by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker
‘I don’t believe he did,’ she denied stoutly. ‘The agency you hired doesn’t seem to be particularly competent. Are you sure your so-called detective was following the right man?’
‘He was following the man you’d just said goodbye to. A man he described as being of medium height, slim build, blond and good-looking, in his early thirties. It tallies perfectly with your own description.’
‘Yes, but…’ She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘There must be some mistake. The Amsterdam trip was very important. Kirk would never have changed his mind at the last minute…And if he had why didn’t he come back to the shop?’
‘That’s fairly obvious. Because he didn’t want you to know he hadn’t gone. He wanted you to stick to the plan. Which you did…’
Suddenly bold, she carried the war into the enemy camp. ‘Well, as I did, and as you have your necklace safely back, whatever Kirk did or didn’t do—and I don’t for an instant believe your detective’s absurd story—it’s really none of your business. You’ve attacked both his reputation and his integrity, you’ve accused him of gambling and of planning to steal your precious rubies, and now I think you…’ Running out of breath, she stopped short.
‘Owe him an apology?’ Blaze suggested.
‘Yes.’
‘Then when he gets here I’ll give him one. What about you?’
‘Me?’
‘Wouldn’t you say I also owe you an apology?’
She smiled derisively. ‘For thinking I would be willing to bolt to South America and join a jewel thief on the run? It was too funny to take seriously.’
A glint in his eye, he said, ‘I’m glad you were amused. But I still feel I should make amends. After all, we were once…’ the pause was infinitesimal ‘…good friends.’
Something about the way he was looking at her mouth raised all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.
Setting her coffee cup down on the table with a little crash, she stammered, ‘R-really, there’s no need to apologise…’
Then, in an effort to deflect an intention that was almost palpable, she rose to her feet, adding hastily, ‘If you don’t mind I’d like to go to bed now. It’s been a tiring day…If Kirk comes after I’ve gone—’
‘Mortimer will no doubt let him in.’
‘Then I’ll say goodnight.’
‘I’ll see you up. I don’t intend to be too late myself.’ A strange note in his voice, he added, ‘Tomorrow looks like being a busy day.’
To Fran’s consternation he stooped, and, one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back, lifted her as though she were a feather.
Swallowing, she tried hard to appear unconcerned, but every nerve in her body had tightened in fright and her pulses were racing madly.
He looked at her, his dark eyes gleaming between long, thick lashes, and suggested, ‘It would make it a lot easier if you were to put your arms around my neck.’
As she held back, he said encouragingly, ‘It’s not difficult. You’ve done it before.’
Damn him! she thought angrily. He was deliberately tormenting her. But circumstances had given him the upper hand, and there was no point in engaging in a verbal battle. Particularly as she had little chance of winning. She was well aware, from past experience, that both his wit and his tongue were quicker than her own.
Biting her lip, she slid her arms around his neck and clasped her hands together. Her fingers brushed the short hair that curled slightly into his nape and her heart lurched.
‘That’s better,’ he said softly. ‘I always did like a bit of co-operation.’
From the corner of her eye she saw that his handsome face wore a look of seraphic innocence obviously intended to infuriate her.
Well, she wouldn’t rise to the bait.
Determinedly changing the subject, she remarked, ‘You mentioned a busy day tomorrow. Have you many guests arriving? I mean for the weekend.’
Crossing the living room, he headed for the stairs before answering, ‘About forty people in all. One or two old cronies of my father’s, the others either neighbours or business acquaintances and their wives, none of whom are staying the night.’
She was surprised. ‘Oh? I thought it was to be a weekend house party for close friends and family?’
‘The only family I have left live in the States. So do most of my friends. The same goes for Melinda…’
Though he was talking while he carried her up the stairs he showed no sign of being out of breath, and she marvelled at his fitness.
‘I would have preferred to have kept everything under wraps until we were married, but Melinda wanted a formal engagement party. She couldn’t wait to meet some of my aristocratic neighbours and show off both the necklace and its designer…’
Fran had wondered why, knowing quite well who she was, Blaze had invited her. The answer seemed to be that Melinda had wanted her.
‘Afterwards, when both the wedding and the honeymoon were safely over, the plan was to hold a big party at the New York Plaza.’
It occurred to Fran that he was using the past tense, as if Melinda’s absence had somehow altered things, made him change his mind.
But he wouldn’t change his mind just because his fiancée, whom he’d admitted was usually late, hadn’t yet arrived…
Fran’s train of thought came to an abrupt halt as she realised that they had almost reached her room.
Eager to escape, she was already rehearsing a cool, Thank you, and goodnight, when he stopped at her door.
But, instead of setting her on her feet, as she’d expected, he advised, ‘Hang on,’ and, bending a little to turn the knob, walked straight in, shouldering the door shut behind him.
She was suddenly scared stiff, not so much of him, but of her own reactions to him.
Her voice, normally low and attractively husky, was now high and a trifle shrill as she demanded, ‘What are you doing?’
He raised a dark brow at her tone. ‘What does it look as if I’m doing?’
