Green Lightning

by Anne Mather

  Of course, she mused, she could wait until Heath came up to bed and speak to him then. If she went straight to his room, as soon as he came upstairs, she could speak to him before he started to get undressed, and that would solve the problem of waiting until tomorrow. It would also save having to avoid Angela's unwanted audience, and she looked at the clock consideringly, estimating how long she might have to wait.

  She heard Angela come up to bed soon after eleven, and she waited with some trepidation for Heath's heavier tread. Now that the moment was fast approaching, she was having second thoughts, but compunction, and her uneasy conscience, would not allow her to change her mind. It had to be faced sooner or later, she told herself severely. Who knows, Heath might even show some admiration for her, for having shouldered her responsibilities.

  The ticking of her clock became irritatingly persistent in the silence of her room. It seemed to be forcing her to keep looking at it, and she had to steel herself from staring at the slow-moving pointers. Half past eleven came and went, and then a quarter to twelve; but still Heath didn't come upstairs, and Helen shifted her weight from one foot to the other with increasing regularity. What was he doing? she asked herself. Why didn't he come? And then again, more anxiously: had something happened to him? Could he possibly be ill?

  Realising she wouldn't sleep until she found out, she pushed her feet into fluffy mules and opened her bedroom door. The hall outside was quiet. There was no sound of Heath coming up to bed. With a little shrug, she closed her door behind her and hurried along to the landing, descending the stairs silently. Her heart was beating erratically as she hesitated in the hall below, not knowing exactly where she might find him. But there was a strip of light under the library door, and she guessed that was where he must be.

  She was tempted to knock, but she had never knocked at the library door before, and taking her courage into her hands, she turned the handle. The door swung inwards on oiled hinges, revealing the lamplit room beyond, and her heart palpitated wildly as she saw Heath gazing at her from the depths of his armchair.

  For a moment there was silence: Heath seemingly unmoved at seeing her, and Helen too bemused by her own nervousness to make any comment. But as her eyes took in the glass hanging carelessly from Heath's hand, and half empty bottle of brandy at his side, her feelings clarified, and she shook her head reprovingly as she advanced into the room.

  'What do you want?'

  Heath's harsh enquiry brought her abruptly to a halt, and she cast about hurriedly for something to say. 'I was concerned about you,' she declared. 'I didn't hear you come up to bed, and I was worried in case anything had happened to you. What are you doing sitting down here at midnight? You must be tired. Mrs Gittens said your plane was delayed.'

  'What's it to you?' Heath levered himself up into a sitting position from the slumping sprawl he had previously adopted. 'Go to bed, Helen. We'll have our discussion in the morning. Right now, I'm not in the mood for idle chatter.'

  She gasped. 'I didn't come down here to indulge in idle chatter,' she protested. 'As—as a matter of fact, I came to explain about what happened earlier. I didn't want you to worry about me, but I see now that you haven't.'

  Heath expelled his breath heavily, running one hand inside the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt and massaging his chest wearily. 'It's too late now to start enumerating the rights and wrongs of your behaviour, Helen,' he said, dropping his empty glass on to the fireside table. 'Like I said before, go to bed. I don't have the patience to deal with you this evening.'

  Helen sighed. 'But I want to talk now,' she exclaimed. 'I don't want to go to bed with this hanging over me. I'm sorry if I've left it so late, but I was waiting for Angela to go to bed. I didn't want to talk to you with her present. What we have to say is better said in private.'

  'Oh, I agree.' He pushed himself up from his chair to regard her dourly. 'What I have to say to you is for your ears only. But I suggest you leave it until the morning anyway. I'm not really fit to argue with you tonight.'

  'Because you've been drinking.' Helen's lips twisted. 'I didn't know you went in for secret drinking, Heath.'

  'I don't.' His jaw hardened perceptibly. 'But now and then the occasion warrants it, and this was one of those times.'

  She hesitated. 'Because of me?'

  Heath inclined his head. 'Maybe.' He swayed a little unsteadily on his feet. 'You must admit, you do try my patience.'

  She looked at him a moment longer, and then turned and determinedly closed the door. 'That's why I wanted to talk to you,' she explained diffidently. 'I knew you could only be thinking the worst.'

