by Annie West
Declan gulped a mouthful of wine.
Never had he felt like this, as if caught fast in quicksand that deepened whichever way he turned.
It was as well Chloe didn’t know he wanted her here not for revenge, but because he couldn’t let her go.
It shouldn’t be so. Yet he yearned for her with a desperation unlike anything he’d experienced. It tore him apart.
‘Delicious rock lobster, Declan. Declan?’
He gathered his thoughts and found an encouraging smile for Sophia. She was exquisite in a fitted dress of beaded lilac and she hadn’t stopped her engaging banter since the first course of what, he had to admit, was a superb meal.
Damn Chloe. Was there anything she wasn’t up to? From dealing with impromptu parties, to fussy guests and requests at all hours, she’d proven herself a superb housekeeper. As if she really was what she seemed: hard-working, capable and with a skill for putting guests at ease. A skill he’d succumbed to in those dark days when loss and blindness had driven him to seek out her warmth.
Declan snapped his head up, cutting off that train of thought.
Chloe was far too sexy in that slinky green dress. His fingers tickled with the memory of how good she’d felt in it, and how much better she’d felt without it.
It had been a mistake to demand she wear it.
The slow burn in his blood flared hotter. He told himself the image she projected was a lie, yet doubts had crept into his certainty. Such as when he’d learned she did indeed have a foster father who’d recently suffered a massive stroke. Or when there’d been no tangible proof of rich lovers. The doubts turned each night into a restless trial as cold logic warred with the desire to trust.
His mouth tightened. He wasn’t the only one drawn to Chloe. On either side of the table men leaned close, eager for her attention. But she played it cool, keeping a slight distance despite her friendly smile.
She was an expert at tantalising a man.
‘I can manage on my own.’ Chloe pasted on a perfunctory smile as she stopped at the kitchen door.
‘Now, now.’ Daniel wagged a finger as his gaze dropped to her breasts. ‘Anyone would think you didn’t like me.’
Chloe strove to unclench her teeth. Why, of all Declan’s guests, did this lech have to follow her? ‘I need to organise coffee—and,’ she added with emphasis as his hand settled on her bare arm, ‘I’ll be quicker alone.’
He leaned in, his hot breath wine-laden. ‘It would be a perfect time for us to get to know each other better, away from the crowd.’
‘Let me go, Daniel. I didn’t invite you to touch me.’
His blue eyes glittered as if her resistance fuelled his determination.
‘But that’s what you want, isn’t it, Chloe? That aloof air is a ploy.’
She stiffened. She’d had enough of men who thought they could speak for her or judge her. Men who saw only what they wanted. Declan at least had grief as his excuse; this vermin had none.
‘I asked you to let go. I won’t ask again.’
The warning had no effect. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way our host looks at you from the other end of the table.’ He winked. ‘It’s obvious you’re far more than a housekeeper. At a guess I’d say you’re very … versatile.’
His gaze trawled and Chloe shuddered. He made her feel unclean as his hand brushed near her breast.
‘I said—’ she ground her heel onto his instep till he yelped and let go ‘—I need to see to the coffee. Alone.’
She was breathing heavily as she swung round, ignoring the whispered stream of swear words that burst from him.
Movement at the edge of her vision brought her up short.
Declan. Her heart gave a resounding thump.
He loomed in the doorway, bigger than ever. His face was a pale mask of fury and his scar stood out like a jagged warning. Beneath his tailored jacket, muscles bunched. His hands fisted as if he wanted to reach out and shake her.
Relief at being free of Daniel’s grip dissolved as Chloe looked into those fierce eyes. She scented danger and the hairs on her nape rose.
Yet it wasn’t fear she felt. It was anger.
‘Chloe …’
Chloe refused to let him berate her for trying to seduce his guest. She was tired of being a scapegoat, condemned for what she’d never done.
Spinning on her heel, she shoved open the kitchen door.
When she emerged the guests had left the dining table and clustered in the sitting room. Instantly she located Declan at the far end of the room with an older man.
