by Helen Brooks
‘You’ve never felt the inclination to settle down yourself?’ he asked quietly, the subtle spicy scent of his aftershave teasing her senses. How was it that on some men aftershave just smelt like aftershave, and on others it turned into something so sexy and intoxicating that it ought to have a warning label? Robyn asked herself weakly, merely shaking her head in answer to his question. She wasn’t inclined to go down that road.
‘Not even been tempted?’ he persisted softly.
What was this? The third degree? She stiffened slightly, moving back in his arms as a dart of annoyance hit. Every instinct was warning her the less Clay knew about her the better but she wasn’t quite sure why. She didn’t for one moment think he would be interested in her—it wasn’t that—but he was the type of man who would file things away in that formidable computer he called a brain and use them against her in the future.
Future? She tensed further. Why on earth was she linking the words future and Clay Lincoln together in any way, shape or form? She couldn’t let herself accept his offer; it was out of the question. It had to be. All the danger signals were at red.
‘Why do I get the sudden feeling I’m holding a board in my arms?’ It was cool and faintly amused, and hit Robyn on the raw like nothing else could have done.
This was just a game to him, an entertaining diversion for an hour or two. They stared at each other, Clay’s gaze faintly quizzical and Robyn’s brown eyes dilated with bitterness and hurt. And then she turned her head, gazing over his shoulder coolly.
‘Who has made you hate men the way you do?’ Clay asked very softly. ‘Because you do, don’t you?’
She jerked back in his arms as though she had been stung, her face shocked. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said sharply. ‘I don’t hate men.’ Not ninety-nine per cent of them anyway, just one particular man. Although she couldn’t very well go into that!
‘Cassie thinks there was someone,’ the relentlessly soft voice continued quietly, his eyes never leaving her face for a second. ‘She says you’ve never talked about it but she suspects a boy at university, or someone you met shortly after you left there? She thinks someone hurt you badly, Robyn.’
Robyn’s mind had been whirling in an agony of desperate humiliation, but suddenly she realised he was being completely frank. She’d suspected at first his remark was a lead-up to the way they had parted all those years ago, but now she saw he really didn’t have the faintest idea he’d been the one to break her heart and send her emotions into a deep freeze.
She gave a frosty little smile. ‘Like I said earlier, Cass thinks too much at times,’ she said evenly, her voice belying the hot colour in her cheeks. ‘Anyway, at Guy’s party you accused me of being some sort of femme fatale who wouldn’t be averse to using her body to get what or where she wanted. That doesn’t sound like someone who doesn’t like men.’
‘Ah, but I’ve had a chat with Cassie and Guy since then,’ Clay said with total unconcern at her outraged face. ‘And before you accuse me of further crimes, might I add that they did all the chatting with no provocation from me. Not that I didn’t find it interesting,’ he added thoughtfully.
‘Oh, I’m so glad you weren’t bored,’ she said with acid sarcasm, although the fact that she was so close to that big, male body and her hands—resting as they were against the hard wall of his chest—could feel the steady beat of his heart brought a slight breathlessness to her voice she could have done without. It spoke of weakness and she couldn’t afford that with Clay.
‘Bored talking about you?’ The silver eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t think that’s possible. Whatever else you are—and I haven’t decided on that yet—you certainly aren’t boring, Robyn Brett. You weren’t as a child either. Irritating on occasion, especially when you insisted on following Cassie and the rest of us everywhere and throwing a paddy if you were sent home, but never boring.’
The only times she had ever tagged onto Cass were when Clay was around, but fortunately he didn’t know that. Robyn steeled herself to change tack before this conversation got out of hand. It was too emotionally fraught—at least on her side—and that wasn’t good. She needed to be cool and composed around Clay, and although she didn’t feel it she could at least pretend.