  He regarded her enigmatically. 'You mean I shouldn't?' he enquired sardonically. 'Forgive me, but when my niece goes out for the evening with a man whose reputation is well known in the district, and then returns home with yet another man, of equally dubious character, I find it difficult to see any virtue in either of those occurrences.'

  Helen caught her breath. 'What do you mean? Does—does Nigel have a reputation?'

  'You don't know?'

  'No.' She stared at him. 'How could I? I didn't know him until just over a week ago. How am I supposed to know what his reputation is?'

  'Perhaps you should pay more attention to what I say,' retorted Heath harshly. 'Instead of doing your utmost to infuriate me.'

  'I wasn't. I didn't.' Helen spread her hands helplessly. 'Oh, what does it matter anyway? You never listen to me.'

  Heath bent and picked up the bottle of brandy, examining its contents broodingly, and she took the opportunity to go on: 'And—and it wasn't another man who brought me home,' she got out jerkily. 'It was a girl—Alanna somebody or other. I didn't get her surname. I just was grateful for the lift.'

  Heath lifted his eyes from the brandy and looked at her disbelievingly. 'You mean the creature who tried to run me down was a woman?'

  'She didn't try to run you down. You stepped into her path,' retorted Helen defensively. 'And yes, her name is Alanna, as I've said. She was very kind to me.'

  His mouth curled. 'Really?'

  'Yes, really. And—and if you weren't so darned stubborn, you'd appreciate it too,' exclaimed Helen unevenly. 'It isn't everyone who'd drive forty miles out of their way just to help a fellow human being. I was really thankful she was there. Without her, I'd have had to find a bus—or a taxi.'

  'And why couldn't Fox bring you home?' demanded Heath, setting the bottle down on the table beside his glass. 'It was Fox you went with, wasn't it?'

  'Yes.' Helen lifted her shoulders unhappily. 'He—he didn't want to come.'

  'You mean he didn't want to leave the party?'

  'That's right.' Helen was offhand. 'It—it was rather early. And petrol is expensive.'

  He steadied himself and took a couple of steps forward. 'Perhaps you'd better tell me the real reason why he didn't bring you home,' he said, supporting himself against the side of the desk. 'I assume you had a row. What was it about? Did you suddenly discover that he intended to take you to bed?'

  'No!' Helen exclaimed indignantly. 'No, it was nothing like that.'

  'Then what was it like?' asked Heath incisively. 'If it wasn't sex, what could it be? I'd have gambled on its being something of the sort.'

  Helen could feel the colour creeping up her cheeks, and she hastily tried to explain it away. 'Well, I suppose it was. A bit permissive, I mean,' she mumbled, fiddling with the cord of her wrapper. 'I didn't want to get involved in all that kissing and stuff. That's why I wanted to come home.'

  'Was it?' Heath didn't sound very convinced, and Helen darted a glance up at his dark face. In spite of the amount of alcohol he had consumed, he was very far from being drunk, and she wondered how he would have reacted if he hadn't been as sober.

  'You know what these parties are like, Heath,' she protested, even though she herself had not known until tonight. 'People drink too much, they get too—too—'

  '—fresh?'

  'Yes. No! Oh, that's not what I meant, and you kn
ow it.' She sighed. 'Can't you just accept that I didn't like what was going on? I came home, didn't I?'

  'As you say.' Heath's thick lashes narrowed his eyes. 'I wonder what was going on, though. Strip poker? Blue videos? Drugs?'

  Helen caught her breath. 'Heath, stop it!'

  'Why?' He straightened away from the desk. 'Have I hit the nail on the head? It's one of those, isn't it? Let me guess—drugs!'

  Her mouth quivered. 'You think you know every­thing, don't you?'

  'When my niece gets herself involved in the drug scene, I think I have a right to be angry,' retorted Heath grimly. 'For heaven's sake, Helen, he was probably hoping to get you high. Compared to the amount of alcohol you're used to drinking, marijuana could be lethal!'

  'You'd know, of course,' she burst out bitterly. 'I suppose you've had experience.'

  'Considerably more than you, by the sound of it,' replied Heath crisply. 'What do you want me to say, Helen? That I approve of you making friends with addicts?'

