by Penny Jordan
They had the mushrooms for lunch in an omelette that Drew cooked, claiming that it was his speciality. In return Holly insisted that she was going to cook their evening meal. Not steak; making the acquaintance of Septimus had made her feel slightly reluctant to eat meat. Instead Drew drove her to the market at Chelford, where he himself had some business to conduct, and she amused herself exploring the various stalls, while Drew went off with another farmer he knew.
Two hours later, her arms laden with her purchases, Holly made her way back to the Range Rover. She had bought fresh salmon and tiny, sweet strawberries; from the eggs from Drew's hens she could make hollandaise sauce and meringue for the strawberries.
A stall selling home-made cheese and pâtés had tempted her, and she had ended up having a long discussion with the woman running it, a farmer's wife whose interest in the old-fashioned methods of cheese-making and farm husbandry had led her to setting up her own small business selling her produce.
Once, years ago, every small market town would have been like this, Holly recognised, and on market day the stalls would have been crammed with homemade local produce. She bought some matured local cheese, and the stallholder recommended a shop to her where she would find excellent local bakery bread.
Drew had reached the Land Rover ahead of her, and his eyebrows rose when he saw how laden she was.
'Bought up the entire market, have you?' he asked her humorously as he relieved her of some of her shopping.
'Not quite, but everything looked so tempting. What about you? Did your business go well?'
'I think so. The first lot of my bull's offspring are reaching the end of their first summer, and I wanted to know how well they're doing. He's a cross-bred bull, not generally favoured in this part of the world, and I took something of a chance in buying him, but so far the results are good.'
'Breeding animals sounds a complicated and risky business,' Holly commented as he helped her into the Land Rover.
'Oh, it is, especially in today's competitive markets. I hope you've got something for us to eat in these parcels, otherwise it's going to have to be steak.'
He was obviously amused by her refusal to eat the meat, and yet his amusement was kind, as though he understood how she felt.
When she said as much, he laughed in agreement. 'I'll never forget the time my mother bought some geese for fattening. Not one of us could touch our Christmas lunch that year.'
'Well, I've bought salmon for supper,' Holly told her.
She hadn't seen either Rosamund or Howard since her visit to Knutsford, and, oddly, the other couple and the purpose of Holly staying with Drew had totally disappeared from their conversation.
After dinner, when Drew asked if she would like to go out, either in to Chester, or alternatively to the local pub, Holly shook her head and stretched lazily in her chair. She was quite content where she was, and Drew must be feeling the same way too, because he made no mention of the fact that several days had gone by without their making any attempt to foster jealousy in Rosamund and Howard.
Only one thing spoiled what had otherwise been a perfect day, Holly reflected sleepily as they went upstairs, and that was that she and Drew were going to separate rooms. She shivered a little, acknowledging how easily she had slipped into the delusion of believing her life here was infinite, that she was a permanent part of Drew's life, when in reality…
She hesitated on the stairs, torn by conflicting feelings. Common sense told her that the wisest thing she could do now would be to tell Drew that she had fallen out of love with Howard and say that she need no longer continue the deception. She could then move out of the farm, and perhaps find an inexpensive hotel near Chester which she could use as a base while she looked for a venue for Jan's new shop.
But when did common sense ever mean anything to a woman in love?
Seeing her pause and sway slightly on the stairs, Drew offered teasingly, 'Want me to carry you to bed, sleepyhead?'
Did she? Her heart did a whole range of somersaults, worthy of an East European gymnastics champion. For a moment she was desperately tempted. Drew liked her, he liked kissing her; he was a very male man, missing the woman he loved. His body could be aroused by the feminine softness of her own, Holly already knew, and once she was in his arms, once he was making love to her, might it not be possible that she could make him forget Rosamund?
