He gave a bark of laughter. Only she knew he wasn’t amused.
‘Boorish oaf?’
The air crackled between them, and the snap of current mirrored the lightning forking through the sky outside.
His eyes narrowed and he stalked towards her.
Standing up, she held out a defensive hand. ‘Stop—’
But he kept on coming as if she hadn’t spoken, and she was struck again not just by his size, but by the sense of purpose beneath the layers of muscle and sinew and skin and by the intent in his eyes.
He stopped in front of her. ‘Boorish oaf...’ he repeated softly, his expression arctic. ‘I just saved your life. Or have you forgotten how close you came to drowning?
Of course she hadn’t.
For a few half-seconds she replayed the press of his hard chest against her cheek and how his arm had shielded her from the storm raging around them.
Her skin felt suddenly hot and tight. He had been so solid, so large. And, as ludicrous as it sounded now, he had seemed as implacable as the storm. As uncompromising and unyielding. She had wanted to burrow beneath his skin. To stay in the endless stretch of his arms with her head tucked under his chin...
Her heart bumped against her ribs. It was because he was implacable and uncompromising and unyielding that she’d been out on the causeway in the first place.
‘You wouldn’t have had to save my life if you hadn’t been so horrible.’
His gaze raked her face like the lamp from a lighthouse.
‘I think the word you’re looking for is truthful,’ he said coldly.
He ran his hand over his face, as if he wanted to wipe her out of his eyes, and her breath caught. She hadn’t noticed it before but three of the fingers on his left hand looked too short, the tips oddly flattened.
She shivered inside. What kind of man was she dealing with?
‘You know...’ he spoke slowly, his dark gaze locking with hers ‘...I thought you were just some clueless airhead who was hoping to get her claws into my soft-hearted brother.’ His hard voice echoed around the room. ‘But you are a child. A wilful, reckless child who wants everything her own way and when that doesn’t happen throws a tantrum.’
The expression on his face made her skin sting. ‘I—I’m not a child and I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I made a mistake—’
‘And mistakes cost lives.’ His voice was cold, each word more clipped than the last. As if he was biting them off and spitting them out. ‘You’re lucky it wasn’t your life.’
Frankie blinked, tried to breathe, to swallow, but it was as if her heart was blocking her throat. She felt sick. It was true, and part of her had wanted, needed, to hear the truth for so long. Only it hurt so much more that she could have imagined.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, and even though she was warm she was shivering again.
For months she’d been trying to hold it all together, but now she could feel her control starting to unravel—here in this room, with this stranger.
‘You’re right. I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself. I just wanted to go home. Only I can’t—’
Not back to London. Home, home. But she could never do that again.
He was staring at her with those unyielding grey eyes and she took a shaky step backwards. What was she thinking? Had she really been about to tell Arlo the truth? Him, of all people? A man who clearly thought she was not worth saving.
And the trouble was, he was right.
Hot tears stung her eyes and the room blurred. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She gave a sob. ‘I’m really, really sorry—’
* * *
Arlo watched in horror as Frankie stumbled across the room. He hadn’t meant to upset her that much. It wasn’t something he did: make women cry. Make anyone cry. Even with Harriet he’d been polite—courteous, even. It was only after they’ve broken up that he’d felt angry.
But that anger had been nothing in comparison to the head-pounding fury that had swept over him as he and Frankie had stumbled into the Hall.
How could she have done something so stupid, so reckless?
Worse than her recklessness, though, was the knowledge that he had driven her to it.
He’d wanted to scare her as she had scared him, so that she would think twice before she did something so foolhardy again.
His heart contracted as he thought back to the moment when he’d looked out of the kitchen window and seen her red suitcase bobbing jauntily along the causeway.
Those few minutes driving over the cobbles had been some of the longest in his life. Even now, the thought of her slipping beneath the swirling grey waves made his stomach lurch queasily.
‘Frankie—’
She had reached the door and her fingers were tugging helplessly at the heavy brass handle. Before he knew what he was doing he had moved swiftly across the room. He thought she would tense as he pulled her against him, but she seemed barely to register him, and he realised that shock at what had so nearly happened out in the storm was finally kicking in. Or perhaps she had been in shock the whole time, he thought, as for the second time that day he scooped her into his arms.
‘Shh... It’s okay...it’s okay.’
He carried her over to the sofa and sat down, curving his arm around her, holding her close as she sobbed into him.
Finally, he felt her body go slack and she let out a shuddering breath.
‘Here.’ He handed her a handkerchief. ‘It’s clean. And, more importantly, dry.’
She wiped her swollen eyes. ‘Thank you.’
The wobble in her voice matched the shake in her hands as she held it out. He shook his head. ‘No, you keep it.’