She could feel her heart racing, a frantic, fast thud that made her light-headed and giddy, but she gave no sign of her inward agitation when she said, her voice light now, even teasing, ‘Careful, Clay, or you’ll be guilty of giving me a compliment and that would never do.’ She arched her eyebrows mockingly.
‘A cute change of subject.’ He smiled slowly, and she could feel the impact singing down her spine. ‘So, you don’t want to talk about him, right? Okay, I get the message.’
‘If there was a him; no, I don’t.’
‘No problem. I don’t like post-mortems either.’ He increased his pressure on the small of her back, drawing her into him again as easily as if she were thistledown. One hand remained warm and firm against her spine and the other lifted to stroke the silky smooth skin of her face in a light, caressing gesture that she had to warn herself not to react to. ‘Your skin’s incredible, do you know that?’ he whispered softly, almost to himself. ‘So creamy and soft.’
She wasn’t going to play this dangerous game. Robyn ignored the frissons of pleasure circulating in her bloodstream and managed to say carefully, ‘I wasn’t hinting for compliments a minute ago, Clay,’ as she kept her body from relaxing.
‘What?’ And then as he understood he made a small male sound of irritation deep in his throat. ‘Hell, I know that: stop being so damn prickly.’
She didn’t like the accusation but at least the intimate mood he’d woven so expertly had been shattered; in fact he was frowning at her now she noticed wryly. She took no notice of the little ache of regret and said brightly, ‘My mistake.’
Clay was looking at her in a way that made her wonder what he was thinking. ‘I have the strangest feeling you’re not a lady that makes mistakes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And you really don’t like me, do you!’ It was a statement, not a question, and said with the faintest underlying note of surprise.
Had she managed to prick that inflated male ego just the tiniest bit? Robyn asked herself silently. She hoped so. Oh, she did so hope so. ‘Is that part of the deal? Liking you?’ she asked with outrageous audacity. ‘You didn’t make that clear earlier.’
The frown deepened; in fact he was positively scowling now and his voice was flat and edged with anger when he said, ‘If you’re suggesting what I think you are suggesting I am more than capable of getting female company without having to buy it.’
‘I wouldn’t have dreamed of suggesting such a thing,’ Robyn said sweetly. ‘I’m sure you’re capable of attracting most women.’
‘Thank you,’ Clay murmured drily. ‘Thank you so much.’
For once he wasn’t having it all his own way and it felt great, Robyn admitted with a touch of ruefulness. It probably shouldn’t matter so much and she shouldn’t get such pleasure from his obvious disquiet, but she just couldn’t help it and that was that. He shouldn’t have tried flirting with her!
When the music finished in the next moment he escorted her back to the table without suggesting another dance, and for the next hour or so that they remained at the nightclub he didn’t ask her to dance again. They talked business most of the time and Robyn realised Clay had taken it for granted that she would accept his offer. It brought temptation to the fore again.
And why not? the little voice in her head argued persuasively. She couldn’t have made it clearer tonight how she felt—his own words were witness to that—so if he wanted to put up some cash and was content to leave her to carry on as she had been doing for the last few years, why not take advantage of the situation? One thing was for sure, backers like Clay Lincoln were a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a little business like hers. Drew would think she was crazy to turn such a break down.
But how often would she have to meet up with him? Wo
uld it all be done through his team of accountants or would it necessitate face-to-face contact now and again? She pondered how to ask the question but there wasn’t really an easy way, so she took a deep breath and just said it as it was.
His thick black lashes masked his expression as he looked down into the glass of mineral water he had poured himself after just one glass of wine, but he responded with barely a pause, his voice even and expressionless as he said, ‘Like I said, Robyn, I have more than enough on my plate than to interfere with your work. Contact would be minimal.’
It didn’t really answer her question but she knew she had pushed that particular avenue as far as she could go, and when all was said and done—and for whatever reason he was being so generous, whether it was his friendship with Guy or what—all the gain was on her side.
With the contacts she had made recently and the work she knew she could acquire given the extra funding, she couldn’t really lose on this. Everything to gain and nothing to lose in fact.
