Cry Wolf

by Amanda Carpenter

  She bowed her neck in acquiescence, profoundly grateful that he could not see her face. She heard the gush of water, he guided her head under the warm flow, and the fingers of both his hands curled around her skull.

  He shampooed her hair twice, then massaged conditioner into the wet locks, patient and thorough and stroking away the suds that crept down her slim neck. Nikki was in agony, face mashed against the dampening towel, her bare shoulders two slender wings to the graceful curve of her back. The chore lasted too long, and was over far too quickly as, with a decisiveness eloquent of some taut emotion, Harper snapped off the water flow abruptly, and threw the trailing ends of the towel over her wet head.

  A waft of cool air drifted over her over-heated body, and Nikki knew that he had stepped away from her. Not daring to expose her burning complexion, she said, muffled, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’ll light a fire in the rear lounge, so that you can sit in front of it and let your hair dry.” Harper was terse, clipped, totally at odds with the coaxing sensuality in his hands. She ventured to uncover one eye as she straightened, bewildered at his curious mood.

  He was gone. She had heartily wished him gone in the midst of the uncomfortable intensity he had roused in her, but now that he was she felt an odd sense of anticlimax, as though all she had really wanted was for him to stay.

  Which was ridiculous. She hadn’t really wanted him to stay; of course she hadn’t. Her problem was that she didn’t know what she wanted. The issue got tangled up in a mass of conflicting urges that seemed to be tugging her first one way, then another.

  She was still frowning ferociously as she stripped and, with a furtive sense of guilt, fished in her bag for the surgical rubber gloves the pharmacist had given her to protect her hands while she washed. With them, she could probably have managed her hair on her own. Nikki felt ludicrously as if she had cheated at a card game, and was relieved at not having been caught, as she carefully struggled into the gloves before stepping under the strong gush of water spray in the shower.

  The intense warmth soaked into over-tense muscles, loosening them as it ran down the length of her body, and she sighed as she relaxed against one wall of the cubicle and leaned her head back.

  Just what had she hoped to accomplish by her little stunt? What a marathon these last three days had been! And not just in terms of crisis and a stressful rejuggling of her schedule, but also the burgeoning of a whole wealth of unfamiliar thoughts and feelings, even down to this newest, most unwelcome worry that she had somehow misjudged Harper’s attraction for her.

  Not once after they had arrived in Oxford had he so much as hinted or referred to any of the things they had discussed—argued—spat at each other during the drive west. Not once had she caught even a glimpse of that unnerving, exciting, electric spark in his eyes whenever he looked at her, and she had begun to doubt every conclusion she had leapt to.

  Perhaps he wasn’t as attracted to her as she was to him. Perhaps even if he was, he was too wide and wise a person to act on it, and could concentrate instead on the positive aspects between them, such as her talent and their professional liaison, and their new budding friendship that was slowly beginning to take on shape and definition.

  What, indeed, did she have as assets to attract someone as sophisticated and mature as Harper? Her critical gaze glanced down the slim curves and hollows of her glistening nude body with as much objectivity as she could achieve.

  Her breasts were pert little mounds of pink-nippled flesh, no luscious sensuality there. The line of her torso dipped into an attractively tiny waist but did not flare into provocatively curved hips. The white skin over her thighs was smooth and unmarked; but her legs were tom boyishly slim as opposed to shapely, and as to the possible attractions of the dark curled triangle of femininity in the cradle of those unremarkable hips she could only shrug her shoulders in honest bewilderment.

  Sexuality was a mystery to her in so many ways, but she was well aware that Harper was a very sexy man with a mature, wholesome appetite and a genuine warmth in his smile that brought her to tingling life every time he gave it to her. What was more, he had a vast capacity for tender nurturing that she could never have foreseen. One look at how he was with his nephew confirmed that. She had wondered if there was any decent substance behind the powerful businessman, and had got an answer that surpassed all her wildest dreams.

