Knight's Possession

by Carole Mortimer

  That piqued her. ‘Only Fred?’

  ‘I might have missed you—oh, a little bit, too,’ he dismissed.

  Her eyes darkened. ‘Strange, I didn’t miss either one of you,’ she snapped.

  ‘That’s because you haven’t spent enough time with us.’ His good humour was returning, the dangerous glitter to his eyes fading. ‘Yet,’ he added softly.

  Laurel could feel herself tensing. ‘Reece—’

  ‘Go and take a shower,’ he cut in briskly. ‘Otherwise you’re likely to catch pneumonia. It was freezing in that shop!’

  ‘Rubbish,’ she dismissed, having been more accustomed to the cold there tonight. ‘And I don’t want to take a shower; I had one earlier.’

  ‘Okay,’ Reece shrugged. ‘I’ll just go and take one to warm up myself and then I’ll be back.’

  ‘You—’

  ‘Yes?’ he queried softly.

  Colour darkened her cheeks at the unmistakable glint of desire in his eyes. ‘I’m not going to sleep with you,’ she told him raggedly.

  ‘Neither of us is going to sleep tonight,’ he assured her. ‘You’re my woman, and tonight you’re going to realise that!’

  She felt a shiver of apprehension run down her spine, her eyes dark with fear.

  ‘Laurel, I’m not going to hurt you,’ Reece chided gently. ‘I thought I proved that the other night.’

  He had also proved that she couldn’t say no to him. And she knew that tonight was going to be no exception.

  She unpacked her case while he was gone. There was no nightgown again, but she knew tonight she wasn’t going to need one. She was already between the silken sheets when Reece came back into the room, her breath catching in her throat as he threw his robe aside and came to her. He was magnificent, beautifully sleek, like a fine sculpture.

  She turned into his arms with an eagerness that shocked and dismayed her. Had she already become his sexual slave?

  ‘You think too much, Laurel,’ he murmured against her parted lips. ‘And about the wrong things. This is what matters.’ His thumb grazed her nipple and he felt her shudder in reaction. ‘And this.’ He claimed her lips. ‘And this.’ His hand curved about the warmth of her womanhood now, feeling her trembling increase.

  ‘You and I are all that matters.’ He took her mouth roughly.

  Just a physical thing. Could she handle that? Could she not handle it? It was easier than trying to find the impossible, a man she could love, and as she didn’t have the strength to fight this attraction towards Reece it would probably be more sensible if she just gave in to the feeling. It would be over soon enough, with no one hurt.

  Tonight he wasn’t asking for or giving gentleness, demanding, taking, inviting, inciting, until she pleaded for his possession, arching beneath him as she drove him deeper and deeper into the fathomless web of desire. The pinnacle climbed and reached they fell back to earth.

  But Reece gave them no respite, kissing her, caressing her, taking them both back into that shower of sunlight time and time again, until amazingly it was morning, no time seeming to have passed at all.

  Reece languorously caressed her breast as he cradled her against his shoulder. ‘Now do I have to put a brand on you…?’

  ‘I thought you already had,’ she mocked, too deliciously tired to want to move, even though she knew she had to.

  ‘I meant a visible one,’ he teased.

  She looked up at him with the knowledge of their effect on each other in her eyes. ‘This isn’t visible?’

  He laughed softly. ‘I wasn’t sure if I would have to fight down your resistance all over again this morning; I’m glad I don’t.’

  She grimaced. ‘I don’t have the strength,’ she told him truthfully.

  ‘And you’ll come back here tonight?’ He frowned.

  ‘Reece, I only stayed at the shop because I found the flat too oppressive after what had happened. It—I felt—uncomfortable there,’ she understated.

  His arms tightened about her understandingly. ‘Move in with me,’ he encouraged.

  ‘I can’t,’ she told him simply. ‘This is one thing, but actually moving in is something else. I like my independence too much.’ And last night it had taken a serious beating!

  ‘You want me to go grey before my time worrying about you?’ he grimaced.

