Anneke unpacked the carry-bags, poured herself a cold drink, and checked her watch. Three hours until she needed to begin dinner preparations.
Housework, she decided. She’d clean and dust and polish. Busy hands, healthy mind. Well, hers was filled with vengeful thoughts, which somehow made a mockery of that particular saying.
When she’d finished, everything sparkled and the cottage was redolent with the smell of beeswax. And the richness of freshly baked fruit cake.
It was after five when her mobile rang, and without thinking she wiped her hands, then reached for the unit and activated it.
Nothing. Only an eerie silence echoed her customary greeting. Her fingers shook slightly as she disengaged the phone.
Rationale dictated it was just a crank call. She doubted it was Adam. Although she couldn’t discount the possibility he might take a perverse delight in causing her a degree of nervous anxiety.
It was just after six when she delivered Sebastian’s evening meal.
‘Stay and have a drink with me.’
Anneke looked at him, saw the unbound hair and noted its unruly state—almost as if he’d raked his fingers through the length on more than one occasion.
Maybe the plot wasn’t working out, or the characters weren’t performing as they should. Or he was struggling through a bout of writer’s block.
‘Thanks, but I don’t drink.’ Not entirely true. She adored good French champagne, and reserved the partaking of it for special occasions. As this wasn’t one of them, and she seriously doubted he had a bottle of Dom Perignon or Cristal on ice, it was simpler to decline. ‘Your meal will get cold, and so will mine,’ she said easily, and turned towards the door.
He made no attempt to dissuade her, and when the door closed behind her he crossed to the table, removed the cover and examined the contents of the tray.
It could have been worse. He moved to the bank of cupboards, took out a skillet and reached into the refrigerator for a large T-bone steak.
When it came to the dessert, he scraped off the cream, took a tentative bite, then opted for fresh fruit. He washed it down with bottled mineral water, then spooned freshly ground beans into the coffee-maker, poured water into the cylinder and switched it on.
The glass carafe had just begun to fill when there was a crashing sound from the adjoining cottage.
He was out of the door and running, Shaef at his side, adrenalin pumping, his mind actively selecting one scenario after another as he covered the set of steps in one leap and pounded on the door.
CHAPTER FIVE
A MUFFLED and very explicit curse fell from Anneke’s lips as she surveyed the mess at her feet.
Cut flowers were strewn in an arc across the floor, water pooled in a widening puddle, and Aunt Vivienne’s prized Waterford crystal vase lay shattered in a hundred shards on the laundry’s ceramic-tiled floor.
There was no one to blame but herself. Unless she counted a fractional second’s distraction at the insistent and distinctive peal of her mobile telephone.
‘Anneke.’ Forceful, authoritative, demanding. Sebastian’s voice penetrated the evening’s stillness, accompanied by the heavy, insistent rap of knuckles on wood.
‘OK, OK,’ she responded in resigned exasperation. ‘I’m in the…’ Her voice trailed to a halt as he appeared at the screened laundry door.
‘Hell,’ he cursed quietly, taking in the scene at a glance. Her legs were bare, so were her feet.
‘Apt,’ she responded drily.
‘Don’t move. I’ll be back.’
He was, within minutes, with a bucket, pan and brush.
‘Don’t throw out the flowers.’
‘They’re likely to contain hidden pieces of glass.’
‘Crystal,’ she corrected without thought, and incurred a dark, sweeping glance.
‘Waterford, thirty-five years old, wedding gift. You want the pattern detail?’
‘There’s no need to be facetious.’
‘Likewise, you don’t need to be so particular.’
‘Oh, go soak your head in a bucket!’
His smile held a certain grimness. ‘Nice to have your gratitude.’
She wanted to burst into tears. She treasured beautiful things. Loved the art and symmetry of exquisite crystal and porcelain. To have a piece break by her own hand was almost akin to killing a living thing.