  What did one do to pique the attention of a man like that? Frothy lingerie, scintillating conversation, worldly seductiveness? If so, she failed with flying colours.

  Nikki finished washing and stepped out of the cubicle to dry herself with a roughness that turned her delicate skin bright red.

  Her body had all the instincts of an adult woman, but she didn’t know where that would lead her or what to do about it. She didn’t know what the next stage was in the art of worldly seduction, and for the first time in her life felt that lack of knowledge as a drawback.

  Certainly talking with Harper on the way to Oxford might have had just the warning effect she had originally intended, but she might have closed a door of possibility on herself by doing so.

  When he’d had time to think about what she’d told him, might not he come to the conclusion that pursuing any further relationship with her was more trouble than it was worth? Would he see her warning as an outright rejection, and abide by that? Everything he had said and done so far since coming to Oxford seemed to point to one thing she was fast becoming sure of—that Harper was both decent and strong-willed enough to stick by his principles.

  There seemed to be a rapid accumulation of barriers between Nikki and what she was beginning to accept that she wanted. With a defeated sigh, she trudged into her bedroom to pull on a very comfortable, criminally unexciting tracksuit and padded barefoot downstairs to partake of a relationship that was fast becoming bittersweet, for it was only half a loaf of bread.

  Chapter Five

  Harper was sitting relaxed in an armchair by a crackling fire that banished the spring chill of evening from the rear lounge, in which a Bach concerto played over a superb stereo system. Nikki much preferred the somewhat shabby comfort of this smaller room to the elegant formality of the huge front reception area, and she hovered in the doorway for a moment of unnoticed observation.

  He had that rare undefinable quality of being able to combine sternness with sensitive humanity, a tough male with an impressive presence that nevertheless could meld with his environment, not overshadow it. He had shed the Shetland sweater in the heat of the room and was now clad in simple shirt and jeans, the hard lines of his face softened into a tranquility he had not exhibited in London. It was quite obvious just how much he loved his home.

  One of the cats was in his lap, a striped orange, purring blanket of bliss. He raised one hand to stroke it absentmindedly, the long, graceful line of his fingers outlined against the fire, and a shiver rippled down her spine as if she, too, had been stroked. How much easier it was to warm to this quieter side of his personality and abandon all the defences his ruthless side erected.

  He turned his head and saw her, blue eyes somehow uncertain, her wet black hair standing up in untidy peaks, and all the emotion inside her gravitated towards him in a rush at the welcome in his smile. He lifted the cat off his lap to dump it without ceremony on the floor, and it hissed in fitful irritation before slinking off to wash out its disgust in a corner.

  “There you are,” said Harper. “Would you like me to pull over another armchair?”

  She shook her head and walked over towards the fire, bare feet noiseless on the carpet. The warmth licked over her skin, melting away the chill that had begun to set in after her hot shower. “I like sitting on the floor.”

  “Come over here, in front of me,” he murmured, dark eyes reflecting the glow from the fire, gold swimming over liquid depths of cinnamon and coffee. “Did you bring down a hairbrush? No? Never mind, I’ll
use my fingers. Your hair will dry in no time.”

  That carried such an intense promise of sensual pleasure that her legs were already buckling by the time she had arrived in the indicated spot, with the result that her body collapsed into an untidy heap at his feet so ridiculously like a supplicant before a king that her face broke into self-derisive laughter. She was only thankful that her head was downbent so that she wouldn’t have to explain the reason she was wearing such an idiotic expression.

  Out of the frying-pan…She asked prosaically, “Is Charles still in his room?”

  “Yes, he’s down for the night—a mixed blessing, as you’ll no doubt find out for yourself, for we’ll pay the price of having a peaceful evening by being awakened at an ungodly hour.” He had given her fair warning, and she had not rejected him, but still the light touch of his fingers threading throughout the short, wet strands of her hair to lift it sent a shock wave of sensation rippling through her. Her lips parted in a silent gasp that nevertheless betrayed her, for her body shuddered underneath his hand.