Masking her fear with anger, she told him curtly, ‘I’d rather you didn’t come into my room.’
‘It occurred to me that you might need some help.’
‘I don’t need any help. I can manage perfectly well…’
He was still standing holding her, as though he was enjoying the feel of her slender body resting against his.
‘So if you’ll put me down…’ she added icily.
‘Certainly.’ Crossing the polished floorboards, he laid her on the bed and sat on the edge, trapping her there.
Whoever had drawn the curtains and turned back the covers had left the bedside lamp on, and while she lay in a circle of light his face was in shadow.
‘Happier now?’ he queried silkily.
She was anything but.
The fact that she was lying down while he was sitting upright put her at a grave disadvantage.
Gritting her teeth, she made an attempt to push herself into a sitting position.
He prevented her by the simple expedient of pulling her elbows from beneath her.
Falling back with a gasp, she stared at him wide-eyed, the lamp casting the shadow of her long lashes on to her cheeks.
His face looked set and grim, and, dropping the façade of anger, she whispered, ‘Please, Blaze, let me get up.’
‘That’s better,’ he observed with satisfaction. ‘I like a woman to have some spirit, but I also like her to have some manners.’
‘I—I’m sorry…I was…’
‘Scared?’
Her silence was answer enough.
‘There’s no need to be.’
‘Thank the Lord for that,’ she exclaimed fervently.
He laughed, breaking the tension.
Relaxing a fraction, she asked carefully, ‘Please will you let me get up?’
‘When I’m good and ready.’ Seeing her lose colour, he added, ‘Don’t worry, I promise I’m not planning to ravish you while your fiancé’s back’s turned.’
Her l
ashes flickered. ‘Then what are you planning?’
‘Just to collect on the bet I won.’
She found herself begging, ‘Please don’t kiss me.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ he said coolly. ‘The bet was that if Varley wasn’t back you would kiss me.’
‘Making that kind of bet is childish,’ she muttered.
‘Strange, I hadn’t figured you as a welsher.’
Seeing, by his calm air of purpose, that he had no intention of letting her get away with it, she gave in. ‘All right…But I’d like to sit up first.’
‘You feel safer that way?’
Ignoring the taunt, she began to push herself upright.
This time he let her.
When they were face to face she hesitated, half hoping he would make the first move, but he just waited quietly.
She found herself looking at his firm, beautifully chiselled mouth. The top lip was a shade austere, the bottom one fuller, with a touch of sensuality.
It had always made butterflies flutter in her stomach. They were doing it now.
But she didn’t need to kiss his mouth.
Tearing her eyes away, and telling herself she must get it over with, she leaned forward and kissed him.
She had meant to lightly brush his cheek, but without conscious volition her lips found his and lingered, unable to move away.
For a second or two he sat quiescent, then his own lips parted in response, deepening the kiss, adding fire and excitement and a drugging sweetness.
Her eyes closed and her arms went around his neck.
One of his hands moved to cup her nape, while the other found the curve of her breast and lovingly coaxed the nipple into life, before grazing over her slim waist, hip and thigh.
When he slipped the thin straps from her shoulders and eased down the bodice of her dress, she made no effort to prevent him.
Indeed, she would have helped him had it been necessary. But he was both experienced and skilful, with a touch that was as sure as it was delicate.
She was lying down now, her eyes tightly closed, shuddering as his lips explored the warm swell of her breasts.
There was nothing in the world but this man, and the way he was making her feel. She waited in an agony of need until his mouth closed on one waiting peak, causing needle-sharp stabs of ecstacy, a delight so pure it was almost pain.
At the same time his hand was stroking the warm silky skin of her inner thigh, slowly but surely travelling higher, making a pool of liquid heat form in the pit of her stomach.
A leisurely, unhurried lover, he had in the past made her wait, wringing from her sensations so exquisite that she had thought she could feel no more. Only to find, in the final act of love, that they had been merely the prelude…
When those questing fingers found the smooth satin of her briefs she gave a little murmur, a cross between a moan and a sigh.
He paused and drew back.
For an endless moment she waited, then she felt the mattress spring into place as his weight lifted from the edge. Dimly she realised he would be stripping off his clothes so he could join her.
It took a little while to dawn on her that there was no sound, no movement, just utter stillness.
Dazed and unbelieving, she opened her eyes to find he was still fully dressed, standing motionless, staring down at her, his face in shadow.
‘About time to call a halt, I think…’ His voice sounded cool, almost casual, but his quickened breathing suggested that he wasn’t quite as unmoved as he was making out. ‘Otherwise I’ll end up doing what I promised I wouldn’t do…’
His words were like a deluge of icy water. Feeling sick, she sat up and dragged her bodice into place with unsteady hands.
He walked to the door and, his hand on the knob, turned to say, ‘If Varley arrives in the next half-hour shall I send him along?’
She bit her lip until she tasted blood.
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised immediately. ‘That was unnecessarily cruel.’
A second later the door clicked to behind him.
