Substitute Lover

by Penny Jordan

  Quite when her lips parted to the subtle persuasion of his tongue she didn't know.

  It seemed as though one moment he was kissing her as though he was comforting a hurt child and the next the touch of his mouth had aroused such a storm of passion within her that she was clinging helplessly to him, responding to every passionate movement of his mouth against her own with a responsiveness that her conscious mind could only observe with awe and disbelief.

  His robe had come open and her breasts were pressed against his chest, only the thin cotton of her nightdress between them.

  His hands moulded her body, caressing her back, his touch making her spine arch, making her . , .

  Abruptly she realised what she was doing, and in that same moment he released her, moving back from her. Both of them were breathing hard.

  ' Were you remembering Paul then, when I held you in my arms?' he demanded thickly. 'Were you ...?'

  Shaken by the realisation of how much he had affected her, Stephanie cut across his raw demand with a shaky question of her own.

  'Why not? After all, I know that you must have been thinking of Carla.' Her mouth twisted bitterly.

  Gray got up abruptly and stood towering over her.

  'Are you trying to tell me that you were pretending I was Paul?'

  She didn't answer him. She couldn't. Not without lying, so instead she simply averted her head, and prayed for him to leave. She had experienced too much in far too short a space of time. Her emotions were in turmoil, her whole world had been turned upside-down and she needed to come to terms with what had just happened .. .with the fact that in Gray's arms she had responded to him in a way that she had never responded to any other man, and that included Paul.

  When she had married Paul she had been little more than a child, in love with the idea of love. She had been happier exchanging kisses with him than she had making love, but just now in Gray's arms, for the first t ime in her life she had experienced the reality of physical arousal and need.

  She had wanted Gray to go on touching and kissing her. She had wanted ... She drew a shuddering breath, and her senses relayed to her the fact that he was moving away.

  He opened the door and she turned her head to look at him, praying that he wouldn't read what was in her eyes.

  'I'll leave you to your dreams of Paul, then,' he told her harshly. 'It seems that you get more satisfaction from them than you do from reality.'

  She wanted to cry out to him, to stop him and tell him the truth, but what was the point? He loved Carla. And she loved him!

  It hit her like a sledge-hammer blow, knocking her whole world out of focus, while she grappled with the enormity of it.

  Of course she loved him, she tried to reason with herself, but as a sister... as a friend.. .but her body and her heart mocked her for her cowardice; they wanted him as a man ... as a lover.

  'Oh, God!' She wasn't sure if she said the words out loud or not. What on earth was she going to do? The sensible thing would be to pack her bags and leave first thing in the morning, but how could she do that? She had given Gray her promise to help him, and if she hadn't realised it already, his out-of-character behaviour tonight must have shown her just how much he was suffering.

  Loving Carla was tearing him apart. So much so that he had been tempted to vent his physical frustration with her, Stephanie.

  The pain that followed that admission was appallingly enlightening. It was a shock to a woman who considered herself to be lacking in sexuality to discover how wantonly her body was reacting to the thought of Gray as her lover.

  But he wouldn't have been her lover, she reminded herself bitterly, he would have been Carla's and she would have been her substitute.

  They were friends, and she would have to content herself with that. Maybe one day ...

  Maybe never, she told herself hardily. She would be a fool if she spent the rest of her life longing for a man who could never be hers. Gray loved Carla, he had told her so.

  It took her a long time to get to sleep. Perhaps it was only her emotionally heightened senses, she didn't know, but the scent of him seemed to cling to her skin, disturbing her, making her ache and yearn for things that could never be.

  At last she drifted off to sleep but, although she longed to do so, she did not dream of Gray.

  During the night the weather changed. Stephanie heard the wind the moment she woke up. For several minutes she simply lay drowsily listening to it. It was a comforting, noisy sound—when one was tucked up warmly in bed.

  Through her open window she could smell salt, and deep down inside she felt a flicker of long-forgotten excitement. She and her father had spent many blustery days out in the Channel, before Paul's death and her own guilt had crippled her with fear.

  Gray had been right about the weather, and now he would be able to undertake sea trials on his boat.

  Gray! Instantly she sat up in bed, colouring hotly as she remembered how he had kissed her last night and how she had responded.

  He had been trying to make her forget Paul, but he didn't know the truth about Paul or their marriage. He thought she was still deeply in love with his cousin.

  Even before she went downstairs, some new sixth sense she had developed overnight told her that Gray had gone out. She found a note propped up against the kettle, informing her that he had left early and would be spending the day testing the boat.

  The house felt empty without him and she felt restless. The phone rang just as she was setting out, and the shock of hearing Carla's voice on the other end of the line made her freeze with pain.

  'Gray isn't here,' she managed ungraciously when she eventually found her voice.

  'I was ringing to arrange that dinner date.'

  Carla was ignoring her comment and Stephanie realised that the other woman might not be alone, and that her husband might be able to hear her conversation. Or was the dinner party simply an excuse she was using because Gray wasn't there?

  'What about next Wednesday ? Are you both free that evening?'

