with her as a houseguest. Paula wouldn’t like it too much either. As quickly as she pictured the havoc she could wreak, she discarded the unattractive vision.
‘I’m going to stay at Lower Ridge,’ she told him flatly.
In the act of moving on the Range Rover, he stopped, his dark head whipping back to her in shock. ‘You can’t be serious!’ he said forcefully. ‘The house is falling down. The wiring’s dangerous.’
‘The house has stood for many years. I doubt if it will burn, blow up or collapse round my ears in the space of a few months,’ she scoffed.
‘A few months?’ he ejaculated. ‘Why the hell would you stay that long?’
‘I have plans which don’t entail returning to my career as an actress.’ Angrily she surveyed him, pushing up her chin in unconscious challenge. ‘I’m planning to write a book.’