Trembling all over, full of conflicting emotions, the chief of which was shame, she struggled to her feet and hobbled into the bathroom.
While she cleaned her teeth and prepared for bed with hands that shook so much they could hardly complete their task, she mentally flayed herself.
How could she have behaved like that? How could she have forgotten they were both engaged to marry someone else?
But she had. Rings and promises, rights and wrongs, other people had simply ceased to exist. The only thing that had mattered in the whole world had been him…Feeling his mouth on hers, his touch on her eager body…
If only he hadn’t carried her upstairs…If only he hadn’t insisted on her kissing him…
No, there was no way she could lay the blame at his door. If she had just kissed him with cool dismissiveness, he would have left it at that…
But she hadn’t. She had kissed him with a longing that must have been manifest. She had been the instigator, and if he hadn’t drawn back when he had she would have been guilty of sleeping with another woman’s fiancé. And this time she couldn’t say she hadn’t known.
She would also have been guilty of cheating on her own fiancé…
Loving Kirk, as she did, how could she have wanted Blaze so much? Was she really so sex-starved? she wondered bitterly, until a little voice reminded her that what she had shared with Blaze in the past had never been just sex. She had loved him.
Now she loved Kirk.
Or did she? If she really loved him, how was it Blaze still had so much power over her?
As though the scales had fallen from her eyes she saw that if she had thought herself in love it had been with love itself, rather than with Kirk.
He was the first man, since Blaze, who had attracted her, and she had practically willed herself to love him.
She was almost twenty-seven. Perhaps her biological clock had been to blame, urging her to marry the first prepossessing male who came along, so enabling her to have the family she’d always wanted while she was still young.
Kirk was handsome and intelligent, considerate and charming, everything a woman could ask for in a husband. But she knew with a sudden clear insight that if he turned his back on her tomorrow he wouldn’t break her heart, as Blaze had done.
Blaze had been her first love. Her only love. His mouth against hers like a drink of fresh water to someone dying of thirst. Her mouth against his a reaffirmation of her love, a love that had never really died.
The implications of that simple fact made her feel hollow inside as she closed the bathroom door behind her and climbed into bed.
Blaze would doubtless go ahead as planned and marry Melinda Ross, but, aware of her true feelings, there was no way she could marry Kirk.
Lifting her hand, she looked at the ring he had slipped on to her finger. The ring Blaze had jeered at. The ring she had been so pleased with.
Then, knowing she couldn’t go on wearing it, she took it off without a single pang of regret and put it on the bedside table.
When this weekend was over, instead of moving in with him she would have to find some other place to live, and in all probability another job. She couldn’t imagine that he would want her around the place after she had broken their engagement.
Fate was strange. If Blaze hadn’t invited them to Balantyne Hall, and Kirk hadn’t insisted on accepting, none of this would have happened.
She would have continued to believe herself in love and been happy to look forward to a safe, settled future.
As it was, her whole life had been turned topsy-turvy, leaving her desolate and homeless, like the victim of some disaster.
For the second time in three years.
And from the same cause.
Still, she was a survivor, she told herself with a flash of spirit. She had rebuilt her life once. She could do it again.
But there wasn’t only herself to take into account this ti
me, she realised, reaching to switch off the bedside lamp. There was Kirk. How much would breaking their engagement upset him?
Not overmuch, if the stories of other women in his life had a grain of truth in them.
No, of course they hadn’t. She just couldn’t believe it. From some of the things Blaze himself had admitted the detective agency had proved to be inefficient, to say the least. In all probability they had been investigating the wrong man.
And following the wrong man? Could they really have bungled the job so badly? The description had fitted to perfection…
But if it had been Kirk why had he changed his mind about going to Amsterdam? And if he had changed his mind, why hadn’t he let her know? Why had he allowed her to wait for him at the airport? And why had he left that sketchy message at the information desk?
There were so many questions. All of which would have to remain unanswered, at least until Kirk himself turned up.
Which immediately posed a further set of questions. Where could he have got to? What was keeping him? Why hadn’t he been in touch?
So many strange things had happened, including the theft of her handbag. Could that really have been carefully planned, as Blaze had suggested…?
Doing her best to push away the futile questions crowding in, Fran closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But, though weary, her brain refused to switch off.
It was dawn before she finally slipped into an uneasy doze, and her last unhappy thought was of Blaze. He was going to marry a woman he didn’t love and who didn’t love him, a woman who had made it plain that she had no intention of having his children…
A tap on the door disturbed her. Still half asleep, she called, ‘Who is it?’
‘Hannah, miss.’
‘Come in.’ Endeavouring to pull herself together, Fran struggled into a sitting position as the young maid carried in a tray of tea.
Putting the tray down on the bedside table, Hannah went to draw back the curtains.
The sky looked heavy, and the air coming through the open windows was as hot and humid as ever. Low on the horizon a bank of dark thunderclouds warned of an impending storm.
Wondering if it could be an omen, Fran shivered.
Peering blearily at her watch, she saw the hands stood at twelve fifteen. ‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is it really that time? Why didn’t you wake me sooner?’
