Lovestorm (Harlequin Treasury 1990's)

by Jennifer Taylor

  Helen started towards him then stopped, clutching the pillows to her like some sort of lifeline. Her heart was drumming like crazy although she couldn’t understand why. It was just that Jacob seemed to be acting so strangely!

  ‘What are you doing?’

  He stood up with a rough, impatient sigh and took the pillows off her, tossing them down on to the quilt before shaking out one of the blankets and arranging it on top. ‘Sorting out somewhere safe for us to spend the rest of the night.’ He patted the top of the table. ‘This is rock-solid, built to last several lifetimes. If any more of the roof comes in then we shall be fairly safe underneath it.’

  ‘Underneath? You mean you intend for us to—to use it as some kind of a shelter?’

  ‘I see you’re starting to understand. Good. It’s pretty standard practice during violent storms or hurricanes. Here, I’ll give you a hand.’

  He held his hand out but Helen made no attempt to take it as she stared at the heap of bedding with ever-widening eyes.

  ‘Come on, sweet, what are you afraid of? Surely you can trust yourself to behave with the utmost decorum—seeing that your opinion of me hasn’t changed one bit?’

  His tone was blatantly taunting, mockery shining in his eyes, and Helen stiffened at once. ‘It isn’t my behaviour I’m concerned about, Jacob!’

  He made a cross over the region of his heart as he grinned at her. ‘You have my word, Helen, my love, that I shall be the perfect gentleman. Now come along.’

  As though to add weight to his urgings there was a crashing from the lounge as another part of the roof fell in. Helen cast one last lingering look over her shoulder then told herself she was doing the sensible thing. Ignoring Jacob’s outstretched hand, she bent down and scooted on to the makeshift bed, moving as far over as she could as Jacob followed her into the cramped space.

  He settled himself comfortably on the quilt, stretching his long legs out as he punched a pillow into shape and put it under his head. He glanced at his watch then back at Helen. ‘It’s nearly ten. I think we should try to get some sleep, because once morning comes we shall have to try to sort this mess out.’

  Helen nodded but she made no attempt to lie down even after Jacob had switched off the lantern, plunging the room into darkness. She sat huddled on her side of the strange bed, her knees upbent, her chin resting on them as she listened to the steady measured sound of Jacob’s breathing until she knew he was asleep. Only then did she deem it safe to lie down and draw the blanket over her. Something told her it was going to be an exceptionally long night!

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE storm blew itself out in the early hours of the morning. Helen had lain awake until then, unable to sleep with the sound of the wind roaring all around and the equally disturbing sound of Jacob’s quiet breathing. However, she must have drifted off after that because she was woken a short time later by a thunderous crash.

  Heart pounding, she shot bolt upright and stared into the darkness, hearing Jacob cursing softly as he started to scramble out from beneath the table. He stopped to pick up the lantern-torch and switch it on, his face set in the eerie glow it cast over the room.

  ‘Stay here, Helen. I’ll go and see what’s happened now.’

  He was gone before she could attempt to stop him, his footsteps echoing as he crossed the hall. Helen counted to ten then re-counted, and when there was no sign of him appearing, scrambled out from under the table and followed him, preferring that to being left wondering and waiting.

  It was pitch dark in the hall and she paused, wishing that she had thought to pick up the other smaller torch. She half turned back to find it, then stopped abruptly when from somewhere in the house came another loud crash followed by a sharp exclamation. Forgetting all about the need for light, she stumbled towards the sound, her voice reflecting her fear as she called Jacob’s name.

  ‘In here—the study, but don’t try and come in, Helen.’

  She could have wept when Jacob answered her immediately, allaying the worst of her fears. She ran to the open study door and peered into the room then visibly jumped when he suddenly appeared out of the darkness. In the glow from the torch she could see plaster dust clinging to his clothes and coating his skin and hair. When he took her arm and hurried her back to the dining-room, she went without a protest, waiting until they were both safely in the shelter of the table before asking any questions.

  ‘What happened? Did the ceiling come down on you?’