‘He’s quite something, isn’t he?’
Chloe found a gorgeous brunette standing close, swaying a little on her needle-point heels. ‘Sorry?’
‘Declan.’ The other woman, Sophia, waved her glass, sloshing wine perilously near her couture gown. ‘I’ve known him for years and I’ve never met a better man. Or a sexier one, despite that horrible scar.’
She drained her glass. ‘One thing about Declan, you can trust him. He’s loyal and honest. Unlike some.’ She looked daggers at a blond man in intimate conversation with another woman. ‘And wasn’t he wonderful with that snake Daniel?’
‘Daniel?’ Chloe looked again around the room. She’d expected another confrontation but hadn’t seen him. ‘Where is he?’
‘You missed it?’ Sophia waved her glass. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Declan marched him off the premises by the scruff of his neck.’
‘Declan did that?’ Stunned, Chloe turned. Resplendent in formal clothes, Declan radiated charisma at odds with the wrathful man of just ten minutes ago. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. Declan all but shoved him out the door. Goodness knows what he’d done.’
Something deep inside Chloe shuddered into life. Had he ejected Daniel for pawing her? The idea sucker-punched her. It was the strangest feeling to think he’d directed his scorching fury at her tormentor. That wasn’t the action of an enemy. An enemy would have gloated.
Just then Declan’s head snapped round, as so often in the past when he’d sensed her presence.
The air sizzled with a charge that electrified her. The gleam in his eyes held something other than the disapproval she expected. Something that confounded her. Something intense and almost possessive.
Flurries of heat danced across her flesh and her eyes widened.
She recalled his hoarse voice. You were so convincing, you even made me …
Every night those words circled in her brain. She’d heard his pain and despair and wondered if, against all logic, he did still feel something for her. It seemed impossible yet she couldn’t dismiss it.
‘Declan saw Daniel follow me and make a nuisance of himself.’ The words escaped before she realised.
‘See?’ Sophia nodded. ‘I told you he was one of the good ones.’ She sighed. ‘A shame I was never his type.’
With difficulty Chloe dragged her gaze from Declan’s. She felt his stare like a touch. It drew her skin tight and filled her with an awareness that undermined her indignation and made a mockery of her anger.
It was still there, the connection between them that had ignited from the first. It was stronger than distrust.
She darted another look. His ebony eyes lingered on her, his brow puckered as if he, too, was at a loss. Could he be having second thoughts? She’d told herself time and the easing of his grief might eventually allow him to see the truth. Lately they’d lived in a cautious truce. Was it possible he’d begun to see past his pain?
Her heart crashed against her ribs as excitement rose.
‘He’s looking,’ Sophia purred. ‘Maybe it’s time to see if I was wrong about not being his type.’ She strolled across the room with a walk that drew all eyes.
Hurriedly Chloe turned to a cluster of guests. But, as the visitors gradually departed, the tension inside knotted tighter. Sophia remained plastered against Declan, his arm around her waist as she teetered on impossible heels.
Chloe busied
herself, locating handbags and wraps, saying farewell to guests and tidying. But the knot inside drew tighter. Jealousy? How could she be jealous if she no longer cared for Declan?
She turned back into the sitting room, only to slam to a halt on the threshold.
One hand grabbed the door jamb as her knees weakened.
Declan and Sophia, kissing. Sophia’s arms twined round Declan’s neck. Declan swinging her up into his arms and striding down the corridor to the bedroom, heedless of her jewelled sandals dropping to the floor.
Chloe pressed a hand to her gaping mouth. It didn’t stop her gasp of raw pain.
Declan neared the end of the dim corridor where the master suite was. He didn’t turn on a light but shouldered his way in, cradling Sophia.
In the stillness Chloe heard the snick of the bedroom door. Numbly she stared at the lilac stiletto heels that had tumbled on the floor. She sagged against the wall.