He glimpsed the momentary desolation, caught a flash of something deeper, and fought the temptation to pull her into his arms. Such an action, he knew, would only earn him the sharp edge of her tongue.
‘Vivienne has plenty more flowers in the garden,’ he offered mildly, ignoring her protest as he deftly swept everything into the bucket, then dealt with the water.
‘Vacuum cleaner. Hall cupboard?’ Had to be. Both cottages were similar in design.
Twice the vacuum hose rattled as the cleaner sucked up undetected shards of crystal, and she stepped onto a towel he spread on the floor while he completed the task.
‘Thanks,’ she added, aware she owed him that, at least. She could have coped, dispensing with the mess, but it was likely she’d have cut herself in the process.
Dammit, she didn’t want to owe him. Nor did she particularly covet his company. He made her feel…uncomfortable, she conceded reluctantly.
As if he was all too aware of the sexual chemistry between them, and content to wait and watch for the moment she felt it.
Well, she had news for him. She could pin it down to the precise moment she’d walked into Aunt Vivienne’s kitchen the first night she arrived and found him there making tea. For her.
Sebastian watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features, divined the reason for them, and kept his own expression deliberately bland.
She could tell him to go, or ask him to stay. There was always tomorrow, the day after that. And he was a patient man.
The tussle between politeness and impoliteness warred, and there was really no contest. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
He studied her in silence for a few seconds. ‘Thanks.’
In the kitchen she set the coffee-maker up, then extracted two cups and saucers, added a bowl of sugar, and took cream from the refrigerator.
Anneke was conscious of him as he leant one hip against the servery. His tall frame made the kitchen seem smaller, and she became aware of every move she made. Only sheer habit prevented the spoon clattering onto the saucer, and she was extremely careful with the glass carafe as she poured hot coffee.
Sebastian collected both cups and set them down on the dining room table, then he pulled out a chair and folded his length into it.
She crossed to the table and sat opposite him. Conversational skills were something she’d rarely lacked. Yet at this precise moment she had trouble summoning one topic to mind.
‘How’s the book going?’
An amused gleam momentarily lit his eyes before he successfully hid it by letting his eyelids droop fractionally. The inevitable question an author had to field from time to time. ‘My answer would only seem a paradox.’
The dry response made it easy for her to resort to humour. ‘You’ve hit a bad patch?’
He winced mentally. ‘You could say I’ve dug myself into a hole and I can’t see a way out.’
‘Why not back up and avoid the hole altogether?’
Good point. ‘I need to think about it a while.’
‘So sharing coffee and conversation is really an excuse not to stare at a blank screen and curse beneath your breath?’
‘Perhaps I couldn’t resist your charming company.’
Icily polite. Furiously angry. Indignant, voluble, even sarcastic. At no stage could she recall being charming. Maybe it was time to try.
‘Tell me why you write.’
‘Curiosity, or genuine interest?’
‘A bit of both,’ she answered honestly.
‘An obsessive need to create a story.’ A statement which usually brought a non-committal response, in
dicating uninterest or lack of comprehension.
Anneke looked at him carefully. Glimpsed the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, the faint furrow creasing his forehead, as if he’d frowned in concentration too often in the past few hours.
‘And the how of it?’
His mouth quirked. ‘Matching the image in my head with words that allow the reader to capture my vision.’
An art form that wasn’t always easy, requiring dedication and discipline, she perceived. There could be no doubt Sebastian Lanier possessed both qualities.
He waited for the inevitable comments relating to fame and fortune, the media circus he went to great pains to avoid. But none were forthcoming.
Inane questions weren’t her practice. ‘It must be a fascinating process.’ Her eyes glinted with humour. ‘And not without a degree of frustration when the words don’t flow as you need them to.’
His smile held a warmth that made her stomach curl. And the eyes were dark, gleaming and steady. Assessing, analytical, almost as if he had calculated every move, every angle, and was waiting to see which one she would choose.