A cold wash of horror swept her as she realised what she was contemplating. How contemptible she would be if she allowed him to do that… if she encouraged him to do it, knowing that he loved someone else, and knowing that he would doubtless feel contrite and embarrassed once the lovemaking was over. What kind of person was she to even think of encouraging something like that to happen?
The kind who had suddenly discovered that she was desperately in love with a man she knew she was soon to lose. There was a kind of despairing poignancy about every moment they spent together now, an endless yearning that possessed her to treasure every single second; an aching need to reach out and tell him how she felt, contradicted by the voice of reason warning her that it was neither fair nor wise of her to inflict her own feelings on Drew, especially not when he must be missing Rosamund more desperately with every day that passed.
Not that he betrayed it; not that he ever made Holly feel that he didn't enjoy every single moment of their time together; but that just went to show how kind and considerate he was.
Tick me up? Carry me to bed?' she teased in as cheerful a rallying tone as she could manage. 'After all the food I've eaten recently? Somehow I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm not like Rosamund,' she added, and her voice betrayed her, hardening fractionally with jealousy.
'A perfect size eight?' Drew asked derisively, immediately realising what she meant. 'She's too thin. Don't try to change yourself, Holly. You're perfect as you are.'
Dizzy with pleasure, she looked up at him, and her breath locked in her throat. He was going to kiss her, she knew he was. They had reached the top of the stairs, and, as though she had stepped outside herself and was watching Drew and herself like two figures moving in slow motion, she saw Drew reach for her, and knew her own body melted compliantly toward him, aching for the hard warmth of him against it. The cuff of his woollen shirt brushed her face as he lifted his hand to push her hair away and cup her jaw. His eyes burned dark like those of an eagle, and her breath was released on a jerky, tense gasp.
'Holly.'
He said her name softly, like a benediction, and her eyes closed as she felt the soft movement of his thumb against her mouth, rubbing tormentingly at her lips. She swayed toward him and felt his free arm go round her, drawing her into the heat of his body.
'Holly.'
His hand turned her face, his head came down, his thumb parting her lips as he slid his own between their moist softness, tasting, teasing, filling her senses with the taste, the feel, the scent of him.
His mouth tasted faintly of the brandy they had had with their coffee, and she touched his lips with her tongue, hazily pursuing the elusive flavour.
She heard him moan, a fierce, hoarse sound of male desire that made him seem almost alien, not the Drew she knew at all. Beneath her hand she could feel the furious beat of his heart, and his fingers where they gripped her waist were almost bruising the soft skin. He moved, taking her with him, leaning back against the wall and manoeuvring her between his thighs, groaning as his hand moved to her spine, pressing her against his aroused flesh.
Her heart thudding so frantically that she could hardly breathe, Holly leaned into him; this was fate's doing and not hers. She need feel no guilt, no remorse.
Drew's hand cupped her breast, pushing aside the silk covering of her blouse, and she whimpered softly, blind… drunk on love and desire.
'Holly! Holly, I've got to see you…touch you…taste you.'
She didn't hear the words, only the anguished sound of his voice and its need, a need that matched her own… that mirrored her own. She sighed with impatient
acquiescence as he unfastened her blouse and pushed it from her shoulders. His hands trembled as he unsnapped her bra. The light at the top of the stairs was dim, throwing shadows over her soft flesh.
She felt Drew's chest lift and then fall sharply, recognising in the bemused awe of his gaze that he was paying her the highest compliment it was possible for a man to pay a woman's body.
'I knew you'd be beautiful,' he told her huskily, 'but not like this, so perfect that…'
Instinctively Holly arched back, obeying the feminine force within her, just as instinctively cradling Drew's dark head in her hands as he placed tender lips against the curve of her body. His hair felt like silk beneath her fingers, the bones beneath it hard and male.
She trembled as she felt the warmth of his mouth against her skin. Gentle as a breath; tormentingly arousing.
And then, cruelly, her mind reminded her of the truth. Drew didn't love her.. .he loved Rosamund. Instinctively she pulled away. She felt Drew resist and then let her go. His face was flushed with passion, his body tense and hard.
