Sleeping Partners

by Helen Brooks

  She drank the first cup of coffee hot and black, and if nothing else the shot of adrenalin helped her face the fact that she was as sober as a judge. The problem here wasn’t a momentary lapse due to alcohol; the problem was Clay Lincoln. She clenched her hands together and then purposefully forced herself to relax her fingers one by one before fixing another cup of coffee.

  Had she invited him to kiss her? Conscripted it even? She played the tape over in her mind and took a big gulp of the burning liquid as the answer hit. He might well have thought so from the way she’d behaved. But there had been something there in the car when they’d looked at each other, something Clay had felt too…hadn’t there? Or was she fooling herself?

  She dragged in a deep swig of air and stared at the sculptured cream tiles on the wall. She hadn’t wanted the kiss to end. She gave a little groan of humiliation. Something Clay Lincoln would have been only too aware of with his experience. No doubt he was congratulating himself this very minute that he had made her eat her words as soon as they were uttered. And it had been him who had drawn away, had taken a mental as well as a physical step backwards. History had a very nasty habit of repeating itself at times.

  She straightened, willing herself not to cry nor shout nor scream. This was nothing, she had to get it into perspective. They’d exchanged a kiss, that was all, and now he was off to the States and she probably wouldn’t see him again for another twelve years. And if she did, if this business venture caused their paths to cross some time in the months ahead, she’d make darn sure nothing like tonight was repeated.

  When the telephone extension rang on the kitchen wall right at the side of her she nearly jumped out of her skin, and she grimaced at her jumpiness as she reached for the receiver. Cass no doubt, or Drew.

  It was neither. ‘Robyn?’ Clay’s voice was soft and deep and smoky, and her breath strangled in her throat. ‘It’s Clay.’

  She made a noise that didn’t sound like anything and then coughed once before she lied, ‘Sorry, a mouthful of coffee went down the wrong way. Is anything the matter?’

  ‘I was just ringing to say I’d like to do this evening again some time,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m back in the country in a few weeks so can I give you a call then?’

  Her heart gave an odd, painful little jump but without him there in front of her it was easier to say, her voice firm, ‘I don’t think so, Clay. You’re an extremely busy man and I’ve got more than enough on my plate, and if we’re going to be business partners—’

  ‘I’m only going to be your sleeping partner, Robyn.’

  Why did he have to keep putting it like that? She blinked, pressing her lips tightly together for a second. ‘Nevertheless, I don’t believe in mixing business with—’ she hesitated just the merest fraction of a moment ‘—my social life.’

  ‘Pleasure, Robyn.’ The dark voice was merciless. ‘The word you’re looking for is pleasure, and it has eight letters, not four. You can actually use it in polite company.’

  She had been right, he was just loving this! Well, he could take a running jump… ‘Whatever,’ she snapped tartly. ‘Goodnight, Clay.’

  She replaced the receiver without waiting for a reply and then stared at it for a good thirty seconds, her heart racing. It was another thirty seconds before she realised she was willing him to ring again, and that realisation was enough to propel her out of the kitchen and into the bathroom, where she began to run herself a bath, her hands shaking.

  She wasn’t going to waste another thought on Clay Lincoln. It would be weeks before he was back in the country again, and if—by chance or design—their paths should cross then, she would have had plenty of time to have herself firmly under control.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘SO WHAT is it you’re mad about exactly?’ Cassie asked in the sort of soothingly patient tone she used with the children when they were being truculent for no good reason. ‘All’s well that ends well as far as I can see. You’ve got your backer, and one who’s not likely to interfere with the business in any way, and now you can afford to take on extra staff and go for more work which is what you’ve been gagging to do for months.’

  Robyn stared at her sister frustratedly, and then caught Guy’s eye who was sitting at the side of Cassie at the kitchen table. He shrugged and then made a face that said eloquently, Leave it, Robyn. You aren’t going to win this one and you know it, before he got up and beat a hasty retreat.

