by Susan Napier
'No, yes...' Beth hissed, looking as if she was about to start ringing her hands in despair as the doorbell sounded again. 'Fran, you don't understand...'
'I promise I won't frighten him off,' Fran said in amusement. Beth was usually terrifyingly blasé about her boyfriends. 'We have to let him in and you certainly can't do it like that. Stop fussing, Beth,' she scolded as the girl let out another anguished protest. 'If he looks down his nose at me I'll excuse myself and change, and if he turns out to be a nice guy he can come out and watch me pot my plants. Now go and finish dressing...I thought you were always ready early for dates.'
'Fran!' Beth's cry was despairing. 'At least take off the gardening gloves!'
'If he's as prissy as you seem to think I don't think he's going to want to shake hands anyway,' Fran called back with playful perversity. Beth was very fond of giving people 'snob tests', especially in up-market dress shops where she would suddenly lapse into excruciating country-bumpkinisms. Many a time Fran had been torn between laughter and embarrassment as she dragged her companion away. Perhaps tonight she could get her own back. Pinning a vacant smile to her lips, she threw the door wide.
It was Ross.
Wasn't it? She blinked. His thick hair was trimmed to glossy neatness and he was wearing a suit. It was dark, teamed with an immaculate silver-grey silk shirt and maroon tie, his raw masculinity refined into elegant, expensive lines that Fran had a savagely jealous urge to smudge, to turn him back into the Ross she knew.
'Ross...what are you doing here?' To her horror it came out almost like an accusation, when he had sacrificed his pride to come and see her...
'More to the point, what are you doing here?' he shocked her by replying. Suddenly she noticed the finegrained skin pulled taut around the mouth and nose and eyes. He was as shocked as she was by this confrontation. But that would mean... 'I was under the impression that Beth was living at a student nurses' hostel. I appear to have been wrong,' he said, his voice coming out dry and lifeless as he looked beyond her into the flat, and the untidy signs of Beth's occupation.
Fran closed her eyes briefly as she assimilated his ignorance. Neither Beth nor his mother had told him. For weeks she had been plagued by the assumption that he had known but not wanted to make use of the knowledge. 'I... she moved out of the hostel weeks ago. Didn't she tell you?' She wavered unnecessarily. The skyblue eyes came back to hers and locked on them relentlessly. Her mouth dried as she watched them change from shock, to suspicion, to wariness, to an unreadable blankness.
'No, she didn't.'
Unnerved by the clipped reply, and the stillness of the big body, Fran found herself babbling out all Beth's troubles, stressing that Beth had come to her, not the other way around.
His mask of inexpression flickered at that, and for the first time he looked beyond her pale face. He looked at her hair, crimped by the spring humidity, the dirty streaks on her skin and revealing-concealing casual garb. She felt like a street urchin being looked over by a plutocrat, and unconsciously drew herself up to compensate with a haughty stare. A gleam fleetingly silvered the blue eyes and she stiffened. Did he find her funny? OK, so she was scruffy, but she had seen him look worse. She wasn't going to let him embarrass her, she wasn't ashamed of her body. He obviously noticed, from the way his eyes had lingered on the swell of her hips, that she wasn't as slim as she had been a few months ago, but her roundness wasn't fat. It was smooth, sleekly conditioned muscle. She was more supple and fitter than she had ever been in her life, thanks to the hard manual labour she was putting in.
'No need to get so uptight, Fran,' he drawled, as nervousness drove her on to restate Beth's case. 'I get the message. I'm not to take this as an oblique attempt on your part to fling yourself back into my arms.'
Since that was exactly what it had been, at least in part, Fran found herself flushing faintly. Was that relief she detected? She jutted her chin defensively.
'No wonder Beth never wanted me to run her back to the hostel, and only rang from Tech. I wonder who the secrecy was designed to protect? You or me?' He raised an eyebrow and his mouth curved slightly as he watched her wipe her palms nervously against her denim-clad thighs. Suddenly Fran caught a breathtaking glimpse of the man she knew, and an avalanche of feeling rushed into her hollow heart.
