Gazing unseeingly across the room, he thought about the things that he’d told Frankie out in the heather on the cliffs.
It shouldn’t have happened. Ordinarily it wouldn’t have. She was by no means the first woman to ask him about his parents, and he’d never had any trouble deflecting questions. But yesterday he hadn’t been able to stop himself talking. And not just talking. It had been practically a full-blown confession. He had talked about everything.
Except Harriet.
But why would he mention his ex-wife?
It all seemed so long ago now.
He’d met her at university, just weeks after losing his father, when he had been desperate with grief. It shamed him to admit it now, but she had been a shoulder to cry on.
Except, of course, he hadn’t cried.
Maybe if he had he might not have married her.
But he’d been young, and the impulsive flamboyance of marrying someone he barely knew had seemed like both the right way to honour his parents’ love and a chance to give Johnny some kind of normality and stability.
But his marriage had been over before it had started, its only purpose seemingly to confirm what he’d already known. That love required a blind, unquestioning faith he’d lost.
His stomach tensed. Maybe it was no bad thing to remind himself of that—especially after last night. He wasn’t made of stone or ice. Even if they hadn’t been sleeping together, he cared about Frankie, and her story had broken his heart.
Not that there was any real risk to his heart. This was only about sex. Anything else was just a completely understandable impulse to look after someone who needed help.
He stared at the indentation in the pillow, where Frankie’s head had been. Last night, after she’d fallen asleep, he’d looked up her family’s accident on the internet, and the photos he’d found had left him feeling nauseous. There had been wreckage everywhere. A wing had been torn off and the plane looked as if it had been twisted like a wet cloth.
His chest tightened. Those pictures would stay with him for a long time. But not as long as that look on her face when she’d told him about the crash.
She had seemed so small and young and lost.
A dull ache spread out slowly inside him like spilt wine. He knew how that felt. Even now he could still remember it: the months spent watching his mother shrink in on herself, and then the years after her death, when his father had stopped being the huge, exuberant bear-like man of his childhood and became instead a child...a lonely, angry child who locked himself away with his pain.
But he was lucky. He’d had Johnny, and his family had always been there when he’d let them.
Speaking of family...
He shifted up the bed and, opening his bedside cabinet, pulled out an envelope. Inside was an invitation to his cousin Davey’s tenth wedding anniversary party. And a request for him to say a few words.
He wasn’t planning on going. He’d already hinted as much, pleading work, and by rights he wouldn’t have even been in England if there hadn’t been that problem with the plane, so...
He felt a stab of guilt. Davey wouldn’t make a fuss about it, but he knew his cousin would be disappointed. But not surprised. And that made him feel even more guilty. Not that he was going to do anything about it. Much as he loved his family, he didn’t do the big family events. They were just so full of an energy and emotion he couldn’t handle.
Davey would understand. He’d call him and let him know...
The shower had stopped and, tossing the invitation to the top of the cabinet, he rolled on his back as Frankie wandered into the bedroom and instantly he forgot all about his cousin and the party.
Her hair was tied into some kind of bun thing, and she had a towel tied over her breasts so that her shoulders were bare. Staring over at her pale, damp skin, he felt his fingers itch to tug the towel loose.
‘Nice shower?’ he said softly.
She nodded. ‘The best. Honestly, the water here is amazing. It’s so hot and it’s literally never-ending.’
Smiling, he reached for her hand and pulled her towards the bed. ‘We use hydropower.’
‘You mean like waves?’
‘Sort of,’ he said, pulling her onto his lap. ‘There are caves under the island. When the sea floods them, we use three Archimedes screws to capture the energy of the flow, like a kind of reverse positive displacement... What? What is it?’
Frankie was staring at him, her expression soft, almost hazy.
‘Nothing. I just—’
She steadied herself against his shoulders and he felt his body harden as her fingers splayed over his skin.
‘Is there anything you don’t know?’ she asked.
Lots of things, he thought. Like how she could look so beautiful with shadows under her eyes.
Or how she had walked away from that crash alive.
Pushing that thought away, he looked into her eyes. ‘Plenty, but if the subject interests me enough I make it my business to find out everything there is to know.’
‘I see.’ She shifted against him in a way that made his hands clamp around her waist. ‘So what kind of subjects currently interest you?’
‘Well, just lately I’ve grown very interested in social media.’
He watched as she let her hair down, shaking it loose so that it tumbled over her shoulders.
‘Anything else?’
‘Billiards.’
‘Really?’
This time as she shifted the towel flared around her hips and a tingle of heat tightened his muscles as he caught a glimpse of red-gold curls.
‘Anything else?’ she asked again, softly.
‘Foxes.’ He sucked in a breath as she leaned forward and ran a finger down the dark line of hair bisecting his abdomen. ‘Female foxes in particular.’
The small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth made a complex mix of heat and tension spike inside him.
‘And how do you plan on finding out about female foxes?’ she asked.
He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll start with a thorough and exhaustive examination of any previous research.’ As her hand slid beneath the bedclothes, his hands tightened around the edges of the towel. ‘Although I’m guessing that sounds a little academic and dry.’
