by Sara Craven
But it wouldn’t stay like that. It couldn’t. In time, another generation of children would come flying down the orchard, bickering over who would have the first turn.
She could almost see them—call out to them—except for the sudden inexplicable tightness in her throat and the unwanted sting of tears in her eyes.
You fool, she thought fiercely. You stupid, pathetic idiot...
As if she’d spoken aloud, a blackbird rocketed up from the sheltering grass with a startled flap of wings and took refuge in a neighbouring tree.
And, in the next instant, she heard the quiet sound of her name.
She turned, defensive and resentful, to find Zandor only a few feet away. Realising that, unlike the blackbird, she’d been too lost in ridiculous dreaming to be aware of his approach.
She said curtly, ‘You didn’t spend much time on the bedrooms.’
‘I saw what I needed to see.’
Just as he was seeing her now—his gaze uncomfortably searching. He took a step nearer and altogether too close for comfort, she thought, damning that betraying sparkle of tears.
‘What’s the matter.’
‘Nothing.’ She lifted her chin. ‘If we’re done here, perhaps we could leave.’
‘Why the hurry?’
‘For one thing Jerry—Mr Morris—may have other genuine clients waiting to look round.’
‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘Then you have decided the manor is not for me.’
‘I think we both know that.’ She hesitated. ‘This is a family house, a place to put down roots, and you’re very much a bird of passage.’
‘Didn’t you hear me say I was tired of my suitcase?’
Alanna shrugged. ‘I’ve also heard it said that leopards don’t change their spots. So, how long before you start packing again?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Is this why you’re angry with me? Because you believe that after our night together, I simply walked away? Moved on?’
‘I,’ she said, ‘was the one who left.’
‘And you think I accepted that?’ He shook his head. ‘You’re so wrong, Alanna. I went to find you as soon as I got back from the States. I traced the bookshop, but it had changed hands and the new manager knew nothing about a girl assistant at a book signing.’
He paused. ‘As I had no other information, I didn’t know where else to start looking.’
She made herself ignore the strange lurch of sensation deep inside her.
She thought—He came looking for me...
She steeled herself. ‘Clearly you take rejection badly.’
‘We had unprotected sex,’ he said, too softly. ‘I did not relish being left in ignorance of any possible consequences.’
‘Luckily, there weren’t any,’ she threw back at him, closing her mind to those terrible ten days of uncertainty. ‘But if there’d been a problem, I’d have dealt with it. Nor would I have relished any attempt at intervention.’
She knew at once that she’d made a mistake, even before she saw the icy glitter in his eyes and the dark flush staining his cheekbones.
And before his hands grasped her shoulders, pulling her to him without gentleness or finesse, or as his mouth descended on hers, parting her lips in a merciless demand that send her body and senses reeling.
The same instinct told her not to make him angrier by struggling, but to stand and endure, hands helpless at her sides, her body trapped between his and the rough bark of the tree behind her. To wait until the storm passed and reason returned to the spinning world.
Which was not soon.
Because, in spite of herself, she found the pressure of his mouth and the invasion of his tongue, however ruthless, was igniting a spark of response as unexpected as it was unwelcome.
And that this same spark was suddenly, dangerously flaring into urgency as the heat of his skin penetrated the layers of clothing between them, from her breasts to her belly and thighs, giving the disturbing illusion that they were both naked.
As they had been that other unforgotten and unforgettable time...
A tiny moan escaped her, half protest, half need, to be lost in the deepening of his kiss as it changed from anger to the raw insistence of passion.
Almost of their own volition, her arms were sliding round his waist, her fingers splaying across his back to hold him close, then closer still as if she was seeking to be joined to him. Once again absorbed and made part of him.
Which could not—must not happen.
She knew that as clearly as she needed air to breathe. Knew that disaster beckoned while she stayed in his arms. If she stayed there...
If she allowed his fingers to slip from her shoulders, as they were doing now, and unfasten the buttons on her blouse, releasing the rounded softness of her breasts from the lace confines of her bra.
If she let him cup them in his hands, while his thumbs gently stroked her rosy nipples to aching, irresistible arousal.
Wrong—all so wrong...
The words seemed to sigh in her brain as if logic and reason still retained any power over her responses.
Zandor bent his head, taking each swollen peak in turn into his mouth, laving them softly—devastatingly with his tongue, while his hand slid down to her waist to begin, slowly and deliberately, to free the buttons on her skirt.
She seemed to be enclosed with him in a cocoon of golden stillness, its quietude disturbed only by the rustle of the leaves above their heads, the far-off cooing of a wood pigeon and the sudden husky whisper of their quickening breathing.
And then, like a swift blow across the senses, came the distant voice of Jerry Morris, calling from the gateway. ‘Mr Varga? Are you there? Because I’d like to lock up now, unless, of course, you want to go round the house again. Mr Varga?’
Alanna felt Zandor’s hands fall away from her. Was aware of him turning sharply to stand in front of her, shielding her half-clothed body with his own as he called back, his voice faintly unsteady, ‘No, that’s fine. I’ll be right with you.’
