A Nanny for Christmas

by Sara Craven

  For one crazy, forbidden moment she let herself wonder how his mouth would feel on hers. She took a step backwards, as if he'd actually reached for her.

  And saw his mouth twist as he looked down at his daughter.

  'No,' he said. 'I'm not.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because it isn't her bedtime. At least, not yet,' he added softly. His slow, crooked smile touched Phoebe, sending a long, troublous shiver rippling through her body. She wanted to run—to hide somewhere—but she felt rooted to the spot.

  Then he bent and kissed Tara, stroking her cheek gently with a finger as he straightened. 'Sleep well, sweetheart.'

  At the door, he turned. 'I'll see you at dinner, Miss Grant,' he said with cool formality.

  After he'd gone, there was another silence.

  Then, 'I expect he'll kiss you goodnight after dinner,' said Tara. 'Don't you?'

  'Tara,' Phoebe said severely, trying to snatch at her composure. 'You're impossible.'

  Which, of course, was no real answer at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PHOEBE was strongly tempted not to go down to dinner at all.

  Changed into her new checked skirt and pink blouse, she sat, staring at herself in the dressing table mirror, wondering what valid excuse she could give to avoid Dominic's company.

  But she could think of nothing that he wouldn't see through immediately. Besides which, any open attempt to evade him would betray her own inner turmoil, and that, she thought dispiritedly, would never do.

  All she could do was play it cool, and stick rigidly to the limits she'd laid down earlier.

  What Dominic might do was another matter altogether.

  She left it until the last minute to go downstairs.

  In the drawing room, the heavy gold brocade curtains had been drawn against the night. The room was lit by shaded lamps, and by the logs which blazed welcomingly on the hearth.

  Dominic was occupying a sofa on one side of the fire. There was a whisky and soda on the table beside him, and he was glancing through the local paper.

  He turned as Phoebe entered, his brows lifting as he studied her.

  'Carrie's choice, again? I endorse her taste.'

  'She's been very kind.' Phoebe, tense as a bow-string, perched on the edge of the opposite sofa.

  'Tell me something.' His eyes surveyed her hair, smoothed severely back from her face and confined at the nape of her neck with a barrette. 'Do you never let your hair down, even out of working hours?'

  Phoebe reached up a self-conscious hand. 'It's tidier this way,' she said defensively. 'And when you're looking after a child working hours are unpredictable, anyway.'

  'Well, you're definitely off-duty this evening.' He paused. 'Would you like a sherry?'

  'Oh, no—no thanks.'

  'Another tonic water, then?' His mouth twisted a little.

  'Nothing—thank you.'

  'Have you always been a teetotaller?'

  Phoebe looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. 'I—I learned a long time ago that alcohol doesn't suit me.'

  'Pity,' Dominic murmured. 'Because a drink might relax you. You're quite safe, you know,' he added sardonically. 'I never pounce on an empty stomach. Yours, or mine.'

  After a startled moment, Phoebe's lips stretched into a reluctant grin.

  'That's—very reassuring.' She tried to speak casually.

  He said with a touch of crispness, 'Then try and appear reassured.' He paused. 'I have something for you.' He held out a brown envelope.

  'A wage packet?' She was bewildered. 'But I've only just started.'

  'It's from Mrs Preston at the cafe. I called in there after we parted company this afternoon, and she asked me to pass it on to you.' He began to tick off on his fingers. 'Your money up to yesterday, plus a week in lieu of notice, and some holiday money.'

  Phoebe frowned. 'She doesn't owe me all that.'

  He shrugged. 'She certainly thinks so. Argue with her, not me.'

  He tossed the envelope towards her, and Phoebe caught it and put it in her skirt pocket.

  She said, 'Now I'll be able to repay you for the clothes Carrie bought.'

  'There's no hurry for that,' he dismissed. 'Why not indulge yourself with a small shopping spree? I could take you to Midburton tomorrow, after we've dropped Tara at school.'

  For a moment, she hesitated. It was ages since she'd had time even for window-shopping. The thought of being able to browse, with money in her pocket, was genuinely tempting.

