by Jane Linfoot
‘I like to be decisive. And you forget, I hadn’t actually slept in a bed for a very long time. Now I do, the least I can ask for is a comfortable one.’
However much of a shock he’d given himself before lunch, he’d been determined not to take it out on Shea. After all, his shortcomings weren’t her fault. Plus, he’d spent the whole afternoon rationalising that his over-reaction probably had a lot more to do with him needing lunch than anything else. He tested himself by letting his gaze wander over the contoured shadows of her breasts, up to the soft indentation below her throat, and gave a low, satisfied growl, because there he had the proof. Pure lust, nothing more. All he needed to do was be aware, push on for burn-out as soon as, then get the hell out of here. A dangerous game, but then wasn’t he the expert with risk?
He nudged Shea gently in the ribs with his elbow. ‘Your mother was not wrong when she told me you had a cushion fetish.’
‘Sorry? When was this exactly?’ She rounded on him with a mixture of disbelief and puzzled indignation.
‘Not sure which day it was. We’ve been chatting quite a lot – I thought I’d better let her know you were okay, seeing as you haven’t been phoning her. Your dad’s been playing golf, your sister’s bought a stunning dress for the Squash Club winter ball, and the dog ate a whole apple pie to himself yesterday.’ He stifled his laughter, tried to sound nonchalant. ‘You’ll be phoning her yourself tonight anyway, you can catch up then.’
She rubbed her nose wearily, swallowed a yawn. ‘You always surprise me, do you know that? I was furious about the ban on phoning my mum at first, but it has been good to have a break. Thanks for keeping in touch for me.’
He stretched out an arm, pulled her towards him, casually, teasing. A bolt of desire coursed through him, as one firm breast pushed against his ribs. She yawned again, dropped her head heavily on his shoulder. Damn. He’d brought this car so they could make full use of the space on the dark ride home, and he hadn’t planned to sleep. As she wriggled against him, her closeness warming his chest, his irritation melted, but in its place he felt something horribly, achingly protective.
‘I’m sorry if I was short with you this morning … ’
She murmured in query.
‘ … about the jealousy thing.’ If whatever they had was almost over, he didn’t want to leave her thinking he was a complete heel. He had a flashing vision of his life back in London, life without her, as it had been before and stifled a shudder. It was suddenly important that she knew. ‘The argument with Nick, just before he died – I wrongly accused him of trying to steal my girlfriend. That’s what we argued about. I saw them together, jumped to the wrong conclusions and went for him. I was insanely jealous, so jealous I couldn’t see the truth. It was only afterwards I found out she had been cheating on me, but not with him. When I’d seen them together he’d been tackling her about it. He didn’t want to tell me what was going on; he’d hoped that talking to her would be enough. But we argued, he left, and the rest you know. I’ll always blame myself and my jealousy for his death. If it hadn’t been for my jealousy, he wouldn’t have left, and he would still be alive.’
‘Brando, I’m so sorry.’ She rubbed her hand across his head, ruffling his hair, down over the roughness of his jaw. ‘Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.’
Jeez, he’d gone and spilled his guts. Again. Why, he had no idea, despite the fact he’d wracked his brains every time it had happened. He only knew that when he was with her, his secrets came tumbling out. Yet despite the fact he hated every time it happened, it seemed to make things better, not worse. He was feeling better about the past, better about himself, better about the future.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ She traced an idle finger down his cheek, over his lips.
Shutting the hell up about trust might be good.
After last time, he’d vowed never to trust anyone again. Ever.
‘Now you come to mention it, feel free to shed as many of your clothes as you like. Naked will be perfect.’
He slid his hand around her waist until he found her skirt button and popped it open. Tugging down the zip, inch by aching inch, her skirt was free to ride up. Then he dragged her to face him, and with one easy lift he’d whipped her on top of him. He let out a low growl as her pelvic bone ground hard onto his already whopping erection, put his hands on her hips to readjust her so he didn’t burst there and then. Only once she was straddling him comfortably did he take her face in his hands and kiss her long and deep, and hard.
‘Jeez, I needed that!’ He broke off, his penis throbbing madly beneath her, forging against his fly.
For a second he fumbled in his back pocket, then he pulled out a foil packet, which glinted in the half light as he flipped it towards her.
‘Okay, Shea, I’m waiting, and I’m way beyond ready. Do your worst!’
* * *
‘Hey you, how’s it going?’
Shea started slightly at the unexpected sound of Brando’s voice, and stood up from where she was delving deep into a massive box of home accessories which had arrived that morning, rubbing her forehead with her wrist.
She shot him a smile, feeling suddenly shy.
‘I know I like to be busy, but these last few days have been crazy with the house makeover. I had no idea you had so many staff. There seem to be more each day, and they’re all so industrious and creative. It’s amazing. And we’re getting so much done!’
She fished out a cushion from the box and began to remove the wrapping.
