Hidden Love

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘I can’t go on playing for ever,’ Nick was saying now.

  ‘But you don’t have to retire at thirty either!’ Kay derided.

  ‘I have enough money—’

  ‘I’m not talking about the money,’ his sister dismissed. ‘Although goodness knows you have enough of it.’

  ‘He’s earnt it, Kay,’ Richard put in quietly.

  ‘I’m not disputing that,’ his wife nodded. ‘But thirty isn’t old. Look at Newcombe—’

  ‘I’m not in his class,’ Nick drawled.

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ Kay snapped. ‘Good grief, Nick, you lost one match—’

  ‘And it lost me my chance in the final.’

  ‘There’s no shame in losing to Paul Shepley!’

  ‘I didn’t say there was,’ he sighed. ‘I just think maybe it’s time I dropped out.’

  ‘When you can still get to a semi-final of Wimbledon it isn’t time to retire yet,’ Kay protested.

  Rachel had to agree with her, shocked by the suggestion that Nick might give up playing professional tennis. But it wasn’t for her to make any comment. Not that she thought Nick would listen to her opinion anyway!

  He was in a very down mood, totally unlike the teasing man she had spent the evening with yesterday, and she wondered what had happened to Suzy Freeman’s efforts to ‘console’ him. Maybe she hadn’t started yet—after all, it was still early, they could be meeting later.

  ‘What do you think, Rachel?’ Kay’s question interrupted her disturbing thoughts.

  She turned with a start. ‘Sorry?’ she blinked her puzzlement.

  ‘Don’t you think Nick’s too good to retire yet?’ Kay asked her.

  She glanced nervously at Nick but could tell nothing of his thoughts from his enigmatic expression. ‘I’m sure Mr St Clare isn’t interested in my opinion,’ she said stiltedly.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he drawled, ‘I would be very interested.’

  She shrugged, evading the mockery in his eyes. ‘I agree with your sister,’ she said coolly. ‘When you can still reach a Wimbledon semi-final then you’re still far from the retirement stage.’

  ‘Really?’ he taunted.

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Yes, really!’

  ‘You see?’ Kay said knowingly, immune to the strained atmosphere between her brother and Rachel.

  Rachel was wondering at that strain herself. What had she done that almost seemed to have angered Nick? It wasn’t just his disappointment at losing the match, it was a veiled anger, a veiled anger directed at her. And she had no idea why!

  ‘See what?’ he asked his sister.

  ‘You’re still good, Nick,’ she sighed.

  ‘Not good enough.’ His tone was grim.

  ‘You’re just on a downer,’ she told him. ‘Once you get to Boston and start your next tournament you’ll feel a hundred per cent better.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Believe me, the way I feel right now, that still wouldn’t be too good.’

  ‘Oh, Nick, snap out of it,’ Kay dismissed impatiently. ‘Some uncle you are—you haven’t even looked at Eve!’

  ‘That’s because Rachel had been monopolising her ever since I came in.’

  Hot colour flooded Rachel’s cheeks, and she thrust the baby into his arms. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘Excuse me,’ and she hurried from the room, blinking back the tears.

  It was too much—too much on top of Suzy Freeman’s patronising dismissal of her this afternoon. Nick really had invited her to the match out of gratitude, had even taken his ‘little fan’ out to dinner last night as an added bonus, only she had seen more into it than there really was, had been so starry-eyed she hadn’t wanted to see the truth.

  ‘Rachel?’

  She turned sharply and came face to face with Nick. ‘Mr St Clare,’ she said stiffly.

  His brows rose. ‘Mr St Clare?’ he queried softly.

  Her head went back. ‘It’s your name.’

  ‘A few minutes ago it was Nick.’

  A few minutes ago she hadn’t realised he thought of her as a child. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered again.

  His mouth tightened perceptibly. ‘Are you?’

  Rachel shrugged with feigned nonchalance. ‘If you would rather I call you Nick then I will. For the brief time we shall be in conversation it will be no hardship.’

  ‘Rachel…?’

  ‘Yes—Nick?’ her voice was stilted.