'Drew, we mustn't,' she told him huskily. 'It isn't right.'
For a moment she thought he intended to overrule her, to pick her up and simply carry her to his bed, but then, as though he had mastered the impulse, he stepped back from her and said quietly, 'You're right. It isn't. That's the trouble with propinquity, isn't it, Holly? It doesn't always work the way we want it to.'
As she watched him walk down the landing to his bedroom, Holly had to squash an appalling wish that he had overruled her, that he had ignored her and simply gone on making love to her. But what good would it have done?
It would have eased the unremitting ache inside her, Holly acknowledged frankly. It would have given her a taste of heaven, if only briefly. It would have allowed her to be one with him, to share pleasure with him, to give him the gift of her love, even if he didn't realise he was receiving it. But now it was too late.
She had to suppress an urge to run after him and tell him that she had changed her mind, but wisely she managed to stop herself.
The weather had changed. Outside the wind blustered, dashing yellowed leaves against the window. Holly had been awake for a long time. Today she and Drew were having lunch with his mother at Rookery Hall. She was glad that Jan had sent on one of her favourite dresses, a simple fine wool crêpe in red with a neatly fitted bodice and a short, straight skirt gathered from a slightly lowered waistband. It was at once both demure and teasingly provocative. It suited her curvy shape, and Holly knew she looked good in it. She had a black velvet three-quarter jacket she could wear over it.
As she lay there, desperately trying to fill her thoughts with everything bar her memories of last night, she heard footsteps outside the door. Drew must be up, even though he had told her that they did not need to get up early since one of his cowmen had agreed to stand in for him.
She pushed back the duvet and swung her feet to the floor just as he opened the door, startling her a little because she had thought he was on his way downstairs. She was even more startled when he came over to the bed and said firmly, 'I need your help.'
He was wearing a towelling robe, and his hair sprang damply from his scalp. She could smell the fresh, clean scent of his soap and shampoo, and as he caught hold of her hand and tugged her to her feet she saw the fine covering of dark hair shadowing his chest.
Her stomach lurched protestingly. What was the matter with her? she chided herself despairingly. She had seen Howard's chest often enough, and it had never, ever had this effect on her.
'Drew, what is it? What's wrong?' she asked him as she followed him out of the room and along the corridor in the direction of his own bedroom.
'Nothing's wrong,' he told her as he opened the door and gave her a gentle push inside. 'I just need to know what I should wear today.'
'What you should wear?' Holly stared at him.
'Yes. You know…my new clothes. I know you told me what goes with what, but I'm afraid I've forgotten, and I've probably got them all mixed up anyway.'
'You brought me in here to choose your clothes?'
'Yes, that's right,' Drew agreed cheerfully. 'I thought it would be easier than bringing the stuff to your room.'
'But, Drew, I'm not dressed.'
He looked at her then, and Holly wished she hadn't drawn his attention to her unclothed state as she saw the way his glance rested momentarily on the full thrust of her breasts beneath her cotton nightshirt.
'No, I should have thought of that,' he agreed. Before she could say a word, he whisked the duvet off his bed, and bundled her into a chair, tucking it round her.
'There, that should keep you warm enough.'
Warm? That wasn't what she had meant at all. The scent of his body clung to the duvet cover, tormenting her. It seemed too much of an effort to continue to protest, and, besides, what was the point?
'I've got everything in here,' Drew told her, his back to her as he opened the wardrobe doors.
He reached in and extracted one of the shirts they had bought, and then, before Holly could stop him, stripped off his robe and flung it on to the bed.
He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts, surely far briefer than those she had seen modelled on the pages of magazines. Or was it simply that Drew…? She swallowed hard and tried to control her tumultuous thoughts. Drew's body was powerfully developed by his life-style, and of course it was only logical that he, as an adult male of close on thirty, should have a much more powerfully built frame than the teenage models chosen by the magazines.