  ‘I won’t be living at the flat any more—’

  ‘All the more reason to move in with me!’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to.’ She could feel the way he flinched at her brutality, but she couldn’t in all honesty take back the statement. Moving in with him was too—definite, allowed no freedom of choice in what was happening between them.

  ‘Until you find somewhere else?’ he pursued.

  In the light of the fact that she had nowhere else to go just yet it would be churlish to refuse that offer, and as a compromise it wasn’t a bad one. She readily accepted.

  By the time she had been at the shop a couple of hours she had had time to regret her decision. She had never believed herself to be the type of woman to be taken in by charm and a blazing physical attraction. Although there had been no charm to Reece last night, and she had still gone to bed with him. She must be more like her mother than she had realised. God, it—

  ‘Parcel, Laurel,’ Polly interrupted her wanderings. ‘It’s marked “Personal”.’

  Laurel glared at the small, brown-paper wrapped package Polly had placed on her desk, having been taking a short break before she fell asleep on her feet. A personal parcel had to mean Reece, and… Or did it? It couldn’t be some other sick act on Giles’s part, could it? She was reluctant to open it and see what lay inside—whichever man it had come from.

  A key! What on earth…! A frown marred her brow as she picked up the card lying in the lid of the small box, it read ‘Please use it, Reece’. It was the key to his wing of the house!

  ‘Okay?’ Polly appeared in the doorway again.

  She hastily placed the lid back on the box, pushing the card inside her bag. ‘Fine,’ she answered briskly. ‘Are you busy out there?’

  The other woman shook her head. ‘It’s gone surprisingly quiet.’

  ‘Lull before the storm,’ she predicted, knowing Christmas could be a strange time of year for business.

  Polly frowned. ‘You don’t look well,’ she sounded concerned. ‘Are you coming down with something?’

  Yes—it was called Reecitous! She had been thinking about him most of the morning, and the conclusions she had come to had all crumbled into the dust with the delivery of the key, knowing that it was meant to tell her she would still have her freedom, that he made no ties on her. And she would put a sure bet on him knowing exactly what effect that would have on her!

  * * *

  Living with a man she barely knew had more problems than she had ever guessed, Reece’s untidiness something she gave up on after two days of trying to pick up after him, his habit of eating at irregular, and often very late, times, something she found strange, too, not being a nibbler herself. And then there was the way he liked to bounce out of bed in the mornings while she just wanted to snuggle down under the covers and go back to sleep. He sang in the shower no matter what time of night or day it was, was an avid viewer of any and all quiz programmes on the television. And he bought her flowers, and chocolates, and cascaded her with compliments about any and everything!

  Laurel felt disorientated, tried to keep their relationship to the physical arrangement they had made when she had accepted his offer to stay here for a few days until she found a new flat. But that was a little difficult to do when he insisted on treating her with all the consideration and care of a new bride, telephoning her several times a day just to talk to her, buying her gifts, always eager to fall in with whatever plans she had for the evening. And then there were the nights. Despite her lack of experience in such relationships she knew that no casual lover could ever talk to her the way he did when they made love, could be so concerned about her plea
sure at all times, could be so naturally intimate with her. All her preconceived ideas of what a relationship based purely on the physical should be were completely crushed by Reece as he wouldn’t allow her to treat him in a detached and practical way. After only three days of living with him she was ready to admit she was totally confused. To herself, anyway. To Reece she remained outwardly cool—even when he insisted on walking about stark naked for hours at a time, often seeming to forget the need for clothes at all. He had no inhibitions, in bed or out of it, and to her surprise she was learning not to have any either.

  She wasn’t in love with him she was sure of that, confident in her decision not to allow herself to love any man. But physically…! Oh God, physically she couldn’t refuse him. She looked on it as a sickness, and every sickness came to an end, one way or another. She would get over this weakness she had for Reece’s kisses and caresses. She, Laurel Matthews, was not fatally ill, just a little sick.

  ‘Laurel?’