  Making small talk with the woman that Gray loved was like trying to speak after her throat had been rubbed raw with sandpaper, but since Gray had made no objection to the invitation, she felt she had to go along with it, and confirm the arrangement.

  Part of her longed to demand that Carla leave him alone, to ask her if she knew what the game she was playing with him was doing to him, but she knew that Gray would not thank her for her interference.

  How could he love a woman like that ? A woman who saw him only as a diversion from her marriage. A woman who frankly admitted that she preferred to stay with her wealthy husband. Had Carla no feelings, no compassion ? She couldn't love Gray. If she did ...

  It was several minutes after the phone call had ended before Stephanie was able to bring herself to set out for the yard. She had dressed sensibly, in comfortable faded jeans, a cotton shirt and a warm jumper.

  The wind buffeted her the moment she stepped outside, rain-clouds racing across the sky, driven by its surging gusts. Beyond the estuary the sea looked

  choppy, with white-capped waves further out to sea

  She had intended to listen to the shipping forecast before leaving the house but Carla's telephone call had driven it from her mind.

  The men working in the yard called out a greeting to her as she walked past and let herself into the office. The phone was ringing as she walked in, and it seemed to go on ringing all morning, so that it was almost lunchtime before she had time to switch on the portable radio she had found on the muddled desk.

  She was just in time to catch the last of the gale warnings, and her stomach heaved with nervous anxiety as she heard the newsreader announcing a gale and heavy seas off the Channel.

  Gray would have taken the boat out into the open sea, she knew that. How would he be able to test its rough weather endurance without doing so? She knew enough about sailing to understand the reason behind his early- morning start.

  She heard a car outside and
glanced out of the window, her heart dropping as she recognised Alex's Jaguar.

  Resentment stabbed through her. What did Carla want? Hadn't she hurt Gray enough already?

  Only it wasn't Carla who got out of the car, it was Alex himself. He strode towards the office and she went to let him in.

  'The weather's worsening,' he commented as he came in.

  'Yes, I've just heard the shipping forecast.'

  He was a good-looking man, she acknowledged, with an air of calm dependability.

  'Try not to worry, Gray knows what he's doing. I've got one hell of a lot of money tied up in that boat he's out in, and you don't think I'd let him handle it if I didn't have absolute faith in him, do you?'

  Her eyes widened as she read the message in his eyes. He knew that she was frightened. How? Had Gray told him about her hang-up about the sea?

  She frowned. She wouldn't have thought that he and Gray would be that close—not with them both loving the same woman.

  Her private knowledge about Gray's love for Carla made her feel acutely uncomfortable with Alex. He seemed such a pleasant man; a strong man too, not one she would have thought who would be drawn to a woman as faithless as Carla.

  'I've a radio at home, Gray's just called in to say he's on his way back. I thought you'd like to know. He should be back about seven,' he added, glancing at his watch.

  Stephanie cleared her throat. She was stunned that Alex had taken the time to come down here and reassure her about Gray's safety, and then she remembered that as far as Alex was concerned, she and Gray were lovers.

  'I... thanks for letting me know,' she said lamely, adding awkwardly, 'Is Gray pleased with today's tests?'

  She hardly knew what to say. She felt uncomfortable and ill at ease with Alex, even while she appreciated his kindness. She hated feeling that she was in any way a party to Carla's deception of him, and she wondered bitterly how on earth Gray managed to work alongside him. Perhaps his own love for Carla freed him from any

  normal feelings of guilt.

  'Very,' Alex responded, apparently unaware of her constraint. 'We're using a revolutionary new keel— something along the lines the Australians used for the America's Cup—but I expect Gray's told you all about that. It's his design—it gives the boat greater speed and manoeuvrability. With a little bit more research and development, it could be modified for use with smaller, more commercial craft, but of course you know all about his plans for the development of the yard. It's fortunate that your own career is such that you can work almost anywhere. Carla gave up hers after our first child was born and I felt very guilty about it. She'd always loved her work.'

  Carla working? Stephanie tried to visualise what line of work the glamorous blonde had been in. Modelling seemed the most likely choice.

  'What exactly did she do?' she asked, unable to restrain her curiosity.

  'She's a psychiatrist. She worked mainly with adolescents. It was very demanding, but I know she misses it.'

  Stephanie looked at him in stunned disbelief. A psychiatrist! So Carla had brains as well as beauty. Brains, beauty, but no heart, she reflected acidly.

  'I'd better be on my way, but I promised Gray I'd come down and give you the good news.'

  She watched him walk to his car through a blur of angry tears. Gray's concern hadn't been for her; he had simply wanted to make sure that Alex didn't suspect anything.

  His behaviour was so at odds with the Gray she had thought she knew, and yet she couldn't despise him for it, even though she knew that she would have condemned his behaviour in any other man.

  Had she ever known him at all ? Had she ever known herself? she wondered bitterly. After all, she hadn't known that she loved him until last night.

  She moved, restless, wanting to forget the physical sensations he had aroused in her the previous night. She wanted to forget the sensation of his mouth possessing her own, his hands ... With a taut sound of anger, she spun round on her heel and started to attack the large pile of filing stuffed into one of the metal trays.