  He said nothing, but continued to lift and separate the gleaming black locks in slow, gentle strokes until she vibrated with pleasure. Tension she hadn’t even realised she’d had melted from her muscles until she felt boneless with delight, her head too heavy to hold upright. Her eyelids fell half closed; she didn’t even notice how her head drooped to one side until the soft curve of her cheek connected with the denim-covered side of his knee. She jerked a little in surprise, but in instant sensitive reaction Harper’s hand cupped the side of her head to forestall her instinctive effort to straighten.

  Ah. She sighed. The moment was only fleeting, a murmurous flash of decision in which letting her body relax on to his legs was much the preferable option to forcing herself upright into rigid withdrawal, and down crept her cheek again to rest properly this time on his leg, and stay. Those hypnotic, magical fingers began to play through her hair once more.

  “How do you like it here?” he asked.

  “I love it,” she replied, in spontaneous honesty. “You have a beautiful home.”

  Her hair was dry. She could feel it; she was toasty warm all over. But still he stroked, and she couldn’t have moved away from him for the world.

  “So are you glad you came?”

  “Mm. Yes, I am. I didn’t realise it before, but I think I needed to get out of London for a while. This is all very refreshing.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice as he asked her, “And what about all your doubts?”

  “Harper,” she said drily, stirring underneath his hand, “I never did see you as a villain, otherwise I would have refused point blank to come, work or no work. What I was most concerned about was whether or not we could conduct our relationship with an honest integrity. I’m not into mind games.”

  “No, you’re not, are you?” he replied after a thoughtful moment. “You say what you think, regardless of how difficult it is for you, or how it might prompt an adverse reaction. I admire that kind of courage. So you have no regrets?”

  She smiled. “I have many regrets, but coming here isn’t one of them. Do you want to talk about work tomorrow, or would you rather do it tonight while Charles is in bed?”

  “Have a heart,” he said with lazy amusement. “It’s my weekend, too. Let’s just relax for the precious little time we can. Then, before I leave for London, I’ll make sure that all the material you need to study is ready and waiting in the library on Monday morning. It’ll wait until then, and I can call through the week to see how you’re getting on, all right?”

  She looked through her lashes at the dancing fire, blurred light and flickering shadow, and the long, stable length of Harper’s leg stretched out beside her. “All right. I just remembered,” she said and yawned. “Would you mind if I let Peter know your phone number, so that he can contact me if he needs to?”

  “I don’t mind, as long as he’s discreet.” The deep voice was very soft, followed by his forefinger tracing the delicate curve of her ear. It tickled so much that she twitched and reached up to clap a hand over her ear, to which he chuckled and squeezed her fingers in wordless apology.

  “Peter can be very discreet, especially when there’s profit involved,” she told him ironically, and he laughed.

  “But of course I won’t tell him, if you don’t want me to.”

  “That would be churlish of me. The poor man would be frantic if he didn’t know where to contact you. I’m content to trust your judgment. If you say he’s discreet, then I’ll believe he is unless he proves otherwise, which wouldn’t be difficult. Not very many people have my Oxford home number.”

  He had resumed those slow, gentle finger strokes through her hair, watching the dark, gleaming head as it rested on his knee. Nikki’s small, bandaged hand slid away from her ear, revealing the long, vulnerable beauty of her curved neckline. Her skin was ivory-white and blue-shadowed, and he could just see the tiny beat of her pulse fluttering beneath the slim feminine jaw, as delicate as the beat of a butterfly wing.

  “You’re very protective of your home,” she murmured, eyelids drooping.

  “I have to be. I shelter some precious things here, and I am, as you so pungently pointed out yesterday, too rich, and too well-known, and sometimes attract some very unwelcome attention.” And despite the fortune in artwork and furnishings that decorated his house the very quality of his voice was such that Nikki knew he did not refer to material objects.