Heard him draw a deep harsh breath, then watched him walk away unhurriedly through the clustering trees, leaving her to deal, hands shaking, with her disordered clothing.
And to tell herself that the interruption had mercifully saved her from yet another potential disaster.
The worst of it being that in just a few brief moments, he’d transformed her from hostility to being ready and so much more than willing, and that he’d known it.
His for the taking, she thought, swallowing past the tightness in her throat, and he could have stripped her and indeed taken her right there on the soft grass without her making the least effort to prevent him.
Which made her—what? she wondered, bitterly conscious that her ungiven, unfulfilled body was now one desperate scream of frustration. Some kind of female sex toy, totally controlled by her hormones and devoid of self-respect, for him to use and discard as the mood took him?
Or was her behaviour just a temporary aberration, nothing more? Which was what she’d fought to believe throughout those endless months. Finally telling herself that she’d succeeded.
Well now she knew differently. Knew that Zandor was somehow there—in her skin, her bones, her blood. An incredible—terrifying—part of herself that she would need emotional surgery to remove before she could get on with the rest of her life.
Beginning now. At the moment when she would have to face him again.
Her clothing restored to decency, she walked back to the stable yard and found a gravelled path leading round the side of the house to the parking area.
Jerry Morris’s car had gone and only Zandor was waiting, a solitary figure behind the wheel of the Lamborghini, staring into space, his dark face remote.
Hands balled into defensive fists at her sides, she walked slowly towards the car, watching him lean across and open the passenger door for her. Knowing that, without her phone or wallet, both in the bag she’d left at the cottage, she had no choice other than to join him.
A
t the same time trying to quell, or at least conceal, the tremors of uncertainty quivering inside her. Recognising and despising her own weakness.
He sat beside her, unmoving, his face bleak, his body taut. When he spoke, his voice was husky.
‘Please believe—I—did not intend this.’
‘What in particular?’ She was fumbling with the seat belt. ‘Deceiving my parents, forcing me to accompany you here, or letting Jerry Morris, the biggest scandalmonger in a hundred miles, catch you stripping me?’
She hardly recognised the ugliness in her voice. The ugliness in the actual words. But told herself it was the only possible response.
‘He saw nothing,’ he said quietly. ‘And if I’ve deceived your parents, I am not the only one.’
He paused. ‘But we still need to talk, Alanna, and it seemed to me that this could be the right place.
Neutral territory.’
‘There is no right place,’ she said thickly. ‘And this conversation you’re still trying to foist on me is never going to happen. Because I don’t want to hear it, or anything else you may have to say.’
‘Perhaps it’s your own words I wish to discuss. Or have you forgotten them? Shall I remind you?’
‘No.’ The word was almost violent, her throat closing in panic. ‘That’s all past and gone.’ She took a breath, steadied her voice. ‘How many times must I tell you? So believe it now. And finally accept that I never want to set eyes on you again. Ever.’
‘That,’ he said almost musingly, ‘may cause problems, and in the near future too.’
She hunched a shoulder, staring ahead of her. Refusing to turn her head. To look at him...
‘At family gatherings?’ She injected a note of contempt into her tone. ‘I wouldn’t say you were the prize guest with any of your relatives. Especially if I tell Gerard what you tried today.’
He said harshly, ‘And what do you imagine he would say—or do?’
‘Because you’re the big boss and you might fire him?’ She hunched a shoulder. ‘He can always get another job.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘As he and I both know. But he’s always preferred the easy option. And you’re not the one to change his mind, believe me.’
‘I wouldn’t believe it if you told me today was Saturday.’ She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. ‘The biggest mistake of my life so far was to accept your help that night at the bookshop.
‘But it will never happen again. And I only wish I could somehow erase my existing notch on your bedpost, but I certainly won’t be adding another to it, not even if you were to—to save me from drowning.’
Her voice came to a shaking halt and was followed by a silence somehow louder than any words could ever have been.
When he eventually spoke: ‘Quite a speech,’ he observed softly. ‘And now I’ll drive you back to the safety of your village—unless you wish your embargo on my services to begin at once. No?’ The smile he sent her was like a knife blade held to her skin. ‘How very wise. But understand one thing—that this is not the end.’
And he started the car.
The King’s Head was crowded as it usually was at weekends, but her parents, together with some other Art Show devotees, had bagged a large table by the window.
‘We haven’t ordered the food yet, but we’ve started a tab at the bar, so get yourself a drink,’ her mother said, smiling. She looked round. ‘Where’s Mr Varga—Zandor?’
Alanna managed to keep her voice casual. ‘Oh, he was clearly in a hurry to get back to London.’
‘But what did he think of the house?’ her father asked.
She shrugged. ‘Probably that it needs work.’
She glanced round the table. ‘Any more drinks for anyone?’
There were no takers, so she threaded her way between the tables to the only empty space at the busy bar, and leaned there against the polished wood, staring with unseeing eyes at the row of optics in front of her. Rather as she’d sat silent and motionless, thankfully concealing the fact that she was shaking inside, for the duration of that seemingly endless return journey.
Or that it would take very little for her to burst into tears.