It gave her an uncanny feeling.
‘Mind if I pour more coffee?’
His voice was husky and held a tinge of humour, almost as if he’d read her mind.
‘Of course not. Help yourself.’
He indicated her cup. ‘Want me to refill yours?’
It was strong, really strong. If she drank another, she’d be awake half the night. ‘No, thanks. I’ll have water instead.’
He crossed to the servery, helped himself from the coffee-maker, then reached into a nearby cupboard, extracted a glass and filled it with water. All with the ease of a man who was familiar with her aunt’s kitchen.
She could almost imagine their easy friendship, and experienced a pang of envy.
He should get out of here. The computer beckoned, and he’d just had a fleeting but inspired flash as to how he could circumvent the current plot hole.
However, the coffee was good, really good. And Anneke’s current mood intrigued him.
He placed the glass down onto the table in front of her, then slid into his chair.
‘Your turn.’
Her eyes widened, the light, clear green darkening fractionally as comprehension hit.
Fascinating…eyes a man could drown in, and he discovered he wanted to, very much. Thread a hand through her silky hair and hold fast her head while he shaped her mouth with his own. Anchor her against him so she felt his need while he heightened her own. The slow erotic glide of hands, lips, until neither was enough and the barrier of clothes proved too much.
‘You live in Sydney, and work in a legal office,’ Sebastian prompted, banking down libidinous images.
‘No longer work in one specific legal office,’ Anneke corrected drily.
‘Resigned?’
‘Walked out.’
His eyes held a humorous gleam. ‘Problems with the boss?’
She looked at him in measured silence. ‘You could say that.’ A statement she didn’t intend to clarify.
At that moment the phone rang, its double peal insistent, and her eyes flared momentarily with apprehension.
Another nuisance call?
Sebastian unbent his lengthy frame and pushed in his chair. ‘I’ll let you get that.’ He drained the remains of his coffee and carried the cup and saucer to the servery. Then he lifted a hand in silent salute and let himself out of the back door.
Anneke crossed to the phone, removed the receiver, and experienced relief when she discovered the caller was one of her aunt’s friends.
A relief which proved short-lived when the phone rang again minutes later.
She tossed up whether to answer it or not, for she couldn’t discount the possibility it might be a legitimate call. Indecision warred for a few seconds, then she took a deep breath and unhooked the receiver.
Her heart sank. No answer, only heavy breathing. She resisted the temptation to crash the receiver down on its cradle. ‘Damn you,’ she said fiercely. ‘Try this again, and I’ll contact the police and have them put a trace on the line.’
There was the faint click of a receiver being replaced, then the hollow sound of a cut connection.
‘Problems?’
Anneke whirled at the sound of that deep, faintly accented voice, and saw Sebastian, tray in hand, standing just inside the kitchen door.
Her heart was thumping in her chest, and her eyes, she knew, were stark and wide. Control kicked in, and she forced her voice into even tones.
‘You heard.’ There was no point in pretending he hadn’t.
With ease, he crossed the room and deposited the tray on the servery. ‘You didn’t answer the question.’
Why fabricate? ‘Someone seems to be having fun at my expense.’
He leant a hip against the cabinet and regarded her carefully, noting a face devoid of colour, eyes that were far too dark. ‘How many such calls have you taken?’
‘That was the sixth call in three days, if you count my mobile.’
‘He’s persistent.’ He waited a beat. ‘Abusive?’
Anneke shook her head. ‘So far he hasn’t said a word.’
‘Tomorrow we notify the phone company and arrange an unlisted number.’ His eyes hardened, and he kept them partially hooded. ‘Shaef stays with you.’
‘We? I can take care of it. And I don’t need Shaef.’
‘It’s Shaef or me. Choose.’
She shot him a look of disbelief. ‘Aren’t you going just a tiny bit overboard with this?’
His eyes were obsidian, his gaze hard and unblinking. ‘No.’