  He nodded briefly as he eased himself into a more comfortable position and wiped the gritty grey dust off his face with the back of his hand. ‘Yes. It was my own stupid fault, of course. I should never have gone into the room but I suddenly remembered that I had left some papers on the desk and went in to move them. The next thing I knew there were lumps of plaster and tiles dropping all over me.’ He ran his hand lightly across his left shoulder and grimaced. ‘I caught quite a bit of it on my shoulder.’

  ‘Are you hurt? Let me see.’ Helen picked up the torch and directed its beam on to Jacob, gasping in dismay when she saw the blood on his T-shirt. ‘It’s bleeding, Jacob. Take your shirt off and let me see how bad it is.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s fine. There’s no need to fuss.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It isn’t fussing to see how bad it is. Now please take that T-shirt off!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He smiled with gentle mockery at the authoritative note in her voice but started to drag the dusty shirt over his head, unable to disguise his gasp of pain as he raised his arms to pull it off.

  ‘Here, let me help.’ As gently as possible Helen eased the shirt over his head, biting her lip when she saw his mouth thin as she was forced to raise his left arm to get it free. Tossing it on to the quilt, she picked by the torch and focused the beam on Jacob’s shoulder to examine the long gash which was still oozing blood. The flesh surrounding the cut was turning purple, evidence if she’d needed it of the bruise he was going to have in a very short time.

  ‘It probably looks far worse than it is.’

  Jacob’s voice was deliberately reassuring and for some reason Helen could have hit him. There was no need to play the big tough hero; she wasn’t about to fall into a heap at his feet, fainting from the sight of the injury! It must hurt like crazy and he was being stupid to try to pretend otherwise just to spare her.

  She glared at him, her small face set, her eyes glittering with annoyance. ‘I doubt that! Honestly, Jacob, I just don’t believe that you were going to try to pass that off as nothing! It needs cleaning, dressing and covering to stop any dirt getting into it and starting up an infection.’

  She started to scramble out from under the table, then stopped abruptly when he caught her arm. ‘And where do you think you’re going?’

  She eased her arm out of his hold and smiled thinly at him. ‘To find something to put on that shoulder of yours, of course.’

  ‘There is no of course about it! I’m not letting you go anywhere, Helen. I can manage perfectly well until the morning.’

  ‘Perhaps you can, but I don’t intend to let you. That cut needs attending to, Jacob, and I mean to make sure that it is treated.’

  Without giving him a chance to argue further, Helen scrambled out from under the table and hurried from the room, ignoring Jacob’s angry roar to come back. As quickly as she could she made her way by torchlight to the bedroom Jacob had been using, which seemed to be relatively unscathed so far. Hurrying into the en suite bathroom, she ran water into the basin and soaked a towel in it then wrung it out and on a sudden impulse opened the cabinet and sorted through the contents, smiling when she found not only some gauze dressings but a tube of antiseptic cream as well.

  ‘Has anyone told you that you would try the patience of a saint sometimes?’ Jacob stood in the doorway watching her, the light from the small torch he was carrying casting a dim glow over his face so that it seemed all hard angles. Helen shot him a wary glance then turned back to her task, adding a few more items
to the small pile she had amassed, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand and keep her thoughts away from the sight he made standing there, his black hair ruffled, his powerful chest bare. Suddenly the very air between them seemed to throb with a danger which owed little to the situation they were in. It was as though the storm had ripped through the house and carried away with it all the safety barriers she had sheltered behind. Now there was just her and Jacob and this strange new awareness she felt which scared her.

  ‘You are far from being a saint, Jacob,’ she replied softly as she gathered up the pile of first-aid items and wrapped them in another towel to carry them back to the dining-room.

  He laughed shortly. ‘Meaning that I am more of a sinner? Is that how you see me, Helen?’

  She stopped what she was doing, her eyes lifting to meet his across the room while her heart seemed to go wild. ‘I used to think that was what you were.’

