Dangerous Sanctuary

by Anne Mather

  'There's only the two of us here, and we're both male,' he reminded her mildly. 'But, if he's shy, he can borrow a pair of mine. We can fix something.'

  'I'm sure.'

  Jaime was terse, but she couldn't help it. The idea of her son being rewarded for ducking out of school, and visiting the Priory without telling her first, rankled. Even without the very real threat Ben presented in all this. He was forcing her to trust him, and it wasn't easy. The truth was, images of Ben and Tom swimming together caused other, equally disturbing reactions. Not least, images of Ben as she had once seen him, and the devastating effect he had had on her life.

  'You're not happy?'

  Ben was asking the question, and Jaime struggled to recover a sense of proportion. 'I—don't know what to say,' she admitted honestly, incapable in that moment of prevaricating. 'Oh—all right. He can stay. For an hour, at least. I'll meet him at the bus station at a quarter to five.'

  She thought Ben might have insisted that he would bring Tom home, but he didn't. Instead, he accepted her terms without debate, and before Jaime could say anything more he rang off. He's probably disappointed because he's got nothing to blame me for, she decided defiantly, but her ebullience was short-lived. Ben still had Tom—and more than an hour to poison the boy's mind against her.

  It was impossible to relax after that. Jaime finished her tea, and washed up the cups, but she found herself consulting her watch every few minutes. However, nothing could accelerate the passage of time, and after turning the television on and then off again in quick succession she went upstairs to have a wash and renew her make-up.

  Her reflection in the mirror above the hand-basin was not reassuring. She looked harassed and drawn, she thought bitterly. It was just as well her hair was that silvery shade of blonde. She was sure she must have acquired a great many grey hairs since she had learned Ben was coming to live in Kingsmere, but at least they didn't show. Nevertheless, the strain on her nerves was undeniable, and she tipped her head back on her shoulders as exhaustion took its toll.

  Still, a few moments later the skilful application of cosmetics had removed much of the evidence. The shadows around her eyes had disappeared beneath a dusky powder, and a creamy blusher had added colour to her pale cheeks. With the generous contours of her mouth outlined by a tawny lip-gloss, she was moderately pleased with the results. She might still be able to see her anxiety, but she was sure that Tom would not.

  She changed from the shirt dress she had worn to the office into a pair of loose-fitting cotton trousers and a sleeveless vest. Because they were white, they accentuated the slight tan she had acquired during the hours she had spent in the garden and, like the make-up, they were a determined attempt to lift her spirits. Superficially, she looked good, she decided firmly. Good enough to convince Tom she wasn't beaten yet.

  It was still too early to go and meet him, however. Although Kingsmere was a small town, it did have its rush-hour, and Jaime had no intention of trying to find anywhere to park near the bus station. She planned to wait until Tom had had time to get outside the terminal. That way she hoped to be able to pick him up without having to park at all.

  She was standing in the living-room, gazing impatiently out of the window, when the sleek Mercedes glided to a halt behind her small Renault. It was barely four-thirty, and she hadn't even thought about leaving yet. She had estimated it would take her ten minutes at most to reach the town centre. And Ben must have known that, she hazarded. How she wished she had left early. It was galling being so predictable.

  Even so, she couldn't prevent the shiver of apprehension that shivered down her spine as Ben turned off the ignition, and got out of the vehicle. Tom was getting out, too, hauling his school haversack off the back seat, and looking not a little apprehensive himself now that the excitement was over and he had to face his mother.

  She had to go to the door, Jaime knew that. She had to open the door, and behave as if nothing monumental had happened, not least because she knew the car's arrival would have caused quite a stir in the neighbourhood. There was no way she could grab Tom and drag him inside without creating a disturbance, but the very idea of being civil, when she felt so angry, almost choked her.

  Tom was first up the steps, his guarded expression revealing his awareness of the enormity of what he had done. It was the first time he had done anything without clearing it with his mother first, and Jaime guessed he wasn't as confident as he would like her to think. He didn't know how she was going to react, and he wasn't yet old enough not to care.

