Permission to Love

by Penny Jordan

  Lucas had struggled to sit up, pushing aside the

  bed clothes in the attempt. He slept in the nude and Lindsay quickly averted her eyes from the lean muscularity of his thighs. He was staring straight at her, his eyes dark and hostile.

  'Lindsay? What the the hell are you doing here?'

  It seemed impossible after his fever-soaked ramblings, but he was actually lucid and aware of her, his expression telling her that he was anything but pleased with her presence in his room.

  'Looking after you,' Lindsay responded tartly, dragging her eyes away from his body. 'You've got a recurrence of your old fever. Doctor Simmonds is coming back to see you later on. He's bringing you some antibiotics.'

  'Simmonds is an old woman, there's nothing wrong with me.' His mouth compressed in the hard line Lindsay was familiar with. 'Enjoying playing ministering angel were you? Well sorry as I am to deprive you of the role, there's no He broke off, his body shuddering violently, sweat springing up in small beads along his chest and forehead. He was shivering so intensely that Lindsay could hear his teeth chattering, and forgetting for a moment his hostility, she hurried over to the bed, dragging the covers up round his body, cautioning him to lie down as she did so.

  The way he simply complied and lay back against the pillows, closing his eyes, told her that he was far from well, but remembering what Doctor Simmonds had told her, she picked up the jug of cordial she had brought upstairs and poured out a glass. 'Drink this, Lucas,' she begged hind 'Doctor Simmonds said you were to drink as much

  as you could . . . You're sweating so badly you'll be in danger of dehydrating if you don't.'

  He muttered a protest, but struggled to sit up. The effort of moving brought fresh beads of sweat on to his skin, his bones standing out harshly beneath the taut flesh. Instinctively Lindsay made to support him as he drank, sitting down on the side of the bed, so that she could cradle his head. It was obvious that even the small effort of drinking the cordial had exhausted him and Lindsay wasn't surprised when he lapsed back into semi-consciousness, and then sleep.

  Once she was sure that he was actually sleeping Lindsay went back downstairs to ring Caroline. After she had expressed her initial surprise at hearing from her flatmate readily agreed to send on some of her clothes.

  Tomorrow she would have to ring into work and tell them that she would need to take an extra week's holiday, Lindsay reflected. She would also have to ring Lucas' office and explain to them that he would not be in for some time. She frowned and bit her bottom lip, worrying at it. He would have appointments that would need rescheduling , , , but all that could safely be left to Mrs McNaughton who had been her father's secretary and was now Lucas'.

  It was six o'clock when Doctor Simmonds finally returned. Lindsay was upstairs with Lucas when she heard the doctor's car. She had been trying to sponge Lucas down, but he had been so restless that her task had been almost impossible. It might have been easier if she had not been so crippled by her own feelings for him, she admitted. Touching him was a mixture of pain and

  pleasure so strong that her muscles ached with the effort of reminding herself that she could only touch him as a sister ... a nurse.

  When she told the doctor about Lucas, brief period of lucidity he nodded his head. 'Yes, it sometimes happens, but don't be deceived by it. It means very little . . . rather like waking up in the middle of the night and holding a conversation with someone—next day you can't remember a thing about it. Are you sure you're going to be able to manage?' he asked her. 'If you want any help?'

  'No . . . no, I'll be fine.'

  'Well here are the tablets. The instructions are written on the bottle. By tomorrow night you should start to see some improvement ... His temperature should be down and the sweating less noticeable. I'll call round tomorrow evening though just to check.'

  Trying to feed Lucas in his present comatose state would be almost impossible and Doctor Simmonds had told her not to worry about meals. Lucas wasn't going to starve in two days he told her, adding that making sure he had enough to drink was far more important.

  She didn't feel particularly hungry herself, but Doctor Simmonds had given Lucas his first tablet, and since he now seemed to be sleeping there was no need to stay with him. She hadn't eaten anything all day, Lindsay reminded herself, but when she was eventually sitting down in front of the omelette she had just cooked her appetite seemed to desert her. Having pushed it halfheartedly around her plate for several minutes she acknowledged that she simply did not want to eat.