  By mid-afternoon it was raining, and her nerves were stretched to breaking-point as she looked out at the angry sea There were no small sails out in the estuary now, and Bob, the oldest and most experienced of the boat-yard's employees, an ex-trawlerman who had lost a leg in a fishing accident, prophesied that it would get worse before it got better.

  At five o'clock the men went home. She had done all the filing, the post was up to date, and she was sick of prowling restlessly round the confining office. She might as well go back to the cottage.

  It was only a matter of a hundred yards or so walk, but she was glad of the heavy-duty jacket she had taken from the laundry room on her way out, as she tugged the collar up against the sheeting rain.

  The jacket belonged to Gray, and whether it was the dampness in the air or her own imagination, she didn't know, but it seemed as though the scent of his body clung tantalisingly to the heavy wool.

  When he came in he would be tired, cold and hungry, and because it was easier to busy herself with practical things than to sit anxiously counting the minutes until his return, she went upstairs to check that there were plenty of fresh towels in the bathroom and that the water was hot.

  The woman who normally took care of the house was on holiday, but Stephanie had enough experience of sailing herself to know exactly what Gray would want to eat once he got back—something fast and hot.

  She opted for chilli, knowing that it wouldn't spoil if he got back later than expected.

  At half-past six, a whole half-hour before Gray's earliest time of arrival, she was tense with nervous anxiety. Over and over in her mind, like a video played in slow motion, she saw him being swept overboard, destroyed by the seas as Paul had been. She told herself t hat Gray was a far better sailor than Paul had ever been, that he had more experience, more caution, that he was perfectly safe—but none of it mattered.

  If this was what she was like when he was simply out testing the new boat, what would she be like when he actually took part in the Fastnet?

  She shuddered visibly, chafing her goose-pimpled arms with tense hands. Despite the fact that the central heating was on, she was cold.

  On impulse she went outside, the strength of the wind whipping back her hair and making her catch her breath. There was a store of dry logs kept just outside the laundry room and she filled a basket with them.

  Lighting a fire would keep her hands occupied, even if it did nothing to relieve the tension of her mind.

  The crackle of the logs as the dry tinder caught fire betrayed how tensely silent the room had been. She sat in front of the flames, staring unseeingly into them, Gray's face dancing in the yellow glare.

  A door slammed and she stiffened, remembering that she had come in without locking the back door. She had lived in London for long enough to be aware of the danger of unwanted intruders.

  She stood up, every nerve-ending alive with tension. The sitting-room door opened and her tension evaporated in a sob of relief as she saw Gray framed there.

  He was still wearing his oilskins, the hood of his jacket pushed back to reveal the wet unruliness of his hair.

  For a moment she was too choked with emotion to speak. He was back. He was safe. She wanted to run to him and be caught up in his arms. She wanted ... She swallowed, feeling the tension within her increase.

  'A fire—great. I'm frozen.'

  Unlike her, Gray was completely relaxed.

  'You ... you're back early. Alex told me seven or later.'

  'Yes, I asked him to. I knew if I was more than five minutes late you'd be worrying yourself silly.'

  For no reason at all tears filled her eyes. Gray saw them.

  In three strides he was at her side, filling the air around her with the clean, salty scent of the sea and cold, fresh air. She could smell the wind and the rain on his clothes and she wanted to reach out and touch him.

  'There's nothing to cry about.'

  He reached for her and woul
d have wrapped her in his arms if she hadn't stepped away. Stephanie saw him frown and gnawed miserably at her bottom lip.

  'You're all wet,' she complained huskily. 'There's plenty of hot water, and I've made a chilli.'

  She was gabbling idiotically, she knew, but she couldn't stop herself. It was her only defence against flinging herself into his arms and confessing to him just how she felt.

  Before, she had longed to experience love, to feel what other women felt, but now she wished wholeheartedly that she could return to her earlier companionable friendship with Gray. Loving him and knowing that he could never love her put a strain on her nervous system she wasn't sure it was able to bear.

  CHAPTER SIX

  after supper, Gray rang Alex and spent some time on the telephone telling him how pleased he had been by the yacht's performance.

  Supper had been a quiet meal. Gray had eaten his chilli hungrily, with the appetite of a man who had been out in the open air all day, but Stephanie had only been able to nibble at hers.

  Her appetite seemed to have deserted her completely. She was tired as well. Not the healthy tiredness that came from enjoyable physical activity, but the draining, exhausting lassitude that followed intense emotional trauma.

  One of her favourite hobbies was tapestry work. She used her own designs, which appealed to the artistic side of her nature, while the practical work of stitching the designs was very soothing.

  A London friend had commissioned from her a set of six chair-seats for her rambling Cotswold cottage, and she was half-way through the work. Each seat-cover depicted a scene that had some relevance in her friend's life, and while Gray was on the telephone she went upstairs to collect her work. It took her longer than usual to become engrossed in what she was doing, at least half of her concentration unashamedly focused on Gray's conversation.