Wildcat Wife

by Lindsay Armstrong

  'Well...' Saffron paused and her eyes darkened. 'Um...I might. Uh...give me the number you're calling from and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.'

  She put the phone down a few moments later, her thoughts in a chaotic whirl. If Fraser wasn't in his room, did it mean he was with someone else? Such as Cathy? Who, she had no doubt, would welcome him with open arms.

  But I don't even know her surname, and how embarrassing to have to knock them up if I did she thought agitatedly. But, hang on, didn't she mention she was on the same floor, only a couple of doors down? Didn't I see her key this morning? Yes! Four doors down to be precise. Oh, this is awful—and how like a man!

  It was the last thought that propelled her out of bed in a mood of extreme militancy. She flung on her robe, grabbed the walking stick and hobbled to the door.

  She'd just got out into the passage and was heading towards Fraser's door when a distinctly sardonic voice spoke behind her. A voice she recognised only too well—Fraser...

  'Changed your mind, Saffron?'

  CHAPTER SIX

  Saffron whirled around and all but fell over.

  Fraser strolled up to her and steadied her but with that clear, mocking little question repeated in his eyes as they drifted down her figure in its featherlight coating of green satin—the decollete neckline, the way the sash of the robe accentuated her tiny waist, the way one shoulder of the robe was slipping down, revealing the shoestring strap beneath, a pearly shoulder and the swell of her breast.

  'Where have you been?' she demanded, going hot with embarrassment and plucking her robe closed to her throat.

  'For a walk. Checking up on me, Saffron?'

  She coloured vividly this time. 'No! Of course I'm not! That is...'

  'I'm afraid the way you're blushing tells its own tale,' he drawled, and touched her hot cheek. 'You weren't—' he paused and frowned '—hoping to catch me in Cathy's arms, by any chance?'

  'No, I was not! That is...how dare you?' she said in a low, angry voice.

  'Then what the hell are you doing out here in your sensual and rather revealing nightwear?' he countered in a suddenly hard voice. 'And what the hell are you looking so guilty about?'

  It shot through Saffron's mind that she was in an impossible situation, and placed there by her own hand, more or less. It also occurred to her that she hated him for drawing the conclusions he had, for all the wrong reasons, but couldn't deny at the same time that he'd also caused her to feel extremely guilty.

  She drew a quivering breath and said tonelessly, 'I did wonder if you were with Cathy. Sorry, but—'

  'So you decided to catch us in the act?'

  'No! Look—'

  'Saffron—'

  'Fraser Ross, if you don't shut up,' Saffron said dangerously, 'I'll do it for you! I am not a voyeur; I was not seeking you out because I'd changed my mind but because—' She hesitated suddenly and sighed. 'I'm sorry, but your father's...been taken ill. Delia was trying to get you and, when she couldn't, asked for me. I'm very sorry,' she finished quietly.

  Fraser put the phone down and rubbed his face. He was sitting on the bed and he was pale and drawn-looking.

  'Here,' Saffron said gently, and put a glass of neat brandy in his hand. She'd changed back into her shorts and T-shirt while he'd been on the phone. He looked at it, sniffed it, then downed the tot in one swallow. 'Thanks. By the way, I owe you an apology

  'Don't worry about it. How is he?'

  'Comfortable. I can't believe it.' He closed his eyes briefly. 'We nearly lost him a few years ago, but he pulled through that illness. Now this.'

  Saffron hesitated then sat down on the bed beside him. 'He obviously means a lot to you.'

  He said, after a while, 'Yes. My mother died when I was two and Diana was four. He...bore the burden of both of us, including our disinclination to share him with anyone.'

  'That's why he didn't remarry?'

  'Well—' he grimaced '—one of the reasons, I suspect. And that's why I was rather happy to see him so taken with Delia.'

  'I've got the feeling Delia's just as taken. She was distraught. Isn't it strange? They've only just met.'

  'Love at first sight,' he said dryly, and looked down at her. Their gazes clashed then a faint smile twisted his lips. 'You didn't have to change. I would have survived the onslaught of your nightwear despite what I may have intimated to the contrary.' He paused and his dark gaze became intent. 'Did you really imagine I would have gone straight to Cathy?'