'Don't feel you need to apologise for having taken my sister under your wing, Francesca.' In the midst of that bland softness the drawn-out syllables of her name were an intimate caress that made her heart skip. 'I know that in spite of her brashness and the aura of confidence Beth carries around with her she's still vulnerable, and you're a sucker for vulnerability, aren't you? I have some very fond remembrances of your compassionate breast myself...' And he stared deliberately at the place where her heart thumped passionately beneath the thin white cotton. Oh, God, that look! Inexorably Fran felt the light, delicious tingling that pressaged the tender tautening of her breasts. Quickly she spun around, missing the leaping flare of satisfaction that brought a grimly predatory smile to Ross's lips. So... She was proud, and stubborn and still bristling with defences, but her body and those big, lonely eyes betrayed her. She ached for him as much as he ached for her. His patience had paid off. But, in view of the unexpected circumstances, he would have to take a different, more direct approach from the one he had planned.
'Come in—I'll just see if Beth is ready—' Fran said nervously, leading him into the lounge and turning towards the bedroom.
'Still running scared, Fran?' His soft taunt stopped her. 'Surely you don't intend to disappoint Beth after she's obviously gone to so much trouble to bring us together again?' When Fran still didn't turn around, he added, 'And it's a little late for a cover-up. If you're embarrassed by your body you only have yourself to blame. Women with breasts as sensitive as yours shouldn't go braless if they don't want their body language read...'
Fran turned proudly, gloved hands clenched at her sides to prevent them crossing defensively over her tingling breasts. 'I never denied that I found you attractive,' she said in a stifled voice.
'Only that it wasn't enough. I didn't agree at the time, but I do now. Not nearly enough.' His eyes glinted at her bewildered reaction to his cryptic remarks. 'You look quite beautiful, Frankie.'
She was taken aback by the sincerity of the quiet compliment. 'I... Don't be ridiculous, I'm a mess...'
He smiled, and a tongue of flame licked out of the blue eyes to singe her body beneath its flimsy covering. 'A beautiful mess... how I always imagined you'd look when you made peace with yourself...earthy, real, the kind of woman a man wants to enfold and be enfolded by...'
A slumberous warmth flushed across Fran's skin. Earthy, that's how she felt, especially when he looked at her like that, and her feelings for him were very strong and real. Thank you, Beth, she thought silently. The girl had enabled them to meet without sacrifice of pride on either side. 'I'm afraid I'm earthy in the very literal sense,' she said huskily, holding on to his gaze with difficulty. She had made peace with herself, and he was part of the treaty. She lifted her grimy-gloved hands apologetically. 'While you look very...elegant.'
She didn't understand why he laughed softly, until he explained. 'You make it sound like an accusation ... after all the times you tried to make me put some clothes on when we lived together.' Fran's flush heated even more at the images his turn of phrase presented and his voice deepened, catching her off guard. 'It's just a skin, and underneath it I'm just the same man... a little more lean and hungry maybe, but the same man. I missed you, Princess. Did you miss me?'
He didn't wait for an answer. His hand reached out to cup the heavy fullness of one breast and exert the pressure which guided her body forward against his as his mouth covered hers, searching and finding her melting response.
As he kissed her his hand massaged her breast in lazy circles until she moaned quietly, and he lifted his mouth to murmur, 'Touch me... You want to, I know you do...'
'I can't—' her hands hovered
helplessly in mid-air, '—these gloves, I'll mark you—'
'You already have, indelibly. Touch me,' he commanded huskily, sealing her hesitation with his mouth and she gave in to the need, her gloves catching and pulling at his shirt as she slid her arms around him, up under the tailored jacket, digging her fingers into the rippling heat of his back. When next he raised his head she was trembling against him, her eyes wide and dark with unsated pleasure.
'Oh, yes, you missed me,' he growled with thick satisfaction, and Fran stirred, briefly unsettled by that possessive triumph. But when the warm hands supporting her shoulders slid down to press her shifting hips against the slow rotation of his her resentment died. He, too, was possessed by this blissful torment.