  “I’m a protector, not a destroyer.” That was what he had said earlier in the car, and she began to have a sense of how completely he had meant it. He would watch over the people that meant a lot to him, compulsively, quietly, with a sharp eye to every detail even down to knowing the name of everybody who possessed his personal phone number.

  That sort of unceasing diligence could have prompted in Nikki a sense of claustrophobia, but somehow it didn’t. She knew from first-hand experience how fatal it could be to assume that tragedy only happened to someone else; would her father be alive today had he taken more precautions instead of believing in his own myth of invincibility? The golden era of her youth had been an illusion, she realised, where everyone had been slightly drunk on the power drug.

  Here and now was a different story. From earlier conversations, and from what she had just gleaned from him right then, she could see that Harper knew the uses and abuses of power so well that he kept the two halves of his life completely separate so that the private side was not influenced or damaged in any way by the public. It was no wonder she had begun to feel safe, deeply, instinctively safe in a way that she hadn’t since before her father died, and the adult inside her recognised it as a far more stable quality than that of her youth.

  “Has Charles ever seen your house in Mayfair?” she asked in sudden apparent irrelevance.

  Rueful respect threaded through Harper’s voice as he replied, “You never fail to see every nuance, do you? No, he’s never been to my house in Mayfair. Neither have Anne, or Gavin, or my mother or a whole circle of my friends. Gordon has; you have. Before she died, my sister used to come to London for the odd visit. Precious few see both halves of my life, let alone understand them.”

  At last Nikki let her eyelids close, for they were simply too heavy. Surreptitiously she rubbed her cheek against the hard knee pillowing her head and murmured, “Don’t you find it a strain?”

  “I find it a necessity,” he responded briefly, and she made a drowsy murmur of sympathy.

  Drowsy? Nikki’s eyes fluttered open in surprise. Oh, surely not drowsy; she’d never sleep the first evening in a strange place in the company of a man who charged her up. Relaxed, that was what she was. It lapped at the edges of her consciousness, soothing a body already warm and content. Instead of fighting the relaxation, she let go.

  “How amazing,” she murmured, as the fire and the shadows came together and melded. Everything was suddenly very
clear to her.

  He waited, but when she did not continue, he asked, stroking the hair from her brow, “What’s amazing?”

  Nikki didn’t answer. She was sound asleep.

  Harper sat for some time bathed in firelight as he watched the dark head on his knee. Then he stirred, and with patient gentleness bent to ease his arms underneath her slumbering, lax body and lift her on to his lap. Her only protest was a deep sound, halfway between a sigh and a light snore, as he slid his hand around the back of her skull to guide her head on to the broad support of his shoulder.

  She looked like a child as he held her, the clear, translucent skin across her cheekbones flushed with warmth and sleep. She looked all woman, from the lush curves of her relaxed, parted lips to the softness of her body as she snuggled instinctively against him into a more comfortable position.

  He thought no one was watching him, but he was wrong. After checking one last time on Charles, the housekeeper Anne made her way through the downstairs hall. She paused on the threshold of the rear lounge, having intended to ask if Harper wanted anything else before she retired for the night, but the question went unuttered as Anne saw him press a tender kiss to Nikki’s forehead. She saw, too, the look on his face as he cradled the young girl.

  Nikki opened her eyes and stared at the roses on the ceiling. That was just too odd. She blinked; the roses remained, and after a few more moments of confusion she finally attached them to the canopy of the four-poster bed, not the ceiling. The ceiling was a plain sober white, she was in the four-poster bed, and the sun was high in the sky by the look of things outside her balcony door.

  Heavens to Betsy, she’d overslept! Nikki thought about smiling from sheer refreshment, but she frowned instead. She didn’t remember how she had got to bed. All she remembered was how surprised she felt at the realisation that she was falling asleep, as she stared at the flames and Harper stroked her hair—downstairs.