  But she shook her head. 'I'd rather stick to my original intention—if you don't mind.'

  'I think I do mind,' he said grimly. 'You really can't bear to be beholden to me—even for a short time—can you?'

  There was an almost raw note in his voice. Phoebe bit her lip.

  'It isn't that. It has nothing to do with you, only with me,' she said steadily. 'You see, I have this—horror of debt since my father...'

  He groaned, shaking his head. 'God, Phoebe, I'm sorry. We seem to be having a competition in paranoia,' he added bitterly.

  'I'm not paranoid.'

  'Is that a fact? So, you won't mind this?' He walked across the room, took her startled hand and pulled her to her feet, so that she was facing him, her body only inches from his.

  'What are you doing?' She tugged herself free, angrily aware she sounded breathless.

  'Simply letting you know that dinner is served,' he retorted. 'And I'm hungry even if you're not.'

  Phoebe drew a deep breath, and walked ahead of him to the dining room.

  They had leek and potato soup, followed by a rich game pie, with creme brulee as dessert. Carrie was atruly wondrous cook, thought Phoebe, doing full justice to the meal in spite of her emotional turmoil.

  To her relief, Dominic kept the conversation light, and reasonably impersonal. Perhaps he'd taken her strictures to heart, after all.

  'We'll have coffee in the drawing room,' Dominic said as he rose from his chair at the end of the meal.

  'I think I'll take mine to the other sitting room,' Phoebe said quickly, watching him pour the brew from a silver pot on a side table. She didn't want to spend any more time than was necessary alone with him here in the warm, lamplit intimacy of the drawing room. 'There—there's something I want to watch on television.'

  'Really?' Dominic drawled. 'I didn't have you down as an avid viewer. There was no television at the cottage.'

  Phoebe gave him a set smile. 'Not much gets past you, Mr Ashton. But that was the landlord's choice, not mine, I assure you. I love game shows,' she invented wildly. 'Situation comedies—soap operas. In fact, anything that doesn't make me think too hard.' And anything that's going to deter you from joining me, she added silently.

  'Then tonight's your night.' Dominic's eyes glinted at her. 'According to the paper, there's international football on one channel and a boxing match on another. Nothing to tax the brain there.'

  'No, indeed,' Phoebe agreed woodenly, trying not to grind her teeth. 'Perhaps I'll just have an early night instead.'

  'Another excellent idea. In fact I might join you.' As her startled eyes flew to his face, he gave her a mocking grin. 'Not literally, of course. Or were you thinking I might -be about to follow up Tara's earlier and quite fascinating suggestion?'

  'No, I wasn't,' Phoebe said stonily, furiously aware , that she was blushing again.

  'Oh, be honest,' he said derisively. 'You've been like a cat on hot bricks all evening, wondering if and when I was going to make my move.'

  'That is not true...'

  'Then it should have been. Even with your hair scraped back to oblivion, and that just-scrubbed look, you're a vibrant and attractive girl.' He sounded strangely angry. 'You should expect every man you meet to want to kiss you—to make love to you.'

  'You mean I should behave like a tart?' She was trembling in every limb, remembering with bitter clarity all the harsh words he'd once thrown at her.

  'Of course not,' he said impatiently. 'What the hell
are you talking about?'

  'This may come as a shock to you, Mr Ashton.' She emphasised the formal use of his name. 'But I'm not turned on by this kind of conversation.' She threw her head back. 'Tara's comment was—an embarrassment, and I've taken her to task over it. I didn't expect you to refer to it again,' she added stiffly.

  'Oh, really?' His drawl was sceptical. 'Well, it didn't embarrass me. And, as you've brought the subject up, I'd like to know what would turn you on, my prim Miss Grant?'

  'Nothing,' she said between her teeth. 'Nothing that you could do.'

  'You mean you're truly above all those nasty, primitive urges of the flesh?' He shook his head, slowly. 'My God, Phoebe, you must be superhuman.'

  'I find this distasteful,' she said curtly. 'There are rules about the employer/hired help relationship, and this— this amounts to sexual harassment.' She walked to the door. 'And I won't bother with coffee. I'm going to my room, and I'd like you to remember what I've said. That's if you want me to stay.'