'I wasn't going to wait much longer, Frankie,' he told her, nipping the vulnerable curve of her throat. 'If you hadn't called me some time in the next couple of weeks, I would have come looking.'
'But, you said—'
'I know what I said.' He gave her a small shake. 'I was angry, the way you meant me to be, and my pride was suffering... but you were just being you, resisting the pitfalls of impulse, dealing with one problem at a time. I knew how critical it was to your self-respect that you make this business of yours a success. I estimated it would take you about four months to find your feet, to gain the confidence to look around and reassess your priorities. I made a pact with myself to let you have that time, without the added pressure of my presence. Of course, I didn't know you were going to let Beth in where you feared to let me tread...' He stroked his thumb across her lips in wry reproach.
'Beth is different—'
'I should hope so.'
She blushed. 'I mean, she really did need me.'
His smile was sombre. 'So do I. Are you happy, Fran? Fulfilled? Or have you found out that success, alone, isn't enough to fill all the lonely crevices in your life?'
'I... I was going to ring you.' She owed him the confession. 'I was afraid you—' He laid a gentle finger across her lips, stopping her rush of words.
'It doesn't matter now. What matters is whether you're willing to make room for me in this brave new world of yours.'
'I think you already know the answer to that.' It was written in every line of the supple body shaped to his.
'I need to hear it, as much as you need to say it. What do you really want, Fran?'
'You.' There was exquisite relief in saying it at last, and a glorious sense of breaking free. 'I want a lover to share myself with...'
'Then you shall have him, Princess!' If he had been triumphant before, he was exultant now. 'And more... everything you ever wanted.' More? How could she want more than this heady feeling of freedom?
'You didn't sell the cabin, after all, did you?' he teased irrelevantly.
'I... no... I just mortgaged it and sold the rest. How did you know?'
'Because my intermediary made the outrageously generous offer that you refused for "sentimental reasons".' He laughed at her blush. 'It kept me going, through the lonely nights, knowing that you wanted to hold on to a piece of our memories. Now we can renew them. I can't think of a better place for a honeymoon, if we can keep my family at bay...'
'Honeymoon?' she echoed faintly and he grinned, misunderstanding her shock.
'Isn't marriage the guarantee that you wouldn't ask for, and I wouldn't give? I wasn't ready then... I was too hung up on saving face. But it's yours for the asking now...'
Marriage? To Ross? A lifetime of playing Russian roulette, wondering when her happiness was going to explode in her face? Fran went weak at the thought.
'Isn't it a bit too soon to be talking about marriage?' She strove for teasing lightness. 'Can't we just enjoy what we have for a while before we get serious?'
To her dismay he must have heard the buried note of panic. He drew back slightly, his eyes solidifying from melting warmth to blue ice at what he saw in her face. 'I thought we were serious. I thought that's what the fuss was about... you and I, having to readjust our lives to one another. Was I wrong? Exactly what do you think we have, Fran? What is it we should "just enjoy"?'
She stared, afraid to answer, feeling her brief moment of freedom slipping inexorably away. Oh, why were they always out of step? Why did he always insist on demanding more than she felt capable of giving?
'I see...you're dooming us before we even begin, aren't you, Fran?' he said bleakly. 'You'll trust me in your life, but only so far. You want a stud, not a lover. The hell of it is I'm almost tempted.'
'That's not fair, Ross!' Fran cried shakily, freeing herself from the fingers bruising her shoulders. 'Damn it, you spring this on me from nowhere...you said...we never even... marriage was never one of the options!'
'Nor is it now. It's the only one.'
Fran couldn't believe it. The conversation had the quality of a weird nightmare. 'But why! I thought you only wanted—'
'A slick exchange of sexual pleasures?' he cut in crudely. 'I could have got that from half a dozen women in the last few months.' He saw her wince and that seemed to enrage him even more. 'Do you think I'd have wasted all this time if all I wanted from you was sex? And you were willing to settle for that?' His incredulous disgust made her bewildered and angry. Just when she had reconciled herself to the rules of the game, he changed them. How did she know that he wouldn't change them again? 'My God, Fran, is that a measure of your own self-worth... or mine? It's an insult to both of us. What in the hell do you want from me? You obviously want something I'm not offering. Is it love? I wouldn't be here if I wasn't in love with you! You think I'd put myself through this kind of hell just for masochistic kicks? I love you, Francesca. Does that make a difference? Does that make me a better risk for your cautious soul?'