  'I...' Saffron laced her fingers together and wished a convenient hole would open up at her feet. 'It crossed my mind,' she said. 'Helped along by the fact that you weren't in your room, you see,' she added earnestly, and made the mistake of looking up at him. To see sheer, wicked amusement at her obvious discomfort. 'There's no need to look like that,' she said shortly.

  'Anyone would think it's unheard of!'

  'Depends what kind of man, or woman, you are, I guess,' he offered gravely. She considered. 'What do you mean?'

  'Put it this way—if the right person is not available, then the wrong one is even more out of the question. Is that how it would work for you, do you think?'

  'Definitely.'

  'Why do you imagine it would be different for me, then?'

  Saffron opened her mouth, closed it and sighed deeply.

  He waited a moment then reached for the phone.

  'What are you doing?' she asked.

  'Changing our flight to an earlier one if I can. Any objections?'

  'No. Of course not.'

  He put the phone down a few minutes later. 'Nine o'clock.'

  'Good.'

  'So. All that remains to be said once again is— goodnight.'

  'Fraser,' she said abruptly. 'Why do you...want me?'

  He raised an eyebrow at her. 'Why shouldn't I?'

  'I mean—' she paused frustratedly '—I seem to amuse you an awful lot. And I don't often seem to get the opportunity to be other than angry, misunderstood or misunderstanding. Are you sure I'm not just an utter novelty?'

  'Saffron,' he said slowly. He made to take her hand then appeared to think better of it. 'I wanted you from the moment I saw you dancing by in your lovely dress. A novelty? When I discovered your extreme disapproval, perhaps. But, if you doubt everything else, don't doubt that.'

  His dark gaze roamed her face and her figure. She'd tied her hair back with a green ribbon, he noted, and discovered he would love to undo it. Her white T-shirt had little green dots on it, and the green leather belt of her white shorts emphasised her small waist. The smooth skin of her arms and legs was faintly perfumed as if she'd recently used a body lotion. Her face was entirely innocent of make-up, and once again he was struck by her unusual looks.

  You couldn't call Saffron Shaw conventionally pretty, he mused, because her face was neither conventional nor merely pretty. Her green eyes were striking. The way she held her head beneath that heavy mass of hair was proud and sometimes defiant, her perfect skin was an invitation alone, and as for her mouth... He grimaced inwardly and found himself wondering what kind of fool Simon Harris had been. And wondering if she would ever get over him.

  'The same for me.' Saffron stopped as if she hadn't realised she was speaking her thoughts aloud. 'I mean, it was the same, I have to admit,' she said then in a suddenly shaken voice as the way he was looking at her brought back memories of being in his arms in her beautiful dress, and how her thoughts had got carried away even then.

  'You chose to deny it at the time and for quite some time afterwards,' he reminded her.

  'For all sorts of good reasons,' she parried with more spirit. 'I didn't know you from a bar of soap at the time. You could have been...' She shrugged.

  'A regular Bluebeard?' he suggested with a touch of amusement. 'Not to mention a pirate.'

  'If you think being Fraser A. Ross is any guarantee that you aren't an absolute heel with women, it's not, you know.'

  'Quite right,' he agreed. 'Are we straying from the point, thou
gh? You didn't know who I was at the time but you must know me much better by now, Saffron. So, what are you trying to say?'

  Saffron bent her head and concentrated fiercely on pleating the hem of her shorts.

  He watched her working fingers and the slim line of her back with narrowed eyes until she looked up abruptly. He raised an eyebrow at her.

  'I still believe it couldn't work for us, but perhaps—' she swallowed '—we need each other just for the time being?'

  'How do you think you need me, for the time being, Saffron?' he asked very quietly.

  She breathed uncertainly then looked across the room towards the verandah.

  'This may sound strange, or crazy, but there's a whole alien island out there— lovely as it is—that makes me nervous, lonely and sad. I—can usually cope with all that when I'm home and busy. Tonight, I don't seem to be coping at all well.'

  'Go on,' he said barely audibly.

  'Then there's you, concerned and...'

  'Frustrated?' he suggested.