  ‘And now?’ Jacob’s voice sounded suddenly harsh and strained and Helen stiffened, wondering if it was wise to continue this oddly unsettling conversation. Why did she have the sudden feeling that her reply was important to him? She searched his dark face but it was impossible to guess, impossible to read anything of what he was thinking with only the dim light from the torch to see by.

  She turned away as she picked up the bundle and gave a small shrug. ‘And now I think the most important thing is to get that cut seen to.’

  She started towards the door, then slowed uncertainly when Jacob made no attempt to get out of her way. He stood and watched her, his gaze never wavering from her face until Helen could feel the colour stealing under her skin, feel her heart beating faster. He seemed to be searching for his own answers to his own questions, answers she wasn’t sure she wanted him to find. Once, not so long ago, everything had been so clear; she had known exactly what she thought of Jacob. Now the image she had held of him was slowly distorting, losing its clearly defined limits, and she was afraid of what she might find beneath the tough exterior he presented to the world.

  ‘One day you will have to give me a proper answer, Helen. You won’t be able to evade doing that forever.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now don’t you think it would be sensible to go back to the dining-room? There’s no knowing if more of the roof is going to start falling in at any moment.’

  She edged past him, her footsteps quickening as she crossed the hall, although it wasn’t fear of the roof falling which caused her to hurry. She wanted to put an end to that disturbing conversation and all the uncertainties it aroused in her. Perhaps she would have to face up to how she felt about Jacob some time soon, but not now, not while that tension existed between them. She couldn’t afford to be influenced into making a mistake.

  Kneeling down beside the table, she laid the towel on top of the quilt and spread the collection of cream and dressings neatly along it, then glanced back over her shoulder at Jacob who was standing just behind her. ‘If you sit down here on the edge of the quilt then I can wash that cut and put a dressing on it.’

  She kept her tone coolly impersonal and saw him give a faintly mocking smile. Obviously he understood her desire to defuse the situation. However, he made no comment as he sat down as directed, positioning himself next to her on the quilt. Helen took a few seconds to angle the torch so that light fell on to his bruised shoulder, then set to work with the wet towel cleaning away the dried blood from around the cut. Now that the wind had died down, everywhere seemed unnaturally silent. There was just the soft brush of the cloth against Jacob’s skin, the sound of their quiet breathing. It seemed to heighten the feeling of intimacy and her hands shook as she smoothed the wet cloth once again over the angry-looking gash.

  ‘How bad is it?’

  She jerked her hands away from him when he suddenly spoke, then forced herself to carry on, spreading antiseptic cream on to a piece of sterile gauze dressing she removed from its package. ‘It doesn’t look too deep. I’m no expert but I don’t think it will need stitching, although you’re going to find your shoulder will be stiff and sore tomorrow, I expect.’

  ‘I’m sure I shall survive.’

  ‘I’m sure you will too. A little thing like this won’t be enough to set you back, Jacob. You’re far too tough for that!’

  There was a sharp bite to her tone and his eyes narrowed. Reaching up, he caught her hand and held it. ‘I’ve always had to be tough, Helen, and I won’t apologise for it now.’

  ‘No one asked you to! I was merely stating a fact!’ She couldn’t explain why she suddenly felt so angry. There was no logical explanation why, yet she could feel the anger building inside her.

  ‘Stating a fact or making an accusation?’ Jacob’s temper was rising to meet hers, his eyes glittering with it as they met hers and held. ‘My so-called toughness is just another strike against me in your eyes, isn’t it, Helen?’

  ‘Yes!’ She spat the answer back at him. ‘You aren’t like other men, Jacob! You won’t admit when you’re hurt or in pain. You consider it a sign of weakness!’

  ‘And can you blame me?’ His fingers tightened around hers, holding her fast when she would have pulled away. ‘I learned early on that if you show weakness then someone will use it against you! Do you imagine that I could have built the business I now own up to what it is if I had done?’ He shook his head, his face set into harsh lines of anger. ‘I had to be tough and uncompromising and ruthless to get what I wanted. I fought day and night, week in and week out, until I had a toe-hold on the ladder, then had to fight even harder to hold on to what I had.’ He laughed shortly, tossing her hand away from him. ‘I still have to fight even now because there is always someone, somewhere who will try to take what you have achieved away from you, so don’t accuse me of being tough and mean it as an insult! In my book it’s a virtue!’