  ‘Why are you so damned mad when you’re the one who walked out on me?’ he rasped, mockery forgotten in his anger.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t!’ she gasped.

  ‘You left,’ he stated flatly.

  ‘Yes, but—Wasn’t I supposed to?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘You know damn well I wanted to spend the night with you, whether I won or lost.’

  She thought he had, until Suzy Freeman had told her differently. But what of Suzy Freeman now? Nick certainly wasn’t with her, and he didn’t sound as if he intended to be either.

  ‘Miss Freeman—Suzy—’

  ‘Passed on your message,’ he said grimly.

  Rachel frowned. ‘What message?’

  His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘The one about how sorry you were that I’d lost—and goodbye.’

  ‘Good—goodbye?’

  ‘Yes!’ He thrust his hands into his denims pocket. ‘No one loves a loser, do they, Rachel?’ he scorned.

  She froze. ‘What do you mean?’

  Nick shrugged. ‘It’s obvious—I lost, you left. It can’t be any clearer than that.’

  He thought—he really thought—! ‘It can be clearer to me!’ she told him angrily. ‘I didn’t leave because you lost, I left because—because—’

  ‘Yes?’ he taunted sceptically.

  She couldn’t betray Suzy Freeman’s part in this. Besides, she had no idea if the other girl had really meant to deceive her, and Suzy had known Nick a lot longer than she had, so Nick might not believe her even if she did tell him the truth.

  ‘I thought you would rather be alone,’ she evaded.

  ‘When I’d just lost one of the most important matches of my career!’ he derided. ‘I wanted to spend the night with you!’

  Rachel flushed. ‘Miss Freeman gave me the impression—’

  ‘Don’t bring Suzy into this,’ he rasped. ‘You involved her enough just by asking her to say goodbye to me. Couldn’t you at least have—’

  ‘I didn’t say goodbye to you!’ she insisted fiercely.

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘No!’ She glared at him. ‘I just thought you wanted to be alone. And that’s the truth,’ she added as he went to speak.

  Nick gave her a considering look. ‘Prove it,’ he finally challenged.

  ‘P-prove it?’

  ‘Have dinner with me,’ he prompted softly.

  She searched his face for some sign of mockery—and found none. He really did think she didn’t want to be with him! ‘I’ve already eaten,’ she refused dazedly

  ‘A drink, then?’ he pounced.

  ‘I—Yes, a—a drink would be lovely,’ she accepted eagerly.

  ‘Wait here for me,’ he instructed curtly. ‘I’d better go and reassure my sister that we’re friends again. After the way you rushed out she seems to think I must have upset you in some way.’

  Rachel stood patiently in the corridor while Nick took his leave of his sister and brother-in-law. He seemed to think he was actually forcing her to spend the rest of the evening with him, seemed to have no idea that she could imagine nothing she would rather do.

  ‘Ready?’ his appearance back at her side interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded coolly, wondering if Nick would be quite so attentive if he knew how eager she was. The indulgent amusement of yesterday had gone now, and the light of desire burning in his deep blue eyes held more than a passing interest.

  He opened the car door for her, turning to grin at her as he got in beside her. ‘I feel like getting drunk, like to join me?’

  ‘
I—’

  ‘I forgot, you don’t like to drink,’ he grimaced. ‘Right now I need a drink, and I feel like having company.’ He put the car into gear and moved out into the road.

  ‘I didn’t say I don’t like to drink,’ hot colour burned her cheeks. ‘I had some wine last night. I just didn’t drink a lot because I had college today,’ she defended.

  ‘So you’ll join me tonight?’

  She had college again tomorrow, but not for anything would she use that as an excuse. ‘Yes,’ she agreed stiltedly.

  ‘Talking of college, did your boy-friend have anything to say to you today?’ Nick sounded amused.

  Danny had had quite a lot to say, and most of it had been insulting. Rachel had finally walked out of the canteen, leaving her coffee untouched, his nasty comments still following her.

  But she wasn’t going to tell Nick of Danny’s juvenile behaviour. She wished she had never been involved with the younger man, and his behaviour now sickened her. ‘No,’ she lied.