  ‘Oh, Cass.’ Robyn didn’t know if she wanted to kiss her or hit her. ‘You know what I’m mad about, now then. I told you not to say a word to Clay and you couldn’t get to him fast enough. You put him in a difficult position as well as me.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Cassie’s voice was brisk. ‘If Clay hadn’t wanted to get involved wild horses wouldn’t have dragged him to see you, I promise you. In all the time we’ve known Clay I’ve never known him to do anything he doesn’t want to.’

  ‘Cass, you blackmailed him with friendship,’ Robyn stated grimly.

  ‘Not at all. I merely mentioned a couple of relevant facts and then left it at that. There was no pressure from me for Clay to contact you,’ Cassie said firmly. ‘That was totally down to him.’

  Guy had been right, she wasn’t going to be able to convince Cassie she had acted out of turn, Robyn thought resignedly. Her sister had always had an extra portion of self-assurance and faith in herself which was positively daunting at times, but when married to Cassie’s naturally warm heart and loving nature the end result was normally positive and healthy for those about her. Although this time Robyn wasn’t too sure…

  ‘Look, sis, if it makes you feel better I promise I won’t say a word to anyone about anything to do with you or your business in the future. How about that?’ Cassie beamed at her, and Robyn stifled an irritable sigh.

  Cass knew full well she was shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted, but there was nothing she could do but accept the status quo and smile, Robyn acknowledged wearily. This was Cass—like it or lump it.

  ‘I shall hold you to that.’ Robyn’s voice was stern but her face was indulgent. Cass meant well and she knew her sister loved her all the world which was why she couldn’t resist meddling in her affairs. But it had to stop. She wasn’t a kid any more.

  ‘So…’ Cassie checked the children were still playing happily in their sandpit just outside the kitchen door—something that made for a constantly gritty floor—and took a sip of her coffee ‘…what’s been happening the last two weeks, then? You said on the phone Clay’s set up the deal. Is it all finalised? Everything gone through all right?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Her workload had meant she hadn’t visited her sister for a fortnight, and she couldn’t really afford to be here now with the amount of paperwork waiting for her at home, but it was a beautiful Sunday morning and the sun had been shining and she hadn’t been able to resist spending a couple of hours with her nephews who were at the stage where they seemed to grow every day. ‘But I’ve come to have a break from work, not to talk about it,’ she said with a smile to take the sting out of the words.

  Cassie accepted the rebuke with her normal good humour. And after being persuaded to stay for lunch Robyn finally left mid afternoon for the short drive home. She had been coaxed into the sandpit by Jason and Luke, and now her hair was full of sand, her face was sticky from goodbye kisses from baby mouths smeared with ice-cream and lollipops, and her nose was sunburnt. But Robyn adored her small nephews and the hours with Cassie and her family had relaxed her.

  So it was all the more of a shock when she drew up outside her house just as Clay’s Aston Martin purred down the street. Robyn watched the car approach in horror and then glanced in the mirror over the windscreen. A grubby, rosy face devoid of make-up stared back at her, her hair—which was looped high on her head in a riotous pony-tail—completing the picture of someone half her age. Someone very like the kid sister of bygone years.

  She groaned softly. Clad in her armour of well-groomed, cool career wo
man she had only just managed to hold her own with Clay; now she felt like a bird with one wing down. But it was too late to hide and certainly too late to go anywhere. He had drawn alongside her and was now indicating for her to wind down her window. His, she thought sourly as she leant across the passenger seat to oblige, would be electric—unlike hers.

  ‘Are you going out or coming home?’ Clay asked as she struggled with the window which always got stuck halfway and needed a good push.

  She left it at half-mast and straightened, flushed and dishevelled, and the caustic remark which had sprung to mind wasn’t delivered with quite as much acidity as she would have liked when she took in the full impact of the dark tanned face, silver eyes and jet-black hair.

  He’s gorgeous. Her mind said it all by herself and in the circumstances it couldn’t have been more unwelcome. Here was she, looking like something the cat wouldn’t be seen dead dragging in, and here was Clay, the epitome of cool sophistication.