  'And there are a few things that you should remember too, darling.' The anger was out in the open now, and mixed with something else less identifiable. 'This is my house, and I make the rules. Nor am I open to any kind of politically correct blackmail. But as you've made the accusation I may as well commit the crime.'

  She snatched at the door handle, trying to turn it, but her fingers slipped. Then Dominic was gripping her shoulders, spinning her to face him, trapping her between the panels of the door and his body. His eyes glittered and the cold purpose in his face made her shrink.

  'No,' she whispered. 'Please. You can't...'

  'Ah,' he said softly. 'But I can.'

  He put his hands on the door, one on either side of her head, holding her imprisoned without touching her. She could feel the warmth of his skin penetrating the layers of her clothing. She could breathe the scent of him, heated, aroused. Could almost hear the uneven race of his heart. Or perhaps it was the pulsation of her own blood, driven by an excitement she'd never experienced before.

  She didn't know any more. Her pupils dilated as she stared up into the dark face. Her lips parted in a little sigh, half protest, half capitulation, as his mouth descended slowly to possess hers.

  The anger in him had been reined back, brought under control. His lips were gentle but very deliberate, at first just brushing the yielding contours of hers, tantalising them.

  One hand stroked her hair, then slid to the nape of her neck, and she felt the barrette give way. Heard it fall to the carpet as the soft strands were released to fall around her face. Heard, too, his soft sigh of satisfaction.

  His .fingers twisted in her hair, as if it were a silken rope and he, suddenly, her prisoner. And at the same time his kiss deepened, his mouth exploring hers with almost exquisite precision, the tip of his tongue tasting the moist fullness within, every delicate movement creating a new greed, a new yearning.

  Her own hands lifted slowly to clasp behind his head and hold him to her. Her mouth offered a first, trembling response to the unhurried pressure of his. Which changed everything.

  Dominic pulled her fiercely into his arms, holding her against the urgent thrust of his body. He kissed her hungrily, with a passionate demand that was almost raw in its intensity. With an explicit sensuality which made no concessions to her inexperience.

  Concessions that were suddenly no longer necessary, she realised in some dazed, reeling corner of her mind. She wanted to learn everything that he could teach her. To take all that he was offering. To know, and be known in turn.

  She was starving, thirsting for him, her mouth ardent, eager, seeking. She was burning up with fever. She was shivering with something that went far beyond mere cold.

  Mouths, hands and loins, they clung to each other.

  Some lifetime later, he lifted his head. His eyes were slumbrous, and there was a hectic flush painted along his high cheekbones.

  He said, in a whisper, 'Now tell me to stop.'

  Phoebe slumped back against the door, her head falling forward like a flower with a broken stem as she fought for breath.

  She was conscious of him walking away from her. Heard the unsteady chink of the decanter against a glass.

  Slowly, she straightened, and looked across the room at him, raising a hand to her bright and swollen mouth.

  He said quietly, 'So you're human after all, Miss Grant. Just flesh and blood like the rest of us.' He raised his glass to her in a jeering parody of a toast. 'Now run away to bed,' he went on savagely, 'before I compound my iniquities and take you right here on the floor.'He paused. 'Or is that what you're waiting for?'

  Somehow she was able to move her head in negation.

  This time the door handle obeyed her clutching fingers. She slid round the edge of the door like a shadow, and made for the stairs. Halfway up, she tripped and sank to her knees, blinded by tears. Then she dragged herself up, and went on. Closed the door of her bedroom. Turned the key.

  And then she looked at herself in the mirror. Saw the blurred reflection of a stranger, with half the buttons on her blouse undone. A mark on her neck where his teeth had grazed.

  She thought, What have I done? Oh, dear God, what have I done? And felt a sob shake her whole body.

  It was a long time before she could think coherently enough to make a plan.

  She would have to leave, of course. After what had just happened, how could she bear to go on living under the same roof with him?

  An experiment, she thought, washing away the tear- stains. That was all it had been to him. Proof that, for all her brave words, he could make her do anything he wanted.