‘Maybe a little academic...’ Raising her hips, she tugged the towel loose and let it fall down her body. Their eyes met and he moved his hands up her back, caressing the indentation of her waist as she lifted her hips and then lowered herself onto him. ‘But definitely not dry.’
He sucked in a sharp breath. She was warm, slick, tight. ‘That’s good,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘That’s so good.’
‘Then what will you do?’ she whispered.
She was shivering as if she was cold, but her skin felt hot and smooth, like sun-baked sand.
‘I’ll go out into the field...do some hands-on research of my own.’
He cupped her breasts, his thumbs grazing her nipples so that she arched forward, her mouth forming a long, slow amorphous syllable. He felt his control snap. Reaching up, he brought her face down to his and kissed her fiercely, his groan of pleasure mingling with hers as he rolled her beneath him and surrendered to the impossible need building inside them.
* * *
Later, tucked against his warm body, Frankie lay with her head against Arlo’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.
She was still trying to catch her breath.
Each time it happened she kept expecting it to be different. For the spell to be broken, the magic to have gone. But each time was the same.
Not the same, she corrected herself. That made it sound boring, and in bed, as in life, Arlo was adventurous and passionate and tireless.
He felt so good. Big and warm and strong, so that even in the eye of the storm, when his hard body was driving in
to hers, she could sense the solid core of him. And afterwards, in his arms, she felt so calm, so safe.
Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the hollow beneath his shoulder, breathing in his scent. She could feel body softening against his. Except it wasn’t just her body that was softening. The last few days had turned everything she’d thought to be true on its head, so that it was hard to believe she had once found him horrible and rude and arrogant.
And it wasn’t just the sex. Yesterday, he had been kind to her, and gentle—tender, almost—and it was making her feel tender towards him. Particularly after what he’d told her about his parents.
And it was okay to feel that way, she thought defensively. There was no need to overthink it. It wasn’t as if she was in love with him or anything.
‘What are you thinking?’
She blinked. Arlo was looking down at her, his eyes resting on her face. Hoping very much that he couldn’t read her thoughts, she said quickly, ‘Just about how beautiful it looks outside.’
His hand touched her hip bone and he ran his finger lightly along the curve of her bottom. ‘Not as beautiful as you.’
Her eyes met his. ‘So, do you have anything planned for today?’ She wriggled away from his hand, laughing. ‘Aside from that.’
‘No, nothing. I’m entirely at your disposal.’
She breathed out shakily. In one way it was a relief to feel that stab of hunger, to be reminded that this was all about sex. But it was starting to scare her how much she needed him.
And it was a need. A requirement like air or water.
She couldn’t imagine life without him. Only at some point she was not only going to have to imagine it, but experience it for real.
She couldn’t stay here for ever. Her life was in London and that wasn’t going to change, however good the sex or however momentarily kind Arlo was, and there was no point in imagining anything more permanent.
‘Let me see what time it is,’ she said, needing to move away from the heat of his body, or at least to prove that she could.
Leaning past him, she grabbed his watch.
‘Oh, sorry.’ She reached down for the card that she’d knocked to the floor. Unthinkingly, she glanced at it. It was an invitation to a wedding anniversary party.
‘Who’s Davey and Serena?’
‘My cousin and his wife. It’s their tenth wedding anniversary.’
Arlo’s voice was clipped and, glancing up, she saw that the easy intimacy of moments earlier had faded. Now he looked guarded, wary.
‘That’s wonderful. And they’re having a party.’ She gave him a small stiff smile. ‘Don’t worry—I’m not angling for a plus-one. I’ll be long gone by—’ She broke off, her eyes widening as she read the date. ‘But it’s today.’ Looking up, she frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say something?’
‘Why would I? I’m not attending.’
Even without the sudden coolness in his voice she would have sensed that as far as Arlo was concerned this particular topic of conversation was over.
‘But why? It’s a special occasion.’ Her stomach clenched. ‘It’s not anything to do with me, is it?’
He frowned. ‘I’m sorry to break this to you, Frankie, but very little in my life is anything to do with you.’ His eyes were hard now. ‘We’re not overthinking this. That’s what we agreed, remember?’
Frankie stared at him, mute with shock, feeling a chill slide over her skin at the starkness of his words. ‘I remember.’
‘Good.’ He rolled off the bed and stalked past her naked. ‘And, just so we’re clear, I’m not going to be running my social diary past you any time soon.’
‘I’m not expecting you to. I just thought it had to be me...the reason you aren’t going. I mean, what other reason could there be?’ she persisted. ‘It’s not as if you’re doing anything else...and it’s your cousin’s anniversary party.’
Pulling on his trousers, he shook his head. ‘My reasons are my business, and this conversation is over.’
She held her breath, hanging on to her temper. ‘Why are you being like this? I was just trying to be nice.’ Turning, fists clenching, she took a step towards him. ‘What is the matter? I don’t understand—’
‘Then let me make it plain.’ There was no emotion in his voice. ‘What I do, where I go or don’t go, is nothing to do with you. And that goes for my family too.’