Declan and Sophia. Declan doing with Sophia all those wonderful things he’d shared with Chloe.
Her teeth began chattering and she hugged herself tight as reaction set in.
She’d tried to tell herself these past weeks it had just been sex between her and Declan. That it didn’t mean anything, conveniently ignoring the fact she was anything but promiscuous and in all her life she’d been to bed with only two men. Two men who had moved her and touched her heart: Mark and then, against the odds, Declan. She’d assured herself it had been an appalling mistake but one she’d get over.
With a gasp of pain Chloe slid down the wall. She sat hunched, knees drawn in tight.
She couldn’t pretend any more. She’d skirted the truth too long.
At Carinya she’d fallen in love with Declan Carstairs.
How could she get over that?
She tried to despise him. Yet, seeing him with his friends and colleagues, she knew he wasn’t totally the ogre he’d acted with her. Many of the qualities she’d found so attractive in him were real. It hadn’t all been a sham.
How much of his rage was driven by grief?
If only he could be that cold-hearted, vengeful bastard through and through. Then she could turn her back without a second glance.
Yet he was far more complex. She saw glimpses of her Declan again and again. That was what hurt most.
Now, whether wittingly or inadvertently, he’d found the perfect way to punish her for all those crimes she hadn’t committed.
It took less than thirty minutes to pack.
Chloe was halfway to the foyer when a yell rent the air, curdling her blood. She froze, clutching her bag.
Silence thrummed loud with the beat of her racing pulse. Could she have imagined it? Impossible. Yet equally impossible it had come from the master suite.
Chloe made herself enter the vast sitting room where Sophia’s shoes lay, proof that Declan wasn’t alone.
There it was again: an agonised roar that prickled her skin. Dropping her bag, she swung towards the bedroom wing. It was dark, no light under any door. No sound. Surely if there was anything wrong …?
Then she heard it, a mumbling gasp, the deep resonance of Declan’s voice. Talking to Sophia, of course.
Chloe’s lips tightened as she moved away. She didn’t want to overhear their pillow talk. But again she froze as a yell blasted the night and iced her veins. There was such pain in that cry.
It was Declan. Why didn’t Sophia do something?
Knowing she’d regret it, but unable to turn her back, Chloe turned the handle and pushed open the door to the master suite.
Moonlight painted the room in silvery light. The king-sized bed was a mess of rumpled sheets, twisted and torn free. Instead of a couple there was only Declan, spread eagled across the mattress. His lips moved and his bare chest heaved. His head turned from side to side.
‘Adrian!’ This time she was close enough to understand his raw cry of anguish.
Quick as thought, she stepped into the room and closed the door.
‘No, Adrian. Don’t!’ Declan’s head thrashed on the pillow, his shoulders heaving as if he fought to free himself from some terrible weight.
‘Shh.’ Chloe found herself beside the bed, looking down at a face distorted by anguish. ‘It’s all right.’
He didn’t hear, just flung out an arm as if to thrust something away. Or to make a desperate grab. Her heart clutched.
‘Nooo!’ His cry was a barely audible keen of loss. ‘Ade, no!’
Chloe put her hand on his shoulder, feeling the film of sweat on burning flesh. ‘It’s OK, Declan. It’s a dream.’
Muscles rippled and flexed beneath her touch. He rolled towards her, capturing her hand tightly. But one look at Declan’s face told her he hadn’t woken.
The proud man she knew wouldn’t want her to see him like this. Even in the gloom she could make out his spiky lashes clumped together, see the tears on his cheeks and feel the shudders racking his body.
‘It’s all right, Declan,’ she whispered, bending close. ‘It’s over.’
But it wasn’t. She’d known he grieved for his brother, but hadn’t understood the full depth of his trauma.
Chloe thought of the small photo in Declan’s study, a family portrait: Declan at around twenty with a devil-may-care smile; Adrian, years younger in school uniform, grinning up at his big brother. In the middle were their parents, dressed to the nines and smiling stiffly.