  There was a television in Lucas' bedroom, and she could go up there and watch it, keeping an eye on her patient at the same time, but first she would have a shower. She felt sticky and tired, worn out as much by her own emotions as by her physical exertions in lifting and sponging the heavy maleness of Lucas' body.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  F eeling slightly refreshed by her shower Lindsay pulled on an old cotton towelling robe she had found at the back of her wardrobe. She remembered it from her teens and guessed that she must have left it behind when she moved out. The towelling was well worn and comfortable, and although the garment was more practical than glamorous, Lindsay felt more comfortable in it than she had done in her cashmere skirt and sweater.

  Jeremy would have a fit if he could see her now, she thought ruefully, surveying her shiny, make-up free face and heavy swathe of hair. Jeremy liked her to look elegant and soignee, slightly cool and remote. Well she looked anything but that now, she thought, studying her own reflection briefly. With her hair down and no make-up on she didn't look very much different from the teenager who had stared in this same mirror six years ago. Tying the sash of the robe she got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. Sheila, she remembered used to make a fruit drink that Lucas had been particularly fond of. Perhaps if she could make some of it, she might be able to coax him to drink a little more. She thought she could remember most of the ingredients, and luckily she found all the fruit she needed in the cool larder, just off the kitchen.

  When she had made up the drink Lindsay put it iff

  a large flask in the fridge. Once it was chilled she could take it upstairs with her. She had looked in on Lucas before she came down and he had still been deeply, if somewhat restlessly, asleep. Soon it would be time to give him another tablet, and with a bit of luck she would be able to do so without waking him up. Sleep was the best medicine he could have Doctor Simmonds had told her, but he had also gone on to say that his present half- unconscious state was more of a fever induced coma than natural sleep. It wasn't dangerous the doctor had hastily assured Lindsay when he saw her expression, but neither was it particularly beneficial. She should be prepared for further bouts of feverish rambling as the illness ran its course, and also the fact that once he was well again Lucas would probably have little recollection of his illness.

  Lindsay was just on her way upstairs with the chilled drink when the phone rang in the study. She picked up the receiver, automatically giving the number.'Lindsay is that you?'

  Jeremy sounded terse and angry.

  I take it you got my message.'

  'Yes, but not before mother had rung me to complain about you cancelling next weekend. Lindsay, what the devil's going on?'

  'I told your mother, Lucas is ill. . .'

  'Yes, so she told me, but I can't see why that necessites you staying on there. He has a wife doesn't he? And God knows with all his money he should be able to pay for a nurse if that's what's needed. I want you to come back to London, Lindsay,' Jeremy continued. 'I can understand

  your concern—after all he is your brother, but you can't just drop everything to look after him. Where's his wife?'

  'Er . . . Gwen's . . . away at the moment.' Why on earth hadn't she told Jeremy the truth, Lindsay asked herself ruefully, as she listened to his further objections. Not for any sinister reason, simply because she couldn't cope with the further complications explaining would involve. Jeremy always liked to have all his 'i's' dotted and his 't's
' crossed, and she simply didn't have the energy right now to explain to him that Gwendolin and Lucas were divorced.

  'Gwen isn't here Jeremy and I feel I ought to stay. Mrs James, Lucas' housekeeper is nursing her sick sister, and Lucas is alone in the house. He could employ a nurse of course, but I feel that I should stay.'

  Don't ask me any more questions Jeremy, she pleaded mentally. I just can't cope with them at the moment. The truth was, if she could bring herself to face it, that she simply preferred to stay here with Lucas than return to London and Jeremy. Of course it was not quite as simple as that. Lucas was ill, and she knew she wouldn't have a moment's peace if she left him in someone else's care.

  'Well yes, I can understand that . . . but I do think you might have made alternative arrangements for this weekend. Surely someone else could have stayed with him then. After all, it was supposed to be our engagement party.'