  His hair was wet, Jaime noticed, and, looking beyond her son to the man who had followed him through the garden gate, she saw that Ben's hair was damp, too. So Tom had had his swim, she thought painfully, realising that the small betrayal hurt more than anything.

  'Uncle Ben said that, as you weren't feeling well, he'd bring me home,' Tom volunteered now, brushing past his mother and into the hall of the house. He glanced at her defiantly. 'I must say, you look OK to me.'

  'Do I?' Jaime managed the flat rejoinder, and then steeled herself to turn back to Ben. 'How kind of you to think of me!'

  'You don't think so,' observed Ben, halting on the flagged path below her. 'Do you?'

  Jaime stifled the desire to agree with him, and lifted her shoulders. 'It's not important. Tom's home now. I'm grateful.'

  Ben tossed his car keys and caught them, and then thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He was wearing black denims and a beige silk shirt, which accentuated the darkness of his skin. But for all that, he still had a look of fatigue around his eyes, and Jaime found herself remembering what her mother had said.

  'Right,' he said at last. 'I'll be in touch.'

  Tom came forward. 'Aren't you coming in?'

  Ben's mouth twisted. 'I don't think so.' His gaze shifted to Jaime. 'I don't think your mother wants company right now.'

  'Mum?'

  Tom was still looking frustratedly at her when they all heard the sound of running footsteps coming down the street. Dragging her gaze away from her son's, Jaime turned her head to see who it was, and then felt an overwhelming sense of relief when Angie Santini stopped at the gate.

  'Tom!' Angie exclaimed, sweeping back the tumbled weight of her hair with a knowingly sensual hand. 'Where've you been? I've been waiting outside the lab for ages!'

  Tom coloured and, evidently satisfied with this result, Angie came through the gate. But her attention had moved to the other male present, and Jaime's feelings did a quick about-face as the girl's eyes lingered on Ben. She gave his leanly muscled frame a thorough appraisal, and then glanced meaningfully over her shoulder at the Mercedes parked outside.

  'Nice car!' she murmured, a knowing smile lifting the corners of her lips, and Tom squeezed past his mother again to make the introduction.

  'It's my uncle's,' he said proudly, and Jaime's fists clenched as she turned back into the house.

  She was in the kitchen, pulling saucepans out of the cupboard, when she became aware that she was no longer alone. Red-faced from her exertions, she turned, expecting to find Tom and Angie behind her. But it wasn't her son and his girlfriend. It was Ben standing in the open doorway, and her feelings coalesced into a burning resentment.

  'I thought you were leaving!' she exclaimed, slamming a saucepan down on to the drainer, and Ben took a deep breath before walking into the room.

  'I think you should calm down,' he said, as she turned to face him. 'You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you go on like this.'

  'What would you know about it?' Jaime's hand itched to slap his impassive face. 'You come here and seduce my son with expensive toys, and expect me to be happy about it!'

  'He's my son, too,' replied Ben, in a low, forceful voice, and Jaime caught her breath. But when her eyes darted anxiously past his shoulder, Ben raised a soothing hand. 'It's all right,' he said. 'Tom's outside with—Angie, is it? I'd say he has his hands full for now.'

  'Well, Angie is quite a handful, as I'm s
ure you've noticed,' muttered Jaime, turning back to the sink, and then stiffened when Ben moved to rest his hands on the drainer at either side of her.

  'You wouldn't be jealous, by any chance?' he murmured, his breath lifting the hair at the nape of her neck, and Jaime lifted a hand to protect the vulnerable flesh.

  'Don't—don't be silly,' she snapped, but she didn't trust herself to turn towards him. She was too intensely conscious of the heat of his body behind her, and the faint smell of him, that mingled shaving soap and deodorant, and the musky male scent of his skin.

  'You don't have to be,' he continued, and she wondered if he was aware of the effect he was having on her weakened senses. His lips grazed the skin of her knuckles, and she withdrew her hand abruptly, only to regret having done so when his mouth touched the sensitive curve of her nape. 'Compared to Angie, you're as ripe and luscious as a peach.'