  'They're not addicts.' Helen sighed. 'At least, I don't think so.'

  'But you don't know.'

  'No.' She bent her head. 'Like I say, as soon as I found out, I said I wanted to come home. Nigel—Nigel said it was too early.'

  'Nigel!' Heath's tone was scathing. 'How the hell could you have got involved with Nigel Fox? Good grief, I go away for a few days, and when I come back I find you're associating with junkies!'

  'That's not true!'

  'You mean—Nigel—wasn't going to imbibe?' Heath was disbelieving.

  'I don't know. He said something about cigar­ettes—'

  'Joints!' he interceded contemptuously.

  '—but I didn't see him with any.'

  Heath swore softly and shook his head. 'You're totally irresponsible, aren't you?'

  'Because I made a mistake—'

  'Because you made several mistakes,' he grated grimly. 'Not least in letting Fox pick you up in the first place. Wait until I see Ormerod! He should have made sure the tank of the bike was filled. If you hadn't got yourself stranded, you'd never have got into tonight's difficulties.'

  'It wasn't Miles' fault.' Helen looked at him mutinously. 'And nothing happened. What's the matter? Don't you trust me?'

  'Can I?' He stepped nearer to her, and her breathing quickened at the awareness of his brown skin only inches from her hands.

  'You know you can,' she got out chokingly.

  'Even when you disobey my orders.'

  'What orders?' Helen looked up at him, and his eyes narrowed as he surveyed her puzzled face.

  'Last week,' he said, his wine-scented breath stirring the tumbled curls on her forehead. 'When I phoned last week, Angela knew how I felt about Nigel Fox. Didn't she relay that message to you? Didn't she tell you I disapproved?'

  Helen shook her head. 'No …'

  'But she did tell you I rang?'

  'Mrs Gittens told me actually. Angela—Angela was in bed when I got back.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes, really.' Helen moistened her dry lips, the pink tip of her tongue unknowingly provocative. 'I wasn't particularly late. It was only about half-past ten. I—I spoke to her in the morning, and we talked about your call then.'

  Heath tipped his head back, but his eyes didn't leave hers. 'And what did she say?'

  'Well—' Helen was nervous suddenly. 'Nothing about you disapproving of Nigel.'

  'Perhaps I didn't make my feelings clear enough,' he declared flatly.

  'It's more likely that she wanted me to get into trouble again,' Helen contradicted him fiercely. 'She said if I had a boy-friend, you might start to regard me as an adult.'

  He inclined his head towards her. 'Now why should she say that?'

  'You tell me.' Helen's eyes were fixed on the fine dark whorls of hair that were visible above the opened neckline of his shirt. 'Perhaps she's jealous.'

  'Jealous?' he echoed harshly. 'Angela has no reason to be jealous.'

  'Then perhaps you should tell her that,' said Helen tensely. 'She—she told me why you'd really brought her here.'

  'And why was that?' he asked distantly.

  'To—to be a chaperone,' said Helen at once. 'Or maybe I'm the chaperone, who knows?'

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  Heath was regarding her bleakly, and Helen realised she had gone too far to draw back now. 'Oh, I should have thought it was obvious,' she declared, lifting her slim shoulders in a careless gesture. 'Angela's a very attractive girl. Not quite up to your usual standard, perhaps, but acceptable nonetheless. There was no need to invent an occupation for her—I would have understood. I may be naive in some ways, but after living with you for more than fourteen years, I have learned the facts of life!'

  Heath's hand curled round the back of her neck with the speed of a rattlesnake. 'What did you say?'

  'You heard what I said,' protested Helen, shocked by his unexpected aggression, but trying hard not to show it. 'And—and you're hurting me!'

  'I can hurt a lot more than this,' retorted Heath, his fingers imprisoning her throat in a vice-like grip. 'Since when do you think you have had the right to speak to me in that patronising tone? My girl, I should break your bloody neck!'

  She looked up at him defensively. 'You're not in love with Angela, then?

  'In love with Angela?' His mouth twisted im­patiently. 'Of course, I'm not in love with Angela. For Pete's sake, where did you get that idea?'