  He sounded aggrieved and possibly with good cause, Lindsay acknowledged fair-mindedly, but when Jeremy was annoyed he was inclined to sulk and she didn't feel she could cope with soothing him right now. And besides . .. She took a deep breath. 'Yes . .. Jeremy about our engagement. . .' She paused half of her horrified by what she was doing, the other half egging her on.

  'Yes?'

  'I'm . . . I'm beginning to wonder if it would be such a good idea after all . . . I. . .'

  Jeremy made a small explosive sound of anger, and Lindsay could picture him frowning into the receiver. 'Lindsay, I don't understand what's got into you,' he complained angrily. 'You're acting completely out of character. First you upset mother by backing out of next weekend; then you start saying you've got doubts about our engagement. What you need, my girl, is a holiday.'

  'Jeremy . ..'

  'We'll talk about it when you get back,' he told her stiffly, adding, 'I thought you were a sensible woman, Lindsay. Indeed that was one of the things about you that most appealed to me.'

  Was it? Strange, I thought it was my money.' Lidsay was appalled to hear herself saying the words, her voice dry and unfamiliar. That Jeremy loo was shocked by her comment was obvious from the tense sound of his breathing.

  Lindsay, you're obviously not yourself. I don't know what's got into you, but it isn't something we can discuss over the telephone. We'll discuss it when you return to London.' He hung up before she could make any comment, hardly surprisingly really, Lindsay thought wryly. Poor Jeremy, she had been extremely unfair and unkind to him. After all it was hardly his fault that she had discovered she was in love with Lucas.

  Still frowning she went upstairs and walked irresolutely into Lucas' bedroom, standing by the door while she studied him. Even in sleep the aura of power emanating from him was extraordinarily strong. Always at the back of her mind although she had hidden the knowledge from herself she had been aware of his masculinity; of the strong pull he exercised over her senses. It had been there when she was a teenager, but her malleable adolescent emotions had been unable to cope with the intensity of that magnetism and instead of admitting her love for him she had subtly altered it, making it more acceptable, taming it . . . but there was an elemental wildness about Lucas that refused to be tamed. Just for a moment a pagan image of him as a lover flashed across her mind, and a low, raw sound of pain broke from her throat as she pictured him sharing this bed with Gwendolin. Her body trembled convulsively as though it felt his touch, and Lindsay backed nervily further out of the door. What was happening to her? Far too many years of repressed emotions and denied feelings were catching up on her, that was what was happening and she didn't know if she could cope with it. Her body ached and throbbed with a tense nervy urgency that made her restless and afraid. But afraid of what? That Lucas was going to get off the bed and seduce her? Hardly likely; either that he would, or if he did that she would be afraid . . , No what she was afraid of was the violence of her own responses to the mental suggestion; the fierce coursing need that destroyed all her pre-conceived ideas of herself. Sexually cold . . . withdrawn, remote; that was how others saw her and how she

  was used to seeing herself, but suddenly that false image had cracked and she was finding it difficult to come to terms with the truth. She thought of the stream of girls who had passed through Lucas' life before he met and married Gwendolin; she had always found something in them to dislike, and Lucas, she remembered had been lazily amused by her criticisms. She frowned again. Surely a man with his experience must have realised what lay at the root of it. Had he known? Had he guessed what she had kept secret from herself? The thought made her squirm uncomfortably. It was one thing to acknowledge to herself that she loved and physically desired him to an extent that was still new enough to rock her off her heels, but to be forced to come to terms with the possibility that Lucas himself knew as well and probably had known for years, was something else. Now that she had time to think about her reactions her own naivety amazed her. How often had she wanted to touch him, only to draw back instinctively . . . how often had she been close to weeping for the gap that yawned between them, aching for the days when they had been close?

  But Lucas did not feel about her the way she felt about him, and never would she must accept that. As she watched him he stirred restlessly and she forced herself to approach the bed. It was time for him to have a drink and his tablet. Willing her mind to empty itself of the tormenting memory of imagining him as her lover Lindsay applied herself to her task She was just congratulating herself on doing so successfully when his fingers fastened around her wrist, his eyes opening wide to stare into

  'Lindsay.'