She’d been surprised by the photo. Then she’d done her maths and realised Charles and Maya Carstairs had probably died soon after that photo had been taken. Perhaps it was the last keepsake of their family. She’d picked it up, transfixed by what she saw. Declan, looking carefree as she’d never seen him. Adrian with hero worship in his eyes.
And now this—Declan, tormented by nightmares of his brother. To see him racked in agony tore at her heart.
He had so much anger inside. How much of that piercing fury was self-directed?
She’d known he blamed himself for not saving Adrian. But she’d had no idea the guilt ran so deep. That shone a different light on his actions.
‘Chloe?’
Startled, she looked down. His eyes were shut. His grip on her hand had eased as had his breathing.
‘Sweet Chloe.’ He rolled over, trapping her hand between his cheek and the pillow. ‘Stay.’
It should have been easy to jerk her hand away.
Yet looking at that ravaged cheek, seeing the wet trail down his scar and the lines furrowing his brow, Chloe couldn’t do it. Seeing Declan stripped of everything but the emotion he hid from the world, she felt the turmoil that drove him.
Even now he found no rest, no solace.
‘Please.’ The whispered syllable was so soft she almost missed it.
But she heard and, in a moment of honesty, knew she couldn’t leave like this. Not yet. Wearily she settled on the carpet, her hand trapped against his warm skin.
She understood too well the weight of grief and how it could twist into self-blame. Was it grief that made Declan cling so obstinately to his guilt and his belief in hers?
Ever since that confrontation the night of the party, he’d looked different. As strong as ever, yet haunted. Often when he was by himself she’d find him staring into space. He’d looked adrift. Alone. As if there was nothing to anchor him.
Was she crazy to think he needed her now more than ever?
With a sigh she leaned her head against the bed.
She wouldn’t be leaving today.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘DECLAN, you look like hell.’
‘Thanks, David.’ He felt like it too, after weeks sharing the penthouse with his cool, perfect housekeeper who kept him at arm’s length in an uneasy truce. He missed Chloe’s fire, her vivid personality, her body. Damn! No wonder he barely slept. ‘Was there anything else or did you just drop by to comment on my appearance? And why haven’t you gone home?’
‘You need to see this.’
Declan scraped his hand across bleary eyes. He’d s
pent too long in the office trying to find peace in the familiar demands of business. It hadn’t worked.
Nothing had worked.
There’d been no peace since he’d plunged into this nightmare where the woman he cared for had transformed into a calculating gold digger.
But was she? Circumstances said yes. The evidence said yes. Yet his instinct said no.
Instinct told him she was special, the woman he’d believed in before he’d learned of her connection with Adrian.
Yet how could he trust his instinct when it had given no warning Ade was on the brink of self-destruction?
He scrubbed a hand across his face again, his mind once more turning down endless tracks of self-doubt, disillusionment and longing.
‘Declan.’
He looked up. David stood in front of the desk, holding out a package.
‘This has just been sent through. It was posted the week before Adrian’s death.’ He paused as Declan’s head jerked higher, every muscle tensing.
‘Some fool in the legal office has been sitting on it all this time. When news came through about Adrian, they weren’t sure what to do with it.’ His PA snorted his disgust. ‘Fortunately someone finally decided to check what it was they were holding and sent it on.’
He held out the small, padded envelope.
For a moment Declan stared. Sent the week Adrian had died?
A shiver slithered down his backbone. Another note from his brother? This time—and it filled him with aching guilt to admit it—he wasn’t in a hurry to read it.
Yet it wasn’t Adrian’s writing on the registered envelope. It was Chloe’s.
His hands closed around the parcel, his pulse racing. What now?
He tipped the envelope and something soft fell into his hand. A piece of paper slid to the desk. He turned it over: Please return to Mr Adrian Carstairs.
That was all. No signature, but he knew Chloe’s writing. Hadn’t he pored over the notes she’d taken for him at Carinya time and again, as if seeking a clue to her character in her handwriting?