  ‘I don’t normally go out unwashed and filthy, funnily enough,’ she said tightly, wishing she had bothered to put on a touch of mascara at least. She looked such a mess.

  ‘Do I take it this is a bad moment?’ he drawled mildly.

  Bad moment? It couldn’t be worse. ‘Not really,’ she lied with as much nonchalance as she could muster considering she could feel grains of sand in every crease and crevice of her body—some unmentionable—and was dying for a bath. ‘I’ve just been round Cass’s, that’s all, and we’ve been playing in the sandpit.’

  The raised eyebrows made her add hastily, her cheeks aglow, ‘Me and the boys that is, Jason and Luke. Cass had a lie down after lunch and Guy had brought some work home, so I looked after the children for a bit. They—they like me to play with them.’

  ‘Who enjoyed it the most? You or your nephews?’ Clay asked softly, his eyes washing over the tumbled silky red-gold curls before coming to rest on her sun-tinted face.

  At least it made her sound grown-up—the nephew bit—Robyn thought self-consciously, even if she didn’t look it. ‘We all did,’ she managed flusteredly. ‘They’re smashing kids.’ And then, when the silver gaze threatened to reduce her to babbling panic, she took a hold of herself and said steadily, ‘I thought you were in the States? You said you wouldn’t be back for a few weeks.’

  ‘Back for a couple of days.’ He made it sound as though he’d just popped down to the supermarket rather than come halfway across the world. ‘I leave again the day after tomorrow.’

  She nodded in what she hoped was a cool, I’m-not-at-all-impressed sort of way. ‘Business?’ she asked offhandedly.

  He shrugged dismissively. ‘Not exactly.’

  She waited, but when he wasn’t more forthcoming, said carefully, ‘Were you just passing or was this an actual visit? There isn’t anything wrong with all the stuff I’ve given Mike, is there? He seemed to think everything was in order when we last spoke.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He hesitated, and for a second—just a split second—Robyn thought he was edgy, even nervous, before she reminded herself this was Clay Lincoln and such words weren’t even in his vocabulary. Not Clay’s. ‘I was calling to see if I could drag you away from your desk on such a beautiful summer’s day.’

  ‘I’m not at my desk,’ she said quickly.

  ‘So you aren’t.’ He smiled sexily.

  ‘But I ought to be,’ she said hastily, ‘especially after being at Cass’s all day, so I’m sorry but—’

  ‘I don’t intend to take no for an answer, Robyn.’

  For a moment she thought she must have heard wrongly, but when she saw the sudden steely glint in the silver eyes her voice rose an octave or two as she said, ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m only back for a couple of days and there’s a little job I’d like to talk to you about.’

  ‘Oh, it’s business.’ The relief in her voice was transparent. ‘You should have said. Will tomorrow do?’ she suggested hopefully.

  He smiled coolly, the narrowed gaze cold. ‘Afraid not.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was disconcerted. And then, as she looked at him more closely and noticed the lines of tiredness around his mouth and eyes, she said quietly, ‘When did you get back?’

  ‘We touched down a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘You must be exhausted, and you say you’re leaving again tomorrow?’ Whatever he’d come back for it must be important; perhaps that was what he was dealing with tomorrow.

  He nodded, watching her closely. ‘I thought we could combine our little talk with a meal somewhere,’ he suggested evenly, ‘before I go home and crash out for a few hours. What do you say?’

  Another meal with Clay Lincoln? Another date that wasn’t a date at all? Robyn’s mind was racing. He’d virtually promised her there would be no contact once their business arrangement was set up. And then the more reasonable part of her mind cut in with, But he has got some sort of job in mind for me, and with his sort of contacts and influence I should at least listen to what it is. My business is still in the fledgling stage; I couldn’t afford to let any opportunity pass me by.

  But the thought of having to dress up and psyche herself up for another evening like the last one, with Clay holding all the cards as he lorded it in his own privileged world, did not appeal. Robyn made a split-second decision and said flatly, trying to keep all expression out of her voice, ‘You’re tired and you’re hungry but, if you need to talk to me today, why not here? I can cook us something and then once we’ve had a chat you can go home and sleep and I can start work. I really do have masses to do.’