  'Fat and overblown, is that what you mean?' retorted Jaime witheringly, desperate to dispel the disturbing intimacy of his words, but Ben was not deterred.

  'You're not fat, and you know it,' he said, stepping closer, and Jaime had to press her stomach against the sink to avoid brushing against him. 'You were never thin. That was one of the things I liked about you. You hadn't sacrificed shape for style.'

  'Un—unlike—Maura,' Jaime choked, hoping the mention of his dead wife's name would bring him to his senses. But it didn't.

  Instead of moving away, his mouth sought the skin at the side of her neck, and although she jerked her head away he bit into the soft flesh. 'Don't expect me to make comparisons,' he said, one hand leaving the unit to curve possessively over her hip. 'You were the only woman I loved. Let that be enough for you.'

  'You can't say that—'

  'I just did.'

  'You never loved me—'

  'What would you know about it?'

  He used both hands then to turn her resisting body to face him, and, although she strained away from him, his hands on her hips made her increasingly aware of his arousal.

  'Ben,' she began, hoping to reason with him, but something—some frustrated need, perhaps—was fighting her resistance. She wanted to push him away from her. She wanted to escape from the sensual strength of his hands, and rekindle the hatred she knew she should be feeling towards him, but she couldn't. She didn't know why. Maybe it was their unfamiliar isolation—the realisation that for the first time since Ben had come back into her life they were really alone. There were no people around them here. No fellow diners at the pub by the river, no Tom in the next room, straining to hear every word they said. Oh, Tom wasn't far away. Jaime thought she could hear his and Angie's voices mingling in the garden outside. But, for the moment, they were absorbed with their own affairs. Not with hers.

  Ben was looking at her. She could see the darkening heat of passion in his green eyes, and her knees trembled. His lips were slightly parted and the warmth of his breath was fanning her temple. She could feel his awareness, sense his hunger. The throbbing power in his loins was melting every bone in her body, and when he bent his head towards her she didn't have the will to fight him.

  His lips were hot and sensuous, yet, for all that, she sensed the restraint he was putting on himself. She guessed he was aware that if Tom should come and find them in such a compromising position he might ask questions Ben was not prepared to answer. But he couldn't disguise his need. Between ragged gulps of air he savaged any protest she might have tried to make, and as her opposition waned his tongue plunged urgently into her mouth.

  Reality slipped—for both of them. When Ben's hands moved over her hips and drew her even closer to his taut body, Jaime could only clutch at his shoulders. Her head was swimming, and the consuming desire Ben was communicating narrowed her world to one of needs and sensations. Sanity deserted her entirely when he caressed her buttocks, and when his fingers probed the sensitive cleft between, and used it to part her legs, his thigh riding between them became a vital support.

  The blood was pounding in her ears now, deafening her to anything but what was going on in this room. Her fingers encountered the open neck of his shirt, and the warm column of his throat was an irresistible temptation. Almost instinctively, her nails disposed of the buttons at the top of his shirt, and when he released her mouth to take a shuddering breath she pressed her lips to his chest.

  His groan was barely audible, but she felt its vibration against her tongue. She guessed he was on the brink of losing all control, and the knowledge of the power she now had over him was a tantalising discovery. The intimacy of their embrace, the speed with which it had developed, and the desperate way he sought her mouth again revealed his weakness. Nevertheless, when he drew her tongue between his lips and suckled on its tip, she was left in no doubt as to her own weaknesses. She wanted this, just as much as he did, and any thought of capitalising on her advantage was lost…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jaime wondered later what might have happened if Tom hadn't interrupted them. Although the idea of Ben taking her against the kitchen unit might sound incredible—unbelievable—in retrospect, the fact was they had both been beyond the point of caring what was proper and what was not. The fine veneer of civilisation had been swept away, and its place had been taken by raw, primitive passion.

  But some sixth sense seemed to warn Ben of the moment when Tom decided to come and find out what was going on. In less charitable moments, Jaime would wonder if it weren't a sixth sense honed by years of living on his wits, but at the time she was just grateful for his quick thinking. Without the speed of his reactions, Tom would have surprised them in what could at the very least be described as embarrassing circumstances, and the thought of having to face her son in such circumstances, after what she had said about Ben, was unthinkable.