  She took a breath. 'Are you?'

  He smiled but this time unamusedly. 'Oh, yes.' He paused and searched her eyes. 'But, Saffron, things don't always work that way. One-night stands require a degree—'

  'I wasn't suggesting a one-night stand!'

  'How long, then? For the three weeks you've set aside to do my house?'

  Saffron tore her gaze away and discovered she was breathing rapidly and unevenly as well as starting to feel foolish. 'You're right. I can't believe I did that...'

  'Look,' he said after a time, 'it's been an emotional evening. Not the best time for making decisions like this. And especially not the best way to try to forget another love.'

  She opened her mouth to protest but closed it abruptly. And she smiled shakily as she said with a little gesture, 'Then all that's left to say is goodnight again. You were right!' She stood up and reached for the walking stick.

  He didn't. He looked at her instead—at the way her chin was tilted, how she leant lightly on the stick, how green her eyes were and how reserved her expression was. And it stirred him curiously, he discovered, to think of her being afraid of the night and an alien place out there, to see a basic insecurity in someone normally so assured. To see a vulnerable girl beneath the spirit and fire that usually went to make up Saffron Shaw.

  He sighed and said, 'On the other hand, there's no reason on earth why we shouldn't do this. We certainly seem to enjoy it.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Why, this,' he said gravely, and, standing up at last, took her in his arms.

  'Fraser,' she whispered, her eyes stunned, 'what are you doing?'

  'Kissing you goodnight, Saffron, that's all.'

  * * *

  'That's all,' she murmured beneath her breath a little later. She was lying in his arms on the bed although she didn't remember much about how they'd come to be there. She did remember trying to resist him, but not for long, especially when he'd said quietly and as if to a child, 'Don't be silly, Saffron. I'm not going to hurt you.'

  Then, as it had before, the magic had started to take over and his hands had moved on her in a way that had made her heartbeat do silly things. And his mouth had worked its own magic, teasing her lips apart, and his body had felt hard and honed against hers, and her soul had thrilled to it all. Her body had felt like a wand in his arms, reed-slim and pliable, softening, aching to be even more intimate.

  'Saffron?'

  'Mmm?' She moved her cheek against his shoulder now.

  'You said something I didn't catch.'

  'Did I? Yes, I did. Uh—that didn't seem—I mean, that was rather momentous, you know. Not just a goodnight kiss.' She smiled against his shirt. 'What are you going to do now?'

  'Bring you back to earth; bring us both back to earth,' he said ruefully. 'I didn't intend to—go this far.' He pushed himself up on one elbow and smiled down at her, tucked some hair back into her ribbon, traced the outline of her mouth then kissed the tip of her nose. 'Goodnight, sweet Saffron.' He sat up.

  She stiffened, and in the moment before she did it had the wit to wish she could stop herself, the wit to wish Delia or someone was there to say a cautionary word, but there was no one. And there was, building up in her, a sense of maltreatment, a sense of outrage towards this man who ignited her and was now prepared to walk away from her.

  And then there was her own nature, which she often grappled with and mostly managed to contain by channelling the impetuosity and hot-headedness into her work. But just sometimes, she had to admit, she had no control over the things Saffron Shaw said or did...

  'Oh, no, you don't, Fraser,' she said grimly, and sat up on her heels, ignoring the pain in her ankle.

  He swung round and raised an ironic eyebrow at her. 'Oh, no, I don't what, Saffron?'

  'Think you can call all the shots! Think you can kiss me like that then walk away from me. Think you can threaten me, blackmail me and deceive me—'

  'If you think it's going to be easy to walk away from you, Saffron, you're wrong,' he said roughly, then paused to add wryly, 'I'd like to know how you think you can stop me.'

  That did it. 'Why, like this,' she said sweetly although her eyes were glinting green fire. She pulled her T-shirt over her head and threw it away.

  'Saffron...' He set his teeth and a nerve flickered in his jawline. She raised her hands to her head, released the ribbon and let it float to the bed and ran her hands through her hair to let it settle slowly. Then she put her hands on her hips and followed his gaze, which was resting on her white cotton bra embroidered with red rosebuds. With a shrug, she reached behind her to release it, and it, too, she threw away.