Anneke drew in a deep breath, considered telling Sebastian to go take a running hike, then thought better of it.
‘It’s probably a random call by some idle teenager who, hearing a female voice on the line, has decided to play a stupid game.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You think it’s my ex-boss? If he’s caught, and I press charges, the Law Society will suspend him from practice,’ she qualified slowly. ‘Why take the risk?’
Sebastian’s gaze remained steady. ‘Some men get their kicks skating close to the edge.’
‘He already has my mobile number. Why not use that instead of the house phone?’
‘It’s too simple. He wants you to be aware he knows where you are.’
Her eyes darkened until they resembled the deepest emerald. Was Adam that cunning? That devious? She could recall telling him she had an aunt who lived in a cottage on a northern coastal beach, but she was willing to swear she hadn’t mentioned Aunt Vivienne’s surname, or which north-coast beach.
Get a grip, she mentally cautioned. You’re not in any danger.
‘Don’t answer the house phone, and switch your mobile onto voice mail.’
‘Any more instructions?’
‘Don’t be sassy.’
He loomed too close for comfort, and it took an effort not to step back a pace. ‘You’ve done your good deed for the day. Twice over.’
‘Is that a subtle hint for me to leave?’
‘I’d hate to keep you from your work.’
‘The computer can wait,’ Sebastian drawled, moving forward a pace. ‘This won’t.’
‘This’was his mouth on hers in what proved to be a devastating invasion. He possessed the touch, the instinctive mastery to make a kiss seem like an extension of the physical act itself.
Worse, to make a woman feel a kiss was nowhere near enough. That there was more, much more to savour in the realm of sensual delight.
A demanding lover, Sebastian Lanier would take everything a woman offered, and encourage her to give more.
Anneke suppressed a slight shiver. The reward would be magnificent, she acquiesced. Electrifying.
Her heart pounded, and her pulse raced almost out of control as he trailed his mouth to the edge of her jaw. She cried out as he savoured the column of her throat, and she arched her head to allow him great
er access.
His hands were warm against her clothing as they moulded her close, and the barrier was something to be dispensed with as the need arose for skin against skin.
Sebastian was the first to move, tugging her blouse free, his fingers deft with buttons as he freed each and every one.
Her own sought purchase on soft cotton, and yanked hard until the tee-shirt slipped out from his waistband.
Dear Lord, he felt good. Hard ribs, corded muscles, broad back, wide shoulders. Her hands curved higher, then clung as he crushed her to him.
His mouth claimed, staked a possession that brooked no denial, and for one brief second she almost threw common sense out of the window.
Sebastian was aware the exact moment she began to retreat, and he reluctantly and very slowly broke the kiss, allowing his lips to brush hers, savouring each corner, then he pushed her gently to arm’s length.
‘I want to take you to bed.’ A faint smile curved his lips. ‘But I have the feeling you’d only hate me in the morning.’
As well as herself. Twisted sheets and an energetic coupling wasn’t on her agenda. With any man.
‘I’ll write down my phone number. Should anything go bump in the night, call me.’ He slid a hand to her cheek, cupped it, and traced her lips with his thumb. ‘OK?’
Anneke inclined her head fractionally.
‘I’ll whistle up Shaef.’
Five minutes later the Alsatian was instructed who he had to guard, and how. Both doors were securely locked, and Anneke settled herself in bed with a good book.
It was after eleven when she put out the light, and on the edge of sleep it was Sebastian’s image which came to mind. His sculpted features, the piercing grey eyes that saw too much.
Someone who had experienced more than his share, and had dealt with it. Only a fool would surmise otherwise.
She thought of his kiss, the way his mouth felt on her own, the familiarity of his hands as they moulded her body. And hated herself for wanting more.
CHAPTER SIX
ANNEKE woke early, stretched, then slid out of bed and almost stepped onto a sleek-coated animal curled protectively on the floor. A very large animal.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 209