  She started to pull away automatically but he wouldn't let her go. Even gripped by fever he was still far stronger than her, and she knew that tomorrow the fragile bones of her wrist would bear bruise marks from his fingers.

  'Stay here with me. Don't go.' His eyes were still fastened on hers but they had lost their sharp alertness, and were smokey with pain and exhaustion. He was rambling again Lindsay guessed, probably not even wholly aware of who he was holding.

  Sanity demanded that she pull away, but the need to comfort and soothe him was too powerful. With her free hand she stroked his forehead, smoothing away his frown. His skin was hot and moist, but no longer burning as it had done earlier. Under the soft stroke of his fingers, his frown relaxed, his eyes slowly closing. Almost without realising what she was doing, Lindsay pushed his hair back off his forehead. It felt like silk beneath her fingertips, so dark and heavy, unlike her own. This need to explore the textures of another person's body was unknown to her, but already frighteningly addictive. She wanted to touch him and to go on touching. To explore the hard muscles lying beneath his skin, to know the reality of him in the most intimate and personal sense of the word. Longing racked her in sharp, violent pangs, emotions she had hitherto never imagined existing making her slender frame shudder uncontrollably. She knew she should stop what she was doing; it was after all gross violation of Lucas' privacy; an intimacy he would not have granted her had he been in full possession of his

  senses, but alongside her deep sense of inner shame was a hunger she simply could not control. And he was responding to her touch, relaxing under it, his fierce grip of her wrist lessening slightly as she stroked her fingers through his hair, exploring the hard bones of his skull, aching with a reckless need to communicate to him how she felt; to pour out her love for him; to abandon herself completely and no longer be Lindsay Ferris but instead part of one unit that was comprised both of herself and Lucas.

  The direction her thoughts were taking hit her like a douche of icy water, reality forcing her to slop what she was doing and to drag her eyes away from the exposed nudity of his upper body.

  For God's sake, she chided herself bitterly. What's the matter with you? You're behaving like a comic strip frustrated spinster overcome with lust at the sight of a male body. A half hysterical burst of laughter escaped her. Dear God . .. what was happening to her? Gently she tugged away from Lucas' grasp, but to her consternation instead of letting
her go his grip tightened again, unit he muttered something in his sleep, turning towards her. As he moved the sheet slipped further down his body, exposing the hard line of his thigh. His skin was tanned and sleek, and she found herself wondering where he had got that all over bronzing and with whom? Not with Gwendolin apparently. A dart of agony pierced through her as she was forced to contemplate the reality of Lucas as some other woman's lover. And he would be an expert, she knew that instinctively ... a master of sensual expertise, giving pleasure as well as taking it. Her skin burned but she still shivered,

  automatically reaching down to pull the covers over him with her free hand.

  Almost instantly it was grasped and made a prisoner like its twin. Smothering her verbal protest, Lindsay tried to tug free. Lucas had no knowledge of what he was doing. His eyes were still closed, his forehead creased in a new frown, which deepened with every attempt she made to break away. Without opening his eyes he muttered thickly. 'No ... no ... don't leave me,' and the raw need in his voice pierced her with pain. Who did he think he was holding? Gwendolin? The wife who had left him and whom he obviously loved far more than she had ever imagined, but then she seemed to have an acute facility for self-deceit, and perhaps she had not seen the real depth of his feelings for his wife, because she had not wanted to? She braced herself on the edge of the bed with one knee, trying to lever herself free without waking him up. She had no doubt that she was the last woman Lucas would want to find in his arms, but as she balanced herself precariously on the bed, his grip on her wrists suddenly tightened and Lindsay looked down to find him watching her with smokily hazed eyes. He made a sound in his throat and pulled her down beside him on to the bed, his hands freeing her wrists, one arm holding her against the mattress . ..