‘I think you’ve inspired them, Shea. It’s not just in the house, there’s a whole army of them out there who run the estate. You’ve given them a reason to get excited, and they’ve all flocked to help. It must have been pretty soul destroying to come to work year in, year out, to a house where nobody lived, and nothing changed. I always presumed it was enough for them that I employed them. I never thought about it in those terms before. There are a lot of things about Edgerton I haven’t ever addressed, until now, that is.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t mind that the decorators have been called in too? And the carpet fitters and the curtain makers, not to mention the telephone guys? When I suggested changing things, I only meant to make a couple of rooms a bit more like you so you’d enjoy being here more. It’s turned into a total blitz – it’s as if the whole thing has taken on a life of its own.’
‘You have that effect on people.’ He gave her a hard stare. ‘Or hadn’t you noticed?’
Brando talking about people affecting other people was dangerous, given she was trying to block out the effect he was having on her. She hated to admit it, but there was a seismic shift in the way she felt inside, the way she felt when she was with Brando, about Brando. Something was changing, but she didn’t dare to face it, didn’t want to face it. Even thinking this was too much of an admission. It was good that she didn’t have time to think about it, fab that she had so much work to bury herself in. Being rushed off her feet didn’t begin to cover it. Just how she liked things.
She rubbed her nose, ignored that comment completely, and carried on. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind? I hardly see you these days to ask.’ It was true. If she needed him for something specific, he complied immediately with whatever she requested, making decisions at his usual break-neck speed, but apart from that he made himself very scarce. She assumed he was working, unless she happened to catch a glimpse of him, as she often did, way in the distance, heading out over the park.
‘I’ve got a lot on.’ He sounded dismissive, but he looked quickly away, avoiding her gaze. ‘Deals to do, and all that.’
Which told her nothing at all. She noticed the flicker in his cheek, a fleeting expression that might have been guilt. She could hardly tell. He’d seemed strangely distant lately, like he was there, yet not there.
‘You’ll need a few deals to pay for all this lot! It’s a good thing you aren’t on a budget!’ She aimed for jokey. He mustn’t know she’d noticed he’d
withdrawn. She had no right to care.
Except he was still there for the sex. The sex was still burning. That night in the car – she went hot all over again at the memory. The purr of the engine, the blur of the night outside, how she rode him, thrashing astride him until they both exploded. Simply remembering his raw anguished shout as he came sent a shudder jiving through her. She had a sudden urge to stretch out her hand, touch him, pull him to her, close this chasm between them.
For just this once she didn’t want to wait until after midnight. These days he came to her later and later each evening, almost as if he were avoiding her. She wanted to rub the stubble shadow of his jaw, make him want her, here, now. Arching her back, she gently tilted her breasts towards him.
‘You can say that again!’ He went on briskly, oblivious to the nipples thrusting towards his face. ‘Anything else I can help you with? If not I’d better be off.’
And then he was gone, as quickly as he’d come, leaving her, cushion still in hand, nipples still in mid air, with a heavy ache which began in her throat, and swung like a stone into her stomach.
Sour apples! He’d totally blanked her. She bit back a rush of raw saliva. So this was how rejection tasted? Not good. But two could play at that game, and she’d make damned sure he was the one doing the waiting tonight.
Chapter Ten
It was after one in the morning when Brando heard Shea creep back to her room later that night. He’d kept away from her all day, yet again, not that it made any difference. He’d hoped that by staying away he’d get her out of his system, that he’d be able to stop obsessing about her, but it had only served to make him more desperate, as his already thrusting erection proved.
‘I thought you were never coming!’ He blustered through, raking his fingers through his hair, about to drag his t-shirt over his head, but one look at her tight expression stopped him in his tracks. ‘Something wrong?’
‘Nope.’
She kicked off her pumps, flopped onto the bed, her eyes lowered, and his stomach sank.
A one word answer from a female. Ominous.
Careful to avert his eyes from the horribly inviting curve of her breasts, he plumped down beside her. The way she stiffened as he flung a casual arm around her shoulder set his alarm bells ringing loud and crazily.
‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
He already knew the brush off he gave her earlier was unforgivable, but at the time he hadn’t been able to help himself. It had been a matter of self-preservation. For him, the nights were less dangerous. He could think of those as sex, and sex alone. It was how he felt when he looked at her in the day that he couldn’t handle.
‘If you won’t say what’s wrong, at least tell me what you’ve been doing?’ Less dangerous territory all round.
‘Checking all the last minute details – don’t pretend you’ve forgotten the film crew arrives for final shots tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Six hours of last minute details?’ He inclined his head in disbelief. He felt her shuffle, turn towards him, and as she raised her face to him, the tears in her eyes made his chest catch. ‘I’m sorry. About before … ’
‘It’s okay. It’s just I don’t seem to see you anymore.’ She attempted a half smile, then added a disclaimer. ‘Not that I have any right to see you. I know that.’
So this was the girl who wasn’t ready for emotion, crying because she hadn’t seen him enough, and he was the guy who had sworn he’d never let himself care again, who couldn’t bear to see her because it made him know he was caring too much.
What the hell had happened?
‘I’ve been trying to stay away from you.’ The words flew out in a rush, despite his best intentions. He couldn’t begin to explain how, with him, caring and jealousy went hand in hand, all the way to destruction. Every time. ‘It’s for your own good. I make bad things happen .… ’
‘If what we’re doing is bad, I think I might like being bad.’ Her response was barely a whisper. ‘I’m having such a great time. You have no idea.’