  ‘Even when it leaves no room for tenderness or compassion? You’re a coward, Jacob Hunt, because you are simply afraid to show those feelings!’ All of a sudden tears were stinging her eyes and she blinked them away, unable to explain what had caused them. It had just been what Jacob had said, the way he had said it. He sounded like a man who cared for no one and nothing apart from what he wanted from life, and it made her ache.

  ‘Oh, you’re wrong, Helen. I am capable of feeling and showing both tenderness and compassion and a whole lot more—to the right person.’

  There was something in his voice which made her heart beat faster, made her breath catch. Helen stared at him in confusion and felt colour touch her cheeks when she saw the light in his eyes. Suddenly, in the space of a single heartbeat the tension in the room shifted away from anger to another emotion equally strong which made her feel afraid.

  ‘Jacob, I don’t...’

  He laughed deeply, leaning slowly towards her to catch her chin and tilt her face so that she was forced to meet his glittering gaze. ‘Now who is the coward, my love? You accuse me of being one, but you are just as guilty.’

  ‘No. Please stop! This is not going to achieve anything.’ She caught at his restraining fingers, but although he dropped his hand from her chin he continued to hold her, his hand warm and hard against the flesh of her upper arm through the thin cotton shirt.

  ‘I disagree. I think this could achieve a great deal for both of us, Helen.’ He studied her wide eyes, then let his gaze drop to her mouth, his own lips curving as it parted slightly under the hot gaze from his eyes. Helen swallowed hard, trying to ease the huge knot of tension which threatened to choke her as she strove for calm.

  ‘Be sensible, Jacob,’ she said hoarsely. ‘This isn’t the answer to anything. It will just create more problems!’

  ‘You’re wrong, sweet. This is something you and I should have sorted out years ago. Maybe then both our lives would have turned out differently.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! We have nothing to sort out—nothing apart from what you have done to my family!’ She pulled against his hold but he drew her closer
, so close that she could feel the heat from his bare skin against her breasts, and every nerve in her body jolted in a wild reaction to the sensation.

  ‘I have already explained that my part in it wasn’t what you imagined.’

  ‘Yes, you have, but until I have positive proof that you were telling the truth then it means nothing to me, Jacob. Nothing! Understand?’

  ‘I understand. I understand that you are scared of facing up to the truth, scared of having to admit at long last that I am guilty of nothing apart from trying to help you.’ His voice dropped as his hands slid down her arms, smoothing the cotton against her skin, caressing her through the thin material. ‘And scared of having finally to face up to your real feelings for me.’

  ‘No! I am not scared of anything, Jacob Hunt—least of all how I feel about you!’ The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Helen wished she could take them back. They had sounded like a direct challenge even to her, and as she cast a wary glance at Jacob she knew that was how he considered them. When he bent towards her she gave a sharp little cry of alarm, her hands lifting unthinkingly to push him away. He groaned deeply as her fingers bit into the wound on his shoulder, his eyes closing briefly at the sharp stabbing pain.

  Helen froze, her hands resting on his shoulders as she watched him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said dully. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.’

  His eyes opened slowly. ‘We’ve been hurting each other since we first met, Helen. Don’t you think it’s time that we stopped and gave each other pleasure instead?’

  His head dipped towards her, intent written clearly on his face and in the hot depths of his eyes, and Helen turned her head away. ‘No! Don’t, Jacob. I don’t want you to kiss me!’

  He laughed harshly, scornfully, a rim of colour edging his angular cheekbones. ‘Don’t you? Are you sure? It seems to me that your head says one thing while your body says something entirely different.’ He slid his hand down her throat and let his fingers lie against the pulse which was beating crazily at the base of her neck.