  He studied her harshly—the pale, delicate skin of her shoulders just brushed by the shining luxury of her russet hair, the taut, high little breasts, and tiny waist disappearing into her shorts, her slender thighs—and he took her wrists in one hard hand. 'Look, stop it,' he ordered. 'You'll only regret it, you know.'

  'No, I won't,' she countered with her head held high. 'And I'll tell you why. I'll have been honest with you and with myself but, more importantly, I won't have been treated as I've been treated all the way from the Spences'

  dinner dance. I'll at least have called one of my own shots.'

  He released her wrists abruptly. 'And you think that you in this hellcat mood is conducive to making love, Saffron?'

  She shrugged again. 'The more of a hellcat I am, the more you seem to like it, Fraser.' And she sat proudly back on her heels, naked to the waist, with her hands on her thighs. 'I'll tell you what else I think. You shouldn't have kissed me the way you did, Fraser Ross.'

  'And now I'm going to pay the penalty?' he said softly but lethally. 'By trying to walk away from all this?'

  'It's up to you.'

  'If I thought you knew exactly what you were doing, Saffron,' he said evenly, 'I—'

  'I do. Don't for a moment imagine I make a habit of this. But I needed to make a statement.'

  There was utter silence for about two minutes. Then he reached out a hand and cupped her breast, and felt the pink, velvety nipple start to unfurl beneath his fingers. He looked down at it for a long moment then into her eyes which were proud and stern. And with a groan he took her into his arms and lay back with her. 'You—I've never met anyone quite like you, Saffron Shaw,' he said into her hair.

  'I...' All of a sudden she started to tremble. 'I... s-sometimes I'm not quite sure about myself, you know. But there are some things I just have to do so—'

  'Hush.' He put a finger against her lips. 'I know. You're also exquisite.'

  It was like a slow dance from then on, and it was a revelation to Saffron. She was going to tell Fraser this at one stage then thought better of it. The private, shadowy place she'd imagined when they'd first met became real as he operated the remote control beside the bed and turned off all the lights, bar one lamp. And he took his shirt off and took her in his arms again.

  'We're equal now,' he said gravely.


  'Did you...did you really have this fantasy that night, that first night?' she asked with a catch in her voice and an oddly tremulous little smile. He held her away from him, and the lamplight played over their different skin tones—the pale ivory texture of hers against his darker-toned skin. But it highlighted more—her delicateness against his hard-muscled arms and chest.

  'I really did,' he said softly. 'I had this—stranger fantasy even. That you had nothing on at all under your dress.'

  Her eyes widened. 'But I did.'

  His lips twisted. 'I believe you.' He cupped her breasts and she took a breath.

  'It was obviously wishful thinking.'

  She put out a hand tentatively and he took it and put it on his chest, covering it with his, and she said with a husky little chuckle, 'There wasn't a lot under that dress, I have to confess.'

  'No?'

  'No. I wasn't even as well-dressed as I am now, speaking relatively.'

  'Very relatively,' he said wryly. 'But we could always remedy that.' He laid her back and undid the belt of her shorts. Once they were off he looked into her eyes and teased, 'Getting closer?'

  Her bikini briefs matched her bra—white cotton embroidered with red rosebuds. 'Yes,' she whispered.

  He bent over her and kissed her. 'Red roses,' he murmured. 'How appropriate.'

  'Why do you say that?' She moved as he started to slide the briefs down.

  'A soft and fragrant heart beneath the thorns. A gorgeous, soft and fragrant heart.' The briefs slid off over her ankles, and he stood up to deal with the rest of his clothes.

  Saffron turned on her side with her cheek on her hand to watch, and thought he was a joy to behold— her very own pirate. And thought how nice it would be if this were his galleon and she were his captive...'Why the secret little smile?' he asked, coming back to her.

  All her senses stirred as they lay facing each other, their bodies just touching.

  'My own private fantasy,' she admitted. 'Am I so prickly, though?'

  'Tell me about your own private fantasy.' He slid his hand down her back and cupped her hip. 'And I'll tell you how prickly you are.'