  As it was, she was still struggling to regain her composure when Tom appeared in the kitchen doorway. The fact that Ben had put the width of the room between them before her son could suspect their behaviour was really not enough. Jaime was still reeling from the effects of Ben's lovemaking, and, although she strove to suppress it, part of her ached from the suddenness of his withdrawal. She noticed that, although Ben appeared to have regained control of his senses, he had dragged his shirt out of his trousers, and thrust his hands into his pockets. The realisation of why he had done so hit Jaime with some force, and a guilty wave of colour stained cheeks that were already burning.

  'Hey…' Tom's gaze flicked between them with some concern and, for a second, Jaime thought he had guessed what had occurred. But, happily, her son was still too young to jump to what Jaime believed was a fairly obvious conclusion. Because he had never been exposed to a normal family relationship, Tom still regarded sex as something his generation had discovered, and the idea that his mother might succumb to uncontrollable impulses simply didn't occur to him. 'Have you two been fighting over me?'

  Jaime heard the breath Ben expelled, and then he straightened his spine with a definite effort. 'We've been—exploring—possibilities,' he said, and only Jaime understood the real significance of that remark. 'Nothing for you to worry about.'

  'Is that right?' Tom turned to his mother. 'Is it?'

  Jaime ran her damp palms over her cheeks. She had to get control of herself, she told herself severely. But her brain felt scrambled, and it was difficult to even formulate a coherent response.

  'I—yes,' she got out at last. It was letting Tom off the hook, she knew, but just at present she wasn't in a fit state to take him on.

  'You mean, you've sorted things out? About my going to see Uncle Ben?' Tom could hardly believe his luck. 'Hey, magic!'

  Jaime checked the hair at her nape, and then allowed her hands to slide down the sides of her breasts. It was only when she saw Ben watching her that she realised her actions could be regarded as provocative, and as she twisted her hands together at her waist she realised her body was as shameless as his. But, unlike him, there was no way she could hide the evidence.

  'I—think what your mot
her's saying is that she's forgiven you this time,' Ben declared, his gaze shifting abruptly to the boy. 'That's not to say you should do such a thing again. Not without asking her first, I mean. But I think your mother and I understand one another better now.'

  Do we?

  Jaime was tempted to dispute that. As her brain cleared, and sanity returned, all the old fears and resentments she had felt towards Ben were rekindled. How dared he stand there and presume to tell Tom what she was thinking? Did he see what had happened as proof of the power he still had over her? Didn't he realise she could only despise him for taking advantage of her—again? Just because he had proved she was sexually vulnerable didn't mean he could manipulate her at will.

  'Where's Angie?' she asked, deciding she couldn't deal with that right now, and the crispness of her tone was obviously a surprise to both of them.

  'Um—she's gone home,' Tom murmured, the confidence he had shown a few minutes earlier withering in the coolness of her appraisal. 'Is—er—is Uncle Ben staying for dinner?'

  You wish! thought Jaime bitterly, but she managed to contain her contempt. 'Not tonight,' she replied smoothly, allowing Ben to take that any way he wished. 'Perhaps you'd like to see him to the door? He was just leaving.'

  Tom's jaw clenched. 'Does he have to?'

  'Yes, he does,' Jaime was beginning irritably, when Ben himself came to her aid.

  'Yes, I do,' he confirmed, tucking his shirt back into his waistband with an enviable lack of self-consciousness. 'As a matter of fact, I've got some people coming to supper this evening, and it wouldn't do if the host had already eaten, would it?'

  His attempt at humour didn't really mollify Tom, however, and although she hadn't thought about it earlier Jaime couldn't help noticing that Ben was looking distinctly strained. Her mother shouldn't have repeated the gossip about him, she fretted impatiently. Ben wouldn't like to think people were talking about him, she was sure of that, and, for all his faults, she had never known him to show any serious concern for his health. So why should she?