But did anything ever come that easy? His gaze rose again and she saw his face was cool and distant, the silver eyes more wintery than ever. He’d clearly given up on the evening, she thought soberly, refusing to acknowledge any shred of regret in the multitude of feelings flooding her chest. The little dalliance he’d allowed himself hadn’t turned out as amusing as he’d thought, and now that ruthless mind had slotted her away as not worth bothering about. Too much hassle. Whatever.
In spite of the beautiful surroundings filled with London’s cream of the beautiful people, Robyn wasn’t sorry to leave the nightclub a few minutes later. Her nerves were so sensitised they were painful, and she had a funny little ache in her heart region she didn’t care to examine.
She needed the sanctuary of her home as never before, her haven where she could close the door and shut the rest of the world out. Ridiculously the thought of her little house made her want to cry, and it horrified her. Whatever was the matter with her? There was absolutely no need to be so emotional, she chided herself silently as the Aston Martin appeared like magic as she and Clay exited the building. Everything was fine.
‘So…’ The car was weaving through the streets, shiny and wet after a sudden shower, when Clay spoke at the side of her. ‘I’ll set things up tomorrow morning before I leave for the States, okay? Contact Mike Robinson on this number—’ he reached into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and extracted a card ‘—and he’ll talk you through everything.’
His voice was quiet and even, expressionless almost, although Robyn thought she detected a slightly bored note now. She bit her lip hard. She hadn’t actually verbalised her agreement to the offer but it was probably best all round that she didn’t continue to make a big deal of this. ‘All right, Clay, and thank you. I appreciate this.’ She tried to match his tone but failed miserably. ‘It’s very generous of you.’
‘I could tell that really hurt.’
‘What?’ She turned to stare at the dark profile.
‘No matter,’ he drawled cryptically.
Annoying man. ‘Look, Clay, if you’re regretting the offer—’
‘Not at all. This whole evening has been rather an…interesting experience.’ He had cut her off before she could continue, his voice slightly mocking.
Robyn wasn’t into enigmatic statements. If nothing else she was a plain-spoken, straightforward girl, she thought crossly, her words reflecting her thoughts as she said flatly, ‘Interesting? And what does that mean exactly? Are we talking in a patronising sense here by any chance?’
‘Give me strength.’ It was the quality of his voice, rather than the volume, that told her he wasn’t quite so calm and remote as he’d like her to believe. They had just arrived at the top of Robyn’s street, and now Clay sped with—in Robyn’s eyes—unnecessary speed down the road, whisking the car into a parking space in front of Robyn’s Fiesta and cutting the engine with uncalled for violence. ‘You have to be the most infuriating, difficult female I’ve had the misfortune to come into contact with for years,’ he ground out tightly into the screaming silence that followed. ‘Hell, I’ve gone the extra mile for you—’
For Cass and Guy’s sake, yeah, right, Robyn thought tensely, determined not to acknowledge he had a point.
‘And you’ve done nothing but be a pain in the—’ He stopped abruptly, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that spoke of intense frustration. ‘Can’t you just be normal?’ he asked furiously. ‘Why does everything have to be such a damn confrontation? Don’t you ever loosen up and relax a bit? It’s not that hard and you might even find you enjoy it.’
‘Being with you, you mean?’ She shot the words back. ‘Because that is what this is all about at root level, isn’t it? The great Clay Lincoln, God’s gift to womankind, is annoyed because he’s met one female who hasn’t fallen down and instantly worshipped at the shrine.’
He stared at her as if she was mad. Perhaps she was mad, Robyn thought with bitter rage. Certainly the cool, calm façade she had been determined to adopt earlier had been blown apart. And it was all his fault! Arrogant, supercilious man that he was. He was a million times worse than he’d been all those years ago.