He watched as she pleated the fabric between her fingers, and then smoothed it flat, so that his initials were visible.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said shakily. ‘For putting you in danger—’
‘No, I’m sorry.’ He frowned, wondering why it was so easy to say that now, when earlier herds of wild horses couldn’t have dragged those words from his lips. ‘If I hadn’t kicked off at you last night you wouldn’t have felt like you had to take that risk.’
Gazing down at her blotchy face, he felt a prickle of guilt. And he certainly shouldn’t have kicked off at her just now—not when she was in such a state.
‘I was tired, and annoyed with Johnny, and I took it out on you.’
‘He did try and get in touch with you to tell you I was coming,’ she said quickly.
Possibly... Johnny always had good intentions, and usually he found it easy to overlook his little brother’s faults, but for some reason Frankie’s defence of him got under his skin.
She looked up at him and the blue of her irises was so bewitchingly intense against her dark, tear-clotted lashes that he almost lost his train of thought.
He shrugged. ‘I’m sure he did. Look, when the storm dies down a bit, I can take you to the station.’
She nodded. ‘I’m sorry for making such a fuss. I’m just a bit tired. I’ve been working stupid hours...’
He understood tiredness. Sometimes out on the ice fatigue was like lead in his bones. But there was something more than tiredness in her voice...a note of despair, almost.
His jaw clenched. He understood that too, but Frankie was too young to feel that way.
He felt a stab of anger. Someone should be looking out for her.
Not him, though. Not after Harriet.
Her fingers smoothed out the handkerchief again and he felt her take a breath. Then she said quietly, ‘I just want to say that it was really brave, what you did out there. Heroic, actually. So, thank you.’
She hesitated, and then he felt the flutter of her breath as she kissed him gently on the cheek.
The movement shifted her weight and she slipped sideways. Without thinking, he touched his hand against her hipbone
to steady her. He heard the snap of her breath as she looked up, and when he met her soft blue gaze suddenly it was as if he’d run out of air. His head was spinning.
A minute went by, then another, and then she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
A voice in his head told him to stop her. That this was a mistake. That he didn’t know this woman and what he did know he didn’t like.
But then her fingers clutched at his shirt, drawing him closer, and he was lost.
It was like walking into a white-out.
There was nothing but Frankie. Nothing but the soft contours of her body and her mouth fusing with his.
His hands skimmed over her back, sliding up through her hair, and he knew that this was not so much an exploration as an admission of his driving need to feel her, to touch every part of her.
He felt her soften in his arms and hunger jackknifed through him as she leaned closer, so that her breasts were brushing against his chest. Blood pounded through his veins as he teased the upper bow of her mouth with his tongue, tracing the shape of her lips, and then he was guiding her onto his lap, pulling her restless hips against the hard press of his erection.
She moaned softly and, parting her lips, deepened the kiss.
He shuddered, heat flooding his limbs. Her mouth felt like hot silk and, groaning, he spread his hand over her back—
The sharp knock on the door echoed through the room like a gunshot and, peeling Frankie off his lap, he tipped her unceremoniously onto the sofa as he got to his feet.
What the hell was she playing at?
More to the point, what was he playing at?
Aside from the unspoken assumption that Frankie and Johnny were involved, this was a road he needed to travel less—not more.
His entire relationship with Harriet had been humbling and short—just under three months from that first kiss to the day she moved out—and he didn’t need any more reminders of the idiocy of his behaviour.
Or maybe he did.
She stared up at him dazedly, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses.
Tearing his gaze away, he answered, ‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Douglas just called.’ Constance’s voice floated serenely through the door. ‘They’ve issued an orange weather warning. I just thought you’d like to know.’
So the weather was causing road closures, interruption to power, and an increased risk to life and property. In other words, chaos.
Tell me something I don’t know, he thought savagely.
Running his hand through his hair, he swore under his breath as his dazed brain finally registered the full implication of Constance’s words.
An orange warning also meant being prepared to change plans. In this case, his plans to get Frankie off the island.
Jaw clenching, he glanced over at her.
‘Looks like this storm is going to get worse before it gets better. Unfortunately for both of us, that means you’re stuck here for the foreseeable future.’
Her eyes climbed up to his, a flush of colour engulfing the freckles on her face. ‘Wow, you’re a real Prince Charming.’
He held her gaze. ‘What? A lovestruck fool chasing after a woman who can’t keep her clothing on? You’re in the wrong fairy tale, sweetheart.’
She gave him a look that could have stopped global warming in its tracks. ‘You don’t need to tell me that.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Let me explain to you how this is going to work, Ms Fox,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear you or talk to you. And above all I don’t want to kiss you.’
‘I don’t want to kiss you either.’
She gave him an imperious smile that made him want to instantly eat his words.
‘Good.’ Stalking across the room, he yanked open the door. ‘Stay out of my way. In fact, do us both a favour and stay in your room. Otherwise I might just be tempted to lock you in there until the storm passes.’