  Even now, her whole body ached and throbbed with arousal.

  And she'd allowed him to gain that power over her, she derided herself. She'd left him in no doubt that she wanted him. That he could have had her surrender, if he'd wished.

  But, once again, he'd turned away from her. Not in disgust, but in indifference. And somehow the pain of that was more than she could bear, completely transcending the shame of their first encounter six years ago.

  Was it for this that she'd slowly rebuilt her self- esteem—just so that he could knock it down again? And all to prove a point.

  Oh, you fool, she thought wearily. You pathetic, criminal fool.

  As she listlessly unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it she heard something crackle in one of the pockets. Mrs Preston's wage packet, she thought, staring at it. And her lifeline out of this house.

  Because there was still the call box in the village, and a taxi to safety. Just like last time. Only tonight she would be leaving for ever.

  Even better, while she and Dominic had been having dinner Carrie had come up and left her black skirt and white blouse, clean and freshly ironed, on the bed. Her undies were there too.

  At least she'd have her own clothes. She would take nothing with her. Nothing he'd paid for.

  She would wait until the house was quiet, and then she would go. Carrie had told her there was a spare front door key in the hall-table drawer. She would use that, then post it back through the letter box.

  For a moment she visualised Tara's woeful reaction to the news, and Carrie's disappointment, and felt a knife twist inside her.

  But I don't have a choice, she placated herself.

  She could no longer cope with the ambivalence of her feelings towards Dominic, or the contradictions of life in this house.

  She thought, I should never have come back here. I should have dropped Tara at the door and told the driver to take me away.

  She dressed, collected her coat, her handbag and her tin box, and lay down on the bed to wait. Dominic's face seemed to swim in front of her, and she closed her eyes to shut him out. She must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes again the house was dark and silent, and the bedside clock told her it was well after midnight.

  Time to go. She put on her coat, picked up her belongings, and let herself out of her room. For a moment she paused, wondering if she should go up to the
nursery and say a final, silent goodbye to Tara, and deciding regretfully that it wouldn't be safe.

  At the top of the stairs, she cautiously clicked on one of the wall lights in the hall below, and began to make her way down.

  She opened the drawer in the table and felt for the key, but it didn't seem to be there. She pulled the drawer further open, wishing she could risk more light.

  Then, almost in the next instant, her wish was granted. As light suddenly flooded the hall Phoebe cried out in fright, and turned.

  Dominic was standing in the doorway of the drawing room, watching her. He looked haggard, the powerful facial bones stark under his taut skin. There was a smell of whisky, faint but unmistakable.

  He said quietly, 'I thought if I waited long enough you'd come.'

  'I'm leaving,' she said. 'And you can't stop me.'

  'No,' he agreed wearily. 'I probably can't. But there are some things I have to say to you first.'

  'I don't want to hear them.' She picked up her tin box from the hall table and hugged it defensively.

  'I can understand that too.' He paused. 'I've behaved very badly, Phoebe, and I've no excuse at all.' His mouth twisted wryly. 'Except that you got under my skin from the first moment we met.'

  'Is that meant to be an apology?'

  'The beginnings of one, perhaps.' The grey eyes never left her. 'I regret what happened earlier more than I can say.'

  'Not,' she said, 'as much as I do.'

  He winced, but went on. 'You were in my employ, and I had no right to touch you. But you—needled me, and I wanted—' He stopped almost helplessly. 'Hell— to teach you a lesson, I suppose.' His mouth twisted. 'As it was, I think we both learned something.'

  Phoebe stiffened. 'Are you trying to say it was my fault?'

  'You know exactly what I'm saying. For a while there it was mutual, and you know it. Which,' he continued grimly, 'is all the more reason for it not to happen again.'

  'You—you started it,' she accused.

  'Yes,' he said. 'And I finished it too. For both our sakes. While I still could. So I'm not completely the black-hearted villain.'

  She said raggedly, 'And I'm not some tart—some little slut for you to use as your plaything. I never was...' Her voice tailed off with a little gasp as she realised how close she'd come to a dangerous revelation.