And then, as she glared into the dark handsome face and he glared back, silver eyes caught with brown and everything suddenly became very still. Robyn was conscious of certain outward things: the smell of rich leather from the car’s interior and the faint whiff of the aftershave her senses had picked up earlier; a dog barking somewhere in the distance; the sound of a car as it passed them. But the only real things in the universe were the metallic eyes holding hers.
And they weren’t cold or remote any longer.
She waited breathlessly for his touch and when his hand lifted and touched her cheek in the lightest of caresses she remained absolutely still, her heart beating so hard it hurt. His flesh was warm, and as he moved forwards, drawing her towards him, she didn’t resist. She couldn’t have resisted.
Their mouths met and she softened against him; she couldn’t help it. His lips were persuasive and knowing and the cosy cocoon within the car intoxicatingly intimate. The kiss went on and on in ever increasing spirals of pleasure, and now there was something hotter and sharper at the base of it that had Robyn wanting to be even closer to him. She wanted to run her hands over his hard body, to feel it pressing against her, to know every inch of him. To taste and feel and touch naked flesh.
The lasciviousness of her thoughts stabbed awareness into the tide of pleasure and she wrenched her mouth from his, sinking back into her own seat, her body trembling. This was crazy, crazy. One moment she was telling him she didn’t want anything to do with him and the next she’d fallen into his arms like a ripe peach. And where had that last thought come from?
It had started to rain again outside the warm confines of the car and now the raindrops pattered on the roof, running in rivulets down the windscreen as Robyn stared straight ahead. She didn’t dare look at Clay.
She waited for the mocking remark she was sure would come, some cool, sardonic comment on her inconsistency, but when Clay did speak it was only to say huskily, ‘I’ll see you to the door,’ before he slid out of the car and walked round the bonnet to open the passenger door. The old-fashioned courtesy was an integral part of him but her stomach muscles bunched as she took his proffered hand and joined him on the pavement.
Did he expect to be asked in to continue what they had begun in the car? she asked herself as they moved hastily to the steps of the house which were separated from the pavement by three feet of paved front garden behind small iron railings.
She glanced up at him as they reached the bottom step, her eyes huge. And, if so, what was she going to do?
The raindrops made her blink and it was through a misty haze she watched Clay’s face coming closer, and then their mouths were fused again and the rest of the world disappeared. The kiss was fierce and tender at the same time and it touched the quintessence of her being with its sweet potency. And then they
had drawn apart and Robyn had no idea how long the embrace had lasted. All she knew was that now it was over she felt bereft.
She gulped for air, staring at him as he took a step backwards away from her. ‘Don’t forget to make that call,’ he said thickly. ‘I’ll set it up for tomorrow.’
‘Call?’ He could have been talking in a foreign language.
‘Mike. Mike Robinson.’
It took a moment or two but then she managed to say, ‘No, no, I won’t,’ as her brain engaged again.
He nodded, and they looked at each other through the foot or so of space between them for what seemed like an eternity before he turned away, walking back to the car.
He was going. She stared after him, knowing she ought to turn and open the door rather than remain on the doorstep but it was as though brain and body were unconnected.
He raised a hand in brief salute before sliding into the car but she was incapable of responding to the casual gesture, and then the engine started and the car pulled out into the road before disappearing like a streak of lightning down the street. As though he couldn’t wait to get away.
The last thought permeated the fog of her mind and she stiffened, her eyes widening. Oh, no, no, what had she done? Had she thrown herself at him again in a ghastly repeat of years ago? Had he felt obliged to kiss her in the car and then again on the doorstep because she had made it clear she was expecting it? Desiring it?
The little moan from deep within brought her fumbling for her key, and once inside the house she stumbled straight upstairs to the kitchen, switching on the kettle automatically. Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee to help her think. That potent cocktail and then the wine had clouded her senses and her judgement, that was it. She hugged the thought to her, drawing on it as her heart pounded alarmingly in her breast. That was all it was. She was just a bit tipsy.