Her words sent a warm rush flooding through his body. He gripped her shoulder, gently scraped her skin with his fingertips, felt her become malleable beneath his touch. Scratching a nail along the inside of her forearm until she shivered, he nudged her backwards onto the pillows.
Suddenly he knew this was going to be sweet. Achingly sweet. And it was going to be spell-bindingly slow. Because for the first time ever she was going to lie back and let him do all the pleasuring.
Without him asking, she was giving him complete surrender.
‘Come on.’ He heard his own voice, husky, thick with desire. ‘I’m going to make love to you.’
* * *
Hitting the office at nine the next morning was a struggle. Shea, still dizzied with a mixture of afterglow and fatigue, attempted to be breezy, as Mrs McCaul went through the list of things to be done.
‘So I’ll get the team onto final floor polishing in the library and the ballroom, and then move onto a final clean everywhere else. Is that okay, Shea?’
She nodded dumbly as Mrs McCaul’s plans floated past her, rubbing her mouth distractedly, hoping her hastily applied lip gloss was enough cover for her swollen lips. Last night had been so … She struggled to define it. Deep? Naked? Mind-blowing? Whatever, it had made this morning so unprofessional. The Shea Summers who arrived here a month ago would never have turned up for work in this state.
‘Then after that it’s flowers?’ She tried to sound as if she was keeping up, as she dragged her unruly hair back, and recaptured it into another hasty pony tail which still failed to do the job. ‘I love the flower part!’
Mrs McCaul carried on bustling about the office, seemingly unaware of Shea’s discomfort.
‘And Bryony sent this through for you to check.’ Mrs McCaul smiled and pushed a piece of paper across the desk towards her. ‘It’s just your details for the files – I can’t think how it’s got left until now.’
Shea started as Brando bounded into the office, snatched up the paper, whisked it behind her, and leaned hard against the filing cabinet.
Where the heck had he come from? She’d been counting on a morning without him to try to get her head straight. Last night had been so different.
Too different.
Right now she wasn’t sure that different like that had been was something she could handle.
Brando advanced towards her. ‘What? Details on Miss Summers? This I must see!’
Damn it! He had seen it! In the small of her back, she scrunched the paper in her fist, as her stomach plummeted, her throat constricted. She flinched as he sprang towards her and dropped a light hand onto her waist. She knew she should run, but her legs had frozen. Crap, crap! She gasped in his familiar scent. One tweak, and he’d grabbed the paper, and was backing playfully away across the office, waving it triumphantly.
Oh shit! How had she let that happen? Careless didn’t begin to cover it.
‘Let's see what middle names you’ve been hiding then?’
Think on your feet …
‘I already told you, Pixie Persephone!’ She squeaked out the first desperately jokey reply she could, hoping she could brazen it out, that he’d put down the paper, that maybe she could grab it, before he saw …
Too late.
She read the puzzled furrow of his brows, and simultaneously felt her stomach plummet to somewhere round her ankles. The worst had already happened.
‘There must be some mistake here!’
Shea, feeling her body flush like a furnace, then turn icily cold, was distantly aware of Mrs McCaul getting up from behind the desk and sliding noiselessly out into the corridor, discretely closing the door behind her.
‘Don’t worry we’ll get it changed as soon as we can. In the marital status box they’ve put you down as a widow, that’s all.’
That’s all?
She heard the pulse banging in her neck, a rushing in her ears, felt the strength drain from every pore of her being. For
a long time she forgot to breathe.
‘There’s no need to look so worried, it’s not that serious! It’s only Bryony’s office being slap-dash.’
She hugged her arms tightly around herself, wishing he’d just be quiet.
‘It’s not a mistake.’ She spoke quietly, throwing out flat, dead words that hung in the air. ‘The form is right. I am a widow.’
Nothing to feel guilty about. Just a statement of fact. She turned to face him, squaring her jaw.
‘You are what..?’ He stared at her, his brows jagged with disbelief.
‘A widow, Brando.’ She made her words icy. Sarcasm seemed the only recourse to his hotly accusing tone. ‘Widow as in ‘I used to have a husband, but he died’ kind of a widow.’
There was one aching moment of stillness and then he jack-knifed.
‘Well thanks a lot for keeping me informed.’ He rounded on her bitterly. ‘And when exactly where you planning to tell me this?’
She widened her eyes wildly, totally floored by his antagonistic reaction.
‘To be honest – never. It has no bearing on anything, and you had no need to know.’
He turned on her, his face thunderous.
‘To be honest? You’re standing there talking about being honest. That’s a damned contradiction for starters. When I think of all the truths you’ve forced out of me!’
‘I don’t recall forcing you to tell me anything!’
‘Everything we’ve talked about, and you managed not to mention this!’
‘I always tried not to lie about it.’ She was eerily calm, carefully measuring her words. A twinge of guilt pricked her as she remembered what she’d told him about her wedding ring. ‘And the ring was my grandmother’s before it was mine.’
‘Obviously you don’t count lying by omission! I’m sorry, I don’t know what rules you play by, but in my book that’s as good as lying.’