She stared at him, her anger fading, giving way to a savage, wrenching pain that made tears choke up in her throat.
‘You’re right. It isn’t my business. Nor is it my family. I think I just forgot that for a moment.’ She balled her hands, trying to contain all the chaos and emotion inside her. ‘I was thinking about my family and how I’d give anything just to see them again—’
The room swam.
‘Frankie—’
She held up a defensive hand. ‘It’s fine. I don’t need you to comfort me. I can deal with it on my own.’
‘Please—Please!’ He took a step closer. ‘Please don’t cry. I never want to make you cry.’
Her eyes burned as he caught her, his hands gripping her shoulders.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t know why I said it. It’s not even true, and now I’ve upset you—’
She breathed out shakily. His misery was palpable—as was his remorse. ‘Not everything is about you, Arlo. I’m upset because I lost my family. And, yes, you made me think about them. But I’ve spent the last two years not being able to do that, so that’s a good thing.’
And it was true. She didn’t feel trapped or alone with her loss anymore; in fact, she actually felt more, not less, in control.
‘I don’t mind getting upset, but I do mind you talking to me like that. I don’t deserve that—’
‘No, you don’t.’ He pulled her against him, his thumbs tightening around her wrists. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.
The features of his face were so familiar, but his expression wasn’t. He looked troubled, young, unsure of himself.
‘It’s just the idea of a party... I’m not like you. I’m not a people person.’
Wasn’t he? She stared at him in confusion. Arlo seemed to have good relationships with everyone at the Hall, and Johnny adored him.
‘But they’re your family.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, and I love them. It’s just being with all of them all together is hard for me.’ He hesitated. ‘But you’re right. It’s a special occasion. I should be there. I need to be there.’ Looking down at her, he clasped her face, stroking her hair. ‘And I’d like you to be there with me.’
Her heart bumped. ‘Arlo, you don’t need to... That wasn’t why—’
‘I know it wasn’t. And I don’t need you there—I want you there.’
‘Are you being serious?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Of course.’ His hand found hers. ‘Please, Frankie. I really do want you to come with me. Davey’s home, Stanhope Park, is an amazing place. There’s a pool, and horses, and Davey’s organised a clay pigeon shoot for the morning after.’
She bit her lip. ‘It all sounds lovely, but I don’t have anything to wear to a party.’
‘Wear what you wore the other night,’ he said softly. ‘I promise not to strip it off you this time.’
Their eyes met and her fingers twitched as his words sent a current of heat from his hand to hers, so that she was suddenly vibrating inside.
Why not go? It would be fun to dress up and dance. And, despite having recovered his composure, Arlo clearly found this kind of event hard. Her eyes snagged on a puckered scar on his chest. He had helped her so much...maybe it was time for her to help him.
She screwed up her face. ‘You’re sure your cousin won’t mind? Me just turning up?’
‘I’ll call him, but he won’t mind. Davey’s
not like that. He’s a good man. Kind. Loyal. A little bit cautious.’ He smiled one of those almost-smiles that made her world tilt off its axis. ‘But then he’s spent years being the son and heir.’
She pinched her lip, feeling suddenly nervous. ‘So what do I call him?’
‘His full title is Viscount Fairfax, but in person he’s just Davey.’ He rubbed at the worry lines between her eyebrows. ‘Look...straight up, the house is a bit full-on. But they’re very normal people who do very normal things, like have lunch with their family.’
Frankie nodded. It would be all right. In London she met all kinds of people all the time for her work. But then she hadn’t ever cared what they thought. Arlo was different. She didn’t want to let him down.
She didn’t want to let her own family down either.
A knot was forming in her stomach. That she should have survived was the cruellest cut of all. So many times she had wondered why she alone had been spared, and she was still no closer to knowing the answer... All she knew was that she had to make her life count and make them proud.
His dark gaze roamed her face. ‘You don’t believe me?’
Glancing up, she tried to smile, tried to hide the conflicting emotions swirling inside her.
‘I do. I just don’t want to mess up,’ she said slowly.
‘I wouldn’t worry about that.’
‘But you’re not me,’ she said slowly. ‘You don’t have anything to prove.’
He hesitated, and she wondered if, like her, he was hearing an echo of that moment out on the hillside above the Hall. Only that had been teasing, rhetorical... They both knew Arlo had nothing to prove. Whereas she...
‘Everyone has something to prove,’ Arlo said quietly. ‘Look at Davey. He owns a twenty-thousand-acre estate, but he didn’t earn the money to buy it.’ His hand touched her cheek. ‘He inherited it from his father, along with his title. That was the easy part. Now he has to run it well enough so that it will be there for his son to inherit. He wants to do the best he can.’
‘I want that too.’ She could hear the emotion in her voice but didn’t try to stop it. ‘After the accident, I made a promise I’d do everything I could to make my family proud of me.’
Beauty in the Billionaire's Bed Page 12