  ‘No?’ Nick quirked a disbelieving eyebrow.

  ‘No,’ she insisted stubbornly, looking about her interestedly. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I said I wanted to get drunk,’ he repeated grimly. ‘I don’t need a drunken driving charge added to my misery.’

  Rachel gave him a startled look. ‘Meaning…?’

  ‘Meaning we’re going to my apartment for that drink.’

  She remembered all too vividly the embarrassment she had suffered when they had gone to his home last night. And the reckless mood he was in tonight didn’t seem to point to his behaving any more discreetly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SHE was a bundle of nerves by the time they entered Nick’s apartment a few minutes later, unsure of his mood and yet unwilling to act childishly again by asking to be taken home.

  Nick moved straight to the drinks cupboard, pouring himself a liberal amount of whisky. ‘Want one?’ he held up the glass.

  Rachel’s hands twisted nervously together in front of her. ‘Er—Do you have any wine?’

  ‘Wine?’ he repeated slowly, disbelievingly.

  Hot colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Yes, wine. White, actually,’ she added in a challenging tone.

  His expression left her in no doubt as to his disgust at such a request. ‘I guess so,’ he answered finally. ‘On the wine rack in the kitchen. I’ll go and get some. Sweet or dry?’

  ‘Dry, please. And preferably sparkling.’

  His eyebrows rose even further. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like champagne? To toast the loser?’

  His bitterness made her bite her lips painfully. ‘No champagne,’ she answered coolly—in fact, later she was sure she would be amazed at the confidence she had displayed. ‘Just a sparkling wine. Asti Spumante, or something like that.’

  ‘I’ll see what I’ve got,’ Nick muttered.

  Rachel breathed a sigh of relief when he at last disappeared into the kitchen, feeling as if she had been with a time-bomb the last half an hour—and it could explode at any moment!

  ‘Here you go,’ Nick came back with a bottle of wine. ‘Asti Spumante, as requested.’ He poured some into two glasses, taking a large swallow from one of them. ‘Mm, not bad,’ he refilled the glass, carrying the other one over to Rachel. ‘Madam,’ he handed it to her with a flourish.

  She accepted the drink, eyeing him warily. She wasn’t sure she liked him in this mood of sarcasm bordering on cruelty, and she didn’t like the way he was mixing his drinks, his reckless mood seeming to increase by the minute.

  His anger and disappointment at losing this afternoon seemed all the more surprising because of his calmness and good sportsmanship once the match had been over. Then he had seemed to accept his defeat with good grace; now his bitterness had taken over.

  ‘Like some more?’ he held out the bottle, refilling his own glass.

  ‘No, thank you. I—Do you think you should?’ she asked nervously.

  Nick gave her a wolfish grin. ‘Should what?’

  Her cheeks coloured bright red. ‘Drink so much,’ she said waspishly. ‘You’ll only have a headache tomorrow.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He lounged down on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table, the bottle of wine discarded in favour of the whisky bottle. ‘But tonight, with you, I’m going to feel bloody fantastic.’

  Rachel stood up. ‘Maybe I should go—’

  ‘Sit down,’ he ordered roughly.

  ‘I—I beg your pardon?’

  He sighed, running a weary hand over his eyes. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I’m afraid I’m forgetting the social graces tonight.’

  ‘Then you would rather be alone—’

  ‘No!’ his denial was harsh. ‘For God’s sake, Rachel, stop talking about leaving. I need you tonight. I need your beauty, your youth. Stay with me, Rachel!’ His eyes were pleading.

  She subsided back into her seat, unwilling to leave him if he really did need her. ‘Your sister seems very happy,’ she attempted conversation.

  ‘There isn’t much gets Kay down.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I know you didn’t.’ Nick swallowed some more of his whisky. ‘Kay is one of those people who’s always happy. Richard is the opposite, a pessimist.’

  ‘I gathered.’

  Nick nodded. ‘Somehow, between them, they have one of the happiest marriages I’ve ever seen. Richard brings Kay down to earth, and Kay gets him out of his blacker moods.’

  ‘They live here in London?’ Somehow it was easier talking about other people, less explosive.