  She looked up at the man at her side, her head resting on his shoulder as they lay in bed together. She had arrived home half an hour ago to be met with a glass of the hot lemon tea she favoured after a hard day, the shower already running hot, her favourite lounging robe laid out on the bed. Only she hadn’t got as far as putting on the robe yet. She had drunk the lemon tea, stepped into the shower, only to have Reece join her there, initiating the lovemaking that had ended in the bed they now relaxed in.

  ‘What is it, darling?’ he frowned. ‘I’ve been talking to you the last few minutes,’ he explained at her questioning look. ‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.’

  She hadn’t even been aware that he was talking! ‘I’m sorry,’ she was instantly contrite, her fingertips running lightly over his chest.

  ‘Hectic day?’ he sympathised.

  It had been hectic, only two shopping days left until Christmas, people suddenly seeming to realise how close it was and panicking because they had nowhere near finished their shopping. It always seemed to be this way, and she could only hope to get through the next two days without collapsing from exhaustion. Sleepless nights and busy days just didn’t mix!

  ‘Very,’ she nodded. ‘I—What on earth was that?’ She sat up in bed as a loud ringing noise filled the room.

  ‘Dinner,’ Reece said with satisfaction.

  Her eyes widened. This wing of the house was completely self-sufficient, as Reece had claimed it was, a well-stocked kitchen in the lower floor. But they hadn’t bothered to use it for any more than toast and coffee for breakfast, and it unnerved her to realise Reece had bothered to cook them dinner himself rather than have it sent from his father’s kitchen as he usually did.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked warily.

  ‘A sort of stew,’ he announced confidently, as he left the bedroom. She hurriedly put on her robe and followed him to the dining area of the lounge.

  He seemed to have thrown in a little bit of everything he could find in the least suitable from the kitchen cupboards, and though it was a little strange to come across strings of spaghetti, the overall taste was good. It was also a little too domesticated for her liking. They had spent the last few evenings alone through choice, although she felt sure their parents were aware of her car parked outside the last three nights, of the fact that dinner had been supplied for two rather than the usual one of those same three evenings. But spending the evenings alone and having what really amounted to room service was one thing, sharing a cosy dinner for two prepared by Reece put it all on a more intimate footing. And she didn’t feel comfortable with it.

  ‘You’re wandering again,’ Reece softly interrupted her thoughts. ‘Tell me what’s bothering you.’ He reached across the table to take her hand in both of his.

  ‘The spaghetti mainly,’ she deliberately misunderstood him. ‘It’s a little disconcerting to be calmly eating and then suddenly have a string of it hit you on the chin!’ She raised her napkin to the corner of her mouth where the sauce had once again escaped her. ‘What made you put spaghetti in it anyway?’

  ‘Well the recipe said baked beans.’ He looked a little sheepish. ‘And as I can’t stand the things and won’t have them in the house I decided that spaghetti would be a good replacement.’

  ‘It’s a—novel idea,’ she said drily. ‘Do you cook often?’

  ‘You know I don’t,’ he drawled. ‘I just… tonight I just wanted to be alone with you, without any interruptions at all.’

  She was instantly wary. ‘Oh?’

  He frowned. ‘Laurel, when are you going to talk to me?’

  ‘I thought I did.’ Her surprise was genuine, having opened up more to him than she had really wanted, or expected to.

  He sighed. ‘Not about anything that’s really important to you.’

  She shrugged. ‘There’s only the shop—’

  ‘Exactly,’ he looked at her expectantly.

  ‘What do you mean “exactly”?’ Her eyes were narrowed as she released her hand from his, pushing her plate away, her appetite gone.

  He drew in a ragged breath. ‘You aren’t going to tell me, are you?’

  She retreated even further from him. ‘Tell you what?’ she avoided.

  Reece stood up noisily, moving to the lounge area to pour them both a brandy. He put the brandy glasses down on the coffee-table, going to stand beside the fireplace, staring down broodingly into the flames the wood fire was giving out. He turned as she slowly followed him. ‘Do you trust me, Laurel?’ he prompted.

  ‘In what context?’ she returned guardedly.