No! Fran's heart squeezed in anguish. Ross, in love with her? Dare she believe it? And if she did, what an awesome burden of responsibility it would be. His expectations of her were so impossibly high... he expected her to be herself, no barriers, no defences, herself, vulnerable to deepest joy and deepest hurt. Oh, God, she would disappoint him, she didn't think she could be that open. Her own suffering she had learned to cope with, but to know that his happiness rested with her...
Her hesitation was fatal. The blue flame that had burned so intensely in his eyes flickered and went out. Fran was stricken with the knowledge that already she had let him down. She put out a hand to touch him, wanting to explain, but he had already moved away, distancing himself with space as well as his heart-shattering words,
'No, I can see that it doesn't. I misjudged you, Francesca. It's not only giving love that you're afraid of, it's receiving it. And, coward that you are, I don't think it's a fear that you even want to conquer...'
CHAPTER TEN
What am I doing here?
The roar inside Francesea's head was almost as loud as the booming rush of air past the open cabin door of the Cessna. Turning her head, weighted by her yellow helmet, she could see the young man sitting stiffly on the vibrating floor beside her. His eyes behind his goggles were tightly closed, his lips moving soundlessly. Fran wondered whether he was repeating the liturgy of the drill or a prayer. She had already said her prayers.
The other three first-time parachutists from her course were sitting in front of them, in the space left by the removal of the plane's passenger seats, facing the jump-master kneeling by the door. All too soon they would be over the drop zone and that sergeant-major bawl would be launching them into blue oblivion.
Why on earth am I here?
Because I'm crazy, the answer came. Crazy about a man who was crazy enough to do this for fun! Crazy enough to want to understand him, and, through him, herself. Crazy enough to do something drastic about it. This was a proving ground, a test and, if she could confront and conquer this ultimate fear she knew that all others would dwindle in comparison. Heartbreak, rejection, loss... after this she would know she could endure anything.
Poor Beth, she was justifiably bewildered by the events of the past
couple of weeks. She had been flabbergasted to emerge from her bedroom that night to find her brother and her flatmate, not locked in impassioned embrace, but silently smouldering at each other from opposite sides of the room. Breakfast the next morning had been spent trying to ferret out the reason.
'Ross nearly bit my head off last night, when I asked him. He was in a foul mood all evening. I pity the poor woman whose baby he got dragged off to deliver halfway through the meal! What happened, I thought you two were nutty about each other?'
'Whatever gave you that idea?' said Fran automatically, staring into her coffee, alternately seething and despairing. How dared he give her something precious with one hand and snatch it away with the other! And because his ego was dented they were further apart now than they had ever been, even during the last few months of limbo that she had discovered last night he had decided she needed. And now he wanted to make another decision about her life!
'Come off it, Fran,' Beth scoffed. 'I've been in love hundreds of times, I recognise the signs, and I'm not so dumb that I don't know that my being Ross's sister had a lot to do with you letting me move in. Why do you think Mum was so keen? Ross told her he'd fallen for you, that's why. You just needed a little help in getting together—' She subsided, looking so guilty that Fran smiled wanly.
'It's all right. I did manage to figure out that last night wasn't just a startling coincidence.'
'Are you going to chuck me out?' Beth gnawed her lip.
'No, of course not, as long as you promise not to interfere again.'
'Cross my heart,' Beth vowed, but was unable to resist the desire to speculate, 'Did he try and talk you into an affair? Is that why you had a fight? Don't worry, Fran, he'll come round. You can't blame him for being twitchy, though, even if he is in love with you. Women have been trying to back him into corners for years, it's just a conditioned reflex to duck. Believe me, Mum wouldn't approve of Ross messing you around. She really likes you, she wouldn't want you to get hurt. She really thinks that Ross is serious about you—'