  He shrugged. ‘Richard is a Londoner, and Kay doesn’t mind where she lives as long as she’s with him.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Like I said, they have a happy marriage.’

  The rapidity with which Nick refilled his glass with whisky worried Rachel over the next couple of hours, especially as his voice seemed to be becoming more and more slurred as the evening progressed. But other than that slight slurring of his words he remained otherwise lucid, his conversation witty, his expression alert.

  To her dismay Rachel saw he had almost drunk the whole contents of a bottle of whisky, while she was still on her second glass of wine. He certainly wasn’t in any condition to drive her home.

  Suddenly he swayed to his feet. ‘Help me to bed, will you?’

  At last he seemed to be acting sensibly! ‘Of course.’ She was instantly at his side, her arm about his waist, his about her shoulders as she helped him into the bedroom she had entered only once before.

  Nick sat down heavily on the bed. ‘You’ll have to help me undress,’ he began to unbutton his shirt.

  Rachel licked her lips nervously. ‘Couldn’t you just—keep your clothes on?’

  His mouth twisted derisvely. ‘Hardly.’

  She felt as if she had eight thumbs and only two fingers as she helped him off with his shirt; the tee-shirts he wore on court only hinted at his muscled back and shoulders, his skin tanned a golden brown. She faltered as his hands moved to the belt and fastening of his denims, although she seemed to have little choice but to remove those too when Nick suddenly collapsed back against the pillow. The white shorts he wore on court were brief enough, but the black underpants he wore beneath his denims barely covered him, his legs long and muscular, the dark blond hair on his chest continuing over his navel and lower, disappearing beneath the waistband of his underpants.

  Rachel decided to leave this last article of clothing, pulling the covers up over his unconscious form. As she moved to the bedroom door the telephone began ringing in the lounge, and she made a hurried dash to answer it before its loud noise woke Nick up.

  ‘Yes?’ she said breathlessly into the receiver.

  ‘Who is that?’ demanded a familiar female voice.

  Suzy Freeman! And she sounded as if she had a right to object to Nick having another woman in his apartment. ‘It’s Rachel James,’ she told her.

  ‘Rachel—! Can I talk to Nick?’ T
he other girl’s voice had hardened to anger.

  ‘Er—Not at the moment,’ Rachel answered evasively. After all, he might not want his coach’s daughter knowing he was blind drunk, no matter what his own relationship with Suzy was.

  ‘Why not?’ Suzy snapped.

  ‘I—He’s asleep. He—He was tired.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ The other girl sounded sceptical.

  ‘Yes. You see, he—’

  ‘Who’s that on the phone?’ drawled a blurred voice from behind her.

  Rachel turned with a start, hastily turning away again as she saw Nick was still wearing only the brief black underpants, not having bothered to pull on a robe or anything to cover him. His blond hair was ruffled, his blue eyes slightly unfocused, and if it weren’t for the unmistakable maturity of his bronzed body he would have looked like a little boy just roused from sleep.

  She held the receiver out to him. ‘It’s Miss Freeman,’ she mumbled.

  A frown marred his brow. ‘What the hell does she want?’

  ‘I have no idea. But I think you should talk to her.’

  ‘Okay.’ He took the receiver, grasping Rachel’s wrist in the other hand as she would have moved away. ‘Don’t go,’ he requested huskily.

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘Stay, Rachel.’ His fingers tightened about her wrist.

  ‘All right,’ she averted her eyes, looking anywhere but at Nick, but conscious of him all the same, of the sensuality he exuded, the fundamental male smell that she couldn’t ignore when standing this close to him.

  ‘Hi, Suzy,’ he spoke into the receiver. ‘Mind your own damned business!’ he rasped. ‘Get off my back, Suzy,’ he added in a weary voice. ‘When I want your advice I’ll damn well ask for it!’ He slammed the receiver down, glaring at it in his anger.

  Rachel licked her lips nervously, still not able to look at him. ‘What did she want?’

  ‘To tell me how to run my life,’ he scowled. ‘And nobody does that.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No! Hey,’ his voice softened as he turned to face her, ‘why are we arguing?’