She’d been sorely tempted when they reached the pub to wait until Zandor had driven off and then disappear back to the cottage, where she could fall apart in peace and privacy, but she knew her absence would only lead to far trickier questions, and it would be best to deal with her parents’ enquiries by providing answers that were simple, direct and immediate.
Also, she thought, it was often easier to lose oneself in a crowd, and pinned on another smile as she ordered a ginger beer shandy.
As she turned, glass in hand, she almost bumped into Jerry Morris, his face flushed and angry. A problem she had not foreseen, she realised, her heart sinking.
‘What the hell did you say to him?’ he demanded thickly. ‘Are you trying to drive me out of business?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She tried to pass but he put a hand on her arm.
‘Your billionaire boyfriend—that’s what. I had it nailed. It was a done deal, for God’s sake, and now he’s called to say he won’t be making an offer after all.’
‘Then perhaps you’re not quite the super salesman you think.’ Alanna wrenched herself free, glaring back at him.
‘In the same way that he’s not my boyfriend—or a billionaire.’
‘You think we didn’t check him out?’ He gave a contemptuous snort. ‘Do me a favour. So, the last thing I expected was a time-waster. And if you’re not involved, why were you hiding away with him at the bottom of the orchard?’
His mouth straightened into a sneer. ‘Unless, of course, you were the real time-waster—leading him on, then coming over all Little Miss Touch-Me-Not at the last minute. After all, he wouldn’t be the first guy you’ve fooled like that,’ he added with heavy meaning.
‘Dear me.’ She lifted her chin, anger adding a dangerous spark to the other emotions churning inside her. ‘Perhaps I should be issued with a government health warning. But fortunately my fiancé doesn’t seem to share your views.’
‘Fiancé?’ His eyes shifted suspiciously to her bare left hand. ‘You said the Varga guy wasn’t your boyfriend.’
‘Nor is he.’ Too late to draw back now, she thought. All her good intentions blown to smithereens. So—in for a penny, in for a pound, and Gerard at least would be pleased. Wouldn’t he?
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m actually engaged to his cousin, who already has a house, older and larger than the manor—in case you had other hopes.’
And, like the manor, one of the last places on earth I’d ever want to inhabit, she added silently, resolutely consigning the fantasies of an hour ago to some mental waste bin.
Because breaking the news to her parents and Susie, and to colleagues at work, would bring quite enough problems.
But she needed to prove to Zandor, once and for all, that he was completely wrong.
And that this was, indeed, the end of something that should never—ever—have begun.
CHAPTER TEN
AS ALANNA GOT ready for bed that night, it occurred to her that, for the first time, it would be a relief to get the train back to London the following evening.
Not unexpectedly, her parents were stunned, and not in a good way, to learn she was apparently committed to a man they’d never met or even heard of, and clearly dissatisfied by her admittedly lame explanations.
But, if they had to know, it was surely better coming from her than via Jerry the human Tweet, she decided grimly. And at least he’d been deterred from spreading any juicy stories about her presence at the manor, or being found ‘hiding away’ with Zandor in the orchard.
That however was small consolation for having the minutiae of where she and Gerard had met, and how and particularly when, gone over in agonising detail.
‘So this Gerard Harrington is actually Mr Varga’s cousin?’ her mother repeated incredulously. ‘What on ea
rth must he have thought when we never mentioned him?’
Alanna bit her lip. ‘That it had all happened rather quickly, and I was simply waiting for the right moment to tell you.’ Which was as near the truth as she was prepared to go.
‘I’d hardly describe any part of this situation as simple,’ Mr Beckett said drily. ‘Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?’
‘You’ve always said that as soon as you saw Mummy, you knew,’ Alanna said defensively. ‘Why shouldn’t it happen to me too?’
‘Because your mother took rather longer to persuade,’ he retorted drily. ‘That’s how it usually goes.’
‘Well, not this time.’ She tried to smile. ‘I hoped you’d be pleased.’
‘When you can’t show us a photograph—even one of those selfie things on your phone?’ Her mother sighed. ‘It all seems—so odd. Especially when I thought...’ She broke off, flushing a little, then her gentle mouth tightened. ‘Of course, you know what people will say.’
‘Then they couldn’t be more wrong,’ Alanna assured her quickly. ‘And we certainly won’t be getting married any time soon.’ Or ever...
‘His parents? You’ve met them, I presume?’
Next big snag, thought Alanna, groaning silently.
Aloud, she attempted brightness. ‘Well, yes. His mother’s a widow who lives in Suffolk.’
‘And what does she think about this sudden decision?’
Alanna shrugged, wondering who could possibly know Meg Harrington’s opinion on anything.
‘That we’re adults who can make up our own minds,’ she returned. ‘Darlings, it will all work out. I promise you.’
‘Well, we can only hope so.’ Her mother paused. ‘Mr Varga and your Gerard, I suppose, being cousins, they’re quite alike.’
‘Not in the slightest. Absolute chalk and cheese,’ Alanna denied with rather more force than she’d intended.
‘I see,’ said Mrs Beckett thoughtfully.
And there, on the surface anyway, it was left.
But if Alanna hoped bedtime would give her the opportunity to relax, she soon found she was wrong.