  His mouth twisted. ‘Not as your lover,’ he rasped. ‘I’m well aware of the fact that I’m still only the man who surprises you out of your mind each time we make love by being able to tempt you into giving yourself to me!’

  She winced at the pained accusation, although she could see the truth of it, suspected in her moments alone that Reece had put some sort of spell on her. In her more lucid moments she knew she had merely fallen prey to physical infatuation.

  ‘In what way then?’ she prompted coldly.

  ‘As a friend, as someone who cares about you.’ He watched her with narrowed eyes. ‘Who would do his best to help you if he could.’

  She turned away, unable to meet that fierce gaze. ‘Reece, I don’t…’

  ‘Are you willing to lose it all for a little false pride?’ he rasped.

  Her stricken gaze returned to his face. ‘What are you talking about?’

  He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe the calm way she was behaving. ‘I’ve tried to get you to talk to me,’ he groaned. ‘To open up. But you won’t, and so—’

  ‘Reece.’ Her voice was slightly shrill now. ‘What are you talking about?’

  He swallowed down the brandy. ‘I’ve waited, I’ve given you every opportunity—’

  ‘Reece!’

  The glittering gold of his eyes as he glared at her was enough to tell her he was furiously angry with her. She knew his every mood now from those expressive eyes, the gold of anger, dismay, and physical arousal, the warm brown of pleasure, amusement, indulgence. He certainly wasn’t physically aroused, but he was very angry and dismayed.

  He marched over to the bureau in the corner of the room, impatiently flicking back the lid to take an envelope from one of the cubby-holes. ‘This fell out of your handbag the other day.’ He threw it down on the coffee-table between them. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to talk to me about it.’ He looked at her challengingly.

  Laurel stared down at the envelope with it’s distinctive business stamp at the top. She had searched everywhere for that letter the last few days, the possibility that Reece might have had it all the time not even occurring to her. ‘It just “fell out” of my bag, did it?’ she derided disbelievingly.

  ‘Yes,’ he bit out. ‘You think I took it?’ he accused harshly at her sceptical expression. ‘Damn it, Laurel, you were the one that dropped your handbag in the bedroom the other day, spilling the contents all over the place.’ />
  She remembered the occasion, the fluffy white rug at the foot of Reece’s bed the scene of their lovemaking that evening, her bag getting knocked out of the way in the process. She had thought she had put everything back into it.

  ‘It was under the bed,’ Reece read her accusing thoughts. ‘The maid handed it to me when I got home from work last night.’

  ‘And you read it,’ she scorned icily.

  He ran a hand over his temple. ‘I didn’t mean to; I’m not into reading other people’s mail. But I couldn’t stop staring at it, kept getting the strangest feeling of foreboding, and—’

  ‘Then you read it,’ she snapped.

  ‘Yes,’ he confirmed irritably. ‘What does it mean, Laurel? I thought you were doing well, so why haven’t you paid your lease money for next year?’

  Of all the things for Reece to have been given and read it had to be Campbells’ letter explaining that her yearly lease money was very overdue!

  It was still overdue, and likely to remain that way, Giles telephoning her only today to tell her he wouldn’t even talk about the return of her money until she gave him his ring back. And as that was in Reece’s possession she wasn’t able to do that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘FORGET I said that,’ he sighed at the icy closed-in look in her eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have asked, it’s none of my business. All I really wanted to do was offer to help you, to give you—’

  ‘Money!’ she cut in tautly. ‘You want to give me money?’

  Puzzlement flickered in his eyes at her vehemence. ‘Laurel, I just want to help—’

  ‘Then don’t offer me money,’ she rasped.

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’m not for sale, Reece,’ she scorned contemptuously.

  ‘What did you say?’ The icy softness of his voice was a warning.

  She braced her shoulders, facing him unflinchingly. ‘You give money to your mistresses, I’m not your mistress. I go to bed with you because I’ve found I don’t have too much choice about it.’ She hated making the admission, but she had to make him understand exactly where he stood in her life. ‘But I don’t have to accept anything else from you.’