  There was no visible change in his face or his body as he continued to look at her, but somehow, after a second or two, Robyn felt as though something had shifted, lightened. And then he said very formally, ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’ She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea though, and so she added evenly, for extra emphasis, ‘It will save us both time, won’t it? I’m sure you’re as busy as I am.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Then, thank you, I accept.’

  He had to drive down the street a little way for a parking space, and as the car drew away and disappeared Robyn leant back in her seat for a moment and let out her breath in a big whoosh. Was she being stupid? Should she just have refused to consider this job he knew about and have sent him on his way? But knowing Clay he wouldn’t have gone anyway. She bit her lip hard.

  The last two weeks had been a constant battle against letting him into her head every waking moment. The night hours she could do nothing about and he’d invaded her dreams relentlessly, and in ways that had made her go hot with embarrassment in the morning.

  And now he was here, in the flesh. The last words caught at her senses and a flicker of something hot curled down her spine and into her lower stomach before she straightened, squaring her shoulders. Enough, enough of that, she warned herself grimly.

  Nothing had changed. Nothing. Clay was still the same man who had rejected her so cruelly all those years ago, and she forgot that at her peril. He was ruthless and cold and cynical, a man without weakness who needed no one and lived his life totally on his own terms. He had been like that all those years ago under the skin although she hadn’t realised it until Cass’s wedding day, and he was more so now.

  He had parked the Aston Martin and was walking up the street towards her as she glanced in her mirror, and her heart started pounding with the force of a sledgehammer. He looked big, very big, the designer shirt and trousers he was wearing emphasising the muscled strength in his powerful, lean body as well as the aura of unlimited wealth. He was hard and handsome, an animal-like quality in each smooth stride, and sexy. Wildly, undeniably sexy. Oh, help…

  She leant across and wound up the passenger window quickly, emerging from the car onto the pavement just before he reached her. It was only then that it dawned on her that the old jeans and sleeveless skinny top she had pulled on that morning had seen better days, and that the top
in particular was a trifle too figure-hugging. It hadn’t mattered at Cass’s, but now…

  As the silver eyes drifted across her breasts she could actually feel her nipples harden in response and she immediately turned to fumble with the lock of the car, babbling as she did so, ‘I can do spaghetti Bolognese, or pork chops if you’d prefer? Or an omelette? That’s about the limit of the choice I’m afraid.’

  ‘Spaghetti Bolognese sounds great to me.’

  It might sound great but she just hoped it tasted that way. Clay Lincoln was used to the best of everything and she was an adequate cook, no more. It was Cass who excelled in that department. But she couldn’t go far wrong with spaghetti Bolognese—hopefully.

  After locking the car she led the way into the house and up the stairs, aware she was trailing sand and wondering how big her bottom looked in the close-fitting jeans.

  ‘Look, I really do need to have a quick bath.’ Once on the top floor she turned to face him again. ‘Would you like a glass of wine while you wait, or perhaps a long, cold drink? There’s beer, or lemonade or something?’ she added over her shoulder.

  She had walked over to the windows leading onto the balcony on the last words, and now she opened them to let the warm summer breeze flow in as Clay said behind her, ‘A beer sounds even better than the spaghetti Bolognese but I’m afraid I’m American in my preference for them cold straight from the fridge. I’ve never been able to understand the English desire for luke-warm beer,’ he added with an apologetic grin that sent her hormones racing.

  ‘Most people like them cold,’ Robyn said quickly. ‘I think it’s only the older generation like my father who think it’s sacrilege to chill beer.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps it’s because I can remember endless gallons of the warm stuff when I was a kid. The first time I ever tasted beer was a family party when we sneaked a few bottles and hid in the potting shed. At ten years of age it was pretty potent stuff and we drank it like pop. We were well and truly loaded, and boy, did we learn the hard way.’