  'You like her.'

  'She's all right,' Heath shrugged indifferently.

  'You always have more time for her than you do for me.'

  He swore. 'No, I don't.'

  'You think I'm a nuisance,' persisted Helen tremulously. 'Before you went away, you even said you felt sorry for me.'

  'Sorry for myself perhaps,' muttered Heath abruptly, releasing her. 'Well, I think you'd better go to bed, Helen.' He steadied himself with an effort. 'Like I said, I'm in no state to have this kind of conversation with you tonight. I'm not entirely sober and you're much too—too—'

  '—desirable?' she breathed huskily, and his lips twisted.

  'Vulnerable,' he declared grimly. 'Go to bed, Helen. I'll overlook what happened this evening. Just—go to bed.'

  Her lips parted. Heath's words were strange, unexpected, disturbing in the unspoken things they hinted. Was it possible? Was it credible? Did Heath really find her attractive after all? Was that why he had released her so abruptly? Because he was aware of his own susceptibility?

  Hesitating, she ventured: 'You're not still angry with me, are you, Heath?'

  'No.' He spoke flatly.

  'You've forgiven me?'

  He sighed. 'I've said so, haven't I?'

  'Then why are you sending me to bed?' she asked softly, taking a step towards him, and he turned to look at her tormentedly as she hovered at his elbow.

  'Isn't one experience enough for one evening?' he demanded harshly. 'Helen, I'm asking you for the last time—leave me, please. I don't want to hurt you, but I may not be able to prevent myself.'

  She quivered. 'Nothing you did could hurt me, Heath,' she breathed, feeling the tension like a tangible force between them. 'But if you want me to say goodnight, then naturally, I will.'

  'Dear God, Helen—'

  He closed his eyes against the provocative curve of her breast, just visible above the lapels of her wrapper, and she took an unsteady breath before turning away. Heath always had control of the situation, she thought painfully. She was wasting her time imagining that she might ever persuade him to do anything against his will.

  She had reached the door when he came after her, and her fingers fell nervously from the handle as his fists slammed against the panels. Turning, her back against its solid frame, she faced him steadily, and he supported his weight on either side of her, looking down into her slightly flushed features with narrowed disturbing eyes.

  'I suppose you want to go now,' he challenged her grimly, but she shook her head. 'Then you should,' he added, his thumb probi
ng lightly at her collar. 'And I should let you.'

  She drew a deep breath. 'Would you?' she tendered huskily, her fingers brushing the fine silk of his shirt, and she felt the flesh tense beneath her featherlight touch.

  'Helen—' he groaned, his eyes moving urgently over her face. 'You don't know what you're doing—'

  'I think I do,' she countered softly. 'Aren't you going to kiss me? That is what you're thinking about, isn't it?'

  Heath's harsh laugh was self-derisive. 'Oh, yes,' he agreed harshly, his eyes moving possessively down over the rounded curves of her body, 'that is what I'm thinking about. You're right. That, and the awareness that I'm rapidly going out of my skull—'

  When his head bent towards her, Helen's lips parted eagerly, but Heath's lips sought the hollow dimple below her left ear. His tongue explored the tiny depression, moving on to search the clefts and contours of her ear itself, his warm breath moistening her skin and causing little frissons of anticipation to slide along her spine. She had never known such sensuous sensations in her life, and her shoulder arched involuntarily to meet his probing mouth.

  His lips moved on, over the heightened colour in her cheeks to the flickering uncertainty of her eyes, closing each one with kisses, and causing vivid images of his dark face to dance inside her eyelids. Each delicate caress awakened a mass of quivering senses, arousing her deepest emotions; each succeeding salutation leaving her weak and longing for more.

  By the time his lips found her mouth, Helen was desperate for his touch. Her mouth opened to his like a flower to the sun, and his experimental restraint gave way to a searching sensuality. His lips no longer teased, they possessed, and when he lowered his weight against her, Helen felt as if she was drowning in the taste and the smell and the feel of him. But it was a pleasurable sensation, a thrilling intimacy to feel the swollen muscles between his legs hard against her stomach, and her senses swam dizzily as he slid the silk wrapper from her shoulder.