CHAPTER THREE
SLAMMING HER BEDROOM DOOR, Frankie stalked across the room, her heart pounding, her whole body trembling.
How dare he?
Her fingers clenched into fists.
Sending her to her room as if she was some child. And saying all that stuff about not wanting to see her or kiss her. As if she wanted to kiss him.
Her mouth twisted. Okay, to be fair, she had just kissed him—but it wasn’t as if she’d planned it. And he was at least partly to blame...catching her off guard, his gentleness coming so fast after his anger.
Pulse twitching, she let her mind go back to the moment when she had lost her balance, and her brain conjured up his hand on her hip with such unflinching, high-definition clarity she could almost feel his precise firm grip...see the flare of heat in his eyes...taste her own urgent, unbidden desire to kiss him.
Not out of gratitude but out of a head-swimming hunger she’d neither questioned nor understood.
Remembering the noises she had made as his hands had moved over her body, she felt her face grow warm. It had lasted two, three minutes at most. It had been just a kiss...
Except something that had that kind of power—the power to make your heart stop beating—surely couldn’t be just anything.
Not something, she corrected herself. Someone.
Arlo Milburn.
He was like no one she’d ever kissed before. Older, more intense, beyond her comprehension and control. And yet she had wanted him like she had never wanted any man. And for those two, maybe three minutes she’d thought he wanted her in the same way.
Only then Constance had knocked on the door, and he had jerked back from her as if waking from a daydream.
Or a nightmare.
Her hands felt suddenly clammy. Clearly that was what he’d been thinking. Why else would he have pulled away? A hot blush of embarrassment spread over her skin as she remembered how he’d tipped her onto the sofa and quickly moved to put as much distance between them as possible.
Picturing his expression, she still wasn’t sure whether he had been stunned or appalled at what had happened. Probably both.
Her brain froze. But then Arlo thought she was going out with his brother.
The heat in her cheeks made her feel as if her face was on fire. It was a testament to her current state of mind that she had completely forgotten about Johnny.
As Arlo’s lips had touched hers, and he had pulled her against his big body, she had forgotten everything. It was as if her mind had been wiped clear.
But Arlo’s hadn’t.
Her stomach clenched.
Did he really believe she was with Johnny? That he was some kind of stand-in?
Oh, she felt awful. But why? Aside from one hug, nothing had happened with Johnny. And nothing had really happened with Arlo.
Just because there was no explanation for their kiss, that didn’t make it significant. And perhaps there was an explanation. Both of them had just nearly died. Their emotions had been running high and all tangled up, so in some ways it had been almost inevitable that they would kiss.
She breathed out shakily. Hopefully at some point in the future she would be able to laugh about all of this, but in the meantime she was going to have to find a way to get through the next twenty-four hours.
Trying to still the jittery feeling in her legs that thought produced, she walked over to the window. Outside, the rain was still sheeting down, and both the sky and the violently cresting waves were the same dull gunmetal grey.
The weather forecasters had been right. It looked as if this storm wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, and that meant she was not going anywhere either. Only there was no way she was going to stay cooped up in this room until the wind blew itself out.
Arlo might be a man of many talents, but even he could only be in one place at once—and as there was both an east and a
west wing, the chances of her bumping into him would be minuscule.
Maybe it was time to do a little exploring...
* * *
Obviously she had known the Hall was huge, but she was still stunned by the scale of it. There were just so many rooms, and each one seemed to be bigger and grander than the last. Everything was so perfect, she thought, as she gazed around an amazing book-lined library. And so perfectly English. From the plethora of patterns—chintz, checks, muted stripes—to the large, imposing portraits on the walls.
As she left the library and walked down the corridor her footsteps faltered in front of a half-open door. Behind it, a phone was ringing. It wasn’t a mobile...it had an old-fashioned jangling sound.
Pinching her lip with her fingers, she hesitated, her shoulders tensing. Surely somebody would answer it...?
But the phone kept ringing, and before she had made a conscious decision to do so she was pushing open the door and walking into the room. It was some kind of office, judging by the two identical imposing wooden desks facing one another like duelling partners. Both were so cluttered with books and papers that it took her a moment to locate the phone.
She found it eventually, juddering beside a snow globe containing a polar bear. Heart pounding, she snatched it up.
‘Hello—?’
But whoever it was had already rung off.
Typical. Rolling her eyes, she dropped the receiver back in its cradle. Why did that always happen?
Gazing around the room, she felt her breath rise with a rush into her throat. It was definitely an office, and it was equally obvious whose office it was. Her quick glance down at an in-tray overflowing with envelopes addressed to ‘Dr Arlo Milburn’ merely confirmed her suspicions.
She’d forgotten he was a Doctor of Geography. Or was it Geology?
Feeling as if she had wandered into the lair of some sleeping grizzly bear, she looked nervously round the room. Like the rest of the house, it felt both effortlessly grand but enviably comfortable.
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