Even so, Holly found herself desperately looking everywhere but at his body. But the temptation was too much for her. Surreptitiously she watched as he reached out for the shirt and the shorts slipped a little lower on his hips.
He turned round unexpectedly, catching her staring, but seemed unaware of it, and of the reason for her suddenly strangled breath as he shrugged on the shirt and the corded muscles of his chest and belly hardened. The fine, dark hair covered not only his chest, but ran downwards in a dark line disappearing into his shorts.
Her mouth had gone dry, and Holly touched her lips with her tongue, wondering why she should find it so difficult to breathe.
'What do you think?' Drew asked her, and it took her several seconds to focus on his shirt and realise what he was asking.
'Well, it looks fine, Drew… but what are you planning to wear with it?'
'These trousers,' he told her, producing the plain pair they had bought. 'And the tweed blouson.'
With a struggle, Holly forced her mind to concentrate.
'Wasn't there a blue shirt?' she asked him, remembering that she had suggested buying one. 'It had tiny buttons, I think.'
'Ah. Here it is,' Drew told her, rifling through the wardrobe and producing it.
It was still in its plastic covering, and he struggled with it for a few seconds before bringing it over to her and asking, 'Can you help with this? I can't seem to get into it.'
'You do it like this,' Holly told him wryly, peeling back the self-sticking flap, and then realising, as she handed it back to him, how very close to her he was. Far too close for comfort, especially when he insisted on staying there while he removed his shirt, his body flexing sinuously with every movement.
This was pure torture, sitting here, watching him while she ached to reach out and touch him.
He seemed to have no embarrassment or self-consciousness at all about walking about in front of her in just his shorts, but then of course he was used to this sort of intimacy. He and Rosamund…
Jealousy rose up inside her, hot and bitter, and she was glad when his outfit was finally chosen and she was free to escape to her own room.
As she reached the door, Drew stopped her, reaching out and touching her arm. It was just a touch, no more than the brief laying of the warmth of his palm and fingers against her skin, but it made her shudder wildly and turn to him, her eyes dark with fear and reaction.
'Holly, what is it? What's wr
ong?'
He looked and sounded so concerned; another minute and she would be flinging herself into his arms, telling him all the things that could not and must not be said, telling him that she loved him and that Howard had faded from her mind so completely that she could barely conjure up his features, begging him to try to forget Rosamund and love her instead.
'It isn't because of last night, is it?' he asked her gently.
'No… no, it isn't that.'
'Ah, so there is something,' he pounced. 'What is it, then?'
This was unbearable, being so close to him, needing to be even closer, tormented by the far too vivid mental images of his near-nude body. She had to stop him questioning her, she had to escape before… before it was too late.
'I don't know. Nothing… I suppose I'm just not used to being around a half-dressed man,' she told him wildly.
He was silent, but she felt the odd, hard pressure of his fingers biting into her skin, as though what she had said had shocked him. As well it might. She shivered again and he released her, saying softly, 'Look at me, Holly.'
She didn't want to, but she found it impossible to resist the soft command. His eyes glowed warm gold, and she ached to reach out and touch her fingers to the hard planes of his face, to place her lips against the firm warmth of his, to…
'Does it disturb you?'
Half mesmerized, she jerked her head away, her mouth dry with panic.
'No…yes… Oh, Drew, the time,' she gabbled thankfully, as the grandfather clock chimed, splintering the intense tension surrounding them. 'I must get ready, otherwise we'll be late.'
He watched her dart into her bedroom with a wry look in his eyes.
He had always considered himself to be a patient man, but there were times… He flexed his muscles tiredly. The fault was his, but he hadn't been able to resist the impulse to tease her just a little, especially after last night.
Last night had left him raw and aching, and suddenly impatient with himself and with life. Sighing faintly, he made his way downstairs.
